Thrumps woke with a start. Daughter? What daughter was all he could think. He didn’t even have a love interest or ever had, come to that. Maybe it’s my future he mused, not totally against the idea.
The awaiting coffee was hot and steaming as usual and nothing untoward looked out of place. He sighed. They had moved again, he could tell that without even looking, the hubbub of street noise was enough evidence that he was somewhere urban and by the sounds of it, somewhere quite lively. He finished his coffee, nothing good ever came from rushing into things before a second mug, well that was his philosophy anyway.
“Morning postie.” The greeting outside was a familiar one, as was the cheerful response.
“Nice morning,” he’d replied. The letterbox held tight as he tried to shove something through but eventually yielded. It was not used to being abused in that manner, the letter was too large for its liking and as it landed on the mat it had closed its flap tight to stop anything else being pushed through.
There was a knock.
Standing on the front step a pristinely dressed mailman doffed his cap.
“Sir,” he began, “think that box needs a little easing, too stiff. It’s as if anyone’d think it didn’t want to get the post.” He handed over a package, saluted and strolled off whistling an inane tune.
Thrumps smiled, if only he knew the half of it.
The package had been expected. He’d asked The Book of Un-Reality for a secret gift, something to make him smile, well after all it was his birthday and as his every desire was normally instantly fulfilled, well almost, he never got surprises anymore.
He placed the box on his desk. He was going to savour this moment, and fully intended to wait until later so as to build up the suspense. What he hadn’t foreseen was a card to go with it.
The envelope was ornate and in the stamp was Queen Victoria in all her glory. So, he thought, we must be in the late 1800’s. These little squares revolutionised the postal system making it affordable. Although this one was not a penny black, he knew it would one day be quite rare, so he made sure that he opened just the top fold with a sharp paperknife.
It didn’t contain the traditional greetings card as he’d expected. He laughed, well he mused, no surprises there, they’ve not been invented yet.
The cream piece of stiffened parchment was decorated with the most exquisite scrolls and curls around the message.
What is your secret?
Should you tell?
Give it unto the stars that it forever lives.
When Thrumps gazed out of the window, everything had shifted.
The Emporium was now halfway down the long winding lane to a harbour, in a tiny seaside hamlet. The window displayed a vast array of novelties, trinkets, and curiosities bound to capture the attention of those that passed by.
Many stopped to read the opening notification in the window, and whilst a few commented about it being rather late to be venturing out, those that were the intended patrons simply smiled, vowing to be there at midnight.
As the grandfather clock struck the witching hour and the front doors unclicked themselves, the box was still where Thrumps had left it on his desk. He had been tempted many times to have a look yesterday, but then it had not really been his birthday.
The Emporium now boasted a little furnace type of arrangement in one corner, with a leather clad worker expertly blowing glass bubbles. The smoky interior of each swirled as if annoyed.
“Easy,” he said to them as they hung unaided in the air. “Not long to wait now.”
As if on cue a steady stream of people filed through the doors and formed an orderly queue. A young lady Thrumps had not noticed before was there to greet them. He leaned back in his chair and watched, fascinated by the way she seemed to know each of them by name.
The craftsman continued to make a relentless supply of the bubbles, each exactly the same size but filled with different coloured smoke. The greeter, carefully selecting the correct one would place it gently in eagerly awaiting hands and unscrewed the cap.
“Take a deep breath,” she advised, “and whisper what you most desire into the mist.”
Although some were eager, others took their time before they were ready.
“Now,” she urged. “Put the lid on tight, hold up your hand to the heavens and let it float away.”
It was only then that Thrumps noticed there was no ceiling.
As the globes ascended each one shone in the night sky, and as that dream came true, it exploded into a thousand shooting stars. Some were fulfilled instantly, but others took longer. There was no telling with them, but Thrumps knew that every wish would be fulfilled.
Eventually the last person filed out through the door and as the glass blower was packing away the greeter turned and addressed Thrumps.
“Your turn,” she said.
He looked around, but there were no bubbles left. She nodded towards the package.
“That is the first one ever blown.”
He hesitated, could he really wish for that?
Cautiously he unscrewed it. The silver mist shimmered as he whispered into it as if it already knew what he would say.
As he cast it skywards it became one of the brightest stars that he had ever seen, and as the mist cleared a lady holding a little girl waved and blew him kisses.