Giggleswick: The Amadán Map

Chapter Three: The Letter

Chapter Three: The Letter

The next day began almost as terribly as the previous one had ended. Elliot awoke to the sound of tense whispering coming from the downstairs. At first, he didn’t know if he should leave his bedroom –– perhaps his parents didn’t want him to hear whatever they were talking about. But curiosity soon prevailed and Elliot convinced himself that they were surely just whispering out of politeness to keep from waking him. 

Without bothering to comb his hair or change out of his pajamas, Elliot bounded down the stairs, stopping only when he heard someone whisper his name. He paused on the landing and craned his neck around the corner, hoping to make out more of the muted conversation coming from the kitchen. His parents had gone quiet –– they’d evidently heard him moving around upstairs and wanted to make sure they were not being overheard. After a moment or so of silence, the whispering continued, this time quieter than before. 

Though he couldn’t quite make out every word, Elliot thought he heard his father say something like, “How do we know the letter isn’t some sort of joke?” 

His mother was harder to hear, but he was almost certain she said, “I’m worried about Elliot ...” He missed a few words in-between, but then he distinctly heard her say, “This man could be dangerous!” Mrs. Bisby was apparently too flustered to control her volume anymore, and she added, “What was he doing at Elliot’s school?”  

Elliot could not piece the conversation together in his head. Who had sent them a letter, and what did it have to do with him? Nobody but his parents ever seemed to acknowledge that he even existed, so who would write about him in a letter? His grandparents used to write to him and send him birthday cards and things, but they had all died back when Elliot was little –– no one else was left. Perhaps the school had written his parents? Elliot thought fearfully ... but who from the school would his parents possibly consider “dangerous”? St. Bartholomew’s had just suspended him for being dangerous.  

Elliot knew one thing for sure ... he was determined to read that letter! He rounded the corner purposefully and walked through the foyer and into the kitchen. Todd and Nora Bisby were seated at the table with a stack of unopened mail in front of them. They both ceased whispering and looked worriedly at Elliot as he entered the room. In Mr. Bisby’s right hand was a pale-blue envelope that had already been opened, and in the other was the neatly folded letter they must have been talking about. Mr. Bisby quickly remembered the letter in his hand and jerked it behind his back. “E-Elliot! Good morning! Slept well I hope? How about some eggs for––”

“What’s that you’ve got in your hand?” said Elliot, interrupting his father’s nervous greeting. 

Mr. Bisby laughed excitably, “What? ... This?” he said, holding up the pale-blue envelope. “Why it’s ... it’s, you know –– just junk mail.” 

“Elliot dear, don’t pester your father,” his mother said tunefully, but she beamed proudly at him and kissed his forehead. Before Elliot could ponder this curious act, she began bustling about the kitchen retrieving a frying pan, spatula and eggs, clearly intent on distracting Elliot with some breakfast. 

Just as Elliot was about to ask to see the letter, the old rotary telephone hanging beside the refrigerator rang noisily, and Mr. Bisby jumped in alarm. “Ah, well –– better get that!” He leapt out of his son’s way to answer the phone, leaving Elliot even more bewildered than before. 

At first his father seemed happy to talk to whomever had called, no doubt thankful he hadn’t had to explain the letter to Elliot any further, but when Mr. Bisby hung up the phone a few minutes later, it was clear from his heavy sigh and the way he ran his fingers through his hair that it had not been good news. Mrs. Bisby had just finished scrambling eggs and placing plates on the kitchen table when Mr. Bisby sat down, propping his head up with his hands.