The Marauders: Year Five #Wattys2017

Definitely Neptunian

Definitely Neptunian

Leo Martin was an American, living in Chelmsford, with a little brick house and a garden full of geraniums, marigolds, and spearmint. Loads and loads of spearmint. His daughter and grandchildren, who he travelled overseas to see once a year in July for his birthday, always said that he smelled of spearmint and soap. Upon his head he wore a funny golf-style plaid cap with a pom-pom on top. He was sitting in his kitchen, playing chess against himself, one of his favorite past times, when the doorbell rang.

Leo pushed himself up out of the seat at the kitchen table, took hold on his cane - which had an American Bald Eagle's head for the handle - and wandered his way back through the house to the living room, and peered through the peekhole in the door.

A funny man with greying auburn hair and too-large front teeth stood outside, clutching a briefcase and looking about. He wore a funny scarf and a coat, despite how warm it was outside, and it made Leo instantly distrust the bloke. He hesitated, thinking about pretending at there being nobody at home and letting the funny man go away, but the man knocked again and he called out, "Hullo - Mr. Martin - it's me, Mr. Scamander... We spoke on the hellyphone...?"

Leo opened the door, "Sorry, old legs take longer to reach the door," he lied. "Come in." He opened the door wide, shuffling backwards to admit Mr. Scamander into the room.

Newt stepped inside and looked about, "So this is where it, uh, it happened, Mr. Martin?" he asked.

"Yes," Leo Martin nodded fervently, "Just the other day. Come home from cribbage club at the church, found my front door broke down - that's a new one there," he waved his cane at the door he'd just finished relocking, "Had to pay the Howser boy down the street a pretty piece to get him to install a new one." Leo shook his head, "Insurance won't cover it as they say my policy doesn't cover alien damages." He grunted.

"Preposterous," muttered Mr. Scamander, shaking his head, "I do apologize."

"And none of you goons would come down here to inspect it, either," snapped Leo, glowering at Mr. Scamander, "Kept puttin' me off, telling me not to worry, to give the a ring when the thing hatched! Well, damn it, I'd rather not see what's inside that egg, thank you very much! Probably some horrid creature from Mars or Neptune."

"Yes, I'm very glad it didn't come to that. I only just got back, you see," Mr. Scamander lied, "Investigating some curious happenings in... uh... Roswell."

There was a tiny sneeze and he looked down to see the Niffler's nose poking out of the briefcase.

"Bless you," said Leo, not noticing that it hadn't been Mr. Scamander that had sneezed (though it was such a dainty sneeze, he really ought have done).

"Yes, thank you," replied Mr. Scamander and he poked the Niffer's nose back into the briefcase with his extended index finger. "Would it be possible to, uh, to see, to see this egg?"

"Yeah," Mr. Martin muttered, "C'mon, this way." He shuffled along through the house. On the wall as they passed by, a cuckoo clock chimed two o'clock and Mr. Scamander hurried after.

Leo Martin had called the local police department no more than thirty-three times seeking an investigator to come and inspect the funny thing in his yard. "Aliens don't exist, Mr. Martin," they kept telling him, but he kept insisting that they couldn't say that for certain until they'd had a look at the egg in his backyard. He'd waited over a month before Mr. Scamander had called that morning, shouting into the telephone that he'd be over later that very same day to inspect the egg.