Read Facing the Hunchback of Notre Dame Online
Authors: Zondervan
Facing the Hunchback of Notre Dame (5 page)
I don’t understand
, she thought.
How did he get here?
The book! She grabbed the
Imaginary Realms
book from where it was lying open on the couch, and ran her finger down the table of contents.
Meet the Author, Metaphysical Scientist and Overall
Genius
How Is Something Like This Possible?
Imaginary Travel
Go to Them
Bring Them to You
That’s the chapter she wanted! She quickly turned to page seventy-seven. “Whoa!”
Her eyes settled on a diagram of a circle in the book, similar to the one painted near her feet. The measurements listed in the text were very peculiar. The circle had to be exactly five feet, eleven- and-seven-eighths inches in diameter. The border around the circle was to be two-and-five-sixths inches wide and painted off-white, “Sherwin Williams eggshell, preferably” was hand-written in the book.
Travel from imaginary realms must take place on the eleventh day of the month at 11:11 p.m. And if a gibbous moon is shining (when the moon is neither full nor a crescent, but a bulgy phase in between), then so much the better. There must be a westward facing window in the room, and if it’s raining or the cloud cover is especially thick, it might not work. But then again, it might. Who’s to say?
“Umm … you?” Who wrote this thing? She turned back to the title page. The author was a Mr. C. G. Grubbs. Cato! The mad scientist! How many other people had gotten their hands on this little piece of intriguing instruction? If it were to fall into the wrong hands, Ophelia figured, the book could do great damage. Just imagine bringing Julius Caesar to present day. What would that do to the world?
She read on, keeping one eye on the page and the other on Quasimodo who was still passed out in a heap but breathing evenly.
Place your chosen book of literature inside the circle. If the name of the character you wish to call forth isn’t in the title, circle it at first reference
That makes sense, she thought, recalling the title of her own book,
The Hunchback of Notre-Dame
.
Whatever you do, don’t get inside the circle unless you wish to be whisked off into the world of the book. If you do wish for that, then by all means get in. But be warned: most folks return as quite different people.
Ophelia could think of a lot of places she’d rather travel to than fourteenth-century Paris. As she thought about the many books she loves to read, she realized they all play out in rather dreary settings, and the main characters always face particularly sad challenges. While she loved reading about them within the book, she certainly wouldn’t want to be caught in the middle of all of that doom and gloom. Come to think of it, she had been feeling a little depressed of late.
Maybe I’d better read something more fun, she thought. Something more age appropriate and with more fantastical elements — or at the very least, devoted canines
.
Quasimodo’s arm muscle jerked a bit and quickly brought Ophelia back to the present.
Hurry up
, she thought, though it was
she
who had to hurry up reading.
Do realize that your life will now be fraught with varying challenges, depending on the character. Some will be more difficult than others, so choose wisely because you’ll have this person with you for a while.
In the event that you don’t get the character returned to the circle in time, he or she will expire painfully and with great pop and sizzle and acidic vapor — much like the Wicked Witch of the West (although, unless your chosen character is that woman, he or she most likely won’t screech, ‘I’m melting! I’m melting!’ as
it happens). Some characters, of course, might deserve that type of an end. But I assure you, it takes weeks for the fumes to clear, and your activities may become known to others — so be prudent.
Under no circumstances can the character return before the appointed time, so you’ll just have to figure it out. You brought the person here; you have nobody to blame but yourself.
On the third day, just sixty hours after arrival, departure is scheduled for 11:11 a.m. — and only then. Remember, “a.m.” means morning, not nighttime. Count on it. Otherwise, the result, as I’ve already tried to tell you, isn’t pretty. Good luck!
Ophelia set down the book. Three days. Three days with Quasimodo, a medieval, Parisian hunchback recluse, right here in Kingscross, right here in this house, right here in the enchanted circle.
“What happened to my plate of cookies?” Ophelia mused aloud. It was nowhere that she could see.
She went to find Linus.
Mystery Loves Company
L
inus figured that with the unexpected arrival of Walter, he was in possession of a certain element of surprise over his sister. Was he ever wrong about that!
Ophelia began to explain things as the three of them made their way to the attic. “You’ll never believe this.” Then she stopped and pointed to Walter. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m going to have to trust you because there’s no time to interview you.” Apparently, she hadn’t yet noticed the comeliness (handsomeness) of her brother’s new friend. Or so she claims.
“You can trust him.” Linus assured his sister as he followed her up the narrow staircase, Walter close behind. “He’s that British guy.”
“No need to worry,” Walter said. “I’ve seen more than a few odd things in my life.”
“Okay. Just nobody talk, all right? I don’t know what he’ll do.”
“Who’s he?” asked Linus.
“Quasimodo, the hunchback of Notre-Dame!”
Both boys stopped.
Walter shook his head and acted like he was unstopping his ears. “Did you say what I think you just said?”
“She did,” said Linus, trying to keep calm. He’d never known his sister to be hysterical, fantastical, or delusional. “Maybe it’s a figment of your imagination.”
“It is not, Linus. You know me better than that. It’s something Cato Grubbs designed.”
Walter blew out a huge puff of air and rubbed his hands together. “Well, the only way to find out is to see it for ourselves. Is he safe?”
“Passed out cold right now,” said Ophelia.
“There must be a good explanation for this,” said Linus.
But when the boys took one look at Quasimodo, Linus drew in his breath sharply and Walter whispered, “This isn’t possible.”
“I assure you it is,” Ophelia whispered back.
“We should awaken him gently.” Walter squatted next to Quasimodo.
Linus joined him, nodding.
Ophelia crossed her arms. “Go ahead. I’d rather him rear up against you two than me.”
Linus reached out and touched the wart.
“Linus!” Ophelia hissed.
Walter took a deep breath. “Right then. Let’s give this a go.” He rubbed a light, small circle on Quasimodo’s back, just below the hump. “Quasimodo,” he said softly. Then he repeated the name, slightly louder this time.
The hunchback shifted and moaned, the sound barely audible. He opened his eye. It widened. Then he hollered—sort of a grunt, really, but with a bit more heft or strength. He sat up, immediately cowered, and raised his arms to cover his massive head.
“He’s frightened of us,” Walter said.
“He’s been living in a cathedral all of his life,” Ophelia told the boys.
She stepped forward and leaned down next to Quasimodo. Sitting back on her heels, she slowly extended a hand toward him before gently placing it on Quasimodo’s forearm. “Bonjour,” she said quietly.
A look of confusion crossed his face.
“Hello,” Ophelia tried again.
He nodded.
She turned to Linus. “I wonder why he didn’t understand French?”
“Maybe because the book is written in English?”
“Ahh. Right.” She turned back. “I’m Ophelia.”
He shook his head.
Ophelia shook hers. “That’s right! He’s deaf from all of that bell ringing. I should have remembered that.”
“Madge has hearing aids,” Walter offered.
“Madge?” Ophelia asked.
“Ms. Pierce.”
Ophelia laughed. “Can you borrow a set?”
“Please. I’m a street rat from London.” He disappeared through the attic doorway.
“He might be hungry,” Linus said. Linus thought good food cured just about everything. Then he screwed up his face. “He smells terrible.”
“If my guess is right and he came from the point in the book where I was last reading, then he was just in the stocks,” Ophelia explained.
She made an eating sign, bringing her hand up to her mouth and pretending to bite something.
Quasimodo nodded and said, “Yes, I’m hungry.”
The twins jumped at the sound of his voice.
“Good, he can speak!”
“I’ll get food,” Linus said, leaving Ophelia alone with the hunchback of Notre-Dame.
When in Doubt, Get Something to Eat
N
ow don’t start thinking that just because someone has scoliosis (curvature of the spine), he is different in every other way as well. It would be easy to commit such a crime against another human being. People do it all the time. It makes them feel more important. However, those kinds of gross conclusions (other than the ones concerning the English professors in my department, of course) simply aren’t true and can lead to a lifetime of ignorance. The boys did no such thing
.
Linus and Walter (
who got those hearing aids so quickly that one had to wonder if his street rat career included pickpocketing
) skillfully raided the refrigerator as though they were getting an armful of snacks for themselves.
Upstairs, Quasimodo took one look at Ophelia in her medieval costume and with her long, curly dark hair, and he figured she had to be related to Esmeralda. Clearly she wasn’t so different from him. Ophelia ventured to take hold of Quasimodo’s hand, and, to her surprise, he allowed it. Not knowing what else to do, she simply sat with him and tried smiling every so often, which proved to be rather difficult. It broke her heart to think so, but he was the ugliest human being she’d ever seen. Not a single resting point could be found on his face, that normal spot on which you might cast your eyes to take a breather from all the other deformities. Oh no. Nothing of the sort. The only place that looked anything like it should was his left earlobe, and who wants to look at that while you’re speaking to someone?
His breathing softened and his muscles gradually relaxed as Ophelia lightly patted his hand, which, I might point out, was roughly four times the size of hers. She remembered reading that he was only about nineteen years old, not so much older than her own little group. But he looked so very, very old — at least forty years. So old, one might say, as to be of little use to society because who can walk around in such a decrepit state?
When the boys returned to the attic, both Ophelia and Quasimodo hungrily eyed the tray heaped with food. Peanut butter, jelly, bread, corn chips, jelly donuts, chocolate covered donuts, bananas, and sitting on top for good measure, a tomato. That last one was Walter’s idea. Something needed to balance out all of that sugar, for heaven’s sake.
Linus rolled his eyes at that.
I’m sure you can guess that the tomato was the only thing that remained on that tray when all was said and done.
Ophelia spread some peanut butter and raspberry jelly on a piece of bread. She split it in half, took a bite of hers, and then offered the other half to Quasimodo.
He eyed it with suspicion.
“Eat,” she said. “Good.”
He understood, took the sandwich, and bit down.
A look of amazement flashed across his face.
“You like it?”
Ophelia overly enunciated (pronounced) her words so he could read her lips.
“Yes.”
So let us give Quasimodo his fair share of credit here. His voice, while somewhat husky from lack of use, sounded just fine. He spoke clearly, and his tones were friendly and without suspicion. If somebody were to assign them a color, one might say they were an orangey-gold.
They soon finished off the tray of food together — the boys helped. And with each new food item, Ophelia employed the same method. Seeing as it worked so well with the food, she tried the same thing with the hearing aids. Putting one in her ear and the
other in Quasimodo’s, she leaned over and asked, “Are you Quasimodo? The bell ringer of Notre-Dame?”
His good eye widened and he nodded his head. Then he patted his ear and flinched. Touched the hearing aid more carefully this time, he said, “Yes, I am. I heard you! I just heard every word you said!”
An expression of amazed joy spread over his face, and suddenly he didn’t seem so horrific at all!
Quick introductions were made, and then Ophelia asked if they could call him “Quasi.” He said yes. Then she tried her best to explain what had happened to him — minus the fact that he wasn’t actually real, not in the sense of being born here on planet Earth, to physical parents in a physical place during a definite time period. And never mind the fact that she could touch him just as she could touch you or me. (You, preferably. You never know where people’s hands have been.)