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"That Shrewd and Knavish Sprite" Very strange things were happening at the Fawcett Preparatory School. At breakfast on Monday, every carton of milk in the cafeteria had gone sour, even though the refrigerators were all working perfectly. On Tuesday, every light bulb in the gymnasium went out simultaneously. On Wednesday, every chair in the library –even those occupied by the scrawniest bookworms– collapsed. On Thursday, the seniors all showed up for school barefoot – someone had managed to steal every pair of shoes out of their dormitory By Friday morning, Casey Beck suspected that something supernatural was at work. Tommy Tyler, his best friend and roommate, was not convinced. They were arguing about it as they got dressed for school. “The last time a demon came over from You-Know-Where, he was devouring souls, not playing pranks,” Tommy said. By “You-Know-Where”, Tommy meant “Elysium”, the magical realm from which he and Casey derived their powers. Simply by saying the name out loud, they could transform themselves into the Champion and his sidekick Kid Champion, with all of the otherworldly power of Elysium at their disposal. Needless to say, they tried to avoid using the magic word in casual conversation. “Not every demon is necessarily interested in stealing souls,” Casey responded. “There are myths all over the world about mischievous spirits, playing tricks on mortals for their own amusement. And the tricks may escalate into something more serious.” Tommy sighed. “You could be right,” he said. “Let’s meet back here after school today. The Champion and Kid Champion can do a little investigating then.” Neither boy noticed that a small black crow sat on their windowsill, taking in every word as if it understood what they were saying. After the boys left, the crow hopped off the windowsill, changing shape as it did so. By the time the crow hit the ground, it had the form of a tall, slender man with jet black hair. “These must be the brats working for those Elysian spoilsports,” the man said softly to himself. “I’ll have to keep them out of the way if I’m to have any fun.” Later that afternoon, during study hall, Casey went to the library to try to dig up some more information. He pulled down one of the encyclopedias of folklore and mythology and started leafing through the index. “Looking for something in particular, young man?” asked a voice behind him. Casey turned and saw a tall, slender man with jet black hair. The tall man extended his hand. “I’m Mr. Goodfellow, the new librarian,” he said pleasantly. “This is my first week, so I have not met all of you boys yet.” “I’m Casey Beck,” Casey said, shaking Mr. Goodfellow’s hand. “And I’m just doing some research for a paper on trickster myths and legends.” “Ah, a fascinating subject,” said the librarian. “Every culture has such myths. In many cultures, the trickster is the moving force behind the creation of the world itself. In African mythology, he was called Anansi, while Native Americans called him Coyote and Europeans called him Puck. By any name, he is a force to be reckoned with.” “You certainly know your mythology, Mr. Goodfellow,” Casey said. “Could you recommend any books I should read?” “Well, I probably shouldn’t do this,” Mr. Goodfellow said with a conspiratorial smile. “But I’ve got some very old volumes in my private collection that would be perfect for you.” He led Casey to a side door, then through a long corridor that led to a door marked “Rare Book Collection – Authorized Personnel Only.” He took out a key and opened the door. Inside rows of old books filled the shelves. Mr. Goodfellow pulled down a dusty leather-bound volume and handed it to Casey. “This is the perfect book for our purposes,” the librarian said. The layer of dust was so thick that Casey could not even read the title. He blew on the cover, stirring up a cloud of dust. But it was not ordinary dust. It swirled around Casey’s head as though it had a life of his own, glowing faintly in the dim light of the room. His head felt very fuzzy, and his vision began to blur. Just before he fell to the floor, Casey made out the title of the book he was holding – Bedtime Tales. Mr. Goodfellow – or Puck, as he preferred to be called, clapped his hands with glee. “Ho ho,” he cackled. “We won’t be saying any magic words now, will we?” He pulled a large handkerchief from his breast pocket with a flourish and stuffed it into Casey’s half-open mouth, knotting it behind his head. Using several lengths of coarse rope, he tied Casey’s hands and feet. Then he pulled off the boy’s shoes to add to his collection. “Sweet dreams, little mortal,” Puck said, as he locked the door behind him. No one else had a key to the Rare Book Room – or any interest in going there. Casey, and more importantly his alter ego Kid Champion, would be safely out of the way for a long while. “One down, one to go,” thought Puck. The air around him shimmered as he changed shape again – this time becoming an exact replica of Casey himself. Tommy Tyler was just finishing soccer practice, unaware that he was next on Puck’s list. He was running late, so he decided to head straight back to his room to meet Casey. As soon as he got to the room he kicked off his muddy soccer cleats and pulled off his socks. Casey –or rather, someone who looked exactly like Casey– was already in the room, fiddling with the chair that sat in front of Tommy’s study desk. “I have a theory about how all those chairs in the library collapsed,” Casey said. “I want you to help me test it out.” “I’m happy to help, but I thought you had decided it was an evil spirit or something,” Tommy said, sitting down in the chair. Casey laughed. “I think you were right this morning,” he said. “A few odd occurrences doesn’t mean we’re being invaded by Elysium. I think there’s a logical explanation for everything that’s happened.” “You mean I was right about something? That’s a first. You never –” Tommy stopped in mid-sentence. “Wait a minute. You just said the magic word, but nothing happened. What’s going on?” “Oh my, that was sloppy of me,” Casey said. As he spoke, he swiftly grabbed one of Tommy’s discarded socks and tied it over his mouth. “I was going to toy with you some more, but now I will have to cut my fun short.” Before Tommy’s eyes, Puck returned his true form – a somewhat wild-looking young man with gleaming yellow eyes and sharply pointed ears. He wore a garland of vines on his head, a woven vest and trousers made from some sort of animal hide. His feet were bare. Tommy lifted his hands to pull the gag from his mouth, but Puck grabbed both of his wrists firmly and pulled them behind the back of the chair. Puck tied Tommy’s hands with more of the coarse rope he had used on Casey. He looped more rope around Tommy’s body, holding him to the chair. Then he tied the boy’s ankles to the legs of the chair. Tommy pulled against the ropes, but they would not budge. Puck laughed. “With you and your little friend tucked away, I can move on to bigger and better things,” he said. “The last few days were just a warm-up. The real fun’s about to start.” Puck reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a handful of small candles. “Speaking of warming up, I should do something to keep you entertained while I’m gone.” Over Tommy’s muffled objections, he placed candles between the boy’s toes, lighting each one in turn. “We wouldn’t want the mighty Champion to get cold feet, now would we?” Drops of wax began to slide on to Tommy’s bare feet, eliciting muffled but sincere yelps of pain. Occasionally a candle would sputter but then light up again almost immediately, like the trick candles on a birthday cake. No relief was in sight. Puck shifted his shape again, this time taking on Tommy’s form. He put on Tommy’s soccer cleats and laced them up. “I really have to be going now,” he said. “I’m off to lead some wanderers – ‘through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier,’ as your mortal poets would say. Ho, ho, I do love visiting this realm.” Tommy watched as his double left the room, switching out the light. The only thing Tommy could see now was the glow of the candles, still stuck between his toes.
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