A Door to Another World

Chapter Two: Harold, the Ruler of Wakefield

Harold, the Ruler of Wakefield was fast asleep in his little bedroom. He fell asleep instantly when his head met his pillow and would not wake up until 9am the next morning. If he had been awake, he would have noticed the little procession outside his window. A procession that happened every year around the same time, but in different places all over the world. This time they chose the little park in front of Harold's house. Harold, the Ruler of Wakefield was a 7 -year-old boy, whose full name was Harold Hammersmith. But he much rather liked to go by the name Harold, the Ruler of Wakefield. It was a name he had given himself and he was very proud of it. As a ruler he claimed several parts of the little town Ravensbridge for himself. Those parts included: the shed in his grandmother's garden, which he claimed to be his dungeons, a little accumulation of fairly small trees behind his primary school, that no one wanted to enter, since it was usually used by people to dispose of their rubbish, which he claimed to be his forest, a little run down wooden bridge on the east side of the town and a little tipi, which he had erected behind it, which was the bridge to his kingdom, of course his bedroom, which was his castle and the park in front of his house.

And outside of his castle, late on the 24th of August, thousands of little creatures, elves, gnomes, fairies and goblins came together to celebrate their annually declaration of independence as a folk. As the clock struck 12am, the president Frederick, who was dressed in a tartaned overall and a huge top hat, made his way to the podium to hold a speech to his folk. As the clock struck 12am, the storm, that was announced by the news stations that morning hit the park in the middle of Ravensbridge causing the bushes to bend like ballet dancers and the trees outside of Ravensbridge to shiver. Just as that storm hit, Fredericks top head was blown of his hat, spiralling through the air, twirling around faster and faster until it landed safely in one of the bushes of Harold, the ruler of Wakefield's garden. Where it would lay safely until the next morning, when Harold, the Ruler of Wakefield went outside into the garden to play football on the lawn.

When Harold woke up at 9am in the morning, he went to his window to check whether the storm had hit his small kingdom yet. It had. All his neighbour's gardening furniture was broken or spread across the street. Some roofs were missing tiles and his park looked chaotic. The bushes were ripped into half and there were lots of the missing tiles shattered on the lawn. Herold, the ruler of Wakefield sighted and took a deep breath before opening the door of his bedroom. As he walked down the stairs, he could smell that his parents had prepared breakfast for him. When he entered the kitchen, his mother sat at the table reading the newspaper and his dad stood outside in the garden trying to rescue a potted plant, that had one branch snapped in half. 'Good morning!' 'Morning my dear' they replied in unison. Harold sat down in his throne, a big wooden chair with padding, and reached for his mug of hot chocolate. 'This storm was quite strong...' he said as he took another sip. 'Yes, 'replied his father 'it was unusually strong for this time of the year! That's the climate change we all have been talking about for years.' 'Maybe it was just a thunderstorm.' His mother remarked behind her newspaper. 'Maybe.' His father said getting up from the ground brushing the dirt of his jeans.

It was Saturday, which meant that his father, who was working for a big company was finally free to play with his son. Harold loved playing football with his father, because his mother never wanted to play for longer than half an hour, before she returned inside. She didn't like football, she would have liked it better if her son wanted to play baseball, since that was what she cared about more than football. Football was overrated in her opinion. Harold put the ball down onto the grass and kicked the ball towards his father who stood between to posts of the clothesline, waiting for Harold to make his way towards the goal. The ball flew across the lawn of the rather small backyard spinning through the air, missing the father and finally landing between the huge branches of a cypress. The same cypress that had swallowed the top hat earlier on, which his father held in his hands now. 'What are you holding dad?' Harold, the ruler of Wakefield asked. His father did not answer him at first. 'It seems like a small top hat to me'  

Authors note: 

I just wanted to write a few quick notes to this story . So, as some might have already figured English is not my mother tongue. I would therefore appreciate any sort of critisism. As for my future plans on updating this story and continuing the plot, I might take longer to update this story. I will try to update as much as possible though. I hope you like this regardless. 

Maid of Madness