November 1966. Grimmauld Place.
Mr and Mrs Murray had recently moved to Grimmauld Place, in London.
Before the Murrays lived in a small village, nestled in the wide moorland. But Mr Murray had got a new job in a small company in the capital, run by an old family friend, and this was undoubtedly an excellent career opportunity for Mr Murray, so he and his wife gladly agreed to the move.
In just a few weeks, they managed to find a fairly affordable apartment in the Grimmauld Place neighborhood.
And so finally, after arranging the rental paperwork, they packed up the few things they had and left, leaving behind their house and the moorland.
The Murrays had a young son called Thomas - but everyone called him Tommy - who was ten years old. Tommy was a very curious and smart child and, as his parents did, he welcomed the idea of the move with sincere enthusiasm. Or, at least, before arriving in Grimmauld Place.
In the days before the departure, Tommy had often fantasized about his new life in the capital. In the naivety typical of his age, he had daydreamed about the house in which he would have lived, the bedroom where he would have slept and spent time doing his homework, and the new friends he would have met.
Unfortunately, little Tommy had been pretty disappointed when he first had seen Grimmauld Place. He had quickly realized that he had set foot in the most battered of London's neighborhoods and his new home was not quite what he had imagined.
It was a dull, grey afternoon when our story starts. Tommy was wandering aimlessly through the street of Grimmauld Place, looking around with an expression halfway between curious and disgusted. The buildings of Grimmauld Place were all nearly identical, with their filthy and scruffy facades, and the window panes were broken and dull, thick with grime. The patches of grass that dotted the road were left uncultivated; several garbage bags lay abandoned on the sidewalk that lined the street and the air was full of the classic pungent smell of rotten waste.
After walking for a while, Tommy slumped bored on one of the benches that lined the street, which looked miserable, too. He took a snack out of the pocket of his trousers, which he had stolen from the kitchen, without being seen by his mother before leaving; he noisily unwrapped it and bit into it voraciously. He felt the sugary taste expand rapidly inside his mouth.
"You there!" a shrill, unfamiliar voice called to him.
Tommy turned and noticed a group of three boys and a little girl standing a few steps from him: from a first glance, it was clear that the three must have been more or less the same age as Tommy. Instead, the girl looked younger than them.
The one who had spoken to Tommy was a blond boy, a little taller than the others, thin and lanky. He had freckles scattered all over his nose and watery blue eyes which were now looking at Tommy with suspicion. A few meters behind him, he was supported by two other boys, a round one with a sweet and plump face, not at all threatening, with dark hair and brown eyes; the other boy was skinny, with red hair. He wore thick-lensed glasses and his front teeth protruded a little. Finally, closing the line was the girl, who seemed a bit at sea. She wore long, slightly disheveled blond braids that fell down her chest and she had the same watery blue eyes as the first child. Tommy guessed they probably must be brother and sister.
Tommy watched them silently and defensively, as he chewed the bite of his snack.
"Are you new? I've never seen you here before." asked the blond boy.
Tommy nodded, swallowing the bite.
"Yes, I recently moved." he replied, letting his guard down.
The kid seemed friendly, after all.
"I see... Anyway, that's our headquarters." said the blond boy, pointing to the bench.
"This? Headquarters... for what?" asked Tommy, unable to hide his curiosity. The situation was becoming a little interesting.
"It's a secret!" the boy with red hair spoke up, in protest.
The blond boy suddenly took on a serious expression.
"You must be part of the group to know it." he declared, in an uncompromising tone, which seemed to admit no objections.
"And we don't even know your name!" the chubby boy exclaimed.
Tommy took a while to answer. In silence, he carefully scanned the three boys and girl, without saying a word. Then, his mouth widened into a smile.
"My name is Thomas Murray, but you can call me Tommy. Nice to meet you." he said, introducing himself to the kids, "And I would really like to join your group. As I said earlier, I recently moved here and I don't know anyone yet. You seem nice and I'd like us to become friends."
All four the kids looked at each other, surprised because they were not expecting such a request. The blond boy (who was supposed to be the leader of the small gang) seemed to be pondering the matter intently. Finally, after receiving a couple of nods from his friends, he approached Tommy with his hand extended towards him.
"I'm Jim, nice to meet you. And this is my sister Lindsay." he said, pointing to the girl with braids, who smiled shyly.
"I'm Jack." the red-haired boy waved his hand, but kept his expression serious. Tommy thought he looked a bit odd.
"I'm Luke. Nice to meet you!" concluded the chubby boy.
Tommy smiled to everyone, delighted. Then, he asked:
"Does that mean I'm in the crew now?"
"No... not yet!" Jim answered with an enigmatic smirk on his lips.
"Why not?" Tommy replied, confused.
"You see, the fact is that people in this group are tough and brave guys. If you really want to join us, you have to pass a test..."
"A test?" repeated Tommy, slightly frowning. He scanned all the members of the small band in front of him. None of them looked that tough or brave as Jim had said.
"Yep. A test." explained Jim, speaking quietly, "A sort of proof to prove that you are truly worthy of being one of us."
Tommy stared at Jim a little suspiciously. Nevertheless, all that mystery intrigued him. He wanted to know more. So, after a few silent moments, Tommy decided to play along.
"Ok, I'm in. Let's do it!" he exclaimed firmly, accepting the challenge of Jim and his friends.
The others smiled satisfied and Jim asked Tommy to follow him.
And so, compactly, the group of kids walked along the scruffy street of Grimmauld Place.
A leaden sky overhung them, the sun was completely obscured by a thick blanket of dark clouds. The road was deserted, there was not a soul but them. Jim, his sister, and the others walked dumbly, without saying a word; Tommy followed them as a slight tension began to lick his stomach.
"Where are you taking me?" he asked, trying to sound less fearful than he really was.
In Tommy, the doubt began to spread that perhaps it was not a good idea to accept the challenge of those children. After all, he'd just met them and didn't have the faintest idea what their intentions were.
"You'll see... We are almost there." Jim answered cheerfully.
A few minutes passed, after which Jim and his friends stopped in front of a filthy, shabby house, like any other building in the neighborhood.
"Here we are. Look!" Jim announced, pointing to the house.
Tommy looked up and scanned the building looming before him. At first glance, he couldn't find nothing strange in it, it looked like a house like any other nearby.
"Oh... it's a house." he said with a tired voice. Why had those kids brought him there? Tommy couldn't understand.
"It's not a simple house." Jack protested harshly, considering Tommy's comment as a personal offense.
"You notice anything unusual?" Luke asked.
"And what should I notice?" Tommy retorted, a little frowning.
He watched the facade of the building appear in front of his eyes and the only thing he saw was dirt stains.
"Look carefully!" Jack insisted as he pointed his index finger at the house number posted above the door of the building.
"Eleven" Tommy read coldly "So what?"
"Now look at the others!" Luke exclaimed.
Tommy rolled his eyes, then looked back at the numbers hanging above the filthy doors. In the house to the left of number eleven he read the number ten, written in beautiful handwriting on a white ceramic plaque, yellowed by dust that had never been peeled over the years. In the building to the right of eleven, however, he saw the number thirteen. He studied those three numbers carefully several times, before announcing:
"Twelve is missing." Tommy's voice was flat and a little bored.
"Exactly!" Jim exclaimed, in the same encouraging tone of a teacher praising a schoolboy who answered a question well.
"So what? It's a simple numbering mistake..."
"That is where you are wrong! It is not a simple human mistake. The number twelve exists, you just can't see it!" Jim explained seriously.
Tommy furrowed his eyebrows unconvinced.
"He's under the effect of a spell that makes it invisible!" Jack said, as if that were the most plausible explanation. "It's a haunted house and ghosts live inside." he declared like a scientist at the conclusion of a scientific explanation.
Tommy rolled his eyes in shock. He couldn't believe his ears.
"You're kidding! Witches and ghosts do not exist!"
"They exist and how!" jumped on Luke, deeply offended, "Jim and Jack are right! It's a haunted house with spirits inside."
Tommy couldn't hold back a laugh. He didn't know if they were making fun of him or if they were really foolish enough to believe such a story. He had stopped believing in ghosts, witches and all that nonsense when he was still very young.
"You won't really believe it? You're kidding me! I'm not falling for it!" Tommy exclaimed, his mood souring, as he scowled at the four kids around him.
"Every now and then you see a window on the wall ... a window that is not there now! It appears and disappears as it pleases." Lindsay intervened, very serious and a little frightened.
"My brother saw it too!" Luke declared agitated.
"I guess he just imagined it." Tommy said amused.
"No, he didn't imagine it! My brother does not tell lies. He's fourteen and he's not afraid of anything!" the chubby child snapped, as if the older brother's age had the power to dispel any reasonable doubt on the matter.
Tommy shook his head in exasperation. However, he decided to humor them. After all, he had nothing to lose and would have a laugh.
"So the test... what is it about?" he asked, with a sardonic smile on his face.
"It's very easy. Grab a stone and throw it against the wall, exactly between number eleven and number thirteen." Jim simply explained.
Tommy furroed his eyebrows again.
"That's all?"
"Yep. That's all." Jim confirmed in an affable tone.
Tommy sighed. He considered the situation absolutely ridiculous. But he decided to grin and bear it.
He looked on the ground, on the sidewalk around his feet, for a stone that was right for him. When he found the stone, he grabbed it and threw it with all his might at the spot Jim had pointed out to him.
The clash produced a thud, which echoed loudly in the stillness of the evening. Then, Tommy scanned the wall of the building, which still looked dirty and empty, as it had been a moment before. A caustic, victorious smile spread across his face.
"Did you see that? Nothing happ..."
But Tommy couldn't end the sentence up.
With his eyes still on the gray wall, it was a few seconds before Tommy - and all the other kids with him - realised what he was seeing. In the exact spot hit by the stone, the wall that had been absolutely empty a second before (and Tommy was more than sure, since he had been watching it for several minutes) began to move in a bizarre way. The bricks that made it up began to twist, first stretching, then spreading, as if they were stretching. Gradually, a rectangular figure began to take shape. Out of nowhere a window appeared. Tommy couldn't believe his eyes. He pinched the skin on his arm hard to check that he wasn't dreaming. But it was all real: in front of him, on the facade of the building, stood a new window, with dark glass reflecting the thick, angry grey of the sky.
Jim, Lindsay, Jack, Luke and Tommy stood there, unable to move, with bated breath. They all kept observing the same spot, hardly blinking.
Suddenly, the shutters of the mysterious window opened, emitting a sinister creak. Tommy tried to swallow, but his mouth was no longer able to produce saliva. A moment later, the indistinct outline of what resembled a child appeared. Luke gave a little cry.
The child peered out, showing sharp features and a penetrating gaze, despite the fact that he did not appear to be more than seven or eight years old. He had thick black hair that barely fluttered in the cold evening breeze. For a moment, Tommy had the impression that the bizarre, frightening figure had raised his hand, waving it in greeting. Nevertheless, he was unable to make sure because his legs had come to life and they began to move of their own free will. By now, Tommy was running at breakneck speed, in the middle of that filthy street of Grimmauld Place, screaming in terror. His fellow adventurers had imitated him, and now all four of the boys and the little girl were running fast in opposite directions, only wanting to get back to their safe homes as soon as possible.
Before anyone else could notice the weird window that appeared out of nowhere on the empty wall between number eleven and number thirteen, the dark glass closed quickly, fading into darkness until it vanished completely.
The child who had looked out, cheerfully greeting those kids who had seemed so nice to him, was a little disappointed to see their terrified reaction.
After all, it was they who had thrown that stone at his house, at number twelve of Grimmauld Place.