26 Jun 2023

School Textbook by Khystyna Stepanenko

Chapter 1. Breakfast.

Once upon a time, a little boy in a quiet British valley wanted to betray his childhood. It was early in the morning when cold winter rays rushed into Ollie's sleeping room. The wind seeping through the window frame sang along with his wonderful dream, in which he grew into a tall, handsome man, living alone, with no one to command him, and instead of soup for a meal, he always had an apple tart. But Dad's husky voice quickly rejuvenated Ollie by 20 years and gave him back the problems of an eight-year-old boy.

There were school holidays, but a poorly finished term ruined all of them for Ollie. His parents found him a tutor who was supposed to work with him every day during the entire two-week "break". Ollie hated them for it. He had no interest in studying; he wanted to explore the valley with his friends, build snowmen, and unwrap presents after a hearty lunch of apple tart. Sitting in agony with an old, wrinkled teacher and counting friends, snowmen, presents, and apple tarts only in math problems was not part of his plans.

Crawling out of his room wrapped in a warm feather blanket from head to toe, the boy sighed heavily and looked at his parents with pain in his eyes. His mother ruthlessly heated pea soup on the stove, simultaneously peeling and stuffing garlic into her son's shoe, believing it would ward off evil spirits. Meanwhile, his father, in a fit of frustration, scoured his wallet for the exact amount of money, meticulously ensuring there would be no change needed from the teacher. Lost amidst their preoccupations, the boy's sighs and sniffles went unnoticed.

As they gathered for a disgusting breakfast, the boy remembered his dream; He closed his eyes and, swallowing the soup, imagined a spoonful of sweet stewed apples, the cloyingness of which makes his mouth cramp.

Mom: (shouting) Open your eyes immediately, Ollie! What is this behavior? What kind of behavior is this? You're about to spill the soup everywhere.

Ollie: (whispering) If only...

Just as the mother was poised to engage in a heated argument with her son, their verbal exchange was abruptly halted by the resonant chime of the doorbell. She looked at her husband in horror and rushed to chase after the sound to the front door. On the doorstep stood a handsome, middle-aged man. In his hands, he held thick notes and a couple of worn-out books. Gray hair was just beginning to lighten the man's head, while the wrinkles neatly contained the teacher's emotions. Frowning, he introduced himself as Professor Oliver from London to the entire family, effectively diverting attention from the abandoned pea soup. The boy was ready to start his lessons immediately, as long as he didn't have to finish his portion.


 


Chapter 2. Lesson.


Professor Oliver spread his belongings on the table in the child's room. He pulled his sweater over his fingers, as if trying to hide something.  Ollie noticed this, but thought the teacher was just cold.


Ollie: I can ask dad to light a fireplace in the room.

Oliver: No, thank you. I'm warm.

The professor began to open the books one by one and recite in a circle in a languid voice those boring phrases that the boy had been listening to all school year. After one hour, Ollie's eyes began to water and his neck involuntarily lowered his head to sleep. It was getting dark outside the window, but the light in the room was getting brighter.

Oliver: Aren't you interested?

Ollie: Well, of course I'm interested.

Oliver: Don't lie to me, boy. You would fall asleep after just one page.

Ollie: I'm sorry. Please don't tell Dad, I'm begging you.

Oliver: I won't tell, but you'll have to study.

To the boy's surprise, the professor closed the book and took out a small gray notebook from the pocket of his jacket. The professor looked at the excited but tired Ollie.

Olliver: Read the words from this notebook and you will remember everything I lectured you in.

Ollie picked up the notepad in disbelief and began to say the words aloud.

Olly: I conjure.. myself.. remember these words.. forever.

The boy continued to read, but the professor abruptly snatched the notebook from his hands and asked a question about the theorem with which he began his lesson. Ollie didn't even hesitate and repeated word for word what the teacher had read to him. The boy covered his mouth with his hand in surprise.

Ollie: (shocked) What is it?

Oliver: Magic, my boy, and nothing else. I'll tell you more, but we need to take a walk with you. I'm afraid within the walls of this house, it's dangerous for us.

Chapter 3. Enchanted Forest.

They ventured out onto the frost-kissed street, making their way towards the enchanting white forest. Although Ollie concealed it well, an undercurrent of fear coursed through his veins. As they went deeper into the fluffy snowy trees, Oliver halted, retrieving his notebook and illuminating his dark eyes with its power, began to read the last pages.

Suddenly, the icy surroundings melted away, and verdant grass sprouted beneath their feet. Ollie's hat took flight, finding solace in the welcoming earth, while graceful blue butterflies whisked away his scarf.

Ollie: Fantastic!

Oliver: Tell me, what do you want most right now?

Ollie: (thinking for a little) Ice cream! Apple tart flavor, please.

To his disbelief, Ollie found a cool waffle cone filled with his desired ice cream in his hand. It was as if fortune had smiled upon him.

Oliver: I want to gift you this notebook. With it, the entire world will be at your command.

Ollie: But what about you?

Oliver: I have lived an extraordinary life. Magic can acquire anything in this world. Except one thing.

Ollie: Except what?

Oliver: Except time.

Ollie struggled to comprehend the professor's cryptic words. His mind conjured images of eternal summers beyond the window, everlasting ice cream in his grasp, and never-ending school vacations. He was willing to do anything to get the gray notepad.

Oliver: Give me your youth and I'll give you a notebook.

Olly: How can I give it to you?

Oliver: (hissing at how nosy the boy turned out to be) It's simple, I'll get your body and you will get mine. All you need to do is agree to this soulful exchange.

It was the first time the boy had been so frightened. In the morning he dreamed of growing up, but fear seized him. Why does he need magic if life is halved? Parents will die and friends will start families. But here, the professor's neck began to lengthen, his legs grew together into a long tail, and on the contrary, his tongue forked. Oliver turned into a large snake, which began to wrap around a fragile, little boy.

Oliver: (hissing and squirming) I'll take your youth if you do not surrender it willingly. But only then it would not make sense. You will die, and I will remain strim.

Ollie: Let me go!

Oliver: Never!

The kite began to coil around Ollie's body. The boy didn't know what to do. A page from a school textbook popped up in his head, where it was written that “snakes do not like strong and pungent odors, both natural and chemical origin. Therefore, the smell of garlic, dry mustard, and burnt grass will help scare away terrible reptiles.” Ollie took a moment to remember that he had a head of garlic in his boot, he was so used to the feeling of garlic bulb in his feet. All he had to do was take off his shoes. Wriggling along with the snake, he succeeded. He took out the head and began to rub it between his palms. The serpent froze at first, but soon began to cough and gasp to unravel its neck, which wrapped around half of the poor boy's body. Crawling deep into the forest and picking up an artificial summer with him.

Ollie was left alone. He proudly looked around, defeating magic with his own knowledge.No longer did he yearn for adulthood; he had discovered the intrinsic value of his youth and understood the significance of education. As for Professor Oliver and his magic, they vanished without a trace, forever shrouded in mystery.

The fact that blood differs in taste was known to every ghoul and vampire who began to fly out to hunt.  But the ancient king developed the life-necessary blood-drinking into a true culinary art.  When he had just started his first flights, it was necessary to get the victim well drunk with beer in order to get an intoxicating drink of a much better quality.  Add to this the search for young and healthy people whose blood did not stink of the rot of mortal life. The blood of babies, especially firstborns, was like living water for the living — gentle, pure, healing, but go and try to find a baby not protected by the gods! 

But new times brought some variety to his diet.  Various alcoholic beverages, on which he was believed to grow slaves, put into a magical sleep, recipes for making wine from blood, sometimes even supplements from spices from faraway lands... Younger ghouls under his leadership wrote down expensive pages with recipes, instructions and instructions.  Some of his old friends also took up experiments, sometimes surprising him with tastes.

However, only a few people from his circle have remained with the undead.  And those who remained, slipped into games for power and cunning tricks with people's minds. Instead, Berengard discovered a new direction in the flavors of blood. The victims' dreams also affected taste, even more so than their diet, which he had once struggled with until he hired nutritionists to do the drudgery on them. In addition, in the sleep of mortals, not even the taste of blood itself changed, it was rather something on the auric level, streams of ether that flowed out of the victim's wound in a cascade of tastes together with blood.  The most diverse dreams, inaccessible to ghouls, flooded Berengard's head, breaking all the laws of his species.  Sweet, romantic, nightmares, bright narcotic and even just dreams without dreams, as after hard physical labor — the king without a kingdom reveled in them in his last estate, hidden between the green mountains.


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