Maisel’s Neighbourhood Watch Log: September 17th, 2023 – 1:12 PM – Murlocke’s Basement
The inside of Murlocke’s house was more like a museum display than a home. Everything was expected to always look clean and tidy.
There were paintings and statues everywhere that his moms called “art,” but were mostly confused blobs of clay or paint. There’s one that looks like a turtle that I like quite a bit.*
| *Painting: La Tortue au printemps (The Tortoise in the Springtime), Marc Richier, 1931 |
We never spent a lot of time inside of Murlocke’s house, so whenever we got the chance, it was always exciting.
While Sasheen and I waited by the front door, Murlocke went ahead through his house to check if either of his parents was on the main floor. When the coast was clear, he signalled us to come to the basement door.
Someone might be downstairs, so we need to stay quiet.
Sasheen and I gave him a salute, which I don’t think he appreciated. He just rolled his eyes and started down the stairs.
As we got closer to the bottom, we could hear footsteps coming from the other side of the basement. Murlocke poked his head around the corner and then motioned for us to do the same.
At the far end was a wall with several TVs, each set to a different weather station. One had a news reporter giving the weather reading for the afternoon, while the others had fancy-looking maps and charts displayed. I didn’t know what any of them meant.
Murlocke pointed to a door beside the TVs.
That’s where we need to go. All of her weather equipment will be in that office. Are you ready?
Sasheen and I nodded.
Okay, three, two—
The office door opened, and Mrs. (Emily) Graves.† walked out. She was holding a few sheets of paper and was wearing a headset.
| † Comment: It feels weird writing her first name, but Sasheen says we should address everyone by their first name once so it’s not confusing in the future. – Maisel |
That’s what I’m saying. The weather readings are off the charts right now. It’s like we’re about to be hit by a hurricane.
Mrs. Graves loooooves the weather. It’s all she wants to talk about. Last summer, my mom and I drove up to Kipling Lake, and when we got back, Mrs. Graves asked me so many questions about the colour of the lake water, whether there was dew on the leaves, and… Ugh, never mind. I don’t even want to keep writing examples in here. It’s so boring.‡
| ‡ Comment: Imagine how I feel. The first thing she asks me when I get home from school is what type of clouds I thought were in the sky that day. – Murlocke |
I know, it doesn’t make any sense, but Harrington is about to get battered by a bad storm. Every chart I’m looking at says the same thing.
Mrs. Graves turned her back to us to look at the TVs. Murlocke nudged us and began counting down from three. When he hit one, he started running towards the open door at the end of the hallway. Sasheen hesitated, but I nudged her to follow, and we began sprinting across the basement.
As we were approaching the door, Mrs. Graves started to turn in our direction, but at that moment, a light began flashing on one of the TV screens. She quickly spun to look back at whatever was causing the flashing. We ran past her, into the office. Once inside, Murlocke slowly shut the door so his mom wouldn’t notice.
I had never been inside this room before; it was so cool! It was brimming with all of these little electronics. A workbench took up most of one of the walls, and a desk with a computer sat at the far end. All of these fancy-looking computer components littered the workbench, and the desk had a computer with three screens— I didn’t even know that was possible. The computer displayed a screensaver featuring different weather patterns.
Your mom REALLY likes the weather.
I whispered, as I stopped to look at a little paper diorama on one of the bookshelves. There was a little paper tab sticking out that was begging me to pull it. I HAD TO RESIST— I couldn’t stop myself; I grabbed and pulled the tab. The little paper tornado moved across the diorama and destroyed a little paper barn.
What did I say about touching?
Sorry!
I pushed the tab back in, which undid the destruction caused by the tornado.
Murlocke sighed and sat down at his mom’s desk.
Okay, what are we looking for?
Sasheen looked over Murlocke’s shoulder.
We need a program that will let us see a satellite view of Harrington
Murlocke opened a weather-tracking program, which showed a bird’s-eye view of Harrington. He pressed a button that showed a view of Harrington with different weather filters: Wind, Temperature, Precipitation, you get it.
There!
Murlocke stopped on a filter that looked like a hurricane was covering the better part of Harrington.
I don’t get it.
Remember when we were learning about storms, and Mrs. Sharon said that when you’re inside of one, everything is chaotic, but if you step outside and look at the big picture, a pattern emerges?
We’re in the eye of the storm?
The eye?
I was confused. Did I miss this class last year?
Sasheen pointed at the screen, slightly to the left of the middle of the storm.
The eye means the center of the storm. And not quite, Murlocke, we’re here. Look where the eye of the storm is.
She dragged her finger across the screen to the middle.
The Haunted Forest…
No… that can’t be—
I was interrupted by footsteps approaching the office door.
As they drew near, we could hear Mrs. Graves’ voice.
I can send you reports for days backing up what I’m saying.
Murlocke, Sasheen, and I all looked at each other, wide-eyed.
Hide!
We immediately started running in opposite directions.
The door flew open, and Mrs. Graves flicked on the lights and walked straight to her computer.
Luckily, we had all found places to hide: Murlocke behind the (now) open door, Sasheen between two bookshelves, and me as a statue.§ Mrs. Graves walked by all of us, oblivious.
| § Comment: I wouldn’t call Maisel’s statue pose “hiding.” – Murlocke |
All that matters is this storm is going to hit Harrington hard and quick.
Mrs. Graves sat down at her computer.
Murlocke motioned towards the exit with his head. After doing a brief scan to make sure that Mrs. Graves wasn’t looking our way, I began to inch towards the exit. As I was passing the bookshelf, I felt my backpack get caught on something. I gave it a teeny-tiny tug and realized that my dad’s radio was caught on the edge of the bookshelf. I gave it another little pull, hoping the radio would come loose, but it had the opposite effect. The radio slid out of its holder on the backpack and began to plummet to the floor.
It was inches away from smashing into the ground when Sasheen lunged forward and barely caught it.¶
| ¶ Comment: My BEST friend, everyone. – Maisel |
She looked up at me and took a deep breath.
Suddenly, the radio began blaring that high-pitched squeal it had made earlier that day. Sasheen fumbled with it to shut it off, but I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards the door.
Mrs. Graves swivelled in her chair and saw… Murlocke holding the radio. Sasheen and I were expertly hiding behind him.
“Murlocke, what was that noise? I’m working right now.
Sorry, Mom, just a… uh… my walkie-talkie.
Well, please keep it down. You shouldn’t even be in here; there’s a lot of fragile equipment.
I know.
Mrs. Graves spun back to face her computer, turning her attention back to her phone call.
Sorry, yes, I’m sending you a reading right now.
The three of us awkwardly shuffled towards the exit so that Murlocke was always between us and Mrs. Graves.
We tumbled out of Mrs. Graves’ office, and Murlocke quietly shut the door behind us.
We are never doing that again…
– Maisel
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