Folksburywoods

Silas Scrum lived in a hole in a tree. It was nothing like the holes the little harried feet men lived in. The hole was dark, dank, and cobweb-filled. He lived there alone and liked it that way. Silas was a keeper of things. His job was to travel around, sticking his nose into everyone else’s business and then writing it down in a big heavy book.

One morning, the Keeper of Things stumbled upon an unusual worm-like creature. “Good morning, who are you, and what is your function?” asked Silas.

The creature remained still, took a deep breath from its hookah, blew it out, and said, “Who are you?”

“No, not me. I asked you who you are, not me,” stammered Silas.

“Of course, I’m not you. If I were you, I wouldn’t be here asking you who you are?” said the worm.

“I am Silas Scrum, the Keeper of Things, and I need to know who you are and what is your function,” replied Silas.

“Now that we know you, I will tell you who I’m not. I am not you, that’s who,” said the worm.

“For Pete’s sake, I just need to know your name or title and what you do so I can put it in my book, and the Lord Chamberlain can tax you. Is that too much to ask?” said Silas, flipping through his book.

“Lord who?” asked the worm sitting up.

“Lord Chamberlain, our ruler, you have to pay him tax or be thrown in the dungeon until you pay, which in your case would be never,” answered the Keeper.

While Silas was talking, the worm had blown an enormous cloud of smoke, making it impossible for Silas to see him. As the smoke settled, the creature was gone, leaving only the hookah behind.

“Go figure, dashed off in the smoke screen,” grumbled Silas. Then he heard a voice from above.

“Excusssssse me, sir. You asked me about my function a moment ago. Well, at that moment, it was to prepare for my transformation, and now, my function is to leave you to your keeping. Good day, sir,” the large blue butterfly said, flittering away.

“Some days, I just can’t catch a break,” mumbled Silas as he closed his book and headed home.