03-14-1991
March 14, 1991
Dear diary,
I did something bad. Like really bad. Something I knew I was never supposed to do. Especially when my mom was at work and I was home alone. She told me specifically, “Elisabeth, when I’m gone don’t open this front door for anyone.” And what did I do? I opened the front door.
It wasn’t my fault. I mean it wasn’t really my fault. I heard the doorbell ring and I tried to hide, ya know, because if no one thinks I’m home maybe they’d go away. Except, I had been standing in front of the kitchen window, and the stranger, a woman in a long, green dress, saw me from the front stoop before I could duck down under the sink. I would’ve called someone. Called mom, but she got a new number when we moved here and the note must’ve fallen off of the fridge because I couldn’t find it. And I couldn’t call the cops, mostly because I didn’t know the emergency number for the police in Scotland. And the yellow pages, or whatever the equivalent Scottish phone book was, was packed away in a box somewhere I thought.
Who randomly comes to the door? Like was it a Jehovah’s Witness? A door-to-door saleman—saleswoman? Someone selling Bibles maybe? Or it could be a burglar? Do they have burglar’s here in Inverchoran, Scotland? I’m sure they do. But would a burglar ring the doorbell? Probably not.
I think I’ve seen too many crime documentaries. Maybe…
I remember lying there on the floor of the kitchen, like I was in the middle of some shootout. Should I have grabbed a weapon? Could the woman be armed? This wasn’t America where there were more guns than people. But still—who rings a stranger’s doorbell?
After a minute, the woman rang again. “‘Ello? Is der eny one ‘ome?” She spoke in a thick accent. Everyone here spoke in a thick accent. Though I guess to them, mom and I, were the ones with the foreign accents being American. I thought maybe if I didn’t answer, she’d go away. Then she said: “I saw someone thru’ de window… I know yer dere.”
What was I supposed to do? Do I get help? Run and hide? I couldn’t keep lying there on the floor. Like I was waiting for the stranger to bust the door down or something. Nope. Nuh-uh. So I grabbed a knife before making my way to the door.
“Who is it?” I asked as my hands shook. “What do you want?”
It was rude, maybe, to say it like I did. But I was trying to be threatening. Maybe I could scare them away.
The woman told me her name was Professor Macgonagol…Mcgonnagal…Mc-something-al…I don’t remember. And I’m not good at spelling it. She said she was a teacher from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy. I was sure I misheard that. So I asked her to repeat it, and yes, she did say witchcraft and wizardy.
“Why are you here?” I asked her.
“I’m looking fer an Elisabeth Finch. She’s been accepted to our skool,” the woman told me. That was my name. I may have accidentally said that out loud, loud enough that she heard it through the door. She asked if I could let her inside. I said no. She asked me why and I told her I wasn’t allowed to open the door for strangers. Then she asked if anyone was home with me and no one was. The neighbor had dropped me off after school and mom was still at work, my step dad was out of town for his job too. But I didn’t tell her any of this, just in case she was some escaped crazy person from a mental hospital.
I told her my mom was in the shower and couldn't come to the door. I wasn’t gonna be stupid and let her inside, so I told her I’d be back after I talked to my mom.I ran to the bathroom, turned on the shower tap. I was gonna get in trouble for wasting water. But I would’ve taken that over possibly being murdered, thanks.
But look, I could only stall for so long. Mom didn’t get off work til five and after about 30 minutes of the woman hanging out on the front stoop, I had to make a choice when it was clear she wasn’t about to leave.
The woman didn’t look dangerous. And I guessed she could be a teacher, she certainly looked strict enough. “What do you teach?” I asked her through the kitchen window.
“Transfigurations,” she told me.
I didn’t know what that was. Clearly she had to be some crazy lady from a mental hospital. Nope. Nuh-uh.
“Elisabeth are yer ‘ome alone now?” the woman eventually asked.
“No,” I answered firmly. “My mom is in the shower.”
“Yer mum’s been in de shower fer awhile—”
“I’ll go check,” I shouted before I hurried away down the hall. I ask you, what was I supposed to do at this point? The smart thing would’ve been to call the police and I would’ve called the police if I knew the number. Maybe I should’ve looked for the phonebook. Maybe I should’ve tried climbing out the window and making a break for it across the street to the neighbor’s house. If I did that though, the woman might have tried to catch me. Or there could've been someone else waiting on the street in one of those white vans people tell you to stay away from.
Anywhere I looked, it was a bad decision.
What else was I supposed to do?
So, yeah…I opened the door when I wasn’t supposed to. And I opened the door to a stranger. Though I did ask if she had an ID. She did. I’ve never seen a Scottish license before, but it looked legit. Her name was Minerva Mcgonagal. Age: forty-something, I think. Okay. Forty-something, Scottish lady, with dark hair and graying temples and a long green dress. Possible teacher. I found a piece of paper and wrote that down and shoved it into a drawer with the measuring cups before I let her inside.
“She said I could let you in,” I told her. “You can sit at the kitchen table, if you want.”
She nodded, taking a seat in the chair with the clearest view of the hallway to the bathroom. I offered to make her some tea. I think Scottish people drink a lot of tea. Or is that British people? Is there a difference? English people like tea. Americans not so much considering the whole Boston Tea Party thing. But mom liked tea. And she had a lot of herbal teas in the cabinet. No sugar though, we usually used honey. I used the kettle for the stove because it took longer than the electric kettle on the counter and I was definitely stalling. And I even went through the trouble of getting three cups out of the cabinet instead of just the two. I hoped she would have assumed the last was for mom.
I grabbed a couple different flavored boxes of tea out and put them on the table with the three cups that I filled with hot water. I asked her if she wanted some milk for her tea (We didn’t have real milk in the fridge. My mom was a vegan, so we didn’t drink dairy. But we did have half a carton of soymilk.) but the woman refused. Probably because she didn’t like soymilk. I didn’t like it much either.
And then we waited, while the tea steeped.
“So…you teach transfigurations at a school?” I asked her.
“Yes.”
“What is transfigurations?” I wondered.
“It’s de study of changin’ somethin’ ento somethin’ else,” she told me. I didn’t understand that answer.
“Like a transformation?”
“Of a sort…”
“And how do you do that?”
“Magic,” she said.
Magic. As if that were a real thing. But then again didn’t Jesus transform water into wine and isn’t that magic? But the bible also said to stay away from magic. It said it was of the Devil, or at least that’s what mom believed. She wouldn’t even let me read the Chronicles of Narnia because there was a witch in it even though the author, C.S. Lewis was a Christian. A Christian, but not a Seventh-day Adventist. There was a big difference.
“Are you a witch?” I don’t know what possessed me to ask that. But I really didn’t like when she nodded in a yes.
Nope. Nuh-uh. Don’t like this. How do I get out of this?
“Why are you here?” I asked her again. “What do you want?”
“Like I said before Ms. Finch. I’m ‘ere to bring yer acceptance letter to Hogwarts Skool—”
“Of witchcraft and wizardy,” I finished. “It’s a school that teaches witchcraft?”
“It’s a skool dat teaches magic.”
…
“I didn’t apply to that school,” I told her. “How did I get accepted?”
“All magical children een Great Britain are accepted at our skool.”
I was confused. Magical children? That couldn’t have been what she meant. She must’ve meant all children are magical…or something. I was sure I was misunderstanding something. She did have a very thick accent. Or maybe she really was a crazy lady and I was about to be murdered.
I guess I wasn’t good at hiding that last thought on my face because the woman called it out. “Don’t be afraid, ‘eary. I’m not ‘ere to hurt ye.”
“...I didn’t say you would…”
“Yer face says it all,” the woman told me. Then when I tell you she asked me again when mom was going to be out of the shower, I just about jumped out of my seat.
“She’ll be out in a minute, I think,” I lied.
“Ms. Finch, are ‘e alone right now?”
“No. Mom is in the shower,” I told her again.
She gave me this look. She didn’t believe me. “‘here is yer mum?”
“In the shower.”
That was my story and I was sticking to it.
“I’m not ‘ere to ‘urt ye.”
Yeah, that’s exactly what someone would say if they’re trying to kidnap you.
“Is yer mum at work? When will she be ‘ome?”
“She is home. Like I said, she’s showering and should be out any minute.”
I could tell the woman was getting a bit frustrated. “Look ‘ere lass, I dink yer misunderstanding de situation. I’m a professor at a skool dat teaches magic to young witches and wizards.”
“I heard that. But I am not a witch or a wizard, ma’am. I don’t know why you’re here.”
“Because ye ‘ave been accepted.”
“Again I didn’t apply,” I told her. “And my mom wouldn’t have either. We don’t let that kind of stuff in the house.”
“Kind of stuff?”
“Magic stuff, ya know. The Bible says it’s devil stuff—”
“Ah. I see. Is yer mum religious?”
“Very.”
“Dat makes sense. ‘hat religion do yer practice?”
“Seventh-day Adventistism.”
“I’m not familiar ‘ith dat one.”
“We go to church on Saturdays.”
“Are ye Jewish?”
“No. It’s kind of like Mormons, but we don’t wear the funny underwear or have all the wives. Also there’s a girl prophet not a man so…”
I didn’t know how to explain it to her. Half of it sounded bananas to me when my mom talked about it so I could only imagine how it sounded to her. Probably about as strange as her telling me she’s a witch that teaches at a magic school.
“Alright, I see dis situation is a bit ‘ore complicated dan usual.”
“How so?”
“Usually I’d perform a simple transfiguration spell to convince ye and yer family dat magic exists, ‘owever considering de religious upbringing dat might spook ye.”
Yeah. That’s definitely true. I was already more than a little spooked I tell you. But if she could actually do magic…I’d probably believe she was something supernatural if she did something supernatural. But then what? If she’s something supernatural, what's to say that’s good?
I was feeling a bit curious, I think. Maybe that’s why I asked her if she could show me a spell? “Are ye sure?” She asked.
I nodded. “I can handle it.”
I lied.
I was a big, big, liar.
I did not handle it.
Did not handle it at all.
I remember I almost fell out of my chair when the woman, witch, turned the teacup meant for my mom into a mouse that scurried off the table. Yeah. Nope. Nope. I pushed away from the table violently, looking for a place to run. Nope. No thanks. I’m good. I’m really good.
Okay. That just happened. What was I supposed to do with that? I mean she turned a teacup into a mouse. She turned a teacup into a mouse. A mouse. Teacup one minute, then a mouse. And I think that teacup was one of mom’s favorites. Oh…I’m in trouble.
I’m in a lot of trouble. Oh, boy.