Get the Girl (pt 1)

A Modern-Day Fairy Tale

“Mister! Hey mister! You left your ….” It was useless, he had already disembarked the train. She could see him leaving the station running as the train continued its journey to the little girl’s hometown. The package he was carrying when he got on board still lying neatly in the seat opposite hers.

Wrapped in a dull brown wrapping paper held together with a couple of strings, it did not look like anything fancy rather almost mysterious. The parcel was the size of a shoebox. A small note attached to the string read “H.E.” in uneven, red letters. The person who wrote this must not have had a very steady hand. Was it written in a hurry? Maybe he was trembling.

It seemed to be calling out her name as it was staring her in the face. Looking round, she noticed she was the only one left on the coach. It was not a polite thing to do going through other people’s stuff, but in this case, she was sure she would be forgiven. Stretching out her hand from where she was sitting, she tried to reach for the parcel. Either her arms were too short, or the seat was too far removed. It wouldn’t be at least another six years for her arms to have grown to their full length. That knowledge was of no use to her now.

With a little thud, she landed on the floor. She then graciously jumped onto the seat next to the left item that had aroused her curiosity. With her gloved hands she turned the note around and slightly whispered the text on it to herself. Written in the same shaky, red letters the message that had startled her read. “Get this man. He’s the one.” She let go of it quickly and felt as if it was addressed to her and now had to run for her life. Was it written in blood? She checked her gloves for stains, but luckily, they were clean.

If this parcel ever reaches its destination, someone is going to have to pay for it with his life. She thought about it while unconsciously clenching the package and holding it tight against her chest. Looking down she noticed what she was doing. I cannot let this happen! Auntie and Uncle Gottlieber will understand, I’m sure. With the parcel held close to the chest, she waited till the train arrived at the next station.

Before getting off the train, she turned her head round the doors to see if anyone was looking. It was rather crowded. People were all on the way to their families for Christmas eve, just like her. Nobody looked especially suspicious. She jumped off the train and tried to walk away in an inconspicuous manner. A shrill voice from behind her yelled out, “Hey, stop that girl!” And that got her running as fast as her short legs could carry her.

Two men in long, brown raincoats were chasing her. Bumping into people who were loading their suitcases onto the train, she made her way off the platform and towards the exit. Nobody noticed how she slipped past the conductor and got away from the two strangers who were still looking round to see where she had gone to. “We must inform the chief,” one said to the other, “this is a major problem.”

Het got a slap on the back of the head from his partner accompanied with the words, “No poop, Sherlock. Did you at least get a good look at her?” A rub on the head and a nod was the silent answer. From one pocket a notebook was dug up and a pencil appeared from the other one.

“Here is what I have got: girl.”

“That’s it? Girl?”

“Well, what have you got, Mr Poirot?”

“She is carrying a light brown parcel the size of a shoebox.”

“Well, can’t be many of those around here, now. Let’s not call the chief, for this is another nice mess you have gotten us into. Best find her before it’s too late.”

The little girl was hiding behind a dumpster in an alley, breathing heavily from the running hoping she got rid of whoever it was that was following her. She never got a look at the person or persons. When she felt it was safe, she put the parcel down in front of her. What to do with you. I reckon the only way to find out who they are after is to open you. It’s not done, I know, but it’s the only way. She talked herself into opening it and she succeeded. Taking off her gloves, she got ready to untie the knots in the strings. The wrappings fell off smoothly and inside was indeed a shoebox. She lifted the top off it and inside she saw photographs and pieces of official-looking papers.

There was a copy of a birth certificate at the top. She looked at the name, but it did not ring a bell. P. E. Magnus. Judging from the date of birth he must now be 43 years old. Some recent pictures underneath show him to be a rather chubby man with a brown beard and a very friendly smile on his face. This looks like a chipper fellow. Why would anyone be looking for him. He looks like he would not hurt a fly.

Delving deeper into the pile of photographs and papers, she found what looked like an address. Well, Mr Magnus, it seems you are going to have a small visitor soon. Hopefully, I will be able to find you before any who wants to hurt you does. The young girl had made up her mind. Mr Magnus needed to be found and he was going to be found. Everything was put back in the box carefully, except for the piece of paper with the address on it. The strings were tightly secured around it and she got up to see if the coast was clear. It was.

To be continued.

Based on the writing prompt from writingpromptpal.