Once again, in London, the morning sun struggled to claim a patch of the sky and to pierce with its timid rays the big clouds parked over the rooftops - baggy, mischievous billows, apparently waiting for the best chance to shower any unwary Londoner who left homes without an umbrella.

In spite of the bad weather, the city began to wake up. Along the tree-lined sidewalks of Crocks Pot Road came the first familiar morning sounds: Mr. Hendricks, the milkman, left as usual aboard his cow-shaped pickup truck to sell fresh milk to the neighborhood families; the pigeons, roosting in the heat of the smoking chimneys, began to coo; the radios started to broadcast news and the dogs ran to their doors wagging their tails, ready for their walks in the nearby park.

As in almost every house on the street, at number 13 a new day was about to begin.

"Peter! Michael! Kate! Breakfast is ready!" shouted mother Eleanor from the bottom of the stairs.

Her shrill voice arrived upstairs like a tornado.

Peter opened his eyes, sat up suddenly on the edge of the bed, and realized he was still wearing his school uniform. The room was the usual mess: his army of toy soldiers was spread out over three quarters of the carpet and the comic book collection was exactly where he remembered it - well lined up by his desk and divided into heroes. He scratched his belly. Still a little dazed, he stood up and dragged himself with terrible effort to the bathroom.

"Wait for your turn, buddy!" said Michael, standing in front of the door with his arms crossed and his legs apart. "I don't know if you've noticed, but people are standing in queue."

As usual, going to the bathroom was quite a complicated affair at the Moffet home. Being last in line meant having to wait until Kate put rollers in Meatball's hair or until Michael loaded his illegal water pistols and spitefully emptied the tube of toothpaste and the bottle of soap into the toilet.

"I'd better start with breakfast!" Peter said, after a few computations.

"Are you still there?" shouted again Eleanor. "If you don't come down immediately, you'll go off to school on an empty stomach! Did you hear me?"

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" replied Michael, nudging his brother and rushing to the kitchen.

"We're coming too!" said Kate, leaving the bathroom, followed by Meatball, who had just received a new fashionable set of bangs. Thanks to the tender threats of Mother Eleanor, within a few minutes the whole family, with Dad Romeo at the head, sat in the kitchen eating delicious pancakes à la Moffet.

"My dear..." began Romeo with an ecstatic glance, "this time you've really created an everlasting memory!" With these words, he swallowed in one gulp half of the pancake dipped in a thick cherry jam that dangled from his fork.

"This year we know who'll win first prize for the best pudding in the neighborhood!" said Eleanor, humming cheerfully as she proudly fixed her hair. "I have no doubt. Nossiree." She then sipped some of her grapefruit juice and turned on the transistor radio that was resting on the kitchen counter.

"Today, Monday, September 24, is what many occult fans call Witch Day. Many believe this is the date when many powerful dark forces cross and intercept each other.
"For the occasion, we've invited to our broadcasting studio a well-known expert in this field, a professor of parapsychology at the University of Edinburgh, who will help us to explore this interesting theme by giving us a summary of her studies: Dr. Odilda Costalbine. "Dr. Costalbine, tell us a little more about this topic. I am sure our listeners are very interested."

The children raised their heads, eyes wide open and mouths ga- ping in amazement. Suddenly, all three began to remember.

"September 24?" exclaimed Peter, spitting some milk on the tablecloth. "It must be a mistake!"

"T-the professor!" stammered Michael, spilling the contents of his bowl on the floor.

"How can it be?" asked Kate, pouring much of her juice on herself.

"Peter, Michael and Kate-Madeleine Moffet!" screamed their mother. "What kind of manners are these?" 

"But, mom..." tried to explain Peter.

"No buts!" Eleanor interrupted abruptly. "Now, you three, clean up everything and get in the car. Understood?" she said, turning off the radio.

"But dad, you heard... you..." the children asked their father for help.

"Romeo!" shouted Eleanor, glaring at him. "The backpacks. In the car. NOW!" Holding the door open, she invited her husband to follow her on the other side.

Romeo wiped his mouth and chin with his napkin, leaving reluctantly the leftover pancakes and scrambled eggs on his plate.

"Do you remember too?" asked Peter as soon as their father left the kitchen. "The clock, Losinbliss... Dralon?"

His brother nodded, fearful. "I thought it was just a strange dream."

"Me too!" said Peter.

"Maybe it really was a dream!" said Kate.

"Can you tell me what are the odds that three people have the same identical dream on the same day?" said Michael.

"Well then, where are our wands and our Book of Spells?" asked his sister.

Michael shrugged. "But it all seemed so real!" he said, stealing a piece of bacon from his father's plate.

"Yeah," said Peter, giving Meatball the rest of his cereal and milk, "so real..." Still pondering, he placed the plates in the sink. "Hey... wait a minute!" he exclaimed suddenly, feeling his pants' pockets.

"What is it?" asked Kate. "This!" replied Peter, excited. 

"A piece of paper?" said Kate.

"Not just any piece of paper" explained Michael euphorically. "It's the proof that we didn't just imagine everything, dummy!"

Peter opened the folded paper and read, "24." 

"24?" asked Michael. "Just that? 24?"

"Yeah, just that," confirmed Peter, as he turned the paper around in his hands, looking for another clue.

Suddenly, a blanket of fog descended on the area. Shortly after, the doorbell rang loudly, once, twice, three times. The fourth time, the children heard Dad Romeo running down the stairs to open the door.

"Am I wrong, or have we already been through this too?" said Peter, motioning to his siblings to follow him.

Romeo was halfway out of the door, turning his head left and right to try to understand who had rung the bell.

"Hello?" he said, cupping his hand by his mouth. "Someone rang?"

"Who's bothering people at this time of the day?" asked Eleanor, who was wearing a horrendous plum colored suit. She pushed her husband aside to see who was there.

"I don't know," replied Romeo, scratching his head. "There's no one out here!"

"And what in the world is that gadget in front of our garage?" asked Eleanor, squinting, as if trying to focus on a blurry image.

"It looks... It looks like an old bike with bells and little glass bottles on it," replied her husband.

"I can see very well, airhead!" said Eleanor, slapping his head. "But what's it doing here, in front of my garage? Come on... go get rid of it, right away! We can't wait all morning." Having given her order, she walked toward the kitchen, pausing just for a moment in front of the mirror in the entrance, to check her appearance one last time.

"I've a terrible feeling!" said Michael, watching as his father tried to clumsily move the strange contraption. "If everything goes exactly as before, in a few minutes we should hear..." He had not ended his sentence when a chilling cry came from the kitchen. "... a scream."

Romeo and the children ran to the kitchen and found Eleanor pressed into a corner, shaking, with a pan in one hand and a fly-swatter in the other. Halfway inside a pot, Mortimer Grimalion greeted them cordially.

"I did not do vell! No, no, no. Zis is true," he said, trying to free himself in the most natural way possible from his uncomfortable position. "Grimalion not vant to skare! But no one opent, so I tried bak door." With one last, forceful push, he took his large belly and huge legs out of the pot.

The family watched him dumbfounded. Finally Romeo, gathering courage, spoke first.

"That's... that's a pot!" explained Romeo, trying to keep calm.

"Yes, yes, und fery goot pot, but... not fery bik für passage," replied Grimalion, slapping his large tummy and retrieving his bag from the bottom of the pot. "Ah-ah, here!"

"Ro-Romeo Alo-Aloysius..." said Eleanor, brushing her shoulders against the wall as she moved toward the door. "I don't know how, but I want this crazy, untidy vagrant out of my house in thirty seconds, not one second more. Do you understand?" As soon as she reached the door, she ran away, screaming hysterically.

"I did not make goot impression, I am afraid" said the large man, mortified.

"Don't worry. My mother is just a little nervous. I don't think she ever saw anyone coming into the house through a pot," said Peter, comforting.

"Actually... neither have I!" confessed Romeo, flopping down on a chair, shocked. "But I'm convinced there's a perfectly logical explanation, right?" he said, inviting the man to explain his unusual visit.

"Ov kourse, Mr. Moffet!" said Mortimer, with a more official tone of voice. "I finischt my punischment und haf new, fery fery important task!"

"Um, well... let's not talk about 'punishment'," said Romeo, wiping his throbbing forehead, "which presupposes a crime. Is that OK? Just tell me why you're here... wait a minute!" he propped himself up on the chair, looking at Mortimer with suspicion. "This is not just a device to find work, is it? Because if you want a job, my dear, you must follow the protocol like every other unemployed person. I don't give preferential treatments. The most I can do is give you an appointment." He pulled out his pen from his jacket's inner pocket.

"Oh, no, no! I haff job," assured him Grimalion. "Not fery goot pay, but... kannot complain."

"So why are you here?" asked Kate, curious.

"You kallt Grimalion!" said the man, rummaging inside his bag and pulling out a bunch of papers full of hundreds of notes. "Here! Look! 7:18 a.m. – Krocks Pot Road 13 – London – You kallt number 24."

"We called you?" asked Michael, shocked.

"Fery sure!" Grimalion said, placing a document and a feathered pen on the table. "I haff mail für you. You sign, I gif you pakage."

"That's not good!" said Peter, looking tensely at his siblings.

"And who's sending this package, if I may ask?" said Romeo, trying to ignore all those oddities.

"Um... I do not know! But is fery important," said the postman, nervous. "Zat is why, you sign, I gif pakage und go." He pushed the document toward the children. "No fear."

"Do you promise that if we sign you will leave this house instantly?" asked Romeo, "...from the front door?"

"You haf Mortimer Grimalion's vord!" the man said, placing a hand on his heart.

"Where should I sign?" said Romeo, quickly grabbing the feathered pen.

"Oh, no! Pakage not for you. Für zem!" explained Mortimer, taking the pen from his hand and pushing again the document toward the children.

"For them?" asked Romeo, surprised.

"How nice!" exclaimed Kate enthusiastically. "A package just for us."

"What should we do?" Peter asked his siblings.

"Well, I've been having a bad feeling about it but... we've come this far and we can't back out just now, can we?" said Michael.

"What are you talking about?" asked Romeo, worried. "Can someone please tell me what's going on, before your mother comes back?"

"They need us!" Kate said to her brothers, ignoring her dad. "If that bad man gets the treasure, it'll be the end of the good wizards."

"And not only theirs!" pointed out Michael.

"I guess there's nothing to discuss, then!" said Peter, taking the pen from Grimalion's hands. "We just have to continue!" He signed the document.

"Fery vell!" the large postman said, cheerfully. Then he quickly placed pen and paper in his large bag and took off his top hat to say good-bye. "My tashk finischt. I kan now leaf," he concluded, rushing out of the kitchen.

"Wait a minute!" yelled Peter, running after him with the rest of his family. "Didn't you forget something?"

"Oh, poor me! Vere is my head?" spouted the man, hitting his forehead. "Almost forkotten!" He stuck his hand in the bag and pulled out a small vial full of colored dust. He then placed a few grains in his hand and brushed it off on Mr. Moffet's nose, causing him to sneeze continually. "Zis expel memories..." he said, lowering his voice so that only the children could hear him. "Soon Mr. Moffet vill remember nutsink." He handed the vial to Peter. "Kan you shpray on mozer's bik nose too, pleaz? I am in hurry. I must go. Not safe here now zat blak vizarts kumm bak." Without waiting for an answer, he rushed toward his old bike.

"And the package?" asked Peter, standing at the door. "You didn't leave the package!"

"Oh, no vorries!" said Grimalion, jumping on his skaky vehicle. "Zat kumms later!" With a few pushes on the pedals, he disappeared in the fog.

Just then, they heard a loud thud upstairs.

"ROMEO ALOYSIUS MOFFET!" howled Eleanor.

The children looked at each other, worried, while Mr. Moffet kept leaning with a hand against the wall, sneezing out memory after memory.

As the Black Forest postman had foretold, the strange package had arrived.