Billy and the Passionfruit, Part 5 of 7.

Disclaimer: This story is not my own. I wash my hands of it.

Billy dragged his feet miserably along the pavement. Shadows surrounded him. A bat flitted silently overhead, quietly camouflaged against the dark night sky.

Billy walked past the grocery store, the post office, the public library, and the toy shop. Every door was shut, with hard golden doorknobs glistening in the wet drizzle that had just begun to fall.

Billy didn't know where he was going. He sighed and cast his gaze around, squinting through the rain until his eyes came to rest on a high, gaping archway on the opposite side of the street. Small droplets of water crawled down the black lettering lining the curve of the arch. "Can-del-stick Park," Billy read. He steeled himself and trudged resolvedly across the street.

Billy's feet padded across the rough grass in the park. He spotted a rickety wooden bench and wandered over towards it. A dirty pile of rags decorated one side of the bench. Billy set his backpack down on the other side.

The pile of rags shifted.

Billy screeched and jumped backwards.

The pile of rags sprouted a pair of gnarled, waving hands. The palms were facing outwards appeasingly. "Nonono," came a muffled voice from within the heap. "Don't run away." A head popped into view.

The head was dark and wrinkled, like a prune, with a few stray white hairs sitting on top. A large, bulbous nose sat jauntily on one side of the face. The mouth was grinning madly, cracking apart its dry, chapped lips and exposing a set of crooked yellow teeth. A pair of jet-black eyes glittered in Billy's direction.

The pile of rags stood up. It was a tramp.

"Don't get many visitors at this time of the night, usually," muttered the tramp to himself. "In fact," he said, eyeing Billy, "I daresay you're the first! What brings you here, my lad?"

Billy didn't know whether to feel terrified or relieved. The emotional stress became too much to bear. He broke down crying.

"Oh, nonono," rasped the tramp frantically. He patted Billy's head in an awkward fashion. "Don't cry, now, don't cry," he said.

Billy wailed. "Everyone h-h-hates me!" he cried.

"Oh, dear," said the tramp. He chewed worriedly on a long fingernail. "That can't be true, my lad. Whatever would make you say something like that?"

"It's t-t-true!" sobbed Billy. "First I g-got exp-p-pelled, and th-then I g-got d-d-disowned!"

"Oh, I say!" said the tramp, scandalized.

"And I s-s-still d-don't know wh-what I d-d-did w-wrong!" cried Billy.

The tramp scratched thoughtfully at his head. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "Tell you what, son," he said, eyes squinting appraisingly at Billy. "I know of a certain someone who can answer all your questions. Why don't you go ask him for advice? I reckon he'll be able to help you out!"

Billy stopped crying. "Really?" he said excitedly.

"Oh, yes," said the tramp, bobbing his head. "He happens to be" - his voice lowered to a secretive whisper - "a wizard. Quite famous, if I do say so myself." He winked at Billy.

"Wow! Cool!" said Billy. "I'll see him first thing tomorrow!"

"Good show, good show, my lad!" chuckled the tramp. "See that gate over there?" He pointed to a gate at the other end of the park. Billy nodded. "That's the south gate of the park," the tramp continued. "All you have to do is go through that gate, cross the street, climb up the hill and press the knob on the trunk of the biggest tree. That's where the wizard lives, that is," said the tramp, nodding wisely. "He'll answer your questions."

"Awesome!" said Billy. "Thanks, Mr. Tramp!"

"No problem," winked the tramp, as he limped slowly away. "Cheerio, my lad!"

"Bye!" yelled Billy, waving vigorously. He smiled happily to himself and settled onto the bench, falling quickly into a contented, dreamless sleep.

To be continued...