Chapter 2: Home (Part 2)

Thursday was the first to roll out of bed, as was his habit. The dusty windows in the bedroom he shared with his six brothers faced west, leaving the room in darkness well into the morning, and yet Thursday had a knack for waking up just in time to view the sunrise – every day without fail. He pulled on his clothes without a light and made his way past the row of beds, hopping over the squeaky stair step, and left the rumbling snores of his brothers behind him. Peace and quiet. Living in a small house crowded with rambunctious dwarfs made it hard to find any much desired solitude, but fortunately most of the others liked to sleep in, leaving Thursday with a few hours all to himself.

Today he was looking forward to finishing a detective novel and maybe writing some poetry, if the mood struck. However, his cherished routine was interrupted. There, buried in a pile of blankets in front of the fireplace, was a tousled blond head that was most definitely not there before. It was very small, whatever it was, probably not a threat, but just to be safe he snatched up the poker from the stand next to the mantel. He tentatively prodded the lumpy thing hidden under the furs and... was that his favorite coat?

Thursday turned tail and retreated to the bedroom. He attacked Saturday first, shaking him by the shoulders and whimpering about burglars. His brother showed no evidence of life, so Thursday moved on to the next bed, disturbing a highly annoyed Monday from his slumbers. Monday sat up only to cream Thursday with his pillow and shout a few choice expletives, then pulled his blankets up to his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to open them again.

These shouts woke Tuesday, who rubbed his eyes and yawned, “What's the matter?”

“A burglar!” Thursday announced, waving his fire poker around, “there's a burglar in the kitchen!” He was in such a state of excitement that the iron rod flew out of his grip and collided with Friday's head. Enraged, he leaped from bed with a howl and barreled into the person sleeping next to him, who happened to be Wednesday. Wednesday retaliated in kind and shouted abuse at his brother. Tuesday rushed over to separate the quarrelers, but Friday delivered him such a blow that he tumbled over backwards on top of Sunday, who was under the impression that the monster from his dream was try to smother him, and he let loose such a volley of kicks and punches that Tuesday was soon scrambling after the fire poker to help him exact his revenge. Friday and Wednesday continued to tussle, and Thursday was now jumping up and down on empty beds crying “Burglar! Burglar!” to anyone who would listen. Saturday, still snoring thunderously, was the only one not disturbed by these events.

Sunday eventually extricated himself from his nefarious bedclothes and gaped as he surveyed the scene of chaos before him. He spluttered for order, for quiet, but his feeble pleas were overwhelmed by the collective din of the dwarf free-for-all. Tuesday then emerged from the fray brandishing the fire poker, and dealt the first sleeping figure he came across a vicious strike. It was Monday, who had been trying desperately to ignore the discord and get back to sleep, but with this new attack he abandoned all hopes of peaceful slumber. “YEEEEOOOOWCH!” he hollered at the top of his voice. The room fell silent. Monday stood up on his bed, towering over Tuesday, looking most fearsome indeed. His eyes were fiery, sizable eyebrows disheveled, wreath of gray hair sticking up in all directions; he was not a morning person. Tuesday dropped the poker and the metallic clang echoed eerily off the stone walls.

Sunday took advantage of the opportune silence. “WHAT is the meaning of this?” he demanded, straightening the nightcap atop his head, glaring at his brothers. “Well?”

The uproar resumed just as suddenly as it had been cut off. Eventually all fingers pointed to Thursday, and at last his cry of “burglar!” was heard by all.

“A burglar?” the others echoed, “A burglar!”

“Well why didn't you say so?” Monday grumbled.

The brothers flew into action. It took all six of them to drag Saturday out of bed, alternating between gentle coaxing, threats, and brute force (it was the brute force that won out in the end). With that accomplished, they armed themselves with whatever weapons they could find and tip-toed upstairs in single file: Sunday at the head with the fire poker, Saturday at the tail clutching a candlestick holder and attempting to stifle his yawns. They trooped cautiously into the kitchen, scanning the piles of dirty dishes and heaps of miscellaneous junk for any sign of an intruder. Thursday tugged on Sunday's night robe and pointed at the mysterious lump buried under his coat on the floor by the hearth. Friday burst out laughing, only to be viciously shushed by the others. With Wednesday's hand covering his mouth, he wiped tears from his eyes and shook with suppressed laughter.

Sunday sighed, “Gentlemen,” he said, “I think I can explain.” He uncovered the “burglar,” still sleeping soundly, and motioned for the others to come and see. They gathered around, still not lowering their makeshift weapons.

“What is it?” Tuesday whispered.

“A gremlin,” Wednesday hissed, “just look at those claws, I'll bet it has fangs, too.”

“Is it some kind of pig?” Thursday asked, squinting to see better, “it's sort of pink.”

“No it's not a pig!” Sunday bellowed, “it's a... she's a girl!”

“A girl?” they repeated.

Monday humphed, “No way that's a girl! It don't have enough hair to be any civilized critter. Look at that pink skin, it couldn't even grow a mustache!”

“No not a dwarf girl,” Friday hooted, “a human girl!”

“Ooooh,” they chorused in sudden understanding, shooting more than a few glares at Thursday for crying “wolf.”

“Are you sure it's safe?” Thursday asked nervously, keenly aware that at least three of his brothers were planning to bash his head in for waking them up at this unholy hour. “No... fangs?”

“No!” Sunday said, exasperated, “she's a perfectly harmless child and...” just then he realized why this morning had gone so horribly wrong, “Thursday, where are your glasses?”

“My glasses?” Thursday felt his face, “oh.”

“Yes well, if you could see it would be perfectly obvious that Alf presents no danger,” Sunday scolded. Friday snickered.

Alf yawned and stretched, exposing exactly zero fangs. Everyone except Sunday and Friday jumped back. She sat up and stared at the seven hairy dwarfs gathered around her. “Good morning,” she said sweetly.

“Good morning,” they replied, except for Monday, who muttered something about gremlins. Sunday dug his elbow into his side.

“Good morning Alf,” Friday grinned, “these are my other brothers, MondayTuesdayWednesdayThursday'n'Saturday.”

Alf blinked, “What?”

Friday ignored her, “Everybody, this is Alf! Can we keep her?”