The Other Pevensie
Once there were five children whose names were Peter, Susan, Phillip, Edmund and Lucy. The story of the four Pevensie children who became kings and queens and princes and princesses has already been told. Their rise to glory in the country known as Narnia is a tale as old as time itself. This is the story of the other Pevensie.
During the war, all of the Pevensie children were sent away from London to the house of the old Professor. Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy had a grand adventure when they entered the magical wardrobe. Phillip was in the commode after eating too many unripe figs from the Professor’s fig tree, even after he was chided gently by Peter (for Peter was very good at chiding).
“Peter!” called Phillip after exiting the water closet, because even after the chiding, Peter was still the eldest and quite clearly in charge. “Lucy! Susan! Edmund!” There was no answer from his brothers and sisters, and Phillip began to feel a bit of tightness in his chest. The Professor’s house was the sort that you never seem to come to the end of, and it was full of unexpected places. Phillip knew that his family was probably exploring the house and decided (a decision he’d come to regret later, Reader) to try to find them.
The first few doors he tried led only into spare bedrooms, and then he came across a long hall full of pictures with a suit of armour. Soon after he found a room that was quite empty except for one big wardrobe; the sort that has a looking-glass in the door. There was nothing else in the room at all except a dead bluebottle on the window-sill.
“Well, they’re not in here,” said Phillip, and he stomped out again to the next room. By this time, he was feeling quite peevish that everyone had left him, even knowing full well that it was his fault because he had eaten too many figs. “Bah!” sneered Phillip. “They’re probably just in some boring old room doing boring knows what. I’ll check one more room and then go off without them. It’s their loss!” And this little speech made him feel better, even though Phillip recognized immediately how badly he sounded.
The next room was completely empty except for the back wall, which was fully covered in large, floor-length mirrors. Phillip’s first thought was that the room was twice bigger than it was, but he soon saw that it was an illusion. As he was a vain child, Phillip approached the mirror so that he could perform a full self-inspection and ensure that no thread or hair was out of place.
“Oh Phillip, you are so beautiful, err, handsome,” said Phillip to his reflection, the blush from his misstatement spreading over his pale cheeks. He pushed forward and rubbed his cheeks against his mirrored counterpart, and leaned forward, enjoying the cool silver against his flushed skin. With his eyes closed, Phillip continued to slowly move forward, not even realizing that he was slowly immersing himself into the mirror.
His first indication was a sense of cold. “This is very queer,” he said, and stepped further, gradually opening his eyes. He was no longer in London or the Professor’s house. Behind him, hazy and nondescript, the door he had entered initially was barely visible to Phillip’s eyes. On all sides, Phillip saw lush green grass, a bright yellow road made of bricks leading off to the horizon, and in the distance, a large green tower.
“I think I just did something interesting,” muttered Phillip, fully aware that to this point in his life his most interesting story had to do with the breakfast meal he consumed. He began to walk down the yellow path until he came to a clearing, empty but for the woman in black with the striped socks.
“Hullo!” shouted Phillip. “Can you tell me where I am and how I get back to London?” He approached the woman tentatively.
She turned toward him, sneering. A hideous hooked nose covered in warts jutted at him, attached to an equally hideous face. “Come here, my pretty!” She reached a crusty taloned hand out to grab him. Phillip shied back, his heart pounding.
At this moment the sky roared like the train that Phillip had ridden from London in, and the sun blotted out. Squinting, Phillip looked up just in time to see a large house plummet, seemingly coming from nowhere (but I know, Reader, that it actually came from Kansas and had a lovely girl named Dorothy inside), headed directly for him and the ugly crone. Phillip didn’t even have time for one final epithet. “Oh, f-”
And that is why we shall never again speak of the Other Pevensie.