"Up! Get up! Now!"

Hairy woke with a jerk. His aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Hairy rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. He had been in a magical garden, surrounded by strange plants. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before.

His aunt was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Nearly," said Hairy.

"Well get a move on. I want you to get busy. We have a lot of work to do in preparation for my Studster's birthday."

Hairy groaned.

"What did you say?" snapped his aunt through the door.

"Nothing, nothing..."

March 20th, Studly's birthday. How could he have forgotten? Hairy reached up and pulled the chain hanging from on the bare bulb above him. He winced as the harsh light illuminated the small closet, for that was where he slept.

As he dressed, Hairy looked at the spindly, thin plant growing in the corner of his sparse room. He had kept the tiny seed safe for all those years, and only three months earlier had he finally decided to plant it. He hadn't dared to put it outside, so he had used the cracked teacup the Straitleys had given him as Christmas gift. Filled with dirt, it made a suitable planter, and the seed had sprouted and grown into a pale, scraggly plant, no more than six inches tall.

Perhaps because he also lived in a small, dark closet, Hairy was equally small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was, because all he wore were the old polyester clothes of Studly, and Studly was about four times bigger than he was. Hairy had a thin face, knobbly knees, bright green eyes, and hair that grew in thick dreads no matter how Hairy tried to comb it. He wore round glasses, held together with sticky tape because of all the times Studly had punched him on the nose.

The only thing Hairy liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar upon his forehead, which was shaped like a seven-pointed leaf. He had had it for as long as he could remember, and the first question he could remember asking was how he had gotten it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," Aunt Vanilla had told him. "And don't ask questions!"

Don't ask questions. That was the first rule for getting along with the Straitleys.

Hairy came into the kitchen, where Aunt Vanilla was busy cooking and baking, preparing goodies for Studly's birthday party. Uncle Norm was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. He was a big beefy man with a large mustache and hardly any neck. He peered over the top of his paper and shouted "Get a haircut!" Hairy must have had more haircuts than any other boy his age, but it made no difference. His hair grew in thick dreads no matter what he did.

Aunt Vanilla opened the oven and removed a steaming tray of cupcakes. She was blonde and thin and had twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over fences, spying on the neighbours. Too busy to speak, she motioned at Hairy with her free hand, pointing him towards a note on the fridge. Hairy pulled it free from its magnet, and read his list of chores for the day. First, collect the mail, then help in cleaning and decorating the house for the birthday party, then all the rest.

Hairy went to the door and began putting on his coat and boots. Mr Straitley put down his newspaper and barked at him. "Now Hairy, you need to finish your chores quickly today, and get back into your closet before Studly's guests arrive. You remember your instructions?"

"Yes, I'm to stay in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not there," answered Hairy.

"That's right you will," said Uncle Norm forcefully. "I don't want you bothering Studly's friends or wrecking his birthday party."

Hairy left through the back door. It was a brilliant, sunny day. He blinked and looked around the garden as his eyes adjusted to the bright light. Hairy did a double-take as he realized there was a pair of enormous bulging eyes staring at him through the hedge! He blinked again, and they were gone.

Hairy quickly crossed the lawn and peered around the hedge, but no-one was there. He knew Mr Straitley didn't like it when he took too long to fetch the mail, so he walked to the postbox, and took out the day's letters. He flipped through the envelopes as he walked back to the house. Bills, junk flyers, fundraising letters, more bills, Studly's subscription to Guns & Ammo Quarterly, and a curiously thick letter in a green envelope made of heavy paper. Hairy was amazed to see his name on the front!

Mr. H. Pothead
The Closet under the Stairs
#4 Mainstream Drive
Nowheresville

Hairy's heart thumped like a beat box. He had never received a letter before in his life! He turned it over, his hand trembling. Hairy saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms: a large letter H surrounded by what looked like a hand-rolled cigarette, a pipe, a gourd and a crossed set of knives. In the bottom corner of the envelope there were tiny words saying "100% hemp."

Hairy went back into the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He handed Uncle Norm the bills, put Studly's magazine on the table, and sat down. He carefully tore open the edge of the envelope so as not to break the wax seal, and then pulled out a heavy piece of parchment.

Studly walked into the kitchen, scratching his head and yawning. He saw the opened envelope on the table, and Hairy unfolding the paper. He stopped still and pointed at his cousin. "Dad! What's Hairy got? Who sent him a letter?"

"Humm?" said Mr Straitley, raising his eyes from reading his bills. He saw Hairy's eyes scanning the letter, then reached out and snatched it from his hands.

"That's mine!" said Hairy, trying to grab it back.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Norm, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. Within seconds it had changed again, from green to grey.

"G-g-go!" he gasped. "Hairy, get to your room, now!"

"I want to read that letter!" shouted Hairy.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Norm, stuffing the letter into his pocket and rising up from his chair.

"I WANT MY LETTER!" yelled Hairy.

Uncle Norm grabbed Hairy by the scruff of his neck, carried him forcefully all the way back to his closet, and threw him inside. Norm then latched the door, locking Hairy into the tiny room.

"YOU WILL STAY THERE IN SILENCE!" roared Mr Straitely, "OR YOU WON'T EAT FOR A WEEK!"

Hairy pushed futilely against the door, banged his fist against it, then sank down in misery. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to remember exactly what he had seen written on that parchment.

The ink had been green, the words written in a fancy, flowing script. Each letter had looked like a serrated leaf. He understood the words, but their meaning was strange and mysterious:

HEMPWARDS SCHOOL OF HERBCRAFT AND WEEDERY

There had been more, but that's all Hairy had been able to read before the letter was torn from his grip. Head in hands, he tried to visualize the letter, but it faded from his mind as he heard his Uncle's voice coming up the passage.

"Vanilla, look at the address. How could they know where he sleeps? Could they be... watching the house?"

"What should we do Norm?" came his aunt's reply. "Should we write back, tell them we don't want..."

"No, it's best if we just ignore it. No answer, no problems. That's best, we won't do a thing..."

"But -"

"I'm not having one in the house Vanilla! Didn't we swear when we took him in, that we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense? I'm burning the letter, and that's the end of it! Now let's get ready for Studly's birthday!"

Hairy groaned and opened his eyes. He knew he would be spending the rest of the day locked in his room, laying on his bed.

The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.