The Eccentric Mr. Riddle

For the many years that I've been putting up the small studio by my house for rent, no one had ever really been interested. Most of those young people who need places to stay prefer to be somewhere near the cities. No one really wanted to stay in a cottage in the Scottish moor that much anymore. That's why I was surprised when Mr. Riddle asked for a place to stay.

Mr. Riddle was, and still is, an enigma to me. I was surprised when he asked for a place to lodge. I couldn't believe a man his age didn't have children to take care of him. Why, he must be older than I am! He is quite peculiar-looking too. He looks like an albino, yet he has these bright blue eyes. The man has probably seen many things in his life. I wouldn't be surprised if he was a war veteran for one of the World Wars. He seems to have many of the symptoms that other veterans experience. Yet, I doubt he was even old enough to be in World War II. From what I've derived of his past, he's about 75 years old while most of the WWII veterans tend to be in their mid-eighties. He might have a bad experience during the war though. Maybe he lost a father or a brother. He seems to still be recovering from a struggle in his life.

Mr. Riddle seems to be a very educated man. On one of the walls of his one-room studio is a huge empty bookshelf, and by walking every week to the nearby bookstore, Mr. Riddle has managed to fill it completely with many classics. He has many works by Dickens, Shakespeare, T.S. Eliot, and other literary giants. He really seems to enjoy Arthurian legend. I have seen him poring over Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur many times. But he also tends to be a very knowledgeable person outside of the literary world. When my ten-year-old grandson, Ralph, came over to visit me for the first time since Mr. Riddle had moved in, he had sneaked over to Mr. Riddle's stay, where I found him two hours later, with a mind to scold him, listening to a story that Mr. Riddle was telling him. Ralph seemed to be in rapture as he listened to Mr. Riddle's tale of giants, unicorns, and magic. With the air of a raconteur, Mr. Riddle seemed to weave a beautifully imaginative story that greatly entertained my Ralph. Indeed, every time Ralph has come over since, he has insisted that Mr. Riddle tell him more about a hilarious imaginary character named Uric the Oddball.

Sometimes, I tiptoe to the studio while he's sleeping to fill his water flask or tidy up his room. I hear him talking in his sleep. In a tired voice, he often says "Lucius" and "Bella". Sometimes he whispers, "Potter" and sometimes he says something that sounds like "Double door." I feel guilty whenever I hear him saying these names. "Who are these people?" I thought. Soon, some of the mystery was solved.

One day, a man came to my house and requested to see Mr. Riddle. He was a weary-looking man with scraggly long silver hair who was wearing a fancy suit and tie. He asked to see Mr. Riddle with a rather important air. I showed him in to Mr. Riddle, who nodded when he saw the man. I closed the door, wanting to give them privacy. I didn't mean to eavesdrop but I heard their voices clearly and could not help but loiter about my yard to hear their conversation.

"Hello, Lucius," Mr. Riddle said, almost disdainfully.

"Master! I have found my wand! We can go back!" this Lucius exclaimed gleefully.

"No," Mr. Riddle said authoritatively. "I have resigned myself to my fate. Besides, we have no powers anymore, the Ministry has surely seen to that. Unlike even expelled students, we can not simply return to the world we knew with the possession of wands. Face it, Lucius. We have become Muggles. We are not even Squibs, for they never had powers to begin with. We are simply... lost." He sounded so mournful as he said this that I felt embarrassed to be listening to the conversation, despite the fact that I hardly understood it. Here I was snooping like a gossip-monger around a poor old miserable soul, I thought and immediately hurried off to cut up some carrots to give the two some actual privacy.

This Lucius then left looking downhearted and glum. When I later casually asked who the lovely gentleman visitor had been, Mr. Riddle laughed and said, "He's... a son of mine." I was quite surprised; I had always thought the man was alone in the world. I speculated that the father and son had had arguments in the past. Oddly, Lucius wasn't the only person to come visit.

Once, the Potter mentioned many times in Mr. Riddle's sleep visited as well. He presented himself as Mr. Harry Potter. I led him to Mr. Riddle's building, opened the door, and let Mr. Potter in. I don't know if it was my imagination by when Mr. Potter came in, but Mr. Riddle's eyes opened widely, as if he was greatly surprised. Mr. Potter had a curt manner with Mr. Riddle, as if he did not trust the poor old man. When he left, he nodded politely to me and strode quickly out the door. Mr. Riddle told me a few days later that he needed to get to London for some rather urgent business. I offered to drive him there, but he turned down my offer, saying that he had a way to get there. I don't know what happened, but later that day, after returning from the nearby market with bags of groceries, I noticed that Mr. Riddle was gone. I searched the neighboring areas, but did not find him. Rationalizing with myself that he had gone to London I waited for his return. I realized the man had grown on me.

Two days later, a fancy car with flags bearing the symbol MOM pulled up in front of my house. Mr. Riddle hobbled out weakly and I helped him bring his luggage into the studio.

"How was your trip?" I asked him.

"Oh, it was fine. You see, Mr. Potter had come to inform me that I was requested to attend the reading of a will of... a friend," Mr. Riddle informed me.

"Oh that's dreadful!" I muttered.

"Oh no. My friend had passed away a while ago... but he had something to give me, which is why I had to leave so suddenly."

"Oh, I see," I said, not understanding it at all, "Well you rest up, and I'll prepare dinner." I then hurried back into my house to chop some tomatoes. Later, when I ventured into his house in invite him into the main house for dinner, I saw a beautiful crystal jar full of what seemed to be lemon sherbets on the countertop of his kitchenette. Next to it was a frame with a miniature painting of an old man with a very long white beard and bright blue eyes, wearing half-moon spectacles. He looked very cheerful. The painting itself looked rather old and had many holes in it as if someone had previously used it for dart practice.

"That's the friend whom I was talking about," Mr. Riddle pointed out with a sigh.

"Are those lemon sherbets?" I asked, feeling rather foolish.

"Yes," replied Mr. Riddle, "You could say that they have a sort of sentimental value. My late friend was very fond of them."

"You must have been very close to him," I murmured, admiring the intricate glasswork. Mr. Riddle's eyes seemed to glisten, as if he was about to cry.

"I was, Mrs. Green," he replied back, his voice faltering.

Mr. Riddle continues to live in the studio. He still looks like the man I knew when he had first come to my house, and not a day older. We still enjoy dinners together as he tells me short vignettes from his youth. Mr. Lucius has visited once or twice since. Mr. Potter has not yet ventured back to my house and I doubt he will ever come again. Meanwhile, Ralph continues to pester him to tell more stories about dragons, werewolves, and antics of Uric the Oddball. Mr. Riddle seems to have a tremendous amount of energy when it comes to walking around the house or telling my grandson stories, yet his eyes continue to speak a different emotion. Mr. Riddle, when he lays down to sleep, looks like the most ancient and weary living thing I have seen and I can not help but sympathize his plight. I can not fail to realize that Mr. Riddle has secrets but I can afford to ensure their safety, for Mr. Riddle is an old man who needs rest.