The Sugar Quill
Author: Queenie  Story: Fantasy Island  Chapter: Prologue
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Fantasy Island

Fantasy Island

By Queenie

Note: Fantasy Island was a TV show from '78 to '84 and from '98 to '99.  It was based on Shakespeare's The Tempest and was owned by ABC.




            It was a dark and stormy afternoon. 

            Mrs. Petunia Dursley was walking in the pouring rain, angry at the world.  'Damn rainstorm,' she thought.  She was in a particularly nasty mood today because her son Dudley had to be sent to a summer camp.

            "It is a requirement," the nurse said.  "Your son must receive exercise, nourishment, and more regular quantities of food.  Camp Fish-Eye Bottom is just the place."

            Petunia scowled at the April shower, angry that she hadn't brought an umbrella.  She didn't want her son to go to camp.  For all she knew, Camp Fish-Eye Bottom (what kind a name for a camp was that, anyway?) was really a military camp, or slave labor, or…

            She shook her head.  Such ideas were preposterous. 

            'Kind of like being stuck out in the rain without an umbrella', she reflected, and ducked into the closest little shop.

             The only two people were an elderly man and an Asian woman, both of whom were sitting at desks.  "Please forgive me," Petunia mumbled.  "I just wanted to dry off a little…"

            "Come on in, close the door," the man said warmly.  "The more the merrier, you know."

            Petunia gratefully closed the door.  She happened to turn her back at that precise moment, otherwise she would have been very surprised to see that the rain stopped and the sun came out.

            The man looked at her intently, and said, "You want to get away, don't you?"

            "I beg your pardon?" Petunia said, looking up.  She had only wanted to dry off.

            "You feel trapped," the man said.  "There is something hanging over you; a dark cloud, and you want it to go away forever, but it is your doom, the bane of your existence…"

            Petunia looked at the woman behind him, who gave her a look that said, "Yes, he does do that all the time."

            "I'll tell you what," the man went on, "how would you like to go on a little vacation?  I've got a ticket for you to go to a little place called Fantasy Island.  It's in the tropics, it's gorgeous, there's a wonderful little hotel -- you'll love it there."

            Petunia thought about it.  An island vacation while Vernon was on a business trip and Dudley was at camp, would be the perfect little getaway.  And Harry could be with those -- what was their name -- Weasel, no, Weasley family, so it wasn't a bad idea at all.  "I'll take it," she said slowly.

            After she and Mr. Morrison (as he called himself) had sorted out the technical stuff, Petunia took up her coat to leave.  Only then did she notice that the rain had stopped.  Feeling significantly lighter, she opened the door again, and as though waiting for its cue, the rain started pouring again.  Puzzled, Petunia closed the door; the rain stopped.  She opened it; it started.  Open, shut.  Rain, shine.  She looked at Mr. Morrison, and asked, "Is something going on?"

            He grinned.  "You tell me," he said.

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