Chapter 1: The Mystery of Muddleby Lane
There are places so unremarkable that the universe itself seems to forget about them. Muddleby Lane was precisely such a place. Winding between the town’s only bakery, which specialized in exceedingly dry croissants, and a park frequented solely by pigeons with questionable morals, Muddleby Lane was almost invisible. Its most notable feature was its ability to be instantly overlooked.
It was on a curiously foggy Monday that Albert Nibbs, an amateur inventor and full-time collector of mismatched socks, happened upon the subject of our tale. Albert’s daily routine was as rigid as a plank of overcooked spaghetti. He would leave his house at precisely 9:07 a.m., walk down Muddleby Lane, and deliver a package of stale muffins to his Aunt Petunia, who would accept them with all the joy of a cat offered a bubble bath.
But on this particular Monday, Albert stopped. It wasn’t that his laces had come undone (they had, but that was a daily occurrence). Nor was it that he had, once again, forgotten to put on matching socks. It was because, for the first time in his thirty-four years, he noticed a small, mossy archway set within the brick wall that lined Muddleby Lane.
He frowned, scratching his head. The archway was about the height and width of a refrigerator lying on its side, and so thoroughly covered in climbing ivy and moss that it looked more like a particularly unhealthy hedge than an actual entryway. Above the arch, in somewhat wobbly letters, a sign read: THE FORGOTTEN PATHWAY.
Being an inquisitive soul, and also having an intense aversion to stale muffins, Albert decided Aunt Petunia could wait. He pressed his nose against the archway. It was cool and damp and smelt faintly of old teabags. Beyond the arch was a set of narrow, crooked stone steps, disappearing into the greenish gloom.
Anyone else might have shrugged and walked away. But Albert was not just anyone else. He was Albert Nibbs, inventor of the reversible sock and the collapsible teapot. If there was one thing he couldn’t resist, it was a mystery. Also, he was slightly late and had promised himself he’d be more adventurous this week.
With a nervous glance around, Albert tucked his muffin package under his arm and stepped through the archway, vanishing from sight.
Chapter 2: The Pathway Unveiled
As Albert’s foot touched the first mossy step, he felt a peculiar sensation, as though he’d just walked through a cloud of particularly ticklish fairy dust. The air shimmered, and suddenly he found himself standing not just in a lane but in a completely different world—or at the very least, what looked suspiciously like one.
The pathway wound and twisted, its stones uneven and slick. Trees arched overhead, forming a canopy so dense that only the bravest rays of sunlight dared to slip through. Odd little flowers grew between the cracks, their petals shaped like question marks, and every so often, the ground gave a little shudder, as if stretching after a long nap.
Albert found himself humming, partly to reassure himself and partly because it seemed the sort of thing one should do in a place with flowers shaped like punctuation. As he walked, he passed a series of signs, each more confusing than the last.
The first read: WELCOME TO THE FORGOTTEN PATHWAY, POPULATION: MOSTLY UNSURE.
The second: THIS WAY TO THE END, OR POSSIBLY THE BEGINNING.
The third: BEWARE OF THE INVISIBLE GOOSE.
Albert’s humming faltered at the last one. He paused, peering suspiciously into the air. He had read about invisible things before—in one of his Aunt Petunia’s less lucid letters—but he had not expected to meet a goose that had mastered the art.
He continued, his steps a little quicker now, muffin package clutched in both hands. Every so often he would shout, Excuse me, Mr. or Mrs. Goose! Just passing through! Hope you’re having a nice day! and then flinch at the silence.
After several minutes (or possibly hours, for time seemed to behave strangely here), the pathway opened into a clearing. In the center stood a signpost, its arms pointing in every conceivable direction, each labeled with confusing destinations: CERTAIN CONFUSION, NEARLY THERE, LEFTISH, UP, and ABSOLUTELY NOT THIS WAY.
Albert sat on a convenient boulder, brushing crumbs off his trousers. He looked at the signpost and sighed. He wondered if perhaps he should have stayed on Muddleby Lane, or at least brought a map. Or a snack. He was, as usual, very slightly peckish.
Chapter 3: An Unlikely Gathering
With no viable plan, Albert chose the path labeled CERTAIN CONFUSION. It seemed, at the very least, honest about its intentions. The stones here were arranged in spirals, doubling back on themselves in a way that would have delighted mathematicians and infuriated anyone with even a passing respect for logic.
After what felt like a small eternity (during which Albert composed an opera in his head about mismatched socks), he stumbled into another, larger clearing. This one was more populous, in the sense that it contained more than just Albert and his muffins.
Seated at a table that looked as though it had been borrowed from a giant’s dollhouse were three individuals. The first was a woman dressed in an outfit best described as “Victorian librarian meets circus clown.” She wore a hat adorned with teabags and peacock feathers, and was engaged in a heated debate with a man in a velvet dressing gown and slippers.
The third member of the party was a large, sulky-looking sheep wearing a waistcoat and monocle. The sheep was sipping tea from a dainty cup and occasionally bleated in what Albert could only assume was a derisive manner.
The woman spotted Albert and waved enthusiastically, causing several teabags to launch themselves from her hat like caffeinated paratroopers.
Welcome, welcome! she called (without the aid of quotation marks, for some unknown reason). Another lost soul joins the party!
The man in the dressing gown sniffed. Lost, or misguided? There’s a difference, you know.
The sheep simply sipped its tea and rolled its eyes, though Albert had a hard time deciding if sheep were capable of such an expression.
Albert, not one to shirk the opportunity for a proper introduction, bowed awkwardly. My name is Albert Nibbs, and I come bearing muffins.
The woman leapt up, scattering more teabags, and beamed. Splendid! I am Lady Margery Puddle, explorer of forgotten places and champion hopscotch player. My colleagues are Professor Thistledown—gesturing to the man—and Lord Lambington, though he’s only a baronet, really.
Lord Lambington bleated in what might have been protest or agreement.
Albert was invited to sit and share his muffins, which were, as always, somewhat stale. The company, however, was lively. They explained that they, too, had entered the Forgotten Pathway quite by accident. Each had tried to leave, but found themselves looping back to the same clearing.
It’s the signs, whispered Professor Thistledown, as though the signposts might be eavesdropping. They change when you’re not looking. Yesterday, LEFTISH led to a field of disgruntled tulips. The day before, UP took me straight into a tree. Literally.
Albert nodded sagely. Perhaps we simply need to follow the ABSOLUTELY NOT THIS WAY path.
Lady Margery gasped. That’s madness!
Lord Lambington snorted, which is as close as a sheep gets to agreement.
Chapter 4: Journey into the Unintended
After a spirited debate and the consumption of several questionable muffins, the group made a decision. If every sensible path led them in circles, perhaps the path marked ABSOLUTELY NOT THIS WAY was, in fact, the only way forward.
They collected their belongings—Lady Margery’s carpetbag, Professor Thistledown’s book of improbable theories, Albert’s muffin package (now considerably lighter), and Lord Lambington’s pocket watch, which he insisted on consulting every fifteen seconds.
The ABSOLUTELY NOT THIS WAY path began with a set of steps that went down, then up, then sideways, and finally in a direction best described as “inward.” The air grew thick with the scent of overripe bananas and mystery.
As they walked, the scenery changed. The trees swapped their leaves for coat hangers, and the grass began to hum softly, as though rehearsing for a grassland choir. Lady Margery pointed out a bush shaped exactly like a chair, which, when approached, tried to sell them insurance.
Professor Thistledown muttered calculations under his breath, occasionally stopping to measure the length of a particularly suspicious shadow.
Albert, for his part, started to notice odd little objects along the path—an umbrella with a handle shaped like an ear, a shoe growing wildflowers, and a hat that kept changing its color from lime green to polka-dotted pink whenever Lord Lambington glanced at it.
After what felt like both five minutes and two hours, they arrived at a crossroads. This time, there were no signs. Only a rickety wooden bridge stretched over a chasm filled with softly glowing fog.
Lady Margery took the lead. The bridge swayed alarmingly, but seemed to hold. As the group crossed, a faint honking noise echoed from the mist below.
Albert froze. The invisible goose! he whispered.
They hastened their steps, not pausing until they reached the far side, where a small, round door stood set into a hillside.
A sign above the door read: NOT HERE EITHER.
Albert looked at the others. Do we knock?
Professor Thistledown shrugged. At this point, what’s the worst that could happen?
Lord Lambington, demonstrating a rare initiative, headbutted the door. It swung open with a creak.
Chapter 5: The House of Many Nothings
Inside, the house was, by all appearances, completely empty. Dust motes floated in the air, and the furniture seemed to be absent on vacation. The only object of note was a table in the center of the room, upon which sat a teapot and four cups.
Albert, never one to turn down tea (even in questionable circumstances), poured everyone a cup. The tea was warm, slightly fizzy, and tasted of strawberries and regret.
As they sipped, they heard a faint voice. Looking around, they discovered a small, rotund man perched atop a bookshelf, wearing a fez and a deeply suspicious expression.
Ah, new arrivals, he said (wordlessly, as it were). Welcome to the House of Many Nothings. You must be lost.
Albert hesitated. That’s…not inaccurate.
The man—who introduced himself as Mr. Pindle—explained that everyone who wandered the Forgotten Pathway inevitably found their way here. The only way out, he declared, was to remember what had been forgotten.
Lord Lambington looked skeptical. Professor Thistledown began listing everything he’d forgotten that morning, including his slippers, his breakfast, and the name of his third-grade teacher.
Lady Margery produced a notebook and went through a list titled THINGS TO REMEMBER TO REMEMBER.
Albert pondered. He realized, with a start, that he couldn’t recall why he had come down Muddleby Lane that morning, or even what day it was. The pathway had muddled his memory.
Mr. Pindle smiled mysteriously and handed Albert a small, rusty key. The answer, he hinted, is at the end of the pathway, but only if you remember how you began.
With little else to go on, the group left the House of Many Nothings, Mr. Pindle waving cheerily from his bookshelf perch.
Chapter 6: The Labyrinth of Lost Things
Beyond the house, the pathway twisted into a labyrinth. The walls were made of stacked lost items—umbrellas, odd socks, single gloves, unpaired earrings. The air buzzed with a faint sense of nostalgia.
Each corridor seemed to nudge at Albert’s memory. Here was his old yo-yo, lost at a summer fair. There, a battered book he’d never returned to the library. Lady Margery found a scarf she’d misplaced years ago, while Professor Thistledown was reunited with his favorite pen.
Lord Lambington found a patch of particularly lush grass and declared it lunch.
The key Mr. Pindle had given Albert began to vibrate as they neared the center of the labyrinth. There, on a small pedestal, sat a locked wooden box.
Albert inserted the key, and with a soft click, the box popped open. Inside was a single, slightly squished muffin—the very one he had meant to deliver to Aunt Petunia.
He stared at it, realization dawning. He had been so focused on his daily routine, so stuck in habit, that he’d never questioned where the pathway might lead.
Lady Margery smiled. Sometimes, she said, the things we forget are the things we need to remember most.
Professor Thistledown nodded. Or, perhaps, one must forget to remember.
Lord Lambington bleated affirmatively, crumbs tumbling from his mouth.
Chapter 7: The Realization
Albert looked around at his companions, the odd objects, the winding path. He realized that the Forgotten Pathway wasn’t a place to get lost, but a place to find what you’d misplaced—memories, objects, or perhaps just a bit of courage to step off the beaten track.
As they walked, the pathway began to lighten. The sky brightened, the trees straightened their coat hangers, and the humming grass struck up a jaunty tune.
At the end of the path, the familiar mossy archway came into view. This time, the sign above read: THANK YOU FOR VISITING. DON’T FORGET TO FORGET.
One by one, the companions stepped through.
Lady Margery emerged into her own garden, Professor Thistledown into his study (still slipperless), and Lord Lambington into a meadow full of particularly tasty clover.
Albert found himself back on Muddleby Lane, the package of muffins in hand. Only now, the muffins were perfectly fresh and warm, and his mismatched socks had sorted themselves into pairs.
He glanced back. The archway was gone, replaced by a stretch of ivy and moss that looked no different from the rest of the wall.
Albert smiled and continued on, resolved never to overlook the odd, forgotten corners of the world again.
Chapter 8: Aunt Petunia’s Surprise
Aunt Petunia received Albert with her usual suspicious glare, eyeing the muffins as though they might contain hidden vegetables.
She bit into one, then paused in shock. These are…delicious!
Albert grinned. Just something I picked up on my walk.
They sat together, sharing muffins and laughter. For the first time in years, Albert noticed the little things—the way sunlight caught the teapot, the warmth of a cozy kitchen, the pleasure of a day well spent.
He told Aunt Petunia about his adventure. She listened with wide eyes, then declared it the most sensible thing he’d done all week.
Chapter 9: The Forgotten Pathway Remembered
Days passed, then weeks. Life in Muddleby Lane went on. The bakery’s croissants remained unremarkable, the pigeons continued their dubious activities, and most people hurried past the stretch of ivy and moss without a second glance.
But Albert changed. He walked a new path every day, seeking out the odd and overlooked. Sometimes, he left little gifts on doorsteps—fresh muffins, a repaired umbrella, a pair of perfectly matched socks. People began to smile at him in the street, and even the pigeons seemed vaguely impressed.
As for the Forgotten Pathway, it remained hidden, waiting for the next person with an eye for the unusual and a heart open to adventure.
And somewhere, in a clearing that didn’t quite exist, Lady Margery and Professor Thistledown played hopscotch, Lord Lambington napped in the sun, and the invisible goose watched over all, content to remain a mystery.
For sometimes, the greatest adventures are the ones we almost forget.