Chapter One: A Wobble in the Sky
It began, as so many disasters do, with a committee meeting. Not the sort of high-stakes, high-tension gathering that changes the course of nations, but the distinctly less glamorous Lunar Festival Planning Committee of Middle Muddlethorpe, a village so small it doesn’t appear on any map—unless you spill tea on the county atlas, in which case a brown splotch marks the exact spot where it ought to be.
The committee, a ramshackle assortment of enthusiastic amateurs, was led by Mrs. Hortense Busybody, a woman who had once organized a charity car wash in the rain and considered it a raging success. Her deputy was Egbert Blunt, the village’s only and therefore best astronomer, whose telescope doubled as a bird perch and, on one memorable occasion, a scarecrow.
The meeting was held in the back room of The Leaky Teapot, the village’s only (and therefore best) pub. As the committee nibbled on slightly stale biscuits, Mrs. Busybody banged her teaspoon against her mug in a way that implied imminent disaster.
Now, as you are all aware, the Lunar Festival is in but three days, and this year we are promised a total lunar eclipse! declared Mrs. Busybody, brushing a crumb from her lap with all the authority of a monarch dismissing a coup.
Egbert adjusted his bow tie—a clip-on, but one must keep up appearances—and nodded solemnly. The eclipse would be a rare event for Middle Muddlethorpe, which was normally too cloudy, too foggy, or too distracted by sheep to notice anything astronomical.
But this year, Egbert had checked the astronomical charts, dusted off his telescope, and even written a strongly worded letter to the Met Office demanding clear skies. For once, the celestial calendar and the village’s social calendar were in perfect alignment.
There was only one small problem.
The moon, according to Egbert’s latest observation, had gone missing.
Chapter Two: Where’s the Moon?
Egbert’s discovery was not, initially, met with the seriousness it deserved. When he burst into The Leaky Teapot, huffing, puffing, and scattering biscuit crumbs in his wake, Mrs. Busybody assumed he’d misplaced his telescope again.
It’s gone! Egbert wailed. The moon! I can’t find it anywhere!
Mrs. Busybody peered over her half-moon spectacles at him. Perhaps it’s behind a cloud, dear. Things often are.
But Egbert shook his head so vigorously his bow tie spun sideways. I checked. I even went up to the old cow pasture for a better view. No moon. Not even a sliver!
The assembled committee members—Mrs. Busybody, Egbert, and three others who had wandered in by mistake looking for the loo—looked at one another in a rare moment of shared confusion.
Well, said Mrs. Busybody slowly, we can’t have a Lunar Festival without a moon. People will talk.
They always do, Egbert sighed.
The question, then, was simple yet cosmic in scale. Where had the moon gone? And, perhaps more importantly, how did one go about finding it?
Chapter Three: The Detective Agency of Last Resort
Middle Muddlethorpe had not had much call for detectives. The last mystery to grace its borders was the Case of the Vanishing Jam Tarts, which turned out to be the work of Mrs. Fiddlewick’s cat. But desperate times called for desperate measures, so the committee convened as the village’s first-ever Moon Recovery Task Force (MRTF).
The MRTF’s first act was to appoint Egbert as Chief Investigator. This was less for his skills and more because he had binoculars. The rest of the task force consisted of Mrs. Busybody—who insisted on being called Commander—and two volunteers: Percy Potts, whose curiosity was only matched by his laziness, and Daisy Flummox, who had once completed a crossword puzzle with only mild cheating.
They gathered atop Muddlethorpe Hill, armed with the telescope, a torch, a thermos of lukewarm tea, and a packet of ginger nuts for morale.
Egbert scanned the horizon, then the sky. He checked the telescope, then his astronomical chart, then the sky again.
It’s definitely not there, he muttered.
Have you tried looking behind things? Daisy suggested, recalling the time she found her missing slippers behind the dog.
Egbert gave her a withering look, but dutifully examined the area behind a large ash tree. No moon.
Perhaps it’s gone on holiday, Percy mused, biting into a ginger nut. I hear Majorca is lovely this time of year.
Mrs. Busybody was having none of this nonsense. The moon does not go on holiday. It has responsibilities!
But as the night wore on, the only thing they uncovered was Percy’s second packet of biscuits.
Chapter Four: An Unlikely Clue
By morning, news of the missing moon had spread through the village like jam on a hot scone. The postman delivered his letters in a daze, bumping into hedges and muttering about tides and werewolves. Mrs. Fiddlewick, whose cat had been acting suspiciously moonlit for days, began barricading her pantry in case of further cosmic thefts.
Then, just as the village was settling into a comfortable panic, a clue appeared.
It arrived in the form of an unusually soggy sheep. Gerald, the flock’s unofficial leader, had developed a habit of wandering where he shouldn’t, and this morning he had outdone himself by turning up in the middle of the village pond—glowing faintly blue.
Egbert, who was passing by on his way to the bakery, stopped and stared at the sheep. Gerald blinked back, his wool shimmering with an otherworldly light.
That’s not normal, Egbert decided aloud.
He ran for Mrs. Busybody, who arrived moments later, armed with her shopping basket and a sense of urgency.
She peered at Gerald, then at Egbert.
Is he supposed to be… luminous?
Not unless he’s eaten something radioactive, which is unlikely, Egbert replied.
They questioned Gerald, but the sheep merely chewed his cud in serene indifference.
Daisy arrived, took one look, and gasped. He’s got moon on him!
What followed was a hasty and undignified attempt to herd Gerald into the village hall for further study. By the time they succeeded, the entire village had gathered to stare at the glowing sheep and speculate wildly.
Chapter Five: The Lunar Conspiracy
Within hours, rumors blossomed like wildflowers after rain. Some said the moon had shrunk and fallen into the pond. Others claimed it was hiding in Mrs. Fiddlewick’s pantry, along with the missing jam tarts. A small contingent insisted it was all a government plot to boost sales of nightlights.
Egbert tried to inject reason into the proceedings. Perhaps, he ventured, something had caused the moonlight to collect in the pond, and Gerald, being Gerald, had absorbed some of it.
Percy, who had been reading a magazine about alien abductions, suggested the moon had been stolen by extraterrestrials with a fondness for cheese.
Mrs. Busybody, practical as ever, decided they should write a letter to the council demanding compensation.
Meanwhile, Gerald remained unfazed by his newfound fame, basking in the attention and the peculiar blue glow that now lit up the village hall like a disco.
But as evening approached and the villagers prepared for another moonless night, Egbert gazed at the sky and wondered if perhaps the explanation was stranger than anyone imagined.
Chapter Six: The Eclipsed Plan
The next morning dawned grey and drizzly, as if the weather, too, had lost its will without the moon’s cheerful presence.
Egbert, having spent a sleepless night charting lunar trajectories and consuming an alarming amount of tea, had a revelation. If the lunar eclipse was still scheduled, perhaps the moon had not vanished but had gone somewhere… else.
He gathered the committee in the village hall, now smelling faintly of sheep and ginger nuts.
I think, he announced, the moon is beneath us.
Daisy blinked. In the village hall?
No, not literally, Egbert clarified. I mean beneath the earth. Or, more likely, beneath something. Perhaps, during this eclipse, the moon has shifted… dimensions.
Mrs. Busybody frowned. Are you suggesting the moon is hiding in another dimension to avoid the festival?
Not avoiding, Egbert insisted. Perhaps it’s just… elsewhere. Like a holiday, but for celestial bodies.
Percy, who had just found a biscuit in his pocket, was suddenly alert. You mean we need to go looking for it somewhere else?
Exactly! Egbert exclaimed. But how do we get there?
It was a question no one could answer, not even Gerald, who was now being petted by half the village’s children.
Chapter Seven: Enter the Eccentric
It was at this moment that Reginald Bumblethorpe, the village’s only inventor (and therefore, by default, its best), burst into the hall carrying what could only be described as a large, whirring contraption built from a wheelbarrow, several bicycle parts, and an alarming number of kitchen timers.
I hear you’ve misplaced the moon, he announced, setting the machine down with a clank. Good job I’ve got just the thing!
The villagers stared. Even Gerald looked skeptical.
Reginald explained (at length and with enormous enthusiasm) that his machine was a Quantum Dimensional Aperture Generator, or QDAG, designed to detect and access parallel realities—should one have the proper change for the coin slot.
It’s simple, really, Reginald beamed. Insert a shilling, turn the crank, and the QDAG will open a portal to wherever the moon has gone!
Mrs. Busybody, sensing an opportunity for both adventure and plausible deniability, agreed at once.
And so, with a crowd of villagers watching (and a chorus of children chanting Portal! Portal! Portal!), the committee inserted a shilling, Reginald turned the crank, and the QDAG sputtered, hummed, and—
—opened a swirling, shimmering portal right in the middle of the village hall.
Well, said Mrs. Busybody, that’s certainly new.
Chapter Eight: Through the Portal
The committee, accompanied by Reginald, Daisy, Percy, Egbert, Mrs. Busybody, and Gerald (who refused to be left behind), stepped through the portal single file. The sensation was somewhere between sneezing and riding a particularly enthusiastic roundabout.
On the other side, they found themselves standing on a landscape both familiar and strange. It looked like Muddlethorpe, but the colors were brighter, the air tingled, and above them—still and luminous—hung the moon, eclipsed and enormous, bathing the world in silvery twilight.
We’ve done it! Egbert exclaimed, adjusting his bow tie with glee. We’ve found the moon!
The moon, for its part, seemed unconcerned by their arrival.
Reginald fiddled with his QDAG, which was now making a noise like a boiling kettle. We appear to be in a parallel version of Muddlethorpe. One where the lunar eclipse is… perpetual.
Mrs. Busybody frowned. That sounds terribly inefficient. How will we know when to put the bins out?
Daisy gazed at the moon in awe. It’s beautiful. But how do we bring it back?
Egbert pondered. If the moon is stuck here, perhaps something from our world is needed to remind it where it belongs.
They turned to Reginald, who shrugged. I suppose we could try luring it.
With what?
Percy, who had run out of biscuits, offered up the last ginger nut. It’s worth a go.
And so the committee set about constructing the world’s first and only ginger nut lunar lure.
Chapter Nine: The Great Lunar Lure
The lure itself was a triumph of village engineering. They tied the ginger nut to a length of string, attached it to the end of Reginald’s retractable fishing pole, and waved it at the moon with all the encouragement they could muster.
Nothing happened.
Perhaps it wants milk, Daisy suggested. Or tea.
Mrs. Busybody emptied her thermos into a saucer and set it on the ground beneath the lure.
Still, the moon remained impassive.
Gerald, seizing the opportunity, wandered over and nibbled the ginger nut, then bleated at the moon.
To everyone’s astonishment, the moon began to glow more brightly. A beam of silvery light shone down, illuminating Gerald and causing the air to hum with energy.
Egbert’s eyes widened. Maybe it needs a connection to our world. Gerald still has some of the moon’s energy from when he glowed.
Reginald hastily adjusted the QDAG, aligning its whirring dials with the beam of moonlight.
If I can tune this correctly, we might be able to pull the moon’s essence back through the portal.
Mrs. Busybody rallied the committee. All right, everyone hold hands. Gerald, you stand in the middle.
With the committee encircling Gerald, and Reginald cranking the QDAG for all it was worth, the portal began to pulse and shimmer, the silvery beam growing brighter until the entire group felt themselves tugged, as if by an enormous invisible hand, back toward their own world.
Chapter Ten: Home Again, Moon Again
With a jolt and a pop, the committee tumbled back into the village hall, followed by a rush of silvery light and the unmistakable glow of moonlight.
Outside, the villagers gasped as the moon reappeared in the sky, just in time for the much-anticipated eclipse.
Gerald, now back to his usual non-glowing self, was declared a hero and awarded a medal made from a jam tart, which he promptly ate.
Reginald’s QDAG was given pride of place in the village museum (next to the world’s largest turnip), and Egbert was celebrated as the astronomer who brought the moon home.
Mrs. Busybody, ever the organizer, made special mention of the committee’s teamwork and announced that next year’s festival would feature a commemorative sheep parade.
As the eclipse began and the village gathered to watch, Egbert looked up at the moon and smiled.
Beneath the eclipsed moon, Middle Muddlethorpe found itself united—if only for one night—by the unlikely adventure that had brought them together.
And as the villagers cheered, Gerald blinked contentedly, wondering if next time, the moon might bring biscuits.
Chapter Eleven: A Festival to Remember
The lunar festival turned out to be the most memorable in the history of Middle Muddlethorpe. There were speeches and songs, sheep-shaped lanterns, and a moon-themed bake-off, which Mrs. Fiddlewick won with her famous Lemon Lunar Loaf.
Egbert gave a lecture on lunar cycles, though most people paid more attention to the free cheese samples. Reginald demonstrated his QDAG, though it now only dispensed teabags and occasionally a pocket watch.
Daisy and Percy set up a display featuring Gerald’s adventures, complete with a cardboard cut-out of a glowing sheep and a basket of ginger nuts for visitors.
As the eclipse reached its peak, the villagers gathered on Muddlethorpe Hill and sang the traditional Lunar Song (recently composed by Mrs. Busybody and set to the tune of Old MacDonald Had a Farm).
When the festival finally came to an end, Egbert, Mrs. Busybody, and the rest of the committee stood beneath the now-restored moon, reflecting on their improbable adventure.
Well, said Mrs. Busybody, I suppose we’ll have to start planning next year’s festival.
Egbert groaned, but secretly, he looked forward to whatever cosmic chaos might come next.
Chapter Twelve: Epilogue – Beneath the Eclipsed Moon
Long after the festival lights had dimmed and the villagers returned to their routines, stories of the missing moon became the stuff of legend in Middle Muddlethorpe.
Children played Lunar Rescue in the fields, pretending to herd glowing sheep across parallel worlds. Gerald, now retired from adventuring, enjoyed a peaceful life and the occasional ginger nut.
Mrs. Busybody busied herself with new committees, convinced that if they could survive a missing moon, they could tackle anything—except, perhaps, the parking situation at the cricket club.
Reginald continued tinkering with his inventions, promising that next year he would build a device to count all the stars in the sky (or at the very least, the sheep).
And Egbert, whenever he gazed through his much-repaired telescope, would spot the moon shining serenely above and remember that sometimes, the greatest adventures happen when you least expect them—right beneath the eclipsed moon.
The End.