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              My earliest memories of my Mother’s Uncle, Professor Thaddeus Bindlseworth, is of his laugh. A deep, rolling, booming laugh, it seemed like it would have come from a much larger man. It’s that sound that I always hear when I close my eyes and try to picture my favorite uncle. After that, the other details paint themselves in: his bushy white mustaches, an almost comically large beak-like nose, two slightly watery grey eyes, and a rumpled khaki outfit with an old fashioned panama hat covering a mane of wildly unkempt white hair.

                Those are just the minor details though. What I remember most clearly, almost fiercely even, was his kindness to a small, quietly awkward boy. I was never especially large or outgoing. I wasn’t especially bullied though, instead I would simply fade into a corner and watch other children enjoy themselves. Most days this sort of thing didn’t bother me, but there were moments when I felt quite alone. Whenever that loneliness grew too unbearable, that’s when my uncle would arrive for a short visit all unannounced.

                He would often arrive with a small gift, an oddity he had acquired on his travels, a glass bottle filled with sand from an Egyptian tomb, a wooden bracelet he claimed had been carved by a dryad, or some other impossible thing. I remember him having a rather long talk with my mother the he presented me with what he claimed was a dragon’s tooth, a particularly sharp gift that was quickly spirited away. These curios would always be accompanied by some story about how he had acquired them on an impossible adventure. Stories that I would drink in wide eyed. He would tell me about long nosed men with black bird’s wings living in cloud shrouded mountains, or he would explain to me how to mix salt with paste and lay it down in a line across my door so that evil spirits could not cross. That particular bit of advice sparked another long conversation with my parents when the found salty glue liberally spread about the house. The best part of these visits was how, after he told me of his adventures, he’d ask me what strange things I’d seen since last we talked.

                I would tell him of the strange sounds under my bed or beneath the house’s porch, and he’d explain to me that if I put out a small bowl of milk sweetened with a few drops of honey it would keep whatever made those sounds so happy they’d never think of harming me. He showed me how if I made the roofs of my forts curved up at the edges it would protect me since bad luck can only travel in straight lines. He’d listen with a sort of quiet, serious look on his face that adults only had when speaking to other adults. He’d never told me that I was being foolish for being afraid of shadows, but rather taught me how to draw symbols in chalk that would render those shadows powerless. All in all it was quite comforting for a small, somewhat odd boy to hear.

                As I grew older I came to decide that his stories were made up for my amusement, the gifts just amusing props attached to these stories. Much to my parents relief I grew out of these fantasies in favor of the every day concerns that became my world. The last time my Uncle Thaddeus came to visit I barely spoke to him before rushing out to be with my friends. After all he was simply a very old man who I had outgrown so long ago. After that I received a few birthday cards with stamps from countries I had never heard from, but he never visited again.

                I had grown up over the years, found a job, acquired my own home and so forth. The honest truth is that I had not thought of my uncle for quite a long time the night the package arrived. It was the beginning of Spring, the weather had finally begun to turn after a long Winter. I had just arrived from work as the sun was setting. I eagerly made myself a hot chocolate and started to settle in for a quiet evening of reading when a howling wind shook my small home. I looked out the window and saw that quite out of the blue what seemed to be a blizzard had sprung up, snow already piling up outside. My doorbell rang out and thunderous knock crashed against my door. It sounded as if someone was trying to knock my front door down with each thunderous boom. I must admit I was a bit worried as I opened the door and what I found when I did quite failed to set my mind at ease.

                The first thing I noticed was a large parcel held at eye level, wrapped in ragged brown paper and tied with a leather thong. A great mass of snow slid off the parcel, promptly plopping down onto my sock clad feet. I jumped back in shock from the cold wetness, about to open my mouth that I might tell off the parcel’s carrier, I instead clapped it shut. Looking at where the face should be on a person of average height I instead found myself looking at a remarkably broad chest clad in an orange and bright purple striped poncho type garment. Looking slowly up to the top of my door, I finally found the carrier’s head. His face was hidden in shadows cast by a large, wide brimmed hat. With a great sighing breath the carrier thrust the parcel at me, his hands covered in what I first assumed were thick leather gloves quite dwarfed my own.

                “You’re Thaddeus’ nephew?” His deep voice rumbled in a strange accent I had never heard before. I stammered my assent and staggered back as he stepped inside my home and shoved the parcel into my arms. A great quantity of snow sloughed off his poncho and onto the floor. “Good. This is yours now. I’ll just need something cold to drink and I’ll be on my way.”

                The large figure wasn’t any more comforting now that he was in the light and in my home. “W…would water be okay?” I asked, not entirely sure I wasn’t dreaming the entire encounter.

                “Milk’d be better,” the stranger grumbled as he walked into my living room and sat down on my couch which creaked and groaned under the assault of so much unaccustomed weight.

                “Of course… I’ll be right back.” Stumbling, dazed towards the kitchen I noticed a note tied to the parcel by the leather thong. Setting the package aside I pulled out the carefully folded, if somewhat soggy, letter and began to read what was undoubtedly the most curious letter I had ever received.

My Dearest Nephew,

                I know it has been years since we last spoke, but I could think of no one I would rather send my field guide to. As you may recall I’ve made a career out of exploring unknown locales, peaking to hidden creatures and generally trying to find impossible situations. I can quite understand if you have decided that your old uncle Thaddeus was quite mad, but I can assure you those tales I told you in your youth were all true. After all crazy doesn’t necessarily mean wrong, my dear boy.

                Now this package contains my own personal notes assembled, rather hastily I must admit, into a rough field guide of some of the most rare and strangest treasures to be found in this precious world of ours. If you are unable or unwilling to accept my notes and illustrations as proof of what I have encountered, I invite you to speak to D’Greeth, the parcel’s deliverer. His tribe owed me a favor and as such agreed to bear the guide to you. You might find him to be a bit rough around the edges, but I assure you he is a quite a bit more cultured and wise than first impressions would indicate.

                Unfortunately it’s unlikely that you’ll hear from again, dear nephew. My most recent discoveries will take me rather farther away than I’ll be able to write, I think. The last few entries of the guide should provide you with more details as to my destination than I can provide in this letter. Just know that I love you. You were always my favorite.

Your loving uncle,

Professor Thaddeus Bindlseworth

                As you might imagine, this letter didn’t really answer many questions. I quickly poured a mug of cold milk and returned to the living room where this D’Greeth was waiting for me. He harrumphed loudly as I handed him his drink and my uncle’s letter. It was then I noticed that what I had taken to be leather gloves were, in fact, his hands. The skin on them a deep brown, wrinkled and far thicker than on any person I’d ever seen, and instead of fingernails he had long, black talons. Normally such a sight would have scared me quite senseless, but by this point a certain numb sense of disbelief had settled upon me. As I opened my mouth to question D’Greeth, he raised one of those great hands to silence me. “Read it first. Then you can ask.” He rumbled.

                And so, feeling quite lost in my own home, I sat down and unwrapped a large set of battered leather bound journals, each one handwritten and illustrated my Uncle. I now present to you, the contents of this field guide, edited so that certain personal details are undisclosed, but otherwise quite untouched. It Is my hope that you find them every bit as interesting a read as I first did.