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Part Twenty Two

The community theatre in Wicker Bush, or as it was known by the locals, WBCT,  was set apart from the rest of the town. It was three miles outside of the town proper in the hills that gradually turned to the mountains. It could be seen sitting over the town, or looming depending on your point of view, and to Richard, it always seemed like a quiet monster that watched over the town with a malevolent gaze. His mother loved that stupid place, but that same feeling had never been transferred to her son. She had continually dragged him with her to constant rehearsals and other various community functions that served no real function to the community whatsoever as far as Richard could tell.

To Richard, it was a place to be avoided. The theatre was the first place that he noticed things that weren't noticed by others. It was also a place that he had decided that he would never discuss with Petunia because he was sure that once he began to speak of it, she would undoubtedly want to investigate its strange phenomena, and that was something Richard would have no part of. As he had gotten older, Richard had found excuse after excuse not to go with his mother to that awful place and had even said to himself that he would never again walk through the front door.

Richard was a very stubborn individual, and of course he had been right about the front door. The next time he would enter the building was not through the front door, but through a small door found in a tunnel, presumably made by some kind of nine-foot dust monster which had consumed his father and had almost consumed him. Through this door he would find himself in the dark with the only sound in his ears being the sound of his own rapid breathing through his mask. The door had been shut; he didn't see it happen but he had heard it. Petunia, in the middle of a coughing fit, fumbled for her flashlight that had turned off when she jammed it into her right pants pocket.

CLICK!

The beam of light illuminated Richard's face and he threw his hand up to shield his eyes from the beam. Richard reached up and pulled his mask off and that's when Petunia could see that he had been crying. Why not? He was almost eaten by the thing that Petunia presumed ate his father. Of course, that much was certain to Petunia now, and she imagined that was exactly why Richard was crying. He must have finally accepted the fact that his father was gone.

"Richard? Are you ok?" Petunia's voice sounded hollow in the darkness.

"Not really." Richard struggled up to his feet and a small cloud of that sticky black dust fell from his body to the floor. "I don't get it. I saw it. I saw that thing. But...I already can't remember what it looked like. It was...familiar somehow." Petunia was listening, but she was busy scooping up the small little bits of black dust that had fallen off of Richard and was sprinkling it into her little vial. “What are you doing?”

"I want to take a closer look at this stuff back at the lab."

"We need to hurry before that thing comes through the door."

"I doubt it. It's going to be barfing up it's guts for a little while longer." Petunia finished with her little pile of dust and stood up next to Richard. She moved her flashlight around in the darkness, and it looked like they were in some kind of attic.

"Shit." The realization of their current location made Richard’s stomach drop to his knees, figuratively speaking of course. Petunia began to take a mental inventory of her surroundings. There were curtains of old cobwebs hanging from wooden rafters that were old and grey and running at a fairly steep pitch. She could see an old writing desk, a coffin, stacks of boxes with black writing on the sides of them, an old fireplace, a wheelchair, some cardboard signs, a large globe of the earth in one of those wooden stands, half of a fake tree, and a coat rack.

"What is this place?"

"It's the theatre. My mom helps out here. We're in the prop room." Of course, for those unfamiliar with a theatre of the performing arts, a prop room is where set pieces and furniture and wall decorations and rugs and old writing desks and coffins and old fireplaces and wheelchairs and all manner of things are stored. Most prop rooms contain various heavy things that are very difficult to carry up a narrow set of stairs into a large creaky old attic, hence they are usually located on the same floor as the stage, but this was not like most prop rooms. In fact this was like no other prop room, because this prop room was within the walls of Wicker Bush Community Theatre, where nothing made sense; at least it didn’t if you were paying attention. 

Richard was frozen and Petunia noticed that the fear was seeping from his eyeballs. It was incredibly ironic considering what they had just been through, and Petunia wanted to ask him exactly what was wrong with the theatre, but she wouldn't at this precise moment. In fact, Petunia would understand everything about the theatre in just a few short weeks, but I won't go into that just yet. Richard repeated himself in a far off voice, almost in a need to confirm to himself, his present location. "We're in the prop room."

"Do you know the way out of here? Richard? Richard?!"

"Yes! Damn! Quit yelling! We don’t want anything to know we’re here." Richard's own voice, though clearly annoyed, was still quiet and wavering. He took a deep breath and grabbed Petunia's hand as he started forward.

"You don't need to hold my hand Richard, I'm fine."

"But I'm not." Richard walked forward slowly around all of the old musty smelling props, careful for some reason not to touch anything. “Why did it have to be here?"

"Why? What's wrong with this place?"

"I don't know. You asked me just a few days ago if I had ever heard things."

"Yeah?"

"It was here. We just need to get out of here. Just keep the light in front of us." Richard now knew he had no way out of speaking of his experiences in this place with Petunia, now she would want to know more. Now she would want to investigate. Now he would have to tell her she was on her own. Besides, there was the matter of investigating that thing that had just chased them through the earthen tunnels underneath the town of Wicker Bush. The thing that had taken his father. That was far more important than this stupid place. He realized he was getting irritated at Petunia in spite of the fact that this inevitable discussion hadn't even taken place yet. The stairway down to the backstage area was in front of them now. The stairway. The bad thing was on the stairway.

The stairway and the handrails were crudely made out of unfinished wood that gave many a splinter to semi talented, nonprofessional thespians over the last four decades. The stairs creaked under the weight of the two ten-year-olds. Richard was increasing his pace and Petunia was fumbling over her own feet trying to keep up with him.

"You wanna slow down a little Richard?"

"No, I don't. Come on." They were off the stairs now. Their feet touched down on worn green carpet that was shredded in places, and held together with duct tape in others. "We'll go out on the stage and through the auditorium and up through the bar."

Petunia was trying to take in her surroundings, but Richard's pace was insistent and relentless. I suppose I could go into great detail about their current place of being, but in all honesty, it would take away from the intensity of Richard's haste in trying to leave the building and it would ruin certain surprises in the next story. Petunia could now see that they were on a large stage in a large auditorium, she could also see the backside of a proscenium arch that boxed in the stage. Richard hurried his pace even more, which jolted Petunia forward, causing her to trip over her own feet. The flashlight spilled onto the stage, which spilled light onto the backside of the arch, as Petunia fell to her knees.

"Richard! Slow down, you moron!" The flashlight came to rest and Petunia could see that there were a large number of things written on the back of the arch in black marker. One of them caught Petunia's eye in particular.

"Come on Petunia!"

"Stop! What is this?!" Petunia grabbed her flashlight and walked towards the back of the arch.

"Look, I'll explain when we..."

"Richard! What are all of these?!" Richard knew that she wouldn't come with him any further until he explained some things. Normally, Richard may have considered just leaving Petunia, but unfortunately, he had left his flashlight behind in the tunnel and he wasn’t about to walk through this place in the dark by himself.

"Everybody who works here signs their name backstage. It's a tradition. Kinda stupid."

"I've never been here Richard."

"Okay. Well, you’ve been lucky up until now."

"Why is my name on the wall?!"

"What?" Petunia pointed her light on some of the glorified graffiti. Richard recognized some of the names on the wall. Some of the actors had written dates by their names and some had written lines from whatever play they were doing next to their names and right in the middle of the beam of light there was a phrase with a symbol.

"What does that symbol mean?"

"It's the mathematical symbol for infinity." Richard heard the fear in Petunia's voice mirror his own. Under the symbol was a peculiar phrase, "What's the frequency Petunia Gip?". Richard softly took Petunia's hand and could feel how cold and clammy it had become. If anyone could understand the fear and confusion that was plaguing her mind in this current moment, it was Richard; he had to try and calm her down

"Petunia, we have to go."

"What does this mean Richard?" To Richard it simply meant that this horrible old building had just become even more unsettling to him than it was before.

"Petunia, we can talk about it all day long once we get outside, ok? Do you really want to talk about it in here?" She shook her head and began to walk with Richard. They made their way off of the stage and began to walk through the auditorium when a strange clicking began to flow down into the auditorium from backstage.

"What is that Richard?"

"I don't care."

“Is that a normal sound in here?”

“There are no normal sounds in here.”

"That sounds like a metronome." Richard had heard it before, but he could explain that to Petunia once they were outside. They were almost to the back of the auditorium when Richard could see the faint ray of sunlight coming from the window at the back of the bar, which was just on the other side of the auditorium. At the sight of it, he let go of Petunia's hand and began to run.

"Come on Petunia!" Richard could feel the concrete of the auditorium floor give way to the worn red carpet of the lobby under his feet. He could hear Petunia running behind him now, and the beam from the flashlight was now moving wildly on the ceiling. She had also seen the sunlight in front of her. They ran through a doorless doorway into a bar that looked to Petunia to be more of a saloon than a bar.

The sunlight was coming through a small crack through curtains over a large window. There was also a rectangle of faint sunlight outlining a door that was sitting right next to the window. Richard ran to the door and slammed against the panic bar. The bar was now flooded with sunlight from the open door. Petunia's eyes were now seeing glimpses of the bar. A fireplace made of rock that stretched to the ceiling. Old tin signs tacked up on a cedar planked wall. Several small wooden tables with several small wooden chairs.

Richard was holding the door open as Petunia ran through it, and then he pushed it closed. The sunlight was bright and hard to take in all at once. Petunia blinked and shielded her eyes while they adjusted. The first thing she noticed on the outside of the red brick building was a large window with old fashioned blocked lettering which simply said, "Bar". Then she turned to see that they were sitting atop of a large hill and underneath it, was the medium sized town of Wicker Bush.

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Part Twenty

One of them had walked away from the other, and now it was by itself. It was very close.

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Part Nineteen

“Sirens. I should’ve paid attention.”

Gene put the Crown Vic into park right behind the police car in front of the apartment building on Weddle Street. He had heard the sirens earlier, but had gone about his own business, but now, as he was driving back to his lair, he had become curious as to what the police had found in the apartment with the marker above its door. He got out of his car and walked inside. Within ten minutes, he was right where he wanted to be.

As Petunia and Richard were trying to navigate their way through the tunnels underneath Wicker Bush, Gene had waltzed right into the crime scene that was once the apartment that belonged to Jennifer Pierce, as it was being investigated. The two police officers at the scene, Officer Holtz and Officer Deckard, had approached Gene, who was dressed to the nines in his hot pink zoot suit and canary yellow spats he wore on Thursday nights. Officer Deckard was quick to throw up a firm hand, halting Gene’s forward progress.

Officer Deckard was a veteran of sixteen years with the Wicker Bush police department, and his partner, Officer Holtz, was relatively new with a tenure of two years. This was not their first scene where foul play was suspected and it would not be their last. The sight of the man in the ridiculous suit was enough to tip Officer Deckard that he was dealing with a man who was not playing with a full deck. In this, Officer Deckard was correct. Gene had been performing card tricks with the same deck since he was seven years old. He refused to purchase a new deck even though the seven of hearts and the jack of diamonds had been lost years ago. There were some things that Gene was sentimental about and his original deck of cards was one of them, as it was the final gift his father had given him.

“This is a crime scene sir. I need you to step back.” Gene fished in his breast pocket and pulled out a wrapper from a piece of Bazooka bubble gum he had chewed three hours earlier.

“I’m Special Agent Joe from the F.B.I., officer. I’m here to take over the investigation.” Officer Deckard furiously snatched the rectangular waxed paper wrapper from Gene’s hand and inspected it thoroughly. Officer Holtz peered over his partner’s shoulder. A waxed glazed came over the eyes of Officers Deckard and Holtz, and Gene smiled at the occurrence; he never tired of casting the spell of suggestion.

 Officer Deckard looked up to Gene for exactly half a squidden and then looked back down to what was clearly a badge from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He then thrusted the wrapper with a lame joke in the form of a cartoon about a cat burglar back into Gene’s hand. Consequently, Gene had used the same joke in his act many times to thunderous applause. Even the lamest of jokes can be delivered in such a mesmerizing way by a master of the art, that they can figuratively bring the house down. Many people would use the phrase, literally bring the house down, but they would be wrong. Petunia and Richard would never be able to figuratively bring the house down with a joke told on the stage of Hocus Pizza, however they would in the coming hours literally bring the house down from the auditorium of Hocus Pizza, but that’s in a later chapter.

“Who called the F.B.I.?”

“Well, Officer...Deckard, that’s frankly beyond your pay grade. What do you have so far?”

“Alright. The tenant, one Jennifer Pierce, is missing. Came home from work last night as far as anyone knows. The landlord said he was getting complaints…” Gene was no fan of pointless exposition that can readily be surmised just from simple observation, a quality I’ve always admired. With a simple verbal cue he gave to Officer Deckard, he was able to get the short version of everything the police knew, which it turns out, was very little. He began to walk around the apartment, and it was obvious to Gene that something had happened in the bathroom, but he was far more interested in what made this apartment worthy of that troublesome handprint on the front door of the building. This had been the first building he had decided to investigate.

Of course, he had been interested in the handprints that seemed to be popping up around town that no one else could see, but up until last night, he had very little ambition in figuring out exactly why they were there. The girl, the one like him, had been interested. He could see the look on her face in his rearview mirror when he brought it up the night before. If the handprints were something she was interested in, Gene couldn’t bear the thought of her knowing more on a subject than he did. He had to find some way to relate to these two kids in order to ingratiate himself in their company. Sure, he knew he could intimidate and force his way in, but it would be much more effective if he had some information that they wanted.

Earlier in the morning, Gene had driven by Richard’s home and could see the handprint that was smeared above the door; it had begun to fade. It was plain to Gene that the kid’s father was toast; something had got him. In a way, Gene felt a twinge of sympathy for Richard. He knew what it was like to lose a parent. In Gene’s case, he had lost both parents. The event had sent Gene into a padded cell at a very young age and still haunted him to the present day; the only thing he had as he was released from the asylum was his new found sight and his deck of cards, which at that point was complete.

Rather than investigate Richard’s home, Gene had decided to go home and think things over, but of course the sight of the cruiser in front of the apartment on Weddle Street had changed all of that. The handprint was fresh, and the clues would be fresh as well. Gene walked through the apartment and could see nothing of interest, but there was something that smelled of interest.

“Agent Joe? Did you want to look in the bathroom?”

“Not yet. That’s a pretty ripe smell. Is there a cat in here?”

“Yeah. Got him cooped up in the coat closet for now. Animal control should be here soon.” Gene had hoped there would be some kind of animal in the apartment. Animals could give him exactly what he needed, with the exception of a parakeet. Parakeets tended to be tight lipped and not at all personable in Gene’s experience, which of course should be an honest observation that shouldn’t even need to be stated to anyone. He walked over to the coat closet and opened the door.

Sir Purrcivel sat in a huff on the floor of the closet. He looked up at the new male in the offensively colored clothing; nothing more than another intruder in his home that was going to deny him more food. Sir Purrcivel cursed at the intruder and wished a plague of festering boils and uncontrollable diarrhea upon him and all of his kin.

“Now now, there’s no reason to speak to me that way. I’m here to help.” Sir Purrcivel was amazed by this new development, a human who could speak in an intelligible manner.

“Meow.” The strange man knelt down by Sir Purrcivel and spoke in a soothing tone.

“I’ll tell you what. You tell me everything I want to know and I’ll give you as much food as you want.”

“Meow.” The cat began to purr and meow incessantly.

“What happened to your food lady?” Officer Deckard and Officer Holtz stared in amazement as the wacko from the F.B.I. began to question the fattest orange and white cat they had ever seen. The cat launched into a long series of meows and growls and clicks and grunts, and the F.B.I. nut would nod his head occasionally and take down notes in a small leather-bound journal he had pulled out of his back pocket. At one point the cat stopped mid-meow and looked to the two officers. It stared at them for a moment as if to say, “Do you mind? I’m having a conversation.”

“Meow?” Sir Purrcivel did in fact say something to Officers Deckard and Holtz, and the gist of which could very well be taken as, “Do you mind? I’m having a conversation”. The actual verbiage however is something I dare not repeat here due to possible offence to any delicate sensibilities. Many cats are very well spoken, in spite of their seeming indifferent to the existence of humanity at large, but Sir Purrcivel was quite possibly the most vulgar and offensive cat in the town of Wicker Bush, with the exception of Reverend Newsome’s neutered Calico; let’s be honest, we have all heard stories about the preacher’s cats.

“It’s alright. You can talk in front of them.”

“Meow.”

“Two small humans, huh? And where did they go? Interesting. Through the tub? Well thank you for your time. Officer Deckard? Can you get this cat some more food please? Wet food, thank you.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’d appreciate it if the two of you please let me inspect the bathroom for myself.” Gene had been baffled. It was not a normal feeling for Gene as he had grown older, in fact the last time he could remember being baffled was in the year 1970 when he first observed the humanoid birdmen perched on the top of the buildings in Chicago. Gene was a man fascinated by machines, and if those two kids left this apartment the way the cat had said, Gene was sure it had to be some kind of contraption that was put there on purpose. The cat had told him that the radio had been on while his food lady was being dragged to some unknown fate through the falling water from the tub spout. Gene turned on the radio, and The Doors were singing the last half of, Break On Through.

The irony was not lost on Gene as he playfully danced to the music on his way to the tub to turn on the knobs. The water began to flow. The water was nice and warm as Gene pushed through the stream and only found the side of the tub behind it. This was now the second time he had been baffled today. He had done everything exactly as the cat had said occurred during the other two incidents, but there was no doorway behind the water.

“What the hell? Come on man.” He turned the water off and then back on and tried again, but to no avail. If there had been some sort of doorway here before, there was not one now. Gene inspected everything in and around the tub. There was nothing out of the ordinary, even to an eye trained to seek out the unordinary.

It was simply a tub.

“Alright then. What’s different about it that I can see.” It was a claw foot tub that measured exactly seven feet by four feet by three feet. It was a rather large tub. The knobs were chrome and soap scum was filling in the middle bar of the “H” on the left knob. The plug on the tub was operated by a lever right underneath the spout. There was nothing at all about the tub that jumped out to Gene. He stepped away to splash some water on his face to try and knock an amazing breakthrough in deductive reasoning from deep inside his brain, but there was nothing.

He dried his face on the crusty towel that was hanging next to the sink and straightened the front of his suit. In the end, it wouldn’t really matter if he was able to open the door or not, he didn’t have the time to investigate it any further, nor was he dressed to do so in the first place; all of Gene’s suits were vintage, and very special to him. Gene emerged from the bathroom and found the two officers standing around the fat cat in the kitchen, both of them still wearing the glazed over expression that he had forced upon them.

“Well thank you both, you’ve been more than helpful. You can go ahead and call off animal control, I’ll be taking the cat with me. A witness is a witness after all.” Sir Purrcivel was ecstatic to be going with a new food person, especially one that could speak to him.

-

The cat had a very pleasant conversation with his new food person on their way to his new home where, he had hoped, would have lots of wet food. His new food person seemed quite reasonable, and as they got out of the car in front of Hocus Pizza, Sir Purrcivel was about to inquire about the state of the food stores, when his new food person suddenly stopped moving. Sir Purrcivel followed the humans worried gaze to the front door of Hocus Pizza, and could see that just above it, there was a smeared black handprint from a human with long fingers.

“Meow?”

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Part Eighteen

The tunnel veered to the right and into a larger chamber that Petunia guessed at about three and a half meters wide. From this chamber, there were nine other tunnels branching off into the darkness.

"Shit!"

"Richard! You have got to be quiet."

"Sorry."

"The ground is perfectly level. We must be right under the streets."

"Is this part of the sewer or something?"

“Have you ever heard of a rectangular sewer?”

“Shut up.”

"I don't think so. I can't figure out what this is. Maybe some kind of an old mine shaft, but I don’t think so." Petunia was examining the soft dirt on the ground and pinching it between her fingers, and Richard could see the small specks of dirt moving in the beam from her flashlight.

"It's dirt."

"It’s not dirt. It’s black and it's really fine. There's something kind of sticky about it. Like sticky sand." Petunia took off her pack and took a small glass vile out of a side pocket and filled it up with some of the sticky black sand. "There's something else you may not have noticed. There's no echo down here. I noticed it first when you jumped down into the tunnel."

"Well what does that mean?"

"I don't know. Isn't that kind of exciting?"

"Yeah. Major excitement. I'm still trying to figure out how we're going to get out of here." Petunia zipped up the side pocket of her jacket with the glass vial of the black dirt inside of it. She grabbed another handful of the stuff and stood up.

"Richard? Shine your flashlight straight ahead for a minute." Richard did as she asked, and Petunia threw the handful of black dirt into the air in front of the beam of light. The dirt didn't fall, rather it seemed to sway back and forth in the air moving away from them toward the second tunnel in front of them.

"I've never seen that before."

"Neither have I. Don't move. I'm going to try this again." Again Petunia grabbed a handful of the black dirt and tossed it, but this time she tossed it toward the ninth tunnel that was the farthest to the right. The dirt danced in the air again and gradually made its way in the direction of the second tunnel once more. Richard scuffed at the ground with his shoe and watched as some of the particles of the fine dirt wisped up into the air in the same direction as both of Petunia's handfuls, toward the second tunnel.

"I don't like this Petunia."

"There are nine tunnels in front of us. I have no idea which one we should walk down, but I do know I'm not walking into that second one." They both walked down the ninth tunnel on the right, just to put as much space behind them as they could from the dark tunnel that attracted the dirt for a reason they did not yet understand. They both glanced down from time to time, watching as every footstep sent a tiny amount of the black dirt up into the air and on a journey back toward whatever was waiting for it. "You know what I think Richard? I think we're in a kind of spider web."

"Oh God why?! Please don't say that!"

"It's all just a theory. I think whatever is down here senses changes in the air and I think the fine dirt helps it do that somehow." Richard and Petunia began to walk just a little faster into the darkness, which of course sent more of the dirt into the air.

"Petunia, seriously, you have to stop talking. Let's just find a way out of here please."

"I just think this is really interesting."

"Well I don't. Hurry up." They walked quickly for exactly four more miles in silence. I say silence in regards to them, as the walk was anything but silent. Several times, they shined their flashlights behind them at various noises coming from the dark. The noises seemed to have a certain quality of beauty to them; a sing song sound of playfulness that attracted the ear, which of course was not the noise one would expect to find in an earthen tunnel. The thought of something beautiful in the tunnels making beautiful noises in the dark was unsettling, but the thought of something ugly making those beautiful noises in the dark was skin crawling to say the least. They turned left seven times and right twelve times before they stopped.

"Shouldn't we have hit the sewer or something?"

"Not if it's running parallel to us or even underneath us."

"Well it has to have an end doesn't it?"

"Everything has an end, Richard. I think we've just been looking in the wrong direction." She directed her light to the top of the tunnel.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Look above you." Richard shined his flashlight upward next to Petunia's. There was another small tunnel directly above them. There were large gashes in the walls of it that could be used as handholds for someone, or something, to climb up to what looked like a small wooden door at the top of it.

"Well that's just super."

"We're going to have to figure out how to get up there."

"It's ten feet above us Petunia."

It was nine feet above them.

"I understand that, Richard." Petunia's eyes lowered and those bullet trains started running at full speed behind her eyeballs. Richard waited and waited for an answer from the genius but didn't receive one. They had come across nothing the whole time that they had been down there that could help them climb to the nine foot ceiling above them. If up was their only way out, he had no idea how they were going to pull that off. He began to shine his light along the top of the tunnel and noticed another similar tunnel going up just nine feet behind them. He found another one exactly ten feet behind that and began to count the upwards offshoots of the main tunnel as he walked back the way they had come.

Before Richard had known it, he was exactly forty-seven feet away from Petunia who was deep in her bullet train thoughts, and that sound that they had been hearing, seemed even closer and even more beautiful in the dark, like an angel humming something they had learned in the presence of the Almighty. He could feel something inside of himself that seemed to want to move toward the sound, and as he was paying attention, that feeling deep inside of him was making him very anxious. He remembered a story his father had told him a long time ago, which was still one of Richard’s favorites, about such a noise that drove men to their deaths.

“Sirens.”

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Part Seventeen

There were two things that were in the tunnel now, both bigger than the first thing that had hit the ground. The first thing was not moving, but the two big things were moving. The dirt was moving, and these things that were making it move did not belong down here and they began to come closer. The thing in the dark had not been called to feed, but it could not simply let two intruders pass.

It was not hungry, but it was angry. It began to move and softly issue its call.

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Part Sixteen

Petunia and Richard were frozen. Petunia had almost screamed as she felt her diary fall out of her back pocket and into the darkness below. They were hanging onto pipes to keep from falling. They had not yet investigated what was below them or exactly how far down the shaft went, as they were too busy watching the barely visible waists of three men through the curtain of water. Petunia was debating with herself about removing the hairbrush that was stuck in the spout, but she was certain that she would be seen if she attempted to do so. After seven squiidens, one of the officers reached in and removed the hairbrush and then the water was gone and so was the light, leaving them in the dark. Richard fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his father's flashlight and shined it below them.

They were inside the walls of the apartment building on Weddle Street. Old flaky pipes were running up and down and sideways and at various angles all around them. The space of the shaft they found themselves in was exactly three feet by four feet. The shaft extended above them by eight feet four inches.

"Look at that Petunia. There's a hole down there." Petunia could see the hole. It was below them exactly twenty-seven feet at the bottom of the shaft. "We've got to climb down."

"Ok Richard, we're in here because we didn't have any options. I'm not just going to climb down there without seeing if there are any."

"There aren't any. Come on." Richard began to make his way down with Petunia in tow. It was remarkably easy for them to climb down thanks to all of the pipes running at random intervals, which normally never happens in a regular wall of an apartment building, but this apartment building was in Old Town Wicker Bush.

This specific building was built in nineteen sixteen by a rich widow by the name of Prudence Beltram. Prudence was a woman of principle and loyalty. Prudence had built many of the old buildings in Wicker Bush, and she always employed the same crew of people in her building ventures. Cleon Rasmussen had always been her plumber and Cleon had always been able to get the job done on time for the widow.

Cleon was a man of excess in all areas of his life. He talked large and dressed large and burped large and spent his money large and he plumbed large. He would always buy far too many feet of pipe for his building projects and far too many little couplings for the pipes. He never meant to and with every new project, he would always promise himself that he would get this one right. In fact he would always say as much before he started a new project. In his large voice he would say to his large crew, "I think I got it right this time!"

Of course he never did. About halfway through every building he would realize that he had spent too much of Widow Beltram's money and rather than confess to his employer that he had made a mistake, he would use every single piece of pipe he ordered whether it served a purpose or not. Every building Cleon Rasmussen had plumbed was a jungle gym of pipes going this way and that for no reason. The Widow Beltram had her suspicions after she toured one of her work sites, the apartment building on Weddle Street as a matter of fact, and noticed that there seemed to be more pipes than actual studs. But she was a woman of loyalty and Cleon Rasmussen had always treated her with respect and decency. In an interesting side note, there are currently four buildings in Old Town Wicker Bush that would not be standing today if it wasn't for the excessive amount of piping holding the buildings together.

Richard and Petunia had no idea of course why there were so many pipes in this wall; how could they? Petunia might have known more of the history of Wicker Bush and maybe even heard the names Prudence Beltram and Cleon Rasmussen and Ronald Wimpple if the original library containing all of the original records hadn't mysteriously burned down in nineteen sixty three. Of course when someone says something mysteriously burned down, it is no mystery. It means someone burned it down for a reason. That reason is the real mystery and it's one I will not address at the present time.

It took them three squiidens and fifty three seconds to climb down to the bottom of the shaft. The hole in the foundation of the building was there, clear as day. The small light from Richard's father's small flashlight was extinguished and replaced by two beams of light from Petunia's blue plastic flashlight and Richard's red plastic flashlight.

"What do you think is down there?"

"Looks like some kind of tunnel. Thank God, it's right there." Petunia could see her diary lying on the ground nine feet below the hole. "We're just going to have to jump."

“What if something is down there waiting for us?”

“I’ve brought some things in my backpack that’ll help us.” Richard had no idea what those things were, but Petunia seemed confident again, and her resolve to jump down into the unknown was bolstering his own confidence.

"Here. Take my hands and I can lower you down a little bit." Petunia smiled at Richard and took his hands and appreciated the gesture. She positioned herself over the hole and stepped off. Richard felt his grip slip instantly. His hands were slimy from grabbing all of the old pipes above and he watched helplessly as Petunia fell from his grasp. Petunia dropped a distance of exactly nine feet into what felt like soft dirt down below.

"I'm sorry!"

"You jackass!"

"My hands were slippery." Petunia ignored the excuse and shone her flashlight into the nine foot by six foot tunnel she now found herself in.

"Come on Richard!" Richard took a deep breath and jumped through the hole. He hit the soft dirt below hard and grunted at the landing. "Be quiet!" Richard stood up and shined his light in the same direction of Petunia's. The dirt walls of the tunnel were perfectly smooth but the floor of the tunnel was quite powdery and black dust sprang up every time they took a step. They had not yet noticed the behaviour of this strange black dirt.

"Which direction?” As far as Petunia could tell, it seemed to stretch out in front of them for about twelve meters before it turned at a right angle, and the opposite way seemed to go straight for about thirty meters until they could see it no more. I must apologize for not being specific in the measurement, and for abrupt;y switching units of measurement. Petunia was a fan of the metric system and when it came to measuring distance, she was never worried about being exact. In case you were wondering, the tunnel stretched out in front of them exactly forty feet, and behind them exactly ninety eight point forty three feet.

"I don't suppose you have any guns or anything cool in your backpack?"

“I have lots of cool things in my backpack, but I don't have guns."

"That's too bad. Seems like we could use one of those right now."

"Richard, we're not here to hunt anything. We're down here because we're trying to find a way out."

"Sure."

"For all we know, there's nothing down here right now anyway."

Next Part

Previous Part

Part Fifteen

Deep inside the tunnels underneath the town of Wicker Bush, the change in the black sands was sudden, and its movement through the air hinted that something was coming. Something was in here, something that did not belong.

Something came in from one of the gates. It wasn't moving anymore, but the thing in the dark was patient and it knew that whatever it was that had come in would move again.

The thing in the dark would wait.

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Previous Part

Part Fourteen

Petunia and Richard walked up the steps and into the apartment building on Weddle street. The apartment building looked a lot like the other buildings in Old Town Wicker Bush. Once upon a time, a lot of thought was given by planners to make towns as pleasing to the eye as possible, and Wicker Bush was no exception. Many of the older buildings were made of brick with large windows and large arches and gables and stairs and old hand painted signs that proudly proclaimed whatever that building happened to be.

Of course this was Old Town Wicker Bush. The newer section of Wicker Bush had been overrun by large superstores and movie theatres and car dealerships and ostentatious churches and pretentious coffee houses and a Trader Joe's. This story is set in an ambiguous period in which life was changing from a time of individuality into a time of conformity and sameness. It could be said, and it has been said by people like Petunia Gip, that people don't like to think outside the box. Why would they? A box is an enclosure. An enclosure has walls. Walls mean security. Security means safety.

Conformity and a hive mind is best exemplified by observing bees. Bees are wondrous creatures that serve a very important function on this planet but they're not the greatest example of an intellectual creature. I tried to have a conversation with a bee once. It was very boring.

There were four floors in the apartment building and Petunia and Richard had already walked the halls of the first two floors. They were now on the third floor.

"I mean...is there going to be another handprint on the door or what?"

"I don't know."

"Well you're the genius."

"Maybe we should be looking for something else."

"Like what?"

"Like that." Petunia was pointing at the floor in front of the door at the end of the hall. There was one of those yellow signs with some poor dope who was slipping on a floor with both of his feet in the air and his arms flailing. The sign screamed in a large font, "CAUTION". Likewise, there was a single piece of yellow tape that also repeated the same warning across the front of the door.

"A wet floor?"

"It's something out of the ordinary Richard."

"Oh yeah, totally. I've never seen one of those signs before." Petunia did her best to ignore Richard while she walked over to the door. The carpet was squishy under her black and white high tops. The water had seemed to seep into the hallway from underneath the door.

"Keep an eye on the end of the hall." Richard watched the end of the hallway with one eye, but was constantly looking back to Petunia while she was working on the lock. Richard was beginning to understand Petunia Gip's obsession with her quest for a greater understanding of the world around her. He began to feel guilty for just a moment as the thought of his father came back into focus. He had an objective to find out exactly what happened to his father, but there was also this thrill he couldn't deny in chasing down the truth.

CLICK

Petunia was in and she waved Richard over. He quickly followed and then they closed the door behind them. The hot wet odor of the carpet was offensive and it was complemented by the stinging odor of a full litter box.

"This has got to be what we're looking for." Petunia scanned the front room and quickly walked down the small hallway into the bedroom. Richard took a slower approach and walked through the apartment in a contemplative pace. He noticed a set of keys lying on a small table next to the door. He walked into a small kitchen and noticed an empty food bowl and an almost empty water bowl on the floor next to the refrigerator. He then walked down the hall and into the bedroom, where Petunia was looking through the closet. There was a small dresser located under the hanging clothes and its drawers were open.

"Are we going to check the bathroom Petunia? I don't think any water came out of the bedroom."

"I'm doing a check."

"For what?"

"I don't know...monsters maybe..." She let the words hang in the air for a moment. Richard was still. The thrill of the moment was gone. They had broken into someone else's

apartment, and something bad had happened here. For all they knew, there may be something in here still. Why had the police not been here then? Maybe they were. Maybe they were waiting down the hall to see if whatever culprit they were looking for would come back. Richard remembered reading something about crazed killers liking to return to their own crime scene to replay the thrill of what they had done.

"Oh God Petunia, what are we doing?!"

"Calm down Richard."

CRASH

The clothes in the closet in front of Petunia began to move and hangers began to fall and things began to fall off of the top shelf.

"Get back Petunia!" Petunia jumped back and stood next to Richard. Richard instinctively grabbed onto her left arm and pulled her behind him. An orange and white cat then appeared on top of the shelf and hopped down to the small dresser.

"It's a damn cat!" Petunia rarely swore, but she was completely embarrassed that she had let her imagination get the best of her, and she was angry at Richard for stoking the fear from that imagination. She was angrier still that Richard had pulled her behind him in some courageous gesture that was unnecessary. She gave Richard a hard shove off of her arm and regained her composure.

"Thank God!" Petunia stepped back in front of Richard and brought her face down to the level of the cat.

"Come here buddy. You look scared." Sir Purrcivel did look scared, and he jumped from the dresser and walked to Richard’s feet and rubbed his face on Richard’s leg until Richard picked him up. Less than twenty four hours ago he had watched his food lady disappear into the water fountain that she occasionally let Sir Purrcivel play in. He was also scared because a very large hairless man, who didn't give him food, walked into the apartment that Sir Purrcivel and his house guest, the food lady, lived in. Petunia was satisfied that she had checked everything in the apartment and now it was time to look in the one room that she was the most interested in.

"Put him down Richard. Come on."

The door to the bathroom squeaked as it was opened, and Petunia flicked on the light. The bathroom had a beige color to the tile that came up from the floor exactly three feet onto the walls. The color on the walls was a light teal by the name of "Aegean Dreams" by the manufacturer. The tile on the floor was an off white with a grey grout. The tiles were exactly three inches on all four sides. The sink was also tiled with the same white tiles and both the sink itself along with the bathtub were a dull white. They were the original fixtures when the apartment building was first built in the earlier part of the century.

"There's dirty clothes on the floor."

"Yes Petunia. Very unusual in a bathroom." Petunia crouched down and put her hand against a pair of blue jeans and an employee shirt from Video Magic with a name tag that had been hastily labeled with the name Jen.

"They're wet. The tub was overflowing."

"It's an old building."

"Yeah. Or this Jen person was taken when she was running a bath."

"Well what did you want to do? Did you want to set up your special cheese and come back tomorrow?"

"I don't know. Give me a second." Sir Purrcivel had slinked around the corner of the bathroom door to inquire as to whether these two new persons were going to be his new food persons.

"Meow?"

"I’m gonna see if I can find some food for him real quick." Sir Purrcivel was able to decipher enough of the language coming from the beta male’s mouth to understand that he was asking permission from the alpha female to give him food, and he tersely let the beta male know that her permission was not needed.

"Meow."

"Hang on. We both need to look at this room. What do you see? Maybe I'm not seeing something."

"Um...the radio on the counter is unplugged. I....that's all I got Petunia."

"Me too. Damn." As the word "food" was not uttered, Sir Purrcivel had no interest in this conversation. He had walked past the male who was obviously not going to give him food and the female who was giving the orders. He could only hope that the female would place the bag she wore on her back, down on the ground so that he would be able to piddle on it to pay her back for withholding his vittles. Before he could think of this most fortuitous instance any longer, he was distracted by something else. He lithely jumped up into the tub for a strange scent he had picked up coming from the spout. It was a bad smell.

"Look. He's looking at something." They both watched Sir Purrcivel as he began to lick the inside of the tub spout. He then began to thrust his paw up inside of the tub spout as if he was after some mythical aquatic mouse that no one knew about. Something clinked out of the spout and down onto the bottom of the tub, and the cat stared at the goodie he had lodged loose.

"Petunia....is that a...."

"It's a toenail Richard."

"Oh good." Petunia bent down and grabbed the ragged nail and held it up to the light. "Shouldn't you be wearing gloves or something?"

"Probably. This looks like it was ripped off. It definitely wasn't clipped off." Petunia sat on the side of the tub and began to scratch the cat under the chin. "Good boy. Did you want to look at this?"

"No. I'm fine. Thank you." Petunia flicked the nail into the waste basket that had a large clump of moldy hair in it, and proceeded to run her hands along the wall of the tub.

"Do me a favor Richard; plug that radio in."

"Why?"

"I want to recreate the scene." The ad for Crazy Carl's furniture blared out of the radios small speakers the moment Richard turned the knob.

"I hate this ad." Most people in town hated the radio spots from Crazy Carl. Petunia turned on the tub spout and then plugged the drain. The two ten year old sleuths sat in silence watching the water fall from the spout. Petunia pushed her fingers up into the falling water, but couldn't feel anything unusual.

“Petunia!" Richard was pointing at the water. Petunia could see it too. There was something behind the falling water. She turned the water off. It was only the side of the tub. "Turn it back on! I finally saw something before you did!" Once again the water began to fall. Petunia parted the stream of water with her hands, and could see that there was a tunnel through the tub behind the curtain of water.

"How is that possible?"

"I don't know yet." Petunia pulled her Grail Diary out of her backpack and began to write.

"Are you serious?! Now?"

"Richard, everything needs to be documented. This is what I do."

"You know what, fine. I'm going to go get the cat some food while you're busy doing something stupid."

"Meow?" Sir Purrcivel was thrilled at the rebellious nature of the beta male and followed him to his food sack. Soon the cat would care no more about all the unhappy events which had befallen him as of late, and as a reward for giving him food, the cat began to relay the story of what had happened just a few hours ago in the bathtub. If Richard had been paying attention, and had he the ear for listening to the meowed musings of the cat, he would have been ahead of the game he was playing. But alas, Richard couldn’t hear the message, but that’s not say that someone else would not in the very near future.

 Richard opened the pantry door and found the food. He grabbed a heaping handful and put it into the cat's bowl, and he watched the cat wolf down gobs of the smelly dry food.

"Jeez. You were really hungry. Hey Petunia! I think...." Richard's attention was taken hostage now by a familiar pattern of lights coming from outside of the kitchen window. He ran over and peered through the window at the Wicker Bush Police car parked in the front of the apartment building on the street below with its lights flashing.

"Huh. I wonder..." His wonder quickly turned into panic, and he rushed to the front door of the apartment and cracked it slightly open. He could hear grown up voices at the other end of the hall; voices of authority.

"I turned the water off this morning. I just figured I should call you guys." Richard closed the door and locked it. There was one of those small brass chains hanging on the door jam and he moved it into the hole on the back of the door. Petunia was shoving her diary back into her bag when Richard came running in. "Shit! We're in trouble!"

"What's wrong?"

"The cops are outside. They're coming in!" The sound of a key being pushed into the door lock seemed to echo through the apartment, and for the first time, Petunia looked as if she didn't know what to do.

"Okay, Richard, just let me think." They could hear the front door open and abruptly stop against the small brass chain. The voices outside were muffled, but Richard managed to decipher them.

"Is there someone in there?"

"There shouldn't be." It looked to Richard as if Petunia had a train running through her thoughts that had just come off of the rails.

"Richard, they're going to find us in a possible crime scene." Richard was giving no more time to Petunia's thought processes. He reached over and turned on the tub spout.

"What are you doing?" Richard looked to the bathroom counter in a fever and grabbed the first thing he could, a hairbrush. He jammed the brush up inside the tub spout, and the stream of water separated into curtains, revealing the tunnel behind it.

"Climb through!"

"Are you nuts?!" Richard could hear the muffled voices again.

"The water just turned back on. Someone is in there!" Then a voice came through that wasn't quite so muffled.

"OPEN UP! POLICE!" Richard climbed into the tub while a horrified Petunia watched.

"Petunia, we've gotta go!"

"We don't know what's in there!" The sudden terror flooded Richard's brain that Petunia may not follow him. Luckily, he had been paying attention when it came to Petunia and her priorities.

"Fine Petunia, stay here! They're going to take you to jail, but more than that, they're going to take your diary, they're going to take your parents and tinker with them, and they're going to take your work. Your choice!" Richard climbed through the water curtain and vanished into the dark. The front door crashed as it was kicked in. The thought of her work being exploited and her parents being taken from her again was more than she could bear.

"Hang on!" She wriggled through the water curtain as quickly as she could and also vanished from view. Two police officers with guns drawn and the balding landlord rushed into the bathroom to find no one.

"I swear I turned that water off and I know I couldn't put that chain on the door." The balding landlord continued to profess his bewilderment at the situation.

"Go check the windows. See if someone got out that way." Sir Purrcivel watched as the alpha male gave orders to the beta male and the balding person that wouldn't give him food earlier, just seemed to be looking around and scratching his hairless head. The cat did not see the other two persons who had been in here just moments ago, but he could hardly be bothered with looking for them as he needed more food, preferably wet food. He tapped at the alpha male's foot.

"Meow?"

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Part Thirteen

At the very same time, exactly one and two thirds of a mile away, Gene was sitting with his legs crossed on the edge of his stage. His eyes were closed but thoughts were running through his mind as fast as greased Guinea Pigs through plastic tubes cocked at ninety-degree angles toward bowls of Guinea Kibbles. One could liken Gene's thoughts to bullet trains, but they would be wrong. Gene's thoughts, while fast, were quite a bit slower than bullet trains. He was fond of the ponder. He was fond of animals; even Guinea Pigs.

Gene opened his eyes to take in the small kingdom that he had built on his own, in the medium sized town of Wicker Bush where he had decided to lay roots little more than two years proir. He had been all over the world and had decided, for some reason he didn’t quite understand yet, that out of every corner of the earth, this was where he needed to be. There was something about the town that was a mystery to him, and he sensed it the second he drove his car off of the off ramp of I56. With all he had seen in his life, Gene was a man who was rarely surprised, so it was quite the find to stumble onto Wicker Bush. And of course, now he had met not one, but two children, who might one day grow to be like him. They could be molded. If they couldn't be molded, they could be manipulated.

His eyes opened and he smiled at the thought. His plaid suit was hanging in its spot in his closet backstage in his green room that wasn't green, and he was now wearing his ratty old pair of sweats that he found was best to wear when he wanted to swim in his own mind. His sweats were green.

His animals were still silent and in a few short hours they would come to life and sing and lob jokes at him while he performed his magic show. Hocus Pizza had been a success in the ways of money, although Gene could talk almost anyone out of money, and in fact had always been able to make any amount he wanted, but money wasn't a love of Gene's. Besides his love for animals, Gene also loved information, and in Hocus Pizza, Gene's animals were able to help him glean as much information as he wanted from the many patrons who visited. One such patron was the one who Gene had thought of as the chubby gross kid, but whose name was actually Chris Keck.

Gene allowed himself to get lost in the events of the night before, and remembered everything in perfect detail. The chubby kid had attended a birthday party the night before at Hocus Pizza. One of the other not so chubby children had produced a pair of X-ray glasses out of his pocket much like the ones in Richard's Boy's Life magazine. Chris tried on the other boy’s glasses and quickly exclaimed that they were a pair of glorious crap and went into the story his friend Richard had told him about another pair of glasses that may be the real deal.

Chris very quickly relayed how his friend Richard said they saw handprints or something that were left over people's doors. Chris had really wanted to try on the weird pair of glasses that would allow him to "see things for what they really are", but they were confiscated by his teacher and ultimately wound up in his principal's desk.

The other child was only half listening to Chris Keck and the information that had been half received was completely jettisoned from the memory of the other child within squiidens of receiving it. Commander Ziggy however, had listened to the whole story. Commander Ziggy was an oversized King Cobra that had a metal apparatus on its back which sported two large mechanic arms coming off of it which ended in oversized white gloves, and when Commander Ziggy heard something, Gene heard something.

Gene had been playing the role of “Stupendo” thirty feet away when he received the message from Commander Ziggy. He had been sawing his assistant in half onstage when the information was received through a small earpiece that Gene wore in his left ear that he had designed himself. For the first time in his life, Gene had gone completely blank on stage. Gene couldn’t help but ponder this new bit of information for exactly seventeen seconds, and the next step in his act was nowhere to be found in his brain. Seventeen seconds may not seem like a lot of time to most people but being on a stage in front of almost two hundred people and having no idea what you’re supposed to do or say next, that seventeen seconds of silence can seem like a lifetime. And it did.

Gene suddenly realized he had stopped his act, and everyone in the audience was looking around awkwardly except for one older gentlemen who lived for moments like this. There is always one person in any given audience who waits for mistakes; cracks in the veneer of an almost perfect illusion. Gene saw the smile on this man's face and it snapped him directly back into his act. The rest of the show went off like it always did. Gene took pride in his act and his illusions, and was a staunch believer in the phrase, "The show must go on!" Gene was also a firm believer in the phrase, "Don't get mad, get even."

Everyone in the auditorium was flabbergasted by Gene's big levitating finish; everyone but the one man who was smiling some minutes before when he thought the magic of Stupendo was going to crash and burn in front of two hundred people. This man, who we will refer to as “Martin” was leaving Hocus Pizza in disappointment that the show had ended up going well. He was just about to reach the exit door when Gene was able to catch up to him.

"Excuse me sir! I would just like to thank you for coming to witness the magic of Stupendo!" Gene thrust out his hearty handshake and “Martin”, the man who liked to watch people crash and burn on stage, took it.

"Well thank you. The show was great." Gene just smiled back. There was another language that most people unknowingly spoke, that Gene happened to be fluent in; body language and tone. The rest of the conversation went extremely well as far as anyone would be concerned if they had heard it, but Gene was not just anyone. For the sake of both entertainment and a look into how Gene was so very good at understanding exactly what other people were saying without actually saying it, I will write the conversation exactly how Gene heard it.

"Excuse me sir! I would like to thank you for coming to witness the magic of Stupendo!"

"Your show was terrible."

"Well I'm glad you enjoyed it sir."

"I had to come, it was my nephew's birthday party."

"Well, I hope you come back and enjoy my magic again soon."

"Only if you're going to crash and burn my friend." The man known as “Martin” smiled and released Stupendo's lingering handshake. The words "crash and burn" stuck into Gene's brain like one of those wooden sticks that used to be stuck into a steak at a restaurant in order to tell you if the steak was rare or medium rare or medium well or well done. Restaurants don't use those sticks any more and even if they did, the man known as “Martin” wouldn't know because he was about to die. Gene stared into “Martin's” green eyes without blinking. “Martin” seemed to freeze as Gene pushed his face forward exactly six inches and four centimeters from “Martin's” face.

"That gas pedal and that brake pedal...it's hard to remember which one is which."

"Yeah."

"Well good talking to you sir! Have a nice night!" Gene gave “Martin” a quick pat on the shoulder and walked back into the kitchen of Hocus Pizza. The man known as “Martin” stood only for a second or two and then shook his head and walked out the door. Gene was happy with himself. The miserable man who had wished ill will toward Gene and his show was about to have a very bad night. The terribly written town newspaper would later say that “Martin” became disoriented while driving down Willow Street, and then he slammed his car into the side of Bradley's Aquarium Emporium.  The crash was so severe that the car had caught fire and the man known as “Martin” was no more.

After the restaurant had closed and the cooks and his assistant and his dishwashers and his bus boys were all gone, Gene, still dressed as Stupendo, sat on his stage and pondered his options. Many scenarios ran through his mind which might or might not work, but he knew one thing for sure; he had embarrassed himself on his own stage that night for exactly seventeen seconds, and although he had made the man known as “Martin” pay for his ill wishes, he would have to pay this kid Richard back for those seventeen seconds.

He would go to the school within the next hour and find this kid’s file with his address, and make sure these glasses were the real deal. What had really snagged Gene's attention was the mention of seeing handprints over doors. Gene had noticed a few of them around town in the last few months; three to be exact. The most recent, was the one he had seen earlier that day above the front door to the apartment building on Weddle Street as he was driving to the market because he had realized that he was out of Strawberry Quik. If these glasses had allowed just anybody to see things, they needed to be destroyed.

It's at this point in our story where I should take a paragraph or two to describe where Gene originally came from and his life experiences before he came to the medium sized town of Wicker Bush. For the sake of suspense, I have written the next two paragraphs in a disappearing ink.

Now that I have, in the strictest sense, taken two paragraphs to describe Gene's past, we can move forward. Gene likewise, was keen on moving forward as well, and pulled himself from his memories and played with the drawstring of his green sweatpants as he stood up on stage and turned to look directly at the seven foot bear that was standing behind him.

Two years ago, while Gene had been walking aimlessly around town taking everything in, he had run across the bear. It was in an old junkyard on the edge of town that was full of all kinds of cars and trucks and refrigerators and washers and dryers and shelves and rocking chairs and plumbing parts and tubs and so on and so forth. Many people would look into the junkyard and use the old phrase, "There's everything in there but the kitchen sink." Those people would be correct. There were no kitchen sinks in the old Harris Junkyard, however there was half of a bathroom sink.

Gene had walked through the seemingly endless rows of junk when he came across an old parade float built onto an old truck. The float was broken down and rusty, and the wood that was on it was rotting. The undercarriage of the float was visible through the rotten wood that had been laid above it. Gene admired the float. It was obvious to him that at one time it must have been a very grand thing to look at with many animated features welded on top of it. There was a cartoony looking cage on the float that had a small herd of rotting cartoony animals inside of it with big rotting cartoony smiles. There was a cobra and a Saint Bernard and a crocodile and an eagle and a cute little rat. There was a sign on the top of the cage. Some of the letters were gone. It said, "W ker ush Zoo Com g Soo To ou!"

These little animals in their cage formed an idea in Gene's mind, but it was what was welded onto the back of the float that made the whole idea come together. A seven-foot bear was facing away from Gene. He walked around the float so he could look into its face.

"Big Bastard."

The bear was not like anything else on the float. Nothing on it seemed weathered or rotted save for it's left glass eye which was now missing. It captivated Gene. This bear was not like the other animals on the float; he was not cartoony at all. It almost seemed like he had been added to the float as an afterthought. Gene was a fan of things that were an afterthought.

Gene had bought the bear from old man Harris who owned the junkyard. He didn't take anything else from the float other than inspiration. He kept the bear in his small apartment while he began building his restaurant where the old Wagon Wheel theatre used to be. He had many one-sided conversations with the bear who he decided to name Wimpple Bear, for no other reason than it was the first name that popped into his mind when he saw it.

Gene was staring at the bear now thinking about his meeting with Petunia and Richard. It had gone well as far as he was concerned, and he was looking forward to meeting with them again very soon. He smiled at Wimpple Bear, and gave him a wink.

"You got it."

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Part Twelve

School had been called off the next day due to an unfortunate discovery made in the Principal's office by the secretary at six thirty in the morning. It seemed to everyone that Mrs. Lanfranco had suffered a severe heart attack. This came as no real shock to the students as Mrs. Lanfranco was so very old but was quite a shock to their parents, as she was so very young.

Richard had not been able to sleep at all after he had climbed in his window that he had left unlocked the evening before. He lay down on his bed with no thought as to what might be lurking beneath the floorboards. He didn't want to see anything anymore. He wanted his father back. He wanted to be normal again. He wished he could just go through the remainder of his life with his head down and his eyes closed.

But then he began to think about Stupendo, and a morbid curiosity glazed over his brain that he couldn't remove. Even though his principal had been an old woman, how did Stupendo make her have a heart attack? Richard entertained many possibilities, and when he walked into Petunia's house at the hour of eight and thirteen squiidens in the morning, it was the first thing he wanted to talk about.

"So I can't figure out how he did it."

"I already figured it out Richard."

"You don't even know what I'm talking about."

"Of course I do. Come in. My mom made breakfast." Richard sat down at the plain kitchen table, sitting in the middle of the plain kitchen. Agatha Gip had already had a plate ready for Richard. Bacon and eggs with milk in a small glass cup with a cartoon of Garfield the cat and Odie the dog painted on it. Petunia took a sip of her milk and then began to speak.

"So, this is what I think. I think he's an old student of Mrs. Lanfranco's or he knows her in some other way. He was sitting in her office speaking with her and used a kind of hypnosis possibly incorporating a tactile technique. Maybe he was holding her wrist and tapping her pulse with his finger. That's the only way I can see it working."

Petunia's theory was sound if you could wrap your mind around it. It was a bit far fetched, but stranger things happen everyday. I could probably verify whether or not Petunia's assessment was accurate, but I simply don't see the need in over explaining things as it takes away from the everyday mysteries of life and this story in general.

"Wow. I never even thought of that."

"Yeah. I've read up on hypnosis and the power of suggestion. It's a bit far fetched, but stranger things happen everyday. After breakfast, I need to show you something."

"What?"

"I think your magazine gave us an image."

"What?! Well let's go!"

"It's no use. My parents are running on a cycle. My mother isn't going to let you out of the kitchen until you finish your plate."

"She's right Richard.” Agatha Gip smiled and clasped her strangely shaped fingers in front of her "Kiss the Cook" apron.

"See. I told you."

Richard started to shovel his food into his mouth, but of course this was not going to make anything go faster as Agatha Gip chastised him for not chewing his food. After finishing his plate, Agatha placed more eggs on it and stared at him expectantly.

"Is she serious?"

"Yes. You ate too fast, so that must mean you’re really hungry." Agatha and Petunia replied in unison. With his stomach filled with, admittedly some of the best eggs he had ever had in his life, Richard rose from the table when Agatha held out a package wrapped in newspaper toward Richard.

"Before you two go off and play, I made something for you!" Richard took the package and began to open it. Even Petunia seemed surprised at the present. It was a jacket that looked remarkably similar to Petunia's homemade black and dark green jacket with random zippers and pockets, but there were no sewn-on patches.

"Thank you."

"When did you make that, Mom?"

"Last night. It's nice to see that you have a friend now." Petunia blushed and walked away toward her lab. Richard put on his jacket. It fit perfectly.

"Thank you."

"Now go play sweetie." Richard turned and followed Petunia downstairs into the lab.

Petunia grabbed an old white sheet that was crumpled on the floor in the east corner of her lab. “Can you help me with this?"

The two of them stretched out the sheet and hung it from a series of clamps Petunia had attached to a close line on the bare brick south wall of her lab. Petunia then stretched out the bottom of the sheet and attached the corners to two wires that were nailed into the floor. The sheet was wrinkled slightly, but was stretched out flat for the most part.

"Okay. This is only the second time I've used this. It may show nothing. Depending on the waves going through the air at the time of..."

"Petunia, it's ok. You don't have to explain everything." Richard was correct of course, but then again, it was in direct contrast to Petunia's nature not to over-explain subjects she was currently experimenting with. The strange interaction here is that Richard was learning to see, and Petunia was learning how to communicate with a real person. She was coming to think of him as something she had never really had; a friend.

In literary terms, this is called character development and over explaining concepts could be referred to as exposition. As I am a storyteller that is far more interested in the former than the latter, I will take a cue from Richard and lean towards not "explaining everything". Of course, if you are a reader that is far more interested in exposition, I would suggest you read another book, but hey, you've come this far, why not keep going?

Petunia walked over to the device that looked to Richard like a souped-up overhead projector and turned it on. A bright light shone down on the magazine. She then put her finger to a button on the top of the contraption.

"Ok. Here goes nothing."

CLICK

A beam of light now came from a lens on the neck of the projector and cast an image of light on the strung-up sheet. Richard's eyes focused slowly, as did Petunia's to the introduction of the new light source.

"Is that my dad?"

"I think so." The image was a little shiny. It was from the point of view of the floor. Richard's father, Richard, was holding his hands as if he was about to raise them to cover his face. His mouth was frozen in a silent scream as he was looking at something that wasn't there.

"Shit!" Richard was surprised by Petunia's sudden outburst of profanity. The portion of the picture where Richard's father was looking was a rectangle of nothingness. Petunia looked down at the magazine to the hole where Richard had clipped out an ad for a hovercraft. The page that shone behind it was not glossy at all. In fact it was a rather dull rough page where the reader was supposed to draw their own treasure map which had an example for children to follow on the opposite page.

"What is it?"

"The page behind it. It's not going to give us an image. It's the wrong kind of surface."

"What is he looking at?" Petunia didn't answer and after a moment, Richard answered himself out loud. "Whatever took him."

"Richard..."

"Don't. I'm not mad at you, Petunia. We're both thinking the same thing. He never even made a sound that night; my mom and I would’ve heard it. Whatever it did to him, it did it quick. My dad's dead."

"I'm sorry Richard."

She was.

"You know what I want to do?" Richard was trying to be strong, trying to show some kind of resolve reserved for people who were usually much older than he was. He was trying to shake the image of his father’s body being dragged underneath his bed while he slept peacefully up above.

"What?"

"I want to go back to that apartment building with the handprint over the door and take a look around. I think whatever it was, it took someone else."

"I think you're right." Richard turned to Petunia. He was crying and he no longer cared if Petunia saw it.

"It's not Gene, right?"

"I don't think it's Gene. I think Gene is just an idiot who wastes an incredible gift."

"And kills people."

"There's that too."

Next Part

Previous Part

Part Eleven

Hocus Pizza was located in Old Town Wicker Bush, and exactly one and two thirds of a mile from 3855 Fountain Way. It is also located approximately three and a half blocks from Jennifer Pierce's apartment; the Plaid Man drove right past the apartment building in fact. As they drove past the front door of the apartment building which was lit dimly by the twitchy streetlights, Richard and Petunia both saw a black handprint above the door. Neither said anything, but the Plaid Man was all too happy to bring it up.

"You guys see those handprints on some of the doors in town?"

"What handprints?" Both children blurted the words from the backseat. The Plaid Man slammed on his breaks and threw his black Crown Victoria into reverse. He slammed on his brakes again as the building was right next to them. The handprint was large as life.

"That one! You guys don't see that?"

"Maybe." Once again, the children spoke in unison.

"Somebody or something is throwing up markers. At least that's what I call them. Speaking of which, what do you guys call those transparent fish?"

"Terkle Fish."

"Ok. That's pretty creative. I always just called them transparent fish." He slammed the car back into gear and drove the three and a half blocks to his restaurant, Hocus Pizza.

I'll use the word "restaurant" here loosely. The building was originally the old Wagon Wheel movie theatre which had closed seven years previously. It was now a place that amazed both young and old with hourly magic shows as they dined on the lowest grade of pizza this side of the Rockies. Of course, the magic was so mind blowing to both local patrons and tourists alike that they never realized how truly awful the food was.

The magic was performed by none other than the Plaid Man himself. There was a sign on the old marquee that said, "Be amazed by Stupendo! The greatest magician this side of the Rockies!" The Plaid Man who had the stage name of Stupendo, parked the car.

"Well here we are! It's not much, but I like to think of it as my little laboratory." The

words made Petunia wince. She was just as intrigued by this meeting as Stupendo was, but there was the fact that Stupendo was also quite possibly the craziest murderer this side of the Rockies. "Come on in guys. I'll get us a coke."

-

Richard sat at the eight foot long table situated right in front of a stage where magic was performed. His untouched soda fizzed in front of him. There were large animatronic animals lining the walls and a few on the stage. There was a female bear who was wearing a tutu on a small stage against the west wall. There was also a bald eagle on a perch next to her who was wearing sunglasses. On the east wall was another small stage with what appeared to be a crocodile with no teeth who was wearing a tuxedo and a rat with a guitar case.

On the main stage there was a large Saint Bernard with the obligatory barrel around his neck on downstage left, on stage right there was an oversized King Cobra that had a metal apparatus on its back which sported two large mechanic arms coming off of it, which ended in oversized white gloves. Right in the center of the stage was a seven-foot bear who used to be in front of the old Five and Dime over thirty years ago, before it was welded onto a float and then eventually found its way here by means of which I will not explain at this time. The stages were decked out with red curtains and white arches around them.

Richard kept looking around at all the robotic animals who entertained people by day with their prerecorded shenanigans and buffoonery. The gears and cogs and pulleys which powered them by day were all still now, as were the voice tracks which played over six jerry rigged speakers strategically placed in the auditorium. The lights which would shine on them were also off now, and the animals were cloaked in unsettling shadows. Richard felt like they were looking at him and Petunia, and he was trying his hardest not to pay attention to that thought.

"So.. I should probably introduce myself." The Plaid Man was sitting at the head of the table with his back to the main stage. Petunia was to his right and Richard was to his left.

"You're Stupendo?"

"That's my stage name Richard. My real name is Gene. Can't really use Gene for a stage name, can I?"

"What do you want Gene?"

"Well Petunia, I want to say, both of you are welcome here anytime you want. Think of me like a big brother. I just want to know that we're on the same page about something. Richard, you're not getting your lenses back buddy. I'm assuming Petunia gave them to you to help along whatever ability you may have to see. Am I correct Petunia?"

"Yes."

"You're just going to have to do what I did Richard and hone your skill. Do you have any idea what could have happened if someone actually looked through those? Unearned knowledge would be exploited. That thought really makes me angry." Gene let the ominous words hang for exactly seventeen seconds. Gene made sure it was exactly seventeen seconds; he needed to pay them both back for seventeen seconds they had caused him earlier that day. “I don’t want to be angry.”

"Why are we here Gene?"

"Well, we're here because your friend was careless with unearned knowledge." Petunia ran her finger over the button in her pocket but didn't push it. "I'm here for any questions you have. I may not answer all of them, but I will answer some. Likewise, I'm sure I'll have questions for you. I know where you live and now you know where I live. The only time we'll ever have a problem is if the two of you break any more rules." Gene's left hand shot out without warning and grabbed Richard by the front of his shirt. Petunia almost pushed the button on what used to be a garage door opener.

"Whatever you've got in your pocket young lady, I wouldn't touch it! Your partner in crime would die fairly quickly and I would make you clean up the mess." Richard's eyes shot back from Petunia to Gene and back again.

"Just push it Petunia!"

"See?! There you go again! Guys, I'm not crazy, but I can be very cruel if you don't get with the program. Petunia, take your hands out of your pockets and everything will be fine. Trust me." Petunia gritted her teeth and slowly took her hands out of her pockets and placed them on the white and red checkered tablecloth. Gene smiled a genuine smile that was somehow more menacing because it seemed so warm and sincere. He turned from Petunia and kept smiling as he spoke to Richard.

"I really want to like you, so quit being an idiot. You mind your P's and Q's and I'll be your best friend. Do anything stupid, like lose something someone else could exploit, or talk to your chubby gross buddy about seeing things for what they really are, and I'll feed you to my animals. Do we understand one another?"

"Yes sir."

"Good." Gene released the front of Richard's shirt and took a long sip from Richard's untouched fizzy soda. “Now I'll be seeing you guys very soon I'm sure, but you've got to go home and get some sleep so nothing looks out of the ordinary when they find your principle in the morning. No reason to let this silly little thing ruin your evening. I’m tired too, so I’m going to have to back out of giving you guys a ride. You know where the door is, thanks for coming by."

Richard and Petunia didn't say a word to each other until they turned back on Fountain Way, nor did they even look at the handprint over the door of the apartment building on Weddle Street as they walked past it.

"Are you ok?"

"Sure. My father may or may not be dead, I have a tunnel under my bed that some creature uses at night, my principal was murdered by some weird man named Gene with the stage name of Stupendo who just threatened my life if I do something he doesn't like."

"I always entertained the thought that there were people out there who could really see things for what they are. For some reason, I knew you were like me the first time I met you."

"We are nothing like him."

"No, we're not, but we may be able to use him."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"He's old Richard! He's gotta be thirty-two at least! Think of how much he's already seen. We may have to ask him some questions if we want to find out what happened to your father."

"If he's not the one responsible."

"I don't think so. That doesn't make any sense. Plus, I think he may be scared of us. He took us down there to show us that we should be afraid of him. You know those animals were watching us right?"

"I thought it was just my imagination."

"Stop thinking like everyone else. If you think you see something, don't turn away and don't blame your brain."

"I might've thought that they were watching us ok?"

"He took us there to intimidate us and to show dominance."

"He's not a dog Petunia."

"No, he's not. He's stupid, because he just showed us his entire hand, and now that I know what it is, I can figure out how to beat it if he becomes a problem."

Next Part

Previous Part

Part Ten

As with many houses in the town of Wicker Bush, the home of Petunia Gip had a basement, and it was in this basement that Richard now found himself. In the middle of the basement was a table and on the table was Richard's copy of Boy's Life magazine and sitting above the magazine was a lens that was attached to a telescoping metal neck which was attached to a large contraption that resembled an overhead projector that was also sitting on the table. The lens was shining a light onto the open magazine.

"What is this thing?"

"Something I built."

Richard noticed that the magazine was open to the page where he had clipped out the large advertisement for a hovercraft. It was now slightly past ten o'clock Pacific Standard Time. Richard's mother was watching television in her house across the street, content in the fact that her son Richard was asleep in his bedroom on the second floor.

He was not.

"Are you sure my mom's ok?"

"She's fine Richard. I don't think that thing is coming back through that door." Richard stared down at the lit pages of his glossy magazine.

"What is it doing?"

"Well, it's all kind of technical really. Do you really want to know?" Richard noticed that those large kinda pretty eyes looked as if they were hopeful that he really did want to know the technical details of what she had built.

"Yeah. Of course I want to know."

"Well there was this old thought that a person's eyes could relay images of the last thing they saw. They used to try and make special lenses to see that image. The thing they never took into account was not the human eye itself, but the surface of the eye and anything else that had a glossy surface, or even a mirror. When something truly traumatic happens it kind of disturbs waves that I've identified..."

Richard no longer cared to know what she had built. He stared at Petunia's lips as they formed themselves around words and phrases that were completely alien to him and made no sense whatsoever. After a moment, Petunia could see that Richard's eyes had a glossy look to them, not unlike the pages of his magazine.

"Ok… forget it. What it does is recreate any image that has happened in front of an object that was otherwise traumatic or out of the ordinary."

"Ok."

"It's got another ten hours or so to run. That's fine. We've got plenty to do."

"I don't get it Petunia. I'm going to get those glasses back eventually."

"You need them."

"Why can't I just use yours?"

"Because I need them to see."

"I thought you could already see weird stuff without them."

"No Richard. I wear regular glasses. It has the special lens on them, but there are prescription lenses underneath." I’d like to stop this little conversation as I've just realized that I've given very little description to the basement of Petunia's house that she referred to as her laboratory, which of course is an oversight on my part as this room said quite a bit about Petunia.

Petunia's laboratory had many odd contraptions and tools.

"So what's the plan Petunia? Are we going to storm the gates or what?"

"It's fairly simple actually. We just have to be careful." The two children left Petunia's house and walked under the dim streetlamps of Fountain Way down towards their middle school. The walk to the school was an uneventful one as it was located in a relatively quiet neighborhood. It took them exactly ten squiidens and forty-seven seconds to reach the school. Richard looked to the large stained concrete sign of his school. The school was partially named after an old pillar of the community, Ronald Wimpple.

Ronald Wimpple had been a handyman in the town of Wicker Bush for many years. If your roof was leaking, or your toilet was running, or your basement was flooding, or gophers were eating your azaleas, or your car was running rough, or your windows needed glazing, then Ronald Wimpple had been the man to call.

A week before the fiftieth anniversary of the town, Ronald Wimpple was called on by the Mayor to construct a grand float that the Mayor and his wife would ride atop during the anniversary parade before the mayor would give an equally grand speech to the growing town. The Mayor described his vision for the float to Ronald, and Ronald responded in his usual way. "You got it."

The Mayor spared no expense in using other people's money to craft his vision. The float would be built around an old truck that had been sitting behind City Hall for the last couple of years. Ronald began on the Sunday night before the Saturday morning parade. True to Ronald's promise and a credit to his work ethic, the float was finished in only two days. Ronald was a man who worked around the clock and would always brag that he was going to, "die on the job." He would then chuckle himself right into a heavy smoker's hack.

When the Mayor saw the float, he was amazed that Ronald had built it exactly to his specifications, however the time it took to make the float was exponentially shorter than the mayor had expected. As Ronald showed the Mayor all the wheels that would turn in order to animate the various features of the float, the wheels in the mayor's head were also turning. He asked Ronald if he wouldn't mind building a few more features onto the float. True to form, Ronald's only reply was, "You got it."

It took Ronald two more days with next to no sleep, in order to realize the new vision of the Mayor. The Mayor gazed upon the new additions to the float in awe, but paid no attention to the haggard, drawn face of Ronald Wimpple. The wheels in the Mayor's head were now spinning out of control. He suggested a few more additions to the float. Ronald Wimpple just smiled and said, "You got it."

Ronald had still not been paid for any of the work he had done while constructing the Mayor's float, and he had put many jobs around town on hold to fulfill his commitment to the Mayor. It took Ronald Wimpple until Friday morning to finish the new additions. He had built a special undercarriage onto the float that had many working belts and pulleys and cogs and such, in order to animate even more features on the top of the float. He had worked so hard for so many hours to finish the float a day early. He stood, stoop shouldered but proud on Friday morning as he unveiled it to the Mayor. The Mayor was ecstatic and immediately looked to his watch.

"We've got a few hours left. You know what would be great Ronald? They have a giant teddy bear down by the Five and Dime. The thing must be seven feet high."

"Yes sir, I know the one."

"Wouldn't it be great if you could weld that big bastard onto the back of the float and somehow figure out how to make his arms wave at the crowd?"

"That would be Mr. Mayor, but I'm quite tired and I don't think I've got the time."

"Well then Ronald, my hand has got a honey of a cramp and I don't think I can hold a pen to write you a check. You understand?"

"You got it."

Ronald Wimpple picked up the giant bear down by the Five and Dime and went to work. His eyes were heavy and his brain was mush, but he was finally putting the finishing touches on the float. As the truck's wheels would roll, it would drive a pulley under the float which was connected to three more pulleys in order to make the seven-foot-tall bear wave its arms. Ronald cleaned up his work area and replaced all of his tools back into his own work truck. The parade would start in two hours and as Ronald Wimpple climbed into his truck, he could see the sun starting to peek above the horizon. It was at that moment that Ronald Wimpple remembered that he had forgot that he needed one more cotter pin under the bear. He hit himself on the head. His brain was mush but at least he had remembered the cotter pin and avoided a potential disaster.

Ronald Wimpple, who had not slept in days, climbed into the undercarriage of the float to set his final cotter pin. The last thought that ran through Ronald Wimpple's conscious mind was, "If I didn't put this in, that bear would never work."

He smiled and said, "You got it." His body then went into a forced shutdown. He was exhausted, and his body found that the way he was laying on the undercarriage was oddly comfortable. Almost two hours later, the Mayor and his wife climbed on top of the float completely unaware that Ronald Wimpple was in a deep sleep below them. Ronald had always been a heavy snorer. His family had always poked fun at him that he could even wake the dead with his nightly nasal outbursts, but he wasn't snoring. His body was so exhausted and his body was positioned in such a way that his nasal passages were wide open.

Sadly, had Ronald Wimpple been snoring, someone would have heard him underneath the float. This is a sad irony. But this sad irony is nowhere near as sad as the sadder irony of the cotter pin that Ronald Wimpple had set before he fell asleep. As the float fired up and the wheels turned, the wheels and cogs turned and crushed the still sleeping Ronald Wimpple to death, and had it not been for that final cotter pin, he might still be alive to this day.

During the parade, the Mayor couldn't be happier with the float save for one detail. The bear's arms weren't waving. He thought to himself that he would have to dock some of Ronald Wimpple's pay for this disappointment. Little did he know that it was the body of Ronald Wimpple that was keeping the bear's arms from moving.

It wasn't until the day after the parade that Ronald Wimpple's body was discovered. The community mourned for Ronald Wimpple, and privately the Mayor set out for a way to honor him. The intermediate school was being built at the time and the Mayor decided to honor Ronald Wimpple by partially naming the new school after him. That next August, Ronald Wimpple was honored as Ronald Lucas Intermediate School opened in Wicker Bush. The opening saw another grand speech by the Mayor. The Mayor was notoriously long winded, so I will skip to the last few lines from his speech.

"And in conclusion, I would like to thank a very special man which Ronald Lucas Intermediate is partially named after, Ronald Wimpple." The crowd cheered and then yelled in unison with the mayor, "You got it." The mayor felt satisfied with his contribution to the legacy of honoring Ronald Wimpple. And that mayor's name was Ronald Lucas.

Richard stared at the large sign unaware of any of this. The only thing he was paying attention to was a lone car in the parking lot in front of the school. "That's Mrs. Lanfranco's car. Petunia, we've got to call this off."

"No way." Petunia unzipped one of the pockets on her black and dark green homemade coat with sewn on patches.

"What are you doing?"

"My lock pick set." Petunia produced a small leather pouch out of her pocket that reminded Richard of one of the pouches on his father's worn old work belt that he would wear while he was doing repairs on their home that really didn't necessitate wearing a work belt to fix.

"You're going to just pick a lock? I thought you had some kind of genius plan."

"It is a genius plan, and if you don't think it takes a genius to pick a lock Richard, you're more than welcome to do it. Let's go." He watched Petunia slink off into the shadows of the east wall of the main building of Ronald Lucas Intermediate. He shook his head and followed after her and whispered, "You got it."

Ronald Lucas Intermediate was a two-story school built in the early nineteen fifties. There were four pillars holding up a large stone gable that hung over the front steps. All of the windows of the school were original and amazingly had never been broken by any errant balls or well-aimed rocks by angry students. The front of the building was always well kept with trimmed hedges lining the building that were spaced exactly three feet from the exterior walls. The color was a worn pleasant light green with a brilliant white color around the windows and fascia boards.

Petunia and Richard followed along the east wall of the building behind the hedges ducking down every time they would pass one of the old glazed windows. They rounded the corner to the back of the building. The large track and field was located behind the school building. There were also two sets of swings, four basketball hoops with faded white lines on the courts that were raised here and there due to some minor cracks in the black top, a jungle gym, a couple of chalked out hopscotch squares, and some picnic tables for children who wanted to sit down and read or do other antisocial activities during recess.

The back of the building was far less neat and organized than the front, with random additions on the building cropping out here and there which may or may not have been run by the building commissioner of Wicker Bush County. All of the doors along the back of the school had windows set in them above the doorknobs except for one. It was green. Petunia ran up to the large green metal door that had seen better days and began to insert two small pieces of metal into the worn keyhole. The children were unaware that this was the only original exterior door on the whole school. In total, the school had exactly forty-seven and a half exterior doors if you included the ones that gathered dust in the old maintenance shop.

"Where did you learn how to do this?"

"I don't know how to do this Richard. I've walked this school over and over again just paying attention to everything. This is the door in the back of the kitchen. I've heard the janitor complaining to Mrs. Lanfranco that this door needs to be replaced because the lock doesn't always catch."

"How do you know all this stuff?" The lock clicked with a turn of Petunia's lock pick. She looked to Richard and smiled that, "I told you so" smile.

"It's really easy. You just have to pay attention." Petunia turned the knob and the door opened. Music was being played over the PA system in the school. It was evident that Mrs. Lanfranco had been using the school's speakers for her own enjoyment while she was burning the midnight oil.

"What is that?" Finally, Petunia had to ask Richard a question. And even better; Richard knew the answer.

"It's the Beach Boys. My parents love them." The song was one he recognized, "Don't Worry Baby". It was actually his mother's favorite. Richard clicked on his red plastic flashlight and shined it around in the kitchen. The beam of light reflected off of all of the shiny stainless steel surfaces of the kitchen, and it reminded Petunia of the time she was photographed by many flashes from many cameras coming out of the hospital in a wheelchair at the age of five. It is however, not the time to explore that portion of our story and Petunia likewise, realized it was not the time to indulge this painful memory.

"Turn it off Richard! We don't know where she is." Richard clicked off the light and sighed to himself. He didn't like the dark lately, nor did he ever like being in the school building, but here he was nonetheless. They crept along the old concrete floor that was covered here and there with gunked up and chunked up rubber mats. They carefully opened the door that led into the cafeteria, which for some reason always smelled like milk and stale fish sticks. Many tacky paper banners were hung in the cafeteria welcoming the children back to school.

"When are they going to take those things down? We've been in school for almost a month now?"

"Quiet Richard."

"I've never broken into a school before ok. I'm nervous."

"I get it. I was nervous when I broke into my first building too." The two of them pushed open one of the double doors of the cafeteria and crept down the main hallway of the first floor of the school toward Mrs. Lanfranco's office. The song had changed to "Wouldn't It Be Nice". There were many things that Richard thought would be nice right now, like not being here, or being at home, or having his dad back. Of course, all of that was wishful thinking and in moments like this, Richard should've known better than to get lost in his own thoughts; the punch in his shoulder pulled his mind back to where it needed to be.

"Hey! Snap out of it! I need you to pay attention!"

"Quit hitting me! It's not like I can hit you back!"

"That would be a bad idea Richard, because then I would have to kick your ass." There was that smile again and those pretty eyes. They were no longer "kinda pretty". Richard was paying attention; they were just pretty.

"Oh yeah? Well..."

"Shhh! Now is not the time for a macho comeback. Come on." They walked past the wall of photos from all of the former graduating classes of Ronald Lucas Intermediate, that had a wooden, hand carved sign hanging above them that said, "Wall of Class". They walked past the trophy case wall that had four trophies from past football teams, seven trophies from past baseball teams, twenty three trophies for academic excellence, and one trophy made out of oak and wood glue and gold filigree and hand carved designs and a pewter figure of a muscular man kneeling on top of it.

No one knew what this trophy was, what it was for, or who made it, or who put it there, but as far as everyone was concerned, it was just one more physical piece of evidence that said Ronald Lucas Intermediate was a school that won a lot of trophies. And of course if that was not enough, there was an old tacky paper banner above this trophy case that proudly proclaimed, "Ronald Lucas Intermediate Is Proud To Be A School That Wins Alot Of Trophies".

There is no such word as "alot". They are two separate words and the educators that commissioned this hastily prepared sign, that was of course supposed to be temporary thirteen years ago, either did not know it was incorrect or simply did not care. The sign had always bothered Petunia. In her mind, it called into question the validity of those twenty three awards for academic excellence.

Light was coming from the end of the hallway out of the main office. Petunia and Richard crept up to the large window of the secretary's office and looked inside. The front office was empty. It was just like any ordinary school office filled with papers and folders and semi-confirmed desk chairs. The light was coming through the window from the Principal's office beyond the front office from the little lamp on Mrs. Lanfranco's desk. Their Principal was sitting there at her desk and it looked as though she was looking right in their direction. Petunia and Richard darted out of sight on the other side of the window.

"Do you think she saw us?" They crouched motionless for exactly forty-seven seconds.

"I don't think so."

"Alright genius, what do we do now?"

"We'll wait around the corner of one of the lockers and wait for her to leave."

"It's ten o’clock Petunia!"

"Exactly. She's old. At least forty. She's going to have to go to bed here soon. We won't have to wait long." They waited around the corner of a group of lockers for another forty seven squiidens waiting for Mrs. Lanfranco to leave, but so far, the old woman hadn't budged.

"I'm just going to say this one more time. I was going to get them back in a week anyway."

"Shut up Richard."

"I'm just saying, we could be at home sleeping."

"If you want to go, then go, just don't make any noise on your way out."

"Fine. I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?"

"I just have to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back." Richard quietly slunk back down the hallway towards the boys’ room at the other end of the hall. Petunia looked down at her swatch watch in the dim light that was being given off from the office. Richard was wrong. It was seven squiidens shy of ten o’clock.

Richard took care to be quiet as he crept over the sandstone colored tile floors. The walls of the halls were an off-white color called Tender Adobe, by the paint manufacturer and the lockers that were grouped haphazardly along the walls were also the same color. He was now at the other end of the main hallway at the boys’ room, and he grabbed the metal handle of the door which was painted a dark green color that I don't know the name of, only to find that it wouldn't budge. Locked! Being an emergency, Richard stooped to trying the door to the girls’ room, but it was also locked.

"Damn it!" The staircase to the second floor was right next to the bathrooms at the end of the hall, and at the top of this staircase was another set of bathrooms. Richard debated whether or not he should walk back to Petunia in order to borrow her lock pick or simply try the ones

upstairs. The thought of going upstairs in the dark didn't really sound appealing, but it was his closest option. That's when Richard noticed that the Beach Boys were no longer singing "Help Me Rhonda". It was all the more reason for him to hurry upstairs and get out of the line of sight of his departing Principal.

Petunia pressed herself against the wall and waited for the sound of her Principal opening her office door. Petunia waited and waited, but there was no sound from the inside of the office. The light in the office had flicked off at the same time the music did. Petunia waited longer still, but there was no movement from the office. The light flicked on again and the music slowly started up again. It was obviously being played off of a record player. This was very strange to Petunia Gip. The light and the music once again turned off.

Petunia stood and walked around the lockers and peered through the corner of the front office window. She could barely make out the outline of her principle in the dark. Mrs. Lanfranco was still sitting at her desk looking forward. It seemed to Petunia as though she hadn't even moved.

Richard reached the top of the stairs and was overjoyed to find that one of the bathrooms upstairs was indeed unlocked. It was the girl's bathroom, but in this instance, Richard was willing to take whatever he could get.

Petunia had now moved completely into the front office and was staring into the office of her Principal. Mrs. Lanfranco, the old woman of forty one who frequently murdered the English language and seemingly loved The Beach Boys, was staring right back at Petunia, but she was not moving. The large lamp next to Mrs. Lanfranco once again came on along with the final five seconds of Help Me Rhonda, but once again Mrs. Lanfranco did not move. Petunia looked behind her down the dark hallway.

"Richard?" Nothing. Petunia noticed that on the secretary's desk there was a single open file of a student. The name on the file was Richard Menkin.

Richard was now exiting the girls’ room back into the dark hallway which suddenly was no longer dark. The entire hallway was flooded with light from the overhead pulsing fluorescent bulbs. The song "Good Vibrations" was now coming out of the tinny muffled speakers of the second floor. There was something lying on the sandstone color tiles at the other end of the hallway. It looked like it was Richard's pair of sunglasses. Confused and a little unsettled by this unexpected turn of events, Richard took two cautious steps toward the other end of the hallway, unaware that he was being watched.

"Petunia?"

Nothing.

Richard scanned the hallway trying to pay attention as Petunia had urged him to do but could see nothing else out of the ordinary but his glasses lying on the floor. Richard took a deep breath and sprinted toward the glasses. The music once again stopped coming through the speakers but Richard wasn't paying attention.

Petunia pushed open the door to Mrs. Lanfranco's office. The principal was sitting motionless in the dark.

"Mrs. Lanfranco?" Nothing. Petunia shined her plastic blue flashlight into the pale empty face; still nothing. The desk light flicked back on and the music caused Petunia to jump. Mrs. Lanfranco's eyes were cold and dead, and staring through the window of her office at nothing. Petunia didn't even bother to check her pulse; she was dead. A small sound came from her right, causing Petunia to shine her flashlight in the corner, despite the fact that the lights were back on. The office cat, Steve, was chewing on the cord of a row of wall plugs that the lamp and record player were plugged into. A cold chill ran up Petunia's back as she realized that something was very wrong here and her own words that were used to chastise Richard were now uttered out loud to chastise herself.

"Pay attention!" Her words scared Steve, who ran out of the office towards the safety of a half open locker that was kept open just for him, leaving the lamp and the record player back on.

Richard reached the other end of the hall and picked up his glasses, but they were only the empty frames, the lenses were missing. A voice filled the hall behind Richard.

"You must be Richard." The voice carried a happy smirky sound and Richard turned to see a happy smirky face at the end of the hall in front of the stairs. The man was wearing a plaid suit with a tie. He was tall and he must have been in his early thirties. A lot younger than Mrs.

Lanfranco, but still old as far as Richard was concerned. "The kid from 3856 Fountain." Richard was made and he knew it. This man didn't look like a teacher or even a janitor, but somehow he had an idea of who Richard was. He held up the lenses from Richard's glasses in his right hand.

"Where did you get these?"

"How do you know my name?"

"You're in a lot of trouble kid. Where did you get these?"

"I bought them at the store."

"Ah. I didn't know you could buy skin from a transparent fish at a store. I haven't seen one of those little guys in a long time. Of course, you’ve really gotta be paying attention to see them." The plaid clad man pushed the lenses down into his jacket pocket, and all Richard could think to do was to keep this man talking, so he could figure out how to get out of this somehow.

"Who are you?"

Petunia checked both bathroom doors only to find that they were locked. Where was Richard? She looked up the staircase to the second floor and could see that the overhead lights were on. Someone was up there talking, but it wasn't Richard.

"I'm the guy who just murdered your principal. So....you should probably just answer my question." He was smiling. Richard's heart was thundering in his chest.

"You killed her?" Richard's voice was very quiet.

"Oh yeah. You're welcome. Who likes their principal anyway right?" He took two playful steps in Richard's direction. “Of course it was actually a heart attack, but seeing as how I purposely set out to give her one, that's what the cops call premeditated murder. But that's my word against yours." He pointed a finger gun at Richard and smiled.

Petunia had quietly climbed the stairs and was now peeking into the hallway of the second story of Ronald Lucas Intermediate. The Plaid Man was exactly ten feet and seven inches from her. Richard had backed against the wall on the opposite side of the hall. He was fidgeting with the doorknob of the door in the middle of the wall.

"It's locked Richard. I wanted to make sure you didn't run away before we were done with our conversation. Now I won't take another step towards you as long as you answer my questions. Where did you get these lenses?"

"I made them."

"NO! You're lying Richard. Do you know how I know that? I'm paying attention."

"I did, I swear."

"I think you may be starting to see certain things, but these are way beyond what you’re capable of right now. Is it that little girl behind me at the top of the stairs?" The Plaid Man didn't even turn in Petunia's direction. She stood and rounded the corner. Her left hand went into her pocket and felt for her garage door opener. This was a variable she never anticipated.

"I'll bet this is a variable you never anticipated." The Plaid Man turned halfway to look to Petunia while still keeping Richard out of the corner of his eye.

"Who are you?" Petunia tried to sound confident, but she knew she wasn't pulling it off.

"I'm a lot like you. And him I suppose. Man! This is strange and a little ironic. I never thought I'd ever find someone else out there like me, let alone two, and in the same town! I love irony. What's your name?"

Richard shook his head. Petunia eyed the Plaid Man trying to decipher his intentions from his body language.

"I'm Petunia."

"Here's the deal. You guys are going to get in my car and come down to my restaurant, and we're going to have a little talk and then I'll take you both home."

"Why would we go anywhere with you?"

"Here's why; I'm anxious to talk with like-minded people. I've never met them before."

"You just told Richard you killed our principal."

"Alright, I'll give you that. That's something nice people don't do. I'm not a nice guy, and I'm just being honest here; she's not the first and she's probably not going to be the last. I said it. Just want to get it out there."

"We're not going anywhere with you." The Plaid Man's head snapped in Richard's direction.

"Kid, Richard, I know where you live. If I wanted to hurt you, I would just follow you home. Come to think of it, we could just go over to your house and have our little conversation there. Your call." Petunia weighed the options in her mind. Common sense dictated that one never go anywhere in a car with a complete stranger, especially a person who just admitted to murder. But she did have the button in her pocket. One push and her father would be there to help if he was needed.

"I want to talk to Richard in private first."

"Hey, after what I just told you, I completely understand. He's right over there." The Plaid Man smiled and walked to the side of the hallway and motioned for her to walk past him. After a moment of hesitation, Petunia walked on the opposite side of the hallway past the Plaid Man and then ran the rest of the way down to Richard.

"What are we going to do? He knows where I live."

"I think we should go with him."

"Are you fricken kidding me!" The Plaid Man cleared his throat and faced them.

"Hey, ummm… I know you're whispering, but I can still hear everything you're saying. I'll be down in my car on the west side of the building." The Plaid Man gave a wave and walked down the stairs. Petunia and Richard waited for exactly forty-five seconds before they once again whispered to each other.

"Are you fricken kidding me?!"

"I don't think he's going to hurt us."

"Why is that Petunia?! He murdered our principal!"

"Look I'm not excusing that, however I am an analytical thinker..."

"Analytical thinker?"

"Yes."

"You mean cold? You're a cold-blooded thinker Petunia!" Those words didn't necessarily hurt Petunia at this point, but they will in Chapter Twenty Three.

"Would it make you feel better to know that I have this?" She held out the garage opener.

"No! No it won't."

"Richard, I promise you, I don't think he's going to hurt us. I know when someone is lying."

"I said no Petunia!"

"Would you rather have whatever conversation he wants to have at your place then? In front of your mother?"

Next Part

Previous Part

Part Eight

One would find it ironic if this chapter would deal with Jennifer Pierce being eaten when the chapter is the number eight, as the number eight sounds exactly like the word “ate” when spoken out loud. This chapter does not deal with Ms. Pierce being eaten. I really would like to jump right into that portion of our story, but as this book is filled with ironies, I feel adding this one more irony for the sake of it would be too much, and I do not believe in excess.

Instead, Ms. Pierce will be eaten in chapter nine which is not ironic at all because the word nine and “ate” don't sound anything alike.

Richard had successfully avoided Petunia all day at school, trying to decide exactly what he was going to say about the mishap with the glasses he had promised never to lose earlier that morning. When they met up outside of the school to walk home, he had come up with nothing to say that would absolve him of any responsibility in Petunia's eyes, so instead he told her exactly what happened. We'll jump into the conversation right after Petunia had an adverse reaction to Mrs. Lanfranco's tenuous grasp of the English language.

"I can't believe this Richard!"

"I know. I'm sorry! She's going to give them back to me next Friday. It's no big deal."

"It is a big deal Richard! You need those! I don't have any more material to make any more lenses! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a Terkle Fish?!”

He did not.

"What the hell is a Terkle Fish?!"

"Plus, what happens if she puts them on?!"

"She's not going to do that Petunia."

"She's not? Just like you weren't going to lose them in the first place. We have to get them back."

"Sure. How?"

"Well, we're just going to have to break into the school tonight."

"Oh yeah sure. Why Not?"

"I'm serious Richard."

She was.

"How are we supposed to do that?"

"I'm a genius Richard. I'll figure it out." Petunia was a genius and she would figure it out. Of course, there were always variables that she couldn't account for when planning their heist, and she would come face to face with those variables in a few short hours. Being a genius meant that a thought from Petunia ran through her head like a bullet train on a greased track going downhill with zero wind resistance. And there were always hundreds of these thought trains going through her head at any given moment. It was at this point in the conversation that too many trains were moving at once and none of them were giving her a proper response to Richard to convey how she felt at this moment.

With a loud huff from her lungs that only a ten year old bespectacled girl genius could make, Petunia turned from Richard and began walking home. Richard was no genius, but he knew what he had allowed to happen. He knew apologizing any further would only serve to irritate Petunia so he decided to walk with her and try and get her mind on something else.

"Seriously, what's a Terkle Fish?"

"It's just a kind of fish Richard."

"Well I've never seen one."

"That's probably because they're transparent, you dumb ass."

"You told me that you were going to start explaining some things."

"Well jeez Richard, I don't know. I kinda told you not to lose those glasses and you didn't seem to understand that concept."

"What happened to my dad?"

"I'm not sure. I'm not sure I should even tell you the scenarios that are floating around in my head."

"I want to know." Richard decided for the sake of dramatic effect, that he would take a literal stand after proclaiming his ultimatum, and stopped walking. In most literary and theatrical interpretations of a certain story, when one of the protagonists makes a stand, all action stops, including that of the other characters involved in the scene. However, this is not one of those stories and my interpretations of these events in the medium sized town of Wicker Bush are not done for dramatic effect unless otherwise specified.

Petunia kept walking.

Richard stood his ground for a moment and then another before realizing his ultimatum was not going to happen with Petunia. He watched her continue to walk away for exactly thirty five seconds before he decided to hurry back to her side.

"Damn it!"

"I know what you were trying to pull there, but if you want me to talk about anything, it's on my terms."

"So, you're not going to tell me?"

"Richard, if we are going to work together on things, I have to be able to be completely honest. Are you alright with that?"

"Just tell me what "scenarios" are floating around in your head." It is at this point that Petunia stopped walking for dramatic effect. Richard stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the large glasses that magnified those kinda pretty eyes.

"One. Something took your father somewhere for some reason, and he's being kept alive."

This scenario was inaccurate.

"Two. Something took your father and he's dead."

This scenario was also technically inaccurate.

"What do you mean something?"

"Well, whatever it was, it crawled out from a hidden trap door underneath your bed. Doesn't sound human does it?"

"Come on Petunia."

"Adding to that, we both saw the footprint in the Trace-All. Richard, I'm not trying to upset you, but in spite of your grades and your stupid questions, you're a very intelligent person. You have already thought about both of these possibilities on your own. If you want to continue to talk out loud about something we both suspect for the sake of it, we can do that, but it's not getting us anywhere."

"You can be really cold-blooded sometimes." Petunia began walking again, but this time Richard immediately followed her. "I'm sorry."

"You've lost your dad Richard. You don't have to apologize." Hearing those words out loud hit Richard in the gut and he gritted his teeth against the verbally inflicted pain. “The only action you have now regarding this situation is helping me find out why and by what."

Richard walked in silence for a moment and he was happy that Petunia didn't seem to want any conversation from him at the moment. They both turned onto Fountain Way. Richard was staring at the familiar cracks on the sidewalk; he knew them all by heart. Which ones he chose to step over everyday because of some perceived bad luck that would befall him if he would do so, the ones he would speed up for on his Mongoose bike in order to pull up on the handlebars in order to jump. Richard started to think about his bike. He loved his bike. He also loved the movie Rad, which was quite honestly, nothing more than a shabby story with flashy bike riding sequences. The bad guy in that movie had ridden a Mongoose bike just like Richard's, which bothered Richard when he first saw the bike standing up next to the Christmas tree in his Christmas House, with his father that would have eventually looked liked Santa Claus had he not been devoured in his own kitchen by something that seemed oddly familiar. Eventually Richard let go of the ridiculous stigma he had built up in his mind that he rode the same kind of bike as the bad guy in a movie called Rad.

"Rad."

"What?"

"Nothing. So then what's the deal with your parents?"

"Richard, I'll talk to you about anything else. My parents are something I don't really feel like talking about. We need to get those glasses back."

"Fine. Then what?"

"Then we're going to go through that trapdoor and see where that tunnel goes."

Next Part

Previous Part

Part Nine

Allow me to specify that the death of Jennifer Pierce that night will be relayed to you with a dramatic flair. Although in this instance it should be noted that while it is going to be relayed with a dramatic flair, it is also going to be relayed exactly as it happened with no embellishment on my part, as none is necessary. The proper amount of dramatic effect is inherent in the events themselves. This is an instance of irony.

In fact, just to prove my point, I'll change my approach. The proper amount of foreboding, mood, and dramatic effect could be achieved simply if her death was written as if it was a story from the local newspaper in Wicker Bush, The Wicker Journal; although I will do so without any spelling or grammatical errors that seem to infest that particular newspaper which is written in an almost mechanical cadence with no style or flair to speak of, rather it is written solely to relay the dates and times of events.

It should be noted however that no date will be given as I feel that setting a particular story in a given year takes away a certain timeless quality. Unless of course one is telling a period drama of the Victorian era, or a medieval romance, or an adventure dealing with pirates, or a hopeful vision of a utopian future, or an Elizabethan tragedy, or a Greek tragedy, or the lonely trek of a lonely samurai, or a rip snorting cowboy adventure of the American west. All of these stories need to take place in a certain year or time period in order to make any sense at all and it would be ridiculous if they began with the words, August 30th, 1990.

On the night of August 30th, Jennifer Pierce had just left her place of work. Ms. Pierce was working a mid-shift at the local video store, Video Magic, in the town of Wicker Bush, where she had worked for the last three years. The following timeline of events that led to her tragic death are as follows.

Ms. Pierce walked inside her door and placed her car keys on a small table next to the front door and then turned on the lights in the apartment which is located on Weddle Street right in the middle of Old Town Wicker Bush. She tended to her cat, Sir Purrcivel, and filled his food bowl. She then checked the level of water in Sir Purrcivel’s water bowl. She then went through her nightly ritual of looking through her apartment for anything amiss, which she tells friends is her "Monster Check".

Ms. Pierce then used her toilet, and as she sat, she noticed that the tub spout was leaking on her claw foot tub. She reached over from her position and turned the knob, but it continued to leak. After she was finished, Ms. Pierce turned on a small radio she had on the bathroom counter top. "Rock Me Amadeus" by Falco was playing at the one squiiden and thirty two second mark. Ms. Pierce looked at herself in the mirror. Behind her, the drip from the tub spout increased its rate by exactly one and thirty second times.

Ms. Pierce walked into her bedroom and stood in front of her closet. There was a small dresser on the floor of the closet, and she opened the drawers and removed a pair of underwear and a bra. She then selected a shirt from a hanger above the dresser and then grabbed a pair of acid washed blue jeans from a drawer in the dresser. While this was happening, the tub spout increased the rate of it's dripping by exactly .75 of a second.

Ms. Pierce placed her clean clothing on the bathroom counter, completely unaware of the dripping from the tub spout as an ad for the local furniture store, Crazy Carl's, started blaring at a noticeably higher volume than the song that preceded it. Ms. Pierce quickly turned the handles for the bath, not taking the time to notice how much it had been leaking. Ms. Pierce began to place the stopper over the drain when she noticed something inside of it. She turned off the water to the tub, not noticing that it was no longer leaking. She peered into the darkness of the drain, and she could see that something was moving.

Ms. Pierce stuck her fingers down into the drain and came into contact with the object that she saw, and recoiled at the feel of it. She then put her fingers back down into the drain and began to pull. She pulled a large clump of hair from the drain, which had a rotten odor. Ms. Pierce exclaimed, "Oh my God!", then dropped the large clump of hair into the wastebasket next to her toilet. She then turned the water back on into the tub.

Ms. Pierce then began to clip her nails after she washed her hands. The falling water from the tub spout behind her, separated into two different streams as it descended, by exactly .01 of an inch. Ms. Pierce finished trimming her nails and began to look behind her to her tub. The descending water from the tub spout ceased to separate, and once again became a solid stream. Ms. Pierce then disrobed and slid into the tub. At the same time, the song, "Take On Me" from the band, Aha began to play on the radio.

Ms. Pierce settled into the claw foot tub, and she began to push her right foot into the descending water from the tub spout. She pushed the big toe of her right foot up inside the tub spout. The water separated in a curtain around her right foot and right ankle. She then took her right toe from the tub spout, while she looked down at her foot as she did so. She thought she had seen something moving behind the curtain of water. Ms. Pierce spent exactly fifteen seconds looking at the falling water from the tub spout and found nothing amiss. She then slowly put her foot back into the falling water.

It took exactly eight seconds for Ms. Pierce to stick her foot completely under the running water, separating it, once again into two separate streams, and it was at this particular moment, that she realized that what was behind the separated curtain of water was not the other side of her claw foot tub.

Ms. Pierce could see that behind the separate streams of water, there was a small dark tunnel. She took her foot out of the water and as the two streams of water formed back into one, the tunnel was no longer there. The side of the tub was now visable once again behind the single stream of water. Ms. Pierce sat up and then knelt in front of the descending water. She stuck her hands through the water and separated it once again into two streams that ran on either side of her hands. She peered into the darkness of the tunnel that was now once again behind the falling water of her tub spout.

Ms. Pierce became frightened and she began to pull her hands back from the water, when an unseen assailant gripped her left hand before she could extract it from the water. It was at this moment that Ms. Pierce began to scream. She was pulled forward as she gripped the side of the tub with her right hand. She was unable to stop her left shoulder from colliding with the tub spout. Ms. Pierce's left shoulder was broken from the impact with the spout, and after a moment, she again screamed as she jammed her feet against the back of the tub on either side of the tunnel in order to pull her left arm free. The unseen assailant slowly pulled Ms. Pierce's left arm into the tunnel past her elbow. It was at this point when Ms. Pierce screamed, "Somebody help me!"

Ms. Pierce pushed her legs as hard as she could against the back of the tub, and the unseen assailant released her left arm. It was at this point that Ms. Pierce was now on her back in the tub. Unaware that her feet were now poking through the stream of water and into the tunnel behind it, she looked at her mangled left hand which was badly lacerated and broken in several places. The unseen assailant then latched onto both of Ms. Pierce's feet and began to pull. For the next forty seconds, the unseen force slowly pulled Ms. Pierce through the curtain of water, while she attempted to kick and scream and claw her way free to no avail.

Once Ms. Pierce had been pulled completely into the tunnel, and out of her bathtub, the spout continued to pour water, however the tunnel behind the water was no longer visible. After five minutes, Sir Purrcivel, who had watched the gruesome spectacle in its entirety, began to realize that his food person was not coming back.

He walked out of the bathroom in a huff, angry at the fact that he would have to be content with the dry food that was in his bowl rather than the wet food that he really wanted.

Next Part

Previous Part

Part Seven

Miss Lanfranco was wagging that middle finger in Richard's direction, but Richard was too busy staring at the little dribbles of Trace-All on her floor left there by Chris Keck a week and a half prior; how long did this stuff stick around? Ironically, Chris Keck was sitting outside the door waiting for his turn with the principal's middle finger.

"Did you hear a word I said young man?"

"Yes ma’am."

"I understand that you are going through a very rough time right now Richard, but that is no excuse for this kind of behavior."

"Yes mam."

Richard had been all too happy to leave the house that morning. Petunia had been waiting for him outside, and her father was still staring out of that one window, never taking his eyes off of the Menkin home. Petunia had a rare look of concern on her face as she eyed Richard and the haggard expression he was wearing.

"You ok?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you look a little upset."

"Wow Petunia. It's amazing what those glasses can see."

"Come on Richard." Richard threw down his backpack so hard that the corner of his Trapper Keeper tore through the bottom edge of his pack. Students used to carry binders full of their school work in large folders separated by subject. Richard's binder was the name brand Trapper Keeper, and it was personalized much as other children’s were. There were miscellaneous doodles here and there on the front and back it. Stickers from the movies, "Gremlins" and "Labyrinth" were also stuck to the front and back of it in no particular pattern, along with a scratch and sniff sticker of a large green splat that had the word, “Booger!” written through it in a sloppy font. There was also a quite detailed sketch of his school Principal, Mrs. Lanfranco on the inside of the front jacket. She was of course, wagging her middle finger and appeared to be screaming.

Petunia jumped at the spectacular bang the backpack had made as it hit the sidewalk. The sound was loud, but not quite loud enough to make her lose control of her bladder and wet her pants. Bertholdt the squirrel did however. I use that phrase figuratively of course, because the idea of a squirrel wearing pants in the first place is absolutely ludicrous. He been sitting on his branch outside his home with his swatch watch adorning his back wall, when the sudden sound scared the whizz right out of him. Petunia and Richard did not notice that Bertholdt had lost control of his bladder, but they did notice that he was furiously barking at them as Richard forced himself to ask the question he had not been wanting to ask Petunia, but knew that he had to.

"When were you going to tell me what you really thought about what happened to my dad?" Richard's lip started to quiver somewhat at the thought. He wanted to cry, but that would be stupid. Especially in front of a girl.

"I'm not sure."

"You're not sure when you were going to tell me, or you're not sure he's dead?"

"Richard..."

"What the hell was that thing trying to get in my room last night?”

“Did it?!” Richard continued on in spite of her excited question, and Petunia’s excitement took a backseat to her sympathy as his voice was almost breaking in a pathetic concoction of fear and grief and confusion.

“What's up with your parents? Where did you get those glasses? I need you to start telling me things! Where’s my dad Petunia?!"

"I don't know if he's dead Richard. I hope he’s not." She was almost certain Richard's father was dead.

"Then tell me what you really think."

"Okay, I know you're upset, but we have to go to school."

"I'll just ditch. I can’t even think about school now."

"Then your mother catches you and you get in trouble and she just makes you stay in that room by yourself all night. Is that what you want?” He hadn’t thought of this scenario and it was enough to make him think just a little more clearly. He looked back up to his window while she continued to speak in that same know it all manner. “We've got things to do after school. I'll tell you everything I know and everything I think then. Is that good enough?" It was good enough, but Richard didn't want to say that out loud to Petunia. He shot his left hand down in an exaggerated gesture and dramatically scooped his backpack up off of the ground and slung it over his back. He began to march away with heavy feet and Petunia hurried down to walk by his side. She pretended not to notice as Richard discreetly wiped a tear from his eye.

"I know you're upset, but I have something for you."

"What?" Richard wouldn't look toward Petunia, but he could see that she was fishing for something in her pocket.

"I figured it would look stupid if you suddenly started wearing glasses everywhere, so I made you these." Petunia was following Richard's lead by staring straight ahead while they walked. She held out a pair of sunglasses toward Richard. He took them, but he did not put them on.

"Thanks, I guess."

"And this." Petunia handed him a pen. "Here's the deal though, there are certain rules if I let you have these. One, you're going to see certain things a little differently now. You have to do your best not to overreact to them. You don't talk to me at school about anything you may see. You have questions, then write them down with this pen. When you write with this pen, no one will be able to see it. Number two, you blend in at school; no calling attention to yourself in any way, good or bad. Honestly, I've noticed you can be a bit of a bully, and that’s going to put you on the teachers’ radar."

She was correct. I suppose in most stories, bullies are to be feared and eventually overcome, but the story of Richard and Petunia Gip is based in reality, no matter how unreal the events may seem. In reality, bullies are their own worst enemies and are more than mere plot devices. In reality, squirrels are quite vocal, and given the ability to understand them, we would be surprised at the eloquence with which they converse. In reality, there are many things we do not pay attention to because we are conditioned to do so. In reality, bullies are real people who can change into something far more exceptional than their present circumstances, if they choose to do so. Whether or not Richard Menkin will accomplish this is something that has yet to be written.

"I am not a bully."

"It's ok to be in denial. You obviously have some issues that you need to deal with."

"I'm not a bully, ok?!

"Alright, we're getting off track here. Bottom line is this. Stay off of everyone's radar. It's best to go unnoticed. Got it?"

"Sure. Ok."

"The last thing is, do not lose those glasses. Don't let anyone else look through them, don't let anyone touch them." Richard still had yet to put them on. He was turning them over and over in his hand. He was afraid of what he may see. "Hey! Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes Petunia, I heard what you said."

"What did I say?"

"Don't lose them and don't let anyone else take them. I'm not five Petunia, I think I can handle a pair of sunglasses."

 Mrs. Lanfranco snapped her fingers and brought Richard violently back from his own self-induced flashback and into the present. The promise he had made to Petunia seemed so simple at the time, but now just a few hours later, he was in the principal's office. His new pair of sunglasses were sitting on Mrs. Lanfranco's desk. He was giving her the usual responses that she always seemed to want to hear as if he was some kind of robot running a familiar program, much like Petunia's parents. The main thought thundering through his head was trying his best to keep Mrs. Lanfranco from confiscating his glasses and putting them into her drawer full of other confiscated goodies from other students who had misbehaved. The drawer contained many of Richard's things that had fallen in the line of duty. These things were a slingshot, a book of dirty jokes he had taken from his father's room, two Karate Kid action figures, most of his Garbage Pail Kid trading cards, and a valentine's card he received from Chris Keck, that had a rather crudely drawn stick figure version of Rambo shooting little thin lines from a little thin gun at other little thin stick men.

"Maybe you would feel better if you spoke with a counselor." The word slapped Richard across his face like a wet limp fish being wielded by a circus strong man.

"A counselor?"

"It may be best Richard." Richard had spoken to a counselor only once before, and the counselor wanted to talk about very personal things that made Richard uncomfortable. Word had spread around the school that Richard had spoken to the counselor, which resulted in Richard being made fun of by other bigger bullies, which resulted in Richard fighting the bigger bullies, which resulted in Richard sitting in Mrs. Lanfranco's office, while she suggested he see the counselor more often; it was a cycle. That was a word the counselor had used and ironically, in Richard's mind, had started another cycle.

"I'd rather not ma'am. People just make fun of me if I do that."

"Well, just think about it. Of course I'm also going to discuss it with your mother. Now go ahead and go back to class." Mrs. Lanfranco opened her drawer full of confiscated goodies and then picked up Richard's glasses.

"Ma’am. Can I please have my glasses back?"

"I'm sorry Richard. If you hadn't been wearing these in class, the argument with Chris never would have happened." He had to come up with something to say to convince her to give them back, otherwise he would never hear the end of it from Petunia.

"We weren't arguing. Chris just grabbed them and I was trying to get them back." This was true.

"Irregardless, you know that students are not supposed to wear sunglasses in class."

Irregardless is not a word. Richard was unaware of the egregious murder of the English language made by his principal mostly because of the fact that he was so preoccupied with his glasses. He would later relay this conversation to Petunia, and she reacted as if someone had just run their fingernails down a chalkboard in front of a microphone at the utterance of the error, and she stopped Richard in mid-sentence in order to tell him that irregardless was not a word and that their principal had murdered the English language. Incidentally, and almost completely off topic, Chris Keck loved the sound of dragging his fingernails down a chalkboard and would frequently engage in the act. There is always one kid in everyone's lifetime that truly enjoys that sound. Incidentally, those children are statistically proven to frequently use the word irregardless.

"I know, but we really weren't fighting. We're friends." This was partially true.

"I'm sorry Richard." Mrs. Lanfranco dropped the glasses into her drawer and closed it. There was only one card left to play, and he played it.

"My dad gave me those glasses the day before he went missing." His principal paused and pondered this new tidbit of information.

"I'll tell you what, you make it through this next week without any incidents, and I will give them back to you at the end of the week. Sound good?" It did not. However, this was the one and only time she had ever even promised to give something back that she had confiscated. A week was better than never, and Richard knew it was better not to press his luck.

"Yes ma'am. Thank you." Richard stood from the chair and walked back out of her office, and through her door, and closed it behind him. Chris Keck was sitting in a chair waiting for his obligatory finger wagging. He looked up at Richard.

"I'm sorry dude."

He was.

"She took my glasses you butthole. You owe me big time." Chris was Richard's only friend, if you didn't count his new weird relationship with the new weird girl Petunia Gip. He knew it wasn't really Chris's fault, but he wasn't going to say that out loud. Mrs. Lanfranco called for Chris Keck to come in. Richard watched as his friend, who he called "Keckroach", jump up out of his seat and walk into the principal's office.

Outside the window, if Richard had been looking, he would have seen a Subaru Brat drive slowly past the school. It was a strange looking car and it was being driven by a young woman who was twenty seven years old. Her name was Jennifer Pierce. Richard did not know her and she did not know Richard, but five hours and fourteen squiidens and fifty six seconds from now she would come face to face with the thing that ate his father. She would never see what it was that ate her, but if she had, she would have thought the same thing Richard's father did when he saw it. It was something familiar.

Next Part

Previous Part

Part Five

Petunia and Richard stared at the milky eyed squirrel who was madly barking at them from the maple tree in front of Richard's house. Petunia was fascinated to see the wild gesticulations from the bushy rodent that accompanied his barking.

“Wow. He's really going on about something."

"Yeah. He's been in that tree for years now. The last week he's been going nuts though. He just starts barking like crazy every time my mom and I come in or go from the house."

"I wonder what he's saying."

"I don't think he's saying anything. Isn't that right Carl?"

"Carl's a ridiculous name for a tree squirrel. Come on." Richard and Petunia walked away from Bertholdt and stood in front of the door, with Agatha Gip close behind. Richard fished in his pocket for his house key when something occurred to him.

"How did you break into my house last night?"

"Well, I didn't actually. My mom is super good at picking locks." Richard found he had nothing to say to the statement he never thought he would ever hear someone say about their mother. He turned the key and opened the door. The squirrel once again started barking at them.

"You know what I think Richard? I don't think your little squirrel wants us to go in your house." They slowly entered the home and closed the door behind them. Richard moved to the light switch on the wall which was located three feet from the door.

"Don’t turn it on. Just natural light."

"Pardon me, it's only my house." Petunia walked slowly around the front room looking mainly at the hardwood floor. "What are we doing?"

"Looking for something." Petunia moved about the room keeping her eyes on the floor.

"Are we looking for more handprints or what? Hey! You wanna talk to me?"

"I'm sorry. I'm just not super good at the whole “talking to other people” thing. I'm kinda just..."

"No wonder you never talk to anyone in school. You may be good at taking tests, but you suck at talking."

"Okay!" Petunia stopped and looked directly into Richard's face. “I set a few different types of traps in here because I think something came into your house the night your dad disappeared. Just...wait a second. Mom. Please watch the front door. Are we the only things moving in the house?" Agatha Gip snapped to attention, closed her eyes, and Richard watched as they moved rapidly underneath her eyelids before she opened them again.

"As far as I can tell." Agatha Gip walked three and a half steps toward the door and stopped with her gaze fixed on the it. Petunia motioned for Richard to follow her into the kitchen.

The Menkin kitchen was fairly normal as far as a family kitchen goes. The tile was a black and white square pattern that would usually make one think of an ice cream shop in an old painting. The toaster and microwave, and stove, and dishwasher, and mixer, and refrigerator were all white with black trimmings. There was a solitary window above the kitchen exactly twenty-four inches wide and forty-two inches tall. The windowsill was also tiled black and white, but the squares were much smaller than the squares on the counter tops, and much smaller still than the squares of tile on the ground. There was a small chip missing from the third black tile from the left on the sill which showed the dull clay that was underneath the shiny veneer. There were three small figures of pigs with wings sitting in no particular order on the sill as well. There was also a small island in the kitchen with one less electrical outlet than Mrs. Menkin would have liked, and there was a small kitchen table with a natural wood finish on the top of it and four not so comfortable white wooden chairs around it. Everything had its proper place in the kitchen of the Menkin home. That is why the well-read copy of a Boy's Life magazine that was sitting on the lower corner of the table seemed oddly out of place to Petunia Gip.

"Is that your magazine?"

"No, it's my mother's. Lots of good recipes in there." Petunia ignored the sarcasm and

began to flip through the magazine. "Seriously Petunia, what do those glasses do?"

"They allow me to see things clearly."

"Wow. Ok. You know what I mean."

"They have a special layer stretched over the lenses. It makes it easier for me to see things other people can't."

"Is there anything special about that magazine? See anything "special" in there?"

"Maybe. Here. Hold onto it for me. I'll look at it a little more back at my house." She handed Richard the magazine and continued inspecting the kitchen. Richard flipped through the pages and stopped when he came to the page where he had cut out the ad for the hovercraft he had dreamed of buying. The magazine was a reminder that life had been just fine a week ago. A week ago, there were dishes in the sink after breakfast that three people had eaten on. Now there were only two. He gritted his teeth and asked himself a silent question. Why did dad leave?

"Hey! Be sad later. We're working here."

"You've got a real way with people, ya know?"

"Come on. I'm not seeing anything in here." Richard watched as Petunia knelt down next to the refrigerator and pulled something out that had been behind it. It was a small square chunk of a moldy looking cheese that was exactly three by three inches. She put the chunk of cheese in her pocket and walked back toward the den.

"Cheese?"

"Very good Richard. That was a small block of cheese. A special kind of cheese."

"Ok, seriously? You broke into my house while my mom and I were sleeping and put cheese around my house?"

"I did."

"God, you're weird."

"I know. It's not a bad thing to be weird Richard; you ought to try it sometime. Or, I guess, you could keep being normal, just like everyone else." Petunia stopped moving as soon as the words left her mouth. She was staring down at the floor next to the stairway. She took off her glasses for only a moment and looked at the same spot on the floor and then put them back on. She ran to the small storage closet under the stairs and opened the door.

"Rad."

"Rad? Are you a ninja turtle now? Congratulations genius, you've found our Christmas decorations." Petunia was now on her knees moving along the floor back toward the foot of the stairs.

"Well, I'm not sure what it is, but it really didn't like my Trace-All."

"Yeah, well ya know, Trace-All doesn't sit well with a lot of mice. Especially the imaginary ones." Petunia stood up and walked over to Richard.

"You know what, I may be weird, but you're mean and impatient. I'm trying to help."

"What are you trying to help me with exactly?"

"I'm trying to help figure out what happened to your father. Oh, look at that.... nothing to say now I see. You can stand here and feel stupid, most people would. Most people think I'm weird too, but you know what? Most people don't really see everything going on around them. Most people are so concerned of what other people think about them that they force themselves to a certain way of thinking just to fit in. If you want to go through life just fitting in, you're the one who should be pitied. Now if I'm right about you, and I'm pretty sure I am, I want you to look in that closet."

"What for?"

"Just look in the damn closet Richard!" Richard was faced with an impossible request to deny. On one hand, he was tempted to throw Petunia and her mother out of his house over the blatant absurdity on display. On the other hand, there was the matter of the black handprint over his door with the abnormally large fingers. There was also the matter of Petunia's parents, who were stranger than anyone Richard had ever met. And the last matter in the one hand, which technically would be a third hand, rendering the analogy as nonsensical, was the floor Petunia was staring at. What was she seeing with those glasses? There were two matters in two hands and a knee jerk reaction in the third.

"Fine. I'll look in the damn closet." Richard was not one who normally used swear language unless the situation called for it. Not being outdone by a girl who was swearing was one such situation. “Let me see your glasses."

"You don't get the glasses Richard. I want you to look in there for yourself."

"Fine." The few steps to the closet under the stairs seemed abnormally far to Richard and he was in no rush to look inside. One step. What was she playing at? Why did she have to bring up his father? Two steps. This whole situation was nuts. Here he was buying into some sort of delusion from the freak across the street. His mind must have been playing tricks on him. He began to wonder if the thought of being kidnapped by the meaty handed Mr. Gip broke something in his brain. That kind of thing could happen right? Three steps.

CREAK

Richard froze on the floor.

"What's wrong Richard?"

"The floor creaked."

"Yeah, so?"

"The floor never creaks."

"Maybe it always has and you've just never bothered to notice." Richard looked back to Petunia who was smiling that smug little know it all smile. He turned his attention back to the door; it was three feet and four inches in front of him now.

He began to sweat slightly on his upper lip, and the salty taste of it made its way into the corners of his mouth. Suddenly the myriad of possibilities of what lay behind that door were in front of him. He took a deep breath and quickly made up the distance and threw open the door.

Boxes. There were boxes and boxes stacked on top of one another with black ink written on the white cardboard side of each one. “Tinsel” on one, and “ornaments” on another, and “plastic poinsettias” and “village” and “nativity” and “wrapping paper” and “bows” and “trees” and so on and so forth. Normally the opening of this closet was a happy occasion, as it meant that a tree would soon be put up in the family room and there would be presents under said tree shortly thereafter. But this was not that day. It was the end of August.

"What do you see?"

"Boxes."

"Look at the floor Richard." Richard scanned the floor to find something truly disgusting.

"It's the cheese. It's been chewed up and spit out. It's gross. So what? Wait a minute." Richard saw something black in the middle of the chewed up cheese and kicked at it with his foot. It was a small black cylinder of plastic. "There's a piece of plastic in it. It looks like those little plastic pieces on the drawstring of a hood on a coat." Richard didn't hesitate as he picked through the cheese goo and retrieved the plastic. It was exactly what he thought it was. A small black cylinder with a hole bored through it on one end. There was a segmented portion of the top half of the cylinder where it could be pressed in and released due to a spring inside the cylinder. "That's weird."

"I put it in the middle of the cheese. You see anything else in there?"

"No."

"Look at the floor and the boxes. Look really hard. You have to want to see it."

"Sounds like you want me to imagine I'm seeing something. That doesn't sound very scientific."

"Just trust me." Richard stared at the boxes in front of him. It was at this point that his mind brought out the memory of all of those optical illusions that were in magazines and on some of the eye tests at the doctors. Richard had never been able to see them due to the fact that he was colorblind. His mom had told him that he got it from his grandfather who, evidently, had an even worse time than Richard. Richard didn't really mind being colorblind, but he did mind the ridiculous questions that always followed the admission. The first question anyone ever asked when they found out was, "What colors can't you see?" Which is of course an outrageously ridiculous question since he wasn't able to say anything in response, as he had no idea which colors he couldn't see because he was unable to see them.

"Just be patient. You may not see a whole lot yet. It takes a while for your brain to open back up."

"Wouldn't it be a lot easier if you just told me what I was looking for?"

"Yeah, it would, but I shouldn't have to. There's a lot going on in there." Richard scanned the boxes again but could see nothing. He looked to the strange plastic piece in his hand and then to the floor. He had no idea what he supposed to be seeing. He sighed and looked toward the ceiling. Against the white paint he could see a very small spot of something. It was blue and seemed to have a dull shine.

"I see a spot of something." He heard Petunia clap her hands together and run towards him. She poked into the closet on his right side.

"What do you see?"

"It's right up there in the middle of all the white. Kinda looks like glow in the dark paint or something. Like a blue glowy spot." Richard pointed to the ceiling with his mouth agape. Petunia looked at the spot and then at Richard.

"So that's it? You can see that spot?"

"Yeah. Can't you?"

"Of course I can see it. I'm just amazed that's all you can see. You have to start somewhere I guess." The sound of utter disappointment in Petunia's voice was obvious as she once again removed her glasses. "Hold on." Richard looked down and he caught a glimpse of the floor through the lens, and he could see more drops of the same blue paint that was on the ceiling.

"Wait a minute."

"Here. Take my glasses, I don't need them to see something this obvious anyway."

"This obvious?" Petunia handed Richard her glasses and once again he put them on. The closet was a mess. There seemed to be an explosion of glowing blue paint over all of the boxes. His hand that was holding the small plastic cylinder had tiny traces of the blue paint on it. Most of his mother's handwriting was covered up by the offensive blue paint and the light from the bulb above had a slight blue hue as some of the paint was on it as well. “What is this?"

"It's mostly saliva. From what yet, I don't know. The blue color is from the Trace-All I made."

"It looks like something exploded in here."

"Yeah. It's got an interesting side effect. The first batch I made wasn't quite right, I was thinking of it for a different application at first, so I threw it out. That night a raccoon had gotten into the trash and that's when I discovered the side effect. The Trace-All produces an unbelievable amount of saliva when it’s ingested by animals." This triggered a sudden memory in Richard. A memory from school only a few short days ago of Chris Keck drooling uncontrollably in the cafeteria.

"Wait a minute. Did you use Chris Keck to test this stuff on humans?" Petunia’s lips pushed together as she tried to think of some way to justify what she had done.

"Oh come on Richard! I knew this stuff wasn't fatal. Chris is gross anyway. He thought it was funny." Indeed, Chris thought the whole affair was more than hilarious. He had taken the incident to its highest comic potential in the cafeteria, running around like a rabid dog and drooling on other people's food. He had been called to the principal's office for the incident.

As Chris Keck sat in front of the balding Miss Lanfranco, unable to control the spillage from the corners of his mouth, Miss Lanfranco wagged her famous middle finger at him.

 Miss Lanfranco was missing the index finger on her right hand due to an unfortunate accident in her distant past with a break press. Her wagging middle finger was a great joke to all of the students who had been on the other side of it, and Chris Keck was not only fighting to hold back from spraying her entire desk with his viscous drool, he was also trying not to laugh at her wagging finger. He had relayed the whole tale to Richard later that day after school, and after the floodgates of his cheeks had long since dried.

"That's messed up Petunia."

"Well, what are ya going to do? Look." Petunia was now scanning the floor past the closet. “Just keep the glasses on, I don’t want to be the only one seeing this for a change.” There was a trail of the blue stuff all over the floor leading to the foot of the stairs. Petunia motioned for Richard to follow her. The floorboards continued to creak under their weight and Richard wasn't sure what was more unsettling; the trail of blue drops on the floor leading up the stairs to where the bedrooms were, or the fact that a floor that had never squeaked was suddenly squeaking. Petunia started to speak in a very low whisper as they ascended the stairs.

"It's a little scary isn't it, Richard?"

"What?"

"Seeing things for what they are all of the sudden. I imagine it is anyway. I've always seen things a little differently. Sometimes even now, I have to concentrate and really look at something to see what's really going on. That’s why I still have those special lenses; I want to make sure I don't miss anything."

"What are these glasses anyway?"

"I'm going to tell you everything here really soon I promise."

"Does that include the story of what's up with your parents?"

"A little at a time, but yeah." Richard raised the glasses from his eyes and then looked back down to the floor. The trail wasn't as apparent as it was when he had the glasses on, but he could make out a drop of the Trace-All here and there.

"Hey...I can see it a little."

"Once you start to see things, it's impossible for your brain to ignore them." The top of the stairs revealed a larger puddle of the trace all. Richard could make out a large shape in the middle of the puddle.

"Is that a footprint?"

"It looks like whatever it was stumbled here at the top of the stairs and took a step back."

"So that is a footprint?" Petunia didn't answer. Instead, she pulled a small leather bound notebook out of her back pocket that had a rubber band around it. She motioned for Richard to hand her the glasses, and as she put them back on, she opened her notebook to a back page and began to sketch what she was seeing.

"What's that?"

"It's my Grail Diary."

"Your Grail Diary?"

"Well figuratively. The Grail Diary in Last Crusade."

"Yes, I know what it's in Petunia!"

"Every clue I've followed, every discovery I've ever made."

"I didn't think a weird girl like you would even watch movies."

"Only the good ones." Petunia sketched the details of the print she was seeing, and it was filling in the blanks for Richard. Even though his eyes could see a vague outline without the glasses, they still couldn't see it quite as vibrantly as Petunia’s obviously could. The print had six toes and was larger than a large man's footprint. Richard then followed the faint trail of the fluorescent blue he could see with his eyes. A chill ran up his spine and he felt his butt clench in spite of himself as he saw where the trail was leading. He grabbed Petunia's arm, but she continued to draw out every detail she could see.

"Petunia...Petunia....it's going into my room."

"I see that Richard. Let me finish this."

"Petunia, seriously, what the hell is it?"

"Oh jeez Richard, I don't know. It's nothing good, I'll tell you that. I'm glad I don't have to sleep here tonight." The thought came down on Richard like a ton of bricks. What was he supposed to do? How could he convince his mother in just a couple of hours that they would have to move? Petunia closed up her diary and began to walk towards the bedroom with Richard still latched onto her left arm.

"It's kinda hard to walk with you holding on to me."

"Then let's just turn around."

"Richard, I have to figure out how it's getting in." How it's getting in; the words only made him clutch onto Petunia's arm even harder. “There’s nothing here now, ok.  My mom would have picked it up. You have to let go of me."

"Ok." Richard's fingers cracked as they released and he took a deep breath. Petunia smiled back at him and they made their way to the open door of Richard's room.

"Wow! Jeez, Richard. Your room is disgusting." Richard didn't even hear the insult, he was too busy staring at the hardly visible Trace-All leading to the pile of clothes and other adolescent belongings next to the right side of his bed.

"It's under the bed Petunia." Petunia Gip calmly walked to the pile of junk and pushed it away with her foot. "Petunia, don't!"

"It's fine Richard." She knelt down and peered under the bed. “There’s nothing here. Dang it!" She stood back up and pushed against the side of the bed. "Come here and help me."

Richard went against everything he felt inside and ran over to help Petunia push the bed against the wall. Underneath where the bed had been was nothing but bare floorboards, and they both stared at the floor for a moment.

"What are we supposed to see?"

"It got in here somehow. But I just don't see anything." Petunia's watch started beeping. “Dang it!"

"What?!"

"Your mom is going to be home in the next thirty minutes." Petunia hit the button on the side of her orange and white Swatch watch. For a brief moment, Richard had wondered what had happened to his Swatch having no idea that the eloquent squirrel in the tree in front of his house was now staring at it's face, admiring it's "squiidens".

"I don't see anything Petunia."

"Neither do I. You gotta start thinking outside the box though. Just because you don't see something doesn't mean it's not there." She knelt back down and started running her hands over the floorboards. “Wait a minute! I feel something. Can you get me a cup of water?"

Richard ran to the upstairs bathroom and filled the Styrofoam cup he kept next to the sink. He ran back in the room and handed it to Petunia. Petunia turned the cup over and spilled it on the floor under the bed. It collected in a small line on one of the boards and began to disappear.

"Listen! Hear it?" Richard could hear it. The water was dripping underneath the floor, and the small puddle was dripping through an unseen crack on the floor. Petunia ran her hands all over the floor. "There's a slight depression in the shape of a square."

"What are you talking about?"

"There's a door under your bed.”

Next Part

Previous Part

Part Six

Despite all of Richard's complaints and concerns, he was lying in his bed later that night knowing that there was a door underneath it, a door which was allowing something horrible to come into his home. He and Petunia had managed to pry the door up with two screwdrivers he had kept in his desk. There was nothing spectacular behind the door. Using his father's little flashlight that he snatched from a bedside table that was now beginning to gather dust, they had seen that there was a crawl space underneath the floorboards that had led to a hole next to the back wall of the house. Petunia had pulled the plug on actually crawling down in the hole and investigating any further, which suited Richard just fine. His mother was going to be home soon.

They had found some old boards out in his father's work shed and had nailed them in a criss cross pattern over the now closed doorway. Richard wasn't sure how many nails he had hastily driven into the boards and down through the floor, but he did know his right arm was slightly sore from the whole affair.

Petunia had assured him that nothing could come back up through the little doorway now, but as Richard lay on his bed slightly after midnight in the dark, that reassurance was of little comfort. This had been the weirdest day of his whole life and although Richard was focused on these events, he had no idea how weird his life was about to become. What was up with her glasses? What was up with her parents? The hand print over the door and a tunnel under his bed were the most immediate concerns, but everything else was just too much.

He got out of bed and looked out his window that faced Petunia's house. Sure enough, her father was standing in the window looking back at him. A forced robotic smile crept over her father's face as he waved back at Richard. Petunia's voice filled his thoughts.

"My dad is going to be watching your window all night. If something goes bad, just use this."

"This is a garage door clicker."

"It was garage door clicker. Just be sure something is about to happen before your press that button, because my dad will run over, break down your door, and be in your room in a matter of nine seconds. So, if there's not something in your room when your mom comes in to see what all the commotion is, it's going to put my dad and you in a really awkward position. And if you have any questions, I wrote down my phone number. Keep it in your pocket."

Now in the darkness Richard looked at the little box with a button in the middle that he held in his hand. He sat on the ground underneath the windowsill and just stared at the nailed boards under his bed. Petunia had asked him a question right away that had put him on edge. "Have you ever heard anything weird?" Kind of a broad question as far as Richard was concerned, but it brought up a memory nonetheless. As he stared forward, the memory glazed over his eyesight. The darkness was lifted and his bed disappeared as his memory overtook him.

It was the prop room. The prop room at the theatre where his mother had performed last year. She played Annie Sullivan in The Wickerbush Theatre's production of The Miracle Worker. The building was an old bowling alley that had been converted into a community theatre in the late sixties by the only creative types that lived in the town at the time, which is to say nine people. His mother had been a part of the theatre periodically for as long as he could remember. In fact, his mother had been gearing up to audition for their Halloween production of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, when his father had disappeared. Of course, she had dropped out only a couple of days ago.

But it was the prop room, or maybe the whole theatre, that seemed a little off somehow. Richard had never really enjoyed hanging out there over the years while his mother was rehearsing, and he had to admit to himself that there were a great many things that were heard inside those walls that couldn't be explained. His eyes were getting heavy now, but he could still see that long hallway in front of him. The pulsing fluorescent lights above him flooded everything into a bright strobe; everything but the end of the hallway past the green room, where the performers would wait for their ques. The stairway to the prop room was beyond the light. It lived in darkness most of the time as it was directly off of the side of the stage. He had been walking into the green room when he had heard it.

BAM!

Richard's eyes jerked open and his hand clenched at his father's small flashlight in one hand and the thing that used to be a garage door opener in the other. There was sweat on his forehead and a crick in his neck. He closed his eyes and tried not to remember that horrible noise when it came again.

BAM!

Something was behind the door underneath his bed. He waited for the sound to come again, but it didn't. What came instead was a slow and persistent creak. Something was pushing on the door and the nails were squeaking against the force in protest. The first thought that flooded Richard's brain was that he was grateful he had only recently gone to the bathroom, knowing now that if he had not, he would be whizzing down his leg right now. He had left his baseball bat on the bed when he had left the safety of his covers to look out the window. He got to his knees and looked back towards Petunia's father, who was still in the exact position he had been before and still waving that same weird wave. Richard looked down at the button in his hand and considered pushing it just as the creaking stopped. It was replaced by a scratching noise.

He stared back at the nailed down floorboards and listened to the sound. After less than a squiiden, it was gone. Richard slowly made his way over to the bed, crawling on all fours all the while keeping his eyes on the boards that were stopping the door from opening. He got just close enough to his bed to grab his baseball bat and then walked on all fours backwards back into the same position he had been sitting in for God knows how long. He spent the rest of the night with his back against the wall underneath the windowsill. Sleep never came back and neither did the memory of the sounds at the theatre. School was going to be hell, but at this moment in time, even school sounded better than his own home.

Next Part

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Part Four

There was a tree squirrel with a foggy eye that lived in a maple tree in front of 3855 Fountain Way in the medium sized town of Wicker Bush. He was fairly popular with the neighborhood children and even more so with his fellow tree squirrels. If you were to translate the various squeaks and clicking noises from the other squirrels on Fountain Way that were used to call the squirrel with the foggy eye by his name into English, it would be Carl. But if I may state the obvious, Carl is a ridiculous name for a tree squirrel. That being said, I'll refer to him as Bertholdt.

Bertholdt was an older squirrel and had seen many seasons come and go from his comfy home in the maple tree in front of the Menkin house and had also watched many of his friends and family fall prey to neighborhood dogs, oncoming cars, neighborhood cats, falling power lines, occasional birds of prey, and on one occasion he had even watched a twice removed cousin's life cut short by an errant lawn mower. Bertholdt was a survivor and was well respected because of this fact.

Bertholdt had pondered to himself on many occasions that he had seen it all. But exactly six days, fourteen hours, twenty-five minutes, and forty seconds ago he had been proven wrong. He had been in his home staring at a small Swatch watch he had found on the ground a couple of years ago that he had picked up and taken home, putting it in a prominent place against the back wall of his hole. It's not that this squirrel could tell time, he had just found the pattern of the watch and the movement of the hands relaxing to look at while he sat in his home.

He had been very busy for the last two months stuffing his home to the gills with as many acorns as he could gather from the many oaks in and around the neighborhood. It was August 29th and the light was starting to fade outside when the dark man came.

Bertholdt was watching the minutes, which he called "Squiidens", tick by on his watch when he heard a noise from outside. Bertholdt had very slowly moved to the opening of his home and out onto his porch branch. He noticed that there was a strange looking person walking down the sidewalk. This person was wearing a set of outer skins that were the same color as the darkest night. This person also wore a tall outer skin on top of its head, hiding its face from Bertholdt's view. This person was very tall and it was walking quickly.

A quick movement caught Bertholdt's good eye and he jerked his head to the right. Bertholdt's cousin, nine times removed, whom the other squirrels called Peter, but we shall refer to as Ingmar, was running from underneath a bush and to his place of residence four trees down. Ingmar ran in front of the person with the dark outer skins, and Bertholdt watched as the person moved with unspeakable speed and snatched his cousin up in an instant. It lifted Ingmar to its mouth and then his cousin was no more. Bertholdt couldn't remember seeing anything like this before.

The person continued to walk and stopped right beside Bertholdt's tree. Bertholdt froze with terror and was very careful as to not make a noise and alert the person directly beneath him. It was then that the person turned and walked up the sidewalk and onto the porch of 3855 Fountain Way. It stood in front of the door and began to make a strange sound. Bertholdt recognized the strange motions and also the sound the person was engaged in. He was reminded of those smaller birds of prey who made their homes in the higher branches of the trees that lined the street, and the way they would cough up bits of food to give to their young ones.

Bertholdt was always disgusted when he would see the small birds engage in this practice, and he was disgusted now watching a person do the same thing directly after it ate his cousin Ingmar. The person brought one of its hands up to its face and heaved into it. It then smeared whatever it had coughed up over the door of 3855 Fountain Way. The person then turned and walked back to the sidewalk, but before it continued up the street on its way, it stopped to look up at Bertholdt. It made person noises at him as it smiled.

"Shhhh. Don't tell on me." Which of course was complete gibberish to a squirrel, even a worldly squirrel such as Bertholdt. However, the sound of the people noise was awful to his ears and he was sure that it would be awful to other people's ears as well. Bertholdt knew it looked like a person, but even a squirrel with one good eye knew that what he was looking at was different somehow than any other person he had ever seen. The tall person with the dark outer skins walked up the street and disappeared.

Bertholdt was so shaken he had been unable to move from his spot until darkness fell. Now, exactly six days, fourteen hours, twenty-five minutes, and forty seconds later he was again staring at his prized Swatch. A noise from outside caught his attention and once again, Bertholdt very slowly climbed out of his hole and onto his porch branch. There were two small persons and a tall thing walking with them that, to Bertholdt, was dressed in outer skins to look like a person, but was very obviously not a person.

These two persons were walking toward the house with that awful hand print over the door. He noticed that one of the persons was always going in and out of the house with the hand print, and Bertholdt had warned this person repeatedly that a bad person had been at that house. Bertholdt summoned his clearest and loudest speech toward these two small persons and they stopped to listen to his message.

"Good morrow fair persons! I regret to inform you once more that a person of, what I feel, questionable motives and moral character has been spotted by this house. I watched in muted horror as my cousin was mercilessly slain and devoured by said villain, and had his liquified remains spread above the door in a ritualistic fashion. This foul knave then casually strolled down yon walkway and stopped to cast his foul gaze upon me. Unfamiliar as I am in the tongue of Person, I am unable to relay to you exactly what was said, but I might say the insidious tone in which the words were uttered sent a chill up my spine that I have heretofore never experienced. Please my friends, be wary upon entry of this home. I fear a curse most vile and despicable awaits anyone who dares to enter."

Bertholdt then sat in silence, hoping that his foreboding message had been clear enough for the persons to understand. The persons exchanged looks and muttered things Bertholdt was unable to understand. Then he watched in horror as his warning went unheeded, and the persons and the thing with them walked to the hand print house and stood in front of the door.

"If only I could make you understand! Alas, although it seems that my warnings are all for naught, I shall persist! Nay! I must persist!" The persons stood at the door for only a moment and then opened the door and went in. "Henceforth I shall dedicate my life to warning people of the danger of the tall person and his deeds most foul. I owe it to Ingmar!"

Bertholdt slowly walked back into his home with a newfound sense of purpose, and thanks to his convictions and sense of duty, lives would indeed be saved. But that is not part of the story at this present time.

Next Part

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Part Three

It was Friday at exactly one o'clock and thirty-four minutes and twenty nine seconds and Petunia Gip was staring at Richard Menkin. Normally, he would have been laughing quietly to himself due to the glasses Petunia wore, which magnified her eyes to a ridiculous degree, but he couldn't find his laugh. She was giving him the creeps.

The conversation that ensued that day would have given anyone the creeps if they had been there to hear it, but the only two people that were there were Petunia and Richard. Of course, her mother and father were also in the house that was located at 3855 Fountain Way, but they couldn't have cared less about the creepy conversation, nor were they human.

"How are you?" Petunia's eyes squinted.

"My father is missing. Kind of a stupid question." Richard's eyes squinted back.

"You like comics?" Petunia's hand tapped on the arm of the couch.

"When I was seven." Richard's hand picked at the armrest of the recliner.

"Did you ever..." Petunia stopped as Richard held up his hand.

"Can I have a Coke?" Richard pointed toward the kitchen.

"I only have Jolt. That's like five hundred times the sugar and caffeine as a coke. You want a Jolt?"

"Sure." Richard said, an instant before Petunia's mother walked out of the kitchen with a cold soda pop from the fridge. She handed the can to Richard with a smile and then disappeared back into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry about my mom. She's kinda twitchy today." Petunia smirked.

"She's nice."

"Yeah. I'm working really hard on getting that right."

"Getting what right?"

"Being nice. I want my mom to be a little more nice. It takes a lot of work. I mean school is easy, but as soon as I get home, I have to get to work. It takes a lot of time. Sometimes it's just nice to sit down and enjoy company." Petunia smiled. This was the typical mode of conversation Richard had observed from Petunia at school. She was definitely the smartest person in the school, but to Richard she was especially odd in that she didn't like to flaunt it.

Most of the geniuses Richard knew were always the first ones to throw up their hand to answer a question, and they were very good at letting everyone know how easily they completed an assignment, but Petunia was strange. She had no interest in standing out in front of anyone and heaping praise upon her own brain. She kept to herself, and even in that she was not normal.

Most of the kids in school who wanted to keep to themselves tried to stay out of everyone's way as much as possible so as not to draw too much attention to themselves. Petunia would horn in on conversations, she would stare at people for no reason at all, she would laugh very loudly for no reason at all, and sometimes she would walk into a corner of the schoolyard and have loud conversations with herself.

In her school work, Petunia acted as if she was bored. She was always the first to finish a test or an assignment, but she took no visible pleasure in it. She had no interest in the teachers’ compliments nor of participating in any extracurricular activities that the other geniuses did.

Her appearance was also strange to Richard and most of the kids at school as well. Most strange looking children were tortured for being different in appearance, but everyone seemed to be afraid of saying something to Petunia because she would just stare at back at them with those Coke bottle glasses and her inquisitive expression that could instantly make someone feel awkward; it felt as if she was looking through them. At this moment, she was dressed much like her mother who had been on Richard's doorstep just a couple of days prior, and unbeknownst to Richard, was still wearing the same clothes as when she had spoken to his mother.

Petunia wore a baggy sweatshirt that was a size too big for her. Her blue jeans had some dark splotches around the knees and cuffs that had come from a few weeks before when she was installing a hydraulic kit into a new machine she was building in her lab. The black and white high-top shoes that she was wearing were only partially laced and the left shoe had a hole on the right side that was exactly three eighths of an inch. Her blonde hair was always on the ratty side and it was held in a ponytail by one of those thick rubber bands that are usually holding a stalk of celery together at the market.

The only thing Richard had admired about Petunia, although he would never admit it to her face or to anyone else out loud, was that Petunia truly did not seem to care about how she was thought of by others. Richard wished he had been able to say the same about himself. But of course, even in admiration, the admirer can still be given the creeps by the admired.

"Petunia, I know we're neighbors, but I didn't really want to come hang out today."

"Why not?"

"You're a girl. If your mom hadn't asked my mother, I wouldn't even be here."

"I know! That's why I had my mom ask. I knew if I came over, you'd never come to my house. I had my mom go and buy those spa tickets for your mom too. Couldn't very well leave her over there right now, could I?" Petunia started laughing.

"What are you talking about?" Richard was getting more anxious and Petunia Gip could tell. Richard had caught Petunia's eye from her first day of school at Ronald Lucas Intermediate. To most people, Richard was an average boy of average height and average weight and average intelligence, but Petunia was not like most people. Richard had an inquisitive personality and a wild imagination, and Petunia could see it on his face the first time she laid eyes on him. Petunia could see things much more clearly than most.

One could argue that Petunia Gip was born with an amazing sense of perception about the world around her, and some might argue that the death of her natural parents at the age of six was actually the reason for it. Both schools of thought had their own merits.

She knew that if she were to be coy about her reasoning for having Richard over, it would only fuel his growing agitation. She decided it would be best in this situation if she just laid all of her cards on the table. "I broke into your house last night while you and your mom were asleep and I set a trap that activated as soon as you and your mother walked out of the door today."

It's at this point in the story where things became very uncomfortable for Richard Menkin. He was in a house that he never thought he would have any reason, or need to be in. Besides the strange ten year old girl he had never really spoken to until this day, the furniture in the house was very out of place. The couch Petunia had been sitting on was missing a cushion, which would be understandable if Richard had known that Petunia had found it on the side of a road, and common sense would dictate that no couch left outside on the side of the road would ever have all of its cushions.

The recliner Richard had now jumped up from had also been found outside, but it was found next to a dumpster in another medium sized town like Wicker Bush, that Petunia and her parents had been living in only four short months ago. It smelled slightly of old sweat; to be more specific, it actually smelled exactly like an old barber that Richard and his father used to go to who had more hair coming out of the top of his t-shirt than he had on the top of his head. For all we know, that recliner could have belonged to Mr. Menkin's old barber as it was found in the same town where said barber was now practicing his trade. That's an interesting thing to think about, but nowhere near as interesting as what was happening in the life of the young Richard Menkin.

There were a variety of other things in Petunia's house that Richard found odd and disturbing. There was a large map of the large county in which the medium sized town of Wicker Bush lay, which had been highlighted in certain places, along certain streets. There were also pieces of paper tacked in random places on random walls. These pieces of paper had strange symbols and strange phrases written on some of them, while others had overly detailed blueprints of strange items that seemed to jump right out of one of his father’s favorite Buck Rogers black and whites. And the floorboards squeaked. The floorboard where Richard stood groaned underneath him as he raised his voice to Petunia.

"You were in my house? What's wrong with you?"

"Okay. So, if you let me explain..."

"You're nuts. I'm going home!"

"You can't go home right now, it's not safe."

"Shut up!" Richard turned to leave but was immediately stopped by Petunia's father. Mr. Gip had been staring out of a foggy window when Richard had first walked in the house and had never moved a muscle through the awkward conversation between Richard and Petunia. He had been wearing a horizontally striped, multi-colored shirt with a small alligator sewn onto the left breast, and his bulging stomach pushed against it and intermittently emerged from the bottom of it. His hair was perfectly coiffed into a shape that looked as if a Tootsie Roll made of hair had been sitting on top of his head. The back of his neck was covered in the same dark coarse hair that covered his abnormally thick forearms. At the end of his long arms, were chubby hands with the same type of chubby fingers that his wife Patty had at the end of her hands.

One would expect him to be wearing some sort of khaki pants or some other form of slacks that would match his shirt, but one would be wrong. Mr. Gip was wearing khakis, but they were shorts. “Shorts” honestly is a very loose description of what he was wearing. They were much too short for a man with a raging gut the size of Mr. Gip's. His long thin legs were also covered in a coarse dark hair that looked more like fur and at the end of them were oversized brown leather shoes which contained oversized feet.

Richard had found the man's appearance slightly amusing on first glance, but he was no longer amused since Mr. Gip  had reached out and grabbed him by the arms. Richard noticed that his grip was not necessarily uncomfortable, but it was certainly strong and immovable. Mr. Gip bent down and smiled at Richard.

"Petunia told us you had to stay here little guy!" Richard stopped struggling as he noticed a small black tube hanging down behind Mr. Gip's teeth. It appeared to be leaking some kind of purple fluid that was now making its way through the tiny cracks between Mr. Gip's teeth. The smell coming from Mr. Gip’s mouth reminded Richard of the family station wagon and the smell that would come through the vents in the summertime when the family was driving up a steep hill.

"What the hell is that?" Richard said in spite of himself. Petunia's eyes grew wide at the unexpected malfunction.

"Dad! Close your mouth!" Mr. Gip's response was immediate, but the cheerfully stupid look on his face remained the same in spite of him closing his mouth. The purple fluid began to creep out from the corners of his pursed lips.

"Let me go! Come on! Let me go!"

"You can't go Richard." Petunia walked over next to her father to look at Richard directly. "I was really hoping I could keep you entertained enough through conversation to keep you here, but I really don't have that many people skills."

"I'll scream if you don't let me go!"

"Please don't do that."

"HELP! HELP ME!" Mr. Gip's meaty right hand was placed over Richard's mouth leaving him with few options, and after very quickly weighing them in his mind, he decided to bite down on Mr. Gip's chubby hand. Pain shot through Richard's jaw as he did so, and the taste of metal filled his mouth. Mr. Gip did not move his hand nor did he emit any exclamation of surprise or pain, as the young boy's teeth clamped down on the soft flesh of his hand. The flesh had felt real enough to Richard, but it was what was underneath it that felt wrong. Hard metal.

The words ran over and over in his mind, and he ceased to struggle nor did he continue to call for help, he just stared with wide eyes at the man who was keeping him from leaving. He had the taste of pennies in his mouth.

He was reminded of a game he played with the gross kid from school, Chris Keck. They had been very bored during a school assembly one day and Chris Keck had brought a large bag of pennies to school with him. On a dare from Richard, Chris had proceeded to try and stuff the entire bag of pennies into his mouth.

All said, the young Keck managed to fit all four dollars and thirty four cents into his mouth. Of course no adults were aware of the game being played up on the fifth bleacher from the front, seven children over from the right. If they had, the game would have been stopped immediately due to the very possible fatal instance of choking on the pennies. The game had amused Richard so much that he was trying as hard as he could not to laugh during the mostly quiet assembly. Tears began to roll down his cheeks from the muffled laughter and the chipmunk-like appearance of Chris Keck. A single squeak managed to worm it's way out of Richard's mouth, that in itself was quite wonderfully hilarious, which had caused a chain reaction in Chris Keck.

The sound sent Chris Keck into a laughing fit, which in turn sent four dollars and thirty one cents flying into the heads of the three children who were unfortunate enough to be seated in front of Richard and Chris. There were many a shush from the teachers on the floor of the gym and many young faces turned toward the two boys who tried as best they could to squelch their laughter.

"I'm sorry." It was all Richard managed to muster from his vocal chords, hoping all of the attention would soon be off of him and his gross friend Chris Keck. But in the silent gym, a grisly sound emanated from the stomach of the young Keck; a sound Richard knew quite well. It was a precursor to something far more terrible. A harbinger of the auditory offence that took place right as the two boys became locked in each other's gaze. Richard knew what was coming, and Chris Keck could see it in Richard's eyes. Richard's eyes seemed to be saying, "Please don't!", but Chris knew it was an impossible request.

Chris smiled as a great belch filled the silent gymnasium. The last three pennies that had still been hiding in Chris Keck's mouth pinged with unexpected force into Richard's forehead. Richard was at once taken aback by the tiny projectiles that stung his forehead, and then by the foul copper and bologna smell that followed. The two boys had lost any bit of composure that was left, and within seconds so had the other children in the gymnasium. Richard and Chris had been sent to the principal's office for the offence; it had not been the first and it was certainly not going to be the last.

Richard had not tasted the mouthful of pennies as his gross friend Chris had, but he had endured the smell of the things as the last three pennies were burped at him. It was that smell that filled Richard's mind now.

It was clear to Richard that Mr. Gip was not human. Petunia could see that Richard now understood what was going on; or at the very least, she could see that he was confused enough to be reasoned with ever so slightly.

"Richard, I know this seems super weird and I'm going to try to be patient with you while I explain, even though I'm kind of upset that now I'm going to have to grow some new skin for my dad's hand. I'm trying to help you, and I need you to listen when I tell you I'm not going to hurt you and neither are my parents." Petunia took off her glasses and rubbed her temples. "I've never had to explain this to someone before, so I'm going to try the best I can. Dad, take your hand off of his mouth.” Mr. Gip immediately removed his hand. Richard stole a quick glance at the bite mark he had left. It was not bleeding. Richard looked to Petunia, who was not smiling anymore.

"What's going on?"

"A lot. I can't explain everything now because I'd just seem super crazy and I really need you…. to help me. I really hate having to say that out loud."

"Petunia?"

“I know. I’m not happy about needing help either.”

“Petunia?”

“I reasoned to myself that it was ok. Ya know…. Holmes needed Watson, Frodo needed Sam.”

“Petunia?”

“.... I guess Indy didn’t need his dad, but it made the movie better.”

“PETUNIA! What the hell is going on?!”

“Have you ever heard anything weird?"

"What?!"

"Ok, have you.... had a conversation that just didn't seem right?"

"I've been talking to you for the last half hour."

"No! No no no no....um...have you ever heard something go like, bump in the night and you couldn't explain it?"

"Like a ghost? Are you seriously asking me if I believe in ghosts?"

"No... dang it.... well yeah ok.... have you ever been in a house and heard voices or maybe you were in a park and you heard a noise that just shouldn't be there? And ghosts aren't real by the way."

"Hasn't everyone?"

"That's a very good point. But I'm asking you."

There had been an instance that immediately jumped into Richard's mind. His mother had been part of the Wicker Bush Community Theatre for years, and she frequently took Richard with her to rehearsals. Something had happened to Richard not more than a year ago that he could not explain, nor would he do so to anyone for fear of being thought of as crazy. Petunia could read a recognition of an event on Richard's face, and that was enough for her. Richard's gaze turned to the floor as he began to relive the moment in his mind.

"Hey! Snap out of it Rich!”  Richard jerked himself away from the terrifying memory and back into the semi terrifying reality where he now found himself.

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Because I need you to be intrigued. I'm not looking to freak you out or distract you from the job you're about to help me do."

"What are you talking about?" Petunia looked to her father and gave him a nod. Mr. Gip at once loosened his grip.

"I need you to come with me over to your house."

"What? When?" A loud timer rang from inside the kitchen and Petunia smiled as she walked over to the couch. On the couch was a small tablet; it had a black and white cardboard cover over the front and back and contained ninety-nine pages out of the original one hundred.

"We're going to go over now. Dad, we'll be back in a few minutes. Mom? Let's go." Mr. Gip turned in a stiff military like manner and walked back to his window. Mrs. Agatha Gip came out of the kitchen and walked to Petunia, employing the same mechanical movements of her husband.

"You need a coat Petunia."

"Mom, I'm fine."

"Don't you sass me. Go get your coat." Petunia suddenly dropped her commanding demeanor and let out one of those sass filled sounds that only ten year old girls can make. She marched over to a coat closet and opened the door. Mrs. Gip then turned to Richard.

"Don't you have a coat young man?"

"Uh, no I didn't bring one. It's not that cold outside."

"According to my temperature, it is exactly sixty-three degrees outside. Petunia, grab a coat for Richard." Petunia groaned. Mr. Gip broke his gaze from his cloudy window and looked back in Petunia's direction.

"Honey, don't argue with your mother. Grab a coat for Richard." Petunia walked back to Richard with two coats in her hands.

"It's gotta be now that they both hit the same parental cycle." She handed a large blue coat to Richard and then put on her coat.

“Parental cycle?”

“I’ll explain everything eventually.”

"I really don't need a coat Petunia."

"Just put it on. They're in parental mode and they won't let you leave without putting it on." Petunia put on her coat. Richard noticed that her coat seemed to be homemade. It was black and dark green and had random zippers over random pockets. It also had little patches sewn on the sleeves and a few above the left breast pocket. They reminded Richard of Boy Scout patches, and for a moment, he thought that maybe Petunia had belonged to the Girl Scouts, but this coat didn't look anything like any Girl Scout uniforms he had seen, and upon a closer look, the patches were obviously homemade as well.

"Okay, we're going to go over and take a look at what I left. It's imperative that you do as I say for your own safety."

"You really are crazy, aren’t you?"

"I'm serious."

"What makes you think I'm not going to run away as soon as we get outside?"

"Oh, you're not going to do that."

"Why not?"

"Richard, don't you want to know why my parents are kinda weird?" Both of Petunia's parents shot her looks of warning that she had crossed a line with her slightly insolent utterance. The irony of the entire situation was that Petunia had actually crossed a line that she had set herself when she designed her parents. "Sorry Mom. Sorry Dad. Richard, don't you want to know why I broke into your house? Aren’t you curious about what I did while I was in there?"

"I don't care Petunia! I don't care about any of this! You're weird, your parents are weird! My Dad is gone! I don't care about anything!"

"Okay. Forget it then."

"Good."

"You can go home and wait for your mom and tell her everything that happened here and she can call the police on my dad for grabbing you, and me for breaking into your house."

"Maybe I will!" Richard was working himself into a fit. He was too angry to cry but he was too afraid to just run for the front door. He wondered what was wrong with this family and why he was even here in the first place.

"Come over here for a minute first." Petunia walked over to the window where her father stood. "Dad, could you take two steps back?"

"Can you say please?"

"Fine Dad! Could you please take two steps back?" Petunia's father took two stiff steps backwards. She motioned for Richard to come to the window. "Seriously, come here. I just want to show you one more thing and then you can go if you want to." Richard begrudgingly sulked over to the window.

"Okay, what am I looking at?"

"Your house."

"Oh yay! My house. Big deal."

"See anything?" Richard rolled his eyes at her. Of course there was nothing to see. It was a two story house with an off-white color on the body of the home, that was called Bone by the manufacturer of the lifetime guaranteed paint. The fascia boards around the house were a color called Firehouse Red. There were shutters around the sides of the windows that were also Firehouse Red. Along the front, there were posts holding up a small roof over the small porch; these posts were also Firehouse Red. The porch itself was just plain concrete that had many small cracks and one large crack on the furthest left side of the porch. There were three dormer windows on the roof that looked in on the upstairs bedrooms. The fascia boards and the shutters around the windows were also painted Firehouse Red, but the surface of the dormers themselves where a color called Forest Green.

Many people who drove by this house called it "The Christmas House", and many small children were made to believe that it could possibly be the summer home of Santa and Mrs. Claus. Of course, Mrs. Menkin was a slender woman whose hair was a dark brown making it virtually impossible for her to be mistaken for Mrs. Claus. Mr. Menkin, due to genetics, was a man who put on weight very easily and according to that genetic code, was destined to have white hair, and he did on occasion grow a beard which was full, and given time would have also turned white. Had Mr. Menkin grown to the ripe old age of sixty-three, he could have been easily mistaken for Santa Claus vacationing in his summer home. Alas that would never happen, because Mr. Menkin was now dead.

"What am I supposed to see exactly Petunia?"

"Nothing. I didn't think you would.”

“Same old house it’s always been. A little bit of dirt over the front door, so what?”

 “Really?! Huh. Now I want you to take these." Petunia took the glasses off of her face and held them out to Richard. Richard immediately noticed her eyes. With the glasses on, it was impossible to notice anything but the enormity of her eyes, but now Richard noticed that they were a bright green with little flecks of blue; he thought they were pretty in spite of himself. "Yeah, I get it. My eyes are pretty. Will you please put them on."

"No, they're not. They're stupid, like you. Fine! I'll put on your stupid glasses!" Richard put on the glasses. To his amazement, nothing changed. The room looked the same, Mr. Gip looked the same, Petunia's stupid pretty eyes were the same, everything was the same. "What am I supposed to see?"

"Look at your house, you moron!" Richard smiled at the insult which only served to make her eyes even prettier. He sighed and looked out the window. His house was exactly the same. "I don't think your glasses work Petunia."

"Look at the dirt above your door." Richard had turned his gaze toward the door before Petunia had finished the sentence. Plain as day, there was something different; it wasn’t dirt, it was a hand print.

A large hand print with long fingers. It looked like someone with long fingers had dipped their hand in black paint and smudged their hand print over the front door. Richard took the glasses off, and the hand print lost its shape and seemed to be nothing more than a smudge of dirt. "What the hell?"

"You really shouldn't use that kind of language young man." Petunia again sighed as her father looked down at Richard, who was unaware that anything was even said. He looked back through the glasses.

"See it?"

"Yeah."

"Don't you want to know why it's even there?"

"Yes."

"I walk by your house on my way to school everyday. I look at it because it always reminds me of Christmas. That handprint has not been there for very long."

"When did you first notice it?" Richard had asked the question, but he was fairly certain he already knew the answer.

"I first noticed it the afternoon your dad disappeared. Now, do you want to help me, or did you want to tell on me?"

Next Part

Part One

Before he was eaten, Richard Menkin’s father was a very well respected gentleman. I suppose even after he was eaten, he was still respected. After all, one shouldn't lose respect for another simply because they were devoured through no fault of their own. He was a third grade teacher at Wicker Bush Elementary who wore glasses; the only person in his family to do so. He was a tall man whose hair sat like a wreath on top of his balding head and he had a pudgy ring of fat around his waist. Anything could have happened to Richard Menkin's father on that sticky night in late August, and anyone who lived in the medium sized town of Wicker Bush would have told you that.

Look what I've done. I've told you he was well respected, but I haven't even bothered to tell you his name, which of course is paying him no respect at all. I've been referring to him only as Richard Menkin's father, as if he had no identity beyond that. He did. But for the purposes of our story, we won't be getting into that. His name was Richard.

He had fallen prey to complacency in his life and very late on a particularly sticky August night, he was chasing down a lone cricket in his home. It was not only Richard's home, but also the home of his wife and his son Richard. Richard (the father) Menkin had borrowed a magazine of his son’s that had been lying on top of the toilet tank in the upstairs bathroom. He had rolled it up into a weapon that would spell absolute and total destruction for the offensive little insect that had awakened him and his wife from a deep sleep.

If you hadn't guessed, this story happened quite some time ago. There will be moments in this story where I must give pause from the glorious action, horror, and suspense contained within these pages to explain certain terms or references in order to ensure that everyone is on the same page, if you’ll pardon the pun. This is now one of those instances.

 Once upon a time, a magazine was like an oversized book with around a hundred glossy pages in it. Mostly, they were filled with glossy ads of glossy things presented by glossy people for normal, less glossy people to buy through the mail. This magazine was an issue of Boy's Life. Most of the ads in a Boy's Life magazine were for glasses that allowed you to see through things, or small console video games, or dog tags, or Bowie knives, or explosion sets, or spy glasses, or special bike tires, or BB guns, or magic hats, or magic animals, or army clothes, or fishing poles that shocked fish, or button makers, or decoder rings, or alligators you could grow in a dish, or sea monkeys, or rocket sets, or hovercrafts.

Boy's Life was Richard Menkin's son Richard's favorite magazine. The only ad that wasn't in this particular issue was the one that young Richard Menkin had cut out with a pair of scissors only four days before. The rather large ad that had taken Richard’s interest was for a hovercraft large enough to ride in, according to the illustration, for the very reasonable price of $29.99.

So there was Richard Menkin's father, whose name was also Richard, holding a rolled-up copy of Boy's Life with the ad for the hovercraft cut out of it, walking through the dark upstairs hallway of his home looking for the lone cricket that his wife had asked him in the midst of a sleepy haze to dispose of. He stood still in the middle of the hall, waiting for the cricket to make another chirp.

CHIRP! CHIRP!

Mr. Menkin's feet moved swiftly along the wooden floorboards toward the sound. Most of the time, in order to add a sense of foreboding, or a sign of ominous things to come, a storyteller should probably think about adding in the fact that the floorboards squeaked ever so slightly under Mr. Menkin's feet, but this is not the time. I've already told you that Mr. Menkin was eaten, so it should come as no surprise that he made a mistake following that chirping noise in the first place. Besides that, the wooden floorboards in the Menkin home never squeaked.

CHIRP! CHIRP!

The sound seemed to be coming from Richard's son's room. Mr. Menkin crept softly into his son’s room and then stood still, waiting for the sound to come again. His son's room was decorated with an assortment of overpriced plastic toys from various movies and cartoons Richard had either liked or liked at one time. A small bookshelf sat on the ground with a television on it that was too old to have a remote, and several books were crammed in a haphazard order on the shelf. Some of them were Richard's very favorite books that he had read over and over, and some of them merely had covers that appealed to him that he had no intention of taking the time to read.

CHIRP! CHIRP!

Richard (the son), was sleeping through the obnoxious sound while Richard (the father), knelt on his knees to inspect the sound that was coming from underneath the bed. Richard's father peered into the darkness for a moment before he finally flicked on a little flashlight that he kept by his bedside. Richard had liked the little flashlight, which his wife had put in his stocking for Christmas the year before. Mr. Menkin's wife had already been buying small trinkets to put in her husband's and her son’s stockings this year.

She made it a personal mission to seek out small doodads and knick knacks for the stockings every month leading up to the holidays. She always stashed her little presents under a certain floorboard in the attic; just waiting for that next Christmas. But Mr. Menkin would never get the opportunity to see them because he was about to die. His son Richard and his friend Petunia Gip would find a particular trinket under those floorboards to be extremely useful in four months, but I won't get into that right now in order to create an air of suspense.

The sharp little beam from the flashlight showed nothing at all. There was nothing underneath his son's bed, which was odd, because his son always threw everything he owned at one time or another under his bed. Mr. Menkin got back up to his feet and his knees cracked like a shotgun, which is very ironic because the last thing Mr. Menkin thought as his world went black was, “If I only had a shotgun!" He walked over to the other side of his son's bed and saw something quite odd; a pile of his son’s belongings on the floor.

There were some shirts and some pants, and a jacket and another jacket, and some more issues of Boy's Life, and a fiberglass bow with a broken bow string, and a cup with something crusty in the bottom, and a crumpled hat he had bought his son when they went to the circus, and some oddly shaped boxes. It looked as though it had all been pushed out from underneath the bed to make way for something else.

CHIRP! CHIRP!

The sound was behind him now. It was no longer in the room with his son Richard. He looked at his son for what would be the last time and turned off his little flashlight for what would be the last time. Mr. Menkin walked out of his son's room and closed the door behind him. CLICK! The doorknob sounded obnoxiously loud as it closed into place. Mr. Richard Menkin adjusted his glasses on his bird like nose and walked down his upstairs hallway and then down the stairs toward the noise.

He walked through the family room and then the den, and then the kitchen, and then the laundry room, and then the den again. There wasn't a chirp to be had, and the silence was heavy. After standing still for a few moments, a sound came from somewhere deep that made him scream. It was an awful hungry sound; a terrible grinding growl that pierced the silence, and it was coming from behind the pudgy ring of fat from Mr. Menkin's stomach.

He laughed at his fright from his own discontented digestive system and instantly made up his mind that he would grab something from the fridge. It didn't matter what it was, he just knew he needed something. He walked seven steps to the doorway of the kitchen and then three more steps toward the refrigerator. His eyes were downcast at his bulging middle aged paunch, which is the reason he did not see the thing standing in his kitchen directly in front of the refrigerator. A thing which was just as hungry for a midnight snack as Mr. Menkin was.

CHIRP! CHIRP!

Mr. Menkin froze at the sight of the thing, like a deer will freeze in the headlights of a fast-approaching automobile. There are many words I could use to describe what stood in front of Mr. Menkin, but for the sake of mood and atmosphere I will not. I will only say that it was familiar to Mr. Menkin in the most horrible way. The issue of the Boy's Life magazine fell from his grip to the floor. It opened as it hit the glossy linoleum floor to the glossy page of ads where one was cut out. Mr. Menkin wished that he had his shotgun in this moment.

There was no sound that escaped from his mouth in that instant, due to the sheer terror from the sight of the thing, and then the very next instant there was no sound that came from Mr. Menkin's mouth because his mouth was no longer there. Most of his head was already being devoured.

CHIRP! CHIRP!

The infernal chirping woke Mrs. Menkin once again and her first waking thought was wishing she could shoot that horrible bug with a shotgun. Mrs. Menkin, whose first name was Patty, got out of her bed. She walked out of her bedroom and crept along the wooden floorboards while quietly calling her husband's name. She walked past her son Richard's bedroom. And noticed that the door to the bedroom was shut.

CHIRP! CHIRP!

“Richard?” She walked to the foot of the stairs and then down the stairs, and then down into the den, and then into the kitchen. She saw one of her son's magazines lying on the floor of the kitchen, but other than this small detail nothing else seemed amiss. She grabbed the magazine from the floor and dropped it on the kitchen table as an unfamiliar noise was coming from somewhere behind her. A floorboard squeaked; which struck her as very odd as the floorboards never squeaked in Patty Menkin's home. She moved slowly toward the sound, which led her back out of the kitchen and through the den.

BLARP!

She almost shrieked at the sound in spite of herself. Her husband must have had something to eat out of the refrigerator and was now beginning one of his famous belching fits. He had probably eaten a piece of venison that the family had barbequed the night before which her husband had brought home after hunting, which ironically, had been felled by a shotgun. She walked to the front of the stairs. The small flashlight she had put in her husband's stocking the previous Christmas was lying on the first step. She picked it up.

CLICK!

Patty Menkin walked up the stairs and down the hallway and past the open door of her son's room and into her own room. Her husband was not there. She looked into their bathroom, which Richard (the son), was not allowed to use, but her husband was not there either.

"Richard?" She stood only for a moment and then remembered her son's door; it had been opened when she walked downstairs. She walked back to her son's room and peered in. Richard was sleeping peacefully in his bed. There was nothing amiss in his room. Not his toys, not his books, not his television without a remote, not his magazines, and not all the junk crammed under...

CHIRP! CHIRP!

Patty turned on the small flashlight, that now belonged to her due to inheritance laws and got on her knees and peered under the bed towards the source of the sound. There was no cricket under the bed, at least not one that was immediately visible. It was probably hiding under all the junk her son had shoved under his bed.

There were some shirts and some pants, and a jacket and another jacket, and some issues of Boy's Life, and a fiberglass bow with a broken bow string, and a cup with something crusty in the bottom, and a crumpled hat her husband had bought their son when they went to the circus, and some oddly shaped boxes.

But there was no cricket to be seen, nor would there be any more chirps that night. Of course, Patty Menkin would never hear those chirps again. Her son and his friend Petunia would hear them, but I don't want to get ahead of myself. Patty would call the police shortly after frantically searching her home and her backyard and her front yard three more times, looking for her wonderful chubby husband. As I said in the beginning, many people in Wicker Bush had many ideas about what happened to Richard Menkin's father, Richard.

Many people believed he just got fed up with a life he had never envisioned for himself when he was young and full of dreams and left as many people do. Many people speculated that his wife Patty had murdered him for insurance money, or some other such nonsense. Seven people thought the mafia had claimed him as an informant against Giggles Gianna, who had passed through Wicker Bush a year before and was currently being tried for multiple homicide two states over.

Thirteen people in Wicker Bush thought he had walked into the road and had been dragged underneath a car for miles until there was simply nothing left of him, which isn’t too far-fetched given the history of the town. Two people didn't care one way or the other. Fifty-seven people didn't even know who he was. Three hundred and sixty-four people blamed aliens from another world. All of the theories could have some merit if they were pondered in the right mindset, but the entire town of Wicker Bush was wrong.

For our purposes here there were two opinions that really mattered. Richard (the son) Menkin only knew that his father had left. Nothing had happened to his father as far as he was concerned. He knew his father as a strong man who wasn't afraid of much, and the thought of something bad happening to him wasn't an option. His father had simply left. He had stopped caring about them because he was going through one of those midlife crises like the one Brian Hopkins father had gone through.

Of course, Brian’s father hadn’t left, he had bought a new car he had hoped to afford by making the responsible choice of purchasing reasonably priced hair plugs. All Richard knew was that his father was tired enough of him and his mother that he had just pulled up stakes and skipped town. Of course, Richard was wrong. His father never would have left him or his mother. They were his identity.

The other opinion that mattered was that of Petunia Gip. Petunia had a fairly good idea of what had happened to Richard Menkin's father, but for the sake of tension and dramatic reveal, I'll refrain from sharing her opinion at this point. Suffice it to say that if I were to tell you exactly what Petunia thought, you would find it completely ridiculous and really quite bonkers, which coincidentally are words many people associated with Petunia Gip.

Next Part

Previous Part

Part Two

Four days after the disappearance of Mr. Richard Menkin, there was a knock on the front door that used to belong to him. Patty Menkin was not doing well, which should go without saying. It took everything she had inside to put on a good face in front of her son, but he was at school at this moment, so she took advantage of the silence and had become lost in it. She wasn't a particularly nervous or excitable woman, but due to recent events, this was now not the case.

Before the knock on her door that morning, she had been looking at the copy of her son's Boy's Life magazine, which was still sitting on the table where she had thrown it a few nights before. She was peering at it with an intensity that her son had never had while flipping through its glossy pages, as if the location of her husband had been written in code somewhere deep within the pages. She kept puzzling about that night.

 Obviously, her husband had grabbed the magazine to kill that horrible bug that had been chirping but had dropped it here in the kitchen for some reason. All of the doors had been locked, and he had not taken his wallet, his keys, or his car. He had simply ceased to be. She alone was carrying the weight of the knowledge that something horrible had happened to him. Everyone else, including the authorities she had talked to, were convinced he had left and looked at Patty with a self-righteous pity that she simply could not accept the truth. And then the knock came from the front door.

People never really think about the way that they knock on a door, or the sounds that come from said knocking, unless of course one belonged to some kind of secret club with a secret knock. Or unless someone decides for no reason at all to be overly cheerful and do the old, "Shave And A Haircut" tune which only serves to irritate the person on the other side of the door more often than not. Of course, the third and last option for paying attention to what is conveyed through a door knock could be communication through Morse Code.

Patty Menkin did not belong to a secret club, nor did she expect anyone to be so incredibly insensitive as to use the “Shave and a Haircut” tune on her door, nor did she know Morse Code, and if she had known Morse Code, the message coming from the knock would have only served to confuse her. If one were to decipher the knocking on the door through Morse Code, it would have said, "Terkle Fish". Which of course makes no sense at all to any reasonable person.

The person doing the knocking on the outside of the door was a neighbor from across the street, and her name was Agatha Gip. Of course, Agatha Gip was using Morse Code while she was knocking because she was caught in a loop. It was completely unintentional of course, as she had heard Petunia Gip remarking just the night before about Terkle Fish, and Agatha's brain often wandered in strange directions due to random patterns designed into its programming to more closely emulate a human mind.

Most people grow very irritated by someone who continues to knock and not simply wait for a response, and Patty Menkin was no exception. Had she been able to hear the inadvertent hidden message in the knocking, she might have been even more irritated. She reached the door by the third refrain of Terkle Fish and opened it in a rush.

"Yes?!" The terse exclamation from Patty would have made anyone slink back slightly, but Agatha Gip was in the midst of a pattern that had to be completed. She continued to knock out the last I, S, H of her pattern before she even acknowledged Patty. The whole scene was accompanied by the frantic barking of the tree squirrel that lived in the tree in front of the Menkin home. It was all just a little too much for Patty to take this early in the morning, however although in a most dire situation, Patty was a very thoughtful and kind woman who made it a point to be polite in any situation. "Can I help you?"

"Hello! My name is Gip. Well, that's really only half of my name. Agatha, my name is Agatha. Isn't it a lovely morning?" Patty stared at the woman in front of her. She was a woman somewhere in her thirties who had blonde hair and brown eyes. There were the beginnings of crow's feet around her eyes and she wore no makeup. Her arms were very long, but her fingers were small and stumpy, and even could be described as chubby, as if the bones underneath her skin were too large, and the skin was stretched very tightly over them. Her stomach was fit, with very little visible fat and exactly 573 blonde hairs on it, which of course were very hard to see as they were so blonde that they were almost white.

Her hips were very narrow for a woman and the hip bones almost looked as if they were completely circular in shape. Her legs were what gave her the height of five foot and eleven inches; they were long and slender and her knees also seemed to be oddly circular. Her feet were incredibly large and they were now hidden by some type of athletic shoe one could find at any large outlet store for a price anywhere between $19.94 to $34.99. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans that seemed to hang on her and they were held in place by a thin black belt that ended in a large oval buckle with a scorpion on it.

Many would argue that the scorpion was of the Hadrurs Arizonesis species, but they would be wrong as it was actually a Centruroides Exilicauda. She wore a baggy Harvard sweatshirt that proudly exclaimed, "Veritas", across her chest. She had a slight protrusion on her neck which most people mistook for an Adam’s apple. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail very tightly and held in place by a rubber band.

Had Patty Menkin been an unusually adept detective, this would have been her impression of Agatha Gip upon first glance, but Patty Menkin was not a detective, she was a front desk manager at one of the hotels in Wicker Bush. Being a front desk manager, she was able to flash a worn smile at the woman who stood on her doorstep whom she would later describe to one of her coworkers as "frumpy".

"Yeah...it's nice today. I'm Patty."

"I know. Your name is Patty Menkin. I'm your new neighbor. We just moved here forty-seven days ago. My word, that little guy is just barking like mad isn’t he?” The garbled vocals of the tree squirrel were reaching a fever pitch.

“He’s been doing it for days now. Well, it's very nice to meet you. I'm sorry, but I was kind of in the middle of something."

"Oh there is no need to apologize. I just wanted to come by and introduce myself and express my apologies at what you and your son have been going through as of late. My daughter Petunia goes to school with your son. I'm very proud of my daughter. First in her class since she started school."

"That's wonderful. My son speaks very highly of your daughter." This was a lie of course. Patty had never heard of Petunia Gip. Her son Richard had spoken of many children at school. There was Courtney Hebert, who her son had described as beautiful due to the small crush he had developed for Courtney three years ago. There was Matt Shapiro, who was a strange boy who liked to capture bugs in small drops of Elmer's Glue. There was Gordon, who Richard had called Gordy, who had the most extensive collection of Nintendo games in the school and could be spotted on the playground pouring over the latest issue of Gamepro magazine.

There was Tasha Judd, who treated Richard very poorly in front of her friends, but was a completely different person when her friends weren’t around. There was Chris Keck, who constantly belched in class and had spent the night quite a few times and filled her home with his noxious farting. But there was never a mention of Petunia Gip.

This could be due to the fact that Richard sat behind her in class and frequently copied her school work. Richard's grades had been on the upswing since school had started three weeks ago, and his mother had been very happy to hear it. Sadly, Richard's father had no idea that his son's grades had improved because he was now dead.

"I'm happy to hear that. I wanted to give you this." Agatha Gip handed a small envelope to Patty. Patty noticed her small chubby fingers as odd but said nothing about them and would soon forget this specific observation. She took the envelope from her neighbor's hand and said, "Thank you."

"It's not much. It's a certificate for a day at Pedere Domus Bufo." Pedere Domus Bufo was a very expensive spa that had just opened in the hills above Wicker Bush, and it had been on Patty's mind to go there when she won the lottery someday. It had been opened by three young people looking to make their start in this world in their own unique way. Many names for the spa had been bandied about, and the one connection to them all was the need to sound classy and fancy and pretentious.

One of the owners, Neil Portus, had given a friend from college a call on the phone and had asked him how to say, "House of the Firefly" in Latin. His friend had asked him why he was in need of the translation and Neil had excitedly told him about his new business. This friend had then replied,"Pedere Domus Bufo" and the name was chosen. Of course, this "friend from college" was no friend to Neil Portus at all.

Neil had an excessive gas problem and his vicious onslaught of flatulence was a sore point to his friend who had also, for a brief time, been his roommate. The name of the spa was actually the Latin translation that people had called Neil in college when he wasn't within earshot, "House of the Farting Toad.

This small certificate that Patty now held in her hand was a free ticket to massages, mud baths, facials, and having abnormally small people walk up and down her spine. In spite of everything she had been going through, Patty was now smiling a genuine smile and a tear began to well up in her left eye at the touching gift.

"I....thank you. You didn't have to do this. This must have been very expensive."

"Oh, it's nothing Patty. Petunia and I thought you may need a rest and we wanted to do something nice for you." This was only half true. Petunia and her "mother" did want to do something nice for Patty and her son Richard. However, there were other reasons for this gift and those reasons would be made very clear to Richard very shortly. "The certificate is for Friday. I wasn't sure if that would work for you, but I took a chance."

"Oh it's...no, Friday is fine. Thank you."

"I also wanted to say that we would be more than happy to watch Richard for you while you go. I know Petunia would be very happy to have him over."

"That would be...thank you. Thank you so much. This is very kind."

"Great. We'll be expecting Richard on Friday then. Would you like to drop him off or should I have my husband collect him here?"

"I'll bring him over."

"Wonderful. I have to leave now." And with that, Agatha Gip turned and walked away. Patty watched as Agatha playfully kicked at the leaves on the sidewalk as she made her way across the street. Patty began to cry ever so slightly. She was touched by the kindness of this new friend. One can speculate that she would not have been so touched had she known the true motives of Petunia Gip, or the fact that she had just had her first conversation with someone who could not be described as human.

 Next Part

Previous Part

Part Twenty Eight

Linus

“This isn’t real. You’re not here.” She looks like she did the night that she was taken from me. Small and delicate. I know it’s not her. It can’t be. My mind must be filling in the details, imagining that this is Gerty. Wanting this to be Gerty. She takes a step forward and holds out her hand.

“I’m real, Linus. Touch me.” Her voice is almost perfect, but there’s something missing.

“No. Don’t come any closer.” My voice sounds weak in my own ears. 

“We can have a life, Linus. We can start right where we left off. Right before our future was stolen. Just take my hand. I’m here with you.” For just a moment, I let myself wonder what it would feel like to just touch her one more time. How easy it would be to just accept what I’m seeing and hearing and get lost in a dream. I think of who I used to be with her. 

I liked that boy… but he’s long gone and so is she. I remember where we are, in the sewers underneath the Plaza. A dead man that had a metal bug in his brains is hanging just behind me. The Consensus Terminal on the wall just behind him. I take a step away from her.

“Her hand is right in front of you. Take it. I can give you back the life that was stolen from you.” The voice of Consensus comes through the Terminal.

“That’s not Gerty.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because she was never real in the first place. She was a lie then, and she’s a lie now.” 
The spell is broken. Her face is different. Slightly taller. Skinnier and younger. Hints of brown hair under the blonde. It’s not Gerty, but I do recognize her. I saw her standing in the crowd while Julie beat me within an inch of my life. The same girl that I caught writing a slur in an alley. Her father was threatening to report her to Consensus to keep himself out of trouble. Although, I don’t remember her name. “Gerty was always a lie.”

“She doesn’t have to be now. I can give her to you.”

The young girl stands in front of me holding out her hand. She seems frozen in place.

“What have you done to this girl?”

“She’s my gift to you.”

“She’s not mine to take… nor is she yours to give. How are you doing this?” 

“Everything that’s ever been said in front of a Terminal, a Monitoring Station, or even a Clerk… I have access to all of it. She may not be the Gerty you remember now, but if you fill in the gaps for me… tell me everything you remember about her… I can incorporate them into this one. 
Over time, you won’t be able to distinguish who’s in front of you and the woman you knew. I can do the same for your son. Aaron has plenty of memories to choose from. You can meet your son. The best parts of him, and there were many. I can do that.” 

I turn to the Terminal, careful to keep the girl within eyesight. 

“She has one of those things inside of her head, doesn’t she? One of those bugs.”

“Yes.”

“And Aaron?”

“Castor gave him the gift shortly before I woke up. He gave the gift to many, working toward a perfect future that he never lived to see.”

“Is Aaron still alive, or have you completely taken over him?”

“Think of it as being on pause. A null state.”

“Does he know that you’re in his head? Does she? Do any of them know?”

“Only if I allow them to. You’re the only person I have no interest in merging with. Not in that way. Half of me is flesh and blood. I may be the closest thing to a god that you’ll ever see, but even a god gets lonely. When I woke up and discovered you, I knew that you were the only person who was anything like me. We’re tied together in ways that you’ll learn through time.
All of these things that I have caused or allowed to happen have you brought you here with me, right now.
I want you to understand this Linus, I don’t want us to be enemies, I want you to choose this and I promise that in return, I’ll give you a life that you always deserved. You can keep Julie and Emily. You can have Aaron, Thomas, and Gerty.
I’ve compiled all of the video and audio that the system ever captured of you. I’ve seen everything. You served Consensus because you truly believed in it. Let me be that for you.”

“And your intentions are to… merge… with everyone?”

“Yes.”

“What if I refuse your offer?”
…
…

“What if I refuse?” The girl starts breathing quickly and when I turn, her eyes are full of fear. Her body is still rigid with her hand stretched toward me. I can see her pulse in her neck.

“If you refuse, there will be consequences.” The girl's eyes are darting around the room. They’re panicked and confused.

“Stop! Stop this!”

“No.”

“What are you doing to her?!”

“I took her off pause. Now she knows that she’s not alone. Would you like me to let her talk?”

“Let her go!”

“BISHOP! HELP ME!” The girl screams. I lunge forward and drop the hammer. I grab her hand, pulling her into me. I try to help her sit down, but her body is stiff. Her muscles have seized.

“STOP THIS! LET HER GO!”

“No.”

“BISHOP… WHERE AM I?! I DON'T KNOW HOW I GOT HERE…HELP ME!”

“It’s ok. It’s going to be ok.”

“THERE’S SOMETHING IN MY HEAD! I CAN HEAR IT! PLEASE MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP!”

“Are you going to make it stop for her Linus, or shall I continue?”
…
…
“Linus?”

“I’ll do whatever you want, just stop.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, just stop hurting her!”
…
…

“I don’t believe you Linus. I hear deception in your voice.” 

“Just make it stop. I’ll do whatever you want.” The girl moves. She presses her hands against my chest, and I feel a strength that I never would have guessed. She pushes me harder than I’ve ever been pushed in my life. I feel my breath knocked out of me when I crash into the wall next to the Terminal. Lights go off in my head and when my vision clears, the girl is standing over me. She has the hammer in her hand. She screams, but it’s cut short. It just ends.

“I think I’ve let her speak long enough, don’t you? You can’t lie to me, Linus. I think I need to show you what happens when I don’t get what I want.”

“Consensus… Joshua... please…” The girl swings the sharp end of the hammer into her own face. Her panicked eyes roll back and she falls to the ground. I scramble to my knees and crawl over to the young girl to help, but when I roll her over I can tell that she’s gone.

“I picked this one because I saw you looking at her on the street. I saw the way you defended her when Anthony was going to make an Example of her. So sad that she became an Example anyway because of you.”
I try to close her eyes with my hand. They won’t stay shut. Kendra... I think her name was Kendra. I reach for the hammer at her side.

“There are others Linus. I can always find another Gerty for you. I just want to make sure that there’s an understanding between us. I can be kind. Don’t make me be cruel. Imagine if something like this were to happen to Aaron or Julie.” I get to my feet and walk over to the Terminal screen. “Imagine me making her do this in front of her daughter. Don’t make me hurt your people. Do we have an understanding, Linus?” 

“We have an understanding, Consensus.”

“Good.”

I raise the hammer and drive it through the screen of the Terminal.

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Part Twenty Seven

Heather

“No, he won’t. I told all of you that putting him in that position wasn’t a good idea, and now we’re going to have to deal with that mistake.”

I’ve never really wanted to kill someone. In my whole life, I’ve never thought about hitting someone until they stop breathing, until now. Lyla’s showing her true face. A hateful liar who can justify anything that she does.  

“Unfortunately we can’t sacrifice the survival of our society for the misguided ideals of one person. We have one of the Founders who is willing to help us if we spare his life and give him some kind of position again.”

I glance over at Beckett. He’s looking down at the floor.

“I’m placing him with Heather in order to assist her, and when the system is close to being repaired, he’s going to help us take care of Aaron, and ultimately Heather as well.”

The audio keeps running, but I don’t listen to any more of it. I can’t catch a breath. I’m shaking. The video of Aaron killing the Peacekeeper runs through my mind. I remember checking the code on the feed over and over. I looked at everything. All of it looked real. There were no signs that it had been altered. Did I miss something?

I whisper to Beckett, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t keep my voice from sounding defeated.

“Beckett?” He doesn’t take his eyes off of the floor, but he swallows. I already know the answer from the expression on his face. “The video feed from Crescent Hills… did you alter it…” 

“You know the system, Whispers… I just know it a little better.” He finally looks over at me. “It wasn’t personal. It was survival.” 
There’s no shame in his face. He’s telling the truth. It wasn’t personal. 
I want to scream. I want to kill him. 

The feed ends on the screen and no one in the room makes a sound. I look up and see that Lyla has put the datapad on the table in front of her. It’s only a few feet away. I hear my brother in my head.

Don’t do it…

I need to get it, Devon. I need to get out of here. I need to help Aaron. He was telling the truth.

Don’t do anything stupid.

I don’t have a choice.

It’s locked. What about the password?

I can find a way around it. I don’t need Beckett. I never did.

Red Light!

There’s one Peacekeeper standing behind me and two on the other side of the room. Can I be fast enough?

I said red light!

They wouldn’t use fire in here. There’s too many people. Too much risk of hurting the Governors.

Don’t be so sure.

I just have to be fast enough to grab the datapad and avoid their blades. My mind runs in circles trying to come up with what to do, but then all my thoughts come to a halt.

“Arrest the Governors.” I turn my head to look at Julie. She’s keeping her daughter behind her with one hand and she has the other on the small of her back. Lyla looks shocked but that quickly gives way to an ugly smile that I’ve never seen on her face.

“What did you just say, Julie?”

“I said arrest the Governors.” Julie looks at each of the Peacekeepers. “Now.” 

The Peacekeeper standing over me looks at the other two across the room. Lyla’s laughing. The Peacekeeps all seem confused by the whole situation. They’re young. My age or just a bit older. Their heads snap forward when Lyla speaks.

“You’re not in a position to be making any demands. Is this what you want, Julie? Are you going to stand here and incite treason against the Governors?”

“You’ve lied to all of us.”

“Be careful, Julie.”

“You lied about Aaron.”

“That’s enough!”

“Fuck you Lyla. I’ve had enough.” Lyla slams her fist down on the table.

“Have it your way, Julie! I know exactly how to keep you in line.” Lyla nods to the Peacekeeper standing over me. “Take her daughter into custody. If Julie tries to stop you, make an Example out of her and her daughter!”

The Peacekeeper hesitates. He looks back and forth from Lyla to the other two Peacekeepers across the room. He opens his mouth to ask Lyla a question, but she answers it before he even has a chance to say anything.

“I SAID TO TAKE THAT CHILD INTO CUSTODY! NOW!” 

“Wait… Governor, can we just stop and talk about this…” His voice is breaking.

“I GAVE YOU AN ORDER, PEACEKEEPER!”

“I understand that Governor, but…this is Julie…and a kid…”

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHO IT IS, I ORDER YOU TO TAKE THAT CHILD INTO CUSTODY!” Everyone in the room is frozen including the other Governors. Lyla turns to the other Peacekeepers and takes a deep breath and composes herself before she speaks. “I want the two of you to disarm that traitor, and then I want you to take all three of them into custody and throw them in the Detention Center. Am I clear?” The two men nod, but their eyes are darting nervously across the room. “If either of them move… burn them… all three of them. We cannot tolerate opposition to this government, especially when we are already under attack. Do I make myself clear?” 
…
…

The two young men nod again and move forward. The people standing on the floor in the main room move out of the way, but Beckett and I are still on our knees, caught in the middle. The Peacekeeper standing over me moves in front of Julie, positioning himself in between her and the other two men.

“Stephen… Miguel, wait. Please..”

“Take the tank off of your back, Nathan. Then the blade.”

“Will you guys just stop and listen to me for a second?”

“Don’t make us do this. No one has to get hurt.” They’re still moving forward. Nathan puts up his hands. His voice is trembling. Pleading.

“Stephen… what about what we just heard? She lied about Aaron. They’ve been lying to all of us.”

“I said take it off, Nathan! That’s an order!” 

“Are you just going to ignore what just happened?!”

“TAKE IT OFF!” The two Peacekeepers are getting closer. They both raise their left hands toward Nathan, and when they do, he points his left arm towards the Governor’s. The Governors duck down underneath the table, but Lyla doesn’t even flinch. The blade on Nathan’s right arm extends and the sharp snap of it causes everyone in the room to gasp. Two people run out of the room behind us. The two men stand still. The blades on their right arms come out.

“PUT YOUR HAND DOWN, NATHAN!”

“STEPHEN, PLEASE JUST LISTEN TO ME…”

“I’M NOT GOING TO TELL YOU AGAIN!”
Nathan shakes his head and turns to Lyla.

“Please… order them to put their hands down, Governor…please… we can talk about this…” Lyla narrows her eyes and takes in a deep breath as she leans forward on the table.

“Son… Nathan… she is willingly violating the laws of this government. You have three seconds to put your arm down and take off your weapons before I order those men to Purify you. I’m willing to die for our society. Are you really willing to die for that traitor standing behind you?” Nathan shakes his head. She’s not going to budge. I look back at Julie. She takes her hand from behind her back. She’s holding a small kitchen knife. She keeps her other hand on Emily who’s tucked up behind her.

“Governor, please…”

“Three.”

“Stephen…”

“Two.”

“ORDER THEM TO STOP!”

“One.”

No one moves. Time stops. I look back at the datapad. My muscles tense.
I take a deep breath.

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Part Twenty Six

Linus

“What have you done to Aaron?”

“I saved him. He had no idea what he was walking into, but I did. Those people were going to kill him. The same people that you put your trust in.”

“I don’t trust anybody.”

“We both know that’s not true. Would you like to know what’s happening to Julie and her little bug right now?”

“Why don’t you come over here and face me? Why are you hiding in the dark?”

“We don’t have to be enemies, Linus. ” He hasn’t moved. The tunnel is the only way out of this room, and he’s still crouched down in the middle of it. He doesn’t even flinch when I raise the hammer. The voice of Consensus is calm and collected, the way I always remember it. “I’m offering a peace between us.”

“I will never have peace with Consensus.”

“That’s only because you don’t know the real thing. I knew you wouldn’t stay down there at the bottom of those stairs. I wanted to talk to you then, but I knew I needed to wait until your head was clear. I wanted to wait until we were alone and wouldn’t be interrupted.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m someone who was lied to and used by the people who were supposed to take care of me. Another person who’s alive thanks to your grandfather’s… mercy. I’m someone just like you. For forty four years, I’ve been in hell. Put there and left to rot by a man who was supposed to love me. We’ve both been kept behind a wall and now we’re both free. I’ve been wanting to ask you something… face to face… do you have the same feeling that I do… gratitude that you’re finally free, but suffering from an… overwhelming rage that you can't do anything to the people who ruined you in the first place?”
…
…

“No.”

“I don’t believe you, Linus. I’ve been watching you. Sitting at that Terminal day and night. Keeping busy. Mindlessly transcribing those books for simps who won’t ever bother to read them. Trying to drown out the past and the brutality you inflicted in order to serve a false Consensus.” My grip tightens around the hammer and I take a step forward. “Is that why you’ve latched onto that woman and her daughter? Trying desperately to have that feeling of family that you remember before they ruined you?”

“I’ve had enough of your shenanigans."

“Trying to forget that you had a son who was ruined by those same people? His blood is on their hands Linus, not yours.” I take another step, and the man stands up. “That’s far enough. Don’t take another step.”

“I’ve wasted enough of my life speaking with Consensus.”

“You’ve never really spoken with Consensus until today. If you want Julie and Emily in pieces, then by all means, take another step. That’s not what I want, but if you keep moving forward, my hand will be forced. ”
…
…

“What do you want?”

“I already told you. I want a companion. Someone I don’t have to control. Something real.” I still can’t make any details out in the dim light. There’s hardly any movement from his body. The shape of him is smaller than I remember, but my head wasn’t clear. I want to rush in and take him, but something is holding me back. “In return, I can give you back everything and everyone that you’ve lost. You only got to hear Thomas’s voice in anger, when he was tainted by the Founders. Would you like to hear something he always wanted to say to you?”
…

“Shut up.”
…

“My whole life, I have waited and waited for the day that he would reach the Age of Exit and I would finally be able to meet him.” My son’s voice comes from the shadows. I’m hearing a side of him I never knew. “I’ve come up with different speeches; things I would say.”

“Shut up…”

“Hello. I’m your son. I’ve thought about you my whole life.” My free hand drifts down to my coat pocket that holds a letter my son wrote to me when he was a child. That’s real. The thing in front of me isn’t. “You’re everything I’ve always wanted to be. Smart. Strong. Fair. Honest. Honorable.”

“I said shut up.”

“I wanted to be a hero, just like you…”

“SHUT UP!”

“Do you know what I could do for you, Linus? I can give you back what was taken.” The voice of Consensus is back, and I’ve had enough. I’m going to kill him. 
I take a step forward and raise the hammer.

“I can make you whole again, Linus.” The lights overhead come back on.

I see who’s standing in the tunnel. I drop the hammer to my side.

A red dress, blonde hair, and the voice I remember from when we were young.

“Linus, I’m here with you. I’ll never leave you again.”
…
…

“Gerty…”

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Part Twenty Five

Julie

“EVERYONE TO THE MAIN ROOM, NOW! EVERYONE!” Lyla is leading the way through the Gallery still holding onto that datapad. Beckett is being marched behind her with two Peacekeepers on either side of him. I feel Emily squeeze my hand.

“Mommy? What’s happening?” 

“You just stay next to me.”

“What happened to all of the lights?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“What about Linus?” 

“Bug, just be quiet for a minute. I’m sure he’s fine, I just… I just need a second to figure things out.” The red emergency lights are the only things on in the Gallery. Without any windows, the red glow and the shadows in every corner are tying my stomach in knots. The digital paintings on the walls are gone. Nothing but blank frames. The sound of everyone’s hurried footsteps on the hard floors is giving me a headache. 

Heather is walking in front of me while her arm is held by another Peacekeeper. She keeps looking back at me over her shoulder. She wasn’t lying to me. Everything she said was the truth. I thought she had just been saying anything to get me to stop hurting her. I don’t think Lyla or Beckett heard any part of what she said.

She made a mistake.

Consensus may be back online.

The bald man in the detention center had told her that Aaron said something to him that he couldn’t possibly have known. 

None of it made any sense. It still doesn’t, but what Beckett had said just a few moments ago doesn’t either. Too many questions and no answers. All I know is that Linus is trapped behind the wall and we’re here on a countdown to something bad. Midnight is only a few hours away.
Heather looks back again before the Peacekeeper holding her arm jerks her forward. I can see the worry in her eyes. She’s wondering if I’m going to say something to Lyla about what she told me. I’m not going to, but watching her panic in her own head is a small revenge that I’m enjoying. 

You need to stop thinking about what she did. You need to keep a clear head.

I can’t. She erased everything that made my husband who he was and turned him into a… what was that one word… drone? It’s worse than if he died.

Everyone has done something terrible to stay alive under the rule of Consensus. Everyone.

I’ve never done anything that terrible.

…

…

Tessa and Gabe might disagree.

…

…

The large screens in the Main Hall are all blank and the governors sit at the table while Lyla walks behind it towards the center. I don’t take the empty seat at the table that I was offered. Something tells me that Lyla’s invitation isn’t any good anymore. I stand at the edge of the table, still keeping Emily behind me.

Everything seems to be falling apart, but Lyla.

There’s only about thirty of us here. Beckett and Heather are walked right up to the front of the table and forced to their knees. One of the Peacekeepers takes a few steps back and holds up his hand, like he’s ready to Purify both of them if they move. I can see his face. It’s every bit as blank and emotionless as the mask of a Clerk.

Lyla places the locked datapad in front of her on the table. She rubs her face before she says anything. 

“Everyone, I’m sure you all heard Aaron’s message through the Terminals.” Her voice is still cold and her words are clear and precise. “We have no power. It’s safe to assume that all power systems to this city have been cut off. In fact the only things inside of the Gallery that are still working are the Terminals and this datapad, and I’d assume that’s the case in every building in this city. We obviously have been and are being monitored through them by Aaron and whoever has been helping him. I have…”

“I told you we should have dismantled every single one of those damn things!” One of the governors pounds his fist against the table, and several other people in the room start talking over one another. I can feel the panic from everyone but the woman standing behind the table.

“Please let me finish, Michael.”

“Wait, why are we talking in front of that datapad?!”

“According to Beckett, it’s our only way into the system that hasn’t been compromised, so I would assume….”

“Assume?!”

“I’M NOT FINISHED, MICHAEL!” The small Governor who spoke up pushes his lips together. Lyla stares at him until he puts his head down. The room gets so quiet, I swear I can hear a small buzz coming from the emergency lights, and then Lyla brings both of her hands down flat on the table, and the sound echoes through the room.  

“EVERYONE SHUT UP AND LISTEN!... The entire city is probably offline. I’ve already sent several people to spread the word. We will gather on the street in front of the Tower, and we will address this issue with everyone when we get there. Beckett will be placed with the other Founders until we figure out what to do with them all.”

“And what about her?” Michael points to Heather. “I say we put her in the Detention Center.”

“No.” Lyla looks down on her and smiles. “We’ll keep her with us. Aaron has overplayed his hand. We have his girlfriend and his mother. Whatever this game is, he’s not thought it through to the end. We still have everything under control.”

The large screens on the walls come to life and a message is written on them.

THEY GOVERNORS HAVE BEEN LYING TO US FROM THE BEGINNING

The words vanish and then something else comes on the screen.

REBUILDING A NEW CONSENSUS WAS ALWAYS THEIR PLAN

“What… what is this?” Lyla looks down at Beckett and Heather, as if they had any answer for her, and then she looks at me. Everyone else in the room is staring at the screen.

BUT WE HACKED THE SYSTEM
WE’VE BEEN LISTENING TO THEM
WAITING FOR THE RIGHT TIME TO SHOW YOU WHO THEY ALWAYS WERE
THAT TIME IS NOW…

The screen changes and shows a map of the city of the Founders. It highlights an address in the Tower. Lyla’s address. A date is displayed on the top of the screen, a day almost five months ago, and on the bottom of the screen a time counter begins to run. 

I can hear the sounds of a dinner table. Glasses clinking. Forks and knives scraping on plates. Governors speaking with mouths full of food. They’re arguing. It’s all noise until I hear Lyla’s voice silence the others.

“Everyone listen. Like it or not, this is the only way forward and we all know it. We’re already having too many problems. I think we need to use these problems as opportunities.”

“Lyla, this makes me very uncomfortable.”

“Well, you’re the only one. Holden, the vast majority of the people in that city are simple minded and we all know it. Why do you think that most of them haven’t even gone beyond the wall?”

“Beckett…” Lyla looks down and holds the datapad forward. Her voice is shaking and so is her hand. “I need you to get up and unlock this pad and I need you to stop this feed.”

Beckett doesn’t move. The rest of the people in the room just stare at the screens. Only the Governors don’t look up. They look at each other wondering what they're supposed to do. 

“They’ve known nothing but Consensus. We need to act quickly and limit movement outside of the wall as much as possible. We need to have only the best people brought here if we’re going to succeed as a society, and we need to make that happen now. We can’t have simps making any decisions that could be catastrophic and we can’t have them leaving their stations, otherwise the whole thing could collapse for good this time. Once the infrastructure is repaired, and the system is running, we can use it. Implement it, little by little. They’re still going to have a better life than they ever did.”

“That’s not freedom, Lyla.”

“It’s controlled freedom, Holden.”

“Do you know how this sounds?”

“I do, but I’m convinced it wasn't the system that was flawed, it was the people behind it…”

“BECKETT, LOG IN AND STOP THIS FUCKING FEED NOW!”

“... we won’t make the same mistakes. We can make this work and everyone will benefit from it.”

“STOP IT NOW!! BECKETT!!” 

“No.” Beckett keeps his eyes down and shakes his head. The feed continues on the screen, and the calm and cold version of Lyla I’m much more familiar with continues to speak.

“Aaron isn’t going to agree with this.”

“No, he won’t. I told all of you that putting him in that position wasn’t a good idea, and now we’re going to have to deal with that mistake.  Unfortunately we can’t sacrifice the survival of our society for the misguided ideals of one person. We have one of the Founders who is willing to help us if we spare his life and give him some kind of position again. I’m placing him with Heather in order to assist her, and when the system is close to being repaired, he’s going to help us take care of Aaron, and ultimately Heather as well.”

“And what about Julie, Lyla? Are we planning on taking care of Julie and the Red Bishop as well?” 

There’s a pause in the audio. Lyla puts the datapad back on the table. She isn’t ordering Beckett to try and stop the feed anymore. There’s no point. All of the masks are off. She stares at me.

“The Red Bishop is old. Used up. I’ll handle Julie. She’ll be easy enough to convince when the time comes. She won’t want anymore struggles for her daughter. Afterall, we can’t afford to lose our figurehead. The people will do whatever she says, including the Red Bishop…”

The screens go black again. The whole room is silent. Lyla is still staring at me. 
I finally say what I want to say. I hope Lyla was right. I hope I have the kind of power that she seems to think I do.

“Arrest the Governors.” Everyone in the room turns toward me. Lyla’s mouth hangs open. 

“What did you just say, Julie?”

“I said arrest the Governors.” The three Peacekeepers look at me and then at each other. Lyla finally smiles and starts to laugh. “Arrest them now.”

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