Harris BurdickThe Mysteries of

Inspired by Elizabeth

  1  

A  u  t  h  o  r  s    

Steve  Limkeman  2-­‐10    

Kelly  Han  11-­‐13    

Arti  Agarwal  14-­‐15    

Larry  Seebach  16-­‐32    

Korey  Alfred  33-­‐46    

Charissa  Ginn  47-­‐52    

Joanna  Ashlock  53-­‐55    

Janai  Wallace  56-­‐60    

Nicole  Allen  61-­‐68    

Grace  Liaw  69-­‐79  

Published with love Shanghai, June 2013

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Uninvited Guests by Steve Limkeman

 Slam!  Steve  gasped  for  air  as  the  door  

crashed  closed  behind  him.  Steve  hated  that  

basement.    Extremely  relieved  to  be  back  in  the  

warm  glow  of  the  kitchen  lights,  he  struggled  to  

slow  his  breathing  as  he  slumped  into  the  dining  

table  chair,  utterly  exhausted.  

 

It  was  hard  to  believe  that  only  two  days  

ago  he  would  have  described  the  basement  as  his  

sanctuary  -­‐  a  safe  haven  from  all  the  chaos  and  

busyness  of  life.      

 

He  had  helped  his  father  build  it  twenty  

years  ago,  and  it  had  been  his  pride  and  joy  ever  

since.    Its  dark  mahogany  staircase  &  banister,  

the  light  balsa  wood  shelves…  Well,  perhaps  “helped”  is  giving  him  a  little  too  much  credit.  

He  had  only  been  five  years  old  at  the  time,  and  he  had  given  about  as  much  practical  

assistance  as  a  mascot  that  “helps”  a  football  team  win  the  Super  Bowl.    But  I  suppose  

encouragement  and  team  spirit  plays  its  role  in  every  great  accomplishment!    

 

After  twenty  years,  the  basement  still  carried  a  significant  quality  of  childhood  

nostalgia  and  family  bonds  for  Steve.  As  he  had  grown  up,  the  basement  had  quickly  

become  a  popular  hangout  on  rainy  days  with  his  school  friends,  a  safe  place  to  share  

secrets  in  Truth  or  Dare,  a  billiards  tournament  venue,  a  private  screening  room  for  late-­‐

night  movie  dates,  etc.  

 

True,  the  basement  had  taken  on  a  rather  eerie  quality  lately.    When  he  had    

returned  home  from  college,  he  found  that  the  Star  Wars  couch,  the  old  t.v.  (with  the  

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buttons  broken  off  from  all  the  times  his  brother  Scott  had  tried  to  turn  it  on  with  his  foot),  

and  all  the  familiar  wall  hangings  and  trappings  he  had  become  so  attached  to  had  been  

sold.  “Neighborhood  garage  sale,”  his  father  had  remarked  in  response  to  the  shocked  look  

on  Steve’s  face.    “Couldn’t  pass  up  the  chance  to  get  rid  of  that  junk…What?”  he  asked  with  

mock  surprise  when  he  saw  the  injured  look  on  Steve’s  face.  “It’s  not  like  you’ll  be  needing  

this  space  any  longer!”    

 

Steve  couldn’t  really  argue  with  that.  At  the  end  of  the  summer,  he  was  going  to  

finally  be  married  to  the  girl  of  his  dreams:  Emily  Christine  Hughes!  He  was  a  little  nervous  

about  the  actually  wedding  day,  come  to  think  of  it.  It  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  girl  of  

course,  but  rather  with  his  hopes  and  fears  of  how  the  ceremony  would  all  play  out.  You  

see,  they  had  planned  a  wonderful  outdoor  wedding  for  150  of  their  closest  friends  and  

family,  and  he  wanted  nothing  but  the  best  for  his  bride-­‐to-­‐be.  But  what  if  rained?  What  if  it  

was  miserably  hot  and  people  came  under  attack  by  an  invasion  of  mosquitoes?  Not  to  

mention  that  part  about  dancing…he  had  never  really  enjoyed  or  had  much  talent  for  that  –  

but  Emily  loved  it!  

 

And  now  his  beloved  basement  had  been  transformed  into  a  common  storage  room,  

and  a  poorly  organized  one  at  that!  His  father’s  lucky  left  ice  skating  boot  hung  carelessly  

from  the  rafters  in  the  ceiling,  and  stacks  of  this  and  that  littered  the  floor  in  between  

overflowing  cardboard  boxes  and  menacing  cobwebs.  The  thought  that  those  foul  beasts  

were  trespassing  upon  his  sacred  ground  was  almost  more  than  he  could  bear.  

 

However,  this  did  not  deter  his  passion  for  quality  time  in  the  basement  one  bit.  If  

anything,  it  increased  his  desire  to  soak  up  what  little  time  he  had  left  there  before  he  

would  be  leaving  the  nest  and  embarking  on  a  great  new  adventure!  Many  early  mornings  

and  late  evenings  had  been  spent  down  here  over  the  past  few  weeks:  buried  in  the  Word,  

laboring  in  prayer,  writing  in  his  journal,  or  simply  relaxing  with  a  good  book.  He  was  in  the  

middle  making  his  second  sojourn  through  Middle  Earth,  and  he  was  loving  it  more  than  

ever.  Tolkien’s  fantasy  was  a  work  of  pure  genius!  But  I  digress…back  to  the  basement.  

 

  4  

This  morning,  everything  had  changed.  It  had  begun  the  same  as  any  other  morning,  

with  a  cup  of  ice  cold  orange  juice  and  a  couple  slices  of  cold  pepperoni  pizza.  Steve  

savored  them  slowly,  appreciating  the  faint  orange  glow  of  the  sunrise  as  it  faded  from  the  

last  of  the  puffy  white  clouds  that  drifted  lazily  across  the  bright  blue  summer  sky.    There  

was  a  solitary  window  that  sat  high  in  the  basement,  but  merely  at  ground  level  with  

respect  to  the  world  outside  his  isolated  bliss.  As  he  followed  the  diagonal  ray  of  sunlight  

from  its  origin  down  to  where  it  met  the  ground,  Steve  noticed  something  bizarre  at  the  

base  of  the  wall,  just  a  few  feet  from  the  southeast  corner  of  the  room.      

 

A  finely  ground  mound  of  sawdust  rose  a  few  inches  from  the  floor,  its  hilltop  

shining  dully  in  the  pale  morning  light.  About  a  foot  to  the  right,  a  neatly  stacked  mound  of  

roughly  hewn  pebbles  rose  to  an  equal  height,  yet  the  sunlight  barely  touching  its  base.  

Anxiety  at  the  odd  appearance  of  the  mysterious  mounds  quickly  passed  into  a  state  of  

alarm.  These  were  not  your  average  dust  bunnies.  This  was  a  display  of  intelligent  

organization,  of  purposeful  differentiation.    

 

Stranger  still,  there  were  thin,  jagged  cracks  emerging  behind  his  favorite  poster  of  

The  Dark  Knight,  the  one  that  he  had  resurrected  from  a  dusty  shelf  a  few  weeks  earlier.  

That  poster  lay  centered  directly  behind  and  between  the  two  mounds,  running  from  the  

base  of  the  wall  to  about  halfway  to  the  ceiling.  This  is  too  weird,  Steve  had  thought.  What  

could  possibly  be  producing  cracks  in  a  concrete  wall,  and  leaving  behind  these  mini-­‐mounds  

of  materials?  

 

Hastily,  he  ripped  down  the  poster  and  gasped,  stumbling  backwards.  What  he  saw  

had  literally  taken  his  breath  away.  There  was  an  arched  hole  in  the  wall!  Less  than  two  

feet  high  and  just  shy  of  1  foot  across,  it  had  been  concealed  precisely  by  the  dimensions  of  

the  poster  –  save  the  cracks  and  the  waste,  of  course.  No  way!  I  must  be  dreaming  again,  he  

tried  to  convince  himself.  Yet  he  couldn’t  bear  to  pull  himself  away…he  was  transfixed  upon  

the  gaping  black  hole  that  yawned  at  his  feet.    

 

  5  

In  a  sudden  rush  of  bravery  and  curiosity,  he  knelt  down  and  stared  into  the  inky  

darkness.  The  basement,  despite  all  its  serenity,  had  never  seemed  so  quiet,  so  still.  

Squinting  hard,  and  daring  to  put  his  face  still  closer,  he  whispered,  “Hello?”  and  listened  

intently.  

 

Bang!  Bang!  Bang!  “AHH!”  Steve  exclaimed  aloud,  knocking  his  forehead  violently  

against  the  rim  of  the  arch.  Curse  those  neighbors  and  their  incessant  construction!  It  had  

been  nearly  a  week  now  of  hammering,  sawing,  hammering  and  sawing.  He  had  half  a  mind  

to  report  them  to  the  police  for  starting  on  the  job  so  early  in  the  morning!  It  should  be  a  

crime,  he  thought.  He  glanced  at  his  watch.  8:00!  He  was  going  to  be  late  for  work.  

 

With  a  second  glance  at  the  blackness,  he  had  made  up  his  mind.  Yes,  that’s  it.  This  is  

all  a  dream…because  this  sort  of  thing  is  simply  impossible.  Too  creepy.  Too  bizarre.  Too  too  

too…When  I  come  home,  this  hole  will  be  gone,  and  everything  will  return  to  normal.  

Resolutely  rejecting  the  rational  part  of  his  brain  that  told  him  these  sort  of  rationalizations  

accomplished  nothing  with  respect  to  the  truth,  he  kicked  at  the  mounds  of  sawdust  and  

stones,  scattering  them  across  the  floor.  To  be  honest,  he  was  momentarily  afraid  that  they  

would  pick  themselves  up  again  and  re-­‐form  themselves  before  his  very  eyes!  With  an  

audible  sigh  of  relief,  he  picked  Batman  back  up  off  the  floor,  carefully  restoring  him  to  his  

rightful  home  on  the  wall.  And  he  marched  up  the  stairs,  out  the  front  door,  and  biked  off  to  

the  neighbors’  place,  where  he  had  an  uneventful  day  of  gardening,  lawn  mowing  and  

flower  watering.  

 

When  he  returned  at  dusk,  he  was  fatigued,  both  mentally  and  physically.  It  had  

been  a  rough  day.  Of  course,  his  mind  had  been  able  to  think  of  nothing  else  but  the  

morning’s  incredible  discovery.  What  could  have  possibly  created  such  an  archway?  Was  it  

possibly  that  creatures  like  hobbits  actually  did  exist?  And  what  if  the  fact  of  their  existence  

was  true,  but  the  creatures  themselves  were  much  less  pleasant  and  much  more  sinister  in  

nature?  In  fact,  he  had  been  so  distracted  that  he  caught  himself  watering  Mr.  Alfred’s  cat  

for  nearly  thirty  seconds  before  he  realized  what  he  was  doing,  and  he  had  almost  cut  a  

little  more  than  her  hair  as  he  was  weed-­‐whacking  near  the  edges  of  the  driveway  a  couple  

  6  

hours  later.  Needlessly  to  say,  she  was  none  too  pleased  when  the  leaf  blower  launched  a  

large  pile  of  grass  shavings  in  her  face  either…but  he  just  couldn’t  get  it  out  of  his  head!  He  

was  really  spooked  by  what  had  seen,  but  at  the  same  time  curiosity  was  burning  so  deep  

within  that  he  knew  he  would  not  be  able  to  stay  away  from  the  basement  all  night  long.  

 

So  it  was  that  he  jumped  off  his  bike,  leaving  it  overturned  haphazardly  in  the  front  

lawn,  and  raced  recklessly  down  the  stairs  to  find  that  it  had  disappeared!  The  mess,  The  

Dark  Knight  poster,  and  the  hole  –  all  gone.  But  the  archway  remained,  and  fitted  neatly  in  

place  of  the  hole  was  a  simple  wooden  door.  Its  vertical  grooves  gave  it  a  rather  archaic  

appearance,  and  the  twisted  concrete  cracks  surrounding  the  arch  seemed  to  smile  evilly  

up  at  him.  All  this  he  had  absorbed  in  one  shocking  instant  that  seemed  to  last  an  eternity.  

“NO  WAY!!”  he  shouted  in  denial,  reversing  his  momentum  and  sprinting  headlong  up  the  

stairs,  slamming  the  door  and  collapsing  at  the  kitchen  table.  

 

Picking  his  head  up  out  of  his  arms,  he  drummed  his  fingers  rapidly  on  the  table,  

trying  desperately  to  hash  it  all  out  in  his  mind.  Fact:  There  was  a  miniature  wooden  

doorway  installed  in  his  basement  wall.  Fact:  That  doorway  was  not  there  this  morning.  

Fact:  Something  had  created  the  arch,  built  in  the  door,  cleaned  up  after  itself,  and  in  all  

likelihood,  still  lay  waiting  beyond  that  door.  Fact:  This  was  amazing!  Fact:  Steve  was  going  

to  go  back  down  there.    

 

  Last  time,  the  beast  had  obviously  heard  him  coming.  Now  that  he  thought  of  it,  half  

the  block  had  probably  heard  him  leaving.  But  this  time  he  knew  he  was  approaching  a  

potential  adversary.  Covertness  was  now  of  the  utmost  importance.  Switching  to  Stealth  

Mode,  he  thought  slyly.  You  have  entered  my  lair  without  my  awareness  or  consent,  Steve  

mused,  gathering  up  his  courage.  Well,  two  can  play  at  that  game…  He  removed  his  shoes  

and  set  them  next  to  the  door.  Careful  to  let  as  little  light  in  as  possible,  he  slowly  turned  

the  handle  and  snuck  inside.  So  far  so  good,  he  congratulated  himself,  as  he  turned  to  face  

the  dark  descent.  

 

  7  

  A  single  ray  of  light  sliced  across  the  top  third  of  the  door  at  a  sharp  angle.  In  the  

failing  natural  light,  the  basement  had  grown  quite  dim.  He  crept  slowly  and  steadily  down  

the  stairs,  maintaining  constant  vigilance  so  as  to  avoid  each  notorious  area  of  the  staircase  

that  would  be  certain  to  produce  loud  and  conspicuously  eerie  creaking  noises.  He  had  

reached  the  fifth  stair  when  he  heard  them  –  whispered  voices.  Not  English,  mind  you  –  the  

language,  if  you  could  call  it  that,  was  something  foreign  in  a  sense  that  our  limited  words  

will  only  carry  us  so  far  in  our  understanding  of  it.  He  experienced  it  more  as  music  –  a  

song,  and  a  much  more  beautiful  one  than  any  of  the  harsh  tonal  languages  (Chinese,  for  

instance)  could  ever  hope  to  produce.  It  was  beautiful,  but  there  was  a  certain  quality  

within  –  perhaps  simply  Steve’s  fear  of  the  unknown,  and  perhaps  something  essential  to  

its  existence  -­‐  that  made  it  simultaneously  terrifying.  

 

  He  froze.  So  it’s  not  alone.  And  yet  the  music  continued,  indicating  that  they  had  not  

yet  become  aware  of  Steve’s  presence.  Well,  at  least  it  doesn’t  have  x-­‐ray  vision,  Steve  

attempted  to  comfort  himself.  Within  seconds,  the  attraction  of  the  sound  overpowered  his  

frail  fears,  and  he  continued.  In  fact,  he  was  so  captivated  by  it  that  he  forgot  all  pretence  of  

attempting  to  disguise  his  presence,  and  with  one  terrible  misstep,  his  feet  betrayed  him  

and  the  seventh  stair  cried  out  in  agony!  

 

  The  voices  stopped.  So  much  for  the  element  of  surprise.  Wait  a  second  –  what  

element  of  surprise?  Am  I  bursting  into  enemy  territory  with  guns  blazing?  Steve  stood  there  

dumbly  for  a  moment,  unsure  of  how  exactly  to  proceed.  He  hadn’t  really  thought  through  

this  part  of  his  brilliant  plan  to  meet  the  mythical  creatures.  Had  his  presence  gone  

unnoticed,  what  had  he  intended  to  do  once  he  reached  the  door?  In  the  thrill  of  it  all,  he  

brazenly  walked  right  up  to  the  edge  of  the  plank  without  thinking  twice  about  whether  it  

was  a  pod  of  playful  porpoises  or  a  feeding  frenzy  of  sharks  that  awaited  him  below!  

 

I  can’t  take  this  anymore!  His  brain  screamed  at  him,  threatening  to  melt  down  in  the  

heat  of  all  this  tension  and  suspense.  The  time  for  half-­‐measures  and  idle  thoughts  is  over.  

It’s  time  to  find  out  exactly  what  I’m  dealing  with.  Taking  a  deep  breath,  he  plunged  down  

the  remaining  stairs  and  dragged  himself  to  the  threshold.  His  feet  seemed  to  have  been  

  8  

turned  to  stone,  each  step  expending  an  enormous  effort  to  pull  himself  up  to  the  door.  All  

of  his  senses  were  straining  in  a  desperate  attempt  to  detect  anything  out  of  the  ordinary.    

 

He  bent  over  so  that  his  head  was  just  above  the  archway  and  pressed  his  right  ear  

hard  to  the  concrete,  listening  intently.  He  heard  nothing.  But  just  as  he  was  about  to  

withdraw  his  ear  from  the  wall,  he  felt  something  brush  against  his  leg  that  made  his  eyes  

dart  down  to  the  doorknob.  He  gasped!  His  heart  was  pounding.  He  was  sure  he  had  seen  

the  doorknob  turn.  

 

Instinctively,  his  hand  jetted  down  to  grasp  the  doorknob  and  he  simultaneously  

thrust  the  weight  of  his  body  against  the  door.  I’m  not  ready,  he  realized.  And  if  something  is  

about  to  come  through  that  door,  you  can  be  sure  that  I  plan  to  see  it  in  the  light.  Determined  

not  to  release  the  pressure  on  the  door,  Steve  clumsily  reached  for  the  floor  lamp  with  his  

left  hand  and  flicked  it  on,  positioning  the  bulb  so  that  it  shined  directly  on  the  door.  

 

Then  the  unthinkable  happened.  The  moment  that  the  lamplight  hit  the  door,  the  

bulb  squealed  &  went  out  with  an  explosive  and  heart-­‐stopping  POP!  His  eyes  had  been  

adjusting,  but  this  rapid  transition  had  left  him  momentarily  blinded.  And  without  

qualification,  the  following  experience  was  unlike  anything  he  could  have  possibly  

imagined.  

 

Somewhere,  which  felt  like  everywhere,  a  deep  drum  beat  resounded  in  rapid  

successions,  shaking  the  very  foundations  of  the  house.  BOOM!  BOOM!  BOOM!  BOOM!  With  

each  concussion  of  sound,  a  white  hot  wave  of  light  rolled  over  him,  issuing  from  the  cracks  

of  the  archway  and  then  receding  into  darkness.  It  had  the  immediate  effect  of  both  

knocking  him  bodily  off  his  feet  and  blowing  away  his  expectations  for  the  “small”  

proportions  of  the  encounter  he  had  been  anticipating.  

 

Steve  squinted  his  eyes  shut  tightly  in  a  feeble  attempt  to  center  himself  and  fight  

back  against  this  sudden  disorientation.  Everything  became  perfectly  still.  When  he  opened  

his  eyes  again,  he  discovered  that  the  door  had  grown  exponentially!  He  jumped  up.  The  

  9  

doorknob,  which  only  seconds  ago  had  been  located  just  below  his  knee,  now  rose  up  to  the  

level  of  his  waist!  No,  wait.  He  looked  around  for  a  point  of  reference.  It  is  I  that  have  shrunk  

exponentially.  When  he  glanced  back  toward  the  kitchen,  he  found  that  the  bottom  stair  was  

a  little  taller  than  his  waist  as  well.  Not  to  mention  that  you  could  now  stack  two  of  Steve  

inside  the  large  cardboard  box  in  the  corner.  

 

He  turned  back  to  face  the  door,  which  was  now  rimmed  in  the  glow  of  a  pale  yellow  

light.  As  he  stepped  cautiously  toward  it,  white  writing  began  to  engrave  itself  into  the  dark  

brown  wood:  

 As your anxieties rise ever higher,

Look inside to find your heart’s desire.

 

Well,  that  doesn’t  sound  so  bad!  he  reflected,  optimistically.  And  then  more  grimly,  I  

may  as  well  see  this  through.  With  that,  he  firmly  gripped  the  door  handle,  pulled  it  open  

and  crossed  the  threshold.  

 

Steve  entered  into  a  forest  in  summer,  late  afternoon  by  the  position  of  the  sun.  The  

cool  breeze  in  the  air  and  the  fresh  scent  of  the  pines  was  very  refreshing.  He  looked  down  

to  his  left  and  was  surprised  to  find  that  his  younger  brothers  and  best  friends  were  

standing  right  beside  him,  all  wearing  identical  black  suits  with  white  shirts,  maroon  ties,  

and  smiles  on  their  faces.  They  were  actually  in  a  small  clearing  in  the  forest,  one  with  

freshly  cut  green  grass,  festive  white  lights  hanging  from  all  the  trees,  and  a  number  of  

white  chairs  set  on  both  sides  of  a  central  aisle  in  down  the  middle.    

Emily’s  sister  and  best  friends  stood  just  off  to  Steve’s  right.  It  was  obvious  that  they  

were  all  waiting  in  expectation  of  something.  And  then  he  saw  her  .  Adorned  in  white  and  

stunningly  beautiful  with  her  brown  hair  curled,  she  ran  down  the  aisle  beaming  and  

leaped  into  his  open  arms,  laughing  with  joy  as  they  embraced.  This  is  perfect,  he  thought  

softly.  Why  had  I  ever  been  so  worried?  

 

  10  

With  a  flash  he  was  back  in  the  basement,  standing  tall  and  looking  down  at  his  

favorite  Dark  Knight  poster.  Unable  to  resist  the  urge,  he  peeked  behind,  although  he  

already  knew  what  he  would  find.  The  solid  concrete  wall  showed  no  signs  of  alteration  or  

repair;  there  were  no  cracks,  no  holes,  and  (most  obviously)  no  wooden  doors.  But  as  he  

replaced  the  upper  right  corner  of  the  poster  on  the  wall,  he  noticed  a  message,  written  in  

the  same  white  script:  

 “Love hopes all things”

1 Corinthians 13:7

 

  Filled  with  hope,  Steve  sprinted  up  the  stairs  and  out  the  front  door.  Looking  up  at  

the  majesty  of  the  countless  stars  above,  he  whispered,  “Thank  you,  Lord.”  And  he  felt  at  

peace.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  11  

Caterpillar  Story  By  Kelly  Han  

 

One  day,  Elizabeth  sat  in  her  usual  spot  next  to  the  dirty,  Shanghai  river  bank,  

watching  the  Chinese  villagers  fishing  for  fish  in  the  water.  She  was  admiring  the  beautiful  

polluted  air  as  she  sat  to  write  in  her  journal.  It  was  about  late  afternoon,  when  she  

wondered  about  the  forbidden  tower  of  SMIC  world.  She  was  warned  by  all  the  Pudongians  

to  never  enter  into  the  forbidden  tower,  for  it  contained  all  evil  and  sadness.  One  

pudongian,  Charissajoyness,  once  told  Elizabeth  that  no  one  dares  to  go  into  the  tower  

because  of  the  evil  monster  that  lives  within  the  walls.  From  a  young  age,  Elizabeth  was  

told  never  to  enter  into  the  gates  of  the  tower.    

  As  she  was  sitting  down,  she  went  into  a  deep  slumber.  She  awoke  and  it  had  

become  night  time  when  she  awoke.  There  she  saw  an  unfamiliar  caterpillar  sitting  next  to  

her.  The  caterpillar  suddenly  spoke  to  her.  “Missus,  I  seem  to  have  lost  my  way.  I  am  trying  

to  go  back  to  my  own  home,  but  cannot  seem  to  go.  Can  you  please  help  me  get  back  to  my  

home?”  Elizabeth  was  puzzled  to  see  that  the  caterpillar  was  talking  to  her,  but  she  felt  

extremely  saddened  that  the  caterpillar  had  lost  its  way.  Elizabeth  agreed  and  asked  the  

little  caterpillar—“where  is  your  home,  sweet  caterpillar?”  The  caterpillar  nudged  its  head  

towards  the  dark,  terrifying  tower.  “That  is  where  I  live,  can  you  help  me  get  back  home?”  

At  first,  Elizabeth  was  terrified,  since  she  was  not  allowed  to  go  into  the  SMIC  tower,  but  

she  felt  bad  for  the  caterpillar  and  decided  to  help  the  caterpillar  go  back  home.    

  As  she  went  further  and  further  into  the  SMIC  world  tower,  it  became  cold  and  

desolate.  She  was  getting  more  scared  as  she  approached  the  gates.  She  remembered  what  

the  Pudongians  said  about  the  tower—remember,  never  enter  those  gates,  for  there  is  a  

great,  evil  monster  that  roams  throughout.  She  was  hesitant  at  first,  but  agreed  to  help  the  

caterpillar.  The  caterpillar  was  extremely  sad,  lonely  and  scared  and  Elizabeth  felt  sorry  for  

it.    

  One  step  at  a  time,  Elizabeth  entered  into  the  gate.  Her  footsteps  made  little  noise  

and  the  only  sound  she  could  hear  was  the  beating  of  her  own  thumping  heart—thump  

thump  thump  it  went.  Then  suddenly,  a  large  roaring  noise  came  from  within  the  walls.  

  12  

“WHO  DARES  TO  COME  IN  TO  MY  TOWER?”  echoed  throughout  the  whole  tower.  The  

caterpillar  shook  in  terror  and  clutched  onto  Elizabeth’s  clothes  for  safety.  Elizabeth  tried  

to  ignore  the  large  sounds  and  quickly  asked  the  caterpillar  where  it  lived.  The  caterpillar  

trembled  and  said  I  live  just  off  the  edge  of  the  tower  with  my  mum  and  dad.    Please  take  me  

there  safely  and  my  parents  will  be  relieved.  Elizabeth  agreed  and  went  forward  on  a  path  

near  the  towers  edge.  Until…    

  She  suddenly  saw  the  big,  dark,  evil  monster  coming  from  beneath  the  shadows  of  

the  tower.  There  it  was—the  monster  that  all  the  Pudongians  had  feared.  Elizabeth  

shrieked  in  terror  and  attempted  to  run  away  as  fast  as  she  could.  She  looked  again  and  

saw  that  the  monster  was  not  what  many  people  had  described.  She  was…  surprised.  She  

had  never  seen  a  creature  so  intricate  and  unique  before.  It  was  a  large  caterpillar  as  

beautiful  as  the  colors  of  the  sunset—yellow,  orange,  pink.  Instead  of  running,  she  stood  

there  in  awe.  “The  monster  did  not  look  evil  at  all”,  she  thought.  The  caterpillar  came  ever  

so  close  to  her.  She  was  puzzled  by  the  caterpillar’s  eyes  that  were  filled  with  such  sadness  

and  pain.  Instead  of  drawing  back,  Elizabeth  went  forward  to  meet  the  caterpillar.  “Dear  

dear,  said  the  caterpillar.  How  long  it  has  been  since  a  human  such  as  you  come  into  this  

tower.  You  see,  there  was  once  a  time  when  humans  used  to  come  to  this  tower  freely.  They  

would  spend  time  with  me.  They  would  talk  to  me  about  their  days.  They  would  even  rest  here  

in  my  tower,  but  they  have  gotten  so  busy  on  the  other  side  of  the  gates.  It  seems  that  they  

have  forgotten  what  it  was  like  here  in  the  tower.  They  were  so  happy,  but  now  I  look  out  and  

see  darkness  and  here  it  has  become  so  desolate  and  sad  because  there  are  no  visitors.  But  

here  you  are,  dear  Elizabeth.  Elizabeth  was  stunned  that  the  caterpillar  had  already  known  

her  name.  Don’t  worry,  dear.  I  know  you.  You  see,  when  I  look  out  from  the  tower.  I  see  you  by  

the  river  and  I  see  all  your  beauty.  I  admire  you,  just  the  way  you  are.  Elizabeth  was  surprised  

to  hear  this  and  was  a  bit  taken  aback  by  this,  but  suddenly  she  felt  a  peaceful  and  warm  

feeling  come  through  her  heart  as  she  spent  more  time  with  the  caterpillar.    

  She  had  spent  hours  and  hours  talking  with  the  caterpillar  about  life  in  the  tower  

and  about  the  days    before  when  the  Pudongians  did  not  get  so  busy  with  their  lives.  The  

caterpillar  had  described  all  the  beauty  of  the  tower  and  all  the  good  things  that  came  from  

it.  She  was  not  scared  at  all.  It  became  night  fall  when  she  realized  that  her  mother  would  

probably  be  waiting  for  her  across  the  bridge  from  the  river,  but  she  was  too  tired  to  walk  

  13  

back  the  long  journey  from  the  tower  back  to  the  Living  Quarters  Village  where  she  lived.  

She  suddenly  fell  deep  into  a  slumber,  next  to  the  beautiful  caterpillar  as  the  caterpillar  

kept  stroking  her  hair  and  singing  her  sweet  melodies.  She  awoke  the  next  morning  and  

was  back  by  the  river  bank.  As  she  awoke,  she  remembered  what  had  happened  to  her  last  

night.  She  was  quite  puzzled:  was  it  a  dream?  She  thought.  In  confusion,  she  solemnly  

walked  towards  the  living  quarters  while  looking  at  the  tower  behind  her.  She  suddenly  

heard  the  small  caterpillar.  She  picked  up  the  caterpillar  and  she  knew...The  caterpillars  

softly  wiggled  in  her  hand,  

spelling  out  "goodbye".  

Then  she  walked  back  home,  looking  back  at  the  tower  once  more  and  softly  

whispered,  Don’t  worry.  I’ll  them  what  you  did  for  us.”  

 

 

   

� ! D�

today sky and grass� today sky and grass are the same :- , and the sea is dreaming, peculiarly blue-mud particularly dull-life , and the field is courting the wind simply, with dandy lions. let the women work the sun's world , for many-then tell me -earnestly!- over a cup of smoke and tree: "it is a time to find love in palmistry" listen, "I have found a time to harness the sky

  15  

with love clasped in my arms" . bird sigh sun drown heart dance , looking for Home(whoever; however) . listen - hooray, my sweet heart - to a greeneyed lad muse as joyful : as eros in silence

- Paridhi Agarwal (Selected for Elizabeth by Arti )

18

And to Think it All Happened on Maple Street By Larry Seebach

Part One: Captain Galaxy’s Cadet Space Corps

It was Saturday morning and yesterday Mom did

the shopping. To Max this meant only one thing; a

brand new box of Sugar Coated Atomic Flavored

Blast-Os cereal. If one had been standing in the

bathroom doorway, one would have seen only a

blur of blue flannel pajamas as Max raced down the

hall, down the stairs, and into to kitchen.

Sally, Max’s little sister didn’t see him coming. As

she was sleepily taking the Blast-Os out of the

cupboard, the box suddenly disappeared from her

hands and, as if by magic, Max appeared with the

box top torn off, his arm jammed in all the way to

his elbow, and cereal scattered all over the floor.

“Mom, Max ruined the Blast-Os again!”

“Max, stop upsetting your sister!”

“In a minute, Mom!”

Casper, the family’s golden retriever, wasted no time cleaning up the cereal strewn all over the

floor. But Casper wasn’t the happiest one in the family this morning. In a moment Max found

what he was looking for. Once he felt the small cellophane wrapped prize in a bottom of the

box, he grabbed it out with another explosion of cereal that set Casper off on

  17  

another  joyful  scurry  of  floor  cleaning.  Without  even  looking  to  see  what  the  prize  was,  Max  

was  gone  from  the  kitchen  in  the  same  blur  of  blue  flannel  with  which  he  arrived.  

 

Nanoseconds  later  Max  slammed  his  bedroom  door  behind  him  and  launched  himself  like  a  

missile  onto  his  bed.    The  bedsprings  screamed  loudly  as  he  landed  on  his  stomach  with  

both  his  arms  outstretched  before  him  and  the  prize  clutched  tightly  in  both  hands.      

 

Only  now  did  Max  look  to  see  what  the  prize  even  was.    He  wanted  to  be  safely  inside  his  

room  to  hide  his  disappointment  if  it  wasn’t  what  he  hoped  for.    All  the  other  pieces  were  

collected.    All  the  other  parts  were  in  place.    All  he  needed  now  was  the  one  most  important  

piece  of  all,  the  one  item  that  would  make  the  whole  thing,    work.    The  one  item  that  would  

make  his  greatest  wish  come  true.    All  Max  needed  was  the  Captain  Galaxy  Secret  Zodiac  

Stellar  Decoder  Ring.  

 

The  thing,  or  the  secret  zodiac  apparatus,  was  a  suitcase-­‐sized  framework  made  up  of  

cardboard  parts  cut  from  Blast-­‐Os  cereal  boxes  and  various  plastic  brackets,  gizmos,  and  

dials  collected  as  prizes  inside  the  boxes  over  the  past  seven  months.    During  this  time,  Max  

had  masterly  convinced  his  mother  into  repeatedly  buying  Blast-­‐Os  against  her  better  

judgment,  and  he  had  wasted  no  time  in  accumulating  all  the  parts.    Max,  in  fact,  had  the  

dubious  distinction  of  being  the  only  student  in  fourth  grade  at  Oxbow  Elementary  School  

to  have  assembled  the  whole  secret  zodiac  apparatus.    The  other  boys  thought  he  was  a  bit  

of  an  odd  kid,  but  Max  didn’t  notice.  

 

For  Max,  decoding  the  secret  zodiac  stellar  cipher  was  more  that  just  a  goal  of  its  own.    All  

kids  who  deciphered  the  code  would  be  entered  in  a  draw  to  join  one  of  Captain  Galaxy’s  

junior  space  corps  and  be  part  of  his  elite  brotherhood  of  galaxy  defenders  protecting  

humanity  and  all  the  galaxy’s  extra-­‐terrestrial  life  forms  from  the  ever-­‐present  threat  from  

plasma  eating  energy  beings  of  the  Outer  Nebulas.    Indeed,  all  that  was  good  and  truly  

evolutionary  in  the  universe  depended  on  protection  of  Captain  Galaxy  and  his  fearless  

junior  space  corps.  

 

  18  

But  Max  didn’t  just  want  to  be  in  any  branch  of  the  space  corps.    No  indeed,  Max  had  his  

heart  set  on  being  part  of  the  elite  Light-­‐year  Rangers.    The  Light-­‐years  as  they  were  

known,  were  Captain  Galaxy’s  personal  guard,  and  they  took  their  orders  directly  from  him.    

The  other  more  lowly  branches  of  the  space  corps  took  their  orders  channeled  through  a  

ponderous  line  of  communication  that  often  had  no  connection  to  the  great  commander  at  

all.    Max  never  for  a  moment  saw  himself  as  anything  but  a  Light-­‐year.  

 

Being  a  Light-­‐year  also  had  other  perks.    For  instance,  every  April  Captain  Galaxy  invited  all  

the  new  Light-­‐years  to  join  him  at  his  personal  theme  park,  Galaxy  Land,  in  Augusta,  

Georgia.    For  a  whole  three  days,  the  Light-­‐years  would  be  subjected  to  the  most  rigorous  

training  that  any  space  cadets  of  any  stripe  have  ever  undergone.    For  instance,  they  would  

get  to  ride  with  Captain  Galaxy  himself  on  the  famous  Giant  Black  Hole  roller  coaster,  

known  for  ripping  the  faint  of  heart  apart  atom  by  atom.      

 

Max  wanted  to  be  ready.    He  didn’t  want  to  let  Captain  Galaxy  down.    Every  night  over  the  

past  seven  weeks  he  would  close  his  eyes  hard  until  has  eyelids  felt  like  they  would  crush  

his  eyeballs.      In  this  way,  he  tried  his  very  best  to  imagine  what  it  felt  like  to  be  subjected  

to  gravitational  forces  so  great  that  his  body  would  be  vaporized  one  atom  at  a  time.    Max  

knew  he  could  do  it.    He  knew  he  was  ready.    His  time  was  surly  now.    It  had  to  be,  it  just  

had  to  be.  

 

And  now  Max’s  chance  was  at  hand.    It  was  only  last  week  that  Blast-­‐Os  cereal  advertised  

that  they  would  begin  placing  a  limited  number  of  Captain  Galaxy  Secret  Zodiac  Stellar  

Decoder  Rings  in  their  cereal’s  boxes.    Only  a  limited  number  of  children  would  find  them,  

and  only  a  few  of  these  would  decode  their  secret  zodiac  stellar  cipher  to  learn  that  they  

had  been  selected  to  be  in  the  Light-­‐years.    All  the  other  “Ring  Wingers”  would  be  

“assigned”  to  the  various  lesser  braches  of  the  corps.  

 

Max  tried  to  look  through  the  cellophane  wrapping  to  see  if  he  had  indeed  found  one  of  the  

decoder  rings.    He  couldn’t  see  anything,  of  course,  because  his  eyes  were  tightly  shut.    

When  he  opened  his  eyes  he  had  to  blink  a  few  times  before  he  could  see  clearly.    Yes,  it  

  19  

was  a  cellophane  package  and  yes,  it  looked  like  a  ring  of  some  kind  was  inside,  but  he  

could  not  know  if  it  was  a  real  decoder  ring  or  just  a  cheap  toy  until  he  opened  the  package.  

 

In  a  flash  the  cellophane  was  off  and  there  it  was,  just  as  if  Captain  Galaxy  had  chosen  Max  

personally,  a  real  blue  and  orange  colored  plastic  Captain  Galaxy  Secret  Zodiac  Stellar  

Decoder  Ring!  

 

For  a  moment  the  universe  stopped  expanding.    Could  it  be?    Could  it  really  be?    This  wasn’t  

just  a  fake,  was  it?    Max  turned  it  around  in  his  hand  to  make  sure  it  was  real  from  all  sides.    

Yes,  it  looked  real.    This  really  was  one  of  the  hidden  Secret  Zodiac  Rings!    All  his  work,  his  

commitment  to  the  cause,  and  his  faith  in  Captain  Galaxy  had  paid  off.    Now  Max  almost  had  

what  he  wanted.  

 

Calmness  now  descended  on  Max.    He  forced  the  adrenaline  of  the  past  five  minutes  to  

leave  his  body  and  let  his  mind  clear.    Now  that  he  had  the  ring,  the  next  few  steps  needed  

to  be  taken  with  care  and  precision.    The  ring  itself  was  quite  large  and  mostly  it  wasn’t  a  

ring  at  all.    Yes,  there  was  a  loop  underneath  for  a  finger,  but  it  was  much  too  large  to  fit  

properly  on  anybody’s  hand.    Besides,  the  three-­‐inch  diameter  base  that  contained  the  

secret  zodiac  decoder  lens  was  too  unwieldy  and  heavy  to  be  worn  comfortably.    The  real  

place  for  the  ring  was  on  top  of  the  secret  zodiac  apparatus  where  it  snapped  perfectly  into  

its  place.  

 

Now,  very  carefully  as  though  he  were  moving  a  priceless  Egyptian  artifact  from  King  Tut’t  

tomb,  Max  carried  the  apparatus  to  his  desk  situated  under  his  bedroom  window.    Both  he  

and  Sally  had  their  own  upstairs  bedrooms.    Being  the  older,  Max  could  have  taken  the  

larger  room  for  himself,  but  instead  he  surprised  and  pleased  his  parents  by  taking  the  

smaller  one.  

 

Sally  didn’t  notice  Max’s  generosity,  but  then  there  really  wasn’t  any  generosity  in  it.  Max  

chose  this  room  out  of  pure  self-­‐interest.    This  was  the  only  room  in  the  house  facing  

southeast.    All  of  Captain  Galaxy’s  rangers  knew  that  the  southeast  night  sky  in  summer  

  20  

would  reveal  the  secret  zodiac  when  viewed  through  a  star  red-­‐shift  lens  on  a  secret  zodiac  

ring  and  calibrated  against  the  star  charts  on  the  secret  zodiac  apparatus.      

 

So,  with  the  apparatus  in  place  and  compass  declination  dial  adjusted  to  true  north,  Max  

flipped  up  the  blue  transparent  plastic  star  red-­‐shift  lens,  gazed  up  into  the  summer  sky,  

and  waited  for  nightfall.    

 

It  was  a  very  long  summer  Saturday  indeed  for  Max.    Tormenting  Sally  and  walking  Casper  

didn’t  speed  time  up  at  all.    His  parents  were  no  help  as  they  only  gave  him  boring  things  to  

do  like  chores  and  unrealistic  repetitive  video  games.    Max  had  no  patience  for  the  fantasy  

world  that  his  friends  lived  in.    He  was  soon  going  to  be  Light-­‐year  ranger  cadet!  

 

Not  soon  enough,  the  summer  sun,  too  long  in  the  sky,  fell  below  the  horizon  and  the  stars  

of  the  glorious  night  appeared  in  the  heavens.    When  looking  at  the  summer  night  sky  

through  Captain  Galaxy’s  Secret  Zodiac  Decoder  Ring,  an  amazing  thing  happens;  most  of  

the  stars  in  the  sky  seem  to  disappear.    The  red-­‐shift  lens  filters  out  their  light,  leaving  only  

a  handful  of  stars  still  visible.    These  remaining  stars  create  their  own  constellations  

unnoticed  by  the  unaided  eye.    Hence,  the  secret  zodiac.  

 

To  interpret  the  secret  zodiac  is  more  complicated.    There  is  a  whole  instruction  manual,  

needed  to  properly  operate  the  secret  zodiac  apparatus.      Max  memorized  the  whole  thing.    

To  keep  the  directions  simple,  one  begins  by  rotating  two  leavers  into  place  under  the  

Secret  Zodiac  chart,  aligning  it  with  the  newly  revealed  constellations,  and  then  one  uses  a  

ruled,  rotating  dial  to  align  the  southeast  demarcation  notch  with  the…  and  so  on.  

 

In  Max’s  opinion,  the  secret  zodiac  constellations  all  have  funny  name,  and  each  one  was  

the  call  name  of  each  of  Captain  Galaxy’s  various  cadet  corps.    But  which  zodiac  names  are  

assigned  to  which  cadet  corps  was  a  top  secret  only  revealed  by  chart  data  collected  by  the  

apparatus  and  then  referenced  against  the  Official  Captain  Galaxy  Star  Corps  Directory,  

available  by  mail  from  the  Blast-­‐Os  Cereal  company  for  $15  and  seven  cereal  box  tops.    

  21  

Max,  of  course,  got  his  a  long  time  ago  and  kept  it  safe  and  secure  in  his  dresser  bottom  

drawer.  

 

With  a  steady  hand,  Max  began  to  turn  the  dial  revealing  the  secret  names  of  the  new  

constellations  that  he  could  now  see  with  his  own  eyes.    First  was  constellation  Serpentine,  

then  Valentine,  Madeline,  and  Clementine.    These  were  followed  by  slightly  more  odd  

names:  the  constellations  Quinine,  Coal  Mine,  Bovine,  and  at  last  the  one  that  lined  up  with  

Max’s  own  select  sky  coordinates,  the  constellation  Eggplant.      

 

The  constellation  Eggplant!    Max  was  assigned  to  constellation  Eggplant!    What’s  and  

eggplant?    Max  wondered  if  this  was  some  sort  of  chicken?  Thinking  too  much  wasn’t  going  

to  tell  him  what  cadet  corps  he  was  assigned  to,  so  Max  jumped  up  from  his  desk  as  

adrenaline  returning  to  him,  pulled  open  is  bottom  dresser  drawer,  and  snatched  out  his  

Official  Captain  Galaxy  Star  Corps  Directory.  

 

The  directory  listed  all  the  secret  zodiac  constellations  in  alphabetical  order,  so  it  didn’t  

take  long  for  Max  to  look  up  the  constellation  Eggplant.    Each  constellation  entry  covered  

two  pages  of  history,  diagrams,  horoscopes  and  a  detailed  description  of  the  cadet  corps  

associated  with  it.    Constellation  Eggplant  was  the  symbol  of  a  cadet  corps  called  The  Outer  

Solar  System  Space  Waste  Engineers.  

 

The  Outer  Solar  System  Space  Waste  Engineers  were  permanently  located  on  the  planet  

Uranus,  and  their  essential  mission  to  the  Galactic  Government  was  to  collect,  catalogue,  

and  destroy  all  redundant  space  materials  before  they  exit  the  sun’s  orbit  and  into  the  hand  

of  the  plasma  eating  energy  beings  of  the  Outer  Nebulas  who  would  reverse  engineer  these  

materials  to  learn  our  technological  secrets  and  then  use  this  knowledge  to  destroy  us.    As  

anyone  can  clearly  see,  the  Outer  Solar  System  Space  Waste  Engineers  were  a  proud  and  

glorious,  though  under  recognized,  essential  branch  of  Captain  Galaxy’s  cadet  space  corps.    

Anyone  would  be  proud  to  belong.    Surely.  

 

  22  

Except,  Max  understood,  they  were  space  garbage  collectors  permanently  marooned  on  a  

frozen,  sunlight  starved,  gas  giant  as  far  away  from  Earth  as  you  could  possibly  get  and  still  

be  in  the  solar  system.    One  could  be  on  Pluto  of  course,  but  really,  who  would  want  that?  

 

After  a  moment,  Max  realized  that  he  had  stopped  thinking.  He  was  no  longer  looking  at  

Captain  Galaxy’s  directory,  or  at  the  secret  zodiac  apparatus  which  he  had  spent  so  many  

hours  assembling,  or  even  out  of  his  widow  at  the  stars.    Instead,  he  was  staring  blankly  at  

his  bare  bedroom  wall.    Max  didn’t  notice  when  Captain  Galaxy’s  precious  directory  slipped  

from  his  hands  and  landed  on  the  floor  between  his  feet.    Feeling  numb  and  beyond  

disappointment,  Max  lowered  his  head  into  his  hands.    Then,  softly,  he  began  to  cry.  

 

 

Part  Two:    Constellation  Eggplant  

 

The  next  day  passed  unremarkably.    At  11pm  the  next  night,  Max  was  still  lying  wide  awake  

in  his  bed  and  not  caring  if  he  fell  asleep  or  not.    Captain  Galaxy’s  decoder  ring  had  by  now  

declined  into  a  pointless  toy  with  which  Max  amused  himself  by  making  stars  disappear  

and  reappear  and  then  disappear  again.    The  cardboard  and  plastic  apparatus  provided  a  

few  minutes  of  entertainment  as  he  tore  it  apart  and  threw  the  parts  out  his  window.    This  

fun  didn’t  last  long  before  his  dad  got  mad  and  made  him  clean  up  the  mess.  

 

Casper  picked  up  on  Max’s  mood  and  followed  him  around  all  day  as  if  to  say,  “Cheer  up  old  

boy,  life’s  not  all  that  bad  after  all,  and  besides,  we  still  have  some  Blast-­‐Os  to  eat.”  

 

Now,  Casper  lay  snoring  on  the  floor  beside  Max’s  bed.    For  his  part,  Max  didn’t  make  any  

noise  except  for  an  occasional  sigh  and  a  clicking  noise  as  he  flipped  the  red-­‐shift  lens  up  

and  down.    Flip  up,  stars  disappear,  flip  down,  stars  reappear.    Flip  up,  flip  down,  flip  up,  

flip  down.    Wait!  Did  one  of  those  stars  just  blink?  

 

  23  

There,  it  did  it  again!    Max  was  suddenly  alert.    One  of  the  stars  in  the  constellation  

Eggplant  definitely  blinked,  and  it  moved  as  well.    In  fact,  it  was  still  moving,  and  getting  

bigger!  

 

It  took  a  moment  for  Max  understand  what  he  was  seeing.    The  star  was  behaving  more  like  

an  airplane  as  it  moved  and  blinked  across  the  sky.    But  then  it  wasn’t  behaving  like  an  

airplane  at  all  as  it  zigzagged  back  and  forth  in  the  sky  and  grew  brighter  and  larger.  

 

In  fact  the  light,  Max  no  longer  thought  of  it  as  a  star,  seemed  to  be  getting  closer.    The  view  

from  his  bedroom  window  wasn’t  good  enough.    Max  jumped  up  from  his  bed  and  ran  out  

of  his  room  for  the  kitchen  back  door.    Casper,  who  woke  with  a  start,  came  running  after  

him.  

 

The  spacecraft  must  have  been  moving  at  a  tremendous  speed.    When  Max  opened  the  

kitchen  door,  there  was  a  great  whump  and  a  massive  blast  of  air  and  soil  that  sent  him  

flying  backward  into  Caper,  and  then  sent  the  two  of  them  careening  backwards  across  the  

kitchen  floor  into  the  refrigerator  door.  

 

For  a  second  Max  and  Casper  lay  dazed  on  the  floor.    At  first,  Max  thought  he  was  blind,  but  

then  he  realized  he  just  had  dirt  in  his  eyes.    Clearing  his  eyes  with  his  fingers,  Max  stood  up  

and  walked  cautiously  to  the  open  kitchen  door  and  peered  into  his  back  yard.    Casper  was  

right  behind  him  cowering  behind  his  legs  and  peering  in  the  backyard  with  equal  caution.  

 

At  first  there  wasn’t  a  sight  or  a  sound  to  perceive.    Then,  as  his  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  

the  night-­‐time  darkness,  Max  saw  an  enormous  black  shape  lying  in  a  crater  all  across  his  

back  yard,  on  top  of  their  demolished  fence,  and  half  way  across  their  neighbor’s  back  yard.      

 

Then  Max  noticed  the  silence.    There  wasn’t  a  sound,  not  a  single  sound  natural  or  man-­‐

made.    His  instinct  was  to  expect  neighborhood  lights  to  come  on,  people  to  start  yelling  

and  emergency  sirens  to  begin  blaring.    Most  of  all,  Max  expected  his  parents  wake  up  and  

demand  to  know  what  was  going  on.  

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Instead  there  was  nothing.    Max  then  assumed  he  was  in  a  dream.    He  didn’t  like  dreams  

like  this  one.    He  expected  the  great  shape  to  start  coming  after  him  and  that  he  would  have  

to  run  and  hiding  to  save  himself  from  being  eaten  or  assimilated.      

 

Max  looked  down  to  Casper  who  was  still  with  him  and  who  also  obviously  saw  the  large  

shape  in  their  back  yard.  

 

“Do  you  see  that,  Casper.”  

 

No  response  from  Casper.  

 

“What  do  you  think  it  is?”  

 

Casper  looked  up  at  Max  and  let  out  a  soft  whimper  as  if  to  say,  “I  can’t  help  you  with  this  

one.    Let’s  go  back  inside  and  forget  about  it.”  

 

Tentatively,  Max  took  a  step  out  onto  the  back  patio  and  Casper  whimpered  again  as  he  too  

took  a  step  to  follow.      

 

Max  stopped  and  looked  around  at  the  other  houses  up  and  down  Maple  Street  expecting  

lights  and  the  sounds  of  people  waking  up  to  investigate  the  commotion.    Again,  there  was  

nothing.    It  seemed  to  Max  as  if  he  and  Casper  were  in  a  universe  inside  their  old  universe,  

only  in  this  new  universe,  they  were  the  only  ones.  

 

Max  took  another  cautious  step  forward  with  Casper  right  behind.    Again  there  was  no  

change  in  the  world  around  them,  just  complete  silence.  

 

Then,  very  faintly,  three  thin  horizontal  slits  of  dim  purple  light  appeared  on  the  side  of  the  

great  dark  shape,  as  if  they  were  slim  windows  for  peering  out.    The  dim  light  illuminated  

the  surroundings  just  enough  for  Max  to  get  a  better  look  at  the  shape  of  the  mysterious  

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spacecraft  that  had  just  crash  landed  in  his  back  yard.    There  were  no  edges  or  corners  

anywhere  on  the  spacecraft.    It’s  shape  was  more  or  less  long  and  rounded  and  exactly  the  

shape  of  the  eggplant  Max  saw  in  Captain  Galaxy’s  directory.  

 

The  giant  eggplant  even  had  what  appeared  to  be  the  stub  of  a  stem  protruding  from  on  

end  as  though  the  spacecraft  had  been  grown  and  not  built.    Max  suspected  that  in  daylight  

the  skin  of  the  spacecraft  would  be  dark  purple.  

 

“Stay  behind  me,  Casper.    Get  ready  to  run  back  inside.”  

 

Casper  whimpered  again  in  agreement.  

 

For  the  next  minute  nothing  happened.    Max  and  Casper  stood  where  they  were  on  the  

patio  and  the  giant  eggplant  lay  in  its  crater  as  if  this  is  where  it  had  always.  

 

Then,  ever  so  slowly,  a  door  shaped  rectangle  on  the  skin  of  the  spacecraft  began  to  open  

downward  like  the  hatch  of  an  airplane  opening  to  let  passengers  board.    Instead  of  stairs,  

the  inside  of  the  door  was  a  flat  ramp.    Because  of  the  crater,  the  ramp  came  to  rest  at  only  

a  slight  angle  when  it  touched  down  on  the  lawn.  

 

At  first  it  appeared  dark  inside  the  spacecraft  and  then  a  dim  purple  light  flashed  on  as  if  

someone  had  turned  on  a  light  switch.    Presently,  two  odd-­‐looking  beings  appeared  and  

descended  the  ramp  right  into  Max’s  back  yard.  

 

At  first  Max  wanted  to  scream  in  terror  at  the  sight  of  the  two  creatures,  but  then  he  found  

himself  choking  back  a  laugh.    The  two  creatures  were  clearly  robots  and  they  seemed  

confused.    Both  robots  walked  on  two  legs  like  a  human,  but  there  feet  were  small  

caterpillar  treads  like  a  bulldozer’s  which  made  it  possible  for  them  to  walk  around  in  

almost  complete  silence.  

 

  26  

The  two  robots  had  very  different  shapes  from  one  another.    The  larger  robot  had  a  torso  

about  the  shape  and  size  of  a  washing  machine  with  a  head  about  the  size  and  shape  of  a  

pancake.    This  head  rotated  around  from  side  to  side  as  if  perpetually  looking  for  

something  it  had  lost.  

 

The  other,  somewhat  smaller,  robot  had  a  round  torso  atop  of  which  was  a  large,  roundish  

head.  This  roundish  head  had  a  bulbous  overhanging  forehead  that  gave  it  the  look  of  a  

great  thinker  or  a  baby  with  a  deformed  cranium.    The  larger  robot  did  not  seem  to  posses  

any  arm  or  arm  like  appendages,  but  the  smaller  one  had  two  arms  placed  only  a  bit  lower  

than  where  human  arms  are  place  by  the  shoulders.  

 

At  first  the  two  robots  tread-­‐walked  in  random  directions  around  Max’s  backyard.    Max’s  

first  thought  was  that  they  had  been  broken  in  the  crash  and  were  now  malfunctioning.    He  

expected  to  see  them  both  topple  over  and  go  still.    Soon  Max  began  to  see  that  there  was  

some  method  to  their  meandering.    The  robots  appeared  to  be  systematically  approaching  

every  object  in  the  yard  and  then  momentarily  pause  to  examine  it.    It  was  like  they  were  

absorbing  data  about  his  world  at  a  mind-­‐boggling  rate.    The  robots  appeared  to  be  in  a  

race  with  one  another  to  see  who  could  collect  the  most  data  to  win  some  space  explorer  

prize.      

 

Too  late  Max  realized  that  one  of  the  robots  would  make  it  around  to  him  and  Casper  if  they  

didn’t  move.    Suddenly  he  felt  his  head  grabbed  in  a  tight  pincer  grip  as  the  smaller  robot  

rotated  his  face  upward  and  shined  a  bright  purple  light  in  to  his  eyes.    The  light  reminded  

Max  of  the  time  he  had  his  eyes  examined  and  his  Dad  decided  he  could  make  it  to  high  

school  before  wearing  glasses.  

 

After  the  purple  light,  Max  felt  his  mouth  jarred  open  and  an  instrument  of  some  kind  

inserted  to  be  back  of  his  throat.    Just  as  he  was  about  to  gag,  the  instrument  harmlessly  

took  a  sample  of  his  saliva  and  then  extracted  itself.    All  at  once,  his  head  was  free  of  the  

pincer  and  Max  looked  down  to  see  the  same  examination  being  done  to  Casper  who  was  

not  taking  it  with  the  same  passive  grace.      

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Capers  snarled  and  struggled,  but  he  was  not  able  to  free  himself  from  the  prongs  that  were  

holding  his  head  still.    In  a  moment  Casper’s  examination  was  done  and  the  robot  stood  

back  as  if  to  consider  what  it  had  just  learned.    By  this  time  the  larger  box  shaped  robot  had  

come  over  to  join  his  companion  as  if  to  discuss  what  they  had  learned  so  far.      

 

Together  the  two  robots  turned  their  head  from  side  to  side,  exchanged  a  few  beams  of  

purple  light  from  their  heads,  made  a  number  of  disappointed  sounding  tut-­‐tut  noises,  and  

then  moved  on  to  continue  their  exploration  on  Max’s  mom’s  rhododendron  plant.  

 

Max  almost  had  a  feeling  of  disappointment.    “What,”  Max  thought,  “we’re  not  good  enough!    

What’s  that  plant  got  that  we  don’t  got?”  

 

By  now  Max  had  lost  his  fear  of  the  two  nutty  robots.    If  they  were  going  to  do  harm,  they  

would  have  done  it  by  now.    With  brazenness,  Max  walked  out  onto  the  lawn  with  Casper  

cowering  along  behind  him.    The  robots  ignored  them  and  continued  their  examination  of  

Max’s  back  year  as  if  he  and  Casper  did  not  exist.  

 

The  spaceship  ramp  proved  stable  for  walking,  so  Max  and  Casper  strolled  up  and  stopped  

just  outside  the  open  doorway.    The  purple  light  emanating  from  within  was  very  dim,  but  

by  now  Max’s  eyes  had  adjusted  to  the  night  darkness  and  he  could  make  out  dimly  glowing  

forms  and  movement  from  within.  

 

Nothing  he  could  see,  however,  fit  with  any  of  his  expectations  of  what  one  should  see  

inside  an  alien  spacecraft.    There  were  no  captain’s  chair  or  flight  computers  around  the  

bridge  like  in  Star  Trek.    There  appeared  to  be  no  obvious  engine  or  propulsion  mechanism.      

There  seemed  to  be  no  sleeping  or  storage  quarters  for  the  robots.    In  fact,  there  didn’t  

appear  to  be  anything  solid  inside  the  spacecraft  at  all.  

 

As  Max  stepped  into  the  spacecraft,  Casper  followed  close  behind  with  his  lead  lowered,  

and  his  tail  tucked  tightly  between  his  legs.    All  around  them  large  dimly  glowing  bubble  

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like  forms  drifted  slowly  back  and  forth  giving  Max  the  feeling  that  they  had  just  walked  

into  his  grandmother’s  lava  lamp.    Though  the  shapes  seemed  to  be  drifting  around  the  

interior  of  the  spacecraft  at  random,  they  also  seemed  to  deliberately  shift  their  paths  in  

order  to  avoid  bumping  into  him  and  Casper.    A  strange  intelligence  seemed  to  be  aware  of  

their  presence,  but  was  letting  them  explore  unmolested.  

 

Max  began  to  test  these  new  surroundings  by  slowing  walking  further  into  the  spacecraft.    

Nothing  happened  that  he  could  tell.    The  bubble  like  forms  continued  in  their  aimless  

drifting  without  any  sense  of  alarm.    Max  reached  his  right  arm  out  to  touch  a  brownish  red  

bubble  that  was  drifting  just  in  front  of  him.    At  first  the  bubble  seemed  to  move  away  from  

his  arm,  but  then  it  paused  as  if  having  a  second  thought,  and  max  was  able  to  poke  it  with  

his  index  finger.    

 

That’s  when  the  startling  thing  happened.    Images  began  to  form  inside  the  bubble  much  

like  the  image  one  sees  when  trying  to  tune  in  an  old  TV  set  to  a  weak  signal  using  old  

rabbit  ear  antennas.    The  image  seemed  to  come  into  near  focus,  but  not  quite.    Max  tried  

moving  around  the  bubble  to  see  if  the  view  improved  at  a  different  angle,  but  to  no  avail.    

Mustering  more  courage,  Max  raised  his  hands  to  see  if  he  could  bring  the  image  into  better  

focus  by  squeezing  and  manipulating  the  shape  of  the  bubble.    He  was  still  wearing  the  

decoder  ring  on  his  left  hand  and  as  he  pushed  against  the  bubble,  he  noticed  that  as  he  

looked  through  the  lens  on  the  ring,  the  image  was  in  focus  and  very  clear.  

 

Looking  through  the  ring  lens,  Max  was  able  to  make  out  the  image  to  the  two  robots  doing  

their  poking  and  prodding  on  what  appeared  to  be  an  alien  world.    In  a  moment  the  imaged  

dissolved  into  fuzz  and  then  reformed  into  an  image  of  the  two  robots  again  poking  a  

prodding,  but  now  on  another  strange  alien  landscape.  

 

Over  the  next  minutes,  no  less  than  a  dozen  alien  worlds  appeared  in  front  of  Max  through  

the  lens.    In  each  landscape,  Max  saw  the  robots  poking,  touching,  zapping,  and  examining  

all  kinds  of  strange  objects,  and  almost  always  seeming  to  be  disappointed  with  what  they  

found.    After  the  first  few  images,  Max  noticed  that  the  spacecraft,  which  was  always  crash-­‐

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landed  in  the  background,  was  always  different.    Furthermore,  the  spacecraft  always  

seemed  to  be  some  kind  of  large  plant,  either  the  stem  of  some  enormous  tree  or  a  giant  

vegetable  like  the  eggplant  they  were  inside  now.  

 

Could  that  be  what  the  robots  were  looking  for,  Max  wondered,  a  new  plant  spacecraft  to  

replace  their  old  spacecraft  that  just  crashed?    That  would  explain  the  robots’  

disappointment  after  examining  him  and  Casper.    He  and  Casper  were,  after  all,  not  

vegetables.      

 

Suddenly  a  clanging  sound  made  Max  turn  around  to  see  the  two  robots  standing  at  the  top  

of  the  ramp  and  looking  in  at  them  through  the  open  doorway.    Their  demeanor  appeared  

to  show  that  the  robots  were  in  some  state  of  excitement  or  alarm.    Max’s  first  guess  was  

that  walking  into  the  spacecraft  was  probably  a  big  mistake.  

 

At  last  the  two  robots  rushed  up  to  Max  and  both  of  them  beamed  their  purple  light  rays  

onto  the  lens  of  the  decoder  ring  on  his  raised  left  hand.    Neither  one  of  the  robots  

attempted  to  reach  for  the  ring.    Instead,  they  just  stared  at  it  as  if  mesmerized  by  a  

priceless  jewel.    And,  once  again,  the  robots  seemed  completely  oblivious  to  the  presence  of  

Max  and  Casper.  

 

Realizing  the  he  and  Casper  didn’t  seem  to  be  in  danger,  Max  lowered  his  arm  and  took  a  

step  back  from  the  robots.    The  two  robots  in  turn  took  a  step  forward  always  keeping  their  

gaze  locked  on  the  ring.    Max  took  another  step  back  and  the  robots  took  another  step  

forward.    Max  raised  his  left  arm  up  and  the  robots  raised  their  gaze  upward  always  

keeping  their  light  beams  locked  in  the  ring.    Max  revolved  his  left  arm  in  large  sweeping  

circles  and  the  robots  followed  in  suit  with  their  gaze.    With  a  tweak  of  panic  in  his  

stomach,  Max  realized  that  he  was  now  in  control.  

 

Casper,  who  had  stayed  by  Max’s  side  all  along,  looked  up  at  the  two  robots  with  

bewilderment  and  fear.      

 

  30  

“Casper,  can  you  see  what  I’m  doing?”  inquired  Max.  

 

Casper  said  nothing.  

 

“I  wonder  if  I  can  make  these  guys  follow  me.    I  have  an  idea.”  

 

A  moment  later  Max  and  Casper  were  walking  across  the  back  yard  toward  the  kitchen  

door  with  two  rather  bizarre  and  hypnotized  looking  robots  trailing  behind  them.    Once  

again,  the  commotion  didn’t  attract  any  attention  from  anyone  in  the  neighborhood.    All  the  

houses  up  and  down  Maple  Street  remained  dark  and  quiet.    The  clanging  and  scraping  that  

the  robots  made  as  they  entered  the  kitchen  also  did  not  wake  Max’s  parents  of  his  sister  

Sally.    Not  even  the  racket  they  made  climbing  the  stairs  up  to  Max’s  bedroom  aroused  

anyone  in  the  house.      

 

Soon  Max,  Casper,  and  the  two  bewildered  looking  robots  stood  in  the  middle  of  Max’s  

room.      

 

“OK,  Casper.    Now  I’m  going  to  test  my  theory.”  

 

Casper  looked  up  at  Max  ready  to  accept  whatever  was  going  to  happen  next.    What  could  

possibly  get  more  strange  tonight?  

 

“These  two  must  be  looking  for  a  giant  plant  to  replace  their  old  spaceship.    That  must  be  

how  they  travel  from  planet  to  planet.    They  just  replace  their  old  spaceship  with  

vegetation  from  each  new  planet.  

 

And  what  is  our  house  made  of,  Casper?    That’s  right,  wood!”  

 

Casper  looked  up  not  getting  the  gist  of  Max’s  theory  at  all.  

 

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Max  walked  over  to  his  dresser,  opened  the  bottom  drawer  and  took  out  his  old  penknife.    

He  then  crouched  on  his  knees  and  began  to  scrape  away  at  the  varnish  on  the  hardwood  

floor.    Soon  he  had  exposed  a  quarter-­‐sized  patch  of  clear  wood.    He  knew  his  parents  

would  have  a  fit  if  they  saw  this,  but  nothing  seemed  to  be  bothering  them  this  night.  

 

Max  then  looked  up  at  the  robots  that  were  watching  him  with  seeming  curiosity.    They  

didn’t  move,  they  just  kept  watching,  so  max  pointed  at  the  patch  of  clear  wood  and  said,  

“Here  guys,  take  a  look  at  this.”  

 

As  if  they  seemed  to  suddenly  understand  English,  the  two  robots  walked  up  to  Max  and  

peered  down  at  the  patch  of  exposed  wood.    Then,  as  they  did  before  with  the  decoder  ring,  

they  shined  their  purple  light  beams  onto  the  patch.    This  seemed  to  get  a  reaction.    

Immediately  a  small  panel  slid  open  on  front  of  the  larger  robot  and  a  needle  like  rod  

extended  out  and  bored  into  the  exposed  wood  making  a  high  pitch  drill-­‐like  noise.  

 

Then  Max  felt  it.    The  house  seemed  to  come  alive  as  if  were  an  organism  that  had  been  

hibernating  and  was  now  awake.    The  house  vibrated  at  first  and  then  noticeably  shook.    

Max  was  sure  that  his  parents  and  sister  would  wake  up  for  sure  with  this,  but  once  again  

there  was  no  reaction.      

 

At  last  there  was  a  great  cracking  sound  and  Max  knew  that  the  house  had  just  broken  from  

its  foundation.    Now  the  shaking  stopped  and  Max  could  feel  the  whole  house  begin  to  rise.    

Casper  began  to  howl.    Still  there  was  no  reaction  from  the  rest  of  his  family.      

 

Max  jumped  onto  his  bed  and  looked  outside  his  window.    He  could  see  Maple  Street,  his  

street,  the  cars  parked  along  the  curb,  the  neighbors’  houses,  the  front  yards,  the  street  

lamps,  and  all  the  darkened  bedroom  windows  grow  smaller  as  his  house  gained  altitude.    

How  no-­‐one  could  see  it,  how  no-­‐one  could  hear  it,  how  no-­‐one  had  any  idea  that  a  giant  

eggplant  spacecraft  had  crashed  on  their  street  and  one  of  their  neighbor’s  houses  had  just  

launched  into  space,  was  beyond  Max’s  understanding.      

 

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As  he  gazed  out  at  his  receding  world  below,  a  feeling  of  vindication  came  over  Max.    

Captain  Galaxy  and  his  juvenile  space  corps  now  seemed  to  be  nothing  more  than  a  

pointless  game  for  children.    What  a  waste  of  time  it  all  seemed  to  him  now.    His  new  world  

was  going  to  be  a  much  better  place,  and  a  much  more  exciting  place  than  he  ever  could  

have  wished  for.  Max  couldn’t  wait.  Most  of  all  though,  Max  knew  that  there  would  many  

great  surprises  for  everyone  when  the  sun  came  up  in  the  morning.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

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The  Errant  By  Korey  Alfred  

 

This  story  is  dedicated  to  Elizabeth  Gelsinger:  For  taking  a  stand  against  evil  in  this  world  that  is  constantly  battling  it  For  being  a  light,  even  when  hiding  in  the  shadows  would  be  easier  For  doing  what  is  right,  even  when  it  may  be  like  taking  on  the  world  by  yourself      Stand  Firm  (Eph  6:14)    

 

Part  I  

Drake  Saulus  blinked  as  the  first  rain  drop  of  spring  hit  his  nose.  He’d  known  the  

storm  was  coming,  although  he  hadn’t  told  anyone.  He  knew  a  lot  he  didn’t  say,  for  he  was  

afraid  of  what  people  would  say  or  think  about  him.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  to  make  

sure  his  sweatshirt  wasn’t  bulging  and  stepped  into  the  school.  

  All  the  rest  of  the  kids  were  laughing  and  talking  to  each  other  as  they  prepared  for  

another  school  day  they  were  sure  would  be  unexciting.  Drake  walked  past  most  of  them  

and  stopped  next  to  a  scrawny  kid  who  was  smiling  confidently  like  he  always  did.  

  “Hey,  Drake!”  the  boy  exclaimed.  

  “Hey  Ross,”  Drake  answered,  noticeably  less  excited,  “it’s  raining.”  

“Ugh!”  Ross  whined,  “Is  it  gonna  rain  long?  Soccer  tryouts  are  today,  and  I’ve  been  

getting  all  ready  and  excited  for  it!”  

“Aren’t  you  excited  about  everything?”  Drake  diverted  sarcastically,  not  wanting  to  

answer  his  question.  He  hated  talking  about  his  “gift.”  It  made  him  stand  out,  and  he  

preferred  to  remain  unnoticed.  

Ross,  catching  on,  whispered,  “One  of  these  days  the  whole  world’s  going  to  find  out  

you  know  the  future,  and  you’ll  be  swarmed  by  people  wanting  you  to  tell  their  fortune.  I  

figure  you  might  as  well  get  it  over  with  now.”  

“I  can’t  see  the  future!”  Drake  yelled,  then  cringed  and  looked  around.  Most  of  the  

kids  had  already  gone  in  to  class,  but  one  girl  stared  open-­‐eyed  at  him,  and  he  whispered  to  

Ross,  “I  only  see  useless  things  in  the  future…..usually.”  

  “Usually?”  Ross  asked  right  as  the  bell  rang  out  for  class  to  begin  for  the  day.  

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  “Ask  me  after  school,”  Drake  fled  to  class  and  arrived  just  as  Mr.  Walker  was  

closing  the  door.  

“Detention,  Mr.  Saulus,”  Mr.  Walker  glared  as  Drake  took  his  seat,  sinking  into  it  

miserably.  Most  of  the  kids  ignored  him,  but  Joey  Avarel  (who  everyone  called  Adderall  

because  of  his  ADHD)  grinned  maliciously  at  Drake  and  punched  his  palm,  indicating  that  

Drake  would  not  be  having  a  boring  time  in  detention  that  day.  

The  school  day  ended  up  being  mostly  uneventful.  The  rain  hadn’t  let  up,  which  

Drake  had,  of  course,  known.  Resigned  to  his  fate,  Drake  crept  surreptitiously  into  

detention  after  school.  He  was  the  first  one  there,  even  arriving  before  the  detention  

supervisor,  Ms.  Bailey.  Drake  removed  his  math  book  and  pencil  from  his  backpack  and  

began  working  on  his  homework  for  the  day.    

Drake’s  pencil  blinked  and  yawned  as  if  just  awaking  from  a  long  nap,  and  blurted,  

“Detention,  huh?  What  would  your  father  think?”  

Drake—unsurprised  by  the  sentient  pencil—retorted,  “Please  don’t  talk  to  me  at  

school;  people  always  think  I’m  crazy  when  I  talk  to  inanimate  objects.”  

“You  know,  I’m  not  really  inanimate,”  the  pencil  whimpered  sadly,  offended.  

“Of  course  I  know  that,  but  no  one  else  can  hear  you,  so  I  just  look  crazy.  So  shut  up  

while  I  do  my  homework,”  Drake  responded,  assuming  the  argument  finished.  They  had  

this  discussion  often,  and  Drake  always  felt  guilty  afterward,  but  he  really  didn’t  need  any  

more  attention  than  he  already  got.  The  majority  of  the  students  believed  that  Drake  was  

insane,  and  more  than  one  rumor  was  circulating  about  Drake  having  escaped  from  a  

mental  institution.  All  of  these  rumors  originated  from  Drake’s  infrequent  conversations  

with  his  pencil,  or  his  iPod,  or  on  one  occasion,  his  ice  cream  sundae.  He  had  a  horrible  time  

explaining  that  his  guardian  angel  liked  to  pop  in  on  him  at  random.  

  Unfortunately,  Joey  Avarel  walked  into  the  classroom  right  as  Drake  concluded  his  

conversation  with  the  pencil.    

  “I  see  your  imaginary  friend  is  back,”  Avarel  bellowed.    

Joey  and  Drake  were  both  in  7th  grade,  but  Joey  looked  about  20  years  old.  He’d  been  

held  back  a  couple  years,  so  he  was  a  lot  stronger  than  the  majority  of  the  kids  in  his  

classes.  He  was  also  well-­‐known  to  be  the  meanest  kid  in  school,  and  he  never  bathed,  so  a  

cloud  of  stench  followed  him  around  wherever  he  went.  Joey  had  gotten  a  slushie  from  the  

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concession  stand  that  was  setup  for  the  volleyball  game  that  afternoon,  and  he  suddenly  

got  an  evil  look  in  his  eyes  as  he  passed  by  Drake’s  desk.    

With  a  look  of  horror,  Drake  looked  up  just  in  time  to  watch  the  slushie  be  poured  all  

over  his  face,  sliding  down  his  body  and  soaking  his  clothes.    

Now…most  kids  would  be  concerned  about  the  sticky  mess  and  freezing  cold  liquid  

rushing  down  them,  but  Drake  was  not  most  kids…  

Realizing  the  danger,  he  jumped  from  his  seat  as  Joey  was  leaning  over  to  pour  the  

slushie  and  raced  for  the  door.  He  almost  made  it  out  the  door  when  Ms.  Bailey  grandly  

entered  the  room  holding  a  poor  girl  by  the  ear.    

  “Be  seated!”  Ms.  Bailey  barked  as  she  caught  Drake  trying  to  escape.  “I’m  sorry  for  

my  tardiness,  miscreants,  but  I  caught  this  hooligan  girl—Trina  I  think  her  name  is—trying  

to  hide  in  the  janitor’s  closet.  When  will  you  hoodlums  learn  to  use  less  obvious  hiding  

places?!”  

  Drake  staunched  a  witty  remark  and  walked  backwards  to  his  seat,  careful  not  to  

allow  Joey  Avarel  the  enjoyment  of  seeing  Drake’s  horrified  expression.  Ms.  Bailey  was  the  

craziest  teacher  in  school,  and  not  in  the  talking-­‐to-­‐pencils  way  that  Drake  was  crazy.  She  

simply  had  very  firmly-­‐held  beliefs  about  how  students  should  behave.  Ms.  Bailey  shared  

these  beliefs  with  everyone  who  would  listen  how  she  wished  she  was  still  allowed  to  slap  

students  on  the  hands  (or  heads)  with  rulers  when  they  weren’t  obeying  orders.  She  was  

rumored  to  have  stored  away  every  student’s  cell  phone  ever  used  in  her  class  inside  a  

secret  drawer  in  the  desk  in  her  office.  

  However,  the  first  thing  Ms.  Bailey  noticed  after  she  finished  her  sentence  was  that  

Joey  had  just  poured  his  slushie  all  over  the  detention  room  floor.  Fortunately,  Drake  had  

avoided  being  the  victim  of  a  freezing  mishap—thanks  to  his  prescient  gift.  This  did  not  

prevent  Ms.  Bailey  from  becoming  furious,  however.  

“What….In…..Samuel’s……Seven…..Bones…..”  Ms.  Bailey  clipped  each  word  clenching  her  

teeth  all  the  while,  “Just….happened?”  Ms.  Bailey  got  like  this  sometimes,  and  it  was  best  to  

either  run  away  or  take  cover  under  a  desk  when  it  did.  However,  we  were  all  stuck  in  

detention—the  punishment  for  missing  detention  was  a  week  of  scrubbing  toilets—so  

none  of  us  could  flee.  Ms.  Bailey  was  turning  redder  with  each  word—causing  me  to  fear  

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that  she  might  explode.  If  only  he’d  known  at  the  time  that  spontaneous  combustion  

doesn’t  occur  because  of  anger.    

  What  did  happen  was  most  definitely  worse.  Joey  Adderall  suddenly  burst  into  flames  

from  head  to  toe.  His  clothes,  his  hair,  even  his  now-­‐empty  slushie  cup  writhed  with  

conflagrations  of  flames.  The  heat  was  so  strong  that  Drake  had  to  shy  away.  

Awaking  from  the  prophetic  vision,  Drake  took  charge,  pushing  Joey  to  the  side.  

Instead  of  Joey  catching  fire,  Drake  instead  began  to  well  with  a  burning  pain  stronger  than  

he’d  ever  felt  in  his  life.  It  was  so  agonizing  that  he  collapsed  to  the  floor.  Flames  began  to  

surround  his  body,  and  he  caught  sight  of  Ms.  Bailey  in  a  trance,  any  semblance  of  humanity  

gone  from  her  face  as  she  glared  straight  at  Drake.  The  pencil  that  he’d  forgotten  was  still  in  

his  hand  came  to  life,  growing  and  growing  until  it  reached  nearly  two  meters  in  height.  

The  moment  it  stopped  growing,  it  began  to  change  forms.  Where  before  had  hovered  a  

giant  pencil,  now  soared  a  man  that  shone  with  a  blinding  light.  The  transformation  had  

taken  only  a  moment,  but  it  was  a  long  agonizing  moment,  suffering  from  the  heat  of  the  

fire.    

  The  angel,  who  was  called  by  the  onerous  name  of  Rekinowioya,  glanced  back,  

closed  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  the  flames  surrounding  Drake  diminished  to  smoke.  

Swooping  forward,  eyes  burning  with  a  fire  of  their  own,  the  guardian  angel  boomed,  “A  

nephila?  Here?!”    

  Ms.  Bailey  stumbled  backward  and  smirked,  almost  convincingly.  “You  never  would  

have  guessed  it,  would  you?”  The  fallen  one  purred,  “You  angels  get  so  cute  when  you’re  

flummoxed.”  

  Drake,  recovering  amazingly  fast  from  his  injuries,  jumped  to  his  feet.  “I’ve  got  this,  

Rekin,  step  back,”  Drake  commanded.  “In  the  name  of  Jesus…”  Drake  recited  as  he  plunged  

his  fist  into  the  heart  of  the  faux-­‐teacher.  

  “Drake,  what  are  you  doing?”  Rekinowioya  shouted  as  Drake  stood  there,  elbow  

deep  in  Ms.  Bailey’s  heart,  “She’s  not  possessed!”  

  Now,  this  was  not  Drake’s  first  time  removing  a  demon  from  someone.  In  fact,  there  

had  been  no  less  than  6  previous  instances  where  he’d  had  the  misfortunate  duty  of  

exorcising  evil  from  his  friends,  relatives,  or  the  occasional  garbage  man.  In  each  of  these  

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previous  cases,  he  had  called  upon  God’s  son,  grabbed  the  darkness  inside  of  the  person,  

and  shoved  it  from  their  bodies.  

  This  time,  however,  he  felt  no  demon  when  he  reached  in.  What  he  felt  inside  was  

like  a  torrent  of  darkness,  twisting  and  thrashing  inside  of  Ms.  Bailey.  No  matter  how  hard  

he  tried,  he  could  not  grab  a  hold  of  it.  

  “She  isn’t  possessed  by  evil,  Drake,  because  she  IS  evil—pure  evil.  If  you  try  much  

longer,  it’ll  consume  you,”  the  angel  pleaded,  “Just  let  go.”  Drake  quickly  attempted  to  push  

away  from  Ms.  Bailey,  but  she  latched  on  to  his  arm,  refusing  to  release  him  so  easily.  

  “It’s  a  good  day  to  join  our  side,”  Ms.  Bailey  cackled,  “Darkness  has  scored  a  major  

victory  today!”  Tentacles  the  color  of  pitch  began  oozing  from  Ms.  Bailey,  threatening  to  

swallow  Drake.  The  appendages  entwined  around  Drake’s  neck,  cutting  off  his  oxygen.  

After  a  moment,  all  he  could  see  was  blackness.    

  Suddenly,  a  swoosh  of  the  air,  a  clang  of  something  metal  hitting  rock,  and  the  thud  

of  a  body  resounded  in  Drake’s  ears.  His  eyes  came  back  into  focus,  and  he  saw  

Rekinowioya  hovering  next  to  Ms.  Bailey’s  now  disembodied  head,  which  rolled  along  the  

ground.  Brandishing  a  bright  blue  sword,  the  angel  sighed,  “This  is  unfortunate.”  

“What  is?”  Drake  asked  rhetorically.  “That  we  have  to  explain  why  Ms.  Bailey’s  body  

and  head  are  lying,  separate,  on  the  floor?  Or  that  poor  Trina  and  not-­‐so-­‐poor  Joey  will  

probably  be  scarred  for  life  having  seen  what  you  just  did?”  He  indicated  the  forgotten  girl  

and  Joey,  cowering  in  the  corner  behind  the  teacher’s  desk.  

The  angel—whom  Drake  called  “Rekin”  to  save  his  precious  brain—thought  for  a  

moment.  “I  hadn’t  thought  of  either  of  those  things,”  he  said  at  last.  Hovering  over  to  the  

body,  he  reached  down.  Muttering  a  few  words  in  Enochian,  the  lost  Angelic  language,  he  

touched  each  part  of  the  corpse  on  the  floor.  A  bright  light  flashed  in  the  air,  and  the  body,  

the  head,  and  the  blood  vanished  into  dust.  Next,  Rekin  soared  over  to  Trina  and  Joey,  

whispered  something  in  their  ears,  and  both  kids  fled  from  the  room.  “They  shouldn’t  have  

any  problems,”  Rekin  stated  confidently,  “They’ll  forget  everything  they’ve  seen  in  moment.  

Anyway,  what  I  was  saying  was…this  is  unfortunate.”  

“What  is!?”  Drake  moaned  impatiently.  He  did  so  loathe  the  vague  way  angels  talked.  

“Don’t  get  all  huffy,”  Rekin  replied,  “I’m  getting  to  that.  It’s  just  unfortunate  about  

your  clothes,  is  all.”  

  38  

“My  clothes?”  Drake  looked  down.  “Ugh!  I  didn’t  avoid  the  slushie  after  all!”  

Narrowly  avoiding  Joey’s  slushie  on  his  face,  Drake  had  landed  right  on  top  of  it  as  he  was  

fending  off  the  demon,  or  whatever  that  evil  thing  had  been.  “Rekin,  what  was  that  thing?”  

“I  wish  you  wouldn’t  call  me  that,”  said  the  proud  guardian  angel,  “It  makes  me  

sound  like  a  hillbilly.  ‘Well,  I  done  reckon  our  truck  be  dingbusted,  cause  it  gone  run  out  of  

gas’.”    

It  amused  Drake  immensely  whenever  Rekin  mimicked  an  accent.  It  was  always  

spot-­‐on:  so-­‐much-­‐so  that  he  wondered  if  the  angel  had  stolen  the  voices  off  of  a  southern  

demon  or  two.  This  time,  though,  Drake  wasn’t  in  the  mood.  “Rekin…”  He  growled.  

“This  is  probably  something  your  supervisor  should  tell  you,”  the  angel  diverted.  

“The  entirety  of  the  spiritual  battle  is  a  lot  more  complex  than  you  can,  or  should,  handle.  

You  know  I’m  not  allowed  to  tell  you  more  than  you  need  to  know.”  

“Well,  I  think  I  need  to  know  what  just  tried  to  kill  me!”  Drake  retorted  irritably.  

“And  you  soon  will,”  Rekin  responded  calmly,  not  taking  the  bait,  “Assuming  Hughes  

decides  you  need  to  know.”  

Sighing  despairingly,  Drake  angrily  shoved  open  a  nearby  window,  letting  in  the  

booming  noise  of  the  thunderstorm  outside.  He  shrugged  off  his  coat,  revealing  the  

voluminous  wings  that  had  been  hidden  underneath.  “You  can  fly  home  yourself  then,”  

Drake  grunted  as  he  tested  the  wind  on  the  5th  story  of  the  school.  Taking  a  look  around  to  

make  sure  no  one  could  see,  he  leapt  headfirst  out  the  window  and  soared  away  into  the  

storm.    

  39  

Part  II  

As  Drake  flew,  he  hardly  noticed  the  flashes  of  lightning  and  crashing  thunder  

enveloping  him.  He  didn’t  notice  the  swooping,  diving  birds,  flapping  maniacally  trying  to  

avoid  the  storm.  He  didn’t  even  notice  the  airplane  that  missed  him  by  only  a  few  meters.  

He  didn’t  notice  these  things,  because  he  was  lost  in  his  thoughts.    

Drake  thought  back  to  the  previous  year  when  he  had  become  a  Christian.  When  

people  chose  to  follow  Christ,  they  were  granted  certain  gifts.  Some  had  the  gift  of  speaking  

any  language  without  studying  it,  while  others,  like  Drake,  could  cast  out  demons.  All  

Christians  were  granted  wings,  but  Drake  was  one  of  the  few  Christians  to  be  granted  a  

third  gift:  seeing  the  future.  His  gift  was  often  considered  to  be  the  most  powerful  of  the  

spiritual  gifts.  However,  this  gift  had  limits.  His  power  could  not  directly  show  him  

anything  evil.  No  matter  how  many  visions  he  had,  they  would  never  show  him  the  faces  or  

strategies  of  demons  or  people  who  had  given  themselves  over  completely  to  sin.  Even  the  

vision  he’d  had  of  Joey  in  flames  had  only  shown  him  the  after-­‐effects  of  Ms.  Bailey’s  

sorcery.  He  wouldn’t  have  known,  except  by  logical  problem-­‐solving,  that  Ms.  Bailey  was  

the  one  to  blame  for  Joey’s  conflagration.  It  always  amazed  Drake  that  he  could  see  Joey  in  

visions,  which  indicated  that  the  bully  couldn’t  be  all  bad.  

  Mainly,  as  he  flew,  Drake  pondered  the  question  he’d  asked  himself  dozens  of  times  

in  the  past  year:  Is  it  worth  it?  Was  it  worth  it  for  Drake  to  have  to  constantly  battle  evil  and  

to  be  plagued  by  these  visions—which  tended  to  be  bleak  and  dismal—engaging  his  

thoughts  during  every  waking  (and  often  sleeping)  moment  of  the  day?  Every  time  his  

mind  turned  to  these  dark  thoughts,  however,  he  remembered  what  he  was  before.  Before  

he’d  become  a  Christian,  every  waking  thought  had  instead  been  self-­‐doubt,  or  greed,  or  

loathing.  Every  good  thing  had  been  darkened  by  the  touch  of  sin  and  pleasure-­‐seeking.  He  

had  done  things  for  which  he  deserved  to  die,  but  Christ  had  brought  him  up  out  of  that  to  

give  him  hope.  Just  as  importantly,  Christ  had  given  Drake  a  purpose.  His  purpose  was  no  

longer  to  live,  make  money,  then  die.  His  purpose  was  as  great  as  any  man  in  the  world.  

Drake’s  purpose  was  to  save.  He  would  save  lives  from  evil.  He  would  save  souls  from  

eternal  darkness.  He  would  save  people  from  that  same  hopeless  darkness  he  himself  had  

once  been  lost  in.    

  40  

  As  he  resolved  again  that  all  his  efforts  were  worthwhile,  he  saw  what  he  had  hoped  

he  would  see.  In  his  mind  flashed  the  inevitable  meeting  with  the  elders  that  was  to  come…  

Drake  drummed  out  a  rhythmic  series  of  knocks  that  echoed  on  the  doors  of  a  nondescript  

building.  After  a  few  seconds,  a  small,  thin,  old  woman  opened  the  door  cautiously.  She  was  

clad  in  an  odd  green  robe  accompanied  by  an  even  stranger  hat.  Despite  her  timeworn  face  

and  stooping  shoulders,  her  eyes  twinkled  with  hidden  wisdom  and  more  than  a  little  

kindness.  

  “If  you  become  wise,”  Sister  Faith  muttered  cautiously,  opening  the  door  only  a  slight  

amount.  

  Drake  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  answered,  “Your  wisdom  will  reward  you.”  

  “If  you  scorn  wisdom,”  the  elderly  woman  tested  once  more.  

  “You  will  be  the  one  to  suffer,”  Drake  countered  again.  “Jesus  is  Lord.”  

  “Jesus  is  Lord,”  Faith  smiled  faintly,  satisfied.  “I’m  sorry  for  the  added  security,  but  

there  are  Nephilim  about!”    

  “I  know!  But  what  is  a  Neph…”  

  “Now,  now,  there’ll  be  time  for  that  later,”  the  sister  interrupted,  “Come  in  out  of  this  

rain,  young  one.”  

Remembering  the  rain  that  was  drenching  him  and  his  wings,  Drake  nodded  thankfully  

and  hurried  into  the  foyer  of  the  building.  Inside  the  building,  a  transformation  occurred.  

Where  the  outside  of  the  building  had  a  grayish  pallor,  blending  in  with  the  building  

surrounding  it,  the  inside  of  the  building  exploded  with  light  and  color.  The  walls  radiated  joy,  

love,  and  hope,  not  just  from  the  bright  colors,  but  also  at  a  deeper,  spiritual  level.  Drake  

immediately  felt  at  peace  whenever  he  entered  those  doors.    

Mesmerized  by  the  peace  around  him,  Drake  was  startled  when  Sister  Faith  suddenly  

spoke,  “As  I  was  saying,  I’m  sorry  for  interrogating  you  at  the  door,  but  there  have  been  evil  

ones  about.  Not  only  that,  but  you  were  wearing  entirely  the  wrong  attire  to  come  here.”  

Glancing  down  at  his  clothes,  Drake  realized  he’d  forgotten  to  dress  for  meeting  before  

the  elder—often  called  “The  Supervisor”—because  he  supervised  all  the  Christian  children  in  

the  area.  He  was  a  very  important  leader  in  the  Way  War  that  was  currently  waging.  Sister  

Faith,  the  matron,  had  very  strict  guidelines  for  how  others  showed  their  respect  for  their  

  41  

elders.  One  of  the  requirements  was  that  the  children  say  “Yes,  sir”  or  “Of  course,  ma’am”  

every  time  they  were  addressed.  Another  requirement  was  that  they  dress  formally  in  the  

manner  of  the  elder’s  home  country,  Turkey.  

“I’m  sorry,  ma’am,  I  didn’t  have  time  to  fly  home  and  change  before  coming  here.  It’s  

fairly  urgent.  My  school  was  attacked  today  by  a  Nephila—at  least  that’s  what  Rekin  called  

it,”  Drake  paused.  “Where  is  Rekin?”  

“I’m  right  here,”  Rekin’s  muffled  voice  answered  him,  emanating  from  Drake’s  pocket.  

Drake  glanced  in  his  pocket  and  saw  that  the  angel  was  currently  disguising  himself  as  a  

golden  pocket  watch.    

“Well  then  I’d  say  it  was  time  to  meet  the  Matron,”  Drake  affirmed.  

“Hold  on  just  a  moment,”  the  matron  interjected,  “you  need  to  look  proper  before  you  

address  the  Supervisor.  Here,  you  can  wear  my  spare  robe.”  The  elder  walked  them  over  to  a  

nearby  room  and  retrieved  a  dark  green  wool  robe  that  was  hand-­‐made  by  brothers  and  

sisters  in  Istanbul.  Along  with  the  robe,  she  held  out  a  green  hat,  identical  to  the  one  on  the  

sister’s  own  head.  It  was  circular  around  the  base,  and  it  was  topped  by  a  small  green  ball.  

Drake  swiftly  pulled  the  robe  around  his  soaking  clothes  and  stuffed  his  wings  in  as  

well.  The  best  thing  about  the  robe  was  their  ability  to  completely  conceal  his  wings.  The  robe  

somehow  absorbed  the  wings  into  the  material,  so  that  they  could  not  be  seen  by  others.  Of  

course,  having  wings  and  walking  around  the  city  in  a  robe  were  about  equally  odd,  so  Drake  

generally  just  wore  bulky  clothing  that  covered  up  the  bulge  that  his  wings  created  on  his  

back.  

Drake  was  especially  grateful  for  the  hat,  however,  as  it  temporarily  stopped  his  

visions.  Although  sometimes  useful,  it  was  extremely  distracting  to  constantly  see  two  images  

in  your  mind:  the  image  of  the  present  and  the  image  of  the  near  future.    

As  Drake  donned  the  hat,  it  echoed  a  reminder  in  his  mind  as  the  visions  faded,  “Every  

man  who  prays  or  prophesies  with  his  head  covered  dishonors  his  head.”  No  worries,  Drake  

thought,  I’m  grateful  for  the  temporary  relief.  

 The  hats  had  many  interesting  features,  one  of  them  being  that  they  held  a  short-­‐

range  communication  system  installed  in  them.  There  was  also  a  short-­‐range  GPS  inside  them  

that  would  give  directions  to  a  short  list  of  locations,  such  as  Christian  safe-­‐houses  and  

churches  in  the  area.    

  42  

The  next  moment,  another  sound  reverberated  from  the  hat.  “Matron,  this  is  the  

Supervisor.  I’m  sure  you  can  hear  me,  because  you  always  do  such  a  wonderful  job  keeping  the  

rules.  Please  send  a  messenger  angel  to  the  prophet  Drake.  I  need  to  see  him  urgently.”  

“No  need,  sir,”  Faith  responded  wryly.  “He’s  already  here.”  

“Oh!  Of  course  he  would  have  known  we’d  need  him!  He’s  such  a  responsible  young  

man.  Well,  send  him  to  me,  post  haste!  Well  done,  Faith!”  the  hat  blared.  “No  need  to  make  

him  change  if  he’s  not  dressed  for  a  meeting.”  

“Oh,  he’s  dressed  appropriately,  sir.  He’s  on  his  way,”  the  matron  responded  to  the  hat.  

To  Drake  she  said,  “Go  boy,  go!  Why  are  you  waiting  around?”  

Drake  quickly  ran  toward  the  grand  hall  in  the  center  of  the  deceptively  large  building.  

As  he  ran,  he  remembered  that  Rekin  was  still  in  his  pocket.  “Rekin?  Do  you  want  to  take  a  

place  with  a  view?”  

The  guardian  angel  responded  by  instantly  transforming  into  a  golden  cross  on  a  

chain,  which  wrapped  itself  around  Drake’s  neck.  

Drake  ran  for  about  5  minutes  before  arriving  at  the  double  doors  that  led  into  the  

elders’  planning  room.  As  Drake  swung  open  the  door,  he  took  in  the  grand  hall  with  its  high  

ceilings  and  soaring  buttresses,  surrounding  an  enormous  table  positioned  in  the  exact  center  

of  the  room.  

“Drake,  lad!”  the  Supervisor  called  from  the  front  of  the  hall.  He  was  the  only  elder  

currently  in  the  room.    

The  Supervisor,  whose  real  name  was  Mason  Thompson,  had  the  amazing  power  of  

encouragement.  His  gift  allowed  him  to  strengthen  the  powers  of  other  Christians  around  him.  

This  usually  allowed  Drake  to  see  much  farther  into  the  future  than  otherwise  possible.    

The  Supervisor  was  tinkering  with  a  glass  crystal  on  the  ground.  He  seemed  to  forget  

Drake  for  a  moment  as  he  hit  the  crystal  across  the  palm  of  his  hand  a  couple  of  times.  Finally,  

the  beautiful  rock  whirred  and  hummed.  Nodding  happily,  the  elder  looked  up  and  met  

Drake’s  eyes.  

“Right  on  time,  young  prophet,”  the  Supervisor  chimed  joyfully,  standing  up.  The  elder  

was  also  wearing  the  formal  green  robe  and  cap.  “Drake,  I  need  to  show  you  something  

immediately.  However,  you  need  to  understand  something  first.”    

  43  

“As  you  know,  this  great  war—dubbed  the  Way  War—has  been  waging  for  decades,”  

the  older  man  continued.  “Both  sides  have  won  small  skirmishes,  but  neither  side  has  had  a  

complete  victory  since  2078,  when  the  war  began.  Lately,  our  side  has  been  headquartered  

here,  in  London,  despite  the  bulk  of  our  forces  being  located  in  Africa  and  the  Americas.  Do  

you  know  why  that  is,  Drake?”  

“Because  we  Brits  are  more  excellent  strategists?”  Drake  guessed  sarcastically.  

“Ahahaha!”  the  Supervisor  bellowed.  “You  have  quite  the  wit,  young  man.  But  no;  our  

side  is  headquartered  in  London,  because  the  false  prophet’s  base  is  on  the  mainland  of  

Europe.  It  moves  around—usually  between  Berlin,  Madrid,  and  Rome—but  we  have  to  stay  

strong  in  London,  or  it  will  be  taken.  If  England  falls  into  darkness,  then  likely  the  rest  of  the  

world  will  fall  with  it.  Current  news,  however,  indicates  that  the  dark  ones  have  moved  their  

base  of  operations  to  Paris  for  the  time  being.  Our  spies  had  infiltrated  their  highest  ranks,  but  

they  have  been  discovered  and  are  now  with  the  Father.    

Drake  gasped.  The  Way’s  spies  were  well-­‐known  to  be  the  best  in  the  world.  They  were  

granted  the  gift  of  stealth  by  the  Lord  himself.  “If  they  were  discovered…”  Drake  thought  out-­‐

loud.”  

“Then  some  evil  power  is  at  work,  yes,”  the  elder  replied.  “We  believe  that  the  dark  

Lord  has  gotten  his  hands  on  weapons  we  had  thought  lost  for  the  past  several  centuries;  

namely  the  seven  chairs  of  Tutankhamen.  These  seven  chairs  actually  belonged  to  

Tutankhamen’s  children  and  are  possibly  the  oldest  chairs  in  the  world.  It  is  said  that  anyone  

who  sits  in  one  will  be  granted  a  different  God-­‐like  power  while  sitting  on  the  chair.  The  last  

message  the  spies  sent  before  they  were  caught  was  that  the  chairs  had  been  found  by  the  evil  

ones  and  that  they  had  been  spread  between  all  the  Devil’s  different  bases  around  the  world.”  

“Are  you  going  to  tell  me  what  the  crystal’s  for?”  Drake  asked  impatiently.  

“Such  an  observant  boy!”  the  elder  answered.  “Yes  yes.  The  crystal  shows  the  only  

image  we  have  of  one  of  the  chairs.  It  was  taken  in  the  tenth  century  A.D.  The  last  person  we  

know  to  have  sat  in  one  of  the  chairs  was  Ealhswith,  who  interestingly  was  also  one  of  the  last  

winged  nuns.”  

“Interesting…”  Drake  muttered.  “I  didn’t  realize  there  could  be  Christian  Catholics.”  

“They’re  few  and  far  between,”  the  Supervisor  replied.  “But  the  Son  has  granted  that  

all  may  come  to  know  him.  As  I  was  saying,  this  crystal  has  been  passed  down  from  generation  

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to  generation  through  Ealhswith’s  descendants.”  Holding  

the  buzzing  crystal  in  his  hand  delicately,  the  elder  gently  

placed  it  on  the  floor.  He  hummed  a  series  of  notes  in  a  

mysterious  melody,  and  the  crystal  disappeared.  In  its  

place  hovered  a  nun.  She  was  elderly  and  weathered,  as  if  

she’d  lived  an  incredibly  hard  life.  Despite  the  rough  

features  of  the  nun,  however,  she  radiated  contentment  

and  hope.  Behind  the  nun’s  garb,  however,  Drake  couldn’t  

make  out  a  bulge.  “Why  can’t  I  see…?”  

“The  nun’s  habit  was  originally  designed  to  tuck  

away  a  Christian’s  wings,  much  as  these  robes  do  for  us  

today.”  The  elder  answered,  as  entranced  as  Drake  by  the  

image.  

Drake  then  noticed  the  chair  the  nun  was  perched  

atop.  It  was  beautifully  carved  with  ancient  Egyptian  hieroglyphs.  On  each  of  the  chairs  feet  

was  carved  the  paw  of  some  great  cat,  possibly  signifying  the  Egyptian  goddess  Bast.  

Suddenly  the  nun’s  image  spoke,  “Forhtian  Scieppend.”  

The  Supervisor  backed  away,  startled,  “It’s  never  done  this  before.  It  must  be  your  gift  

at  work,  prophet.”  

“þās  stōl  is  feorhbealu.    Hiere  giefu  is  āncenned  ealdorgedāl  ac  wracu,”  the  nun  

finished,  then  remained  silent.  

“But  I  don’t  even  understand  her,”  Drake  simpered.  “I  thought  she  was  from  England.  

Why  isn’t  she  speaking  English?”  

“She’s  speaking  English  as  it  was  spoken  over  a  thousand  years  ago,  young  man,”  the  

elder  explained.  “It  was  nothing  at  all  like  it  is  today.  What  she  said  was,  ‘Fear  the  creator.  

This  chair  is  deadly  evil.  Its  gift  is  only  death  and  pain.’  Though  why  she’s  sitting  in  it  if  it’s  

deadly  evil  is  beyond  me.”  

“Why  are  you  showing  me  this?”  Drake  asked.  “I  mean,  it’s  really  cool…don’t  get  me  

wrong;  but  what  does  it  have  to  do  with  me?”  

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“Why,  It  has  everything  to  do  with  you,  Brother  Drake!”  the  elder  exclaimed  excitedly.  

“We  had  thought  the  chairs  destroyed  when  the  Norman  French  conquered  London  in  1066.  

However,  if  our  information  from  our  infiltrators  is  accurate,  the  chairs  survived!  

“Still  not  seeing  how  this  involves  me,”  Drake  butted  in.  

“You’re  going  to  retrieve  those  chairs,”  the  elder  grinned  conspiratorially,  “with  the  

help  of  Rekin,  of  course.”  

“Of  course,  wise  one,”  Drake’s  necklace  announced.  

“But  how?”  Drake  questioned,  doubtful.  “I’m  only  12  years  old,  and  I’ve  only  had  my  

wings  for  a  year.  Why  can’t  you  send  someone  else?”  

“Because,  my  boy,  you  are  the  only  prophet  we  have  at  hand.  All  of  our  other  prophets  

are  busy  with  the  battlefront  between  Canada  and  the  U.S.,  so  we  need  you.”  

“Why  do  you  need  a  prophet,  though?”  Drake  asked.  

“Because  out  of  the  seven  chairs,  we  know  five  of  the  powers  that  they  grant  the  one  

seated  in  them.  The  first  chair,  which  you’re  looking  at  right  now,  allows  the  seated  person  to  

fly.  The  second  chair  gives  the  user  mastery  of  illness,  healing  any  malady.  The  third  chair  is  

not  fully  understood,  but  the  user  can  sift  out  lies.  The  fourth  chair  gives  the  ability  to  

command  animals.  We  don’t  know  what  the  sixth  and  seventh  chairs  do,  yet.  The  fifth  chair,  

however,  is  the  most  dangerous  to  us.”  

“More  dangerous  than  flying?”  Drake  enquired.  

“It  gives  the  user  the  ability  to  see  the  future,”  the  Supervisor  replied  disquietingly.  

Drake  nodded,  understanding  finally  what  was  at  stake.  If  the  dark  ones  had  the  ability  

to  see  the  future,  this  could  turn  the  war  to  their  side.  Good  had  always  held  the  advantage  of  

seeing  pieces  of  the  dark  ones’  strategy  and  thwarting  them  before  they  could  act.  However,  if  

the  dark  ones  knew  their  plans….well,  they  were  doomed.  

“Only  a  prophet  can  infiltrate  their  base  now  and  recover,  or  destroy,  these  chairs.  

You’ll  have  to  utilize  your  gift  to  its  fullest  potential  to  make  it  in  and  out  alive,”  the  elder  

stated,  his  voice  growing  despondent.  “We  know  the  location  of  only  one  of  the  chairs.  If  you  

agree  to  go,  I’ll  let  you  know  where  it  is.  It’s  too  dangerous  to  tell  more  people  than  need  to  

know.”  

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Drake  thought  a  moment.  This  decision  would  mean  he  might  not  (probably  wouldn’t)  

make  it  back  alive.  He  might  not  ever  see  his  parents  or  his  friends  again.  He  realized  he’d  

forgotten  to  meet  Ross  after  school  that  day,  and  he  hoped  Ross  would  forgive  him.  

“I’ll  do  it,”  Drake  announced,  making  up  his  mind.  “I’ll  do  whatever  the  Lord  asks  of  me.  

I  just  pray  that  he’ll  give  me  the  courage  and  wisdom  I  need  to  make  it  out  of  this  alive.”  

  “Surely  then  you  will  find  delight  in  the  Almighty  and  will  lift  up  your  face  to  God.  You  

will  pray  to  him,  and  he  will  hear  you,  and  you  will  fulfill  your  vows,”  the  elder  blessed  Drake.  

“You  will  go  on  this  mission  straight  away.  Don’t  even  come  here,  for  the  dark  ones  may  be  

listening  to  us  speaking  just  as  you  are.”  Then  whispering  in  Drake’s  ear,  the  kindly  old  man  

said  something  so  softly  Drake  could  barely  hear.  

Still  flying  to  the  Way’s  headquarters,  Drake  suddenly  shifted  his  direction,  flying  toward  

the  North  Sea.  The  vision’s  last  words  were  still  clear  in  his  mind:  

“The  fifth  one  ended  up  in  France.”  

 

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A Special Gift (The Third Floor Bedroom)  

Written by Charissa Ginn

 

It  all  began  when  someone  left  the  3rd  

floor  bedroom  window  open.  “Quickly,  quickly!”  

Max  excitedly  called  to  his  brothers  and  sisters.  

“Maybe  the  kitchen  window  is  also  open!”  He  

then  peered  around  the  edge  of  the  window  

screen  and  saw  that  he  could  easily  climb  onto  

the  mint  leaves,  carefully  go  down  the  stem,  hop  

onto  the  long  metal  spoon,  and  slide  down  to  

reach  the  kitchen  counter.  As  his  brother  and  

sister  gathered  around  the  window  screen,  Max  

took  a  deep  breath,  and  then  crawled  onto  the  

mint  leaves  using  his  brown  sturdy  legs.  He  

knew  that  he  needed  to  be  careful  while  climbing  down  the  stem  of  the  mint  plant,  because  

one  slip,  and  he  would  fall  onto  his  back  in  the  kitchen  sink.  The  last  time  that  happened,  it  

took  almost  13  minutes  for  his  younger  brother  to  come  and  hoist  him  back  on  his  6  feet!  

“Look!”  Max’s  younger  brother,  Wilbert,  said.  “There  are  a  few  pieces  of  eggplant  left  on  the  

counter.  Yum!  I  love  Ayi  food,  especially  when  it’s  mixed  with  basil!”  He  smiled  at  his  twin  

sister  Allie,  who  also  loved  to  eat  eggplant.  They  quickly  climbed  down  and  sat  on  the  mint  

leaf,  while  waiting  for  Max  to  finish  his  route  down  the  metal  spoon.    

 

The  Walloby  family  had  been  living  in  the  SMIC  Living  Quarters  for  only  1  week  and  

3  days.  In  that  time,  they  had  the  privilege  of  sitting  on  enormous  mushrooms  while  feeling  

the  vibration  of  beautiful  music.  They  also  frequently  enjoyed  resting  on  the  back  of  the  

guard’s  scooter  while  he  patrolled  around  at  night.  And  their  most  anticipated  activity  was  

hopping  into  different  apartments  and  using  their  special  gift  to  serve  other  humans  who  

were  in  need.  The  Walloby  family  excitedly  began  each  day  by  praising  their  Maker  for  

creating  them  and  giving  them  life.  They  knew  that  He  put  them  on  earth  for  a  special  

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reason,  even  if  they  were  not  always  liked  and  appreciated  by  others.  Unfortunately,  they  

lost  both  their  mother  and  father  on  the  second  and  third  day  of  moving  to  the  Living  

Quarters.  Their  mother  was  relaxing  in  an  almost  empty  cup  of  a  delicious  blueberry  and  

coconut  milk  smoothie,  when  the  owner  of  the  house  woke  up  and  discovered  her.  The  

lady,  who  had  red  hair  and  was  wearing  a  Mickey  Mouse  t-­‐shirt,  quickly  (and  calmly)  

disposed  of  her  without  giving  her  the  chance  to  defend  herself.  Their  father  was  found  

while  running  from  underneath  a  refrigerator  towards  the  sink.  He  was  simply  trying  to  

carry  back  some  food  for  his  three  kids,  but  a  crazy  lady  with  black  hair  screamed,  hopped  

back  and  forth  on  alternating  feet,  grabbed  a  clear  plastic  cup,  and  slammed  it  down  around  

their  father.  Max,  Wilbert,  and  Allie  looked  down  in  horror  as  their  father  shouted  his  last  

words  of  love  and  affirmation  to  the  kids.  “Don’t  forget  to  use  your  special  gift!  Use  it  to  

point  people’s  eyes  to  the  Maker!”  he  said  to  them  in  desperation.    

 

  “Finally!  Monday  is  over!”  The  three  Walloby  kids  shuffled  behind  the  water  

container  and  watched  as  a  lady  came  home,  dropped  off  a  few  plastic  containers  in  the  

sink,  and  threw  her  mustard  yellow  purse  on  the  dining  table.  As  she  went  into  the  

bathroom,  the  three  Walloby  kids  looked  at  each  other.  “Isn’t  that…”  Allie  looked  over  at  

Wilbert  in  surprise.  “Elizabeth,”  Wilbert  finished  her  sentence  for  her.  They  knew  that  she  

was  the  one  who  often  made  chicken  broth  and  smoothies,  and  that  she  was  the  one  who  

ended  their  mother’s  life.    “We  need  to  get  out  of  here,  immediately!”  Wilbert  whispered  to  

Max  and  Allie.  He  wasn’t  ready  to  face  the  two  humans  who  ended  the  lives  of  his  parents.  

Suddenly,  they  heard  the  front  door  open  and  slam.  “Achoo!!  Achoo!!”  They  carefully  

observed  as  another  lady  came  in,  sneezed  for  the  third  time  in  a  row,  and  hung  her  blue  

and  red  lanyards  on  a  small  hook  near  the  door.  She  headed  to  her  room  and  honked  her  

nose  loudly,  then  came  out  wearing  basketball  shorts  and  a  t-­‐shirt.  “Hi  roomie!  How  was  

your  day?”  Elizabeth  asked.  She  was  already  relaxing  on  the  sofa  while  reading  on  her  iPad.  

The  “roomie,”  whose  name  turned  out  to  be  Charissa,  quickly  shared  about  her  day,  talking  

about  how  her  students  were  crazy,  as  usual,  and  that  her  allergies  were  extremely  bad.  

“How  about  you?”  she  tiredly  asked  Elizabeth.  The  redhead  sighed  and  told  Charissa  that  

she  had  a  long  day  after  little  sleep  and  relentless  stomach  problems  throughout  the  entire  

day.  Charissa  didn’t  know  how  to  respond,  but  simply  said,  “I’m  so  sorry.  Can  I  get  you  

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anything  to  eat?”  Elizabeth  shook  her  head  sadly  and  told  her  that  she  would  be  fine,  and  

Charissa  returned  to  her  recently  cleaned  room  to  relax  and  read  a  book.    

 

  Max  looked  over  at  Wilbert  and  Allie,  and  saw  that  their  faces  were  turning  yellow  

in  anger  and  bitterness.  His  antennae  twitched  as  he  told  them  calmly  and  confidently,  “I  

think  we  know  why  we’re  here.”  Wilbert  and  Allie  looked  down  at  their  front  legs  and  

sighed.  Why  was  it  always  hard  to  do  the  Maker’s  will?  Especially  when  it  meant  helping  

people  who  never  noticed  their  help?    “I  know  what  you’re  thinking,”  Max  told  them  quietly.  

“You’re  wondering  why  we  even  bother  helping  others,  when  we  never  get  credit.”  Wilbert  

and  Allie  glanced  at  each  other,  and  stubbornly  refused  to  look  up  at  their  older  brother.  

“Don’t  you  remember  the  last  words  that  Daddy  told  us?  He  told  us  that  we  need  to  use  our  

gifts  to  point  the  humans’  eyes  to  the  Maker.  It’s  not  about  us  being  recognized,  or  even  

surviving.  It’s  about  helping  others  remember  that  our  Maker  has  the  power  to  do  anything  

and  is  always  in  control,”  Max  reminded  his  younger  brother  and  sister.  He  firmly  said,  “We  

start  our  work  tonight.  Please  prepare  yourselves.”    

 

  Later  that  night,  Charissa  and  Elizabeth  spent  some  time  together  praying.  They  

whole-­‐heartedly  lifted  up  requests  to  their  Maker  about  their  co-­‐workers,  students,  and  

each  other.  Though  they  were  tired  and  felt  helpless  about  many  situations,  they  praised  

their  Maker  for  giving  them  more  than  they  deserved.  They  praised  their  Maker  for  

constantly  extending  grace  to  them,  despite  the  bad  decisions  that  they  made  and  constant  

temptation  to  love  the  world  more  than  Him.  They  praised  their  Maker  for  being  the  perfect  

example  of  love  and  for  sacrificing  his  very  own  Son  to  live  on  an  unclean  Earth.  And  they  

earnestly  prayed  for  the  physical  struggles  that  they  had  –  Elizabeth’s  insomnia  and  

stomach  problems  and  Charissa’s  allergies  and  hives.  After  hugging  and  saying  goodnight,  

they  returned  to  their  rooms  to  prepare  to  sleep.    

 

  A  few  hours  later,  Max  carefully  crawled  into  Charissa’s  bedroom.  There  was  a  little  

crack  in  between  the  door  and  doorframe.  He  quickly  made  his  way  to  her  bed  and  crawled  

up  onto  her  right  cheek.  He  carefully  stepped  on  her  face  pressure  points  while  humming  to  

himself  a  praise  song  to  his  Maker.  After  finishing  up,  he  headed  over  to  her  nose  and  

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followed  the  special  pattern  that  came  so  naturally  to  him.  Charissa  rolled  over  to  her  side  

and  rearranged  her  head  on  the  pillow,  causing  Max  to  slide  up  towards  her  forehead.  “I  

guess  I’ll  just  do  her  eye  area  as  well,”  he  thought  to  himself.  He  knew  that  she  also  had  

itchy  eyes,  especially  when  the  cherry  blossom  trees  were  blowing  in  the  wind,  and  

carefully  walked  around  each  eye.  When  he  was  finished,  he  walked  over  to  her  open  Bible  

and  uncapped  highlighter.  After  carefully  pressing  his  feet  onto  her  highlighter,  he  hopped  

over  to  Psalms  90  and  put  his  six  footprints  next  to  verse  14.  Psalm  90:14,  “Satisfy  us  in  the  

morning  with  your  steadfast  love,  that  we  may  rejoice  and  be  glad  all  our  days.”  “Don’t  forget  

to  always  rejoice  in  Christ!”  he  whispered  to  her  before  quietly  leaving  her  bedroom.    

 

  As  Max  was  busily  working  in  Charissa’s  bedroom,  Allie  and  Wilbert  quietly  walked  

into  Elizabeth’s  room.  She  had  just  fallen  asleep  after  tossing  and  turning  for  almost  2  

hours.  They  knew  that  they  needed  to  be  extra  careful  and  didn’t  want  to  wake  her  up  

again.  Allie  quickly  crawled  over  to  Elizabeth’s  stomach  and  gently  hopped  in  a  special  

pattern,  being  mindful  of  the  different  pressure  points.  She  wanted  to  do  an  excellent  job  so  

that  Elizabeth  would  never  have  to  return  to  the  acupuncture  or  take  any  medicine  or  

supplements  ever  again.  She  saw  a  small  scar  leftover  from  a  failed  attempt  at  using  

Chinese  traditional  medicine.  “Yikes!”  she  giggled  to  herself.  “I’m  glad  that  she’ll  never  have  

to  use  that  again!”  As  Allie  was  fully  concentrating  on  Elizabeth’s  stomach,  Wilbert  

thoroughly  walked  around  her  entire  bed,  including  the  blankets  at  the  end  and  her  fluffy  

pillows.  He  finished  one  round  and  saw  that  Allie  was  still  working  on  Elizabeth’s  stomach  

and  decided  to  make  one  more  round.  He  carefully  tried  to  remember  the  steps  that  his  

mom  taught  him  as  he  danced  up  and  down  and  left  to  right.  He  sincerely  hoped  that  she  

would  never  have  to  spend  another  night  tossing  and  turning  worrying  about  the  next  

day’s  problems,  or  trying  to  sleep  but  not  being  able  to  sleep.  When  they  were  finished,  

they  took  turns  rubbing  their  feet  on  her  favorite  Muji  pen.  Allie  chose  to  use  the  bright  

orange  color,  and  Wilbert  opted  for  the  dark  blue  color.  They  hopped  over  to  her  Bible  and  

saw  that  one  of  their  favorite  verses  was  already  highlighted.  They  put  their  six  footprints  

beside  the  verse  again,  hoping  to  remind  her  to  always  rest  in  the  Lord.    

 

 

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Psalm  91:  1-­‐2  

“He  who  dwells  in  the  shelter  of  the  Most  High  will  abide  in  the  shadow  of  the  Almighty.  I  will  

say  to  the  Lord,  ‘My  refuge  and  my  fortress,  my  God,  in  whom  I  trust.’”  

 

  The  next  morning,  Elizabeth  got  out  of  bed  and  stretched  her  arms.  What?!  Her  

stomach  wasn’t  hurting  at  all?  She  fell  back  into  bed  and  smiled,  thinking  about  the  

fabulous  night  of  rest  that  she  just  had.  She  couldn’t  wait  to  share  the  good  news  with  

Charissa,  during  their  6:30am  breakfast  time.  It  was  still  5am  and  she  had  plenty  of  time.  

Humming  a  joyful  song  to  herself,  she  went  about  her  morning  as  she  washed  the  dishes,  

made  a  blueberry  and  coconut  milk  smoothie,  packed  up  her  lunch,  went  for  her  morning  

walk,  bought  eggs  and  other  vegetables  from  the  wet  market,  took  a  shower,  dried  her  hair,  

sat  out  on  the  balcony  to  read  her  Bible  and  praise  the  Maker,  graded  a  class  set  of  papers,  

and  poached  three  eggs.  Finally,  Charissa  stumbled  out  of  her  bedroom  and  fell  onto  the  

couch  like  a  zombie.  Elizabeth  smiled  at  Charissa  and  excitedly  told  her  that  she  felt  

wonderful  for  the  first  time  in  a  long  time.  “That’s  amazing!”  Charissa  exclaimed.  Then,  she  

sat  up  abruptly.  “You  know  what?  My  sinuses  are  completely  clear  and  I  didn’t  even  take  

my  allergy  medicine  yesterday!  Praise  God!”  she  shared  with  Elizabeth,  in  awe  of  her  new  

observation.      

Charissa  hopped  up  and  and  ran  to  her  bedroom.  “I  wanted  to  share  this  verse  with  

you  after  I  read  it  last  night,”  she  said,  as  she  turned  her  Bible  to  Psalms  90:14.  As  she  ran  

her  finger  up  and  down  the  page,  her  eyebrows  furrowed  in  surprise.  “Hmm…  there  are  6  

little  lines  next  to  this  verse.  How  strange!  Did  you…  did  you  mark  it  for  me  already?”  she  

asked,  confused.  “I  was  just  about  to  ask  you  the  same  thing!”  Elizabeth  responded,  

pointing  at  her  own  Bible,  which  was  turned  to  Psalm  91.  “I  noticed  that  there  were  marks  

here  that  I  didn’t  make,  even  though  I  already  highlighted  this  verse.”  Charissa  fell  back  into  

the  white  fluffy  pillows  on  the  couch  and  laughed.  “Maybe  God  is  trying  to  remind  us  of  

something,”  she  happily  said.  “We  have  so  much  to  rejoice  in,  on  days  when  we’re  feeling  

great,  and  on  days  when  we’re  not  feeling  so  great!”  

Max,  Wilbert,  and  Allie  lifted  their  heads  sleepily  as  they  heard  the  two  roommates  

talking.  They  were  tired  after  a  long  night  of  work.  As  they  overheard  Charissa  make  her  

statement,  the  Walloby  family  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled.  She  couldn’t  have  been  

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closer  to  the  truth.  “And  maybe  our  Maker  is  trying  to  remind  us  of  something  as  well,”  

Wilbert  quietly  said  to  his  siblings.  Allie  looked  at  Max  and  said,  “He’s  right!  Our  goal  in  life  

is  to  magnify  the  Maker,  and  not  ourselves!”  “You’re  absolutely,  positively,  correct!”  Max  

responded,  content  that  they  all  learned  a  lesson  that  day.    

Psalm 9:1-2

“I will give thanks to the Lord with my whole heart;

I will recount all of your wonderful deeds.

I will be glad and exult in you;

I will sing praise to your name,

O Most High.”

-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐-­‐  

                                                     

  53  

Archie  Smith,  Boy  Wonder  A  tiny  voice  asked,  "Is  he  the  one?"  

                                                 

For  I  know  the  plans  I  have  for  you…  

 

Everything  had  been  planned  so  perfectly.  Little  boy  shoes,  little  boy  clothes,  and  little  boy  

toys.  The  Noah’s  Ark  themed  nursery  was  picturesque  as  the  last  touches  were  put  in  place.  

Any  day  now,  the  Smith’s  were  ready  for  the  arrival  of  their  firstborn.  The  only  thing  left  

was  choosing  the  name.  And  over  the  next  few  days  of  excited  discussions,  the  conclusion  

was  made:  Archibald  David  Smith.  Archibald  was  a  traditional  family  name,  after  Mrs.  

Smith’s  great-­‐grandfather  who  grew  up  in  England.  Wanting  to  stay  true  to  her  heritage,  

this  was  a  natural  first  name,  but  she  was  more  partial  to  David.  David:  beloved.  David:  

shepherd,  soldier  and  king.  David  gave  so  much  hope  for  the  future  in  just  the  name.  This  

too  was  perfect.    

 

  54  

In  just  a  few  short  days,  David  made  his  shining  debut.  And  just  like  the  nursery  and  his  

chosen  name,  he  too  was  perfect.  In  the  wee  hours  of  the  night,  Mrs.  Smith  couldn’t  sleep  

but  could  only  wonder  in  amazement  at  this  beautiful  baby  born  to  her.  What  would  he  be  

when  he  grows  up?  Is  he  the  one  who  will  teach  others?  Is  he  the  one  who  will  cure  

diseases?  Is  the  one  who  will  be  part  of  history?  Soon,  in  her  dreamy  thoughts,  she  had  

raised  a  handsome,  perfectly  mannered  doctor,  married  to  a  beautiful  supporting  wife  who  

gave  her  two  angels  for  grandchildren.    

 

…plans  to  prosper  you  and  not  to  harm  you…  

 

David  continued  to  grow  in  favor  of  his  family  and  friends  around  him.  The  Smiths  gave  

him  all  they  could  physically,  emotionally  and  spiritually.  David  was  naturally  good  in  math  

and  science,  giving  Mrs.  Smith  the  first  glimmers  of  hope  that  her  plans  for  him  to  be  Dr.  

David  Smith  might  just  be  a  reality.  David  had  a  heart  for  others,  too.  He  was  often  

advocating  for  all  kinds  of  causes  that  needed  money  to  be  raised  to  benefit  others.  When  

there  were  volunteer  opportunities,  he  was  often  taking  the  lead.    

 

As  the  Smiths  watched  David  grow,  they  too  grew  emotionally  and  spiritually.  David’s  love  

for  helping  others  was  infectious.  David’s  excitement  about  volunteering  at  the  homeless  

shelter  caused  Mrs.  Smith  to  find  herself  dishing  out  food  once  a  week  to  those  who  

couldn’t  tell  her  the  last  time  they  ate  a  meal.  Because  David  kept  needing  money  to  give  to  

the  inner  city  school  children,  she  quickly  had  to  teach  him  how  to  budget  and  write  

persuasive  letters.    

 

There  were  many  fears  as  she  began  to  watch  him  go  with  others  to  the  inner  city  slums  

and  hand  out  food  and  clothing.  Mrs.  Smith  knew  there  were  dangers  that  David  seemed  to  

turn  a  blind  eye  to.  He  was  so  bold,  yet  so  naïve.  So  courageous,  yet  so  young.    

 

…plans  to  give  you  hope  and  a  future.  

 

  55  

It  wasn’t  very  long  before  David  was  handing  out  more  than  what  meets  physical  needs.  At  

the  same  time  he  was  passing  out  bottled  waters,  he  was  talking  about  the  living  water.  

When  he  served  slices  of  bread,  he  was  speaking  about  the  bread  of  life.  In  his  own  new  

found  life,  he  wanted  more  than  anything  to  give  that  same  future  to  others.    

 

Mrs.  Smith  watched  this  transformation  and  she  knew  he  had  purpose.  She  knew  there  was  

something  more.  And  she  heard  a  voice  ask,  “Is  he  the  one  who  will  deliver  water  to  those  

who  have  none?  Is  he  the  one  who  will  teach  the  unreached  people?”    

 

She  remembered  her  dreams  for  him  to  teach  others  and  cure  diseases,  and  be  part  of  

history.  And  in  one  whirling  instant  she  realized  he  has  been  part  of  a  bigger  plan  from  the  

beginning.  All  this  time  spent  feeding  the  homeless,  raising  money,  and  talking  to  strangers  

was  grooming  him  for  a  bigger  audience.  With  many  emotions  swirling  inside  her  she  

answered,  “Yes,  he  is  the  one.”  

 

 

 

   

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It  was  a  perfect  lift-­‐off.  This  whole  story  is  just  for  fun,  but  as  with  any  interaction  where  real  reality  meets  fake  

reality,  it  will  be  more  fun  for  those  who  already  hold  certain  memories  (aka  Elizabeth).  If  you  so  desire,  and  if  she  so  desires  to  share,  you  may  find  the  story  behind  the  story  from  her.  Until  

then,  let  the  adventure  begin!       The  house  sat.  Thinking.  Slowly  taking  in  its  surroundings.  

  “I’m  near  a  tree,”  it  thought.  “Trees  are  good.  They  provide  shade.  They  make  people  

feel  more  natural,  more  protected.  I  wonder  if  the  birds  will  sing  to  me?”    

The  house  sighed.  Its  last  home  had  been  near  a  virtual  forest.  Birds  would  not  only  

sing  to  him,  but  felt  so  at  home  with  him  that  they  would  nestle  up  in  his  eaves  and  build  

their  own  houses  there—have  their  babies  there.  Ahhhh  the  chirp  chirp  of  little  babies.    

The  house  flushed  at  the  thought  of  its  little  bird  family,  then  shook  itself  back  into  

reality,  quickly  looking  around  to  see  if  anyone  noticed.  

A  stick  shifted  in  the  breeze.  

The  mailbox  lid  rattled.  

A  very  small  worm  hid  his  fear  in  a  hole.  

“I  must  stay  focused,”  thought  the  house.  

“There  is  a  mailbox  across  the  street”,  noticed  the  house.  “Good.  People  will  want  the  

convenience  of  not  having  to  walk  far  to  mail  their  letters.  Letters”,  thought  the  house,  “do  

people  write  letters  anymore?”    

He  looked  at  the  mailbox.  The  paint  faded.  Rust  appearing  at  some  of  the  seams.  She  

seemed  to  rock  uncomfortably  on  her  perch.  Tick.  Tock.  Tick.  Tock.  A  restless  tapping  that  

showed  she  knew  her  time  was  near.  Real  letters  were  a  thing  of  the  past,  replaced  with  

perfectly  serifed  letter-­‐forms  and  the  lightning-­‐fast  delivery  of  the  inter-­‐webs.  The  mailbox  

wondered  if  the  inter-­‐web  had  anything  to  do  with  the  spider  web  that  was  slowly  

expanding  between  her  legs.  She  wanted  so  badly  to  itch.    

The  house  looked  away.  Maybe  it  could  send  a  letter  through  the  mailbox.  The  house  

wanted  the  mailbox  to  be  happy.  The  house  was  caring  in  this  way.  

“Is  the  sidewalk  too  close?”  thought  the  house.  “I  don’t  want  to  appear  too  needy,  too  

aggressive,  too  eager.  Nobody  wants  that.”  It  shifted  a  few  feet  back,  plunging  some  grass  

into  eternal  darkness,  blinding  new  dirt  with  a  sudden  taste  of  sunlight.    

  57  

“That’s  better,”  thought  the  house.  People  are  funny.  Wanting  to  appear  neighborly  

and  friendly,  but  always  wanting  to  be  just  far  enough  back  that  the  actual  act  was  an  

inconvenience  and  thus  unlikely  for  them  to  be  bothered  with.    

A  few  morsels  of  newly-­‐born  dirt  danced  in  the  wind  in  agreement.  

“I  must  blend  in,”  thought  the  house,  “but  also  stand  out…they  need  to  know  that  it’s  

me.  But  I  must  not  be  found  out  at  the  wrong  time.”  

He  looked  around  at  the  other  houses.  Slightly  different  colors,  but  mostly  the  same.  

Light  blue  here,  grey-­‐blue  there,  white-­‐blue  a  little  further  away.  The  house  looked  at  its  

own  white  façade  with  blue-­‐grey  trim  highlights.  “I  feel  like  I  could  please  everyone  and  no  

one  at  the  same  time,”  he  muttered.  Humming  softly  to  himself  the  house  gave  a  shiver.  The  

white  walls  brightened  to  a  soft  yellow  that  shimmered  lightly  in  the  sunlight.  Royal  blue  

streaked  through  the  blue-­‐grey  trim  until  the  transformation  was  complete  and  no  grey  

remained.    

“I  think  I  can  almost  hear  the  ocean”  thought  the  house  happily,  “yes,  this  is  much  

better.”    

A  flower  bud  pushed  itself  up  through  the  new  dirt  by  the  house’s  skirt.    

A  pinecone  landed  softly  on  the  grass.    

Evening  fell  and  the  house  snuggled  in  for  the  night.  It  felt  optimistic  about  the  

morning.  Something  magical  was  bound  to  happen.  He  knew  they  would  come.    

   

§  

   

  Dawn  arrived  like  strokes  of  a  watercolor  brush  across  wet  paper—a  soft  yellow  

that  bled  into  a  vibrant  orange,  which  then  trickled  into  the  bright  blue  of  a  promising  day.  

The  house  awoke  with  a  song  in  its  head—“Beat  it”  by  Michael  Jackson—who  he  still  

couldn’t  believe  was  black.  He  bobbed  in  place  to  the  beat,  rumbling  the  flowers  to  life.  

Spots  of  resplendent  color  burst  forth  across  the  house’s  yard  as  the  flowers  announced  

their  presence  to  the  world.  

Leaves  rustled  in  the  summer  breeze.  

  58  

In  the  distance,  a  plane  cut  white  through  the  sky,  like  the  earth  was  enveloped  in  a  

giant  piece  of  blue  paper  which  was  slowly  being  torn  open,  about  to  reveal  the  heavens  

beyond  for  all  to  see.  The  house  always  waited,  to  see  if  he  would  be  able  to  catch  a  glimpse  

of  the  glory  beyond,  but  the  heavens  weren’t  ready  or  the  sky  wasn’t  willing,  because  the  

tear  always  closed,  slowly  fading  away  into  the  sky  like  foam  into  coffee.    

“It’s  okay,”  thought  the  house,  “they’re  not  ready  to  see  yet  anyway.”  

The  house  saw  a  family  approaching.  The  father  pushed  the  stroller,  lightly  vibrating  

the  baby  into  a  land  of  quiet  dreams.  The  mother  strolling  softly  along-­‐side,  their  laughter  

fluttered  up  through  the  houses  windows,  melting  into  his  walls.    

“Is  it  them?”  The  house  stood  up  straighter  and  tried  to  make  its  new  yellow  outfit  

glow  a  little  brighter,  but  they  walked  by  without  even  a  glance  his  way.  He  heard  their  

laughter  fade  around  the  corner.  The  street  was  quiet  once  again.    

Disappointed,  the  house  sighed.  

A  car  inched  down  the  street,  obviously  searching  for  something.  The  house  nudged  

the  flowers,  willing  them  to  shine  more  resplendently;  little  circles  of  fuchsia  bursting  forth  

like  the  80s.  The  car  slowed,  crept  by,  continued  up  the  street  at  the  same  snails  pace,  and  

then  sped  off,  deciding  that  what  it  was  looking  for  would  not  be  found  here.  

The  sun  moved  to  the  top  of  the  sky.  

The  neighbor’s  sprinklers  came  on  cooling  the  house  with  a  gentle  mist.  

The  house  waited.  

He  was  sure  that  today  was  the  day…but  maybe  not.  He  had  been  wrong  before.  

Only  once,  of  course,  but  the  complications  had  rippling  effects  he  grimaced  to  think  back  

upon.  Another  time,  he  had  almost  given  up  waiting,  falling  asleep  in  the  process  and  

waking  up  just  in  time  to  see  them  arrive.  All  other  “pick  ups”  had  gone  off  without  a  hitch,  

helping  to  keep  his  record  virtually  spotless.    

He  fought  the  need  to  take  a  nap.  Naps  in  the  sun  were  his  favorite.  Heat  was  such  a  

natural  blanket;  he  always  wanted  to  snuggle  into  its  arms  and  just  fall  asleep.  

A  jogger  came  around  the  corner.  Stopped  momentarily  to  tie  her  shoe.  Then  

continued  on.    

The  house  thought  he  saw  her  look  at  him.  That  made  the  house  happy—truly,  it  

was  the  small  things  in  life.    

  59  

The  sun  dropped,  preparing  for  evening.  

A  tree  thrust  its  shadow  across  the  street,  refusing  to  be  forgotten  so  quickly.  

A  squirrel  carried  a  small  treasure  into  its  hole,  a  winter  treat  to  be  re-­‐discovered  

another  day.    

It  was  in  that  moment  the  house  heard  it.  He  knew  it  was  time.  He  could  feel  it  in  the  

air  like  the  gentle  buzz  speakers  emit  just  before  the  music  starts.    

He  saw  her  first.  A  girl  about  six  or  seven,  dancing  curly  cues  down  the  street,  her  

ponytails  bobbing  in  delight.  She  sang  quietly  to  herself,  a  song  that  flowed  through  the  tree  

leaves  like  a  rambling  creek—directionless,  yet  flowing  steadily  non-­‐the-­‐less.  She  was  at  

that  age  where  she  had  figured  out  living  pretty  much  happens  no  matter  what  you’re  

doing,  so  it  might  as  well  be  fun.*  

Her  mother  and  father  emerged  not  long  after—arm  in  arm,  laughing  lightly,  

happiness  sparkling  on  their  eyes.    

The  house  saw  the  butterfly  before  the  girl  did.  He  fluttered  in  from  the  east,  made  a  

looping  swing  around  her  head,  joining  in  her  curly-­‐cue  dance  until  their  dance  became  

one,  her  trailing  behind  him  down  the  sidewalk.    

“Does  she  even  know  she’s  following  him?”  mused  the  house.  

They  spun  along,  until  the  butterfly  swooped  inside  the  house’s  gate,  disappearing  

among  the  mulberry  bushes.  The  girl’s  song  continued  down  the  sidewalk  without  her.  

Some  leaves  which  had  momentarily  joined  their  dance  fluttered  to  the  ground.  The  house  

and  the  girl  looked  at  each  other—old  friends  who  had  yet  to  meet.    

The  house  glowed  lightly.  The  shine  of  the  porch  light  swam  into  the  night  sky.  

Her  parents  drew  closer,  their  conversation  dissipated  into  the  darkness  as  they  

came  up  alongside  the  girl.    

“It’s  him,”  said  the  girl.    

“Welcome  home,”  said  her  dad.  

“It’s  been  so  long,”  smiled  her  mom.  

Then,  turning  towards  the  house  they  walked  up  into  its  embrace.    

“Yes,”  thought  the  house,  “we  shall  be  friends  for  a  very  long  time.”  

  60  

As  the  front  door  closed,  a  light  rumbling  started  from  the  ground.  The  house  

steadied  itself.  Set  its  eyes  toward  the  night  sky  and  then,  just  when  the  time  was  right,  he  

pushed  lightly  off  the  ground  leaving  the  earth  behind.  

They  all  agreed.  It  was  a  perfect  lift-­‐off.    

 *quoted  from  storypeople.        

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  61  

Under  the  Rug    

It  was  a  coffee  shop  named  the  Blue  Snake.    A  little  unusual  for  a  coffee  shop,  

perhaps,  but  the  incongruity  of  the  name  seemed  less  striking  after  you  entered.        Once  you  

pushed  open  the  heavy  and  slightly  creaky  front  door  and  entered,  blinking  against  the  

sudden  gloom,  it  began  to  make  perfect  sense.    As  did  a  great  many  other  things.  

  As  you  took  a  few  tentative  steps  inward,  waiting  for  your  eyes  to  adjust,  you  

noticed  several  things:  the  eclectic  décor,  the  idiosyncratic  menu  posted  above  the  coffee  

bar,  the  lavishly  bearded  proprietor  who  reminded  one  of  no  one  so  much  as  a  genial  

Charles  Dickens.    You  would  pause  in  the  middle  of  the  room  for  a  slow  pivot,  taking  in  the  

quirky  5-­‐legged  tables,  the  rickety  over-­‐stuffed  bookcases  –  but  most  of  all,  the  large,  

improbably-­‐tinted  serpent  wound  lazily  around  the  (surely  false!)  bamboo  tree  springing  

from  the  floor  in  front  of  the  counter.      

    “Huh!”  you  would  mutter  to  yourself,  feeling  as  though  you  were  on  the  cusp  of  

something  really  profound.    “It  IS  a  blue  snake!”    The  words  would  seem  oddly  loud  in  the  

amiable  peace  of  the  dim  shop,  and  you  would  blush  and  right  yourself,  glancing  furtively  

around  to  see  if  anyone  had  noticed  and  was  sniggering.      

  Nobody  had.    They  had  seen  it  too  many  times  before.  

  Nobody,  that  is,  except  for  the  bespectacled  chap  sitting  over  in  the  corner.    He  

would  catch  your  eye,  somehow,  nod  encouragingly,  and  wave  you  over  to  his  table  as  

though  he’d  been  waiting  all  the  life-­‐long  day  just  for  you  to  drop  by.    You’d  obey  the  good-­‐

natured  summons.    You  wouldn’t  be  sure  why.    But  somehow,  you’d  be  suddenly  sure  this  

was  exactly  why  you’d  stopped  by.  

  As  you  stepped  over  to  his  table,  he’d  make  fussy  clearing  motions,  as  if  to  clear  a  

place  for  you,  even  though  there  was  plenty  of  room  on  the  table  next  to  his  coffee  cup  and  

a  plate  –  no,  small  platter  –  of  dubious-­‐looking  cookies.    “Sit  down,  sit  down!”    he’d  chirp,  

beaming.    “Have  I  got  a  story  for  you!”  

  If  you  were  an  especially  practical  sort  of  person,  you  might  consider  pointing  out  

that  he  couldn’t  possibly  have  anything  for  you,  since  he’d  only  just  now  laid  eyes  on  your  

for  the  first  time.    If  you  were  not  so  afflicted,  you’d  be  untroubled  by  extraneous  thoughts  

  62  

as  you  settled  down  and  quickly  waved  away  the  offer  of  suspiciously  salmon-­‐colored  

goodies.    Either  way,  you’d  sit  back  –  gently  at  first:  those  chairs  are  evidently  far  stronger  

than  they  look!  –  and  settle  in,  waiting  expectantly.    At  some  point,  the  bearded  fellow  

behind  the  counter  would  bring  out  a  steaming  cup,  and  you’d  sip  luxuriously  at  your  

favorite  beverage  before  it  occurred  to  you  to  wonder  how  he  knew  your  favorite.    

Meanwhile,  the  spectacled  chap,  smiling  happily,  would  begin  the  story  you,  unbeknownst  

to  yourself,  had  come  here  to  hear…..  

   

  His  name  was  Ernest  B.  Snaith,  and  he  lived  a  most  unremarkable  existence.    He  

worked  for  32  years  as  an  insurance  actuary,  and  he  lived  with  his  sister.    Well,  more  

accurately,  she  lived  with  him,  in  the  charming  little  house  on  Dowkle  Street  he’d  bought  in  

his  20s,  dreaming  of  bringing  home  a  bride  someday.    Well,  the  only  woman  who’d  ever  

taken  up  residence  there  was  Miranda  Snaith,  his  older  sister  by  2  years  and  possibly  the  

most  practical  person  on  the  face  of  the  planet.    Under  her  conscientious  care,  the  house  

lost  its  whimsical  charm  and  became  merely  well-­‐kept  and  serviceable.    The  lawn  was  

clipped  with  a  firm  conformity,  the  mailbox  was  painted  a  thoroughly  respectable  dull  

brown,  and  even  the  eaves  and  shutters  seemed  a  little  apologetic,  as  though  they  were  

thoroughly  aware  how  unnecessary  they  really  were.  

  Every  evening,  Ernest  came  home,  up  the  well-­‐groomed  walk,  removed  his  shoes  in  

the  spotless  foyer,  and  proceeded  into  the  meticulously  organized  kitchen  for  a  balanced  

and  conscientiously-­‐cooked  dinner.    His  evening  paper  would  be  sitting  next  to  his  plate,  

unrolled  –  drat  that  Miranda!    Why  couldn’t  she  understand  that  he  used  to  love  snapping  

the  rubber  band  off  the  paper  himself?  –  and  ready  for  perusal.    After  20  minutes  of  dutiful  

chewing,  Miranda  would  remove  his  plate  and  move  heavily  to  the  sink  to  begin  the  

washing-­‐up.    If  he  could  think  of  anything  to  say  to  make  conversation,  he  would  say  it  as  

she  scrubbed  and  dried;  it  was  far  easier  to  imagine  her  being  interested  if  he  wasn’t  facing  

her  polite  but  unresponsive  face  across  the  table.    There  had  been  a  time  when  he  had  tried  

nightly,  whole-­‐heartedly,  convinced  that  surely  Miranda  must  long  for  genuine  human  

interaction  as  much  as  he  did.    These  days,  however,  he  mostly  hunched  behind  his  paper  

until  the  clock  in  the  hall  struck  7  and  he  could  escape  to  the  living  room  for  the  7  o’clock  

  63  

news.    It  was  his  mother’s  clock.    Miranda  would  never  have  approved  the  extravagance  of  

a  grandfather  clock  otherwise.  

  On  one  not-­‐particularly-­‐special  day  in  his  53rd  year,  Ernest  shuffled  slowly  into  the  

living  room  for  his  news  program.    He  was  too  young  to  shuffle,  really  –  he  was  far  from  old,  

and  reasonably  fit  for  his  age.    But  the  Snaith  residence  did  not  seem  to  lend  itself  well  to  a  

spring  in  one’s  step.    He  paused  for  a  moment  in  the  act  of  lowering  himself  into  his  

serviceable  brown  armchair  to  contemplate  the  thought  of  Miranda’s  having  a  spring  in  her  

step.    Shuddering  at  the  incongruity  of  the  thought,  he  dropped  himself  the  rest  of  the  way  

into  the  chair  and  reached  for  the  television  remote.  

  That  was  when  he  saw  it.    “It”  was  a  queer  sort  of  bulge  under  the  carpet.    Well,  it  

was  more  than  a  bulge,  really.    It  sort  of  looked  as  though  two  shoes  and  a  cantaloupe  had  

been  bunched  up  on  the  floor  under  the  edge  of  the  carpet.    He  glanced  at  it,  then  away,  not  

really  registering.    Miranda’s  housekeeping  did  not  admit  of  anomalies.    Clearly  this  was  an  

illusion;  like  the  famously  luckless  Ebenezer  Scrooge,  he  had  suffered  momentarily  from  a  

bit  of  undigested  biscuit.    One  had  difficulty  conceiving  of  Miranda’s  cooking  being  anything  

but  entirely  conducive  to  the  digestive  process  –  but  there  you  were.  

  Then  the  bulge  moved.  

  Ernest  clutched  the  remote  his  chest  like  a  lifeline.    That  was  odd,  surely.    He  blinked  

rapidly  a  few  times,  certain  that  this  strange  trick  of  the  mind  would  smooth  over  into  

reality  by  the  time  he  opened  them  and  focused  again.  

  It  was  still  there.  

  It  was  still  moving.  

  Ernest  sprang  backwards  into  his  chair,  nearly  knocking  it  over.    His  gaze  was  

riveted  to  the  moving  lump  under  the  rug,  and  an  unfamiliar  panic  arose  chokingly  in  his  

chest.    He  thought  of  calling  for  Miranda,  who  would  of  course  dispose  of  this…thing…as  

efficiently  as  she  rooted  the  first  violets  of  spring  out  of  the  front  lawn.      But  what  could  one  

do?    Shout  to  Miranda  at  the  top  of  one’s  lungs  that  there  was  a  good-­‐sized  rodent  

wandering  around  under  the  carpet  in  the  living  room?    Somehow  the  thing  did  not  admit  

of  possibility.  

  So  he  did  the  only  thing  he  could  do.    He  arose  slowly  and  crept,  eyes  fixed  on  the  

wobbling  lump,  to  a  nearby  chair.    Chosen  by  Miranda,  it  was  a  sturdy  wooden  thing  that  

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weighed  rather  more  it  seemed  like  it  ought.    Silently,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe,  he  raised  

it  above  his  head,  heart  pounding.    As  the  bulge  gave  an  especially  ambitious  lunge,  he  cried  

aloud  and  smashed  the  chair  down  into  it  as  hard  as  he  could.  

  In  the  silence  that  followed,  he  could  hear  sounds  from  the  kitchen;  sounds  of  

Miranda  unhurriedly  laying  down  her  dishtowel,  untying  and  hanging  up  her  apron,  and  

stepping  out  into  the  hall  (drat  that  woman!    Couldn’t  she  even  hurry  in  a  less-­‐than-­‐

practical  fashion?).      Breath  heaving,  he  stepped  forward  and  nudged  a  bit  of  shattered  

chair  out  of  the  way  so  that  he  could  see  what  kind  of  damage  he’d  inflicted  on  the  luckless  

bulge.  Miranda  stepped  into  the  room  just  as  the  splinters  fell  away  enough  for  him  to  see  

his  prey.    

 And  there  was  nothing  there.  

  Desperately,  he  waved  both  hands  toward  the  missing  carpet-­‐bulge  and  stumbled  

his  words  over  each  other,  trying  to  explain.    “There  was  a  thing!    A  BIG  thing!    It  was  under  

the  rug  –  and  it  moved  –  almost  like  a  giant  rat  –  it  wouldn’t  stop  –  so  I  smashed  it  –  “    He  

ground  to  an  inglorious  halt  as  Miranda  raised  her  eyes  to  his  and  regarded  him  with  the  

kind  of  strained  patience  she  reserved  for  teenaged  waitresses  with  body  piercings  and  

grocery  cashiers  who  don’t  know  how  to  ring  up  coupons.    “But  now…it’s  gone….”  he  

finished  lamely.    His  arms  dropped  to  his  sides.  

  Miranda  didn’t  say  anything.    She  merely  turned  around  and  returned  to  the  kitchen  

for  her  broom  and  dustpan.    Helpless  against  her  silent  scorn,  Ernest  huddled  into  his  

brown  chair  and  tried  to  pretend  he  was  dead.  

  Later  that  night,  Ernest  reviewed  the  events  of  the  evening  a  thousand  times  in  his  

head  and  finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  a  very  great  fool.    “You  just  have  an  

over-­‐active  imagination,  old  boy,”  he  assured  himself  (his  subconscious  paused  for  a  

second  to  inquire  what  had  prompted  him  to  address  himself  as  “old  boy,”  but  his  

conscious  mind  quickly  steamrolled  the  thought).    “Just  a  weird  quirk.    Nothing  to  worry  

about.    A  trick  of  middle  age.    Too  much  stress  at  the  office.    Nothing  really.    Move  on,  old  

boy  (there  is  was  again!),  move  on.”    Finally,  with  the  downstairs  clock  striking  3  am,  he  

drifted  off  to  sleep.  

 

 

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Two  weeks  later,  it  happened  again.  

 

  Oppressed  by  a  sense  of  déjà  vu,  

he  stood  over  a  splintered  chair  and  a  

vanished  bugle  and  tried  to  explain  

himself  to  Miranda’s  blank  non-­‐

expression.    Words  quickly  failed  him,  

and  he  bent  to  help  clear  up  the  

shattered  wood,  only  to  be  brushed  

aside  by  Miranda’s  unfazed  efficiency.    

Suffering  horribly,  he  had  no  choice  but  

to  stand  to  the  side  and  watch  her  

unhurried  movements  as  she  silently  

cleared  up  his  mess.    Finally,  as  she  

finished,  she  looked  up  at  him  and  

opened  her  mouth  to  speak.  

  “Now!”  he  thought  jubilantly.    

“Now  she’s  going  to  say  something!    She’ll  say  I’m  mad!    Or  at  least  unstable….or  she’ll  

remark  how  soon  we’re  going  to  run  out  of  chairs  at  this  rate,  or  how  much  more  quickly  

the  rug  will  wear  out  with  this  kind  of  abuse.    Oh,  she’ll  give  it  to  me  good  and  proper!”  –  

and  a  small  part  of  him  was  taken  aback  by  how  excited  he  was  over  the  prospect.  

  “It’s  meant  to  rain  tomorrow,”  Miranda  remarked  placidly.    “Do  remember  to  wear  

your  heavy  coat.”    And  with  that,  she  turned  and  strode  into  the  hallway,  arms  full  of  neatly  

stacked  chair  shards  and  not  a  hint  of  body  language  conceding  that  any  of  this  was  at  all  

out  of  the  ordinary.  

  It  was  driving  him  mad,  he  realized  several  days  later.    Here  he  was,  coming  home  in  

the  evenings  after  30  years  of  unbroken  sameness  and  smashing  his  furniture  to  flinders  in  

the  living  room  after  dinner,  and  she  barely  noticed!    No  dismay,  no  remonstrance,  not  the  

remotest  concession  that  he  was  behaving  like  a  lunatic.    “How  does  she  do  that?”    he  

wondered  aloud  at  work.    A  concerned  co-­‐worker  assumed  he  was  muttering  about  marital  

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difficulties,  and  there  followed  an  awkward  quarter  of  an  hour  before  they  got  that  

misunderstanding  straightened  out.  

  He  tried  going  home  and  telling  Miranda  about  the  incidents  at  the  dinner  table.    Her  

response  was  to  pass  him  the  bread.    Reviewing  the  fiasco  the  next  day  while  waiting  to  

cross  the  street,  he  still  couldn’t  quite  believe  it.    “After  all,  I’ve  got  a  right  to  be  crazy!”  he  

cried  out  loud,  stamping  his  foot  indignantly.    A  gothic-­‐looking  teenager  texting  with  ear  

buds  in  gave  him  an  odd  look  and  moved  off  down  the  block.  

  Increasingly  determined  to  force  some  sort  of  response  out  of  Miranda,  he  tried  

being  even  more  outrageous.    “Is  she  perhaps  a  robot?”  he  wondered  out  loud  at  the  

breakfast  table.    “It  cannot  be  quite  human  for  a  person  to  be  so  impenetrable!”    He  raised  

half-­‐accusing,  half-­‐guilty  eyes    to  Miranda’s,  but  she  only  rose,  took  his  plate,  and  shot  a  

pointed  look  towards  the  kitchen  clock.  

  The  next  day,  he  stopped  at  a  pet  store  and  bought  a  weasel  .    “This  will  surely  make  

her  snap!”  he  chortled  as  the  nonplussed  clerk  held  out  his  credit  card  back  to  him.    At  

home,  Miranda  pushed  the  scampering  creature  into  her  dustpan  with  the  broom  and  

carried  it  without  remark  into  the  backyard  to  dispatch  it  with  the  same  unhurried  

efficiency  she  used  to  dispose  of  mice  caught  in  the  traps  she  laid  in  the  basement.  

  “Think  of  The  Tempest!”  he  burst  out  to  a  lady  in  the  supermarket.    “A  Miranda  

should  be  a  little  less  practical.    Kind  of  willow-­‐the-­‐wisp,  you  know?”    Gripping  her  

toddler’s  hand  tighter,  she  gave  him  to  understand  that  she  did  not  know,  couched  in  

language  for  which  32  years  as  an  insurance  actuary  had  left  him  wholly  unprepared.  

  He  took  to  wandering  off  on  his  lunch  hours,  finding  himself  in  places  he’d  never  

seen  before  and  muttering  to  perfect  strangers.    “It  just  doesn’t  make  sense,  you  know?”    he  

confided  in  an  unwashed  bum  whose  only  acquaintance  seemed  to  be  with  a  hip  flask.    “I  

mean,  if  someone  started  smashing  up  your  furniture  and  claiming  there  were  unseen  

spirits  under  the  rug,  wouldn’t  you  say  something?”    He  looked  up,  startled  at  losing  his  

audience,  as  the  bum  handed  him  some  cash  and  sidestepped  cautiously  away.  

  Gradually  his  resolve  hardened.    He  would  make  Miranda  acknowledge  his  lunacy.    

Try  as  he  might,  though,  the  honors  were  entirely  with  her.    “I  mean,  everyone’s  heard  of  

Man  vs.  Nature,”  he  declaimed.    “Now  that’s  an  epic  struggle.    Or  Man  vs.  The  Machine.    Or  

vs.  The  Odds.    Or  even  Man  vs.  Himself.    But  Man  vs.  …Sister??”    A  burst  of  raucous  laughter  

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interrupted  his  musings,  and  he  looked  up  to  see  a  group  of  teenagers  with  tremendously  

low-­‐slung  jeans  pointing  at  him,  and  the  Burger  King’s  manager  shooing  him  out  of  the  

restaurant  into  the  parking  lot  again.  

  Then  one  day,  he  was  pottering  along  a  side  street  and  came  across  the  Blue  Snake.    

Impossible  to  resist,  really,  with  that  garishly  painted  snake  painted  on  the  sign,  the  

assurance  of  quality  “since  1927,”  and  the  door  cracked  invitingly  open.    Ernest  stepped  

into  its  welcoming  dimness  and  blinked  twice,  trying  to  adjust  his  eyes  to  the  dimness.    

When  his  sight  faded  back  in,  the  first  thing  he  laid  eyes  on  was  an  improbably  long  and  

virulently  blue  snake  wrapped  around  a  (surely)  artificial  bamboo  tree  which  appeared  to  

be  growing  out  of  the  floor  by  the  register.  

  “That’s  quite  a  snake  you  have  there,”  he  observed  politely  to  the  dim  blob  he  

assumed  represented  a  member  of  shop’s  personnel.    “Hard  to  believe  it’s  been  there  since  

1927.”  

  “Oh  it  hasn’t,”  rejoined  the  blob  cheerfully,  as  it  resolved  into  an  astoundingly  

bearded  fellow  wiping  at  a  perfectly  clean  counter.    “The  neighborhood  kids  come  in  here  

and  steal  it  every  couple  of  years.    This  fine  specimen  here  is  number  41.”  

  “Oh  really?”  

  “Well,  more  or  less.    Some  of  them  were  before  my  time.”    The  fellow  grinned  at  

Ernest,  and  he  found  himself  grinning  back.    He  liked  the  Blue  Snake!  

  “Here,  you’ll  be  wanting  this,”  the  man  added,  handing  Ernest  a  steaming  cup  and  

saucer.    “And  I  think  you’ll  like  that  table  over  there.”    He  gestured,  and  Ernest  complied.    

He  sat  down  and  sipped,  taking  in  the  chocolatey  goodness  of  a  really  superior  hot  cocoa.    It  

occurred  to  him  briefly  to  wonder  just  how  the  man  could  possibly  have  known  that  

Miranda  had  forbidden  this  exquisite  treat  to  him  when  she’d  moved  into  his  house  over  30  

years  ago,  but  that  rumination  was  banished  by  a  sudden  flash  of  realization.  

  “Of  course!”  he  cried.    “That’s  it!    Ebenezer  Scrooge  wasn’t  suffering  from  indigestion!    

There  really  were  all  those  ghosts!”  

  His  shout  startled  him,  and  he  furtively  glanced  around  to  see  if  anyone  was  tittering  

or  staring.    To  his  surprise,  the  guy  behind  the  counter  was  still  grinning.    “Sure  there  were.    

And  I  never  really  understood,  myself,  how  they  managed  to  come  on  3  successive  nights  

and  still  finish  up  in  time  for  Christmas.”  

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Ernest  considered  for  a  moment.    “Some  kind  of  space-­‐time  warp,  I  should  think…?”      

The  guy  shrugged.    “Sure.    But  I’m  bad  at  physics.”      

And  at  that  moment,  Ernest  knew  that  he  had  finally,  at  long  last,  come  home.  

 

           

  69  

   

Mr.  Linden’s  Library  By  Grace  Liaw  

   

Fourteen  months  into  their  courtship,  Angela  was  finally  invited  to  Jack’s  family’s  house  in  

the  Hills.    Up  to  that  point,  Jack  had  mostly  avoided  talking  about  his  family.    That  was  

something  that  always  bothered  Angela  –  with  unexpected  finesse,  Jack  would  suddenly  

change  the  topics  of  conversation  away  from  his  family.      But  why?  So  what  if  there  were  a  

few  skeletons  in  the  closet,  or  a  bit  of  familial  tension?      Surely,  that  was  normal.  

 

Just  two  weeks  ago,  Jack  had  finally  proposed  to  Angela.    There  was  no  doubt  he  was  

completely  in  love  with  Angela,  but  he  just  could  not  bring  himself  to  propose.    It  drove  

Angela  to  insanity  and  she  finally  threatened  to  leave  him  if  he  didn’t  make  the  next  big  

move.  Backed  into  a  corner,  Jack  had  taken  a  three-­‐day  retreat  to  think  over  what  it  would  

mean  to  propose  to  Angela.  Things  would  never  be  the  same  again.      

 

And  so  it  was.    On  July  30th,  the  day  of  the  proposal,  Jack  led  Angela  through  a  ridiculous  

scavenger  hunt  at  Barnes  and  Noble,  which  brought  her  to  page  19  in  The  Princess  Bride.    A  

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small  diamond  ring  fell  out  from  the  pages,  tumbling  on  the  carpeted  floor.    This  is  true  love.    

You  think  this  happens  everyday?    were  the  words  that  Jack  quoted  from  book,  as  he  held  

Angela’s  hands  in  his.      The  two  shared  a  long  moment  of  tearful  joy  and  anticipation  for  the  

future  that  would  be  theirs.  

 

As  Jack  pulled  the  car  up  the  long  driveway,  Angela  was  jittery  with  anticipation.  Would  

they  like  me?    Would  I  like  them?    Silly  questions  and  silly  answers  whirled  around  her  head,  

as  she  and  Jack  came  up  the  front  steps.  The  door  opened.  

 

Mr.  Linden  stepped  back  from  the  door  to  let  Angela  and  Jack  in.    An  older,  worn  version  of  

Jack,  Mr.  Linden  gave  Angela  a  warm  smile  and  grabbed  both  of  her  hands.  

 

“Welcome  to  our  home,  Angela.  I’ve  been  looking  forward  to  meeting  you  for  a  while,  but  

Jack  insists  on  keeping  you  all  to  himself,”  he  said,  with  a  quick  sideways  glance  at  Jack.  

 

Stiffly,  Jack  gave  his  father  a  “guy”  hug  and  replied,  “Hey,  dad,  how’ve  you  been?    Glad  to  see  

you’re  back  to  your  old  self  again.”    Both  men  chuckled  for  a  bit.      

 

“Come,  let’s  give  Angela  a  quick  tour,  shall  we?”  Mr.  Linden  proceeded.  

 

As  Angela  glided  down  the  hall,  Mr.  Linden  and  Jack  followed  after.    As  if  in  a  museum,  

Angela’s  eyes  darted  from  ceiling  to  floor  to  wall  to  doors,  trying  to  soak  in  all  the  beautiful  

details  of  the  magnificent  home.    From  room  to  room,  Mr.  Linden  gave  a  brief  history  of  the  

who’s  and  what’s  that  occupied  that  space.  The  Linden  home  was  built  at  the  turn  of  the  

century,  boasting  cathedral  ceilings  and  beautifully  carved  woodwork.    Yet  beautiful  as  it  

was,  there  was  an  empty  feeling  throughout  the  house.  

 

“This  house  has  been  in  the  Linden  family  for  generations,  starting  with  Harrison  Linden,  

my  great-­‐great-­‐grandfather.    The  older  section  of  the  house  is  what  he  had  built  with  his  

own  two  hands.    With  each  generation  after,  an  addition  was  made.    See  the  floor  here?    You  

can  see  a  slight  change  in  color,  because  of  the  newer  wood.”  

  71  

 

“Mr.  Linden,  may  I  ask  where  Mrs.  Linden  is?”  asked  Angela.    Jack  had  dreaded  this  

moment,  and  now  it  was  here.  

 

“Well,  Angela,  maybe  Jack  hasn’t  mentioned  it  to  you.    My  wife  passed  away  fourteen  years  

ago.    Damn  that  cancer…    though  she  put  up  a  formidable  fight.  It’s  just  me,  and  the  old  dog,  

that  live  in  this  enormous  house.    I  don’t  know,  but  I’m  thinking  about  selling  it.”  

 

Jack  gave  his  father  a  strange  look,  and  this  time,  Angela  caught  it.    “Jack?    Something  

wrong?”  asked  Angela.  

 

“Uh,  nothing,  nothing  at  all.    It’s  just  that  it’s  news  to  me,”  Jack  articulated  slowly,  holding  

his  gaze  at  Mr.  Linden.  

 

“It’s  just  a  thought  right  now,  and  I  haven’t  made  any  final  decision.    But,  truth  be  told,  I’m  

getting  too  old  to  be  the  keeper.    It’s  just  too  much…”  Mr.  Linden’s  voice  trailed  off.  

 

Jack  stopped  in  his  tracks,  wheeled  around  and  looked  hard  at  Mr.  Linden,  who  stood  

watching  his  son  with  very  little  emotion.  

 

Clearing  his  throat,  Jack  said,  “Okay,  well,  uh…  just  make  sure  you  let  me  know  if  you  decide  

to  sell  this  house.  It’s  been  in  our  family  for  too  long  to  just  suddenly  get  rid  of  it,  you  

know?”  Mr.  Linden  nodded  slowly  and  continued  down  the  hall.  

 

I  knew  something  like  this  might  happen.    Angela  could  not  put  her  finger  on  why  Jack  would  

be  so  exasperated.    Other  than  his  massive  collection  of  books,  there  was  little  in  life  that  

Jack  was  passionate  about.    Why  does  he  have  to  be  so  weird  about  things?    Maybe  he  just  

misses  his  mother,  thought  Angela.  

 

When  the  house  tour  was  finished,  everyone  gathered  in  the  kitchen  for  lunch.      

 

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“Mr.  Linden,  you  have  a  beautiful  home.    Pity  you  are  thinking  about  selling  it.    By  the  way,  I  

noticed  there  was  a  door  upstairs  at  the  end  of  the  long  hallway.    What’s  in  there?”  Angela  

asked.  

 

“Ah  yes,  that’s  just  an  extra  room.  Lots  of  junk,  just  collecting  dust.    Nothing  to  look  at,”  said  

Mr.  Linden.      Jack  was  looking  down  at  his  food.  

 

“Oh,  I  see.    I  guess  with  such  an  enormous  house,  there’s  bound  to  be  some  empty  rooms,”  

said  Angela.  

 

“So,  Dad,  how  about  we  show  Angela  the  trail  at  the  back  of  the  house?”  interrupted  Jack.    

He  seemed  to  be  back  to  normal,  thankfully.      To  Angela,  “We  have  a  quiet  trail  that  goes  

from  our  backyard  and  ends  up  by  a  stream.    You’ll  like  it,”  he  said,  giving  Angela’s  hand  a  

gentle  squeeze.  

 

“Oh,  yes,  let’s!  I  could  use  some  fresh  air,”  Angela  said.    On  the  surface,  Angela  was  smiling,  

but  in  her  heart,  she  knew  something  was  off.  Though  she  could  not  put  her  finger  on  it,  she  

found  that  Mr.  Linden  and  Jack  were  acting  strangely  today.  Something  wasn’t  quite  right.  

 

Just  as  they  were  about  to  enter  the  trail,  Angela  said,  “Oops,  I  left  my  jacket  in  the  foyer.    Be  

right  back!”    And  she  ran  up  to  the  house  quickly.    “Just  wait  there!”  

 

Quickly,  she  ran  into  the  hall  and  found  her  jacket.    As  she  turned  around,  the  stairs  going  

up  were  right  in  front  of  her.    She  considered  for  about  a  second,  and  started  running  up  

the  stairs.  

 

She  needed  to  see  it  for  herself.  

 

Angela  grabbed  the  doorknob  and  turned  it  slowly.    A  waft  of  stale  air  came  through  the  

door  as  Angela  pushed  it  open.    She  blinked  and  blinked  again  to  make  sure  she  wasn’t  

seeing  things.    There  were  books  –  everywhere!  This  room  could  never  have  been  simply  

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turned  into  a  library  –  it  must  have  been  built  specifically  as  one.  There  were  shelves  built  

into  the  walls  that  were  as  tall  as  the  ceiling.    In  the  corner  was  an  antique  filing  cabinet  to  

keep  the  books  on  record.    There  were  even  wheeled  ladders  that  slid  along  tracks,  so  that  

one  could  get  to  the  books  up  high.  

 

“What  are  you  doing?!”  a  stern  voice  demanded.        

 

Angela  whipped  around  immediately,  coming  face  to  face  with  Jack.    She  was  speechless.  

 

“Look,  Angela,  this  room  is…  is  a  very  delicate  matter  for  my  dad.      That’s  why  he  didn’t  

want  to  tell  you  about  it.”  

 

“But  Jack,  look  at  this  place!    I  mean,  LOOK!    It’s  like  a  wonderland.    It’s  a  dream  room.    Did  

you  grow  up  reading  these  books?    Is  this  all  your  dad’s  or  your  mom’s  too?    How  old  is  this  

library?”  

 

I’ll  tell  you  more,  but  let’s  get  out  of  here  now.    My  dad’s  waiting  outside,”  insisted  Jack.      

 

Angela  complied  and  the  two  of  them  strolled  back  down  to  the  trail  that  leads  to  a  stream.    

It  was  a  pleasant  walk.  

 

Two  days  later…  

 

“So,  can  I  ask  you  about  the  library  in  your  father’s  house?”  

 

Closing  his  book  with  a  tired  sigh,  Jack  decided  to  surrender  to  Angela’s  inquiry,  against  his  

better  judgment.    He  knew  that  she  wouldn’t  let  it  go  and  it  was  only  a  matter  of  time  

before  she’d  find  out.      If  only  there  was  a  way  to  keep  that  relic  of  a  house,  and  still  keep  

the  secret!      

 

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“Angela,  I  know  I’m  not  always  what  you  want  me  to  be.    There  are  things  that  I  don’t  tell  

you,  because  I’d  rather  not  burden  you  with  it.    Does  that  make  sense  to  you?    I  don’t  want  

to  hurt  you  by  keeping  information  from  you,  but  I  also  don’t  want  you  to  ever  get  hurt.    

You  must  know  that  I  can’t  imagine  my  life  without,  don’t  you?”  Jack  said,  his  grey  eyes  

cutting  right  into  her.  

 

Angela  closed  her  eyes  and  soaked  in  the  moment.    Like  a  warm  blanket,  Jack’s  love  made  

Angela  so  secure,  so  comfortable.    “Of  course,  I  know  you  love  me.      You’ve  always  shown  

me  in  your  ways,  though  not  necessarily  through  words.    I  get  that.    As  for  the  house,  I  can’t  

explain  why,  but  I  feel  like  I  really  need  to  know!    I’m  sorry  if  this  causes  any…“  her  voice  

trailed  off.  

 

“It’s  okay.    I  know  this  is  something  I  have  to  tell  you  sooner  or  later,  so  it  might  as  well  be  

now.    Are  you  sure  you  want  to  know?”    Jack  warned.  

 

Angela  nodded.    And  like  a  Pandora’s  box,  the  story  of  the  library  unfolded.  

 

“Four  generations  ago,  there  lived  an  apothecary  named  Sorensen,  whose  wife  battled  a  

rare  disease  for  several  years,  for  which  there  was  no  cure.  The  disease  was  merciless  –  

ravaging  the  body  and  mind  both.  The  worst  part  was,  it  took  its  time  –  stretching  out  the  

suffering  for  years  and  years.      Little  by  little,  Mrs.  Sorensen  was  becoming  less  of  herself  

and  more  of…  someone  or  something  else.    It  shattered  Sorensen’s  heart  to  witness  the  love  

of  his  life  go  through  this  wretched  transformation.  

   

Both  Sorensen  and  their  young  daughter,  Karina,  had  suffered  along  with  Mrs.  Sorensen,  

tending  to  her  day  and  night.      The  only  small  joy  that  family  had  was  story-­‐time,  where  

Karina  and  her  father  would  read  to  each  other  or  read  to  Mrs.  Sorensen  at  her  bedside.    

Over  the  years,  the  Sorensen  family  built  up  quite  a  library.    Mrs.  Sorensen  always  calmed  

down  during  story-­‐time,  with  eyes  closed  and  a  temporary  peace  over  her  face.    Even  if  for  

an  hour  a  day,  the  escape  from  real  life  kept  everyone  from  going  insane.  

 

  75  

In  his  desperate  search  for  a  cure,  Sorensen  delved  into  the  study  of  ethno-­‐botany,  

sometimes  traveling  to  distant  lands  to  collect  plant  samples.    “The  answer  is  out  there  –  I  

just  have  to  find  it,”  he  reminded  himself  each  day.    It  was  during  one  of  his  excursions  that  

he  came  across  a  small  tribe  in  the  jungles  of  Brazil.    Sorensen  shared  his  story  about  his  

wife  with  the  tribes-­‐people,  to  which  they  replied,  “We  have  an  answer  for  you,  but  it  

requires  sacrifice  and  commitment  in  a  way  you  never  imagined.”  

 

Sorensen  learned  that  this  particular  tribe  believed  in  ONLY  perfect  unions.    The  union  

between  wife  and  husband  needed  to  be  flawless,  in  order  for  the  lineage  to  be  strong.    

Flawless,  by  their  definition,  would  be  a  marriage  without  terminal  illness,  infertility,  or  

infidelity,  specifically  with  regard  to  the  wife.    In  essence,  the  perfect  wife  would  ensure  the  

perfect  marriage,  which  in  turn  produced  the  perfect  lineage.  

 

“Each  family  has  a  book  that  is  kept  by  the  husband  only.    It  is  his  charge  to  keep  this  book  a  

secret,  but  also  keep  the  book  as  part  of  the  home.    Never  is  the  book  to  be  removed  from  

the  family’s  property,  nor  should  it  be  tampered  with.    

 

The  husband/keeper  keeps  the  book  somewhere  that  is  accessible.    Here  is  the  reason  –  

this  mystical  book  has  the  power  to  detect  the  “flaws”  in  the  wife,  and  only  the  wife.    It  has  

no  effect  on  the  children,  nor  the  husband.    Once  the  book  senses  a  flaw,  or  something  that  

will  change  the  whole  trajectory  of  the  family  –  illness,  infertility  or  infidelity  -­‐-­‐  it  begins  to  

grow  from  its  pages  a  delicate  vine.      

 

Eventually,  the  wife  will  pick  up  this  book  and  begin  to  investigate  the  odd  greenery  

coming  from  within  the  pages.      

 

Before  long,  she  will  feel  restless  and  drawn  to  read  it.    And  she  will  be  mesmerized  by  the  

book,  as  if  it  were  a  lovely  fairy  tale.        It  matters  not  that  the  text  in  this  book  is  of  an  

unknown  language,  because  the  wife  will  read  it  as  if  it  were  any  normal  book.      SHE  will  

connect  with  the  book,  and  the  book  with  her.      Other  family  members  who  pick  up  the  

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book  will  not  understand,  and  will  not  be  affected  by  it.    To  them,  the  book  is  just  an  

ancient,  bizarre  relic  that  sits  on  a  shelf.  

 

Within  24  hours,  the  wife  will  have  brought  the  book  to  bed  with  her,  continuously  reading,  

and  will  have  fallen  into  a  deep,  unending  sleep  from  which  she  will  never  wake.      Once  the  

book  knows  she  is  gone,  the  vines  will  retract  and  it  is  up  to  the  husband  to  close  the  book  

and  place  it  back  to  wherever  it  was  originally.      

 

Some  say  this  book  is  a  curse,  some  say  it’s  a  blessing.    It  covers  heartache  with  heartache,  

all  in  the  name  of  keeping  your  marriage  and  lineage  strong.      

 

If  you  try  to  remove  or  destroy  the  book,  then  your  whole  family,  including  your  children,  

will  be  cursed  for  generations  to  come.    If  a  man  does  not  pass  this  book  to  his  son,  the  

son’s  family  will  be  cursed.    If  a  man  does  not  have  a  legitimate  son,  the  book  is  allowed  to  

skip  a  generation…  from  grandfather  to  grandson.    And  finally,  if  a  man  dies  before  his  

children  are  ready  to  marry,  the  curse  transfers  to  the  next  man  in  the  family  line.    

 

Of  the  12  copies  of  this  book,  we  have  2  copies  that  have  been  “returned”,  much  to  the  

regret  of  their  original  keepers.      

 

You  are  welcome  to  take  one,  but  it  will  not  be  for  yourself.    This  book  can  only  be  

introduced  into  a  family  AT  the  marriage  ceremony  –  presented  as  a  gift  to  the  groom.    

Once  that  happens,  it  can  never  leave  that  family.”  

 

Sorensen  pondered  the  weight  of  this  decision.      His  original  intention  to  save  his  beloved  

has  brought  him  to  a  dead  end,  but  one  that  offered  something  for  the  future.    What  about  

his  daughter?      What  if  she  became  ill  and  had  to  suffer  as  his  wife  did?    What  if  she  were  

unable  to  bear  children  and  have  to  live  a  lifetime  of  barrenness?    Can  all  marriages  survive  

such  strains?      It  seemed  a  bit  unfair  that  all  of  the  consequences  lay  on  the  wife’s  head,  but  

that  the  man  had  to  live  with  this  commitment  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  

 

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Before  he  could  change  his  mind,  Sorensen  took  the  book  and  left  for  home.      

 

Upon  returning,  he  found  his  daughter  weeping  on  the  floor  over  the  lifeless  body  of  his  

wife.    So,  it  has  finally  come  to  an  end  –  all  the  suffering,  pain,  frustration.    Sorensen  wept  

loudly,  both  out  of  relief  and  in  grief.    From  his  rucksack,  he  took  the  book  and  quietly  

placed  it  high  up  on  his  bookshelf,  so  that  he  could  forget  about  this  chapter  in  his  life.  

 

Several  years  passed  and  Karina  was  courted  by  a  handsome  young  man  -­‐-­‐  my  great-­‐great-­‐

great-­‐grandfather  –  Harrison  Linden.    They  were  deeply  in  love,  of  course,  and  planning  to  

marry.    By  all  appearances,  Mr.  Sorensen  reveled  in  his  daughter’s  happiness.    Deep  inside,  

Sorensen  wrestled  with  fear  and  worry  for  his  daughter  .    So  consumed  was  Mr.  Sorensen  

with  protecting  his  loved  ones,  he  did  not  know  what  else  to  do.  

 

On  their  wedding  day,  Sorensen  gave  Karina  and  Harrison  a  big,  warm  embrace.        He  sat  

down  with  Harrison  and  gave  him  the  book,  making  sure  to  explain  it  in  detail.      “If  you  love  

my  daughter  and  your  future  generations,  then  you  will  give  me  your  word  that  you  will  

keep  this  book.”  

 

“Yes,  sir,”  replied  Harrison,  looking  overwhelmed.  

 

For  the  next  few  generations,  the  Linden  families  started  to  build  a  library  from  scratch,  all  

in  the  name  of  hiding  the  book.”  

 

Angela  remained  silent  for  a  few  moments,  to  try  to  piece  the  information  together.    Jack  

continued.  

 

“For  most  of  their  marriage,  my  father  kept  this  secret  from  my  mother.    Much  like  you  and  

me,  my  parents  both  loved  to  read.      Since  dad  inherited  such  a  vast  collection  from  

previous  generations,  it  was  natural  that  our  family  spent  a  lot  of  time  in  that  library.      Mom  

would  read  to  us  sometimes,  or  dad  would  read,  or  even  I  would  read.      Those  were  some  

good  days…  

  78  

 

When  mom  became  sick  with  cancer,  I  was  about  15  years  old.    Dad  did  his  best  to  care  for  

her  -­‐-­‐  he  read  to  her,  he  walked  with  her,  he  cooked  for  her…  He  was  always  a  little  bit  

protective  of  his  library,  but  after  Mom  got  sick,  he  went  over-­‐the-­‐top  and  became  insanely  

protective  about  it.    When  Dad  was  not  tending  to  Mom,  he  would  lock  himself  in  the  

library  and  spend  hours  and  hours  reading.      

 

He  knew  what  was  coming.  

 

Dad  knew  what  was  going  to  happen,  and  it  was  only  a  matter  of  time.    But  he  knew  that  he  

wanted  to  live  and  care  for  mom,  even  if  it  meant  difficulties.    Shouldn’t  we  be  in  this  

together?  Isn’t  that  what  a  strong  marriage  was?  There  were  times  when  I  thought  Dad  was  

going  snap,  because  of  all  the  pressure  he  felt.    

Then,  in  a  moment  of  desperation,  Dad  tried  to  explain  to  mom  about  the  book  and  the  

curse  and  what  it  meant  for  her.    Obviously,  she  didn’t  believe  him.      And  with  the  cancer  

battle  going  on,  Mom  was  not  exactly  thinking  clearly  either.    Mom  and  Dad  fought  so  many  

times  that  year  –  and  I  remember  sneaking  into  the  library,  secretly  trying  to  find  this  

‘book’  that  Dad  kept  talking  about.      I  never  did  find  it,  though.  

 

 It  was  on  a  Tuesday  afternoon,  and  I  came  home  from  school  earlier  than  usual.    Grabbing  

a  snack  from  the  pantry,  I  called  out  for  Mom.    No  answer.    Up  the  stairs,  I  saw  that  the  

library  door  was  ajar  and  my  Mom’s  bedroom  door  closed.      I  peeked  in  the  library.    

Nothing.    Then,  I  knocked  on  my  Mom’s  bedroom  door  and  no  one  answered.    Strange,  I  

thought  to  myself.    She’s  usually  doing  housework  when  I  get  home.  

 

After  a  second  knock,  I  decided  to  open  the  door.    A  flash  of  confused  dread  overcame  me,  

as  I  quietly  pushed  the  door  wide.      

 

There  she  was.    Cold,  peaceful  and  eternally  asleep,  book  hanging  open  and  strange-­‐looking  

vines  covering  her  arms  and  neck.    The  ancient  writing  looked  so  meaningless  on  the  pages.  

 

  79  

So,  that’s  how  she  died.  

 

Dad  warned  her  about  the  book.    Now  it  was  too  late.  

 

Like  I  said,  this  book….  some  believe  it  is  a  blessing,  and  some  believe  it’s  a  curse.    It  

remedies  heartache  with  heartache,  all  for  the  sake  of  protecting  your  marriage  and  family.      

Even  if  this  isn’t  what  I  want  for  me,  for  you,  for  us,  this  is  what  the  future  holds.      Unlike  my  

father,  I’m  giving  you  the  warning  now,  so  we’ll  never  have  to  say  it’s  too  late.”  

 

 

StoriesImaginedBy

Steve Limkeman

Janai Wallace

Grace Liaw

Korey Alfred

Joanna AshlockCharissa Ginn

Kelly HanLarry Seebach

Arti AgarwalNicole Allen