The Arsenal Files 6/The Arsenal Files 6 (Arsenal Computer).ISO/epub/df9601r.zip/DFH

Text File | 1996-01-01 | 44KB | 972 lines

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LORD BOBBY, AMEN
  by Dietmar Trommeshauser
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               (for Adam and my mother and father)

  Bobby had studied Greek and Roman mythology all year, but now
summer break had arrived and he was happy. It was hard being a God,
Bobby thought, on his fourteenth birthday. He blew out the candles
on the chocolate cake his new mom had just baked. In the past year
he'd learned Godhood was a lonely business. There was no one you
could talk to about it, they all thought you were nuts, no one to
guide you or give you pointers, no one to tell you what to do or
what not to do. When he told his best friend Billy Simpkins, he had
looked at him strangely and then asked Bobby if he were on drugs or
something. After that, he kept it to himself.

  Sylvia, "please-call-me-mom," placed his birthday presents in
front of him on the table.

  "Time to open your presents now, dear." she said, passing him a
brightly ribboned package. "This one's from Billy."

  His friends, stuffing themselves with cake, were all seated
around the kitchen table. There was Billy, Tommy Rice -- the kid
next door, Paul Bonderoff, and Shawn Phillips. Ever since Billy's
father, the school principal, caught them goofing off out in the
playground and called them "a buncha coconuts," they formed a group
and were known as The Coconut Club. They even had a clubhouse in
back of the wooded ten acres where Bobby lived.

  Bobby tore off the wrapping. Inside was a book titled 101 Magic
Tricks and a box who's lid pictured a man dressed in black holding
out a fan fold of cards. MR. MAJESTIC it read in bold red letters.
Bobby looked at Billy who was grinning from ear to ear. "Very
funny," he said. Billy just grinned and shrugged. The others wanted
to see so Bobby passed it around.

  He opened the next one, addressed to "Super Dork" from Shawn P..
It was a t-shirt with "I'm with Stupid" and an arrow pointing to
the left emblazed on the front.

  "Thanks, Shawn," he said, reaching for the next gift, this one
from Tommy.

  It turned out to be a bag of marbles, all colours and sizes,
steelies, crystals and cats-eyes, some with multicoloured swirls
like tiny galaxies, others cloudy and milky as though they'd been
washed and ground at the bottom of an endless ocean by an infinity
of tides. He loved it, it was great and would add to his already
large collection. He thanked Tommy and grabbed the last gift from
Paul.

  It came in a small jewellry box tightly wrapped in aqua-green
foil. Inside was a leather necklace with a bright blue stone
attached at the end of the thong.

  "I can't accept this," he said to Paul. He knew its value. It
had originally been given to Paul by his father who had found it
out in their field late one evening. It had been laying in a small
crater and Paul's father told him it was all that was left of a
meteor. The truth of this fable mattered little to Paul or the
boys, what did matter was it had been the last thing Paul ever
received from his dad who died a week later from a heart attack. He
christened the piece 'the Saturn Stone' and refused to take it off.

  "No, really," Paul said to Bobby, "I want you to have it."

  Bobby looked at Paul. "You sure?" They had spent hours together
after his father's funeral, huddled under their clubhouse's tin
roof. Bobby had never known his real parents, he'd been left, as
a six month old infant, on the doorsteps of a church in Seattle
and grew up in an orphanage, so he could sympathise with Paul's
loss. Both ended up crying and hugging each other. The next day of
course, they pretended nothing had happened.

  "Yeah, positive."

  "Thanks, man." Bobby placed the Saturn stone around his neck,
it felt warm and at home there.

  "Ok, guys, before you start kissing and name your first kid after
me, what say we go down to the DBG?" asked Billy, stuffing down the
last of the cake and shrugging on his blue vinyl backpack.

  "Sure," Bobby said, "but the kid would have to be named
`shithead'."

  "Bobby!" Sylvia said, ruffling his hair. "What's this DBG and
where is it?" she asked.

  Bobby looked at the boys, who all shrugged. "It's nothing Syl
. . .mom, just a spot down on Beaver Creek."

  The DBG or Dinosaur Burial Ground was, in reality, just a huge
log jam on the banks of the creek which ran through Bobby's acreage.
Its large sunbleached white logs and splintered branches and roots
looked, at least to the boys, like the bones of gigantic prehistoric
reptiles. The logs, scattered and jumbled, and striped of their
bark, glistened in the sun like bones freshly stripped of flesh. As
well, the place had about it a strange, ancient aura, as though a
great battle had been waged there. It was close to their clubhouse
and the boys loved to go there on hot summer days, when they would
strip down and dive off the logs and into the deep, cool pools
which the creek formed around the jam.

  "Come on, let's go already." Billy said waving them on. He led
the troupe out the back door, down the hill, toward the waiting
forest and the creek below.

                               *  *  *

  Beaver Creek  was a small distributary from Champion Lake
which, according to the local folklore in Moon Lake, was
bottomless. Apparently, no one had ever touched the bottom. Every
year there had been a reported drowning and divers were sent in to
retrieve the bodies, but none were successful. The first time Bobby
swam it was under a dare. After that it wasn't so bad. The lake
wasn't very wide, maybe five hundred yards or so, but the black,
fathomless water freaked him out every time. He was always relieved
when reaching the opposite shore, all the while pedalling his legs
furiously, believing that, at any moment, one of the drowned
victims would reach up with fishbelly-white corpse fingers, grab
him by the ankles and haul him down to rest and rot with the
others.

  Sitting on a log stretching out over the creek, Bobby watched
the dragonflies darting over the smooth pebbles and rocks that
lined the shallow bank. The creek was very narrow, only a stones
throw across, but it was deep and rapid in a number of places,
especially towards the mouth of Beaver Falls. There it made a
slight bend and suddenly dropped and exploded onto another plateau
two hundred feet below. Quite beautiful, the waterfall was
infinitely surrounded by a rainbow. Looking up at the huge,
tumbling curtain of water,  the boys imagined that behind lay the
den of a great obsidian dragon, the roar of the water adding to
their fantasy. They never ventured there without a supply of wooden
swords or spears.

  Back on the riverbank, the dragon flies flitted around the
occasional clump of wildflower or fern. A tall, dead cedar marked
the DBG's spot, its smooth, branchless trunk stretched toward the
rolling blue sky. Bobby wondered many times how it remained
standing. He and Billy had hacked at its trunk with their swords
and knocked off a fair chunk. They found the wood dry and pitted
with ants and worm holes. The fragment crumbling like a sun-
drenched vampire beneath their fingers. Bobby looked up at its
peak, a crow was circling it in spirals. Maybe I'll do that
tonight, Bobby thought, the last time had been quite an adventure.
He took his gaze off the tree and watched Billy and the others. If
they only knew.

  Sylvia tidied up the boy's mess and watched them trek down the
field through the kitchen window. It was so good to finally see
Bobby smiling, laughing and having a good time. It had not always
been so. When her and Dan adopted Bobby, a year ago, he had been
quiet, shy and kept mostly to himself. They spotted him at the
orphanage, standing out on the playground, his arms around another
child whose face was horribly scarred from acne. Apparently, Bobby
was comforting the boy who'd been razzed by some of the older,
bigger kids. Sylvia's heart went out to him  -- then and there, she
knew immediately this was the child for her. After seeing the
short, strawberry-haired lad with the sad blue eyes, Dan needed
little convincing. After a few short weeks, filled with interviews,
paperwork and lawyers, Sylvia and Dan took him home to their little
acreage on the Old Columbia Garden Road.

  It lay along the side of a mountain which, for the most part,
lay covered with cedar and pine. The house itself, was a large
three bedroom bungalow dressed up in Spanish style stucco with red
clay shingles lining the roof. Dan, a carpenter, had built it
himself. It had a large open deck which circled the building. The
driveway, framed by two large cement posts holding a wrought-iron
sign proclaiming THE HENDRICKSON'S, wound its way down the hill,
past a large vegetable garden on the left, and a cope of plum trees
on the right.

  It stopped short of the entrance to a rickety old barn which
had been there when Dan bought the place, eight years ago. They had
painted it a battleship-grey, and now it lay under the sun like a
beached whale, its missing siding slats and shingles gave it the
appearance of a large ribcage left to dry in the desert. Dan, using
it primarily to store bales of hay, straw and sacks of grain for
their two horses, three cows and five pigs, had added on a small
chicken coop. The entire acreage was surrounded by a fence
fashioned with two-by-fours. Each summer Dan added a fresh coat of
white paint. Though he hated the work, it made the place look new
and tidy.

  Sylvia hung the laundry on the outside line, and contemplated
the passing year with Bobby.

  At first he had been very quiet, speaking only when spoken to.
He was very polite and moved around the house as though he was
afraid of breaking something. Both she and Dan surmised the boy was
afraid he'd be returned to the orphanage at the slightest
provocation. They learned from their lawyer, Bobby had been placed
with two foster parents prior to themselves. According to his file,
both families replaced him in the orphanage because of strange
occurrences, there wasn't much else other than Bobby had scared
their other children and the 'disruption' was more than they
bargained for.

  Together, Dan and her spent hours assuring the boy he was a
permanent member of this family and showering him with affection
whenever possible. All this attention was so new to him, it took
months before there was any sign of trust. The tide seemed to turn
after his first week in his new school. He made friends easily, it
seemed, and things finally settled into a more relaxed atmosphere,
though he still hadn't fully bonded with her, lately him and Dan
were chumming around more often. She finished hanging up her
nightshirt when she spotted Dan's Jeep pulling into the yard.

  She watched him climb out of the cab, the straps to his
coveralls caught on the door handle and he fumbled with it while
trying to hold onto his thermos. She smiled. Still as handsome as
the day we met, she thought.

  He was a tall man, dark haired and lean, when he was angry,
which wasn't often, his face would gather together like a thunder
cloud, but when he was happy and smiled it was as though someone
turned on an extra lamp in the room. He was soft spoken but rarely
talked unless he had something important to say. This was partially
due, Sylvia thought, to his harelip. Unfortunately, he remained
embarrassed about it since childhood, now he kept it well hidden
beneath a long handlebar moustache, this made him look somewhat
like Pecos Bill.

  Dan spotted Sylvia over at the clothesline.

  "Hi, honey," he waved. "Where's the birthday boy?"

  "Him and the gang went somewhere called the DBG," she mumbled
through lips clenching a clothespin.

  He grinned,  the old DBG, eh. It was one of the first things Dan
had shown the boy and he'd been fascinated. He decided to join the
boys.

  "I'm just gonna grab my rod and tackle and head down there
myself." He said climbing the porch stairs.

  "Make sure you catch something, hon, a trout for dinner would
be great," she shouted, "And be careful." The last was added as a
joke, Dan always returned from his fishing trips soaked to the
teeth. He claimed it was the slime covered rocks he fished from and
the huge one that pulled him off balance. In all their years
together, however, this big one had always gotten away.

  Ten minutes later, Dan emerged in a clean white t-shirt and
jeans, his fly rod in one hand and his tacklebox in the other. "See
ya," he shouted.

  "Where's your wetsuit and tanks?"

  "Very funny," and he was off.

  Bobby watched Paul, Tommy and Shawn horsing around in the
water, they were filling their mouths with creek water and then
spitting it at each other. Billy, just to his left, balanced
precariously on an out cropping log. His arms were outstretched as
he performed his high-wire act. Suddenly, his right foot slipped
and cartwheeling, Billy plunged off the log and headed toward a
certain impaling on a jagged, broken branch which lay below
directly in his path. Without a thought to the consequences,
Bobby teleported.

                               *  *  *

  Instead of the splintered branch, Billy landed harmlessly onto
a bed of fern and dead leaves.

  "What the hell--"

  "Je-e-sus . . . ."

  "Oh my . . . ."

  "What--"

  Stunned, the boys looked at Bobby, then checked out their new
surroundings.

  They found themselves standing on what, at first, appeared to
be a high jungle plateau. In front of them was a shear drop so deep
they had trouble deciding if it had a bottom or not. The entire
side of the cliff was covered in vines and vegetation, so it was no
wonder it took them a minute or two to notice the windows, doors
and balconies carved into the rock face, all long overgrown with
jungle foliage. This entire world seemed covered in jungle, it lay
spread before them like a huge green carpet stretching from horizon
to horizon. If that wasn't strange enough, there appeared to be two
gigantic moons hanging in the noon-day sky. The real horror, though
was the absence of life and sound; there wasn't so much as an ant
to be seen, it was quiet as a tomb, and the air too had a strange
odour to it, it smelled like the pages of a freshly opened book
just bought.

  "W . . . where are we?" Billy asked, shaking.

  "I don't know," Bobby said. He looked about to cry.

  "What do you mean, you don't know?" said Paul, edging away
from the cliff.

  "Yeah, what did you do?" Shawn added.

  "I . . . I mean I don't know the name of this place," Bobby
stuttered. "I . . . I just made it up in m-ma-my head."

  "Hey, it's ok, man." Billy said, putting an arm around his
friend. The fear was slowly disappearing from the group.

  "Yeah, cool, dude," the others chorused. "Check this out, guys!"
Paul pointed to something behind them. It turned out to be a tall
square block of granite, this monolith too was overgrown with
vegetation. At the front was a huge stone door, its entrance sealed
and welded shut ages ago by vine and root. Above the entrance and
engraved in stone were ancient symbols. *><><?^\/<>*, it read. The
boys had no idea what the runes meant.

  "What is this place?" Billy asked again.

  "Looks like we're on the wall of a really, really old city."
Paul said, turning to Bobby.

  He just shrugged, the picture had been in his mind one minute
and the next they were standing in it, he had never understood how
it worked, just that it did. At first he'd been apprehensive and
concerned, but realised it was the only way he could save Billy's
life. The others seemed to be taking it very well too. He was glad,
it hadn't always been so. They hunkered down in a circle on top of
the metropolis that until this moment had remained hidden in the
millennium.

  "So, tell us about it," Billy said. One eye on Bobby, the other
on the two moons.

  And so he did.

                               *  *  *

  Dan shouted again, "Bobby!" Cupping his hands to his mouth,
"Hey! Boys!" He was worried. His rod and tackle left on the bank,
forgotten for the moment. He'd been searching and calling
frantically for the last half hour, sunset was only an hour away.
The only sign of the boys were their wet footprints still glistening
on the dry stones. It was as if they'd suddenly vanished into thin
air. Dan scrambled among the log jam, earlier he'd dove into the
creek checking the edge of the jam. Submerged, he prayed the boys
hadn't been dragged beneath it by the undertow. Luckily there'd
been no evidence of this and so he continued searching the many
holes and crevasses the jam afforded.

                               *  *  *

  Finishing his tale, Bobby looked up at his friends, he steeled
himself, expecting the usual rejection.

  "You say you've had this power since you turned six?" Shawn
asked, his hands folded neatly in his lap, as if in prayer.

  "Uh, huh."

  "Wow," Shawn replied.

  "Yeah, wow," Billy echoed. "Sorry about not believing you earlier,
bud."

  "You believe me now?" Bobby asked. He couldn't believe it,
usually they'd either run away screaming or they'd laugh and made
fun of him. With a sigh, he began to relax.

  "Duh," Billy said and waved his arm across the horizon. "What
do you think."

  "What else can you do, Bobby?" Tommy asked.

  "Anything I can think of, I  guess. I never really tried too
much cause . . . well, you know." He paused, fingering the Saturn
stone, his eyes lowered, he raised them slowly. "I flew once, and
I made this one kid disappear, but he was an asshole who kept
picking on one of my friends."

  "Cool." They all agreed, nodding their heads.

  Paul had been silent the whole time, now he slid closer to Bobby.

  "You can do anything?" he asked, his throat dry.

  "I guess," Bobby said.

  Paul leaned over towards him. "Do you think you can . . ." he
whispered in Bobby's ear.

  "Yes," Bobby said, but the churning feeling in his stomach made
him wish he'd said, "No."

  Dan was almost in a panic now. The sun was setting and he still
hadn't found the boys. He'd trekked up and down the creek for miles,
his skin itchy, his shirt and jeans torn and filthy from scrambling
through the brambles and bushes. Mosquitoes fought over his face-
sweat. Sylvia would have a fit if he returned without Bobby. He had
to find the boys. But where? Contemplating his next move, he sat
down on a large boulder and gazed out over the water. He glanced at
his watch. It would be dark soon. He shivered, and not only from
the cold.

                               *  *  *

  "You wanna try?" Paul asked, the others listened closely.

  "Give me a couple days to think about it, ok?" Bobby said,
brushing aside the dead leaves on the ground in between his legs.
Scattering the debris uncovered more granite engraved runes.

  "Sure, buddy."

  Suddenly a beeping sound shattered the silence.

  "Damn," Bobby said, looking at his watch. "It's almost eight
o'clock." He turned off the alarm. "We'd better get going, before
our parents get worried."

  "My mom won't care." Paul said, his eyes downcast.

  "Sure she does," said Bobby, "Ready?"

  They nodded.

                               *  *  *

  Dan picked up his rod and tackle box and was about to head
back up the hill with bad news for Sylvia, when all of a sudden
he thought he heard voices. They appeared to come from the DBG and
so he hurried back in that direction.

  He rounded the bend and climbed down the bank and there they
were, all four of them, just climbing over the log jam and heading
toward the well worn path that led back up to the farmhouse. He
thanked God and waited anxiously.

  "Where were you guys?" he asked, when they finally reached him.
"I've been looking for you for hours."

  Bobby, his hands in his pockets, kicked at a clump of grass
growing in the pathway. "We were down at the Dragon's Den," he
said, his eyes downcast. "We probably didn't hear you because of
the falls."

  Dan knew he was lying, it was one of the first places he
searched and there had been no sign of the boys. "Oh," he said,
wondering what Bobby was hiding. He didn't want to press him
though, he and the boy had just started to bond and he felt sure
whatever secrets Bobby had would eventually be revealed. "Ok, but
we'd better head home now before mom sends out a search party."

                               *  *  *

  Later that night, the boys long gone and with Bobby fast
asleep in his room, Dan turned the lights out in his own bedroom
and, pulling back the covers, snuggled in beside Sylvia who was
already asleep. Dan closed his eyes, it was eleven-forty-five and
he had to get up for work at six, but he wasn't tired at all. He
hadn't mentioned the afternoon's events to Sylvia, she would have
been worried silly and he didn't want to upset her. It still
bothered him though, why had the boy lied and more importantly,
where had they really been? These questions kept him awake for a
few more hours before he finally nodded off to sleep.

                               *  *  *

  Bobby had a dream. In it he was tied to a post in a clearing
in the centre of the forest. A full moon hung huge and heavy in the
night sky. It cast the surrounding trees in long black shadows.
Heaped at his feet was a pile of wood and kindling, and dancing in
a circle around him, all brandishing torches, were a dozen shadowy
figures draped in dark robes, their faces hidden beneath hooded
cowls. He struggled in his bonds but his hands were bound as well
as his feet and his efforts were futile, even his neck was pinned
to the post by rope.

  There was no sound save for the swish of the robes as the
figures continued circling. Then Bobby noticed the eyes. There were
thousands, they filled the trees, lining their branches. They shone
brightly from the rocks, stared silently from behind bushes and
stumps. Eyes everywhere, but their owners remained hidden.

  Suddenly, one of the cowled figures darted in and threw his
torch onto the briar, one by one the others followed suit. The wood
at his feet quickly caught fire. Flames began to lick at his
trouser cuffs. Bobby began to shout as the flames grew higher.
Slowly his lungs filled with thick woodsy smoke and coughing, he
began to choke. He couldn't keep his eyes open either, they stung
and teared. The bottom of his jeans caught fire, the pain sudden
and excruciating. Bobby screamed. The figures were motionless
except for the one who'd thrown the first torch, he picked up a
long branch and began prodding the burning wood closer toward
Bobby. In the light of the fire the figure's cowl slid open, it
was Dan.

  Bolting upright in his bed, Bobby awoke bathed in sweat. His
feet throbbed in pain. He shoved back his blankets and stared in
shock at his legs. They were red and blistering, liquid seeped from
the raw wounds. Truly frightened now, Bobby hobbled into the
washroom, careful not to waken Dan or Sylvia. How am I going to
explain this, he asked himself while hunting for the first aid kit
in the medicine cabinet. He found the bandages but then had a
better idea. Replacing the items, he sat on the toilet lid, head in
his hands, and concentrated on his burnt legs.

  Magically, he watched them heal, the blisters and open sores
disappearing, sinking beneath fresh new skin. In seconds there was
no sign of injury, the pain too had vanished. Cool, he thought,
sneaking back to bed. The dream had really frightened him; in
school, he'd learned all about the medieval practice of witch-
burning, had studied the story of Joan of Ark. He now had an
inkling of what they must have gone through. But why would Dan want
to burn him, he wondered, and who were the other figures? He kept
telling himself it was just a dream, but it had seemed so real and
he lay awake the rest of the night and waited for the dawn.

  It was noon; Bobby and Billy sat out on the porch eating
chicken noodle soup and cucumber sandwiches.

  "So what about Paul?" Billy asked, between mouthfuls. "You
gonna do it?"

  "I don't know," said Bobby, then took a bite out of the
peppered sandwich. He'd been thinking about it all morning. He
figured if it worked maybe he could finally discover who his own
parents were. He had an old faded photograph but he'd always been
curious as to why they had abandoned him. "What do you think?"

  Billy shrugged, a noodle slid from his spoon and stuck to the
bottom of his chin. "If you can do it why not give it a shot." He
plucked the noodle from his face and swallowed it. "What've you
got to lose?"

  Bobby gathered up his dishes and brought them into the kitchen.
Sylvia had gone into town for groceries, the boys had the place to
themselves. "You don't think people are gonna be curious about a
dead guy walking around?" he asked, over his shoulder. He began to
fill the sink with warm, soapy water.

  Billy tipped the bowl to his lips and noisily slurped the
last of his soup, then added his dishes to the others in the sink.
"Can't you use your power to make them forget he ever died?"

  "Hummm, never thought of that," Bobby answered, wondering if it
were even possible. "Guess I could try," he paused, considering,
"but I'd need a picture, or photograph."

  "No prob, soon's we finish the dishes lets head over to Paul's."

  "What about the others?"

  "Well, I phoned Tommy this morning and he's grounded for a
couple a days cause he got home late last night and Shawn's busy
helping his dad down at the hardware store. So it will just be the
three of us."

  "Ok, then let's do it." Bobby said placing the last dish back up
in the cupboard.

                               *  *  *

  Sylvia just finished loading up the groceries in her Volkswagen
Rabbit and was about to climb into the driver's seat, when she
spotted Reverend Dewitt emerging from Harrison's Hardware. It had
been the Reverend who first suggested she and Dan try adoption
after their many failed attempts at natural childbirth. Upon
discovering his sterility, Dan had taken on a burden of guilt,
blaming himself for her unhappiness, he knew how badly she wanted
children. Rev. Dewitt spent hours counselling him, showing both
other alternatives. She called out his name and waved at him,
before climbing in behind the wheel. He turned, smiling, switched
the paper bag he was carrying to his left hand and returned the
wave.

  He was a short, plump, balding man, Sylvia pictured him as
Friar Tuck from Robin Hood and he had been a true friend for
years, was there the first day they brought Bobby home. His
friendly rapport and banter with the young boy had helped dispel
what could have been a tense and awkward atmosphere. His calm,
open demeanour was a great support and he was well liked by the
small community, his tiny Lutheran church always packed on Sunday.
He continued the wave as Sylvia drove by.

                               *  *  *

  Dan lifted the last of the gyprock and nailed it in place, his
partner Pete Somers watched from the corner and ate the tuna salad
sandwiches his wife Dotty had prepared for him.

  Lately, Pete's mind was occupied with thoughts of his sister,
Meg, she just lost her husband from a heart attack and was taking
it badly. To Pete it seemed like she couldn't accept the fact Mike
was gone. She still fixed three place settings for every meal and
would sit for hours on the porch waiting for Mike to come home from
work. Pete was especially concerned how her behaviour was effecting
Paul, his nine year old nephew. Up till now the boy seemed all
right, but he worried that his sister's loss of reality might rub-
off on Paul. He'd talked to Dan about it, and Dan had reassured him
the boy was fine. Pete finished eating, crunched up the wax paper
and joined Dan in mixing the plaster. He decided he would check in
at Meg's after work.

                               *  *  *

  Bobby and Billy reached Paul's house shortly after three. They
spotted Mrs. Bonderoff sitting in her rocker on the porch.

  "Hi mam," Billy shouted. "Paul around?" There was no answer,
she continued to stare blankly at the horizon. "Come on," Billy
said, shrugging to Bobby. Together they ran around to the backyard.
They found Paul laying under a plum tree and staring up at the sky.
They too looked up but there was nothing there save for a cloud
shaped a little like an elephant minus the trunk.

  "What's up?" Billy asked.

  "Hey guys." Paul sat up and brushed the dirt from his jeans.

  "I've been thinking about what you asked." Bobby said, kneeling
down beside Paul. Billy remained standing, chewing thoughtfully on
a stem of grass.

  "Yeah, and?" Paul asked.

  "I figured I'd give it a shot. But I need a photo of him or
something." Bobby could remember Mike, Paul's dad, being short and
chubby with a receding blonde hairline. What he remembered best was
the man's smile, he always wore one, and his deep voice with the
Russian accent. He would always gather the boys around him and tell
them the latest joke he'd heard, some were even dirty. However,
Bobby decided, if he was gonna do it he needed a clearer picture.

  "No problemo," Paul said, rushing to his feet. "Wait here,
I'll be back in a sec." He raced into the house and came back out
minutes later carrying a large framed photograph.

  "How's this?" he asked, handing it to Bobby. "It's my mom's
favourite."

  It was their wedding picture. Taken nineteen years ago, it
showed a much thinner man, with long blonde curls and his arms
around a thin black haired girl, Bobby barely recognised as Paul's
mom, the man's smile was the same, though.

  "You sure about this?" Bobby asked, with Billy peering at the
photo over his shoulder.

  Paul nodded.

  "OK."

  Bobby sat down on the grass and concentrated on the photo.

  Reverend Dewitt decided he'd pop over and visit Meg Bonderoff.
Pete had told him of his concerns and the Rev was worried too. He
had known Meg and Mike a long time, had administered their wedding
vows as well as the last rites at Mike's funeral. Mike had a lot of
friends, it had been a truly sad event, with Meg crying the whole
time. She wouldn't stop no matter what anyone said or did, it had
been awful. Since the funeral, she'd never been the same carefree,
bouncy young lady the Reverend remembered. He feared her spirit was
broken, perhaps forever. Not if I can help it, he thought, pulling
into her yard.

  He turned off the ignition to his old Rambler Stationwagon, it
coughed once, then settled with the dust.

  Climbing out of the car, he glanced over at the simple little
stuccoed farmhouse. That's a good sign, he thought, noticing the
porch and the empty rocking chair. He could hear voices inside so
he guessed they were home. He knocked on the back door and waited.

                               *  *  *

  Peter Somers packed up his tools and said good-bye to Dan. He
wanted to stop off at the liquor store and pick up a case of beer
before heading out to Meg's. The sun was slowly setting, the
horizon a beautiful crimson and gold. It promised another hot and
clear day for tomorrow. He used his handkerchief and wiped his
sweaty forehead. He pulled out of the construction site and headed
for town.

                               *  *  *

  Reverend Dewitt was both shocked and amazed when Meg answered
the door. Amazed by the look of exuberance and the wide beaming
smile on her face, shocked by what she said.

  "Come in Reverend, come in!" She grabbed his arm and practically
dragged him across the threshold. "Mike's back! I told you. I told
you he would."

  "Now Megan, please . . ." he began, slowly removing her hand. He
followed her into the living room where he came to an abrupt halt,
paralysed at the sight.

  "Oh, my God!" he moaned, unbelieving.

  Standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by the three boys,
stood Michael. With wide eyes and slack jaw, Dewitt stared at him.
The first thing he noticed was this was a much younger Mike than
the one he'd laid to rest. He had the same old lopsided smile, but
there was something wrong. Something . . . missing, and then he had
it, it was the eyes. They were devoid of life. They stared at
everyone and at nothing. They were blank. Dewitt remembered Mike's
brilliant blue eyes, these appeared overgrown with cataracts, white
and milky, a mannequin's showed more spark. This man, this thing,
uttered not a sound, merely stood unblinking like a statue.

  Dewitt took another step into the room. For the first time he
noticed the boys. Paul stood hand in hand beside his father, Bobby
sat on the couch, head in hands, he appeared to be crying. Billy
sat quietly on the floor in the corner, his thumb in his mouth. He
was whimpering. Meg was dancing around the room and every now and
then darting in to touch her husband.

  "What in God's name is going on here?" the Reverend asked,
shaken.

  Bobby looked up, suddenly realising someone new had entered.

  "You remember my dad, don't you, Reverend?" Paul asked, pulling
his father toward the priest.

  Dewitt stepped back, horrified.

  Bobby closed his teary eyes and concentrated.

                               *  *  *

  Peter pulled in behind the Reverend's Rambler. Good, he
thought, Dewitt's presence would help reinforce his efforts with
Meg. Whistling, he bounded up the stairs to the door. His lips
froze in silence though, when he heard his sister's laughter from
inside. "Meg?" he called out hesitantly, and knocked. The door
swung open on its own and he stepped in. He could hear the Reverend
and Meg talking, it seemed to come from the living room so he
headed toward the sounds.

  Entering the room, he froze. Sitting in the middle of the
couch, with Paul on his knees, sat Michael, on either side sat the
Reverend and his sister. Paul's friend Billy was still in the
corner sucking his thumb, there was no sign of Bobby. Suddenly,
Peter heard the toilet flush. Startled, he returned his gaze to
Mike.

  "Come on in and sit down," Meg said, patting the spot next to her.

  "Yes, join us," Dewitt said, smiling.

  "What . . . I . . ." stammered Peter, confused and horrified.
A bit of drool spun its way from the corner of Mike's mouth, its
silvery thread leading to the floor. Paul appeared asleep, his head
resting on his father's chest. Peter noticed it was moving up and
down, so the man was breathing, but how . . . what? Peter heard
footsteps behind him and turned.

                               *  *  *

  Dan helped Sylvia prepare dinner. They were having tacos and
corn on the cob, Bobby's favourite.

  "I'd better phone Meg and tell Bobby dinner's almost ready,"
he said, dialling the number. While it was ringing, he watched
Sylvia add the spicy sauce to the meat in the frying pan. The kid
loved his tacos hot.

  "Hello?"

  "Oh, hi Pete," Dan answered. "Is Bobby around?" He heard laughter
in the background.

  "Yeah, he's playing with Mike in the living room. Just a sec I'll
get him."

  Did he say Mike, Dan wondered, puzzled.

  "Hi, dad." Bobby sounded funny, as if he was in a hurry and needed
to be elsewhere.

  "Hey, kid, what's up, everything ok?"

  "Yeah, why?" Bobby asked, hesitantly.

  "What's this about Mike?" Dan asked. It sounded like there was a
party going on.

  "Oh, that. I'll explain when I get home."

  "Well you better head on out cause dinner's almost ready."

  "OK." Bobby said and hung up.

  Dan looked at the receiver, scratched his ear, and followed suit.

                               *  *  *

  Bobby was very worried about Billy and Paul. Paul he could
understand, but Billy was almost catatonic, had been ever since
Bobby'd made Michael appear under the plum tree. He'd taken one
look at those zombie eyes and gone into shock. Bobby glanced over
at Mike, still motionless on the couch. Not a flesh eating zombie
like the ones in the movies, he thought, but a zombie none the
less.

  He moved over to Billy and knelt in front of his friend.

  "Hey, Billy," he said, shaking his friend's shoulder.
"Hey, Buddy."

  After a few more shakes Billy's eyes appeared a little more
focused, a little clearer. "Shouldn't . . ." he mumbled, the thumb
still in his mouth. ". . . shouldn't a done it, shouldn't a . . ."
He shook his head.

  "You're right," Bobby said, putting an arm around him and
helping him to his feet. He didn't know what he had done wrong with
Mike. No matter what he tried, Mike would always return empty,
shell-like. Bobby was old enough to realise what Mike was missing,
he'd been raised by nuns, so he knew Mike was devoid of a soul.
What he didn't know was how to create one, and reading Reverend
Dewitt's mind hadn't supplied him with any answers. He was at a
loss, and didn't know what to do or say to Paul either. He helped
support Billy who still seemed on the verge of collapse.

  "Please make him go away." Billy whimpered. "Please make him
disappear, please."

  Bobby walked over to Paul, dragging Billy along. He let Billy
go and shook Paul awake. Billy backed up into the kitchen where
Bobby had put the Reverend and Peter to sleep. They lay with their
heads on the table and snored soundly.

  Paul awoke semi-dazed, at first uncertain where he was. Bobby
pulled him out of his father's lap. "We gotta talk," he said.

  "Sure." Paul answered, rubbing his eyes. "What's up?"

  "That's not your father, Paul." Bobby said, turning his friend
back toward the couch. Paul stared at Mike but remained silent.
Meg had her arm's around his father's neck and was softly kissing
his cheek. She appeared content and at peace.

  "This is your father." Bobby said and formed a picture in his
mind which he then projected to Paul's. It was a scene from their
last meeting at the Clubhouse and Mike had just finished telling
them a dirty joke. They were all laughing and Mike had grabbed Paul
by the legs and held him in the air upside down, till the rest
joined in and climbing ontop of Mike, wrestled him, laughing the
whole time, to the ground.

  Bobby removed the Saturn Stone from around his neck. "And this
is your dad," he said, placing the necklace in Paul's hand.

  Paul swallowed, his eyes grew misty and tears began to flow.
"I . . . I . . . know," he hiccupped. "B-b . . . but ma . . . my
. . . m . . . m-mom . . ."

  Bobby hugged his friend. He knew he was hurting. "I think I can
help her," he said.

  Paul wiped away his tears. "Y . . . y . . . you can?" Slowly,
he slipped the necklace back around his neck.

  "I think so." Bobby closed his eyes. Instantly and soundlessly,
Mike vanished. Meg suddenly found herself hugging empty air and
fell face-first onto the couch.

  "No-o-o!" she wailed, scattering the pillows in search of her
husband.

  Bobby projected. Meg was in a trance, they were back at the
funeral, the whole town was gathered around the open grave. The
coffin was slowly being lowered, and she was weeping in the
Reverend's arms. Suddenly, from out of the sky shone a bright,
pure golden light, its rays washing over the site, bathing the
casket. Meg, now silent, watched as something bright and blue rose
up out of the coffin's lid. The tiny, blue, living flame hovered
over her head momentarily, then slowly rose and finally disappeared
into the clear summer sky. No one else seemed aware of either light.
She stopped crying and composed herself.

  In the livingroom, Paul watched as his mother's frantic face
relaxed, a smile forming. She blinked, then noticed the boys
standing in front of her and Billy peeking around the kitchen's
doorway, he no longer sucked his thumb.

  "Come here," she said to Paul, gathering him up into an embrace.
"I love you, kid."

  "I-I love you too, mom." They hugged each other. "I miss dad so
much," he said, starting to cry again.

  "Hush now, Paul. I miss him too." she said, stroking his hair.
"But we're gonna be ok."

  Billy waved Bobby over to the kitchen.

  "You did good," he said. "But I think we better go."

  "Yup," said Bobby. "Hey, we got tacos for dinner. Wanna eat
over?"

  "Sure, but I gotta phone my mom from your place and let her
know," he said, holding the back door open. "But what about those
guys?" He pointed at the two sleeping figures.

  "Let them sleep," he said sliding quietly past his friend.
"They'll wake up in about an hour and won't remember anything."

  "I guess now you'll never find out who your real parents are?"
Billy asked, following him outside.

  "No, but I know who my `true' parents are." Bobby smiled.

  "Awesome," and together they left.

                               *  *  *

  Later that night, Dan tucked Bobby into bed.

  "So, tell me. What was all that about Mike?" he asked, fluffing
up the pillow.

  "Oh, that. Nothing really, we were just playing with the Quiji
board pretending to talk to Paul's dad."

  "Oh, I heard those things were spooky," Dan replied. "Better be
careful." He turned out the light.

  If you only knew the half of it, Bobby thought. "Dad, would it
be ok if we said a prayer together?"

  Dan, halfway out the door, turned back, "Of course it's ok."
He smiled.

  Together they clasped their hands and said the Lord's prayer.
Billy also thanked God for delivering him to Sylvia and Dan.

  "Amen," they finished.

  To Bobby it felt good to be home, finally.

                               (DREAM)

Copyright 1996 Dietmar Trommeshauser, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Dietmar is another excellent writer nice enough to share his work
with us. He's 39, and living outside of Vancouver, B.C. He attended
Kootenay School Of Writing, Selkirk College in Nelson B.C. He had a
diving accident and suffered a spinal injury in 1985, which led him
to become an avid reader -- in the Horror genre, and admits this has
influenced his choice in writing. He's been published in literary
rags in the past, and is currently working on a novel, from which
TCOF has been presented here, MY LIFE WITH THE SANDMAN, coming soon.
Dietmar likes to receive email at:   [e-mail]
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