Cream of the Crop 11/Cream of the Crop 11-1.iso/faq/df9601g.zip/2R

Text File | 1996-01-01 | 45KB | 981 lines

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  LORD BOBBY, AMEN
    by Dietmar Trommeshauser
  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


                 (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 minuets 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]
  ====================================================================