Keith G. Alderman

Watch the World Burn

The plume of tar, chemical paint, cotton, wood, and ash filled my lungs. I gasped for air, but it was a good kind of gasp. It would be in memoriam of the final wave of disgust and pain—and it filled me one last time. I was inhaling, taking it in. Letting it fill and consume me. It drifted in and out of my ears, nostrils, eyelids, and mouth. Glued itself to the pores on my hands and neck. Covered me like a venomous blanket and hugged me tight in bitterness and misery. But then the wind took it away and the puff of smoke was gone. All that remained were the burning embers and dried up ashes.

My father, in a sense, was born to be a pastor. Though, the title itself means nothing—or should mean nothing—in the grand scheme of God’s creation. But for the sake of this re-telling: he was born to be a pastor. His great-grandfather was a pastor. His grandfather was a pastor. His father was a pastor. But he didn’t become one until he was nearly sixty.

Instead, he worked hard to be the best dad of three he could. He strived to win financially. And ultimately sacrificed his marriage on the altar of “success”. He had a relative mansion, a great job, and worked his whole life to get to that moment, only to see his marriage fall to pieces. And then he was taking his 13-year-old son to Titusville to start over again.

I remember one evening or another, we were in the kitchen together, making one of three meals we always ate (frozen pizza, spaghetti, or “beanie-weenies”). Suddenly, and for no apparent reason, he gasped for air, clutched me in his arms and began weeping all over my shoulder. His tears drenched my shirt, and I felt cold, wet, and terrified. In my whole life, I’ve never been so scared of my father.

He eventually let go of me, wiped his tears, apologized and walked to his room to collect himself. As a 35-year-old man, I understand now a piece of what he felt.

He could have squandered or become a helpless blob of a man. He could have given up in dismay. Instead, he put his head down between his shoulders and searched for what needed to change in himself. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t quick. But he knew he had to leave behind the way he had done things before, to go where he needed to be.

Sometimes life is all about change. And mistakes propelling us forward into places we have to fix.

Sometimes life isn’t just a turn from wrong to right at all. Or from evil to good. It is simply a turn from the life we have to the one we are offered.

In the nineteenth chapter of First Kings, Elijah sought out Elisha, who was working in a field on the last and final team of twelve oxen-plowing teams. Elijah went to him and threw his cloak across his shoulders before leaving him stupefied and alone. Elisha runs to him after realizing what Elijah’s intent is and hollers, “First let me go and kiss my father and mother goodbye, and then I will go with you!”

Elijah turns to him and says, “Go on back, but think about what I have done to you.”

Elisha is in the midst of great change, opportunity, and destiny. He does not hesitate again. He returns to his oxen and slaughters them there and then. He destroys his plow and sets it on fire to roast the meat. He gives all the meat away to the townspeople and then follows Elijah.

Elijah never tells Elisha what is happening or what will happen. He simply puts the future on his shoulders and sees what kind of man Elisha is.

No one can tell you your future. Just as no one can steal your destiny. It belongs to you. You just have to go out and get it. You have to decide what future you want—what future you will pursue—what future you must create.

You have to decide what you are willing to burn so that you cannot return.

This was never about turning from wrong to right. Or evil to good. It was simply turning from the life Elisha had to the one he was offered. And his radical behavior made it a declaration that there is no going back.

In his Gospel, John Luke describes a moment when Jesus was promised by someone that they would “follow [Him] wherever [He] goes.” But Jesus replies, “Foxes have dens to live in, and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place even to lay his head.” Jesus turns to someone else and says, “Come, follow me.” The man agrees to, but informs Jesus that he must first return home and bury his father. Jesus instructs, “Let the dead bury their own dead! Your duty is to go and preach about the Kingdom of God.” Another turns to Jesus and says, “Lord, I will follow you, but first let me say goodbye to my family.” But Jesus tells him, “Anyone who puts a hand to the plow and then looks back is not fit for the Kingdom of God.”

You cannot follow Jesus into the future if you are holding on to your past.

We all want peaceful, joyful, fulfilled, miraculous, legacy-leaving, history-making, dead-raising, powerful, prophetic lives used by God. But are we willing to give up every last addiction, adultery, gossip, manipulation, passive-aggression, whining, partying, indulgent, prideful, foolish vice we have hidden under the bed?

“I really enjoy being the center of attention, God. With my instant satisfaction, easy, quick results, lifestyle. Make sure that’s part of the plan, too, please.”

Much of our adult lives involve us living out what others want us to be. Rather than who we are supposed to be. There is a difference, of course, between setting the past on fire and burning bridges. God’s Word tells us to be at peace with all men, if at all possible. So your past-burning isn’t about destroying relationships. Burning bridges is about setting other people on fire. Burning your past is about removing the things that should not be taken into your future.

There are people in my past, both friends and family, that I had to remove myself from, not because I wanted to “get back at them” or bitterly remove them from my life. But only because they wouldn’t let me grow into who God intended me to be.

And I have to ask myself this all the time: “Am I still growing? What is holding me back?”

The beautiful and magnificent part of God’s personality is that ofttimes He uses the pieces of our past—both good and bad—to enrich our future. So don’t use Elisha’s plow-burning as an excuse to burn all your bridges. Burn the past that is holding you back, not the people who don’t know any better. Instead, give whatever last fruit or cooked meat you have to the townspeople and go.

My dad had to burn his past that was selfish and sinful when we were in that apartment crying.

Later, he would burn his position at ULA to walk into what God intended for him. And I’m confident he still has more to burn.

There is something powerful, elemental, and cathartic about fire.

I had a girlfriend in my late adolescent years. I thought she and I would marry. We dated for nearly two and a half years. But nearly every aspect of our relationship was unhealthy. And I don’t mean sexually unhealthy, but the plague and toxicity that lives deeper than that. (Though don’t be disillusioned to think sexual sin isn’t enough to ruin.) The things like manipulation, guilt, lying and pettiness that really destroy a soul. We weren’t pushing toward God anymore. She was an artist slipping away from Him every day. Until finally we broke up. And in my misery, I found the beautiful and enriching act of setting all the paintings she had given me on fire.

Of course, this wasn’t about hurting her. I never told anyone except my wife I did it—until now, I suppose. But it was about me setting my past on fire and making sure I couldn’t go back.

There’s no going back after fire-moments. They take you all-in.

I was not supposed to be the man that she wanted me to be.

When Elisha lit his belongings on fire, he was telling God, “I will never turn back from the calling you have placed on my life.”

If nothing else, fire-moments set you free from all the things that keep holding you down.

Those burning paintings were a metaphor. A manifested response to the pain inside. But it only begins there. We must set bitterness on fire; light it up with forgiveness and watch it burn.

Set pain on fire.
Set betrayal on fire.
Set disappointment on fire.
Set regret on fire.
Set failure on fire.
Cut them up into little pieces and douse them in kerosene. Throw the match and watch it burn.

Drop a few hundred years behind Elisha, and we see the prophet Jeremiah. He is a joke to his people, frustrated and completely misunderstood. At the end of his rope, he loses control and yells at his God, screaming and writhing in agony. This, too, I have experienced as of late.

O Lord, you misled me,
and I allowed myself to be misled.
You are stronger than I am,
    and you overpowered me.
Now I am mocked every day;
   everyone laughs at me.
When I speak, the words burst out.
    “Violence and destruction!” I shout.
So these messages from the Lord
    have made me a household joke.
But if I say I’ll never mention the Lord
    or speak in his name,
his word burns in my heart like a fire.
    It’s like a fire in my bones!
I am worn out trying to hold it in!
    I can’t do it!
(Jeremiah 20:7-9)

Nothing would make me gladder sometimes than to give up. But I know that is not the man I am. God has put a word in me, and I cannot stop.

That’s what sets men and women apart from others. The ones who refuse to give up. Those who say, “I cannot give up. It’s not in me.”

There is a fire that will burn bright and light your path. It will bring warmth to your soul, light to your path and strength to your spirit and to your future. But in order to have it, you must set your past on fire.

(The writer would be remiss if he did not declare that Erwin McManus had much influence on this message and that all should take part in the wonders of his book “The Last Arrow”.)
An Unfamiliar House

An Unfamiliar House
Chapter 4

The piano’s song reverberated throughout the house, and the air tasted stale like old, crusty bread. Aaron laid on his back and his face felt two distinct sensations: One was the icy sting of blood sliding down his forehead, and the other was someone patting his face.

“Aaron,” Marian whispered. “Aaron, wake up.”

He opened his eyes. He made out the small, round shapes of Marian and Esther hovering over him. It was still dark outside. Rain was pattering against the glass and thunder babbled far away. Aaron moaned, rolled over, and reached for his head.

“What happened to you, Aaron? Where is Herbert?” Marian failed to keep her voice steady.

“Oh, God—” Aaron stammered as he remembered what happened. “They took him!” He wailed.

“What?” Marian shouted.

“Who?” Esther asked.

“I don’t—I don’t know!” He sat up, the blood rushed from his head, and he fell back to the ground. “Two people came into the room. I fought them—I tried, but—oh, God, they kidnapped Herbert!”

“Who were they?” Esther asked.

“I don’t know,” Aaron replied and shut his eyes. “It was all confusing. We heard lots of sounds outside the door. Tapping. Then voices. I think one was the Professor. And two others. One sounded old. The other—” Aaron hesitated. “Sounded like your dad.”

The girls glanced back and forth.

“And then what?” Esther asked.

“Some more tapping. And then two people. In the room. And then—then Herbert was gone.”

“How could—” Marian shouted. “You were supposed to—Why didn’t you help him?”

Esther touched Marian’s shoulder.

Marian took a breath. “Are you okay, Aaron?” She asked.

“It doesn’t matter.” Aaron fought to his feet. “How did you guys know we were in trouble?”

“We heard screaming,” Esther replied. “When we came upstairs, the door was open, and you were lying here, knocked out.”

“We need to find Herbert and rescue him.”

The girls helped Aaron balance a few steps forward until he was confident on his own. They tiptoed out the open door and peered down into the stairway. Their heads lifted and their noses sniffed the air. It smelled like mildew and wet furniture.

“What’s that smell?” Aaron asked.

Esther and Marian glanced at one another.

“We don’t know,” Marian said.

“Something’s wrong,” Esther said. “The song is back—”

“And that smell,” Marian added. “It’s like—it’s not our house.”

The children closed Herbert’s door behind them. The music diminished like a pianist had pressed the dampener on a piano. Tip-toeing down the flight of stairs, the children came to the second floor. To their left, an amber glow bounced at the end of the hall from a defective ceiling light. Its flicker illuminated the faces of many unfamiliar doors. Dust covered each of them, and specks of dust fluttered in the air like little insects. The floorboards creaked underneath each step, and the children felt the uncomfortable sensation even more that their house no longer belonged to them.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The children spun around at the sound, but saw only darkness. Then, they heard a flapping, like a bird’s wings.

“Marian?” Esther whispered. “What’s going on?”

Marian didn’t reply, but she too was curious to find out. She approached the first door on the right, just past the stairs leading down, and turned the handle. It creaked opened and screeched across a tile floor. Marian reached her hand into the darkness and felt a switch on the inside of the wall. She flicked it on.

Crammed and awkwardly—for all three were eager to see what was inside—the children pushed through, and were amazed to find themselves in a vast parlor, lined from floor to ceiling in subway tiles and white brick. Doors lined the sides of it as well, and nearest them, one was cracked open from someone previously leaving the room. A strange noise, like scraping and dragging, drew their curiosity deeper into the room, and, erroneously, Marian let the door slip away from her. It clipped shut.

A grand chandelier hung in the center of the parlor, and beneath it, an empty swimming pool. Ropes and ladders draped the sides of the pool to help anyone exit it.

“You guys have a pool inside your house?” Aaron gasped.

“No,” Esther said.

“This isn’t ours,” Marian explained. “This isn’t our house.”

A loud thud echoed through the parlor. It sounded as though something fell inside of the pool. They heard a horrible sound, like something massive and grotesque crawling along the bottom, just out of view. It scraped along, and the sound bounced everywhere in the pool room.

“What is it?” Esther whispered.

The children stepped forward and leaned against an iron railing overlooking the pool. A hideous blob of blood, intestines, and bone crawled on the bottom. Its body pulsated yellow fat bubbles to the surface of its disgusting body. Each bubble popped and sprayed a yellow substance that made the air smell like mildew. On its flesh, where the boil exploded, an eyeball rolled over and opened. There were hundreds of eyes on its body and each of them scanned the room, until they stared at the three children leaning against the railing. A bony mouth opened from the center of the eyes, and a loud screech deafened the children’s ears and curdled their blood. It sounded like that of a forest banshee screaming in pain.

Wasting not another moment, the children raced back down the hall. Aaron slipped on the slick tile flooring and stumbled sideways against the door left ajar by someone else. He grabbed at the handle to steady himself, and before the others could realize it wasn’t the door they entered through, the group tumbled inside, slamming it shut behind them.

Esther shrieked, and Aaron spun around. They weren’t in the hall anymore, and the surprise of standing on concrete in the shadows frightened Esther.

“What was that thing?” Esther shouted.

“I don’t know.” Marian huffed and puffed and flicked on a nearby light switch.

“Where are we, now?” Aaron gasped and looked at a room full of tools, trashcans, and an automobile in the center.

“The garage,” Marian answered, and noticed the sound of music was louder.

“How did we end up here?” Esther asked.

“Did we go through the same door?” Marian looked at Aaron.

“What is happening?”

“Are we dreaming?”

Aaron squeezed Marian’s arm.

“Ouch!” She slapped him.

“Well, that hurt,” Aaron said. “So we aren’t dreaming.” He looked around the garage at the tools and fishing gear hanging on the walls. “Is this your house?”

“That’s Dad’s car,” she said. “But I don’t know what that last room was, or that thing inside of the pool.”

“Did the Professor do this?” Esther thought aloud.

The patter of footsteps hushed them. They huddled together, and Aaron put his arms around the girls behind him. From beneath the automobile, a wily goblin crawled out of the darkness and peered around the hood. Its eyes were yellow, and its forehead was misshapen and slimy.

“Dolors,” it whispered, and Aaron looked at the girls. “But not the Dolor that matters,” it giggled. It scattered forward on four legs.

Not wanting to go back through the door into the room with the thing-in-the-pool, Aaron backed himself and the girls into the corner. He scanned the nearby wall for a tool to use as a weapon, trying to keep one eye on the creature. But the goblin ran opposite them for the doorway. He quickly tapped on and opened it; the children saw that it no longer led to the parlor.

Before leaving, the goblin turned back to the children cowering in the corner. “Stay put, maggots,” he threatened. “And the night might not take too long.” The creature squeezed through the opening and left without closing it.

“Marian,” Esther whimpered.

“Dolors,” Aaron said. “I don’t think this is your house anymore.”

“The Professor said he was bringing others,” Marian whispered to herself. “Somehow, he did this.”

The children huddled in silence and closed their eyes. Aaron hoped he would wake up in his own bed. Marian furrowed her brow, trying to imagine what her mother would do. Esther wished her dad’s arms were around her.

“What’s that thing your mom always does before bedtime?” Aaron asked.

“Pray?” Esther offered.

“I think it’s about time you did that again,” he said.

The children held each other’s hands, and Marian prayed for God to give them courage and His protection. In the silence, Aaron lifted his chin and listened to a low hum floating through the vents into the garage.

“It’s the music,” he said, after Marian finished. “It’s doing something to your home. Like a spell. You saw how it messed with your Mom and Dad. It must be doing this, too.”

“Why isn’t it affecting us, then?” Esther asked. “Like them.”

“The Fountain,” Marian exclaimed. “The Ghost of Ponce de León said it protected against spells and sounds.”

“Wasn’t a letdown, after all,” Aaron muttered.

“And it’s affecting the doors,” Marian continued. “Each doorway goes to a hidden location. We can’t go through any doors unless absolutely necessary. Who know’s where we’ll end up?”

“Well, that thing left the garage door open,” Aaron said.

“We gotta find Herbert and get outta here,” Esther urged.

“If we leave, we may never get back,” Marian replied. “What about Mom and Dad?”

“We get all of ‘em,” Aaron declared. “And we get out. And never come back.”

The music hummed inside, and the storm railed outside. Lightning flashed, but no thunder followed. It lit the tiny room up for only a moment. Wood slats and cobwebs lined the walls and ceiling. The only way in or out was a small fiberglass door laying on the floor. An enormous, yet thin and delicate, disk hung at the center of the room, cocked slightly upward, as if it were the pendulum of a massive grandfather clock, that waltzed too mightily, before breaking rhythm and freezing in an upward swing, out of sync. Underneath it, a single chair rested with a small boy asleep on it, lit by the dim moonlight.

Herbert lifted his head and looked round the dark room. He felt lightheaded, and his eyes refused to focus. His heart raced when he tugged on his hands and realized rope held them to the back of the chair. Then he remembered what had happened. He screamed for help. And then his father’s name, and Aaron, his mother, and then Marian and Esther. No one replied.

Two windows framed the small room on each side of him. He looked out each and watched the rain patter against the glass. The flash of lightning sprayed a checker print shadow across his face and the room. Across from him, he saw the silhouette of a tall man with a top-hat and cane. He shouted and screamed. The lightning disappeared, and he saw only darkness across from him.

“Mr. Dauer?” Herbert whispered.

There was no reply. Herbert clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and tried to defog his glasses. Tears dripped off his cheeks.

Beneath the fiberglass door, a latch slid and unhinged. The door creaked open and Professor Ludwig Wolfgang entered the attic.

“Herbert,” he said.

“Let me go!” Herbert shouted, hoping someone would hear from beyond the open doorway.

“No one is listening, Herbert,” the Professor said. “Though I understand why you would try.”

“Where am I?” Herbert wailed, and his arms shook in their bonds.

“In the attic,” the Professor replied, matter-of-factly.

“But my room is in the attic,” Herbert replied.

“Well, this clearly isn’t your bedroom.”

A pair of arms handed the Professor a chair from below. The Professor closed the door behind him and sat down on the chair in front of Herbert, on the cutting edge of the moonlight.

“What do you want with me?” Herbert cried.

“Herbert, I’m going to be quite frank. I hate this house. And I want nothing more than to be out of it. But I can’t leave until you tell me where it is.”

Herbert looked through watery eyes at the Professor. “Where what is?” He asked.

“Herbert, don’t play games with me. We need to know where the artifact is.”

Herbert’s eyes scattered this way and that across the floor of the attic. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not looking for you to understand!” The Professor shouted. “Where is the artifact that Ponce de León gave you?”

“The artifact…” Herbert whispered to himself.

The Professor stood to his feet and looked at the pendulum above Herbert. The metal disk was slightly lower than before. He rolled his eyes and sighed. His feet wandered around the room, in and out of shadows.

“Herbert,” he kept saying, “don’t play games with us.”

“Is Mr. Dauer behind this?” Herbert asked. “I saw him in the shadows.”

The Professor stopped walking and looked at him. “There’s no one else here, boy,” he refuted. “Nothing but your nightmares.” He stomped his feet closer to Herbert and sat down. “I don’t care about your fears or thoughts, boy! I want to get out of this frozen house. And I want to get out now! Tell me, where is the artifact of the Army of Bones?”

“Why do you want it?” Herbert looked away and dried his cheek against his shoulder. “It doesn’t work anymore, anyway. Ponce de León put a new one in the gate.”

“There is no new artifact!”

Herbert was silent.

“Fine,” the Professor whispered. He reared his hand back and held it in the air for a moment. Herbert looked at it and watched the lightning flash against it. The hand came down violently and struck Herbert across the ear and temple. His ear rang and his glasses skipped across the floor. “Tell me where that god-awful artifact is now or I will have your nightmares rip you to shreds.”

Herbert’s body convulsed, and his mouth couldn’t form words.

“Foolish sheep,” the Professor said. “What did that ghost see in you, anyway?” He turned around and stomped his foot on the floor. The door next to his feet creaked open and two hands reached up. The Professor handed the chair down.

“My sisters and Aaron know you are a vampire,” Herbert whispered. “They will come find me.”

“They might know who I am,” the Professor replied without turning to look at him. “But they won’t find you.” He slammed the door shut, and the lock wiggled and latched.

Herbert looked around the room one more time to make sure he was alone. Lightning lit the corners of the wooden slats holding up the roof. Nothing was in the attic but cobwebs, shivering from the house’s vibration, and the massive pendulum above him. He watched the strange sharp disc minutely shift overhead like its waltz was coming down.

He closed his eyes and squeezed two long tears out of them. A chime erupted from the pendulum and the room shook. He screamed and pulled at the ropes, trying to cover his ears from the powerful noise—like a gong blasting out of a colossal clock. It vibrated down the floorboards and throughout the house below.

The sound faded, but his ears continued ringing. He whimpered in the darkness until the patter of rain returned to his ears.
The Kidnapping

The Kidnapping
Chapter 3

That night, the boys bunked together on the floor of Herbert’s room on the third story, which if you remember from the last book was steepled like a tower. The storm howled outside and beat against the rickety wooden walls. Lightning flashed her violent eyes through the window and filled the room with hot, white light. A brief, ominous glow shimmered on each of the boy’s faces, followed by a rich, deep darkness and haze. Each sudden blast left the boys blinking away red drooping splotches falling down the insides of their eyelids.

“Do you think the girls are alright?” Herbert whispered.

“Why wouldn’t they be?” Aaron asked.

“Because of Professor Wolfgang.”

“He’s up to no good,” Aaron replied. “But Marian is smart. She’ll lock the door like us.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“Sleep, hopefully.” Aaron was short in response, but not because he was irritated with Herbert. Rather, Aaron didn’t enjoy thinking about things he couldn’t control. He took responsibility for Herbert, and at the moment, butterflies were filling his stomach.

“I meant in the morning,” Herbert said.

“I know.” Aaron heaved and flung his head to the other side of the pillow.

Herbert was silent. He turned on his side and stared into the darkness under his drawer.

Aaron sighed. The storm whistled and whined. The window flashed and Aaron saw the back of Herbert’s head. A low rumble hovered in the sky, and for a moment, the house shook.

“One time, I was playing this video-game,” Aaron said matter-of-factly, mustering up his voice to sound unconcerned. “I kept getting to the final boss level in World Eight-Four. But every time, I died right at the end. I played that level a hundred times in one day trying to get it right, but no matter what, I kept dying.”

Herbert turned on his back and looked at Aaron’s black silhouette.

“Finally, I went to sleep,” Aaron continued. “And I had a dream about that level. I got through the maze, the water-world, the flying-fish, and face-to-face with the Boss. I ran at him just like before, but this time I jumped a moment sooner and got through the flying axes and over his head. Then he died, and I saved the princess. When I woke up, I knew it would work. I turned on the video-game and beat it in one try.”

Lightning flashed her eyes through the window again, and the boys could see each other’s faces again.

“Maybe all we need to do is get some sleep,” Aaron said. “And we’ll know how to beat the Boss in the morning.”

Herbert smiled. “Goodnight, Aaron.”

“Night, Herbert.”

Herbert opened his eyes. The sky outside was still dark. The storm had left, but the room still felt heavy and threatening. Herbert swore a strange noise had woken him. His eyes scanned the room, but nothing made sense in the twilight. His shoulder blade stung and his hand was numb. He pulled the arm free from under his body and blanket and shook it gingerly.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His head jerked toward the door. Something scurried at its base. He thought he saw a light shimmer through the bottom for a moment.

Tap. Tap. Tap, came the noise again.

“Aaron?” Herbert whispered, but Aaron was fast asleep.

He closed his eyes and pulled the blanket over his face. His little arms shook and his heart held still. He thought about strange creatures crawling on the ground, trying to squeeze under his door. When he slept alone, the open closet ofttimes became a hiding place for monsters and evil creatures. His hung clothing looked like the tentacles of a horrific bogeyman. The light dancing off the toy cars were menacing eyes watching him. Even the fan sounded awfully like the breath of a Minotaur. Tonight, the monster was outside the door, scratching to get in and pressing against his sanity.

But none of that makes sense, he told himself. It must be a tree scratching the siding in the wind. A raccoon running along the rooftop. Aaron was with him. Monsters weren’t real.

His heartbeat came back. The tapping faded.

Some time later, Aaron slapped his hands on the ground and shot up from his laying position on the floor. He squatted on his knees next to Herbert’s sleeping body. The sound of music was in the air. A pleasant, still melody, but it sent a creepy chill down his spine. The storm had brewed again, and thunder rumbled in the darkness.

Aaron relaxed a bit, sat on his haunches, and listened to the music. It floated in the air, and though it was quiet and seemingly from a great distance, it enveloped him. The sound tightened his chest.

It reminded him of his mother on the worst day of his life. Pain and tears had filled her eyes. From the front porch, the two of them had watched the officers take his father away. She had screamed and grabbed hold of him. He was only five at the time. Since that day, he had scoffed when people described things as “heartbreaking”. Others wished they knew what a broken heart felt like. He wished he forgot. He had never seen his father again.

“Is that music?” Herbert sat up next to him.

“More concerning—” Aaron whispered back. “It’s voices.”

Herbert clenched his jaw, glared at the door frame, and wondered if it were possible to make his ear hear better. After a moment, he made out a low mutter. There were two of them. Little murmurs from somewhere in the shadows of the house on the other side of the door. Then a sharp, raspy voice, like chains dragging across sand, and underneath it all, the tap-tap-tapping from earlier.

“Who are they?” Herbert asked.

“Shh,” Aaron ordered. He crouched to the floor and crept out of his blanket toward the door.

“—No, it isn’t…” said one of the deep murmurs. “I already looked there.” Aaron thought the voice sounded like the Professor.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” The raspy voice was perturbed. “We will only work in sureties, and that means doing what is necessary.” Pause. “Do you understand what this means?”

“I do,” said the other deep murmur, and Aaron thought it sounded even more familiar.

Aaron leaned closer to make sure of who it could be, but the floor board creaked underneath.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound was sharp, quick and alerting. It was just on the other side of the frame.

The voices abruptly hushed, and the first murmur muttered something angry and incomprehensible. Aaron looked back at Herbert. He was wide-eyed and panicked. The tapping had stopped, but something scurried away from the door like chattering teeth. Aaron crawled to his spot next to Herbert, and the boys attempted to fall asleep again.

Aaron dreamed he was canoeing in a strange wooden boat, at the back behind Marian, Herbert and another boy he couldn’t recognize. They were alone in a deep, shimmering black cave. Bats swooped down from their dens and darted past them toward an enormous hole in the cave’s ceiling, leading to the outside sky. Light tunneled through it, forming a massive beam of orange and brown.

The water sparkled in the orange-brown light, and Aaron guessed it was hundreds of feet deep. He looked all around at the bizarre rock formations and wondered where to find the exit, while also suspecting that they were lost and it was all Marian’s fault. Then, suddenly, Marian stood in the center of the boat and dove at Herbert. She was on top of him, flailing her arms and beating him senseless. Herbert screamed for Aaron’s help. She tied a rope around his hands and ankles. Herbert screamed again.

“Aaron!”

Aaron’s eyes shot open. Two large shadows were scuffling in the dark next to him and dragging something from the spot Herbert slept at. One was tall and stiff; the other was short and round. Herbert’s little body was in their hands, writhing and wriggling, bound at the wrist and feet. The short and round figure shoved a sock down his open mouth.

“Herbert!” Aaron cried and hit the tall, stiff shadow carrying Herbert’s flailing body. The large shadow reciprocated with its backhand.

Aaron stumbled across the room into Herbert’s dresser, dropped to his knees, and gasped for air. He picked himself up, clenching his jaw and weeping in rage. The two figures walked toward the door. Herbert’s body thrashed and kicked in their arms.

Aaron rushed again and dropped his shoulder like a linebacker. He aimed for the short figure this time and hit it square against the chin and collarbone. It doubled over and cried out in pain. Aaron shoved his fist into its face. He felt spit and blood on his knuckles.

The stocky shadow grabbed at Aaron’s shoulders. It was his height, but much stronger than him. The silhouette of an arm raised in the air, and Aaron closed his eyes to prepare for the impact. A fist pounded into his temple, and the world became blurry and sideways. He couldn’t breathe, and gravity was slowly dropping him to the ground like a falling leaf. He hit it hard, gasped for breath, and dabbed his face disconcertedly.

The stocky figure reached down for him again, but Aaron came to and jumped to his feet. The back of his head hit the shadow in the face. He leaped on the chest and dug his fingernails into its back. He felt something floppy and wet against his cheek and bit into it. It was the shadow’s ear. He ripped a chunk of flesh off and the little shadow screamed in horror.

Aaron bounced off the shadow and spit the chunk of ear onto the ground. The stocky shadow was screaming and on the ground, writhing. Aaron smirked, but in the scuffle, he lost track of the tall, stiff shadow. A heavy fist hit him in the back of the head and he fell to the ground. The world spun, and he lost consciousness.
The Piano’s Song

The Piano’s Song
Chapter 2

The sun peeked its bright face over the enchanted forest in the east. The west wind swept through the live oak in the Dolor’s backyard. Mr. Dolor had built a treehouse in the massive oak when the children journeyed through the forest. Unbeknownst to him at the time, the town had claimed it to fame decades before as the oldest tree in the city, naming it “Old Senator”. After Mr. Dolor created the treehouse, it angered many of the locals, and they threatened to tear it down.

However, for the time being, it represented a nice meeting area for the children to gather in the cool of the day. A woodpecker pounced in staccato circular fashion along a branch above, murmuring to himself and searching for insects under the bark. Marian looked at it while recounting to Aaron the history of strange behavior the Professor possessed—from his fear of garlic, to his long canines, and the fact Esther caught him chewing on a dead rat from his pocket.

“So he’s creepy and doesn’t like garlic,” Aaron said, unamused. He leaned his back against a branch to see the bird Marian was staring at. His feet propped up on a smaller branch running perpendicular from him and avoided the two-by-four Marian leaned against opposite him. Esther hunched in the corner with her elbow resting on her knee and her fist pressed into her cheek. Herbert sat between her and Aaron and cleaned his glasses for the tenth time that morning. Aaron ran his hand through his shaggy red hair and squinted. “It doesn’t exactly make him a vampire.”

“It’s a lot of things,” Herbert interjected. “You just—you just have to meet him.”

“I get it,” Aaron said. “I miss the forest, too. And I miss Balaam and Ponce. But that doesn’t mean there are monsters out here anymore.”

“But—” Herbert insisted.

“We closed the gate.” Aaron made eye-contact with each Dolor, one-at-a-time. “Ponce said we were done. I don’t like grown-ups anymore than anyone. But it feels like—”

“You don’t know what it feels like,” Marian interrupted. “The Professor showed up right after we opened the gate last month.”

“We might be wrong, Aaron,” Esther said, playing with the marigold in her pigtail. “But we might be right. And how much worse is that?”

“Okay,” Aaron sighed. “So what do we do?”

“We tell Mom and Dad?” Herbert asked.

The treehouse was silent. For the few weeks in St. Augustine, the children had grown accustomed to doubting their parents would jump to listen or believe them.

“I’m not afraid of some stupid grown-up,” Aaron said, and smacked the floor of the treehouse. “I’ll just come over and spend the night with my buddy, Herbert.” The boys smirked at one another and extended hands out, wiggling their fingertips together in brotherly fashion.

“And if he is a vampire?” Marian asked soberly.

“We stop at nothing until we get your parents to believe,” Aaron replied. “Or kick him in the butt until he leaves.”

“Anyone got any garlic?” Esther asked.

Mr. Dolor didn’t like Aaron very much. He considered him disrespectful and ornery because of his snide remarks and lack of eye-contact. Mrs. Dolor fancied him, though, mostly because he liked her, too. She reminded him of how his mother acted when he was younger. Regardless, both parents appreciated their children had a loyal friend. Therefore, the Dolors welcomed Aaron often, and tonight was no different.

That evening, another storm had picked up and was busy thrashing outside the Dolor’s home while the family and guests ate. The dinner table was too small for the seven individuals to gather. So the children ate around the coffee table in the living room as the grown-ups huddled in the dining room and discussed the meal, weather, President, and other nonsense that only adults enjoy talking about.

“What do you think about him?” Herbert asked Aaron.

“He is strange,” he replied. “I’ll give you that. But vampire?”

“Did you see his teeth?” Esther whispered.

Aaron opened his mouth and pulled his upper lip back to reveal his teeth like a clown. Herbert looked down at his food. Mrs. Dolor made the Professor’s favorite: steak. He pushed the plate away.

“Look, I won’t doubt any of you,” Aaron said. “I know what we’ve been through. But what does a vampire want with your dad?”

Marian ate in silence. She kept thinking about the first time her dad forgot about her at a business meeting. Mr. Dolor had invited her to a special daddy-date in Cocoa Village for ice-cream. She’d worn her favorite dress and her mother had made her hair extra special. But when she sat with her dad on the bench, each licking their ice-cream, he kept glancing at his watch.

After a few moments, he kissed her on the head and told her a friend needed to meet with him about work. He had promised it wouldn’t take long. But soon after, she was staring at a pigeon eating his melted ice-cream off the brick sidewalk. An hour later, he came back frustrated and eager to leave. That was the first time his work life had hurt her. She had that feeling in her stomach again tonight.

A plate slammed onto the table, and a fork clanged on the floor. The children jumped up and looked at the dining room. Mrs. Dolor stood next to the table, shocked. Mr. Dolor stared at her, holding his plate that he had just slammed firmly onto the table. The Professor sat at the head of the table, cutting another piece of meat and shoving it into the side of his mouth.

“What are you talking about?” Mr. Dolor fumed.

“I just don’t understand why Herbert needs to move out of his room for the Professor,” Mrs. Dolor cringed.

“If the Professor wants a room to himself, then we should accommodate him,” Mr. Dolor demanded.

“He has his friend over, honey,” Mrs. Dolor said. “Can we talk about this in private?”

“No!” Mr. Dolor shouted. “We are going to talk about it right here and right now.”

“It’s alright,” Professor Ludwig Wolfgang held his palms up. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m fine with another night on the couch.”

Mr. Dolor took his glare away from Mrs. Dolor and smiled at the Professor. “I’m sorry, Professor,” he said.

“The last thing I want to do is drive a wedge between you two,” the Professor said. “Ugh!—I gorged myself. I’ll be excused to the washroom.” He stood and left the room.

The Dolor children stared at their parents sitting at the table in silence. A candle flickered between them like a fading dancer. Aaron put his hand on Herbert’s shoulder. A few awful, silent minutes passed before Mr. Dolor pushed his chair back and left the room.

Something slow and musical was washing over the house like a melting, frozen wave. Deep, low hums crawling along the floor; then a string of frail notes, hammered by prancing mallets, floating in the air. A song—like cloudy September rain—lulled under a sustain pedal’s compression. The sound skated, twirled, and leapt into the children’s ears. It sounded beautiful and terrifying; altogether enrapturing, beguiling, seductive, and abhorrently repulsive, wicked, and sinister. Esther described it later, “like a lion that stares at its prey before it strikes.”

“What is it?” Marian asked.

“Music, stupid,” Aaron replied flatly.

Marian punched him in the arm. “I mean, where is it coming from?”

“The study,” Esther answered. “It’s dad’s old piano.”

The haunting melody froze the children. But it wasn’t their father playing it. Down the hall past the washroom, opposite the garage, the Professor sat at the piano bench, lowered his head between his shoulders, and pounded at the keys in repetitive violence. Mr. Dolor stood in the hall between the Professor and his wife. His eyes glossed over and his mouth fell open as if intoxicated with wine. He leaned against the wall when his knees buckled.

At the dining-room table, Mrs. Dolor appeared indistinguishable. Her shoulders pulled back, and her neck straightened. Her mouth lay agape and her head nodded in slow motion. Tapping on the table, her fingers jittered in syncopated rhythm, following the movement of the Professor on the piano.

“What’s wrong with them?” Esther whispered.

“I don’t know,” Marian replied.

The group left the living-room and approached Mrs. Dolor.

“Mom?” Marian said, placing her hand on her mother’s shoulder.

Aaron waved his hand in front of her face. She didn’t blink or alter her tapping. Herbert continued past the kitchen and found his father in the hall. He tugged at his shirt. Mr. Dolor didn’t notice.

The Professor stepped around the entrance to the study. He stood in the middle of the hallway nearest Mr. Dolor and Herbert. Lightning cracked outside and illuminated the Professor. His silhouette loomed in stark contrast. The piano played in the study without him.

“Dolor,” the Professor addressed the children’s father. “If I am to sleep on the couch again, I presume you wouldn’t mind if I invited some friends to our house tonight.”

“Of course, Professor,” Mr. Dolor sounded like a zombie. “The more the merrier.”

“Splendid.” the Professor snapped his fingers, and the music stopped. Mr. and Mrs. Dolor blinked and shook their heads like waking from a dream. They squinted their eyes and cringed in pain, putting their hands against their foreheads.

The Professor stepped past the children and parents into the living room. He removed a bottle of liquor from his luggage and went to the kitchen. “That’s enough for now.” He smiled to himself and poured the spirit into a glass.

“What are you doing here?” Marian demanded. Her hand was on her mother’s.

Professor Ludwig Wolfgang pulled the glass from his lips and swallowed. He smiled at Marian and the others. “You’ll just have to wait to see,” he said.
A Stranger Comes to Visit

A Stranger Comes to Visit
Chapter 1

Growing up is complicated. Doing it alone is near impossible. We need each other to listen, to cry, to laugh, to hope, and to rescue. And when we cannot be with others like us, things get very, very difficult. This is the story of how three children saved the world, but didn’t know it yet. Their names are Marian, Esther, and Herbert Dolor, but everyone at school refers to them as “those peculiar Dolor children”. That is because the Dolors live in a very old house on the edge of a very old Enchanted Forest. And ever since Herbert removed an artifact that locked its gate, mysterious individuals seem to find the Dolors. Even though the children, with their friend Aaron, had discovered the Fountain of Youth and succeeded at closing and locking the gate, they also learned that the gate was never meant to keep monsters in the forest, but rather to keep them out. Sinister individuals like Mr. Dauer seek to take control of the forest and fountain. And the Ghost of Sir Ponce de León warned about unfortunate things to come now that the gate had opened. Knowing when or from where those things will come is something the children have yet to find out.

A few weeks had passed since the children closed the gate of the Enchanted Forest, and everything felt dandy and pleasant, even though a storm had brewed itself up outside and made the air stuffy and humid like a lukewarm sauna. The three Dolor children were at the dining table, playfully reminiscing about their time in the forest, awaiting their tardy father and watching their tireless mother prepare dinner.

Finally, the front door scraped open against the wooden floorboards and the children turned to cheer and embrace Mr. Dolor. But they couldn’t get to him because Mr. Dolor’s hands were full of obtuse, stacked boxes, dangling bags, and loose papers. And all of it was dripping water all over the entryway of the home.

“What’s all that, dear?” Mrs. Dolor asked, twisting her head back from her work at hand—a boiling pot of spaghetti and bubbling pan of sauce.

Mr. Dolor dropped the things on the floor with a loud bang, and kicked the door shut behind him. He was irritated and distracted, but only for a moment, doing his best to acknowledge his diligent wife and happy children. But the miserable rain and an overall anxiety was upon him. “I told you already, honey,” he huffed and puffed, throwing his jacket off his shoulders as if it were the day of duties still clutching hold of him. He rethought that statement, took and breath, and started over with a grin. “I’m thrilled about the direction our business is heading!” He paused and waited for Mrs. Dolor to turn her head again and nod and smile her approval at him. He continued on, “New real estate. New banking partners. New opportunities—oh good, you made a spot for him at the table.” He stepped forward into the amber dining light and pulled a chair beside Marian. “Kids, my boss will be staying with us for a little bit until we get it all figured out.”

The children looked at one another in disbelief and then back at the front door, which had just been flung open. A figure dressed in a long black trench coat and gray felt fedora—that dripped rainwater from its brim onto the wooden floors—was standing at the threshold. Lightning cracked behind him, and his shadow cast against the hallway walls.

“Children, you remember Professor Ludwig Wolfgang,” Mr. Dolor said, standing to his feet.

The kids said nothing as the Professor dropped two duffel bags on the floor next to the pile Mr. Dolor had already created. “Ah,” the Professor said, “home sweet home.”

“Professor,” Mr. Dolor approached him like a humble servant. “Please, let me take your coat.”

“Yes, that would be splendid,” the Professor replied.

Marian turned to her mother. “Living with us?” She said, exasperated.

“Don’t be rude,” Mrs. Dolor whispered. “It’s only temporary.”

“Yes, that’s right, dearies,” Mr. Dolor hung the coat on the rack while shutting the door behind the Professor. “We have the pleasure of welcoming my boss into our home for the next few days while he settles a court issue with his wife and the business. Nothing to be alarmed about—it’s all just some silly misunderstanding on the side of his divorcée. But we have the benefit of blessing the Professor with our hospitality in this season.”

“I’d rather my personal matters remain personal, Dolor,” the Professor said, sitting down at the head of the table in Mr. Dolor’s spot, and Mr. Dolor blushed. “Oh, it’s spaghetti again,” the Professor muttered, looking at the plate Mrs. Dolor had just placed in front of him.

“Yes,” Mrs. Dolor said. “It’s the kids’ favorite.” She smiled at him, but noticed his discontent.

“I am sorry for misspeaking, Professor,” Mr. Dolor apologized. “It won’t happen again.” He sat at the extra spot Mrs. Dolor had prepared between the Professor and Herbert.

“Yes, yes, it’s quite alright,” the Professor brushed it off. “And I do suppose I don’t want to intrude or cause—oh, let’s say, a burden to your household in these next few days. I’m perfectly fine sleeping in a guest bedroom.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Dolor said, holding her fork frozen in air with a noodle dangling off the end. “We’ve only just recently moved to St. Augustine, Professor. And we haven’t quite finished setting up any guest bedrooms, yet.” Marian watched her father’s face spin through an array of expressions of horror, regret, shame, and frustration across the table. “But I set a place on the couch in the living room,” Mrs. Dolor admitted.

The Professor closed his eyes and smiled. “That’s fine, Mrs. Dolor,” he encouraged, but the kids didn’t think he was happy at all.

The children glanced back and forth from one another’s eyes. The room felt empty and wide. Everything was silent, except a long slow slurp of noodle running through Herbert’s lips.

“Do you know why people call it the living room?” Professor Ludwig Wolfgang blurted out.

“Oh, please tell us,” Mr. Dolor smiled and nodded, while the children looked anxious.

“A long time ago, when people were more often sick, and hospitals were harder to come by—they called it the death room. And you would take your sick loved-ones to die in the front room. The local doctor could monitor them easily at the front of the house when he visited. I suppose once people stopped getting sick, and hospitals became conventional, people didn’t like the notion of one of their common rooms deemed a “death room”, any longer. Interesting.”

The table fell silent again, and Herbert slurped another long noodle off his fork.

“Very interesting,” Mr. Dolor smiled.

“May I be excused?” Marian asked her mother.

“And me?” Esther added.

“And me!” Herbert shouted after jumping from his seat.

The three of them scurried into the hallway washroom together. Marian shut the door behind and locked it. Her palms pressed against the wooden door like she needed to hold it shut for a moment’s breath, as if making sure they were really alone. Then her head spun around in excitement. “What in the world is going on?” She galled.

“He’s a vampire!” Herbert shouted and covered his mouth when the words spilled out.

“I thought he was supposed to go away when we shut the gate,” Marian reflected aloud.

“Yes!” Esther said. “But when we shut the gate, it was to keep the Fountain safe and monsters away. I don’t think the Professor was ever in the forest to begin with.”

“Just like Dauer.” Marian nodded.

“Then why did he show up—become Dad’s boss—right after I broke off the artifact?” Herbert asked.

“I don’t know, Herbert,” Marian replied. “But he’s here and there’s not much we can do about that now.”

“I wish Mom and Dad would see how creepy he is,” Esther said.

“I don’t expect creepiness has anything to do with it, Ess,” Marian replied. “He’s Dad’s boss and Dad thinks he’s good.”

“It’s like that time Mom and Dad drank that glass of wine,” Herbert whispered.

“I think it’s a little worse than that, Herb,” Esther replied, and rolled her eyes at him.

“Did Ponce de León say anything about this?” Marian asked.

Esther shook her head. “Only what I told you,” she replied. “He made me think things were going to get really bad, though.”

The walls of the bathroom felt small and lonely.

“So what do we do?” Herbert asked.

“We stick together tonight,” Marian said. “Herbert, you sleep on our floor. That way, we can look out for each other.”

Herbert nodded and hugged Marian.

“Is there any way we can prove it to Mom and Dad?” Esther asked.

“I wish we had Balaam or Starlight with us,” Marian thought aloud. “But I think little will convince them of what we know.” She brushed her shirt like she was brushing her fear off of it. “C’mon,” she said. “Let’s get ready for bed.”

The children changed their clothing, brushed their teeth, sipped glasses of water, and prayed with their mother before getting into bed. Marian fell asleep with ease, but Esther and Herbert sat up, restless. The idea of a vampire in the house spun their imagination until both knew sleep was hopeless. They resorted to play because not much else could distract their mind away from worry.

By the time they finished three rounds of 21 Questions and Herbert picked a different dinosaur every game, they played make-believe. There aren’t many pretend games that won’t wake older sisters, so Esther and Herbert chose Spies and Assassins, which is basically silent hide-and-seek.

Esther closed her eyes and counted in her head to twenty, before sneaking around the bedroom in the dark and finding Herbert hiding behind Marian’s dresses in the closet. Herbert closed his eyes and counted silently before crawling under the bunk bed and grabbing Esther’s foot. Esther closed her eyes again and started counting. She heard the door creak and knew the game extended further than the bedroom now.

Herbert crouched low to the floor, and his feet scurried underneath him, tiptoeing the edge of the hall rug. His pointer finger and thumb extended to look like he carried two pistols. He crawled to the right, ducked under the end table in the middle of the second-story hall, and waited. He watched Esther’s door slowly open, and a figure scurried out into the shadows. The shadowy assassin went to the left, the other way down the hall, before entering the bathroom.

Herbert stole from under the table and retreated down the stairwell. The third step creaked under his weight and he froze in excited fear. He looked behind him and didn’t see any movement or sound. He continued downward toward the front door of the house and took a right before dropping to all fours.

Creak…

It was the sound of the Assassin Esther’s foot creaking on the third step, just like Spy Herbert’s. Herbert scampered away into the living room and crawled under the coffee table. Esther’s shuffling noises had disappeared. He popped his head up between the coffee table and the couch, peering out into the darkness, hoping to spot the assassin’s movement.

“Hello, Herbert.”

Herbert jumped and slammed his forehead into the edge of the coffee table. Before he had even felt the pain, he shot his eyes around to see the Professor’s head laying on a pillow on the couch.

“Ah! What do you want?” Herbert shouted.

“I’m just resting, Herbert.” The Professor whispered. “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” Herbert backed himself underneath the coffee table and squirmed out the other end.

Esther bounded into the living room. “Ha!” She cheered. “Caught you!” Her grin faded when she saw the Professor on the couch and remembered where their guest had been sleeping.

“Say, Herbert,” the Professor said. “Where is a delectable young man like you supposed to be sleeping during the night?”

Herbert was speechless.

“He sleeps upstairs,” Esther stood beside Herbert. “With us.”

The Professor smiled and then frowned. “This is going to be quite a taxing adventure for all of us, isn’t it?” He said to himself.

“What do you mean?” Esther asked.

The Professor turned over on his side and pulled his fedora from the back of the couch. He placed it over his face. “Goodnight, Dolors,” he whispered.

Esther and Herbert ran away without a word. They stomped up the stairs, stormed down the hallway, slammed the door shut, woke up Marian, and jumped under their covers.
Home Sweet Home

Home Sweet Home
Chapter 19

Late afternoon came with a cool breeze and lovely spirit. The pleasing opera of thrushes, jays, and wrens echoed in the forest. Wind swept inside the crown of the canopy and sent a shower of leaves below. In the distance, a crow’s caw faded away, and a woodpecker cackled under the sound of cicadas singing to the sun. A mile over the forest, clouds bellowed and an osprey chirped while she soared with them. A sandpiper tip-toed through the mud along the path and hid behind the tall grass that waved goodbye in the wind.

Esther skipped the entire way back, unsuccessfully containing the excitement her healed leg brought her. The children’s spirits were high. They felt like experts of the forest, passing on the same footpath numerous times. By the time they reached the summit of the sandy hill, they raced each other down the other side, playing tag, laughing, and screaming. With their accomplishment behind them, they held nothing in but joy and silliness.

They stopped their frolic when they heard two urgent voices crying through the trees in the distance. “Marian! Esther! Herbert!”

“Mom and Dad,” Marian gasped.

Sobriety fell on them like a brick, and each tucked their head between their shoulders and sprinted to the entrance of the forest. None of them said a word, but each felt an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of their stomachs. Like you get when you know your parent is unhappy, but you must go to them, regardless.

They heard their parent’s speaking to one another on the other side of the pine grove. “Oh, Jesus, thank you—I can hear footsteps,” Mrs. Dolor said. “There!” Mr. Dolor shouted.

The children saw two blurry figurines through the tree-line racing toward them.

“Esther Dolor,” Mrs. Dolor reprimanded, “I can’t believe you are out here with your hurt leg! And Marian—you know better than—Hello, is this your friend Aaron? Esther—you’re standing on your leg!”

It may seem like Mrs. Dolor said a lot at first, but both parents were busy hugging and kissing the Dolor children while she said all of it. It delighted them to find all of them safe and together, and shocked them to find Esther’s leg completely healed.

“I suppose those sutures the doctor put on really did the trick,” Mr. Dolor said as the six of them exited the forest. “Kids—you know better than to leave without saying anything. You did this yesterday, and Esther was seriously injured from it. I’m glad she’s good now, but not again—do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the three avowed.

“My God—what is that!” Mr. Dolor shouted. For the earth was rumbling under the family’s feet, and the children were wondering if Maushop had returned. But it was the gate rattling and shaking as it slowly closed the left side, and then the right side, like an invisible hand were shutting it behind them.

“Wow!” Mrs. Dolor said.

“How did—?” Mr. Dolor questioned.

“Is it automatic?”

“Some kind of motion sensor.”

Meanwhile, Herbert was slowly backing away from the group, before dropping to his knees behind a vine on the right side of the protruding gate. He ran his fingers along the bottom, feeling for the familiar shape of the eight-point star. A strange sound came from the shadows, and for a moment, he thought the vine whispered or sneezed at him. He stared into the lattice, but chuckled at how silly that would be. His fingers found the hole at the bottom of the wall and he placed the new panther figurine Ponce de León had given him. Just as he had instructed.

He dropped out of the vine and jumped to his feet, just in time to receive a hug from Aaron as he left.

“See you at the bus stop tomorrow,” Aaron said to the others, and picked up his bike. “Oh—” He stopped and held the machete out to Mr. Dolor. “This is yours.”

Mr. Dolor didn’t know whether to be proud or angry. He took the blade while Aaron rode away.

That night, Mr. and Mrs. Dolor let the children stay up late with them, watching a movie about talking ants fighting talking grasshoppers. The five of them sat bundled under a warm fluffy blanket on the couch and shared a bowl of caramel and kettle popcorn.

“I like the grasshopper that always jumps out of his skin!” Herbert laughed, and shoved a handful of caramel popcorn in his cheek.

“The grasshoppers are the bad guys, Herbert,” Marian commented, not taking her eyes off the screen.

“Yeah, I know,” Herbert muttered, with a mouthful of food.

“Esther?” Mrs. Dolor asked when she noticed her daughter had left the room. “Where did she go?”

“I think she went to the bathroom?” Mr. Dolor responded, scrolling his finger along the face of his cell phone.

Esther actually went upstairs. She didn’t want to watch the movie, because the talking animals and pretty plants reminded her of the Enchanted Forest, and that made her sad. She enjoyed remembering the forest, but she didn’t enjoy remembering it was closed now.

When she entered her room, her nose caught a whiff of something in the air and she smiled. “Marigolds,” she whispered to herself and looked around. But the room was quiet and empty.

She sat on the edge of her bed and ran her fingers over her ankle and calf where the wound used to be. A jagged scar remained. She liked the way the skin looked bumpy and wondered if it would ever leave.

A whiff of marigold hit her nose again, and this time she knew it had to be real. She followed the scent to the window where she discovered a small yellow bur marigold, just like the one she pulled from the riverbank.

“It will never wilt,” a soothing voice said from behind her. Esther spun around to the Ghost of Ponce de León shimmering blue in the middle of her bedroom.

“I thought you may like it to remember the forest,” he said.

“Juan Ponce de León!” She shouted.

“Marian has the logbook and Herbert has his artifact,” the Ghost smiled. “It only seems right you have your marigold.”

Esther looked at the flower, and a tear dropped onto the top of it. “Thank you,” she whispered, and carried it to her bedside.

“I’m happy we met, Esther,” the Ghost said. “But I also came to warn you it’s going to get a lot harder now. And a lot worse. But remember that I’ll always be near. Just like in the forest.”

“Oh,” she said. “Why are you telling this to only me?”

“I’ll speak to your siblings when the time is right,” he said. “But you need to hear me say this. And you need it in your heart forever.”

“If it’s going to be so much harder—” she said, “—why don’t you stop it?”

“Well, sometimes I try.” He sat down on the bed, which later Esther thought was funny, seeing as how he was a ghost. “But people have a nasty habit of impeding my trying to help. It’s very difficult, dare I say, impossible, to force someone to be good. You could force them to do good things, I suppose. But inside—that’s all up to them. And it’s that stuff inside that gets in the way when I’m trying to help.”

“It seems like you would be able to just show up and talk to someone, and they would listen.”

“I thought the same thing too,” he said, “and then I got a poisoned arrow shot in my leg.” He winked at her.

“Oh, right,” she said, and giggled.

“Anyway, don’t worry about all of that. As long as you know that I’ll always be here for you, you don’t need to worry about what everyone else thinks. And yes, it’s going to be hard. But that doesn’t mean you can’t make it through.”

“Thank you, Señor Ponce de León,” she said.

“Call me Juan,” he replied. “That’s what my friends call me.”

Esther thought about that for a second, and said, “How about I just call you León? Juan feels disrespectful.”

“Fair enough.”

The two smiled and gave their goodbyes before the Ghost disappeared and Esther lay down to sleep.

The next few weeks went by with little significant happening. Although, now Aaron spent a lot more time with the Dolors at school. And he even went back to Vinnie the Rat to apologize for tricking him. Vinnie forgave him with little effort. Apparently, he always knew Aaron faked the photo, and it hardly consumed his thoughts anymore, ever since he started looking for new photos of strange beasts.

The children liked San Juan Bautista Elementary a lot more now. Marian’s teacher recognized her as the brightest in the class and often asked for her help during study hour. The girls in Esther’s class loved the immaculate marigold she wore in her pigtails. And no one dared make fun of Herbert for any reason, or they had to answer to Aaron.

One Friday afternoon, the children reminisced about their funniest stories in the forest, sitting at the kitchen table while Mrs. Dolor made dinner.

“Remember the way Herbert looked riding on Aaron’s back in the swamp, with the glasses down around his face?” Marian laughed.

“Yeah, he looked like a goofy cartoon,” Esther jeered.

“Well, what about Esther drooling all over herself while she napped on Balaam by the river?” Herbert giggled.

“Oh, hilarious—but nothing was as funny as when Marian tripped in the brambles and got her butt stuck in that gopher tortoise’s hole!” Esther cackled.

“Balaam had to pull you out with his tail!” Herbert shouted.

All three roared with laughter.

“What are you three talking about?” Mrs. Dolor asked while stirring a pot of spaghetti.

“Nothing,” Marian said, and noticed six plates at the dinner table.

“I remember having fun,” said Herbert.

“I did too,” Esther smiled.

“And we got lots of ice-cream at Mr. Mewbourn’s.”

“And a new treehouse!”

“I remember breaking the figurine.”

Marian laughed. “It’s okay, Herbert. We forgave you.”

Just then, the front door opened and scraped the wooden floorboards. The children turned and cheered together, “Daddy!”

Mr. Dolor stepped through the threshold with his hands full of boxes, bags, and papers. He was sopping wet from the storm outside.

“What’s all that, dear?” Mrs. Dolor asked.

Mr. Dolor dropped the things on the floor with a loud bang. “I told you already, honey,” he huffed and puffed. “I’m thrilled about the direction our business is headed. New real estate. New banking partners. New opportunities—oh good, you made a spot for him at the table. Kids, my boss will be staying with us for a little bit until we get it all figured out.”

The children’s eyes popped when they watched the heavy footfalls of Professor Ludwig Wolfgang entering their home. He stood in the foyer, dressed in a black trench coat, water dripping from his fedora.

“Living with us?” Marian asked, shocked.

“Ah,” Professor Ludwig Wolfgang sighed. “Home sweet home.”

The End

Plague Dog

We’re on the run, we’re on the run
The man’s out looking and he’s got his gun
Keep your head down, no time for fun

Into the cave, into the cave
We finally have a place to misbehave
I wonder if I am still sane

I didn’t mean to tear at the holly-down sheep
Now the blood’s running down, all over me
Tod says, “it’s okay, everybody eats.”

I ‘member a Master who taught me fun
But here come’s the man and he’s got his gun
No time in the sun; run, run, run

Everything’s upside and nothing makes sense 
All the sheep and the colors twist in suspense 
Shots fired, get down, run for the fence
No time for fun; run, run, run

Rumors keep spreading that I’m infected
Keep in the dark or you’ll be detected
Keep up the bark, be on the defensive

Could it be, could it really be?
On the shore, standing by the sea,
The Master who’s searched all over for me

I only wanted out of the white coat’s tank
I’m not a bad dog; I never had a plague
I’m not at all bad; tod made me that way

Is it too late, am I bout to drown?
If I stay any longer, I’ll sink into the clouds

What’s coming up, now, I know I’m dead
A man walks on water on top of my head
He doesn’t seem upset that I ‘scaped and fled

He’s saving me; he’s rescuing 
My God, my God, it’s happening

The End of the Beginning

The End of the Beginning
Chapter 18

The forest thundered under each of Maushop’s footsteps, until he had either distanced himself so far that they no longer felt the vibrations, or he had descended deep into the Pactolus again. The field sighed in relief, and all became calm. A blue mist fell from the sky, smelling like lavender and honey, and draped across the field. The children backed away from the mysterious cloud before recognizing the glow of the Ghost of Ponce de León at its center.

“You’re back!” Marian shouted in excitement.

Starlight perked up from Herbert’s shoulder and flew to Ponce de León, dancing and spinning around him like a jubilant firefly.

The Ghost smiled. “I never left, Marian,” he replied. “You just didn’t see me. Now—how about we heal that leg of yours, Esther?”

The Ghost led the children to the wall surrounding the spring. The spout, more like a spigot now that they saw it up close, poured the spring’s silky, smooth water onto a white granite plate that spilt into the shallow fountain. Aaron helped Esther sit on the edge. She slowly dipped her foot and leg under the water. Her skin turned glossy and sleek, as if bathed in oil, and a scent filled the air like violets and shepherd’s purse.

“Oh!” Esther said.

“What is it?” Aaron asked, concerned.

“It feels so cool—so pleasant,” she said.

“I’m very proud of you, Herbert,” the Ghost said. “You told the truth, and that took a lot, I know.”

Herbert smiled, sheepishly. “Thank you,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“Can you please tell us what is going on now?” Marian asked. “We are here. We did what we think you wanted us to do.”

“What is this place?” Esther asked.

“Who is the Army of Bones and Maushop?” Aaron butt-in.

“Where did they go?” Herbert added.

The Ghost smiled. “Maushop and his little people are a story for another time,” he replied. “But of course, I will tell you about this spring and who I am. I hope you know how much I love Florida. I came to this magical place many times in my adult life, traveling from Spain and Puerto Rico and back again. But the final time was in the year 1521. I brought two-hundred men and women with me—priests, doctors, artists—those who could help to create a beautiful and fruitful life in Florida. But I was misinterpreted. And mortally wounded by an arrow dipped in poison.

“The indigenous people—those I came to help and serve—they came to my aid. They brought me deep into the Enchanted Forest, here to the Fountain. And I have remained its protector ever since. My people—those that were left—returned to Puerto Rico after swearing to secrecy to inform others I had died in Cuba.”

“Why keep it a secret?” Marian asked.

“This place is not meant for those who cast poisoned arrows, or those that serve the ones that do.”

“I guess it didn’t work then,” Aaron said, and Ponce de León looked at him. “Saving your life, I mean. If you are a ghost, it means you died.”

The Ghost laughed, and it sounded like rich maple leaves blowing in the wind. “People are always confused about what eternity is. Everyone wants eternal life, but they don’t want to die to receive it.”

“Why did we have to come here?” Esther asked. “Couldn’t you have closed the gate at any time?”

“Unfortunately, no, Miss Esther,” The Ghost replied. “Once it was broken, Maushop knew his place to protect the Fountain. And he was under strict orders not to move for anyone, even me—only those who brought his little people back were worthy enough for him to move. With Maushop here at the Fountain, the fairies wouldn’t be, and eventually the Fountain would have lost its power. And that would be a very bad thing.”

“The fairies bring the power to the Fountain?” Esther asked.

“Some of them would think they do,” Ponce de León chuckled. “But no—they only sustain it.”

“Seems like a poor system,” Aaron muttered.

“It may seem strange today, but one day you may see that each puzzle piece matters.”

“If you are the protector of this place,” Marian thought aloud, “That means you are the one who wanted the gate there. Does that mean you are the one who put the creature in the swamp? Did you hurt Esther?”

“Of course not!” The Ghost encouraged. “However, they made you stronger and nobler for it.”

Marian didn’t like it.

Esther was silent.

Herbert was confused.

“So are all the monsters going to return to the Enchanted Forest?” Herbert wondered.

“Some of them,” the Ghost replied. “But the gate never kept the monsters in. Most already lived out there in the world. But don’t worry, Herbert—that smelly Skunk Ape will be gone forever.”

“If the forest wasn’t keeping all the monsters in,” Esther asked. “Why was there a gate?”

“Haven’t you guessed it, yet? The gate was to make sure only the right people entered.”

“Wait!” Aaron injected. “You mean closing the gate wasn’t ever going to get rid of the monsters around town?”

“I never said it would, Aaron,” the Ghost replied. “Sadly, the monsters are already out there in the world. And this forest must be protected.”

“Well, how do you like that?”

“Who have we met that wasn’t supposed to be in here?” Esther asked.

A splash of hot wax hit the grass behind the children. They turned to see an oily stain on the ground. A pair of crocodile and snake-skinned shoes kicked the grass and covered up the stain. And standing in those shoes was the thin, pale, and altogether unpleasant, Mr. Dauer. He reached for his hat and bowed before the children.

“Speakin’ of the bag of bones,” Aaron muttered under his breath. He pulled the machete between Mr. Dauer and the group. “Get away from us, you liar!”

“Hello, old friend,” Mr. Dauer addressed the Ghost. “What’s it been—five-hundred years?”

“Something like that,” Ponce de León replied. “What are you doing in my forest?”

The Top-Hat Man scowled and his neck twitched. “These wonderful children let me in, friend.” Here he opened his shaking arms and a cloud of dust puffed from his cufflinks.

“That’s a lie!” Herbert hollered at him.

“Be still,” Ponce de León held his hand out to Herbert. “You need not advocate for me, while I advocate for you.”

“Herbert doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut—do you, Herbert?” Mr. Dauer interrogated. “Always opening it to lie and steal.”

“That’s enough!” Marian shouted.

The Top-Hat Man ignored her. “Did you always grow up blaming others and lying your way to your parents’ and sisters’ affections, Herbert? Are you doing that with Ponce de León now, too? Will you ever actually deserve the love you get, Herbert—or will you just keep lying to get it?”

“Herbert,” the Ghost whispered. “Look at me.”

Herbert turned away from Mr. Dauer and looked at the Ghost. He was kneeling down next to him. “I don’t need you to be perfect,” the Ghost looked him in the eyes and smiled. “I just need you to trust me. Do you trust me, Herbert?”

Herbert nodded. With everything in him, he wanted so badly to hug the ghost, but knew he would go right through him.

The Ghost of Ponce de León rose and faced Mr. Dauer. “Something tells me you have already lost,” he said.

“And something tells me I’ll have another chance,” Mr. Dauer smiled. He reached his hand up and unplugged the cork from the side of his head. He tilted it, and wax and oil dripped on the ground. “See you soon, Dolors,” he said. And at the tap of his cane, he vanished before them.

The children looked around the dug-up field and back at one another, searching for where the Top-Hat Man disappeared to.

“Don’t worry about him, children,” the Ghost encouraged. “Now let’s look at that leg, Miss Esther.” He turned and bent down beside her. She lifted her foot from the Fountain, and to her amazement and delight, the wound had closed up, the infected spiderweb veins had dissipated, and the sutures had fallen off. She stood on her foot and gave a little happy dance, while the other children celebrated with her.

“Señor Ponce de León,” Esther said, and curtsied. “I can never thank you enough.”

“Kids, drink,” the Ghost addressed all of them. “Taste and see that the water is refreshing.”

The children bent down at the water’s edge. Their cupped hands brought a mouthful to their lips. It tasted like honey on their tongues, but in their stomach it felt sour and bitter.

“Does this mean we will live forever?” Aaron asked, wiping the residue from his lips.

“You would have to die in the waters to become eternal,” Ponce de León replied. “However, it will protect you from some evil sounds and spells.”

“Seems a bit like a letdown,” Aaron muttered.

A flurry of humming wind crept from all four corners of the forest. They wondered if it were raining until they saw the glowing flicker of fairies illuminating the trees and forest-floor. Millions of twinkling lights-pinks, blues, reds, oranges, purples, greens, and yellows-came from all directions, and surrounded the children like a tornado of color and light. They were blinding and fantastic, terrifying and exhilarating; buzzing torpedoes of light shooting around each of them in a graceful dance of joy and harmony. Herbert noticed that Starlight was no longer at his side. He searched through the wild anthem of color and light until he saw a familiar emerald glow emanating from the green fairy. He grinned in excitement that she had found her family. Though, later, he would regret not being able to say goodbye. All the while, the dance pulsated in lights, colors, and grace. One moment, they thought they comprehended that the dance formed a kind of story about the birth of the forest and the people chosen to protect it, but in the next instant it became confusing and nonsense again. The story of light and color lasted hours, as the fairies danced and pranced about the spring waters, long after the children even left.

Ponce de León led them through a separate path, back to the riverbank. “I’m very happy you came, children,” the Ghost said. “And so proud that you stuck together.”

“Ponce de León,” Marian said. She held the logbook in her hands. “The logbook added pictures and words as we went. English words and—well, us. Were we always in this book?”

“You were if you wanted to be,” the Ghost responded. “But it required you coming through the gate. If you hadn’t, someone else would have.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The book is already finished. The reader just needs to learn how to read the pages. Whosoever does, gets to play a part in it. And how much or how little of a part is up to them.”

Marian opened the logbook to the furthest recorded spot and saw a hand-drawn image of a riverbank. Birds flew in the air, fish jumped from the river, and a forest behind them danced in colorful light. Four children and a transparent apparition stood on the bank. The words underneath the image read: The End of the Beginning.

The book swelled and warped in Marian’s hands. She turned the page and saw another image drawn. This one of two boys sitting on a bench together counting acorns. Another page showed two girls swinging under a tree and using sticks as imaginary swords. The pages flipped through her fingers and she stopped at another. Its image showed three kids crying with each other at a funeral. Another of a cave swarming with crocodiles. Still another of a golden treehouse. And one of a little girl standing in front of a sort of bowl and grasping hold of a floating orb in the sky. She flipped the pages further and further, discovering every one of them had a picture, and no matter how many pages she turned, another page was waiting.

She looked up at Ponce de León. “I don’t understand. Who are these other children? Are there others who have come into this forest?”

He smiled. “Many, many others,” he said. “More than you can ever imagine.”

“Where are they now?”

“Finishing their stories.”

Marian didn’t want to look away from all the other fascinating pages and stories she had discovered, because something inside of her told her they wouldn’t stay there forever. And sure enough, wouldn’t you know that later, when opening the book to find the hidden stories again, they were nowhere to be found. Perhaps another tale will let us know what those stories entailed.

The Ghost took off his wide-brimmed hat with the enormous feather in it and held it between his hands.

“Herbert,” he said, “I need you to do something very important for me.”

“Okay,” Herbert said, bowing his head reverently.

The Ghost of Juan Ponce de León pulled from his hat a glowing panther artifact, identical to Herbert’s. “I need you to return this to the gate when you leave,” he said. “The one you have won’t work anymore. But you can keep it as a memento. I can’t hand it to you, you know. I’m a ghost, after all. So you must take it from me.” Herbert reached to take the glowing artifact out of his hand, and just as he reached for it, it dropped through Ponce de León’s hand and landed in the grass.

“Oh,” Herbert said, examining the artifact. “I think it got damaged. There’s a chip on the side of the panther’s face.”

“I’m sure it was always there, Herbert,” Ponce de León smiled. “No need to fret.”

He put his feathered hat on his head, which made Esther giggle, and bowed before them. “Dolor children, Aaron,” he said, “I wish you a happy adiós. Your parents are waiting for you, and I’m sure you best get home before they get too worried. The gate will remain open until you leave.”

The blue mist faded like a foggy morning meeting the warmth of the rising sun, and the Ghost disappeared. His eyes remained in the air for a moment longer than the rest of his transparent body until nothing remained but three fluttering pixies and a sparkle of light.
The Army of Bones

The Army of Bones
Chapter 17

Through the gate, on the needles, up the hill, over the cliffs, down the ravine, in the mud, across Weeper’s Run, amidst the brambles, and along the Pactolus River—the children trekked. More so, hobbled, as Esther limped her way through the Enchanted Forest on a pair of crutches Mr. Dolor had kept from a previous injury.

They left the house as soon as realizing the panther figurine was the artifact, but Esther’s injury made the journey thrice as long. The sun cocked in the mid-afternoon sky, baking their backs. And yet, none of them grew tired or frustrated. Whenever Esther slipped or stumbled, they simply stopped, helped her to her feet, and encouraged one another to continue.

The forest was a familiar home now. Birds, trees, and scurrying animals were their distant relatives. Strange noises and creepy critters reminded them of happy times, meandering through ditches and thickets, clutching Balaam’s hide and asking for his help.

They rested by the Pactolus, recalling the joy they had with Balaam, swimming and drinking the cool, refreshing water. Water gently splashed against their bare feet while they rested in the sunshine. Marian handed out snacks she stole from the kitchen, and each of them refilled their water bottles.

“How is the leg?” Herbert asked Esther.

“It’s swollen a lot,” she replied. “But the water is helping. I can make it. We need to do this.”

“For Mom and Dad,” Marian said.

“For everyone,” Aaron added.

The four gathered their belongings and continued downstream under the shade of the cedar and oak trees until turning westward through the uprooted forest. This time, they remembered to bring something to clear the debris. Aaron carried Mr. Dolor’s machete and whacked plants out of their way. After a few hot minutes, they were at the felled ficus. Aaron and Herbert stepped in first, holding branches down with their feet, and others up with their hands, until Marian helped Esther pass.

The girls emerged on the other side first, followed by the boys, huffing and puffing. They brushed leaves and debris from their face and hair to see Maushop still leaning against the spring wall. His hand had remained dipped in the water, but his frown had turned gloomier.

“Good afternoon, Maushop,” Marian greeted him.

He looked a bit surprised to see them and smiled meekly. “Dolor children,” the giant replied, “you’re back sooner than I expected. What has changed?”

“We found out we had what we needed all along,” Esther replied. “Right, Herbert?”

Herbert reached into his pocket and pulled out a bundle of cloth. He unwrapped the panther figurine.

“The artifact,” Maushop’s voice rolled like a bowling ball down the alley.

Herbert left the others beside the ficus and crossed the field in silence. Starlight hovered next to him as he approached the decrepit gravestone on the far end, opposite the waiting giant. He held up the panther figurine in his hand, but stopped just before placing it on the headstone. Staring at the figurine, he realized how much the thing had scared him before. But he never simply stopped to examine and appreciate its beauty. Its black marble patterns and gemstone eyes shimmered in the daylight. How could something that caused him so much regret and pain be so beautiful now?

He didn’t know what to expect, or even what an Army of Bones looked like, but the act of placing the figurine back where it obviously hadn’t been for hundreds of years left him with an unbearable feeling. It felt so sacred and surreal; it felt like fear. He closed his eyes and prayed. The rest of the group, still waiting under the ficus, wondered if something was wrong. Marian took a step forward, ready to help, but just then Herbert opened his eyes and shoved the eight-point star into the hole.

A raspy, clicking motion came from inside the headstone, as if the cairn were actually hollow, full of machinery. Herbert stepped back, and the earth below his feet shook. He was reminded of the forest gate opening just before the base of the headstone splintered and cracked down the middle. The panther figurine fell from the grave, and Herbert picked it up.

“Live again,” Maushop whispered, and a tear ran down his cheek.

A skeleton arm ripped out of the earth. Millipedes and earthworms wiggled through the digits, dirt dripped off the forearm, and the arm wagged about before grabbing Herbert’s sneaker. He fell to the ground and screamed. Another hand ripped up beside his head and clawed at the earth, trying to free itself from its earthly jailhouse.

“Herbert!” Marian screamed as she and Aaron ran after him.

The hand let go of Herbert’s foot. It wanted to dig out the earth instead of hold on to him. Aaron and Marian rushed to his side and helped him to his feet. All around them, dirt clods flew through the air, skeleton appendages burst from the ground, and dull moaning and groaning emitted from the earth below like a zombie anthem. The children imagined hundreds, if not thousands, of skeletons were waiting to rip through the ground.

Herbert, Marian, and Aaron raced back for Esther. She hobbled alone on her only good foot to no avail; repeatedly, losing balance from the earth’s vibration, falling over and picking herself up, only to fall over again. She felt helpless, and terror stained her face.

The group pummeled through rockets of dirt and grass hitting the sky, and skeleton digits arching left and right through the air. Enough of the dirt hurled through the air now that full skeletons were emerging from the soil and hobbling about the field. They stumbled through the grass, dug out their lost appendages, and helped others escape the soiled prison. Dirt, grass, and insects fell through their hollow insides as they staggered on their rickety legs. Herbert sprinted past a skeleton struggling to attach its lower jaw to its face. Marian noticed one using a hand it found to brush a dead grasshopper off its teeth. Aaron tripped over a femur that was being used by a legless skeleton to drag to its other extremities. He used his machete to whack away one holding its own skull in its hands like a basketball and shaking a colony of angry fire-ants off of it. The skeleton bounced away clumsily and screwed its skull to its spine. The field was alive with dead people.

The three of them united with Esther under the ficus and cowered behind one of the felled branches. Two hundred skeletons emerged from the earth, collected themselves together, and crossed the bahia field to the grave.

Herbert closed his eyes. “I’ve done it again,” he whispered. “It’s all my fault.”

Starlight tapped him on the shoulder, but he kept his eyes shut. She flew in front of his face and poked him in the eye.

“Ow!” He opened his eyes, and she pointed feverishly at the field.

He focused on the skeletons and saw muscles, tendons, and marrow form around their bones. Veins and arteries snaked their way up around the skeleton from the feet to the skull. A piece of red flesh pulsated at the center, under the sternum. It burst open, and he thought for a moment it exploded, but realized it was the heart pumping blood into the arteries and out all over the muscles and bones. Just as he feared the blood would drip out all over the grass, the skin formed and laced itself over the back, stomach, thighs, and face.

The skeletons weren’t skeletons anymore. They were fully formed people. An army of two hundred standing in the field before the grave. They looked at one another in bouts of confusion and awe, speaking an incomprehensible language. Marian covered Herbert’s eyes when she realized they were naked.

“My little people,” Maushop cried. The giant knelt before the crowd and wept. “I had lost you, my little people.” His face kissed the ground before them. “But now you are alive again.”

The crowd of newly formed people left the grave behind and approached the giant. Many were laughing and giggling as they climbed onto his back and hugged him. He stood to his feet, with many clutching hold of his shoulders and waist.

“And now I can serve you again,” his voice boomed. “Let me find a home for you to belong.” The giant strode forward and in two powerful steps stood at the fallen ficus, towering over the children. The four kids dashed out of the way, bewildered as just you and I would be by all of this.

They watched the two hundred laugh, skip, dance and sing, following their hero into the forest, down to the riverbank. One giant booming step at a time. The company teemed with joy and excitement, jumping and cheering in another language.

Just before Maushop left her view, Marian caught a glimpse of a small woman sitting on the giant’s shoulder. Her hand stroked his massive neck, and her head rested on his ear-lobe.

“Squannit is alive again,” she said, smiling.

“That’s his wife, right?” Aaron asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

“I don’t know what we just did,” Herbert said. “But I’m glad we did it.”

Move

Everyone wants adventure,
But no one wants to move.

Everyone wants to dance,
But no one turns up the music.

Everyone wants to laugh,
But no one wants to admit it.

Everyone wants to cry,
But no one wants to show it.

Everyone wants to hear,
But no one wants to listen.

Everyone wants to change, 
But no one wants to go first.  

Everyone wants to go to Heaven,
But no one wants to die.

The End