Keith G. Alderman

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The Beginning

Chapter 1

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Sunlight bounced along the cool water’s glassy face, and the air shimmered like fireflies. A dragonfly careened downward, banked left and dove for a landing on the jutting-out end of a cattail. It halted in perfect standstill grace while a ladyfish jumped from underneath it, waved “hello” to the clouds and sky, and with a smack on her side, fell back into the creek. Ripples sent every which way, as she either evaded some unseen predator or merely pranced for joy in the morning sun’s glory. Marian Dolor watched her jump and splash, her hearing numbed by the buzzing wind and rumbling road beneath the family sedan. Pellicer Creek flashed away. A deluge of trees—pine, palm, and pepper—came in front of her, zipping by in a blur of green and brown. It was only a few more minutes before the trees disappeared, too. The family pulled off the interstate, and a new city wrapped around the car. 

Marian sighed and slunk into her seat. She was only ten-years-old, but had made up in her mind that her previous house was the home she was going to live in forever. A new home can be tough on anyone. But it’s especially tough when your parents don’t give you any choice in the matter. It was hard to watch the new town unfold before her. New house, new room, new street, new school, new principal, new teacher, new school bus, new ice-cream shop, park, church, friends. That was a lot of new. And no matter the amount of excitement, there was always a tinge of fear rounding the far edge of it. It felt like her first time swimming in Tavenier on Molasses Key—darting fish, vibrant coral, gliding sea turtles everywhere, but always in the back of her mind, this haunting feeling that somewhere out there on the perimeter was the elusive shark king, never seen, but always felt, waiting to ambush, strike, and kill. 

She shook her head and giggled. She had a terrible knack for letting her thoughts run too far sometimes. This move was going to be fun. What was she worried about? Dad had taken a new job in St. Augustine, Florida. Something with “electricians”, “technicians”, or “superstitions”. And Mom had promised the city was full of beautiful sights for Marian to help with filling her portfolio. One of Mom’s last photos ended up inside of the local movie theatre.

This was going to be good. Beginnings are always good. They are the purest form of hope. They hold dreams and wonder without the pain of what yesterday brought. Rarely is the end seen from the beginning, the journey guessed in its entirety, or the trials known in their complexity, but that is what makes the beginning of an adventure both thrilling and terrifying. No matter how many mistakes there are on it, they can always lead to greater things. Though they carry us through trial and error, heartache and sorrow, they also take us through hope and perseverance, leading to that wonder and glory everyone was made for, but few ever reach. And this adventure that they set out upon is the story of how the Dolor children made a terrible mistake, but saved the world because of it.

The new home was a colonial, three-stories of rickety old wood slats running vertically, painted blue and green, and wrapped by a porch on three sides. Clay shingles pivoted over the attic and formed a pointed top that gave the whole thing a reminiscence of a historic tower. It felt imposing at the end of Flagler Road, along Twenty-Second Street. A beaten patio was attached to the southern end, on the kitchen, centuries after the home was erected. It had the kind of door that slapped shut but never latched properly. Overhanging it were the thick and ominous arms of an ancient live-oak. Its branches loomed over the yard on the front, side, and back, like a mother to her hens, and reached their fingertips higher than the top of the attic. On the perimeter of the backyard ran a forest of oaks and maples for miles north and south, hemming the rear-end of every house, building and street in the city, up over the horizon, and disappearing on the weakness of eyes. On the front of the nearest tree-line, was a wild dressing of pandora and passion vine that covered a high brick wall in green lattice and purple flowers. 

Marian was the oldest and inherited her father’s height, standing one and half feet taller than her siblings. Esther was eight-years-old, but stood only half an inch over her younger brother, so she always put her hair in pig-tails to give herself an extra couple inches. Both girls unpacked their things on the second floor. With quick and fervent effort, they filled their room with toys, swords, shields, dolls, lamps, enough stuffed animals to cover two bunk beds, a pink rug, white-laced curtains, and a karaoke machine. On their dresser, a fish named Sparkles swam in a white and pink cubed fish tank, and a leopard gecko named Lemon slept under a rock in a terrarium. 

Herbert Dolor was six-years-old, tough, ornery, and wild when at home, but sweet, gentle, and shy when out of his element. He unpacked his things into the converted attic one story above his sisters. There were two windows, split by French-cut beams, onlooking the front and back yards, the road out one, and the live-oak obscuring the view out the other. Wedging a lollipop between his cheek and jawbone, Herbert pondered where best to put his dinosaur collection. The setting sun glanced off his round glasses and drew his attention to the back window. Climbing on top of an unopened box and looking through the spindly branches and thousand shaking leaves of the oak, he stared at the row of trees lining the forest. Pines and palms stuck their brilliant heads through the criss-crossing branches, and the long line of passion and pandora vine wrapped over the brick wall. His eyes made out the rough edges of an iron gate protruding from the wall and covered in the vine lattice.

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On their first night in the house, Mr. and Mrs. Dolor let the children stay up late with pizza, popcorn and a movie. Sometimes, parents do fun, comfy things to make their kids feel happier and relaxed. And eating junk food can make any tough day feel better. But sometimes staying up reallylate makes it hard to fall asleep. 

St. Augustine was quiet, and the sound of silence was deafening. Sirens and train-tracks put the kids to sleep in their last town, Cocoa. Here the floor-boards and crickets were ten-times louder. Herbert was afraid to sleep alone on the third floor, so all three bunked on the second. The girls slept in their beds and Herbert on their floor.

“What are we doing tomorrow, Marian?” Esther whispered through the mattress.

“Mom says we are going to a new school,” said Marian.“It’s called San Juan Bautista Elementary.” 

“I don’t want to go to a new school.”

“Well, you’ve got it easy. Nothing but multiplication and long division. Wait ’til you get to fifth-grade. I’ve got fractions, electricity, and essays.”

“I like math and reading. It’s not that…it’s the other kids.”

“I miss our friends, too. But we might as well get used to it.”

“I like reading-time,” said Herbert. He startled both of the girls, who thought he was asleep.

“I’m sure they will have plenty of reading-time at the new school,” said Marian.

“Did you guys see the woods out back?” Herbert asked.

“No—”

“I did!” exclaimed Esther. “They look extraordinary.”

“I want to play in them all day.”

“We can climb that tree and make a treehouse!”

“And color pictures in it!”

“And do our homework in it…”

“Oh,” Esther said. “We have school all day.”

“Well, then we will play in it after school.” Herbert shouted.

“Shh!” Marian hushed them, rolling over and peering at Herbert below. “Do you want Mom and Dad to hear us?!” 

“We can talk as loud as we want,” Esther said. “They aren’t even on this floor.”

Marian didn’t reply, and Esther knew she was acting asleep. She best go to bed, anyway. Herbert lay wide awake on the floor. His mind racing in thoughts about the backyard. The forest went as far as he could imagine, and he wanted to see that iron gate up close.

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I don’t know if you’ve ever had to wait for the school bus in the morning, but it can be a very adventurous time. For starters, it’s so early in the morning that the cars aren’t really racing about yet. The world is still sleepy, and the sun is only high enough to make it shimmer, but not shine. It’s easy to listen to and spot animals like soaring herons, grumpy ibis, jittery squirrels, and raccoons crossing the road on their way to bed. And it’s easy to catch grasshoppers and ladybugs who come out to sip on the dewy grass. What makes it even more exciting is that the longer the bus is late (which it always is), a hope grows that it may never show up, and you get to skip school without it being your fault. 

On this particular morning, the clouds hovered close to the earth and formed a thick, cold fog up and down the lane. The Dolor children were at the corner of Twenty-second and Chase Hammock. The girls huddled together to stay warm while Herbert counted how many footsteps it took him from one end of the block to the other. Another boy stood across the road waiting, but he refused to speak to them.

I don’t know if I said it yet, but it was the middle of February, which meant it was chilly outside in the morning before the sun came up. But also meant it was all the more annoying to start a new school when all the other kids have already made friends and are comfortable in their classrooms without you.

“What’s the bus number?” Herbert asked.

“Herbert, don’t go so far down the street,” said Marian.

“Thirteen-fourteen,” Esther answered him.

Herbert turned around in the grass and walked next to the street with his eyes closed. He was counting his steps out loud.

“Where did you three come from?” The boy across the street called to them. He had shaggy red hair and a race-car on his shirt. 

“We just moved from Cocoa.” Marian smiled at him. 

“Cocoa? Where’s that?” Half the boy’s mouth curled up and his eye squinted.

“It’s in Florida,” Marian replied.

“Never heard of it.” The boy looked down the road. “Must not be a very special town.”

Esther furrowed her brow at him. She loved her hometown. It’s where they grew up, and its name reminded her of hot chocolate on frosty nights by the campfire. She rubbed her hands on her favorite Batgirl tee-shirt and yelled out to Herbert, “Don’t go so far, Herbert!” 

Herbert finished counting and opened his eyes. He was ten steps short. 

Marian tried at being nice to the boy. “I’m Marian,” she said. “And this is my sister Esther and our little brother Herbert. What’s your na—”

“Herbie?!” The boy’s eyes grew huge and his mouth opened wide. “What kind of name is Herbie?”

Herbert dropped his eyes and pursed his lips. Esther smiled and put her arm around him. 

“Well, his name is Herbert,” Marian corrected. “And what’s your name?”

“Aaron,” the boy replied, and looked down the road again.

Honk!

The Dolor children jumped, turning to see a large black truck aimed at them. Its bright headlights shone in Herbert’s eyes. They were standing in someone’s driveway, and that someone was trying to leave for work. The kids moved into the grass. Marian looked back at Aaron. He continued staring down the road.

“What’s our bus number?” Herbert asked again.

“Thirteen-fourteen,” Esther repeated.

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The smell of leather, rubber, and old cloth filled the Dolor children’s noses. The wheels rolled on the asphalt. The brakes squealed at the next stop. Steam rose from under the hood and a puff of black carbon monoxide exploded from the tailpipe. The accordion door opened. Four more kids entered the bus and found seats. 

The door shut. A gear thudded, and the bus thrust a step forward, paused, hiccuped, and took off for the next stop. On and on this went, until twenty-five kids were on the bus, waiting to arrive at San Juan Bautista Elementary. 

The bus was a cacophony of noises, shouts, squeals, and laughter. Herbert sat, quiet and alone, in the middle of the bus. The girls sat at the back, making conversation with another young lady named Bethany.

The bus stopped again and let on another group.

“What is that smell?” A shout from the front.

“It smells terrible!” Came another howl.

A high-pitched shriek came from the tantrum. “There’s poop in the aisle!”

In an instant, all the boys and girls were jumping up and looking at the aisle. Fingers pointed. Accusations rose. Fights threatened. Everyone wanted to know where it came from and who did it.

The bus-driver, Mr. Cunningham, stood up and hollered for silence. Every boy and girl shot down into their seats while snickering and whispering ensued. He looked at the aisle and sure enough, the excrement stamp of a shoe made its way down the bus.  

“Everyone stay seated,” Mr. Cunningham said. He took a step and looked at the feet of the three kids in Seat One and Two. Nothing there. 

He took a step and looked at the four in Seat Three and Four. Nothing. 

The snickering and whispering grew in volume, and every boy and girl looked at their partner’s foot. Herbert looked at his feet, and to his horror, the brown filth of what once belonged to a dog at the house he waited in front of covered his right sneaker. The blood rushed from his face. He looked up and saw Mr. Cunningham only a few aisles from him. He clutched his backpack in his lap, and his heart raced. 

Mr. Cunningham stood between Seat Eleven and Twelve. Only one more before Herbert’s. He shifted his left foot and pinned his right between it and the wall of the bus. His eyes stared at the back of the seat in front of him. 

Mr. Cunningham stepped forward and looked at his feet. Then he looked at seat Twelve. Then he took a step to Thirteen and Fourteen. 

Herbert closed his eyes and exhaled. Mr. Cunningham continued on his way back to the end of the bus. He sighed and shook his head, hurrying up the aisle and watching his step as he went. 

“Who is it?!” A boy’s voice hollered.

The bus kicked into gear. Thrust, stop, hiccup, roll. The boys and girls once again laughed, pointed, and accused. 

After a few minutes, the elementary school came into sight. The bus veered into the bus loop, and thirteen-fourteen parked behind twenty-one-oh-four. Every student stood at their seat like packed hens in a coop, and the accordion door swung open. The line crawled down the aisle while Herbert watched and waited for his sisters to meet him at Seat Eleven. 

“Esther,” Herbert whispered in her ear. She looked away from her new friend and smiled at him. “It’s me, Esther. I have the poop-shoe.” 

Her eyes grew enormous. “Okay,” she whispered. “Stand behind me.”

The chicken line dragged on, and Herbert saw the end. Maybe, if he could get off the bus behind Esther, he could hide his feet in the grass quick enough that no one would notice. He’d have to get behind those bushes and clean his shoes. But he feared Mr. Cunningham’s disappointment on his first day and dreaded the sound of that laughter directed at him.

“Just stay behind me,” Esther said. 

Through the window, Herbert saw a group of boys gathering on the side of the school. They were waiting and jeering about something.

Esther stepped off the bus. 

“Oh, it’s Herbie!” A voice hollered. 

Herbert’s eyes shot forward in fear. He looked down at his feet and saw the brown-stained shoe, bright and hideous in the sunlight. The group of boys were laughing and pointing. One danced like a buffoon and mocked his name again and again. It was Aaron. 

“Herbie stepped in the poop!” they shouted. “Herbie stepped in the poop!”

Tears filled Herbert’s eyes. Esther shot around to help him, but he was gone. Marian lumbered down the bus like an angry brute. She was six months older and two inches taller than Aaron, and didn’t appreciate the way he made her brother feel. Aaron, laughing hysterically, didn’t even notice Marian squarely walk up to him before punching him in the face and dropping him to his knees. 

The other boys laughed and encouraged Aaron to strike her back. Scowling and barking, he leapt to his feet to say something ugly.

“Enough!” Mr. Cunningham shouted. “Get to class, all of you!” 

Marian was lucky. Not because she didn’t have to fight Aaron—she’d probably do pretty well against him—but because teachers seem to send kids to the Principal’s Office for anything these days and hitting another student would definitely permit it. It would be a terrible thing to start your new school year with a detention or referral. 

Esther and Marian looked for Herbert, but never found him. They considered waiting outside the school for him, but a lady with a short black haircut and stern face ordered them to class. 

In his absence, Herbert found a bush to cry inside of, before attempting to clean his shoe in the grass and dirt. It wasn’t working very well until a lady from the nurse’s office found him. She invited him into the office to clean his shoe in a sink. After which, he went back to his class to meet his new teacher, Mrs. Taylor. 

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The kids thought they would see each other again at lunchtime, but Bautista Elem. has a strange block schedule that kept them from one another. This probably hurt Esther the most on their first day. 

Esther has the most common-sense of the three Dolor children. But she’s also the quietest, smallest and most tender-hearted. At lunchtime, she stood pressed up against the wall outside the cafeteria, waiting with her class to enter. She clutched the three dollars and fifty cents Mrs. Dolor handed her for lunch. A list of food options and prices confused her as the line grew shorter and shorter.

“Excuse me,” Esther asked the boy in front of her. “Do you know what we should buy for lunch?”

The boy’s forehead wrinkled, and he looked at his friend. They chuckled together. Esther didn’t understand the joke. 

“Whatever you want,” the boy said, and turned away.

She looked down and sighed. Three girlfriends chatted behind her. She turned to face them, hoping to join in the conversation. One’s eye caught Esther, and the group looked at her. The one closest to her looked down at Esther’s Batgirl tee that read: “I’m a Superhero!”, and then back at Esther’s face. Esther smiled, about to greet them. 

“You’re not cool,” the girl said, icily. The other two girls laughed, and the first looked away and continued the conversation without Esther. 

Esther wanted to cry her eyes out, but couldn’t. Where was she? Why would her parents send her to a place like this? She wanted to be with her friends back at home so badly and missed the halls she knew. She missed knowing what was for lunch and being able to pronounce her teacher’s name without looking like a fool. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to curl up and die. 

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On the bus ride home, all three Dolor children sat together. Without a word, each agreed never to split up again. This first day of school was the worst they had ever experienced. 

Marian was miserable, too. In Mr. Oulette’s class, she made a fool of herself when she didn’t know the name of an ocean. The class didn’t laugh out loud, but she heard snide remarks and felt everyone staring at the back of her head all day. 

No matter what Esther did, she couldn’t remove the cutting words from her head. She was “not cool”. It felt like the time a yellow jacket ran up her leg and stung her a dozen times. An agonizing, swelling pain that creeps along your body from within. Mr. Dolor had to tie up her leg with vinegar and a tourniquet when that happened. She wondered what kind of medicine could fix her broken heart.

Herbert couldn’t stop thinking about how the bus ride began. He would never look Mr. Cunningham in the eyes again, and all the kids on the bus knew him for all the wrong reasons. 

Their new school was a nightmare. Things needed to change fast for the Dolor children.

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Neighborhood Nightmare

Chapter 3

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The next morning, Marian, Esther, and Herbert munched on eggs, bacon, and tater tots in the kitchen. It was a teacher-work day, which meant no school for three whole days! Mrs. Dolor sipped on her coffee and watched the News in the nearest room. Mr. Dolor left earlier for work.

“Do you think the ghost will come back if we visit the entrance again?” Esther asked.

“I hope not,” Herbert replied. “But I do feel bad about letting those weird animals out. What do you think, Marian?” 

Marian ignored them. She planned to finish her play today and hadn’t any desire to enter the forest. 

“It’s Halloween in February,” the kids overheard the television in the other room. “…reports of the infamous Skunk-Ape have returned to St. Augustine.”

The kids looked at one another and jumped from their stools, racing to the living-room.

On the television, a woman with blonde curly hair, wearing a red blouse, reported from somewhere in the city. Cars drove and pedestrians walked by in the background. “Last night,” the lady continued, “…several accounts of the urban myth came into the local sheriff’s office here behind me.”

The camera cut away to a clip of a skinny man with a straw hat and two missing teeth. His lips were moving, but the audio wasn’t up on his clip. 

“…Local reports,” the lady reporter’s voice was over the clip of the straw-hat man. “…came during the midnight hour of Thursday night—”

The man’s volume rose. “That’s what I seen, yeah,” he said confidently. “It looked like a big hairy man—but he was humongous—standing right there, right over there, on top a my neighbor’s house…”

“…Also known as the ‘Swamp Sasquatch’,” the lady reporter continued, “…the Skunk-Ape’s sightings go as far back as 1960, and have recently returned to evergreen St. Augustine, FL…”

A second clip appeared. This one of a large elderly woman in what appeared to be a nightgown. 

“Oh, I’ve seen it many times in my life.” The woman closed her eyes like she was remembering. “…seven, eight-feet-tall, easily. It can jump as high as a five-story building. And it’s mean as a firecracker. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s mad at all them snakes and toxic waste ya’ll keep dumping out in the Everglades.”

“What toxic waste?” The lady reporter asked her.

“Mmm-hmm,” the woman responded. 

The clip ended and cut back to the lady reporter, smiling. “The Skunk-Ape is famous in many parts of south-east America,” she said. “Most notably, being seen over the years in parts of Louisiana, Georgia, Alabama, and yes, of course, Florida. Only time will tell if Florida’s new mystery resident is one of fact…or myth. I’m Lucy Ransom, reporting live from downtown St. Augustine.”

The shot cut away to the studio. A man in a suit with black hair was smiling. “Wow, that’s incredible stuff, Lucy,” the man said. “In other news—the weird just keeps getting weirder. Reports from members of the Flagler Equestrian Center for Beginners and Youngsters say they witnessed a unicorn riding alongside various ponies and stallions this morning. While no official photographs were taken, this eyewitness drawing from 7-year-old AnnaBelle Joy gives us an idea of what it may have looked like.”

A picture of a little girl holding a crayon drawing came onto the television. The drawing was of a black horse with a white mane and long silver horn on its head. 

The television clicked off.

“Well, that’s a bunch of nonsense.” Mrs. Dolor took a sip of coffee and stood up from the couch. She turned from the screen and saw all six of her children’s eyes glued to the blank television. “You alright?”

“Uh, yes!” Marian replied. 

Mrs. Dolor laughed. “Hey, I’m sick of unpacking boxes,” she said. “Let’s do something fun! How about I get the pool and slip n’ slide out?”

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It’s remarkable how fast the Floridian wintry mornings can turn to sunny, sultry afternoons. It’s even more remarkable how refreshing cool water feels on such a hot afternoon. When you grow up, you rarely like water splashing you. Some people will say it ruins their hair or clothing. Others are concerned it will destroy the electronic devices they are carrying. But when you are a young, there’s not much more fun than soaking your brother or sister and being soaked in return.

If you want to know a fantastic trick you can pull on your mom or dad or brother or sister, take a piece of Scotch tape and tie it around the hose on the kitchen sick. That way, when they go to turn on the sink next time, it will spray all over them. They may get mad, but it’s good for them. Sometimes, grown-ups need to act like children again. Don’t tell them I told you about it, though.

Regardless, no matter how old you get, when the sun is baking your back, splashing cold water feels wonderful. It’s a lot of fun to sit in a pool and grab the garden hose and spray it straight up, so it rains down on top of you. It feels like a hot and cold shower, which you otherwise only experience at a water-park. 

The pool and slip n’ slide took away all the thoughts of bad first days, bullies, monsters, and ghosts. Mrs. Dolor and the children played lifeguard, water-gun standoffs, and Marco Polo for hours. The world made sense again. Skunk-ape’s and unicorns were fictional. Nice kids, happy teachers, and easy questions existed in school. They just hadn’t been found yet. Ghosts weren’t real. Mom and Dad loved them. It all made sense. Though Esther secretly enjoyed believing in unicorns. 

The bad thing about slip n’ slide afternoons is they end. And sometimes, they end with sudden unhappiness. That gloominess came today in the form of two cars pulling up to the house. Mr. Dolor got out of one vehicle and a stranger got out of the other. 

“There’s my family!” Mr. Dolor cheered as he walked into the backyard. “I’ve got a special guest for dinner tonight. It’s my new boss, Mister—excuse me—Professor Ludwig Wolfgang. He just started today, and we really hit it off.”

Mrs. Dolor smiled like she does when she wishes Mr. Dolor asked before he made a decision. “Oh, wonderful,” she said.

Professor Ludwig Wolfgang stepped around the corner of the house behind Mr. Dolor. He wore a tight black suit, with a black shirt underneath. There was so much black clothing that he looked like he came from a funeral home. His hair was slicked straight back and shiny. When he smiled at the family and greeted them, two great big cuspids shown through on the corners of his mouth like a Great Dane.

While the kids cleaned themselves up, Mrs. Dolor made dinner for the family and guest. Mr. Dolor and Professor Wolfgang talked about business and boring things on the couch and reclining chair. The living-room smelled of cigars and liquor.

At suppertime, Mr. Dolor let Ludwig sit in his chair at the head of the table because he was the guest. Mrs. Dolor made spaghetti and meatballs with garlic toast. The kids’ favorite. Marian loved Mom’s special sauce. Esther loved the meatballs. Herbert loved to slurp the noodles from end to end through his lips.

“Oh my,” said Professor Ludwig Wolfgang. “I didn’t know we would be served garlic toast.”

“Is there something wrong, Professor?” Mrs. Dolor asked.

“I’m terribly allergic to the stuff,” he replied.

“Honey, why did you make garlic toast?” Mr. Dolor asked spitefully.

“I’m sorry, Professor, I had no idea,” Mrs. Dolor replied. “Let me take that from you.” Then she turned to Mr. Dolor and glared at him. “If I had a little time to prepare, I could have cooked something a little more appropriate.” 

“Thank you, it’s quite alright,” the Professor replied, shaking his hands in the air. “I believe I have a bit on my hands, though. Where is the restroom, please?” 

“Herbert, can you show our guest to the bathroom?” Mr. Dolor asked with a smile. Herbert furrowed his brow and put his fork down. He led Professor Wolfgang around the corner.

“I thought you already had a new boss,” Marian said.

“Yes,” Mr. Dolor replied excitedly. “But this newer one that we just hired today is really going to take us places as a company! I’m very excited about his vision. We are going to begin looking at new real estate ASAP.”

After dinner, The Professor entertained the Dolor parents with the piano in the study. Meanwhile, the children huddled in the downstairs bathroom. None of them thought well of Professor Ludwig Wolfgang and needed to tell each other why. 

“After dinner, when he excused himself the third time,” Esther began, “I saw him go round the corner in the den. I peeked around because it just felt odd. He pulled something out of his pocket and was chewing on it. I am absolutely sure of it—it was a dead rat, and he was biting right into it.”

“Ugh, that’s disgusting,” said Herbert. “When I took him to the bathroom the first time, he called me delectable. Isn’t that what grandma always calls her chocolate cookies?”

“Shiny long teeth. Allergic to garlic. Wants to eat kids. And chewing a rat in his pocket. It’s settled, we know who—or what—he is,” Marian said. “And we need to tell Mom and Dad.”

I’m sure you’ve already guessed what the Dolor children surmised. Professor Wolfgang wasn’t an ordinary man. He was a vampire. Let loose from the Enchanted Forest, no less. And it was their responsibility to warn their mother and father.

The children found their parents in the living-room, as the Professor was finished with his piano playing. He had just excused himself for the fourth time to the restroom. Perfect! Now the kids could talk to their parents in private.

“Mom. Dad. We have something to tell you,” Marian began.

“What is it, honey?” Mrs. Dolor replied. She knew it was something serious from their formality. 

Before the question was even out of her mother’s lips, Esther burst out, “Professor Wolfgang is a vampire!”

“Yeah!” Herbert joined in. “He wants to eat me!” 

“What?” Mr. Dolor said.

“It’s true!” Marian jumped in. 

“He’s got long teeth!”

“And eats dead rats!”

“And is afraid of garlic!” 

“Kids,” Mr. Dolor said, and held up his palms.

“And it’s not just that,” Marian began. “The news said it, too. A smelly gorilla—or skunk ape—whatever the news said. We saw it. On top of the house last night. And a unicorn with black hair and white mane.”

“—And silver horn on its head!” Esther interrupted.

“That’s right,” continued Marian. “It’s all real.

“What are they talking about?” Mr. Dolor looked at their mother. 

“It was something silly on the television this morning,” she replied. 

“But it’s not silly,” Marian pleaded. “We broke open the gate outside.”

“Into the Enchanted Forest!” Herbert explained.

“And the ghost of Ponce de León told us that we let loose a bunch of monsters!” 

“And we saw them run free,” Marian said. “Well, we saw the gorilla and unicorn.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Mr. Dolor tried not to shout. “That’s enough. We get it. It’s time for bed.”

“But you don’t understand!” Marian begged. “Professor Wolfgang is one of them! He’s a vampire from the Enchanted Forest. And you can’t trust him.”

“Enough, young lady!” Mr. Dolor’s face turned red when he realized that their guest had probably heard his outburst. He lowered his voice. “I know it isn’t easy living in a new town and going to a new school, but it will get easier—”

“That isn’t it, Dad,” Marian tried once more. “I mean, yes, it isn’t fun—but—”

“I don’t want to hear anymore of this,” he interrupted. “Get your pajamas on and get to bed. Now.”

Marian slunk her head between her shoulders and shook it. Esther opened her mouth until she saw her mom’s face. Even Mrs. Dolor looked upset. Herbert was astonished. He took the longest to accept the fact that his parents wouldn’t listen. He stamped his feet on the ground four times before stomping off to his bedroom. It isn’t fair that no one listens to a ten, eight, and six-year-old when they say something contrary to what they believe. But that’s just the way life is. 

The kids stopped at the bottom of the stairway, as Mrs. Dolor turned the evening news on to distract herself from the children’s outburst and her embarrassment. 

“…a six-foot-tall swamp monster,” a reporter on the television said. “The eyewitness report says it slashed at her leg with its claws.”

The kids looked at one another. Fear crept down their spines. Especially fear for their father and what his new boss would do to him. The children knew what they needed to do.

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The Forest Gate

Chapter 2

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The sky turned black as the Dolor children exited the bus. Rain dumped on them while they ran for the house. Just as they stepped inside their home, the rain died to a drizzle.

“Well, how do you like that?” Marian said.

The door creaked open, and each child wiped his or her shoes on the rug, before stepping onto the wooden floors. Miserably, they walked to their rooms to change their clothes. Later, Herbert found Esther reading in the living room with their mother. Work kept Mr. Dolor away for a few more hours. 

Herbert looked out the window. “Where’s Marian?”

Esther didn’t seem to hear him. 

“I believe she’s upstairs, dear,” Mrs. Dolor said.

“She’s writing a play,” Esther added, without looking up from her book. 

Herbert pursed his lips and scrunched them up to the top of his left cheek. He paced around the room like a meandering puppy. 

“Esther,” he said at last.

“It’s too muddy outside, Herb,” only Esther and Mr. Dolor called him Herb, which he didn’t mind. 

The backdoor slammed, and she looked up from her book. He was gone. She looked down at her book. Then back up again. Her mother was watching her.

“How was your first day of school, sweetie?” Mrs. Dolor asked.

Esther sighed.

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“The great swordsman, Herbert the Heroic, battles Aaron the Alligator to the death! A battle of wits and skill!” Herbert swung a stick and thrust it forward at the air while spinning his body and twirling his arms every which way. “En garde!” The stick hit the side of the live oak. 

“It looks like Aaron the Alligator has no chance,” a voice called out from above.

Herbert startled and looked up the tree. Marian was sitting on a branch with a notebook and pen in her hand. She smiled at him. 

“Mom said you were upstairs,” Herbert said.

She shrugged, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me,” Herbert said, frowning. “I’m Herbert the Heroic. I don’t get scared.” He swung the stick at the trunk and Marian went back to writing. 

Next thing he knew, a frisbee hit him in the back of the head. He turned around to see Esther giggling. 

“Oops,” she said. “It was an accident, I promise.”

“Not muddy anymore?” Herbert asked.

The two played under the tree, while Marian wrote her play on the lowest branch. The yard under the live oak became an office where they pushed imaginary paper and faxed faux documents. Esther was the boss, and Herbert was behind schedule. Then, the muddy pile of palm branches became a tar pit surrounding a volcano where a Tyrannosaurus Rex lived. Herbert was the dinosaur, and Esther was the damsel in distress. Finally, the tree-line became a racetrack, and the frisbee was a flying saucer. Each child took turns outrunning the alien attack. 

The frisbee took a wild turn toward the row of forest trees and stuck into a pandora vine. Herbert raced to retrieve it, dropping next to the vines and pulling it out of the pink and white flowered lattice. The cold chill of iron stung his fingertips. Curiosity filled him, and he pulled at the grass and vine lattice, revealing a large iron gate. It was solid, made of ancient oak and wrought iron. Black spires, laced by thick oak, extended beyond its top, forming ornate finials well above a grown man’s height. Wrought iron scrolls curled over the wooden beams, molding an abstract shape that confused the two of them.

“Looks like a gravestone,” Herbert guessed.

“No, it’s a fountain,” Esther corrected.

“Come on!” Herbert said. “Let’s look closer.”

“It’s not ours.”

“Whose is it?” Herbert shook with excitement. In his guts, he knew it was probably not right to try entering a gate that wasn’t yours. But ever since seeing it the night before, he wanted to get inside and explore. Now that Esther was with him, he thought it would be better to have someone helping him in case he got in trouble.

“Well, you look over there for anything neat,” Esther pointed to the side closest Herbert. “I’ll look over here. But no going inside. We need to ask permission before we just go opening up people’s gates. Especially one as nice as this—it’s obvious someone doesn’t want us in.”

Esther crouched behind a column protruding on the north side of the gate. The old iron disappeared under the vine lattice and the wall fell back a few feet from the forward gate. She glanced back at Herbert, who disappeared on the southern side of another protruding column.  

Esther ran her fingers along the muddy earth, feeling the bottom of the slimy wooden slats. She reached for what she imagined was the bottom of a column, tearing the vine in front of it. The wall was solid, she thought. Nothing could ever get through that without knowing how to open the gate. 

Meanwhile, Herbert, also realizing that the gate would never open on its own, found a large boulder and was hitting the right side as hard as possible. He ripped the vines off and smashed the rock into the column and brackets. 

Esther felt an iron brace on her end. Her fingers ran the length and wrapped around the iron rod. The idea of pulling and shoving her way in was overtaking her. It was so easy to imagine herself inside the gate, and the more she felt how strong it was, the more certain she became that it held wonderful things for her to discover. She wanted inside. She needed to be inside. Her heart beat wildly. She bit her bottom lip. She clutched the iron brace and squeezed. Maybe if I just pulled with all my might. 

Herbert rammed his boulder into the south side’s bracket. Chink. The sound of rock against stone. Herbert looked down to see something white on the ground. His eyes flashed and his jaw flexed when he realized a piece of the column had broken off. His fingertips reached for it. Marble and shimmering granite. He knelt down and picked up the broken piece, noting the small dimples and fine carvings that formed the face and torso of a panther. 

While it rolled over his hands and his eyes studied it, the earth shook violently. He heard a thunderous clap from deep in the forest. The vines fell off the front of the gate and a cloud of dust bellowed out from the earth beneath. 

“Herbert! Herbert! Herbert!” Esther cried and ran to him. “What did we do?”

“Nothing!” He shouted back, stuffing the ornament under his shirt. “I was just looking at it. Did you touch it?”

“Oh, my goodness! If it wasn’t you—then yes!—Yes, I did. I think I pulled a lever on the post. I reached through the vines and felt around—”

“You said not to touch it, Esther!” 

“I’m so sorry, Herbert.”

The ground shook again, and they looked at the gate in fear.

By this time, Marian had joined them. “What did you do?” She looked awestruck at the trembling gate. 

“It wasn’t my fault, Marian,” Herbert said, fumbling the broken ornament behind his back. 

“It must’ve been me,” Esther confessed. “I think—”

The ground quaked again. 

“What is happening?” 

“It wasn’t me.”

“Herbert and I saw this gate that looked so pretty.”

“Who’s gate is it?”

“I think I did something to it.”

“It wasn’t me!”

Marian glanced at Herbert, furrowing her brow.  

The door swung open, and a flash of white light blinded the children. Colors of violet and green shimmered in the air like an effervescent rainbow, extending upward into the sky. The dark clouds disappeared, and the sunset broke through. The children lowered their hands from their faces. Dust and lightning bugs fluttered in the air around them.

“Fairies,” Marian whispered. 

The ground shook again, but less powerful than before. 

“What now?” Esther asked. 

The sound of the repetitive motion was familiar, like a train rumbling across an open plain. But it wasn’t a train or machine. It was the galloping feet of a gallant unicorn that burst through the gate and reared on its back legs. A cotton white mane and tail draped across the fine jet black hair. The horn on its head glowed silver, like mercury, in the sunshine. Its whinny thundered, and the kids cowered, covering their ears. The beast took off, galloping across their yard and out into the street, turning sharply south and heading downtown. 

“Oh my gosh,” said Marian. 

“Did we just see a unicorn?” Esther asked.

“Ugh, what’s that smell?” Herbert asked. 

The kids’ noses wrinkled on their faces. It smelled like a nasty swamp, the kind you pass by on the road and your mom wishes she had switched the A/C to recycle too late. It was like rotten eggs and milk left under the dishes in the sink for a week. The children heard a low growl and looked to see the shadows of the forest moving and the underbrush coming to life. 

Howl! 

A large ape-like creature came out of the gate and grabbed the low branch of the live oak—the same branch Marian was sitting on just minutes before. With lightning-fast grace, it flung itself upwards onto another branch and sailed high into the air. It landed on the roof and threw a slew of shingles to the ground. It howled again before jumping from the roof on the other side of the house. 

“What did we open?” Marian asked.

“It’s an enchanted forest,” answered Esther. 

“I saw it! I saw it all! I saw what you did!” A voice shouted at them from the yard, beneath the oak tree. 

The Dolor children looked to see, at their dismay, Aaron on his bicycle. He rode his bike in the grass, its fat tires sinking in the wet mud. He was whistling to himself, wearing his crooked smile. 

“What are you doing here?” Marian asked.

“Is this what you all do in Cacao?” He asked, grinning. “Break open enchanted forest gates that don’t belong to you and let loose monsters?” 

The Dolor children were speechless. Meanwhile, a blue mist filled the air around their feet and they unwittingly looked back into the forest. 

A man stood before them. But he wasn’t a man at all. At least, he wasn’t whole like a man. He was transparent. But not the spooky kind of you ghost you hear about at Halloween-time. Kindness was in his eyes, and goodness came from his smile. He wore a wide-brimmed hat with a feather sticking out the back of it, and armor—which frightened the kids a little, and strange fluffy pants—which made the kids giggle.

“Hello children,” the ghost greeted them. “You are younger than the last time I saw you.” 

The kids looked at each other. Even Aaron was speechless now. 

“Begging your pardon, sir-ghost,” Marian replied. “But we’ve never met you before.” 

The ghost smiled at them. 

“Who are you?” Esther asked. 

“I am Juan Ponce de León. And you are the children who have opened the gates to my Enchanted Forest.”

The Dolor children and Aaron looked at one another. 

“I’m sorry if we—” Marian began.

“The gate protects the world’s greatest secret. And it happens to keep at bay the world’s most evil monsters.”

“That’s right!” Aaron blurted out, stepping off his bike and racing forward. “My great-grandfather told stories of Ponce de León and his Enchanted Forest. There’s history books of it.”

“And you’re an expert now?” Marian whistled.

“I didn’t say I was an expert. I said my great-grandfather knew about it. I bet I could find a book—”

“No!”

While Marian and Aaron were arguing, Esther and Herbert noticed the ghost  had disappeared. This made them more afraid than anything else before. It’s funny how seeing something scary can seem less dangerous than thinking about something you can’t see, that may be hiding in the shadows. 

“Guys!” Esther hollered. “The ghost is gone.”

The kids looked around the gate and forest entrance. Oak, maple, and pine trees towered overhead, and the sun fell beyond the edge of the horizon behind them. The smell of lavender and honey on the air.

“Time to go inside,” Marian ordered. “Goodbye, Aaron.”

Herbert and Esther obeyed and started walking. 

Aaron was indignant. “You heard what the ghosty said,” he yelled. “You’ve got to put it back together. Get them back in and get the gate sealed.”

“He didn’t say that,” Esther replied.

“Why do you care, anyway?” Marian asked.

“Maybe I don’t want to see my home run over with vampires,” Aaron responded. “Maybe it’s none of your business.”

“You’re right. It is none of our business,” Marian fired back. “The gate isn’t our property, and it’s not like we can do much about it. We are talking about monsters and ghosts. And we are just kids.” 

“It’s my fault,” Esther groaned. 

Herbert felt the granite under his shirt and flexed his jaw.

“You need to fix it!” Aaron commanded. 

“We need to go in for supper!” Marian admonished. 

That night, the Dolor children had a hard time sleeping again, but for entirely different reasons. And all of them thought they may have heard a smelly ape traipsing on the roof. 

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