Colin and The Rise of The House of Horwood
by
M.E. Eadie
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PUBLISHED BY:
ADAM BOOKS on Smashwords
Colin and The Rise of The House of Horwood
Copyright 2008 by M.E. Eadie
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Chapter Four: The Bank and The School
Chapter Seven: Seven for Dinner
Chapter Nine: Slumber and Soccer
Chapter Fourteen: The Clown Master
Chapter Seventeen: Confrontation
On a tiny blade of grass, a dewdrop rested. Within its watery sphere there was a billowing, black cloud. Sometimes it just floated; at other times it gave the impression of becoming big enough to break out. Jim Thunder had to find out what this vision meant because his old body was dying. Beneath him he could feel the earth’s rhythm, its pulsating heart. He slipped into the dewdrop and around him a light blazed. Squinting from its intensity he watched as the black cloud dispelled. Then the dewdrop went blank.
Jim rolled away exhausted from the effort, and stared up at the sunless sky. It was always sunless; Inbetween, but that didn’t bother him. He wondered at the vision he had just seen. What could it mean? He sighed. In the end, even though he could see so much, there was very little he could do. True, he could suggest here, tweak there, but in the end it was free will that would reign. No matter how much persuasive talent he had, it was a person’s free will that mattered. It was what made people so magnificent. It was what made living so interesting. A person with free will could do anything! It had to be, because to take free will away was tyranny. It was so simple and so elusive in its nature that most people missed it. Only in the plain clarity of a young mind could it be fully understood: in that way, bad was always bad with no shades of gray.
Soon he would have to return from Inbetween to the floor of his tent, return to his body lying there, barely breathing. It had taken years to learn how to separate his spirit from his body, to view the visions available in this sunless place. And there were certain dangers being Inbetween, between the worlds: there were those who guarded this place jealously, and others who wanted most desperately to leave it. If the Shadow Nixes caught him here, they could tear his spirit from his body and leave him eternally floating between the worlds, neither here, nor there, neither alive nor dead.
Jim scanned the skies for any black dots that would signal the arrival of the Shadow Nixes and decided to take one last look into the dewdrop. The swirling cloud of inky darkness flooded back into the dewdrop, and, he nearly panicked. He thought it was gone, but obviously it was back. A sensation of being pulled away came over him and he knew his body was calling him back. He struggled to collect his wits, to remain Inbetween, to pursue the vision to its end.
He was now within the cloud itself, the very heart of evil. A face took form, the face of a man, his complexion a sickly shade of ashen white. Within the two dark pits of his eye sockets, black marbles glittered threateningly. There were many other eyes all around him, but they just watched, but the man’s eyes darted about, looking for something, someone. Then they found him, fixed on him, and then moved on, eyes returning to their intense, desperate search. Jim felt spiny prickles of fear crawling up the nape of his neck. He knew the man. His name was Zuhayer Bombast Horwood and he had been dead for years, or so he thought.
The vision was now replaced by another, a boy, disheveled dark hair hanging about his face, was struggling to catch a soccer ball. He kept missing, but would not give up. Jim smiled. He knew this boy. He had taken care of him since he was a baby, but what did Colin have to do with the black cloud?
The scene changed again. A girl replaced the boy. Her glowing orange-gold hair flaming in the dewdrop. A spray of mischievous freckles covered her cheeks and ran up over the bridge of her nose. Although she looked wild, he could sense there was an inner calm, a dynamic red courage that was unmistakable.
Then all the images were gone, and he was simply staring at a limpid dewdrop. He turned away letting his spirit return to his body. Even though things were uncertain, there was one thing clear, these two young people were in grave danger.
***
Kicking the ball with a fierce energy, Colin sent it spinning through the air. At least there was some satisfaction in that. Kicking was the best part of the game. Since it was a given that they were going to lose, it probably made sense to put their worst player in net. Not even that bothered him, because every time his foot came in contact with the ball, it was like kicking away a piece of himself, a piece he didn’t like, and it was strangely gratifying.
He had plenty of opportunities to kick the ball, because it had been buried in the net behind him so often. Surging down the left side of the field, the orange and blue stripes of the other team were coming again, passing back and forth with adroit skill. His own blue-shirted side was not having much effect in stopping the onslaught, and he knew it was just a matter of time before the other team scored again.
“Get off the line! Get off the line!” screamed the coach, Justine Bone, his swollen, beet-red face threatening to burst.
Colin glanced down at the white chalk line he had been standing on, and wondered what the big, beefy man was yelling about. Wasn’t he supposed to stand on the line? Distracted by the perplexing yells of the coach, he felt the soughing wind as the ball whizzed past him, saw the agonized, defeated faces of his teammates. He tried to ignore the, now apoplectic, coach jumping up and down on the sideline. Mercifully, the final long whistle went and the game was at an end.
It was the walk of shame off the field, but Colin figured a little bit of shame was the price of playing. He knew too much of what it was to be excluded. If he wanted a normal life, a life other kids took for granted, he would just have “to brass it out,” as Sergeant Peary would say. Unfortunately, Sergeant Peary was just a comic book character -- or a voice in his head.
“Come on! Come on!” squawked Edge like a chicken. The coach’s son, his face jabbing intrusively into Colin’s space, was a miniature version of his father, quick to anger and slow in thought.
“Where are we going?” mumbled Colin unable to pass up the opportunity to taunt the thick-featured Edge.
“What do you mean?” the boy’s beady eyes went hard, his breath smelling of sports drink and oranges, “Maybe next time you can let in six instead of seven! But wait, there won’t be a next time!”
From previous experience he knew it was best not to taunt Edge. Even as slow as he was, he would eventually understand, and along with understanding came revenge. Colin fought down the urge to point out that most of the goals were caused by Edge’s unwillingness to pass the ball, but he just shrugged. When he reached the point where everyone was gathered in front of the furious coach, Colin prudently continued to stare at his feet. He found that if you looked at someone who was angry, looked them in the eyes, you became a target. He saw something glittering on the ground: a dewdrop on a blade of grass.
Scowling, Mr. Bone jabbed a thick, sausage-like finger towards Colin’s chest and started in on him. “What were you doing out there? You call that net minding? My arthritic Grandma could do better than that! If we weren’t short, I’d sit you on the sideline where you belong. Boy! Whatever possessed you to think you could play this game?”
The coach went on, and on, and Colin felt the heat of embarrassment rising into his face. Eventually, the man would vent enough steam that his swollen head would begin to deflate and then he would find someone else to pick on, or better still, he would just go away.
There was a self-satisfied, haughty smirk on Edge’s face, as if he was about to say: “I told you so. I told you we shouldn’t have let him play. I can spot a weirdo, a loser anytime. He’s not one of us.”
Colin merely shrugged looking down at his untied shoelaces. Of course he wasn’t like them. His clothes were different, his shoes were old and he lived in a tent, but it didn’t stop him from wanting friends and wanting to play games that others played. It had seemed like a logical thing, telling the coach he knew how to play. Even though his little lie didn’t seem very bad, he regretted having told it. But, how else was he going to get to play? And he wanted to play more than anything. It seemed like a good idea at the time…
Standing in front of the coach, he felt Mr. Bone’s hot breath, like the fetid inside of some musty cavern, blowing on his face. He waited for a pause in the man’s blustering. Eventually he would stop -- or blow up. He was beginning to hope for the latter to occur.
“You leave me no choice,” said the harsh, but fractionally mollified, voice. “I’m going to have to ask you to hand in your shirt and leave the team.”
Colin looked up askance. Boy, did Edge and his father ever think alike! “But, coach, this is the last game of the season. Don’t we all have to hand in our shirts?”
“Don’t talk back to me! Now, give me the shirt,” snapped Mr. Bone, insulted by the boy’s impertinence. His bald head, sweaty and red, shimmered in the evening sun as he thrust out a meaty hand, thick fingers twitching.
Colin pulled the sweater over his head, revealing his red, yellow, blue and green shirt beneath. Edge snickered. It didn’t bother Colin; he liked the colours and so did his aunt, which was strange, because she only wore black. The only complaint he had was that it made him stand out. It was hard to be invisible when you were glowing with colour. He pulled a matching toque over his head, and felt everybody’s eyes on him.
“Hey, Rainbow, did you’re mommy buy your clothes?” snickered Edge, his voice accompanied by a few other derisive laughs.
Colin slid his sunglasses onto his face, “Actually, my mother is dead, and my aunt made them from the hair of animals you’ve never seen.” It was true, and the truth broadsided Edge into silence. At that moment his irritation with Edge disappeared, because on the ground, just in front of him, a black dot was beginning to form. He knew exactly what it meant, and what was coming. Quickly he tossed the sweater at Mr. Bone and walked briskly away. He wasn’t particularly concerned about the comments anymore; it was the dot he was running from -- the Shadow Nix.
“Boy,
do you understand me? Boy?” called out the coach, hoping his
message hadn’t been misunderstood. The last thing he needed was
the kid showing up next year expecting to play.
Colin understood
the coach perfectly; however, he had more important concerns to deal
with at the moment.
“Rusty, leave him be,” called out Mr. Bone.
There was a flash of red hair and the sound of running feet and the breath of someone trying to catch up to him, then settling in beside him, matching his striding paces. If he refused to look at the girl, she’d go away.
“Don’t listen to Egg Head. He’s all bluster. In fact I’ve been meaning to thank you.”
Colin glanced at her, perplexed and confused; for a moment he forgot about the black dot that was following him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He noticed how a spray of red freckles bridged over her nose. Her hair wasn’t rust colored at all -- it was like a golden flame. Why did they call her Rusty? He looked back down at his feet and tried not to stumble.
“Before you came along I used to be Egg Head’s victim,” she said grinning.
“Why you?” stuttered Colin disbelieving. “You’re really good.”
“I’m a girl. Haven’t you noticed there are no other girls on the team? Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” and “of course I noticed,” said Colin wondering why she was insisting on following him.
“Mind if I come along?”
Colin panicked, feeling the black dot behind him. He could sense it, feel it with his mind. It had grown legs and was now increasing its pace in an attempt to catch up to him. He could feel its blackness, its absence of being as though it was there and yet not there, extending, trying to catch him. If he didn’t pick up his speed, it would overtake him, and that would not be good. This was how bad things always started: with a black dot that would grow into a Shadow Nix. Something nasty was about to happen, and it was trying to happen to him!
“I really have to go home now,” he said breaking into a full run.
Even though Rhea Li wanted to get to know the strange boy, sprinting after him seemed a little too desperate a measure. So, she stopped and watched as he ran away, fascinated by this odd boy, and wondering when he was going to trip on the flapping laces of his untied trainers.
Colin hazarded a glance over his shoulder to see if the Shadow Nix was gaining on him, when in fact his feet did tangle up with his laces and he pitched forward onto his face. He fell headlong into a concealing hedge in front of a series of low-income row houses. He rolled onto his back and stared between his feet. He had only made it to the other side of the field; off in the distance his teammates were still watching his embarrassment. The Shadow Nix wasn’t coming for him! It was pursuing Rhea. Cloaked and cowled like a monk, it was now more solid in form; it floated above the ground, turning the grass underneath it into a sickly gray. He swallowed hard.
A voice, like rocks grinding against each other, barked in the back of his head. It was the voice of Sergeant Peary: “Diversionary tactic! Buy some time! You’ve got to help the girl! DO IT, NOW!”
Colin scrambled to his feet, and without any thought for himself, raced back to Rhea. She was unaware of the threat stalking her. The Shadow Nix was now as large as Rhea. In fact it was an exact duplicate of her and was moving to overtake her. If the shadow did so, a multitude of things could happen, none of which were good. He must distract the shadow long enough until it ran out of time. From dot to Shadow Nix, the thing had only two or three minutes to find a victim, to attach to someone. If it didn’t do it in that time, it would simply disappear.
“Rhea!” he yelled, running at her.
She turned to face him, a perplexed and querulous expression on her face. “Colin?”
“Don’t just stand there!” he said, dancing about her, waving his hands. “Move!” The Shadow Nix had an easier time attaching itself if its victim wasn’t moving. Rhea stared at him like he was a lunatic, but that was understandable, considering the circumstances. And since it was hard enough finding a friend, let alone one that was nice to him, he knew he must save her from harm.
Colin dodged between her and the shadow, confusing it and providing a protective barrier for Rhea. For some reason, the shadow wasn’t after him this time, or so he thought; then the edge of the shadow began to fluctuate, becoming soft, and then it took on a different edge and dashed at him. Colin went from chasing the shadow to being chased by it, from protecting Rhea to using her as a shield. Then again it reversed and went after Rhea. Colin, in his awkward dance, caught one of Rhea’s elbows in the face, hard enough so that his nose started to bleed. Skipping and waving his hands in the air, he felt a bit like a fool, but the tactic was working.
“Weird,” muttered Mr. Bone in fearful disgust beneath his breath, watching the two on the other side of the field. As the strange boy danced around Rhea, waving his arms. The kid was beyond strange, should be locked away, out of the sight of decent folk, he thought. There had to be something mentally wrong with the kid. It was a gut feeling he prided himself on, knowing when someone was different. “Oh, jeez,” he muttered, knowing he was eventually going to have to get involved. Rhea was not only one of his players, but she had an influential parent, an Educational Psychologist or something. He didn’t like getting involved, not in situations that he couldn’t control, and this was one of those questionable situations. He wouldn’t mind slapping a few of the kids, now and then, but he had no desire to get in trouble with the law.
“Hey! Leave Rusty alone. Get out of here, boy!” His yell had no effect, and the boy continued to jump about wildly. “Edge,” he said to his son, “keep the team together. I’m going to see what’s going on.” He began to trundle across the field to where Rhea and Colin were, as fast as his blocky frame could carry him.
Colin lunged to the side, just missing Rhea and deflecting the Shadow Nix again. Rhea flinched confusedly trying to get the handkerchief, that had been tied around her neck, onto his bleeding nose. At first she had been too bewildered by Colin’s actions to try it, but strangely enough, she was getting used to his bizarre behavior, it was oddly endearing, and of course, she felt bad about smashing him in the nose. She waved the handkerchief at him as he dashed by.
“Here, take this! You’re getting blood all over the place. If you don’t stop moving, you’ll never get it to -- stop that!” she yelled out as Colin spun away from her attempts to stop the bleeding. She swung at him again trying to shove the handkerchief at his nose, and hit him in the eye, smashing his sunglasses.
“Oww,” he said, dancing to the side.
“Sorry, but you’ll have to stop moving!”
He knew that the moment he stopped, the Shadow Nix would grab one of them. Before he could get in the way again, the Shadow Nix slipped by him and almost brushed up against Rhea. He gasped and threw himself at her knocking her to the ground. “Sorry!” he said springing to his feet and looking about wildly for the Nix.
Rhea shook her head, not offended by the bump or the tumble; she had gotten far worse playing soccer with boys. What disturbed her was the gentle flutter she had felt against the skin of her arm, the cold fear it caused inside her. She rubbed the point of near contact as though she was trying to warm away frostbite. Feeling dreadfully light headed, as though the sun had momentarily been shut off and a great black cloud threatened to overwhelm the pair of them, she bent forward and let the blood rush to her head.
“What was that?” she demanded.
“Shadow Nix: It’s trying to get us,” groaned Colin, slipping around her in a circle, trying to elude the spectral form again. He knew she wouldn’t understand, but could think of nothing else to say.
She was about to say “The what?” but then saw something, an undulating wave, distorting the air like the rising heat from an asphalt road in the summer. Within the wave a black dot appeared, growing steadily larger, expanding outwards, taking the shape of a complete shadow, the black dilating cavity of an arm distorting, elongating like a snake, reaching for her. She gasped in horror. Colin stepped between them, and the thing hesitated, changed, and went after him. Fortunately, it seemed to be slow, as if some great ponderous weight was holding it back.
“I...I...can see it!” stuttered Rhea, eyes wide, “What is it?”
He dodged. “A Shadow Nix,” repeated Colin. “Don’t let it touch you, whatever you do.” Then he tripped again on his untied shoelaces. Falling hard onto the grass, the wind was pressed painfully out of his lungs; but he managed to push himself upright. The shadow was just about to wrap itself around a horrified Rhea who seemed unable to move. It stopped as though thinking, then suddenly inflated, growing in size, turned and plunged into the oncoming, stomping form of the red faced Mr. Bone. The Shadow Nix slipped into the coach as though it was fitting a suit, and apparently, disappeared. The big man halted, wavered on his feet, and lifted a thick hand to wipe his forehead. His face went from red to a peculiar sickly shade of green. “Rhea, are you all right?” said Mr. Bone, wobbling as though he was on a ship in a rough sea.
Rhea nodded. “Yeah, nothing wrong here. Colin was just showing me the latest dance moves,” she lied. She continued to hop around waving her hands in the air. “Aren’t they like really rad?”
“Right,” said the coach doubtfully, but sedately. He wavered again and put his hands out to maintain his balance. “I don’t seem to be feeling so good. Let’s go home.” His shoulders slouched as he ambled off the field.
Colin got to his feet and Rhea instinctively reached for his nose, covering it with the handkerchief. “Mom says never leave home without one of these. It’s got a hundred and one uses.”
“Tanks.”
The bleeding had stopped, but he put the cloth over his nose anyway. It felt awkward, someone being nice to him.
“What’s going to happen to him?” asked Rhea. The coach’s broad shoulders continued to sag.
“I don’t know,” answered Colin. “I’ve never seen one do that before. Usually they attach themselves to a person like a shadow, not slip inside them. Sometimes, a Shadow Nix can make people really depressed. I don’t know much about them, just enough to know they aren’t good. Grandfather Thunder says they’re a type of ghost that wants to live again, but they can’t do it by themselves.”
“That’s eerie. Normally, I’d say you’re nuts, but I saw it, like a black sheet or something,” said Rhea much too brightly. “Who’s Grandfather Thunder?”
“A friend. I better get going.” Colin was staring down at his trainers, trying not to look Rhea in the eyes, trying to find a way to end the uncomfortable feeling that was growing inside him.
“My mom is an educational psychologist. She would love to hear about these Nixes and she’d love to talk to your Grandfather. You know …,” she stuttered, trying to voice her next thought, “it was trying to get one of us, wasn’t it?”
Colin nodded. “It was after me, but because you tried to help me, it went after you. Listen, I’ve got to go home now.” He was feeling more and more uncomfortable, not because of the subject, but because he had never made friends with anyone on the outside that could see anything. He felt excited . . . and confused.
“Where do you live?” Rhea asked.
Colin was afraid she was going to ask this. He disliked having to lie. Shrugging, he just said, “Around.”
Rhea watched as Colin turned and walked away, the blood-spattered handkerchief still held to his nose. Deciding she wasn’t through, she ran after him, catching up to him. “School starts tomorrow. Which school are you going to?”
Colin stopped, hoping she wouldn’t persist in following him all the way home. He shrugged. “What school are you going to?”
“High View. What about you?”
“Same.” It didn’t matter if he lied. He’d probably never see her again, not after his aunt found out what he had been doing.
“See you tomorrow.”
Colin waved. “Yeah, see you tomorrow,” he said a bit despondently.
Colin backtracked twice, like Grandfather Thunder had taught him, making sure nobody was following. He was especially careful because he didn’t want to give his aunt any more reasons to deny him access to the outside. As it was, he was on tenderhooks with her. One more slip and he’d end up like Spike, confined to Pansy Patch Park indefinitely.
From his vantage, on the cusp of the old riverbank, he was able to scan the park through the trees. In this way he was able to make sure it was clear. Not too many people frequented Pansy Patch Park because it was haunted. It wasn’t really haunted; they just wanted it to seem that way, making it easier for them to come and go. As he waited, Colin’s eyes went to the sunlight bouncing in splashes off the little river and creek that made Pansy Patch an island. The ever-constant sound of the running water, the detritus smell of the earth, the gentleness of the unseen wind, were comforting. The rich autumnal smells of coming fall swirled about him. Soon the time of change would be upon them, and they would get ready to leave. They would board Grandfather Thunder’s houseboat and sail somewhere else. The only problem was, this time; he didn’t want to leave.
He slid down the slope on the dead leaves. At the bottom he approached the little bridge that spanned the creek. Suddenly, the wind picked up, assaulting him from the front and blowing cold against his face. The obnoxious clattering of a bone rattle filled the air. Adrenaline shot through his body, but did so needlessly. Rolling his eyes, he shouted, “Come on Spike! Is that the best you can do?”
A disembodied head materialized, floating in the air in front of him. Spike had nut-brown skin, sandy-colored hair that was tied back in its usual ponytail. He stuck out his tongue in distaste. His nose crinkled: a trait that revealed thought, humour, or irritation or a combination of the three.
“Aunt Grizzelda wants me to use traditional methods to scare people off. She says it’s more natural. If it were up to me, I’d love to get my hands on a few cherry bombs! You wouldn’t…the next time you’re out…would you mind picking…”
“No way! Are you kidding? If she catches me, we’ll both be stuck”
Spike gave a mild grunt, “At least I wouldn’t be alone. So, how was it?” continued Spike enviously, a body joining his head. “Did you win?”
He always asked the same question and each time Colin gave him the same answer, “No, we lost.” Colin didn’t want to go into detail describing his less than stellar performance in net. “The coach kicked me off the team.”
“You’re that good, eh? So, did you get it?” asked Spike anxiously rubbing his hands together.
Colin reached inside his jacket, grateful for not having to talk about the game, and pulled out a comic book. He looked around guiltily, then unrolled it and gazed down admiringly at his hero. Sergeant Peary was holding a blazing machine gun in one arm while protecting a curly-headed blond girl with the other. Clenched and smoldering between his grimacing teeth was a stubby cigar. In a bubble above his head were the words: EAT LEAD YOU DIRTY NAZIS!
“Awesome!” said Spike. “What’s a Nazi?”
“I don’t have a clue,” answered Colin. When he bought the comic it hadn’t seemed important, but now he wondered about it.
“Open it up. What’s the story about?” urged Spike.
“Yes, do tell. What’s the story about?” said a cold, reptilian voice over their shoulders as a bony hand, complete with long claws masquerading as painted fingernails, shot down and tore the comic from their fingers.
Grizzelda, looking down her aquiline nose, regarded them as if they were twin insects. Her piercing dark eyes gave the impression of a set of laser beams slicing to pieces anything that met her disapproving gaze. When she regarded you, it was like being examined, taken apart, one piece at a time. Spike swallowed hard and turned pale.
“It’s Colin’s,” he confessed. “I had nothing to do with it!” he said imploringly, hoping Colin would forgive him.
Colin glared at his friend. Even though they both called Grizzelda their Aunt, she was Colin’s real aunt with the full weight of unrealistic expectation. Spike, out of pity, was permitted to call her aunt even though there was no relation. “Thanks, thanks a lot,” he muttered.
“What I want to know,” said Grizzelda, staring down at them imperiously, “is how you got the money to buy it – if that’s what you did?” implying that he might have stolen it. She thrust out her free hand, palm up, waiting for it to be filled.
“What?” asked Colin. He didn’t really like being called a thief.
She cleared her throat, indicating her impatience. He knew that nothing from the outside was permitted in. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a chocolate bar, silently berating himself for not eating it before coming home, even though it wasn’t meant for him.
“A Big Jurt!” lamented Spike, knowing his aunt would throw it into the river, making sure they watched while she did so.
“Follow me,” she said coldly, “both of you!”
“But, I was guarding the bridge,” said Spike, his tone desperate.
“It can wait,” she answered over her shoulder, her hand flicking up and motioning for them to follow.
On the back of her dress was a silver brocade design of an hourglass, except this hourglass, like a real one, was working. They fixedly watched as silver grains of sand flowed steadily into a growing pile at the hem of her dress. They gulped and shot one another worried looks as she crossed over the bridge and disappeared, not stopping to throw the contraband in the river. They were in deep trouble.
“I am waiting!” she said from the other side of the bridge.
The gate to their invisible camp was the bridge. On warm, sunny days, outsiders would pass over the bridge with their picnic baskets, set up their blankets and settle down for an enjoyable afternoon. Sometimes they would set their blankets down in the same place as their encampment, but the outsiders never noticed. Even though it was the same place, there were two separate dimensions. Colin had always accepted it, but now he was wondering why they had to remain invisible, why they had to hide, and why they had to scare people away sometimes.
The scaring of children and families was forbidden, reserving the haunting for rebellious adolescents, and suspect individuals, who, in Grizzelda’s words, seemed “shifty.” But now Colin was questioning even this. If nobody on the outside could see their camp at Pansy Patch, why bother scaring anyone at all? Then a thought occurred to him. Maybe families can’t see because they’re so preoccupied with each other that they don’t bother to look. With this idea came the revelation that Rhea – if she could see a Nix – might be able to see their camp. He had never supposed that there were others who could see them, but in this context, the scaring away made sense.
As they passed over the bridge, their invisible camp appeared. Colin’s home consisted of wooden poles and buffalo skins wrapped around them to form a teepee. He examined the three conical teepees and felt a rush of dread flooding into him. It was home, but lately it was feeling more like a prison. He, Spike and Melissa were becoming more restless, more interested in the world they referred to as “the outside.”
The boys were being taken directly to Grandfather Thunder’s tent. Melissa, Spike’s little sister, coming back from the river with a pail of water, gazed at them with a questioning look. Her hair was jet black. Each eye was of a different colour. Her right eye was a striking light blue, while her left eye was a deep, compassionate brown. Spike shrugged innocently, as if to say he had no idea why he was following Aunt Grizzelda. As they got closer to Grandfather’s teepee, an odd sensation percolated through the air. It was something they had never felt before, yet, they all knew instinctively that the phenomenon told of an End. The paintings on the teepee’s skin started to move. Strange red and black painted people, some with horns, danced around and through the colorful geometric designs on the tent. When Aunt Grizzelda brushed against the buffalo hide, the figures stopped dancing and crowded around the dark oval that marked the entrance to the teepee and gazed out at them in mute interest.
“Grandfather Thunder has gone fishing. Please try some other time. If you wish to leave a message, please feel free to paint one,” said a big black figure with horns.
Grizzelda gave a small, irritated growl and the black, horned figure leaped back defensively. “Grandfather Thunder, I need to talk to you, now!” The odor and fumes from burning sweet grass emerged gently from the dark interior of the tent.
“Come in, come in,” came an old soporific voice from inside. As Grizzelda went to enter, she was stopped as the voice continued, “Not you Star Blanket, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Colin alone. Spike Pine, you may return to your duty.”
With the look of suppressed victory, Spike slipped away, trying not to make eye contact with Grizzelda or with Colin. “Come in, and please, bring the comic,” then after a moment of hesitation, “and the chocolate bar.”
Apprehensively, Colin took the comic and bar back from Grizzelda, trying not to be too glad. Sometimes Colin wondered if Grandfather Thunder could read minds. G.T. wasn’t someone he feared, so he wondered why a cold knot of anxiety was gripping his stomach as he bowed to enter into the sweet-smelling, dark, mysterious interior of the tent.
At first, he couldn’t see anything except the glowing end of the sweet grass placed in a seashell in the middle of the tent. As his eyes adapted to the darkness, the outline of the hoary-headed old man began to separate itself from the darkness. Like some mystic adumbration, Grandfather Thunder sat, cross-legged, head bowed, so that his features were obscured in deep shadow. He looked old, very old, and so very tired. Slowly he lifted his head revealing a beak-like nose and sharp, piercing eyes, eyes that shone and danced eerily in the dark. Colin noticed, with some trepidation, that Grandfather Thunder was sitting at the western end of the tent: the place of farewells, the place of death. The warm smile didn’t negate the seriousness of the moment. The meaning was unmistakable; an end was coming, change. Lifting his staff, Grandfather Thunder motioned for Colin to sit across from him in the East. Colin swallowed hard with some difficulty; the end of the staff was in the form of a serpent’s head, its eyes taking on the hue and glitter of the stars at night. Colin had never seen that before.
Grandfather Thunder held out his free hand and motioned for the comic and chocolate bar. A big grin spread over his face. “A Big Jurt!” he said reverently as he turned the bar over in his hands and held it up to his nose to drink in the scent. “You don’t think she suspects?” he asked.
Colin shook his head, sure the covert collusion of smuggling in chocolate bars was still a secret. He watched as the old man opened the end of the bar and took a nibble. There was definitely something wrong because G.T.’s hands were shaking.
Colin watched, almost forgetting to breathe several times, as his Grandfather Thunder slowly placed the bar down and began to thumb through the comic book. Eventually he folded the comic back into its original position and patted its cover. After a long pensive moment, Grandfather Thunder reached forward and gave the burning sweet grass coil in the seashell extra life by fanning it with an eagle feather.
“So, what do you think of Sergeant Peary?” he asked breaking the debilitating silence.
Colin felt the sharp intelligence behind the heavily hooded eyes, waiting, examining him. Grandfather Thunder already knew about the voice in Colin’s head. He learned long ago that trying to hide anything during an interview was a serious mistake.
“He talks to me -- tells me how -- how, I should behave -- outside,” he said haltingly.
Grandfather Thunder arched his eyebrows at the comic’s cover, the blazing gun, and the fair woman cowering behind the soldier. “I hope you’re not following all his advice.”
Colin smiled, and began to relax; G.T. had just made a joke. It wasn’t necessarily a fear that motivated Colin, but the dread of disapproval. For some reason the possibility of causing disappointment in the old man’s eyes was more dreadful than all of his Aunt’s threats.
“No.”
“When did he start talking to you?” he asked calmly. Although Grandfather Thunder spoke almost casually, there was a serious earnestness in his voice, as though each word had been weighed judiciously.
Colin stared down at his hands, not wanting to meet the old man’s eyes. “A couple of months ago, in the spring.”
“The spring,” he said surprisingly, as though it was full of portentous meaning.
He appraised the comic book again. “I would say this cost you a good twenty pop bottles. Beer cans are best to avoid, beer bottles too. They can carry bad spirits.”
Colin let the tension flow out of him. G. T. wasn’t going to say any more about the voice. He satisfied himself with the image of Rhea that leapt into the forefront of his mind and her ability to see the Nix that attacked them.
“There is a girl -- while I was playing soccer today,” said Colin.
“Soccer? What is Soccer?” asked Grandfather Thunder curiously.
“It’s a game where you kick a ball and score goals.”
“Ah, the ball, is black and white,” he said knowingly. “You are good at this game?”
“Well, not really, but I get to meet others. We were attacked by a Shadow Nix.”
“Ah, I see,” said Grandfather Thunder sagely, “so, you avoided the Nix?”
“Yes,” said Colin feeling his pulse begin to race as he began to recall the incident, “but our Coach, Mr. Bone didn’t. The Nix did something different. It usually just attaches to a person’s shadow, but this one…” Colin felt the darkness around them thicken, as though it was reaching out with cold, clammy fingers and joining the shadows already around them.
“Continue,” encouraged Grandfather Thunder giving him strength.
“It slipped inside the Coach, like it was slipping beneath his skin, and then, it was gone.”
After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Grandfather Thunder finally spoke again: “You are sure of this?”
“Yes.”
A great sigh of worried breath filled the interior of the teepee. “It would have to happen now, wouldn’t it?”
“Excuse me?” asked Colin not understanding.
“Have you ever heard of the saying that difficult things tend to happen during the worst of times?”
“No.”
Grandfather Thunder laughed, followed by a great coughing spasm.
“That may be your salvation, Colin, your innocence.”
“She can see, Grandfather, really see! When we were attacked by the Nix, Rhea saw it!
Colin heard a sound just outside the tent; Aunt Grizzelda involuntarily inhaled a sharp breath.
“Do you know how you came to be with me?” asked Grandfather Thunder.
Colin felt puzzled by the change in flow. He knew how. It was well known history, so he wondered why the question was being asked. “Yes,” he said haltingly.
“Please, humor me again. It is important.” The word, important, seemed to hang in the air before vanishing in the darkness that was surrounding them.
“My aunt brought me here as a baby. She said I was her sister’s. She was able to find you because she could see you when nobody else could.”
“Yes, seeing, or finding someone who is able to see, marks a beginning,” he whispered, and then finished so faintly that Colin couldn’t hear him say, “and an end.”
“Grandfather Thunder?” asked Colin who was afraid that the old man had fallen asleep.
“Yes,” came the heavy reply.
“Why does my aunt hate me?”
“I wouldn’t exactly say she hates you,” chuckled Grandfather Thunder. “Let’s just say she has a particular way of showing her love for you, and Spike and Melissa. Remember, she has acted as your mother all these years, and that is a serious and sometimes heavy thing.”
“What happened to her -- my mom?” asked Colin, hoping this time he might receive an answer.
“That is not my story to tell, but your aunt’s.” Then suddenly, Grandfather Thunder raised his voice and spoke loudly, something he didn’t do often. “Grizzelda Star Blanket, I think it’s time we had a Council. There are some things we need to discuss, don’t you agree?”
There was an awkward surprised shuffling just outside the tent where his Aunt had been listening to their conversation. They felt her anxious energy, her need to control, nearly vibrating through the walls of the tent. As they heard her stomp away, they felt the air clear as her self-made atmospheric disturbance accompanied her.
Grandfather Thunder sighed and motioned for Colin to stand up, and at the same time, held out a hand for help. “Sometimes these old legs don’t respond on command. I worry about your aunt, so much anger in her. She keeps secrets, too many.”
Colin helped him to his feet and supported the man’s distressingly fragile frame as he stooped and tottered out the egress of his teepee. Once outside he managed to straighten, supporting himself with his staff whose head had now changed from that of a serpent to that of an antelope. He considered the staff scrupulously, looking carefully at the pronghorns and the beautiful coloring of the animal’s head, and smiled. He shrugged and winked at Colin. “Wishful thinking,” he said, “I am afraid my galloping days are over,” and began to shuffle along. “Oh, by the way, is there any chocolate on my mouth?”
* * *
By the time they reached the Council Circle, Grizzelda had gathered everyone together. In the center a small fire was burning, cheerfully giving up its aromatic smoke. Spike and Melissa were looking very uncomfortable having Grizzleda sitting between them. Colin and Grandfather Thunder took their places at the other end of the fire. For a moment they all stared silently into the orange-red flames of the fire, feeling the possibilities take form around them. So many directions, so many paths, all depending on what might be said, or not said. Colin felt uneasiness grow inside him; somehow his world was about to change.
“I am dying,” said Grandfather Thunder, as though he had just announced that it was going to be a very nice day.
“Nonsense!” scolded Grizzelda, who was just about to launch into a diatribe about how old people think they are always dying.
“No, I am quite sure of it, Grizzelda Star Blanket. I am dying, and unfortunately, I am dying right now.” He held up his hand and it shimmered with a translucent, ghostly quality. His hand was not as substantial as it had been a moment ago.
“Oh my,” said Grizzelda, then she became unnaturally silent.
Colin, Spike and Melissa were in shock, not knowing what to say.
“I have to tell you a few things before I go,” he said giving the children a reassuring smile. “First, death is not the end. Second, I’m not going to allow myself to fade totally. There are too many things to put in order for me to make a quick exit. Don’t look that way Star Blanket; all things must end. It’s natural, it’s right, remember that.
Colin tells me he has seen a Nix slip beneath the skin of a person.”
“Nonsense,” scolded Grizzelda, “Nixes don’t behave that way. We all know that.” She folded her arms to present a resisting front.
“They behave that way when they gain in strength,” corrected Grandfather Thunder. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen that type of behavior, not since…” his voice trailing off into a thought he chose to keep secret.
“What do you think it is?” asked Spike. “What do you think is making them stronger?”
“I don’t know, but I have my suspicions. That’s why I’m choosing not to totally die, not just yet.”
“You can do that?” asked Colin. “Can we do that? Why can’t you just simply choose not to die?” The idea of life without Grandfather Thunder was just beginning to dawn on him and he didn’t like it at all.
“It’s not an advisable thing to do. There’s a price to be paid, there always is when you go against the natural order of things.”
As Grandfather Thunder continued, the light from the fire seemed to go through him. His body was losing its reflective qualities by the moment. They all stared at him, willing him to stay, but knowing what was happening to him was beyond their control.
“What am I going to do!” shouted Grizzelda springing to her feet in panic. “You’re the one that keeps this place hidden. Once you’re gone…”
“Once I’m gone your place of refuge will no longer be here; true, you will have to return fully to the outside world. It’s what you’ve always desired, Grizzelda. You can now face the things you have always been too frightened to face.”
“No, I can’t, not now!” said Grizzelda, her face going ashen in color. Her dress was devoid of any patterns, just an unsure, black void.
“Yes, you can. You have incredible strength! It’s in your blood, and you know it.”
Grandfather Thunder tilted his head upwards, examining the soughing wind that moved through the pines in the park. “Change is here.”
To look at Melissa you would expect a quiet, demure little girl, who talked quietly, but that was where observation failed. In her entire life she had never uttered a word. Those limpid eyes saw so much more than anyone else, and perhaps that’s why she didn’t speak. Often she didn’t have to. Her eyes often expressed her emotions. The brown emanating warmth and compassion, while the blue giving off the cold, icy resolve often caused by anger. She was, now, staring mutely at Grandfather Thunder, both eyes open wide in fright.
Grandfather Thunder smiled kindly at her. “Don’t worry, where I’m going is dangerous, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Dangerous because it is where the Nixes live, and if they catch me there, they will never let me die. But don’t worry,” he lifted his staff and a blue light pulsed from a serpent’s eyes, “I will not be entirely helpless.”
“Then why go?” shot in Grizzelda rather desperately. “Why go at all? You can fight it. If anyone can fight death, you can!”
“No,” said Grandfather Thunder strongly, “I can’t fight death, and it would be a mistake to even presume I could. Death exists for a reason, a reason I don’t fully understand, but I’m going to let myself go Inbetween because I can see better and I can warn you before IT comes.”
“What is IT?” A panicked look crossed Grizzelda’s face; little geometric silver patterns ran helter-skelter all over her dress making Colin dizzy. Gone was his aunt’s inherent haughtiness, and for a moment, before she could regain control, she looked like a frightened little girl. She looked hurt, even betrayed.
Grandfather Thunder smiled beneficently, his old eyes twinkling. “I am not exactly sure. I am an old man, and I have always prided myself on protecting and training those who can see. You don’t think I’m going to let a little thing like death get in the way of finding out, do you?”
Grandfather Thunder had become so transparent that it was beginning to affect the general timbre of his voice making it quiver like the strings of an instrument losing tension. “Before I go, I have a gift for you.” From inside a bag made out of otter skin, Grandfather Thunder drew out two small leather pouches with long ties for wearing around the neck. He hobbled over to Spike and Melissa and placed them in their hands. “There, now you are protected. Within each pouch you have the essence of a spirit guardian. They will protect you.” He turned to Colin. Instead of handing him the same, he gave him the Sergeant Peary comic book and gave a knowing smile.
“Don’t go,” whispered Grizzelda just before the image of Grandfather Thunder flickered out.
“Have you ever wondered why I gave you the appellation Star Blanket? It is because within you, you have all the possibilities of the stars. Take the children Home, and care for them to the best of your ability, but beware the Nixes.”
And with this final statement, Grandfather Thunder almost died, disappearing from sight.
For every kid in Rivertown, school started the very next day, every kid except, Colin, Spike and Melissa. To Colin’s request, or to the law’s demand for compulsory attendence, Grizzelda was not in the slightest way inclined to listen. There were more important matters to attend to. The first thing on her agenda was to get rid of the Sergeant Peary comics. She burned them, throwing them one at a time into the fire.
Colin watched the black and white ashen flakes rising up into the air. He had read most of the comics anyway, but the violation of his property hurt. They were his, especially the last one. The last one Grandfather Thunder had touched. Unable to witness it anymore he ran away, making his way to G.T.’s teepee. There was nothing inside. It was as though all evidence of the old man had been rubbed out, except for one item. In the center was the last Sergeant Peary comic book, the one with the blazing machine gun, cigar chewing sergeant and the blond. He snatched it up and fanned through it. Why hadn’t she burned it? She had taken it from him, but here it was. The departure of the old man had left a big weeping hole in him, but the comic, or its physical presence, managed to fill it somewhat. He rolled it up, and tucked it deep into his jacket pocket. Even the prospect of leaving their home didn’t seem to bother him as long as he had the comic.
Although Grandfather Thunder was gone, some of his residual power kept Pansy Patch Park invisible; but in the span of a week, that power would entirely dissipate and everything they knew would be gone. Alive, he was a link between the two dimensions; now, their Pansy Patch Park would be the same one that everyone else saw. They had to find another place to live. By the end of the sixth day, Grizzelda’s exhausting search had yet to yield fruit. It was as though she was frantically looking for something that didn’t exist. Although Colin, Spike and Melissa thought at least a dozen houses were nice, Grizzelda had dismissed them as being somehow wrong. Spike had foolishly asked her what wrong meant, and received a scorching diatribe that left him awfully confused.
As far as Grizzelda was concerned, none of the houses she’d viewed had the right character. They all lacked taste. She disliked the square, weighted blocks of most, and the flimsy construction of others. She was trying to match something in each house she inspected to an indistinct dream image she had had. She knew and yet, at the same time, didn’t know what she was looking for. Late in the afternoon of day seven, she finally found the perfect place. It matched the distant half memory of a home that was becoming more distinct with each passing day.
The property was encircled by a twelve-foot stone wall with a large iron entrance gate. A real estate sign by the entrance hung lopsided from its metallic arm, eerily creaking back and forth, moved by some invisible hand, as there was no perceptible breeze. The rusted chains that held it attached, and the nearly obliterated name and phone number of the real estate agent, testified that the house had been on the market for a very long time.
From the gate, it was difficult to see the house because it was also ensconced behind mature stands of trees and shrubbery. Only a series of sharp gables and some crenellated castle battlements were visible: the crown of what must be a massive mansion. A bronze plaque, stained green through the passing of years, was mounted on the stone wall by the rusted, iron gate. Spike, his nose nearly against the plaque, tried to read the peculiar, hand-engraved, gothic script.
“Sors – ee – mman - us,” said Spike. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He turned around hoping for an answer, but Grizzelda was staring in past the gate with obvious delight on her face, as though she could see all the way to the house.
“This is it? This is what we’re looking for?” asked Spike, incredulously. “You haven’t even seen it!”
Grizzelda, who had been merciless in all the other inspections, was unable to break her rapturous gaze.
“I think that’s a definite yes,” whispered Spike, diffidently.
Grizzelda came out of her trance and gave Spike a withering glare. “If you don’t mind,” she said, her lips tight and thin, “I am making a call to the real estate agent.”
Colin, Spike and Melissa looked at each other. They didn’t know much about the outside, but they knew about telephones. How could she be making a call without a telephone? Then they remembered: Grandfather Thunder always knew of things happening in places far away from Pansy Patch Park, and they’d never had a telephone there. All three had a sinking feeling that Grizzelda knew how to do things they hadn’t even fathomed.
“Ah,” she said, taking her finger from her temple and looking down the street with intense satisfaction.
A vintage black Jaguar, looking rather predatory, sped up the street and lurched to a stop beside them. It was hard to see the driver through the dark tinted windows, but when the door flew open, a well-dressed, portly man, with a shiny, bald head, climbed out of the car. Even the severe-looking sunglasses on his face couldn’t hide his jovial disposition. He removed the glasses and, with a springy step, walked straight to Grizzelda, his hand extended in welcome.
“Well, well! My competitors have been telling me about you! I was wondering when I was going to have the pleasure of meeting you,” he said, pumping Grizzelda’s hesitant hand. “Marcus Tiberius Dundas at your service!”
Colin expected Grizzelda to wipe her hand on the black scarf around her neck, but instead she leaned down (she was at least two heads taller than the rotund real-estate agent) and placed her cheek against Marcus’ cheeks, once on the right and once on the left, kissing the air both times.
“Oh ho!” exclaimed Marcus, “The French way! Very good, very good!” He dug through his coat pockets and eventually found the key he was looking for. It was a long black thing on a big ring that looked more like a weapon than a key. “I travel to Europe now and then.” He inserted the key into the lock in the gate and with all his might tried to turn it. “Now, this little beauty is the gem of the town.” He tried to turn it again. “But I have to warn you, the reason it hasn’t sold was because of its price and a couple other little matters. Looks like I should have brought some oil,” he said, slightly embarrassed, staring at the rusted lock.
“Here,” said Grizzelda, slipping her hand under his and taking over from Marcus, “let me try.”
Colin stared at his aunt in wide-eyed disbelief. Was there a little purring inflection in her voice? He shook his head.
“By all means,” chortled Marcus, “nothing against women’s lib. I’ve always said it doesn’t matter who does it, just as long as the job gets done!” His slightly protuberant eyes bulged even more as Grizzelda smoothly and adeptly turned the key and opened the lock. “I . . . I’ll make sure to have this lock looked at.”
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