The Mysteries of Harris Burdick—Inspired by Elizabeth by Janai Wallace

f o s e i r e t s y he M

k c i d r u B s i r r a H y Elizabeth T

Inspired b

A u t h o r s Steve Limkeman 2-‐10 Kelly Han 11-‐13 Arti Agarwal 14-‐15 Larry Seebach 16-‐32 Korey Alfred 33-‐46 Charissa Ginn 47-‐52 Joanna Ashlock 53-‐55 Janai Wallace 56-‐60 Nicole Allen 61-‐68 Grace Liaw 69-‐79

Published with love Shanghai, June 2013

Uninvited Guests by Steve Limkeman

Slam! Steve gasped for air as the door crashed closed behind him. Steve hated that basement. Extremely relieved to be back in the warm glow of the kitchen lights, he struggled to slow his breathing as he slumped into the dining table chair, utterly exhausted. It was hard to believe that only two days ago he would have described the basement as his sanctuary -‐ a safe haven from all the chaos and busyness of life. He had helped his father build it twenty years ago, and it had been his pride and joy ever since. Its dark mahogany staircase & banister, the light balsa wood shelves… Well, perhaps “helped” is giving him a little too much credit. He had only been five years old at the time, and he had given about as much practical assistance as a mascot that “helps” a football team win the Super Bowl. But I suppose encouragement and team spirit plays its role in every great accomplishment! After twenty years, the basement still carried a significant quality of childhood nostalgia and family bonds for Steve. As he had grown up, the basement had quickly become a popular hangout on rainy days with his school friends, a safe place to share secrets in Truth or Dare, a billiards tournament venue, a private screening room for late-‐ night movie dates, etc. True, the basement had taken on a rather eerie quality lately. When he had returned home from college, he found that the Star Wars couch, the old t.v. (with the

buttons broken off from all the times his brother Scott had tried to turn it on with his foot), and all the familiar wall hangings and trappings he had become so attached to had been sold. “Neighborhood garage sale,” his father had remarked in response to the shocked look on Steve’s face. “Couldn’t pass up the chance to get rid of that junk…What?” he asked with mock surprise when he saw the injured look on Steve’s face. “It’s not like you’ll be needing this space any longer!” Steve couldn’t really argue with that. At the end of the summer, he was going to finally be married to the girl of his dreams: Emily Christine Hughes! He was a little nervous about the actually wedding day, come to think of it. It had nothing to do with the girl of course, but rather with his hopes and fears of how the ceremony would all play out. You see, they had planned a wonderful outdoor wedding for 150 of their closest friends and family, and he wanted nothing but the best for his bride-‐to-‐be. But what if rained? What if it was miserably hot and people came under attack by an invasion of mosquitoes? Not to mention that part about dancing…he had never really enjoyed or had much talent for that – but Emily loved it! And now his beloved basement had been transformed into a common storage room, and a poorly organized one at that! His father’s lucky left ice skating boot hung carelessly from the rafters in the ceiling, and stacks of this and that littered the floor in between overflowing cardboard boxes and menacing cobwebs. The thought that those foul beasts were trespassing upon his sacred ground was almost more than he could bear. However, this did not deter his passion for quality time in the basement one bit. If anything, it increased his desire to soak up what little time he had left there before he would be leaving the nest and embarking on a great new adventure! Many early mornings and late evenings had been spent down here over the past few weeks: buried in the Word, laboring in prayer, writing in his journal, or simply relaxing with a good book. He was in the middle making his second sojourn through Middle Earth, and he was loving it more than ever. Tolkien’s fantasy was a work of pure genius! But I digress…back to the basement.

This morning, everything had changed. It had begun the same as any other morning, with a cup of ice cold orange juice and a couple slices of cold pepperoni pizza. Steve savored them slowly, appreciating the faint orange glow of the sunrise as it faded from the last of the puffy white clouds that drifted lazily across the bright blue summer sky. There was a solitary window that sat high in the basement, but merely at ground level with respect to the world outside his isolated bliss. As he followed the diagonal ray of sunlight from its origin down to where it met the ground, Steve noticed something bizarre at the base of the wall, just a few feet from the southeast corner of the room. A finely ground mound of sawdust rose a few inches from the floor, its hilltop shining dully in the pale morning light. About a foot to the right, a neatly stacked mound of roughly hewn pebbles rose to an equal height, yet the sunlight barely touching its base. Anxiety at the odd appearance of the mysterious mounds quickly passed into a state of alarm. These were not your average dust bunnies. This was a display of intelligent organization, of purposeful differentiation. Stranger still, there were thin, jagged cracks emerging behind his favorite poster of The Dark Knight, the one that he had resurrected from a dusty shelf a few weeks earlier. That poster lay centered directly behind and between the two mounds, running from the base of the wall to about halfway to the ceiling. This is too weird, Steve had thought. What could possibly be producing cracks in a concrete wall, and leaving behind these mini-‐mounds of materials? Hastily, he ripped down the poster and gasped, stumbling backwards. What he saw had literally taken his breath away. There was an arched hole in the wall! Less than two feet high and just shy of 1 foot across, it had been concealed precisely by the dimensions of the poster – save the cracks and the waste, of course. No way! I must be dreaming again, he tried to convince himself. Yet he couldn’t bear to pull himself away…he was transfixed upon the gaping black hole that yawned at his feet.

In a sudden rush of bravery and curiosity, he knelt down and stared into the inky darkness. The basement, despite all its serenity, had never seemed so quiet, so still. Squinting hard, and daring to put his face still closer, he whispered, “Hello?” and listened intently. Bang! Bang! Bang! “AHH!” Steve exclaimed aloud, knocking his forehead violently against the rim of the arch. Curse those neighbors and their incessant construction! It had been nearly a week now of hammering, sawing, hammering and sawing. He had half a mind to report them to the police for starting on the job so early in the morning! It should be a crime, he thought. He glanced at his watch. 8:00! He was going to be late for work. With a second glance at the blackness, he had made up his mind. Yes, that’s it. This is all a dream…because this sort of thing is simply impossible. Too creepy. Too bizarre. Too too too…When I come home, this hole will be gone, and everything will return to normal. Resolutely rejecting the rational part of his brain that told him these sort of rationalizations accomplished nothing with respect to the truth, he kicked at the mounds of sawdust and stones, scattering them across the floor. To be honest, he was momentarily afraid that they would pick themselves up again and re-‐form themselves before his very eyes! With an audible sigh of relief, he picked Batman back up off the floor, carefully restoring him to his rightful home on the wall. And he marched up the stairs, out the front door, and biked off to the neighbors’ place, where he had an uneventful day of gardening, lawn mowing and flower watering. When he returned at dusk, he was fatigued, both mentally and physically. It had been a rough day. Of course, his mind had been able to think of nothing else but the morning’s incredible discovery. What could have possibly created such an archway? Was it possibly that creatures like hobbits actually did exist? And what if the fact of their existence was true, but the creatures themselves were much less pleasant and much more sinister in nature? In fact, he had been so distracted that he caught himself watering Mr. Alfred’s cat for nearly thirty seconds before he realized what he was doing, and he had almost cut a little more than her hair as he was weed-‐whacking near the edges of the driveway a couple

hours later. Needlessly to say, she was none too pleased when the leaf blower launched a large pile of grass shavings in her face either…but he just couldn’t get it out of his head! He was really spooked by what had seen, but at the same time curiosity was burning so deep within that he knew he would not be able to stay away from the basement all night long. So it was that he jumped off his bike, leaving it overturned haphazardly in the front lawn, and raced recklessly down the stairs to find that it had disappeared! The mess, The Dark Knight poster, and the hole – all gone. But the archway remained, and fitted neatly in place of the hole was a simple wooden door. Its vertical grooves gave it a rather archaic appearance, and the twisted concrete cracks surrounding the arch seemed to smile evilly up at him. All this he had absorbed in one shocking instant that seemed to last an eternity. “NO WAY!!” he shouted in denial, reversing his momentum and sprinting headlong up the stairs, slamming the door and collapsing at the kitchen table. Picking his head up out of his arms, he drummed his fingers rapidly on the table, trying desperately to hash it all out in his mind. Fact: There was a miniature wooden doorway installed in his basement wall. Fact: That doorway was not there this morning. Fact: Something had created the arch, built in the door, cleaned up after itself, and in all likelihood, still lay waiting beyond that door. Fact: This was amazing! Fact: Steve was going to go back down there.

Last time, the beast had obviously heard him coming. Now that he thought of it, half

the block had probably heard him leaving. But this time he knew he was approaching a potential adversary. Covertness was now of the utmost importance. Switching to Stealth Mode, he thought slyly. You have entered my lair without my awareness or consent, Steve mused, gathering up his courage. Well, two can play at that game… He removed his shoes and set them next to the door. Careful to let as little light in as possible, he slowly turned the handle and snuck inside. So far so good, he congratulated himself, as he turned to face the dark descent.

A single ray of light sliced across the top third of the door at a sharp angle. In the

failing natural light, the basement had grown quite dim. He crept slowly and steadily down the stairs, maintaining constant vigilance so as to avoid each notorious area of the staircase that would be certain to produce loud and conspicuously eerie creaking noises. He had reached the fifth stair when he heard them – whispered voices. Not English, mind you – the language, if you could call it that, was something foreign in a sense that our limited words will only carry us so far in our understanding of it. He experienced it more as music – a song, and a much more beautiful one than any of the harsh tonal languages (Chinese, for instance) could ever hope to produce. It was beautiful, but there was a certain quality within – perhaps simply Steve’s fear of the unknown, and perhaps something essential to its existence -‐ that made it simultaneously terrifying.

He froze. So it’s not alone. And yet the music continued, indicating that they had not

yet become aware of Steve’s presence. Well, at least it doesn’t have x-‐ray vision, Steve attempted to comfort himself. Within seconds, the attraction of the sound overpowered his frail fears, and he continued. In fact, he was so captivated by it that he forgot all pretence of attempting to disguise his presence, and with one terrible misstep, his feet betrayed him and the seventh stair cried out in agony!

The voices stopped. So much for the element of surprise. Wait a second – what

element of surprise? Am I bursting into enemy territory with guns blazing? Steve stood there dumbly for a moment, unsure of how exactly to proceed. He hadn’t really thought through this part of his brilliant plan to meet the mythical creatures. Had his presence gone unnoticed, what had he intended to do once he reached the door? In the thrill of it all, he brazenly walked right up to the edge of the plank without thinking twice about whether it was a pod of playful porpoises or a feeding frenzy of sharks that awaited him below! I can’t take this anymore! His brain screamed at him, threatening to melt down in the heat of all this tension and suspense. The time for half-‐measures and idle thoughts is over. It’s time to find out exactly what I’m dealing with. Taking a deep breath, he plunged down the remaining stairs and dragged himself to the threshold. His feet seemed to have been

turned to stone, each step expending an enormous effort to pull himself up to the door. All of his senses were straining in a desperate attempt to detect anything out of the ordinary. He bent over so that his head was just above the archway and pressed his right ear hard to the concrete, listening intently. He heard nothing. But just as he was about to withdraw his ear from the wall, he felt something brush against his leg that made his eyes dart down to the doorknob. He gasped! His heart was pounding. He was sure he had seen the doorknob turn. Instinctively, his hand jetted down to grasp the doorknob and he simultaneously thrust the weight of his body against the door. I’m not ready, he realized. And if something is about to come through that door, you can be sure that I plan to see it in the light. Determined not to release the pressure on the door, Steve clumsily reached for the floor lamp with his left hand and flicked it on, positioning the bulb so that it shined directly on the door. Then the unthinkable happened. The moment that the lamplight hit the door, the bulb squealed & went out with an explosive and heart-‐stopping POP! His eyes had been adjusting, but this rapid transition had left him momentarily blinded. And without qualification, the following experience was unlike anything he could have possibly imagined. Somewhere, which felt like everywhere, a deep drum beat resounded in rapid successions, shaking the very foundations of the house. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! With each concussion of sound, a white hot wave of light rolled over him, issuing from the cracks of the archway and then receding into darkness. It had the immediate effect of both knocking him bodily off his feet and blowing away his expectations for the “small” proportions of the encounter he had been anticipating. Steve squinted his eyes shut tightly in a feeble attempt to center himself and fight back against this sudden disorientation. Everything became perfectly still. When he opened his eyes again, he discovered that the door had grown exponentially! He jumped up. The

doorknob, which only seconds ago had been located just below his knee, now rose up to the level of his waist! No, wait. He looked around for a point of reference. It is I that have shrunk exponentially. When he glanced back toward the kitchen, he found that the bottom stair was a little taller than his waist as well. Not to mention that you could now stack two of Steve inside the large cardboard box in the corner. He turned back to face the door, which was now rimmed in the glow of a pale yellow light. As he stepped cautiously toward it, white writing began to engrave itself into the dark brown wood: As your anxieties rise ever higher, Look inside to find your heart’s desire. Well, that doesn’t sound so bad! he reflected, optimistically. And then more grimly, I may as well see this through. With that, he firmly gripped the door handle, pulled it open and crossed the threshold. Steve entered into a forest in summer, late afternoon by the position of the sun. The cool breeze in the air and the fresh scent of the pines was very refreshing. He looked down to his left and was surprised to find that his younger brothers and best friends were standing right beside him, all wearing identical black suits with white shirts, maroon ties, and smiles on their faces. They were actually in a small clearing in the forest, one with freshly cut green grass, festive white lights hanging from all the trees, and a number of white chairs set on both sides of a central aisle in down the middle. Emily’s sister and best friends stood just off to Steve’s right. It was obvious that they were all waiting in expectation of something. And then he saw her . Adorned in white and stunningly beautiful with her brown hair curled, she ran down the aisle beaming and leaped into his open arms, laughing with joy as they embraced. This is perfect, he thought softly. Why had I ever been so worried?

With a flash he was back in the basement, standing tall and looking down at his favorite Dark Knight poster. Unable to resist the urge, he peeked behind, although he already knew what he would find. The solid concrete wall showed no signs of alteration or repair; there were no cracks, no holes, and (most obviously) no wooden doors. But as he replaced the upper right corner of the poster on the wall, he noticed a message, written in the same white script: “Love hopes all things” 1 Corinthians 13:7

Filled with hope, Steve sprinted up the stairs and out the front door. Looking up at

the majesty of the countless stars above, he whispered, “Thank you, Lord.” And he felt at peace.

Caterpillar Story By Kelly Han One day, Elizabeth sat in her usual spot next to the dirty, Shanghai river bank, watching the Chinese villagers fishing for fish in the water. She was admiring the beautiful polluted air as she sat to write in her journal. It was about late afternoon, when she wondered about the forbidden tower of SMIC world. She was warned by all the Pudongians to never enter into the forbidden tower, for it contained all evil and sadness. One pudongian, Charissajoyness, once told Elizabeth that no one dares to go into the tower because of the evil monster that lives within the walls. From a young age, Elizabeth was told never to enter into the gates of the tower.

As she was sitting down, she went into a deep slumber. She awoke and it had

become night time when she awoke. There she saw an unfamiliar caterpillar sitting next to her. The caterpillar suddenly spoke to her. “Missus, I seem to have lost my way. I am trying to go back to my own home, but cannot seem to go. Can you please help me get back to my home?” Elizabeth was puzzled to see that the caterpillar was talking to her, but she felt extremely saddened that the caterpillar had lost its way. Elizabeth agreed and asked the little caterpillar—“where is your home, sweet caterpillar?” The caterpillar nudged its head towards the dark, terrifying tower. “That is where I live, can you help me get back home?” At first, Elizabeth was terrified, since she was not allowed to go into the SMIC tower, but she felt bad for the caterpillar and decided to help the caterpillar go back home.

As she went further and further into the SMIC world tower, it became cold and

desolate. She was getting more scared as she approached the gates. She remembered what the Pudongians said about the tower—remember, never enter those gates, for there is a great, evil monster that roams throughout. She was hesitant at first, but agreed to help the caterpillar. The caterpillar was extremely sad, lonely and scared and Elizabeth felt sorry for it.

One step at a time, Elizabeth entered into the gate. Her footsteps made little noise

and the only sound she could hear was the beating of her own thumping heart—thump thump thump it went. Then suddenly, a large roaring noise came from within the walls.

“WHO DARES TO COME IN TO MY TOWER?” echoed throughout the whole tower. The caterpillar shook in terror and clutched onto Elizabeth’s clothes for safety. Elizabeth tried to ignore the large sounds and quickly asked the caterpillar where it lived. The caterpillar trembled and said I live just off the edge of the tower with my mum and dad. Please take me there safely and my parents will be relieved. Elizabeth agreed and went forward on a path near the towers edge. Until…

She suddenly saw the big, dark, evil monster coming from beneath the shadows of

the tower. There it was—the monster that all the Pudongians had feared. Elizabeth shrieked in terror and attempted to run away as fast as she could. She looked again and saw that the monster was not what many people had described. She was… surprised. She had never seen a creature so intricate and unique before. It was a large caterpillar as beautiful as the colors of the sunset—yellow, orange, pink. Instead of running, she stood there in awe. “The monster did not look evil at all”, she thought. The caterpillar came ever so close to her. She was puzzled by the caterpillar’s eyes that were filled with such sadness and pain. Instead of drawing back, Elizabeth went forward to meet the caterpillar. “Dear dear, said the caterpillar. How long it has been since a human such as you come into this tower. You see, there was once a time when humans used to come to this tower freely. They would spend time with me. They would talk to me about their days. They would even rest here in my tower, but they have gotten so busy on the other side of the gates. It seems that they have forgotten what it was like here in the tower. They were so happy, but now I look out and see darkness and here it has become so desolate and sad because there are no visitors. But here you are, dear Elizabeth. Elizabeth was stunned that the caterpillar had already known her name. Don’t worry, dear. I know you. You see, when I look out from the tower. I see you by the river and I see all your beauty. I admire you, just the way you are. Elizabeth was surprised to hear this and was a bit taken aback by this, but suddenly she felt a peaceful and warm feeling come through her heart as she spent more time with the caterpillar.

She had spent hours and hours talking with the caterpillar about life in the tower

and about the days before when the Pudongians did not get so busy with their lives. The caterpillar had described all the beauty of the tower and all the good things that came from it. She was not scared at all. It became night fall when she realized that her mother would probably be waiting for her across the bridge from the river, but she was too tired to walk

back the long journey from the tower back to the Living Quarters Village where she lived. She suddenly fell deep into a slumber, next to the beautiful caterpillar as the caterpillar kept stroking her hair and singing her sweet melodies. She awoke the next morning and was back by the river bank. As she awoke, she remembered what had happened to her last night. She was quite puzzled: was it a dream? She thought. In confusion, she solemnly walked towards the living quarters while looking at the tower behind her. She suddenly heard the small caterpillar. She picked up the caterpillar and she knew...The caterpillars

softly wiggled in her hand, spelling out "goodbye". Then she walked back home, looking back at the tower once more and softly whispered, Don’t worry. I’ll them what you did for us.”

today sky and grass today sky and grass are the same :-

, and the sea is dreaming, peculiarly blue-mud particularly dull-life

, and the field is courting the wind

simply, with dandy lions.

let the women work the sun's world , for many-then tell me -earnestly!-

over a cup of smoke and tree:

"it is a time to find love in palmistry"

listen,

"I have found a time to harness the sky !D

with love clasped in my arms" . bird sigh sun drown heart dance , looking for Home(whoever; however) . listen -

hooray, my sweet heart

- to a greeneyed lad muse as joyful : as eros in silence -

Paridhi Agarwal (Selected for Elizabeth by Arti )

15 Â

And to Think it All Happened on Maple Street By Larry Seebach Part One: Captain Galaxy’s Cadet Space Corps It was Saturday morning and yesterday Mom did the shopping. To Max this meant only one thing; a brand new box of Sugar Coated Atomic Flavored Blast-Os cereal. If one had been standing in the bathroom doorway, one would have seen only a blur of blue flannel pajamas as Max raced down the hall, down the stairs, and into to kitchen. Sally, Max’s little sister didn’t see him coming. As she was sleepily taking the Blast-Os out of the cupboard, the box suddenly disappeared from her hands and, as if by magic, Max appeared with the box top torn off, his arm jammed in all the way to his elbow, and cereal scattered all over the floor. “Mom, Max ruined the Blast-Os again!” “Max, stop upsetting your sister!” “In a minute, Mom!” Casper, the family’s golden retriever, wasted no time cleaning up the cereal strewn all over the floor. But Casper wasn’t the happiest one in the family this morning. In a moment Max found what he was looking for. Once he felt the small cellophane wrapped prize in a bottom of the box, he grabbed it out with another explosion of cereal that set Casper off on

another joyful scurry of floor cleaning. Without even looking to see what the prize was, Max was gone from the kitchen in the same blur of blue flannel with which he arrived. Nanoseconds later Max slammed his bedroom door behind him and launched himself like a missile onto his bed. The bedsprings screamed loudly as he landed on his stomach with both his arms outstretched before him and the prize clutched tightly in both hands. Only now did Max look to see what the prize even was. He wanted to be safely inside his room to hide his disappointment if it wasn’t what he hoped for. All the other pieces were collected. All the other parts were in place. All he needed now was the one most important piece of all, the one item that would make the whole thing, work. The one item that would make his greatest wish come true. All Max needed was the Captain Galaxy Secret Zodiac Stellar Decoder Ring. The thing, or the secret zodiac apparatus, was a suitcase-‐sized framework made up of cardboard parts cut from Blast-‐Os cereal boxes and various plastic brackets, gizmos, and dials collected as prizes inside the boxes over the past seven months. During this time, Max had masterly convinced his mother into repeatedly buying Blast-‐Os against her better judgment, and he had wasted no time in accumulating all the parts. Max, in fact, had the dubious distinction of being the only student in fourth grade at Oxbow Elementary School to have assembled the whole secret zodiac apparatus. The other boys thought he was a bit of an odd kid, but Max didn’t notice. For Max, decoding the secret zodiac stellar cipher was more that just a goal of its own. All kids who deciphered the code would be entered in a draw to join one of Captain Galaxy’s junior space corps and be part of his elite brotherhood of galaxy defenders protecting humanity and all the galaxy’s extra-‐terrestrial life forms from the ever-‐present threat from plasma eating energy beings of the Outer Nebulas. Indeed, all that was good and truly evolutionary in the universe depended on protection of Captain Galaxy and his fearless junior space corps.

But Max didn’t just want to be in any branch of the space corps. No indeed, Max had his heart set on being part of the elite Light-‐year Rangers. The Light-‐years as they were known, were Captain Galaxy’s personal guard, and they took their orders directly from him. The other more lowly branches of the space corps took their orders channeled through a ponderous line of communication that often had no connection to the great commander at all. Max never for a moment saw himself as anything but a Light-‐year. Being a Light-‐year also had other perks. For instance, every April Captain Galaxy invited all the new Light-‐years to join him at his personal theme park, Galaxy Land, in Augusta, Georgia. For a whole three days, the Light-‐years would be subjected to the most rigorous training that any space cadets of any stripe have ever undergone. For instance, they would get to ride with Captain Galaxy himself on the famous Giant Black Hole roller coaster, known for ripping the faint of heart apart atom by atom. Max wanted to be ready. He didn’t want to let Captain Galaxy down. Every night over the past seven weeks he would close his eyes hard until has eyelids felt like they would crush his eyeballs. In this way, he tried his very best to imagine what it felt like to be subjected to gravitational forces so great that his body would be vaporized one atom at a time. Max knew he could do it. He knew he was ready. His time was surly now. It had to be, it just had to be. And now Max’s chance was at hand. It was only last week that Blast-‐Os cereal advertised that they would begin placing a limited number of Captain Galaxy Secret Zodiac Stellar Decoder Rings in their cereal’s boxes. Only a limited number of children would find them, and only a few of these would decode their secret zodiac stellar cipher to learn that they had been selected to be in the Light-‐years. All the other “Ring Wingers” would be “assigned” to the various lesser braches of the corps. Max tried to look through the cellophane wrapping to see if he had indeed found one of the decoder rings. He couldn’t see anything, of course, because his eyes were tightly shut. When he opened his eyes he had to blink a few times before he could see clearly. Yes, it

was a cellophane package and yes, it looked like a ring of some kind was inside, but he could not know if it was a real decoder ring or just a cheap toy until he opened the package. In a flash the cellophane was off and there it was, just as if Captain Galaxy had chosen Max personally, a real blue and orange colored plastic Captain Galaxy Secret Zodiac Stellar Decoder Ring! For a moment the universe stopped expanding. Could it be? Could it really be? This wasn’t just a fake, was it? Max turned it around in his hand to make sure it was real from all sides. Yes, it looked real. This really was one of the hidden Secret Zodiac Rings! All his work, his commitment to the cause, and his faith in Captain Galaxy had paid off. Now Max almost had what he wanted. Calmness now descended on Max. He forced the adrenaline of the past five minutes to leave his body and let his mind clear. Now that he had the ring, the next few steps needed to be taken with care and precision. The ring itself was quite large and mostly it wasn’t a ring at all. Yes, there was a loop underneath for a finger, but it was much too large to fit properly on anybody’s hand. Besides, the three-‐inch diameter base that contained the secret zodiac decoder lens was too unwieldy and heavy to be worn comfortably. The real place for the ring was on top of the secret zodiac apparatus where it snapped perfectly into its place. Now, very carefully as though he were moving a priceless Egyptian artifact from King Tut’t tomb, Max carried the apparatus to his desk situated under his bedroom window. Both he and Sally had their own upstairs bedrooms. Being the older, Max could have taken the larger room for himself, but instead he surprised and pleased his parents by taking the smaller one. Sally didn’t notice Max’s generosity, but then there really wasn’t any generosity in it. Max chose this room out of pure self-‐interest. This was the only room in the house facing southeast. All of Captain Galaxy’s rangers knew that the southeast night sky in summer

would reveal the secret zodiac when viewed through a star red-‐shift lens on a secret zodiac ring and calibrated against the star charts on the secret zodiac apparatus. So, with the apparatus in place and compass declination dial adjusted to true north, Max flipped up the blue transparent plastic star red-‐shift lens, gazed up into the summer sky, and waited for nightfall. It was a very long summer Saturday indeed for Max. Tormenting Sally and walking Casper didn’t speed time up at all. His parents were no help as they only gave him boring things to do like chores and unrealistic repetitive video games. Max had no patience for the fantasy world that his friends lived in. He was soon going to be Light-‐year ranger cadet! Not soon enough, the summer sun, too long in the sky, fell below the horizon and the stars of the glorious night appeared in the heavens. When looking at the summer night sky through Captain Galaxy’s Secret Zodiac Decoder Ring, an amazing thing happens; most of the stars in the sky seem to disappear. The red-‐shift lens filters out their light, leaving only a handful of stars still visible. These remaining stars create their own constellations unnoticed by the unaided eye. Hence, the secret zodiac. To interpret the secret zodiac is more complicated. There is a whole instruction manual, needed to properly operate the secret zodiac apparatus. Max memorized the whole thing. To keep the directions simple, one begins by rotating two leavers into place under the Secret Zodiac chart, aligning it with the newly revealed constellations, and then one uses a ruled, rotating dial to align the southeast demarcation notch with the… and so on. In Max’s opinion, the secret zodiac constellations all have funny name, and each one was the call name of each of Captain Galaxy’s various cadet corps. But which zodiac names are assigned to which cadet corps was a top secret only revealed by chart data collected by the apparatus and then referenced against the Official Captain Galaxy Star Corps Directory, available by mail from the Blast-‐Os Cereal company for $15 and seven cereal box tops.

Max, of course, got his a long time ago and kept it safe and secure in his dresser bottom drawer. With a steady hand, Max began to turn the dial revealing the secret names of the new constellations that he could now see with his own eyes. First was constellation Serpentine, then Valentine, Madeline, and Clementine. These were followed by slightly more odd names: the constellations Quinine, Coal Mine, Bovine, and at last the one that lined up with Max’s own select sky coordinates, the constellation Eggplant. The constellation Eggplant! Max was assigned to constellation Eggplant! What’s and eggplant? Max wondered if this was some sort of chicken? Thinking too much wasn’t going to tell him what cadet corps he was assigned to, so Max jumped up from his desk as adrenaline returning to him, pulled open is bottom dresser drawer, and snatched out his Official Captain Galaxy Star Corps Directory. The directory listed all the secret zodiac constellations in alphabetical order, so it didn’t take long for Max to look up the constellation Eggplant. Each constellation entry covered two pages of history, diagrams, horoscopes and a detailed description of the cadet corps associated with it. Constellation Eggplant was the symbol of a cadet corps called The Outer Solar System Space Waste Engineers. The Outer Solar System Space Waste Engineers were permanently located on the planet Uranus, and their essential mission to the Galactic Government was to collect, catalogue, and destroy all redundant space materials before they exit the sun’s orbit and into the hand of the plasma eating energy beings of the Outer Nebulas who would reverse engineer these materials to learn our technological secrets and then use this knowledge to destroy us. As anyone can clearly see, the Outer Solar System Space Waste Engineers were a proud and glorious, though under recognized, essential branch of Captain Galaxy’s cadet space corps. Anyone would be proud to belong. Surely.

Except, Max understood, they were space garbage collectors permanently marooned on a frozen, sunlight starved, gas giant as far away from Earth as you could possibly get and still be in the solar system. One could be on Pluto of course, but really, who would want that? After a moment, Max realized that he had stopped thinking. He was no longer looking at Captain Galaxy’s directory, or at the secret zodiac apparatus which he had spent so many hours assembling, or even out of his widow at the stars. Instead, he was staring blankly at his bare bedroom wall. Max didn’t notice when Captain Galaxy’s precious directory slipped from his hands and landed on the floor between his feet. Feeling numb and beyond disappointment, Max lowered his head into his hands. Then, softly, he began to cry. Part Two: Constellation Eggplant The next day passed unremarkably. At 11pm the next night, Max was still lying wide awake in his bed and not caring if he fell asleep or not. Captain Galaxy’s decoder ring had by now declined into a pointless toy with which Max amused himself by making stars disappear and reappear and then disappear again. The cardboard and plastic apparatus provided a few minutes of entertainment as he tore it apart and threw the parts out his window. This fun didn’t last long before his dad got mad and made him clean up the mess. Casper picked up on Max’s mood and followed him around all day as if to say, “Cheer up old boy, life’s not all that bad after all, and besides, we still have some Blast-‐Os to eat.” Now, Casper lay snoring on the floor beside Max’s bed. For his part, Max didn’t make any noise except for an occasional sigh and a clicking noise as he flipped the red-‐shift lens up and down. Flip up, stars disappear, flip down, stars reappear. Flip up, flip down, flip up, flip down. Wait! Did one of those stars just blink?

There, it did it again! Max was suddenly alert. One of the stars in the constellation Eggplant definitely blinked, and it moved as well. In fact, it was still moving, and getting bigger! It took a moment for Max understand what he was seeing. The star was behaving more like an airplane as it moved and blinked across the sky. But then it wasn’t behaving like an airplane at all as it zigzagged back and forth in the sky and grew brighter and larger. In fact the light, Max no longer thought of it as a star, seemed to be getting closer. The view from his bedroom window wasn’t good enough. Max jumped up from his bed and ran out of his room for the kitchen back door. Casper, who woke with a start, came running after him. The spacecraft must have been moving at a tremendous speed. When Max opened the kitchen door, there was a great whump and a massive blast of air and soil that sent him flying backward into Caper, and then sent the two of them careening backwards across the kitchen floor into the refrigerator door. For a second Max and Casper lay dazed on the floor. At first, Max thought he was blind, but then he realized he just had dirt in his eyes. Clearing his eyes with his fingers, Max stood up and walked cautiously to the open kitchen door and peered into his back yard. Casper was right behind him cowering behind his legs and peering in the backyard with equal caution. At first there wasn’t a sight or a sound to perceive. Then, as his eyes grew accustomed to the night-‐time darkness, Max saw an enormous black shape lying in a crater all across his back yard, on top of their demolished fence, and half way across their neighbor’s back yard. Then Max noticed the silence. There wasn’t a sound, not a single sound natural or man-‐ made. His instinct was to expect neighborhood lights to come on, people to start yelling and emergency sirens to begin blaring. Most of all, Max expected his parents wake up and demand to know what was going on.

Instead there was nothing. Max then assumed he was in a dream. He didn’t like dreams like this one. He expected the great shape to start coming after him and that he would have to run and hiding to save himself from being eaten or assimilated. Max looked down to Casper who was still with him and who also obviously saw the large shape in their back yard. “Do you see that, Casper.” No response from Casper. “What do you think it is?” Casper looked up at Max and let out a soft whimper as if to say, “I can’t help you with this one. Let’s go back inside and forget about it.” Tentatively, Max took a step out onto the back patio and Casper whimpered again as he too took a step to follow. Max stopped and looked around at the other houses up and down Maple Street expecting lights and the sounds of people waking up to investigate the commotion. Again, there was nothing. It seemed to Max as if he and Casper were in a universe inside their old universe, only in this new universe, they were the only ones. Max took another cautious step forward with Casper right behind. Again there was no change in the world around them, just complete silence. Then, very faintly, three thin horizontal slits of dim purple light appeared on the side of the great dark shape, as if they were slim windows for peering out. The dim light illuminated the surroundings just enough for Max to get a better look at the shape of the mysterious

spacecraft that had just crash landed in his back yard. There were no edges or corners anywhere on the spacecraft. It’s shape was more or less long and rounded and exactly the shape of the eggplant Max saw in Captain Galaxy’s directory. The giant eggplant even had what appeared to be the stub of a stem protruding from on end as though the spacecraft had been grown and not built. Max suspected that in daylight the skin of the spacecraft would be dark purple. “Stay behind me, Casper. Get ready to run back inside.” Casper whimpered again in agreement. For the next minute nothing happened. Max and Casper stood where they were on the patio and the giant eggplant lay in its crater as if this is where it had always. Then, ever so slowly, a door shaped rectangle on the skin of the spacecraft began to open downward like the hatch of an airplane opening to let passengers board. Instead of stairs, the inside of the door was a flat ramp. Because of the crater, the ramp came to rest at only a slight angle when it touched down on the lawn. At first it appeared dark inside the spacecraft and then a dim purple light flashed on as if someone had turned on a light switch. Presently, two odd-‐looking beings appeared and descended the ramp right into Max’s back yard. At first Max wanted to scream in terror at the sight of the two creatures, but then he found himself choking back a laugh. The two creatures were clearly robots and they seemed confused. Both robots walked on two legs like a human, but there feet were small caterpillar treads like a bulldozer’s which made it possible for them to walk around in almost complete silence.

The two robots had very different shapes from one another. The larger robot had a torso about the shape and size of a washing machine with a head about the size and shape of a pancake. This head rotated around from side to side as if perpetually looking for something it had lost. The other, somewhat smaller, robot had a round torso atop of which was a large, roundish head. This roundish head had a bulbous overhanging forehead that gave it the look of a great thinker or a baby with a deformed cranium. The larger robot did not seem to posses any arm or arm like appendages, but the smaller one had two arms placed only a bit lower than where human arms are place by the shoulders. At first the two robots tread-‐walked in random directions around Max’s backyard. Max’s first thought was that they had been broken in the crash and were now malfunctioning. He expected to see them both topple over and go still. Soon Max began to see that there was some method to their meandering. The robots appeared to be systematically approaching every object in the yard and then momentarily pause to examine it. It was like they were absorbing data about his world at a mind-‐boggling rate. The robots appeared to be in a race with one another to see who could collect the most data to win some space explorer prize. Too late Max realized that one of the robots would make it around to him and Casper if they didn’t move. Suddenly he felt his head grabbed in a tight pincer grip as the smaller robot rotated his face upward and shined a bright purple light in to his eyes. The light reminded Max of the time he had his eyes examined and his Dad decided he could make it to high school before wearing glasses. After the purple light, Max felt his mouth jarred open and an instrument of some kind inserted to be back of his throat. Just as he was about to gag, the instrument harmlessly took a sample of his saliva and then extracted itself. All at once, his head was free of the pincer and Max looked down to see the same examination being done to Casper who was not taking it with the same passive grace.

Capers snarled and struggled, but he was not able to free himself from the prongs that were holding his head still. In a moment Casper’s examination was done and the robot stood back as if to consider what it had just learned. By this time the larger box shaped robot had come over to join his companion as if to discuss what they had learned so far. Together the two robots turned their head from side to side, exchanged a few beams of purple light from their heads, made a number of disappointed sounding tut-‐tut noises, and then moved on to continue their exploration on Max’s mom’s rhododendron plant. Max almost had a feeling of disappointment. “What,” Max thought, “we’re not good enough! What’s that plant got that we don’t got?” By now Max had lost his fear of the two nutty robots. If they were going to do harm, they would have done it by now. With brazenness, Max walked out onto the lawn with Casper cowering along behind him. The robots ignored them and continued their examination of Max’s back year as if he and Casper did not exist. The spaceship ramp proved stable for walking, so Max and Casper strolled up and stopped just outside the open doorway. The purple light emanating from within was very dim, but by now Max’s eyes had adjusted to the night darkness and he could make out dimly glowing forms and movement from within. Nothing he could see, however, fit with any of his expectations of what one should see inside an alien spacecraft. There were no captain’s chair or flight computers around the bridge like in Star Trek. There appeared to be no obvious engine or propulsion mechanism. There seemed to be no sleeping or storage quarters for the robots. In fact, there didn’t appear to be anything solid inside the spacecraft at all. As Max stepped into the spacecraft, Casper followed close behind with his lead lowered, and his tail tucked tightly between his legs. All around them large dimly glowing bubble

like forms drifted slowly back and forth giving Max the feeling that they had just walked into his grandmother’s lava lamp. Though the shapes seemed to be drifting around the interior of the spacecraft at random, they also seemed to deliberately shift their paths in order to avoid bumping into him and Casper. A strange intelligence seemed to be aware of their presence, but was letting them explore unmolested. Max began to test these new surroundings by slowing walking further into the spacecraft. Nothing happened that he could tell. The bubble like forms continued in their aimless drifting without any sense of alarm. Max reached his right arm out to touch a brownish red bubble that was drifting just in front of him. At first the bubble seemed to move away from his arm, but then it paused as if having a second thought, and max was able to poke it with his index finger. That’s when the startling thing happened. Images began to form inside the bubble much like the image one sees when trying to tune in an old TV set to a weak signal using old rabbit ear antennas. The image seemed to come into near focus, but not quite. Max tried moving around the bubble to see if the view improved at a different angle, but to no avail. Mustering more courage, Max raised his hands to see if he could bring the image into better focus by squeezing and manipulating the shape of the bubble. He was still wearing the decoder ring on his left hand and as he pushed against the bubble, he noticed that as he looked through the lens on the ring, the image was in focus and very clear. Looking through the ring lens, Max was able to make out the image to the two robots doing their poking and prodding on what appeared to be an alien world. In a moment the imaged dissolved into fuzz and then reformed into an image of the two robots again poking a prodding, but now on another strange alien landscape. Over the next minutes, no less than a dozen alien worlds appeared in front of Max through the lens. In each landscape, Max saw the robots poking, touching, zapping, and examining all kinds of strange objects, and almost always seeming to be disappointed with what they found. After the first few images, Max noticed that the spacecraft, which was always crash-‐

landed in the background, was always different. Furthermore, the spacecraft always seemed to be some kind of large plant, either the stem of some enormous tree or a giant vegetable like the eggplant they were inside now. Could that be what the robots were looking for, Max wondered, a new plant spacecraft to replace their old spacecraft that just crashed? That would explain the robots’ disappointment after examining him and Casper. He and Casper were, after all, not vegetables. Suddenly a clanging sound made Max turn around to see the two robots standing at the top of the ramp and looking in at them through the open doorway. Their demeanor appeared to show that the robots were in some state of excitement or alarm. Max’s first guess was that walking into the spacecraft was probably a big mistake. At last the two robots rushed up to Max and both of them beamed their purple light rays onto the lens of the decoder ring on his raised left hand. Neither one of the robots attempted to reach for the ring. Instead, they just stared at it as if mesmerized by a priceless jewel. And, once again, the robots seemed completely oblivious to the presence of Max and Casper. Realizing the he and Casper didn’t seem to be in danger, Max lowered his arm and took a step back from the robots. The two robots in turn took a step forward always keeping their gaze locked on the ring. Max took another step back and the robots took another step forward. Max raised his left arm up and the robots raised their gaze upward always keeping their light beams locked in the ring. Max revolved his left arm in large sweeping circles and the robots followed in suit with their gaze. With a tweak of panic in his stomach, Max realized that he was now in control. Casper, who had stayed by Max’s side all along, looked up at the two robots with bewilderment and fear.

“Casper, can you see what I’m doing?” inquired Max. Casper said nothing. “I wonder if I can make these guys follow me. I have an idea.” A moment later Max and Casper were walking across the back yard toward the kitchen door with two rather bizarre and hypnotized looking robots trailing behind them. Once again, the commotion didn’t attract any attention from anyone in the neighborhood. All the houses up and down Maple Street remained dark and quiet. The clanging and scraping that the robots made as they entered the kitchen also did not wake Max’s parents of his sister Sally. Not even the racket they made climbing the stairs up to Max’s bedroom aroused anyone in the house. Soon Max, Casper, and the two bewildered looking robots stood in the middle of Max’s room. “OK, Casper. Now I’m going to test my theory.” Casper looked up at Max ready to accept whatever was going to happen next. What could possibly get more strange tonight? “These two must be looking for a giant plant to replace their old spaceship. That must be how they travel from planet to planet. They just replace their old spaceship with vegetation from each new planet. And what is our house made of, Casper? That’s right, wood!” Casper looked up not getting the gist of Max’s theory at all.

Max walked over to his dresser, opened the bottom drawer and took out his old penknife. He then crouched on his knees and began to scrape away at the varnish on the hardwood floor. Soon he had exposed a quarter-‐sized patch of clear wood. He knew his parents would have a fit if they saw this, but nothing seemed to be bothering them this night. Max then looked up at the robots that were watching him with seeming curiosity. They didn’t move, they just kept watching, so max pointed at the patch of clear wood and said, “Here guys, take a look at this.” As if they seemed to suddenly understand English, the two robots walked up to Max and peered down at the patch of exposed wood. Then, as they did before with the decoder ring, they shined their purple light beams onto the patch. This seemed to get a reaction. Immediately a small panel slid open on front of the larger robot and a needle like rod extended out and bored into the exposed wood making a high pitch drill-‐like noise. Then Max felt it. The house seemed to come alive as if were an organism that had been hibernating and was now awake. The house vibrated at first and then noticeably shook. Max was sure that his parents and sister would wake up for sure with this, but once again there was no reaction. At last there was a great cracking sound and Max knew that the house had just broken from its foundation. Now the shaking stopped and Max could feel the whole house begin to rise. Casper began to howl. Still there was no reaction from the rest of his family. Max jumped onto his bed and looked outside his window. He could see Maple Street, his street, the cars parked along the curb, the neighbors’ houses, the front yards, the street lamps, and all the darkened bedroom windows grow smaller as his house gained altitude. How no-‐one could see it, how no-‐one could hear it, how no-‐one had any idea that a giant eggplant spacecraft had crashed on their street and one of their neighbor’s houses had just launched into space, was beyond Max’s understanding.

As he gazed out at his receding world below, a feeling of vindication came over Max. Captain Galaxy and his juvenile space corps now seemed to be nothing more than a pointless game for children. What a waste of time it all seemed to him now. His new world was going to be a much better place, and a much more exciting place than he ever could have wished for. Max couldn’t wait. Most of all though, Max knew that there would many great surprises for everyone when the sun came up in the morning.

The Errant By Korey Alfred This story is dedicated to Elizabeth Gelsinger: For taking a stand against evil in this world that is constantly battling it For being a light, even when hiding in the shadows would be easier For doing what is right, even when it may be like taking on the world by yourself Stand Firm (Eph 6:14)

Part I Drake Saulus blinked as the first rain drop of spring hit his nose. He’d known the storm was coming, although he hadn’t told anyone. He knew a lot he didn’t say, for he was afraid of what people would say or think about him. He shrugged his shoulders to make sure his sweatshirt wasn’t bulging and stepped into the school.

All the rest of the kids were laughing and talking to each other as they prepared for

another school day they were sure would be unexciting. Drake walked past most of them and stopped next to a scrawny kid who was smiling confidently like he always did.

“Hey, Drake!” the boy exclaimed.

“Hey Ross,” Drake answered, noticeably less excited, “it’s raining.” “Ugh!” Ross whined, “Is it gonna rain long? Soccer tryouts are today, and I’ve been

getting all ready and excited for it!” “Aren’t you excited about everything?” Drake diverted sarcastically, not wanting to answer his question. He hated talking about his “gift.” It made him stand out, and he preferred to remain unnoticed. Ross, catching on, whispered, “One of these days the whole world’s going to find out you know the future, and you’ll be swarmed by people wanting you to tell their fortune. I figure you might as well get it over with now.” “I can’t see the future!” Drake yelled, then cringed and looked around. Most of the kids had already gone in to class, but one girl stared open-‐eyed at him, and he whispered to Ross, “I only see useless things in the future…..usually.”

“Usually?” Ross asked right as the bell rang out for class to begin for the day. 33

“Ask me after school,” Drake fled to class and arrived just as Mr. Walker was

closing the door. “Detention, Mr. Saulus,” Mr. Walker glared as Drake took his seat, sinking into it miserably. Most of the kids ignored him, but Joey Avarel (who everyone called Adderall because of his ADHD) grinned maliciously at Drake and punched his palm, indicating that Drake would not be having a boring time in detention that day. The school day ended up being mostly uneventful. The rain hadn’t let up, which Drake had, of course, known. Resigned to his fate, Drake crept surreptitiously into detention after school. He was the first one there, even arriving before the detention supervisor, Ms. Bailey. Drake removed his math book and pencil from his backpack and began working on his homework for the day. Drake’s pencil blinked and yawned as if just awaking from a long nap, and blurted, “Detention, huh? What would your father think?” Drake—unsurprised by the sentient pencil—retorted, “Please don’t talk to me at school; people always think I’m crazy when I talk to inanimate objects.” “You know, I’m not really inanimate,” the pencil whimpered sadly, offended. “Of course I know that, but no one else can hear you, so I just look crazy. So shut up while I do my homework,” Drake responded, assuming the argument finished. They had this discussion often, and Drake always felt guilty afterward, but he really didn’t need any more attention than he already got. The majority of the students believed that Drake was insane, and more than one rumor was circulating about Drake having escaped from a mental institution. All of these rumors originated from Drake’s infrequent conversations with his pencil, or his iPod, or on one occasion, his ice cream sundae. He had a horrible time explaining that his guardian angel liked to pop in on him at random.

Unfortunately, Joey Avarel walked into the classroom right as Drake concluded his

conversation with the pencil.

“I see your imaginary friend is back,” Avarel bellowed. Joey and Drake were both in 7th grade, but Joey looked about 20 years old. He’d been

held back a couple years, so he was a lot stronger than the majority of the kids in his classes. He was also well-‐known to be the meanest kid in school, and he never bathed, so a cloud of stench followed him around wherever he went. Joey had gotten a slushie from the

concession stand that was setup for the volleyball game that afternoon, and he suddenly got an evil look in his eyes as he passed by Drake’s desk. With a look of horror, Drake looked up just in time to watch the slushie be poured all over his face, sliding down his body and soaking his clothes. Now…most kids would be concerned about the sticky mess and freezing cold liquid rushing down them, but Drake was not most kids… Realizing the danger, he jumped from his seat as Joey was leaning over to pour the slushie and raced for the door. He almost made it out the door when Ms. Bailey grandly entered the room holding a poor girl by the ear.

“Be seated!” Ms. Bailey barked as she caught Drake trying to escape. “I’m sorry for

my tardiness, miscreants, but I caught this hooligan girl—Trina I think her name is—trying to hide in the janitor’s closet. When will you hoodlums learn to use less obvious hiding places?!”

Drake staunched a witty remark and walked backwards to his seat, careful not to

allow Joey Avarel the enjoyment of seeing Drake’s horrified expression. Ms. Bailey was the craziest teacher in school, and not in the talking-‐to-‐pencils way that Drake was crazy. She simply had very firmly-‐held beliefs about how students should behave. Ms. Bailey shared these beliefs with everyone who would listen how she wished she was still allowed to slap students on the hands (or heads) with rulers when they weren’t obeying orders. She was rumored to have stored away every student’s cell phone ever used in her class inside a secret drawer in the desk in her office.

However, the first thing Ms. Bailey noticed after she finished her sentence was that

Joey had just poured his slushie all over the detention room floor. Fortunately, Drake had avoided being the victim of a freezing mishap—thanks to his prescient gift. This did not prevent Ms. Bailey from becoming furious, however. “What….In…..Samuel’s……Seven…..Bones…..” Ms. Bailey clipped each word clenching her teeth all the while, “Just….happened?” Ms. Bailey got like this sometimes, and it was best to either run away or take cover under a desk when it did. However, we were all stuck in detention—the punishment for missing detention was a week of scrubbing toilets—so none of us could flee. Ms. Bailey was turning redder with each word—causing me to fear

that she might explode. If only he’d known at the time that spontaneous combustion doesn’t occur because of anger.

What did happen was most definitely worse. Joey Adderall suddenly burst into flames

from head to toe. His clothes, his hair, even his now-‐empty slushie cup writhed with conflagrations of flames. The heat was so strong that Drake had to shy away. Awaking from the prophetic vision, Drake took charge, pushing Joey to the side. Instead of Joey catching fire, Drake instead began to well with a burning pain stronger than he’d ever felt in his life. It was so agonizing that he collapsed to the floor. Flames began to surround his body, and he caught sight of Ms. Bailey in a trance, any semblance of humanity gone from her face as she glared straight at Drake. The pencil that he’d forgotten was still in his hand came to life, growing and growing until it reached nearly two meters in height. The moment it stopped growing, it began to change forms. Where before had hovered a giant pencil, now soared a man that shone with a blinding light. The transformation had taken only a moment, but it was a long agonizing moment, suffering from the heat of the fire.

The angel, who was called by the onerous name of Rekinowioya, glanced back,

closed his eyes for a moment, and the flames surrounding Drake diminished to smoke. Swooping forward, eyes burning with a fire of their own, the guardian angel boomed, “A nephila? Here?!”

Ms. Bailey stumbled backward and smirked, almost convincingly. “You never would

have guessed it, would you?” The fallen one purred, “You angels get so cute when you’re flummoxed.”

Drake, recovering amazingly fast from his injuries, jumped to his feet. “I’ve got this,

Rekin, step back,” Drake commanded. “In the name of Jesus…” Drake recited as he plunged his fist into the heart of the faux-‐teacher.

“Drake, what are you doing?” Rekinowioya shouted as Drake stood there, elbow

deep in Ms. Bailey’s heart, “She’s not possessed!”

Now, this was not Drake’s first time removing a demon from someone. In fact, there

had been no less than 6 previous instances where he’d had the misfortunate duty of exorcising evil from his friends, relatives, or the occasional garbage man. In each of these

previous cases, he had called upon God’s son, grabbed the darkness inside of the person, and shoved it from their bodies.

This time, however, he felt no demon when he reached in. What he felt inside was

like a torrent of darkness, twisting and thrashing inside of Ms. Bailey. No matter how hard he tried, he could not grab a hold of it.

“She isn’t possessed by evil, Drake, because she IS evil—pure evil. If you try much

longer, it’ll consume you,” the angel pleaded, “Just let go.” Drake quickly attempted to push away from Ms. Bailey, but she latched on to his arm, refusing to release him so easily.

“It’s a good day to join our side,” Ms. Bailey cackled, “Darkness has scored a major

victory today!” Tentacles the color of pitch began oozing from Ms. Bailey, threatening to swallow Drake. The appendages entwined around Drake’s neck, cutting off his oxygen. After a moment, all he could see was blackness.

Suddenly, a swoosh of the air, a clang of something metal hitting rock, and the thud

of a body resounded in Drake’s ears. His eyes came back into focus, and he saw Rekinowioya hovering next to Ms. Bailey’s now disembodied head, which rolled along the ground. Brandishing a bright blue sword, the angel sighed, “This is unfortunate.” “What is?” Drake asked rhetorically. “That we have to explain why Ms. Bailey’s body and head are lying, separate, on the floor? Or that poor Trina and not-‐so-‐poor Joey will probably be scarred for life having seen what you just did?” He indicated the forgotten girl and Joey, cowering in the corner behind the teacher’s desk. The angel—whom Drake called “Rekin” to save his precious brain—thought for a moment. “I hadn’t thought of either of those things,” he said at last. Hovering over to the body, he reached down. Muttering a few words in Enochian, the lost Angelic language, he touched each part of the corpse on the floor. A bright light flashed in the air, and the body, the head, and the blood vanished into dust. Next, Rekin soared over to Trina and Joey, whispered something in their ears, and both kids fled from the room. “They shouldn’t have any problems,” Rekin stated confidently, “They’ll forget everything they’ve seen in moment. Anyway, what I was saying was…this is unfortunate.” “What is!?” Drake moaned impatiently. He did so loathe the vague way angels talked. “Don’t get all huffy,” Rekin replied, “I’m getting to that. It’s just unfortunate about your clothes, is all.”

“My clothes?” Drake looked down. “Ugh! I didn’t avoid the slushie after all!” Narrowly avoiding Joey’s slushie on his face, Drake had landed right on top of it as he was fending off the demon, or whatever that evil thing had been. “Rekin, what was that thing?” “I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” said the proud guardian angel, “It makes me sound like a hillbilly. ‘Well, I done reckon our truck be dingbusted, cause it gone run out of gas’.” It amused Drake immensely whenever Rekin mimicked an accent. It was always spot-‐on: so-‐much-‐so that he wondered if the angel had stolen the voices off of a southern demon or two. This time, though, Drake wasn’t in the mood. “Rekin…” He growled. “This is probably something your supervisor should tell you,” the angel diverted. “The entirety of the spiritual battle is a lot more complex than you can, or should, handle. You know I’m not allowed to tell you more than you need to know.” “Well, I think I need to know what just tried to kill me!” Drake retorted irritably. “And you soon will,” Rekin responded calmly, not taking the bait, “Assuming Hughes decides you need to know.” Sighing despairingly, Drake angrily shoved open a nearby window, letting in the booming noise of the thunderstorm outside. He shrugged off his coat, revealing the voluminous wings that had been hidden underneath. “You can fly home yourself then,” Drake grunted as he tested the wind on the 5th story of the school. Taking a look around to make sure no one could see, he leapt headfirst out the window and soared away into the storm.

Part II As Drake flew, he hardly noticed the flashes of lightning and crashing thunder enveloping him. He didn’t notice the swooping, diving birds, flapping maniacally trying to avoid the storm. He didn’t even notice the airplane that missed him by only a few meters. He didn’t notice these things, because he was lost in his thoughts. Drake thought back to the previous year when he had become a Christian. When people chose to follow Christ, they were granted certain gifts. Some had the gift of speaking any language without studying it, while others, like Drake, could cast out demons. All Christians were granted wings, but Drake was one of the few Christians to be granted a third gift: seeing the future. His gift was often considered to be the most powerful of the spiritual gifts. However, this gift had limits. His power could not directly show him anything evil. No matter how many visions he had, they would never show him the faces or strategies of demons or people who had given themselves over completely to sin. Even the vision he’d had of Joey in flames had only shown him the after-‐effects of Ms. Bailey’s sorcery. He wouldn’t have known, except by logical problem-‐solving, that Ms. Bailey was the one to blame for Joey’s conflagration. It always amazed Drake that he could see Joey in visions, which indicated that the bully couldn’t be all bad.

Mainly, as he flew, Drake pondered the question he’d asked himself dozens of times

in the past year: Is it worth it? Was it worth it for Drake to have to constantly battle evil and to be plagued by these visions—which tended to be bleak and dismal—engaging his thoughts during every waking (and often sleeping) moment of the day? Every time his mind turned to these dark thoughts, however, he remembered what he was before. Before he’d become a Christian, every waking thought had instead been self-‐doubt, or greed, or loathing. Every good thing had been darkened by the touch of sin and pleasure-‐seeking. He had done things for which he deserved to die, but Christ had brought him up out of that to give him hope. Just as importantly, Christ had given Drake a purpose. His purpose was no longer to live, make money, then die. His purpose was as great as any man in the world. Drake’s purpose was to save. He would save lives from evil. He would save souls from eternal darkness. He would save people from that same hopeless darkness he himself had once been lost in.

As he resolved again that all his efforts were worthwhile, he saw what he had hoped

he would see. In his mind flashed the inevitable meeting with the elders that was to come… Drake drummed out a rhythmic series of knocks that echoed on the doors of a nondescript building. After a few seconds, a small, thin, old woman opened the door cautiously. She was clad in an odd green robe accompanied by an even stranger hat. Despite her timeworn face and stooping shoulders, her eyes twinkled with hidden wisdom and more than a little kindness.

“If you become wise,” Sister Faith muttered cautiously, opening the door only a slight

amount.

Drake thought for a moment, and then answered, “Your wisdom will reward you.”

“If you scorn wisdom,” the elderly woman tested once more.

“You will be the one to suffer,” Drake countered again. “Jesus is Lord.”

“Jesus is Lord,” Faith smiled faintly, satisfied. “I’m sorry for the added security, but

there are Nephilim about!”

“I know! But what is a Neph…”

“Now, now, there’ll be time for that later,” the sister interrupted, “Come in out of this

rain, young one.” Remembering the rain that was drenching him and his wings, Drake nodded thankfully and hurried into the foyer of the building. Inside the building, a transformation occurred. Where the outside of the building had a grayish pallor, blending in with the building surrounding it, the inside of the building exploded with light and color. The walls radiated joy, love, and hope, not just from the bright colors, but also at a deeper, spiritual level. Drake immediately felt at peace whenever he entered those doors. Mesmerized by the peace around him, Drake was startled when Sister Faith suddenly spoke, “As I was saying, I’m sorry for interrogating you at the door, but there have been evil ones about. Not only that, but you were wearing entirely the wrong attire to come here.” Glancing down at his clothes, Drake realized he’d forgotten to dress for meeting before the elder—often called “The Supervisor”—because he supervised all the Christian children in the area. He was a very important leader in the Way War that was currently waging. Sister Faith, the matron, had very strict guidelines for how others showed their respect for their

elders. One of the requirements was that the children say “Yes, sir” or “Of course, ma’am” every time they were addressed. Another requirement was that they dress formally in the manner of the elder’s home country, Turkey. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t have time to fly home and change before coming here. It’s fairly urgent. My school was attacked today by a Nephila—at least that’s what Rekin called it,” Drake paused. “Where is Rekin?” “I’m right here,” Rekin’s muffled voice answered him, emanating from Drake’s pocket. Drake glanced in his pocket and saw that the angel was currently disguising himself as a golden pocket watch. “Well then I’d say it was time to meet the Matron,” Drake affirmed. “Hold on just a moment,” the matron interjected, “you need to look proper before you address the Supervisor. Here, you can wear my spare robe.” The elder walked them over to a nearby room and retrieved a dark green wool robe that was hand-‐made by brothers and sisters in Istanbul. Along with the robe, she held out a green hat, identical to the one on the sister’s own head. It was circular around the base, and it was topped by a small green ball. Drake swiftly pulled the robe around his soaking clothes and stuffed his wings in as well. The best thing about the robe was their ability to completely conceal his wings. The robe somehow absorbed the wings into the material, so that they could not be seen by others. Of course, having wings and walking around the city in a robe were about equally odd, so Drake generally just wore bulky clothing that covered up the bulge that his wings created on his back. Drake was especially grateful for the hat, however, as it temporarily stopped his visions. Although sometimes useful, it was extremely distracting to constantly see two images in your mind: the image of the present and the image of the near future. As Drake donned the hat, it echoed a reminder in his mind as the visions faded, “Every man who prays or prophesies with his head covered dishonors his head.” No worries, Drake thought, I’m grateful for the temporary relief. The hats had many interesting features, one of them being that they held a short-‐ range communication system installed in them. There was also a short-‐range GPS inside them that would give directions to a short list of locations, such as Christian safe-‐houses and churches in the area.

The next moment, another sound reverberated from the hat. “Matron, this is the Supervisor. I’m sure you can hear me, because you always do such a wonderful job keeping the rules. Please send a messenger angel to the prophet Drake. I need to see him urgently.” “No need, sir,” Faith responded wryly. “He’s already here.” “Oh! Of course he would have known we’d need him! He’s such a responsible young man. Well, send him to me, post haste! Well done, Faith!” the hat blared. “No need to make him change if he’s not dressed for a meeting.” “Oh, he’s dressed appropriately, sir. He’s on his way,” the matron responded to the hat. To Drake she said, “Go boy, go! Why are you waiting around?” Drake quickly ran toward the grand hall in the center of the deceptively large building. As he ran, he remembered that Rekin was still in his pocket. “Rekin? Do you want to take a place with a view?” The guardian angel responded by instantly transforming into a golden cross on a chain, which wrapped itself around Drake’s neck. Drake ran for about 5 minutes before arriving at the double doors that led into the elders’ planning room. As Drake swung open the door, he took in the grand hall with its high ceilings and soaring buttresses, surrounding an enormous table positioned in the exact center of the room. “Drake, lad!” the Supervisor called from the front of the hall. He was the only elder currently in the room. The Supervisor, whose real name was Mason Thompson, had the amazing power of encouragement. His gift allowed him to strengthen the powers of other Christians around him. This usually allowed Drake to see much farther into the future than otherwise possible. The Supervisor was tinkering with a glass crystal on the ground. He seemed to forget Drake for a moment as he hit the crystal across the palm of his hand a couple of times. Finally, the beautiful rock whirred and hummed. Nodding happily, the elder looked up and met Drake’s eyes. “Right on time, young prophet,” the Supervisor chimed joyfully, standing up. The elder was also wearing the formal green robe and cap. “Drake, I need to show you something immediately. However, you need to understand something first.”

“As you know, this great war—dubbed the Way War—has been waging for decades,” the older man continued. “Both sides have won small skirmishes, but neither side has had a complete victory since 2078, when the war began. Lately, our side has been headquartered here, in London, despite the bulk of our forces being located in Africa and the Americas. Do you know why that is, Drake?” “Because we Brits are more excellent strategists?” Drake guessed sarcastically. “Ahahaha!” the Supervisor bellowed. “You have quite the wit, young man. But no; our side is headquartered in London, because the false prophet’s base is on the mainland of Europe. It moves around—usually between Berlin, Madrid, and Rome—but we have to stay strong in London, or it will be taken. If England falls into darkness, then likely the rest of the world will fall with it. Current news, however, indicates that the dark ones have moved their base of operations to Paris for the time being. Our spies had infiltrated their highest ranks, but they have been discovered and are now with the Father. Drake gasped. The Way’s spies were well-‐known to be the best in the world. They were granted the gift of stealth by the Lord himself. “If they were discovered…” Drake thought out-‐ loud.” “Then some evil power is at work, yes,” the elder replied. “We believe that the dark Lord has gotten his hands on weapons we had thought lost for the past several centuries; namely the seven chairs of Tutankhamen. These seven chairs actually belonged to Tutankhamen’s children and are possibly the oldest chairs in the world. It is said that anyone who sits in one will be granted a different God-‐like power while sitting on the chair. The last message the spies sent before they were caught was that the chairs had been found by the evil ones and that they had been spread between all the Devil’s different bases around the world.” “Are you going to tell me what the crystal’s for?” Drake asked impatiently. “Such an observant boy!” the elder answered. “Yes yes. The crystal shows the only image we have of one of the chairs. It was taken in the tenth century A.D. The last person we know to have sat in one of the chairs was Ealhswith, who interestingly was also one of the last winged nuns.” “Interesting…” Drake muttered. “I didn’t realize there could be Christian Catholics.” “They’re few and far between,” the Supervisor replied. “But the Son has granted that all may come to know him. As I was saying, this crystal has been passed down from generation

to generation through Ealhswith’s descendants.” Holding the buzzing crystal in his hand delicately, the elder gently placed it on the floor. He hummed a series of notes in a mysterious melody, and the crystal disappeared. In its place hovered a nun. She was elderly and weathered, as if she’d lived an incredibly hard life. Despite the rough features of the nun, however, she radiated contentment and hope. Behind the nun’s garb, however, Drake couldn’t make out a bulge. “Why can’t I see…?” “The nun’s habit was originally designed to tuck away a Christian’s wings, much as these robes do for us today.” The elder answered, as entranced as Drake by the image. Drake then noticed the chair the nun was perched atop. It was beautifully carved with ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. On each of the chairs feet was carved the paw of some great cat, possibly signifying the Egyptian goddess Bast. Suddenly the nun’s image spoke, “Forhtian Scieppend.” The Supervisor backed away, startled, “It’s never done this before. It must be your gift at work, prophet.” “þās stōl is feorhbealu. Hiere giefu is āncenned ealdorgedāl ac wracu,” the nun finished, then remained silent. “But I don’t even understand her,” Drake simpered. “I thought she was from England. Why isn’t she speaking English?” “She’s speaking English as it was spoken over a thousand years ago, young man,” the elder explained. “It was nothing at all like it is today. What she said was, ‘Fear the creator. This chair is deadly evil. Its gift is only death and pain.’ Though why she’s sitting in it if it’s deadly evil is beyond me.” “Why are you showing me this?” Drake asked. “I mean, it’s really cool…don’t get me wrong; but what does it have to do with me?”

“Why, It has everything to do with you, Brother Drake!” the elder exclaimed excitedly. “We had thought the chairs destroyed when the Norman French conquered London in 1066. However, if our information from our infiltrators is accurate, the chairs survived! “Still not seeing how this involves me,” Drake butted in. “You’re going to retrieve those chairs,” the elder grinned conspiratorially, “with the help of Rekin, of course.” “Of course, wise one,” Drake’s necklace announced. “But how?” Drake questioned, doubtful. “I’m only 12 years old, and I’ve only had my wings for a year. Why can’t you send someone else?” “Because, my boy, you are the only prophet we have at hand. All of our other prophets are busy with the battlefront between Canada and the U.S., so we need you.” “Why do you need a prophet, though?” Drake asked. “Because out of the seven chairs, we know five of the powers that they grant the one seated in them. The first chair, which you’re looking at right now, allows the seated person to fly. The second chair gives the user mastery of illness, healing any malady. The third chair is not fully understood, but the user can sift out lies. The fourth chair gives the ability to command animals. We don’t know what the sixth and seventh chairs do, yet. The fifth chair, however, is the most dangerous to us.” “More dangerous than flying?” Drake enquired. “It gives the user the ability to see the future,” the Supervisor replied disquietingly. Drake nodded, understanding finally what was at stake. If the dark ones had the ability to see the future, this could turn the war to their side. Good had always held the advantage of seeing pieces of the dark ones’ strategy and thwarting them before they could act. However, if the dark ones knew their plans….well, they were doomed. “Only a prophet can infiltrate their base now and recover, or destroy, these chairs. You’ll have to utilize your gift to its fullest potential to make it in and out alive,” the elder stated, his voice growing despondent. “We know the location of only one of the chairs. If you agree to go, I’ll let you know where it is. It’s too dangerous to tell more people than need to know.”

Drake thought a moment. This decision would mean he might not (probably wouldn’t) make it back alive. He might not ever see his parents or his friends again. He realized he’d forgotten to meet Ross after school that day, and he hoped Ross would forgive him. “I’ll do it,” Drake announced, making up his mind. “I’ll do whatever the Lord asks of me. I just pray that he’ll give me the courage and wisdom I need to make it out of this alive.”

“Surely then you will find delight in the Almighty and will lift up your face to God. You

will pray to him, and he will hear you, and you will fulfill your vows,” the elder blessed Drake. “You will go on this mission straight away. Don’t even come here, for the dark ones may be listening to us speaking just as you are.” Then whispering in Drake’s ear, the kindly old man said something so softly Drake could barely hear. Still flying to the Way’s headquarters, Drake suddenly shifted his direction, flying toward the North Sea. The vision’s last words were still clear in his mind: “The fifth one ended up in France.”

A Special Gift (The Third Floor Bedroom) Written by Charissa Ginn It all began when someone left the 3rd floor bedroom window open. “Quickly, quickly!” Max excitedly called to his brothers and sisters. “Maybe the kitchen window is also open!” He then peered around the edge of the window screen and saw that he could easily climb onto the mint leaves, carefully go down the stem, hop onto the long metal spoon, and slide down to reach the kitchen counter. As his brother and sister gathered around the window screen, Max took a deep breath, and then crawled onto the mint leaves using his brown sturdy legs. He knew that he needed to be careful while climbing down the stem of the mint plant, because one slip, and he would fall onto his back in the kitchen sink. The last time that happened, it took almost 13 minutes for his younger brother to come and hoist him back on his 6 feet! “Look!” Max’s younger brother, Wilbert, said. “There are a few pieces of eggplant left on the counter. Yum! I love Ayi food, especially when it’s mixed with basil!” He smiled at his twin sister Allie, who also loved to eat eggplant. They quickly climbed down and sat on the mint leaf, while waiting for Max to finish his route down the metal spoon. The Walloby family had been living in the SMIC Living Quarters for only 1 week and 3 days. In that time, they had the privilege of sitting on enormous mushrooms while feeling the vibration of beautiful music. They also frequently enjoyed resting on the back of the guard’s scooter while he patrolled around at night. And their most anticipated activity was hopping into different apartments and using their special gift to serve other humans who were in need. The Walloby family excitedly began each day by praising their Maker for creating them and giving them life. They knew that He put them on earth for a special

reason, even if they were not always liked and appreciated by others. Unfortunately, they lost both their mother and father on the second and third day of moving to the Living Quarters. Their mother was relaxing in an almost empty cup of a delicious blueberry and coconut milk smoothie, when the owner of the house woke up and discovered her. The lady, who had red hair and was wearing a Mickey Mouse t-‐shirt, quickly (and calmly) disposed of her without giving her the chance to defend herself. Their father was found while running from underneath a refrigerator towards the sink. He was simply trying to carry back some food for his three kids, but a crazy lady with black hair screamed, hopped back and forth on alternating feet, grabbed a clear plastic cup, and slammed it down around their father. Max, Wilbert, and Allie looked down in horror as their father shouted his last words of love and affirmation to the kids. “Don’t forget to use your special gift! Use it to point people’s eyes to the Maker!” he said to them in desperation.

“Finally! Monday is over!” The three Walloby kids shuffled behind the water

container and watched as a lady came home, dropped off a few plastic containers in the sink, and threw her mustard yellow purse on the dining table. As she went into the bathroom, the three Walloby kids looked at each other. “Isn’t that…” Allie looked over at Wilbert in surprise. “Elizabeth,” Wilbert finished her sentence for her. They knew that she was the one who often made chicken broth and smoothies, and that she was the one who ended their mother’s life. “We need to get out of here, immediately!” Wilbert whispered to Max and Allie. He wasn’t ready to face the two humans who ended the lives of his parents. Suddenly, they heard the front door open and slam. “Achoo!! Achoo!!” They carefully observed as another lady came in, sneezed for the third time in a row, and hung her blue and red lanyards on a small hook near the door. She headed to her room and honked her nose loudly, then came out wearing basketball shorts and a t-‐shirt. “Hi roomie! How was your day?” Elizabeth asked. She was already relaxing on the sofa while reading on her iPad. The “roomie,” whose name turned out to be Charissa, quickly shared about her day, talking about how her students were crazy, as usual, and that her allergies were extremely bad. “How about you?” she tiredly asked Elizabeth. The redhead sighed and told Charissa that she had a long day after little sleep and relentless stomach problems throughout the entire day. Charissa didn’t know how to respond, but simply said, “I’m so sorry. Can I get you

anything to eat?” Elizabeth shook her head sadly and told her that she would be fine, and Charissa returned to her recently cleaned room to relax and read a book.

Max looked over at Wilbert and Allie, and saw that their faces were turning yellow

in anger and bitterness. His antennae twitched as he told them calmly and confidently, “I think we know why we’re here.” Wilbert and Allie looked down at their front legs and sighed. Why was it always hard to do the Maker’s will? Especially when it meant helping people who never noticed their help? “I know what you’re thinking,” Max told them quietly. “You’re wondering why we even bother helping others, when we never get credit.” Wilbert and Allie glanced at each other, and stubbornly refused to look up at their older brother. “Don’t you remember the last words that Daddy told us? He told us that we need to use our gifts to point the humans’ eyes to the Maker. It’s not about us being recognized, or even surviving. It’s about helping others remember that our Maker has the power to do anything and is always in control,” Max reminded his younger brother and sister. He firmly said, “We start our work tonight. Please prepare yourselves.”

Later that night, Charissa and Elizabeth spent some time together praying. They

whole-‐heartedly lifted up requests to their Maker about their co-‐workers, students, and each other. Though they were tired and felt helpless about many situations, they praised their Maker for giving them more than they deserved. They praised their Maker for constantly extending grace to them, despite the bad decisions that they made and constant temptation to love the world more than Him. They praised their Maker for being the perfect example of love and for sacrificing his very own Son to live on an unclean Earth. And they earnestly prayed for the physical struggles that they had – Elizabeth’s insomnia and stomach problems and Charissa’s allergies and hives. After hugging and saying goodnight, they returned to their rooms to prepare to sleep.

A few hours later, Max carefully crawled into Charissa’s bedroom. There was a little

crack in between the door and doorframe. He quickly made his way to her bed and crawled up onto her right cheek. He carefully stepped on her face pressure points while humming to himself a praise song to his Maker. After finishing up, he headed over to her nose and

followed the special pattern that came so naturally to him. Charissa rolled over to her side and rearranged her head on the pillow, causing Max to slide up towards her forehead. “I guess I’ll just do her eye area as well,” he thought to himself. He knew that she also had itchy eyes, especially when the cherry blossom trees were blowing in the wind, and carefully walked around each eye. When he was finished, he walked over to her open Bible and uncapped highlighter. After carefully pressing his feet onto her highlighter, he hopped over to Psalms 90 and put his six footprints next to verse 14. Psalm 90:14, “Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love, that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.” “Don’t forget to always rejoice in Christ!” he whispered to her before quietly leaving her bedroom.

As Max was busily working in Charissa’s bedroom, Allie and Wilbert quietly walked

into Elizabeth’s room. She had just fallen asleep after tossing and turning for almost 2 hours. They knew that they needed to be extra careful and didn’t want to wake her up again. Allie quickly crawled over to Elizabeth’s stomach and gently hopped in a special pattern, being mindful of the different pressure points. She wanted to do an excellent job so that Elizabeth would never have to return to the acupuncture or take any medicine or supplements ever again. She saw a small scar leftover from a failed attempt at using Chinese traditional medicine. “Yikes!” she giggled to herself. “I’m glad that she’ll never have to use that again!” As Allie was fully concentrating on Elizabeth’s stomach, Wilbert thoroughly walked around her entire bed, including the blankets at the end and her fluffy pillows. He finished one round and saw that Allie was still working on Elizabeth’s stomach and decided to make one more round. He carefully tried to remember the steps that his mom taught him as he danced up and down and left to right. He sincerely hoped that she would never have to spend another night tossing and turning worrying about the next day’s problems, or trying to sleep but not being able to sleep. When they were finished, they took turns rubbing their feet on her favorite Muji pen. Allie chose to use the bright orange color, and Wilbert opted for the dark blue color. They hopped over to her Bible and saw that one of their favorite verses was already highlighted. They put their six footprints beside the verse again, hoping to remind her to always rest in the Lord.

Psalm 91: 1-‐2 “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the Lord, ‘My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.’”

The next morning, Elizabeth got out of bed and stretched her arms. What?! Her

stomach wasn’t hurting at all? She fell back into bed and smiled, thinking about the fabulous night of rest that she just had. She couldn’t wait to share the good news with Charissa, during their 6:30am breakfast time. It was still 5am and she had plenty of time. Humming a joyful song to herself, she went about her morning as she washed the dishes, made a blueberry and coconut milk smoothie, packed up her lunch, went for her morning walk, bought eggs and other vegetables from the wet market, took a shower, dried her hair, sat out on the balcony to read her Bible and praise the Maker, graded a class set of papers, and poached three eggs. Finally, Charissa stumbled out of her bedroom and fell onto the couch like a zombie. Elizabeth smiled at Charissa and excitedly told her that she felt wonderful for the first time in a long time. “That’s amazing!” Charissa exclaimed. Then, she sat up abruptly. “You know what? My sinuses are completely clear and I didn’t even take my allergy medicine yesterday! Praise God!” she shared with Elizabeth, in awe of her new observation. Charissa hopped up and and ran to her bedroom. “I wanted to share this verse with you after I read it last night,” she said, as she turned her Bible to Psalms 90:14. As she ran her finger up and down the page, her eyebrows furrowed in surprise. “Hmm… there are 6 little lines next to this verse. How strange! Did you… did you mark it for me already?” she asked, confused. “I was just about to ask you the same thing!” Elizabeth responded, pointing at her own Bible, which was turned to Psalm 91. “I noticed that there were marks here that I didn’t make, even though I already highlighted this verse.” Charissa fell back into the white fluffy pillows on the couch and laughed. “Maybe God is trying to remind us of something,” she happily said. “We have so much to rejoice in, on days when we’re feeling great, and on days when we’re not feeling so great!” Max, Wilbert, and Allie lifted their heads sleepily as they heard the two roommates talking. They were tired after a long night of work. As they overheard Charissa make her statement, the Walloby family looked at each other and smiled. She couldn’t have been

closer to the truth. “And maybe our Maker is trying to remind us of something as well,” Wilbert quietly said to his siblings. Allie looked at Max and said, “He’s right! Our goal in life is to magnify the Maker, and not ourselves!” “You’re absolutely, positively, correct!” Max responded, content that they all learned a lesson that day. Psalm 9:1-2 “I will give thanks to the Lord with my whole heart; I will recount all of your wonderful deeds. I will be glad and exult in you; I will sing praise to your name, O Most High.” -‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐-‐

Archie Smith, Boy Wonder A tiny voice asked, "Is he the one?" For I know the plans I have for you… Everything had been planned so perfectly. Little boy shoes, little boy clothes, and little boy toys. The Noah’s Ark themed nursery was picturesque as the last touches were put in place. Any day now, the Smith’s were ready for the arrival of their firstborn. The only thing left was choosing the name. And over the next few days of excited discussions, the conclusion was made: Archibald David Smith. Archibald was a traditional family name, after Mrs. Smith’s great-‐grandfather who grew up in England. Wanting to stay true to her heritage, this was a natural first name, but she was more partial to David. David: beloved. David: shepherd, soldier and king. David gave so much hope for the future in just the name. This too was perfect.

In just a few short days, David made his shining debut. And just like the nursery and his chosen name, he too was perfect. In the wee hours of the night, Mrs. Smith couldn’t sleep but could only wonder in amazement at this beautiful baby born to her. What would he be when he grows up? Is he the one who will teach others? Is he the one who will cure diseases? Is the one who will be part of history? Soon, in her dreamy thoughts, she had raised a handsome, perfectly mannered doctor, married to a beautiful supporting wife who gave her two angels for grandchildren. …plans to prosper you and not to harm you… David continued to grow in favor of his family and friends around him. The Smiths gave him all they could physically, emotionally and spiritually. David was naturally good in math and science, giving Mrs. Smith the first glimmers of hope that her plans for him to be Dr. David Smith might just be a reality. David had a heart for others, too. He was often advocating for all kinds of causes that needed money to be raised to benefit others. When there were volunteer opportunities, he was often taking the lead. As the Smiths watched David grow, they too grew emotionally and spiritually. David’s love for helping others was infectious. David’s excitement about volunteering at the homeless shelter caused Mrs. Smith to find herself dishing out food once a week to those who couldn’t tell her the last time they ate a meal. Because David kept needing money to give to the inner city school children, she quickly had to teach him how to budget and write persuasive letters. There were many fears as she began to watch him go with others to the inner city slums and hand out food and clothing. Mrs. Smith knew there were dangers that David seemed to turn a blind eye to. He was so bold, yet so naïve. So courageous, yet so young. …plans to give you hope and a future.

It wasn’t very long before David was handing out more than what meets physical needs. At the same time he was passing out bottled waters, he was talking about the living water. When he served slices of bread, he was speaking about the bread of life. In his own new found life, he wanted more than anything to give that same future to others. Mrs. Smith watched this transformation and she knew he had purpose. She knew there was something more. And she heard a voice ask, “Is he the one who will deliver water to those who have none? Is he the one who will teach the unreached people?” She remembered her dreams for him to teach others and cure diseases, and be part of history. And in one whirling instant she realized he has been part of a bigger plan from the beginning. All this time spent feeding the homeless, raising money, and talking to strangers was grooming him for a bigger audience. With many emotions swirling inside her she answered, “Yes, he is the one.”

It was a perfect lift-‐off.

This whole story is just for fun, but as with any interaction where real reality meets fake reality, it will be more fun for those who already hold certain memories (aka Elizabeth). If you so desire, and if she so desires to share, you may find the story behind the story from her. Until then, let the adventure begin! The house sat. Thinking. Slowly taking in its surroundings.

“I’m near a tree,” it thought. “Trees are good. They provide shade. They make people

feel more natural, more protected. I wonder if the birds will sing to me?” The house sighed. Its last home had been near a virtual forest. Birds would not only sing to him, but felt so at home with him that they would nestle up in his eaves and build their own houses there—have their babies there. Ahhhh the chirp chirp of little babies. The house flushed at the thought of its little bird family, then shook itself back into reality, quickly looking around to see if anyone noticed. A stick shifted in the breeze. The mailbox lid rattled. A very small worm hid his fear in a hole. “I must stay focused,” thought the house. “There is a mailbox across the street”, noticed the house. “Good. People will want the convenience of not having to walk far to mail their letters. Letters”, thought the house, “do people write letters anymore?” He looked at the mailbox. The paint faded. Rust appearing at some of the seams. She seemed to rock uncomfortably on her perch. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. A restless tapping that showed she knew her time was near. Real letters were a thing of the past, replaced with perfectly serifed letter-‐forms and the lightning-‐fast delivery of the inter-‐webs. The mailbox wondered if the inter-‐web had anything to do with the spider web that was slowly expanding between her legs. She wanted so badly to itch. The house looked away. Maybe it could send a letter through the mailbox. The house wanted the mailbox to be happy. The house was caring in this way. “Is the sidewalk too close?” thought the house. “I don’t want to appear too needy, too aggressive, too eager. Nobody wants that.” It shifted a few feet back, plunging some grass into eternal darkness, blinding new dirt with a sudden taste of sunlight.

“That’s better,” thought the house. People are funny. Wanting to appear neighborly and friendly, but always wanting to be just far enough back that the actual act was an inconvenience and thus unlikely for them to be bothered with. A few morsels of newly-‐born dirt danced in the wind in agreement. “I must blend in,” thought the house, “but also stand out…they need to know that it’s me. But I must not be found out at the wrong time.” He looked around at the other houses. Slightly different colors, but mostly the same. Light blue here, grey-‐blue there, white-‐blue a little further away. The house looked at its own white façade with blue-‐grey trim highlights. “I feel like I could please everyone and no one at the same time,” he muttered. Humming softly to himself the house gave a shiver. The white walls brightened to a soft yellow that shimmered lightly in the sunlight. Royal blue streaked through the blue-‐grey trim until the transformation was complete and no grey remained. “I think I can almost hear the ocean” thought the house happily, “yes, this is much better.” A flower bud pushed itself up through the new dirt by the house’s skirt. A pinecone landed softly on the grass. Evening fell and the house snuggled in for the night. It felt optimistic about the morning. Something magical was bound to happen. He knew they would come.

Dawn arrived like strokes of a watercolor brush across wet paper—a soft yellow

that bled into a vibrant orange, which then trickled into the bright blue of a promising day. The house awoke with a song in its head—“Beat it” by Michael Jackson—who he still couldn’t believe was black. He bobbed in place to the beat, rumbling the flowers to life. Spots of resplendent color burst forth across the house’s yard as the flowers announced their presence to the world. Leaves rustled in the summer breeze.

In the distance, a plane cut white through the sky, like the earth was enveloped in a giant piece of blue paper which was slowly being torn open, about to reveal the heavens beyond for all to see. The house always waited, to see if he would be able to catch a glimpse of the glory beyond, but the heavens weren’t ready or the sky wasn’t willing, because the tear always closed, slowly fading away into the sky like foam into coffee. “It’s okay,” thought the house, “they’re not ready to see yet anyway.” The house saw a family approaching. The father pushed the stroller, lightly vibrating the baby into a land of quiet dreams. The mother strolling softly along-‐side, their laughter fluttered up through the houses windows, melting into his walls. “Is it them?” The house stood up straighter and tried to make its new yellow outfit glow a little brighter, but they walked by without even a glance his way. He heard their laughter fade around the corner. The street was quiet once again. Disappointed, the house sighed. A car inched down the street, obviously searching for something. The house nudged the flowers, willing them to shine more resplendently; little circles of fuchsia bursting forth like the 80s. The car slowed, crept by, continued up the street at the same snails pace, and then sped off, deciding that what it was looking for would not be found here. The sun moved to the top of the sky. The neighbor’s sprinklers came on cooling the house with a gentle mist. The house waited. He was sure that today was the day…but maybe not. He had been wrong before. Only once, of course, but the complications had rippling effects he grimaced to think back upon. Another time, he had almost given up waiting, falling asleep in the process and waking up just in time to see them arrive. All other “pick ups” had gone off without a hitch, helping to keep his record virtually spotless. He fought the need to take a nap. Naps in the sun were his favorite. Heat was such a natural blanket; he always wanted to snuggle into its arms and just fall asleep. A jogger came around the corner. Stopped momentarily to tie her shoe. Then continued on. The house thought he saw her look at him. That made the house happy—truly, it was the small things in life.

The sun dropped, preparing for evening. A tree thrust its shadow across the street, refusing to be forgotten so quickly. A squirrel carried a small treasure into its hole, a winter treat to be re-‐discovered another day. It was in that moment the house heard it. He knew it was time. He could feel it in the air like the gentle buzz speakers emit just before the music starts. He saw her first. A girl about six or seven, dancing curly cues down the street, her ponytails bobbing in delight. She sang quietly to herself, a song that flowed through the tree leaves like a rambling creek—directionless, yet flowing steadily non-‐the-‐less. She was at that age where she had figured out living pretty much happens no matter what you’re doing, so it might as well be fun.* Her mother and father emerged not long after—arm in arm, laughing lightly, happiness sparkling on their eyes. The house saw the butterfly before the girl did. He fluttered in from the east, made a looping swing around her head, joining in her curly-‐cue dance until their dance became one, her trailing behind him down the sidewalk. “Does she even know she’s following him?” mused the house. They spun along, until the butterfly swooped inside the house’s gate, disappearing among the mulberry bushes. The girl’s song continued down the sidewalk without her. Some leaves which had momentarily joined their dance fluttered to the ground. The house and the girl looked at each other—old friends who had yet to meet. The house glowed lightly. The shine of the porch light swam into the night sky. Her parents drew closer, their conversation dissipated into the darkness as they came up alongside the girl. “It’s him,” said the girl. “Welcome home,” said her dad. “It’s been so long,” smiled her mom. Then, turning towards the house they walked up into its embrace. “Yes,” thought the house, “we shall be friends for a very long time.”

As the front door closed, a light rumbling started from the ground. The house steadied itself. Set its eyes toward the night sky and then, just when the time was right, he pushed lightly off the ground leaving the earth behind. They all agreed. It was a perfect lift-‐off.

*quoted from storypeople.

Under the Rug It was a coffee shop named the Blue Snake. A little unusual for a coffee shop, perhaps, but the incongruity of the name seemed less striking after you entered. Once you pushed open the heavy and slightly creaky front door and entered, blinking against the sudden gloom, it began to make perfect sense. As did a great many other things.

As you took a few tentative steps inward, waiting for your eyes to adjust, you

noticed several things: the eclectic décor, the idiosyncratic menu posted above the coffee bar, the lavishly bearded proprietor who reminded one of no one so much as a genial Charles Dickens. You would pause in the middle of the room for a slow pivot, taking in the quirky 5-‐legged tables, the rickety over-‐stuffed bookcases – but most of all, the large, improbably-‐tinted serpent wound lazily around the (surely false!) bamboo tree springing from the floor in front of the counter.

“Huh!” you would mutter to yourself, feeling as though you were on the cusp of

something really profound. “It IS a blue snake!” The words would seem oddly loud in the amiable peace of the dim shop, and you would blush and right yourself, glancing furtively around to see if anyone had noticed and was sniggering.

Nobody had. They had seen it too many times before.

Nobody, that is, except for the bespectacled chap sitting over in the corner. He

would catch your eye, somehow, nod encouragingly, and wave you over to his table as though he’d been waiting all the life-‐long day just for you to drop by. You’d obey the good-‐ natured summons. You wouldn’t be sure why. But somehow, you’d be suddenly sure this was exactly why you’d stopped by.

As you stepped over to his table, he’d make fussy clearing motions, as if to clear a

place for you, even though there was plenty of room on the table next to his coffee cup and a plate – no, small platter – of dubious-‐looking cookies. “Sit down, sit down!” he’d chirp, beaming. “Have I got a story for you!”

If you were an especially practical sort of person, you might consider pointing out

that he couldn’t possibly have anything for you, since he’d only just now laid eyes on your for the first time. If you were not so afflicted, you’d be untroubled by extraneous thoughts

as you settled down and quickly waved away the offer of suspiciously salmon-‐colored goodies. Either way, you’d sit back – gently at first: those chairs are evidently far stronger than they look! – and settle in, waiting expectantly. At some point, the bearded fellow behind the counter would bring out a steaming cup, and you’d sip luxuriously at your favorite beverage before it occurred to you to wonder how he knew your favorite. Meanwhile, the spectacled chap, smiling happily, would begin the story you, unbeknownst to yourself, had come here to hear…..

His name was Ernest B. Snaith, and he lived a most unremarkable existence. He

worked for 32 years as an insurance actuary, and he lived with his sister. Well, more accurately, she lived with him, in the charming little house on Dowkle Street he’d bought in his 20s, dreaming of bringing home a bride someday. Well, the only woman who’d ever taken up residence there was Miranda Snaith, his older sister by 2 years and possibly the most practical person on the face of the planet. Under her conscientious care, the house lost its whimsical charm and became merely well-‐kept and serviceable. The lawn was clipped with a firm conformity, the mailbox was painted a thoroughly respectable dull brown, and even the eaves and shutters seemed a little apologetic, as though they were thoroughly aware how unnecessary they really were.

Every evening, Ernest came home, up the well-‐groomed walk, removed his shoes in

the spotless foyer, and proceeded into the meticulously organized kitchen for a balanced and conscientiously-‐cooked dinner. His evening paper would be sitting next to his plate, unrolled – drat that Miranda! Why couldn’t she understand that he used to love snapping the rubber band off the paper himself? – and ready for perusal. After 20 minutes of dutiful chewing, Miranda would remove his plate and move heavily to the sink to begin the washing-‐up. If he could think of anything to say to make conversation, he would say it as she scrubbed and dried; it was far easier to imagine her being interested if he wasn’t facing her polite but unresponsive face across the table. There had been a time when he had tried nightly, whole-‐heartedly, convinced that surely Miranda must long for genuine human interaction as much as he did. These days, however, he mostly hunched behind his paper until the clock in the hall struck 7 and he could escape to the living room for the 7 o’clock

news. It was his mother’s clock. Miranda would never have approved the extravagance of a grandfather clock otherwise.

On one not-‐particularly-‐special day in his 53rd year, Ernest shuffled slowly into the

living room for his news program. He was too young to shuffle, really – he was far from old, and reasonably fit for his age. But the Snaith residence did not seem to lend itself well to a spring in one’s step. He paused for a moment in the act of lowering himself into his serviceable brown armchair to contemplate the thought of Miranda’s having a spring in her step. Shuddering at the incongruity of the thought, he dropped himself the rest of the way into the chair and reached for the television remote.

That was when he saw it. “It” was a queer sort of bulge under the carpet. Well, it

was more than a bulge, really. It sort of looked as though two shoes and a cantaloupe had been bunched up on the floor under the edge of the carpet. He glanced at it, then away, not really registering. Miranda’s housekeeping did not admit of anomalies. Clearly this was an illusion; like the famously luckless Ebenezer Scrooge, he had suffered momentarily from a bit of undigested biscuit. One had difficulty conceiving of Miranda’s cooking being anything but entirely conducive to the digestive process – but there you were.

Then the bulge moved.

Ernest clutched the remote his chest like a lifeline. That was odd, surely. He blinked

rapidly a few times, certain that this strange trick of the mind would smooth over into reality by the time he opened them and focused again.

It was still there.

It was still moving.

Ernest sprang backwards into his chair, nearly knocking it over. His gaze was

riveted to the moving lump under the rug, and an unfamiliar panic arose chokingly in his chest. He thought of calling for Miranda, who would of course dispose of this…thing…as efficiently as she rooted the first violets of spring out of the front lawn. But what could one do? Shout to Miranda at the top of one’s lungs that there was a good-‐sized rodent wandering around under the carpet in the living room? Somehow the thing did not admit of possibility.

So he did the only thing he could do. He arose slowly and crept, eyes fixed on the

wobbling lump, to a nearby chair. Chosen by Miranda, it was a sturdy wooden thing that

weighed rather more it seemed like it ought. Silently, scarcely daring to breathe, he raised it above his head, heart pounding. As the bulge gave an especially ambitious lunge, he cried aloud and smashed the chair down into it as hard as he could.

In the silence that followed, he could hear sounds from the kitchen; sounds of

Miranda unhurriedly laying down her dishtowel, untying and hanging up her apron, and stepping out into the hall (drat that woman! Couldn’t she even hurry in a less-‐than-‐ practical fashion?). Breath heaving, he stepped forward and nudged a bit of shattered chair out of the way so that he could see what kind of damage he’d inflicted on the luckless bulge. Miranda stepped into the room just as the splinters fell away enough for him to see his prey. And there was nothing there.

Desperately, he waved both hands toward the missing carpet-‐bulge and stumbled

his words over each other, trying to explain. “There was a thing! A BIG thing! It was under the rug – and it moved – almost like a giant rat – it wouldn’t stop – so I smashed it – “ He ground to an inglorious halt as Miranda raised her eyes to his and regarded him with the kind of strained patience she reserved for teenaged waitresses with body piercings and grocery cashiers who don’t know how to ring up coupons. “But now…it’s gone….” he finished lamely. His arms dropped to his sides.

Miranda didn’t say anything. She merely turned around and returned to the kitchen

for her broom and dustpan. Helpless against her silent scorn, Ernest huddled into his brown chair and tried to pretend he was dead.

Later that night, Ernest reviewed the events of the evening a thousand times in his

head and finally came to the conclusion that he was a very great fool. “You just have an over-‐active imagination, old boy,” he assured himself (his subconscious paused for a second to inquire what had prompted him to address himself as “old boy,” but his conscious mind quickly steamrolled the thought). “Just a weird quirk. Nothing to worry about. A trick of middle age. Too much stress at the office. Nothing really. Move on, old boy (there is was again!), move on.” Finally, with the downstairs clock striking 3 am, he drifted off to sleep.

Two weeks later, it happened again.

Oppressed by a sense of déjà vu,

he stood over a splintered chair and a vanished bugle and tried to explain himself to Miranda’s blank non-‐ expression. Words quickly failed him, and he bent to help clear up the shattered wood, only to be brushed aside by Miranda’s unfazed efficiency. Suffering horribly, he had no choice but to stand to the side and watch her unhurried movements as she silently cleared up his mess. Finally, as she finished, she looked up at him and opened her mouth to speak.

“Now!” he thought jubilantly.

“Now she’s going to say something! She’ll say I’m mad! Or at least unstable….or she’ll remark how soon we’re going to run out of chairs at this rate, or how much more quickly the rug will wear out with this kind of abuse. Oh, she’ll give it to me good and proper!” – and a small part of him was taken aback by how excited he was over the prospect.

“It’s meant to rain tomorrow,” Miranda remarked placidly. “Do remember to wear

your heavy coat.” And with that, she turned and strode into the hallway, arms full of neatly stacked chair shards and not a hint of body language conceding that any of this was at all out of the ordinary.

It was driving him mad, he realized several days later. Here he was, coming home in

the evenings after 30 years of unbroken sameness and smashing his furniture to flinders in the living room after dinner, and she barely noticed! No dismay, no remonstrance, not the remotest concession that he was behaving like a lunatic. “How does she do that?” he wondered aloud at work. A concerned co-‐worker assumed he was muttering about marital

difficulties, and there followed an awkward quarter of an hour before they got that misunderstanding straightened out.

He tried going home and telling Miranda about the incidents at the dinner table. Her

response was to pass him the bread. Reviewing the fiasco the next day while waiting to cross the street, he still couldn’t quite believe it. “After all, I’ve got a right to be crazy!” he cried out loud, stamping his foot indignantly. A gothic-‐looking teenager texting with ear buds in gave him an odd look and moved off down the block.

Increasingly determined to force some sort of response out of Miranda, he tried

being even more outrageous. “Is she perhaps a robot?” he wondered out loud at the breakfast table. “It cannot be quite human for a person to be so impenetrable!” He raised half-‐accusing, half-‐guilty eyes to Miranda’s, but she only rose, took his plate, and shot a pointed look towards the kitchen clock.

The next day, he stopped at a pet store and bought a weasel . “This will surely make

her snap!” he chortled as the nonplussed clerk held out his credit card back to him. At home, Miranda pushed the scampering creature into her dustpan with the broom and carried it without remark into the backyard to dispatch it with the same unhurried efficiency she used to dispose of mice caught in the traps she laid in the basement.

“Think of The Tempest!” he burst out to a lady in the supermarket. “A Miranda

should be a little less practical. Kind of willow-‐the-‐wisp, you know?” Gripping her toddler’s hand tighter, she gave him to understand that she did not know, couched in language for which 32 years as an insurance actuary had left him wholly unprepared.

He took to wandering off on his lunch hours, finding himself in places he’d never

seen before and muttering to perfect strangers. “It just doesn’t make sense, you know?” he confided in an unwashed bum whose only acquaintance seemed to be with a hip flask. “I mean, if someone started smashing up your furniture and claiming there were unseen spirits under the rug, wouldn’t you say something?” He looked up, startled at losing his audience, as the bum handed him some cash and sidestepped cautiously away.

Gradually his resolve hardened. He would make Miranda acknowledge his lunacy.

Try as he might, though, the honors were entirely with her. “I mean, everyone’s heard of Man vs. Nature,” he declaimed. “Now that’s an epic struggle. Or Man vs. The Machine. Or vs. The Odds. Or even Man vs. Himself. But Man vs. …Sister??” A burst of raucous laughter

interrupted his musings, and he looked up to see a group of teenagers with tremendously low-‐slung jeans pointing at him, and the Burger King’s manager shooing him out of the restaurant into the parking lot again.

Then one day, he was pottering along a side street and came across the Blue Snake.

Impossible to resist, really, with that garishly painted snake painted on the sign, the assurance of quality “since 1927,” and the door cracked invitingly open. Ernest stepped into its welcoming dimness and blinked twice, trying to adjust his eyes to the dimness. When his sight faded back in, the first thing he laid eyes on was an improbably long and virulently blue snake wrapped around a (surely) artificial bamboo tree which appeared to be growing out of the floor by the register.

“That’s quite a snake you have there,” he observed politely to the dim blob he

assumed represented a member of shop’s personnel. “Hard to believe it’s been there since 1927.”

“Oh it hasn’t,” rejoined the blob cheerfully, as it resolved into an astoundingly

bearded fellow wiping at a perfectly clean counter. “The neighborhood kids come in here and steal it every couple of years. This fine specimen here is number 41.”

“Oh really?”

“Well, more or less. Some of them were before my time.” The fellow grinned at

Ernest, and he found himself grinning back. He liked the Blue Snake!

“Here, you’ll be wanting this,” the man added, handing Ernest a steaming cup and

saucer. “And I think you’ll like that table over there.” He gestured, and Ernest complied. He sat down and sipped, taking in the chocolatey goodness of a really superior hot cocoa. It occurred to him briefly to wonder just how the man could possibly have known that Miranda had forbidden this exquisite treat to him when she’d moved into his house over 30 years ago, but that rumination was banished by a sudden flash of realization.

“Of course!” he cried. “That’s it! Ebenezer Scrooge wasn’t suffering from indigestion!

There really were all those ghosts!”

His shout startled him, and he furtively glanced around to see if anyone was tittering

or staring. To his surprise, the guy behind the counter was still grinning. “Sure there were. And I never really understood, myself, how they managed to come on 3 successive nights and still finish up in time for Christmas.”

Ernest considered for a moment. “Some kind of space-‐time warp, I should think…?” The guy shrugged. “Sure. But I’m bad at physics.” And at that moment, Ernest knew that he had finally, at long last, come home.

Mr. Linden’s Library By Grace Liaw

Fourteen months into their courtship, Angela was finally invited to Jack’s family’s house in the Hills. Up to that point, Jack had mostly avoided talking about his family. That was something that always bothered Angela – with unexpected finesse, Jack would suddenly change the topics of conversation away from his family. But why? So what if there were a few skeletons in the closet, or a bit of familial tension? Surely, that was normal. Just two weeks ago, Jack had finally proposed to Angela. There was no doubt he was completely in love with Angela, but he just could not bring himself to propose. It drove Angela to insanity and she finally threatened to leave him if he didn’t make the next big move. Backed into a corner, Jack had taken a three-‐day retreat to think over what it would mean to propose to Angela. Things would never be the same again. And so it was. On July 30th, the day of the proposal, Jack led Angela through a ridiculous scavenger hunt at Barnes and Noble, which brought her to page 19 in The Princess Bride. A

small diamond ring fell out from the pages, tumbling on the carpeted floor. This is true love. You think this happens everyday? were the words that Jack quoted from book, as he held Angela’s hands in his. The two shared a long moment of tearful joy and anticipation for the future that would be theirs. As Jack pulled the car up the long driveway, Angela was jittery with anticipation. Would they like me? Would I like them? Silly questions and silly answers whirled around her head, as she and Jack came up the front steps. The door opened. Mr. Linden stepped back from the door to let Angela and Jack in. An older, worn version of Jack, Mr. Linden gave Angela a warm smile and grabbed both of her hands. “Welcome to our home, Angela. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a while, but Jack insists on keeping you all to himself,” he said, with a quick sideways glance at Jack. Stiffly, Jack gave his father a “guy” hug and replied, “Hey, dad, how’ve you been? Glad to see you’re back to your old self again.” Both men chuckled for a bit. “Come, let’s give Angela a quick tour, shall we?” Mr. Linden proceeded. As Angela glided down the hall, Mr. Linden and Jack followed after. As if in a museum, Angela’s eyes darted from ceiling to floor to wall to doors, trying to soak in all the beautiful details of the magnificent home. From room to room, Mr. Linden gave a brief history of the who’s and what’s that occupied that space. The Linden home was built at the turn of the century, boasting cathedral ceilings and beautifully carved woodwork. Yet beautiful as it was, there was an empty feeling throughout the house. “This house has been in the Linden family for generations, starting with Harrison Linden, my great-‐great-‐grandfather. The older section of the house is what he had built with his own two hands. With each generation after, an addition was made. See the floor here? You can see a slight change in color, because of the newer wood.”

“Mr. Linden, may I ask where Mrs. Linden is?” asked Angela. Jack had dreaded this moment, and now it was here. “Well, Angela, maybe Jack hasn’t mentioned it to you. My wife passed away fourteen years ago. Damn that cancer… though she put up a formidable fight. It’s just me, and the old dog, that live in this enormous house. I don’t know, but I’m thinking about selling it.” Jack gave his father a strange look, and this time, Angela caught it. “Jack? Something wrong?” asked Angela. “Uh, nothing, nothing at all. It’s just that it’s news to me,” Jack articulated slowly, holding his gaze at Mr. Linden. “It’s just a thought right now, and I haven’t made any final decision. But, truth be told, I’m getting too old to be the keeper. It’s just too much…” Mr. Linden’s voice trailed off. Jack stopped in his tracks, wheeled around and looked hard at Mr. Linden, who stood watching his son with very little emotion. Clearing his throat, Jack said, “Okay, well, uh… just make sure you let me know if you decide to sell this house. It’s been in our family for too long to just suddenly get rid of it, you know?” Mr. Linden nodded slowly and continued down the hall. I knew something like this might happen. Angela could not put her finger on why Jack would be so exasperated. Other than his massive collection of books, there was little in life that Jack was passionate about. Why does he have to be so weird about things? Maybe he just misses his mother, thought Angela. When the house tour was finished, everyone gathered in the kitchen for lunch.

“Mr. Linden, you have a beautiful home. Pity you are thinking about selling it. By the way, I noticed there was a door upstairs at the end of the long hallway. What’s in there?” Angela asked. “Ah yes, that’s just an extra room. Lots of junk, just collecting dust. Nothing to look at,” said Mr. Linden. Jack was looking down at his food. “Oh, I see. I guess with such an enormous house, there’s bound to be some empty rooms,” said Angela. “So, Dad, how about we show Angela the trail at the back of the house?” interrupted Jack. He seemed to be back to normal, thankfully. To Angela, “We have a quiet trail that goes from our backyard and ends up by a stream. You’ll like it,” he said, giving Angela’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Oh, yes, let’s! I could use some fresh air,” Angela said. On the surface, Angela was smiling, but in her heart, she knew something was off. Though she could not put her finger on it, she found that Mr. Linden and Jack were acting strangely today. Something wasn’t quite right. Just as they were about to enter the trail, Angela said, “Oops, I left my jacket in the foyer. Be right back!” And she ran up to the house quickly. “Just wait there!” Quickly, she ran into the hall and found her jacket. As she turned around, the stairs going up were right in front of her. She considered for about a second, and started running up the stairs. She needed to see it for herself. Angela grabbed the doorknob and turned it slowly. A waft of stale air came through the door as Angela pushed it open. She blinked and blinked again to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. There were books – everywhere! This room could never have been simply

turned into a library – it must have been built specifically as one. There were shelves built into the walls that were as tall as the ceiling. In the corner was an antique filing cabinet to keep the books on record. There were even wheeled ladders that slid along tracks, so that one could get to the books up high. “What are you doing?!” a stern voice demanded. Angela whipped around immediately, coming face to face with Jack. She was speechless. “Look, Angela, this room is… is a very delicate matter for my dad. That’s why he didn’t want to tell you about it.” “But Jack, look at this place! I mean, LOOK! It’s like a wonderland. It’s a dream room. Did you grow up reading these books? Is this all your dad’s or your mom’s too? How old is this library?” I’ll tell you more, but let’s get out of here now. My dad’s waiting outside,” insisted Jack. Angela complied and the two of them strolled back down to the trail that leads to a stream. It was a pleasant walk. Two days later… “So, can I ask you about the library in your father’s house?” Closing his book with a tired sigh, Jack decided to surrender to Angela’s inquiry, against his better judgment. He knew that she wouldn’t let it go and it was only a matter of time before she’d find out. If only there was a way to keep that relic of a house, and still keep the secret!

“Angela, I know I’m not always what you want me to be. There are things that I don’t tell you, because I’d rather not burden you with it. Does that make sense to you? I don’t want to hurt you by keeping information from you, but I also don’t want you to ever get hurt. You must know that I can’t imagine my life without, don’t you?” Jack said, his grey eyes cutting right into her. Angela closed her eyes and soaked in the moment. Like a warm blanket, Jack’s love made Angela so secure, so comfortable. “Of course, I know you love me. You’ve always shown me in your ways, though not necessarily through words. I get that. As for the house, I can’t explain why, but I feel like I really need to know! I’m sorry if this causes any…“ her voice trailed off. “It’s okay. I know this is something I have to tell you sooner or later, so it might as well be now. Are you sure you want to know?” Jack warned. Angela nodded. And like a Pandora’s box, the story of the library unfolded. “Four generations ago, there lived an apothecary named Sorensen, whose wife battled a rare disease for several years, for which there was no cure. The disease was merciless – ravaging the body and mind both. The worst part was, it took its time – stretching out the suffering for years and years. Little by little, Mrs. Sorensen was becoming less of herself and more of… someone or something else. It shattered Sorensen’s heart to witness the love of his life go through this wretched transformation. Both Sorensen and their young daughter, Karina, had suffered along with Mrs. Sorensen, tending to her day and night. The only small joy that family had was story-‐time, where Karina and her father would read to each other or read to Mrs. Sorensen at her bedside. Over the years, the Sorensen family built up quite a library. Mrs. Sorensen always calmed down during story-‐time, with eyes closed and a temporary peace over her face. Even if for an hour a day, the escape from real life kept everyone from going insane.

In his desperate search for a cure, Sorensen delved into the study of ethno-‐botany, sometimes traveling to distant lands to collect plant samples. “The answer is out there – I just have to find it,” he reminded himself each day. It was during one of his excursions that he came across a small tribe in the jungles of Brazil. Sorensen shared his story about his wife with the tribes-‐people, to which they replied, “We have an answer for you, but it requires sacrifice and commitment in a way you never imagined.” Sorensen learned that this particular tribe believed in ONLY perfect unions. The union between wife and husband needed to be flawless, in order for the lineage to be strong. Flawless, by their definition, would be a marriage without terminal illness, infertility, or infidelity, specifically with regard to the wife. In essence, the perfect wife would ensure the perfect marriage, which in turn produced the perfect lineage. “Each family has a book that is kept by the husband only. It is his charge to keep this book a secret, but also keep the book as part of the home. Never is the book to be removed from the family’s property, nor should it be tampered with. The husband/keeper keeps the book somewhere that is accessible. Here is the reason – this mystical book has the power to detect the “flaws” in the wife, and only the wife. It has no effect on the children, nor the husband. Once the book senses a flaw, or something that will change the whole trajectory of the family – illness, infertility or infidelity -‐-‐ it begins to grow from its pages a delicate vine. Eventually, the wife will pick up this book and begin to investigate the odd greenery coming from within the pages. Before long, she will feel restless and drawn to read it. And she will be mesmerized by the book, as if it were a lovely fairy tale. It matters not that the text in this book is of an unknown language, because the wife will read it as if it were any normal book. SHE will connect with the book, and the book with her. Other family members who pick up the

book will not understand, and will not be affected by it. To them, the book is just an ancient, bizarre relic that sits on a shelf. Within 24 hours, the wife will have brought the book to bed with her, continuously reading, and will have fallen into a deep, unending sleep from which she will never wake. Once the book knows she is gone, the vines will retract and it is up to the husband to close the book and place it back to wherever it was originally. Some say this book is a curse, some say it’s a blessing. It covers heartache with heartache, all in the name of keeping your marriage and lineage strong. If you try to remove or destroy the book, then your whole family, including your children, will be cursed for generations to come. If a man does not pass this book to his son, the son’s family will be cursed. If a man does not have a legitimate son, the book is allowed to skip a generation… from grandfather to grandson. And finally, if a man dies before his children are ready to marry, the curse transfers to the next man in the family line. Of the 12 copies of this book, we have 2 copies that have been “returned”, much to the regret of their original keepers. You are welcome to take one, but it will not be for yourself. This book can only be introduced into a family AT the marriage ceremony – presented as a gift to the groom. Once that happens, it can never leave that family.” Sorensen pondered the weight of this decision. His original intention to save his beloved has brought him to a dead end, but one that offered something for the future. What about his daughter? What if she became ill and had to suffer as his wife did? What if she were unable to bear children and have to live a lifetime of barrenness? Can all marriages survive such strains? It seemed a bit unfair that all of the consequences lay on the wife’s head, but that the man had to live with this commitment for the rest of his life.

Before he could change his mind, Sorensen took the book and left for home. Upon returning, he found his daughter weeping on the floor over the lifeless body of his wife. So, it has finally come to an end – all the suffering, pain, frustration. Sorensen wept loudly, both out of relief and in grief. From his rucksack, he took the book and quietly placed it high up on his bookshelf, so that he could forget about this chapter in his life. Several years passed and Karina was courted by a handsome young man -‐-‐ my great-‐great-‐ great-‐grandfather – Harrison Linden. They were deeply in love, of course, and planning to marry. By all appearances, Mr. Sorensen reveled in his daughter’s happiness. Deep inside, Sorensen wrestled with fear and worry for his daughter . So consumed was Mr. Sorensen with protecting his loved ones, he did not know what else to do. On their wedding day, Sorensen gave Karina and Harrison a big, warm embrace. He sat down with Harrison and gave him the book, making sure to explain it in detail. “If you love my daughter and your future generations, then you will give me your word that you will keep this book.” “Yes, sir,” replied Harrison, looking overwhelmed. For the next few generations, the Linden families started to build a library from scratch, all in the name of hiding the book.” Angela remained silent for a few moments, to try to piece the information together. Jack continued. “For most of their marriage, my father kept this secret from my mother. Much like you and me, my parents both loved to read. Since dad inherited such a vast collection from previous generations, it was natural that our family spent a lot of time in that library. Mom would read to us sometimes, or dad would read, or even I would read. Those were some good days…

When mom became sick with cancer, I was about 15 years old. Dad did his best to care for her -‐-‐ he read to her, he walked with her, he cooked for her… He was always a little bit protective of his library, but after Mom got sick, he went over-‐the-‐top and became insanely protective about it. When Dad was not tending to Mom, he would lock himself in the library and spend hours and hours reading. He knew what was coming. Dad knew what was going to happen, and it was only a matter of time. But he knew that he wanted to live and care for mom, even if it meant difficulties. Shouldn’t we be in this together? Isn’t that what a strong marriage was? There were times when I thought Dad was going snap, because of all the pressure he felt. Then, in a moment of desperation, Dad tried to explain to mom about the book and the curse and what it meant for her. Obviously, she didn’t believe him. And with the cancer battle going on, Mom was not exactly thinking clearly either. Mom and Dad fought so many times that year – and I remember sneaking into the library, secretly trying to find this ‘book’ that Dad kept talking about. I never did find it, though. It was on a Tuesday afternoon, and I came home from school earlier than usual. Grabbing a snack from the pantry, I called out for Mom. No answer. Up the stairs, I saw that the library door was ajar and my Mom’s bedroom door closed. I peeked in the library. Nothing. Then, I knocked on my Mom’s bedroom door and no one answered. Strange, I thought to myself. She’s usually doing housework when I get home. After a second knock, I decided to open the door. A flash of confused dread overcame me, as I quietly pushed the door wide. There she was. Cold, peaceful and eternally asleep, book hanging open and strange-‐looking vines covering her arms and neck. The ancient writing looked so meaningless on the pages.

So, that’s how she died. Dad warned her about the book. Now it was too late. Like I said, this book…. some believe it is a blessing, and some believe it’s a curse. It remedies heartache with heartache, all for the sake of protecting your marriage and family. Even if this isn’t what I want for me, for you, for us, this is what the future holds. Unlike my father, I’m giving you the warning now, so we’ll never have to say it’s too late.”

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Stories

Imagined By

G ace Liaw

an Steve Limkem Jan ai W alla ce K rey Alfr d

Joanna Ash

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a a Kelly Han

Ch riss Ginn

Larry Seeb

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Art Agarw l Nic le All n