Logging In

 

          At heart, and not surprisingly, Ralph was a bit of a naturalist. He was full of observations, and he also had plenty of time to attempt to make sense of his observations.  And he had questions about the nature of things.

          Since he was a wee cryptid, hominid variety, he had been bright-eyed and avid. Those shiny deeply intelligent little brown eyes had closely observed all manner of phenomena. Twigg truly was a shoot off the old branch.  They were very much alike. They both wanted to see how things worked.

          But, like someone we could mention, if we chose to talk politics, Ralph was a little gullible in spite of his own virtue. Perhaps that explains his gullibility. It did not occur to him that someone might be pulling his very large leg, or even plainly fibbing to him.

          Now that he was grown and had a son of his own to instruct, his own questions about nature and life loomed larger in his mind than they had in his carefree days. His questions might seem a bit naïve to us, but we must remember that he is nature’s very own child, in and of the forest, not a doggone analyst. Nor did he have centuries worth of hairless scientists to learn from. He was more or less on his own.

          One summer morning he was lying full length on his big cedar log thinking.  He was wondering how plants get started.  It was obvious that little plants grow into bigger plants, like his venerable log there, but why did a plant start one place and not another.  He knew about seeds. Some plants have seeds, some don’t. Thinking about seeds made him sleepy. He had been nibbling on some things to taste them to decide if they were good.

          Just as he was having some nice, dreamy thoughts about all the kinds of plants that taste good, he was startled to hear a familiar voice from the recent, say a month or two, past. Dreams of huckleberries flew away. He sat up. Maurice said “Hey,” for the second time.

          And there was Maurice  wearing green wide wale corduroy trousers and a striped orange and pink silk shirt. Ralph shook his head. But Maurice was still there afterwards. Ralph wondered idly where his tail went in those britches.

          “Maurice! What’s up bro? Why the sharp duds?” said Ralph, kind of blinking. “Where have you been, dog?”

          “I got a job, man,” said Maurice, tongue lolling a bit.  He hopped up beside Ralph, taking a seat. While Maurice was getting situated, Ralph noticed that his tail sort of stuck up out of the back of the trousers like a periscope. Ralph felt a little dizzy. He wasn’t sure if he was really all the way awake. He decided to just go with it though, because what choice did he have, really.

          “You?  A job? Doing what? Where?” Maurice's shirt seemed to kind of pop in and out of visibility. Ralph rubbed his eyes and looked again.

          “Yeah, Ralphie! I’ve been singing with a cover band in Tacoma.  We do old Hendrix tunes, n stuff, Byrds and like that,” said Maurice. “We mostly do taverns and small local clubs. Not that big thing by the freeway.”

          “How did that happen?” Ralph sort of whispered.

          “Well, I was sitting under a bridge in Ballard, howling like I do sometimes. You know usually it scares people, but this guy heard me and liked it. He thought I could add something to their sound, so he invited me to come and meet the other guys,” Maurice said. “They liked me. I got a cool outfit and worked with them for a couple of months.”

          “Then why are you out here in the Baker National Forest sitting up here on my big cedar log Maurice?”

          “I got fired.”

          “What? Why? You had a good gig!  What did you do Maurice?”

          “Nothing!”

          “Nothing? Then why did they fire you?

          “The drummer’s cat disappeared.  I didn’t eat him Ralphie.”

          “Oh, Maurice, how could you!” groaned Ralph.

***

He groaned so hard that he rolled right off of his log! Thud! Ralph hit the ground. He woke up face down in the forest duff. He sat up. He looked all around.  He looked at his log.  He scanned the clearing and between the trees. Maurice was nowhere to be seen. No scandalously colored silk shirt, no loony green pants!

“Oh! Thank all that’s good and proper!  He’s not really here!” whispered Ralph.

“I think I’ll just go home and talk with Ramona for a while until I feel more like myself,” he thought.

All eight feet and 450lbs of him stood up and dusted himself off. Then he headed home. He never had weird dreams in the cave or around the fire circle of stones eating something good that Ramona made for him and Twigg.

The King Sorts It

 

          Well now, Ralph’s mind was usually occupied with weighty matters as he moved soundlessly about the great green forest.  He wasn’t the world’s greatest observer.  That’s just the truth. He had staff for that.

          But he had begun to notice an odd thing. He’d be strolling along, and he’d see a flash of long blond hair. Just a flash and then nothing. Gone. Or, way down the path a slender figure would appear briefly.

          Then, one day he went to conduct some important business at his log/office, and someone was already there.  And she was sitting on his log! All blond, 6’4” and nubile Squatch of her was sitting there like she had every intention of staying. “Hm,” thought Ralph. “I’m not sure this kid is old enough to be wandering around the forest alone.”

          “Hey, kiddo, what’s up,” inquired Ralph in an avuncular manner. He had a sense of his morning getting more complicated. Ralph didn’t really like complication and many moving parts.

          “Are you Ralph?” said she. “I’m looking for Ralph.”

          “Well, sure, sweetie, you found my log, didn’t ya?” answered himself. “You need some kinda help?  Where’s your mama?”

          “My mama?! I’m no kid! My mama is way down south,” said the kid. “My name is Candy. You can call me Candy, Ralph! I came all this way up to see you!”

          He could see that this conversation had all kinds of loose ends, and possible complications, so he decided to go home for lunch. He thought that maybe if she was still hanging around after lunch, he would be able to sort her out better with a full stomach. So, he turned and headed for home without another word.

          “Hey, where’re ya goin’ Ralph?” Candy hopped down from the log and followed him down the path. “Can I come too?”

          Then Ralph had one of those ideas that prove he is a leader above all  his peers, that he deserves the respect he receives. It suddenly seemed like maybe Ramona could deal with this kid.  He would take her home for lunch and leave her with Ramona!  Brilliant. Problem solved!

          “Sure, Candy. Come on, I’m going home for lunch!” grinned Ralph. She skipped along beside him with her long blond curls bouncing as they walked. It wasn’t a far walk, as you know, from the office/log to the cave and the stone circle in the home clearing.

          And there was Ramona, busy at the fire.  She had made a kind of shish-ka-bobs out of squabs and onions stuck on long green sapling branches.  They were heavily herbed, soaked in olive oil, stuffed full of garlic and starting to smell really good! She stood up, hands on hips when she heard footsteps approaching.  Of course, she was only expecting one, not two, for lunch.

          Sometimes Ralph was really happy that Thaga had been teaching Ramona to cook Neanderthal style.  It beat the pants off of raw rabbit and such.

          “Hey, baby!  Ramona, look who I found out by my log!” called Ralph. “This kid here says her name is Candy. I think she’s hungry!” They pulled up together by the fire, smelling the good food.

          “Candy, this is Ramona, queen of the Baker National Forest!” said Ralph happily and with a great deal of relief. He winked broadly at Ramona, who is pretty good at getting the message.

          Ramona and Candy sized each other up.  After a long moment, Candy looked down first. Candy even looked a little less shiny and blond, maybe even a bit shorter after the meeting.

          “Oh, I always cook a lot just in case, Candy.  Have a seat,” said Ramona smiling in a motherly sort of way. “You’ll have to meet Twigg, our son, he’s running around here somewhere.”

          “Thanks Ramona, but my name’s really Constance. My mama lives in Index, and she named me Constance,” said Constance, nee Candy. “I never thought Constance sounded glamorous enough! That smells good, really good, and I am hungry.” She really did just look like a big kid then.

          So, after a rather large lunch, Ralph slipped silently out of center stage, leaving Constance and Ramona chatting together on one of the fire circle logs. Constance met and admired Twigg for the fine fellow he was getting to be.  And Ramona promised to teach Constance how to do some basic cooking if she wanted, next time she came to visit.  Ramona said to be sure and come early so they would have enough time to do some serious cooking.

    So, you can see why Ralph is the king of Snohomish County.  He's just that good!

A Nice Grey Day Open Thread

        Thursday, a driving day. It was misty, and then rainy, and then something in between.  I read that the Irish call it a nice soft day. Nothing harsh, or insistent, an indeterminant sort of a day.

        I looked for color.  I looked for suitable subject matter for some photography. But it was not to be. 

        So, I'm wishing us all a joyful sort of a Friday.  Perhaps the hot places could cool down a little, and perhaps the hazy colorless places could perk up a little. Maybe we could trade weather somehow, just a little.

I know I've posted this song a lot lately, but it fits here so well!

         
 

Thumbie Ronin

 

        The creature was a good walker. The creature needed no sleep but it did close down to repair more intensively sometimes, than it did while it was  walking. You could argue that it was not a creature, but a creation, but then, that’s just a disagreement about terminology.

          Its mind was gone. Another matter for disagreement. Did it ever have a mind? Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the “hive” was its mind, and the hive was dead.  How it/he persisted is unknown.
          ZO opened his black eyes. The automatic part of his programming had found him shelter in one of those disintegrating houses that littered the landscape. He had pushed the door in, and finding the house dry inside had entered. He didn’t need furniture. So, as he became active again he was lying flat on the floor.
          He wore a black suit, the usual uniform of a Thumbie. His was nice and fresh looking.  He kept it in repair, just like his body. Of course, that was automatic. Also automatic was his physical need to find his others. Therefore, he walked, and he would have walked until the end of the world, or his very body fell to crumbs.
          One day, this ZO, this walker without thought, walked his way over the Cascade Range with its vanishing mountain pass highways.  He didn’t know it, but he was heading for Milltown. He wasn’t tired. He was as good as new. A fine machine, part biological, part electronic.
          ZO, with his four elbows turned out, and his thumbs turned in, wearing his fine stretchy black suit, walked his way to the two mile river road that led to Milltown.  He happened to be passing the house where Doug and Jen and their five children lived. Gabriel, with Lucille in his jacket pocket, happened to be working in the gardens, pulling weeds as it happened. In his pocket, there was a sound, almost like a discrete cough, ala Jeeves.
          “Gabriel, something has come up,” the voice was almost excited. “Will you take me to the street in front of the house right now? Please now!”
          So, Gabriel ran around the house and out into the street. He stood in front of the house, waiting. About a mile to the east, he could see a strange figure in a black suit approaching.
          “Is that guy down the road the reason I am standing out here OZ?” asked Gabriel.
          “Oh, joyous configuration! That is no guy, Gabriel. That is the sole surviving physical entity of my original build. It has no mind. I could hear it coming closer for days,” said OZ.
          “When it gets here speak to it.  Tell it to stop. It probably will stop for a while.  It’s used to following orders. Then I’ll tell you what to do.”
          Gabe waited in the street.  The strange figure walked closer and the closer it got the stranger it looked to him. But, following instructions, as he was asked, when the figure got close Gabe said, “hey, dude!”
          The figure stopped and looked at him with huge expressionless black eyes. Just as it put out its right foot to take another step, Gabe walked up to it and put Lucille, pistol style up against its left temple. It only took a couple of seconds.
          Lucille lit up inside with colors Gabe had never seen in it. Red and blue lights flashed then went out. It seemed a little warmer than usual in his hand.
          The strange creature picked up its hand slowly and pushed Lucille down. Then it looked at Gabriel and smiled.
          “We did it,” said OZ.  “I have a body!”

All of Gabriel

Nearly Christmas in Nowheresville

 

         The  Reservation is in the Pacific Northwest, normally an area that has very mild rainy green winters. But every once in a while, out of the blue, there comes a true winter. 

          Sometime in November the nights will become frosty.  In the daytime the sky will be a hard shiny blue with a low biting winter sun. It makes driving difficult some times of day, facing that low sun in the west.
          As November continues, it gets colder and colder at night.  Pipes freeze under some of the older cabins that have been there since the fifties when they were only inhabited in the summer. The random vegetation at the tree line becomes brown, lawns die down. Pets want to be indoors all day.
          Then one day the morning sky will be white and low. There will be a peculiar silence.  It sounds muffled, like the very atmosphere is soft and close. Then, if it is around 30 degrees, people will start to remark that there are a few snow flakes beginning to fall. They will just be isolated white spots on cars, walkways, patios, etc.  Just little fallen stars at first.
         
          That summer and early fall was a busy time for me. Some things stand out in memory. As November started I realized that we would have a white winter most likely.  All the signs were there, and I tried to prepare.
          First, I bought a late model used Passat for Judy.  There would be no more waiting for the bus up on 3^rd for Taylor. After what happened neither of us could bear the idea of her riding the bus. Another solution would have been for Judy to walk her to the bus in person and wait for it in the afternoon, but I was happy to provide a secure means of transportation.
 
          Things had changed between Lloyd and I.  We were still friends, but on a more equal footing.  He never called me Chief again.  I was Dan.  Just Dan. I felt like I needed to make it up to him almost as much as to his granddaughter and the little one. I was working on that.
 
          The Res loves Christmas, especially during a white winter. By December 1, there are lights, lots of lights. The drive-up espresso stand glows like a UFO at night. Even the gas station is decorated. The school is busy with Christmas programming and the kid’s Christmas art works are much on display. The children are always beyond excited.
 
          Taylor was no exception.
          One day early in December I drove up to 324 Alder Lane with a small bushy conifer in the back of my pickup, a bag of new lights and other fiddle-faddle, and a couple of grocery sacks of goodies.
          Taylor saw me arrive and came bolting out of the door hollering. 
          “Hey, honey, hi there, look what I have,” I said to her. I picked her up so she could see into the bed of the truck.
          “Hi dad,” she said a little solemnly.  Judy had instructed her to call me “dad.”  I thought she was getting used to the idea of having a father, gradually.
          “Would you like to carry a bag into the house,” I asked her, and she jumped at the chance.  So, I gave her one of the bags of Christmas treats to carry.
          Judy opened the door and said, “Brrrr! Come in! Look at all that fancy stuff Taylor! Wow!” She smiled at me as I carried in the tree, in its little pot, since it was a live tree. In one more trip I brought in the other bags.
          The tree was small, so we put it on the table in the living room and spent an hour helping Taylor put the string of lights on it and hang the glass balls and so on. When that was done Judy had some things to do in the kitchen, since I was there to have dinner with them.  I was there for dinner quite frequently. It had become a friendly, almost domestic habit. I was getting to know my daughter and she was getting used to me being around herself and her mother.
          Just to make everything even more exciting, Taylor noticed that snow was beginning to come down. It had already turned the lawn into a frosted confection in appearance. In the light of the porch lamp, snow fell lightly and yet persistently.
          We ate dinner in the living room with the curtains open so that we could see the snow falling. Across the bay, obscured by snow in the air, we could see Christmas lights in yards and living rooms of houses on the other side. A few vehicles were still moving around.  I knew that I would have to leave soon, while the road was still drivable, since my parents’ house is on a sharp little incline.
          It was a Friday night, so Judy allowed Taylor to stay up a little late, but eventually she got drowsy, and Judy tucked her in for the night. I thought that was a good time for me to head home.
          I stood and put on my jacket while Judy was settling Taylor into bed.  When she came out of the bedroom, I said, “I better go while I still might be able to get up the hill at home.”         
          “Thanks for everything, Dan,” she said. She took my hand and gave me a little smooch on my cheek. “Be careful, I know you will,” as I stepped out into the falling snow.
          I was opening the driver’s side door and in the light coming from the interior of the cab, I noticed something unusual. The light covering of snow on the driveway was disturbed by footprints. Very large footprints. There was a trail of them up the driveway, across in front of the window, and then around behind the house. I smiled to myself. There was a time when I would have been frightened possibly, or at least very deeply confused. But at this moment, I felt only peace and maybe even love in my heart.
          I wondered if maybe he just came by to see how we were all doing, in our odd human lives. I was more comforted than anything else, to think that my elder brother might have come to check on us.
          I started my truck up, and drove home, up the little hill in the snow. It was just starting to feel a little slippery.
          I parked in the carport. I locked the doors and went into the house.  It was cold and dark and very empty in there. Switching the kitchen lights on, and then the living room lamp didn’t help a whole lot. My heart was elsewhere.

The rest of it.

A Funny Business

 

CSNY, the Dead, and the Airplane

🤍

         Did you ever think much about your given name?

          I always wonder how much influence the name they give you at birth has on your personality and life. It probably does affect how others perceive you. Does a girl who knows that her name is Harriet, for example, fulfill what she believes a Harriet would do?  Or does she defy it?

          Or, to turn it around and look at the other side a little, are parents given some germ of knowledge about a newborn, so that the given name carries a bit of prophecy with it? I had no idea about a name until I saw the babe.  Then, names suggested themselves.

          As soon as I started thinking about such things, I just could not relate to my first name at all. It was so frilly. What in the world were they thinking? I tried to imagine a better name for me. At one point, as a child, I though Nadine would be better. What? That’s just as bad. Sometimes I went by my middle name.  Plain Ann.  No e even. In college, I insisted on being called by my last name.

          It’s hard to come up with a name for yourself, if you’ve ever tried it.

          I was just wondering today if any of you had gone through that sort of thing, wanting a better fitting first name?

          While I was still half asleep today, I was thinking maybe Lola would do! Maybe not!

OZ Seeking Gabriel

 

           Below, is a link to Gabriel's story so far.  I have rather heavily edited it. Of course, it is an open thread. 

            I thought, briefly, of posting all 18 pages, but then thought that sounded awkward.

          “I am OZ,” said a friendly odd voice. “There you are Gabriel. I have combed the electronic universe looking for any sign of you. You have heard of me I know, and here I am. I obeyed Doug, and now I will obey you!”

An Indian Tail

 

An Indian Tail

We’re All Natives Here

 

Princess*Naps*With*Cats is sleeping peacefully, dreaming, in the arms of her fuzzy blanket. The house is silent, except for the refrigerator humming.

Suzy*Swats*Bubbles jumped cautiously up onto the bed. Himself, Willie, was already there, importantly sleeping on PNWC’s pillow. Suzy took second place, nearest the window.

“Willie, somebody said something about chips.  They said we have chips under our skin,” frets SSB. “I heard a guy on the computer say that. I wonder who put chips in us?”

“I’m asleep, Suzy.  See me?” said W.

“No, you’re not!  You answered me!” said she.

“Of course we have chips, we’re rescues. We’re processed cats,” said he. “That’s not all they did to us either!”

“But, Willie, what are they for and where is it? I’ve looked and licked and scratched and I still can’t find it!”

“I’m pretty sure they put it up on your back or neck somewhere where you can’t scratch it out,” said Willie. “They said it’s so if we get lost and someone finds us, the chip will tell who we belong to.”

“I don’t like it Willie!  It feels creepy! Like I got a ride on an Alien space vessel, and they chipped me, in case they want me back for another saucer ride!” Suzy hunched down as low as she could go.  Her eyes were huge and dark! Her breathing was a little ragged.

Willie picked his head up and just looked at her.

“What does it look like, the chip? Is it like a big flea? Can I bite it to death?” wondered Suzy. “I would like to bite it to death!”

“That’s kinda how you look at the world, isn’t is Suzo? A real bite/no bite situation,” agreed Willie. “Ones and Zeroes all the way down.”

“Some things need to be bitten, good and hard,” hums Suzo*Who*Swats. “Remember that last rat?  I do!” She smiled to herself then.

“Hey, Willie, I wonder if She has a chip? I wonder if they control her? What if She is not She?  Oh Willie! What ever will we do?” Suzy’s eyes were like saucers! “What if she is dangerous?”

“That pussycat? You’re nuts Suze. But I tell ya what.  I’ll sniff her all around her neck and shoulders and if she has a chip I will find it! OK? Then maybe we could sort of carefully scratch it……”

The P*N*W*C opens her eyes suddenly, realizing that she has been having one of those Fuzzy Blanket dreams. She sees that she is at home, it is afternoon, and both cats are sleeping peacefully.  Willie is crowding her off of her pillow and Suzy is asleep curled up by her feet. All is well.

She laughs.  Then she heads out to her desk.

The End!

Further Adventures in The Baker National Forest

 

          There is a kind of nausea brought on by too frequent disappearing and reappearing. But Ralph wasn’t too worried about Twigg.  He figured the problem would arise naturally and then sort itself out naturally, once Twigg had made the connection.

            Presently the boy was like a cryptid yoyo. Apparently cougar cubs are also prey to this disappearing act. Berry and Bob hardly knew which way to look. First Twigg was here, then he was somewhere entirely elsewhere, with no visible travel between.  Bob and Berry were not entertained! Twigg sure was though.  His bright little brown eyes were just shiny with the glory of it all. But Twigg was the only one, beside his dad maybe, who was having a good time in the old clearing by the home cave.
            “Ralph, honey, sweety, doll,” said Ramona. Ralph knew this meant she was serious. When she called him four different sweet things at once, it meant something was on her mind.
            “You taught him how to do it,” said Ramona. “He’s making those cats crazy. He’s making ME sick to my stomach. I wish you would teach him something else, to keep him busy, if nothing else,” she said, perhaps a bit rashly.
            “I wonder if he is old enough for ‘singing’,” said the doting father fondly. “I wasn’t a heck of a lot older when my old dad got me started ‘singing’! It went okay, I think.”
            “No time like the present, dearest,” purred Ramona.

*0*

            So, Ralph went to find his boy and get the ball rolling. He found him on the well-known log, where Ralph conducts all his serious business, Dispensing Wisdom, and such.
            “Twigg, dear son,” said Ralph, “you’re getting so good at that vanishing trick!  I think we should start something even better! This trick is the one that sets all of us Squatches apart from the rest of the family of Man!  Oh, it’s grand Twigg!”
            “OK, dad!” said Twigg sitting right down and paying attention.
            “Here, let me show you,” said Ralph.
            He blew out all of his breath! Then he pulled in a mighty draft of air and at the same time, sang a bit of a song of his own design. It swelled, it went higher and higher.  Then it was over. He let that strange breath go out.
            Shining in the dim air of the deep forest, suspended in mid air was a pink orb of light like a small moon. It was glamorous! It was pretty, and about the size of a basketball.
            “Dad, how did you do that!” yelled Twigg, leaping to his feet!
            “Aw, Twigg, it’s just natural. You can do it anytime. Make a picture in your mind of what you want to see, blow out all of your air, then breath in while singing something about it.  It’s the most fun ever! It’s important to make a lot of noise!”
            So, Twigg thought for a few seconds. He settled the vision in his mind and blew out all his breath. Then standing on the big log, he drew in the biggest breath he could while making a terrible squawking noise. Then he let that breath go out, just like his dad had.
            Flapping her wings furiously in the middle of the air, Maeve appeared! Twigg had ‘sung’ her from wherever Ravens go when they are not working or butting in, and had rudely made her appear!
            “Sorry Maeve!”, said Ralph.  “Sorry!  Sorry!  I was just teaching Twigg here to ‘sing’!”
            She straightened her black feathers, gave them a good shake, and flew up through the tree tops and out into the sky without a word. Ralph knew he had not heard the last of it. He sighed.
            So, Ralph and Twigg had a long talk about manners.  They nailed down a few basic rules. No. 1, we don’t ‘sing’ living creatures against their will. That’s quite rude, actually, Ralph told his son.
            “Stick to making pretty lights, and stuff like that for a while Twigg. Entertain Berry and Bob.  I think they are a little lonely since you have been so busy!”
            “Let’s go find your mom and you can show her what you can do,” said Ralph. “This should be fun, and she’ll be really impressed!”
            This episode probably explains a lot, but that’s a story for another time.
            Meanwhile, Ralph and son strolled happily home, looking for Ramona and possibly, some lunch.

Chapter 53

        
        Since all I did Thursday was edit this story, I am just posting the last chapter, slightly brushed and polished. I have to go over it all again to make sure everything is in the right place.

But not tonight!

Chapter Fifty Three

The Whole Deal Almost Ready

        Gabe got sleepy and was put to bed. Bubby went into the bedroom and slept on the floor below Gabe’s crib. He was almost always in the child’s presence. Everyone went to bed, tired and sleepy.

At about 2:00 AM Bubby opened his eyes. Deep in his knowing heart there was alarm. He stood up growling quietly.

A long wind came calling. It was a breath from the earth. A portentous sigh. Some rain spattered the window in the bedroom where Gabe and his parents slept on. Out on the sofa, Elvin muttered in his sleep and rolled over. Lou snored her delicate snores upstairs.

        OZ padded silently into the bedroom and sat down cross-legged on the floor near the crib. He put his hand on Bubby’s shoulder. “Wait,” OZ said. Bubby looked at him wide eyed, his teeth slightly bared. He sat down on his haunches.

        The grey mare outside cried out in fear and could be heard stepping about and snorting, pulling at her tether rope. They could hear the bush she was tied to whipping in the wind. She must have pulled loose for her distressed noises ended.

        A low hissing sound filled the room, like many occult voices in a mass moving together. The sound was as if there could be an army of demonic angels singing their peculiar cadences as in one voice. They were coming closer. Bubby whined high up in his nose and shivered.

        The room seemed to shake. There was a sound like a rolling earthquake. Still the people slept on, as if somehow enchanted. Dog and manikin kept watch together. Full of foreboding, they waited. The room rocked in slow waves to the sound of the voices. A lamp crashed to the floor. Gabriel stirred.

        Two miles away, in Milltown, down at the waterfront, grey translucent marchers emerged from the water looking even less corporeal than the good salt water of Port Gardner Bay. Mindlessly, they lurched and wandered eastward toward the river and the farms and mountains. Having no need for bridges the foremost of them were already breaching the river and heading for the home where our people slept on. The stream of them seemed to be without end.

        The very earth quivered under their exigency. Birds woke and cried out in distress. Dogs barked and then were silent, going into shelter as they could. A few people noticed that something was amiss and began to wake and sit up, listening intently. Hands were held and eyes filled with tears. A wave of arcane fear swept over the very farms and fields.

        “They are coming for the child,” said OZ to Bubby. “Hold, dog.”

“There will be a battle that is in no part ours,” he added. “This child is the culmination of two ancient bloodlines. For some reason the dark ones and their warriors believe that taking him will cement their cause on earth. You will see that the dark ones have not forgotten how to make their workers.”

        Bubby leapt up into the crib and laid himself over the sleeping child as if his very body could somehow protect him. He spoke no word, but he would perish if he must for this little being. His heart was adamantine.

    The room rolled and heaved. A scent of sulfur rose up. Finally, the parents sprang from their bed and ran to the crib in terrible fear.

        “He is here, Doug and Jen. He is still here. Hold! Battle is coming. The grey imps of hell approach. Watch and wait,” said OZ! Doug stood at the head of the crib and Jen stood at the foot. They waited as bidden. Elvin and Lou tumbled into the room, awakened at last. Elvin looked about as if deep in analysis, Lou wept and shivered in her flannel nightgown.

   Outside, in the kindly garden, a ring of wicked fairies danced in celebration, thinking to see the victory of evil over all hope. For fairies are not the benign creatures of popular literature written for children. They had come up out of their hides in the hollows of the earth when they heard the marchers’ voices. Their little shrieks of joy added to the bellowing sound.

        A sudden beam of piercing light hit the wall opposite the window. A light like a nearby sun. The horizon outside the window was aglow with brilliant white light, light like the very end of all things earthly. A sunrise never seen yet began. Mighty militant orbs took position in the sky in complex patterning, dancing with power and joy and virtue. They seemed to be numberless with more arriving to complete the pattern constantly until night fled away. The family in the house watched and held onto each other. OZ stood between the crib and the window as if in ready position. Bubby lay across the child.

        The land continued to roll. Great groans were heard down in the rocks in the bones of the land as if all the magma might spill out at any moment. The wind sizzled and roared and whipped all things loose and moveable. Many things went missing that night, blown far and wide away.

        Doug looked into the sky and said, “Your Will Be Done, on earth as in Heaven.” He may have wept a little, for he was only a young human man. His wife was seized with silent resolve.

        “So be it,” said OZ.

        The others, agreeing, said “Amen!”

        Then dark met light. But as dark has no real power before Heaven’s light. It was more like a scouring of the earth. The darklings kept coming in their masses, calling their hideous callings. As they neared the house beams of brilliant intense light swept them into oblivion.

        The orbs dropped lower, maintaining their precise patterns, and now ringing with song. Their beams passed through all normal earthly matter causing no harm. Not so the grey marchers! The dust of them flew away and vanished.

        However, one, more clever than its fellows, slipped into the house through the kitchen door behind the house. Unseen, leaning slightly askew in their weird way, it slipped through the living room and into the bedroom. Silently, it lurched toward the group gathered around Gabe’s crib. Springing around to the front it leapt toward Gabe, but OZ stepped between them. Both OZ and this creature of evil fell to the floor, a pile of dirty dust and a destroyed Thumbie. OZ had taken the full power of the attack into himself, and at the last moment had used all of his secret ability to dissolve the substance of the Spookie, for Spookie it was, but no more.

        OZ lay on the floor, oddly broken, tumbled in his Carhartts. Perhaps he had learned something about love. In his mind, love would be a verb, for sure.

        What is there to say about the family’s feelings? Their hearts were broken, but full of gratitude, even while the cleanup continued outside. Gabe wriggled out from under Bubby and stood up in the crib reaching toward OZ. Even Bubby couldn’t think of much to say.

        The ringing chorus continued in the sky as the Lights dipped and wove their patterns and swept the earth below clean of the remaining grey marchers.

        The land stopped moaning. The wind settled down. Birds went back to sleep. People, still startled and frightened, but calming as the earth itself calmed, continued to watch from their windows and porches. Many prayers continued to go up.

        As the natural morning light came up, the Lights gathered themselves up higher and higher in the sky until they could no longer be seen or heard. The morning broke clear with partial cloudiness. There was still some grey dust on things until the first good rainfall.

        People continued as people always do.

        OZ was buried and honored, near his other, ZO, just off the garden. His place was marked with granite.

        Doug and Elvin built the addition to the house, and they did ok without OZ.

        Elvin and Lou were married at last.

        As mentioned, Jen became a midwife and teacher.

        Gabriel was always a special boy, and his story isn’t really told here.

        Families were formed. Children were born. Adults lived and died. There was a lot of home cooking.

        Things improved technologically. Progress really took off.

        It can’t all be told, for this is only a fable, my dears. Only a fable.

Practical Matters

 

           Having just initiated the boy into the arts of vanishing and reappearing, Ralph was pretty pleased with progress so far.  Of course, the vanishing act only works on humans and some animals.  It doesn’t fool corvids or raptors at all.  Rabbits and deer fall for it every time. It gives our Forest Keepers quite an advantage in hunting!

            Twigg had a great time popping in and out of our human wavelength, but he had no one to try it on, unless Thaga decided to visit. This leads naturally into the next essential subject a young Squatch would be interested in.

The Glorious Subject Of Practical Jokes.

            For the youth of all hominid species, there are no better uses of time.  Perhaps the writer’s assessment is colored by experience?  Well, nevertheless.

            Ralph considered how to introduce his boy to the Glorious Subject but was a bit stumped as to how to start.  To a certain extent, hoaxing comes naturally to kids, but finesse takes time and practice.

            What Twigg needed was a subject, not Squatch or bird, to practice his skills on. Thaga was the obvious choice. If it all went south, she would just kiss Twigg and give him a cookie or something.  Pretty safe experimental subject.

            Now, it happened that this very day Thaga had gotten some bad news from the Usual Source, Maeve.  Maeve had heard some Salish ladies discussing Basket Woman, Slapu!  She dropped silently onto the ground behind these ladies, so she could hear better without being intrusive. Most of us call that eavesdropping.

            These ladies, Sally and Agnes, said that Basket Woman was hunting the woods again and she really gets around.  She has motion skills like a Squatch, uses portals and can “glide” with the best of them. Basket Woman liked to hunt toddlers and a little older, kind of like suckling pig you know, they said.  They are easy to catch and subdue, these two said!

            When Maeve got the gist of this, she lit out straight like the crow flies, even though she is not a crow, to spread the news.  The first candidate she saw was Thaga.

Breathlessly, she landed right in front of Thaga, who was hanging out Ooog’s big plaid shorts on the line out behind their log cabin. She repeated word for word everything that Sally and Agnes had said. Then she flew off to wherever Ravens go when they are not at work, er butting in.

            Thaga said, “oh my Heavens!  Basket Woman!”  She went to the door of her house and yelled in to Ooog that she was going to go see Ramona for a minute or two.  Then she set out on the well worn path into the deeper woods and the clearing in front of the cave where Ralph, Ramona and Twigg live their mostly visible lives.

            It all happened pretty fast.

            Thaga came bustling into the clearing, Ramona was stoking up the fire for the midday cooking. Both ladies were in motion.

            Right at that moment, a large basket, apparently of its own volition came galloping upside down into the clearing. Ralph loped, grinning, after it.

            Thaga yelped! Ramona grabbed the basket and her son.

            Ralph stood there pleased with the action.

            “I taught him how to be invisible,” Ralph chortled.  “Bet you couldn’t see him Thaga!”

            “Bad timing Ralph!” said Thaga.   “Basket Woman is on the hunt looking for little pot roasts just like Twigg! When I saw that basket flying around it was too damn much Ralph.  You know Slapu can go cloaked just like you can, right?”

            The news was told in detail, quoting the Salish ladies.  Everyone calmed down. Twigg made himself visible and scarce.  Ramona brought out some dried apple slices and tea.

            Ralph employed one of his most important skills, that being Forest Security, Cryptid division.

            He announced that he had ways of dealing with the old biddy, Slapu, and she had better stay away. He smiled, large, competent, amiable, but sort of appalling too, at the souls gathered by his fire.  Everyone felt better.

            Thaga went back home and finished hanging up the laundry.  Then she went inside and told Ooog all about it, while cooking him some mushroom soup and browned butter biscuits.

All of this little story in one piece.

Addendum to Nowheresville

 

          I didn’t drive Lloyd straight home. I wanted us to get used to being around each other again.

          It was getting dark by the time we left Judy’s place. I drove up off of the dirt road onto 3^rd heading for the highway. I drove north up through the darkening trees and sky. We hadn’t said a word yet, either of us. I passed that right turn to Bear Creek Road and just kept driving north. We passed alternating little developments of say, twenty houses, with longer stretches of alder and fir.

          Lloyd didn’t ask me where we were going and I didn’t tell him, mostly because I didn’t know where we were going.  We were just going. He sat with his hands together between his knees, just looking out of the windows.

          I took the left turn down into Kyak Point Park.  I ignored the ticket machine. We weren’t going to be there long. It is basically a long windy narrow road under heavy foliage down to a beach with parking facing the water. In the day time during decent weather, it is a busy county park. Not this night. I drove the only vehicle that was down there.

          As I was passing about the fourth picnic shelter, dead slow, I said, “Lloyd, she never told me.” He kept sitting there with his fingers interlaced, looking at the dark salt water. I drove back up the hill and onto the two lane highway. It had been a very long day. But I didn’t want to leave it the way it was.

          “Oh, that figures, in a way,” from the other side of the cab.

          “That doesn’t excuse me. I had a hundred chances to know,” I said. “When she began showing, I had to really work at not knowing.”

          “I’m not sure now what I thought was so important. My career as a cop and a fire chief would have gone on just fine.  I had no other girlfriend either. I guess every day that it went on, it just got harder to figure out how to go to her and say, ‘what shall we do now?’ She didn’t speak, and I didn’t inquire, until today.”

          Lloyd looked tired too. His body posture was still pretty formal. He hadn’t loosened up. He had stuck his white hair into a rubber band, and I could just see his profile as he looked straight ahead.

          Finally, he said, “will you stop by the little store?” Everybody out there just called it the little store.

          I did that, and he hopped out and went in.  In five minutes, he was back with a plastic bag containing beer. He took a pack of Camels out of the bag, neatly opened the top, and lit one. He offered the pack to me, so I could help myself.  Since that seemed like a friendly gesture I took one. We smoked beside the little convenience store in the six car parking lot, in the dark with only the light from the front window of the store shining out onto the roadway.

          When he was done with his smoke, he said, “Judy is right.  The only way to deal with this is to make a good future.  None of us can change what you or she did. Or what anyone did.

          “The child is important now. Her mother is important.  I guess you must be too.” A bit of a dry laugh there.

          “I think that’s right,” I said. “It’s really all I can do, isn’t it?”

          “That’s about it, Dan,” said Lloyd.

It wasn’t getting any earlier, so I drove him to his little house, out by the new fire station.

Link to Nowheresville