CHAPTER 6
THE KEY IN THE LIBRARY BASEMENT
“Roger, Roger wake up, Honey. Joey’s on the phone for you.” Roger’s mother sat on the bed next to him holding out the cordless phone.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes. The alarm clock on his bedside table said ten to nine. He cleared his throat and took the phone. “Thanks, Mom, I got it,” he waited for his mother to leave the room before he put the phone to his ear, “Dude, where have you been?”
“ I told you we were going to get my new chair tuned. Can’t wait for you to see it!” Joey said.
“Wait until you hear what’s been going on here!” Roger gushed. He couldn’t wait to introduce Joey to Matthias and show him the fountain, “give me fifteen minutes to get dressed and pack a lunch and I’ll be right over.”
Roger dressed quickly and grabbed his backpack,
“Mom, I’m headed over to Joey’s!” Roger rushed through the kitchen throwing together sandwiches, some fruit and several bottles of water.
His mother looked up from her puzzle magazine “Ssshh! Your Father is sleeping in for the first time in modern history, please don’t wake him.”
“Sorry,” he grabbed his jacket from the coat closet and pecked his Mom on the cheek.
“You boy’s have a good time, all right?” his mother took a sip of her herbal tea, and yawned.
Roger flew down the driveway, his wheels left the ground as he cleared the curb. Joey lived two blocks away. He had pointed out which house it was on their tour of the town.
When Roger got there, Joey was waiting on the driveway, basketball in hand, “Watch this,” he laughed maneuvering through a one handed three sixty wheelie and sinking a left handed hook shot, nothing but net.
“Hey, move over and let me try that thing,” Roger said. Joey’s tan complexion and dark hair made a strong contrast with Roger’s blonde hair and green eyes. Joey tossed him the ball and Roger drove for the hoop trying to take it easy on his new friend, it wasn’t necessary.
Joey swooped in and neatly snatched the ball. “What do you think?” Joey asked wheeling around to put
up a perfect shot from near three point range.
“Where’s the jet pack? No, seriously it’s really cool. You ready to go? I got a lot to tell you.”
Joey wheeled into the garage and came back with a pipe frame that looked like a miniature car dolly, with two inflatable tires and straps on top, “This is something Jack’s dad came up with if you want to try it. It hitches under your seat and under the front of my chair. Otherwise, I’ll keep up as I can.”
Roger accepted the front end of the frame, and following Joey’s instructions had the hitch attached to his seat post in no time. Joey popped his front wheels up and let them drop onto the plate between the wheels of the dolly, and they were ready to go. The two boys spent a few minutes perfecting their system of travel with Joey assisting with steering and brakes when needed. Roger picked it up fairly quickly with a few pointers from Joey.
After leaving a note for Joey’s mom they were ready to go. They raced down the streets of Wishful, Joey greeted friends and neighbors as they went. When they reached the square Roger looked for a quiet place to park. They bought a breakfast of cinnamon rolls and OJ from a food kiosk and settled on a bench a little off the beaten path. Sometimes Joey preferred to get out of the chair and share a bench, but not today.
After a couple of bites of roll and some juice Roger launched into his story. “Okay, remember what old man Winters said to you last year? About,” he looked around cautiously, “You know?”
Joey looked at Roger cautiously, “The fountain? Yeah, I remember, what about it?”
Roger told his tale quickly and within ten minutes he had filled Joey in on all the details.
“Whoah! So, it’s really there? Does it work? Did you make a wish yet?” Joey was practically yelling.
“Sshh! Someone will hear you. That’s all I need is a citation for inciting public wishing! Besides I thought this stuff made you nervous.”
Joey laughed again, “There’s no one near us, anyway it’s the festival, so, technically wishing is allowed, right?”
Roger smiled, embarrassed at this overreaction, “First of all we don’t know if it works. We still need the key, remember?”
“Oh yeah, the riddle, ask and receive and all that. Who are you supposed to ask?” Joey looked at his friend.
“You just reminded me. The library, come on!” Roger jumped from the bench and headed for the library. Joey fell in beside him and Roger gave him the details of his latest dream. The two boys made their way up to the front entrance of the library.
“So, what we’re looking for is a door, some kind of entrance where we can get into the basement. Oh, sorry, I guess you might not be able to get down there.”
“Don’t apologize, it’s cool, you be the legs, I’ll be the brains.” Joey rolled past Roger into the library and they made their way up to the desk. The town librarian, Mrs. Mulrooney, wasn’t in today and her assistant had no idea where the door to the basement might be, and no interest in helping them find it.
“Whatever you do, be quiet and don’t disturb the other patrons.” She snapped. The boys looked around the empty library and laughed to themselves as they headed off to begin their search. Joey suggested they begin their search in the adult non fiction section since it was the area he had spent the least amount of time in.
As they moved further into the stacks the light from the feeble overhead fixtures became less. Roger suggested the two boys split up, he took the right aisle and Joey headed left. Immediately Roger came upon a door , maybe this was it. His pulse raced as he turned the knob and swung open the door to reveal…a broom closet. He closed the door and continued down the aisle.
The next opening was draped with a heavy velvet curtain and contained a passage to the other side of the library, the men’s restroom and a staircase leading up to the town records hall, but no stairs leading down, as far as
Roger could see.
As Roger exited the curtain he narrowly missed being run down by a very excited Joey, “Come check this out.” They hurried to the end of the aisle and turned left. Another twenty yards then left again led them to…a tiny freight elevator. The two boys could hardly contain their excitement when Roger confirmed that yes it did indeed have a “basement” button. In addition to the sliding overhead door, the entrance to the elevator was guarded by a folding metal grate, which Joey had to hold open while Roger emptied the car of rolling book carts.
As they pulled the heavy, wooden, overhead door closed behind them, they were thankful for the tiny bare bulb in the ceiling of the elevator. Joey set the brake on his chair in case of a sudden jolt and Roger pressed the button labeled “basement, dead records”. At first nothing happened, but after a whirr and a slight humm, the car began to creep slowly down. With a jarring bump the elevator settled on the lower level.
“Ready?” Roger asked his friend. Joey nodded and roger folded back the iron grate, latching it open. “You sure?” Joey nodded, not quite as gamely as the first time. Roger wondered if Joey could hear his heart thumping. Gently he pulled up on the wooden door. With a bang! It shot out of his hand and opened, raining a cloud of dust down on them. Joey coughed. They peered out into the darkness. “Great, I forgot my flashlight!”
“No problem,” Joey grinned. He reached into a small satchel behind his seat. He pulled out two headband lights and handed one to Roger. Roger stepped out into the bright pool of light, so far so good. Now if they could only find the shelf from his dream.
Roger turned left and Joey rolled right behind him. They reached the end of the aisle and Roger looked both ways. Although the elevator had been against an outside wall on the upper level, it seemed to be situated somewhere in the middle of the basement. Roger knew the shelf he wanted should be visible from the back windows.
“Okay, which direction do you think is the rear of the building?” He asked swinging his head lamp both directions.
“Well. It’s the south side, but since I don’t exactly have a compass I’d guess that way.” Joey indicated right.
“What, no GPS tracking system?” Roger joked.
“No, but if we get trapped in here I am equipped with a homing beacon. Just make sure you don’t hit self destruct by mistake.” Joey took the lead, pausing every now and then to shine his light up onto a bookshelf, “Anything look familiar yet?”
“No all of these shelves look the same. The Card I saw said, “answers” which probably doesn’t mean much, but it was hand written. All of these are printed or typed.” Roger sneezed.
“Gesundheit. Hey, here we go, these look handwritten.” Joey said pointing to a series of handwritten labels.
“Let’s see. ‘town plats’, ‘water rights’, ‘land use contracts' ” Roger’s pulse quickened as he read the next label. It was attached to the top shelf. It read, ‘fountain maintenance’. He looked to his left and could just barely make out the outline of a window high on the wall at the end of the aisle. “I think I got something, shine your light up here.”
“Really?” Joey turned to face him, “What’s it say?”
“Fountain maintenance,” Roger reached up and pulled down a crumbling pressed paper carton filled with ledger books. The box fell apart in his hands scattering ancient leather bound books in a cloud of dust and mold. Both boys covered their mouths and coughed.
“What was that?” Joey asked when the dust settled.
“The box crumbled,” Roger began stacking the ledgers, “where should we start?”
Joey focused his light down on the floor, “No, that noise.”
“ What noise Joey? The only thing I heard was us coughing our guts up,” Roger joked.
Joey was sweeping the light back and forth now, searching for something, “No, a clink, like metal. Sounded like a key!”
“A key!” Roger fell to his knees and began sweeping the ledger books aside, “are you sure?”
“No, but that’s what it sounded like.” Joey was following Roger’s movements with his light now.
“ It can’t be that easy,” Roger’s hand hit something cold. He reached for it but it slipped away under the nearest bookshelf, “shoot! I almost had it!”
“Where?” Joey nearly tipped his chair over turning to find it.
“Over here, under this shelf.” Roger scrambled to clear away the dust and debris while Joey refocused the light. Roger carefully ran his hand under the edge of the shelf, there, there it was! He brushed it out into the floor and picked it up! “Wrong key!” he groaned and started to toss it.
Joey grabbed his hand, “Wait, ask and you shall receive. So, what did you ask for?”
“A key, so what? Not this key. This is like one of those old fashioned skull keys or something.” Roger answered impatiently.
Joey held out his hand and Roger dropped the key into it, “You mean skeleton key. Maybe this is just the first piece to the puzzle. Ask and it shall be given…what’s next?”
“Seek and you will find.” Roger began to get excited, “So maybe this key unlocks the door to the fountain key?”
Joey smiled, “I don’t know, maybe. What I do know is we better get out of here. I’m starting to smell like mold.”
Roger pocketed the key, “I guess you’re right. I’m getting hungry anyway.”
The two friends made their way back the way they had come. Just as they reached the elevator they heard it buzz to life. They watched speechlessly as the light drifted up and out of sight. The car thumped to a halt on the floor above.
“Do you think someone is coming down?” Joey asked, frightened.
Roger looked for a quick place to hide, “We’d better not get caught down here. My parents won’t like it.” They maneuvered themselves around to the other side of the elevator shaft and waited.
Joey was the first to break the silence, “When they get out, we wait for them to walk away and then rush back into the elevator. We can send it back down after we’re gone.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Roger whispered.
The boys waited, and waited. Soon it became clear that no one was coming down. They had hidden for nothing.
“Well I guess we better go back up, I’m sure there’s a call button down here somewhere.” Roger walked back around to the front of the shaft and in the light of the head lamp he searched for and found the call button, “Hope this works.” He pushed it, nothing. He pushed it again, still nothing, “ how long have we been down here anyway?”
Joey checked his watch, “It’s almost twelve fifteen so, almost an hour I’d guess.” A sudden realization hit Joey,
“What day is it?”
Roger laughed, “Saturday, Dude.”
Joey looked sick, “Are you sure?”
“All day long…what’s wrong with that?” Roger was beginning to get nervous.
“The library closes at twelve on Saturday!” Joey said, “Oh, man. Oh, this is just great! So, that assistant librarian, who was soooo helpful, thought she’d do us a favor and lock us down here for the weekend?”
Roger immediately began to take stock of the situation, “Well, we brought the back pack, so we have food and water. We have a light, things could be a lot worse.”
“That’s easy for you to say, I’m gonna need to use the rest room some time!” Joey, who was not prone to panic
was about to reach his limit.
Roger thought quick, “Okay, let’s not panic. Why don’t we have a sandwich and a little water then we’ll try to find another way out of here.”
After a quick lunch Roger assessed the situation. Joey looked shaken but he would be all right, “Now our best bet is to find the stairs. If I can get up there I can bring the elevator back down.” Roger said, “We can do this much faster if we split up.”
They decided to check one aisle at a time returning to the elevator shaft between aisles. Roger took the less explored east side of the basement, while Joey headed out to the aisle past where they had found the key, “If you find anything, holler, I’ll come running.” Now that they had a plan Joey seemed to feel much better.
Roger watched him until he was out of sight then moved off to begin his own search. He searched the first aisle with no luck. By his third return trip to the elevator he was losing hope. He finally found what he was looking for in the middle of the fifth aisle. It was a steep narrow staircase, open on both sides. He wondered where it would come out, “Joey, I got it!” he shouted.
“Right behind you, man.” Joey said, Roger jumped.
Joey laughed, “Gotcha! Finished my side and saw your light. All right let’s do this.”
“You’ll be alright down here on your own for a minute?” Roger asked.
Joey grinned, “Sure, what’s a few minutes in a creepy library basement? But, if you leave me down here, I will hunt you down!”
“Deal, I’ll be back down in the elevator as quick as I can.” Roger hoped it wouldn’t take long. He mounted the narrow, ladder-like staircase and quickly made his way to the top. At the top of the stairs he faced a wall with a small hinged door, he pushed. With a crack and a soft ripping noise the door gave way. Roger crawled through and stood up.
By the glow from his light he could see that he had come out under the stairs leading to the upper floor. The ripping sound had apparently been the paint that had sealed the hidden door shut for untold decades. Roger walked to the curtain leading to the section where the elevator waited. Just as he was stepping through, the sound of footsteps echoed through the library behind him. It must be that worthless assistant librarian. Here was his chance at revenge. He ducked down beside the staircase and turned out his light.
The footsteps grew closer preceded by a dim flickering light. Roger tensed, prepared to leap screaming from his hiding place. That would serve her right for leaving them. He peered over the edge of the staircase, a shadowy figure approached. Something wasn’t right. This person was too tall to be the librarian. He looked closer, it was Matthias!
Before Roger could move to greet the old man a voice echoed through the library, “Eli? Eli! I know you’re here old man. I know you’re here, and I know what you’re up to.”
The old man froze and silently blew out the light that came from an oil lantern he carried in his hand. He stepped back behind the stairs, almost on top of Roger.
“Won’t come out and play? Have it your way then! I’m warning you! I know what you and that boy are up to and I won’t stand for it, do you hear me? Eli? Goodbye!” and with that the voice was quiet followed by quick footsteps and a door slamming. Roger’s heart was pounding so hard he was certain Matthias must hear it! The boy? Did the voice mean him?
Matthias seemed to be waiting for a moment then quickly turned and darted up the stairs into the hall of records. He paused in the door at the top of the stairs, looked nervously over his shoulder, and disappeared.
Roger sank to the floor in relief. That had been close. He didn’t know why but he had a feeling his friend Matthias would not have been pleased to see him in that moment. Speaking of friends! Joey was trapped in the basement of the library, awaiting rescue!
Roger stepped through the curtain before he dared turn on his light. He walked quickly to the end of the aisle where sunlight from a high dusty window relieved the darkness. He made his way to the elevator and threw open the doors. It was a simple enough job to restore power, the key had been left, and he was soon on his way to rescue his friend.
__________________________________________________________________________________
Libraries! I love 'em. This was one of my favorite scenes to write, because it was fueled by my childhood memories of public libraries in every town we lived in. I would always imagine the adventures that awaited in every hidden nook. The library at Kansas State University was the only one to actually meet my expectations, when I had a few brief months access to it while my Dad was campus pastor for a small congregation there. Their children's room was amazing, with tall, leaded glass windows and rows of oak library tables with huge painted murals on the wall.
So, they have a key, but not the key they were expecting, and the old man's name is revealed at last, Eli? But who is the mysterious voice? Will Roger be able to get to Joey before tragedy befalls? And once he does, how will the escape the now locked library? Tune in next time, and let me know how you like it so far! Thanks for reading.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
The Wishmonger, Chapter 5
Chapter 5
The Fountain Uncovered
Roger lay in his bed shaking like a leaf for several minutes before crawling out of bed and dressing quickly. His mother was just scooping eggs onto a plate as he entered the kitchen, “Hello honey, did you sleep okay?”
“Fine. Mom, where’s Dad?” the chair where his father usually fumed about the latest conspiracy over his newspaper between bites of toast was conspicuously empty.
“He had to go in early today, why dear?”
“No reason, just wondered.” He couldn’t believe his luck!
There would be no problem with grabbing the bolt cutter from the garage. This was going to be the greatest day of his life!
His mother was swigging the last of her protein shake, “Hurry up with those eggs. I’ll drop you off on my way to the gym.” She had met Mrs. Bishop and the two of them had made plans to play racquetball at the community center.
Roger had to think fast, “That’s okay Mom I’m not in that big of a hurry. I’ll just ride my bike.”
His mother checked her watch, “You sure? I don’t mind.”
“Really, I’ll be fine. Besides I don’t want you to have to
come and get me when I’m done.”
“Maybe you’re right. I’ll see you later. I may stop by the
story tent after lunch for a minute.” Jeanie took her keys from her purse, and turned to go
“Okay, although I’m not sure I’ll be there.” Roger muttered through a mouthful of eggs.
His mother stopped, “Where else would you be?”
“The Fountain, Mom, remember?” Roger smiled crazily.
His mother’s phone rang, “The fountain, right.” She
laughed, “Hello? On my way.” She covered the phone, “Don’t forget, be on time for dinner.” She exited through the garage door and he breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the garage door close behind her.
Half an hour later he rounded the bend in the drive and pulled up in front of the iron gate. He found the door on his third attempt and pulled his bicycle and the bolt cutters through letting the bars fall back into place with a clang!
“SSShh!” Roger jumped at the sudden sound and spun to find Matthias right behind him. “We’re not supposed to be here, remember?” The old man whispered, with a devious grin.
Roger trembled as he tried to catch his breath, “Sorry, but you didn’t have to scare me like that.”
The old man grabbed the bolt cutters and started off toward the fountain without a word. Roger stashed his bicycle behind the sign and hurried to catch up.
Fifteen minutes later they cut through the last of the four locks. Matthias and Roger looked at each other over the fountain. They both knew that what they were about to see had not been seen by a living soul for more than half a century.
Roger and Matthias eyed each other across the fountain. A subtle smile crept over the old man's face and he winked!
Now he knew he was right, Matthias, Or whatever his real name was, was the old man in his dream, “You knew! You knew I would follow you. You knew this was here! You knew the whole time!”
Matthias grinned bigger, “I wished.”
Roger stopped, something about the way this man uttered those seemingly simple words was different from anyone Roger had ever met. This man believed in wishes! “Who are you really?” Roger asked.
“Nobody important, why do you ask?”
“First, you’re in my dream, then you show up in the
storyteller’s tent. You wear those clothes like you’ve worn them your whole life, and you know a lot more than your telling me, and what did you mean about me being the only hope, and who or what is the dragon?” A thousand other questions felt ready to burst out of Roger's mouth.
The old man chuckled softly, “One revelation at a time my young friend, one at a time.”
Roger carefully placed the point of the broken spade in the gap between wood and stone. He leaned his weight against what was left of the spade’s handle. With a loud groan and a rush of cool air the first half of the cover rose up and clattered to the pavement surrounding the low stone wall.
Roger eagerly leaned over the wall, then looked up in disappointment, “There’s no water, it’s completely dry.” It was eerily like his dream of the night before.
Matthias looked at him blankly, “What did you expect? The pump hasn’t run in over fifty years.”
Roger hadn’t considered this, “How do we turn it on?”
“First things first. Help me get this cover off,” Matthias groaned under the weight of the other cover half.
A moment later they had lifted out the second half and stepped back to admire the fountain.
It was even more beautiful than in Roger’s dreams. The basin of the fountain was lined with blue and green mosaic tiles. Circling the fountain in bold white letters was a verse, “All things are possible for those who believe”.
At the center of the fountain stood a bronze figure. It was a young man, Jeremish Wish (Roger guessed). He appeared to be scattering a handful of coins. At the base of the figure a dozen large coins bounced on coiled copper pipes like oversized springs. Each of the twelve coins had a tiny nozzle in its center.
“Now, how do we turn it on?” Roger asked.
Matthias had been studying the fountain carefully. He pointed at a square hole about the size of a dime at the feet of the bronze statue, “Must need some kind of key.”
“ Where do we find it?” Roger asked eagerly.
“Probably the same place you find everything else,” the old man quipped, “it’ll be in the last place you look.”
Roger couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Here he was moments away from the greatest moment in recent memory stopped cold for the lack of a simple key!
Roger turned and ran down the path toward the gate. Matthias made no move to follow him. He ran up to the gate and dropped behind the sign. In a moment he had what he was looking for and was running back toward the fountain.
When he reached Matthias he was out of breath. He dropped a small, blue, nylon bundle on the wall of the fountain and unrolled it. It was a small but useful tool kit he had received for his eleventh birthday. He always carried it strapped to the frame of his bike. It hadn’t come in handy until today.
His dad would be happy to be right. He carefully selected a flat bladed screwdriver and climbed over the wall into the basin of the fountain.
“Cross your fingers,” he smiled at Matthias. Roger’s hand shook nervously as he fitted the screwdriver into the hole. The blade of the screwdriver turned loosely in the hole for half a turn. Just as it reached a diagonal position, it stuck!
Roger wiped the sweat from his palm, got a firm grip, and turned. It seemed to be working! Then just as suddenly it stopped. It was stuck.
For two hours Matthias and Roger alternated between searching the gazebo for a key and attempting to use whatever they could find to budge the valve. The gazebo was a treasure trove of miscellaneous gadgets.
Roger looked at the collection spread out on the wall. In addition to Roger’s tool kit they had; two corkscrews, one ice pick, three small and one rather large pocketknives and a silver spoon. They had deducted that the small potting shed on the end of the gazebo had been used as lost and found for items left behind by picnickers.
Matthias looked up toward the sun, “Almost noon. Ready for lunch?”
They decided they would grab something to eat from the vendors at the festival. Roger thought it might be wise to be around the festival today, if even for a little while, in case his mother came looking for him or asked around.
It was a pleasant afternoon. Roger and Matthias enjoyed hotdogs on a bench near the bandstand. The festival was in full swing and the laughter of children enjoying themselves wafted over the lawn. Roger’s mother stopped by as promised and Roger waved her over.
“Hi, mom, this is Matthias. He’s the story teller I was telling you about.”
Jeanie took Matthias’ outstretched hand, “Do I know you? I feel like I’ve met you before.”
Matthias returned her piercing gaze, “I don’t believe that’s possible. I am sure I would recall meeting a woman as charming as you.”
Roger fought the urge to laugh out loud. His mother giggled. Oh brother.
“You two stay out of trouble, okay? Roger I’ll expect you home in time for dinner.” Roger breathed a sigh of relief as his mother walked back across the lawn to her car.
“Can you believe that? She actually fell for that ridiculous line.” Roger laughed.
“Oh, my young friend you have so much to learn.”
Matthias stood, “I think our search has come to an end for today.”
“But, we still haven’t found the key. We can’t give up now!” Roger whined. “Don’t think of it as giving up. Think of it as giving the key time to find us.” Matthias said.
“Isn’t that the same thing? I mean what do I do, just sit and wait?” Roger was tired of waiting, something needed to happen, soon!
“Ask and it will be given to you, seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened. For everyone who asks receives, he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks the door will be opened,” Matthias turned and began to walk away.
“Wait, when will I see you again?” Roger called to him.
“When the time is right, my friend, when the time is right,” and with that the old man melted into the crowd of festival goers.
Roger sat and thought about what Matthias had said. Ask and you will receive, but ask who? Seek and you will find, seek where? Knock and the door will be opened? This was ridiculous! He decided he would go back to the fountain and search the rest of the park. He had to get his bicycle back anyway.
The sky was growing dark as Roger pushed his bike into the garage. His search of the park had been futile. After two hours he’d ended up yelling to no one in particular, “Okay I’m asking! Where is this stupid key?!” he’d received no answer other than some curious looks from a couple of startled birds.
Roger didn’t feel much like eating. He sat and picked at his spaghetti.
“What’s the matter, dear, not hungry?” his mother asked.
He yawned, “Just tired, I guess.”
“ How about you and I go to the video store and rent a couple of DVD’s? Tomorrow’s Saturday so I don’t have to be at work until eleven.” his Dad was trying to make up for yesterday.
“Can I get a rain-check on the videos, Dad? I think I really need some rest.” Roger yawned again.
His Dad smiled quietly, “Sure, Son, I understand. Feeling a little drowsy myself.”
Roger shuffled upstairs and changed into his pajamas. He could barely keep his eyes open by the time he crawled into bed.
His Father came in to say good night, “I really want you to know it wasn’t you I was angry at.”
Roger smiled, “I know, Dad, I know,” he did know but it felt good to be told.
“Well, goodnight, son,” James Pine looked like his load had been lightened as he switched off the light.
The dreams came immediately. He was running from house to house knocking. At every door he asked the same question, “Do you know where I can find the key?”
Finally he ended up in the village square in front of the war memorial. He wandered around to the back lawn of the library. The moonlight on the bandstand gazebo drew him. He walked over and sat on the steps leading up to it.
As he sat with his head in his hands something suddenly caught his attention! A light wavered in the basement window of the library. Roger started to run toward it.
Halfway across the lawn his feet left the ground and he flew with his stomach skimming the grass right up to the window. His nose pressed up against the glass as he floated, peering down into the basement library.
As Roger watched the light flitted from one dusty shelf to another until finally coming to rest on a yellowed, crumbling cardboard label on the top shelf of a long row of shelves. In handwritten script it read, “Answers”.
Desperately, Roger tried to open the window. He circled back flying quickly up to it he tried to continue through to see what was on the shelf, but try as he might, he couldn’t enter the basement. He flew around the building searching for a way in.
After what seemed like hours he finally gave up. He had come to the conclusion that the only way into the basement was inside the library somewhere.
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Ah, the frustration! Can you feel it? Roger is so close to a truth that he feels strongly will change his life, but there is more to be done before God hands it over. Ever felt this way, I know I have. But, like Roger, you are going to have to wait....can't stand it? Go buy your own print copy!
I'm working on prepping the manuscript to publish as a Ebook on Smashwords in the next few days and will be looking for friends who need to make a little cash to help me sell it! Smashwords has an affiliate program that pays you commission for posting links to author's works anytime that link leads to a sale! Cool, huh? So, be looking for details on that in the next few days. Hope you are enjoying the story, the numbers keep going up, so I know you are out there, but you're very quiet. Let me know what you think!
The Fountain Uncovered
Roger lay in his bed shaking like a leaf for several minutes before crawling out of bed and dressing quickly. His mother was just scooping eggs onto a plate as he entered the kitchen, “Hello honey, did you sleep okay?”
“Fine. Mom, where’s Dad?” the chair where his father usually fumed about the latest conspiracy over his newspaper between bites of toast was conspicuously empty.
“He had to go in early today, why dear?”
“No reason, just wondered.” He couldn’t believe his luck!
There would be no problem with grabbing the bolt cutter from the garage. This was going to be the greatest day of his life!
His mother was swigging the last of her protein shake, “Hurry up with those eggs. I’ll drop you off on my way to the gym.” She had met Mrs. Bishop and the two of them had made plans to play racquetball at the community center.
Roger had to think fast, “That’s okay Mom I’m not in that big of a hurry. I’ll just ride my bike.”
His mother checked her watch, “You sure? I don’t mind.”
“Really, I’ll be fine. Besides I don’t want you to have to
come and get me when I’m done.”
“Maybe you’re right. I’ll see you later. I may stop by the
story tent after lunch for a minute.” Jeanie took her keys from her purse, and turned to go
“Okay, although I’m not sure I’ll be there.” Roger muttered through a mouthful of eggs.
His mother stopped, “Where else would you be?”
“The Fountain, Mom, remember?” Roger smiled crazily.
His mother’s phone rang, “The fountain, right.” She
laughed, “Hello? On my way.” She covered the phone, “Don’t forget, be on time for dinner.” She exited through the garage door and he breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the garage door close behind her.
Half an hour later he rounded the bend in the drive and pulled up in front of the iron gate. He found the door on his third attempt and pulled his bicycle and the bolt cutters through letting the bars fall back into place with a clang!
“SSShh!” Roger jumped at the sudden sound and spun to find Matthias right behind him. “We’re not supposed to be here, remember?” The old man whispered, with a devious grin.
Roger trembled as he tried to catch his breath, “Sorry, but you didn’t have to scare me like that.”
The old man grabbed the bolt cutters and started off toward the fountain without a word. Roger stashed his bicycle behind the sign and hurried to catch up.
Fifteen minutes later they cut through the last of the four locks. Matthias and Roger looked at each other over the fountain. They both knew that what they were about to see had not been seen by a living soul for more than half a century.
Roger and Matthias eyed each other across the fountain. A subtle smile crept over the old man's face and he winked!
Now he knew he was right, Matthias, Or whatever his real name was, was the old man in his dream, “You knew! You knew I would follow you. You knew this was here! You knew the whole time!”
Matthias grinned bigger, “I wished.”
Roger stopped, something about the way this man uttered those seemingly simple words was different from anyone Roger had ever met. This man believed in wishes! “Who are you really?” Roger asked.
“Nobody important, why do you ask?”
“First, you’re in my dream, then you show up in the
storyteller’s tent. You wear those clothes like you’ve worn them your whole life, and you know a lot more than your telling me, and what did you mean about me being the only hope, and who or what is the dragon?” A thousand other questions felt ready to burst out of Roger's mouth.
The old man chuckled softly, “One revelation at a time my young friend, one at a time.”
Roger carefully placed the point of the broken spade in the gap between wood and stone. He leaned his weight against what was left of the spade’s handle. With a loud groan and a rush of cool air the first half of the cover rose up and clattered to the pavement surrounding the low stone wall.
Roger eagerly leaned over the wall, then looked up in disappointment, “There’s no water, it’s completely dry.” It was eerily like his dream of the night before.
Matthias looked at him blankly, “What did you expect? The pump hasn’t run in over fifty years.”
Roger hadn’t considered this, “How do we turn it on?”
“First things first. Help me get this cover off,” Matthias groaned under the weight of the other cover half.
A moment later they had lifted out the second half and stepped back to admire the fountain.
It was even more beautiful than in Roger’s dreams. The basin of the fountain was lined with blue and green mosaic tiles. Circling the fountain in bold white letters was a verse, “All things are possible for those who believe”.
At the center of the fountain stood a bronze figure. It was a young man, Jeremish Wish (Roger guessed). He appeared to be scattering a handful of coins. At the base of the figure a dozen large coins bounced on coiled copper pipes like oversized springs. Each of the twelve coins had a tiny nozzle in its center.
“Now, how do we turn it on?” Roger asked.
Matthias had been studying the fountain carefully. He pointed at a square hole about the size of a dime at the feet of the bronze statue, “Must need some kind of key.”
“ Where do we find it?” Roger asked eagerly.
“Probably the same place you find everything else,” the old man quipped, “it’ll be in the last place you look.”
Roger couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Here he was moments away from the greatest moment in recent memory stopped cold for the lack of a simple key!
Roger turned and ran down the path toward the gate. Matthias made no move to follow him. He ran up to the gate and dropped behind the sign. In a moment he had what he was looking for and was running back toward the fountain.
When he reached Matthias he was out of breath. He dropped a small, blue, nylon bundle on the wall of the fountain and unrolled it. It was a small but useful tool kit he had received for his eleventh birthday. He always carried it strapped to the frame of his bike. It hadn’t come in handy until today.
His dad would be happy to be right. He carefully selected a flat bladed screwdriver and climbed over the wall into the basin of the fountain.
“Cross your fingers,” he smiled at Matthias. Roger’s hand shook nervously as he fitted the screwdriver into the hole. The blade of the screwdriver turned loosely in the hole for half a turn. Just as it reached a diagonal position, it stuck!
Roger wiped the sweat from his palm, got a firm grip, and turned. It seemed to be working! Then just as suddenly it stopped. It was stuck.
For two hours Matthias and Roger alternated between searching the gazebo for a key and attempting to use whatever they could find to budge the valve. The gazebo was a treasure trove of miscellaneous gadgets.
Roger looked at the collection spread out on the wall. In addition to Roger’s tool kit they had; two corkscrews, one ice pick, three small and one rather large pocketknives and a silver spoon. They had deducted that the small potting shed on the end of the gazebo had been used as lost and found for items left behind by picnickers.
Matthias looked up toward the sun, “Almost noon. Ready for lunch?”
They decided they would grab something to eat from the vendors at the festival. Roger thought it might be wise to be around the festival today, if even for a little while, in case his mother came looking for him or asked around.
It was a pleasant afternoon. Roger and Matthias enjoyed hotdogs on a bench near the bandstand. The festival was in full swing and the laughter of children enjoying themselves wafted over the lawn. Roger’s mother stopped by as promised and Roger waved her over.
“Hi, mom, this is Matthias. He’s the story teller I was telling you about.”
Jeanie took Matthias’ outstretched hand, “Do I know you? I feel like I’ve met you before.”
Matthias returned her piercing gaze, “I don’t believe that’s possible. I am sure I would recall meeting a woman as charming as you.”
Roger fought the urge to laugh out loud. His mother giggled. Oh brother.
“You two stay out of trouble, okay? Roger I’ll expect you home in time for dinner.” Roger breathed a sigh of relief as his mother walked back across the lawn to her car.
“Can you believe that? She actually fell for that ridiculous line.” Roger laughed.
“Oh, my young friend you have so much to learn.”
Matthias stood, “I think our search has come to an end for today.”
“But, we still haven’t found the key. We can’t give up now!” Roger whined. “Don’t think of it as giving up. Think of it as giving the key time to find us.” Matthias said.
“Isn’t that the same thing? I mean what do I do, just sit and wait?” Roger was tired of waiting, something needed to happen, soon!
“Ask and it will be given to you, seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened. For everyone who asks receives, he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks the door will be opened,” Matthias turned and began to walk away.
“Wait, when will I see you again?” Roger called to him.
“When the time is right, my friend, when the time is right,” and with that the old man melted into the crowd of festival goers.
Roger sat and thought about what Matthias had said. Ask and you will receive, but ask who? Seek and you will find, seek where? Knock and the door will be opened? This was ridiculous! He decided he would go back to the fountain and search the rest of the park. He had to get his bicycle back anyway.
The sky was growing dark as Roger pushed his bike into the garage. His search of the park had been futile. After two hours he’d ended up yelling to no one in particular, “Okay I’m asking! Where is this stupid key?!” he’d received no answer other than some curious looks from a couple of startled birds.
Roger didn’t feel much like eating. He sat and picked at his spaghetti.
“What’s the matter, dear, not hungry?” his mother asked.
He yawned, “Just tired, I guess.”
“ How about you and I go to the video store and rent a couple of DVD’s? Tomorrow’s Saturday so I don’t have to be at work until eleven.” his Dad was trying to make up for yesterday.
“Can I get a rain-check on the videos, Dad? I think I really need some rest.” Roger yawned again.
His Dad smiled quietly, “Sure, Son, I understand. Feeling a little drowsy myself.”
Roger shuffled upstairs and changed into his pajamas. He could barely keep his eyes open by the time he crawled into bed.
His Father came in to say good night, “I really want you to know it wasn’t you I was angry at.”
Roger smiled, “I know, Dad, I know,” he did know but it felt good to be told.
“Well, goodnight, son,” James Pine looked like his load had been lightened as he switched off the light.
The dreams came immediately. He was running from house to house knocking. At every door he asked the same question, “Do you know where I can find the key?”
Finally he ended up in the village square in front of the war memorial. He wandered around to the back lawn of the library. The moonlight on the bandstand gazebo drew him. He walked over and sat on the steps leading up to it.
As he sat with his head in his hands something suddenly caught his attention! A light wavered in the basement window of the library. Roger started to run toward it.
Halfway across the lawn his feet left the ground and he flew with his stomach skimming the grass right up to the window. His nose pressed up against the glass as he floated, peering down into the basement library.
As Roger watched the light flitted from one dusty shelf to another until finally coming to rest on a yellowed, crumbling cardboard label on the top shelf of a long row of shelves. In handwritten script it read, “Answers”.
Desperately, Roger tried to open the window. He circled back flying quickly up to it he tried to continue through to see what was on the shelf, but try as he might, he couldn’t enter the basement. He flew around the building searching for a way in.
After what seemed like hours he finally gave up. He had come to the conclusion that the only way into the basement was inside the library somewhere.
__________________________________________________________________________________
Ah, the frustration! Can you feel it? Roger is so close to a truth that he feels strongly will change his life, but there is more to be done before God hands it over. Ever felt this way, I know I have. But, like Roger, you are going to have to wait....can't stand it? Go buy your own print copy!
I'm working on prepping the manuscript to publish as a Ebook on Smashwords in the next few days and will be looking for friends who need to make a little cash to help me sell it! Smashwords has an affiliate program that pays you commission for posting links to author's works anytime that link leads to a sale! Cool, huh? So, be looking for details on that in the next few days. Hope you are enjoying the story, the numbers keep going up, so I know you are out there, but you're very quiet. Let me know what you think!
Friday, November 19, 2010
The Wishmonger: Chapter four
Chapter 4
A Surprising Discovery
“Hey, wait,” yelled Roger.
Matthias paused and turned back, “Aren’t you coming?”
“I’d like to, but I’m not sure I know that trick.” Roger looked at Matthias quizzically.
“Trick?”
“ Walking through solid iron gates,” the boy quipped.
Matthias walked back toward the gate and reaching down he lifted a section of the bars. They swung easily from hinges at the top. The door was hidden completely, unless, you knew where to look, “Coming, or gawking?” Matthias asked.
Roger clamped his open mouth shut, “Sorry, thought you might be a ghost there for a second.” He stepped through the gate and the two companions continued on their way.
Roger noticed a low stone sign off the right side of the drive right inside the gate. He walked over to it and pulled away the ivy that had long hidden its inscription. In bold script it read, “Fountain Park”. The boy stumbled back in surprise.
“Fountain Park? So it wasn’t destroyed, I knew it! But, everyone says it used to be where the courthouse is now.” Roger choked.
“It wouldn’t be the first time everyone was wrong, would it?” asked Matthias wryly.
“So that means ‘it’s’ here?” the boy asked in a whisper.
“Yes, it is.” Matthias replied in a mocking whisper.
Roger turned and began to sprint up the drive. He stopped when he realized he was alone, “aren’t you coming?”
Matthias grinned, “I thought you’d never ask.”
The park was overgrown, but there were signs of what had been luxurious landscaping. Large stone picnic tables sat in the shade of enormous oak and walnut trees. Smaller stone paths led off at regular intervals snaking off into the tall grass where they disappeared from view.
As they crested a hill Roger glimpsed the corner of a stone gazebo in a grove of trees a hundred yards off. His heart leaped. This was it, he’d been here before, in his dreams. He had been right. He hadn’t really believed something as magical as Jeremish Wish’s fountain could have ceased to exist.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Roger glanced over at Matthias to see if he was aware of the electricity Roger felt pulsing through his veins as they left the main road and headed into the grove of trees surrounding the gazebo. Matthias seemed aware of what he was feeling but immune to it himself. Maybe you
got used to it, Roger guessed.
High up on the hill overlooking Wishful the man in black paced excitedly. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something was changing. It wasn’t a good change either, not for him at least.
He walked over to a nearby desk and picked up a telephone, “Ishmael please,” he waited impatiently for the voice on the other end of the line, “I think they’ve found it…never mind how I know. What are we going to do about it? When have I ever cared about that stupid festival? I will not allow my plans to be interrupted. Do you hear me? Fine! Tomorrow then. Ishmael? Do not cross me!”
He slammed the phone down and continued his pacing. The vague feeling of change was growing stronger.
They must be stopped!
Cobwebs hung heavily from every angle of the gazebo. Roger stepped under the protection of the roof brushing them away with his hand. He stepped eagerly up to the short, stone wall surrounding the fountain and leaned out expecting to see his reflection. Instead he found the fountain filled with decades of decaying leaves and dust.
He reached down brushing the leaves back. His hand felt rough wood. He cleared a larger area and realized that some kind of wooden cover had been placed over the water of the spring below.
“It’s boarded up.” he sat heavily on the wall.
“Yes, I thought you knew” Matthias replied.
“What do we do now? Can’t very well make a wish in a dry fountain,” the boy felt tears welling in his eyes.
“Well, so much for extraordinary tenacity,” said the old
man turning back the way they had come.
“Where are you going?” Roger asked, startled.
“Back to town, can’t make wishes in a dry fountain. You
said it yourself.” Matthias stood looking at Roger.
Roger leaped into action, “Don’t just stand there! Give me a hand. There must be some tools around here somewhere.”
He disappeared into a closed off section of the gazebo. He returned a moment later with a badly rusted rake and a broken handled spade. As Matthias watched, the boy desperately pried at the ancient lumber covering the water of the fountain, as if he were trying to free a dying prisoner.
What was left of the broken spade splintered
in his hand and he reached for the rake, determination gleaming in his eye.
“Hold on there, Mr. Fix-it. Let’s take a look at this thing,” Mathias said as he leaned out over the fountain.
Taking an armful of leaves and debris, he deposited it on the ground and scooped up a second armful. Roger stepped up to help and before long the two had cleared the cover of most of the refuse.
Now that they could see it the problem became clear. The cover was built in half circle sections surrounding the center fountain that stood above it some six feet. The center of the two pieces was joined with a large hasp and padlock on each side of the fountain and similar locks held the outside edges down to the stone wall, their loops firmly anchored in large metal eyes protruding out of the solid rock.
“ What do we do now?” Roger asked impatiently.
“I don’t know about you, but I could use a little break from the walk up here. Maybe if we rest our backs a minute a solution will come to us.” With that Matthias sank down on the ground with his back against the wall of the fountain.
Roger paced excitedly stopping every now and then to peer over the wall at the wooden cover that separated him from the fountain he could not wait to see.
After what seemed to roger like hours, Matthias struggled to his feet and stood leaning over the wall.
“Those locks are pretty old,” Matthias said, “The rust has probably weakened the metal. If we had a hammer and chisel we could break the locks and lift the cover off.”
“ My Dad has just what we need, a big pair of bolt cutters. I bet I could get them out of the garage without him knowing and be back here in less than an hour.” Roger offered.
“It’s going to be dark before that, you’d better head home.” The old man coughed, the evening air apparently didn’t agree with him, “we can sort this out tomorrow.”
Roger smiled, “I don’t think I’ll do much sleeping tonight.”
Matthias grinned at his youthful enthusiasm, “Fine then we’ll start first thing after breakfast tomorrow, okay?”
Roger felt like he was floating all the way home. He could hardly keep himself from bursting into the house shouting about how he had discovered The Fountain of Wishes with the help of an old storyteller.
They’d never believe him anyway, they never did. But they would forbid him to go back to the park. “You never can tell about strangers,” his mother would say. “Even when they seem like harmless old men, you never know for sure.” So he kept his secret.
“What are you so excited about?” his mother asked him at dinner.
Roger smiled, “Oh, just festival stuff. I got to help a story teller today.”
“Did you hear that dear, Roger got to help a story teller today,” his mother said.
Dad didn’t even look up from his paper, “Filling his head with foolish nonsense.”
“It’s only three days a year. It wouldn’t hurt you to take a day off and go to the festival tomorrow.” His mother said with exasperation.
“No thanks, the whole thing is just a plot to get our money anyway. Think about it. We have a law against wishes, then they allow us three days a year to wish. And those three days just happen to coincide with the biggest sales of the year?
“We have a fireplace if I feel the need to burn up money, at least I might get the benefit of some heat from it.” his father's voice dripped with sarcasm.
He wasn’t sure what his father had against wishes but it was clear that whatever it was wasn’t going to change during this festival.
Roger could hardly sleep that night, dreams of the fountain were stronger than ever, only this time he had a real image to fuel them.
First he dreamed of breaking the locks and opening the cover to discover the fountain had dried up, he woke from this one in a cold sweat.
Then he dreamed of himself and Matthias lounging in the fountain like guests in a five star hotel enjoying the Jacuzzi. Mayor Wish showed up and pulled a lever, flushing the fountain.
He felt himself swirling faster and faster and just as he was about to go under he woke to the smell of bacon and eggs.
___________________________________________________________________________________
The fountain is found. This section reminds me of the times the Children of Israel would rediscover the Book of the Law. The Book that God instructed Moses to tell them to have their eventual king read daily so he wouldn't forget it. From time to time , they lost their way (putting it mildly) and ended up in captivity. Most notably, the book of Nehemiah recalls one such rediscovery.
When Roger finds the well, he is disappointed in the fact that he must actually do something to apprehend its power. Many times we are like that. We find some little known promise of scripture and want to take its blessing for our own, with no thought, of what comes first. You see, God's covenants are always two parts, one blessing (for abiding by God's precepts) and one curse (for disobeying and forsaking God). It seems we like the blessing part, but are unwilling to do the work. On the other hand, we assume the curse is for someone else, or call it an attack of the enemy.
When truth is rediscovered, it always takes a little work to get it functional again. First, we must ingest it, read it, ponder it. Second, it takes time to take root in our lives and bear fruit. So, what fountains have you uncovered? Were you discouraged when you realized it would take some work to get it going again?
What do you think Roger will find when and if he gets the cover off the fountain? Will it give him everything he ever wanted, or be the end of him?
A Surprising Discovery
“Hey, wait,” yelled Roger.
Matthias paused and turned back, “Aren’t you coming?”
“I’d like to, but I’m not sure I know that trick.” Roger looked at Matthias quizzically.
“Trick?”
“ Walking through solid iron gates,” the boy quipped.
Matthias walked back toward the gate and reaching down he lifted a section of the bars. They swung easily from hinges at the top. The door was hidden completely, unless, you knew where to look, “Coming, or gawking?” Matthias asked.
Roger clamped his open mouth shut, “Sorry, thought you might be a ghost there for a second.” He stepped through the gate and the two companions continued on their way.
Roger noticed a low stone sign off the right side of the drive right inside the gate. He walked over to it and pulled away the ivy that had long hidden its inscription. In bold script it read, “Fountain Park”. The boy stumbled back in surprise.
“Fountain Park? So it wasn’t destroyed, I knew it! But, everyone says it used to be where the courthouse is now.” Roger choked.
“It wouldn’t be the first time everyone was wrong, would it?” asked Matthias wryly.
“So that means ‘it’s’ here?” the boy asked in a whisper.
“Yes, it is.” Matthias replied in a mocking whisper.
Roger turned and began to sprint up the drive. He stopped when he realized he was alone, “aren’t you coming?”
Matthias grinned, “I thought you’d never ask.”
The park was overgrown, but there were signs of what had been luxurious landscaping. Large stone picnic tables sat in the shade of enormous oak and walnut trees. Smaller stone paths led off at regular intervals snaking off into the tall grass where they disappeared from view.
As they crested a hill Roger glimpsed the corner of a stone gazebo in a grove of trees a hundred yards off. His heart leaped. This was it, he’d been here before, in his dreams. He had been right. He hadn’t really believed something as magical as Jeremish Wish’s fountain could have ceased to exist.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Roger glanced over at Matthias to see if he was aware of the electricity Roger felt pulsing through his veins as they left the main road and headed into the grove of trees surrounding the gazebo. Matthias seemed aware of what he was feeling but immune to it himself. Maybe you
got used to it, Roger guessed.
High up on the hill overlooking Wishful the man in black paced excitedly. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something was changing. It wasn’t a good change either, not for him at least.
He walked over to a nearby desk and picked up a telephone, “Ishmael please,” he waited impatiently for the voice on the other end of the line, “I think they’ve found it…never mind how I know. What are we going to do about it? When have I ever cared about that stupid festival? I will not allow my plans to be interrupted. Do you hear me? Fine! Tomorrow then. Ishmael? Do not cross me!”
He slammed the phone down and continued his pacing. The vague feeling of change was growing stronger.
They must be stopped!
Cobwebs hung heavily from every angle of the gazebo. Roger stepped under the protection of the roof brushing them away with his hand. He stepped eagerly up to the short, stone wall surrounding the fountain and leaned out expecting to see his reflection. Instead he found the fountain filled with decades of decaying leaves and dust.
He reached down brushing the leaves back. His hand felt rough wood. He cleared a larger area and realized that some kind of wooden cover had been placed over the water of the spring below.
“It’s boarded up.” he sat heavily on the wall.
“Yes, I thought you knew” Matthias replied.
“What do we do now? Can’t very well make a wish in a dry fountain,” the boy felt tears welling in his eyes.
“Well, so much for extraordinary tenacity,” said the old
man turning back the way they had come.
“Where are you going?” Roger asked, startled.
“Back to town, can’t make wishes in a dry fountain. You
said it yourself.” Matthias stood looking at Roger.
Roger leaped into action, “Don’t just stand there! Give me a hand. There must be some tools around here somewhere.”
He disappeared into a closed off section of the gazebo. He returned a moment later with a badly rusted rake and a broken handled spade. As Matthias watched, the boy desperately pried at the ancient lumber covering the water of the fountain, as if he were trying to free a dying prisoner.
What was left of the broken spade splintered
in his hand and he reached for the rake, determination gleaming in his eye.
“Hold on there, Mr. Fix-it. Let’s take a look at this thing,” Mathias said as he leaned out over the fountain.
Taking an armful of leaves and debris, he deposited it on the ground and scooped up a second armful. Roger stepped up to help and before long the two had cleared the cover of most of the refuse.
Now that they could see it the problem became clear. The cover was built in half circle sections surrounding the center fountain that stood above it some six feet. The center of the two pieces was joined with a large hasp and padlock on each side of the fountain and similar locks held the outside edges down to the stone wall, their loops firmly anchored in large metal eyes protruding out of the solid rock.
“ What do we do now?” Roger asked impatiently.
“I don’t know about you, but I could use a little break from the walk up here. Maybe if we rest our backs a minute a solution will come to us.” With that Matthias sank down on the ground with his back against the wall of the fountain.
Roger paced excitedly stopping every now and then to peer over the wall at the wooden cover that separated him from the fountain he could not wait to see.
After what seemed to roger like hours, Matthias struggled to his feet and stood leaning over the wall.
“Those locks are pretty old,” Matthias said, “The rust has probably weakened the metal. If we had a hammer and chisel we could break the locks and lift the cover off.”
“ My Dad has just what we need, a big pair of bolt cutters. I bet I could get them out of the garage without him knowing and be back here in less than an hour.” Roger offered.
“It’s going to be dark before that, you’d better head home.” The old man coughed, the evening air apparently didn’t agree with him, “we can sort this out tomorrow.”
Roger smiled, “I don’t think I’ll do much sleeping tonight.”
Matthias grinned at his youthful enthusiasm, “Fine then we’ll start first thing after breakfast tomorrow, okay?”
Roger felt like he was floating all the way home. He could hardly keep himself from bursting into the house shouting about how he had discovered The Fountain of Wishes with the help of an old storyteller.
They’d never believe him anyway, they never did. But they would forbid him to go back to the park. “You never can tell about strangers,” his mother would say. “Even when they seem like harmless old men, you never know for sure.” So he kept his secret.
“What are you so excited about?” his mother asked him at dinner.
Roger smiled, “Oh, just festival stuff. I got to help a story teller today.”
“Did you hear that dear, Roger got to help a story teller today,” his mother said.
Dad didn’t even look up from his paper, “Filling his head with foolish nonsense.”
“It’s only three days a year. It wouldn’t hurt you to take a day off and go to the festival tomorrow.” His mother said with exasperation.
“No thanks, the whole thing is just a plot to get our money anyway. Think about it. We have a law against wishes, then they allow us three days a year to wish. And those three days just happen to coincide with the biggest sales of the year?
“We have a fireplace if I feel the need to burn up money, at least I might get the benefit of some heat from it.” his father's voice dripped with sarcasm.
He wasn’t sure what his father had against wishes but it was clear that whatever it was wasn’t going to change during this festival.
Roger could hardly sleep that night, dreams of the fountain were stronger than ever, only this time he had a real image to fuel them.
First he dreamed of breaking the locks and opening the cover to discover the fountain had dried up, he woke from this one in a cold sweat.
Then he dreamed of himself and Matthias lounging in the fountain like guests in a five star hotel enjoying the Jacuzzi. Mayor Wish showed up and pulled a lever, flushing the fountain.
He felt himself swirling faster and faster and just as he was about to go under he woke to the smell of bacon and eggs.
___________________________________________________________________________________
The fountain is found. This section reminds me of the times the Children of Israel would rediscover the Book of the Law. The Book that God instructed Moses to tell them to have their eventual king read daily so he wouldn't forget it. From time to time , they lost their way (putting it mildly) and ended up in captivity. Most notably, the book of Nehemiah recalls one such rediscovery.
When Roger finds the well, he is disappointed in the fact that he must actually do something to apprehend its power. Many times we are like that. We find some little known promise of scripture and want to take its blessing for our own, with no thought, of what comes first. You see, God's covenants are always two parts, one blessing (for abiding by God's precepts) and one curse (for disobeying and forsaking God). It seems we like the blessing part, but are unwilling to do the work. On the other hand, we assume the curse is for someone else, or call it an attack of the enemy.
When truth is rediscovered, it always takes a little work to get it functional again. First, we must ingest it, read it, ponder it. Second, it takes time to take root in our lives and bear fruit. So, what fountains have you uncovered? Were you discouraged when you realized it would take some work to get it going again?
What do you think Roger will find when and if he gets the cover off the fountain? Will it give him everything he ever wanted, or be the end of him?
Thursday, November 18, 2010
The Wishmonger: Chapter Three
Chapter 3
The Festival of Wishes
The clank of spoons and the soft crunch of cereal greeted Roger as he entered the kitchen the next morning. The bright sunlight was a welcome change from the cold moonlit terror of the night before.
Roger’s mother, looked up from her crossword puzzle between bites, “First day of the festival, you and Joey have big plans?” His mother was referring to the annual Festival of Wishes. It had been held every year since anyone could remember, in honor of Jeremish Wish.
Roger poured cereal into a bowl and reached for the milk, “Joey’s out of town. I thought I’d just hang out around the festival, listen to the storytellers.”
The festival attracted the best storytellers from near and far. Roger looked forward to hearing the legend of Jeremish Wish again. Roger’s father choked on his cereal and muttered something under his breath.
“ Did you say something, dear?” Jeanie asked her husband. James Pine looked up.
James' tired eyes blinked, “I said, Why? They won’t tell you anything you haven’t already read.” Roger’s father didn’t have much use for wishes or festivals, orstorytelling for that matter.
“I’m just curious about the fountain. Thought I might ask around, see what people remember about it.” He regretted the words before they even left his mouth but it was too late. Nothing to do now but hunker down and wait for it to blow over.
“Remember? The only thing people need to remember about that stagnant frog pond is that they’re better off to forget!” it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected.
Roger smiled in what he hoped was a disarming fashion, “Yeah, I guess you’re probably right. I just wish…”
His father inflated with rage, stood from his chair and
leaned across the table an inch from Roger’s face, “what did you just say?” it came out half growl half whisper.
Roger remembered the sign, the prohibition against wishing and his father’s reaction to it, “I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant to say was it would be nice if…” before he could finish his father cut him off.
“But you didn’t say that, you said…I wish!” His father came around the table and stood behind his chair, “what, what do you wish? Go on Roger, finish it. And you better make it a good one because if you finish that wish in my house it will be the last thing you utter here, do you understand me?”
James Pine was not a violent man, but something about wishes scared him bad. Roger wondered what it was. What terrible secret could cause a mild mannered, loving father to puff up like a spitting cobra. He wanted to ask. Instead he said, “ yes, sir”, and sat quietly.
Roger watched his father deflate, like a tire with a slow leak. He sat heavily in his chair, “Roger, I’m sorry…it’s just…” James Pine pushed his chair back, picked up his briefcase from the counter, kissed his wife, patted Roger on the head and left for work.
“I’m sorry Dad. It just…slipped out.” Roger said as his father closed the door to the garage behind him. He looked up with tears in his eyes, “I didn’t mean it, Mom. You know I didn’t mean it.”
“Oh, sweety, your father didn’t mean it either. It’s just …some things… change people. Your father wasn’t always afraid like this. I guess being back here just makes it stronger.”
Roger stared into his mother’s face, searching for understanding. Looking for an answer, some clue, “Like what, mom? What does he have to be afraid of?”
His mother sighed heavily, “I wish I could explain it, someday when…” she couldn’t finish it. She knew it wasn’t enough.
Roger decided at that exact moment that he would trust his mother. He was going to tell her everything.
“ Mom, I think you’d better sit down.” He took a deep breath and continued, “I don’t know what’s going on in this town but that fountain is not gone, and I can prove it. Old man Winters told Joey bishop that every body thought the old fountain was buried when they built the court house.
He said the fountain they buried wasn’t The Wish Fountain at all. He said the real fountain was somewhere else, in a place no one remembers. Mom, Joey said Mr. Winters got real serious when he told him. He said he couldn’t die without someone knowing. Mom, he must have been telling the truth, because he died the next day. And there’s something else.”
Roger paused for effect, “I know it’s real, and I know it works because I saw it myself.”
His mother sat, stunned, “How is that possible?”
Roger grinned, pleased with the effect the revelation was
having on his mother, “I saw it in my dream. Remember? Well Joey showed me a picture of the fountain, it was the same! Don’t you think that’s weird?”
Jeanie Pine looked stunned, or maybe she was…trying not to laugh? “Oh, Roger, honey, for a minute I thought your were serious!”
Roger started to protest. Then it occurred to him that if his mother didn’t believe him, he might be better off with her believing it was all a joke. He laughed, “You should have seen your face.”
“ Roger, with an imagination like that, you might be a storyteller yourself some day.” She sat quietly chuckling to herself, “Old man Winters, that was a nice touch. It sounds like something a dying man might say.”
“Yeah it does, right? That’s what made me think of it.” Roger smiled.
His mother hugged him, “Thanks, I needed that after this morning.”
Several inflatables were being installed noisily on the back lawn of the library. The town hall was all but invisible under a flurry of banners and pennants. The largest banner read, “Welcome to Wishful’s 75th Festival of Wishes”.
Roger bought a snow cone and slurped as he strolled down the sidewalk between tables of wishing wells and postcards of the town hall that read , “Wishfully Thinking of you.”
He stopped outside the pool hall and peered through the window. He noticed his shoelace was untied. Roger set his snow cone on the window ledge and carefully knelt down to retie it. As he stood back up his heart skipped a beat. There, on a stool in broad daylight was the little old man who had winked at him in his dream! He sat in front of a crowd in the storyteller’s tent spinning a yarn.
There was something odd about his clothing. It wasn’t the antique styling. Dozens of vendors and towns people dressed to their Victorian nines for the festival every year. It was the way he wore it. Somehow, it didn’t look like a costume on him. He looked like he belonged in it.
As Roger stared the man turned and caught his eye, and winked! Or maybe his dreams were getting the better of him, either way Roger got the feeling that this old man knew something that Roger desperately wanted to know!
He scooped up his snowcone and hurried across the street. He found a seat near the back of the tent. The old man was just finishing his tale, The Legend of Jeremish Wish.
“ Knowing that it was his only chance Jeremish Wish took his last five dollar gold piece out of his pocket. He walked to the edge of the pool and watched the Spring bubbling up to fill it. He closed his eyes tight and flipped the coin up into the air carrying his wish with it down through the cool clear water.
As we all know his wish came to pass and the town of Wishful sprang up from the prairie. One day, nothing but tall prairie grasses as far as the eye could see. The next, a bustling Victorian village , with Jeremiah Wish, its founding father unanimously elected as the town’s first mayor. And right on that very spot they erected a fountain, The Fountain of Wishes, and people say that anyone with a sincere wish only needed to toss a coin into the bubbling water and it was as good as done. ”
The story teller bowed to the smattering of polite applause and passed his hat. Roger dropped his change in and waited. The man folded up his seat and started out of the tent. Roger hurried to catch up.
The storyteller stopped and looked down at Roger, “Something I can help you with, young man?”
Roger swallowed, “Uh, yeah…I was wondering …why aren’t wishes allowed now? If your story is true?”
“Well now, ‘course the stories true. Things change, that’s all.” The storyteller turned to go.
Roger didn’t know when he might get a chance like this again and he wasn’t about to let it slip away so easily. “ I don’t understand. Aren’t wishes a good thing?”
“Some people think so.” The man said.
“But why do you celebrate the festival of wishes, when you’re not allowed to make any of our own?” Roger asked the man.
The man smiled quietly, “You can make all the wishes you want for the next three days. The fountain’s right over there. Pitch in your penny and wish away.”
Roger gathered his nerve. He had the feeling this man might be the only one that could answer his question, “Where’s the real fountain? A friend of mine told me it was never destroyed. I have a feeling you know. Was it destroyed, and if not where is it?”
“Now hold on there young man those kind of questions will get you nothing but trouble. Maybe you’d best go on home and ask your Dad about that.”
“That’s just it. I can’t ask my Dad. He hasn’t even lived here since he was a kid. He says wishes are nothing but a foolish waste of breath. I need to know, are wishes real?”
Roger gasped as the man grabbed his arm and began to drag him along.
They turned off the busy street away from the carnival like atmosphere of the festival. The old man stopped and looked around cautiously. He bent down and whispered hoarsely into the boy’s ear, “Who put you up to this?”
“No one, I don’t know what you mean?” Roger was scared by the old man’s serious expression.
“I’m an old man, I don’t have time for games, who was it? Who told you to ask me that, was it Mayor Wish?” the old man’s gaze pierced Roger like a knife.
“Mayor Wish? Why would he?…” Roger was very confused.
The old man looked around again, “It’d be just like them to use a kid. You tell them I told you nothing, nothing, do you understand?”
“Tell who? I just got here, I don’t know anybody to tell.” Roger winced the old man’s bony fingers were starting to dig into his skin.
The storyteller shook Roger, “You tell them I said nothing!”
“Okay, okay, nothing, I got it.” Roger pulled away.
The old man scurried out into the street. By the time Roger recovered enough to follow him, he was gone. He stopped a couple on the sidewalk, “Excuse me, did you see a little old man come out of there”, he indicated the alley he’d just exited.
“No, sorry, sure didn’t” they walked by Roger peering back at him over their shoulders.
Roger wondered where the little man had gone to so fast. He was beginning to regret pushing for an answer. Maybe the old man didn’t know anything. Maybe. Roger turned to go. His disappointment was getting the better of him. If only he had taken more time. He wondered why the old man wasn’t more nervous.
He had seemed more angry than afraid.
Roger looked up, and coming right toward him was a very nervous looking man decked out in full Victorian splendor. A shopkeeper sweeping the walk greeted him with, ‘good morning mayor’. So this was mayor Wish!
From his black top hat to his white spats he looked every inch the Victorian gentleman. Roger stepped aside and turned to watch him pass, wondering why the mayor was in such a hurry. As he started to turn for home Roger stopped. Something had caught his eye. Peering out from behind a tree watching Mayor Wish’s march down Main Street, right where he was sure the young couple must have seen him, was an old man, the storyteller!
Roger ducked behind the nearest building and peered around the corner. The storyteller checked both ways, seemed to hesitate a moment when he didn’t find Roger where he’d expected him and then set out in the same direction as the mayor.
Roger wondered if he’d seen him. Then he wondered if it mattered. Then he wondered if he should follow the man. Finally he grew tired of wondering and decided to take action. He followed the storyteller down the street, ducking behind trolley stops, and waste bins whenever the man looked back. He followed him through down town and up Mulberry street.
They were now in one of the oldest parts of Wishful. Two and three story Victorians rose on either side. Some restored with brightly painted facades and neatly trimmed hedges, some in disrepair with overgrown jungles for gardens.
After pausing to look behind, the man turned up a narrow track. The boy waited until the old man had rounded a bend and then followed him onto what turned out to be a paved drive.
The trees overhead formed an arched canopy and what autumn light filtered down through the tangled branches painted speckled patterns of light and shadow on the cobblestone path. Roger forgot himself in the adventure of trespassing onto unknown territory and quickened his pace.
He rounded the bend and stopped. The old man should be in plain sight, the drive ran on straight for quite a distance, Roger hesitated uncertainly.
“I wonder where he’s gone” he said to himself, turning to look behind as a gnarled hand grabbed his shoulder and another snaked around and clamped itself over his mouth.
“Promise you won’t scream?” hissed a voice. Roger nodded and the hand over his mouth relaxed slightly. “Why are you following me?” the old man asked, stepping around in front of Roger.
“I don’t know. You acted strangely, I guess I was curious.” Roger replied.
“Curious? That’s dangerous you know. You know what they say about the cat.” The old man chuckled. Here in this more sinister surrounding he seemed less threatening somehow. Roger began to relax.
“What am I going to do with you, you just won’t take no for an answer, will you?” the old man was smiling broadly now.
“My mother says I have extraordinary tenacity,” the boy smiled.
“Oh she does, does she? What is your name boy?”
“My name?”
“Yes the thing they use to call you for supper.” The old man seemed amused by the boy’s confusion.
“Oh, that. My name is Roger, what’s yours?”
“ My name doesn’t matter, but you can call me whatever you like.”
Roger peered at the old man , “Matthias, I think.”
“Matthias, what kind of name is that?” the old man sneered.
“You said whatever I like, I like Matthias.” Roger countered, confidently.
“Well, so I did, so I did, well played. Come on.” And without another word the old man took off down the drive at a quick pace.
“Wait, where are we going?” Roger huffed to keep up.
“To see it of course,” the old man answered as if it were the silliest question he’d heard all day.
“To see what?” Roger had caught his breath and was now matching Matthias stride for stride.
“I hardly see the point in telling you when I can show you in a matter of minutes,” Matthias grinned.
Roger gave up his questions and focused on keeping up. After what felt like a mile the two rounded a bend and walked up to a tall iron fence.
A double gate blocked their path with a hulking, ancient padlock and chain bundled around its center. Roger pulled up expecting Matthias to pull out a key and unlock the heavy chain. Matthias had no such intention and walked clean through the gate and continued down the drive on the other side.
___________________________________________________________________________
Ah, yes, the inciting incident. The boy decides to follow the old man, Alice follows the rabbit, Dorothy sets off to see the Wizard and so the adventure begins!
Since childhood I was fascinated by the idea of wishes and fountains and wells and would hardly let my dad walk by a small, man made body of water without tossing a penny into it. I never really believed it was magic, but somehow,reviewing what I wanted from life in that way kept me on track.
Later it occurred to me that many people have this same relationship with religion, particularly Christianity. They don't really believe in the power of it, but they allow it to be practiced in little, controlled ways, like the Festival of Wishes in Wishful. Just enough to keep people happy, but not enough to mess up the lawn.
It has always been my experience that God takes a pleasure in messing up my life, or at least the parts that I am proudest of. Anything that I think I could have done without his help he is quick to show me that that is an illusion.
The people of Wishful, like many Christians, have decided they have outgrown their beliefs. They are bigger than wishing, and can relegate it to a holiday, where they explain the way it used to be to their children, all the while breathing a sigh of relief that they no longer feel the need for such superstition. Underneath they all secretly long for the power of the gospel to be real, to come alive.
Ironically this is exactly what God is waiting for, is an opening large enough to get his finger in, just a little, to remind us that he is real. Once we acknowledge him, then the possibilities are endless, but I am getting ahead of myself.
So, who is the old man? Where is he taking Roger? Is he one of the good guys, or will he reveal a dark side? Check in tomorrow to find out! Leave me a comment to let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!
The Festival of Wishes
The clank of spoons and the soft crunch of cereal greeted Roger as he entered the kitchen the next morning. The bright sunlight was a welcome change from the cold moonlit terror of the night before.
Roger’s mother, looked up from her crossword puzzle between bites, “First day of the festival, you and Joey have big plans?” His mother was referring to the annual Festival of Wishes. It had been held every year since anyone could remember, in honor of Jeremish Wish.
Roger poured cereal into a bowl and reached for the milk, “Joey’s out of town. I thought I’d just hang out around the festival, listen to the storytellers.”
The festival attracted the best storytellers from near and far. Roger looked forward to hearing the legend of Jeremish Wish again. Roger’s father choked on his cereal and muttered something under his breath.
“ Did you say something, dear?” Jeanie asked her husband. James Pine looked up.
James' tired eyes blinked, “I said, Why? They won’t tell you anything you haven’t already read.” Roger’s father didn’t have much use for wishes or festivals, orstorytelling for that matter.
“I’m just curious about the fountain. Thought I might ask around, see what people remember about it.” He regretted the words before they even left his mouth but it was too late. Nothing to do now but hunker down and wait for it to blow over.
“Remember? The only thing people need to remember about that stagnant frog pond is that they’re better off to forget!” it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected.
Roger smiled in what he hoped was a disarming fashion, “Yeah, I guess you’re probably right. I just wish…”
His father inflated with rage, stood from his chair and
leaned across the table an inch from Roger’s face, “what did you just say?” it came out half growl half whisper.
Roger remembered the sign, the prohibition against wishing and his father’s reaction to it, “I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant to say was it would be nice if…” before he could finish his father cut him off.
“But you didn’t say that, you said…I wish!” His father came around the table and stood behind his chair, “what, what do you wish? Go on Roger, finish it. And you better make it a good one because if you finish that wish in my house it will be the last thing you utter here, do you understand me?”
James Pine was not a violent man, but something about wishes scared him bad. Roger wondered what it was. What terrible secret could cause a mild mannered, loving father to puff up like a spitting cobra. He wanted to ask. Instead he said, “ yes, sir”, and sat quietly.
Roger watched his father deflate, like a tire with a slow leak. He sat heavily in his chair, “Roger, I’m sorry…it’s just…” James Pine pushed his chair back, picked up his briefcase from the counter, kissed his wife, patted Roger on the head and left for work.
“I’m sorry Dad. It just…slipped out.” Roger said as his father closed the door to the garage behind him. He looked up with tears in his eyes, “I didn’t mean it, Mom. You know I didn’t mean it.”
“Oh, sweety, your father didn’t mean it either. It’s just …some things… change people. Your father wasn’t always afraid like this. I guess being back here just makes it stronger.”
Roger stared into his mother’s face, searching for understanding. Looking for an answer, some clue, “Like what, mom? What does he have to be afraid of?”
His mother sighed heavily, “I wish I could explain it, someday when…” she couldn’t finish it. She knew it wasn’t enough.
Roger decided at that exact moment that he would trust his mother. He was going to tell her everything.
“ Mom, I think you’d better sit down.” He took a deep breath and continued, “I don’t know what’s going on in this town but that fountain is not gone, and I can prove it. Old man Winters told Joey bishop that every body thought the old fountain was buried when they built the court house.
He said the fountain they buried wasn’t The Wish Fountain at all. He said the real fountain was somewhere else, in a place no one remembers. Mom, Joey said Mr. Winters got real serious when he told him. He said he couldn’t die without someone knowing. Mom, he must have been telling the truth, because he died the next day. And there’s something else.”
Roger paused for effect, “I know it’s real, and I know it works because I saw it myself.”
His mother sat, stunned, “How is that possible?”
Roger grinned, pleased with the effect the revelation was
having on his mother, “I saw it in my dream. Remember? Well Joey showed me a picture of the fountain, it was the same! Don’t you think that’s weird?”
Jeanie Pine looked stunned, or maybe she was…trying not to laugh? “Oh, Roger, honey, for a minute I thought your were serious!”
Roger started to protest. Then it occurred to him that if his mother didn’t believe him, he might be better off with her believing it was all a joke. He laughed, “You should have seen your face.”
“ Roger, with an imagination like that, you might be a storyteller yourself some day.” She sat quietly chuckling to herself, “Old man Winters, that was a nice touch. It sounds like something a dying man might say.”
“Yeah it does, right? That’s what made me think of it.” Roger smiled.
His mother hugged him, “Thanks, I needed that after this morning.”
Several inflatables were being installed noisily on the back lawn of the library. The town hall was all but invisible under a flurry of banners and pennants. The largest banner read, “Welcome to Wishful’s 75th Festival of Wishes”.
Roger bought a snow cone and slurped as he strolled down the sidewalk between tables of wishing wells and postcards of the town hall that read , “Wishfully Thinking of you.”
He stopped outside the pool hall and peered through the window. He noticed his shoelace was untied. Roger set his snow cone on the window ledge and carefully knelt down to retie it. As he stood back up his heart skipped a beat. There, on a stool in broad daylight was the little old man who had winked at him in his dream! He sat in front of a crowd in the storyteller’s tent spinning a yarn.
There was something odd about his clothing. It wasn’t the antique styling. Dozens of vendors and towns people dressed to their Victorian nines for the festival every year. It was the way he wore it. Somehow, it didn’t look like a costume on him. He looked like he belonged in it.
As Roger stared the man turned and caught his eye, and winked! Or maybe his dreams were getting the better of him, either way Roger got the feeling that this old man knew something that Roger desperately wanted to know!
He scooped up his snowcone and hurried across the street. He found a seat near the back of the tent. The old man was just finishing his tale, The Legend of Jeremish Wish.
“ Knowing that it was his only chance Jeremish Wish took his last five dollar gold piece out of his pocket. He walked to the edge of the pool and watched the Spring bubbling up to fill it. He closed his eyes tight and flipped the coin up into the air carrying his wish with it down through the cool clear water.
As we all know his wish came to pass and the town of Wishful sprang up from the prairie. One day, nothing but tall prairie grasses as far as the eye could see. The next, a bustling Victorian village , with Jeremiah Wish, its founding father unanimously elected as the town’s first mayor. And right on that very spot they erected a fountain, The Fountain of Wishes, and people say that anyone with a sincere wish only needed to toss a coin into the bubbling water and it was as good as done. ”
The story teller bowed to the smattering of polite applause and passed his hat. Roger dropped his change in and waited. The man folded up his seat and started out of the tent. Roger hurried to catch up.
The storyteller stopped and looked down at Roger, “Something I can help you with, young man?”
Roger swallowed, “Uh, yeah…I was wondering …why aren’t wishes allowed now? If your story is true?”
“Well now, ‘course the stories true. Things change, that’s all.” The storyteller turned to go.
Roger didn’t know when he might get a chance like this again and he wasn’t about to let it slip away so easily. “ I don’t understand. Aren’t wishes a good thing?”
“Some people think so.” The man said.
“But why do you celebrate the festival of wishes, when you’re not allowed to make any of our own?” Roger asked the man.
The man smiled quietly, “You can make all the wishes you want for the next three days. The fountain’s right over there. Pitch in your penny and wish away.”
Roger gathered his nerve. He had the feeling this man might be the only one that could answer his question, “Where’s the real fountain? A friend of mine told me it was never destroyed. I have a feeling you know. Was it destroyed, and if not where is it?”
“Now hold on there young man those kind of questions will get you nothing but trouble. Maybe you’d best go on home and ask your Dad about that.”
“That’s just it. I can’t ask my Dad. He hasn’t even lived here since he was a kid. He says wishes are nothing but a foolish waste of breath. I need to know, are wishes real?”
Roger gasped as the man grabbed his arm and began to drag him along.
They turned off the busy street away from the carnival like atmosphere of the festival. The old man stopped and looked around cautiously. He bent down and whispered hoarsely into the boy’s ear, “Who put you up to this?”
“No one, I don’t know what you mean?” Roger was scared by the old man’s serious expression.
“I’m an old man, I don’t have time for games, who was it? Who told you to ask me that, was it Mayor Wish?” the old man’s gaze pierced Roger like a knife.
“Mayor Wish? Why would he?…” Roger was very confused.
The old man looked around again, “It’d be just like them to use a kid. You tell them I told you nothing, nothing, do you understand?”
“Tell who? I just got here, I don’t know anybody to tell.” Roger winced the old man’s bony fingers were starting to dig into his skin.
The storyteller shook Roger, “You tell them I said nothing!”
“Okay, okay, nothing, I got it.” Roger pulled away.
The old man scurried out into the street. By the time Roger recovered enough to follow him, he was gone. He stopped a couple on the sidewalk, “Excuse me, did you see a little old man come out of there”, he indicated the alley he’d just exited.
“No, sorry, sure didn’t” they walked by Roger peering back at him over their shoulders.
Roger wondered where the little man had gone to so fast. He was beginning to regret pushing for an answer. Maybe the old man didn’t know anything. Maybe. Roger turned to go. His disappointment was getting the better of him. If only he had taken more time. He wondered why the old man wasn’t more nervous.
He had seemed more angry than afraid.
Roger looked up, and coming right toward him was a very nervous looking man decked out in full Victorian splendor. A shopkeeper sweeping the walk greeted him with, ‘good morning mayor’. So this was mayor Wish!
From his black top hat to his white spats he looked every inch the Victorian gentleman. Roger stepped aside and turned to watch him pass, wondering why the mayor was in such a hurry. As he started to turn for home Roger stopped. Something had caught his eye. Peering out from behind a tree watching Mayor Wish’s march down Main Street, right where he was sure the young couple must have seen him, was an old man, the storyteller!
Roger ducked behind the nearest building and peered around the corner. The storyteller checked both ways, seemed to hesitate a moment when he didn’t find Roger where he’d expected him and then set out in the same direction as the mayor.
Roger wondered if he’d seen him. Then he wondered if it mattered. Then he wondered if he should follow the man. Finally he grew tired of wondering and decided to take action. He followed the storyteller down the street, ducking behind trolley stops, and waste bins whenever the man looked back. He followed him through down town and up Mulberry street.
They were now in one of the oldest parts of Wishful. Two and three story Victorians rose on either side. Some restored with brightly painted facades and neatly trimmed hedges, some in disrepair with overgrown jungles for gardens.
After pausing to look behind, the man turned up a narrow track. The boy waited until the old man had rounded a bend and then followed him onto what turned out to be a paved drive.
The trees overhead formed an arched canopy and what autumn light filtered down through the tangled branches painted speckled patterns of light and shadow on the cobblestone path. Roger forgot himself in the adventure of trespassing onto unknown territory and quickened his pace.
He rounded the bend and stopped. The old man should be in plain sight, the drive ran on straight for quite a distance, Roger hesitated uncertainly.
“I wonder where he’s gone” he said to himself, turning to look behind as a gnarled hand grabbed his shoulder and another snaked around and clamped itself over his mouth.
“Promise you won’t scream?” hissed a voice. Roger nodded and the hand over his mouth relaxed slightly. “Why are you following me?” the old man asked, stepping around in front of Roger.
“I don’t know. You acted strangely, I guess I was curious.” Roger replied.
“Curious? That’s dangerous you know. You know what they say about the cat.” The old man chuckled. Here in this more sinister surrounding he seemed less threatening somehow. Roger began to relax.
“What am I going to do with you, you just won’t take no for an answer, will you?” the old man was smiling broadly now.
“My mother says I have extraordinary tenacity,” the boy smiled.
“Oh she does, does she? What is your name boy?”
“My name?”
“Yes the thing they use to call you for supper.” The old man seemed amused by the boy’s confusion.
“Oh, that. My name is Roger, what’s yours?”
“ My name doesn’t matter, but you can call me whatever you like.”
Roger peered at the old man , “Matthias, I think.”
“Matthias, what kind of name is that?” the old man sneered.
“You said whatever I like, I like Matthias.” Roger countered, confidently.
“Well, so I did, so I did, well played. Come on.” And without another word the old man took off down the drive at a quick pace.
“Wait, where are we going?” Roger huffed to keep up.
“To see it of course,” the old man answered as if it were the silliest question he’d heard all day.
“To see what?” Roger had caught his breath and was now matching Matthias stride for stride.
“I hardly see the point in telling you when I can show you in a matter of minutes,” Matthias grinned.
Roger gave up his questions and focused on keeping up. After what felt like a mile the two rounded a bend and walked up to a tall iron fence.
A double gate blocked their path with a hulking, ancient padlock and chain bundled around its center. Roger pulled up expecting Matthias to pull out a key and unlock the heavy chain. Matthias had no such intention and walked clean through the gate and continued down the drive on the other side.
___________________________________________________________________________
Ah, yes, the inciting incident. The boy decides to follow the old man, Alice follows the rabbit, Dorothy sets off to see the Wizard and so the adventure begins!
Since childhood I was fascinated by the idea of wishes and fountains and wells and would hardly let my dad walk by a small, man made body of water without tossing a penny into it. I never really believed it was magic, but somehow,reviewing what I wanted from life in that way kept me on track.
Later it occurred to me that many people have this same relationship with religion, particularly Christianity. They don't really believe in the power of it, but they allow it to be practiced in little, controlled ways, like the Festival of Wishes in Wishful. Just enough to keep people happy, but not enough to mess up the lawn.
It has always been my experience that God takes a pleasure in messing up my life, or at least the parts that I am proudest of. Anything that I think I could have done without his help he is quick to show me that that is an illusion.
The people of Wishful, like many Christians, have decided they have outgrown their beliefs. They are bigger than wishing, and can relegate it to a holiday, where they explain the way it used to be to their children, all the while breathing a sigh of relief that they no longer feel the need for such superstition. Underneath they all secretly long for the power of the gospel to be real, to come alive.
Ironically this is exactly what God is waiting for, is an opening large enough to get his finger in, just a little, to remind us that he is real. Once we acknowledge him, then the possibilities are endless, but I am getting ahead of myself.
So, who is the old man? Where is he taking Roger? Is he one of the good guys, or will he reveal a dark side? Check in tomorrow to find out! Leave me a comment to let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The Wishmonger: Chapter Two
CHAPTER 2
A NEW FRIEND
Roger looked around curiously, “Waiting for me? But, I’m new in town.”
“I know, my Dad and your Dad will be working at the same bank,” the boy explained, “So, my Mom told me you would be here today. Just thought I’d say hi. My best friend Jack used to live here. They moved last Spring.”
So, Roger thought, that explains the glum look. “Okay. So, what’s your name?”
“Joey Bishop,” Joey pushed himself into the wheelchair with surprising ease and rolled down the walk to shake Roger’s hand.
James Pine did not believe in wasting time. He was already carrying a box up the walk, “You must be the Bishop boy. Your dad and I went to school together.”
“Why don’t you boys go play? We have plenty of help coming,” Jeanie Pine smiled at Joey.
Roger’s mother was carrying a suitcase that Roger knew contained her ‘moving clothes’, she had refused to travel in them.
“I don’t want my neighbor’s very first impression to be me in a holey sweatshirt,” she said, when his father teased her about it.
“Come on.” Joey said, “I’ll show you around. I know this house almost as good as my own. I hope you took the attic room. Jack always wanted it, but his Dad had his telescope up there.”
Roger followed Joey around to the garage. It was a modern structure built up to the level of the kitchen and Joey rolled right in. For the next twenty minutes Roger followed Joey around, amazed at how he zipped up the stairs on his hands, backwards, and never seemed to let anything slow him down. Joey explained that he was a wheelchair Olympian and, looking at the bulging muscles in his arm, Roger believed it.
The attic room at the top of the stairs was everything Roger had hoped it would be. It was huge! The double window looked out over the whole downtown and the branches of an ancient elm brushed up against one corner of it.
The rest of the house already felt familiar. Roger had studied the pictures for months. On the second floor were three other bedrooms and a bath. This bath would be Roger’s and it was situated right at the foot of his stairs.
The master suite stood on the opposite side of the house. The two other rooms lay one on each side of a short hallway. The downstairs had a recently updated kitchen, dining room, two living areas, a large entrance hall, a bath, and a huge closed in back porch that held the laundry room.
Joey would also be in his class at school and the boys became instant friends. About half an hour later five men pulled up in a black SUV wearing Tshirts and jeans. They all worked in various capacities at Wishful Savings bank where Roger’s father had accepted the position of chief loan officer.
As the men carried in boxes and furniture, Roger’s mother shooed Joey and Roger out the door and the boys set off for a tour of the town.
Joey explained things as they went. Roger asked Joey to show him his favorite places and was pleased when Joey put the library at the top of his list. It was just as dusty and mysterious as Roger had hoped.
Their next stop was the baseball diamond. Joey played for the Wishful tornadoes. Their season had ended the week before but he promised to play with Roger any time he liked.
The two boys stopped at the Top of the Morning café for sandwiches and Joey introduced Roger to the owner. George Popodopolis was a large round man with a broad smile. He welcomed the boys and would not accept Roger’s money. He insisted that anyone new to Wishful should be his guest. All afternoon the boys made their way through the small town. Joey was an excellent tour guide.
Roger finally got up the courage to ask his new friend about the fountain. Joey looked nervously around and steered him to an isolated bench behind the library.
“You know you have to be careful who you ask about that, right?” Joey said, nervously.
Roger laughed, “Yeah, my Dad kind of freaked when I asked him about it. So, what’s the big deal anyway?”
Joey looked around to make certain they were alone, “Okay, you know about the legend, right?”
Roger shrugged, “Sort of, my Dad didn’t really go into details, and I read a short version of it in the history book I showed you.”
“Well, in 1868 a man named Jeremish Wish came here. He was traveling west, but for some reason he decided to stay. They say he found a natural spring that allowed him to have fresh water. After he’d been here for a while he ran out of food, and winter was coming, he got really desperate,” Joey was warming to his story.
“He hadn’t seen anybody for a long time. One day he took his last gold coin and made a wish. He dropped it in the spring, ate the very last of his food, rolled up in his bedroll and went to sleep. When he woke up in the morning the town of Wishful had magically appeared pretty much like it looks today.” Joey had told the story with a seriousness that didn’t fit.
Roger laughed again, “ Come on, you expect me to believe that?”
Joey looked confused, “Believe it? It’s a historical fact. The last people that saw Jeremish were the ones that left him here. When they came back, here was Jeremish sitting alone in this town, so, they stayed.”
“You’re serious,” now it was Roger’s turn to look confused, “I thought it was just a legend.”
“All I know is what I’ve heard my whole life. One day nothing but grass, the next day, Wishful.” Joey answered.
Roger decided to accept it for now, “Okay, but what about the fountain? Where does that come in?”
Joey looked around again, “After the settlers came back, Wishful became a kind of tourist attraction. People from all over started hearing about the wish.
After a while the water from the spring became almost undrinkable, because of all the visitors trampling mud in it trying to make their wishes. No one wanted the visitors to leave because they provided a lot of business for the town, but something had to change.
Jeremish had been elected mayor,so he approached the town council with a plan. They could build a fountain above the spring, and channel the spring water through pipes to supply the city. That way the town had clean water and the tourist business could continue, so they built the fountain.”
“If it was such a good thing why did they destroy it?” Roger asked.
Joey leaned in close, “I heard they didn’t.”
Roger listened intently as Joey explained, “Two years ago I spent the night at Wishful General Hospital for some tests. There was this old man, everyone called him Old Man Winters, he said he knew where the fountain was. See, everyone thought it was destroyed…” Joey finished his tale as the two headed for home.
Roger had promised to be back in time for dinner and as he and Joey walked in the door two ladies were in the process of emptying the last box of kitchen wares. Jeanie sat in a chair at the kitchen table with a tall glass of lemonade. It was beginning to feel like home.
The pizza was still steaming as Roger opened the box to help himself to a slice. It was thick and cheesy with just the right amount of sauce. Any place that had pizza like this would be all right, Roger decided. The two boys took their pizza and lemonade out to the front porch and talked well into the evening when Joey’s mother telephoned to say it was time for him to come home.
“I just live two blocks away, so I can come over any time. I’ve got to go to out of town tomorrow, we’re getting my new chair fitted. But I’ll be back the next day.”
Roger smiled, “Cool, we have three days of Summer left. That ought to give you enough time to teach me all I need to know about Wishful.” The two boys shook hands and Joey headed for home. Roger bathed and fell straight into bed.
The town of Wishful was beautiful in moonlight. Everyone said so. It gleamed off the bronze dome of the town hall. It pooled on the lawn behind the library filling the bandstand gazebo with soft, pale light. It glinted off the steely bayonets of the rifles held by the steadfast soldiers of the war memorial.
In short, it pointed out all of the things Wishful should have been, a sleepy Victorian village, peaceful and serene. But there are things that moonlight will never reveal, places it cannot go, for instance; the dark, dank, basement below the library where blackout curtains forbid its entrance or the back room at the Wishful Thinking Billiard Parlor. And let’s not forget the darkened heart of one man who stood on a hill overlooking the town.
He was dressed all in black and even in the darkness a tight-fitting pair of dark glasses hid his eyes. His shadow seemed to dim the moon as it stretched out over the sleeping town below, he smiled icily.
What moonlight escaped the shadow filtered through the branches of the giant elm at the corner of Wish and Coin streets. It was just enough to light the room where Roger Pine lay wrapped in sweat-soaked silence. His breathing was ragged. His limbs flailed aimlessly. He was dreaming. He dreamed of a fountain. Not just any fountain, the fountain.
He stood as he had so many times before at its edge. In his sweaty palm a golden coin glistened. As he waited a new face appeared. On the other side of the fountain an old man with a beard stood watching Roger.
He waited for the sound he knew he would hear. First came the screaming of the frightened towns people as the giant monster took to the air. Then the whoosh of the scaly wings beating the air as it circled. He waited for just the right moment, closed his eyes, wished for the terror to stop and hurled the coin into the foaming fountain.
Or, he meant to at least, but he hesitated, the fear had gripped him hard, his hand frozen in mid throw. He looked to the old man for an answer, “You can, and you must destroy the dragon, you are our only hope.” The man smiled, winked, then turned and walked away into the night.
The great dark shadow of the monstrous winged lizard grew larger as he fell in a daring dive straight toward the helpless town, his nostrils trailing tendrils of smoke. He bellowed, sucked in a great breath of air and, with a whoosh, breathed it out as fire.
Roger held his breath as the creature came straight at him. Just as it seemed the column of flame would kindle the entire city of Wishful, he tossed the coin into the fountain, great white jets of water blew out of the fountain extinguishing the flame with a hiss.
The dragon’s charge continued on until it plowed full force into the hillside with a thud that shook the town to its very foundation. It’s great horned snout lay at Roger’s feet. It breathed heavily, its milky white eyes turned to Roger. He moved, there was no reaction. He reached out as if to touch the giant white orb, no blink, nothing, the dragon was blind!
Roger didn’t wait for the creature to recover. He ran in the direction the old man had gone. Branches whipped at his face as he entered a grove of trees. On the other side he came out in a clearing, calliope music rang through the night from a carousel.
The people of the town were no longer afraid. Children walked by with cotton candy and ice cream. It was a carnival, and there on the other side of the clearing, sitting on a stool, in front of an audience, was the man, he appeared to be telling a story!
When Roger opened his eyes everything had gone dark. He sat up slowly and looked around. As his eyes adjusted to the moonlight he realized he was sitting in his own room, in his own bed. Wow!
He unwrapped himself from the bed sheet and padded quietly down the stairs to the bathroom. Roger closed the door and turned on the light.
He studied himself in the mirror. Was there something slightly wiser in his eyes? He wasn’t sure. His hand was shaking as he moved it from the light switch and reached over to turn on the cold water. He could see his pulse throbbing in his neck.
He took the washcloth from its holder and bathed his face in the cool water. There was something calming in the fresh feel of it on his skin and the rush of the water in the tap. His pulse gradually slowed to normal and his breathing became regular. He took one last look at himself in the mirror, “I wonder”, he thought.
__________________________________________________________________________________
So, what do you think so far?
Okay, the town of Wishful is a combination of Eureka Springs Arkansas (one of my favorite places) and a conglomeration of every small town I grew up in. The first place I always wanted to visit was the library. When I was in first grade our TV went poof! and we never bought another one, so I read a lot.
The character of Joey was inspired by my good friend, Amanda. When I was in high school, she was in the youth group where I went to Church, and hung out with me and my wife. (girlfriend then) Even though a problem with her legs kept her in a chair, it did not confine or define her. She rode horseback, played sports, lifted weights and was quite possibly the most inspiring person I have known. She still is. In her Facebook posts you are likely to see her skiing, or rapelling, but nearly never just sitting at home letting life pass her by.
Roger's house is where I wish I could have lived, heck, wish I did live, in a modernized Victorian. As for the legend, I don't really know where all it came from. Fun though, huh? Let me know what you think of my "sleepy little town", what do you think will happen next? Like anything specific, or are you confused by any element? Leave a comment here and let me know. Thanks for reading!
A NEW FRIEND
Roger looked around curiously, “Waiting for me? But, I’m new in town.”
“I know, my Dad and your Dad will be working at the same bank,” the boy explained, “So, my Mom told me you would be here today. Just thought I’d say hi. My best friend Jack used to live here. They moved last Spring.”
So, Roger thought, that explains the glum look. “Okay. So, what’s your name?”
“Joey Bishop,” Joey pushed himself into the wheelchair with surprising ease and rolled down the walk to shake Roger’s hand.
James Pine did not believe in wasting time. He was already carrying a box up the walk, “You must be the Bishop boy. Your dad and I went to school together.”
“Why don’t you boys go play? We have plenty of help coming,” Jeanie Pine smiled at Joey.
Roger’s mother was carrying a suitcase that Roger knew contained her ‘moving clothes’, she had refused to travel in them.
“I don’t want my neighbor’s very first impression to be me in a holey sweatshirt,” she said, when his father teased her about it.
“Come on.” Joey said, “I’ll show you around. I know this house almost as good as my own. I hope you took the attic room. Jack always wanted it, but his Dad had his telescope up there.”
Roger followed Joey around to the garage. It was a modern structure built up to the level of the kitchen and Joey rolled right in. For the next twenty minutes Roger followed Joey around, amazed at how he zipped up the stairs on his hands, backwards, and never seemed to let anything slow him down. Joey explained that he was a wheelchair Olympian and, looking at the bulging muscles in his arm, Roger believed it.
The attic room at the top of the stairs was everything Roger had hoped it would be. It was huge! The double window looked out over the whole downtown and the branches of an ancient elm brushed up against one corner of it.
The rest of the house already felt familiar. Roger had studied the pictures for months. On the second floor were three other bedrooms and a bath. This bath would be Roger’s and it was situated right at the foot of his stairs.
The master suite stood on the opposite side of the house. The two other rooms lay one on each side of a short hallway. The downstairs had a recently updated kitchen, dining room, two living areas, a large entrance hall, a bath, and a huge closed in back porch that held the laundry room.
Joey would also be in his class at school and the boys became instant friends. About half an hour later five men pulled up in a black SUV wearing Tshirts and jeans. They all worked in various capacities at Wishful Savings bank where Roger’s father had accepted the position of chief loan officer.
As the men carried in boxes and furniture, Roger’s mother shooed Joey and Roger out the door and the boys set off for a tour of the town.
Joey explained things as they went. Roger asked Joey to show him his favorite places and was pleased when Joey put the library at the top of his list. It was just as dusty and mysterious as Roger had hoped.
Their next stop was the baseball diamond. Joey played for the Wishful tornadoes. Their season had ended the week before but he promised to play with Roger any time he liked.
The two boys stopped at the Top of the Morning café for sandwiches and Joey introduced Roger to the owner. George Popodopolis was a large round man with a broad smile. He welcomed the boys and would not accept Roger’s money. He insisted that anyone new to Wishful should be his guest. All afternoon the boys made their way through the small town. Joey was an excellent tour guide.
Roger finally got up the courage to ask his new friend about the fountain. Joey looked nervously around and steered him to an isolated bench behind the library.
“You know you have to be careful who you ask about that, right?” Joey said, nervously.
Roger laughed, “Yeah, my Dad kind of freaked when I asked him about it. So, what’s the big deal anyway?”
Joey looked around to make certain they were alone, “Okay, you know about the legend, right?”
Roger shrugged, “Sort of, my Dad didn’t really go into details, and I read a short version of it in the history book I showed you.”
“Well, in 1868 a man named Jeremish Wish came here. He was traveling west, but for some reason he decided to stay. They say he found a natural spring that allowed him to have fresh water. After he’d been here for a while he ran out of food, and winter was coming, he got really desperate,” Joey was warming to his story.
“He hadn’t seen anybody for a long time. One day he took his last gold coin and made a wish. He dropped it in the spring, ate the very last of his food, rolled up in his bedroll and went to sleep. When he woke up in the morning the town of Wishful had magically appeared pretty much like it looks today.” Joey had told the story with a seriousness that didn’t fit.
Roger laughed again, “ Come on, you expect me to believe that?”
Joey looked confused, “Believe it? It’s a historical fact. The last people that saw Jeremish were the ones that left him here. When they came back, here was Jeremish sitting alone in this town, so, they stayed.”
“You’re serious,” now it was Roger’s turn to look confused, “I thought it was just a legend.”
“All I know is what I’ve heard my whole life. One day nothing but grass, the next day, Wishful.” Joey answered.
Roger decided to accept it for now, “Okay, but what about the fountain? Where does that come in?”
Joey looked around again, “After the settlers came back, Wishful became a kind of tourist attraction. People from all over started hearing about the wish.
After a while the water from the spring became almost undrinkable, because of all the visitors trampling mud in it trying to make their wishes. No one wanted the visitors to leave because they provided a lot of business for the town, but something had to change.
Jeremish had been elected mayor,so he approached the town council with a plan. They could build a fountain above the spring, and channel the spring water through pipes to supply the city. That way the town had clean water and the tourist business could continue, so they built the fountain.”
“If it was such a good thing why did they destroy it?” Roger asked.
Joey leaned in close, “I heard they didn’t.”
Roger listened intently as Joey explained, “Two years ago I spent the night at Wishful General Hospital for some tests. There was this old man, everyone called him Old Man Winters, he said he knew where the fountain was. See, everyone thought it was destroyed…” Joey finished his tale as the two headed for home.
Roger had promised to be back in time for dinner and as he and Joey walked in the door two ladies were in the process of emptying the last box of kitchen wares. Jeanie sat in a chair at the kitchen table with a tall glass of lemonade. It was beginning to feel like home.
The pizza was still steaming as Roger opened the box to help himself to a slice. It was thick and cheesy with just the right amount of sauce. Any place that had pizza like this would be all right, Roger decided. The two boys took their pizza and lemonade out to the front porch and talked well into the evening when Joey’s mother telephoned to say it was time for him to come home.
“I just live two blocks away, so I can come over any time. I’ve got to go to out of town tomorrow, we’re getting my new chair fitted. But I’ll be back the next day.”
Roger smiled, “Cool, we have three days of Summer left. That ought to give you enough time to teach me all I need to know about Wishful.” The two boys shook hands and Joey headed for home. Roger bathed and fell straight into bed.
The town of Wishful was beautiful in moonlight. Everyone said so. It gleamed off the bronze dome of the town hall. It pooled on the lawn behind the library filling the bandstand gazebo with soft, pale light. It glinted off the steely bayonets of the rifles held by the steadfast soldiers of the war memorial.
In short, it pointed out all of the things Wishful should have been, a sleepy Victorian village, peaceful and serene. But there are things that moonlight will never reveal, places it cannot go, for instance; the dark, dank, basement below the library where blackout curtains forbid its entrance or the back room at the Wishful Thinking Billiard Parlor. And let’s not forget the darkened heart of one man who stood on a hill overlooking the town.
He was dressed all in black and even in the darkness a tight-fitting pair of dark glasses hid his eyes. His shadow seemed to dim the moon as it stretched out over the sleeping town below, he smiled icily.
What moonlight escaped the shadow filtered through the branches of the giant elm at the corner of Wish and Coin streets. It was just enough to light the room where Roger Pine lay wrapped in sweat-soaked silence. His breathing was ragged. His limbs flailed aimlessly. He was dreaming. He dreamed of a fountain. Not just any fountain, the fountain.
He stood as he had so many times before at its edge. In his sweaty palm a golden coin glistened. As he waited a new face appeared. On the other side of the fountain an old man with a beard stood watching Roger.
He waited for the sound he knew he would hear. First came the screaming of the frightened towns people as the giant monster took to the air. Then the whoosh of the scaly wings beating the air as it circled. He waited for just the right moment, closed his eyes, wished for the terror to stop and hurled the coin into the foaming fountain.
Or, he meant to at least, but he hesitated, the fear had gripped him hard, his hand frozen in mid throw. He looked to the old man for an answer, “You can, and you must destroy the dragon, you are our only hope.” The man smiled, winked, then turned and walked away into the night.
The great dark shadow of the monstrous winged lizard grew larger as he fell in a daring dive straight toward the helpless town, his nostrils trailing tendrils of smoke. He bellowed, sucked in a great breath of air and, with a whoosh, breathed it out as fire.
Roger held his breath as the creature came straight at him. Just as it seemed the column of flame would kindle the entire city of Wishful, he tossed the coin into the fountain, great white jets of water blew out of the fountain extinguishing the flame with a hiss.
The dragon’s charge continued on until it plowed full force into the hillside with a thud that shook the town to its very foundation. It’s great horned snout lay at Roger’s feet. It breathed heavily, its milky white eyes turned to Roger. He moved, there was no reaction. He reached out as if to touch the giant white orb, no blink, nothing, the dragon was blind!
Roger didn’t wait for the creature to recover. He ran in the direction the old man had gone. Branches whipped at his face as he entered a grove of trees. On the other side he came out in a clearing, calliope music rang through the night from a carousel.
The people of the town were no longer afraid. Children walked by with cotton candy and ice cream. It was a carnival, and there on the other side of the clearing, sitting on a stool, in front of an audience, was the man, he appeared to be telling a story!
When Roger opened his eyes everything had gone dark. He sat up slowly and looked around. As his eyes adjusted to the moonlight he realized he was sitting in his own room, in his own bed. Wow!
He unwrapped himself from the bed sheet and padded quietly down the stairs to the bathroom. Roger closed the door and turned on the light.
He studied himself in the mirror. Was there something slightly wiser in his eyes? He wasn’t sure. His hand was shaking as he moved it from the light switch and reached over to turn on the cold water. He could see his pulse throbbing in his neck.
He took the washcloth from its holder and bathed his face in the cool water. There was something calming in the fresh feel of it on his skin and the rush of the water in the tap. His pulse gradually slowed to normal and his breathing became regular. He took one last look at himself in the mirror, “I wonder”, he thought.
__________________________________________________________________________________
So, what do you think so far?
Okay, the town of Wishful is a combination of Eureka Springs Arkansas (one of my favorite places) and a conglomeration of every small town I grew up in. The first place I always wanted to visit was the library. When I was in first grade our TV went poof! and we never bought another one, so I read a lot.
The character of Joey was inspired by my good friend, Amanda. When I was in high school, she was in the youth group where I went to Church, and hung out with me and my wife. (girlfriend then) Even though a problem with her legs kept her in a chair, it did not confine or define her. She rode horseback, played sports, lifted weights and was quite possibly the most inspiring person I have known. She still is. In her Facebook posts you are likely to see her skiing, or rapelling, but nearly never just sitting at home letting life pass her by.
Roger's house is where I wish I could have lived, heck, wish I did live, in a modernized Victorian. As for the legend, I don't really know where all it came from. Fun though, huh? Let me know what you think of my "sleepy little town", what do you think will happen next? Like anything specific, or are you confused by any element? Leave a comment here and let me know. Thanks for reading!
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
The Wishmonger, Chapter 1
THE WISHMONGER by Mark R. Morris, Jr
Prologue
His footsteps echoed down the long stone tunnel, he was moving quickly now. The oppressive darkness through which he slid so confidently would have been enough to stop most intruders. He was in his element. His blinded eyes were no hindrance here.
He made his way quickly to the large open chamber in the center of the complex maze of tunnels. His heart leaped as he felt the presence, it was here! The sound of rushing water mingled with the labored breathing of the beast.
He fell to his knees and felt the scaly talons rest on his shoulders, “What news do you bring?” The voice of the monster had taken some getting used to. He had come to realize that he felt as much as heard the words.
His voice quivered“It is almost ready. The last pieces are falling into place.”
“Your reward will come soon, my friend, very soon.” The scaly cold voice, warmed him some how, with the news.
With a rush of wind he found himself alone. He smiled in the darkness thinking how sweet his revenge would be, to plunge the whole of this place into darkness, a darkness deeper than anything his blind eyes had forced upon-him.
______________________________________________
CHAPTER 1
THE BIG MOVE
The last box thumped onto the bed of the rental truck. James Pine removed his glasses and wiped the sweat from his eyes with his shirtsleeve, latched the door, and slid the padlock home. He turned and faced the now empty house
Its vacant, curtainless, windows stared back like sightless eyes. He ran his fingers through his thinning blond hair and sighed, “ Well I guess that’s the last of it, did you find anything else, Jeanie?”
His wife stumbled tiredly toward the truck, her bedraggled hair, pulled back into a long, brown, pony tail, hung limply out of the back of her bandana, “That’s
it. Roger is taking a last look.”
It was strange how different the house felt. Its once warm and inviting rooms seemed cold, almost sterile. As if removing the furnishings had somehow erased the house’s soul. He could feel the change, the new owner’s personality was invading, even before their first box was carried through the door.
Roger had just finished the final walk through, gathering bits of his life that had somehow escaped the packing process. He carried two books, a pair of sneakers, and some long forgotten action figures that had been MIA since their basement safari two summers ago.
Any other day he would have readily agreed to his mother’s suggestion to discard them. Somehow, today was different. Somehow, if he could hold onto these bits of plastic, the memories they carried would help him cope.
His father had opted for the double cab so Roger had an entire seat to himself. He climbed up and made himself comfortable. It was going to be a long trip.
It was the first week of August now. Roger had been counting down the days on a calendar. He had had time to prepare for the move. On the last day of school his father had made the announcement. A bank in his father's hometown had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. They were going home.
Only, it wasn’t home, as far as Roger was concerned. This was where he belonged. This was his hometown. He turned away from the window as two of his best friends rolled up beside the truck on their bikes. He could feel the lump rising in his throat and knew that tears would follow if he acknowledged their presence.
Roger had already cried more in the last two months than he ever thought possible. The last thing he wanted was for his friend’s last memory of him to be of his face wet with tears. They kept up for almost a block before James finally found second gear and the big truck lumbered up to speed.
His father had insisted on the do-it-yourself move. The money from their moving allowance could be better used in buying more furniture for the new house. It was nearly twice the size of the one they were now leaving behind. It had been built in 1910 and had four bedrooms.
From the pictures his dad had brought home, Roger had selected a large attic room with an entrance from a round turret with a spiral staircase. The biggest selling point was when his father mentioned that they would have to haul his furniture up through a big double window. How cool was that?
The combination of the hard days of packing, the emotional exhaustion, and the road noise, found Roger and he nodded off. Jeanie Pine reached over the seat and covered him with a blanket. She smiled to herself as she saw the action figures clutched tightly in his hand.
Roger had always been a vivid dreamer, but lately his dreams had seemed to take on a life of their own. He had been dreaming of Wishful, his father’s hometown, the town that he was soon to call his home. He knew that his dreams were partly fueled by the ‘Pictorial History of Wishful’ his father had borrowed form the Wishful public library. The book's images of Victorian architecture, broad leafy green trees, and brick paved streets set the backdrop, but there was more.
In his dreams the town of Wishful seemed to be in need of help. He dreamed of a dragon lurking on a hill overlooking the town. Its leathery wings stretched in flight as it circled hungrily over the tiny town.
It always ended the same, just as it seemed the town would be consumed, Roger extinguished the dragon’s fire. He saw himself standing beside a hidden fountain tossing in coins, as jets of water from the fountain engulfed the dragon, rendering his flames useless.
The next morning Roger awoke in a darkened motel room. His parents were trying to dress, silently, in the dark, “where are we?” Roger asked.
His mother flipped on a light, “We stopped for the night. We decided it would be easier than trying to move beds in the dark, and we didn’t want to sleep on the floor.”
Roger climbed out of bed and pulled on his jeans,
determined to miss nothing, “How much further?”
“Well, if we hurry we can still get breakfast here, then we
should get into town about noon,” his father said, as he zipped his suitcase, and set it with the others by the door.
Roger filled his plate with bacon and scrambled eggs, filled a tall glass with orange juice and joined his father at the table, “I can’t believe this breakfast bar is free.”
James Pine chuckled at his son over the edge of the map he was studying, “Not free, son. Included in the cost of the room, but far from free.”
Jeanie Pine had piled her plate high with fruit and was balancing a cereal bowl and a carton of milk on her tray, “Did you sleep okay, Roger?”
“I had that dream again. What do you think it means?” Roger asked, almost choking on a mouthful of eggs.
“I think it means that you have an overactive imagination,” His father said seriously.
Roger grinned, “Or maybe there really is a dragon just waiting to swoop down and consume the whole town, and maybe I really am supposed to stop him with a fountain, and maybe…”
James Pine had no sense of humor where Wishful was concerned. “Look! We have been over this before, Roger. You’re just taking the legend of Jeremish Wish a little too seriously. There is no fountain anymore. It was destroyed when I was still too young to remember.”
Roger made the rest of the trip in silence. His father tried to pretend as if nothing had happened, and his mother knew it would be pointless to bring it up. There was something about his connection to Wishful that James Pine had yet to reveal. It would have to come out in its own time.
The morning went by quickly and, at eleven o’clock, they took the exit from the interstate onto route four,
headed for Wishful.
The countryside alternated between rolling farms and outcroppings of limestone. The limestone became more common the closer they got to their destination. Wishful sat in the bowl of a ring shaped limestone formation.
The truck worked noisily up and over the rocky ridge leading down into the valley. The road dropped gradually, making two full loops of the canyon on its way down. It looked just as Roger had imagined it would with a round topped mound rising in its center.
Just as they reached the floor of the canyon a large stone sign greeted them, ‘ Welcome to Wishful’. A small metal sign on a post next to it was printed in large dark red letters, ‘No wishing within city limits. By order of the town council’.
Roger stared at the sign, unbelieving, “What does that mean?”
James Pine answered, careful not to sound impatient, “It means what it says.”
“Why?” this time it was Jeanie who couldn’t help asking.
James sighed, “I’m not sure but the story goes that there
were so many people invading the town to make wishes at the fountain that the council banned it altogether, but that was a long time ago.”
“Does that mean, all wishes?” Roger asked, he couldn’t believe it.
“Let’s just say I never saw a cake with candles until I
moved away to college,” James said with a straight face.
Jeanie laughed, “Oh come on, you can’t be serious?” Apparently he was, he didn’t answer.
The whole town of Wishful looked like one big park. The trees were even bigger and greener than the pictures Roger had seen, if that were possible. A white gazebo bandstand stood on a huge green lawn behind the public library, which looked like something out of Mary Poppins.
It had two stories with large windows. Short, deep steps rose up to a huge stone porch and two gigantic dark wood doors with brass handles sat squarely under a beautiful, hand painted sign, which read, ‘Wishful Public Library’.
Roger smiled to himself. The library in his old hometown had been one of his favorite places but it was nothing like this. He could just imagine all the nooks andcrannies there must be to explore in a place like that.
Quaint old shops lined the town-square. There was Ike’s ice cream emporium, the Wishful Thinking Billiard Parlor, and a bakery called ‘ Top of the Morning Café’.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Roger’s father had promised that he would be able to have more freedom in a town like Wishful. Crime here was almost unheard of and for a boy of thirteen the streets were perfectly safe. He could come and go on his own.
James Pine had a difficult time making the turn from Town-Square into Coin Street. On his third attempt he finally got the truck maneuvered through the impossibly tight curve and they headed back up the ridge three blocks to the corner of Wish and Coin. Roger thought about the irony of those street names as he jumped out of the truck and ran toward the house.
About halfway to the front porch he stopped. A boy about his own age was sitting glumly on the front steps of what he knew from the pictures to be his new home.
He had dark curly hair and an olive complexion. A lightweight, red wheelchair sat empty on the sidewalk in front of him, “Hey,” Roger greeted the boy, “my name’s Roger. What are you doing on my porch?”
The boy looked up, “Waiting for you.”
__________________________________________________________________________________
So ends chapter one.
Growing up, my family moved a lot. My father was a Church of Christ minister for smaller congregations, which was not a very stable position. Consequently, being the new kid has been a consistent theme in my writing.
Roger is a lot like me, or how I see me at his age. In chapter one, we see him uprooted and dropped into a slightly hostile new environment.
Curious about where the story goes next? Leave me a comment to make a guess about what happens. Be sure to check back later this week. (I would say tomorrow, but then I probably won't get it done, and you'll be disappointed) What was your favorite part of the first chapter, any questionse?
Prologue
His footsteps echoed down the long stone tunnel, he was moving quickly now. The oppressive darkness through which he slid so confidently would have been enough to stop most intruders. He was in his element. His blinded eyes were no hindrance here.
He made his way quickly to the large open chamber in the center of the complex maze of tunnels. His heart leaped as he felt the presence, it was here! The sound of rushing water mingled with the labored breathing of the beast.
He fell to his knees and felt the scaly talons rest on his shoulders, “What news do you bring?” The voice of the monster had taken some getting used to. He had come to realize that he felt as much as heard the words.
His voice quivered“It is almost ready. The last pieces are falling into place.”
“Your reward will come soon, my friend, very soon.” The scaly cold voice, warmed him some how, with the news.
With a rush of wind he found himself alone. He smiled in the darkness thinking how sweet his revenge would be, to plunge the whole of this place into darkness, a darkness deeper than anything his blind eyes had forced upon-him.
______________________________________________
CHAPTER 1
THE BIG MOVE
The last box thumped onto the bed of the rental truck. James Pine removed his glasses and wiped the sweat from his eyes with his shirtsleeve, latched the door, and slid the padlock home. He turned and faced the now empty house
Its vacant, curtainless, windows stared back like sightless eyes. He ran his fingers through his thinning blond hair and sighed, “ Well I guess that’s the last of it, did you find anything else, Jeanie?”
His wife stumbled tiredly toward the truck, her bedraggled hair, pulled back into a long, brown, pony tail, hung limply out of the back of her bandana, “That’s
it. Roger is taking a last look.”
It was strange how different the house felt. Its once warm and inviting rooms seemed cold, almost sterile. As if removing the furnishings had somehow erased the house’s soul. He could feel the change, the new owner’s personality was invading, even before their first box was carried through the door.
Roger had just finished the final walk through, gathering bits of his life that had somehow escaped the packing process. He carried two books, a pair of sneakers, and some long forgotten action figures that had been MIA since their basement safari two summers ago.
Any other day he would have readily agreed to his mother’s suggestion to discard them. Somehow, today was different. Somehow, if he could hold onto these bits of plastic, the memories they carried would help him cope.
His father had opted for the double cab so Roger had an entire seat to himself. He climbed up and made himself comfortable. It was going to be a long trip.
It was the first week of August now. Roger had been counting down the days on a calendar. He had had time to prepare for the move. On the last day of school his father had made the announcement. A bank in his father's hometown had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. They were going home.
Only, it wasn’t home, as far as Roger was concerned. This was where he belonged. This was his hometown. He turned away from the window as two of his best friends rolled up beside the truck on their bikes. He could feel the lump rising in his throat and knew that tears would follow if he acknowledged their presence.
Roger had already cried more in the last two months than he ever thought possible. The last thing he wanted was for his friend’s last memory of him to be of his face wet with tears. They kept up for almost a block before James finally found second gear and the big truck lumbered up to speed.
His father had insisted on the do-it-yourself move. The money from their moving allowance could be better used in buying more furniture for the new house. It was nearly twice the size of the one they were now leaving behind. It had been built in 1910 and had four bedrooms.
From the pictures his dad had brought home, Roger had selected a large attic room with an entrance from a round turret with a spiral staircase. The biggest selling point was when his father mentioned that they would have to haul his furniture up through a big double window. How cool was that?
The combination of the hard days of packing, the emotional exhaustion, and the road noise, found Roger and he nodded off. Jeanie Pine reached over the seat and covered him with a blanket. She smiled to herself as she saw the action figures clutched tightly in his hand.
Roger had always been a vivid dreamer, but lately his dreams had seemed to take on a life of their own. He had been dreaming of Wishful, his father’s hometown, the town that he was soon to call his home. He knew that his dreams were partly fueled by the ‘Pictorial History of Wishful’ his father had borrowed form the Wishful public library. The book's images of Victorian architecture, broad leafy green trees, and brick paved streets set the backdrop, but there was more.
In his dreams the town of Wishful seemed to be in need of help. He dreamed of a dragon lurking on a hill overlooking the town. Its leathery wings stretched in flight as it circled hungrily over the tiny town.
It always ended the same, just as it seemed the town would be consumed, Roger extinguished the dragon’s fire. He saw himself standing beside a hidden fountain tossing in coins, as jets of water from the fountain engulfed the dragon, rendering his flames useless.
The next morning Roger awoke in a darkened motel room. His parents were trying to dress, silently, in the dark, “where are we?” Roger asked.
His mother flipped on a light, “We stopped for the night. We decided it would be easier than trying to move beds in the dark, and we didn’t want to sleep on the floor.”
Roger climbed out of bed and pulled on his jeans,
determined to miss nothing, “How much further?”
“Well, if we hurry we can still get breakfast here, then we
should get into town about noon,” his father said, as he zipped his suitcase, and set it with the others by the door.
Roger filled his plate with bacon and scrambled eggs, filled a tall glass with orange juice and joined his father at the table, “I can’t believe this breakfast bar is free.”
James Pine chuckled at his son over the edge of the map he was studying, “Not free, son. Included in the cost of the room, but far from free.”
Jeanie Pine had piled her plate high with fruit and was balancing a cereal bowl and a carton of milk on her tray, “Did you sleep okay, Roger?”
“I had that dream again. What do you think it means?” Roger asked, almost choking on a mouthful of eggs.
“I think it means that you have an overactive imagination,” His father said seriously.
Roger grinned, “Or maybe there really is a dragon just waiting to swoop down and consume the whole town, and maybe I really am supposed to stop him with a fountain, and maybe…”
James Pine had no sense of humor where Wishful was concerned. “Look! We have been over this before, Roger. You’re just taking the legend of Jeremish Wish a little too seriously. There is no fountain anymore. It was destroyed when I was still too young to remember.”
Roger made the rest of the trip in silence. His father tried to pretend as if nothing had happened, and his mother knew it would be pointless to bring it up. There was something about his connection to Wishful that James Pine had yet to reveal. It would have to come out in its own time.
The morning went by quickly and, at eleven o’clock, they took the exit from the interstate onto route four,
headed for Wishful.
The countryside alternated between rolling farms and outcroppings of limestone. The limestone became more common the closer they got to their destination. Wishful sat in the bowl of a ring shaped limestone formation.
The truck worked noisily up and over the rocky ridge leading down into the valley. The road dropped gradually, making two full loops of the canyon on its way down. It looked just as Roger had imagined it would with a round topped mound rising in its center.
Just as they reached the floor of the canyon a large stone sign greeted them, ‘ Welcome to Wishful’. A small metal sign on a post next to it was printed in large dark red letters, ‘No wishing within city limits. By order of the town council’.
Roger stared at the sign, unbelieving, “What does that mean?”
James Pine answered, careful not to sound impatient, “It means what it says.”
“Why?” this time it was Jeanie who couldn’t help asking.
James sighed, “I’m not sure but the story goes that there
were so many people invading the town to make wishes at the fountain that the council banned it altogether, but that was a long time ago.”
“Does that mean, all wishes?” Roger asked, he couldn’t believe it.
“Let’s just say I never saw a cake with candles until I
moved away to college,” James said with a straight face.
Jeanie laughed, “Oh come on, you can’t be serious?” Apparently he was, he didn’t answer.
The whole town of Wishful looked like one big park. The trees were even bigger and greener than the pictures Roger had seen, if that were possible. A white gazebo bandstand stood on a huge green lawn behind the public library, which looked like something out of Mary Poppins.
It had two stories with large windows. Short, deep steps rose up to a huge stone porch and two gigantic dark wood doors with brass handles sat squarely under a beautiful, hand painted sign, which read, ‘Wishful Public Library’.
Roger smiled to himself. The library in his old hometown had been one of his favorite places but it was nothing like this. He could just imagine all the nooks andcrannies there must be to explore in a place like that.
Quaint old shops lined the town-square. There was Ike’s ice cream emporium, the Wishful Thinking Billiard Parlor, and a bakery called ‘ Top of the Morning Café’.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Roger’s father had promised that he would be able to have more freedom in a town like Wishful. Crime here was almost unheard of and for a boy of thirteen the streets were perfectly safe. He could come and go on his own.
James Pine had a difficult time making the turn from Town-Square into Coin Street. On his third attempt he finally got the truck maneuvered through the impossibly tight curve and they headed back up the ridge three blocks to the corner of Wish and Coin. Roger thought about the irony of those street names as he jumped out of the truck and ran toward the house.
About halfway to the front porch he stopped. A boy about his own age was sitting glumly on the front steps of what he knew from the pictures to be his new home.
He had dark curly hair and an olive complexion. A lightweight, red wheelchair sat empty on the sidewalk in front of him, “Hey,” Roger greeted the boy, “my name’s Roger. What are you doing on my porch?”
The boy looked up, “Waiting for you.”
__________________________________________________________________________________
So ends chapter one.
Growing up, my family moved a lot. My father was a Church of Christ minister for smaller congregations, which was not a very stable position. Consequently, being the new kid has been a consistent theme in my writing.
Roger is a lot like me, or how I see me at his age. In chapter one, we see him uprooted and dropped into a slightly hostile new environment.
Curious about where the story goes next? Leave me a comment to make a guess about what happens. Be sure to check back later this week. (I would say tomorrow, but then I probably won't get it done, and you'll be disappointed) What was your favorite part of the first chapter, any questionse?
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