by J G Smith
“Hurry up,” eggs Kyle.
“What?” I ask, returning to the kitchen with my journal.
“Is this kaldrae milk or guntrai milk?” asks Steve, decisively bias towards the latter.
I roll my eyes. “Kaldrae milk,” I reply. “Nobody buys guntrai milk anymore.”
Steve’s glum expression falls like concrete to the floor.
“What did I say?” boasts Kyle, all high and mighty. “What did I say?”
“Buzz off,” retorts Steve.
“You know, this would’ve been a lot easier if they just read the label,” mutters Bradley.
“Oh, he speaks,” teases Kyle.
Clearly the bantering had been going on for a while with Bradley keeping aloof. He normally does, but it seems the gang’s shenanigans are rubbing off on him.
The doorbell rings, again.
“Must be our dads,” says Kyle. “Maybe we should invite them in for breakfast.”
“Were they waiting for us?” I ask, heading to open the door.
“Yes,” answers Dylan, eyeballing Kyle and Steve.
“Mr Salensburg—”
“Please, call me Andrew. Are you boys ready to go?”
“They’re just helping themselves to breakfast. You’re welcome to have if you’d like.”
“Sure,” he says, calling David over. “Are your parents around?”
“Yeah, they’re in the study. They should be out in a moment.”
Stephen will be happy. He loves having guests. Or, should I say, he loves opportunities to brag about his pets.
Kyle, Steve and Bradley chew away at their Charmindae – multicolour, multi-shape, multi-flavour cereal made just for kids. It goes with milk. Better with kaldrae milk. I assume that’s why they were arguing about it.
David and Dylan share a packet of Fraedo with a glass of milk each while Andrew makes himself some Cereal. Cereal is a plain white porridge with practically every vitamin and mineral the human body needs. They say it was made for men and women in the army. I say it was made for men and women without any taste buds.
But I suppose that’s Mr Salensburg—I mean, Andrew – Kyle’s dad. He’s a rugged army man, built for sport and other manly things. You can see it in his classic t-shirt and khaki trousers.
David – Dylan’s dad – is scrawnier than Andrew, but a lot more intelligent from what I hear. He’s a manager at some IT firm and, typically, wears glasses and a suit. I’ve never really spoken to him, to be honest.
Dylan looks like his dad. Only, a tad more ostentatious. He’s usually washing his hands or, in the absence of a tap, using hand sanitiser. Okay, fine, there is some diversity in his habits. He can also be found fixing his ash blonde hair, applying a little moisturiser or doing some other thing I’m clearly cynical of. And yes, he does wear glasses, framing his over-complimented grey eyes.
I feel like I’ve just tossed him to the houndlers – not that we have any barkers around. He does have redeeming qualities. He’s clever, good with problem-solving and we do get along, despite our differences. It’s an interesting mix – us.
Kyle… I see him as an arctic wanderer. His hair is almost white. His eyes… ice blue. He’s either winning over many with his athletic and charismatic nature or pushing others away with his blatant naughtiness. He usually has something to say and I’ve never seen him afraid to say it.
Nothing at all like Bradley. If Bradley has something to say, he waits for just the right moment. Otherwise he won’t say anything at all. He’s clever and sporty. He’s just the right balance of everything, except for social. Not like I have much to say in that area anyway.
Then there’s Steve. Steve is Steve. He has brown hair, brown eyes. He fits in almost everywhere he goes. You know he’s there, though. And he can be just a little scruffy at times.
As they finish up eating, Bradley and Jennifer walk in.
“Stephen,” greets Andrew, as if they’re buddy-buddy.
The greetings make their rounds and, before I know it, Stephen says, “I have something to show you before you go. Come around back.”
There we go. I pull my hoodie over my head and slip on a pair of gloves before following them out back. I knew this was going to happen.
You see, Stephen has his own miniature wildlife reserve and quite recently welcomed a new member. He only has the rarest of the rare and becomes an expert on them within hours. With him around, there’s never a need to prep for zoology. It’s there. It’s always there.
The animals inside his reserve snuggle together for warmth, except for the Paleovician fish. They thrive in colder environments. Only a patch of white scales covers their transparent, jelly-like body, yet they seem to live longer than any other fish. Not good for eating, I must add. As a defence, they secrete a lethal neurotoxin when killed.
“Now,” explains Stephen, “the only common creatures in this reserve are nighlops.”
Annoying little critters. They have a prickly exoskeleton and hop backwards to get around. From a distance, they look like tiny black spots. The worst part must be the incessant beeping. They never stop. At least the reserve is sound-proof.
“As you can see, they’ve made their homes in the hollows of these calyps.”
“More like hear,” I mutter.
We pass a few of the thin, green, hollow plants before approaching what Stephen really wanted to show. Steve quickly looks into one of the calyps, holding its single white leaf, before the grand presentation begins. You can almost swear he’s never seen a sleeping nighlop.
“And this…” Stephen ogles as he picks up his new pet, declaring, “…this is my pride and joy.”
I feel like throwing up.
He cradles it in his hand. It has four legs and two arms with tiny fingers and toes. Its eyes are green, with strokes of blue, and mesmerises the gang.
“Did you see its tongue?” points Kyle.
Stephen feels chuffed.
“Wicked cool,” gawks Bradley.
“This is the most versatile creature I know. Its tongue, you saw, is green. That green comes from something called chlorophyll—”
“In an animal?” questions Dylan, sounding sceptical.
“Isn’t it fascinating? The only animal I know that eats bugs and grass, and photosynthesises. It also has fibrous tentacles that protrude from its fingers and toes, up to fifteen centimetres long.”
“What for?” asks Dylan, genuinely intrigued.
“I’m glad you asked. Its roles are diverse. They can act as roots to absorb nutrients from soil or even leech from other plants and animals.”
“So, it’s a parasite?” determines Dylan.
“The catura is so much more than a parasite. Rumour has it that its tentacles can even subsume impulses from the neurons of other animals, reading their minds. And even human minds.”
“Of course, it hasn’t been proven,” I cut.
“Catura!” exclaims Steve. “Sounds like a Dréamon.”
“Got to have ém all!” bolsters Bradley.
I shake my head, unable to help the flickered grin that makes its way. Those are my friends – we have a quite a bit in common.
As we leave the frosty reserve, I notice something in the partially frozen pond. My reflection—no, the other reflection.
“Rob,” calls Kyle. “You coming?”
I lose focus and the image reverts to mine. “Yeah,” I answer.
We move back, through the house. I pick up my bag and head for the pickup out front. I notice Jennifer carry some bags as well.
“Do you have your phone, Rob?” she asks.
I left it in my room. “I’ll go get it now.”
They’re going somewhere as well. What was the occasion? I wonder, collecting my phone and returning a second time for its charger.
That’s when it hits me. They’re going to the Freestone Hotel. It’s their anniversary. Twelve years, I believe. Everyone wishes them and piles into the pickup.
“Aren’t you gonna say goodbye to yo
ur parents?” asks Dylan, with Jennifer and Stephen waving from the SUV.
I wave back. A glimmer of sadness pecks my heart. I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.
“Man, your dad is so cool,” says Kyle, enthusiastically. “I wish my parents were brainiac scientists like yours.”
“It’s only Ste—” I whisper, but the rest of the group drowns me out with a conversation of their own. They don’t have to hear it.
Its 04:36 and the stars still glisten around Lunarea’s moonlight. It feels as if something is waiting; as if we’re driving off into the unknown. But we know.
The uneasy sense intensifies. Then… then I hear a squawk.
CHAPTER TWO
RED EYES
I’m almost impressed at how quickly the scene changes from night to day. A streak of light breaks the horizon and the stars begin to fade, revealing hues of red and orange across the sky. A final chill creeps through my spine as I await the warmth of Lightaia’s rays on the bed of the open pickup.
We’re travelling down a seemingly endless road – Pander Road. To the right and left is nothing but open field. I exhale warm air into my clasped hands, then yawn. I’m tired, but I’m struggling to fall asleep – unlike the rest of the gang.
The unsettling feeling keeps me up. I keep looking over my shoulder and I keep seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Still, the feeling grows. My heart feels like it’s coming out of my throat and my lungs feel as if they’re shirking on their duty. There’s an almost heebie-jeebie feeling, so I close my eyes and see, in the blackness of my mind, flashes of what I think to be the pickup.
I think. It’s mostly white streaks. Like what you see on the TV when its looking for signal. I rub my eyes. The image is gone. My skin begins to tingle and I can well-nigh feel something moving in the air. I can very nearly see, at the back of my mind, what looks to be a bird, flying high above us in the air.
Curious, I raise my head… and there it is, way up. Could it be the same bird I saw earlier this morning? As I look intently, I see a glimmer of red.
“It can’t be,” I whisper.
“What can’t be?” asks Steve. When did he wake up?
“That bird…” I reply, pointing to where it was.
Steve looks. There’s nothing there. He looks back at me, dazed. “Okay…” he mutters.
“Seeing things again, Robert?” asks Bradley, also woken. He’s trying to be nice about it, but it comes off like a dagger to the back.
“Is that why you’re seeing the—” begins Steve.
“Seriously?” cuts Dylan, head still on his pillow. “You know very well he’s going because of the blackouts.”
“Not hallucinations?” asks Steve.
“No,” answers Dylan, simmering. “Don’t either of you pay attention?”
Kyle rolls over, clearly annoyed that he’s been woken, and mutters, “Blackouts, hallucinations; same thing.”
“You think?” asks Dylan, rhetorically. “You actually believe that? No wonder you keep failing all your subjects.”
“One class!” exclaims Kyle, visibly upset. “One class!”
I look out into the empty fields as everyone argues. I don’t need to get myself involved in this. I already have other things on my mind. That bird for instance. Where did it go?
Hold up. We’re not on Pander Road anymore. I look around. The gang isn’t arguing and they’ve shifted from their previous positions. I take my phone out – barely any battery life – and see that it’s 06:53. That’s just over an hour, this time. I make a note of it on my phone.
Andrew pulls into a filling station and gives each of us some money for snacks. I give mine to Bradley and ask him to get me a packet of crunchers, a slab of yancoco and a bottle of Xyletta.
“Any flavours in particular?” he asks.
“Surprise me,” I tell him, heading over to the restroom.
He shakes his head.
The passageway down has a cold alley-way feel with tan brick walls. As I near the door for the men’s room, on my left, I feel the same awry feeling as before. I see the men’s room – through my mind’s eye and in the same monochromatic feel as earlier on in the pickup. There’s a man in one of the stalls. No, two men.
You’re going mad, Robert, I tell myself. No, you’re already mad.
A muffled scream breaks through, with the sound of something—someone falling over. I want to leave, but a red glow from the crevices of the door pulls me in. Against my better judgement, I open the door and enter.
It’s quiet, now. There are four stalls on my right towards the end, six urinals just before and ten basins on my left – paired off with mirrors against the wall. There’s a long windowsill on the other end of the bathroom and, on it, is a large, black bird. The same one? Is it following me?
My heart beats a little faster and the bird… I feel like it’s watching me. Shrug it off, Robert, I coax myself. It’s just a bird. My eyes move to the stalls and I slowly approach the one I saw just outside, keeping careful watch of the bird as I do. It’s the third stall from the windowsill. I push it open and take a step back. My breathing grows heavy and the bird becomes restless.
There’s a man lying hapless on the floor, against the toilet, with the imprint of a hand on his cheek. I breathe a little deeper. Come on, Robert, you’ve done first aid. I get myself to grips and check his pulse. As I move closer to the middle-aged man, the bird grows more restless. I go down to my knees and press my fingers against his neck. Nothing. The bird lets off a squawk, which I feel. I get a fright, stand up and run.
“Andrew,” I call as I get to the pickup. They’re just about done filling it. “There’s a man in the restroom.”
“Okay…” answers Andrew. “And that’s important because…?”
“I think he’s dead,” I mutter.
A grim look masks his face. David’s too. They come with me to the restroom. David has his phone ready to call emergency services.
“Where?” asks Andrew, being the first to enter.
“Third stall from the end,” I say, quickly noticing that the bird was no longer around.
“Where?” he asks, again, standing in front of the stall.
“He was just—” I stop myself. The stall is empty. There’s only sand where the body was. Ash, maybe?
Andrew’s look… “Really?” he questions, utterly dismayed. I can almost hear him add, ‘Again?’
David puts his phone away, “Maybe there was someone and they just got up and left. He could’ve seen wrong. Right, Robert?”
“Right,” I say, giving in. I remain behind to relieve myself as they head back to the pickup.
The image of the man stands at the forefront of my mind. Where did he go? Where did the bird go? I finish up and wash my hands, looking into the mirror. “I don’t understand,” I whisper to my reflection.
“What don’t you understand, Robert Peters?” booms a deep voice, as if from nowhere.
I jump, scared almost half to death. Just behind me, in my reflection, I see a tall man with long black hair. I turn to face him with the tap still open. How does he know my name? I don’t say a word. I just… stare. Wait… he isn’t wearing any clothes.
He asks again, “What don’t you understand, Robert Peters?”
“Who are you?” I ask. “And how do you know my name?”
He grins, appearing playfully confused. “Lighkame,” he answers. “Don’t you recognise me?”
He takes note of my puzzled—no, clueless expression and asks, “Does this help?” His eyes flash red, just like the bird’s had done.
I try stepping back, but the sink blocks my way.
“Please, Robert, don’t play coy with me.”
“I don’t understand what—” I try to say.
“You don’t seem to understand a lot of things,” he interrupts, moving to the stall. He pauses. It seems as if he has a lot on his mind. I have a lot on my mind. Why are you still here, Robert? I think to myself. Something doesn’t feel right. I
want to leave, but…
“I’m sorry you saw what happened here,” says Lighkame, now sombre. “Things are just different here.”
“You saw what happened?” I ask, feeling a spark of curiosity.
No answer. Instead, his eyes glow red and, with fluctuating intensity, his veins do too.
“Lighkame?” I mumble his name, concerned for what might happen next.
A flash of red light, his light, engulfs the room. My eyes! I cry, without the words. They’re struck with a sharp pain and momentary blindness. It takes a moment for them to readjust. When they do, and when the light fades, I see the man from before standing where Lighkame was. Middle-aged. Tan suit.
“What just happened?” The words barely escape my tongue.
“You’re not building my confidence,” says the man. “I’ve been in this world for more than a week, according to your measurement of time. Adapting hasn’t been easy. Learning your language hasn’t been easy—”
“Lighkame?” I question, interrupting him.
“And you’re supposed to be my way back home?” He walks a little closer. “What you’re looking at is a replica of the man you saw in that stall. I needed information and an appearance.”
“So, you killed him?” My face twists.
“I absorb information using light. I didn’t expect him to be so fragile.”
“And the bird?”
“He’s catching on.”
I really should leave, but I don’t know if I can. “What did you mean by me getting you home?”
“You really don’t know?” he questions, puzzled. “You have something inside of you that I need, unlike the rest of your species.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“Of course you don’t,” he spits. “There are things happening all around you, and you’re not seeing it. Nobody sees it. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not supposed to be here. And you, Mr Peters, have the key to take me home.”
A bright red beam shines from his hand, now a fist. He isn’t happy. Yet, somehow, he manages to musk up a menacing grin, ear to ear.
“Where is home?” I ask in an attempt to distract him.
