The Land of Make Believe

by Michael Arnold

  “Where are you? Whatever you are I can smell you?” Martha whispered.

  Then it dawned on her as she crept on tip-toes to the closet.

  “I should have known. If you are a rat, or a ghost where would you hide? The closet!” She placed one hand on the closet’s doorknob and her hand, which held the broom, up in the air like a hammer.

  Whisk-pey, quicker than lightning, by the time Martha was turning the knob on the closet door had drawn her sling-shot out of her satchel and had it loaded.

  “Martha, I’m back with your son and from the looks of his face it appears that he has been having some more serious boy problems!”

  “Oh my dear child…, I’m coming down. I’m coming down!” Both of them met at the midway point of Olen’s stairs. “Mom, were you in my room?”

  “Oh, baby, what happened to your face? It’s all bruised and scratched, Olen what-”

  “Mom, I don’t want to talk about it and I want you to stay out of my room okay?” Olen yelled.

  “That’s no way to talked to your mother, son. You need to apologize to her,” his father said from the bottom of the stairs. Olen snatched away from his mother and ran into his room and slammed the door.

  “It’s alright, Walter. He is a little upset, leave him be, I told you, until I find out what’s wrong with him!” Martha said.

  “Well, I didn’t like the way he spoke to you and I just wanted to talk to him that’s all.”

  “The talking can wait and beside I was in his room so I take part of the blame. Come on, I want to finish dinner!”

  Olen didn’t think about Whisk-pey at that moment, whether they were there or not, nor did he think of the big victory he had in school against the Mrs. Forsite, or even how he was just as brave as he was in his art class when he saved Whisk-pey’s life. None of it mattered to him but what did haunt him day and night when he thought about it, was Olen himself.

  “I’m just the same dumb Olen. I will always be bullied and picked on. I have no purpose. After all, look at me, these ugly glasses, my boney body, I’m so skinny that if the wind blows hard, I’m going to fall down and hurt myself!” Olen said.

  Whisk-pey and Ento heard Olen from the closet as he began to cry.

  “I don’t ever want to go back to school, ever again. And my stupid parents, they don’t understand. My mom always hugs and kisses me but that doesn’t solved the problem, and my dad…” He stopped, shaking his head and laying in his bed. Whisk-pey walked out of the closet with Ento on her shoulder.

  The smell of pine and spice adorned the room. Before Olen could turn around and acknowledge the smell he heard:

  “You not a dumb Olen, you are a great Olen. You are a friendly and caring, Olen, you are a special Olen!” Whisk-pey said.

  Olen hastily turned from his wall and toward the soft, feminine voice of Whisk-pey.

  There was a smile that was as beautiful as the dew drops that sit on flower petals that has yet to roll off in the early morning hours. Her teeth were bright, straight like human’s teeth. Olen smiled back.

  “You should get up. This is no sleeping time yet.”

  “I know it’s not, but I don’t feel like it. But thanks for the encouraging words. Anyway, Whisk-pey, you are kind yourself!”

  Whisk-pey and Ento exchanged glances again. Olen turned to the wall on the right of his bed he stared at the clock. He closed his eyes. Tears came out. “You can’t do anything about the past, Olen. But you can do something about the future.”

  “No, I can’t. I can’t do anything about Charles. He is a bully and he has been bullying me for a very long time!”

  Suddenly a scowl replaced Whisk-pey’s attractive smile. Whisk-pey instantly felt the same heat that Olen felt in his sixth period art class. “He is a lot bigger than me, and he has other kids that are in his group that bully a lot more kids than just me. Charles is a mean, a bad person. He scares me, Whisk-pey!”

  “How dare he do this to you or any other kids in your school. That is wrong and that is mean. Tomorrow you will settle this once and for all, Olen. Tomorrow you will be free and you will be at peace forever and so will the other kid at your school, Olen!”

  “Yeah, it sounds good, Whisk-pey, and you sound pretty confident but you don’t know how mean Charles Henry is. He bullies a lot of us kids, Whisk-pey.”

  “I have slain a wild beast with a sling-shot and a knife. I have protected my father and mother from our arch enemy. Charles Henry is no different, Olen. Tomorrow his reign of bullying is over, Olen!”

  Chapter 15

  Gilma saw it from a distance that morning, the carnage, the once living now turned into death, the smoke that ascended from the cloud bomb-thick with the stench of the dead, the layers of blood that covered the green grass like red paint and those who lay in it hurt, but not yet departed from that world. Gilma wanted to turn a deaf ear to those that screamed out in pain as the wild beasts slowly ripped away their flesh from their bones.

  “Those that are alive they will be useful to me, but those that are injured from the war give them over to the wild beast, they deserve every piece of flesh on each and every one of them!” King Fenris yelled. From those who were injured, one reached out toward the trees in which Gilma was perched. This act saddened Gilma the more she gazed at it.

  “If I save one of you then I would have to save all of you and that’s impossible,” she said out loud, believing now she was part of the entire Canine family, and not just a friend of Whisk-pey. As much as she and Amose didn’t get along, to see him beaten down to a bloody pulp by King Fenris after one of the wild beasts racked out his eye and shredded his face, was a little more than she could really take. If she could have done somrthing, she would have prevented this grueling act from happening to Amose, at least Amose, at least him.

  Her eyes had enough, seeing another one of the Canine-people being eaten or taken prisoner in their own land might provoke her into action; to make a death-daring move and try saving everyone and being killed herself. But a better idea sprung into her head. It would have to be thought through though.

  She arrived at the cave that night where she stood on a tree several feet high and several feet away from the entrance.

  She didn’t see any of the trolls outside. She knew that they were somewhere, mostly inside, presumably, but she wasn’t sure of their exact location. She didn’t trust Norvis, so she couldn’t trust any of the other trolls either. I have to get to the wishing well. That will be the only way that I can make contact with Whisk-pey.

  Cautiously Gilma left her place on the tree limb covered with dead, thinning leaves and branches that could break at any time. She cased the caves as secretly as possible. “I know the wishing well is around the back of the caves. If I can get there and get to that wishing well without being noticed, that will work!” Gilma said out loud convincing herself that her plan would get her to the wishing well, even though she knew the caves were swarming with trolls. The stone fixture of different sizes, shapes and height, confused Gilma, but she kept her eyes on the light that she could see through the stone as she glided with speed through the air.

  At times she could hear the low groaning sound of eff, eff coming from the inside of the stone walls that held the trolls’ individual dwellings. The path that stretched from the beginning of the caves was long, whether you were walking or flying. But for Gilma it seemed even longer. The inside of the individual dwelling was shielded by the stone fixtures, but every now and again, Gilma’s keen eye could see abnormal movement below.

  She flapped her wings harder, and harder, hoping that it would give her the extra push of speed she needed to glide the rest of the way to the back of the caves. If the cave at the back was shielded off, her daring trip back there would have been for nothing.

  The extra push got her there a little faster indeed. She glided into the back then stopped suddenly. What Gilma saw she didn’t factor in with the push and the glide; what she didn’t anticipate, what she hadn’t factored in was one
of the trolls standing on guard.

  Quietly, Gilma sank in the dimness of the path near the entrance and stopped. If she didn’t pull back and if the guard saw her just as she saw his lantern jaw and burly body, her plan inside the stone boulders would be buried before the first layer of foundation could be established.

  It worked; Gilma was able to pull back far enough behind two of the stone boulders. Then she jumped when she heard a loud boom, boom noise and fell back into position behind the boulder when she realized that boom noise was her pounding heart. Gilma peeked around the edge of the boulder. I have to get down there to get inside. Everything is sealed tight up here. I have no chance of getting in.

  The distance between her and the troll was more than twenty five feet. “I will surely be discovered once I come from behind here. There must be another, gosh, there must be another way!” Gilma’s words leaped out of her mouth just as the troll’s eyelids slammed open, revealing deep eye socket and gray eyeballs.

  “You!”

  The word ‘you’ came out loud and raspy. All Gilma could see in the troll’s hollow mouth was darkness and death. His large gray hands fitted perfectly around a long, black bat-like object raised like ascending smoke.

  “What are you doing here?” the troll yelled. If Gilma would stay true to her plan, not only would she not make it to the wishing, she would surely be put to death.

  In an all out desperate move, Gilma took flight and dove toward the menacing troll. The troll, mighty and powerful, drew a black object with four, sharp ends to it, from beneath his belt. Gilma’s instinct match the troll’s quickness. The object sailed through the air weaving and weaving its way in Gilma’s direction.

  A blade, Gilma thought. She dodged it as she kept on going downward. It became clear what she had to do next if she would get past the first phase of her plan. The troll yelled out. His voice was loud and it carried.

  Gilma sank her claws into the trolls head and began to go upward, way upward into the blackened air. He wasn’t as heavy as she thought but when you’re operating on adrenaline and adrenaline alone Gilma could have picked up every fifty ton boulder there and it would have seemed light to her.

  “Put me down, put me down or you will die!”

  “I am going to put you down right here in just a few seconds. Don’t worry about that!” Gilma said.

  She felt her grip slipping the more the troll fought to free himself.

  She didn’t want the grip to break off prematurely before she got to the grove of trees. She was just feet away now. When she was ready to release him, she felt a cold, strong grip reach up and grab one of her legs.

  “No, no, no let me go!” Gilma looked down while trying not to fly into a tree.

  “I told you I was going to kill you!” Gilma didn’t know what he was talking about. Her attention was on freeing her leg from the troll’s grip until she felt a painful twinge, then that twinge immediately went down her leg. The pain was excruciating. Her eye caught glimpse of the troll who had already sliced one of Gilma’s legs open and was getting ready to do the same with the second one.

  She thought about his head, his forehead. No I have to get to his eye and pluck them out or he will kill me! But then it dawned on her how far down her back would bend to be able to accomplish such a task. She tried it anyway but then her instinct intervened. Gilma began to chew away on the troll’s hands and fingers.

  The hand that held his knife released it. He needed that hand to push and beat on Gilma’s head to release her biting frenzy. Both of their intentions worked simultaneously. The troll peered at his bitten and chewed-up hand as he sailed thousands of feet downward into the trees. Gilma felt the dripping of blood, the brittle burning of a torn leg.

  She wanted to look but she wouldn’t. “It’s going to slow me down. I will never get where Whisk-pey is, if I look at my leg!” she whispered.

  Gilma never considered death not for the Canine-people, the troll that she believed was dead from the thousand feet downward tumble he took, or even for herself.

  That which had been so easy even as a young bird suddenly became so hard. Her massive wings flailed back and forth like a pendulum in the cool air. She waited for the speed then the glide that would at least take her halfway to the cave but it didn’t come, the glide didn’t come, the energy that Gilma needed to produce the flail and glide was seeping out through her torn leg.

  She felt it; the cool air taunting that leg. With every move and flail Gilma felt it tearing, the two separate torn flesh that made up just one of her leg. She began to panic; the clear path to the caves was now occupied.

  “No, no it can’t be!” She yelled out. Her thoughts became screams, and her screams became fears. “I want to stay alive to find Whisk-pey!”

  The path suddenly cleared of those trolls that her mind projected. Now the glide came. It was then that she caught every breath she could because if she had to pump her wings again, she may never get another breath out of her beak.

  She saw the cave’s outside casing and the handle which the troll guarded so continuously. For Gilma, thanks to the strong flailing and the smooth glide there was going to be a landing. But it would be a crash landing. I want be able to land correctly, my leg is all messed up! As the glide took her in at a speed that was unconsciously fast she bowed her head, cuffed her legs upward the best she could, the pain now a numbing feeling, her wings covered her cocooning, her body almost acting as a shield. She closed her eyes, anticipating a crash landing.

  She rammed into the black troll’s handle, breaking it. She then rolled like a ball over the stone and rock that came out of the barren ground, way past the entrance of the back part of the caves. Finally she stopped rolling. There was calmness, nothing moved, only a pall of stillness echoed in Gilma’s ear. The stone boulder that kept the caves secluded opened.

  The countless variety of lights came gushing out of the entrance. There it was: that wishing well…. Gilma didn’t move. She was overwhelmed by the stillness. She lay there in the gap of little stone and ground. Her world black as ever – the lights weren’t a factor nor was the wishing well.

  Beside the lights, Norvis stood with his army of troll-men! Several of them walked out then Norvis said: “Where is the guard on duty?”

  Others searched the grounds for him but what they found laying in the field of stones was Gilma rolled up in a cocoon-like body.

  “Whatever it is, seize it! I want to know what it is,” Norvis said. The lights from the wishing well shone brightly on Gilma. The trolls, who had been searching elsewhere for the guard, came back to the cave’s entrance to report that one of them was indeed missing. “We have no trace of him Norvis,” one of the searching trolls said.

  “Maybe this will give us some clue as to what happen to him.” It took four large burly-looking trolls to carry Gilma away from the caves. But the carrying stopped at the well. Norvis didn’t recognize Gilma. The cocoon was a light purple and it was hard as a shell.

  “What is this, what is happening?” One of the men, who was carrying Gilma, asked.

  “Don’t stop. Keep going,” Norvis ordered. “This isn’t where I want this.”

  But before the trolls or Norvis had time to react, the water from the wishing well shot up while the many lights sparkled from the ceiling of the caves.

  “Who’s made a wish without me knowing? None of my people did because we are not wisher!”

  A fiery orange shone under the bottom part of Gilma’s backside. The trolls that were holding her dropped her where they stood. Everyone looked on in amazement as the orange color underneath Gilma was pure heat that burned the palms of the trolls who held Gilma.

  “The water is taking her!” one of the trolls yelled.

  Norvis used his hands to signal everyone to get away from the wishing well. As if the wishing well had a mind of its own, watery outstretched hands grabbed the cocoon in watery arms and drew her beneath the water surface. The only sign left was a purple and white feather.


  Norvis picked it up. He looked at it. “Someone is up to their tricks and whoever it is will pay with their lives. No one gets past this world and into another through the wishing well without my okay!” Norvis placed the feather in his pocket, staring angrily at the wishing well.

  “Please tell me. I can just sleep my life away and I don’t have to go to school!”

  “Nope, not at all. Your school is for learning and it will make you a better kid just like me, Olen!” Whisk-pey said.

  “Just like you?” Olen questioned.

  “Yes, just like me and what is that question supposed to mean, my new friend?”

  “Don’t get any ideas, Whisk-pey. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Never mind!”

  “Okay then, have it your way. When is breakfast?”

  “I want to go over this brilliant plan of yours first. I want at least to have peace of mind before I go downstairs. Is that alright?” Olen asked.

  “Sure, that works even better because after I lay it out, then I am going to have worked out a very big appetite!”

  “Same here, except my input in the matter will be pretty small.” Ento added.

  “Olen, I just want to apologize for going in your room yesterday evening.”

  Olen took a deep breath than looked at his mother. “Mom, you’re my mother. You don’t have to apologize for being in my room. You pay the bills not me!” Olen was peering out the car window when his mother touched his hand squeezing it firmly.

  Olen turned from the window and looked at his mother.

  “I know, son, I know. Your father and I pay the bills, but your door was locked and closed. I should have at least waited for you to get home, out of respect. And truthfully if you would have been in my room, looking around and I wasn’t there, I would have been a little upset too!”

  Olen smiled then his gazed turned to the windshield. There it was – his middle school.