The Lost Celt

by Conran, A. E. ;

  I scan the street one more time and check out the park entrance. No Celt. As I look away, I catch the number of Ryan’s house. It says 1113. I look again. I’m sure Mom wrote 1110 in her email.

  On the opposite side of the street, next to the park, there’s a house with a rusty metal screen over the front door. The house is painted a yucky green. Damp clumps of plaster are peeling off the walls revealing patches of old brown paint and black mold. Inside the front window, yellowing stacks of mail pile up against the glass. The curtains of the house move slightly. There’s a dark shadow behind them that gradually disappears. I look at the number by the door. A zero hangs to one side, almost falling off. 1110 it says.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Hey, wait for me,” I yell. The others are already walking past the alley where the Celt jumped us. I get this tingling feeling, the same as when you bite a piece of foil by mistake. Will the Celt be there?

  I decide to tell Kyler about Ryan’s house later, just in case he makes a big deal of it. There’s something weird about pretending to live in someone else’s house, and I don’t want Kyler to call it and make Ryan mad again.

  When I catch up, Kyler’s pointing down the alley saying, “He jumped out from here!”

  Shoot! He’s not supposed to know that. We weren’t supposed to be on this street when it happened. I glare at him, and he goes red.

  Luckily, Grandpa doesn’t seem to notice. He just says, “That right, Ryan?” I’m sure Ryan’s going to spill the beans. He glances at me, and then nods in answer. “Like an ambush?” Grandpa asks. Ryan nods again. “Very scary.”

  Grandpa puts his hand on Ryan’s shoulder and steers him down the street. Kyler and I look at each other, eyes wide. Ryan didn’t get us into trouble. Why? He could have so easily.

  An Asian lady comes to the door of the laundromat as we pass. She crosses her arms. “That boy needs to stay away from him,” she says.

  Grandpa nods his head in agreement. “That’s right. Thank you. Good morning,” he says.

  She wishes him good morning too and smiles.

  “It was her,” Ryan says. “She walked me to school. I didn’t need her to.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t, Ryan,” Grandpa says, “but she was just trying to help.” Grandpa’s voice gets lower. “Did I tell you I got ambushed once? Scariest day of my army career.” Kyler and I stay close, so we can overhear what they’re saying. “Everything was completely out of control. Couldn’t keep my men together, didn’t know where the enemy were coming from, nothing. One of my friends took a bullet in the shoulder right next to me…and when I was trying to get him up, another bullet went straight under my arm into his chest and killed him. I feel sweat breaking out just thinking about it. Sometimes things are out of our control, Ryan, and it’s not our fault.”

  Kyler gives me a “that’s strange” look. I do the same back. Ryan walks next to Grandpa all the way to school.

  At the door to our classroom, Grandpa pats Ryan on the back. “Don’t forget to show those teachers how smart you are, just in case they haven’t noticed yet. Heh, heh.” It’s what he always says to Kyler and me.

  As Grandpa heads home across the blacktop and Kyler struggles through the door with his backpack, Ryan steps in front of me and mumbles, “You forget about that guy and I won’t tell on you, OK?”

  I say OK before I can even process what Ryan means. I’m cool with keeping quiet, but only because I don’t want people to find out about our Celt. But everyone in the school already knows that Ryan was practically mugged by someone. As Grandpa says, that ship has already sailed. Ryan can’t hide it now.

  At recess, I tell Kyler about Ryan’s house. “Why pretend to live in a different house?” I ask. “I mean, it’s kind of dumb.”

  “If I lived in a dump,” Kyler says, “I’d pretend to live somewhere else, too.”

  “But why is his house such a dump?”

  Kyler shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe his mom doesn’t like doing house stuff much. Maybe she’s sick. Could be a lot of reasons.”

  “OK, but why does he want us to forget about the Celt? I mean we’re not telling anyone about him anyway.”

  “Yeah, but Ryan doesn’t know that.” Kyler grins. “He’s worried we’ll tell everyone how afraid he was. It’ll ruin his rep. Of course he wants us to keep quiet.” All the way back to class he imitates Ryan. “No,” he squeaks. “Just go!”

  That evening, after I scrape out a couple of paragraphs for that report I never finished, Grandpa and I watch some of The Longest Day. It’s a World War II movie about the D-Day landings when the Allies invaded France to free Europe from the Nazis. It’s Grandpa’s favorite. I’ve seen it before, but I’m fine with seeing it again. I’m trying to see as many movies as I can while I have the chance. When Dad comes home and Grandpa moves back to his house, I’m guessing he’ll take the giant TV with him. He likes the big screen.

  Of course, Grandpa might not move back to his house at all. I overheard Mom and Mariko talking one time. Mom said she’d asked Grandpa to come and help while Dad’s away because it was the perfect excuse to get him to move in. “Dad thinks he’s helping me,” she said, “but really I can keep an eye on him. I love his old house, but it’s way too much work for him now. If he gets used to living here, we could turn the garage into an apartment for him.” I think that would be really cool, and we’d get to keep the TV.

  Anyway, Grandpa and I are eating chocolate-covered peppermints, and we’ve just got to the part where the teenage soldier gets shot because he mistakes the sound of a gun bolt for the secret D-Day signal, when we hear the front door open.

  “Hi, Dad! Mikey!” Mom’s home early. She never comes home before the end of her shift. Never.

  I jump up. “Quick,” I whisper to Grandpa, “switch it off.”

  “The dang thing,” Grandpa says, twisting in his chair. He’s lost the remote again.

  “I have a terrible headache, and I’m aching all over,” Mom calls from the kitchen. “I just have to get to bed. Some kind of bug, I guess.” I dash for the TV. Too late! She’s in the doorway just as the screen goes black.

  “Oh, Dad. Not war movies again. I specifically said no war movies.”

  “But it’s a good—”

  “We agreed!”

  “It’s an old one, not Jarhead or Hurt—”

  “Not on a school night, Dad. Has Mikey even finished his book report yet? Besides I don’t want him seeing all that stuff, glorifying war and violence. Everyone seems to think it’s OK for kids to go around pretending to shoot people, but I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  “OK, OK!” Grandpa waves his hand at me. I scramble to put the DVD back in its box. “But this was my life, remember!” he says.

  “Yeah and mine too, but I didn’t choose it, you did, and it wasn’t so great for a while. Remember that?” Mom turns her head away. Grandpa catches sight of the remote under his newspaper and points it toward the TV, even though it’s already off. We stand in silence for a few awkward moments.

  When Mom says, “Just go to bed, Mikey,” I’m so out of there. She reaches in her pocket for a tissue as I slip past her. “I’m sorry, honey, I’ve got a cold or something is all.” She blows her nose. I hurry upstairs.

  As I reach my bedroom door, I hear Mom mention Ryan. Grandpa always tells me there’s never any good in an overheard conversation, but I creep back to the top of the stairs to listen.

  “Was Ryan all right this morning, Dad?” Mom and Grandpa move into the kitchen. Mom rattles through the plastic medicine box in the top cupboard. “You didn’t say how it went. I should have asked when I got up this afternoon, but I forgot.” She’s trying to change the subject.

  “Everything was fine. Just a normal walk to school. Didn’t see anyone,” Grandpa says. “Ryan didn’t want to come at first.” His voice drops. Mom says something like, “I think he’s still there,” and I have to tiptoe down a few steps to keep on listening. “Sylvia seems to be having a really hard time. I used to chat w
ith her a little before pick-up, but I haven’t seen her in months. She just sort of clammed up and then disappeared. One of the other moms told me she’s struggling with depression or something. Very sad. I wish I knew them better, but I never see her, and Mikey doesn’t play with Ryan anymore.”

  Grandpa grunts. “It’s hard on a family,” he says, gruffly.

  “It is,” Mom says, “and yet you still show him war movies and wonder why I get mad? Especially after all those years—”

  “I’ll see Mikey to bed,” Grandpa says.

  Later that night, I hear Mom talking on the phone. She’s walking around her bedroom, and she’s crying. Panic rises in my chest, like bubbles racing to the top of a soda. I sure hope Dad’s OK.

  My dad’s not a soldier or anything. He’s an engineer, but he works in some dangerous countries. He’s in Nigeria right now, and engineers have been kidnapped there. Mom tries not to talk about it too much, but I heard her telling Mariko that she didn’t want him to take another job like this. She said she’s had enough of being nervous and scared all the time, and it wasn’t worth the risk, even if he does get paid a lot. She was really angry with him for going this time.

  When Mom’s voice gets louder, I slip out of bed and creep onto the landing. There’s no light beneath the bedroom door. Mom’s walking around in the dark.

  I listen, wondering what’s happened. If there’s something wrong why doesn’t she wake Grandpa? Then I realize it’s Grandpa she’s talking about, and it’s Dad she’s talking to.

  “This is my house, and Mikey’s my son,” she’s saying. “I should be able to bring him up the way I want. Dad should respect that, Jeff.” There’s a pause. “No, I’m not denying his experience, but has it ever occurred to you that he’s denying mine? All you guys stick together, but you’re wrong. War’s wrong. You being away is wrong!” and she starts crying again. There’s a long pause. “I’m sorry,” she sobs, “I feel awful, and I miss you…”

  I go back to bed. It’s just like Mom to get all worked up over nothing. Sounds like Dad is just fine. I miss him, too, but we videochat on the weekends.

  As I get back into bed, I wonder what Ryan thinks when his mom is on the phone at night. His dad is at war.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “This is torture.” Kyler and I are eating lunch at the tables outside and finally finishing our epic battle in Romanii: Northern Borders. We never get to bring tablets to school normally, but we needed them for a video project for art class so our moms let us, just this once. We even got special permission from Miss O’Brien, so we kind of feel we have permission to play games during lunch, too. We make sure we hide at the end of a table, hunched over, so the other kids won’t see.

  “Torture?” Kyler makes a face. “You’ve just defeated every Roman legion I’ve got. You’ve pushed back the Roman invasion, just like you’ve always dreamed. Marcus Julius—me—is a mere shell of his former self. I’m going back to the Roman senate in disgrace, Mikey, and you say you’re tortured? I lost. I let down the entire Roman Empire! Think about it.” Kyler’s holding his head in his hands, hunched over his screen. I should be loving this victory, but all I can think of is the Celt.

  I flip the tablet cover over the screen. “We didn’t see him today. We didn’t see him yesterday. If the laundromat is the gateway to the Otherworld, why wasn’t he there the last two days like he was on Tuesday? Believe me, I don’t want him jumping out on us again—”

  “You’ve just won, Mikey!”

  “I know, but where is he? It’s torture!”

  Kyler shrugs, which makes me crazy because he does not seem anywhere near as upset as I am. Then he says, quietly, “I think we’ve already lost him. He disappeared on Tuesday, in the alley. He’s already back in his own—”

  “Stop!” I can’t even let him finish. I can’t believe this is my “Dr. Time Travel” sidekick talking, letting our incredible adventure swirl down the drain. I look at the ground. There’s a stain on the blacktop. We’re sitting right where I told Kyler about the Celt on Monday, where he spilled his chocolate milk. It’s only been four days, and he’s giving up already, before the chocolate milk stain has even washed away.

  I’m so mad I lean right over the lunch table, grab one of Kyler’s cheese sticks and point it back at him. “You saw him! You can’t deny it! And it was you who put the ‘Celts in the Otherworld’ theory together—”

  “That was your idea, dude, you were awesome—”

  “And now you’re saying you can’t even be bothered to look for him anymore?”

  I fix him with my Celtic-pride stare, the one I’ve been practicing in the mirror. I imagine I’m a Celt, just like our warrior, with blue tattoos and a golden torc around my neck. I’m just about to beat the best Romans in the whole imperial army. I hold Kyler with my eyes, until he looks all shifty and ashamed. “We agreed he may be going backward and forward from the Otherworld to here, or he may still be here, waiting for Halloween. We agreed on that, Kyler.”

  “Yeah, but—” He looks even more uncomfortable, which is only right.

  I wave the cheese stick. “So if he’s waiting for Halloween then he’s still here somewhere, in the alley or one of the parks. If he’s going backward and forward in the Otherworld wormhole, well, it doesn’t move around, does it? It’s right here by the laundromat, so the reason we can’t find him is that…” Kyler tries to grab his cheese stick back, but I pull it away. With my other hand, I pick up one of Mom’s jicama sticks, crunch down and, eureka! The crunch factor works again. “Either he’s hiding too darn well…or the conditions are wrong!”

  “How do you figure that?” Kyler says. He lets his mouth hang open, which is gross because there’s still sushi in there, but at least it shows he’s thinking, so I let it pass.

  “Because…” I pause, swinging my arm like I’m winding up for a pitch, “when we saw him on Tuesday, it was really foggy, remember? The last two days we haven’t had any fog. That’s the problem. The Celts were all about fog.”

  “That’s it, Mikey.” Kyler makes a fist and shakes it at the sickeningly sunny sky. “It’s October for goodness’ sake. What’s with the sun, world?”

  I throw Kyler his cheese stick and slam the table with my palm. I have Kyler onboard again and it feels great. “So, either we wait for a foggy day or we need to be looking for him at night or really early morning, when there’s definitely fog.”

  “At dusk and dawn!” Kyler chokes on his California roll. “Oh yeah!” he wheezes.

  “It’s so simple I can’t believe we didn’t think of it before.” I look to Kyler, expecting his eyes to be popping with excitement, but they’re wide and watering instead. I guess he’s still choking. I slap him on the back, and he stamps his feet on the ground until he gets his voice back.

  “Swallowed the wrong way,” he rasps, “but yes, yes, and yes! Operation Getaceltorix, Part Two.” He does his low, movie-trailer voice. It sounds even huskier than normal because of the choking. “The Night Hunt.”

  I join in. “They said it could not be, but two boys know the truth, and they won’t stop until they’ve proved it!”

  We stuff the tablets and the rest of our lunch in our backpacks and act out the whole thing in the yard. Why eat when you can pretend to find a Celt at night?

  “So we’re ninjas creeping down Swinton,” Kyler says as we sidle down the edge of the blacktop toward the foursquare courts, where Ryan is arguing whether he’s out or not. “And the door to the laundromat is glowing with orange light.”

  Then it’s my turn. “Pretend I can see the laundromat lady, and her eyes are so red it’s like they’re on fire.”

  “Then the warrior leaps out, his sword gleaming in the street lights!” Kyler yells.

  “I spin to the left before the sword falls and run down the alley—”

  “And I’m left facing him.” Kyler looks up as if he’s seeing the Celt in front of him. Not moving his eyes from the Celt’s intense stare, he beckons for me to join him.r />
  “So I run up the wall, do a backflip, and land right between you and him,” I whisper. “And he’s just about to slice the sword right through my head when I pull out some…” I hesitate a moment, “some beef jerky—”

  “Beef jerky?” Kyler says.

  “Yeah, and I hand it to him, and the sword stops an inch from my head because he’s never seen beef jerky before, and it smells better than any food he’s tasted.”

  “That’s lame,” Kyler says. “You’re gonna save me with beef jerky?”

  “He’s a Celtic berserker, Kyler, and there’s nothing those guys like better than meat. Beef jerky would be amazing to him. We have to convince him we’re friends, so we give him a present.”

  “But beef jerky?”

  “Well, we can’t buy him a beer. Anyway, beef jerky makes perfect sense. It’s like roasted boar.”

  “Why not give him some of my mom’s sushi?”

  It takes me a second to realize Kyler’s kidding. He’s not into the gift idea at all. Our game goes on hold as we argue whether distracting the Celt with beef jerky is better than a Tae Kwon Do kick to his chest. I’m demonstrating how hard it would be to even reach his chest, when I notice Ryan eyeing us from the foursquare court. I wonder how much he’s heard, because he’s really staring. It spooks me.

  I grab Kyler’s arm and say, “Let’s talk about this later.”

  Kyler’s smug. “Know you’re losing, Mikey?”

  “Yeah. You win,” I say to shut him up.

  Kyler knows I never give up that easily. “What’s up?” he mouths.

  “Tell you later.” I drag him to the other side of the blacktop.

  “What is it?”

  “Don’t look now, but Ryan was listening.”

  “So what?” Kyler says, looking around. “It was a dumb game anyway, once you brought in the beef jerky.”

  “But he looked strange,” I say. “He was mad at us for playing the game. I kind of told him we’d forget about the whole laundromat incident.”