by David Lubar
“Look,” I said to Alex, pointing at the jewel. Then I wrapped my hand around it …
… and the battle fury grew in my heart.
All my body was filled with hate and rage. Screaming a war cry and rushing at the enemy, I swung the ax at my hated foe. Destroy him. That was my only desire. He ducked and my blade was robbed of the chance to taste its target. The metal struck a tree and sank half a head deep into the wood.
My enemy was shouting at me in a foreign tongue. I did not know his language. It did not matter. I knew the one thing that mattered. I knew I had to strike him. But the ax was stuck in this wretched tree. I struggled to wrench it free.
My enemy pushed at me. I staggered back, fighting hard to hold my grip. But I failed. My hands slipped. I fell away …
… and landed on my butt on the ground.
“Are you crazy!” Alex shouted.
I sat where I was and tried to understand what had happened. How could I explain? It hadn’t been me. When I’d touched the jewel, when I’d wrapped my hand around it, I’d become someone else.
Alex turned his back on me. “I’m not letting you play with this anymore.” He reached for the ax.
“Wait.”
It was too late. As I watched, he changed. Strength flooded into him—strength and a purpose. I knew what that purpose was. I jumped to my feet, wondering if I had time to knock him away from the ax.
With an awful shriek, the head tore free of the tree. Alex lunged toward me, his eyes blazing. I ran. Alex was fast, but the ax was heavy. I was sure I could stay ahead of him.
But he had far more strength than I expected. Within seconds, he had almost caught me. I looked over my shoulder. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes marking a target on my back. There was only one chance. I swerved, running for a stretch of the woods that I knew was filled with rocks and boulders.
Behind me, Alex swung his weapon. I heard steel slice through air and felt something pull at my shirt. The breeze flowed against my back where the cloth between my shoulders had been sliced open. I hopped over a small boulder, then dodged around another. From the rear I heard a battle yell. I flinched, expecting to feel the burning slash of the ax. Then the yell turned into a cry and a thud.
Not yet daring to slow, I glanced back again. My plan had worked. Alex had tripped on a boulder. The ax had gone flying from his hands, landing with a clatter a safe distance away. I stopped and tried to catch my breath.
“What … ?” Alex looked around, puzzled. “I didn’t mean to …”
I nodded. “Yeah. I know. It’s that thing,” I said, pointing toward the ax.
“It took over,” he said, still blinking his eyes and glancing around in confusion. “I was someone else.”
“Me, too. When you touch the jewel …” I walked over and stared down at the battle-ax where it lay on top of several small rocks and a scattering of dead leaves. “We have to get rid of it.”
Alex looked like he was going to argue, but then he just nodded and said, “Yeah. Where?”
“The river?”
“Good idea.”
I reached toward the ax, then paused and looked at Alex. “Stand back, just in case. Far back.”
He moved away from me. I touched the wooden part cautiously with one finger. No rage came over me, so I grabbed the ax in the middle of the shaft, keeping my hand far from the jewel. For an instant, I waited, ready to let go and leap away if the feeling came over me. But nothing happened. I realized I’d been holding my breath. “I think it’s okay,” I said to Alex.
“Yeah, but you’ll understand if I don’t get too close.”
“Sure. Let’s take it to the gorge. That’s a good spot.”
“Should we walk along the river?”
“No, it’s quicker if we cut through the woods.”
I wanted to toss the ax into the deep part of the water. That was about half a mile upriver. We’d have to climb down a small cliff if we went that way, but it would still be faster than walking along the rocky riverbank from here.
We made it to the gorge without any trouble. I paused at the top to look down. Alex stepped past me. “I’ll go ahead,” he said.
I waited until he was part way down, then followed. I must have been up and down the cliff a thousand times. But I’d always done it with both hands free. I never even thought that it would be a problem climbing with the ax. That is, I never thought about it until I started to slip and fall.
I just had time to shout, “Look out!” at Alex before I went tumbling.
The next instant was filled with a spinning world and a thousand flashes of pain. I bounced against dozens of hard things and one soft thing. I guess that was Alex. The world faded out for a while after I stopped falling.
When the world faded in again, I was staring up at the sky. There was a real bad pain in my left leg. “Alex?”
“I’m right here,” he said, sounding pretty weak.
“I can’t get up,” I told him.
“Hang on.” There was a pause. He groaned. Then he said, “I can sort of crawl. It’ll take a while, but I think I can get help.”
I heard him moving slowly, very slowly, away from me. “What happened to the ax?” I asked.
“I guess it hit the water,” he said. “I’m pretty sure it went in.”
At least I’d taken care of that. “I’m sorry about falling.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll be okay. I’ll get help.”
“Thanks.” I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the pain that was starting to shoot through every part of my body. That’s when I heard Billy calling my name.
“Over here,” I shouted, relieved that I wouldn’t have to wait for Alex to crawl up the cliff. “Careful climbing down.”
I listened for his steps. But they weren’t coming from the top of the cliff. They were coming from down the river. Billy must have been walking along the bank.
“Hurry,” I called. “We need help.”
“I’m almost there,” Billy said.
I relaxed. Billy could run home and tell our folks. I wouldn’t have to spend the rest of my life lying at the bottom of the cliff. I flexed my back muscles. Things didn’t seem that bad. I could feel flashes of pain in my leg. From what I knew, that was a good sign. If my back had been broken, I wouldn’t have been able to feel anything. And, unlike a back, my leg could be fixed. Maybe I’d spend a couple months in a cast, but there were worse things that could happen.
A voice from outside floated into my thoughts.
“Wow,” Billy said. “I found an ax.”
The words took a second to filter through my mind. Then it took another second for my mind to tell my mouth what to shout. “Don’t touch it!”
An instant later, I heard Alex shout the same warning.
Billy answered us. But I couldn’t understand the words. They were in a strange and angry language. His steps grew closer. His shouts grew louder. I couldn’t understand a single word, but I knew exactly what he meant. And I knew exactly what he wanted.
IN THE LAND OF THE LAWN WEENIES
Ours is not a typical family.
We moved to Bridgeton because, as Mom kept saying, “It’s a small town with good people and an excellent school.” She was pretty much right—the people were nice, and the school wasn’t bad.
We could have moved wherever we wanted. My dad had written this computer program that was really popular. He sold it to some big company for a lot of money. Every three months, they’d send him another check. The more copies of the program people bought, the more money Dad got.
I guess a bunch of people bought the program, because Dad doesn’t have to go to work. He spends a lot of time playing with his computer, but he also takes off whenever he feels like it so we can throw a ball around or go for a hike or rent a movie.
Mom tells everyone she has two kids, but one of them is grown. She means Dad, of course. He doesn’t mind. He enjoys kid stuff. Dad’s really a lot like me. We both love games, and we’re both pre
tty smart, and we both wear glasses and are kind of skinny. Mom doesn’t really mind the way Dad acts, either. Anyhow, we’re not the normal Bridgeton family. I started figuring that out right after we moved here.
Every other dad in town seems to live for his lawn. The amazing thing is that they all keep to a schedule. If it rains for a few days in a row, you could bet anything that on the first sunny day, all the dads will be out mowing the grass. If the sunny day is during the week, they’ll all be mowing as soon as they get home from work. If it’s a weekend, they’ll all be mowing by nine in the morning.
“They’re all lawn weenies around here,” Nick said. He’s the kid who cuts our grass. I guess Dad would do it or ask me to do it, except we don’t own a lawn mower. The last place we’d lived before here was an apartment. When we moved to Bridgeton, Nick had shown up at the door and offered to mow the lawn. Dad had hired him right away.
I liked Nick. We’d hang out sometimes. He lived on the other side of the tracks—where the houses weren’t as pretty and the lawns were mostly weeds and dirt. “It’ll happen to your dad some day,” Nick said to me one afternoon as we walked out of school.
“What’ll happen?”
“He’ll turn into a lawn weenie. He’ll get a mower, and he’ll be just like the rest of them. And mowing’s only the start. After that, he’ll be spraying and spreading all sorts of chemicals on the grass. And when he isn’t mowing, he’ll be washing his car, or doing something to the fence, or some other stuff that isn’t any fun at all. They all do it, but they don’t enjoy it. Watch their faces.”
“You’re crazy,” I told him.
“Look around, buddy,” he said. “Take a good look around where you live. Then tell me I’m crazy.”
I did look around. That weekend, I took a long walk. Every dad in sight was washing his car. Except for my dad. He was trying to hook up a radio-controlled airplane to the computer. The next morning, all the other dads were pruning trees or trimming hedges. That afternoon, they were all patching holes in their driveways—every single one of them.
And all their faces looked the same. They had no expression. Their mouths showed no emotion—not happy, not sad, not tired. Their eyes were open but not alert. They might as well have been walking in their sleep.
“Well?” Nick asked me on Monday when I saw him at school.
“You’re right,” I said. “It’s almost scary.”
“Get used to it,” he said. “Nobody escapes. When they’re not doing stuff around the house, they play golf. They never take their kids. They never do anything with their kids. It’s only a matter of time until your family is just like the others.”
I shook my head. “Not my dad. We’re different. We’re not like the other families.”
Nick grinned, then said, “You’ll see.”
That afternoon, I sat in the kitchen, watching Mom make a pie. Life was good. Dad liked to do fun things. So did Mom. She played games with us. We all went for bike rides when the weather was nice. And she liked to cook. She’d gotten really good at it, too.
Just to make sure things weren’t going to change, I hunted Dad down. He was in the living room, playing a video game.
I got right to the point. “Dad, do you ever feel like cutting the grass?”
“No thanks,” he said, shaking his head. “Why’d you ask?”
“Just wondering.” I sat down next to him, picked up a joystick, and said, “Challenge you.”
“You’re on,” Dad said, hitting RESET so we could start a two-player game.
Life was definitely good.
Three weeks later, Nick came up to me in the park. I’d gone there to shoot some hoops after school. “Your life is over,” he said.
“What?” I missed my shot. The ball kicked off the rim and bounced to the other side of the court.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this. I was at the hardware store last night. They’re delivering a riding mower to your house.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A Lawnmaster 3000 self-mulching mower,” Nick said. “Your dad must have ordered it. I heard Mr. Barklay at the store telling that guy Vito who works for him to deliver it to your house. This is the end, good buddy.”
I shook my head. “You’ve got to be wrong.”
“No mistake,” Nick said. “And the minute your dad hops on, starts it up, drops the blade, and begins cutting a path across your yard, he’s going to be hooked. He’s going to be sucked into the life of a lawn weenie. Then there’ll be the chemicals and the car washing and all that other stuff. Your life is over.”
It couldn’t be. I wanted to hit Nick. I wanted to punch him and tell him what a liar he was. But Nick would have taken the punch without blinking and then broken me in half. Instead, I ran from the park. I didn’t even go after my ball. I had to get home and stop Dad. He’d listen if I explained. The evidence was all around. I could show him. He’d believe me.
As I ran through town, I could see dozens of dads opening up garages. All around, mowers were roaring to life, getting set to eat the grass and spit out clippings. I ran. There was a dad to my right, riding across his lawn on a mower. Another to my left. They were all over.
I ran. I stumbled. My glasses went flying. There was no time to stop and search for them. I had to get home.
I ran. My breath was almost gone. Why did we have to live at the top of a hill? I forced myself up the street, pulling my body toward the house. Ahead, too far off, I could see our garage door sliding open. I squinted. There was something large and red inside. The mower. There was someone sitting on it.
“Stop!” I yelled.
I got closer. I could barely breathe. Maybe I could reach him in time. “Don’t!” I shouted.
The mower pulled onto the driveway, then turned toward the lawn. I heard the blade drop. The mower reached the edge of the grass, jolted, slowed, then started across the lawn.
“Dad! Stop!”
I raced past the edge of the yard. The world was a blur without my glasses. Drops of sweat stung my eyes. I ran in front of the mower, waving my arms. “Stop!”
The mower stopped. “What’s wrong?”
I froze. I squinted. The voice. It wasn’t Dad.
“What’s the matter?” Mom asked from her seat on the mower. “Do you want a turn? Is that it? I don’t mean to hog it to myself, but gosh, this is fun. I’ll probably need all evening to get the lawn looking right. It’s a shame we haven’t been taking better care of it. That’ll change. Guess I won’t have time to cook dinner. But we can heat up something from a can. That would be fine. Well, I’d better get back to it.”
Mom started up the mower again and continued cutting the grass. I stepped aside and let her pass. Her face was blank, her eyes empty.
Ours is not a typical family.
SUNBURN
Stacy and I had spent half the summer wondering about the girl on the hill. We knew she was there—sometimes we’d catch a glimpse of her through the trees—but we’d never seen her close up.
“I think she’s our age,” Stacy said as we sat on my front porch and looked up the hill at the house behind the trees.
“We’ll find out when school starts,” I said.
“Maybe. Unless she goes to private school. That’s a big house. Her folks probably have a ton of money.”
I hadn’t thought about the possibility that she wouldn’t go to our school. I couldn’t stand the idea that the mystery might remain unsolved. Suddenly, I had an urgent need to meet her. It had to be now. I couldn’t wait. “Hey,” I said, turning toward Stacy as the idea hit me, “I know. Let’s stroll up there and say hi.”
“What? Just like that?”
“Sure. Why not?” I stood and walked down the porch steps. Behind me, I heard Stacy following. We went along the block to the driveway in front of the house on the hill. I’d never seen any cars come in or out. A month ago, a moving van had gone up the driveway. A few hours later, it had come back down. And that had been the only traf
fic.
As we started up the slope, I called out, “Hello. Anyone home?” I didn’t want her to think we were sneaking around.
There was no answer. We reached the top of the driveway and I climbed the porch steps and knocked on the door. Nobody came.
“Let’s get out of here,” Stacy said.
“Maybe she’s around back,” I said.
“We can’t just go walking through her property.”
I could. I was sure she was in the back. I went around the side of the house, along a path that led through high bushes. She was there in the yard behind the house.
“Hi,” I said.
She was lying in a lounge chair, wearing a two-piece bathing suit, her eyes closed, soaking up the sun. She didn’t move. The thing that really caught my attention was the chair. It was metal—maybe aluminum or steel. I wasn’t sure. But it must have been hot. There were a couple other chairs of the same kind on either side of her. I couldn’t imagine lying on something like that in the sun. I touched the edge of the closest chair, then jerked my hand back from the scorching heat.
“Hi,” I said a bit louder, stepping closer. Stacy stayed a few feet behind me.
The girl’s eyes opened, but just the slightest bit. She didn’t seem surprised or startled to see us. “I love the sun,” she said.
She closed her eyes again.
“I’m Kelly,” I told her. “This is my friend Stacy. We live at the bottom of the hill.”
The girl just lay there with her eyes closed. I decided to give it another try. “We wanted to come up and say hi. And, uh, see if you wanted to play sometime.”
She said nothing. I stood, not sure what to do. If I left, I knew I’d feel like I’d lost some sort of strange game. But if I stayed, I also felt I’d be losing.
The voice from behind startled me.
“Hey, aren’t you afraid you’ll get a sunburn?” Stacy said. She stepped forward and pointed at the chair.
