by C. D. Bryan
J.R. opened the clubhouse door and both Pip and Thomas jumped to their feet. He placed Pip’s blue gym bag on the homemade table and sat down. There was an awkward level of uneasiness and silence.
“Hey,” said J.R.
“Hey,” responded Thomas.
“Hey,” replied Pip.
“Ok,” said J.R., scratching his head and pulling off his backpack, “I have a question for both of you. Were you at school yesterday? You were, right? Did you see me?”
Pip and Thomas sat down. Both shuffled their feet back and forth in the dirt. Thomas looked at Pip.
“I have to ask him, Pip,” said Thomas. “I mean, this is too weird. I have to know, don’t you? What if we have that pandemic thing?”
“Yes, I guess you’re right,” answered Pip.
“Here’s your gym bag, Pip,” said J.R., pushing the bag closer to her. “I couldn’t help but notice the chest, or whatever it is. It was so heavy. Anyway, I cleaned it a little. It looks special. I hope you don’t mind.”
Pip and Thomas didn’t touch it. As a matter of fact, Pip pushed it back into the center of the table using a stick.
“You mean you actually touched it?” asked Pip.
“Yeah,” answered J.R. “I know I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
“Did anything weird happen when you touched it?” she said.
“Yeah, but you’re gonna think I’m crazy,” answered J.R., his forehead slowly filling with wrinkles as he raised his eyebrows. “I started rubbing off the dirt and stuff, and it started glowing, blue.”
“That’s it?” asked Pip.
“Ah, yeah, isn’t that enough?” replied J.R. “After that I didn’t touch it again except to put it back in your bag. Why?”
“Because,” said Thomas. “When we touched it, the inside rattled like it was full of rattle snakes.”
J.R. cringed at the thought and slightly tipped the table so the bag and the chest slid back toward Pip and Thomas and away from him.
“Ok,” said Pip, jumping into fast gear. “Here’s the deal. Thomas and I . . . well, you see, we weren’t at school yesterday or the day before—at least neither of us remembers being there, even though his parents and mine say we were. There’s something, berry wrong here. We both remember saying goodbye to you last night after running from the house on that corner, and we both woke up thinking that last night was Wednesday night and that today was Thursday. But it’s really Saturday. We missed two days of our life. Plus my twelfth birthday was on Thursday and I missed it. How does someone not remember a swimming pool party?”
“And I missed my awards ceremony,” said Thomas.
J.R. looked at the ground and kicked a stone.
“I missed my track meet . . . even though I won three of four races . . . but most of all, my grandfather died and I didn’t even know it.”
“Wow, sorry, J.R.,” said Thomas.
“Yeah, we had no idea,” said Pip
“No, it’s ok, don’t be sorry. He was really great. You would have liked him. Besides, how could you know? Heck, I didn’t even know.”
“J.R.,” said Pip, “Thomas and I have talked about it and decided we should tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“About you, our secret society, and the chest, and my dreams and . . .” answered Pip, standing and walking toward the face of the cliff inside the clubhouse.
J.R.’s left eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Huh?”
“Here,” said Pip, pointing at the wall behind a large boulder, “about this.” She tried to move the boulder but couldn’t.
Thomas jumped up and helped her push it along the ground.
“There, that hole in the cliff,” said Pip.”Thomas and I found the chest in the hole. And standing in front of it was the wooden statue of the peregrine falcon you saw yesterday . . . or, well, on Wednesday.”
“Really?” asked J.R., as he moved to the homemade bookcase, “and your statue, it’s gone. Where is it?”
“Yeah, we don’t know,” said Pip. “And there’s more. See, I started to have these dreams at night about four months ago.”
J.R. glanced away again, this time reminding himself that it was only four months ago that he had moved to town.
“Anyway,” said Pip, “I kept having this dream every night, the same one. First it started out with Thomas and me building a clubhouse like a lean-to. Then in the dream I saw a view of the house on that corner. So from that I knew where we should build the clubhouse. Then came this part where Thomas and I moved the rock. Then one night, I dreamt more stuff… I was making flyers that were pink and blue, to find a new club member, and I saw where we should hang them. And then things went foggy in the dream, and that was it. They just stopped after that.”
J.R. couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It sounded too chancy to be true. “Why do you think they stopped?” asked J.R.
“I don’t know,” she answered, “Thomas and I had recreated everything, and then just waited.”
“Waited for who or what?” asked J.R.
“We didn’t know,” said Thomas, “but it was all getting a little too weird so we decided to call it all off. Then Pip picked up the chest and tried to clean it, that’s when we heard the rattlesnake noise coming out of it. We both freaked out.” Thomas laughed nervously and Pip did too. “Then there was a knock at the clubhouse door. It scared the hell out of us. Oops, shouldn’t have sworn, sorry . . . but it did. We covered the chest and everything else and checked the time. It was 6:30 P.M. just like Pip knew to put in the flyer. We both went into shock and ran out the door, and nearly trampled Preston to death.”
J.R. laughed, believing that Preston deserved it for being as rude as he was.
“But something didn’t feel right about Preston,” said Pip. “We hiked up to the top of the cliff and gave him the interview questions on the way. I thought he might give me a sign he knew about the chest or that he had some kind of dream too. But he didn’t.”
“It didn’t matter anyway,” said Thomas. “Because when we got to the top of the cliff and fog was rolling in off the ocean, just like in Pip’s dream, there you were.”
Thomas and Pip looked at each other.
“All along,” said Pip. “I had this idea that there would only be one person and then you showed up. So I didn’t know what to do. That’s why we told Preston we’d get back to him. But then everything felt right with you. So, I was berry excited because I knew it had something to do with the house on that corner, which is why I really did all this. That’s why I wanted us to go spy on it. I thought we’d get more answers. I knew you were the one.”
J.R. recalled a similar phrase that his grandfather had spoken only a couple of days earlier. The coincidence was kind of spooking him, “So does this mean there isn’t really any club or secret society?” asked J.R.
“No, there’s a club, for sure,” said Pip. “We just haven’t come up with a name yet.”
“We’re still working out the details,” said Thomas, borrowing the phrase that Pip had said to him so many times before.
“So after all that,” said Pip, “when it came down to us running from that man that scared us, me forgetting my bag with the chest in it, you grabbing it, and then you running right by us. I was 100 percent sure that you were the one. And that you were supposed to have it. That’s why I didn’t care if you took it home with you.”
“So you think the chest is mine?” asked J.R.
“Well, we guess so,” said Pip, while she and Thomas gave each other a glance of uncertainty.
“But I’ve never seen it before in my life,” said J.R. “And Preston showed up, too. Do you think he knows about it?”
“No, I don’t think so,” said Pip. “We never said anything about it.”
“Wonder what the odds are,” said J.R., “that he was the only other one who showed up? And your statue is gone too. That’s weird. Do you remember when I asked you about where you got it? That’s because until this morning I had one jus
t like it, the same size, the same look, the same everything.”
“Really?” asked Thomas. “Was that in your dream, Pip, because it wasn‘t in my mine.”
“You had a dream, too?” Pip and J.R. said simultaneously as they both eyeballed Thomas.
“Ah yeah,” answered Thomas. “I was going to say something, Pip, but the whole thing was freaking me out.”
Pip rested her hands on her hips craning her neck toward Thomas “And?” she said.
“And what?” asked Thomas.
“And, what was your dream about, Thomas,” said Pip, sternly gazing at him.
J.R. stood and headed for the door. Thomas followed him and Pip followed Thomas.
“Well . . .” said Thomas reluctantly, “I kinda forgot mine, I think.”
“What?” said Pip, “with all this craziness going on, there’s no way, I know you better than that, Thomas Dean. I don’t believe you. Come on . . . spill the beans on your dreams. I did. Did something bad happen?”
J.R. stopped and did an about face. The three of them were outside, and Thomas was sandwiched in between the two of them looking at the ground.
“Did something bad happen?” asked J.R.
“Well, sorta,” answered Thomas.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A Scarecrow Meets a Flying Foe
Thomas shifted his foot through the dirt and pursed his lips before looking at J.R. “I had a dream that the chest had mystical powers and . . .”
“Thomas Dean,” said Pip immediately. “That wasn’t your dream. We talked about that a long time ago. So what really happened?”
“Well,” said Thomas, “I just had it and I saw J.R., standing in this huge shadow, like some evil darkness was falling over him and . . .”
“Ok, Knock it off, you’re creeping me out,” said J.R. as Pip and Thomas both suddenly fell silent.
J.R. watched Pip step behind Thomas. “What’s the matter with you guys?” asked J.R., realizing by the frightened look on their faces that something was wrong. Then he caught a glimpse of it; a blackening shadow on the ground that was slowly moving up from behind him. J.R. laughed nervously. “Ok, what’s that?”
“It’s the—the,” stuttered Thomas, “the shadow in my dream.” And at that instance a six-foot-six-inch figure fully emerged from the woods. It wore a long, greenish-brown wool cloak with a hood covering most of the details of its face. That is, until pushed back to reveal a hideous scarecrow of a man.
J.R. turned and backed up near Pip and Thomas.
The man had steely-gray eyes sunk into deep sockets. And his pale-green skin folded in wrinkles over his long tapering nose and pointy chin, all of which parted long scraggly strands of ratted black hair.
“Who are you?” J.R. demanded. “What do you want?”
J.R. noticed a large haversack strapped over his shoulder that was big enough to hold a small person if someone wanted to use it that way. He was also holding some kind of homemade contraption that looked like a metal detector, but much more complicated with other gadgets, dials and meters attached to it.
“You kids can call me the Collector,” he said.
J.R. glanced back at Pip and Thomas.
“I’m kind of a Collector-at-Large. Here, have these,” said the Collector, pushing his long, stick-like fingers into his pocket and pulling out business cards, which looked more like postage stamps in comparison to the size of his hand. He handed them to J.R., who gave one each to Thomas and Pip. Pip, J.R., and Thomas each kept one eye on the man and one on the card, which opened into three sections.
“Yep, that’s me, Collector-at-Large,” said the man as he read some of the details listed on the business card:
~~~~
Collector-at-Large
“Caput Mansus Trans de ut Angulus”
Collector of all of the following:
Dictionaries of all types, ages, and origins; special preference for Latin and Germanic
Old historical journals, circa 1500 to 1900
Real bird’s eggs; special preference for falcon eggs
Books on Willpower and Dreams
Glass prisms
Marbles
Books on Latin history
Books about Asian artifacts
Antique staffs
Pocket watches
Old maps
Ancient chests
Statues of birds; special preference for falcons
~~~~
After he read the second to last and last items—ancient chests and statues of birds—everyone froze, even the Collector; his eyes rolling up to look at the three of them.
“I’m actually looking for that chest right now,” said the Collector. “You kids haven’t seen one have you? It’s supposed to be up in these parts somewhere.”
“No,” said J.R., Pip and Thomas in unison.
Just then, the peregrine falcon that had followed J.R. from home began shrieking, and took to flight. It made swift, tight, circular turns gaining altitude, and then flipped into a sharp dive. With its talons rolled into fists, the falcon struck the Collector with a cannonball force, knocking him to the ground. Two times the Collector tried to get up, and each time the falcon struck him. After the last blow the Collector crawled towards the trees.
J.R. had a hunch so he tested it. “Jicky-Jack,” he yelled at the falcon, causing it to come out of its next dive.
“So, it’s you,” yelled the Collector, wearing a sinister grin and his voice strained as he looked back at J.R., “He was right.”
“Are you the one stalking me?” J.R. demanded to know.
“We’re not finished yet, you and me, kid,” yelled the Collector groaning in pain as he stood and ran into the cover of the trees.
J.R., Pip, and Thomas breathed a momentary sigh of relief.
“Did you hear him?” asked J.R.
“Yep, he said it’s you,” replied Pip.
“No,” said J.R. “The last thing he read off his card.”
J.R. looked it over. He was slightly awestruck and captivated by the list of items the Collector read off because of the fifty items that were actually listed many of them were items J.R. collected, too.
“Here . . . Look,” said J.R. “Statues of birds; special preference for falcons.”
The peregrine falcon shrieked again then landed in front of the three of them. J.R. looked at Pip and Thomas. “He followed me here from home,” said J.R. “He was outside my window when I woke up this morning. I’m calling him Jicky-Jack, after my missing statue, like the wooden one you had.” The falcon fluttered over to J.R.’s feet. Thomas and Pip backed up. “Don’t worry, he’s harmless.”
“Ah . . . sure,” said Pip. “That’s why he attacked that collector guy; because he’s harmless, right?”
“Yeah, he’s harmless,” agreed Thomas. “He was in my dream too, and to finish answering your earlier question, J.R., I dreamt that the person who opens the chest is next for some kind of sacred honor to protect the Whiffler’s Promise, whatever that is. Plus it’s right here in black and white.” Thomas pulled out Pip’s photocopy of a 150-year old article from the library. He cleared his throat then read: “He is one of many in a long line of willing hearts who he is granted power from the hands of creation to grow in the spring after a death or fall.”
An eerie calm closed in around the three of them for a moment.
“Hey, my grandfather said something like that to me, he said the death of a flower or the fall is the beginning of life in the spring. Maybe this is a sign. What else does it say Thomas?
“It says that the point of his gift is sharp, and—”
“Wait a minute,” said J.R. “The point of his gift?” J.R. recalled the pointed tip of the Timble-Ticker that pricked his finger. “It has to be a sign.”
“What?” asked Pip, “What has to be a sign?”
“Can I see that article, Thomas?” asked J.R.
“Sure,” said Thomas, unfolding it all the way and falling into a surprised stare. “But Holy-geezu
m-harp-toads. You aren’t’ going to believe this. Look.”
“Believe what?” asked J.R. grabbing the article.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Fate Takes Control
Pip and Thomas huddled around J.R. And the three of them analyzed the four men standing in the picture; two of whom were holding the chest.
“Look,” said Thomas. “It’s him, the Collector-at-Large guy holding the chest.”
“You’re right,” said J.R. “And look at that.”
“What?” asked Pip.
“The background of this picture,” said J.R. holding it up to the light for both of them to view. “See the pyramid?” Then he dropped it down out of the light and looked over Thomas’ shoulder. “And it’s a stone wall.”
“Which is it?” asked Pip. “A pyramid or a stone wall?”
J.R. glanced at the falcon perched on the clifftop flapping its wings. Then he stepped back for a better view and as he did he saw the barely visible etched outline of a pyramid on the face of the cliff wall.
“It’s both,” said J.R. handing the paper to Thomas. “Which means it’s the Timble-Ticker.” He dug through his backpack and pulled it out.
“Ok, you’re confusing me,” said Pip.
“And what’s a Timble-Ticker,” asked Thomas.
“Ok one second, what did Grandfather say,” said J.R., talking to himself and pacing around, “It’s spring . . . So maybe I’m a new growing flower.”
Thomas glanced at Pip then gave J.R. a queer look.
“Well, besides you being a flower,” said Thomas. “There’s one problem. It’s summertime now not spring, school’s out.”
“No technically,” said J.R. “It’s still springtime, Thomas. The first day of summer isn’t here yet. And get this, my grandfather’s last name is Cosmos, like the flower.”
Thomas shifted his look to Pip again, this time under raised eyebrows.
“Anyway, he’s fallen,” said J.R. “It’s just like he told me. That’s it, the death of a flower or fall, is the beginning of life in the spring. Don’t you get it? Fall . . . as in, he was the fallen flower and his death was the beginning of life in the spring. But what life was he talking about? Mine? Here, hold this.” J.R. handed Thomas the Timble-Ticker and then retrieved the magnifying glass and held it out to Pip. “And here, Pip, you take this. Tell me what you see in the background of the photo in the article.” Then he pulled out his rock hammer and ran over to the wall and climbed atop some fallen rocks.
