Jicky Jack and the Ominous Promise

by C. D. Bryan

“Well, there’s no going back,” said Thomas, looking looked at Pip and shrugging his shoulders.

  They sat behind one another; J.R. in front, Thomas in the middle and Pip in the rear. And like a bobsled team, they pushed off and held onto each, letting gravity do what it does best. The gully snaked and turned, for several hundred feet and eventually opened onto a straightaway that brought them to a skidding stop in a sandpit, on a plateau, overlooking a crater-shaped landscape below.

  “Look,” said Pip, pointing to the sky. “There’s some kind of dome over the entire thing.

  “It’s like a bio-dome,” replied Thomas.

  J.R. suddenly felt overwhelmed. What am I doing here, he thought, I don’t think I can go through with this. He looked up as the sky seemed to suddenly darken.

  “Ok, what just happened?” asked Thomas. “Did it just get darker or what?”

  “Yes, it did,” said Pip.

  “Look,” said J.R. “In the middle of the crater, with the water around it . . . that island, look there’s an orange sphere starting to glow over it.

  “What do you think it is, J.R.?” asked Pip.

  “I don’t know, but I have a feeling that’s where we’ll find Minion. Come on.”

  The three of them followed a rust-colored dirt trail that spiraled down around the wall of the crater, and descended into the thick of an ancient forest.

  “How much further do you think it is, J.R.?” asked Pip, looking at the sky. “Cuz it’s either getting darker or cloudy.”

  J.R. looked at the dome. “It is getting darker,” he said. “But I don’t think those are clouds. Watch. There’s something moving around like spiders up there. There, look.” J.R. pointed at an entire cluster of the black images that moved several feet then stopped and then moved again in another direction.

  Together, they watched as more and more clusters spread over the entire dome until they blocked out any light.

  “It has to be Dorian’s army of pangolins,” said J.R. “We have to hurry. Pip, you grab my backpack, Thomas, you grab Pip’s shoulder. We don’t want to get separated again.”

  “Wait, I can fix this,” said Pip. “Watch . . . Gleams too fickle, take to flight, Gleams that tickle, light up the night.”

  In seconds a fleet of Gleams emerged from J.R.’s backpack, as well as Pip and Thomas’ HAM manuals, and gathered in a torch-like cluster in front of J.R.

  “Wow, Pip,” said J.R. “Great work.”

  “Pip,” said Thomas excitedly. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “It’s a chant I found in our HAM manual,” she answered.

  “Nice. Any chance you found a teleport chant to get us out of here?” responded Thomas.

  After a few more steps J.R. began to feel his thoughts being interrupted and a voice whispered to him in his mind, ‘J.R., it’s Minion; I’m speaking to you telepathically. You need to know that this place you are in is actually a landscape in your own mind. In other words, right now you are walking through in the physical representation of your mind. But don’t be alarmed. It’s the only way to get to what we call your ancient spiritual site. You must reach the sphere. And remember, don’t let doubt enter your thoughts, J.R., your doubt and weakening willpower are what caused the darkness that you and Pip and Thomas just experienced, and now it has attracted Dorian and his army. The more your doubt grows and your willpower fades, the stronger Dorian’s presence will be.’ He heard Minion’s voice fade.

  “I’m trying,” said J.R., forgetting that Minion was speaking to him telepathically.

  “Trying what J.R.?” asked Pip, pulling on his backpack as they came to a stop. “J.R., something is seriously wrong here.”

  J.R. turned and the ground squished beneath his feet. When J.R. heard that, he understood what Minion was talking about. He looked at the foaming bubbles gathering around his shoes.

  “Pip, Thomas,” said J.R. still looking at his shoes. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “Well,” said Pip impatiently, “feel free to try us anytime, we’ve done an awful lot of believing in the unbelievable lately.”

  J.R. walked away from them toward the orange glow of the sphere in the distance.

  “Ok,” said J.R. reluctantly, “We’re walking through a physical representation of my mind. Kinda like walking inside my brain. You know . . . my thinking world.” He kept walking.

  “Ok . . . that’s just disgusting,” said Pip, shaking goo off her shoes.

  “Wow,” said Thomas, “are you serious?”

  “Yes, I’m serious,” J.R. yelled back as he marched toward the light. “That’s what Minion just told me.”

  “Hey, wait up,” yelled Pip and Thomas, making double time; squishing all the way, to catch up.

  J.R. reached the water’s edge, which encircled the island like a small moat. He quickly noticed that the orange sphere covering the island was identical to that of the smaller one he found in the Timble-Ticker. It had all the same earthly outlines of continents and oceans. And inside the sphere he could see three large totem poles. And huddled in the middle of them, wrapped in white fur pelts, was a figure that he was sure must be Minion. He knelt down by the water. Something’s not right, he thought.

  “Is that it, J.R.?” whispered Pip.

  “Yes, that’s it,” whispered J.R., nodding his head and looking around. “Don’t move guys, ok? Stay right where you are.” He took a quick inventory of his senses and noticed that not only did he not hear anything, but nothing was moving either. He noticed several of the ever-watchful peregrine falcons in the trees above them but they appeared to be in a frozen state. And the trees themselves; not a single branch or needle moved. And the water in front of them was so still it looked like glass.

  “What’s wrong, J.R.?” asked Pip.

  J.R. walked away from the water, toward Pip and Thomas, raised his finger to his lip, and pointed ever so discretely to the trees, diverting everyone’s attention to one of the peregrine falcons above. J.R. saw the bird’s charcoal-black eyes glanced down at them and then looked away.

  “They’re here,” declared J.R.

  “What?” said Pip. “Who’s here?

  J.R. ignored Pip for a moment when he heard coughing. He looked back at the sphere and saw Minion pushing the pelts off his body. J.R. sighed with great relief and felt a bit of willpower return. But when Minion raised his head, J.R. fell into shock. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Minion looked like he had aged to his true number of years with wrinkles on wrinkles. His weary spirit appeared to be waiting to finish what he set out to uphold some 150 years ago. J.R. heard Minion speak to him again telepathically. ‘J.R., they’re here. You need to cross now.”

  CHAPTER THRITY-ONE

  A Brave Battle Rages

  J.R. peered up at the peregrine once more. Its body hadn’t moved but its charcoal-black eyes glanced down at them again and then looked away again. J.R. felt his heart begin to pound and looked at Pip and Thomas. “Are you two ready?”

  “Who’s here, J.R.?” repeated Pip. “Please answer me.”

  “What? Wait,” said Thomas, “ready for what? The transition is between you and Minion.”

  “Dorian’s army, Pip, they got in.”

  “How’d they get in your brain?” asked Thomas.

  “It’s a long story, Thomas, but basically it’s the way the pandemic works. Someone develops doubt and weak willpower and boom you become a target for Dorian and—”

  “And you’re having doubts, right?” asked Pip

  “Yes,” replied J.R. “Well I was . . .” He looked at Minion. “Are you two ready? Remember what my grandfather said, I need two Honorary Ambassadors to help in the transition and you and Thomas are the only two I know.” His anxiety grew and the ground beneath them began to shake and crack. Steam burst through and opened to what resembled red-hot veins of lava.

  “J.R.,” asked Pip frantically, “If we’re inside your brain or, I mean your mind, are you upset right now?”

  “Well, no,�
�� answered J.R. “Just a little anxious.”

  “Well, do us a favor,” begged Thomas, straddling a crack. “Relax.”

  “Oh, but please, J.R.,” said a voice, rumbling all around them. “Anxiety is good for my team. It creates worry, fear and doubt, and those things weaken one’s willpower. So don’t stop now.”

  Pip and Thomas looked at each other then at J.R. “It’s Dorian,” they said in unison.

  “How’d he get in here, J.R.” whispered Pip, insistently

  “Ah . . . well, earlier . . . When we were on the plateau I had doubts about being Whiffler and thinking I couldn’t do it.”

  “I told you, J.R.,” said Dorian, as he stepped out of the darkness with Preston’s inner self at his side. “You aren’t going to be the next Whiffler. You should have listened while you had the chance.” He pushed Preston forward. “Preston here is going to be taking your place and he’ll take his orders from me. Then I’ll break the willpower of each and every child I can. They will lose their dreams and aspirations, and live in a zombie-like state of existence, operating like robots, with society telling them what to do.” He laughed.

  The ground cracked open more.

  “J.R.,” said Pip worriedly, “Keep calm and keep your willpower strong, you can do this.”

  “J.R.,” yelled Minion across the moat. “Don’t doubt will’s power. Make it into the sphere and Dorian won’t be able to harm you.”

  J.R. looked at Thomas and Pip, and once more at Dorian. He was ready to do it. So, he made a dash for the moat, clearing three cracks of hot lava and rising steam.

  “Where do you think you’re going, J.R. Timble,” yelled Dorian. “No, you don’t.”

  J.R. looked back as a black bolt hit him and knocked him off his feet. He pushed himself up, and again headed for the moat. I can do it, he thought, I can make it. He took two deep breaths then fired himself forward and like a long-jumper he heaved himself over the moat and landed on the other side. He smiled and looked back at Pip and Thomas who were cheering him on.

  “NO,” yelled Dorian.

  J.R. lunged himself upward, trying to crawl up the muddy bank of the moat.

  “J.R.” yelled Thomas, “look out, behind you.”

  J.R. looked back. The water was turning black, and thousands of tar-covered hands broke through the surface reaching up into thin air.

  “Oh crap,” yelled J.R. in a panic as he lost his footing in the mud and slid toward the hands. “Help me,” yelled J.R. “Please, someone help me.”

  “I’ll give you a helping hand, J.R.,” said Dorian, laughing as he waved his hand in the direction of the black hands and arms causing them to converge on J.R.

  “Thomas, help me,” begged J.R.

  Several of the hands grabbed J.R. by the feet and began pulling him into the moat.

  “Hold on, J.R., here I come,” said Thomas turning to Pip. “Listen Pip,” he said. “You have to do exactly what I do, ok? Otherwise we’ll never be able to help J.R. transition. We’ll all lose our dreams, and so will our children and our children’s children. Understand?” Thomas looked her square in the eye.

  “I understand, Thomas . . . GO.”

  Thomas turned and ran. And without second guessing his direction or intentions, he jumped over the same three lava-filled cracks then he hurled himself over the moat straight at J.R.; hitting J.R.’s back, and springing upward to land on the muddy edge of the moat just above J.R. He turned and grabbed J.R. by the arm and pulled.

  “Thomas, I can’t hold on. They’re pulling me down, let go, save yourself.”

  “No way, you just hold on, J.R.” yelled Thomas. “Pip, hurry, you have to do it, now.”

  Pip took a step back. “Gang way,” she yelled. “Honorary Ambassador coming through.” She cleared the lava-filled cracks with the same ease and pushed off as hard as she could; leaping into the air and landing on J.R.’s back. She tried to grip J.R. by the shoulders but slowly slid into the moat. “Help me,” she screamed. “Please help me.” Tears of fear streamed from her eyes as dozens of black hands grabbed her feet and legs and began pulling her in to.

  “See, kiddies,” cheered Dorian. "I tried to tell you pathetic little twits that J.R. wouldn’t be the Whiffler, and look . . . you’re losing yourselves over it too.” Dorian belly-laughed a deep dark sinister laugh.

  “Thomas,” yelled J.R. “Pull Pip up . . . Let go of me and pull her up first.”

  “But J.R., if I do you’ll go under.”

  “I don’t care, save Pip.”

  Without further hesitation Thomas let go of J.R.’s arm and quickly grabbed Pip’s. She kicked herself free and made it to the top. She turned with lightning speed, and together she and Thomas reached for J.R., but the black hands had pulled him in all the way up to his neck.

  “I’m . . . not . . . going . . . to . . . make . . . it,” yelled J.R. in between breaths of panic, “Tell Minion I’m sorry I let him down. I—” His head dipped below the surface.

  “No.” cried Pip.

  “J.R.” yelled Thomas.

  Dorian stood at the edge of the moat watching. The sky grew completely dark. The lava-filled cracks widened.

  “I told you, Timble,” said Dorian calmly, “you weren’t going to be the next Whiffler. This end of you is better than what I had planned. I was going to watch you turn into a pangolin from disbelief and no willpower, in your own little Timble cell in my castle, but I wouldn’t trade watching this for the world.”

  “We need you, J.R.,” shouted Thomas.

  “Too late, my Whiffler wannabes,” said Dorian, “Mr. Timble is getting exorcised of all his willpower and his dreams right about now. He’ll be changed into a pangolin quicker than black licorice can turn your lips black.”

  “No, he won’t be,” said Preston’s inner self, standing behind Dorian. “J.R. will be the next Whiffler just as he is destined to be.”

  Preston’s inner self pushed Dorian out of the way and dove into the black moat. A deep long moment of silence filled the air. Dorian stood up in furry as Preston’s inner self broke the surface of the black water pulling J.R. up to the moat’s edge.

  Thomas and Pip dragged J.R. out of the moat to the edge of the sphere.

  “J.R.,” yelled Pip, “Are you ok, speak to us.”

  Thomas slapped his cheek slightly, but nothing happened.

  “Looks like you’re too late,” said Dorian, laughing. “And you, Preston, you will be severely punished for this.”

  Pip began compressions on J.R.’s chest, attempting CPR then quickly rolled him to his side where he spit up blackish-gray water and coughed.

  “Come on, J.R., you can do it,” begged Pip.

  “Pip . . . Thomas . . .” said J.R., coughing in between his words. “Get into the sphere.” He rolled over, coughed some more and slowly pushed himself to his feet as he heard Dorian yell an untranslatable command. He looked across the moat into the trees. “Oh no,” he sighed as Gerfalcons emerged from the peregrine falcon images in the trees.

  “Get Timble,” ordered Dorian. “He cannot be allowed to make it into the sphere. Charge him, now. Have him for supper. I don’t care, just stop him.”

  Three giant Gerfalcons descended upon J.R., their claws grabbing and beaks snapping.

  “You aren’t stopping me,” yelled J.R., fighting back harder than he’s ever fought before. “Minion, help me please.” He reached inside the sphere.

  Thomas looked at Minion, then Pip, and then ran to J.R.’s aid.

  “Thomas Dean,” yelled Minion. “You cannot touch him. He has to make it on his own. This is his personal battle now. He has to step into the circle on his own accord.”

  The giant black beasts surrounded J.R. Their heads were bobbing up and down; every upward motion bringing with it a shred of clothing torn from J.R.’s body.

  “Grandfather, Agalar,” yelled J.R. “Where are you? Help me. Please?”

  In between defensive moves and returning strikes and blows with the giant birds J.R. looke
d into the sphere and saw that his grandfather and Agalar had appeared, but neither one did anything to help. He felt himself going numb from the fight and all the pain.

  “If you can’t help him do something to Dorian” begged Pip.

  “I wish I could, Pip,” said Minion, “but if I did anything it would interfere with J.R.’s decision-making ability plus use up my remaining life energy. I would die and then the transition could not take place.” Minion closed his eyes.

  J.R. kicked one bird in the beak and punched another in the chest. Then he rolled clear of the third bird’s downward strike just as he heard Minion speak to him telepathically, ‘J.R., we’re running out of time.’ Minion’s voice faded, but with the mention of time J.R. pulled out his pocket watch. When the Gerfalcons saw it they panicked as if they knew what it was and what it could do. Every one of them began pecking at his hand until he was forced to let go of the watch because of the pain.

  “The watch,” yelled Dorian. “Get the watch, don’t let him open the watch.”

  One of the Gerfalcons grabbed the gold timepiece and tried to fly away but was jerked to a stop when the gold chain pulled taut against the belt loop of J.R.’s pants.

  “No, you fool, the chain,” screamed Dorian. “And don’t drop the watch. It might open.”

  However, the giant bird didn’t listen and tried for another takeoff. J.R. was jerked forward and saw the watch fall from the bird’s death-grip beak. He dove under the falling watch and caught it with both hands. All three birds seemed to sense impending danger and took to flight. J.R. cradled the watch in his palm, clicked it open and all life around him stopped.

  He laid his head back on the ground next to the sphere and moaned; feeling every bloody nip, scrape, bruise, abrasion and aching bone in his body. He glanced at the birds frozen in mid flight then rolled over to his stomach and saw everyone in the sphere was frozen too. What about Dorian, he thought. He turned back and saw Dorian’s figure frozen too, but he also saw something he did not expect to see.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Promises are Fulfilled and Made