Fantastic Fables of Foster Flat

by Orrin Jason Bradford

  As Mikey ran to find the others, he wondered which of Mole's little pets had bought the farm. He hoped it wasn't Sneezy, the long haired guinea pig with the continual allergy. Sneezy was Mikey's favorite. Maybe it was the pink eyes that gave Sneezy the look of myopia. Or maybe it was the long blonde hair that fell over those eyes, much like Mikey's hair did. Or perhaps it was the fact that the other guinea pigs, the ones with shorter, finer coats, would have nothing to do with Sneezy that drew Mikey to him. Mole had never said, but Mikey felt that Sneezy was one of his favorites, also. He hoped Sneezy's allergies had not developed into something more serious.

  Mikey was almost to the creek, the cries and whoops of excitement confirming that the gang was there, when the two boys jumped him.

  "Lookey what we got here—a spy. Yes indeed, it's a spy iffen I ever saw one," said the bulky one who sat on top of Mikey's shoulder. Mikey's glasses had been knocked off in the tussle, and the bangs of hair covered most of his view, but he could tell from the voice and the weight, it was Big Ben who lay on top of him.

  "Ben, get off of me, you big oaf. I ain't no spy. You know darn well who I am, and if you don't get me to Buzz with this secret message, he'll be jumping you."

  "What's your rank, and what's the password?" came another voice he couldn't recognize.

  "My rank is Peon Private, and the password is..." Damn, what was the password this week? Last week it was mosquito dung, and the week before that it was horsefly piss, but what was it this week?

  "Aha. I knew we had us a spy," shouted Ben. "Didn't I tell you, Freddy? You can never trust what they look like. Just looking at this little snip, I'd have sworn that this was Peon Private Mikey O'Garner. But Mikey O'Garner would know the password, wouldn't he? I'd hate to find out what would happen to a private who couldn't remember that the password was . . ."

  "Junebug juice," Mikey shouted, just in time.

  "My God, it is Mikey O'Garner," Ben exclaimed, laughing and bouncing up and down on the small frame. "Should have figured it. Can't imagine God making such a mistake twice in creation. Better be sure, though. It could be a clever disguise. We'll put him to the tickle test. No private in Buzz's army is ticklish." As he spoke, Ben reached behind him and started to tickle Mikey's ribs.

  Now, there were several things that Mikey abhorred about being the smallest and youngest kid on the block and the only one that wore glasses, but he hated being tickled the most.

  As Ben's fingers dug into his sides, Mikey screamed with all his might and flailed his body around, trying to get away from the torment, but Big Ben was aptly named and remained like a well-placed anchor on his chest.

  Mikey was just catching his breath, preparing to scream again when he heard a soft whoosh and saw Ben grab his right ear as he fell to the side.

  Mikey rolled in the other direction and jumped to his feet. Ben lay on the ground, still clutching his ear, blood seeping from between his fingers. Mikey's fury and frustration had the best of him. Without thinking, he jumped at Ben and started kicking the bigger boy, aiming for the groin. Mikey had just about located the soft spot when strong hands pulled him away.

  "Ease up Private, before we're forced to throw you in the clink." It was Buzz, still holding the slingshot that had turned Ben's lower ear lobe into hamburger.

  "Great shot, Buzz," shouted Worm, Buzz's second-in-command.

  "Let this be a lesson to everyone. We don't torture and abuse each other. Not even the privates. Is that clear? Least not without it being a command from a superior officer."

  "Now, Private, tell me what this secret message is all about."

  The three boys holding Mikey released their grip on him, and a couple of them helped Ben to a sitting position. Mikey related his story to the gang, trying to play down Alex's hypothesis about the buried treasure. It didn't make any difference. The gang, bored for weeks, sprang at the chance for some excitement.

  After Mikey had finished his story, Buzz held his hands up for silence. He thought for a few moments, walking back and forth as he did. Finally, he stopped and looked at his gang. All eyes were on their leader, waiting expectantly.

  "This calls for a very dangerous raid behind enemy lines. I want two volunteers to go with me to dig up the treasure." Immediately all hands went up. In the excitement, Mikey found his arm waving in the air.

  Buzz studied each kid individually, walking from one to the other until he had looked into each of the fifteen boys' eyes.

  "Thanks. I appreciate the show of support, but I need only two. One to dig and one to cover our rear." He turned to Mikey. "You. You're small, and that's an understatement. We can toss you over the wall if we have to, and you won't make much noise when you hit.

  “And for the backup...Big Ben. You'll cover us. Maybe you'll learn to work with privates this way. We'll make the raid tonight. Everyone meet at the post tomorrow morning at eight. We'll have the buried treasure by then to share."

  The gang of kids screamed their delight in support of their leader.

  As Mikey joined in, a sick feeling grew in the pit of his stomach, trying to eat its way out. He'd be digging in Mole's sacred cemetery tonight. If Mole caught him, he'd lose more than his position on the bottom of the totem pole. He'd lose the only real friend he had.

  BACK AT THE COTTAGE, Mole had completed the funeral and had resolved to do everything possible to redeem himself of his unintentional slaughter. The remaining "eggs," as Mole decided to call them, were resting on the kitchen table. He counted nineteen, each the same size and shape as the one he had buried. Mole listened intently to one of the spheres with an electronic stethoscope. As he turned the volume up on the instrument, he detected a soft, yet clear, throbbing. It reminded him of the beat of a hummingbird's heart, so fast as to be almost a buzz.

  "They're alive," he whispered. "They're alive, and it's up to me to somehow incubate them. I won't be so careless with the ones that remain."

  But how? How am I to raise nineteen eggs from a species I know nothing about, that bear no resemblance to anything I've ever seen? As these thoughts bounced around in his head, he carefully placed each egg back into the bassinet.

  Mole carried the large bassinet down the steps gently, like a new mother carrying her child, into the basement where he had spent thousands of hours in the small, but efficient, lab. He'd find a way. He didn't know who had placed such precious cargo in his care, but he had started off on the wrong foot. He had much to make up to them, so he'd somehow figure out what the remaining eggs needed and give it to them.

  But where had these strange embers of life come from and into what were they destined to grow? He might never be able to answer that first question, but with care and time, the second answer would inevitably come.

  BUZZ SHINED THE FLASHLIGHT from Mikey to Ben and back again to Mikey before shining it upward to highlight his own face. "Now pay attention. Here's the plan. We've got to work quickly. We'll be in and out before the enemy knows we've ever been behind their lines."

  He stared at Mikey for a few seconds before continuing. The yellow light from the flashlight gave Buzz a diseased and jaundiced look, the effect heightened by the charcoal that he had smeared on his face. Mikey wondered for the hundredth time what he was doing out after dark. If his parents checked his room, there'd be hell to pay. He probably wouldn't get to leave the house until he was old enough for college.

  "Mikey." His name snapped him back to the present. "You and Ben will climb the oak where you and Alex were earlier. Ben, be sure to help the squeaker get up the tree without a lot of ruckus. Then, Mikey, you'll climb the lowest limb that hangs out over the wall and drop into the court. Now, you'll have to be quick and quiet. You'll have the light, but use it sparingly and keep the beam pointed down to the ground.

  "Ben will stay in the tree and tie this here rope to the limb so you can skinny back up. You can climb a rope, can't you?"

  Mikey tried twice to say something before it finally came out. "I . . . I . . . I don't know. I've never tried be
fore."

  "Then, this will be an excellent opportunity to learn, 'cause if you can't, the enemy will have your little ass for sure. When you find the buried treasure, don't worry about opening the box or nothing. Just cover the hole back up real quick and toss the box up to Ben. Ben, you'll toss the box to me, then go back and help Mikey with the rope. Got it?"

  Both boys nodded slowly and gulped in unison. "When do we get to open the treasure?" Ben wanted to know.

  "Not till we get it back to the post. The rest of the gang will be there, those that could sneak away, anyway. We'll open it together so no one will be blaming anyone of stealing or nothing. Now, let's get going. We've buried treasure to uncover."

  The three shadowed figures crept out from beneath the cover of the shrubs behind which they were hiding. Mikey felt like he was going to pass out. When they approached the oak tree that was to be their ladder over Mole's wall, it was all he could do to hang on as Buzz pushed him up the trunk to Ben's outstretched hand. Every sound seemed to be magnified, as though they each were wearing amplifiers.

  If Mole caught him in the backyard, he'd lose the only real friend he had, his folks would lock him in his room for years, and the pack would kick him out. His life, in short, would be ruined. If only there were a chance of buried treasure, it'd be worth the risk. He would be a hero to the boys then, and surely Buzz would promote him from off the bottom of the pack. But that wasn't even a possibility. They'd get the old box back to the post. Buzz would open it with all the boys looking on, and there it would be – a smelly, diseased lump of fur, the rotting remains of Sneezy or some other little rodent. Everyone would stare in bewilderment, and then they'd remember who had reported the buried treasure. Mikey would be the laughing stock of the whole pack. They'd have to invent a new rank for him below private. They might even kick him out of the pack.

  Yes, tonight was not destined to be a good night for him. He finally managed to climb onto the limb that hung over the wall, the flashlight digging painfully into his buttock from its place in his back pocket. The limb sagged with each foot he moved out over the wall, but his small frame was not in jeopardy of breaking the thick branch.

  Finally over the wall, Mikey turned on his belly and dropped down over the limb, hanging for a few seconds by his hands before letting go. He seemed to drop for a long time in the darkness, but the fall was soft in the thick, green grass. To Mikey, his fall sounded like a shotgun blast, but was, in fact, virtually silent. He crouched on his knees for several seconds, fearful to even breathe, expecting a dozen spotlights to blink on, each centered on him. Nothing happened. The silence remained like a thick blanket over the landscape, and no lights flared from the house.

  In a half-crouched position, Mikey ran to the edge of the cemetery, not bothering to use the light until he reached the grave of the two hamsters. He was quite familiar with Mole's backyard, and so the journey was easy and direct. Finally, he removed the flashlight and, half shielding the beam with his fingers, shined the light along the ground until he found the plot of newly dug earth.

  Quickly and quietly, Mikey unearthed the box with his hands. The soil was moist and easy to dig, having been loosened earlier in the day. The box was only a foot or so down. Mole was not into digging deep graves. His rheumatism was too painful for that type of exercise. Mikey grabbed the box by the string that held it together and pulled it from the hole. It came easily. He hesitated for a moment, tempted to look inside, despite his orders, to see if it was Sneezy, but a sound from behind him sent shivers up his spine and froze him to the spot.

  "Come on, Mikey," he heard the deep, hoarse whisper from Ben. "Let's go. The rope is down. Let's get outta here."

  Mikey's heart started beating again and he grabbed the box, kicked the dirt back into the hole and ran towards the rope. Looking up, he saw a vague shadow above him. It was Ben, precariously sitting on the limb. The limb was only four or five feet above Mikey's head and seemed to be groaning under the burden of the overweight boy.

  "Here's the box." Mikey whispered. "Be careful." He threw the box toward the shadow, but it stopped short of the target. Ben reached out for it, lost his balance and, for a brief moment, it seemed inevitable that Ben would come crashing out of the tree, crushing Mikey under him. At the last moment, he caught his balance again and pulled himself against the tree limb.

  "Come on, idiot. Throw it harder."

  Mikey tried again, this time with success. Ben caught the box, teetered for a moment on the limb, then started crawling back towards the wall. Mikey placed the flashlight back in his pocket and grabbed the rope. With a leap, he pulled with all his might. The strength that often comes from terror made the rope climb much easier than he had expected until he got to the limb. Then he couldn't figure out how to transpose his hands from the rope to the limb without falling. The limb was too fat for his small hands to grab. He hung there, suspended in space. He didn't dare yell for help, but at the same time, he could feel his grip weakening.

  At the last moment, when he thought he could hold on no longer, he felt a strong hand grab him by the rear of his britches and jerk him towards the limb. Big Ben had come through. He had come back for him. In his terror, Mikey had not felt the giving of the limb under Ben's weight.

  "Let's go, pipsqueak. We've got buried treasure to count."

  THE PROMISE OF BURIED treasure had overwhelmed all the rules and curfews of the neighborhood. The gang was gathered, waiting in hushed silence for the return of the troops. Buzz strutted into the post, an abandoned storage building behind the vacated grocery store. Big Ben and Mikey walked a few steps behind, like conquering heroes. Even though Mikey knew that, in a few moments, the dreams of riches and wealth would be dashed by a small rotting carcass, he found himself caught up in the excitement of the moment.

  Buzz raised one hand above his head for silence as he walked over to the picnic table that served as his desk. A half dozen candles and two lanterns illuminated the shack, casting a series of ghostly shadows along the walls.

  "Everyone back, back, you hear? I want the troops that risked their lives for this mission around the table. That means Alex, Ben, and you, Mikey. Let's see what riches the ol' man was trying to hide."

  Buzz took a pocket knife out of his jeans, slid the blade under the string and cut it. Sticking the point of the knife into the table, he placed both hands on the lid and paused.

  He knows how to work a room, Mikey thought. He'll probably do just as good a job at my lynching. Mikey could feel the heavy breathing of the boy behind him craning his neck to get a better view. Mikey wanted to draw back from the cardboard casket, but his curiosity about Sneezy and the push of the other boys kept him glued to his place.

  With a quick flourish, Buzz flipped the lid off the box. Each boy leaned forward as one and gasped in amazement as their eyes took in the sight before them. Seconds ticked by without so much as a breath.

  Finally, Ben broke the silence. "What the hell is it?"

  "Give me that lid, quick!" exclaimed Buzz, knocking over the closest candles. Someone tossed him the lid from where he had flung it. He quickly placed it on top of the box, blocking further speculation as to what was inside.

  "Hey, what's up, Buzz? Let us see what it is. Jiminy, it looked like a midget monster," said Alex.

  "Never mind, not now. Okay, guys, the show is over for this evening. I want everyone out of here except the troops that worked on the mission. Everyone else, go home. And leave with this order: no one is to say anything about what has gone on here. Is that clear? If I find out anyone muttered so much as a word, it'll be you and my pig sticker here, and you'll be ready for the Vienna Boys Choir. Clear?”

  Ben started to protest, but caught the serious frown on Buzz's face and thought better of it. Mikey started for the door, not wanting to stay and look in the box again. His stomach ached something awful, and he felt like he was going to be sick. He wasn't sure what he had seen in the box, but he knew it wasn't Sneezy or any of the other little critters. A
ll he was sure of was that he wanted to go home and hide his head under the covers and pretend this day had never happened. As he turned to sneak through the door, Buzz caught him by the collar.

  "I said for you to stay, Private. Didn't you hear me?"

  Ss...sorry, Buzz. Didn't think you meant me," Mikey stuttered.

  Buzz waited for the room to clear. Then he lifted the lid again, slowly, as though he feared something might jump out. He stared at the carcass for several seconds, a look of wonder and disgust on his face.

  "Any idea what it is?" He spoke to no one in particular.

  When no one answered, he continued, "Well, neither do I, but it's for sure not something that needs to be spread around the neighborhood. Whatever ol' Mole is up to, it's gotta be top secret."

  "What are you going to do with it?" Ben asked, staring at the small embryo as intently as if it were a naked lady.

  "Not sure how I'm going play this one, Ben. But it's for certain, if we play it right, this may be the most unusual buried treasure of all time—and the most valuable. For now, it's top secret. I mean that. If I hear anyone has so much as hinted about what we found, castration will be too good for them. Is that clear?"

  All heads nodded, while every eye continued to stare at the yellow and green fetus. Finally, to break the spell, Buzz covered the box again. As the boys turned to leave, Buzz called out, "Good work tonight, Mikey. You might make it yet."

  Mikey nodded slowly, but could only muster a weak smile. His thoughts were on the thing in the box and his friend in the cottage—and the sick feeling in his stomach that would not leave.