by Obert Skye
Ezra hobbled in a sad little circle on the top of the dresser. He coughed twice, trying to really sell the fact that he was pathetic. Dennis just stared at him.
“I get it. You’ve been terribly wronged.”
“Terribly,” Ezra sniffed.
“That’s still not going to make people want to join up with you. In fact, it will probably make them want to do just the opposite,” Dennis argued. “So we tell them about Foo, we preach about the opening in the Blue Hole Lake, and then what?”
“I’m being completely honest when I say that I wish I was working with a stuffed cactus instead of you.”
“You would be refuse on the street if it wasn’t for me,” Dennis said.
“Refuse?” Ezra yelled. “Who are you, the queen of England? Well, I’d rather be refuse than trash.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Once again I have to explain the obvious to you,” Ezra spat. “It means you are a wet spine of an individual and even your hair was smarter than you, seeing how it got out while it could.”
“My hair has nothing to do with this,” Dennis said hotly. “How about I pick you up and flush you down the toilet?”
“You wouldn’t—”
Dennis silenced Ezra by pinching his mouth closed. He picked up Ezra and held him out in front of him as if he were a dirty sock. Dennis headed for the bathroom. Ezra thrashed and kicked, trying to scratch at Dennis’s hand as he carried him. The purple plastic topper on his head wiggled wildly. Ezra reached down with his arms and grabbed hold of his metal leg. He strained to bend it slightly. With a bend in the leg Ezra was able to kick up and jab the paper clip into Dennis’s fingers.
His second kick drew blood.
“Owwwww!” Dennis yelled, dropping Ezra to the ground. “That really hurt.”
Ezra dashed as quickly as he could under the dresser, looking much less feeble than before.
Dennis reached down for him, but Ezra was too quick. He ran to Dennis’s foot, opened his tiny mouth, and bit down on the back of his ankle.
“Ahhhhh!” Dennis screamed.
Ezra dashed under the bed, hollering like a warrior.
“Come out!” Dennis yelled.
Ezra was suddenly quiet.
“Come on,” Dennis insisted. “Where are you?”
Dennis dropped to his knees and looked under the bed. A soft noise sounded from behind him.
“Whissssh.”
Dennis scuttled around on his hands and knees and checked under the dresser.
“This is ridiculous,” Dennis fumed. “Where are you?”
“Whisssssh.”
Dennis quickly flipped around and lifted the end of the comforter up and looked back under the bed. Ezra had jumped up and stuck himself in the comforter, hiding himself in the ugly pattern printed on it. He was now perched inches away from Dennis’s bald head.
“Come on,” Dennis said, peering beneath the bed. “You’re being a baby.”
Ezra leaned forward and opened his mouth to take a bite of Dennis’s scalp. The faint bits of darkness moved across Dennis’s head like flickering ticker tape.
Ezra held his bite mid-chomp.
“What’s that?” Ezra asked.
Dennis lifted his head and stared Ezra directly in his single eye.
“What’s what?” Dennis asked, amazed at how well Ezra blended into the comforter.
“Your typically washed-out head is spelling stuff,” Ezra said.
“What?”
“Your bald head,” Ezra exclaimed. “It’s finally saying something worthwhile.”
“What are you talking about?” Dennis jumped up and ran to the mirror hanging on the wall. He tried to look at the top of his head but he couldn’t see it clearly.
Ezra climbed up on top of the bed and jumped over to Dennis. He caught hold of the back of Dennis’s pants and pulled himself up the back of Dennis’s shirt as if it were a cargo net. He reached Dennis’s neck and moved to glance into the mirror too.
“I can’t see anything,” Dennis said.
“Don’t you have a makeup compact?”
“What?”
“One of those makeup mirrors,” Ezra explained.
“Why would I have a makeup mirror?” Dennis asked, confused.
“’Cause you’re a girl,” Ezra said.
“You’re the one who’s always crying.”
“I’ll bite your neck.”
“I’ll shove you down the sink,” Dennis said angrily.
They both growled at each other for a few minutes until Dennis had had enough.
“This is stupid.”
“It’s pronounced I’m, not this.”
“Come on,” Dennis said, trying to keep his cool. “Knock it off. Now, what does my head say?”
Ezra climbed up the side of Dennis’s head.
“Do you mind sitting down?” Ezra asked. “It’s windy up here.”
Dennis sat down on the floor, crossing his legs and leaning up against the side of the bed.
“Does it really say . . .”
“Shhhhh,” Ezra insisted.
Ezra was standing on the top of Dennis’s head. He pivoted on his metal leg, looking over the complete scalp. Ezra moved his arms and hands as if he were a fortune-teller looking into a crystal ball.
“What do you see?” Dennis whispered.
“Lots of things,” Ezra replied. “Can you feel the images?”
“No,” Dennis answered. “I used to feel them more when Sabine was still alive. They were darker then.”
“Sabine still lives in you,” Ezra said with a hushed awe. “It’s faint, but I can see what he knew.”
“Sabine can’t live in me.”
“Whoooaa,” Ezra said. “When you said that, the markings on your scalp went wild.”
“Can you make it stop?” Dennis sounded concerned.
“Are you kidding?” Ezra snapped. “This is just what we were looking for.”
“What?”
“All of Foo and everything we need to know is right here,” Ezra said, thrilled.
“I don’t want that on my head.”
“You have no choice,” Ezra demanded. “This is what we need. Now, stop talking and let me read it.”
“I’m still not happy,” Dennis insisted.
“How could you be?” Ezra sniffed. “Look at you.”
Dennis shook his head with disgust and Ezra wobbled.
“Will you let me read?” Ezra asked indignantly.
Dennis sat still and closed his eyes. He could see his old life. He could see the many days and years he had put into being a janitor at the law firm of Snooker and Woe. He could see all the many people passing him in the hall and trying as hard as they could to not make eye contact. He could see his parents’ disappointment in him as he grew up.
“I’ve always hated the way I looked,” Dennis said honestly, letting some real feelings slip out.
“Why are you telling me?” Ezra asked. “I’m not Oprah.”
Dennis had never been the big man on campus or even the slightly significant guy at any school. He couldn’t remember anything in his childhood being warm or thrilling or good for his self-esteem. And nothing in his adulthood had been much better. He had settled at almost every point and turn in his life. Even what he wore was a clear sign that he had no personal opinion or taste with any flavor to it.
“What do you see?” he finally asked.
“Apparently Foo is much more than I have felt or could remember,” Ezra said excitedly. “Wow. Do you know somebody called the Dearth?”
“How would I know anyone from Foo?” Dennis asked.
“Sabine was looking for the gateway to bring the Dearth here.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Whatever the Dearth is,” Ezra said, “it’s incredibly powerful.”
“So what should we do?”
“Shhhhh,” Ezra snapped, his purple hair twisting lightly as he read Dennis’s head. “Amazing. I think I l
ike this Dearth guy. This is going to be perfect.”
“What’s going to be perfect?”
“Our plan,” Ezra cackled. “We will prepare the masses to welcome the Dearth. Then when he comes through I’ll explain to him how I answer to no one and that he now answers to me.”
Ezra pumped his tiny fist.
“A toothpick will rule the world,” Ezra growled. “And Geth will die knowing that the anger he shed ended up with everything.”
“You got all that from my forehead?” Dennis asked, amazed.
“Don’t wait around for a thanks,” Ezra said. “We’ve got work to do.”
Ezra jumped from Dennis’s head onto the bed. He leaned down and straightened his metal leg.
“And what’s in it for me?” Dennis asked boldly.
“You’ll be co-ruler of the world. Duh,” Ezra said.
Dennis imagined a future where he had confidence in himself. He could see something coming into view, and no one was more surprised by the possibility than Dennis himself.
ii
The sun coming up over the flat, barren desert was beautiful. The starkness of the scene was awe inspiring in a steal-your-breath type of way. Tumbleweeds smacked up against the interstate guardrails. The wind would tease them and then pick them up and send them onto the freeway, where unsuspecting cars and trucks would obliterate them head-on.
Dennis watched a jackrabbit jump from its hole, run across the blowing dirt, and descend into another hole. The wind made Dennis’s soul feel even more unsettled.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he said to himself.
Ezra was sleeping in the pocket of Dennis’s dark robe. Ezra had taken to the pocket, calling it the perfect place for a toothpick of his stature to rest. Dennis had taken to the robe as a whole. He felt good wearing it. Unlike the dark shawl that Sabine had once been, Terry’s robe was comforting and made Dennis feel strong in a different type of way.
A large commercial tent had been delivered and set up on a small piece of land across the street from Blue Hole Lake. The tent was white with thick blue stripes running up and down all over it. Inside Dennis had set up fifty folding chairs and placed a wobbly podium at the front. The dirt field outside of the tent could easily accommodate hundreds of cars if the need arose. Dennis was standing in the parking lot looking out towards Blue Hole Lake. The lot felt incredibly empty.
“Hey,” Dennis said, smacking the pocket Ezra was sleeping in. “Get up. How are we planning to get people here?”
“I’m tired,” Ezra growled.
“You’re a toothpick,” Dennis snapped back. “Toothpicks don’t get tired. They get used and then discarded.”
“Thank you for the fascinating explanation of toothpicks,” Ezra mocked, climbing out of the robe pocket and looking around. His purple tassel was smashed on one side, giving him bed head.
“Your hair’s a mess,” Dennis said.
“Your smell’s offensive,” Ezra replied.
“Come on,” Dennis insisted. “Can’t we get past the childish insults?”
Ezra shrugged. “Stop making it so easy.”
“How are we getting people here?” Dennis asked again.
“Remember those flyers we made?” Ezra said slowly.
“People aren’t going to see a flyer on their car windshield and say, ‘Hey, this looks interesting. Let’s go.’”
“Really?” Ezra said. “Then who’s that?”
A beat-up red truck was pulling into the dirt parking lot. It stopped near the side of the tent and a woman wearing shorts and a tank top got out. She had short legs and spiky hair.
“Who are you?” she asked Dennis.
“I’m Denn . . . Professor Wizard,” Dennis said uncomfortably, using the name they had put on the flyer.
Dennis and Ezra had argued for hours over what stage name he should use. Dennis thought he should be Professor Shock; Ezra thought that the name Today’s Wizard would bring many more curious people to the tent. In the end they compromised, and Professor Wizard had been created. Ezra had also wanted Dennis to carry a wand, but Dennis had put his foot down, altering his image only by always wearing the robe.
“Is it true what the paper said?” the woman asked.
Dennis nodded.
“You know why everything’s happening?” she said. “Them bugs and dirt and all that windy cloud stuff?”
“Say something comforting,” Ezra whispered from behind Dennis’s left ear.
“I do,” Dennis answered.
“That’s probably the only time in your life you’ll get a chance to say that,” Ezra quipped.
“What’s happening, Professor?” she asked earnestly.
Dennis looked around before remembering he was the professor.
“What’s happening?” she asked again. “My sister was picked up by bugs two weeks ago. Normally I would have thought she was just making stuff up, like the time when she claimed she saw Gandhi in soap scum around her tub, but she was telling the truth. Even the news talked to her.”
Ezra started to whisper and Dennis talked.
“It’s okay,” Dennis said. “I’m going to introduce you to a new word—Foo.”
“Foo?”
Two more cars pulled into the parking lot.
“Come inside,” Dennis said. “I think you’ll want to hear this.”
The woman followed Dennis into the tent and took a seat in the front row. Dennis stepped behind the podium and gripped the edges. The other people had made their way in. There was a man and a woman, both with long hair and vests, and there were also two women holding onto each other for support. They stepped timidly into the tent, both of them clutching their purses as if Dennis was going to pounce on them and wrestle the purses away.
“Come in,” Dennis waved. “Have a seat.”
Everyone sat down.
“Tell us what you think it is,” the spiky-haired woman shouted.
Dennis’s hands trembled and then, as if a strong sedative were kicking in, his body began to warm up and settle down. He looked at the people’s faces. Everyone appeared eager to hear what he was going to say next. He loved the feeling. Coupled with the sensation of the robe, it was almost enough to lift him from the ground.
“What are you doing?” the long-haired man pointed.
“I’m . . .”
“Floating,” one of the timid women said. “He’s floating.”
“Is it a trick?” the spiky-haired woman asked.
Dennis looked down, surprised to see his feet dangling in the air. He was only a few inches off the ground, but he was most definitely floating.
“Say something,” Ezra insisted in a whisper. “Follow my words.”
“No,” Dennis said aloud.
The small crowd looked at him in awe.
“No?” the vest-wearing woman asked.
“No, I mean I can find my own words,” Dennis said, directing his comment to Ezra, but allowing the crowd to hear it.
“I believe you,” the spiky-haired woman uttered. “Say your own words.”
“There’s a place,” Dennis said. “A fantastic place, a place where all the oddities that now plague us have come from.”
“What place?” the second timid woman asked.
“Foo.”
The few spectators began to mumble and whisper amongst themselves.
Dennis raised his hands and smiled. His body lowered to the ground and he had never felt so surefooted. He recalled all the things Ezra had explained to him from the markings on his head.
“The bugs are called sarus.”
“The bugs that picked up my sister?”
Dennis nodded. He went on, “And the clouds that are messing with planes are called hazen.”
“What about those windy monsters we keep dreaming about?” the timid women asked in unison. “We can’t stop dreaming about them.”
“Telts,” Dennis said. “They are telts, and the creatures that rise from the dirt are called avalands.”
&nb
sp; “How can you know that?” the vested man asked. “You’re just making it up.”
“I know about it because I know about Foo.”
“So you’re, like, prophetic?” the spiky-haired woman asked in a hushed tone.
Dennis didn’t react to the question.
“What else do you think you know?” the man asked skeptically.
“I know that in a short while the inhabitants of Foo will begin to spill into our world, bringing things far more odd and dangerous than bugs and clouds,” Dennis said solemnly. “I know that unless we are ready, we will be in grave danger.”
Everyone shivered.
“When you say spill, how do you mean?” the vested woman asked.
“There is a small lake right across the field,” Dennis said.
“Blue Hole?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Dennis answered. “Shortly the water will drain and thousands will shoot up from the caves below.”
“And they hate us?” one of the timid women asked.
Dennis began to float again. He hovered in the air like a weak balloon caught in a small draft.
“How do you do that?” the man asked.
All of the women “Ahhhed.”
“Is there a wire?” the man questioned further.
Not patient enough to wait for an answer, the man got up and walked around Dennis. He waved his hand beneath Dennis’s feet and looked closely for wires above him.
“I gotta tell someone!” he shouted. “What’s this place called, the one that’s going to spill?”
“Foo,” Dennis said with authority.
“Foo,” the two timid women whispered reverently.
Dennis lifted his arms up and, moved by the moment, clapped his hands. The small gathering instantly reacted, running for the tent exit. In less than ten seconds Dennis and Ezra were alone again.
“Wow,” Ezra said. “That was even easier than I anticipated. But I still think you should have listened to me.”
“This is all real,” Dennis said softly. “Foo, Geth, Leven, and us having power? It’s all real.”
“I’ve been telling you,” Ezra said.
“I know,” Dennis replied. “But now I can feel it. It was like I was speaking about something I knew personally.”
