The Guardian of Threshold

by A. A. Volts

  After doing the visual inspection of the airplane and its various systems, I entered the airplane and started working on my start-up procedures as the FAA inspector took his seat beside me and put his headset on, then opened his notebook and carefully started to take notes, which made me even more nervous.

  Once the engine was up and running, I contacted ground control and obtained proper clearance and taxi instructions. I was once again assigned runway eleven for takeoff.

  Steve looked worried as the plane zigzagged in the taxiway centerline as it normally did for a few seconds until I got used to the rudder controls. I was going to tell him not to worry, but I figured that wasn’t in my best interest.

  “Mark, try not to go over fifteen-hundred RPMs,” Steve said as he continued to take notes.

  I almost pushed hard on the brakes, but then I remembered that all I had to do was pull back on the throttle control, and the airplane would gradually slow down.

  I was sure I had already messed up and became very nervous. My hands wouldn’t stop sweating; I had to keep wiping them off on my jeans.

  “Strictly off the record, I think you performed a mighty awesome emergency landing last week. However, I also think that you shouldn’t have flown at all given the weather conditions at the time, but that’s a different matter altogether. Personally, I think your instructor and the tower controller were at fault,” said Steve casually, as though he had noticed how nervous I was and was trying to make me feel more confident.

  I wouldn’t blame him if he changed his mind and decided not to fly with me. It was my first time back inside a cockpit since last week’s accident, and I felt anxious.

  “Try to relax and go with the flow,” said Steve, opening his notebook again and resuming taking notes.

  Steve’s words of encouragement must have worked because I felt a bit more at ease. My hands even stopped sweating, and I was able to breathe easier.

  After receiving proper authorization from tower control, we took off, heading toward downtown Boston as I climbed to eight thousand feet.

  This time I kept constant watch on the weather radar screen as well as the G-1000 anti-collision system, so much so that I almost forgot to keep looking for other aircraft through the windshield, as I was supposed to.

  As we approached Boston, I contacted Boston air traffic control to ask for permission to fly in their airspace. Because I was planning on flying over Logan International Airport, I had to climb to a required minimum altitude of ten thousand feet.

  Everything was going smoothly, when suddenly on the way back to Hanscom Field the radio panel started to smoke, quickly filling the cockpit with a stinky and blinding white smoke. Breathing became extremely difficult. The burning smell was overpowering.

  Without thinking twice, I opened the side cockpit window to vent the smoke. I next reached for the fire extinguisher just in case there was a fire, but thankfully there wasn’t.

  The smoke cleared as quickly as it’d started; the combination of speed and high altitude made clean air rush inside the cockpit, forcing the toxic smoke out.

  I must have taken the appropriate actions because Steve seemed to be celebrating.

  “Good job, Mark. Here, I’ll keep an eye on the radio in case it catches on fire while you fly us back,” said Steve, taking the fire extinguisher from my hands, seemingly glad to still be safe and alive.

  “Thanks. I think it’s broken,” I said, wondering what was the proper procedure in our case.

  “In a situation like this, we just have to land without asking permission. It’s not like we have any other choice. Fun, isn’t it?” replied Steve. Before adding, “Don’t worry, they will probably figure out that our radio is busted once they see us on approach. I’ll keep an eye open to make sure there isn’t any other traffic around when we are landing.”

  If it’d been any other day, I would have had my cell in my pocket, but because the inspector had accompanied me in my test, I had given it to my dad to hold. I guess Steve didn’t have his cell either because he didn’t say anything.

  As we approached the airport, I aligned the airplane with runway eleven, hoping that no other aircraft would be crossing it, landing on it, or taking off from it.

  I applied full flaps and lined up perfectly with the runway—thanks to the great visibility—so perfect in fact that I hoped Gilles and my dad were watching.

  Aside from causing some small airplanes to stop on the taxiway, the unauthorized landing was successful, even uneventful.

  I carefully taxied back to the flight school parking lot and parked in the closest parking location I could find. Before I had even shutdown the engine, my dad and Gilles both stood outside the airplane with a puzzled look.

  “What happened?” asked Gilles, knocking on the cockpit side window.

  “The radio blew up in smoke,” I said, pointing at it.

  “Thankfully you guys made it back safely,” said Gilles as he opened Steve’s door.

  “Wow, that was weird, I’ve never seen that happen before,” said Steve, “but the good news is that you’ve passed. Congratulations.”

  “Just like that?” I asked, surprised.

  “Well, as far as I’m concerned, yes that’s it. By the way, outstanding job, my friend. That was a fantastic performance. I have no doubt you’ll make a great pilot,” said Steve, shaking my hand firmly.

  “Well done,” said Gilles, also shaking my hand.

  On the way home, we stopped to get some breakfast. I had French toast sticks and soda while my dad opted for another cup of coffee.

  “Son, I may go to Phil’s house for a bit today, if that’s okay. You want to come? He invited us to go over and shoot some pool,” my dad said as he drove down on I-95.

  “Cool, Dad, but I think I’ll pass, I have some reading to catch up on,” I replied.

  “I shouldn’t come home too late, we’re just going to cook some food and maybe play some online games, if we have time.”

  “Sounds fun,” I said, already regretting the fact that he would probably be taking his laptop with him—which was the only computer in our house that didn’t have Internet monitoring software installed.

  By the time my dad dropped me off at our house, it was almost 10 a.m.

  “Here, take this so you can buy some lunch and dinner,” said my dad, handing me a fifty-dollar bill. “If you need anything, just call my cell. I should be home around eight o’clock, tops.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll check with the guys to see if they want to come over and have a pizza or something,” I said as I closed the car door.

  “Sounds good.”

  My dad took off toward Phil’s. I went straight to Jonas and Carla’s house.

  ***

  I knocked at the twin’s door and waited patiently as I heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs, closely followed by a much faster and louder footstep, which I assumed was Jonas running down the stairs. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was falling down the stairs.

  Figuring Carla would probably answer the door as she normally did, I spent a few seconds caring for my cracked lips and fixing my dirty blond hair. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quick enough. Carla opened the door and caught me by surprise.

  “Good morning,” she said, smiling.

  “Hey, buddy!” said Jonas as he shoved Carla aside.

  “Good morning, I did it! I finally passed my test,” I replied.

  “So you’re officially a pilot now?” Jonas asked.

  “Not quite officially yet. I still need to be seventeen to get my license.”

  “Great news, I’m proud of you,” said Carla, beaming.

  “Do you guys want to go to the library with me?”

  “Hum… no, it’s Saturday, I can think of a million other ways to spend my Saturday,” said Jonas. “Besides, I don’t think I’ll ever set foot in there again.”

  “I’ll go,” said Carla, much to my surprise.

  “Great, I’ll buy lunch. How’s Felicia’
s?” I replied.

  “On second thought, I like how that sounds. I’ll come too and if that… ghost shows up again, I have some questions for her,” said Jonas. We all knew Jonas couldn’t pass up an eating-out opportunity, especially a free one.

  “Okay then, let’s go,” I said.

  “I have to get dressed first, I can’t go in these,” said Jonas, pointing to his borderline-ridiculous flannel pajama pants.

  “Okay, I’ll go get my stuff and meet you guys outside in like ten minutes, if that’s okay,” I said. I needed to run to my house to get the astral projection book.

  “Awesome, that will give me time to finish my breakfast,” said Carla, still looking enchanting and gorgeous even though she had apparently just woken up.

  I rushed over to my room and picked up the astral projection book from under my bed, haunted by the memories of my mother. Every time I passed through the Sorrows Hallway, I struggled. There had to be better days ahead; I felt it in my bones, or maybe it was just life’s way of getting my hopes up, just so it could disappoint me yet again.

  I couldn’t take it anymore; I had to do something about that picture of us swinging happily under the blossoming shade. The tree, which had been in our backyard, was long gone—a snowstorm took care of that problem years ago. In retrospect, that was when I first strayed from my atheist upbringing. That was when I first thought God might have heard my silent prayers.

  Something had to be done about that photo. If I was getting ready to fight a thousand demons or the mightiest of armies singlehandedly, I would probably have felt better than I did. My heart was congested with its own beating, my blood burned with sorrow, and my pores felt dirty, as if clogged by shame. My throat couldn’t swallow the guilt I felt. Yet I pressed on. I had my target sighted, and even though it hurt to look at it, I bravely pushed forward. When I was within reach, I almost turned around, giving in to regret. In the end, my perseverance won.

  I yanked the photograph of my mother off the wall, opened the nearby closet door, and buried it in the midst of some flowery bed sheets that I recognized as being some of her favorites. It seemed appropriate that her picture should rest among them.

  As I walked past the hallway, only a hint that a picture hung there remained. Nothing more than a mere outline on the old and yellowing wallpaper.

  Relieved, I headed outside to wait for Jonas and Carla. I didn’t feel like staying in the house alone because I still felt, or rather sensed, a presence following me. For lack of a better word, I felt haunted.

  I sat on the steps of our poorly maintained porch and started reading my book, paying particular attention to any mentions of the monster I’d seen earlier.

  Not even five minutes passed before Carla and Jonas came out dressed for a winter storm. Which was probably wise, since heavy clouds were starting to overtake the New England sky.

  “Ready?” asked Jonas as he crossed the street.

  “Sure am,” I replied while I put a small indentation on top of the page I was reading and closed the book.

  “Aren’t you cold?” asked Carla, looking concerned.

  “Not really,” I replied, trying to sound strong. The truth was that I was a little cold, but I was too embarrassed to admit it. Besides, the library wasn’t far, and I was wearing a jacket, just not a very heavy one.

  “The weather is turning nasty again,” said Jonas, looking up.

  “I know, they’re saying we could get eight to ten inches of snow and possibly some ice,” I said.

  Eight to ten inches of snow for us Bostonians wasn’t a big deal. Up here, we were used to that and much more, but it was the first snowstorm of the season, and for some unknown reason, people always seemed to forget how to drive in the snow. People also had the tendency to stay indoors for the snowstorm. For some odd reason, everyone seemed to expect the end of the world when snow was forecasted. Certainly by now everyone had raided the store shelves, buying anything remotely useful. Milk, bread, water, and batteries were always the first items to go.

  “So, tell me, how was your test?” asked Carla.

  “It was good for the most part. Can you believe the radio burned out and filled the cockpit with smoke? Thankfully, I was able to think fast and solve the problem,” I replied.

  “Oh my God, I’m glad you’re okay,” replied Carla.

  “Talk about bad luck. You shouldn’t walk too close to me… I have enough bad luck as it is,” replied Jonas, distancing himself and trying to be funny.

  “What are we going to do at the library anyway?” asked Carla.

  “I managed to astral travel last night,” I said casually.

  “So the book was right? It’s really possible?” asked Jonas.

  “So far, everything I read happened,” I said as we crossed the street.

  “Have you seen her… your mom?” asked Carla.

  “Not yet, but I met someone or something,” I said.

  “Who?” asked Jonas.

  “I wrote down his name when I got up. I didn’t want to forget it,” I said as I reached for the piece of paper in my pocket. Good thing I wrote it down, I’d forgotten his name again.

  “Here it is. He said his name was Phasma… Phasma Val-Fraux,” I said after struggling to read my own morning calligraphy.

  “Is that why you want to go to the library on a Saturday?” said Carla.

  “Yes, I need to find out more information about him and the astral realm,” I said as we reached a stop sign.

  “Have you heard of this amazing invention that’s called the Internet?” said Jonas.

  “Very funny. You know my dad monitors my Internet access in the house. I don’t want him finding out about this. At least not yet.”

  “I sure would like to see you try to explain to an atheist that you’re searching for someone that’s, you know… dead,” said Jonas.

  “That’s a conversation I’m not looking forward to,” I replied.

  “Have you told him you believe in God yet?” asked Jonas.

  “No, and I’m not even sure that I do,” I said. My friends looked confused, and I didn’t blame them. I felt confused.

  “What I believe is that all this, everything, couldn’t have come from nothing. Basically, I don’t believe that nothing could’ve created something so wonderful and complex as everything,” I said, trying to be as clear as possible.

  “Explaining that you believe in God should be easier than explaining to your dad that you believe in ghosts. I would start with that, if I was you,” Carla suggested.

  “Wait a minute! I recall telling you that spirits existed and you distinctly telling me they didn’t,” Jonas said. “So now you admit that you believe in spirits? Just like that? Whatever happened to you must have been very persuasive to change your mind that quick.”

  “After last night, I can say for sure that I know spirits do exist. I can’t prove it, but I know they exist, and it’s all thanks to this book and Mrs. Barnes,” I said, pointing at the book.

  “That would explain why you’re in such a good mood this morning,” said Carla as we approached the library.

  ***

  Much to my surprise, the library was buzzing with people carrying books back and forth. I must confess that I’d never been to the library on a Saturday morning before—and I never thought I would.

  “Here we are,” said Jonas, pointing out the obvious.

  “Let’s see if this ghost story of yours is really true,” said Carla as we climbed the steps in front of the library.

  “Not ghost, spirit,” whispered Jonas. “Besides, I doubt she’ll manifest. There are way too many people around.”

  “Good morning,” said Carla as she approached the librarian’s desk.

  “Good morning, how may I help—” said Jane Olstein, stopping short when she noticed Jonas and I standing next to Carla. She started to tremble and looked extremely nervous.

  “May we use the computers for some research?” Carla asked politely.

  “What? Sure, ju
st sign in here,” replied Jane, pointing with her trembling finger at the sign-up sheet next to her desk.

  “Thank you very much,” replied Carla as she added our names to the empty sign-up sheet.

  “What has gotten into her?” asked Carla as we walked to the computer room.

  “Mrs. Barnes’s spirit, that’s what!” Jonas replied.

  “I guess seeing us again must have reminded her of last night,” I said.

  “Did she see it too?” Carla asked.

  “No, but she realized that we saw old Mrs. Barnes’s gho… spirit when we described her. She said it was impossible because Mrs. Barnes was dead,” I replied.

  “She even asked us to wait until she closed the library because she didn’t want to be here alone,” added Jonas.

  When we got to the computer room, I picked the one in the corner next to the big windows. Jonas chose the one next to mine, and Carla sat across from us.

  One of the first things I did was search for “Phasma Val-Fraux,” but I didn’t find anything. Then I remembered he told me he was known as the “The Guardian of Threshold” so I searched that, and surprisingly I obtained just over five million results.

  The first was a Wikipedia page. I even found a song from Van Morrison titled “Dweller on the Threshold.” Surprisingly, the song had everything to do to what had happened to me, so I wondered if others had gone through the same experience, perhaps even Van Morrison had experienced it before. After all, he described Phasma so well.

  As I listened to the Van Morrison song, I clicked on the Wikipedia link, which read: “The Guardian of the Threshold is a menacing figure that is described by a number of leading esoteric teachers. The term Guardian of the Threshold, often called ‘Dweller on the Threshold,’ indicates a spectral image that is supposed to manifest itself as soon as the student of the spirit ascends upon the path into the higher worlds of knowledge.”

  There was no doubt in my mind that I had found him. It should be just a matter of time before I can defeat him and see my mother again, I thought.

  I read the entire article twice, soaking in all the available information about my enemy.