by Ramsey Isler
So she rented a moving truck and returned to the little loft apartment her father had called home for years. She stared at its contents for a while, fully aware that she was about to permanently alter the state of the place that had housed so much of his life. Part of her conscience felt guilty about doing this just hours after her father had died, but another part of her refused to leave this business unfinished. Better to do it now and not let the task linger at the back of her mind—she might lose the will to do it at all if she waited.
Her resolve faltered a bit when she saw the journal.
Sam hated that book. She’d never read it but she still knew what it contained. Her father had made its contents quite clear over years of occasional rants and gentle nudges to convince her to read it. That journal supposedly chronicled all of her fathers adventures with the things he’d been fascinated with for most of his life.
Elves. Those goddamn elves.
Sam knew her father had left it out in the open on purpose. She knew it was his last subtle attempt at getting her to join his fantastical world. For about two seconds, she actually considered it.
Then she grabbed the book, tossed it into the nearest box, and slapped the top on.
* * *
Samuel Chablon hated funerals. That’s why he made sure he’d never have one.
He didn’t try to avoid dying, of course. That was inevitable. But he could avoid the ridiculous ceremony, and ensure that the few people attending his last event would have plenty of fun. He was going to have a party.
Samuel’s will was explicit. First, he would be cremated. There would be none of that ridiculousness with putting an expensive box in the ground. Secondly, he wanted pictures at the party. Lots of pictures. Big pictures six feet high and arranged all around the venue. He had spent his last days picking out the silliest photos he could find. Most of the pictures were from his younger days, when he was carefree and reckless. He wanted people to remember that he hadn’t always been an old man.
And, lastly, he wanted no eulogies. Samuel felt that if anybody wanted to say anything nice about him, they had plenty of opportunities while he was alive. Samuel hated speeches anyway. Damn boring things. He wanted this to be one hell of a shindig, so instead of eulogies and choirs, he had a Rolling Stones cover band playing at the service. The shirtless Mick Jagger wannabe was particularly convincing.
The arrangements seemed to have the desired effect. The forty or so attendees were all smiles. The room had none of the depressing atmosphere of your typical funeral. It was a grand party – the kind that Samuel himself would have greatly enjoyed if he’d been alive to see it.
His daughter, however, had very different feelings on the matter.
Sam spent most of her time near the banquet hall’s entrance. Ostensibly, this was so she could personally greet all of the attendees and they could express their condolences efficiently. In actuality, Sam just wanted to be the near the door so she could easily ditch the party if her emotions overwhelmed her.
An hour passed before her best friend Jessica came over to check on her. Jessica had been doing a fine job of looking after the guests while Sam played the role of door woman. But when Sam saw Jess approaching, she felt a lurch in her stomach. She didn’t want to have the conversation she knew was coming.
“How are you doing?” Jessica asked.
“Fine,” Sam said.
“Sam, I’ve known you for half your life. You can’t fool me that easily.”
“Okay, I’m not fine. But I’m managing. Barely, but I am.”
Jess placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If you need a moment, at any time, just let me know. I can cover for you.”
“I’ll make it,” Sam said. “Besides, everyone’s having fun. I don’t need to do much.”
“That’s because I’m doing all the work,” Jessica said with a coy wink.
“And I love you for that,” Sam said. “You’re doing a great job. If you want to help me, just keep doing what you’re doing.”
Jess smiled, then nodded towards the parking lot. “Who’s that?” she asked. “One of your dad’s friends?”
Sam turned and found a familiar, tall man approaching with a carefully measured stride. “Terry Hamilton,” Sam muttered. “Not really one of dad’s friends, but a client. I’ll handle this one. You can go keep the people in there liquored up.”
“No problem,” Jess said. “That’s one of my specialties.”
Jess left. Hamilton arrived. He smiled and extended a hand. Sam shook it.
“Mr. Hamilton,” she said. “I didn’t expect you. Thank you for coming.”
Hamilton nodded. “Of course. My career may not have been so successful without your father’s genius constantly motivating me to go further and higher. When I learned of his passing, I knew I had to be here.”
Sam nodded. “I’m sure he would’ve appreciated the sentiment.”
Hamilton smiled. “Yes, I’m sure he would have. If he were alive today he’d probably be telling endless jokes at my expense. I had horrible fashion sense back in the old days, you know.”
“Judging by the pictures in here,” Sam said, “so did my dad.”
“It was the seventies,” Hamilton said, “we didn’t know any better.” Hamilton laughed and seemed to expect Sam to join in. She did not.
“Well...then,” Hamilton said, assuming a more serious tone. “If there’s anything I can ever help you with, just contact me. I feel like I owe Samuel that, at least.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. “Please, enjoy yourself. There’s no need to hang out here with me. There’s a party in there.”
Hamilton made a face like he’d just smelled some bad cheese. “Yes, I’ve noticed. To be frank, this kind of thing doesn’t sit well with me. I know your father had the best intentions in mind, but I really do prefer the traditional religious ceremonies. A prayer service would be nice. Your father certainly deserves our prayers.”
“I don’t know about that,” Sam said. “Dad was hardly a religious man, although he still had a weird sort of faith.”
“Faith in what?”
“The unknown,” Sam said. “He never discounted anything as completely impossible. He entertained a lot of crazy ideas about Bigfoot, or aliens.”
“Or elves,” Hamilton said.
“Yes,” Sam said with a short nod. “Mostly elves. I’m surprised you know about that.”
Hamilton smiled again. “At the company Christmas party one year, one of our coworkers dressed up as an elf. Your father spent the entire night telling the young lady everything she’d gotten wrong, and how he’d be glad to assist her with her costume next time.”
“That sounds about right,” Sam said. “I’m sure he was the life of the party.”
“He was. Of course, he never made good on his offer. He left the company six months later and nobody heard from him for years until he married your mother. Did you know he invited me to the wedding? Unfortunately I was at a conference and couldn’t attend, but I was surprised he even thought to send me an invitation. But I wasn’t surprised to find that the invite had a little elf stamped on the front.”
“Yup,” Sam said, “that was dad.”
“But the point is,” Hamilton said, “he thought of me. Your father might have been a strange man, but he was a good man. A few little oddities don’t take anything away from that.”
“Yes, he was a good man,” Sam agreed. “But without those oddities, as you called them, he might have been even better. He might have been...more.”
Hamilton paused for a moment, as if he were trying to fully understand what Sam was saying, or trying to find the proper response that wouldn’t offend her. “Well, as I’ve said before...sometimes genius is a hard burden to bear.”
“Maybe,” Sam said. “I should probably go in and check on the party. Want to join?”
“Ah...no,” Hamilton said. “I was thinking of going to the church down the street and praying for your father. Want to join?”
&nbs
p; “Ah...no,” Sam said. “But thank you for the gesture.”
“You’re welcome. Remember, if you ever need anything, give me a call.”
“Thanks again,” Sam said. She waved goodbye and turned to go inside just as the fake Rolling Stones were starting on their cover version of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want”.
* * *
Sam was hardly aware of much on her drive back to the house. When she arrived, for a moment she wondered just how she got there. It seemed like she had just left the funeral party. She’d made the trip back home in a kind of autopilot mode while her conscious mind was off somewhere doing its own thing.
She got out of her car and shuffled up to the dark, empty house. Her feet dragged along the eight flagstones that led to the front door. She got her keys out of her left pants pocket. The silver key on her keychain slid smoothly into the locks—one left twist for the top one, one twist right for the bottom. She opened the door, walked three paces, reached up to the security panel on the wall and entered the code for the house alarm; 4422.
All of this was normal. She’d gone through the same routine a thousand times. But today, it all felt different. The house felt less welcoming, and extremely quiet. There was something else too—a pleasant woodsy aroma she knew she’d smelled before but couldn’t identify. Perhaps she’d left an air freshener out.
Sam looked down at her feet and saw Rupert’s food bowl. It was empty and bore spatters of fresh dog drool, so he had been there recently. But she didn’t see him around. She called out his name, and waited for the patter of heavy paws against the hardwood floor. Nothing came.
She dropped the keys on the little table next to the door and headed for the kitchen. The lights were still off, except for the one lamp in the living room that she always left on to give the impression someone might be home. She trudged into the kitchen and hit the light switch on the wall.
Then she nearly pissed herself.
There was someone there, sitting on the kitchen table. It was what appeared to be a young, slender boy. His complexion reminded her of a brand new penny, and she estimated his height at just under five feet. She had always been horrible at guessing ages, but she figured he couldn’t be much older than Jessica’s thirteen-year-old cousin. This kid didn’t have any of the telltale signs of budding puberty like the usual young man’s peach fuzz mustache, or a bulging Adam’s apple. His face looked youthful, but it was not childish. His eyes were a pale green, like clear tropical seawater, and his hair was short and shining like black glass.
And, for some reason Sam couldn’t quite understand, he looked...familiar.
She jumped over to the drawer that held her knives, snatched out a gleaming Ginsu, and shouted, “How the hell did you get in here?”
The diminutive intruder just looked at the knife and said, “That’s a secret.”
Sam tightened her grip on the knife handle “Get out!”
“Aww, but I went through so much trouble to get in here quietly.”
“Is there anyone else here with you?” Sam inquired. Her eyes darted to the dark living room.
“No,” the boy said. “I’m all by myself.”
“GET OUT!”
“You weren’t this mean the last time we met,” the boy said. “But then again, that was a long time ago. You were so much cuter back then.”
“I don’t know you, kid.”
“Oh, but I know you, Sunshine.”
The nickname brought raw emotions and memories of her father rushing forwards. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m glad you asked. My name is Piv.”
“What?”
“Piv.”
“Why are you here?” Sam demanded.
“I’m here to help you, silly girl!”
“Help me with what?”
“Whatever it is you need help with.”
“I don’t need any help,” Sam said. “I just need you to get out of my house or I’m calling the cops. A pretty kid like you won’t do well in jail.”
“Well,” the boy said, “that’s not the way to treat a guest. Not the way at all.” Then he smiled widely, and Sam saw his teeth—bright white and framed by sharp canines that were a bit longer than they should be.
Sam stared at him, and for the first time she fully realized how very odd the boy looked. “What...are you?”
“Oh we’ve had lots and lots of names from lots and lots of people,” the boy said. “Back when I was littler, the pale people called us Brownies, and before that the first peoples called us Nunnehi. But I think you folks would call me an elf. That is still the word you use, isn’t it?”
“This isn’t funny,” Sam said.
The little fellow groaned and his shoulders drooped. “Your father always said you wouldn’t accept me.”
“You did not know my father.”
“I knew him longer than you did.”
“Get out.”
“But—“
“GET OUT!” Sam screamed. She bared her teeth. Tears were welling in her eyes.
“If that’s what you want.”
The boy hopped down from the kitchen table and walked away from her, right out the doorway leading into the dining room.
“No, don’t go that way!” Sam shouted after him. He didn’t stop.
“You little bastard,” Sam hissed. She followed him, with her knife held ready. She was just a few steps behind him.
But when she got to the doorway, he was gone.
Chapter 5
Sam called the police immediately after the boy’s disappearing act. With their assistance, she searched the house from top to bottom for any sign of him, or any sign of how he got into the house in the first place. They found nothing. No fingerprints, no hairs, no signs of forced entry. Nothing. But they did find Rupert hiding under Sam’s bed.
Sam described the intruder to the police as best she could. She had been rather emotional at the time, and she hadn’t quite taken in all the details, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that she had seen that weird character before.
The cops left once they’d done everything that protocol required, leaving Sam with assurances that they’d have a patrol vehicle monitor the area for the rest of the week. That offered little comfort to Sam.
The house was fine, and she was fine, but everything still felt wrong. Everywhere she looked, she wondered if she’d see that kid’s face again. She tried leaving all the lights on, to see if it would help. It didn’t.
She couldn’t sleep here tonight.
Sam grabbed her phone and said, “Call Jess.” The phone’s mechanical ears heard her voice, its digital brain processed the command, and in a few seconds she was talking to the one person left in the world who truly understood her.
The phone rang twice before Jess answered. “Sam!” she said. “I was just thinking about stopping by to see you. I got home and realized I have an untouched gallon of gourmet marshmallow ice cream from a client. Let’s be fat bitches tonight.”
Sam smiled. She needed that. “Jess, I think I really would rather hang at your place tonight.”
“What?” Jess said. “But you hate my place. What’s wrong?”
“It’s...kind of hard to explain over the phone.”
“Well you better get over here and tell me while we finish this ice cream.”
* * *
Half an hour later, Sam and Rupert were at Jess’s condo. The women dove into the decadent ice cream while Rupert sat in a corner and munched on a pig ear. The ice cream was amazing, and it calmed Sam’s jittery nerves despite her discomfort with her surroundings.
Most people considered Jess’s place gorgeous. It was a medium-sized condo in a brand new building designed by a famous architect. But modern design never appealed to Sam, and all the straight lines, cold stone, glinting metal, and smooth surfaces of the condo seemed sterile to her. She much preferred a cozy home with arched doorways, brass doorknobs, knitted quilts and real hardwood floors. As she recounted the story of the even
ing’s events to Jessica, she longed to be back in her home, and she despised the punk who had violated her cherished space.
“It was probably just some kid playing a joke,” Jessica said once she’d finished half of her second bowl of ice cream. “He won’t be back.”
“Maybe,” Sam said.
“You don’t sound convinced,” Jess said.
“It was just...really weird. He called me Sunshine.”
Jess paused, right in the middle of shoving another spoonful in her mouth. Then she said, “Maybe he was at the shop before and overheard your dad.”
Sam shook her head. “Dad never used nicknames at work. He knew it irritated me.”
“Do you think your father really knew this kid?”
“Maybe. It seemed like he did. He said...he said that my dad always told him that I wouldn’t accept him.”
“That’s awfully weird,” Jess said. The bridge of her nose wrinkled, as if an unpleasant odor had just hit her nostrils. It was a little tell of hers that showed that something didn’t smell right to her, so to speak.
Sam noticed the gesture, and decided to pursue its source. “What are you thinking?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Jessica blurted. “Nothing.”
“Lies,” Sam said. “Spill it.”
Jess sighed and said, “Your dad...wasn’t...you know...”
“What do you mean?”
Jess waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Never mind.”
“No, finish what you were saying.”
“You’ve already had a rough couple of days. I don’t want to upset you more.”
“I’m a big girl,” Sam said, “and I know you don’t mean any harm.”
Jess grimaced and stared at the ceiling, but she kept talking. “Well, I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead or anything, but your dad had been single for a long time. Maybe he got lonely and—”
“My father was not into boys,” Sam said.
