The Trouble In Dogflat Hollow

by Cameron Sword

  “That’s why you turned on us?” Jon asked.

  “I’ve mulled over your counter offer, Jon. And I’ve decided to decline. Better to torment Magdalene and mankind for eternity, and have you grieve over them, than to trade all of that away for your powerless soul. It’s just not an even exchange.”

  LaPomme stepped into the library from a side entrance, consulting his watch.

  “Two minute warning.”

  “Tell you what, Jon. I’ll improvise a new offer, seeing as how you’re so pressed for time. Kneel before me and kiss my feet. I promise I’ll go easy on Magdalene.” Staan proposed.

  Jon was running out of time. That box would open in less than two minutes, leaving him only thirty seconds before he vanished at midnight. He had a plan, something Staan had mentioned earlier had inspired it, but he needed more than thirty seconds to implement it. He needed that box to open right now.

  “You’ve misjudged one thing about me.” Jon told Staan.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m not powerless.”

  “Yes you are.”

  “Go ahead and touch that box then. Let’s get things started early.”

  “Is that a dare?”

  “Yes it is.”

  “I accept. Let’s get crazy.”

  Staan flicked cigar ash onto the box. The lid flew open immediately, the entire box glowing now all of a sudden. The room began to shake. Every light began to pop.

  Rising from the box – hovering in mid air – a tiny black dot, the size of a pinhead, took shape, steadily growing larger. Books and other assorted items began flying off the shelves, swirling in a circle around the room.

  Buddy was so bedazzled that he produced his Polaroid and attempted to snap a picture of the black hole, getting a little too close in the process. Jon grabbed him and pulled him back just in time, but not in time to save the Polaroid which was sucked into the hole, now the size of a pencil eraser. Buddy’s parking enforcement cap was sucked in as well.

  Staan chortled loudly, unable to restrain his laughter, his sides beginning to get really sore now. What a great time he was having.

  The black hole continued to grow rapidly over the next few seconds. Everything in the colossal library was being pulled toward it. Even heavy furniture started scraping along the floor. Jon yelled for Buddy to hold on to something fixed – a load bearing post – and don’t let go. Staan and LaPomme were already doing just that.

  Out in the corridor some distance away, a visibly disquieted Rogers had clandestinely abandoned the festivities downstairs and was now searching for Grace. He’d seen her earlier disappear up a grand staircase and felt she’d been absent for much too long. Was she in trouble, did she need help? His stomach felt like it was literally filled with vinegar and razor blades, he was that anxious and frightened. He moved along slowly, methodically, extending the same type of wide-eyed respect for his surroundings as Viet Nam soldiers exhibited in jungle trails.

  As he turned a corner, he got his answer. Grace was laying on a carpeted floor in a heap just outside a doorway where she was dragged and dumped. He rushed to check on her and found she was unresponsive, a nasty welt on her neck. The doorway happened to be a side entrance to the library and when Rogers threw it open to investigate the source of a growing clamor that was emanating from the other side, he witnessed the black hole, now four feet in diameter, hovering directly over the artifacts he’d been chasing, and the swirling chaos that was occurring about the room. He struggled furiously to avoid getting hit by flying debris and from getting sucked inside the room himself, but he was losing the battle, inch by inch, foot by foot. The door vacuum-slammed shut behind him, mercifully leaving Grace and her limp body out in the hallway a split second before she got sucked in as well.

  The black hole was five feet in diameter by the time Jon approached it. Everyone watched as he assumed a Good Friday spread, taking the edges of the black hole in his outstretched palms. Staan stopped laughing. Why was Jon able to approach the black hole – and actually touch it – without being sucked inside?

  It seemed that Jon began to glow now, faintly at first, but becoming more brilliant as the seconds ticked away, sparkles of light bursting from his body. It was as if we were watching a separate universe being born. One thing was almost certain, however. The black hole appeared to be no longer growing in size.

  Then, something happened in a flash. Jon became so brilliant, it was impossible not to shield one’s eyes. I mean, the light that was radiating from his body was so luminous, it was like nothing ever seen on Earth before. Ever.

  It’s hard to correctly describe what happened next because there was no way anyone could’ve been watching, but there was an auditory component to it. It was as if there was a war raging between light and darkness – no other way to explain it.

  Evil hisses fought virtuous tones, monstrous bellows and heinous, vile roaring screeches battled righteous melodies. By the time it was possible to look, the bright light had vanished and so had the black hole.

  Items that had been swirling about the room had fallen to the ground and the room was no longer shaking. Everything had become silent and still. Oh, and everything was now bleached white. Everything. Staan himself, looked completely ridiculous now in white clothing – like Colonel Sanders, or a carnival barker from a bygone era at a travelling circus.

  Jon was standing there, a sparkling white shadow of what he used to be, but becoming more human as time passed. It was as if he were transforming from light into matter again. He finally took on solid form, faerie dust-like matter sprinkling down from his hands, the Polaroid and Buddy’s cap assembling into colorful shape as the faerie dust landed on the carpet.

  Everyone looked on, stunned, including Staan who seemed completely thrown.

  “You were correct to point out that not even light would survive. But I’m not just light. I am The Light.” Jon told Staan, finding his power.

  LaPomme, and his new albino makeover, ran out of the room, terrified. Staan backpedaled up against a wall, still mesmerized, vexed, unsure about what to do next. Rogers was completely bedazzled but he gathered himself enough to inspect the open box, staring inside, finding that it was empty. This was his artifact now – he’d paid for it – no way would he leave it behind.

  Downstairs, the party room erupted. HAPPY NEW YEAR! And at that moment, Jon vaporized into thin air.

  Jon found himself alone in the mirrored room, eyes downcast, brilliant flecks of white light surrounding him. He was undergoing interrogation, and the CEO did not sound pleased.

  “You’ve just changed the course of history, young man. What have you to say for yourself?”

  “I’m sorry.” Jon responded.

  “No you’re not.”

  “Look, Father. I stand before you prepared to accept the consequences as you see fit.”

  “Very well then. You leave me no choice but to issue a sentence of fifty years… vacation from duties.”

  Jon looked up, perplexed.

  “You did well, Son. I thought you might be able to avert a tragedy down there, and I was right.”

  “You knew?”

  “I’m omniscient, of course I knew. I knew about Abel as well, by the way. The Old Testament has errors of its own.”

  “Then, you’re not angry?”

  “How can I be angry after the fine job you did on Pumpkin Eater? Poor lad was led astray over the years. Only qualitative methods at the gate from now on, thanks to you. You’ve made me very proud, Son.”

  “Please don’t call him Pumpkin Eater, Father. His name is Peter.”

  “You won the wager, Son.”

  “I know. But I’m still going to issue a directive that people voluntarily refrain from referring to him by that name. He finds it offensive and derogatory and we should all respect his sensitivities.”

  “I’m very proud of you, Son. Very proud. I’ve watched your methods, how you deal with everyone from a purely loving place. You’ve inspired me. You r
eally have. You’ve inspired me to become a better Chief Executive.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m in awe. Which has never happened before, by the way. I don’t awe.”

  “Thank you, Father. I appreciate that.”

  Jon smiled but he didn’t exactly look very happy. The CEO sighed.

  “I know that look. It’s the expression one gets when they’re forced to leave loved ones, like service men and women going off to war, unsure about whether they’ll ever return. Only a soul mate can put that expression on someone’s face. Go on then. Give Mary Magdalene, or Grace, as she’s now named, give her my regards.”

  “What?”

  “Go. Before your mother finds out. You’re on a fifty year vacation. And no more miracles this time. You’ll be completely human, so enjoy it. Go for a swim.”

  Jon disappeared, ecstatic. A single point of light branched out from one of the mirrors and approached that ugly old breaker box, opening it. Inside, dozens of breaker switches were labeled with things from Sun to Andromeda Galaxy to Tartaros. The point of light selected Tartaros and flipped it to the off position.

  Staan was back home and had completely regained his pigment, as had everyone else, but he wasn’t taking any chances, slathering copious amounts of self-tanning lotion over every inch of exposed skin.

  Suddenly, every single monitor in his control room went blank, hissing like televisions tuned to stations that were off the air. He also started shivering because it was getting really cold. He consulted his thermometer. The mercury was falling steadily. He slammed his fist down hard on his desk, incensed but confused.

  “What’s happening?” Staan asked his disfigured crony.

  “Our communications satellite is down. And we’re losing body heat.”

  “What? How?”

  “Our electrical grid lost power somehow, definitely a brownout at least, and I think our satellite might’ve exploded. The post-Purgatory gays and a lot of wealthy English Protestants are being paroled. That’s a lot of heat, boss.”

  “Noooooooooo!” Staan bellowed, cursing the heavens.

  The area around the gate was still deserted when Peter and a group of workmen angel volunteers arrived on the scene. Although Jon had not yet issued his directive, this author felt it tasteful and judicious to refer to Peter by his given name now.

  “All of this machinery, I’d like it cleared away. The plastic harps as well.”

  The volunteer workmen got right down to work. Peter thanked them, scanning the horizon, spotting a group of dots being led around in circles. Peter approached one of the workmen who happened to be wearing eyeglasses.

  “Excuse me. May I borrow your spectacles?”

  Moses was exhausted, his walking staff bent a little out of shape now. He moved to consult his broken compass again but Peter tapped him on the shoulder before he got the chance. Moses spun, gazing directly into Peter’s face.

  “Luke. What brings you out here?” Moses asked.

  Peter affixed the spectacles onto the bridge of Moses’ nose.

  “Peter. What happened to Luke? He was just here a second ago.”

  Peter shrugged, feigning any knowledge. Moses suddenly caught sight of the gate, way off in the distance. He pointed it out to his flock.

  “Oh ye of little faith. Behold! The promised gate!”

  Everybody cheered.

  At an undisclosed location in the middle of the Amazon jungle, Fusco and Rocco were perspiring profusely as if it were 100 degrees out. It was even hotter than that though. For them. They were both tied up, simmering in a large stew pot, surrounded by cannibals.

  This was a spectacular piece of coastal real estate. A gorgeous property marinated in warm breezes, overlooking a magnificent ocean. Jon materialized, peeking in through a living room window, hoping to see Grace. She wasn’t there, but he spotted the jeweled cross Fusco had given her – the one that promised fifty years of good fortune to its owner – displayed prominently on a wall.

  The wooden rose he had carved for her was there too, displayed as a single flower in a crystal vase.

  Grace was sunbathing by a luxurious pool as a shadow finally fell over her. She lowered her sunglasses to see Jon standing there in a sleeveless shirt and shorts, a towel draped over his arm.

  “I wasn’t expecting to find you in a place like this.”

  “I made bail.” Grace answered with a mischievous smile. She was referring, of course, to the Foster murder investigation, of which Jon knew nothing about.

  She sat up, expectantly, impressed to see a lion-eating-an-armadillo tattoo on his arm, and she told him so a moment before rising to her feet, taking him in a tight embrace.

  “You asshole. Where the fuck have you been?” Grace breathed in his ear.

  “I was hoping you’d say something like that.”

  “Where’s your chaperone?”

  “I left him at home. You know, up north.”

  “Your mother’s okay with that?”

  “I’m not sure. My father is.”

  “Good. Are you planning on sticking around this time?”

  “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  “I don’t know. Fifty years maybe.”

  “I was hoping you’d say something like that.”

  She hugged him again, comforted, but it wasn’t long before she suddenly wondered where her dog was.

  “How’d you get past security?”

  “You call Buddy security?”

  “No, I meant…”

  “Cooper?”

  “Yeah, he must’ve gone inside. Probably taking a nap. Did Buddy share with you his latest cockamamie idea?”

  “No, I didn’t speak to him. Just saw him walking around the perimeter, thought you hired him as security.”

  “Oh, because he’s wearing that cap. Looks ridiculous on him but he won’t take it off for some reason, it’s his favorite piece of clothing now. No, he’s just staying in my guest house, plans on going back to school to learn how to write. He wants to become an author. I told him it wouldn’t be long before he adds author to his repertoire. Something like, ‘I could’ve been an author once but it wasn’t a novel idea’. Anyway, he seemed pretty adamant about it so I’m helping him out, paying for his education – if he manages to earn his GED first. That was my offer.”

  “That’s very generous. Especially since I never got the impression you two were ever that close.”

  “He used to repulse me, still does, actually – the man eats his own boogers. But there’s something about witnessing someone change deep in their soul, finding their passion and reason for living. I was struck by that. Plus, he deserves a leg up on life, I’ve seen how hard society has beaten him down, and I know what that feels like.”

  “Did he happen to mention why he’s chosen to become an author?”

  “That’s where the real cockamamie kicks in. He wants to write an exposé about how the world nearly ended a couple of weeks ago. Like, a true story. You’ll be in it and so will I. I think Rogers must’ve gotten to him somehow. Unbelievable how some people will swallow everything they hear. Buddy actually thinks he witnessed you single-handedly battle a black hole. In someone’s house, at a New Years Eve party. What was he smoking?”

  She burst out laughing, unable to control it any longer, actually starting to tear, it was that funny to her.

  “Hopefully he won’t use our proper names. You know, for privacy and reputational reasons.” Jon said.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. At the rate he’s going, if he ever does manage to write a book, it’ll probably take him twenty-five years. But I did counsel him to use a pseudonym. After he finished looking up that word, I told him Reginald Budsworth Hayes sounds like the name of a guy you’d expect to find apprenticing at a florist shop. Employ something cultured and cultivated. Like—”

  But before she could finish her thought, Cooper came barreling around a corner in full stride, jaws snapping. Jon fled across the pool, or rather
, that’s what he thought was going to happen. He fell in instead, disappearing under the ripples.

  Yeah, Grace had to dive in to save him. Eventually, she’d teach him how to swim. He had fifty years to learn how to become proficient at it, after all. In the meantime, maybe Cooper would learn to someday warm up to him. Fingers crossed.

  The February, 1990 edition of Forbes Magazine depicted a familiar snapshot of Yves LaPomme but with a different caption this time. MULTIBILLIONAIRE LOSES ENTIRE FORTUNE. In smaller text printed underneath, Statutory Rape Charges Pending.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Cameron ~ Sword, a pseudonym chosen by a pair of collaborative actor/writers, comes to Vanity Press via Hollywood where the duo share over 30 years of experience. Together, they've written or appeared in several movies and TV series. The Trouble In Dogflat Hollow was originally written in 1993 as a screenplay which was well received, but ultimately failed to secure financing because it was considered too expensive to produce, given its potentially controversial subject matter. We hope you enjoyed it in novel form.