by Bill Myers
The front wheel easily missed the mower.
But not the back.
It slammed into the mower, raced up the front end, and sent Sean flying high into the air. It was a beautiful jump, at least a 9.9. Sean couldn’t help grinning. As usual, he was pretty impressed with himself. But as usual, the catastrophe wasn’t quite over . . .
Before Sean even hit the ground, he heard Mrs. Tubbs scream. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see the poor lady running for her life. The mower was right behind her and quickly closing the gap. She sprinted toward the house. It would be close, but it looked like she would make it. Unfortunately, you couldn’t say the same thing about her flowers. . . because as the mower chased her across the yard, it managed to sheer off every one of her newly planted petunias!
But Sean had little time to worry because moments after he hit the ground he caught a glimpse of his house. Well, it was supposed to be his house. But at the moment it was kind of hard to tell with all of the bubbles pouring out from the windows.
“Look!” Melissa cried.
“I’m looking, I’m looking!”
They arrived at the house and dumped their bikes in the front yard. Bubbles covered everything as a giant mountain of foam slowly oozed its way from the house and down the sidewalk.
Without hesitation, Sean entered the bubbles and began to wade toward the house. But the closer he got to the front door, the taller the mountain of bubbles grew, until it had completely covered his head.
“Sean,” Melissa cried from behind, “where are you? I can’t see anything but bubbles!”
“Just follow my voice,” he shouted as he pushed his way through the suds.
“What happened?” she shouted.
“I don’t know!”
“Could it be the dishwasher?” She was right behind him, but he still couldn’t see her. “Did you put too much dish soap in the dishwasher?”
“Of course not.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure. Besides, we were out of dish soap.”
“What did you use?”
He started to answer, then stopped.
“Sean, what type of soap did you put in?”
Now he knew the problem.
“Sean!”
He also knew she wouldn’t let up until he told her.
“Sean!?”
“We were all out of dish soap,” he shouted, “so I used your bubble bath.”
Melissa’s stunned silence said she understood. Good.
That meant he didn’t have to tell her the rest. . . especially how he had figured that since it was only bubble bath, he’d go ahead and use a bit more . . . like the entire bottle.
They finally arrived at the door. But he’d no sooner pushed it open when he saw Crash ‘n’ Burn the hamster dashing out under his feet. . . followed by Clueless, who looked more like a drowned rat than a cat.
And finally Slobs. The poor thing dashed past Sean, nearly knocking him over, as she raced down the walk, howling and baying all the way.
“Catch her!” Melissa cried. “She can’t be outside without a leash.”
Sean’s heart pounded. He knew exactly what she meant. Bloodhounds are incredibly smart, but they can get so caught up in smells and scents that they become blind to everything around them . . . even major dangers.
Sean spun around and began fighting his way back out of the bubbles. “Here, Slobs, come back, girl! Come here, Slobs!”
Melissa joined him, her voice filled with obvious concern. “Slobs, come on, girl!”
Sean continued working his way through the suds when he suddenly heard the squeal of brakes, followed by the dull thud of a body being hit . . . and a single pathetic yelp.
“Slobs!” Sean raced through the bubbles until he finally emerged and spotted her. There in the middle of the street, just as he feared, Slobs lay on her side--in front of a minivan.
“SLOBS!”
He raced toward her. He could hear Melissa right behind. As they reached the street, the driver, who was already out of the van, was kneeling beside the animal.
Sean arrived, dropping to his knees, his throat tightening with emotion. “Slobs. . . girl. Slobs . . . are you all right?”
But she did not move. He could see her breathing— short, shallow gasps, but other than that her eyes were closed and there was no movement.
“Slobs. . .” Melissa had begun to cry. “Come on, girl, wake up. Slobs . . . come on, girl.”
The pain in his sister’s voice made Sean’s throat grow even tighter.
“Slobs,” he urged. “Come on, girl. Come on . . .”
The driver, an older man, was making some sort of excuse, but Sean didn’t hear it. He didn’t care. All he could think of was Slobs.
And if she would make it.
4
a talk with dad
FRIDAY, 18:45 PST
“Hey, guys.”
Melissa looked up to see Dad enter the waiting room of the animal hospital. Before she knew it, she was on her feet, rushing at him, throwing her arms around him. He held her a long moment, and when she finally looked up, she could see his eyes glistening with moisture.
“I came as soon as I got your message. What did the vet say?” he asked.
“He said .. .” Melissa’s voice was husky, and she had to clear it before continuing. “He said she has a severe concussion, a broken leg, and some cracked ribs.”
“They’re not sure . . .” It was Sean’s turn to clear his throat. He sat across the room in one of the chairs. “The doctor said he’s not sure if she’s going to make it.”
Dad nodded but didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. Melissa knew exactly what he was thinking. These were the same words they’d heard just six months earlier in another reception room . . . in another hospital. . . from another doctor. The words spoken just before Mom had died.
Dad rested his hand on her shoulder and looked at Sean. “Have you guys prayed?”
They both nodded.
More silence. Finally, he spoke. “Listen, why don’t you go wait in the car? Let me take care of the paper work here, and I’ll be out to join you.”
Melissa and Sean nodded, then shuffled across the tiled floor and out the double glass doors toward the van.
FRIDAY, 19:05 PST
“Well, it’s not too bad,” Dad said as they stood surveying the soap-bubble damage in the living room.
Melissa and Sean exchanged nervous glances.
“The way I figure, the carpet needed shampooing anyway.”
Melissa almost smiled. That’s how Dad always dealt with catastrophes—adding just a trace of humor.
“We didn’t do it on purpose,” Sean explained for the
hundredth time. “We were just trying to get it done a little faster.”
“I know,” Dad answered.
“You’re sure you’re not mad?” Melissa asked.
“No . . .” He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Actually, I’m getting used to this sort of thing. It’s the price one pays for having such bright and creative kids.”
This time Melissa did smile.
“So there won’t be any punishment?” Sean asked hopefully.
“I don’t think so,” Dad said as he crossed over to survey the stains on the wall. “Of course you guys will be responsible for repainting these walls.”
“Yes, sir,” they croaked in unison.
He leaned over to check out the curtains. “And for getting these drapes dry-cleaned.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And paying for any and all other damages . . .”
“Yes, sir.”
Melissa fidgeted. This was obviously a new definition of the phrase, “no punishment.”
But before Dad could come up with any more no-punishment punishments, the phone rang and he crossed to answer it.
Melissa and Sean exchanged relieved glances. For the most part they were off the hook.
“0h, hello, Mrs. Tubbs.” Dad shot
a look across the room at them. “Yes, they’re right here . . .” Then again, maybe not.
SATURDAY, 03:31 PST
Melissa’s heart pounded as she ran through the dense fog. Already her lungs burned, crying out for air. “Slobs,” she called. “Where are you, girl? Where are you?”
But there was no answer. Unsure where she was, she slowed, looking for a landmark, for anything to help get her bearings.
But there was nothing. Nothing but thick, impenetrable fog.
Clank.
She caught her breath.
Clank. Clank.
The noise came from straight ahead. Feeling a coldness wrap around her shoulders, she peered through the fog. There was a faint glint of movement . . . a reflection.
Clank! Clank! Clank!
Now she could see it clearly. The knight!
She gasped.
Hearing her, it came to a stop.
She wasn’t sure if it saw her or not. Maybe it had only heard her. Then she saw something else.
In its arms. A form. Unmoving.
She leaned forward, straining to see through the fog, careful to make no further sound.
And then she recognized it. An animal. Slobs.
Before she could stop, a scream rose in her throat and burst from her mouth . . . until she suddenly bolted up in bed, wide awake. She sat there, gasping for air, wiping the sweaty hair out of her face when Sean burst into the room.
“What is it?” he cried. “What’s the matter?”
Melissa couldn’t speak, not yet. She could only sit on her bed, gulping in air as the last of her nightmare slowly faded.
SATURDAY, 7:25 PST
“Misty, we’ve had this talk before,” Dad said as he scooped up the next round of pancakes from the griddle. Ever since Mom’s death, Saturday mornings and pancakes had become a type of tradition for them. A tradition Sean and Melissa might have actually enjoyed . . . if it wasn’t for Dad’s cooking.
It’s not that his pancakes were bad, but when it came to leftovers, even Slobs had turned up her nose at them. Then there was the matter of the garbage disposal. No one was certain, but each Saturday the disposal seemed to be grinding a little more slowly as they shoved the rock-hard remains down into it.
“How can you be so sure?” Sean asked. He was checking out the morning paper while doing his best to gnaw on one of the pancakes. “Why couldn’t that knight really be from the past?”
“The Bible is crystal clear,” Dad said. “When we die, everyone goes to stand before God. Everyone. Even cruel medieval knights.”
“Okay.” Melissa nodded. “Then if it’s not a ghost or a departed spirit, what is it?”
Dad shook his head. “I don’t know. But I do know one thing—you don’t have to be afraid of it.”
Melissa pushed at her food a long moment. “I don’t know, Dad . . . maybe this time we do . . .”
Sean and Dad both looked at her.
“What if it’s, you know . . . what if this knight thing is something else?”
“Such as?”
“You know, from the devil or something.”
Sean shifted in his seat.
Dad gently laid down his spatula and pulled up a
chair to join them. “Sweetheart, just because we don’t understand something doesn’t mean it’s from the devil.”
“But couldn’t this be different? Look at the curse, look at what happened to Slobs, look at—”
“Whoa!” Dad held up his hand. “Hold it a minute. Do you think what happened to Slobs was part of some curse?”
“It could be.” Melissa’s voice grew slightly unsteady. “Remember what that note said? ‘I will unleash my curse upon your city.’ “
Dad nodded slowly. “But that curse, it can’t apply to you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you kids . . . because I pray every day for God’s protection over you two, over our entire household.”
“Then why did Slobs get hurt?”
Dad held her gaze. “I don’t know. I don’t always know why bad things happen. I don’t know why Slobs got hit. I don’t know why your mother. . .” He hesitated a minute, swallowed, then let the phrase trail off. “I can’t explain everything. But I can tell you this: God wants us to trust Him. Even when things don’t turn out the way we think they should, we know we can trust Him.”
Melissa stared hard at the table. Dad reached out and took her hand. “Everyone is afraid at some point, Misty.”
She looked up at him. “But you have to remember, He’s watching over you. ¢If God is for us, who can stand against us?’ That’s also from the Bible. You’ve got to trust the Lord, kiddo. Let Him help you fight your battles.”
“What if it’s something we can’t fight?” Melissa asked.
“Like ghosts,” Sean chimed in, “or curses. . .”
“Or Slobs?” Melissa asked.
Dad took a long, deep breath and slowly let it out. “Then you pray about it . . . and if necessary, you stand up against it. That’s what David did with Goliath. He trusted God and stood up to face what everyone feared.”
“That can get pretty scary.”
“Of course it can,” Dad agreed. “The devil is like a roaring lion—he loves to go around terrifying people. But if you have the faith to stand up to him, the lion becomes all roar and no bite. If you have the faith to stand up and look into its mouth, more often than not you’ll see that the lion doesn’t even have teeth.”
“Teeth?” Melissa looked up with a nervous chuckle. “This one doesn’t even have a head.”
Dad laughed quietly.
“That might be true,” Sean said as he laid the paper out on the table, “but it looks like this one is still doing some roaring.”
“What do you mean?” Dad asked.
“Our knight buddy dropped by for another visit last night.”
Melissa felt her insides grow a little shaky. “Where?”
Sean read, “ ‘Hickey’s Curiosity and Antique Shoppe.’ “
Dad moved in for a better look. “What did it steal this time?”
“Nothing much . . . just some old scabbard.”
“Some what?” Melissa asked.
“You know, those long metal cases . . .” He looked up at her, the truth slowly dawning. “The type they used in the old days to hold their swords.”
Melissa caught her breath. Come to think of it, so did Sean and Dad. Each knew exactly what the other was thinking.
Whoever or whatever this knight was, it wasn’t finished. It was still preparing its sword. It was still preparing for its “day of vengeance . . .”
5
don’t forget your vegetables
SATURDAY, 16: 50 PST
When it came to being an older brother, Sean was a pro. He needed Melissa to go with him to stake out the steel mill, and he knew the perfect three-step plan to pull it off:
ASK THE EXPECTED QUESTION AND
GET THE EXPECTED ANSWER.
“No way,” she snapped as she scrubbed and hosed off the bubble stains on the front of the house. “There is no way I’m going to that creepy old steel mill for some stakeout.”
2. USE THE RATIONAL APPROACH.
“Look, the knight’s already got the rubies and the scabbard,” Sean argued. “It needs only two more things.”
“Nope,” Melissa said.
“It just needs the gold for the handle and—”
“No way.”
“—the steel for the blade.”
“Forget it.”
“The mill is the only place around here that it could go to forge the steel. It’s bound to show up there.”
“Absolutely not.”
3. AND LAST, BUT MOST IMPORTANT . . .
BLACKMAIL.
“All right, if that’s the way you want it . . .” Sean hesitated a moment to get her full attention. “I just hope word doesn’t get around the neighborhood about all those plantar warts on your feet.”
The comment hit its mark
. Melissa’s mouth dropped open, and the hose went limp in her hand. “I. . . I don’t have plantar warts.”
“Oh, I know that. . . and you know that. . . but I doubt cute little Bobby Russle or any of the other guys do.”
He watched as his sister grew pale.
“You . . . you wouldn’t dare,” she stammered.
He shrugged. “Who knows . . . but the way I figure it, you don’t want to take the chance to find out.”
“Sean Robert Hunter. . .” Her voice trembled, but she could find nothing to say.
Sean smiled. Yes, he was good, very good. He turned and started around the house. “Oh,” he called over his shoulder. “Make sure to pack some food. It’s going to be a long night, and we’ll probably get hungry.”
He saw the stream of water shooting at him but stepped around the house just in time. Like I said, when it came to being a big brother, Sean was a pro.
SATURDAY, 20:25 PST
The sun was just setting as they pulled their bikes up to the towering Pierce and Jennings Steel Mill. Sean knew he’d used a dirty trick to get his sister to come, and he almost felt bad about it.
Almost.
But Dad had said it was important that she face her fears, so in reality he was only trying to help. (Then there was the other reality . . . the one where he was scared to death to be here by himself.)
They stashed their bikes in some bushes and found a safe place to hide near the front of the mill. By now everyone had gone home, and there was no telling if or when anybody else would show up. The two had barely settled in before Sean began rummaging through the knapsack. “What did you bring to eat?” he asked. “I’m starved.”
“Just the usual stakeout stuff,” Misty replied.
Sean continued his search. “Binoculars . . . tape recorder . .. CD player . . . one, two, three, a half-dozen CDs.” He gave her a look. “Misty. . .”
“I like being prepared.”
He kept digging as his stomach growled in hunger. “Lip gloss, moisturizing cream, shampoo, hair spray, curling iron, toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss. . .”
