Heni Hani and the Magic Pendant: Part 1 (Heni Hani and the fears of the unknown)

by Peter Ness

  The robotic insects then lined up the children, menacingly, like dive bombers might. In response, the metallic pendant dancing around the boy’s neck emitted a dazzling strobe light. This zapped small bolts of lightning towards the insects. Immobilized they fell like pellets of hail stones out of the sky, bouncing, then evaporating as they splattered like popcorn on the ground. Warily, the rest of the swarm veered well away now, diverted towards the road. The children stood, visibly shaken, eyes transfixed on the swarm of insects buzzing off down Main Street, and circling across towards the tennis court.

  ‘Yes Heni,’ the old Pops man eventually replied, pivoting in his chair, not noticing the churning light of the pendant. ‘But, I think that I may need to see a doctor. I think I just suffered another seizure. You know — a stroke.’

  Heni nodded, mouth agape. And then his head followed that of his younger sister, swinging round, following the trajectory of the insect swarm as it circled the tennis court. The swarm did another double-helix rotation, and then slowly unwound into two groups. The man and woman stopped playing tennis, and just stood watching the swarm approach. One swarm of insects headed towards the nurse in the white tennis dress. The other group made a bee-line towards the doctor in the blue tracksuit with red stripes. Hani the Heni’s eyes opened wide in recognition. He remembered the doctor and nurse from the local city hospital.

  The Jo girl gripped Heni’s hand tightly now, her free hand trembled ever so slightly, as the corner of her eyes searched her brother. Her unsaid question hung in the air: ‘What’s going on?’ A chunk of white ice-cream slid off the side of Jo’s cone and splattered onto her small black shoe. Splat! She never noticed. The bottle in Heni Hani’s hand shook and a splash of Cola landed on the ground. Then his nerves steadied, his confidence returned, and he gripped his sister’s hand tightly.

  ‘Not to worry, Jo. They can’t touch us. They’re too scared of the pendant.’ He flashed a look at his grandfather, wondering what he should do.

  Meanwhile, over at the tennis court, the nurse was backing away from the insects, eyes darting around for somewhere safe to escape. But, there was nowhere to run. Now, they buzzed around and up her dress, which lifted in the flapping wind. An artificial intelligence landed on her tanned model-like leg. She slapped at it, missing. Dropping its wings now it burrowed in. She flicked at her dress with both hands, emitting a blood-curdling, panicked scream, sinking to her knees in agony. As she grabbed at her leg, she released her tennis racquet. It bounced in slow motion off the black tar, landing with a loud clatter. Then, her eyes bulged as the pulsating red burrowing worm wriggled up her inner thigh. She screamed hysterically again and again. Her hands followed the intense pain, ripping, tearing at her clothes. Fainting with shock now, she fell forward heavily onto the court. A pulsating, writhing, red glow soon appeared on the back of her neck.

  On the other side of the net, the doctor — Jefferson — realizing that there was nowhere to run swatted desperately at the insects with his tennis racquet. Sparks flashed off the racquet strings as he made contact. The artificial intelligences vaporized in sharp squeals and puffs of smoke.

  ‘Take that you — you brutes!’ Dr. Jefferson yelled. ‘Yes! Got you! And you!’ He gritted his teeth laughing now, trying to hide his fear. Swinging the racquet ferociously he took out an entire horde in one swipe. Splat! The swarm backed off and then circled him from a distance. ‘Yeah! Escape while you can! I’ve got your measure!’ he yelled, swiping at another group with a malicious smile. The racquet connected. Sparks flew and smoke wafted up into his face. He coughed from the sulfurous stench, trying not to dry reach.

  Like a bouncing Harrier Jump jet, a robotic insect landed onto the doctor’s forehead just below his fringe. Dropping its wings now it crawled mechanically down onto the nose. Jefferson lifted his hand to swat it off but it dove in and up the nostril then slid up behind his right blood-shot eye. Dr. Jefferson’s wooden racquet clattered loudly as it bounced off the ground. His hands clutched uncontrollably at the burning, searing intense pain behind his eye. Screaming, knees buckling, Jefferson slid to the ground, unconscious.

  Meanwhile, back at the service station Lance, the attendant, rolled over.

  ‘What am I doing here?’ he said, slowly crawling to his feet in a daze. Turning now, he looked across at the fuel bowser. ‘Ah — that?’ He limped over and tapped on the window of the Toyota Landcruiser with his knuckles, yelling through the wound up window. Cliff Horris jerked awake now and abruptly sat up spying Lance’s fuzzy, exaggerated, face. Cliff slowly wound down the window, for a clearer view. And then he opened the door and climbed out, groggily.

  As if programmed, both Cliff and Lance stood like zombies in a daze. Ever so slowly, they turned and stared towards ridge saddle where Goto was standing next to the panel van. Their eyes next wandered around and up towards the two children. Across the road, the doctor and nurse clawed their way to their feet, turned, also in a daze glancing at Goto. Then they too rotated staring wide-eyed, in a trance, across the bitumen road towards the children. In unison, Pops swung slowly around in his seat, eyes blazing a fiery red glare at Heni and Jo. Suddenly, the adults raised their arms and pointed their fingers at the children letting out a strange blood-curdling squealing gurgle.

  ‘You’re not safe. We’ll get you and your pendant — when you’re sleeping!’ they screeched in threatening, haunting voices. Simultaneously fainting, they fell motionless to the ground. The pendant on Heni’s chest bounced, churning out flashing sharp green blazes of light. Goto snorted, nostrils flaring. He glared across at the children with an angry, irritated, scowl, his toe digging at a soft tuft of dry grass.

  Pops arm fell limp and his head bounced hard onto the vibrating table. Heni and the Jo girl glanced at each other, arms and legs shaking violently. Jo took a nervous bite of ice-cream. She shuffled on her feet. Hani the Heni reached back across taking up her shaking hand once more, squeezing it reassuringly. The pendant around his neck still churned, like a green lighthouse beacon. Then it slowly paled in the bright sunlight, plopping back onto his chest. The color faded back to brass, so he slid it below his shirt.

  ‘Sorry. I must have dozed off. Huh? What am I doing here on the ground?’ Cliff Horris scratched his neck. ‘My neck’s sore,’ so he clicked it. ‘Ah! That feels better. Anyway, what’s your problem?’ Cliff glanced at Lance, and clawed his way to his feet.

  ‘Do you want it put on your tab, boss?’ Lance asked, standing up now. ‘Why’d I say that?’ He too rubbed his neck. ‘Darn that is painful.’ He scratched at it, drawing blood.

  ‘Put what on my tab?’ Cliff asked awkwardly. Lance just shrugged.

  ‘The diesel fuel—. I filled up your fuel tank already boss,’ was the reply.

  ‘Oh! Did you? Okay. Well, you’ll need to start a new tab then. Look Lance. I’m not sure what just happened — the last thing I remember — I was in the vehicle. I must’ve fallen asleep? Then I had a strange dream.’ Cliff vaguely recollected an insect biting him so he instinctively reached up, rubbing at his neck once more.

  The swarm circled back menacingly towards the service station swooping down in a rush over the roof of the Toyota Landcruiser. Then doing a double-helix loop it headed off north towards Main Street, veering away from, avoiding the boy and girl, who stood watching perplexed. Rising high up into a tide of air now two groups separated, recombining in a swooping rush to form another double-helix pattern. After obtaining a better view of the scene below, for reconnaissance imaging, the swarm zoomed back down towards town dancing above the road.

  The small, blue, translucent orb rotated slowly. The top hemisphere retracted to its original shape, forming a slightly flattened globe. The orb approached Goto now and then stopped, hovering nearby, as if awaiting instructions. It then automatically flew inside the back of the panel van.

  Goto clicked shut the squeaking panel van doors and then turning glared across at Hani the Heni and the Jo girl, pointing a warning finger at them. He spat onto
the ground, shaking his head with displeasure. Dropping his current smoke now, Goto ground the butt into the bitumen in disgust, snarling. The children exchanged brief glances, and then stared back at the panel van.

  The invisible bubble-entity moved across, hovering high above the children now.

  ‘Well, Small Elk, are we going or what?’ the husky male voice of the entity asked its occupant.’

  ‘Just a minute,’ Sam peered down, watching the man and his alien orb. She had seen enough. Sam decided to leave, before she was discovered by the humans or the aliens.

  #

  106 years earlier — Idaho, Indian Encampment: 1867

  Nine-year old Small Elk stuck her head over the edge of the creek, peering towards the burning teepees. The massacre took place just after sun-up. The military stormed the camp killing the warriors and setting fire to the teepees. Horses stampeded the encampment. As the Indians ran for cover they were chased down, bayoneted or shot. A small band of Shoshone fired back with their bows and arrows and a few guns, but they were no match for the infantry. It was all over so quickly.

  Colonel R. F. Maury had been placed in charge of Fort Boise in 1864. General Philip Sheridon had told him last time they met “kill the buffalo, and you kill the Indian.” He shook his head in annoyance. And, then the order had come down to control the Indians at whatever cost. By the time he had got here the massacre was over. Heads were going to roll this time. He rode up the ridge into the encampment, past a line of several dozen Indian corpses. Some were just women and children.

  ‘What the hell—?’ the colonel muttered to himself, shaking his head in irritation.

  A shot echoed over the river and a young Shoshone warrior trying to escape fell forward from the force of the bullet piercing his back. Red Wolf crawled to his knees, trying to stand. A soldier strode up behind, pointed his rifle at the back of Red Wolf’s head. Red Wolf’s face turned and for a moment it appeared that he had spied Small Elk and Little Hawk hiding in the undergrowth of the small creek. Then the shot cracked out, his head jerked backward and he slumped to the ground. Ducking, Small Elk (Sam) turned her head away, thrusting Little Hawk’s small head down to avoid being found out.

  ‘Shush. Keep quiet Little Hawk, if you want to live,’ she hissed, ‘or we’re next.’

  ‘But, I wanna see too,’ Little Hawk whispered, taking another quick look. He hurriedly ducked his head as a bullet ricocheted off the bank not far from where they were hidden.

  ‘Hey you! You! Soldier! Get back over here! I told you there will be no more killing!’ The colonel spat out. A whip cracked and his horse shied away. ‘Captain Jennings! I never gave the order to kill anyone!’ he hollered.

  ‘Sorry Sir. Lieutenant Bernard’s men got carried away — again,’ Jennings replied.

  ‘You’d better learn to control your men! This is the last time that they’ll be massacring any Indians under my command!’ the colonel said bitterly, spitting on the ground. ‘Our strict orders were to round up the ring-leaders, not commit genocide! Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes Sir!’

  ‘Good! When you’re ready, move them out!’ The military were rounding up the stragglers now, the colonel clearly struggling hard to maintain discipline.

  The two children remained crouched there, hidden in the safety of the undergrowth below the small undercut cliff of the creek for much of the remainder of the day. They watched fearfully as the soldiers corralled the Indians, still watching in silence as the warriors, the women and children were marched off.

  Then, they were alone. Soon the sound of the noisy soldiers had dissipated in the distance and a lone eagle began to circle overhead. Creeping out from their hideaway in the creek Small Elk and Little Hawk now made their way tentatively across to the remains of the now smoldering teepees, prodding at the dead bodies, searching for survivors. The soldiers hadn’t even bothered to burn or bury the bulk of the bodies. Now they searched among the dead men for women and children but found no survivors.

  ‘Running Water!’ Small Elk suddenly exclaimed in grief, rushing forward. She sagged, falling to her knees over the slain corpse of their Indian mother. Little Hawk bent down next to his sister, tears dribbling down his chin, holding her tiny hand. Then their heads snapped around toward the sound of a twig cracking and they both froze on the spot.

  The lone pinto horse trotted slowly into the clearing. Bald Eagle’s face paled. And then spotting his children, he climbed off his mount and rushed over to see whether they were alright. His face dropped and he sunk to his knees at the sight of his dead wife.

  ‘We found the buffalo, Running Water,’ he said in a grief-stricken weak voice. ‘We—,’ and then his large body shook and he began to sob uncontrollably.

  #

  London: Mid-August, 2012

  ‘Okay Peter. Now that you’re back from the loo, let’s get started again,’ Andrea said. ‘You did flush it? And, you did wash your mitts?’

  ‘Yes, course I did.’ Peter held up his still wet hands, and then proceeded to wipe them on his pants. ‘Those insect aliens were real scary. Andrea. I’m scared.’

  ‘It’s just a story. It’s probably not even true. Huh? Look. The handwriting’s changed back again,’ Andrea said. ‘Uncle Heni must’ve writ this next bit.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Peter agreed. ‘I like his writing. He draws little cartoons on every other page. They come to life when you look at them.’

  ‘Yes Peter. They sure do. Funny, but I wonder how that happens? I guess it’s a magic book then?’

  ‘And, his stuff is more fun and has less scary monsters,’ Peter added. ‘Well, what you waitin’ for Andrea? And, it better not be too scary or I’m outta here.’

  #

  Back at Crackatinnie, Service Station: Thursday, September 20th, 1973

  Jo and I stood watching, wide-eyed, mouths wide open, by the café door. Glancing up at us Goto slammed the back panel van doors shut. Striding to the driver’s side door now, Goto dragged it open and climbed in.

  Twigs snapped in the trees not far from where we were standing, distracting us. Goto’s eyes narrowed and he followed our gaze as we rotated our heads down and around in a reflex action. Protruding out from behind a large tree we had spied a telescopic camera lens. Silhouetted under the shadow of a tree Jesus Revierra, the Daily-Times reporter, snapped photographs, zooming in on Goto’s face.

  A solitary insect AI buzzed him. Lifting his hand Jesus brushed it away nonchalantly. Buzzing back down now the insect carried out a complex Harrier Jump Jet landing then clambered mechanically up the reporter’s back. Jesus’s free hand slapped at his neck again, and then his body stiffened as the blood-thirsty insect dropped its wings and dove deep, rotating like a cork-screw into his neck.

  Jesus blood shot eyes opened wide. He let out a blood-curdling agonizing scream, clutching frantically at his neck with both hands. But, for some reason, we heard nothing. With a clatter, his camera bounced onto the matted bed of leaves below. Jesus’s legs and arms bounced around involuntarily and he fell forward onto the ground. A thin mist of fine blood sprayed the dangling leaves, and then began to drip, drip, drip off onto a pile of shriveled leaves and sticks which matted the ground.

  Shortly afterwards, Jesus sat up in a trance shaking his head to regain his composure. Ever so slowly he rotated. Aware that we were watching, his eyes turned red with flickering yellow vertical slits expanding and contracting as he breathed. That’s what we saw anyway.

  ‘It’s just the pendant playing tricks with our minds Jo,’ I said. ‘It likes to jazz things up. Just ignore it.’ She twitched, grasping my hand tightly.

  Suddenly, crazily, Jesus snatched up his camera. Controlled by the insect larvae in his neck Jesus tore the back open. Ripping out the film, he exposed it to the light. Then, not in control of his own faculties, he flung his camera against the tree again and again until it was broken into several large fragments. Grabbing at his neck now Jesus fainted, accidentally grazing his head against the side o
f a tree trunk, landing heavily on the ground.

  ‘Huh? I thought the Jesus man was a drunk, but he’s really a reporter!’ Jo spat out, regaining her composure.

  A police car came whizzing by in the opposite direction, from town, slowly reducing speed as it continued past us down the tarred bitumen road towards the service station. Goto lifted his hand off the steering wheel in a signatory wave. Winding down his window slightly Art, the police officer, did the same. Air sucked an insect in through the open window of the police car. Shortly afterwards the police car veered off the road. A screech of brakes echoed up the road. Then, the vehicle slowed down almost to a walking pace and slammed hard into an electricity pole on the other side of the service station. A loud, resonating, clunking thud echoed up the road.

  Grinning wickedly at us now, Goto slid the panel van into gear. Rearranging his Stetson hat, he depressed the indicator bar. The orange indicator light at the rear flickered. Looking back, Goto raised his finger waving it warningly at us. Acknowledging us with a forced, cold, smile he saluted our resilience, flashing his eyes at us one last time, not at all amused. As the panel van’s wheels spun up gravel, and then gripped on the tar road his head snapped back. Focusing on the trees below us he snarled fiercely. Puttering down the main street through the midst of the swarming dark haze, Goto began whistling a tune. The panel van slowly picked up pace as it passed down Main Street, roaring north out of town along the sealed bitumen highway on the other side.

  Static electricity bounced around the panel van’s cabin. Goto’s face vibrated rapidly and then turned a metallic luminous color. His body also shook violently. And then, it morphed into the shape of a humanoid stick-like insect. Goto now looked like a bi-pedal humanoid version of a praying mantis: let us call it a Cydroid for now. Yet, the face was larger, slightly elongated, oval-like, with black insect-like vibrating compound eyes. And he looked hideous. The skin morphed into pink flesh. His face transformed back into human once more. Goto turned his face to peer into the rear vision mirror. Analyzing his teeth in the rear vision mirror, he smiled. He now wore the dark wrinkled skin and facial features of Lance, the service station attendant. This version of Lance rotated his blue, frayed cap to the side with his free hand. Playing with the gold ring dancing on its chain he grinned, displaying a gap in his white teeth.