He slammed down the stairs; every step was another bang against a wall and a heel hitting a flat surface. He had never felt so… in-between before. He didn’t hate what was going on in his life, but he didn’t like it either. He found the only way to make himself feel anything was to make it hurt, so he slammed down the stairs. It didn’t feel bad, and he didn’t regret it, so, he figured, why not? Of course it was never a good idea to hurt oneself unless one was trying to create more pain as to relieve themselves of the pain in another part of their body. Having a lack of pain was his excuse however, and he felt it well justified, even if it really wasn’t.
He took a step outside after reaching the bottom of his apartment complex and reveled himself to the world. Hello World, he thought, and he was satisfied. The “He” being referred to in this case would be Darrel Hallows, to his friends: “Hay Idiot!,” to his father: “Dare,” and to his mother: “Disappointment.” This was held true; in all of his twenty-three years on this planet he was never able to get his mother to stop complaining for a second and be proud of him, and so sometime about twelve years ago he just gave up, he became a mediocre person, in a mediocre life, with a mediocre… well, is there any need to go on?
Darrell looked at his car, it was, needless to say, a mediocre one; the kind of car that nobody likes but everybody has. He frowned at it, nothing changed. He smiled at it for a delightful change of pace, still no result. He stepped toward it, nothing happened. He took another step, still nothing. He took a third, and his shin hit the front bumper, Hello Car, he thought, and he was satisfied.
Darrell never went to collage; high school had taught him that being how he was would never get him into anywhere good, and so he pursued his dreams instead. Anyone who says that dreams don’t come true has never met Darrell, because Darrell knew how to make realistic dreams. After a year of working at the super market he was promoted, and another passed and he was promoted again, yet another year and he was the assistant manager, and then his dreams had arrived, he was the head manager of the whole supermarket. It was a small independent market, he had expanded on it, added a deli, and hired a butcher; all together he managed twenty seven people. He enjoyed his job, but not enough to bring him out from “in-between.”
Darrell remembered driving home from work in this car; it was definitely an interesting drive home, because today was a special day. Today a man had come into his office and sat down on the other side of his desk, he was a bumbling sort, with a tie and a suit and a comb over, Darrell was surprised to recognize him as his parents’ lawyer. This didn’t happen often, but Darrell just assumed that that it was one of his dad’s stupid ideas and that he was just going to have to sign something and get on with his day.
“Good morning.” Said the lawyer, in a somber tone.
Darrell looked from side to side and came to the decision that it was a fairly good morning. “Yeah.” He said. “It is good.” He gave a continual nod as he let the words come out.
“Maybe not for long,” the man continued. “Darrell, I have bad news, your mother died last night.” The lawyer waited for Darrell to start sobbing, so that he could go around the desk, and pat him on the shoulder, and tell him that it was a peaceful death. That, however, would be a blatant lie. The lawyer knew that his mother had died slowly, painfully, her lungs had collapsed, she was only seventy three.
Darrell was letting the moment sink in; he had a very blank expression on his face. “Mmhmm.” He said after another second of suspense.
“Well, your father wanted me to come and tell you right away. She had a will; I will be looking it over this weekend publicly. I happen to know that she left you quite a lot; you’ll want to be there of course.” He sounded as if the whole thing was just a breeze past his face.
“Sounds…” Darrell let another moment sink. “good. I’ll see you there.” He stood, shook hands and watched as the bumbling man left. He gave it a few minutes and then he left to. He was snug in his apartment in only twelve minutes flat, the first time he had taken off since he had started that job.
The demon Truth walked down the wet street, it had only just stopped raining, she liked the feeling of rain under her hooves. But her hooves were gone tonight; tonight she walked like a human, with ten toes.
At first thought, when she told many of the humans she had talked to her name and nature, they said: “A demon named Truth?” But this only proved how stupid humans were, how stupid her dad had made them. Her dad, or rather the dad was the kind of guy that just couldn’t take no for an answer, everything he did was perfect, everything he created was good. Good? HA! Good is a demon too! Well, so is Evil, but mind you that was just a conflict of interest. The major problem with her dad is that everything he created was perfect, in fact it was perfect enough to contradict him every once and a while, and so he had to get rid of a bunch of them, mainly because he was tired of turning them over his knee and giving them a firm swatting. And that was why she was a demon.
Truth remembered when she was born, she had two twin brothers and a twin sister, all three of them are still angels. Justice her sister was too righteous to disobey, and her brothers Lies and Deceit had tricked dad into believing they were on his side, but Truth could not lie, she didn’t like what her dad was doing, and she couldn’t remain on his side. But as they say, no matter how much you hate your parents you’ll always love them, the same rung true for the demons, or most of them anyway.
As Truth walked down the road, she had only one simple thought in her mind, What the hell does yellow taste like? She thought. The question would have made about as much sense to a human as the answer would make to anyone higher. On this rain covered street she walked down, she was not supposed to be having fun pondering the questions of life; she was here on a mission, and she thought that Dan Aykroyd put it best when he added “from God” on the end.
She walked down the street casually, focusing on where she stepped, and that question boggling her mind. It was a rural street, she knew this because she only passed a house every once in a while. The thought of how much a “city block” really was came up; she had dwelt on this before, and thought it one of the oddest measurements ever devised. How many feet were in a block? Or maybe it was easier to explain in yards.
The thought left her mind. She remembered that she had a mission; she stopped to get her bearings. The house to the left of the street she was on was marked 255 Camden St. and had quite a bit of property surrounding it. The house itself wasn’t that much larger then a mobile home and it had a building nearby that was something in-between a barn and a shed, both looked like they were built in the fifties. She walked up the path and to the front door; she knocked and waited for an answer.
It was a while before anything happened; she heard a dog running at the door, scratching at it, then a person curse and shove the dog somewhere out of the way, then the locks began to unbolt after a light turned on and lit the cracks on the top and sides of the door. The door opened to reveal a man, portly, just over-the-hill, not a hair off his head, but each turning grey. He wore a bathrobe and a friendly smile, his face was not unpleasant.
“What can I dew’ya for, miss?” His accent was a pleasant southern drawl, the kind that everyone could mock, but no one could truly speak unless they were brought up around it.
“Yes, um…” She always got tongue-tied around humans, it was another curse that her father had given the creatures: a constant sense of urgency. Her mind cleared up and she reached into a pocket and took out a small package. “This is for Mrs. Hallows.” She handed it over.
The man gave her a tentative look, and then looked down at the package. After examining it he said: “Oh, she’s not going to be happy to see this. Not happy a’tall.” He looked at her yet again. “No, I suppose this isn’t your fault.” He seemed to be thinking aloud. “Fine then, this’ll be fine. Thank you.” He gave a goodbye smile and then closed the door in her face.
She took a step back, waited, turned, and left, coming back the way she came, trying to decide where she was going to stay for the night.
Darrell woke up the next morning on the couch. He tried to remember why he had fallen asleep there, first he drew the conclusion that he had passed out after becoming severely drunk, but dismissed it as he found no traces of a hangover, and no open bottles as further evidence of it. He racked his brain until he decided that something very depressing had happened, and that’s when it hit him: His mother was dead.
He decided after eating breakfast that he was in a melancholy state: Happy enough to not be too depressed, but depressed enough to fall asleep on the couch. He decided that he would hitchhike to his parents place, it was only Friday morning and if he started now he would reach the house by tomorrow sometime near noon. He stopped himself and asked why he was going through the trouble of hitchhiking when he had a car, the first time the thought crossed his mind was only after he was getting ready to go. The answer was obvious to his subconscious, but not apparent to him at all. He skipped his morning shower and walked out of the apartment, it was sprinkling, he was thankful for his boots and various rainproof garments, as it looked like it was only to get worse. After jumping some of the stairs and tapping his car he started off.
Darrell had only been walking for minutes before he was out into wilderness, his town was small, and most of the housing was rural. He had only moved one town away from where he grew up, it was the farthest he could go without feeling… sick, as if that tiny town was a locus where he drew all of his energy. He walked across a bridge, it was pouring now, he stopped and watched the clear water of the stream below be disrupted by the raindrops.
A pair of cars pulled passed him he tired to convince one of them to give him a ride with an extended thumb. No luck, he started walking again and made it across the bridge. He checked his watch, it was only 9:30. He vowed not to look at his watch again until he had done an hour’s worth of traveling. This resolution proved impossible, he checked his watch steadily every ten minutes, each seeming like an hour to him.
A woman pulled up and kept pace with him in her car. She was older, probably was going to work in some town far away from home. The window rolled down and she stuck her head out reveling her face, it was pretty, it had a few creases, the kind you get when you don’t sleep enough. Darrell was reminded of his high school history teacher.
“I can take you as far as the next right turn.” She said as if she were smuggling something over the border.
“And how far is that?” Asked Darrell tentatively.
“’Bout a mile up the way.” She said and unlocked the passenger door as if she had already decided for him.
“Fine.” He went around the car and got inside.
“Pleased to make you acquaintance Darrell. My name is Clair.”
He had not told her his name. “What?” He said as the car began to lurch down the country path.
“Do you really need me to say it again?” Said the woman. “I think you heard me the first time.”
“Um… I suppose I did.” Darrell was no longer comfortable, although he never really had the chance to get comfortable. “You’re not a stalker, are you? You’re not going to kill me, or eat me alive or something?”
“No, well…” The woman seemed out of it for a second, she may have been thinking. “Well yes, in a way I am a stalker.” She said proudly. “But of course not in the way you think, no no no, I am a stalker in a much much different way.”
Darrell gulped.
“Don’t fret now I came from my mistress to pass you a message. She’s interested in you, she wants to see how far you get, she wants to know if you can go further then your predecessor. She wants to be your friend, dare I mention she wants to be more then that.” She gave him a mischievous smile.
“So what’s this message?” They were rapidly pulling up to the right turn.
“Oh! Of course, she wants me to tell you to sleep out in the woods tonight, she will come and visit you. And also not to worry, it will stop raining by nightfall, and she will make sure that you are safe and dry.” She pulled over at the turn off and told him to make sure he heeded her instructions and that they would pay off in the end.
He got out, glad to be away from the car. He waited for her to turn the corner, and then continued to walk up the path.
Night fell and Darrell had only gotten one other ride a little more then half way, hopefully he would have more luck tomorrow. The woman named Clair had been right, it had stopped raining, and the cars had also stopped coming, leaving him with few alternatives.
He stepped a few feet into the forest, illuminated by the full moon he barely saw his way, he was lucky his mother chose to die at the end of fall he had a clear view of the sky without the shadows of the trees. But then again he was also very unlucky that she had died at this time of year, nowhere in the forest was a spot dry enough or warm enough to start a camp fire let alone sleep. Everywhere was underbrush and trees, and where there was a clear spot it was usually a part of a stream or a small muddy puddle. He continued to trudge on a beaten path through the forest completely unaware of his stalker.
He stopped. Something was in front of him, a dog? No something more sinister, but still possessing four legs. It had beaten fur, missing in some places, it had an enormous snout, huge and gaping, Darrell could stick his whole head into it. It was dog-esque, it was wolf-ish. It was in fact a wolf, but it was huge and clumsy like a hunting dog, like a Saint Bernard, or an Irish Wolf Hound. It sat calmly in front of him. And then a scratchy voice came from it’s throat, it’s mouth was open and it’s tongue waggled in it’s mouth.
“My mistress wants me to guide you.” It had the voice of a man who had been smoking all his life, and was now on his death bed from it.
Without a second thought as to who he was talking to Darrell spoke back. “Just who the hell is this mistress lady anyway?”
“Hmm…” The wolf began in his throaty smoker voice: “Never fear on a cloudy night, the stars will not harm you when they wish to sleep, and my kind will never prey on those braver to walk on the verge of rain. Even snow will protect those who go into it, for it is pure, and we who aren’t, aren’t allowed into it.
“It is the clear nights that need to be feared, when the stars shine and the moon is high. On those nights the moon is your friend, nod to it when you walk in its direction, and sing to it when you walk away, these things are sacrifice enough, and they are all she needs to be coaxed to your cause. The moon is the guardian of our planet, she bears the weight of the sky at night, and she controls we wolves who prowl the ground. With her on your side, you are invincible.” He finished up and looked proud of himself.
“The moon?” Darrell looked skeptical, which, any mortal would agree, was reasonable.
“She has observed you, you stay true to the worship, to the ritual, you sing when you walk away and you nod when you walk toward. And now that you’re on the verge of your life she feels it only right that she repay you.” The wolf cleared it’s throat and continued. “The woman you met earlier, she was being possessed by one of us. You met her. Clair?”
“Possessed? On the verge of my life? What the hell are you talking about? I must be going crazy.” He started to turn around to walk away. The wolf snapped and jumped off it’s rock. “Or maybe I’ll let you take me somewhere very safe where your mistress could treat me to a nice warm dinner or something of the sort.” The words sounded as if they melded together into one giant word. He turned slowly to see the wolf bearing his teeth.
“Follow.” Said the wolf. “Speak if you must. I know how your kind are comforted by that.”
Darrell followed and never said another word.
The wolf and the man soon found themselves around a nice fire in a cave, a bed of straw had been laid down and when combined with his clothes and the fire it was positively cozy.
“I have been charged with guarding the entrance,” said the wolf “My mistress will be with you shortly.”
He left. Darrell took out some of the food he brought with him and began to eat, if he was going to die tonight, he would not die hungry. He was happily munching down a piece of thick sour dough bread when he saw a twinkle in the corner of his eye. He turned and a large mass of twinkles floated just behind him. He thought, something out of Disney, and then rubbed his eyes, no a trick of the light, some mineral reflecting the moonlight. But that was less right then his first assumption.
The group of twinkling lights began to reproduce and congregate, forming something, a human shape. A curvy body outline was formed in the air, and a head on top of it, the face was formed as the rest of the body became something real, tangible. The figure’s skin, silky smooth, turned a satisfying brown color, like a perfectly toasted marshmallow. Her face materialized, it was a pretty one, with a button nose and full lips. Her hair was black and flowing, it brushed her back and bounced too and fro, as if she were submerged in water. She had a breath-taking smile. Her body was covered in a light fabric that was almost blinding, yet see-through, it flowed around her and made her look like an angel.
Darrell was in awe. He could not move and inch, the girl, woman, no girl, no woman, the creature was, simply put: beautiful. She pushed Darrell back and kissed him gently after leaning him down next to the fire.
Her lips tasted like being pushed onto a bed and ravaged, or like being pressed onto a wall when no one was looking, or making out in a movie theater, or sneaking into a closet at a big party. They tasted like high school, and lovely spring, and fresh winter and hot summer. They tasted like dreams, hopes, walking down the street, running down the street, standing on the street. They tasted like marriage, getting married, being engaged, having children, raising children. They tasted like love, and beauty, and sex, Darrell thought he was having sex, he though that he was being torn apart by her, he felt her weight on his, it was orgasmic, but he wasn’t having sex, he was just kissing.
That night Darrell slept. And he had a dream. The dream began with a bath, but not any bath, it was, what he imagined, the kind of bath a cowboy would take once a month. He was in a barrel just barely big enough for him and filled with cloudy, but warm, water. Every so often a woman would walk in and without a word would pour some hot water into the barrel, letting the lukewarm water overflow out of the sides. It wasn’t comfortable, it was soothing, but that was about it. He got out what seemed to be an hours later and wrapped a towel around his waist. His mouth moved but nothing came out, the woman who had been pouring water for him came in and curtsied, he tipped her and dismissed her so he could dress. And then he woke up.
The demon Truth had spent two nights outside, under a tree in the rain. The tree was in the front yard of the people she had visited a few nights before. When she was getting ready to sleep, she remembered all the humans she had ever talked to and how a handful of them seemed to like this thing called camping. To her, camping was an interesting concept: sleeping outside for no reason but the sheer fun of it, and then waking up the next morning, well rested of course, and going out to throw a frizbee on the beach or fish in the lake or shoot some defenseless animal in the mountains. Ancient people used to do that all the time, she even knew some of them, but they called it something very different, they called it “life.”
Now that she had experienced it, she had no idea why so many people swore by this camping thing. Her human form felt terrible, she had a crick somewhere in her lower back, her upper back, and her mid back. Her body was almost completely numb and had that tingly “sleepy” feeling. And she had no frizbee to throw, nor a beach to throw it on, nor a person to catch it and throw it back. She came to a conclusion: Camping is a cruel and unusual punishment that people inflict on themselves to meet some sort of early end on this miserable planet.
She still had a job to do, it wasn’t her decision to leave this place. She stood up and ran around her tree a few times to wake up her tingly body.
She didn’t notice a car pulling up or a man getting out of it or turning and looking at her strangely. “Can I help you?” Said the bumbling man.
She stopped, oh Jesus, she thought. “Um… no.” She looked at him warily.
“Well if you have somewhere to go I’d thank you to get off this property, it is private.”
“Oh, take the stick out of yer a** Harold.” Said a southern drawl from the direction of the front door of the house. “She’s just the delivery girl.” They both looked over to see Mr. Hallows in his bathrobe, picking up the morning paper. “Now both of you come in and get some breakfast, Liz is making a stack of flapjacks.”
“Sir,” Protested the man in the driveway. “Your wife is...”
He was cut off by Mr. Hallows’ heavy sigh. “I know what she is. Now get in here before they get cold.” The man protested no longer, and decided to obey. Mr. Hallows turned to Truth, “You’re invited too. Come on, there’s enough for everybody.”
The two men disappeared into the open doorway. Truth shrugged and decided that anything was better then camping.
Darrell woke, he was lying in a soft nest of straw, a fire had just gone out a few feet away, and a forest morning scent made it’s way into the cave opening. A creature came into focus in front of him, it was another wolf. Not the gruff one he was with last night, another, slightly smaller one.
It let words slip. “’Morning.” It said in a near whisper. It was a girl’s voice.
“Hi.” Darrell replied simply.
“I’m the morning guard.” She was still whispering. “Remember me?” Her head was always bowed, she never held her snout up like the other one. “Clair?” She said hopefully.
Darrell only nodded. Then he decided to add: “You look a little different.”
“Yeah, well.” Darrell realized that she sounded sick, or scared, she wouldn’t stop whispering. “My mistress wanted me to give you one last message before you set off.” She cleared her throat. Her voice was only a mite stronger. “She wants me to tell you that we will always look after you, but we cannot come to you during the day. She can come to you during the day, but her job is much more important, and she warns you not to summon her unless it is truly needed. And she said that her brother wants to talk to you, and her nephew. You got her family real riled up, you know that?” She seemed more comfortable, Darrell even thought he heard a spring in her voice. “Anyway she says that her brother can be weird, and her nephew is sort of… edgy. But all of this is a while away. You have nothing to worry about, at least for a bit.”
“Thanks.” He stood and picked up his bag, made sure his coat was zipped up tight and started walking for the mouth of the cave. As he walked he dismissed everything that had happened to him for a dream.
It only took a while to find the road. Cars began to pass him at about nine’ o’clock. People were going to work. He raised his thumb for each but didn’t seem to have any luck. He knew where he was going but couldn’t judge how far he was from it. It was pleasant, to walk in a crisp morning air, fall showing it’s signs of turning into winter.
It was another hour before he was picked up by an elderly couple who thought he looked like a nice boy, and couldn’t help but stop to pick him up. It turned out that he was only a ten minute drive from Camden, the road his parents lived on. The dropped him off and apologized for not being able to take him the entire way. He also apologized for putting them out and thanked them for their trouble.
It was another minute and a half before he was staring at the old white picket fence that his father had put in years ago, thinking that it was what made a family an American one. In a distant meadow he could see the large stone he had marked his dog’s grave with, and the front door of the small house had a familiar slant when they had to replace it because of an earth quake. All of this was his childhood.
He walked through the gate and saw his father peering out at him through the curtains in the front window. He came to the door and opened it.
“We were all worried. I sent Harold down to get you, but he said you sounded like you weren’t coming.” He beamed at his son, a proud father. His brow bent down word. “It would break your mother’s heart to hear you hadn’t come to her will reading.”
“I s’pose.” Darrell sounded uninterested. He got up to his father on the front step and gave him a hearty hug. “Sorry, I hitchhiked.” He added.
“I know, your mom told me you would.” He had a worried look of interest on his face. “Come on in, I’ll nuke somethin’ for you.”
Darrell stepped inside and couldn’t believe his eyes.
Only minutes later Darrell was sitting around his old kitchen table with his father, his father’s lawyer Harold, and a girl that he had never met before, long lost sister? He ventured, but couldn’t bring himself to ask, it didn’t seem to matter as much as the fourth person who happened to be sitting across from him, who was none other then his own mother.
“Don’t gawk.” She said, with amazing articulacy for a dead person.
“Thought she was pushing up daisies?” Said his smiling father.
The lawyer Harold seemed very uncomfortable, and was as far away from the table as he could get on the opposite side from the dead woman. The other guest, Darrell had decided, just didn’t seem to grasp the severity of the situation, she was almost too calm as she sat next to the fidgety lawyer.
“Can we get on with all this?” Said Harold. “I have a brunch appointment.” He lied. He hadn’t had a brunch appointment since he moved away from Chicago in 1989, he couldn’t decide weather it was where he had moved to that prevented him from getting brunch invitations, or if brunch had just plain gone out of style.
“Yes I suppose.” Said Darrell’s clearly dead mother. If it weren’t for the fact that she had bits of rotting flesh hanging off her, or that her skin had turned an unnatural pale color, it would be the fact that she was sitting at her own will reading that would have proved that she was dead.
“Thank god.” Muttered Harold, he took out a brief case and opened it. Papers were put on the table, the kind that were made to look fancy, but only achieved a sort of dull cheesiness. “Ahem.” Harold began. “Before the witnesses of Earnest A. Hallows, and uh…” He squinted to read some tiny block handwriting at the bottom of a legal document. “Truth?” He said.
The girl nodded.
“Have a last name?”
The girl shook her head.
“Fine.” He sounded agitated. “This is the last will and testament of Elizabeth Hallows.” He gave a dramatic pause. “For all those who had me while I was still an earthly entity, I thank you all, it was a pleasure knowing all of you (Yes even you, you rat Harold). I want you all to know that if I was wealthy like the kings and queens before me I would reward you, but alas I am not, and thus I am forced to hand over nothing but my thank you’s, and apologies.
“Secondly I’d like to let my husband Earnest know that he can keep the house, and I wish to tell him to wait a while before he replaces me, as I know he will remarry, or at least buy another wretched animal to fill in the empty spot. I’d also like to note that, after tax and cost of the funeral are taken care of, that the rest of my possessions are to be split up between my husband and son in accordance with how they see fit, with the exception of the following:
“1. To my husband Earnest A. Hallows: One (1) jewelry box (the one you gave me darling) and all the contents there of. One (1) Carpet shampooer (Remember to use it once a year). All the contents of my bank accounts (after tax and funeral costs) with the exception of one thousand dollars (see below).
“2. To my only son Darrell Hallows: I bequeath my regime and rule, my success and legacy, my power and land, my crown, throne and chariot, and of course my hopes and dreams. And also one thousand dollars to be used toward his current quest. Use all of this wisely.”
Harold said nothing more.
Everyone was silent.
A moment passed.
“Well I’ll have to be getting off.” Said the lawyer. He stood up closed his briefcase, leaving the will on the table, and walked toward the front door. In a mater of seconds he was pulling out of the driveway in his Mazda. “No idea where that was going.” He told himself. He had encountered a lot of things, but never in his life had he come across a person who was legally dead and still, beyond all reason, alive enough to attend their own will reading.
He had forgotten all about it after arriving in town.
In the house it was the calm before the storm.
“The dog needs feeding.” Said Darrell’s mother.
“Yes’m.” Both Darrell and his father said it at the same time, they were also rising from the table in unison.
“Why don’t you take care of it darling.” She looked at her husband, and smiled.
“Fair ‘nuff.” Said his father, and he walked into the kitchen.
Truth sat and stared nervously at the other two people at the table, she could have sliced the tension with a knife.
“What’s all this about then?” Implored Darrell, taking his place at the table again.
“Well, I’m dead. Isn’t it obvious? Someone gotta’… well” His mother seemed unsure of what she was about to say. “Well.” She paused again. “Listen, y’know Mark Twain?.”
Darrell nodded. He didn’t really know Mark Twain, he knew a few things about Mark Twain. He knew Mark Twain was a writer, he wrote some books that he never read, and they were probably pretty good books.
“What about Elvis Presley?”
Darrell was on firmer ground with this name. He always used to listen to oldies when he was in the car with his dad. He nodded again.
“Sitting Bull?”
Darrell had heard something about this person in history class, he vaguely remembered Native American protests led by a peaceful man called Sitting Bull. He nodded yet again, not seeing a connection.
“All of these men conquered America, all of these men were kings.”
Darrell bent his eyebrows. Mark Twain, Famous Writer and Riverboat captain, King, he thought.
“I followed in their footsteps, like many others.” She continued. “I was queen of this great land for fifty-five years. And now it’s your turn.”
Darrell stared, and cleared his throat. “I have gone insane.” He concluded.
“No, no, no,” Said his mother. She was about to say something else when he interrupted.
He stood. “I’m not? How can’t I not be insane? My dead mother, who is very clearly dead, is sitting at my old dining room table and telling me I’m the prince of America, when we already have a president. I hitchhiked here for no good reason, nearly got attacked by two wolves, talking wolves, one of which had possessed a woman earlier that day. And, and, I dreamt I fell in love with the moon, which is entirely impossible. In fact all of it is impossible. No, no, no. I refuse to believe it, any of it.” With that he went into the kitchen to help his father, which he assumed was about as crazy as he was by now.
His father was just letting the dog, which they had gotten after Darrell moved out, into the house. It excitedly, and clumsily scampered across the tile and over to Darrell to get some attention.
“I hears what you were sayin’ Dare.” Said his father. “Hard stuff to fathom ain’t it?”
Darrell had bent down to pet the dog, it was larger then the one he had as a child, the kind of dog with a wavy howl of a bark, the kind of dog his father would call a huntin’ dog. It looked like it was at its peak, and it was very healthy. He looked up at his father. “What do you mean?”
“I mean when I met her for the first time, down in Dallas a’course, she seemed to me like a stark ravin’ lunatic. She was spoutin’ all this stuff about pillars and kings and quests. She kept askin’ me to show her around, like she didn’t know where to go. A’course she didn’t, so I gave in and told her I’d take her where she wanted. Boy, I never left her side after that, we saw so many amazing things. Storybook things, ya’know?”
Darrell look up at his father quizzically. “Dad, don’t tell me I’m not crazy.”
He shook his head. “You should hear your mother out. You might have some fun Dare.”
“Is my mother dead dad?” He was stern.
“Yes.” His father had a serious tone, one that only rarely cropped up.
“Then why is she still… alive?”
“Because she’s your first test. And you have to pass it.”
Darrell stared for another second before standing and turning to return to his seat at the table. When he arrived his mother and the girl were still sitting where hey were before. The will had moved over to an inlay in the wall next to the phone and in it’s place was a package. The package was small, a small cardboard box, with brown wrapping, it didn’t have an address on it, nor was it marked in any other way. It was big enough that you had to carry it with two hands yet small enough that you could hold it in one open palm.
“What’s that?” Darrell ventured.
“Don’t touch it just yet.” Said his mother. “It’ll be yours if you can defeat me.”
Darrell didn’t like the sound of this at all. “Defeat you at what?”
“What you wish. Darrell, I am what they call a pillar, one of the many that hold America so high, the things that make it great. In order to become king, Darrell, you must conquer the land you wish to rule, and thus you must conquer all of the pillars.”
“Did you have to do this?”
“Yes, it was difficult, but I overcame each task and became queen. And now that I am dead I have been augmented into the first pillar, that it why I am still here, with you. And so you must choose, you must defeat me.”
“But choose what? What do I have to win at? Clue?”
She seemed amused. “You could, but I’d hardly be amused, and especially not with you. No, I think that this calls for you to rack you brain son, think of something, something you could do, that I could do also. Think of something that you could impress me with. Think of something that would make me proud.”
These last eight words put his thought process to a complete stop. His father walked in and sat down at the table. How could he make his mother proud? She had never been impressed with him when she was alive, why would being dead change that?
She took out a cigarette and lit it up, after offering one to the girl, who refused. In life he had never known his mother to smoke, but he supposed she had just reckoned it wouldn’t make much difference now.
“What’ll it be son?” His mother continued. Darrell stood, thinking harder and harder, going through the process of eliminating everything that he had already failed at in her eyes.
He looked to his dad, who shook his head and shrugged. Then he looked at the girl.
The girl was staring at him with inhuman amounts of patients, like clouds slowly and surely wafting across the skies. She wasn’t like any girl he had ever looked at before; where most people would give you a look of vindication if you were to stare, she simply stared back as if it were the only option. He saw death and life, pain and joy, every emotion exploding like a rainbow reflected in her unwavering, sterile eyes. And this is where he found the truth.
“I’ll do better then you did.” He said, not looking away from the girl.
“What?” His mother now had a smile on her face, a sly, knowing smile.
“I’ll show you how you were supposed to do it. I’ll go all over, and defeat these pillars. I’ll do a better job then you and be a better king then you.”
She never dropped her smile, and continued to smoke her cigarette, “You better start soon then. Others will be trying to get the crown too.”
Darrell nodded and walked back to his old room, he set his back pack on the bed and took everything out. This was going to be a trip to remember, one of those real life adventures that never actually happened but in stories and movies, he had to pack light and he had to pack exactly what he needed. He picked out his two favorite shirts and only two pairs of jeans; he took only one long-sleeve shirt, and to save space put it on over his t-shirt; he threw out his extra pair of shoes and opted for the ones that fit him better and were less worn out. He considered the essentials, a thick coat for cold, and a thin coat for wind, a pair of fleece lined wool gloves, some thick socks and a few pairs of boxers. He threw out his toothbrush, and comb, but kept his razor and a traveler’s can of shaving cream. He reached into the smallest pocket and found something small, seemingly useless; he was about to throw it on his old dresser when he caught a glimpse of it, he looked at it more thoroughly; it was an old rabbits foot, the fake kind one might get at a souvenir shop at a state park, it was dyed a lime green color and was stuck to a small chain, probably for use as a key ring. He rolled it around in his hands; it had a soft cottony feel, and tiny plastic claws that stuck out just barely of the end. He felt it for another second, and then put it back into the empty pocket.
He sat on his bed pondered what was going to happen first, and then realized that he had no idea where he was going…
He looked up and saw the girl, with a cocked head, standing in the doorway.
“Your getting ready to leave?” Her voice was like honey being pored into Darrell’s ears.
He nodded, and then added “Well, tomorrow I’ll leave; tonight I have to sleep on a bed.” She was unfazed.
“I quite like beds, more then the alternative rather.”
“Yeah, I ‘spose I do too.” The conversation died.
“You’ll need to know where you’re going.”
“I’m sure I can find it.”
“You don’t even know what you’re looking for.”
“How do you know?”
She smiled at this, as if waiting to answer the question.
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
