Chapter One

As his teacher continued to babble along to the class, Bobby Johnson continued to stare outside the window to his left. His attention as usual wasn’t directed towards his math teacher, but rather outside the window to his left. It was finally Friday, and Bobby was supposed to have a baseball game after school, but the weathermen were calling for a sixty-percent chance of rain. Then again, the weathermen were what Bobby’s aunt called ‘Professional Guessers’. Bobby thought she had a point, because a lot of times they were wrong. Either way it didn’t matter, he was still nervous all the same.

“Robert!” At the sound of Mr. Franco’s shrill voice, Bobby jumped so much he almost fell out of his chair. The entire class laughed loudly, except for Mr. Franco. He had a frown upon his old Latino face, his thick, black mustache making him look even more menacing than he already was. “See anything out there, hmm?” He asked sarcastically. Bobby shook his head, embarrassed by all the laughing, and Mr. Franco continued the lesson.

Bobby shot his best friend a look, and Karl Williams just smiled and shook his head. Karl wasn’t paying attention to what was going on either, but that’s because he didn’t need to. To Bobby, Karl was a genius. He literally taught himself every lesson, for several reasons. One being that he actually could get away with it and still pass the tests with A’s, and also because he couldn’t stand Mr. Franco as a teacher. What he did every class was he used his laptop to surf the net for random stuff, because at Jensonville High School the students were allowed to bring their laptops to school. Most schools in southwestern Indiana didn’t allow that. Whenever Mr. Franco began to walk around the class to make sure everyone was taking notes in some form, Karl would always quickly minimize whatever internet page he was on, and would then bring up a page of pre-written notes on the lesson. Bobby absolutely admired that.

After a few minutes the lesson was over, and the students were given the last few minutes to begin their homework assignment. To most, the assignment was fairly easy: numbers 1-25, and only the even numbers. (The answers to the odd problems could always be found in the back of the book, and Mr. Franco hated that) But to Bobby, any math assignment was a hard assignment. That’s because the only thing Bobby cared about what writing, reading, and baseball. Though, it is ironic that Bobby doesn’t enjoy English class, only because he couldn’t stand his teacher. The teacherm, Mr. Edwards, was a jerk to Bobby. He knew this because Mr. Edwards was jealous of Bobby’s aunt’s published novels. His aunt Katie wasn’t even really much of a locally known author, but Mr. Edwards was still jealous. This was especially clear during the first-of-the-year Open House three weeks ago. Bobby’ aunt and Mr. Edwards had gotten into a friendly argument about several authors. He explained that he was trying to get a novel published, and that’s when Bobby’s aunt had chimed in that she had already gotten three of her novels published within the past eight years. She didn’t mean in it in demeaning way, but that’s definitely the way Mr. Edwards took it.

Thankfully for Bobby, the class was allowed to work on the homework assignment in groups of two, and no more than two. He obviously paired up with Karl, and the boy genius explained what was going on, as he did with every lesion. Just like Karl, Bobby couldn’t stand Mr. Franco.

“It’s really not that difficult Bobby, you just have to focus is all,” Karl said. “If it makes it easier for you, try to implement math with baseball. I know that sounds a tad bit stupid, but it does tend to help most of the time…..mixing mat with something that interests you I mean.”

“Yeah, well….I’m never going to use this crap once we graduate, so what’s the point?” Bobby protested. “I mean…when have you actually used this outside of school, Karl? And tell the truth.”

Before Karl could answer the lunch-bell rang, and everyone quickly gathered their belongings and headed out towards the cafeteria down the hall. Karl and Bobby were the last ones out, but before Bobby could even leave Mr. Franco stopped him. “Take a seat, Robert. There’s something you and I need to discuss.”

“But it’s lunchtime! I don’t want to be late!” Bobby exclaimed. He really didn’t care that it was lunchtime, since he never ate anyway. He was just angry that Mr. Franco always insisted on calling him ‘Robert’, even when Bobby told him he didn’t like it.

“It’ll only take a few minutes, Robert. Just sit down, please.”

Bobby looked at Karl, who simply shrugged his shoulders and walked outside to wait. Karl never ate anything during lunch either. To them, school food sucked, and they weren’t about to start bringing their lunches like little kids. Bobby sighed and sat back down in his seat. Mr. Franco closed the door, and then sat down in the seat next to Bobby.

“What’s wrong with you, Robert?”

“Huh? What do you mean what’s wrong with me?”

Mr. Franco chuckled slightly. “Isn’t it obvious? Ever since the first day I’ve had to tell you to get your head out of the clouds, every single day. As much as I hate to say it, Robert, within less than a month you’ve already made it to my bad list. Why is this? Why won’t you pay attention?”

Bobby looked away from Mr. Franco and just stared at the ground for a couple of seconds. He wanted to tell him that truth, that he didn’t care for mathematics and that it wasn’t going to do him a bit of good in the real world. Especially ‘crap’ like Calculus. “I don’t know…it just doesn’t interest me,” he muttered, still looking at the blue-tiled floor.

Mr. Franco chuckled again, this time louder, and with a more warming tone. Bobby finally looked at him, and realized that he didn’t look as mad as he sounded. “Robert…there’s no doubt in my mind that this doesn’t interest you. According to your past teacher you’re quite the budding author. That’s very good to hear, but you must pay as much attention in my class as you do in your reading and writing classes. We’re only three weeks in and already you have a C in my class. I realize a C isn’t an F, but it very well could be if you keep up your current habits. I’d like you to start trying more, alright?” Then he added slyly, “And I know Karl is basically telling you want to do on homework assignments. What are you going to do this coming Monday during the test? He won’t be able to help you then.”

“I’ll be okay, Mr. Franco. I’ll just have to study a lot this weekend.”

Mr. Franco shook his head in disgust, but still kept a warm expression spread about his face. Bobby was thankful for that. “That sounds well enough, but will you study? I doubt it. You’re probably thinking about going outside and playing baseball, or writing something.”

Bobby didn’t immediately make any kind of response, because he knew his teacher was right, at least partially that is. Bobby didn’t like making bad grades, but it was true that he’d much rather be playing outside or writing a good story, or reading one of Stephen King’s books. Of course, he didn’t want to tell that to his teacher’s face, especially after the kindness Mr. Franco had been showing him. It was a relief to Bobby, and he started to think that perhaps Mr. Franco wasn’t half-bad after all. At least he wasn’t as bad as Mr. Edwards.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Franco. I’ll pay more attention from now on, and I promise I’ll study this weekend.”

Mr. Franco beamed with happiness, for the mean time satisfied. “Good, I’m glad to hear it. Though I would study with Karl if I were you. The boy does know what he’s doing, that’s for sure, even if he’s surfing through the internet the entire class.”

Bobby looked up at his teacher, who was about to burst with laughter. Bobby didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just gave him an awkward grin as if he didn’t know what he was talking about. Then Mr. Franco added, “What, you think I’m as dumb as I look? I know Karl doesn’t usually pay attention to my lessons, and that’s I guess. Some people are able to teach themselves outside of school, but you, Bobby, cannot. I expect to see a lot of changes from you. Alright? Now… get out of here!” he said with a smile.

Bobby got up and walked out of the room, his opinion of Mr. Franco having been totally changed.




“I say we go to the movies. Sebastion’s Abode is gonna go off the screens soon, so we should see it before it does,” Maggie Dunham said in between bites of her baby-carrots. She wasn’t fat, but she wasn’t skinny either. That’s the way Bobby saw her at least, sort of in the middle.

“I don’t know…isn’t that movie about magical fairies and all that stupid stuff?”

“No!” Maggie yelled. “It’s not stupid. And there aren’t any fairies at all. Who told you that?”

Bobby looked at Karl, and the both of them busted out laughing. On Bobby’s left, Jenny was concentrating on an art sketch, one that was due the next class period in fifteen minutes. Jenny was an extremely good artist. She could draw and paint like no other. Bobby figured she’d get hundreds of offers from art schools around the country. He always thought she was good enough to obtain scholarships.

“Don’t listen to Karl, Bobby, he doesn’t know what a good movie is anyway. All he knows is how to play computer games.”

After finally gaining control of himself, Karl said, “Yeah, well at least my games don’t have fairies with orange hair like your movie does!”

“They’re not fairies! The Deladryn are a species of elves, and they have nothing to do with fairies!”

The four at the table were starting to receive weird stares from the crowded cafeteria around them, but they didn’t care. “Okay, elves are so much better,” Karl replied, rolling his eyes.

Bobby didn’t really mind elves, because he once read a novel called Tales of the Vespic Horizon that dealt with many fantasy creatures, including elves. Bobby wasn’t much of a fantasy-fiction fan, but he read that one because Maggie kept bugging him to. His aunt absolutely hated fantasy, but she found the novel rather interesting as well.

“I don’t know, guys…the movies don’t sound that good to me anyway. I’ll be dirty after my game and I really don’t want to have to go home and take a shower. How about we just get something to eat instead?”

Karl and Maggie seemed to like the idea, because both of them shrugged their shoulders and nodded. Jenny liked the idea exceptionally, because she suddenly snapped out of her artistic trance and offered a suggestion, her long, bright red hair fluttering across her green eyes as her head flicked up from her work. “How about the Spaghetti Factory? We haven’t been there in a while. Plus it’s cheap, and I don’t have a whole lot of money right now as it is.”

They all four agreed that the Spaghetti Factory was a wonderful suggestion. It was an old gigantic parlor downtown, and they served all kinds of Italian food. Naturally, their most popular dish was spaghetti, and that’s what Bobby ordered every time. Except he always ordered meatballs and garlic bread too, because their garlic bread was so soft and flavorful. Bobby was a huge eater, as the other three were quite aware of, but thankfully for him he had a fast metabolism. This was a mixture of him playing sports all the time, along with his aunt’s beckoning for him to stay in shape throughout the entire year.

Soon the bell rang, signaling to the students that they had ten minutes in order to get to class on time. Jensonville High was tremendously strict on their tardy policy, especially during lunch. Those who were late to class, or what caught skipping class altogether, were subject to Saturday School, in which they had to come into the school library on Saturday from 8am in the morning until 4pm in the afternoon. The students minded the policy well enough because of the harsh consequences, but there were always at least a dozen or so students who wanted to be the rebels. Jensonville High was home to about fifteen-hundred kids, so it wasn’t as big as some of the other schools in southwestern Indiana.

Bobby said goodbye to his friends and headed to English class, where he would undoubtedly face off against Mr. Edwards once again. It was almost a daily ritual, and the students knew it. Nobody talked to Bobby that much, or at least Bobby didn’t say anything since he was so shy around people other than his friends, but everyone in the classroom was literally waiting on the edge of their seat to see what would happen between Bobby and Mr. Edwards. It usually began towards the middle of class, when the teacher would begin his lectures. Bobby would either be reading a book, or jotting down ideas for his own stories. Mr. Edwards would say something smart, and then Bobby would return the favor. It would then go back and forth for a little bit, but not too long. Sometimes the arguments got personal and somewhat malicious, but the two never reported one another to the principal or anything like that. Mr. Edwards, though he would never openly admit it, knew he hated Bobby because of his aunt’s published books and apparent skill in the use of writing. But also, deep down inside, Mr. Edwards knew Bobby had tons of potential, and that made him jealous as well.

Bobby never told the principal simply because he didn’t want to. The arguments actually interested him sometimes, because at least it was a break from the normally dull class Mr. Edwards taught. Besides, Bobby knew Mr. Edwards would never hurt his feelings, because he did not care about his teacher whatsoever, and the feeling as definitely mutual. Mr. Edwards wasn’t really a popular person with the faculty either. He had a knack for pissing people off with his sarcasm and elitist attitude. The students didn’t particularly like him either, but nobody stood up to him like Bobby did. In a way, it was as if Bobby somehow knew Mr. Edwards would never tell on him, because in the end the teacher’s anger always stemmed from either Bobby or his aunt’s writing skills.

“Sit down and get your homework assignment,” Mr. Edwards snapped as soon as the tardy bell was done ringing. “Open up your books to page 121, and have your papers on your desk. I’ll come around to make sure you actually did them.”

The students got out their papers and waited for the teacher to check them off of his clipboard, while Bobby groaned and looked up at the ceiling, closing his eyes and wishing he could go back one day in time. For the second time that week Bobby had forgotten to do his homework. And this time he didn’t forget it on purpose. As of now he was making a C+ in the class, but he knew Mr. Edwards was looking for any reason to bring him down. Now he had his chance.

“Where’s your paper, Mr. Johnson?” Mr. Edwards asked sarcastically, with a high tone that everyone in the class knew was the prologue to the daily dispute. “Don’t tell me you didn’t do your homework again…”

Bobby opened he eyes and looked at Mr. Edwards. He could almost see the devilish smirk across his face. It was something that he had come to expect from his teacher. Every time he was about to say something, Bobby would see his eyes light up with excitement, his mouth drooling with anticipation of yet another potential embarrassing moment for Robert Joseph Johnson III. But he wasn’t about to embarrass Bobby, nor would he ever. There was a great possibility that Mr. Edwards was aware of this, but there are times when a man or woman simply cannot cease with a certain something. That certain something is usually quite personal and special to that certain someone. For Mr. Edwards, it was his narcissistic pride.

“Nope…I don’t have it. Sorry,” Bobby responded nonchalantly, crossing his arms and looking Mr. Edwards, just hoping to rattle with his brain.

Mr. Edwards put a mark on his clipboard next to Bobby’s name and said--loud enough for the class to hear, even though they were already listen attentively-- “I would like to see you after school today, Mr. Johnson. I’m giving you an hour of detention. Your pathetic academic habits are already getting old, and this is only the third week. I think I need to nip them in the bud now before they worsen.”

Bobby’s draw dropped, as did his pen to the floor, hitting his left foot and rolling towards the wall to his left. “But I have a baseball game an hour after school!”

“That’s not my problem. You shouldn’t have purposely forgotten the assignment.”

“I didn’t forget it on purpose! It just…slipped my mind.”

Mr. Edwards rolled his eyes and continued down the row of students. “Right, and what if I let it slip my mind that I was supposed to give you credit for a major assignment, and because of my disgraceful lack of memory you ended up with an F in this class? How would you feel about that, Mr. Johnson?”

Bobby opened his mouth to answer, but Mr. Edwards didn’t give him time to. “Obviously you would be rather upset, am I right? But how could you be upset with me? I simply forgot, just as you have done with this assignment,” he said sardonically. The class began to giggle, and he sat down at his desk and began to look over the papers he had collected. Bobby was still sitting in his chair, his jaw still open, utterly taken back by what just happened. It was rare that Mr. Edwards got the last word--because Bobby was very skillful with his comebacks--but this time it appeared to have happened. He crossed him arms and glared towards his teacher. There was no way in hell he was missing his game.

After a few minutes, Mr. Edwards rose from his desk and began to write furiously on the chalkboard. It seemed his daily quarrel with Bobby was over, much to the dismay of the classroom. However, Bobby himself wasn’t too interested in arguing anymore. Throughout all of their disputes, Mr. Andrews had never really reprimanded Bobby for anything. It was only a warring of words, with no later consequences. But now all of a sudden he wanted Bobby to stay after school for detention, and Bobby didn’t like that one bit. Mr. Andrews was taking the war to a higher level, and Bobby knew he would have to as well.

“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” Mr. Andrews began, his back still facing the class. “Born in Russia in 1821…”

But like always, Bobby didn’t care what the man had to say, even if Dostoevsky was an interesting topic. Bobby would rather piss his teacher off then listen and take notes on something that interested him. That was the type of revulsion Bobby felt for Mr. Andrews, and vice versa. And that level of hatred would only grow, just like a tree. And also like a tree, it would only continue to grow until either the howling winds bring it crashing down, or mankind itself tears it down by force.

When the final bell finally rung, the class gathered their belongings and headed out the door, then to their lockers where they would mingle around talking about what they were doing for the weekend, and if there were any good keg-parties going down. The warning bell would then ring, and some of the students would rush out to the big yellow monsters in the front of the school. Those with their own cars--which consisted of the entire upperclassmen--had the privilege of driving themselves home.

Bobby was about to walk out the door, when Mr. Andrews stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going, Mr. Johnson? I believe I was quite clear when I told you to stay after for detention.”

“Can I at least go to the bathroom first?” Bobby blurted out.

Mr. Andrews hesitated for several seconds, and then smiled a curiously evil smile that Bobby would only figure out in the future. “Yes, Mr. Johnson. Of course.”




As he walked out towards his car--a Cincinnati Red Firebird, complete with a two-foot high spoiler in the back--with his three friends, Bobby didn’t tell them about him skipping his detention. He’d probably tell Karl if they were alone later, but he couldn’t tell Maggie and Jenna, and especially Jenna. She was a stickler when it came to academics, thanks to her mom, who was an 8th grade science teacher at Jensonville Middle School. He quickly dropped Maggie and Jenna off at their respective houses, and then he and Karl headed back to Bobby’s, so he could quickly dress for his game.

“Why the hell is the game an hour after school anyway?” Karl asked as they pulled up into Bobby’s driveway.

“I don’t know, but it’s stupid. The coach doesn’t do anything but sit around home all day while his wife works at some office downtown. I guess he thinks everyone else has as much time as he does,” Bobby replied. “Just stay here, I’ll be back out in a few minutes.” Bobby left the car running, and then ran inside to get dressed.

His aunt Katie was reading a book at the dining room table, a half-empty bottle of Miller Light to her right and a bag of Funyuns on her left. “Is it Miller-Time already?” Bobby joked as she turned around in her chair to greet him.

“Funny, Bobby-O. You won’t be saying that when you’re old enough to drink. I can assure you that. When does your game start? I want to come and watch.”

“It starts in less than one hour,” Bobby yelled while climbing up the stairs to his bedroom. He dressed in roughly five minutes, probably even less, and ran back downstairs to kiss his aunt goodbye. “So you’re coming to the game? You don’t have errands to run this evening?”

“No, not tonight. But tomorrow afternoon I’m going to have to head into Greendale for some business. That’s why I want to make sure I come see you today.”

“Cool. I gotta run though, don’t wanna be late. See ya’!”

“Bye-bye, Bobby. Good luck!”

Bobby smiled and waved, and then ran out to his car, where he found Karl dancing ridiculously to some even more ridiculous music. Bobby just smiled and shook his head.

Chapter Two

“What the hell is this garbage?” Bobby asked as he started his car’s engine.

“It’s DEFA. I’m not surprised you don’t like them,” Karl said matter-of-factly.

“DEFA? What does that stand for?”

Smiling, Karl said, “Dead Eyes Feel Alive.”

Bobby rolled his eyes and then turned the volume off. “You know I don’t like that screaming crap.”

“Their ways with instruments are absolutely fantastic though. I sure wish you’d get past the screaming and listen to the instruments. You sure are one-minded when it comes to music. Besides, screaming isn’t all that bad anyway.”

“Either way it doesn’t matter, because you know I don’t like listening to music before games. I have to focus.”

“Whatever.” Karl leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes while Bobby started down the street. “Will you be pitching today?”

“Not sure. I was the starter last Wednesday, so if I do pitch it’ll probably be in relief, maybe closing the game out or something like that. I expect to play third, because that’s where I always play when I’m not pitching.”

Bobby wasn’t that too good of a hitter, but his defense was above-average, especially compared to the other players. Since it was only a recreational league, the talent wasn’t the highest around. This isn’t to say Bobby was a horrible baseball player, but he wouldn’t be near as good if he were playing with the high school kids. And in all honesty, he was a terrible pitcher. He threw relatively slow and didn’t have a good curveball or slider; but at least he threw strikes most of the time, which was more than you could say for the majority of the league he played in. And while Bobby understood that it was just a recreational league, he still hated to lose. A lot of the other kids weren’t that competitive, but he was one of the rare exceptions.

They arrived at the field in a matter of ten or so minutes, a sloppily-kept field just a tad bit smaller than the high school field that was located on the other side of the hill behind the center-field fence. Grass could be seen along foul side of the base running-paths of both first base and third base, and there were several un-filled holes in the outfield. There were two bleachers behind each dugout, but they were old, and most people just stood while the games were played. It wasn’t field of dreams by any means, but they got to play, and that’s all that mattered to them. The league itself was for the players not good enough for the high school team, even if that’s not what the president of the league says.

Monty Carmichael, a thick-skinned man with a just as thick body, claimed the league was for those who wanted to further their abilities as a ballplayer while competing at a high level. Rumor had it that he was cut from the team when he was a freshman, and that’s why he created the league. Of course no one said that out loud, or at least when Monty was around, for he was a big man and it wouldn’t be a smart move to get him angry.

When Bobby and Karl got out of the car, Monty himself was already at the ballpark inspecting the fields, making sure everything was as good as it was going to get. His love for the game was almost as much as Bobby’s, which was why the two always got along with one another. “Hey, Bobby-boy! Rain ain’t gonna hit until tonight, so we should be able to get at least three games in! Thanks to ‘da new lights we got installed last month, we could play all night if we really wanted to!”

“Good, I can’t stand it when it rains. Are you going to umpire today?”

The man rubbed his scrubby beard and chuckled, his belly bouncing up and down like a basketball. “Yeah, it looks like I’m gonna haf’ta. Sweet Willy’s sick and won’t be able to do any umpirin’ this weekend at all. Ain’t that a shame? Who wants ‘da see my fat boat bendin’ over every inning, huh?” Monty roared with laughter, now his belly bouncing even more than before.

Monty then left to talk to a couple of adults who had arrived with their sons. Karl playfully punched Bobby on the shoulder, wished him luck, and then walked over to sit on the old wobbly bleachers behind first base. Bobby walked into the first base dugout, and saw that only three other players had arrived.

“What’s up, Rob?” Dean Bernardini asked. He was tall kid with long black hair. Bobby didn’t exactly like being called Rob, but Dean had always been nice to Bobby in the past, so he never really said anything about it.

“Not much, just ready to play. Where’s everyone else at? The game starts in twenty minutes.”

It appeared as if Bobby had spoken too soon, because almost immediately after asking the question, the floodgates opened and the rest of the players—from both teams—came walking in from the outside.

“There they are,” Dean laughed. “Hey, guess what? Coach says I get to pitch today. Isn’t that awesome?”

“Yeah, just make sure not to hit anyone this time! Remember last weekend? You beamed five guys in a row before the ump made coach switch you for another player,” Bobby joked.

Dean’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red. “Yeah…well it was raining that day. Besides, coach worked with me yesterday, and I can throw a pretty good curveball…one that actually curves. I’m gonna use that a lot I think, because I’m pretty sure coach wants you to come in at about the sixth or seventh inning and finish for me. Both Benny and Enrique aren’t gonna make it tonight, and they’re our only other pitchers.”

Before Bobby could respond, Coach Dillon McKenzie walked in with a large dirty green bag slung over his shoulders. He dropped the bag onto the concrete floor, baseballs and helmets rolling out from the opening. “Hey, Bobby, I want you to get loose right now with Hammy. You’re going to be pitching tonight, but I don’t know when. Just depends on how long Dean lasts.”

Hammy, whose real name was Andy Davis, was already in his catcher’s gear, as if he already knew what was going on. “Come on, Bobby, I got ya’,” he said as he waddled out of the dugout. Hammy was definitely a big boy, but nobody could deny his skills behind the plate. He had a very strong arm, and while he usually never hit the ball while batting, when he did it always went a long, long way. He was by far the best on the team, but he was also sometimes a tad bit lazy, which was mostly why he didn’t play for Jensonville High.

Bobby quickly got into his cleats and ran out to meet Hammy, who was already squatting behind the makeshift cardboard bull-pen plate. Bobby thought he resembled something of a frightened and rolled up armadillo, only bigger. After stretching his arms and legs, Bobby walked to the flat and plate-less pitching mound. Unlike the high school fields, Monty Memorial didn’t have any kind of luxuries. “Alright, just ease ‘em in, Bobby, I had Taco Bell before coming and I’m not feeling too well. Besides, all you need to worry about is throwing strikes anyway.”

His warm-up lasted only a few minutes, and then Monty blew his whistle, signaling for the home team to take the field. Bobby was about to run out to third base, when Coach McKenzie called him in from the dugout. “Not today, Bobby. I want to save your arm in case Dean can’t go more than a couple innings. Alright?”

Bobby didn’t exactly like the idea of not starting—mostly because it would be the first time the entire season—but he didn’t say anything. Stanley Browning, his replacement, deserved a chance to play anyway because of his work-ethic, and Bobby knew that. He sat on the bench as the first player from the away team stepped away. Neither team really had names, or at least not official ones. The players usually voted on names and that was that. Bobby’s team was the Galloping Geese, and the other team was The Rage. The names were more for fun than anything.

After the first pitch by Dean, which amazingly was a strike, Bobby looked out into the crowd for his aunt. Normally when she came to his games, which wasn’t that often, she’d be sitting next to Karl. They were one of the few brave enough to sit on the old rickety bleachers. But as he looked out, he only saw Karl. Aunt Katie was nowhere in sight. Suddenly Bobby heard a ping, and he looked back to see the baseball rolling slowly towards third base. Stanley fielded the ball, and Bobby cringed as he clumsily lobbed the ball to Jacob Tamme at first base. Luckily the throw was on target, and they got the runner out by a mere foot. The runner, a speedster from a private school who Bobby knew only as Jangles, argued with the first base umpire for a few seconds before stomping back to his team’s dugout.

The next two batters reached base by means of hits in between second and first, and then Dean got the next player to pop up to Hammy. Two outs and runner on first and second. Not too bad of a predicament, but the batter walking to the plate next was the Rage’s power hitter, a boy by the name of Grady Hearth. Grady was only sixteen years old, two years younger than most of the others, but he packed quite a punch with his swing, as well as his mouth. Despite his age, he was just as big, if not bigger, than everyone else in terms of height and weight. And he’d probably be on the high school team if it weren’t for his bad grades. The boy was downright stupid.

“Move over to the line and back up, Stan! He pulls the ball hard every time! You too, Jason!” Hammy called out to Stanley, and Jason Ladd out in left field. It was true what he said about Grady. He was a right-handed batter who always hit the ball hard, but usually in the third baseman’s or left-fielder’s direction.

Grady dug his cleats into the soft dirt and took a practice swing. Then he stepped into the batter’s box and Hammy gave Dean the sign: a changeup on the lower outside part of the plate. Dean wasn’t sure whether he saw the sign right, since he very rarely threw a changeup, but sure enough Hammy gave the same signal, this time wiggling his sausage-like index finger in frustration. Dean threw the pitch, only to watch it hit the dirt before even making it to the plate. But despite the terrible aim, Grady swung anyway, hitting nothing by air.

“There ya’ go, Dean!” Hammy yelled from behind his catcher’s mask while throwing the ball back to his pitcher.

Grady had been too anxious and greedy, just as Hammy had predicted. He knew the kid liked to hammer the ball as hard as he could, sometimes swinging at bad pitches and missing horribly. Despite knowing that, Hammy got too greedy. After throwing the ball back to Dean, he squatted down and gave the next sign, another changeup. Since the last one had been so effective, Dean did not give another strange stare. After all, Hammy was vastly intelligent when it came to baseball. Dean threw the pitch, and this time Grady was waiting heavily on his back foot. He waited patiently for the ball to come, and cracked a screaming liner at least ten feet over Stanley’s head. The pitch was supposed to have been in the same spot, but Dean left it up and in, and he was probably lucky that Grady didn’t crush it out of the park.

The ball rolled quickly across the tall grass towards Jason, and he picked it up after only one hop. Seconds before he caught the ball he heard Hammy yell “Home! Home! Home!” because the runner from second was rounding third and heading home. Without hesitation Jason launched the ball back into the infield, bouncing only two times and then landing in Hammy’s thick glove. The throw from Jason was right on target, and almost at the same time Hammy caught the ball, the runner from third (another small, fast kid by the name of Lee Doogle) ran into him as hard as he could. But because of his size he simply bounced off of the much heavier Hammy, landed hard on the dirt floor.

A humongous cloud of dust circled around home plate, and once everything was clear, and umpire Monty saw that Hammy still held the baseball in his glove, he yelled in a deep bellowing voice, “Yeeeer out!” The Rage’s bench was in an uproar, and Larry got up from the ground and pushed Hammy. Hammy was about to push him back, but Monty separated the two as the two team’s coaches came running from the benches. The Rage’s coach, a normally calm man by the name of David Copperstone (Jangles’ father) yelled, while keeping Lee away from Hammy, “That boy shoved my player to the ground!”

Coach McKenzie, all the while keeping his own player from scuffling, replied “No he didn’t! Your player ran straight into mine as soon as he caught the ball! It was a bang-bang play, nobody did anything wrong!”

The two coaches argued back and forth for several seconds. The Rages players were all hanging outside of their dugout, while Bobby and his teammates were trying to calm down Hammy, who was only getting angrier by the second. At last, Monty ruled that there was no foul from either player, and he gave Len a warning for shoving Hammy. Both teams went back to where they were, and the game continued.

Dean got the next guy up to bat to ground out to second base, and the inning was over. The next six innings went about the same, with neither team doing much on offense. But during the top of the eight is when Dean ran into trouble. He pitched a hell of a game for the first seven innings, but after getting two quick outs he had walked the next three batters. His arm was done, and Coach McKenzie gave Bobby his orders. “Alright, Bobby, just one more out,” he said to Bobby on the mound while rubbing the baseball, a ritual he always performed when there was a pitching change. He handed the ball to Bobby, and then walked back to the dugout so his pitcher could take a few warm-up pitches.

In between every pitch Bobby looked into the stands to see his Aunt Katie, but she still wasn’t there. He knew she had either forgotten—which was possible, given how engrossed she was whenever she started typing away at her keyboard on her newest story—or something had came up. Bobby hoped for the latter, because he was really excited when Katie said she was going to come. It wasn’t like her to suggest something like that, especially on busy Fridays. Still, all he saw was Karl. And while that wasn’t too bad, he still wanted his aunt to see him pitch.

After warming up, Hammy trudged out to the mound to personally hand him the ball. “Alright, Bobby, let’s get outta here without letting up a run. Jangles is up to bat, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to lay down a bunt, on either side of the field. Obviously he’s a right-handed contact hitter, and he hates to be pitched inside. Just give me fastballs, high and inside.”

“Fastball?” Bobby asked, an unsure expression set about his face. “But wouldn’t that be what Jangles wants?”

“No. When bunting, Jangles looks for changeups and curves because they are slow. Your fastball is slow, but at least it’s not as slow as your changeup and curve. Trust me on this, Bobby. Besides, you throw mainly fastballs anyway, so what’s the big deal?”

“But what if he doesn’t bunt? What if he swings?”

Hammy winked and said, “Then pray somebody on this goddamn field can throw ‘im out.”

He then trotted back to the plate, leaving Bobby with his jaws still open. Hammy squatted down and give him the sing, and Bobby threw the pitch. The ball hit the very inside corner, but low. Jangles got the bunt down, but the ball immediately landed in foul territory on the left side of the field. The umpire gave Hammy a new ball and he threw it to Bobby, giving him a menacing look. The pitch was supposed to have been high, not low. One more mistake like that and Jangles would make them pay. Hammy and Bobby both knew this. But unfortunately for Bobby, and eventually the rest of the team as a whole, Bobby saw someone in the crowd behind first base. It was a very tall man wearing a bright yellow rain jacket, with a yellow fisherman’s hood to match. Why the hell is he wearing a rain jacket? Bobby thought to himself. The man looked to be somewhere near seven feet tall, and skinny as a rail. He was standing on the ground, right beside where Karl was sitting. But Karl paid no attention to him, and instead yelled something towards Bobby that he couldn’t hear, probably words of encouragement.

“Bobby, what’s wrong?” Suddenly Bobby snapped out of it and realized his coach was yelling at him from the dugout. He looked at his coach, and then back at the stands. The man in the yellow rain jacket was no longer there.

“Bobby, throw the ball!” Hammy yelled from behind the plate. So Bobby went into his wind-up, trying to take his mind off of the strange man he had just seen, and threw the next pitch towards home-plate. Again, his pitch was supposed to be high and inside, but this time it hit the dirt before reaching home, on the outside part of the plate. Hammy wasn’t able to get to it in time, and the ball rolled all the way to the backstop some ten yards away. Both runners advanced, and now second and third base were both occupied. Hammy threw the ball back to Bobby aggressively, and then walked back behind the plate looking quite disgruntled.

Bobby looked back into the stands, to see that the man was still nowhere to be seen. What the hell? he thought. I must have just…imagined he was there. He threw the next pitch, but unfortunately he was still thinking about the man. The ball landed in the middle of the strike zone, and Jangled bunted it about ten feet down the first base line. Bobby took off running as fast as he could, picked up the ball on the run with his bare hand, and then tossed it underhand to first base while falling to the ground. They got the runner out by no more than a foot. This time there was no arguing, and the two teams walked back to the dugout.

“What’s going on, Bobby? You didn’t hit any of your spots out there,” Hammy said as Bobby was taking a drink from the water-cooler.

“I’ll be fine. Just hit a homer for us and I’ll be even better.”

But Hammy did not hit a homerun, nor did he hit anything at all. The opposing pitcher struck all three batters out, and the Galloping Gooses were forced back onto the field after a mere five minutes of rest.

Bobby got the first two batters to ground out and fly out to first base, but up next was Grady. Two outs in the top of the ninth, both benches were standing. It was still a scoreless game, but Bobby was well aware of how fast that could change. Hammy knew this too, which is why he ran up to the mound to visit his pitcher while Grady was walking up to bat.

“How ya’ feeling, Bobby?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Good,” he lied. Truthfully, he felt as if a million butterflies with sharp metal wings were ripping at his insides.

“Well, you already know who’s up to bat. He’s not going to miss on any mistake like a Jangles did. We have to be extremely careful, Bobby. Keep everything low and outside and we’ll be alright. One mess-up and the game is over. I really don’t feel like losing to these semipermeable. Alright?”

He was trying to say all of this in a comforting tone, but at the same time it was simple deception. In reality, Hammy didn’t trust Bobby, at least not during this particular game. He could tell something was bothering his pitcher, but he just couldn’t figure out what it was. “I got it, Hammy. Don’t worry about it.”

Hammy nodded and jogged back to home plate. Meanwhile, Bobby circled around the mound and took a few deep breaths. Grady was taking his practice swings, so he had time to think about things for a few seconds. When he was done he got back on the pitcher’s mound. Out in the stands, everything was still normal. But as he started his windup and looked at home, Bobby saw the man in the yellow rain jacket standing behind the fence. He was peering at Bobby with a set of devilishly smiling lips. Bobby lost on concentration and had no clue where his pitch would go as it left his hand. The ball, though supposed to have been on the outside part of the strike zone, instead landed smack dab in the middle, just as it did with Jangles. But unlike Jangles, Grady didn’t bunt the ball. Instead, he belted it with a powerful swing, sending it soaring over Jason’s head and clear over the left field fence.

The Rage’s bench cleared and they all ran to home plate, screaming and cheering at the top of their lungs. Their fans cheered wildly as Grady rounded third and then stepped on home plate—or rather jumped on home plate with great force, as if to add insult to the already tremendous injury. Bobby looked around as his teammates walked back to the dugout. He stood there for a while, not knowing what to do. He had never given up a homerun, and the feeling was something he didn’t like at all. A mixture of feeling like vomiting and something else he couldn’t quite explain. Bobby looked for the man in the yellow rain jacket, but again…he was nowhere to be found.

He got the next player to strike out, but the next inning they three up and three down, scoring zero runs. The game was over, and Bobby and his team had lost.

“It’s alright, Bobby. You did you best,” Coach said to him as he walked into the dugout. Most everyone was still changing into their shoes, except for Hammy. According to Dean, he stomped out of the dugout still in his fear, cursing up a storm that Coach McKenzie yelled at him for. Bobby was unaware of anything this, for he was too preoccupied with his failure on the field. He had been in somewhat of a trance.

“No, coach…you don’t have to sugarcoat it. I lost us the game, and that’s it.”

Then Coach McKenzie, like all good coaches do, tried to console his player and tell him it was just something that happened once in a while to everyone. But Bobby wouldn’t have any of that. He didn’t want to hear excuses. He remembered his aunt saying something long ago when Bobby tried to explain why he had failed his math test. “Excuses are like semipermeable. Everybody has one.” And that is exactly how he felt right then and there as his coach was trying to make things better.

Outside the dugout, Karl was waiting for him, his head engrossed in a book he had brought along, called Through the Trees. “Hey, Bobby,” he said softly after he realized his friend had came out of the dugout. He could tell Bobby was pissed, so he said no more.




“I swear, Bobby, I didn’t see anyone wearing a bright yellow rain jacket. I think you’re going insane…”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter I guess. Do you need to stop buy your house before going to the Spaghetti Factory?”

“Yeah, I’d like to take a shower first.”

“Same here. I’ll just drop you off and then pick you up once I’m done getting ready. Sound alright?”

“Sure.”

After dropping Karl off at his house, which was only a few houses down from his, Bobby parked his car in his own driveway and entered the house. He shouted for his aunt, but he received no answer. Inside the kitchen table her laptop was closed, signaling that she was likely gone. Bobby peeked out through the side door into the garage, and sure enough, her cherry-red Honda Civic was nowhere to be seen.

Weird…maybe she did have some errands to run after all. Bobby shrugged it off and walked upstairs to change into clean clothes. He wasn’t that disappointed by his aunt’s absence during his game, because he was used to it. She stopped coming a few years back when she was working hard at her latest novel. Even back then, Bobby understand how much the novel meant to her, so he didn’t bother asking her to come and see him. It was simply a natural occurrence now-a-days.

After throwing his dirty uniform into the clothing hamper, inside a small closet in the middle of the hallway next to his room, Bobby stepped into the shower and turned on the water. While showering, he thought more and more about the man he had seen during the game. Bobby didn’t want to believe that he imagined something so strange and random, but he knew Karl would never lie to him. Besides, why would he? Leaving the shower drenched in water, Bobby quickly dried himself off and threw on a pair of jeans and an old T-shirt given to him by his aunt that read “Real Men Write Books.” Then he phoned Karl to see if he was ready, and he was not.

“Fine. I’ll just go pick up Maggie and Jenny first, and then I’ll swing around and get you. Alright?”

Before leaving he left a sticky-note on his aunt’s laptop, telling him where he was going, and that he didn’t know when he’d be home. It was now the weekend and his aunt let him stay out as long as he wanted, since there was enforced curfew in Jensonville. What he did not notice, however, was that there had been a similar sticky-note resting on his own closed laptop up in his room.

I know this chapter is short, especially compared to the first two, but it keeps the story moving along.

Chapter Three

One of Bobby’s favorite luxuries in life was his car’s stereo system. He knew not how much it cost his aunt exactly, but he knew she paid a lot of money for it. Two years ago on his sixteen birthday—the day when he was officially and legally allowed to drive alone without a parent or guardian—Karl asked him to go see a movie. The two came back later in the evening, and resting in the driveway was a shiny black firebird. Karl had been a part of his aunt’s scheme, and only wanted to go to the movies so that Bobby’s aunt would have enough time to pick up the car and bring it home. Bobby had been overwhelmed with joy that day, and the joy only greatened when he first heard the stereo inside.

Now, as he was driving towards Maggie’s to pick up her and Jenny, he was listening to Lover Boy full blast. It was an 80’s rock band, and even though Bobby was living in the early 2000’s, music from the 80’s was still fairly popular with a large group of people, mostly adults already having lived through that particular era of music. Bobby had his aunt to thank for his taste in music. There were a few new bands that he enjoyed, but most of his CDs were 80’s bands such as Queen, Lover Boy, Styx, Aerosmith, and many others. Some of those bands still play to this day, but their roots began to grow in the somewhere in the 1980’s.

He pulled up into the driveway of a small one-story house without a garage, and honked his horn twice. A tree was in the way where he could not see the front door, but within a matter of no more than thirty seconds Maggie and Jenny appeared, both holding their purses just like all high school girls did. It was some sort of fad that somewhat irritated Bobby, because to him the girls did it just because they thought it made them more of an adult. And while this was legally true for those eighteen years old, like Maggie and Jenny, it still bothered him because he wasn’t old enough to understand such girly things.

“Hey, Bobby,” Maggie said as she leaned down and climbed into the car, her purse banging against the side of the car near the gas tank. That was the difference between her purse and Jenny’s, in that Maggie’s could probably be considered a backpack, while Jenny’s was large enough to hold the essential things such as Kleenexes, her cell phone, money, and other things Bobby didn’t like want to talk about. “Sorry about that,” Maggie added after Bobby gave her a questionable look as her purse banged into his car once more.

As usual, Jenny sat in the back seat without muttering more than a quiet “hi”. She was relatively shy, something Bobby sort of admired. She talked a fair bit around Bobby, Maggie and Karl, but she tended to avoid big crowds. Bobby didn’t mind it any other way, but he was almost mystified as to why Jenny was so reserved. She was very attractive, skinny but not too skinny, and was easily the most talented artist in Jensonville High, and perhaps in all of Jensonville as a whole, including both children and adults. But even though he didn’t understand it, he still respected her ways and never pestered her about it. Besides, it was really none of his business to begin with.

“Hey, Bobby, what do you think about Sebastian’s Abode? Do you think it’s stupid like Karl does?”

“Well…I don’t really know, because I just don’t know much about it. It came from a book first, right?”

“Yes. J.G. Winters wrote it about seven years ago I think.”

Bobby stopped at a red light, and then looked into the backseat for a couple of seconds while he still had time. “Fantasy really isn’t my thing, because it can’t be real, you know? It’s just too…out there for me. I read that fantasy novel you gave me a while back, and that was alright I guess. It’s just not my thing.”

Maggie seemed disappointed by his answer. “Well obviously it’s fake, Bobby. But what about your science-fiction nonsense? It’s no different,” she said in a defensive tone, crossing her arms and almost scowling at Bobby. She didn’t like it when Bobby agreed with Karl.

“Well, I hate to say it, Mag…but you’re wrong.”

“Oh please! I suppose you think Star Wars is real?”

“That’s different. To me, Star Wars is both fantasy [i]and science fiction. But let me ask you this. Have you ever read 2001: A Space Odyssey, By Arthur Clarke?”

“No.”

“Well…it’s science fiction as well, but it’s not far off from reality. In fact, Clarke was pretty spot-on with of the stuff we wrote. But science fiction simply varies with what you read. The difference between sci-fi and fantasy is that fantasy is pretty much fake all the way around. That’s my opinion at least.”

Suddenly an angry driver behind him honked, and Bobby continued down the road to Karl’s house.

“Whatever. Boys are dumb sometimes. Don’t you agree, Jen?”

Jenny, whose nose was buried deep within another one of her sketches, offered a meek, “Yeah, sure.”

Maggie just rolled her eyes and smiled, having been used to her friend’s subconscious answers for a long time. Jenny was so engrossed with her artwork Maggie almost thought it creepy in a way. It was as if Jenny’s entire life depended on artwork and artwork only, and Maggie didn’t like that. Of course in reality, they were both as different as two people could be. Maggie liked to gossip, drink, and watch Comedy Central. Meanwhile, Jenny rarely spoke outside of the Fantazmic Four, would never think of drinking (thanks to her deadbeat father), and only watched TV whenever she wanted to check the news, which was a rare phenomena itself.

Soon Bobby pulled into Karl’s driveway, and then honked the horn. After a few minutes without an answer, Bobby honked again. Still no answer after a few more minutes. “Where the hell is he?” Bobby asked himself out loud.

“I bet he’s playing that stupid game on his computer again. What is it called again?”

Bobby sighed and unbuckled his seatbelt. “I forgot, but you’re probably right. Wait here, I’ll go knock.”

He got up from out of the car and walked up the driveway to knock on Karl’s door. There weren’t any cars parked in the driveway, so his parents were obviously away. But after waiting what seemed like an hour, and knocking several additional times in between, Bobby again received no answer. So he called Karl’s cell phone, and still got nothing.

“He’s still not answering?” Maggie yelled from the car, a bit of worry caught in her throat.

“No. I’m gonna go ahead and go inside, to make sure nothing’s wrong. Just wait out here,” Bobby called back.

Truthfully, he was worried something was happening to his friend…or already had happened. And normally he wouldn’t just barge into someone’s home uninvited, but to him this was a special occasion. What if he had suffered a heart attack, or what if he had for some reason passed out onto the floor, with no one to help him? Or…what if it was something worse? Then again, what if it was nothing at all? Karl had been known to accidentally doze off every now and then, so that was certainly a possibility. Still, if that were the case, would he have been able to sleep through the honks, knocks and missed phone calls?

He opened the door carefully, as if he were waiting for something from inside to pop out and scare him. The lights were on in the living room, as was the TV. The Simpsons was on, but the volume appeared to be on mute. Bobby walked into the hallway adjacent to the living room, and then into the kitchen right beside it. None of the lights were on, and it appeared Karl hadn’t even been in either. He called out loudly several times, but received the same silent answers as before. That’s when he walked up the stairs and entered Karl’s room.

Before he could do anything someone grabbed him from behind around the neck. Suddenly a something, likely a piece of cloth, was wrapped around his head and over his mouth, barely allowing him to breath, let alone call for help. He tried kicking and punching whoever his ambusher was, but he or she pinned Bobby against the head, his head hitting hard against the sky blue-colored wall. He felt extremely dizzy and immediately felt a tremendous headache coming on. The attacker bashed his head against the wall one more time, and that was lights out for Bobby Johnson.

Chapter Four

When Bobby’s baby-blue eyes opened, he wasn’t at first aware of it. He could see nothing but complete darkness, but as he began to blink he realized he had been blindfolded. He could smell a fire, and something cooking as well. Wind brushed against his body, and he knew he was somewhere outside.

Oh compassion, oh compassion…where the hell am I? What the hamster happened?

Someone belched to his right, a deep belch coming from what Bobby guessed was a middle-aged man. Footsteps followed the belch, coming Bobby’s way and getting closer by the second. Suddenly his blindfolded was lifted, and he indeed face to face with an old man…or so he thought. Once his eyes adjusted to the light Bobby realized it wasn’t an old man, but rather someone likely in his mid-forties. The scraggly and overlong beard made him look older than he probably was.

“You finally awake, huh? That’s good…your friends are still sleepin’ and I’m gettin’ lonely. Bear’s still huntin’ for supper, but I got some beans cookin’ in the kettle in case ya’ can’t wait.”

The man smiled a wide and almost toothless grin. He didn’t appear to be hostile, though Bobby’s hands and feet were bound together by a rope that was already agitating his skin. He looked to his left and saw Karl, Maggie and Jenny; all three were in the same position as he, except their blindfolds were still covering their eyes.

“Who the hamster are you? Where are we?” Bobby yelled at the man. Bobby normally didn’t cuss, especially around people. But this time he didn’t even notice he had cursed to begin with.

The man messed with his messy, gray and black long hair and gave Bobby a confused look. “Now that’s not very nice for ya’ to say, lad. I just took yer blindfold off, didn’t I? The least ya’ could do is thank me,” the man said, in a sort of southern accent. “And to answer yer second question, we’re in the forests to the northwest of your little town of yours.”

Bobby was greatly confused, and didn’t really know what to think. “You…you were the one who jumped me back in town, right? The one who banged my head against the wall?”

“No…that wasn’t me. That was Bear. Sorry he had to go and hurt ya’, but he said ya’ wouldn’t stay still. I hope he didn’t hurt ya’ too bad though. The swellin’ from yer bump seems to be goin’ away, so that’s good…”

Bobby felt a large bump on the right side of his forehead, and he remembered the headache it had almost immediately caused. Now, feeling the bump, he could sense another one coming along. “Who are you?” He repeated to the man.

The man, hesitant at first, finally answered, “The name’s Pat. I don’t remember my last name, but that’s not important. What’s yer name?”

Bobby just sat there, utterly perplexed and filled with sheer anger at the same time. “Why did you kidnap me and my friends?”

“Well, because we need yer help o’course,” Pat said, as if Bobby should have already known. “But I can’t tell ya’ what that is. I think yer askin’ too many questions right now. How about-“

“NO! Tell me what the hamster is going on!” Bobby tried to rise from his position, and that’s when he figured out was also tied to a tree, with the same type of rope.

Pat sighed, and then stood up to stretch his arms. Because he was only a few feet from him, Bobby could smell his underarms. The man had terrible body-odor. “Listen, lad…Bear and I ain’t gettin’ any older. Granted we ain’t exactly too old just yet, but we’re certainly gettin’ there. We need young men like yerselves to carry on what Bear and me have already begun.”

“But what about the girls? What are they here for?”

“Well…they posed us a problem. They came bargin’ in the house tryin’ to save ya’ and that there black boy, so we had to take ‘em as well. Bear wants to kill ‘em, but I ain’t lettin’ him. It ain’t right, ya’ know? I have a feelin’ they’ll be able to help, especially that one with the long blonde hair,” he said, pointing to Jenny. “Fer some reason I can tell she’s a special one. The one with the red hair, though, she’s an aggressive one, she is. Kicked Bear right in the balls!” he laughed wildly.

“He didn’t hurt her did he?”

“’Fraid so, lad. But it’s okay, cause she ain’t too bad off I s’pose. Nothin’ more than a black eye and a busted lip is all.”

“You bastards better let me and my friends go, or-“

“Or what, lad?” Pat interrupted. “Yer out in the middle of nowhere. These woods stretch for miles and miles before runnin’ inta’ any kind a city. Whether ya’ like it or not, ya ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Before Bobby could reply, something moved behind the bushes to the right of him and Pat. Stepping out from them was a giant of a man. “Ah, here’s Bear,” Pat exclaimed excitedly.

Bobby thought Bear was certainly a suitable name for the man. He looked to be somewhere around seven feet tall, was as round of St. Nicklaus himself, and had a dark brown beard that looked more like a mane than anything. Bobby thought he looked older than Pat, maybe already in his mid-fifties or so. In his massive, hairy hands was the limp body of a dead deer, a full grown buck. Bobby didn’t want to imagine how the man had been able to capture in agile deer.

“Dammit, Pat, what is his blindfold doing untied?” Bear growled, eying Bobby with an angry glare. He then threw the deer to the ground and walked over to Pat, where he snatched the blindfold and proceeded to tie it back over defenseless Bobby’s face. But before he could actually tie it, Pat stopped him.

“Why must ya’ insist on treatin’ these children so terribly? If they’re gonna be any help to us, the least ya’ can do is treat ‘em decently enough. Don’t ya agree, Bear?”

Bear grumbled something underneath his breath and then through the blindfold back to Pat. Then he stomped over to where a new-looking tent was set up. Bobby was surprised that the two men, who appeared to be homeless bums, had a brand new camping tent in their possession. He was about to ask more questions, but then something stirred to his right and a shrill sound pieced his ears, causing him to jump out of fright.

Maggie had woken up, and she was screaming at the top of her lungs.

Chapter Four

“Shut that hamster cave girl up!” Bear roared with all of his might. He walked over to Maggie, who was still aimlessly screaming at the top of her lungs, and shook her shoulders violently. This made the pitch of her scream cut in and out with different tones. When she did not cease in the yelling, Bear only shook harder, harder and harder until Bobby thought her neck would snap.

“Stop shaking her, you’re going to hurt her!” Bobby yelled.

Bear immediately stopped, as if realizing the small boy was right. By this time Maggie had stopped yelling, but was now crying. “Bobby?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Mag. It’s alright, it’s gonna be alright. It’s-“

“Ah, shut the hamster up!” Bear said as he let Maggie fall to the ground. “You stop yelling, or I swear I’ll do more than shake you! You’re lucky Pat actually likes you brats! Why I don’t know, but then again, he does things all the time that I don’t understand…”

He walked to the tent Bobby had noticed earlier and entered. Bobby was amazed at how his humongous body seemed to fit inside the tent without ripping holes and tears throughout. Pat had walked over to Maggie, and was now whispering to her, just loud enough for Bobby to hear. “There, there, dearie. Bear ain’t as bad as he seems. He’s just in a bad mood today. He expected us have already arrived at the Grove, but we had to pick up ya’ young-ins o’course. You and the red-haired lass ain’t supposed to be here, but well…ya’ sorta got in the way.”

He tried waving through her thick set of blonde hair with his hands, but she jerked her head out of the way. And she would have clawed and kicked the man’s face off if it weren’t for her bindings. “Get the hamster off me!” she yelled. Bobby could tell by the tremble in her voice that she was crying. He felt like doing so himself, but at the moment he was more shocked than anything.

At that moment, Karl and Jenny both began to stir, and within moments they too woke up from their slumber. “What’s going on?” Karl yelled loudly. Jenny’s head was moving around in all directions, not knowing what to do or what to say. “I can’t see! I can’t see anything!” he said loudly, a little too loudly for Bear’s taste.

He came lumbering out of the tent and charged towards Karl. Pat tried to stop him from doing anything, but Bear simply shoved him aside with his massive arm as if Pat were a mere ragdoll. Then he ripped Karl up from the ground so hard that the binds on his feet and wrists broke with a loud tear. Karl screamed out in pain and fear, and then Bear tore the blindfold from his face. Bobby saw Karl’s wide, frightened eyes. And that was the last thing he saw out of his friend while alive, for Bear took the boy’s body in both hands and slammed him against the tree behind them. Karl’s back hit it with a sickening crack, and the screaming immediately stopped. He rolled limply down the hill, and Bear’s livid eyes watched him the entire way.

“What just happened?” Maggie yelled. Jenny kept looking in all directions, when finally even she muttered the same question.

“Hush up!” Bear yelled, but even he knew the damage he had just done.

He wasn’t supposed to kill Karl, and by looking at Pat’s amazed face Bobby could clearly see that. Pat said something soft in between Jenny’s and Maggie’s cries, and then they both hurried into the tent. They were talking loudly, but Bobby still couldn’t hear what they were saying.

“Bobby, are you alright?” Maggie asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You?”

“I guess. Where the hell are we, Bobby? What happened just then? Is Karl okay?”

“I don’t know,” he lied, not yet wanting to upset the two girls even more than they already were. “Jenny, are you alright?”

“I…I think so. We’ve been kidnapped?”

“That’s what it looks like. One of them took my blindfold off, but my wrists and ankles are still tied together.”

Bobby himself couldn’t cry, but only because he was too scared and shocked at what was happening. The events taking place were so surreal…almost as if he were in some kind of hideous everlasting nightmare. We wished it were a nightmare, but he knew it wasn’t. The only thing he couldn’t figure out was why. Why had this strange men captured them? It was a question he desperately wanted answers to, but he knew he wouldn’t get them anytime soon. At least not a clear answer anyway.

“Karl is dead, isn’t he?” Maggie asked softly.

“Yes…yes, he is.”

She began to weep quietly at first, as did Jenny seconds later. Then they got louder, and Bobby was finding it harder to keep himself under control. He was the only male of the group. And though he didn’t know it yet, he saw himself as the person who had to keep the girls safe from harm, even though he had literally no control of what was presently going on. He didn’t want to cry, but soon reality tugged at his emotions with its sharp talons and that was it. Bobby titled his head down and started bawling his eyes out.


About ten minutes or so later, Bear and Pat emerged from the tent, Bear looking just as angry as before and Pat looking just as gentle and innocent as before. Pat walked up to Jenny and Maggie, tearing their blindfolds and binds with sharp knife. They continued to cry, but then Bear took over.

“I will not stand for anymore yelling. It drives me crazy…it literally hurts my brain. If you do scream, your fate will be the same as the felllow’s. Pat doesn’t like to see the violence, but Pat doesn’t like a lot of things. That’s because he hasn’t seen what I have seen. We are both the same, yes, but at the same time we are both incredibly different all the same. Does that make sense to you? It likely does not, but that is okay. I won’t explain it; because it’s none of your business, at least not now anyway. Now…now I will let Pat speak, because I know the three of you of you dying to find out why you’re here. I myself shall enter the woods for a bit, if anything to let my boiling blood come to a smooth halt. The anger is still bubbling inside of me, and I fear I may snap at even the tiniest of things.”

And with that he left the camp area, heading back into the forest the same way he had exited earlier. Pat moved up and sat on the ground Indian-style, where he had a clear view of all three children at once. He had a strange expression set about his hairy face, and he almost looked both happy and sad at the same time. Bobby could tell the man wanted to burst out with an overload of words.

“As I’ve already told the boy,” he began gently, his hands folded in his lap, “My name is Pat. Bear and I have been conductin’ a sort of…project….for a while now. It ain’t much right now, but that’s where you come in. Unfortunately fer you two lasses, you’ll both have to come along as well. If ya’ hadn’t of put up a fight we coulda’ left ya’ there in yer city. But ya’ both came to yer friends’ rescue…and I respect that. Still, you’ll hafta go through what the boy will as well. It’s terrible what happened to the black boy, and I swear to ya’ I wish I could take back what happened. But I can’t. Bear has anger problems, and I mean that. It’s best that ya’ listen to whatever he says, especially when he’s angry like he is today.”

“Wait,” Maggie interrupted abruptly. “Why are we here? Why did you kidnap us?”

“Well, lass, I was just gettin’ to that. The Grove, our project’s destination, lies to the northwest of here, and in the middle of this forest itself. There the Grove lies, its mysteries and obscurities wait, restin’ within its defenses…whatever they may be. That is why the boys were kidnapped. And like I just said, you two lasses were brought along simply cause ya’ made us.”

Maggie didn’t know what to say, mostly because she was in the same amount of shock as everyone else. Then Jenny spoke up meekly. “What is at the Grove? Why do you want to find it?”

“The answer to my and Bear’s problem lies inside the grove. And the grove itself is…well, I ain’t gonna say. But we want to find it cause it holds the answers to the problems that our father left us with. You see, Bear and I are brothers, whether or not our appearances say so. We ain’t right, ya’ see, for several reasons. But this is all I can say I’m afraid. I’m afraid what Bear would do if he found out I mentioned any more of the Grove than I was supposed to. Now, I have no idea when Bear will be back, but ain’t gonna be long. If ya’ wanna go see yer black friend, go ahead. But don’t run off, cause I swear it ain’t worth the tryin’.” He stood up, as if than in itself concluded the short speech. “Well…go on. Hurry before Bear gets back.”

The three children looked at each other confusingly for a couple of seconds, and then hurried to their fallen friend.

First off.....the chapter above ISN'T the fourth, it's supposed to be the fifth. I don't feel like editing it because then the coding will somehow replace the quotation marks with stupid symbols. Either way it doesn't matter, because I'm scrapping this story. I don't know....it just hasn't been a lot of fun since the second chapter. That....and I think there are too many mistakes that I've made. I tried a few new things out, and I'm happy with that, but I can't continue to write this. Sorry. (for those who were interested in the first place)