CHAPTER 3
ELVIS
As Johnny backed the Tempo into the street Sally and Welborne stepped out of the factory and saw him leaving. They both called out his name as the old car lurched away but Johnny pretended not to notice them.
He drove towards his apartment in a frenzy, with hairy little Ned slumped unconscious in the passenger seat beside him. Hospital? Doctor? Veterinarian? Impossible; usually Ned appeared to be a goatish creature, though not the sex-crazed satyr creature of Greek myth. Right now his shape was slowly changing from little goat man to that of a smallish sasquatch and back again. Most of the People assumed sasquatch form much of the time, but Ned charged to many shapes and liked the goat-man shape best. Johnny knew that he must be very sick if he was reverting to a sasquatch shape.
Ned was exhausted, that much was clear, far too exhausted to consciously shape-change. He was ill perhaps, but professional medical help from humans was totally out of the question.
Besides, Johnny had a feeling that human medicine wasn’t the answer. He had to somehow get the ailing goat man back to Goth Mountain, back to the magic. He felt for Ned’s pulse, but found none. Was he even supposed to have one? Johnny wasn’t entirely sure.
He pulled off the road and stopped. Intuitively, he pulled his father’s gold watch from his pocket. Maybe as Mom had told him it was just superstition, but ever since Uncle Mort had given it to him he always carried it with him wherever he went. When he needed reassurance or strength, he held it tight, and it seemed almost as though his father was there with him, giving him whatever strength he needed.
He examined the unicorn inscribed on the front cover, something he had done thousands of times. The workmanship was exquisite; the creature seemed almost alive. Currently the image was of a unicorn that stood proudly facing him, looking out at him quietly. Even as he watched it the unicorn figure moved slightly, shifting the aim of its spiral horn a few degrees. Perhaps most mysterious were the unicorn’s eyes. Mere tiny dark pinpoints they were now, but they seemed to take on added dimensionality when they were studied carefully. Deep as night, the eyes seemed to reach out to his mind and soul.
He looked also at the back of the watch and reassured himself that images of both him and his father were still there. Over the years, Johnny’s image gradually grew and aged as he did, and his father’s aged as well. The mysterious watch was magic of some sort, it had to be. It helped him hold on to his strange memories of Goth Mountain, despite what his mother said. Also the watch helped him remember his father. He remembered that his father could do amazing things, things that Johnny could also do as he grew older.
There were many unusual things about Johnny Goth. He had never been sick or had even as much as a zit. Once he broke an arm. Neighbors rushed him to a hospital, but shortly after his mother joined them at the emergency room, it was mended. “You were mistaken about it being broken, that’s all,” his mother had explained, though the neighbors, doctor and nurse looked at them both strangely. The neighbors avoided them after that.
Particularly after that incident Ann had taken pains to disguise Johnny’s unusual state of health in various ways. She kept him home from school sometimes when other children were suffering from flu, though he himself was healthy. She wouldn’t let him play sports with the other children until he was mature enough to limit his performance. She also made him wear thick glasses.
He broke a lens when he was thirteen. He found that within moments his eyes adjusted to not wearing glasses. He didn't need them but his Mom insisted that he wear them anyway. By the time he left home for college he was so used to them that he decided to keep right on wearing them. When he took them off at night however, his eyes immediately adjusted to their absence.
There were many things that Johnny could do that other people couldn’t, but he had learned to avoid doing them and stirring up trouble, especially trouble with Mother. However the capabilities were still there, and since leaving home he dabbled with them more and more when he was alone, amusing himself by telepathically communicating with animals, or causing pencils or chairs to spin or levitate. He avoided most sports to disguise the fact that he could also greatly enhance his already considerable physical strength and endurance.
He could also communicate telepathically; he could read peoples’ thoughts sometimes or project his own, but had been so strongly discouraged by his mother from doing so that he hardly ever tried doing it in recent years. “It’s a bad, indecent thing to try to read someone else’s thoughts, Johnny,” she told him. “The other things you do are also to be avoided, but reading minds is the worst.”
As he grew older and it became too obvious that his powers were not inherently ‘bad’, she had relented somewhat, but reading the thoughts of others was still discouraged. In any case, to be found out would certainly be bad, so he came to understand that use of any psychic powers had to be private and limited.
Were his childhood memories of Goth Mountain magic and his strange powers unrelated coincidence? Mother claimed they were. “You read about people with strange powers in the newspapers all the time,” she claimed. As he grew older Johnny didn’t think so, no matter what Mom told him. The two things were linked, and he was determined to someday find out how and why. He had come west to do just that, he realized now, as much as he had come to be with Angela. Maybe more.
And now here he was, on his way to Goth Mountain! But first he had to help Ned. With his right hand he held his gold watch against the goat man’s forehead as he said a silent prayer. He could feel the watch tingle. After several minutes he checked for a pulse again and thought that he felt one.
“Johnny go home?” the goat man asked weakly, as he shifted from sasquatch to a stable goat-man form, much to his old playmate’s relief. He still looked tired, but his deep brown eyes now sparkled with life.
“Yes, Ned. Johnny is taking you home to Goth Mountain. I have to make a quick stop at my apartment, then we’ll be on our way.” He pulled the car back into the light westward traffic.
“Yeeeeessss,” bleated the goat man, contentedly. “Don’t worry about me, Cub. I’ll be alright now that I found you.” He closed his eyes, smiling.
By the time they reached Johnny’s apartment the goat man was wide-awake and fussing with the car radio. He seemed to be full of energy. “Ned needs rock and roll, Johnny. Elvis.” Ned found a moldy-oldie station. As sounds of an old Elvis tune filled the Tempo, Ned’s body seemed to shimmer, the lines of his body blurring, before popping into view as none other than The King himself, all done up in silver-spangled show-duds.
Though as a child he had seen Ned shape-shift many times, Johnny was startled. However, he was pleased that his friend had recovered enough to return to his mischievous ways. He was less amused when The King of rock-and-roll popped out of the car and accompanied him towards his apartment, where his landlady Mrs. Triggle stood waiting for him. The frowning little old woman looked more putout than usual.
“Mr. Goth, your workplace and your fiancé have been phoning me incessantly. They say you were attacked by a homeless person or something, and then you disappeared and don’t answer your phone.” Her eyes popped when she noticed Ned. “Oh my Lord, it’s him, he IS alive, and it’s HIM!”
“How you doing ma’am?” asked Ned, using his best Elvis voice.
“Ah, I, ah, ah,” stammered Mrs. Triggle, slack jawed.
Johnny was afraid she was having some sort of attack, and prepared himself to catch her if she were to faint. “Amazing resemblance, isn’t it?” he improvised. “Ned here is the best Elvis impersonator in the state.”
The woman's smile quickly faded. “Impersonator?”
“Of course. Great, isn’t he? I’m sorry about the phone calls Mrs. T. It’s just a misunderstanding that I’ll set straight. I’m leaving soon for a while anyway. I’ll be gone on a trip for a few days and out of your way.”
“Business trip?”
“Yes-um,” interjected Ned. “We got us some business up North,
the Cub here and me. Important stuff.”
Mrs. T. gave Ned a stern disapproving glance before returning her attention to Johnny. “That’s none of my concern, Mr. Goth. Just make sure to tell your friends that I’m not an answering service.” She turned away and walked towards her house, shaking her head.
“Sure thing, Mrs. T.” concluded Johnny, before breathing a sigh of relief. He pulled Ned into his apartment, startling Moocher, who had been busy doing what cats do better than any other creature: sleeping. Cats are also adept at waking up. Moocher sprang three feet straight up into the air before bounding out of sight behind the sofa. Soon he peeked out from under it, trying to gage the odd newcomer.
Without even trying, Johnny could feel what Moocher was thinking. Dog? No. Relief. Rival cat? No. Relief and disappointment. Man or woman human? Yes. No! Not human! Strange creature!
“I am a cat friend!” said Ned, smiling at Moocher. His Elvis form abruptly shimmered and faded, leaving in its place a huge mountain lion. Moocher howled pitifully and disappeared completely from view under the sofa, his thoughts a fear-filled whirl, while the mountain lion sputtered with what must have been laughter.
In the meantime Johnny had changed into jeans and a flannel shirt. He pulled an empty satchel from under the bed and quickly stuffed it with a couple of similar outfits, socks, and underwear, before returning his attentions to the two main reasons he had bothered to stop at his apartment: Moocher and Goldie.
Goldie was easy. He scooped a gallon of tank water into a plastic zip-up freezer bag, then captured the little goldfish with his hand and gently plopped it in. He’d bubble oxygen into the water with his powers now and then, and Goldie would be fine. He then dangled the water bag near the sofa, luring the cat out into the open using the nervously darting fish “That’s a good boy,” he told Moocher, as he scooped up the cat. The cat went completely limp in his hands and began to purr, totally trusting Johnny and looking forward to the petting and scratching that he expected would now occur.
“Nice colors,” remarked the mountain lion from the sofa, as he changed his own tan fur to orange to match Moocher, a weird enough spectacle to convince the cat to howl and squirm violently in an unsuccessful attempt to retreat again. Johnny could again sense the cat’s scrambled, confused thoughts. He kept sending soothing thoughts to Moocher, but the terrified cat wasn’t listening.
Ned shifted into his goat-man form, but the cat was not amused. Only through quick action and luck was Johnny able to plop the upset feline into the cat-carrier that he had recently purchased, before being clawed by the wildly gyrating creature.
“Yeeeooooow,” complained the cat, from his prison, as Johnny shut and latched the lid.
“Sorry, boy,” said Johnny, “I was going to gradually let you get used to this thing, but now we don’t have time.”
Moocher meowed pitifully, and Johnny could feel the cat’s continuing fear.
“Talk to him Johnny,” said Ned. “Cats shouldn’t need to be in a cage. Nobody should.”
“You ever try to drive with a cat running around in your car? The carrier is for his safety as well as ours. However, if you can get better control of your shape shifting I’m certain that he’ll settle down.”
Ned shook his head. “I’ll do that, Cub, but you can do something more to calm him down too. Have you been away from home too long, Johnny? Did you forget how to do the important things?”
Johnny smiled. He remembered that Ned had a special way with animals, if he could get past his mischievous impulse to scare them. “I haven’t forgotten everything. I’ve already tried to sooth Moocher, but he’s still upset. Why don’t you give it a try, Ned? Without shape-shifting this time.”
The hairy little man smiled and stepped closer to the carrier, rested two furry, three toed hands on top of it lightly, and began to softly hum. Johnny could sense no well-formed, human-like thoughts, only emotions. Calm. Safe. Friend.
Almost immediately, the cat’s pitiful complaints ceased. Ned opened the carrier, gently lifted out the purring cat, and boosted him onto one of his shoulders. The feline curled himself around Ned's neck and lay down, broadcasting feelings of contentment.
"See?" said the goat-man. "Feelings, Johnny, not words. Animals understand feelings best. With people there are always too many words. Now do we go?"
"I bow to your wisdom, Ned," said Johnny. His arms full of pet things and the satchel, he led Ned out to the car, after making sure that Mrs. Triggle wasn't watching. As they pulled away Ned and Moocher made themselves comfortable in the back seat, where both were soon fast asleep. Only when they were on the Coast Highway and winding their way North did Johnny realize that he hadn't told Angela or the Company that he would be gone for a few days.
From under the front seat he pulled the plastic bag that contained his seldom-used cell-phone. It was an old-fashioned model that didn't access the internet. He couldn't reach Angela but he did leave a brief message for her, explaining that he was driving North on urgent family business for a few days and to tell her father. Then he turned off the phone and restored it under the seat. For the time being, he was done with phones and the Company, and also with Angela.
For the first time in years he felt happy and free, and yet for the first time in memory he also felt that his life had a definite direction. He was going home now, home to Goth Mountain.
What would he find there? Uncle Mort and many old friends, hopefully. There was the Tribe, of course, including their giant shaman Great Two Bears, and several Indian kids he played with quite a bit. They would be grown up now. Besides the Tribe members there were the more mysterious People of course, but they were only rarely encountered, except for Ned. Usually those of the People that were shape-shifters took the form of Sasquatch, but Ned was more eccentric than most.
Then there was Goth Mountain itself. The Tribe and even the People were in awe of Goth Mountain. The forest that grew on the mountain side and the Mountain itself exuded life forces of amazing strength. Johnny had only vague notions about the ultimate source of the Mountain’s life-strengthening powers. There was some deep mystery there, one that must tie in with the People somehow, a mystery that now he was hopefully old enough to learn about from Uncle Mort and Great Two Bears.
And of course there was that wonderfully odd kid from town, his best buddy, Dooley Simple. A lot of time had passed, though. Dooley and others had grown up and probably left the area. A big grin formed on Johnny Goth's face as he drove and bubbled oxygen through Goldie’s water bag. No, Dooley would always be Dooley, no matter what else had changed, and he was probably still in the area. Johnny couldn't help smiling whenever he remembered Dooley. Then there was Dooley’s roly-poly dad, Doc Simple. It would be good to see him again too.
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Secrets of Goth Mountain Page 4