"There's a Ph.D. named Ludlow." Paul always started with background information -- like historians do. "Electrical genius some say -- but just a bit off center -- like Tesla. One of the mavericks. You know. The kind who are always finding fusion in a jar?" John knew. Every profession had them. The non-evolutionary biologist. The "hollow earth" geographer. The geocentric astronomer. "He got into trouble a while back with some God's-gift-to-science physicists by saying that time was connected to the rotation of planets. That the faster a planet rotated, the faster time passed on that planet. That time and magnetism are just different terms for the same phenomena. Something about induced current and the spin of a planet making the planet into an electro-magnetic generator of time.
"I don't know. I couldn't follow it." Paul gave one of his "bear hugging a tree" shrugs. "But, look here. You said this other place was flat?"
"That's what the people there believed. And from what I could tell, that's the way it is. You can see forever on the sea. No horizon line made by the curve of the planet."
"Not spinning?"
"Not to make day and night. Not if the 'vision' I got in the Weird's Crystal meant anything. What I saw was some kind of super Crystal, rotating to make day and night, the Crystal's rays refracting in color bands off the sky dome. No sun.
"If you got no spin -- you got no passage of time. At least according to the theories of this Ludlow chap."
"You mean there really isn't what we would call time in the other world? That when you're there, it's 'time out'? ... Maybe. It'd take some proving."
"You're not going back to try to do that, I hope?" Paul had that better-to-leave-ghosts-alone look.
"Never!"
"Good."
There was a soft sound at John's feet. Cream. "I got Cream back," John said, pointing at the cat winding around his legs. "But that's not proof either. She could have been lost in the woods ... found her way home."
"Oh ye, of little faith!"
"Better than being Oh ye, of too much faith."
Abruptly, Paul's eyebrows went up along with one, gloved, index finger. "I knew there was something I wanted to remember to tell you!" His face brightened. "And thinking of that, I've just had another idea that should interest you!"
"Shoot. One idea is as good as another in the nut house."
"You said everyone 'over there' took you to be some Wizard called Pfnaravin? A big time Mage?"
"Believe me, I did my best to ..."
"And let's say that you're right about 'thin spots' between our world and theirs." Once started, Paul was in no mood for interruptions.
"OK."
"And that getting charged up with static electricity helps a person to jump the gap. If he's in the right place to do it, that is." John nodded. Even leaning on the bannister, it was all John could do to stand up. Band sickness. He'd get over it in time, but ... "And I believe you said that this Mage, this Pfnaravin, left that world in the long ago from the same turret room where you were 'launched' yesterday?"
"So I was told."
"Then it makes sense that when Pfnaravin came to our world, he landed right here." Paul pointed, first at the hall floor then, remembering, toward the space under the stairs."
"I guess that makes sense ... if any of this does."
"And then," Paul said, continuing to bulldoze ahead, "this guy Pfnaravin built this house ... so he could live close to where he came through, hoping to find some way back again!"
"What ...!?"
"Sure. Remember the stories? The strange old man who built this house a hundred years ago? The 'foreigner'?"
"Of course. But that man wasn't the Mage."
"What was the name of the man who built this place? Do you remember?" Clearly, Paul did.
"I've ... forgotten ..."
"Van Robin."
"Yes. That's it."
"How do you pronounce Pfnaravin?"
"Pfnaravin."
"And if you say Van and Robin -- slur them fast ....?"
"Vanrobin."
"Sure. The very same man. The guy told the folks in these parts he was Pfnaravin, the locals thinking he was saying Van Robin. It's the story of the Pennsylvania Dutch all over again!" Paul was his old, expansive, lecturing self as he warmed to the topic. "They were saying they were Deutsch -- the German word for Germans. But their English neighbors thought they were saying Dutch; that they were from Holland."
It ... fit!
More than anything else, connecting Van Robin with Pfnaravin made John think that, just possibly, he wasn't going mad. For he hadn't dreamed this association. It was Paul who'd seen the name-fit.
"Oh yes," Paul said, thumping his forehead with a blow that would have kayoed a welter-weight. "What I was going to remember to tell you is that I was looking through the Saturday paper. I don't know." Paul gave another of his expansive shrugs. "On Saturday, I read the paper from cover to cover. I don't any other morning. No time. But, anyway, in the Obit section, I saw that there was this old guy -- they didn't even know how old -- who'd just died at a local nursing home. A guy named Van Robin. No surviving family."
"My God, Paul! You don't think that was Pfnaravin!? That he lived all this time ...?"
"I didn't even know about this Pfnaravin when I read that. But I thought it was possible the man who died was the same guy who built your house. Now, I think it was Pfnaravin. Something you said -- about no one being able to "work" the green Crystal of Pfnaravin because Pfnaravin was still alive. Anyway, if that's our boy, he isn't alive any longer."
"But to have built this house a hundred years ago. He would have had to be ...."
"Time. Funny stuff. Stranger than Newton thought. Stranger than Einstein thought? .... But I've got to go. We can talk this over later."
"Thanks Paul. For being a friend when I needed one."
"Think nothing of it." Paul had his meaty hand on the door knob, the burst of professorial energy, spent. Paul was wrung out, too. It has been a long night.
"See you at school tomorrow." John's goodbye.
"Ah .... no." Paul turned back. "That's another thing I wanted to say. 'School tomorrow' is not a good idea." Paul smiled a cautious smile. Then winked. "You're not going to tell anyone else about this business, are you, John?"
"As screwed up as I am, I'm not crazy, crazy."
"Good. It's like the possibility of ghosts. I don't talk about that with just anyone." John remembered. "And if you don't plan to share, then take my advice. Don't show up at school tomorrow." Paul's smile grew into a grin.
"Why?"
"Because what you want to do instead is to slip out of here tomorrow morning, maybe in disguise so you're sure no one you know will recognize you. Call a cab instead of flying off in that hell-on-wheels car which all the terrified citizens north of the river know is yours. Tell the cabby to drive clear across the city -- to Lees Summit, maybe. And get yourself a haircut."
"What ...!?"
"You wanted to know why I believed that you've been to this other place? Tell me this. When did I see you last? Friday?"
"Yes."
"And this is Sunday?"
"So it seems."
"Then if you don't want to be asked to 'share your experiences' with anybody else, you've got to get rid of about ..." Paul cocked his big head to one side; gave John an appraising look. "... five inches of hair that you seem to have grown in just two days. ..... 'Nite." And Paul was through the door, the echo of his self-satisfied chuckle left behind.
In bed, it was all real again. Five extra inches of Stil-de-grain styled hair had made it so.
Paul was right. John would call in sick tomorrow; John needed the rest as much as he needed a haircut. It was also true that he'd feel better on Tuesday and every day after that until he wasn't "sick" any more. Band sickness. Like catching a cold. You knew when you first got it. While you had it, you couldn't forget it. But you could never remember the exact time you'd gotten over it.
Mentally, John felt ... good. Good in general and good th
at there actually was a Stil-de-grain. He had been there ... for better or for worse.
The question was, had what he'd done there been for better or for worse? Loose ends. He'd left a lot of loose ends. If he'd stayed longer ...
Added to the unsavory mix was Van Robin's death. If Golden found the green Crystal and if this Van Robin were the real Pfnaravin ... then the green Crystal would no longer be "inactive," Golden experimenting with a "live" Crystal a little like a child playing with a loaded gun.
Coluth had been an obvious choice for Mage. Platinia was safe in Hero Castle. The Weird could get no weirder.
But what about the war? Would Stil-de-grain win? Would Golden become King of Malachite? Could Auro be stopped?
Too many questions. Too many rough edges.
All that was certain was that John had done his best. And that the problems of the other world were his no longer.
John knew he'd been lucky. Gotten out clean. Was not even suffering withdrawal from being hooked on the Weird's crystal. He'd been right about that, too. There was a "distance" factor to Crystal addiction.
Not his problems. Even if he could go back -- and he could -- he'd never do it! First thing in the morning, John was going to get a hammer and the longest nails he could find ... and pound shut that triangular door ... under the stairs!
###
About the Author
John G. Stockmyer is an individual whose irrepressible creativity has manifested itself in many ways: as a poet, teacher, produced playwright, author, co-owner of an educational materials business, creator of a time-machine simulator, and, more recently, as a podcaster and producer of eBooks. During his career he has received awards for scholarship, numerous teaching awards and, as a writer, was a Thorpe Menn finalist.
He is the co-author of three non-fiction books: Unleashing the Right Side of the Brain - The Stephen Greene Press, Life Trek: The Odyssey of Adult Development - Humanics, and Right Brain Romance - Ginn Press. He is also the author of over 20 works of fiction, including the Crime/Hard-Boiled "Z-Detective" Series, and the Science-Fiction/Fantasy "Under The Stairs" Series. He has also written a quirky vampire novel titled, The Gentleman Vampire.
John G. Stockmyer is now semi-retired from a 40+ year career as an Ancient/European History Professor at Maple Woods Community College, but still teaches and writes part-time. He currently lives in Kansas City, Missouri with his wife Connie.
For more information about the author, and to download or purchase Print Books, eBooks and Audio-Books from the "collection," please visit the John G. Stockmyer "Books" Web site at: www.johnstockmyer.com/books
If you enjoyed Under The Stairs, you'll probably also like Book #2 in the Bandworld Series: Back Under The Stairs. Book #2 (eBook) is currently free to download. . . so why not check it out?
To send questions or comments to the author, send an e-mail to: [email protected] (all e-mails are screened/forwarded by the author's son: John L. Stockmyer)
Table of Contents
Under The Stairs
Under The Stairs Page 34