CHARGES UNANNOUNCED
Mole walked over to him and looked down at the paper. He continued to stare at it for a few moments, trying unsuccessfully to read it upside down. Finally he asked, "What does the headline say, Mikey?"
Mikey handed the paper to him. "I'm not sure, but I think I recognize the name from somewhere."
Mole looked at the paper. "My word, I know that man."
"Which man?"
"Marcus Aldram. He was a graduate student of mine many years ago. A true genius, but a bit demented. Very moody. I must say, I never understood him very well. Brilliant, but a bit obsessive. Looks like he's come to no good end."
Mole quickly read the article.
"It doesn't say what it is he did that's gotten him into so much trouble, but it sounds top secret. Poor boy. Such a brilliant mind. Shame it had to go to waste. But never mind. We have our own troubles to deal with. How to hide nineteen alien Molemiks from the rest of the world. I'm afraid I'll have to vacate the premises. This will be the first place they'll look."
"But where will we go?"
"The question is not where will we go, but where will I go with the Molemiks. You, my little friend, must stay here and try to throw them off the track."
"But I want to go with you. I owe you that much."
"I appreciate your loyalty, Mikey. I really do, but it's not practical. I'll be hunted enough without having a kidnapping charge to add to my infractions. No, you'll remain here and throw them some curves. I won't tell you where I'm going, so there won't be a chance they can get it out of you with some fancy form of interrogation."
Mole looked at the hurt expression on Mikey's face and added, "Don't think what you're thinking. I'm not afraid that you'd intentionally tell on me, but this is serious business. They might not play fair with you, and if they want, they'll find a way to get the truth out of you. I'll be in touch when the heat is off of you a little. Don't worry. You're my only friend in this matter. I'm not going to disappear on you. Just on the rest of the world. Now, quick. We've got to get my things packed up. I doubt we have much time left."
Mole's plan to disappear was a good one and it might have worked if Buzz had held out a little longer and if the authorities had not already been zeroing in on Mole's neighborhood. As it was, Mole and Mikey were still over an hour from being ready to vacate the premises when the knocking started on the door.
"Dr. Molensky, this is the police. We'd like to speak with you for a moment. Please open up. We know you're in there."
Mole and Mikey stood frozen in their tracks.
"How could they have found out so soon?" Mole asked.
"I don't know. I'd have thought Buzz could hold out longer than this. He must have spilled his guts to the whole world instead of taking dessert after dinner." Mikey felt the tears begin to well up inside him. "What'll we do?"
Mole had sequestered the lot of Molemiks into the back room with strict instructions not to leave. He could now hear a few of them scratching at the door, their acute senses warning them of impending danger.
Mole looked out the window from the study. "It's no use, Mikey. There must be a dozen police cars out there. As they say in the old movies, 'They've got us surrounded.' We have no choice. We'll have to give ourselves up and pray that they aren't too rough on our alien friends."
"What do you think they'll do with them?"
"Oh, run them through a whole battery of tests, I'm sure. Treat them inhumanely, I would guess. Shame the name of the human race before they're done, I'd bet. Beyond that, I have no idea. We tried to save them the dignity they deserve, but I'm afraid we failed." Before Mole could continue, the knocking at the door turned into a pounding.
"Dr. Molensky, you have just ten seconds to open this door before we break it down. We have a search warrant to enter these premises with or without your cooperation. Please don't make it hard on yourself."
"It sounds like they mean business. I wonder if they even know what they're looking for."
Mole walked over to the door, taking Mikey's small hand in his own as he went. "Now don't go blaming yourself. It wasn't your fault. They'll be all right. You wait and see."
Mole released the last lock just as a bulky, fullback-looking sergeant prepared to break the door down. From behind the fullback stepped a much smaller figure. "Dr. Molensky? I'm Captain O'Leavy. I have a search warrant for these premises. These gentlemen," he pointed behind him at two gray-suited CIA types, "are here from the federal government." We have reason to believe that you are concealing evidence..."
"Why, Captain, I was going to call you tomorrow. I wanted to be sure of what I was reporting first. I mean it isn't every day that you have aliens pay you a visit."
"Aliens? What are you talking about? We're here in reference to illegal experimentation that has been going on by one of your past students—a Dr. Marcus Aldram. Do you recognize the name?"
"Well, of course, I do. I was just reading about him in the papers, but what does that have to do with your visit here? I thought you were here to investigate the visitation I've had by alien beings."
The inspector and his fullback sergeant walked into the hall, followed closely by the federal agents. One of the agents pulled his ID from his coat pocket. "Federal Agent Russel," the man said, in a laconic voice. "I'm not sure what you are talking about, and quite frankly, I don't care. We have a search warrant for these premises. Did you or did you not receive a package a few weeks ago from Dr. Aldram?"
"A package from Aldram? No, not that I'm aware of. I haven't seen or heard from Aldram for years. I didn't even know he was still alive until I opened the paper today. What on earth are you talking about?"
Russel was about to answer when he was interrupted by a soft scratching from the bedroom door. "What's in there, Doctor?"
"It's what I've been trying to tell you about. It's the aliens. Only we've named them Molemiks. We had to have some name to call them."
Russel wasn't listening, though. Instead, he was signaling to his men outside. "Get the cages inside here, and watch those back windows closely. Remember, fire on them if you have to."
"Fire on them? Don't be ridiculous. They won't harm you. Why do all you guys with authority have to be so dense? They are harmless little creatures from some unknown planet. You, sir, are representing the entire human race. Don't make us look so stupid."
Russel stood quietly for a few moments looking at Mole, a slight grin on his face. "Dr. Molensky, I don't know if you are trying to pull the wool over our eyes or if you are simply a wise-ass, but let me be straight with you. You are under suspicion of collaborating with Dr. Marcus Aldram in the illegal study and development of new animal species. Any further interference from you will only dig your grave deeper."
It was now Mole's turn to pause for a moment as Russel's words began to sink in. Finally, he asked, "You mean to tell me that they're not from another world? That they've been created here in a lab?"
"Yes, Doctor, by your friend and student, Dr. Aldram, as if you didn't already know that. According to him, he sent you a package of storage capsules shortly before he left the country to avoid prosecution. As I'm sure you are aware, the law clearly states that no genetic experimentation is allowed that results in the creation of a new species. Dr. Aldram clearly ignored the law for his own gain."
Russel turned to the team with the nets and cages. "Be very careful, men. We have no idea how dangerous these freaks may be. Let none of them escape. If it starts to get out of hand, shoot to kill. Is that clear?"
"What are you talking about? Shoot to kill? They aren't going to hurt you or anyone else. My God, man, they're like little monkeys. Spirited, yes, but far from dangerous. Why would you want to hurt them?"
"Dr. Molensky, it's our job to round the evidence up, that's all. It's the job of others to exterminate such illegal species. But if we have to do so to contain them, we will. It's that simple. Now, if you will stand aside so my men can perform their duties."
"But you can't
exterminate an entire species simply because someone created them by accident or outside the law. Okay, maybe Dr. Aldram did break the law, and perhaps he should be punished, but the Molemiks have done nothing. They're innocent. Don't take it out on them. Don't ignore the fact that they are living, feeling sparks of creation. Don't hurt them. Please, don't hurt them..."
The police officers calmly took Mole and Mikey from the premises as the agents moved into the back bedroom. It was all done expertly and efficiently. Mikey kicked and screamed, managing to leave a few bruises on the shins of the two officers that carried him out. But for the most part, he was unable to alter the course of events. Mole kept repeating the same words over and over, speaking about the Molemiks as though they were his children, which indeed they had become. It was all to no avail. Within fifteen minutes, all nineteen Molemiks had been captured and crated. In another twenty minutes, the police and federal agents finished their report, cautioned Mole not to leave town, and were on their way.
Mole sat on a stack of books in the rear bedroom, now completely vacant of any signs of the Molemiks. Mikey sat beside him, his elbows on his knees, his hands cradling his head. Mole shook his head. "An entire species snuffed out before it had a chance to contribute. Before it had a chance to live so much as a generation. Why? It doesn't make sense. They didn't have to kill them. There's room enough on earth for another species. Hell, we've wiped out enough species through the years. What's wrong with adding back a few?"
Mikey didn't answer. There didn't appear to be anything to say. The pain in his stomach was gone. There was no pain left, just an empty feeling that he felt he'd never be able to fill. He was responsible for the loss of the Molemiks. He'd never forgive himself for it. He'd heard about the species that had become extinct because of man's stupidity, but the Molemiks had been lost because of the stupidity of one little boy. And that boy would never forget it.
The two sat together for several minutes, both deep within their own thoughts. Finally, Mole shook himself slightly and looked around. His eyes fell on the trapdoor leading into the attic.
"Mikey, we'd better close that up," he said, pointing to the door. "We'll leave the magazines where they are. Do you know where the panel is?"
"I think they must have pushed it out of the way and left it up there. Hold that chair for me and I'll climb up there and close it."
Mole pushed the chair under the trapdoor and steadied it as Mikey climbed into the attic. Mikey looked around the small room at the stacks of National Geographics that the Molemiks had stashed away. The small enclosure gave Mikey a strangely warm and secure feeling, like a warm bed on a cold winter night. He was about to pull the piece of plywood over to the opening when a strange shape caught his eye.
He called down to Mole. "Do you have a flashlight handy? I want to look at something."
Within a few moments, Mole was back, tossing the light to him. "What do you see up there that's so interesting?"
Mikey turned the light on and shined it over to the deep recess where the roof slanted to the attic floor. There, nestled snugly among the rumpled magazines were a dozen yellow spheres, arranged like a clutch of hen's eggs—a second generation waiting to be hatched.
THE END
Enjoy this sample from
Further Fantastic Fables of Foster Flat Volume 2
Introduction
I THOUGHT I’D SHARED all the strange happenings of my birthplace, Foster Flat, in the first book. Then, one night, when I was feeling particularly lonely sitting in my cubby-hole of an apartment here in Atlanta, I pulled out several of the journals I’ve kept through the years. What I found shocked me. I spent all that night and much of the next day circling passages and inserting post-its at the start of each strange tale. Thus began the book that you now hold in your hands. Over the next few weeks, I sorted through the journals in search of the stories that I felt most represented the unique nature of my hometown.
It’s likely, if you’ve read the first anthology, you’ll recognize a few of the Foster Flat citizens, though most will be new to you. For sure you should remember my dear Aunt Ellenore. You know, the one who found her muse sitting on her front porch. But muses are a bit like a set of keys. You find them, then lose them, then find them again. At least in Ellenore’s case, she became wiser for the experience.
Then there’s Albert Goldman, who owns Goldcraft, Inc., one of the coolest stores in town, with the oddest assortment of nicknacks displayed in the front window. Especially when you consider it’s mostly a jewelry and watch repair business. A couple of my classmates swore to me it was also the location of a most bizarre, yet true, story. Now, there were quite a few kids I went to school with that I would never trust to tell the truth, but Randall and Pee Wee were not among them. They were straight shooters.
Just like Reginald and Daisy Davis—two upstanding citizens of Foster Flat who took their love for travel and exotic masks and turned them into a business known simply as the Mask Museum. I visited the museum quite often, but never at night, even though Daisy invited me to come by any time. It was just too spooky for any late night excursions. Daisy maintained the museum for years after her husband passed on to the everlasting, though she claimed to be just as close to him as though he were still alive.
There’s also a story about one of my favorite eating establishments—Lin Shu’s Chinese Pagoda Restaurant. They serve some of the best Asian food anywhere. I’ve yet to find a place here in Atlanta that compares. While I didn’t know Wilbur that well since he worked at the Pagoda only one summer, he swore that every bit of his story was true, and I have no reason to doubt him. After all, his uncle, Mr. Alfred Peterman, is one of the deacons at the Baptist church my family attends. I feel certain Wilbur knows it’s a sin to lie, especially to a future journalist.
While Lin Shu’s is a wonderful place to go for lunch or dinner, you simply can’t beat the Apothecary for a good ol’ southern breakfast. I don’t know how Fatima does it, maintaining the restaurant in the front of the store while running her natural healing practice in the back rooms, but she does, despite a few challenges she had with the North Carolina Medical Board of Examiners a while back.
Of course, not all parts of Foster Flat are as upstanding as our Main Street downtown area. You might recall a story about the strange happenings around the Seventh Avenue district. Well, not far from there, another story unfolded one cold Christmas season. When I heard the tale, I was honored to be a part of such a fine community with such wonderful people as Emily Lawson. My word, but that woman is a saint, even if she is a Methodist. She’s still good Christian folk.
Now, at first I wasn’t going to include the two last stories, but then I remembered that my job as a journalist is to report the facts as best I know them. True, little Jimmy Brown may not be the most reliable source I ever interviewed, though since working at The Global Inquiry, I’ve spoken with several less reliable witnesses (and their stories made it into the paper). As for the last story...well, I’m the primary source for that one so I know it’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.
Mimi Rawlins
Roving Reporter for The Global Inquiry
Born and raised in Foster Flat, North Carolina
ELLENORE LOSES HER MUSE
ELLENORE MICHNER HELD the phone away from her ear to lessen the audio assault from her agent, Rachel Mohaney, blasting through the line. The words were still clear as a bell. “I can’t put the publisher off much longer. They’ve been more than patient, but they have a schedule they need to maintain.”
Ellenore waited for the inevitable pause for Rachel to catch her breath before replying, “No worry. It’s almost finished, really it is. I’m just having a little difficulty coming up with the ending.”
“Hell, you know the ending,” Rachel replied, only a few decibels softer. “You’re a romance author—one of the best in the world. All romances have a happily-ever-after ending. Write it and send me the manuscript. We’re weeks off schedu
le. Your fans are clamoring for their next Ellenore fix.”
“Okay, will do,” Ellenore replied meekly. In the five years Rachel had been her agent, Ellenore had never heard her so angry or frustrated. She was about to say something else when she heard the click on the other end.
She hung up the phone and stared at the blank computer screen, her gaze slowly drifting over to the manuscript box next to it—as empty as her head had been for weeks. Where in the hell are you, Calli? I don’t even care. You’re my muse, and I need you to get your sweet ass back here. Now!
AS ELLENORE STROLLED the few blocks from her house to the wine store, she thought about the last few years. It had been a good run—more than just a run. It had lasted close to five years, ever since she’d found her muse lying on her doorstep. Since then, her writing career had soared from a nobody to a somebody and eventually to one of the top romance writers in the world. Early in the process, she’d acquired Rachel, a top literary agent who had helped her polish that first book around, then orchestrated a bidding war that Avon had eventually won.
Those had been good years, amazing years, years when she and her muse had churned out book after book, averaging at least four per year like clockwork. The muse had been a mysterious addition to her life. Even though Ellenore had come to think of it as male after finding it in bed with a lioness, it also had many feminine traits, so Ellenore eventually named it Calli after the Greek muse, Calliope. Ellenore had been ecstatic with her success. So had Rachel, as they both became quite well off financially while doing something that they both loved. And Calli had appeared quite content as well...until. It had started with Calli complaining about needing some time off, but Ellenore kept countering with, “Let’s just get this book wrapped up first.” By the time that had happened, Rachel would be back on the phone asking her for the next one and then the next and the next.
Then one morning, Ellenore had gone to her home office to resume her workday, only to find the daybed where Calli slept empty. A thorough search of the house and grounds confirmed Ellenore’s worst fears. Calli had disappeared. That had been weeks ago. Since then, Ellenore had tried to start the next novel working from the few notes she had, but nothing was good enough. She began having nightmares of a blank computer screen chasing her down the street, followed closely behind by an empty manuscript box. It wasn’t long afterward that she started making frequent trips to the wine store.
Fantastic Fables of Foster Flat Page 18