by Obert Skye
“How are you speaking?” Leven asked, glancing intently at himself in the mirror. “Those aren’t my thoughts.”
“Why would they be?” his reflection snapped. “I might look like you, but I have a mind of my own.”
Leven’s reflection signed another heavy sigh. “I have stared back at you for so many years,” it said. “Never able to speak. Now you’re standing before me and I finally have a voice.”
“How’s it possible?”
“This is a reflective mirror,” the reflection said. “It allows me to reflect in more ways than just image. You’re taller now.”
“I guess I am,” Leven answered, looking away from the mirror and down at himself.
“There’s no guessing,” his reflection said. “You are taller. Experience has made you grow. Normally we reflections have time to stretch ourselves out to keep up with your growth, but you are moving so fast.”
“Sorry,” Leven said.
“No matter,” his reflection waved. “What’s with your eyes?”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s gold around them.”
“I’m not sure what causes it.”
“I like it. And the white in your hair seems more pronounced.”
“It needs to be cut.”
“So who’s out there with you?” Leven’s reflection said, trying to see around Leven and get a better look at the room behind him.
“No one.”
“No Clover? No Winter?”
“I don’t think Winter would be caught dead in here.”
“Of course,” the reflection said, sounding more proper than Leven would ever be. “How does Foo fit you?”
“I’m adjusting,” Leven answered. “I hardly think about my life before it.”
“What life?”
“Exactly,” Leven said. “Sometimes I wake up here amazed to be in Foo. There have even been moments when I’ve longed to be back in Oklahoma and not having to go through what is happening here. But when I think of what my life was like, I know instantly that no matter how hard it gets here, fate has still dealt me a far better blow.”
“Thanks for stating the obvious,” Leven’s reflection snipped. “I assume you’re not traveling alone?”
“Geth and Winter are here.”
“Interesting,” his reflection said sarcastically. “So, do you still have the key?”
“Of course,” Leven said.
“Let me see,” the reflection said with hushed excitement.
Leven pulled the key up out of the top opening of his robe. It hung around his neck on a long string of leather. The key sparkled under the light of the torches. His reflection reached to touch it, but was stopped by the glass.
“Flip it over,” Leven’s reflection said.
Leven flipped it in his hand. “I wish I’d never found it,” he said seriously. “I’d rather it were lost for good.”
“Still,” his reflection salivated, “it’s a beautiful thing.”
Leven squinted at his own reflection. “I’m not sure I like this. I feel like I’m talking to myself.”
“Well, you have little choice in the matter,” his reflection said, standing up straight. “I am who I am, and there is really no way for you to change me.”
“Really?” Leven said skeptically. “No way?”
“Well, there’s always a way, but it—”
Leven’s reflection stopped speaking as an Eggman stepped into the washroom. The Eggman looked at Leven and grunted. A white, greasy substance leaked out around the rim of his yolk-colored lips.
“Hello,” Leven said.
The Eggman looked at Leven. He then looked at Leven’s reflection. “I’ve never really cared for mirrors,” the Egg said. “I can’t stand what I see looking back at me.”
Leven looked at his reflection again.
The Eggman pulled what looked to be a splintered twig from his pocket and ran it through the three or four tangled pieces of thick hair on his head.
Leven stared.
The Eggman was amazing looking, but not necessarily in a “pleasing-to-the-eye” way. The small bits of skin Leven could see were mushy and thin. His body looked like a white balloon that had been filled with oatmeal. His face was wide and spread out, with a pronounced curvature that kept his left eye from view.
Leven pumped some more water over his hands as the Eggman moved into the washroom stall. As Leven stepped back from the pump, a small orange rag hanging from a hook near the mirror leapt over and wrapped itself around Leven’s hands. It twisted around and up, drying both hands off quickly. It then sprang back and settled on its hook.
Leven smiled.
Leven turned, pushed through the door, and ascended the dark stairs. He pulled his hood back up over his head and stepped quickly. The stairs were poorly lit and cold; wind buffeted him from every direction. Each footstep Leven took created a brittle echo off the stone walls.
A thin voice drifted through the cold air.
“Leven.”
Leven stopped to listen.
“Closer,” the voice whispered. “Closer to me.”
Leven turned to look back down the stairs. The door was shut, and there was nothing there. He could faintly hear the Eggman still in the washroom singing a song about a walrus.
Leven took another step up.
“Closer,” the voice sounded again. “Closer to me.”
“Who’s there?” Leven called out.
A warm wind parted the cold. It wound up the stairs and brushed past Leven like a good memory in the midst of a bad event. The only light came from the faint glow of a single candle down by the washroom door and one up at the very top of the steps.
“Is anyone there?” Leven hollered.
There was nothing but darkness in the rafters above. Leven took another step.
“You’re coming closer,” the voice hissed. “That’s good.”
Every pore on Leven’s body opened, and cold air rushed in to fill them. He shook and looked up toward where the voice had come from. He could see a blue blur shift in the air and thump down against the stone stairs. The blur raced past him and down to the washroom. Before Leven could turn around, the candle near the washroom door was snuffed out, making the stairwell even darker. The wooden bolt slid into locking position, leaving the Eggman trapped in the washroom.
Something brushed against Leven’s right leg. It circled up around his waist, spinning Leven as it moved.
“Geth! Winter!” Leven hollered.
“Geth! Winter!” the voice mocked. “Geth! Winter!”
Leven pulled his hood tighter and glanced up toward the ceiling. He motioned as if to move farther up the stairs.
“Don’t move,” the voice insisted. “There is nothing but you and me.”
Leven wanted to stare directly at whatever it was, but the words of Geth to hide his eyes stuck in his mind. The single candle flame at the top of the stairs flickered out.
There was nothing but darkness now.
Leven stood still. He could hear whatever it was breathing long and slow, almost directly above him. It lowered to the level of his right ear. Leven brushed at it as if it were a flea.
“Who are you?” Leven demanded.
“I think you know,” the voice whispered.
“The secret?”
“Of course. I’ve been waiting for you,” the secret answered, its reply the sound of a long burp.
The secret floated up and then lowered itself completely from the rafters. Its body glowed slightly, as if it were a fluorescent bulb that had been turned off moments before. Its flight from Leven had left it ragged, its body long and loose and held together by thin strings. There were holes throughout it, and its approaching face looked like a chewed-up wad of dry grain that someone was slowly expelling from his mouth. It had wide, dark eyes that trembled slightly in their sockets. The secret blinked its black eyes, and small white flecks of dust fluttered off them.
“You must be confusing me with some
one else,” Leven said.
“Such a safe thing to say,” the voice mocked again. “Such a safe, safe thing. But the truth is, I am not confused, Leven.”
Leven’s shoulders twitched. The secret dropped a bit more and circled around Leven’s head. Its body scratched up against Leven’s neck, sending the sensation of dread trickling down his body.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leven said, brushing at the secret with his hands.
The secret’s breathing was deeper and louder now. “How arrogant of Geth to think he could travel across Foo with you and Winter and have no one take notice.”
“We’re not hiding ourselves,” Leven said defensively. “We’ve no reason to stick to the shadows.”
“Shadows,” the secret whispered.
Leven took another step up the stairs, but in the darkness he had lost his sense of direction, and he ran into the side of the wall. He reached out to feel for the opening.
“If you leave, you will regret it,” the voice insisted. “You will regret it with everything you have in you.”
“I can live with regrets.”
“Not this one,” the secret belched.
Every burp smelled of the soil the secret had been buried under for so many years, its thin body heaving to force the taste out of its soul.
“What do you want?” Leven asked.
The secret drifted around Leven’s ankles. It pulled itself to its full height and inhaled. Its ragged body glowed brighter. It breathed out and dimmed just a bit. The thin strings that held it together bulged and then retracted.
“I’m free, thanks to you,” it whispered, sending thick bands of goose bumps down Leven’s back. “I was Winter’s secret at one time. She buried me.”
Leven stayed quiet.
“She probably hasn’t told you who she really is, has she?”
“I know who Winter is,” Leven said defensively.
The secret giggled and accidentally burped again. “But do you know about Geth?”
“What about Geth?” Leven said quickly.
There was no answer. The secret scratched against Leven’s body. The rafters above creaked and moaned as short puffs of wind batted up against them. Leven could feel the cold radiating from the stone stairs below his feet.
“What about Geth?” Leven asked again.
Something brushed past Leven’s right cheek as he stood in the pitch dark. It circled around and drifted over him, leaving a dusty residue.
“Geth will kill you,” the secret whispered. “You think you understand what’s happening, but Foo is in turmoil and you are being guided by Geth—pushing us to the edge even quicker.”
“That makes no . . .”
“Sense?” the whisper hiccupped. “What has Geth told you?”
“He—”
“He’s told you what you want to hear. He leads you on his agenda and into a pit of loss. The lithens rule the whole of Foo; in the last years they have moved to make Foo theirs. They control the money and the means for almost everything. Why do you think you are here?”
The secret drifted around Leven’s head and back down his body. Leven didn’t answer.
“I know different. I’ve heard people speak in Cusp. You’re here to pay a price,” the secret whispered, its voice bouncing off the walls like a dropped bag of icy marbles. “To pay a painful price plain and simple.”
“I don’t care what you say,” Leven said. “I know Geth. I only care about the secret you carry.”
“Of course you do,” the secret said. “Clover’s life might depend upon it.”
Leven’s hope withered at the mention of Clover.
“Don’t worry, I haven’t shared what I know.”
Leven exhaled.
“Yet,” the secret added.
“What do you want?” Leven asked, wishing Geth had given him some idea of how to actually capture a secret.
The secret laughed again and then belched long in Leven’s face. The smell made Leven gag.
“Forgive my manners,” the secret said. “Here you are being so forthright. So forthright and human and I’m forgetting my manners.”
“Well, I can’t help you unless you tell me what you want,” Leven argued, reaching his hand out toward the secret.
“Yes,” the secret sniveled, moving back. “You’ll help me. You see, I want that key you have!”
“The key?” Leven questioned.
“Don’t be stupid,” it screeched. “I want that key.”
Leven moved his hand up to his chest. He placed his hand over his shirt to keep the secret from feeling it.
“What use is it to you?” Leven asked.
“What use?” the secret mocked. “What use? With it I control my fate. With it I can’t be put away.”
“Sorry,” Leven said, “I don’t have it.”
“Five short, stupid words,” the secret hissed. “’Sorry, I don’t have it.’ Short, stupid words. I know it hangs from your neck on a cord of leather. I know you cherish it almost as much as you cherish Winter and Geth and Clover.”
“You can’t have it,” Leven said firmly.
The secret stared directly into Leven’s eyes and then moved up into the rafters.
“Keep your key!” it hollered. “Keep your key—and all of Foo will know how to kill your precious Clover. I’ll tell anyone who will stop and listen. And the very borders of Foo will crumble as every sycophant is slaughtered by rants and jealous cogs.”
Leven shook, looking up.
“On the other hand,” the secret lightly belched, “you give me the key and I’ll never tell a soul. I’ll simply live my life without ever having to look over my shoulder for fear of being buried or snuffed out.”
Leven touched the key through his robe. “How do I know you won’t just take the key and still sell the secret?”
“You nits have no trust in one another,” the secret snapped.
“I’m not a nit,” Leven said, pushing his chest out.
“That’s right,” the whisper snickered. “Fate didn’t snatch you here. You snuck in. Now, give me the key, and Clover lives. Keep it, and I’ll see that he’s one of the first to perish.”
The secret flinched and shook as it bounced back down and around Leven. It batted up against his eyes and between his legs and under his arms.
“Clover lives or Clover dies,” the secret blew.
“There has to be another way,” Leven reasoned. “We brought money.”
“Money?” the secret burped. “I have no use for your money. So I can buy food? My existence needs no nourishment. So I can wear fine clothes? They would slip off of me and fall to the ground. The coins you could offer me mean nothing. My only desire is to control my fate.”
“But I don’t—”
“Give me the key!” the secret demanded. “Give me the key or I will sell the secret to the bidder with the most hatred for sycophants.”
“How do I know that you’ll keep your word?”
“Secrets never lie.”
Leven fingered the key beneath his robe. There was only one thing he could do.
The secret whispered gleefully and then let out a long, dirty belch.
Chapter Four
Digging Up the Future
It’s been mentioned before, but it probably bears repeating: Terry Graph was a mean, stubborn, hate-filled, lazy, deceitful, messy slob. He would smile at you if he thought it would make you uncomfortable, and frown at you if he felt it would ruin your day. He hated even the thought of having to perform a speck of work, preferring instead to spend his days drinking too much and doing too little.
His wife, Addy Graph, possessed a number of the same negative qualities, but one big difference was that she had a job. Life had been hard for the Graphs, but through it all Addy had managed to stay on as a senior napkin folder for the Wonder Wipes Corporation. It was the one constant in their recent life of change and misery.
Most people who lived anywhere near Terry and Addy knew their
story, due to the fact that Terry and Addy complained to everyone who had ears. They loved to tell people how hard their lives were. They loved to point out how, out of the goodness of their own hearts, they had taken in and raised Leven, only to be ruined by it in the end.
Not only had that rotten child somehow caused their mobile home to be lifted up, frozen, and then dropped and shattered into a million pieces, but afterward he had disappeared without so much as a thanks.
At first Addy and Terry had been relieved by his absence: one less mouth to have to listen to. But when Leven failed to show up for school for five straight days, the state came to Addy and Terry’s apartment and began asking all kinds of personal questions.
Questions like: “Where’s your kid?”
Addy and Terry swore that Leven had run away. Unfortunately, in the process they did some additional swearing and ranting and spitting and hollering. So much, in fact, that the state began to doubt their story and wondered if perhaps something far more sinister had happened to the child entrusted to the care of Addy and Terry Graph.
Addy had a fit.
With the state snooping around, she had even less patience for Terry and his poor work habits. Addy hollered at Terry for days, and Terry in turn hollered back. But eventually the bulging veins on Addy’s face convinced Terry that she wasn’t playing around or backing down.
It was time for him to get a job.
Terry, of course, refused to settle for just any employment. He checked the want ads for something that looked easy, but everything required experience. And, whereas Terry was an expert at offending people and wasting his life away, nobody seemed to need those qualifications.
Desperate, Terry did what any right-thinking, responsible adult might do. He took his drinking money, went down to a pawn shop, and picked out one of the fifty metal detectors they had for sale.
Terry now spent his days combing the Oklahoma prairie looking for dropped coins or lost earrings that he could trade in for cash. To keep himself company as he worked, he would talk to himself.
“No money and no respect. I own nothing but misery,” Terry complained as he swung the metal detector back and forth over the dirt. “The world is falling apart, with buildings moving and bugs attacking, and I have to work. Society is messed up. People and their straight eyes, and yet they’re always looking at me sideways.”