Monsterland

by James Crowley

  Franklin, Charlie, and Rohmetall traveled on with Ringo running at their heels, only stopping once more for Franklin to reflect at the roadside shrine in the high trees by the small mountain stream. Later, as they passed through the village’s narrow streets, they happened upon Lester Mortlock and his one-eyed cohort, who were locked in a pillory in the cobblestoned square. Lester begged for his freedom, but Franklin refused to get involved with local politics, so they left him there, shouting after them, as children of various monstrous descents pummeled the ne’er-do-wells with rotting fruits and vegetables.

  They rode on, making good time now that they were in previously mapped lands, and late that day they came to the crossroads that pointed to the Charnel House. Franklin paused for a moment before turning his horse in the direction of the Prime Minister’s castle.

  “We’ll see you on to the tunnel, Charlie,” he said, spurring the new horse forward. “After all this way, it just wouldn’t be right otherwise.”

  It was dark and raining when they started up the long, winding road to the Prime Minister’s castle, and Charlie could hardly believe it when they crossed the bridge and pulled the horses to a stop. He turned Goliath toward the tower that housed the observation deck and remembered the night when he first looked out over Monsterland. The time was so jumbled in his head . . . It all seemed so long ago.

  He watched as Franklin dismounted and Rohmetall began to unload their belongings. He thought of the time they’d spent together, all they’d seen during the course of their great journey, and he wished he didn’t have to say good-bye. But he also thought of his parents and Old Joe, and how he missed them—and now that he was thinking about it, how he even missed school and Ms. Hatchet. It was over, he thought. It was time to go home.

  Mrs. Winthrope rushed out to meet them at the door and held Charlie in a long embrace as he slid down from his saddle.

  “My, my, to look at ya!” Mrs. Winthrope said. “Oh, I am happy, so happy to see you. Ya made it! The Prime Minister will be thrilled!”

  Franklin handed Rohmetall the reins, and the metal man pulled the cart and horses around the drive to the stables.

  “And you, sir,” Mrs. Winthrope went on. “Why, yer the talk of the land—the two of ya! Such stories. Such adventure.”

  Franklin moved stiffly as he stepped forward to greet Mrs. Winthrope. As he passed, Charlie noticed that one of his shoulders was hanging lower than the other again; his right arm was dangling loosely from its stitching.

  “Not to worry,” Franklin said, adjusting the loose joint. He patted Charlie on the top of his head. “Nothing a needle and thread and a little rest can’t fix.”

  Mrs. Winthrope took Franklin and Charlie by the hand and led them up the steps and out of the rain.

  “Come now,” she said. “Let’s get ya cleaned up, and then we’ll have something to eat. The moon is already on the rise. We still have some time, but we mustn’t dillydally.”

  “Ah, yes,” Franklin said, looking at the sky. “With the weather moving on, I’d bet you will be heading to the tunnel tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Charlie said. As eager as he was to get home, it was still somehow disappointing.

  “Come on, Charlie.” Franklin sighed. He looked a little downcast too.

  As they walked across the immense foyer, Charlie looked over the Prime Minister’s line of portraits, and he slowed when he passed the painting at the bottom of the stairs. The young girl’s smile seemed brighter to Charlie now; feeling better, he returned her smile before heading upstairs.

  Charlie changed back into his old clothes, but his jeans and sweatshirt felt strange to him now, as though they were no longer his. He hurried to get ready, stuffing his werewolf mask into his pocket with his fangs and photograph.

  He was pleased to see the Prime Minister when he came down the stairs to join him and Franklin for dinner, even if he felt underdressed now in their company. But Charlie quickly forgot his discomfort as they gathered around the table to enjoy another splendid meal. Though Franklin, Dwight York, and the Ranger knew their way around a campfire, there was not much that could compare to Mrs. Winthrope’s superb cooking.

  When they were finished with the last course, they retired to the Prime Minister’s study, where Franklin presented him with their maps.

  “These are rough, of course. I have some corrections, and then I’d like to make them more presentable, but as an idea . . .”

  “Ah, yes.” The Prime Minister spread the roll out on the table in front of him. He studied the maps for a moment. “And what is this?”

  The Prime Minister removed a small set of spectacles from his vest pocket as Franklin sat back in his chair and lit his pipe.

  “Well, I certainly appreciate the gesture,” the Prime Minister said, motioning for Charlie to come closer. “Have you seen this?”

  Charlie stood beside the Prime Minister and looked at the roll. Taking in the vast areas that had previously been unmapped, he was proud of the work he and Franklin had done.

  “See there, down in the right-hand corner.” The Prime Minister leaned over him, pointing with a long fingernail to the bottom of the map on top.

  Charlie found the key and read out loud what was written below it in Franklin’s hand.

  CARTOGRAPHERS: FRANKLIN PROMETHEUS AND CHARLIE COOPER

  COMMISSIONED BY: THE HONORABLE PRIME MINISTER OF VAMPYREISHTAT AND SURROUNDING PROVINCES

  “Lovely, is it not?” the Prime Minister said. “Well done. Congratulations are in the highest order to the both of you.”

  “It was Franklin, really,” Charlie said, smiling from ear to ear. “I just kind of helped him where I could.” Franklin grunted softly from behind his lit pipe. He seemed impressed by Charlie’s humility.

  “Ah, I wish there were more time.” The Prime Minister glanced out the window at the evening sky. “But I am afraid we must cut the pleasantries short if we are to catch the moon at its fullest. It is a short walk from here, but the incline is steep and takes some time.”

  Mrs. Winthrope came in with Oscar, who was carrying a tray. Ringo followed, nipping at their feet, and Oscar’s magpie trailed Ringo, fluttering around the room and nipping at the dog’s tail.

  “I’ve wrapped a pie for ya, Charlie,” Mrs. Winthrope said. Her voice cracked when she reached his name. “You can eat it if you get hungry on yer way.”

  “I’m not sure I’ve met anyone who’s been to the wilds and made it back to tell the tale,” Oscar added, looking from Franklin to Charlie with great admiration. “And now I know you both. Take care of yourself . . .”

  “I will,” Charlie said, leaving Oscar in the study to try to collect his flustered magpie. “You too.”

  Following Franklin and the Prime Minister across the foyer, Charlie grabbed his pack and they walked outside to the bridge and the grand landing. The rain had cleared and Rohmetall clanged up the drive toward them, his casing sparkling with a metallic sheen in the moonlight.

  “Hello, Ch-Ch-Charlie Cooper,” the steam man called. “Hello.”

  “I am afraid it is not hello,” the Prime Minister replied, looking up at the full moon.

  “Good-bye to Charlie Cooper?”

  “Yes, Mr. Rohmetall. This is good-bye.”

  “‘The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again.’ Charles Dickens, 1812 to 1870. See chapter three, Nicholas Nickleby.” The steam man whistled. “Do not forget us. No matter what they say. Do not forget, Ch-Ch-Charlie Cooper.”

  “I won’t,” Charlie said, and then turned to Mrs. Winthrope. “Thank you again, Mrs. Winthrope. Thank you for everything.”

  “Oh, but I should be thanking you,” she said.

  “Why thank me?” Charlie asked.

  “For yer bravery, of course,” she said, and hugged him tight. “You’ve shown us all something. Not many would have dared cross the thresh
old to this place, let alone travel where you’ve been. And you did it all for someone else. It’s something to be proud of, to say the least.”

  The Prime Minister and Franklin started walking again, so Charlie followed, waving back to Mrs. Winthrope and Rohmetall as he crossed the bridge. Ringo ran ahead to where Franklin and the Prime Minister turned off the cobblestoned drive and onto a long, narrow path that wound up the side of the mountain. Charlie climbed the jagged stone steps after them, and the trail grew steadily steeper. In places, it became so narrow that they had to cling to the sides of the exposed rock for fear they would be blown off by the cold gusts that rushed down from above. They continued well into the night with the Prime Minister keeping a watchful eye on the moon as it slowly climbed with them. They went higher and higher, and when Charlie was so tired that he thought he could not take another step, Franklin was there to help him. The Monster picked the boy up and put him on his shoulders and carried him that way until they reached the tunnel entrance at the very top. Once there, he set him down gently next to Ringo, and they stood with the Prime Minister, looking out on all of Vampyreishtat.

  “When you think about it, Charlie,” the Prime Minister said, “you have seen more of this land than most of its own inhabitants.”

  It was true, Charlie thought, gazing out over the valley. But the lands below seemed so vast and wide that it was hard for him to believe how far they had traveled. He took a long, deep breath; the mountain air was cold and burned as it filled his lungs.

  “And now these few final steps,” the Prime Minister said. He turned to face the wall and ran his fingers over the runes that were carved into the stone. Then he nodded to Franklin, who lowered his shoulder and pushed against the rock. There was a loud cracking sound as the hidden door opened on unseen hinges.

  “After you,” Franklin said, stepping out of the way. The Prime Minister removed a flickering torch from the wall and started down the dark tunnel. “And you next, boy.”

  Before stepping through the door, Charlie had to stop and persuade Ringo to come along. The dog stood whimpering at the threshold with his tail between his legs and would not budge until Franklin gave him a gentle push with his foot. Franklin followed, stooping down until he could stand again in the great mausoleum at the end of the long tunnel.

  When they entered, the Prime Minister had already crossed the room and was busy with the carved runes on the last door. Charlie looked up at the murals and stone carvings, feeling light-headed in the stale air of the crypt. As he thought back to the last time he was in this room, one of the carvings that he recalled seeing stood out to him. He realized now that the carving was of Franklin—the Monster of all Monsters. In great, dramatic fashion, it showed him charging forward on horseback in his armor, battle-ax in hand.

  “It was never as glorious as all that,” Franklin called back to Charlie as he helped the Prime Minister with the final door.

  “I thought they were well commissioned,” the Prime Minister replied. With a grunt, Franklin took hold of the heavy stone. “Charlie,” the Prime Minister said, calling him over. “Are you ready to go home?”

  “I think I am,” Charlie said. “My mom’s probably pretty worried by now, right, Ringo?”

  Just then, Franklin pulled back on the rock and pried open the mausoleum door. The cold, fresh air of the forest rushed in and filled the crypt with its subtle sweetness. Charlie looked out and pictured his parents and Old Joe waiting for him, and took the first step up the stairs into the overgrown cemetery. The gravestones looked wet, but the sky was now clear and a full moon shone bright overhead. Franklin and the Prime Minister followed Charlie and Ringo a short distance into the graveyard and then stopped.

  “Well, Charlie,” the Prime Minister said. “Here we are. Where we first met . . .”

  “Yes, it is,” Charlie replied, his hands twisting the straps of his pack.

  “I suppose I should hold on to that,” the Prime Minister suggested. “I do not think you will need it. I have heard that swords and ancient esoteric reference books are frowned upon at school these days . . .”

  “Yeah, I don’t know how I would explain the Roman gladius,” Charlie said, swinging the pack off his shoulders and handing it to the Prime Minister. Then again, Charlie thought, how would he explain any of it?

  “For safekeeping,” the Prime Minister promised. “You never know when you may need it again . . .” The Prime Minister looked up at the moon and then back at Charlie. “It is getting late. Well, Charlie, there is always more to be said, but for now . . .” The Prime Minister extended a long, slender hand. “I thank you again.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Charlie said.

  “Precisssely,” the vampire hissed.

  Charlie took the Prime Minister’s hand, noticing yet again that it seemed a little bit warmer, just as it had on the rock beach with Billy. And Charlie could also see that, like Franklin, there was the slightest hint of a glow twinkling somewhere in the shadows that were his eyes.

  “Farewell, Charlie,” the Prime Minister said with a bow. He patted Ringo on the head and then turned back to the mausoleum.

  “The Prime Minister. Ha, quite the character, isn’t he?” Franklin said, stepping forward to Charlie. He stood there silently for a moment, looking up at the stars.

  “Franklin.”

  “Yes, Charlie.”

  “Do you think we will ever meet again? Someplace? Somewhere, like back at the trees, where we found Billy?”

  “I do not know, Charlie. What’s next is a mystery to me that seems cloudier every day.”

  The Monster knelt down to look Charlie in the eye.

  “But as the Prime Minister is fond of saying, we do not have to resolve all that ails us this evening, do we?”

  Franklin put his big hand on Charlie’s shoulder.

  “You going to be all right, Charlie?”

  “I think so, Franklin. You?”

  “Oh, yes,” Franklin said. “Plenty to do to keep me busy. The list is long. And as you know, trouble’s always brewing . . .”

  Charlie felt tears welling up and saw the Monster wipe away something in the corner of his eye.

  “You take care of yourself, Charlie. Keep that chin up . . . you hear me?”

  “I will,” Charlie said. When he couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, he threw his arms around the Monster. “I will.”

  “Remember who you are, Charlie, and what you can do when you put your mind to it. The possibilities are endless,” Franklin said. Those last words seemed to catch in his throat as he said them, but Charlie knew they were true. Franklin Prometheus himself was the proof. He had once lived hidden in bogs and swamps. Nameless, he’d been hunted, lost, and on the run, and now he lived on a mountaintop in a castle, as a statesman, a scholar, and, Charlie thought, his friend.

  “Remember, just because you do not see us, Charlie, does not mean we are not there.” Franklin tapped Charlie on the chest. “Or here.”

  Franklin bent down to Ringo and ruffled his long coat. “Good old Ringo.”

  The Monster stood, hit Charlie softly on the shoulder, and turned to leave.

  “Good-bye, Charlie.”

  “Good-bye, Franklin,” Charlie said. He stood with Ringo among the crumbled gravestones, watching as Franklin followed the Prime Minister into the mausoleum and they shut the heavy stone door behind them.

  Then the graveyard was quiet, overcome by a stillness that Charlie hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “Well, Ringo, here we are. Right back where it all started,” Charlie said. “But,” Charlie began, and then laughed, “I think we’re still lost, buddy.” Ringo tilted his head quizzically. “Can you believe it?”

  After all they had been through, Charlie wasn’t so worried about being lost now, though. He was confident they’d find their way eventually, and set off with his best guess for Old
Joe’s house. They left the graveyard and, avoiding the bog, wandered off through the trees. They walked for what felt like hours, finally coming to sit at the base of a big tree to rest. Bathed in the light of the full moon, Charlie soon fell asleep with Ringo curled up peacefully at his side.

  He slept soundly there in the woods, and he did not have any nightmares. He dreamed, though, and his dreams were full of marvelous things. He dreamed of the stories he had heard and the places he had been. He dreamed of snow-covered mountains, clouds of magpies, and forests as deep and mysterious as any cave. In his dreams, he saw faces—Billy and Abigail, Zalika, Dwight York and Ignacio, the Prime Minister, Rohmetall, Oscar and Mrs. Winthrope, even Lester Mortlock still in his stocks, and of course, the Monster of all Monsters, Franklin Prometheus. It was said that when they found Charlie asleep in the woods the next morning, not only was he smiling, but when he woke, he was also well rested. And that Ringo, his fur muddied and matted, was there too, calmly licking an empty pie tin, but still at his side.

  EPILOGUE

  WHEN THE SEARCH party, led by Old Joe, found Charlie, over forty days had passed since the boy had gone missing. After the first two weeks, the authorities had feared the worst and threatened to stop searching—“a lost cause,” they said. But Charlie’s family refused to give up, saying that he was a resourceful boy who knew the mountains and these woods and was therefore still alive. They were sure of it. The town was covered in flyers with Charlie’s picture, and on the weekends Ms. Hatchet and her fifth-grade class joined the search, shouting Charlie’s name as they wandered the woods at the base of the mountains. But despite their best efforts, the boy was still missing, and some began to whisper that wild animals had attacked him or that maybe he had been eaten, possibly by a bear.

  Then one day, the numbers of their search party dwindling, Old Joe came across a small clearing. And there, at the base of a big oak, he found his grandson asleep in the morning sun next to his dog, Ringo. Old Joe greeted Ringo and then quietly knelt down.