Knack (Benjamin Brown Book 1)

by Tom Twitchel

  His eyebrows raised as he nodded his head. “Telekinesis. Rare. It’s a good knack to have but one that requires a lot of practice and caution. The wrong influence at the wrong time can be less than fortunate.”

  “Like what? What could go wrong?”

  “Under stress, or daydreaming, being sick or angry and not focused on the exact effect desired can result in a violent influence. People who have that particular knack have historically manifested under duress and the behaviors that follow have often been ascribed to poltergeists or evil spirits.”

  I chewed on that for a moment. The two times I had first used that knack had been to throw off someone else’s balance and I had been under stress to one degree or another. Since then, I had practiced my small-scale manipulation of playing cards and been able to produce a consistent result. Whenever I had attempted to move anything more substantial, it had not gone as well.

  “Does weight and size figure into that?”

  Mr. Goodturn nodded. “Absolutely. The movies and TV shows that depict people throwing cars and furniture around with their minds are not representative of the knack at all. The more mass that an object has, the more difficult it is to influence it.”

  “You keep saying “influence” instead of move or push. Why? Does that have to do with how you make it happen?”

  “Exactly right. The incorrect interpretation is that you use the mind to reach out and physically impact the object. The knack is actually about influencing the space around the object. Evacuating the space you want the object to move into and creating pressure in the other areas contacting the object so that it will move in the direction of least resistance. Because objects exist in three dimensions, it requires focus on all three dimensions to create the movement you are seeking to influence. Flat, thin objects are much easier to influence than bulky items.”

  That explained the ease with which I was able to manipulate cards but the difficulty in moving other objects.

  He pushed his glasses into place with a finger. “Another thing to cover with you is the why of knacks.”

  “The why?”

  “Yes. As in I don’t know why and no one I have ever known that has a knack can explain why they have them. I have lived a long life and spoken to others who have known people who have knacks and I have learned a few truths. They aren’t hereditary. A person with a knack might be the first person in his or her family tree to ever demonstrate a knack. It is not gender biased. Men and women both manifest and there is no indication that one sex is more likely to have a knack than the other. Knacks often manifest when the individual is under stress, but physiological changes do not force a knack to emerge. So there is no surprising appearance of a talent with the onset of puberty, for instance. There is no pattern as to which knacks manifest alone or in multiples. Someone with the telekinetic knack may or may not manifest another knack. Strength or magnitude of one knack does not indicate an equal magnitude for other knacks an individual might have or acquire. Nor does intelligence factor into the equation. It is just as likely for someone of average intelligence to manifest a knack as it is for someone with a high IQ, although intelligence is very important in learning how to control a knack properly. Knacks do not weaken with age. Actually, quite the reverse. And…most knacks can be strengthened and “improved” with practice.”

  “Can we practice? Telekinesis? Can you “influence” things?” I asked.

  Glancing toward the front of the shop, he shook his head. “No and no. I don’t have that knack and practicing any knack you are developing while I’m open for business isn’t a good idea. A mistake could create a problem we couldn’t cover up quickly enough to avoid detection by others. Does that make sense?”

  I nodded. “If you don’t have the telekinesis knack, how do you know so much about it?”

  “I knew a person who had a similar knack. His successes and…failures were an education for us both,” he replied.

  That sounded slightly ominous. “Oh.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “There is one knack you possess that you may not be aware of Benny. It’s how I knew you were like me.”

  That unsettled me. What could that possibly be and how would he know about it when I was unaware of it?

  “What’s that?”

  He leaned back slightly. “You can make yourself invisible.”

  I laughed nervously. “What? Invisible? How do you know that? What would make you think I can do that?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Because I’ve seen it, or rather, I have not seen you when I knew you were in my shop.”

  Excitement ran through me. Was that really possible? My other knacks were cool and useful but being able to make myself invisible? That would be awesome.

  “When?” I asked.

  “When you have been in my shop, and I’ve asked you to be discreet, make yourself scarce when other customers are in the shop, you sometimes manifest a complete body camouflage. You aren’t truly invisible. I can see you if I know where you’re standing, but your entire body exhibits the patterns, colors and shades of whatever is close to you. It’s more effective when you’re standing against a solid surface like a wall, as opposed to being close to a shelf with many objects on it.”

  “That’s awesome!” I gasped.

  “Yes. It’s the only time I’ve ever known of anyone being able to do it. But in this instance, my concern about knacks manifesting at inopportune times is a case in point. You’ve manifested when there were other people in the shop. You accidentally manifested when the robber was in the building the other day. At one point, you were camouflaged when you were standing within a few feet of your friends. I don’t think they were facing you, but they could have been. You need to be careful.”

  I hadn’t yet confided in him that Maddy and Baff knew about my knacks, most of them anyway. My mind was racing. “Let me see if I can try that right now.”

  He shook his head again. “No. I think you should practice that one at home alone until you know how to manifest it at will. Then we can start helping you develop more precise control. And that brings up a question I have been meaning to ask you: Does your mother know about your knacks?”

  That question poured a bucket of ice water on my enthusiasm.

  “Uh, no. No, she doesn’t.”

  “That’s probably best. What I would recommend, Benny, is that we pick a day and time in the evening when you would like to come over to my home and we can endeavor to develop your knacks without fear of interruption.”

  “Cool. I’ll check with my mom. Wednesday evenings would be good. Is one day a week enough?”

  “More than enough,” he said with a smile.

  A buzzing from my phone vibrated against my leg. When I checked the screen, it was Maddy letting me know she was on her way.

  “I need to get going Mr. Goodturn. One of my friends is coming over. So, is next week Wednesday night a go?”

  “Yes, let’s say six o’clock. You can share dinner with me if that would be all right with your mother.”

  I started to walk out from behind the counter when he cleared his throat. Turning back, I saw him extending a small wrapped box.

  “Happy birthday, Benjamin.” His eyes twinkled and his face creased impressively as he smiled at me.

  “Thanks, Mr. G. Should I open it now?” I asked as he handed it to me.

  “No, no, later, when you’re having cake with your mother. Much too awkward to open it now. It’s just something small to commemorate your birthday. I’m glad you are in the world, Benjamin.”

  “Well, thanks. That’s really nice.”

  “My pleasure!” He jumped down from the stool and followed me to the front of the shop.

  “I’ll see you Wednesday if not before, Benjamin.”

  Out on the street, I hustled back to my building and up the stairs as fast as I could.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Scanning the apartment quickly, I tossed Mr. Goodturn’s gift on my desk, picked up my clo
thes and stuffed them in the hamper, full but just able to accept the small handful of clothes. I cleaned the breakfast dishes and wished again that I had a dishwasher. Yanking open the hall closet, I grabbed the broom and gave it a quick tour around the apartment.

  Satisfied that everything looked presentable, I pulled some glasses from the cupboard, wiped off a couple of spots and filled them with ice. Then I stopped and considered what I was doing. It was just Maddy. She had been in my apartment dozens of times. Why was I making a fuss? My birthday? I couldn’t figure it out, or more likely, it was one of those things that you do that you don’t want to look at too closely. I had a nice collection of issues like that.

  I flopped onto the couch and prepared to wait. The conversation, mentoring, with Mr. Goodturn, was exciting. Although I still didn’t know why I had these abilities, I now knew a lot more about them, and almost as important, what I didn’t know. Thinking about my new knack, camouflage, was exciting.

  I had messed around with my ability to create illusions with a variety of objects. The bigger the object, the more difficult and the briefer the time that I could maintain the illusion. The more complex the illusion, patterns, colors or structure, then the more unlikely that I could make it work. I had even tried to create the illusion of my left eye not having a droopy eyelid with no luck. All I had managed to do was to blur my vision and give myself a headache, or more accurately, an eye ache.

  Being able to disguise myself seemed like it was just a large-scale version of my ability to create illusions. I got up off the couch and went into the master bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, I tried to think about blending into the wall behind me. I focused on my image in the mirror. I imagined my skin and clothes being the color of the wall.

  Nothing.

  I closed my eyes and thought about wanting to disappear into a cloud of vapor. When I peeked through a half-closed eyelid, I could still see myself plain as day.

  A couple of random memories floated from the back of my mind. Curled up in the back of the bus during the long ride to Seattle and trying to be inconspicuous, hiding in the doorway of the church and camping out there all night and not being seen.

  I had been feeling sorry for myself on both occasions. Crammed into a bus seat and huddled against the cold walls of a building, thinking about fading into nothingness—hiding—no one had bothered me.

  Clearing my mind, I tried to dredge up a feeling of insecurity, of being afraid and not wanting to be seen, trying to hide. I peeked again and there I wasn’t! I got excited and then the illusion abruptly faded. Attempting to recreate it several times was met with varying degrees of success. The key seemed to be making myself feel a need to hide. When I thought about creating the illusion the way I did with my cards, it wouldn’t work. But, when I closed my eyes and pretended that it was important not to be seen, presto, no me!

  I thought back to the trip to Seattle on the bus and the night I spent on the street and knew how I’d escaped detection. How different would my life be if I had discovered this ability years ago? I decided not to go there. What was done was done. But still, I started thinking of different ways to use it.

  Then my phone buzzed and someone knocked on the door.

  The message on the phone was from Maddy.

  I’M here

  The knocking was probably her too, but I checked the peephole anyway.

  Good thing too, because it wasn’t Maddy.

  It had been over two years since I had seen the pair of eyes that were staring at me through the peephole. Their lavender color left little doubt as to who was standing on the other side of the door. The big question was why was Miss Hoch here now?

  Wracking my brain, I struggled to come up with an idea and hit upon a desperate plan. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I called Maddy. When she picked up, I quickly rattled off my idea. A lot would depend on her theatrical acting ability. She didn’t even hesitate.

  I hung up, stared at the door and wiped my sweaty palms on my pants.

  The knocking started again and then abruptly stopped. I could hear voices in the hallway. Trusting Maddy to do what needed to be done, I ran to the utility closet, opened the door, stepped inside and locked myself in. The birthday wagon was heading in a new direction.

  The lock had barely clicked home when I heard the front door to the apartment open. Voices carried from the hallway.

  “Can I offer you something to drink?” I heard Maddy ask.

  “No, thank you. This should be a short visit.”

  Undoubtedly Miss Hoch.

  “Where is your mother, did you say?”

  “I didn’t,” said Maddy. “But she’s out until late. She helps with in-home hospice care.”

  “Mmm. Well, let me ask you a few questions and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Sure,” Maddy replied. “What’s this about anyway?”

  “Okay. I show there are two people living here, a single mother and one child, but my paperwork indicates that the child is male. You say you live here?”

  At this point, my idea had run its course and Maddy was working off script and on her own.

  “Yes, ma’am. But you didn’t answer my question. What’s going on? Why are you here?”

  Atta girl Maddy.

  Stop it. You’re distracting me.

  “I need to take this up with your mother but it isn’t based on a complaint, and it may not even involve your family. I’m really just following up on a loose end from an open file. There was a runaway who was traced to this vicinity so I’m just checking off names. What did you say your name was dear?”

  “Brenda. But everybody calls me Benny.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about her choice of play, but there certainly wasn’t anything I could do about it.

  “Benny? That’s odd. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard Brenda abbreviated that way,” said Miss Hoch. I could imagine her eyes narrowing as she tried to stare Maddy down.

  “Oh, it’s not short for Brenda. My little niece couldn’t say Brenda. She called me Benny when she first started talking and it just kind of stuck.”

  Maddy, you are a twisted genius.

  “Mmm. Maybe that’s where my paperwork is in error. It says the child living here is named Benjamin.”

  Be careful Maddy.

  Seriously? I can’t talk to you and her at the same time. You’re going to mess me up.

  I couldn’t help myself. I had underestimated this woman the one and only time I had met her.

  “Really? That’s kind of funny, except not. I get teased a lot for looking like a boy.” Score another point for our team.

  “Well, young lady, I think I have just a few more questions and then we’ll be through here. Last name?”

  “Brown.”

  “Mother’s name?”

  “Claire.”

  “How long have you lived at this address?”

  “Almost two years.”

  “Where do you attend school?”

  No. That’s a trap question I’m sure of it.

  Will you pleeeaase shut up and get out of my head?

  “Umm…I’m not sure my mom would want me giving that out. Sorry, I’m not trying to be disrespectful. Don’t you have that in your paperwork?” I held my breath.

  “No, I don’t but I can leave some forms with you. Have your mom fill them out and mail them in as soon as possible. Now, please give me a quick tour and we’ll be done.” My heart started banging away in my chest.

  “Sure. Do you want to see my room first, or my mom’s?”

  “Let’s start with yours.” Fortunately, my room didn’t have typical boy-oriented posters or decorations. It was about as plain as you could get. But it was also not anywhere close to feminine.

  Footsteps approached and passed my hiding place. I heard them walking through the bedrooms and then heard a woman’s heels hit the tile in the bathroom. I closed my eyes and concentrated on hiding and keeping completely still. Muffled voices, Maddy’s laughter and then the foot
steps approached again, and stopped right in front of the closet.

  “What’s behind this door?”

  “The water heater and I think…the electrical panel,” Maddy said. I could hear the tension in her voice.

  “Oh.” The doorknob rattled and I almost yelled. “Why is it locked?”

  “I guess because my mom doesn’t want me getting into it. Not that I care. It’s not like I’m a baby or anything.”

  Go Maddy, go.

  I heard a chuckle, not from Maddy, on the other side of the door. “I’m sure she’s just looking out for her little girl.”

  As the footsteps moved away, I let out a long, slow, shuddering breath.

  The sound of the barstools’ legs scraping the floor seemed incredibly loud in the silence. A noise that sounded like a stack of paper being dropped was followed by Miss Hoch speaking in clipped tones. She didn’t sound happy.

  “Have your mom sign these and send them in. Tell her to make a copy and keep it here for anyone that might ask for it. That’ll be easier. I’ll be back in a week or two and, hopefully, she’ll be in so I can close this file. Can you remember all of that dear?”

  “Yes, ma’am. ‘Fill it out and mail it right away’ and ‘make a copy,’” Maddy said. I could feel her irritation at being talked to that way.

  I heard a zipping noise, probably a briefcase being closed, and then the stool legs scraping the floor again.

  Back in a week or two? My knees felt weak.

  “Here’s my card if your mom needs to reach me. Thank you Brenda.”

  “Okay. Thank you,” said Maddy.

  The sound of the front door opening, closing and being locked echoed through the apartment. I didn’t move. The last thing I wanted to do was to step out into the hall and find Miss Hoch standing there waiting for me.

  Maddy’s voice rang out a few minutes later. “Benny? She’s gone. I just saw her walk out onto the street.”

  Blowing out a loud breath, I opened the door.

  Maddy was standing by the window looking back in my direction. She wrinkled her nose and using a high nasally voice, she said, “I’m sure she’s just wooking out for her widdle girl.” Maddy rolled her eyes. “Can you remember what I asked you to tell your mommy-kins?” Then she stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry at the window.