by Gary Hoover
Land of Nod, The Artifact
Title Page
Chapter 1:
Chapter 2:
Chapter 3:
Chapter 4:
Chapter 5:
Chapter 6:
Chapter 7:
Chapter 8:
Chapter 9:
Chapter 10:
Chapter 11:
Chapter 12:
Chapter 13:
Chapter 14:
Chapter 15:
Chapter 16:
Chapter 17:
Chapter 18:
Chapter 19:
Chapter 20:
Chapter 21:
Chapter 22:
Chapter 23:
Chapter 24:
Chapter 25:
Chapter 26:
Chapter 27:
Chapter 28:
Chapter 29:
Chapter 30:
Chapter 31:
Chapter 32:
Chapter 33:
Chapter 34:
Chapter 35:
Chapter 36:
Chapter 37:
Chapter 38:
Chapter 39:
Chapter 40:
Chapter 41:
Chapter 42:
Chapter 43:
Chapter 44:
Chapter 45:
Chapter 46:
Chapter 47:
Chapter 48:
Chapter 49:
Chapter 50 :
Chapter 51:
Chapter 52:
Chapter 53:
Chapter 54:
Chapter 55 :
Chapter 56:
Chapter 57:
Chapter 58:
Chapter 59:
Chapter 60:
Chapter 61:
Chapter 62:
Chapter 63:
Chapter 64:
Chapter 65:
Chapter 66:
Land of Nod
The Artifact
Gary Hoover
Edited by Christy Rabe
Published by Gary Hoover at Smashwords.com
Copyright 2010 Gary Hoover
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Two Men Say They’re Jesus
One of Them Must be Wrong
-Mark Knopfler
Chapter 1:
The boredom was almost painful.
Jeff aimed the remote.
Up, up, up . . .
He didn’t pause long enough on any channel to really see what was going on. He knew there was nothing worth watching. There was NEVER anything worth watching. Jeff was like a chimpanzee pulling the hairs out of his arm . . . one . . . by . . . one.
Who was it who said: ‘Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results’? Jeff wondered to himself. Einstein? Yeah, like he was one to judge sanity.
‘Faced with evidence that either he was crazy or the universe was crazy,’ Jeff’s father had told him, ‘Einstein decided: ‘It must be the universe.’ . . . And damned if he wasn’t right.’
Jeff laughed, then shook his head to try to rattle some of the crazy out of it.
It didn’t work.
Could boredom actually lead to madness? Was it possible for one’s brain to become so disinterested with the mundanity of life that it started dreaming while the person was still awake?
Up, up, up . . .
His mom had given up on trying to force him to go to bed at a decent hour. Jeff was deft at playing the ‘I still haven’t gotten over the loss of my father’ card.
He felt like he had to do something . . . anything . . . other than what he was doing.
Drifting.
Up, up, up . . .
It was the kind of boredom that made Jeff's brain itchy.
. . . Beneath the skull where it was hard to scratch.
. . . Not that he hadn't tried.
Somehow he felt that if he stayed up long enough, the next day wouldn’t come . . . but it always did . . . and it was always worse when he hadn’t gotten enough sleep.
And then there were the dreams.
For the last several months, Jeff had been having . . . terrible dreams.
Dreams of a savage creature - somewhat human, but reptilian. It had a powerful, sinewy body. It had jagged, uneven teeth, but it wasn’t the obvious physical power and danger that got to Jeff . . . there was something else that burrowed into Jeff’s soul like a parasitic worm making its way through the flesh to the vital bits.
Something in the eyes . . .
. . . Evil, red glowing eyes that ate into him . . .
He’d try to get away, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. . .
Push . . . move . . . run . . . scream . . .
. . . Then nothing but the sound of his breathing and the darkness of his bedroom.
By the light of day, it all seemed so silly.
Monsters?
Jeff was 14 - too old to be afraid of monsters.
It all seemed easy enough to brush off when he was awake, but when he was asleep, it had almost . . .
. . . A power over him.
Jeff seemed to shift between three different moods - none of them good. Boredom shifted to fear. Fear shifted to sadness.
Jeff paused on a ‘news’ channel. Jeff was too young to remember when television actually broadcast news. This was really a ‘Republicans and Democrats arguing with a healthy dose of celebrity gossip thrown in between’ channel, but as far as Jeff knew it was ‘news’.
A Republican congressman had just been caught in an affair, so, of course, the left-wing nut was horrified while the right-wing nut thought it was no big deal. Sometime in the near future – maybe a week, maybe a month – a Democratic congressman would be caught in an affair and their roles would switch.
Jeff decided that, if his goal was to fend off madness, this tactic was not working.
He rubbed his eyes, twisted in his seat and squinted – trying to bring the clock on the wall into focus.
Damn!
He pushed down on the arms of his chair and . . .
. . . Nothing happened.
He tried again, this time using far more effort than someone as young and healthy as he was should need. This time he managed to heft himself and started the long walk to bed.
Chapter 2:
Jeff pulled the door shut behind him and looked up the street. It was still a little dark, and that wasn’t helping him put the dream behind him. He knew the whole thing was silly, but he needed the bright light of day for his rational and irrational sides to come to agreement on that point.
The wind stung his neck. He pulled on the zipper of his jacket, but, he found it was already as high as it would go.
There was an eerie, uncomfortable quiet at this time of morning. Jeff stood there for a moment, exhaled loudly, watched his breath swirl and disperse, and then he headed toward the bus stop.
As he walked, he heard nothing but the sound of his own feet.
It almost seemed that he was the only thing that was real.
He looked down, watching his own feet. He had seen the other students gathered at the bus stop ahead, but – for
just a few more moments – he imagined there was no one but him.
“Hey, Jeff!”
Jeff smiled. “Hey, Larry.” He paused. As he snapped back to reality, he remembered that he hadn’t been able to figure out the algebra assignment. “Hey, did you get that assignment for Martelli’s class?”
Jeff used to be a great student, but ever since he lost his father, he couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything. He always felt off balance - out of place. It seemed like . . . he should be doing . . . something.
But he had no idea what that ‘something’ was.
“Yeah, it wasn’t too bad. You just have to get the variables on one side.” Larry could see the incomprehension on Jeff’s face. “Here, I’ll show you.” He opened the book and began to explain.
“Yo, dweebo.”
Jeff and Larry both cringed. It was Jake - a monster of a 9th grader. At 6’1” and 220 lbs, he would be big for an adult, but he was HUGE for a 14 year old, and to make matters worse, he was an absolute ass.
Jeff had once walked into the boy’s room to find Jake peeing on the floor and laughing as if it was the funniest, most clever joke since Al Gore’s advisors had told him: ‘Trust us. Nobody will ever fact check it if you claim you invented the internet.’ *snicker, snicker*
Jake snatched Larry’s book and tossed it to Todd. Todd wasn’t much bigger than the other 9th graders, but he didn’t need to be. As long as he hung around Jake, nobody would ever give him any trouble.
Larry reached for the book, but Todd tossed it to Jake who had moved a little farther away. Larry shifted directions and headed back toward Jake and Jake tossed it back to Todd.
Jeff felt like he should do something.
He felt like it was his fault.
Jeff got along with most people and was usually not the target of bullies.
And he sort of liked it that way.
He wasn’t sure how far that neutral status would take him in this situation, but he had to try. “Jake, come on.”
Jake seemed a little surprised that anyone would have the nerve to do anything other than just stand there uncomfortably. “Jake, come oooooon,” he said mockingly and then held out his hands for Todd to toss the book back.
Jeff felt an uncomfortable twinge in his stomach and a tingling in his arms and legs. As Todd tossed the book, Jeff tried to intercept, but as he leaned in, Jake shoved him angrily. Jeff flailed back awkwardly and off balance as the book hit the ground with a loud ‘thwap’.
That flipped a switch in Jake’s brain.
He turned toward Jeff, reached out and grabbed two handfuls of Jeff’s jacket. Jeff reacted instinctively and punched him - hard - in the stomach. Jake let go of the jacket and stared dumbly for a moment.
Did I actually hurt him? Jeff wondered to himself. Before he could think much more, Jake exploded in a rage. He grabbed Jeff’s jacket again, lifted him a couple inches off the ground and then SLAMMED him hard onto his back. Jeff felt his teeth rattle and pain shot through his kidneys as he hit the frozen lawn.
Jake punched wildly at him and Jeff looped one arm over his face and another around his chest in an attempt to shield himself. Most of the blows hit him - painfully but with relatively little damage - in his ribs and arms.
“Jake! Bus is coming,” Todd yelled.
. . . And the pounding stopped.
Jeff felt dizzy and lightheaded.
Everything went silent and blank for a moment, and then Jeff began to see clouds drift in and out of focus.
As he regained more of his senses, he could see shadows moving around him as the other students lined up for the bus.
Jeff felt an arm grab his and the next thing he knew, he was standing.
“Thanks,” he mumbled to Larry who looked more shaken than Jeff felt.
They got on the bus and Jeff dropped into a seat. He avoided looking directly at Jake, but he didn’t need to see him to know the Neanderthal was mouthing threats.
“After school, you’re dead, Browning.”
Chapter 3:
Oh hell, Jeff thought to himself as he found it even harder than usual to concentrate in history.
He tapped the eraser from his nearly new pencil on his desk - trying to see how many times he could get it to bounce. Jeff was wondering if he could get away with a quick trip to the pencil sharpener. He took as many chances as he could get to stretch his legs and look out the window. By the end of the day, this nice new pencil will be nothing but a nub, he thought.
By the end of the day . . .
Jeff considered ‘missing’ the bus. It was about a three mile walk. Jeff could handle it, but . . .
. . . No. That would be a coward move.
Jeff wondered what his father would have said about the situation with Jake.
Jeff couldn’t imagine his father ever being afraid of anything. He wasn’t physically strong, but mentally. . .
Dr. Browning was the sort of person who felt there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do, and that confidence was always visible. Jeff’s father projected the ability to do anything well. If, for example, he was picking up dog poop in a plastic bag, someone would likely say: ‘Wow! That guy really knows how to pick up dog poop in a plastic bag.’
Jeff remembered that his father had talked to him once about fighting: ‘For all the potential fights people get into, there are very few actual fights. Both parties know how the fight’s going to go before it happens, so the guy who knows he’s going to get beat backs down before things get ugly.’ And Jeff had seen that scenario play out several times since his father shared that little bit of wisdom.
Problem was, he knew the outcome of his fight with Jake . . . and it didn’t end with Jeff still standing.
His only hope in a fight with Jake would be that one of Jake’s arms might . . . by chance . . . fall off during the fight.
. . . And that wasn’t likely to happen.
. . . And, truth be told, Jake could probably still kick Jeff’s ass with only one arm.
“What are your thoughts, Jeff?”
Caught!
Jeff realized he had no idea what Mr. Murphy was talking about. Jeff normally enjoyed Mr. Murphy’s class and respected him, so he was particularly embarrassed.
“. . . Uhhhh. . .” He hoped for some hint.
“What would the punishment have been?”
“. . . Uhhh . . .”
“For those who signed the Declaration of Independence . . .”
“Death?”
“Yes!”
Mr. Murphy clapped his hands shuffled his feet in what appeared to Jeff to be a piss-poorly executed dance step of some sort.
Nothing like the thought of someone else’s pain and death to get a 9th grade teacher all giddy. I guess if they didn’t enjoy suffering, they wouldn’t stay 9th grade teachers for long . . .
With that out of the way, Jeff was once again free to imagine various scenarios for what would happen when the final bell rang.
They all ended with one of two possible outcomes: Jeff, invariably, wound up either badly beaten or a coward - afraid to ever show his face in school again.
The more Jeff thought of it, the more he decided he liked the idea of getting his ass kicked best. It would only hurt for a little bit and then it would be over.
Jake wouldn’t hurt him . . . much. Even Jake - who thought WWF wrestling was real and Jackass was the best movie ever made - was too smart for that. Jake wouldn’t want to end up in juvenile detention or facing a lawsuit for maiming a fatherless boy. No, he’d beat him - soundly - and that would be the end of it. Maybe Jake would even end up with some respect for Jeff if he had the balls to not run from a sure thrashing. . .
Yep. That was the answer. Stand up. Take it like a man. Show up the next day beaten but not a coward.
Once he made that decision, he felt so relieved he was practically ecstatic. He glided to his locker after final period.
It was the oddest thing.
He was roughly 15 minutes away from a good beatin
g, yet he felt more . . . alive . . . than he had in over a year.
Chapter 4:
Jeff boarded the bus proudly. That’s right, I’m here . . . surprised? He thought to himself.
He looked back at Jake who was in the back of the bus. Jeff didn’t stare, but he made sure not to avoid him either. He saw Todd point at him and laugh along with Jake.
When they arrived at their stop, Jeff got up and made his way - calmly - to the door. He could feel Jake breathing down the back of his neck, and he could hear him mumbling in a mocking voice: “Jeffrey . . . Jeffrey”
Jeff hopped out of the bus. He didn’t turn around, but he didn’t run either. He was there . . . available for the worst Jake had to offer as soon as the bus pulled away.
Jeff watched the bus pull out of sight, and then - just so it was clear he wasn’t about to run - he stopped and turned around.
And then . . .
. . . One of the strangest things happened.
. . . Nothing.
Jake was walking the other way, talking to Todd. For a brief second, Jake glanced over his shoulder at Jeff, but then quickly snapped his head back around.
Jeff was almost disappointed.
Chapter 5:
I am your God.
Jeff’s foot hovered over an ant.
I have the power of life or death over you. One simple move of my foot and you will cease to exist.
Jeff leaned back and stretched. He closed his eyes and felt the warmth of the sun on his face as he reclined on the steps leading to his front porch.
As often happened, his thoughts drifted to his father.
Jeff’s father - Dr. Jeffrey Browning – was a brilliant physicist who had contributed significantly to the current models of super-string theory. Dr. Browning was absolutely convinced that a unifying theory was within reach, but his last paper sat locked in a roll top desk gathering dust just seven feet above where Jeff Jr. spent his evenings catatonically flipping through channels.