Presently, Mr. Patas was in front of the main gate of his personal world of leisurely fun. He had heard Mikalah come through the sliding doors, bringing what she imagined he knew as “the magic, golden chalice of sustenance”. Already, she envisioned he could smell the delicious morsels within the scared vessel she carried.
Mikalah approached the cage with a broad smile upon her face as she watched Mr. Patas caper before the door of his cage, hopping and jumping, back and forth. He seemed out of his mind with anticipation. Boy was he EVER hungry!
“What are you doing, pretty boy?” asked the girl as she began to fiddle with the latch locking the cage.
Mr. Patas did a quick turn of excitement as if to answer: “I gotta a have a feast!”
“You’re being so feisty today,” observed Mikalah as she managed to get the door open and began filling the trough, serving as Mr. Patas feeding dish. Mr. Patas was already nose-deep in the dish, even as she poured. His quivering, button-like olfactory gland was already covered in the cascading crumbs and pellet chips. Yet, he didn’t seem to care as he happily chomped away at his meal.
“You were hungry, boy,” she soothed with a silky tone. “I’m sorry we forgot to feed you yesterday.”
Unwavering, Mr. Patas chuffed on, devouring his tasty, if not belated meal, completely ignoring her. He hadn’t even bothered to gaze at her from the corner of his eye, as he was often apt to do.
Meanwhile, Mikalah inspected the level of his water and found, while he still had some, its level was in fact low. She quickly closed the cage door and made her way to the side of the house where the outdoor sink stood inside the walled and covered shelter. It enclosed the washer, dryer, and a small industrial sink, abutting the outer wall of the house. Grabbing the plastic cup sitting atop one of the rear shelves above the sink, Mikalah filled the vessel with water, turned off the valve and then made her way back to the cage water sloshing upon her wrist as she walked.
“Do you want a cool drink, Mr. Patas, you cutie-pie?” inquired the girl, knowing the rabbit liked the sound of her voice, even if he didn’t understand her.
As if in reply, Mr. Patas pulled his head up from the feeding trough, looked at Mikalah from the corner of his eye, one ear pointed in her direction, sniffing a few times before he returned to his meal.
Mikalah poured the water into the rabbit’s drinking dish, but frowned when she saw debris floating and swirling upon the surface. With her index finger, she fished out a few strands of grass, and, with a deepening of her expression, a soggy rabbit turd.
“Yuck, dude, you took a dump in your water,” responded Mikalah disgusted. Shaking her head, she ran back to the sink, re-filled the cup with more water. When she returned, she proceeded to pour all of it into the dish, so much of it overflowed, falling onto the grass below and almost all of the yucky mess with it.
Hopefully the good water would flush out the bad water. Maybe it would pour onto the ground, so Mr. Patas won’t have to drink his “dump-water,” she thought a somewhat satisfied. Since, she wasn’t strong enough to unscrew the dish from the side of the cage and dump out its contents, there wasn’t much else she could do for the dumb animal. She could only hope for the best.
“All done,” she muttered to herself. “Now, I better start my homework before Dad gets mad.”
She picked up both the water and feed cups and began making her way back to the sink for the third time when she thought she heard someone call out to her from the opposite side of the yard.
“What?” she called, though mostly to herself. As far as she knew, she’d been alone. She turned around to see if she could discern what had made such a plaintive noise. She made a complete turn, peering all about the yard, her ears straining… nothing. With a shrug of her shoulders, she bounded off toward the sink, placed the cup upon the same shelf as before and began to make her way back to the sliding doors beneath the covered patio.
It came again… what was it…?
“…Hello…?”
Mikalah stopped in her tracks, looking around. “Who’s there?” was her confused question. Again, she tried to extend the range of her hearing, head canted slightly forward with the effort. She could hear Mr. Patas running about his cage, a few birds chirping at one another somewhere off in the distance, feel a slight breeze caress her cheeks as it blew softly across the back yard… beyond that, nothing.
She walked underneath the covered-patio, passing the duel sliding doors leading back into the house, standing beside the massive outdoor BBQ station her Dad had installed on the opposite end of the patio. Her eyes kept up the vigil in a vain attempt to find this pleading source of sound.
“Is anyone out here?” ventured Mikalah again, gazing across the rest of the yard in front her, seeing the long path of stepping-stones, extending along the entire length of the back of the house. She looked, slightly to the left, over toward the combination tree house/apparatus/sand box her father had built for them a few years back. She went so far as to examine the very verges of the remaining property beyond their outdoor play area. Her eyes searched the tall, wide pine tree growing in the far corner of the yard and the fence beyond. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Crud, what the heck is wrong with me, thought Mikalah a little disgusted with herself for “hearing strange noises”. I’m turning into a real Looney Toon.
She turned around to leave.
“Bye, Mr. Patas!”
“Where are you going?”
She definitely heard it this time. It was directly behind her. “Huh?” she began as she turned back around, eyes focusing on the fence, at the far edge of the back yard.
“Where are you going?” the question came a second time, allowing Mikalah’s ears to coordinate with her eyes, directing them toward the origin of the sound.
Then, she saw him and, involuntarily gasped, taking a half step back. Sitting atop the backyard fence was what looked to be a four or five-year-old child completely wrapped, from head to toe, in a long flowing, black robe. The garment had a hood and low cowl, covering his face in a shadow Mikalah’s eyes couldn’t penetrate at a distance.
“What…W-what…?” was all Mikalah could muster. She was too surprised and shocked. Her vocal cords seemed to have tied themselves in a knot. She couldn’t make a recognizable sound.
“I found something and was going to give it to you, yet… you were making as if to leave. Where are you going that is so important at this very moment?” asked the child-like figure atop the fence. Only its voice didn’t sound child-like at all. Rather, it sounded like sandpaper, slowly scraped over course wood. It grated against the drums in Mikalah’s ears. It issued forth, strained and grizzly.
“I-I…I was going to do my h-homework,” answered Mikalah unable to keep the quiver from her voice, gulping.
“Do you not wish to see what I found? What I have for you?” rasped the small figure. Its feet crossed and un-crossed, as if it were trying to conceal some great urgency, some sort of internal energy it couldn’t shake.
It made the girl nervous, even though she watched from some distance away. The small boy seemed overflowing with excitement, so much so, it looked like he was about to burst from within.
“I d-don’t want to get into trouble by my Dad,” stated Mikalah, taking another uncontrolled step backward. About her, the wind abruptly swirled her hair, an unexpected squall, strong, persistent. Was it getting colder? Mikalah asked herself. Or, was she merely chilled from the inside instead.
“Come, child, and see the nature of the goody I have for you,” urged the hooded…
Was it a man? But, he’s so small.
Mikalah stopped her retreat, uneasy but wondering, “What it is?”
There was a slight chuckling sound emanating from the figure, and then, “You have to come here to witness this gift.” The figure reached into what appeared to be a fold in its robe and drew forth something too small to see. It was within the clutch of its’ hand.
Without thinking, Mikalah took a few st
eps forward. “I can’t stay for long,” she offered, trying to push down the growing sense that something wasn’t right.
“It will not be long. I promise, little one.”
Mikalah frowned, thinking, little one, I am like a foot taller than you are! She took a few more steps forward. Again, the wind blew; a similar gust, only this time Mikalah knew, in her heart, it was colder than a moment before.
“Goooood, come closer… juuust a bit more,” compelled the small man.
It was a man, right? It’s treating me like I’m much younger than him, so it must be a man – a short man. Maybe he’s a little person, rationalized the young girl as her feet took her yet a few more steps closer.
A small squeak from behind her made her stop on the balls of her feet. She heard a metallic sort of shaking.
She glanced over her shoulder. She saw Mr. Patas staring straight at her, no longer interested in his food. She had only the time to take a single breath when Mr. Patas abruptly grabbed one of the crossing wires of his cage within the grasp of his four massive front teeth and tugged violently at the cage, shaking the conglomerated structure to its very foundations. What is wrong with Mr. - ?
The hooded figure interrupted her thoughts. “Just a few more steps and you shall see what I have found for you.”
“Huh?” Mikalah asked, not sure to whom she was voicing her inquiry, confusion and indecision plaguing her young mind.
“Come, child. Come. Come. COME,” went on the pleading, imploring in its’ raspy voice.
Through the plague of doubt and worry, Mikalah began to walk toward the seated man. The wind came again. It was a long, steady, hurling of air, fluttering, flapping, and pushing at Mikalah.
It was cold! Too cold, what was happening…?
The figure’s head rose slightly as she approached the little, robed figure. She took the last few steps and for the first time, Mikalah could see the face of her unexpected visitor. The view shocked the young girl to her core.
His skin was dark and leathery, but so wrinkled and so very dry looking, Mikalah was sure it would peel off at any second in the ever-increasing wind. He had a long, pointed nose above wide lips that appeared so drained of blood, so cracked and lifeless, it was amazing they could still move without splintering and falling to the ground.
The man in the hood smile broadly. His eyes widened as the draw of his smile increased. His irises were so pale, they looked almost white. Not an albino’s eyes that would’ve shown pink with blood, because they lacked all pigment. No, these were entirely white. It was a snowy color. His gaze pierced Mikalah. It was so rare a sight. It was unnerving.
She felt as though this creature could look right through her and read her mind. Maybe even watch, with rapture-like fascination, the very beating of her heart.
His lips peeled back as he continued to smile. His teeth were pointed, sharpened and stained with splotches of red, as if he’d been eating pomegranates for years without ever brushing them. Before him, he held out his hand, fist closed over what he said was a gift for Mikalah.
Barely able to tear her gaze from the appalling appearance of his face, the girl glanced down at the offered hand, eyelids withdrawing over the orbs of her eyes. She saw the last of his gnarled arm from beneath the end of his robe. It was equally knobby and callused, his hand ending with long, sinewy fingers that sprouted overlong nails, chipped and broken. They looked as though he’d spending the entire day digging through dirt and mud.
Mikalah reached out, while the creature extended his gruesome hand. “Good, and now for your g-,” began the creature, but didn’t finish.
“Mikalah, where are you? You’ve got other things to do than messing around with that damned rabbit!”
It was her father calling after her from inside the house!
Oh, man! Her mind exploded at her. I’m really going to get it now!
Abruptly, she turned toward the house and away from the creature. “I’m coming!” she yelled in response. “Mr. Patas needed food and water!”
“Okay, but you’d better move your behind, little girl. No snacks until you’ve finished your homework.” This was her father’s usual reply to any explanation given by her and her siblings. He always was took any delay on their part for an excuse and punished them regardless of what the circumstances might’ve been.
“I’ve gotta go,” said the girl turning back toward the creature on the wall, surprised to find it was no longer there.
“Where did he go?” she asked herself out loud, peering around until her eyes fell to something lying on the ground, right between her feet. It was as though the creature had merely opened his hand, let it fall, and then left.
Mikalah gasped at the sight.
It was her gift.
There, at her feet, was the twisted and broken form of newborn kitten. Its neck was twisted around and around like a piece of liquorish, its’ tiny paws were chewed off, its’ tail had been ripped from its’ body, leaving a bloody stump upon its’ hind-quarters.
“Oh my God!” exclaimed Mikalah, bringing her hands to her mouth, retching. “I would’ve touched it!”
Around her, the wind blew again, cold, though the sky was clear and still very blue.
Chills ran up her spine.
In a second, she was off, running back to her house and the security of her family, her mind made up. If her Dad was mad at her, so be it. It would still be better than being near the shriveled man and the mutilated kitten he’d held in his hand.
From the other side of the fence, the gnarled, ancient-looking man spied Mikalah’s retreating form through a crack between two of the planks. Absently, he reached into another pocket within his voluminous, soiled robe. The terrified body of another kitten trembled within his misshapen hand.
“Soon, little brat, you will be ours. Soon, we will tickle your special parts,” he said through mushy teeth, the tiny pops and crackles of the kitten’s breaking neck-bones punctuating every syllable.
His vile laughter carried on the wind.
A storm was coming, unlike anything witnessed upon this wretched world.
~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼ }>>>>>>~~~~~~~~
~ 6 ~
Near the Corner of Vincent Ave & Yosemite Drive
Thursday, November 18th, 4:07 pm…
He couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face when his eyes fell upon her pacing figure as she walked back and forth at the convergence of the two streets ahead of him. She’d been waiting for him as she usually did when their practices ran short and they had extra time on their hands. It didn’t happen on a regular basis, but when it did, it was something he’d always looked forward to with more than a small degree of excitement. He liked spending time with her. She was a cute, older girl who didn’t look down her nose at him or treat him different because of his youth or his color.
Her name was Hyun Jin Kwon. She was a tall, athletic Korean-American with a broad face and almond-shaped eyes - not slanted as one would expect. She had dark, luminous irises about wide pupils, piercing, intent, as if she were always looking for truth, even when she was kidding around. She was tan for an Asian, her skin being more golden and less translucent than what was typical of the Chinese or the Japanese. Her hair was straight and long, and very fine, hanging to the middle of her back, colored somewhere between chestnut and nutmeg. It often changed hue in the play of the light or in the clutch of the odd wind. As usual, she wore nothing but brand names, sporting the latest VATA Brasil Supplex active wear pant and tank top under a matching sweater vest, more for show than a garment worn to ward off the cold. Expensive! On her feet, she wore the latest version of the Sketchers Shape-Ups, though her thighs and butt needed absolutely no such toning that he could see. That was Hyun, though. She had to have the latest in fashion. She had to look good, while she wore it too.
Her parents could afford it, he mused. Her father was a lawyer at one of the top firms in Los Angeles and her mother was a neurosurgeon at UCLA Medical Center, one of the top brain hospit
als in the country.
Derek Benson found his smile growing at the thought, but then his smile froze in place when he realized he wasn’t all that different from her. He liked to wear brand names as well. Only not the flashy, glamour-girl stuff Hyun wore. Like her, too, his parents could afford it. Both of them had high paying jobs as well.
His one vice, if he had one, was his shoes, which today were the brand new, limited edition of Kobe Bryant’s, Black Mamba basketball sneakers. They had set him back three months’ allowance. So, the more he thought about it, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to make too much fun of the girl, even if she did look like a Hollywood celebrity. He looked down at himself and realized he was wearing a Nike Air sweat suit. Ah, I better keep my mouth shut, he decided on a whim. Okay, okay, I’m a fashion whore, Jeez!
Ahead, he saw Hyun had stopped pacing. She was looking back at him with a slanted smile etched on her face. Derek felt a little embarrassed under her frank gaze. It was her newest thing, straight-forward appraisal… of him.
The boy was aware his body had begun to change over the course of the past year. It had altered from the boyish frame he used to have to something else. This being his third year in competitive gymnastics – he’d begun to fill out, his muscles becoming more defined. Though he wasn’t tall for his fourteen years of age at five foot five, his shoulders were beginning to broaden, his back expand, and real man-like definition was beginning to shape the rest of his body - biceps, pectorals, quads, calves, and on and on.
He absently patted his short-cropped hair, trying to shake the feeling of being under a microscope. His gentle, slightly rounded African-American face bunched up with a small grimace. Crap, this girl should buy a ticket or something, he thought. He breathed heavily through his broad nose, then his thin-lipped mouth in exasperation. He kept his eyes on the girl, though, to show her, he could stare back just the same. He readjusted his backpack on his shoulder, and brought both hands up to touch the sides of his head, checking by feel to see if he had any naps Hyun might’ve noticed. His palms brushed against his ears, plastered to the side of his skull as if glued, so close, in fact, the lobes extended no more than an eighth of an inch outward. His brothers and sisters constantly made fun of him because of them. They said when he was a baby, their mother had ironed them that way, because, at birth, they’d stuck out like Dumbo’s ears. They’d said it so much he was almost immune to the blow against his self-confidence. She’s not looking at my ears anyway, he contained an inner smirk. She’s checking out my hot ass body. He kept the joke to himself.
The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves Page 6