The Endora Trilogy (The Complete Series)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “Go inside and wash your hands now. You both still have homework to do.”

  “All right…”

  “I’ll be inside in a minute,” their father replied as he walked across the garage toward a small refrigerator beside a tool bench. He opened the door and adjusted the temperature control.

  Belthasar felt his new prison drop with a thud, then all movement ceased. He wasn’t swaying through the air in an ungainly manner anymore. Then the darkness, if it were possible, grew even deeper as he heard a door seal shut. He squirmed among the other worms, his mind still red-hot with fury, but after several minutes, he started to slow down. The others slowed down too. From exhaustion? From a sense of defeat? Belthasar felt a slight chill permeate the air. It gradually seeped into the soil and the other worms. And himself! An uneasy sleep gripped him as his body grew cooler, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Belthasar tried to hold on to his dreams of conquest and domination to give him strength, but even those became a confused jumble as the seconds ticked away. His tragic end had arrived at last, he realized, and all his plans for glory were finished as he lay helplessly among a pile of worms. Even his thoughts felt frozen until he could barely think at all. Then his world went dark.

  The following Saturday dawned like a warm sunny September. The city streets lay still as a car crept quietly out of the neighborhood, packed with a fishing pole, a tackle box and a small plastic cooler. Inside the red cooler was a bagged lunch consisting of a few ham and Swiss cheese sandwiches, some chocolate candy bars, a packet of sunflower seeds and a couple bottles of water. Next to the lunch bag was a plastic margarine tub with holes in its cover. The driver turned on the radio and smiled, delighted to get an unexpected day of fishing so late in the year at the small cabin in the woods. Life couldn’t be better.

  An hour later he stood on the shore of a tiny lake as the morning sunshine dappled a line of nearby white birch trees, their remaining yellow leaves as bright as sliced lemons. He set the cooler on the bottom of his rowboat tied to a post on the water’s edge, then removed the bowl of worms, popped off the cover and set it on a wooden seat before returning to his car for the rest of his fishing gear.

  The sun beat down like a gentle whisper, warmly touching the dark rich soil inside the bowl. Soon the last traces of imprisoning coolness evaporated and the spaghetti-like mass of worms started to move, jostling one another for space and heat and light. Moments later the man untied the rowboat, stepped inside and pushed off with an oar. He rowed out upon the gentle surface of the lake now splashed like an artist’s palette with a reflection of autumn’s vivid hues. He repeatedly dipped his oars into the water, moving closer to his favorite fishing spot, eager to cast his line. Minutes later he arrived and laid the oars inside the boat. Then, as if lifting a rare and priceless artifact for examination, he picked up his fishing pole and leaned it against his knee, fingering the hook between his thumb and forefinger.

  “This beats a day at the office,” he said to himself with a chuckle, extending the other hand toward the margarine tub now alive with earthworms.

  The fisherman reached inside the slithering cluster, hooking a finger underneath a particularly long and wiggly worm. The others sensed the presence of the intruder as they fully awoke from their slumber, twisting and squirming to evade capture. Except for one worm. Belthasar, finding himself at the bottom of the pile, attempted to squeeze through the frenzied mob to reach the surface. As the fisherman slowly lifted the long worm out of the pile, it fought to stay with the others, curling one end of its body around the other worms so that the man had to tug at it a few times to try to free it. Belthasar struggled to reach that worm before it was pulled completely from the bowl, fearing he would be too late to make contact. As the end of the worm was slipping free from the others, losing its grip as it was being tugged, Belthasar regained his senses that had been dulled from the cold. He didn’t have to find a path to that worm directly. He could go through the others! In a flash, his spirit repeatedly passed from one worm to another in a desperate search for freedom–back, forth, up, down and sideways–until finally Belthasar’s spirit entered the very worm that was being pulled from the bowl at the instant it was yanked loose.

  The man held up the worm to his large and amazed brown eyes, convinced it was the very last one that his daughter had caught a few nights ago. It wiggled wildly between his fingers like a live electric wire.

  “You are a whopper of a worm! You’re going to attract all kinds of attention down there,” the man confidently said as he brought the hook closer to the bait. “Fish for dinner tonight!”

  “Want to bet?” Belthasar thought with sneering contempt. A millisecond later, his spirit left the worm and passed into the fisherman’s body.

  The man sat up as straight as a soldier, his brown eyes clouding to gray. He dropped the worm and the fishing pole at the same time and slowly stood in the rowboat as it bobbed upon the lake.

  “Ahhh… That’s better,” Belthasar said, stretching his arms and smiling with poisonous glee. “It’s so good to have two legs again. And a voice!” he shouted with defiance across the water. He looked around the lake and studied his colorful woodland surroundings for a few moments, then sat back down and slowly rowed to shore.

  “Now, where to from here?” he whispered.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Westward Bound

  Belthasar pressed down on the accelerator, increasing his speed along the highway from a dizzying thirty-eight miles per hour to a staggering forty-five. And still other drivers passed him, honking their horns and throwing him dirty looks. He lowered the window and breathed in the fresh air, hoping to calm his jittery nerves. He had learned to drive only two hours ago.

  “How can people move so fast?” he muttered, wishing he were riding a horse instead.

  Though he possessed all the knowledge about driving an automobile from the fisherman whose body his spirit now inhabited, knowing and doing were two different things. Many cars sneaked up from behind, stalking him like wolves on a hunt. Fearing that a car might hit him, Belthasar bravely increased his speed, upping the digital readout to forty-nine, fifty-two and finally fifty-five. Noting that many of the highway signs indicated that exact number, Belthasar felt comfortable enough to stay at that speed. Though a few cars still passed now and then, nobody honked their horns anymore which made him feel better. Now he could enjoy the scenery on the way to his next destination. Belthasar knitted his brow. Exactly where was he going? He shrugged and kept driving, knowing he’d eventually stop somewhere to learn more about this weird and fascinating world.

  Then something amazing caught his eye. Belthasar craned his head to the right like a cat spotting a mouse in the corner of the room. Belthasar’s heart pounded. He slowed down and pulled off the highway. He stepped out of the vehicle and wandered over to a cyclone fence, his fingers grasping the metal rings as he gazed skyward. His jaw dropped as a mammoth white metallic flying machine landed in the distance on three sets of wheels, barreling down a runway like a gigantic eagle ripped out of a fantastic dream. About ten minutes later, another huge silver winged monstrosity roared into the air, the midmorning sun reflecting off a row of tiny windows along its side. Belthasar could discern the outline of human faces within the airplane. He shook his head in disbelief.

  “These people can actually fly into the vast skies,” he whispered. “How is that possible?”

  Belthasar’s thoughts swirled like a pile of leaves in October. Yet he realized that since the inhabitants of this world could travel over the ground at great speeds, it made sense that they would one day conquer the skies. A snake-like grin crept across his face. Only minutes ago he had ambitions to travel these lands to see where fate might take him. Belthasar imagined all of the additional places he could now go with those giant metal birds at his disposal. He wanted to get on board one as soon as possible.

  Belthasar entered the airport terminal and sat down in the waiting area to observe the travelers and
workers as they went about their business. As the sun shone warmly through a series of tall glass windows, several people milled about, some talking on cell phones or pay phones, others conversing with fellow travelers or flipping through magazines. Many people stood in long lines waiting to buy tickets while others prepared to board their flights. Belthasar soaked in the colorful blur of people as a faceless voice announced departure and arrival times over the loudspeaker.

  An hour later he walked past a young businessman in a dark blue suit carrying a brown leather briefcase. By the look of his impeccably tailored clothes and serious demeanor, Belthasar concluded that this was a man of importance. At the moment, Belthasar inhabited a middle-aged man wearing a sweatshirt, blue jeans and sneakers, topped off with a red windbreaker. He definitely wanted to upgrade his appearance. So after the businessman slipped his plane ticket into his inside pocket and looked for a place to sit down, Belthasar casually turned around and followed. Moments later, Belthasar sat next to the man as he skimmed through the financial section of the day’s newspaper.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Belthasar softly said, tapping the gentleman on the back of his hand. That was all that it took.

  The man in the dark blue suit folded the newspaper and set it down on the empty seat next to him, his eyes now as dull and gray as winter clouds. He stood and walked away as the fisherman suddenly slumped down in the next chair, his world now a dizzying blur. He had such a headache as he looked about in utter confusion. Wasn’t he supposed to be fishing? Was that a rack of suitcases that just rolled past? How on earth did he get here?

  Belthasar settled back in his seat, having looked outside his window for the tenth time, still unable to believe he was actually this high in the air and heading for someplace called Los Angeles. He sipped his drink and watched the small television screen attached to the back of the seat in front of him. The fizzy beverage tasted sweet and energizing. The woman next to him had earlier asked for something called a diet cola from another lady who walked up and down the airplane aisle. When she returned with the drink, Belthasar asked for one too and enjoyed it as he watched the monitor while listening through a tiny set of headphones.

  What didn’t this world have, he wondered, as he absorbed a newscast and learned about the planet below, seeing events as they happened hundreds of miles away. What a day! What an education! Belthasar never wanted to leave. This world offered everything he could want, and so many things he couldn’t even begin to imagine. How could Endora and Solárin ever hope to lure him back through the timedoor?

  Belthasar diligently studied life on the planet over the next several weeks through television, books, newspapers and radio. But what he enjoyed doing most was observing other humans in their daily activities. Belthasar would sit for hours in a coffee shop, pretending to read a book while drinking coffee, the whole time listening to three or four conversations bubbling around him. Other days he’d wander through a shopping mall or dine in a posh restaurant as he spied on the unsuspecting. On a few occasions he’d simply fly as a bird from tree to tree and watch and listen as life passed him by from below.

  It proved to be an exciting learning process. But throughout the course of his studies, Belthasar came to one undeniable conclusion–not all power and influence in the world was wielded by politicians.

  From businessmen to newscasters to entertainers–all held some sort of sway over segments of the population, for good or ill. Others, he noticed, who were swimming in riches and celebrity yet barely had a thought tucked between their ears, were nonetheless worshipped and adored. Somewhere in that mix, Belthasar thought he could find the right combination of wealth, power and leisure to enjoy life. He didn’t necessarily have to run a country as long as he could be important and noticed and in control of others. After all, who would want to live life any other way?

  Then he found his answer.

  One day in early May while sitting on the sofa and aimlessly clicking the remote control of his wide screen television, Belthasar came across a tempting opportunity. His spirit had been inhabiting a real estate developer for the last week, enjoying life inside a spacious condominium. He had learned to drive with ease and tamed the highways of Los Angeles, savoring sun-drenched days along scenic ocean highways and balmy evenings of fine dining. But he still wasn’t the center of attention. Nobody sought his opinion on issues of importance–or of anything for that matter. And he had nobody to tell what to do or when to do it. Above all else, Belthasar craved an audience.

  He recalled how wonderful it had felt to stand on the platform outside the castle in Solárin, moments away from being crowned King, basking in the smiles of the adoring crowds and soaking in the pageantry of the ceremony. He so desired the power that had slipped through his fingers after he was foiled again by those pesky little children. Belthasar grabbed one of the sofa pillows and punched it repeatedly, snarling through his clenched teeth. Just the thought of Christopher and Molly Jordan and their alliance with King Rupert and that magician Artemas set his mind aflame. He vowed to repay them a hundredfold one day soon.

  Belthasar sat back on the sofa and tossed the pillow aside. He had learned to control his emotions lately, at times even forgetting the wish to have his revenge upon the Jordan siblings. But thinking about his past life for a moment was sometimes enough to cause old wounds to surface. Belthasar knew that deep within his heart the desire for vengeance would always be there, waiting for the perfect time to strike. But the time had not yet arrived, nor was the plan in place.

  Belthasar exhaled deeply, determined to get his new life in order first. So that meant not wasting time staring at the television like a wide-eyed owl. Belthasar grabbed the remote, preparing to click the OFF button when something caught his attention. He watched as a lady reporter chattered away, a smile steadily stretching across his face as he listened. The plan he was seeking had finally arrived. And this wonderful idea was compliments of actor Elvin L. Cooper. Belthasar turned up the volume.

  …and movie critics and fans are sure to flock to the big screen when Elvin L. Cooper’s first motion picture in two years is released in July. I’ll have my interview with the movie’s director Gordon Banks on next Friday’s show, but as is typical with Elvin L. Cooper, the publicity-shy actor will not make himself available for interviews. So we’ll have to glean the latest nuggets of information about Mr. Cooper from his director and co-stars while he remains holed up in Clara Dú, his twenty million dollar oceanfront estate.

  So there you have it, folks. The countdown has started to the July release of the action-adventure thriller TROUBLED WATER. And if the success of Elvin L. Cooper’s two previous movies FOREIGN SOIL and HOT AIR is any indication, then TROUBLED WATER is sure to be a box office smash. This is yours truly, Eve Eloise, for this segment of BIG SCREEN BUZZ! I’ll be back after these important messages.

  Belthasar turned off the television, not eager to listen to any important message about headache tablets. He opened a sliding glass door and stepped out onto the fifteenth floor balcony as the late afternoon sun drifted westward. A warm breeze played through the leafy palm plants standing in the corners against the cast iron fencing. Belthasar walked over to the edge and gripped the top railing, staring aimlessly into the collage of buildings below as his mind calculated a dozen different human equations. One by one the pieces of his plan fell into place.

  Belthasar smirked. Was there a better way to take center stage? So many people were fascinated with the lives of celebrities, he had observed. What if he inhabited an actor who the world loves to see yet continuously avoided the press? If he suddenly transformed into the most accessible actor in the business, then everyone would flock to him like seagulls along a littered shoreline. He’d instantly become the most sought after guest on television and the center of everyone’s attention.

  Belthasar liked what he was thinking, yet wasn’t naïve enough to believe that public adulation could last forever. But a year or two would be fun. If he became the next Elvin L. Coope
r, he could live a life of luxury and have thousands of people fawn over him, all craving to hear his latest opinion on just about anything. That’s the life Belthasar desired, and it would be so easy to obtain. He stepped back inside and closed the sliding glass door. It was time to move on.

  The hummingbird zipped from palm tree to palm tree planted in a gently curving line along the Olympic length swimming pool on the Clara Dú estate. The noon sun reflected off the crystal clear water like a burst of diamonds. Somewhere in the distance a cell phone rang and a glass pitcher of iced tea was being vigorously stirred. Elvin L. Cooper sat in the cool shade under the table umbrella tapping at the keyboard on his laptop computer. Barefoot and dressed in khaki shorts and a black tee shirt, he looked closer to forty years old than the actual fifty he would be later that year. A pair of sunglasses covered his dark green eyes as they scanned the sentences he had just typed. He distractedly reached for an empty drinking glass when one of his housekeepers walked over and refilled the glass with iced tea and a fresh lemon slice.

  “Thanks, Martha,” he said, looking up. “You read my mind.”

  “That’s my job, Mr. Cooper,” she replied with a smile. “Anything else I can get you?”

  The hummingbird landed on a wrought iron trellis wrapped in scarlet-red morning glories amid a sea of daisies and buttercups. A cloud of butterflies surrounded the fragrant blossoms. The hummingbird gently nudged one of the larger butterflies with its long curving beak and then wobbled precariously upon the trellis an instant later before flying off. That particular butterfly suddenly broke away from its companions and drifted toward the umbrella table.