Kev

by Mark A Labbe

  The girl stopped at the road, looked back and then started to cross. Midway across she stopped, looking down the road in terror, unable to move. A second later, a large truck appeared out of nowhere, mowing her down and then disappearing.

  I ran over to her battered, lifeless body. “No!” I screamed.

  “We should get off the road,” said Clive.

  “Help me get her into the park.”

  Clive and I picked up the girl and brought her into the park. I checked her for a heartbeat, not wanting to believe she was really dead, my world shattered when I realized she was.

  “How much do you want for the girl?” said a croaky voice behind us. Clive and I turned and saw the strange, horned man standing a few feet behind us, his eyes on the girl.

  “What?” said Clive.

  “How much for the girl?” croaked the man.

  “What the hell are you, some Halloween misfit?” I said.

  “No no no, Kev, my boy.”

  Clive and I looked at each other briefly and then back at the man.

  “What are you?” said Clive.

  “How much for the girl?” said the man.

  “She’s not for sale,” I said. “Go away.”

  The strange man then broke into song.

  I’ve been whiling way the hours

  Carousing with the flowers

  For no reason but my own

  If you gave me fifty dollars

  And some supernatural powers

  I would eat her to the bone

  “Get the hell out of here, you freak,” shouted Clive.

  “Give me the girl or I’ll kill you,” said the man.

  “Who the hell is this guy?” said Clive.

  “Why, I’m the deevil, of course,” said the deevil. “Don’t you remember me, Kev?”

  “Absolutely not,” I said. “Go away.”

  “You should remember me,” said the deevil.

  “Why?” I said.

  “Because I’m you, silly boy.”

  “What?” I said. Note that when I was a young boy, I used to call the devil the deevil, and I used to think he had fake, plastic horns, carried a pitchfork, and wore a red leotard. Of course, I didn’t remember that.

  “Give me the girl or I’ll kill you,” said the deevil, now pointing his pitchfork at Clive and me.

  “You can’t kill us, you moron,” said Clive, defiantly.

  “Oh yeah?” said the deevil. “I bet I can torture you. How would you like that?” At that moment, the deevil’s arm shot out, the tips of his pitchfork hitting Clive in the gut, piercing his clothes and flesh, but not fully impaling him. Clive screamed and fell to the ground. “See. Now, give me the girl.”

  Clive got back to his feet, his body now healed, still defiant. “You can’t have her!”

  Again, the deevil’s arm shot forward, and, again, the tips of the pitchfork entered Clive’s body, but this time went all the way through, killing him instantly. He fell to the ground, dead, and then moments later came back to life and got back on his feet. Clive lunged at the deevil, a creature not much larger than him, and knocked him off his feet.

  The deevil laughed and threw Clive off, sending him hurtling against the side of the fort with a crash. Clive groaned, picked himself up off the ground and rushed the deevil. I joined Clive, but even the two of us together could not keep that monster at bay.

  The deevil threw us away from him and rose to his feet, now approaching the girl.

  I desperately wanted a gun or anything that could stop this horror, and in that instant said, “God, please give me a gun.”

  I felt something vibrate in my pocket before a gun appeared in my hand. I looked at the deevil who was now hovering over the girl and fired a shot at it, not interested in understanding what had made the gun appear in my hand, and, in fact, not remembering that I had asked God for a gun.

  My shot missed, but it did stop the deevil in its tracks. It looked at me and said, “If you kill me, you kill yourself, my boy.”

  “Yeah, well, I can’t die, can you?” I said.

  Clive, who had been paying closer attention than me, had figured out that I had asked God for a gun and that God had given me a gun. I heard him say, “God, please give me a gun.” I glanced his way and noticed that no gun had appeared in his hand. I also realized, or at least believed that I had a gun now because I had asked God for the gun. Could I ask for other things? If I could, could I ask God to destroy the deevil? However, if the deevil was me then wouldn’t I be asking God to destroy me too, and if I did that would I truly die? Die forever?

  The deevil said, “So, are you going to kill me or what?”

  I wasn’t sure I believed the deevil, so I shot at it again, this time striking it in the leg. The deevil and I both let out a howl. I felt terrible pain in my leg and realized that whatever pain the deevil felt became my pain. Perhaps it had been telling the truth. If it hurt me, would it hurt itself? If it killed me, would it kill itself? If it killed me and, thus, killed itself, would it come back to life like me? I suspected it would.

  “God, please make it so the deevil has no desire to do anything bad to anyone ever again,” I said, thinking this was harmless enough for me, but devastating for the deevil.

  The deevil laughed, “Doesn’t look like it worked, pal.” I noticed movement on the ground and saw the girl stirring. I looked back at the deevil and saw a gleeful look on his face. He lifted his pitchfork and drove it down into the girl’s chest, killing her instantly. I screamed out and fired madly at the deevil, my final shot hitting him in the head, killing him and me instantly. I had killed myself.

  In the Beginning Again

  I woke up on the day of my ninth birthday to the sound of a voice, a voice I had heard many times before, but had never answered.

  “Kev, we have to talk,” said the voice.

  I got out of bed, ignoring the voice, changed into my clothes and made my bed. I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth, as I always did because my mother told me I didn’t want cavities, horrible things that would make the dentist mad at me.

  I went back into my room and looked around, seeing my partially disassembled airplane sitting on my desk, the airplane I had taken apart and put back together many times over, a gift from Uncle Joe, the best uncle in the world.

  “Kev, seriously, we have to talk,” said the voice.

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” I said, annoyed. The voice was always telling me things, things about myself, things I didn’t want to believe. Many times, the voice had told me that I was stuck in a loop of some sort and that I had to get out of it, although it never explained this further.

  “Look, Kev, you have to listen to me. Something bad is going to happen today unless you stop it.”

  “Like what?” I said.

  “Our parents are going to die.”

  That stopped me dead in my tracks. “What?”

  “At your birthday party, they are going to be killed unless you stop it.”

  “Today is my birthday?” I said.

  “Yes, dummy. Are you paying attention? Did you hear what I said, or do you want to talk about your birthday and all of the other things you’ve forgotten?”

  “How are they going to die? How do I stop it?”

  “I don’t know, but you have to stop it or else you will be stuck in this loop forever.”

  “What loop?” I said, now interested in understanding.

  “I don’t know how to explain it. Actually, I’m not entirely sure about it, but I think you are stuck and need to become unstuck.”

  “Well, how am I supposed to get out of it if I don’t know what I’m getting out of?” I said, now annoyed again.

  “I don’t know. Pay attention. Don’t lose sight of your parents at the party. That is when it will happen, if it happens at all.”

  “How do you know this?” I said.

  The voice didn’t answer and I could feel it had gone far away. I heard my mother call out to me from the kitc
hen and went to her, sitting at the kitchen counter, my thoughts focused on the possible death of my parents.

  “You excited, Kev?” said my mother.

  “About what?” I said, now forgetting it was my birthday, and in that instant forgetting everything the voice had told me.

  “It’s your birthday, silly.”

  “Oh, yeah, I guess. Are we having a party?” I did not want to have a party. I hated parties.

  “Of course we are, honey. We’re going to have ponies you can ride, and all your friends are going to be here.”

  I knew I had friends, of course I knew, but remember their names I could not. I knew I had memory problems, and those in my life also knew I had those problems. Although some would play with me in a silly way at times, pretty much everyone treated me with kindness. The odd thing was that my memory problems never affected my studies, my grades always perfect. Further, I almost never forgot my family.

  “What are you thinking about?” said my mother, dragging me away from my thoughts.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I think I’ve forgotten something.”

  “It’s okay, Kev,” said my mother. “One day, you are going to remember everything, and when you do, you will experience something absolutely amazing, something I could never describe.”

  I looked at my mother and saw a strange expression on her face, love mixed with…what was it? I think I saw awe on her face. She smiled and patted me on the head. “I love you, Kev. Love you forever.”

  “I love you, mom,” I said.

  “I made your favorite,” she said. “Frenchy toasty, bacony and berries.”

  I smiled. My mother could always put a smile on my face. I couldn’t have wished for a better mother, or father, for that matter. Both had shown me perfect love and devotion, and I believe, for my part, I showed them the same.

  My father entered the room and said, “Kev, my boy, this is going to be an amazing day. Happy birthday!”

  “Thanks, dad,” I said. Maybe a party wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe this would really be an amazing day.

  After breakfast, I went to my fort out in the back yard and sat at my table. I opened my journal to a blank page and picked up a red pen, red being my favorite color.

  I wrote, “I have forgotten something important,” and paused.

  What had I forgotten? I believed I had forgotten something I should have never forgotten, something terribly important that would alter the fabric of my life, but could not recall it.

  I wondered if I had written anything about it in my journal and started to go back through the pages before stopping myself, remembering something. I did not like reading my journal, because within it I had written many things that I found disturbing, things the voice had told me to write, things that made no sense, although they troubled me. In that moment, I knew reading the journal would disturb me greatly. However, I needed to figure out what was going on, so I decided to read through my journal, pausing briefly before turning to another page. In the moment I paused, I forgot that I believed I had forgotten something important, so I turned to a blank page and wrote, “Who am I?”

  I felt a pulse in my pocket and reached in to see what was in there, finding a little, clear cube, a cube that was vibrating. I had no memory of this cube, but found it fascinating. What made it vibrate like that? What was it? It stopped vibrating. I examined its surface, finding no markings of any kind, and then placed it on my table.

  I looked at what I had written, having forgotten that I had written, “Who am I?” I found myself asking that question again, and again the cube started to vibrate. After that, I spent a good amount of time trying to get the cube to vibrate, thinking and saying different things, usually getting it to vibrate when I asked questions about myself.

  Some time later, my mother called out to me from the kitchen window. It was time for the party. I pocketed the clear cube and left my fort, and as I left, I noticed a small red cube on the ground, a cube the same size as the clear cube. I picked it up and put it in my pocket, figuring I would examine it later.

  I rushed into my house, finding a group of boys and girls and some parents in the kitchen. Everyone greeted me, each one reminding me of his or her name. With one exception, I remembered their faces. That exception was the boy who introduced himself as Clive. I felt certain I had never met this boy before and wondered if he was new to the area.

  “Do I know you?” I said to him after everyone else had greeted me.

  “Not yet, but you will,” he said with an easy smile, a smile that seemed somehow ancient.

  “Did you just move here?” I said.

  “No. I’m just visiting the area and I thought I’d stop by to wish you a happy birthday,” he said.

  “Oh. Well, thank you.” While this struck me as strange, I did not say anything about it. This big, brown and somewhat goofy kid with that strange smile seemed like someone I would like, someone who would make an excellent friend, if I could remember him for any length of time.

  The crowd exited the house, out into the front yard, where my parents had set up two large picnic tables, on which sat an assortment of snacks.

  A truck towing a horse trailer pulled into the driveway, and soon after, two men wearing black t-shirts with red maple leaves printed on the front and their names (Bob and Doug) printed on the back brought two ponies out of the trailer and onto the front yard. One of the ponies relieved itself on the front yard. I wondered if the men would clean that up.

  Soon after, Uncle Joe and Aunt Helen arrived, both bearing gifts, which they dutifully handed me after giving me big hugs. Uncle Joe always gave the most amazing gifts. Aunt Helen always gave the strangest gifts, the most recent being a little black cube with a blue button and a digital display that always seemed to display the current year. I remembered pressing the button on the cube when she gave it to me, nothing happening, and asking herwhat it was supposed to do. She said, “I’m not sure. I thought you would know,” a strange answer from a strange woman. That cube sat on my desk in my room, beside my airplane, untouched since that day and mostly forgotten.

  Soon after, all of the kids lined up for pony rides, me first in line. I didn’t think the pony really liked me. It kept bucking me off. After a few attempts, one of the men in charge of the ponies told me it might be best if I took a break.

  I moved off to the side, now standing beside Clive.

  “I’m going to Camp Calistoga in July. You should go too,” said Clive.

  “Where is that?”

  “Somewhere in Maine, I think. Cool place. You should go.”

  Going to camp seemed like an excellent idea. “I’ll ask my parents,” I said, hoping they would let me go.

  “I have a game we can play while we’re there,” said Clive.

  “Oh, really? What game?”

  “It’s called The Show.”

  “How do you play?”

  “It’s a surprise, Kev, a big surprise.”

  After everyone had a chance to ride the ponies, all the kids sat at the picnic table to eat while the adults stood off to the side. My mother had prepared barbequed chicken with rice, a favorite of mine. Most of the kids had hoped for pizza, and a small few complained, but in the end everyone liked the chicken.

  Clive sat beside me at the table, telling me about the camp as we ate. It sounded like an amazing place, and I couldn’t wait to tell my parents about it. I hoped they would let me go.

  After lunch, the adults cleaned off the table and my mother brought out the cake, nine lit candles on top. After everyone sung the requisite song, I blew out the candles, making my wish. I wished that my parents would send me to Camp Calistoga, so I could be with my new friend, Clive. My mother served everyone a slice of cake and then moved away from the table.

  I heard a strange sound, like a whining, sputtering jet engine, something far away, and looked up, seeing what looked like an airplane, smoke trailing from it, coming our way. Behind it I saw another smaller object also coming our way. I
remembered what the voice had told me, and I looked at my parents who were now off to the side, away from the crowd, talking amongst themselves. I screamed out, “Mom, Dad, come here!”

  My parents, hearing the distress in my voice, ran over to me, and moments later, the planed crashed, the fuselage landing on our neighbor’s house and the tail landing precisely where my parents had been standing. I heard Clive mutter something under his breath, but couldn’t make it out.

  Chaos erupted, parents taking the kids far away from the crash, my father and Uncle Joe running over to check on our neighbor. Not long after a number of police cars and fire trucks arrived on the scene.

  Luckily, nobody was injured, although the damage to my neighbor’s house was substantial.

  Clive and I stood apart from the rest of the crowd. “Looks like you saved the day, Kev,” he said, a strange tone in his voice.

  “I guess so,” I said, now remembering what the voice had said, wondering how the voice knew this would happen and wondering if this was just bad luck, or something done by design, a possibility that seemed like more than a possibility, although I did not know why I believed that.

  Within a couple of hours, everyone had left, except for the firemen and the police, who were busy cleaning things up. My parents brought me into the house, my father looking at me strangely, saying, “You saved us. I didn’t think you would save us.”

  I didn’t know what to make of that and soon forgot he had said it, too occupied with my own thoughts, still wondering why things had played out the way they had. I wondered if the voice would shed any light on things.

  A few days passed, things returning to normal. I had completely forgotten about the plane crash. I had also forgotten about Clive and Camp Calistoga. There were many things I had forgotten. The voice returned to remind me.

  “Good work, Kev,” said the voice.

  “What are you talking about?”