by B. B. Ullman
Brit aimed and threw again. The snowball disappeared like the first one, and the impact seemed to make the cloud wobble—or was it the air around the cloud?
“That’s really weird,” Lars said under his breath. “I have a bad feeling about this. I want you girls to come on.” He gave Brit a nudge and they started walking. I still had a snowball in my hand, so I tossed it and actually hit the target. The air did a definite wobble, and I started to feel sick, like the way I felt when the Wagners’ dog, Walter, got run over by the garbage truck. It was a feeling of utter dread—and horror, like the forest was haunted by evil spirits that wanted nothing more than to get into my head. My mind became a fever of icky red thoughts. I wanted to call out but my throat got stuck.
I was shocked to realize that Albert was standing next to me, but when I looked in his face his dark eyes seemed to be sneering at me. This idea popped into my head—that Albert was plotting against me. The notion burned in my brain, filling me with hatred. How dare he sneak into my mind whenever he wanted? Just because he thought he was so special and brilliant—
Pearl! Albert’s memo seemed to slap me, interrupting my dark train of thought. He filled my brain with a cold, empty memo. The cold cleanliness of it squeezed out the red fever and froze the bad thoughts. In the middle of this cool, clean memo there was a tiny red thought, and the thought said RUN!
10
Ball of evil
I scrambled to catch up with Brit and Lars. “Get away from here!” I cried. “This place is bad.”
They caught my panic and we all took off running. Brit tossed the umbrella and I dropped the flashlight. I stumbled through the snow as best I could, dragging Albert along with me. But he kept the clean memo in my mind—except for a fraction of a second when I envisioned an image of red spiders covering us and scuttling into our ears.
Albert’s hand was still in mine when we reached the side yard. The light from the porch showed that poor Albert was in his jammies and snow boots—actually, he only had one boot on. The other one was gone. I’d been dragging him along with one bare foot!
“Oh, Albie, you’ve lost your boot. Come here.” I picked him up to get his cold tootsies out of the snow and struggled to carry him back to the house.
“Give him to me,” said Lars.
I handed Albert to Lars, and Albert didn’t object.
“Albert, what was that?” I asked as we tromped along.
His memo was brief: Bad order.
I translated for Brit and Lars. “Albert said it was bad order back there.”
“But what does that mean?” Brit asked.
“What do you mean by bad order?” I demanded.
Albert memoed No worries for Pearl.
“Yeah, it’s too late, Albie. I’m worried. Come on, you must have a theory. Does the red mist have anything to do with how those animals were acting?”
All relate. More information is needed. Albert included a padlock that clicked in his memo, which meant he wasn’t going to talk about it anymore. I knew it was fruitless to keep pestering him.
I puffed out my frustration. “Albert says he doesn’t want to worry us—which means there’s definitely something to worry about. But he won’t tell me until he figures it out. Did you guys get some bad feeling back there?”
“I absolutely got bad feelings,” Lars said. “I’m embarrassed to say it, but I was really pissed off at you two. I mean I was, like, seething.”
“So was I!” Brit chimed in. “For a minute I was hating you guys, which doesn’t make any sense because I feel the opposite of that. It was almost like that mist was causing hallucinations, or else it was a ball of evil.”
When we reached the porch, Lars set Albert down on the mat. “Brit, I’m serious, don’t you go back there again,” Lars ordered.
“I have no intention of going back!”
“Do you think we should call the police?” I asked.
“And say what?” Lars shook his head. “If Sheriff Dietz goes snooping around, I think that stuff could hurt him. I don’t know how, but that mist is dangerous.”
Albert got tired of waiting and went inside.
“Mary, you should go in and get Albert warmed up,” Lars said. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” Lars shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away. Brit and I watched him slog through the snow to his truck.
It was after eleven when I checked the clock in the kitchen. I made some tea to warm us up, and Brit and I took it into the front room to sip by the fire.
I’d put Albert to bed with a hot water bottle on his feet, but as I blew on my tea I got a distracted memo from him: Police to Danger, with a split-second glimpse of red spiders—I wasn’t sure if he meant to show me that.
“Albert thinks we should not call the police,” I said to Brit.
She nodded, accepting it. Brit was used to me translating Albert’s memos and she believed me 100 percent. But come to think of it, it was surprising that Lars hadn’t questioned the silent messaging back on the trail. Unless . . .
“Hey Brit, did you tell Lars about Albert’s memos?”
“Yeah, I told him . . . a long time ago,” she said with no apology. “Mary, Lars is like me—he knows how to keep a secret.”
The second she said this I knew she was right. Brit and Lars were a trustworthy team. If anyone knew how to keep quiet, they did. The only reason I worried about this was that Albert had memoed me when he was a toddler to be discreet about his talent—discreet was his word, not mine. I guess he had a good reason for his secrecy but he hadn’t made that clear—not yet, anyhow.
“I trust you guys,” I said. I leaned against Brit and gave her a nudge.
The fire in the woodstove cracked, and I jumped. I was still on edge.
“What do you think is out there?” Brit asked.
I thought of the horror and the hatred that had paralyzed me and the image of red spiders filling up my ears. I sort of doubted the reality of those spiders. I had a feeling that Albert was trying to put something complicated into a shape I could understand. But even if there were no red spiders in the woods . . . it was something bad.
“I have no idea what that stuff is,” I said, “but Albert is trying to figure it out.”
“Do you think we should wake up your mom?”
“I don’t know. No, let her sleep. I guess we’ll tell her in the morning.”
11
THE TRIAD CONFIRMS A GROSS IMBALANCE
The data was accurate and it did not bode well for this sector. The Commodore and his counterparts scanned it again, and they concurred. The triad directed the data with a concentrated code into the entangled hub (which Citizen Lady liked to call the can). The response was almost immediate: ALL SMHR UNITS RETURN.
The triad conferred for many more seconds before they all agreed: The Commodore, Med Tech Tek, and Citizen Lady would suggest that this triad of smart-mass-holograph-research units would stay in the sector, regardless of the danger it posed. Of course SMHR units would not be affected by the unwelcome leakage as they were not biological beings and, thus, did not possess a vulnerable consciousness. For them, the real danger lay in the gross imbalance. If the leak continued and worsened, the equations predicted a dimensional exchange. Now that was risky. But it was also fascinating. The triad declared that this was an invaluable opportunity to collect data. It wasn’t every day that a dimensional universe faced annihilation.
The home-plane agreed that this was so, but only one SMHR unit would stay because they were far too valuable to squander in a disaster, as was their SMHR craft, which was integral.
Once again the triad conferred, and once again they agreed: they would stay put, all three of them, along with their integral craft. They were accustomed to each other, and their individual sequences were complementary to the whole. Besides, they were not inclined to return to the home-plane in the midst of such interesting events.
112000x, 113000x, and 114000x feigned a system malfunction; thus, the regretful action o
f noncompliance. This report caused the home-plane to immediately spew equations opposing this thin claim. If the SMHR units had been in their solid-mass forms, they would have showed their teeth and made laughter, imitating the odd vocalization of human amusement—this mimicry never failed to tickle their sequences.
Luckily, Med Tech Tek had written programs, oh, some twenty Earth-years before that would deny auto-access by the home-plane. The triad was pleased with Med Tech Tek’s foresight, because now they could do whatever they wanted.
Yet unexpectedly, the Commodore, Med Tech Tek, and Citizen Lady became aware of an edginess in their synapses—an uncomfortable sharpness at the base of their emotional algorithm. They endured it for three long seconds until Citizen Lady identified the conflict.
“Anxiety,” she said. “We are experiencing worry.”
“Worry? Worry about what?” the Commodore sputtered.
“About this place, these beings,” Citizen Lady said.
“We have learned much from the Extraordinary Mind and his sister,” Med Tech Tek agreed. “Being stationed here has been both revealing and invigorating.”
The Commodore would have nodded his head if he had been in his solid mass form—he’d grown so accustomed to using that affirmative gesture. “How might we stop this uncomfortable synapse?” he inquired. “This anxiety is most vexing.”
Once again, Citizen Lady had the answer. “Interfere,” she said. “Ignore protocol and try to help.”
The Commodore felt—yes, he felt—a sense of exhilaration. Indeed, this was the answer. The mere consideration of helping dispelled the distracting anxiety. He shared this reaction with his counterparts and the triad was unified in buoyant agreement. Oh, they would collect data, to be sure, but he and Med Tech Tek and Citizen Lady were all quite resolute in a logic sequence that seemed very clear; this triad could be useful in the coming crisis. This smart-mass–holograph-research triad meant to be of service.
12
Bad neighborhood
All night I dreamed of that thing in the woods. Over and over again I was being chased by flying red spiders that were trying to get into my ears. At the last possible minute I’d get a snowy, cold memo from Albert that would deter them, but then I’d forget about the protective image and the spiders would start in again. It was exhausting. I was glad to wake up.
I realized I was in the living room in a sleeping bag, and the morning light was hopeful and bright. I thought about the scary encounter the night before and the nightmares that ruined my sleep. It made me think how real those bad feelings were—how they created an awful reality and an awful me. Maybe good feelings could be just as real. Maybe good thoughts made their own reality, too. This idea made me feel a lot better.
I shuffled to the kitchen and discovered we’d slept in. There was a note on the fridge from Ma. I squinted to focus my eyes:
Hi, kids. They plowed Myrtle Road, so I’m going to try to get Meemaw to her foot-care appointment at the Senior Center. If skies stay clear, we’ll have lunch there and will get groceries at Top Shelf. We’ll pick up some goodies for tonight. You girls can make snacks and can toast the New Year with sparkling cider! Eat a good breakfast. See that Albert gets dressed and eats something, too.
Love, Ma and Meemaw
Brit and I sat at the dining room table, all groggy and dull. In front of us were sloppy bowls of cereal. We ate just to eat. I felt dreary from my rotten sleep, and Brit looked like a zombie.
Today’s newspaper was on the table. It had a headline about New Year’s Eve.
Brit turned to look at the paper. “Bleh. I hate New Year’s.”
“I know,” I agreed. “And what’s the big deal about dropping a ball? Big whup, another year.” I knew she hated it because of her mom, but we didn’t need to talk about that.
“Yeah, big whup,” she said in a small voice.
“Hey, Albert, come eat your breakfast!” I yelled.
I’d made him toast and peeled a banana that had some bruises. It didn’t look very appetizing.
Surprisingly, Albert came to the table fully dressed in his jeans and a pullover. He’d kept his Star Wars jammy-shirt on underneath, but still . . . this was pretty thorough for Albert. He even had his shoes on—though it was the single boot from last night and a sneaker. “Good job getting dressed, Albert.” I gave him a thumbs-up.
Brit was reading a sci-fi paperback. Lars must have tossed it in the bag with Darcy, which was nice of him. He acted tough a lot of the time, but I imagined that it was just habit—like for protection, living where he lived and all. There’d been lots of sketchy boyfriends that their mom had brought home. Brit told me that Lars had punched one of the guys in the face and told him to get the hell out and never come back. And that was when he was only fourteen. Yeah, Lars was okay.
I studied Brit for a second. Her hair was frizzed-out on the side that she’d slept on, and her skin was pale beneath her acne. Her eyes looked very blue, like sparkling jewels that matched the sky-blue sweater she wore.
“That color looks good on you, Brit. It makes your eyes look really pretty.” I’d given her the sweater because I didn’t like it anymore. It was a turtleneck—I didn’t like stuff around my neck.
She glanced up. “Thanks.” Her cheeks went pink and she didn’t look like such a zombie. Then she stuck her nose back in her book.
Albert nibbled his toast.
I ate another spoonful of cereal.
A cold, bright sun was shining into the dining room. It showed how dirty our windows were and it illuminated a billion dust particles. This would please Albert. He’d always enjoyed studying floating particulate—particulate was his word, not mine. He liked to clump particles into organized designs, like those puzzles where you find the patterns, only Albert’s dust game was so complicated that I didn’t get it at all.
None of us mentioned the night before. Brit yawned. Albert stared at the dust. My eyes brushed the newspaper again—and I noticed this horrible headline. It said, “Adeline man mauled by his own dog.”
“Whoa! Brit, listen to this: ‘Long-time resident of Adeline, Ralph J. Hinkey, was mauled by his seven-year-old Labrador, Beau. Beau had never exhibited violent behavior and was well loved by the family. The dog was put down and an autopsy is being performed to verify physiological abnormalities such as brain injury or rabies. Hinkey was declared dead at Providence Hospital.’”
“We know Beau!” Brit cried.
“They live on the other side of the power line,” I said soberly. “Beau was a nice dog. And Mr. Hinkey is dead. Oh my God, Brit.”
“Mary, could it be related to the thing in the woods?”
I turned to look at Albert. Mr. Hinkey and Beau used to walk the power line all the time. Albert must have been considering what Brit and I suspected—that the red mist was involved in this somehow, but he refused to send me a memo that might explain the awful event. He just continued to look at the dust.
“Does Albert know what happened?” Brit asked.
“He’s not telling me a thing, but—” The landline rang and I jumped up to answer it.
“Hello?”
“If it’s your mom, tell her maybe she should come home,” Brit said with an anxious face.
I shook my head. “It’s not her,” I whispered. “It’s my uncle.”
“We’re fine—No, she isn’t home right now; she and Meemaw went to town—Yes, I just saw something about that, but honestly, that is just bizarre—No, we’ve never had a break in—No, Albert doesn’t run around by himself!—Our neighbors are mostly nice—Really, my school is okay—I miss Andy, too—I’ll tell my mom you called—Goodbye.”
I hung up the phone with a frown on my face. “That was my uncle Joe, my dad’s brother over in Appledale.”
“What was he saying about your secret twin?” Brit was smirking and pointing her eyes at the picture of my cousin above the buffet. With Andy’s chopped bangs and wide face, he looked like the boy version of me.
I smirked b
ack. “Uncle Joe said that Andy missed me, which I sorta doubt. Anyway, he saw the news about Beau on TV. He was basically telling me that we live in a crappy neighborhood and we should move to Appledale where I could go to Saint Theresa’s with Andy and live happily ever after.”
“You do live in a crappy neighborhood,” Brit conceded, “and I bet Saint Theresa’s is fantastic, but unfortunately, I only have one best friend.”
“Same,” I agreed with a wry smile.
My Uncle Joe and Aunt Rita had been after Ma for a long time, trying to get her to move to Appledale, which actually sounded kind of fun to me. But I couldn’t leave Brit, and Ma seemed to be stuck in one gear—like she could handle her life if absolutely nothing else changed.
There was a knock at the door, and Lars poked his head in.
“Lars!” Brit said.
“I thought I’d check on you guys.” He shut the door behind him and came into the dining room. His sneakers left snow-tread on the floor.
“You want some cereal?” I asked. “I know how to make coffee if you like coffee.”
“Naw, I’m good.”
“Did you see this, Lars?” Brit handed him the article about Mr. Hinkey.
“No.” His lips were pressed together in a little frown. “If I had seen it, I don’t think I would have walked back there just now.”
“And you told me not to go!” Brit scolded.
“Was it still there?” I asked.
“It was faint but it was there. And it was bigger. I stayed away from it.”
We were all surprised by another rap at the door.
“Lars, did you call the police?” I asked.
He shook his head.
I got up to answer but first I peeked out the front-room window. “Brit!” I hissed. “Come check out these guys.”
She rushed over to sneak a peek by the sill. “They look like those door-to-door church people,” Brit said.
“I’ve seen them before . . . ” A dreamy feeling came over me, and my cereal got squishy in my stomach. “When I was a little kid, I—Brit, I don’t think they’re church guys. Let’s pretend we’re not home.”