The Super 4 : Dark Death

by Harrison Wallace

  Carly

  VII

 

  I couldn’t help the envy that was currently bubbling up my stomach. It wasn’t fair! Jake had four powers, Harrison had three and I’m pretty sure Darryl has three to. That’s if invention and super smartness are two different things. I only had my double combo of water and electricity. Now I know you may be thinking that’s a wonderful combo, because water is a brilliant conductor of electricity. But still it wasn’t fair!

  Mumbling my displeasure, I made my way towards the dining room. Laid out on the mahogany table, was a large platter of pork chops with a bowl of roast potatoes and cabbage and gravy.

  I wasn’t American in the slightest. With a strong Norway background, my family moved to America in the late twentieth century. From Maine, to San Francisco, to Washington. My family has seen enough famous monuments to last a lifetime. I’ve been to Norway a couple of times, but that was to see my grandparents, usually in Easter. Every other national holiday was spent in America with papa. I never met my mother, she died when I was but a few months old. I’ve heard I look like her and from the pictures I’ve seen I can’t deny it. We had the same light blond hair, startlingly ice blue eyes and high ivory cheekbones. The only difference, was the lack of smile wrinkles surrounding her eyes. For someone who seemed so nice she certainly didn’t smile a lot. Or, at all.

  Not that I have wrinkles!

  OMG that would be disgusting!

  I sat down at the table and waited for Papa and my cousin to fill the seats around me. When we had uttered a prayer, we started digging into the delicious grub cooked by our own Norwegian chef. I had piled mountains of roast potato and pork chops onto my plate and it was slowly disappearing. I tried to make conversation between mouthfuls but was quickly silenced by dad.

  “Svelg Carly!” I effortlessly translated it to swallow and did just that.

  “So as I was saying, or trying to say at least, how was your day, pappa?” I asked.

  “It was good, Carls. Perfekt!” He responded. “ And yours?”

  “It was pretty great, dad!”

  “I wish you be speaking Norwegian more, Carly!” His irritation bringing forth his strong childhood Norwegian accent.

  I sighed and said, “Fine! I mean bot!”

  My cousin, Hilde, or as they say in America, Hilda, spoke for the first time during dinner. “Endelig!” Once again I translated it to mean finally.

  I was offended, “Hva mener du til slutt? What do you mean finally?”

  Papa had a huge grin on his face. His blue eyes twinkling. “At hun til slutt! She means finally!”

  “Papa! Jeg tok anstøt!” I said. “Dad! I’m offended!”

  He let loose a deep guffaw, his smile wrinkles visible, unlike my deceased mother, his shockingly red hair shaking, giving it the appearance of fire. Yeah, I know fire and water. Haha. His red hair was really surprising, giving the fact that most Norwegians are either blondes or brunettes. His own parents have white blond and dirty blond hair!

  “Papa! Slutte å le!” He didn’t stop laughing.

  “Nei!” It doesn’t take a genius to work out that that meant ‘no’!

  At that point the entire table, Hilde included, fell helpless to laughter. “Stopp! Stopp!” We begged each other. The food on the table remained oblivious to us for a while.

  Then the tasty fumes from the food entered our nostrils and we suddenly remembered the banquet on the table.

  We gobbled down the food in two minutes flat.

  Papa called, “Eirik! Dessert, kan du!” Kan du meant please. I’m sure the other one isn’t too hard to figure out!

  Eirik, our chef, or as he goes by in the U.S., Eric, came rushing in with bowls of krumkake. Krumkake was a thin layer of rolled cake, filled with whipped cream. Personally, it was the best food ever!

  “Herr Martinsen! Dessert ees sirved!” Eirik started english lessons very, very, late! He furrowed his bushy brows as he struggled to form the words of english. He nervously ran his hand through his mop of light brown hair.

  “Takk, Eirik!” We all yelled, giggling.

  “Takk, takk, takk!” We went into crazy fits of laughter.

  Eirik, startled by our many thanks, replied with his own series of ‘ your welcome’s’.

  “Errr…...Din velkommen,din velkommen, din velkommen!”

  At this point there was no cure for our mad fits of laughter. Eirik was even in the land of giggles by now.

  “Din velkommen, din velkommen!” He let loose another series of chuckles.

  Looking at his watch, he straightened up and politely dismissed himself, “Plis, escuss me, meester Martinsen!”

  Papa waved him away, wiping tears from his face. “Takk, Eirik!”

  After he left we laughed a bit, until we noticed the tempting plates of krumkake and gobbled it down. Eirik, knowing my allergies for strawberries, had instead placed several handfuls of juicy cloudberries, imported from Norway. By imported I mean snuck into our luggage as we left Norway. Hey, berries are amazing in Norway! The cold climate means the berries mature slower and has a more intense flavour. Plus in Norway cloudberries are considered a delicacy. That’s part of the reason the guards at Oslo Airport burst out laughing when they say the bags stuffed with cloudberries and strawberries.

  “Haha! Du badebukser!” Personally I was offended to be called a smuggler! But papa and Hilde just laughed.

  After the heavy meal my eyelids grew heavy and I had to fight the urge to sleep at the table.

  “Papa! Vennligst ta med meg til mitt soverom.”

  “And why should I carry you to your bedroom?” he asked, with a cheeky grin on his face.

  “Fordi jeg er lei!” I responded.

  “Oh, you’re tired! Well then I have simply got to carry you upside down!”

  Papa strode over to me and picked me up. Now most people say I’m really tall at five foot whatever. But papa was a giant at six foot, five inches. He lifted me in the air by my ankles and promptly swung me upside down, with my face inches from the floor. Hilde, Papa and I couldn’t contain our giggles as papa marched to Hilde’s and my bedroom. Hilde followed us her own brown eyes bright and alert. She brushed a strand of light brown hair out of her face. For a fifteen year old, she’s easily pleased.

  “Go, onkel Andreas!” She shouted.

  Papa flopped me on my bed and carefully tucked me in. “Natt, natt! Carly.”

  “Natt, papa.” I said yawning.

  “Elsker du.” He said.

  “Love you too.”

  “Hilde, are you crashing as well?”

  “No, onkel Andreas. I’m gonna go watch T.V.”

  And without further ado she raced out of the room. A few seconds later and the voice of Tyra Banks filled the room.

  I don’t even remember him leaving the room. My urge to sleep was too great. I was overwhelmed by the journey into dreamland.

  Usually I hope for the same dream that I had on the first day I got my powers. But since I was so tired the only thing the unconscious part of my brain could think of was krumkake. So I fell asleep to dreams of krumkake. I dreamt that I was a princess and my castle was made of cake and whipped cream. And everyday I would get a can of whipped cream and spray its’ entire contents on to a roll of cake. To make a long story short my days were good!

  And then all of a sudden my castle turned into a tree house. The exact tree house owned by Harrison. And nailed on the wooden door was a sign. And on that sign in big, fat red letters was: No one with less than three powers will be allowed entrance! I sobbed and sobbed next to the sign and after a while the faces of Jake, Harrison and Darryl filled the window. Except in my dream the faces were turned into one of complete and utter hatred. The Jake I knew was the kindest guy on earth. Er..and the others too! Anyway when they saw me helpless I expected them to open the door and tear the sign to shreds. And then give me a welcoming hug into the metal fortress.

  But of course
that didn’t happen. Instead Jake, my kind and loving Jake, pressed a big red button on top of a silver remote. And in time with the button-pressing, the floor opened up under me and I fell into a pitch black infinite hole.

  In the midst of all this, Jake’s words rang out like a fire alarm. “Farewell Carly.”

  Just as a bottom appeared I was jerked awake by an unknown force.

  “Anne! Anne, wake up!” Hilde shook me awake. Anne was my middle name. A Norwegian name to counter my first one.

  I looked around.

  The room was pitch black, the only light coming from a small torch in Hilde’s hands.

  “Hilde Anita Martinsen! Just what do you think you’re doing?” I glanced at the digital clock beside me. “It’s eleven o'clock in the night!”

  “You were crying!”

  I felt my eyes. Sure enough they were wet.

  “What were you dreaming about, fetter Carly.”

  I stole her Norwegian ‘cousin’ in my next sentence, “Nothing! Now go to bed fetter Hilde!”

  I turned over and made an attempt at heavy breathing. I wasn’t sure if Hilde bought it, but she climbed up the ladder of the bunk bed and didn’t utter another sound except for a few soft snores.

  When I was certain she was asleep I let out a sigh. And then started sobbing.

  Again.

  Darryl

  VIII