by Peter Ness
Heni Hani
and the magic Pendant
PART 1
(Heni Hani and the fears of the unknown series)
by
Peter K. Ness
If the old, the young or the stupid don’t kill you,
not to worry; time gets us all in the end.
For my wife and son,
who listened patiently to the story at least half a dozen times.
Copyright © 2018 Peter K. Ness
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Alexander Von Ness
Book layout by www.ebooklaunch.com
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Introduction - the Small Elk
Chapter 2: Marfa, Texas
Chapter 3: The Town we called a City
Chapter 4: Locke’s Café
Chapter 5: The Serial Killer Strikes again
Chapter 6: Teresa
Chapter 7: Long Khanh, Vietnam
Chapter 8: The proposal
Chapter 9: California, Death Valley
Chapter 10: Brian, Art of War
Chapter 11: The pendant
Chapter 12: The confidence man
Chapter 13: Snake Day
Chapter 14: UFO Landing
Chapter 15: The insect Orb
Chapter 16: Meat and Potatoes
Chapter 17: The Hentons
Chapter 18: Cydroids can’t count
Chapter 19: The dream
Chapter 20: Same dream for all
Chapter 21: Fright night
Appendix: Maps
Endnotes
Chapter 1: Introduction - the Small Elk
London: July 2012 (for all intents and purposes, consider this present day)
‘Hi Doctor Hani, How are you today?’ the pale-faced man said, dropping his bag on the kitchen floor with a thud. ‘How’s things gorgeous?’ He spoke with a slight French accent.
‘Oh. It’s you Edward,’ Jo turned around sharply, her dark brown eyes lighting up. She splashed a smile at her husband, a tall slender pilot, who stood leaning in the doorway. ‘You’re home early. I wasn’t expecting you for another few hours.’ His athletic figure did his mid-fifties age proud. Her eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘I see you’ve shaved off your stubble. And—, you can take your shoes off in the house. This isn’t Heathrow!’ The ladle in her hand pointed at him menacingly.
‘Oh! Sorry about that.’ Edward slipped his shoes off. Then, still crouched, he froze nose in the air sniffing at the sweet aroma wafting towards him. ‘What’re you cooking? It smells nice.’ Dangling his shoes between two fingers now and turning, he placed them by the entrance door. ‘Hmm. I want some of that.’
‘So, now you’re sucking up to me? That’s custard and dumplings. It’s my mother’s recipe. I got it from my brother Heni.’ Her smooth British-Australian accent echoed across the room. ‘No. No. Edward. I don’t think so—. Stay back.’ She raised the ladle warningly. ‘Can’t you see — I’m in the middle of —’
Jo turned away now, not seeing Edward lunge toward her. Sliding his arms around her slender tanned body, he gave her an affectionate hug from behind planting a tender kiss on her pink cheek. His fingers began teasing her shoulder-length dark hair.
‘— cooking,’ she finished.
She rotated slightly towards him. Their lips met, all so briefly. Her eyes glinted, smiling back at him. Then, trying not to let the sticky ladle touch his uniform Jo pushed him away gently. And then she glowered in annoyance.
‘Now you’ve gone and put custard all over your sleeve.’ She wiped it off with her hand. Sniff. Sniff. ‘And, what’s that smell? — Oh! Shit, shit, shit! I’d better switch it off before it burns. Darn! Now I’ve gone and burned the custard on the bottom. Thanks so very much Edward.’
‘Hey! That wasn’t me. And, the jacket needs to be dry cleaned anyway. What else have you cooked? Ah! You have been busy? What have we here? Chicken?’ Slap!
‘What was that for?’ Edward retracted his wrist sharply, stuffing a piece of chicken into his mouth.
‘You can wait for tea like everyone else.’
‘Kare-age chicken. Delicious. It almost melts in your mouth,’ he said, chomping on it. ‘Where’d you get the recipe?’
‘Oh that? I got it from Kirin. You’ve met him before haven’t you? You know, when he was in London last week.’
‘Kirin? Oh, you mean that suave American geologist that we met at the museum? Yes, I remember him. He’s about our age — isn’t he?’ Edward switched the topic. ‘So, what’s the magic formula?’
‘Kirin’s a lot older than us. He was a grown up when you and I were still in nappies. His magic formula—? Oh, you mean — sorry — that?’ She pointed. ‘I use soy sauce, sake, plus grated ginger and sugar mixed with potato flour. I left the chicken in vinegar for around thirty minutes to marinate. But I could have used white wine, I guess. First, I tip all the ingredients into a plastic bag, adding the flour last. Then, I chop the chicken up and place it in — and, holding the end so it doesn’t leak I shake it about — like this, making sure that all the chicken pieces are covered. Then, I add a bit more flour, as required, to remove any juice — like this. And, then I place them neatly in a frypan with a splash of oil — see. These will be ready to flip over in around five minutes.’
‘Only five?’ Edward watched with interest, then moved in and began fondling her waist again. Jo pushed him away one-handed now and added more chicken pieces to the now sizzling, spluttering frypan.
‘Watch out for your eyes. It’s hot.’ Jo pointed at the frypan, warningly.
‘Are you back at the Museum yet — or are you still doing field work?’ Edward eyed off the chicken, his mouth watering. ‘Hmm. I can almost taste it already.’
‘I’m back at the museum, but I have to go to Cursus — you know, Barrows Burial mounds — next week. We have the grad-students moving everything to Stonehenge.’ Doctor Jo Hani worked as a senior archeologist at the Museum of London Archaeological Archive and Research Centre.
‘Why is that?’ He queried. Jo gave a flick of her hair and her dark shining eyes delved into his. The eyes suddenly narrowed.
‘I don’t think so! Fingers off! — Edward! What I’m looking for is not at Cursus. And, Kirin suggested that we look for it in the diggings at Stonehenge. He gave me some coordinates that his mate Professor Robin Grady from UCLA dug up way back in the 1970’s. He had some artifact interpreted from ancient Sanskrit. Personally, I cannot see the link. We never had Sanskrit in Britain — ever. But, the location matches an anomaly on the gravity survey, so it doesn’t hurt to look, does it? We were heading there next anyway.’
‘The Yanks. They’re a real bunch of surprises. What about your brother Heni? Is he still here?’ Edward’s pale blue eyes flickered across the room. He noted the worn oil-tainted green backpack on the floor near the modern metallic-looking refrigerator.
‘He left a few minutes ago. I’m surprised you never bumped into him?’ Jo walked across to the door and glanced through towards the staircase in the next room. ‘Andrea! Can you come and give me a hand, Pumpkin?’ she called.
‘Yes Mom?’ Her ten-year old daughter appeared as if from no-where. ‘What’s up now?’ She leant her puny frame against the doorway, one hand on her hip.
‘Are you giving your mother attitude again?’ Edward glared disapprovingly, pulling up a stool. It grated across the grey tiled floor.
‘No Dad. I’d never do that.’
‘Could you please take Uncle Heni’s backpack up to the attic?’ Jo interve
ned. ‘The key is in the drawer. No, Pumpkin — the bottom drawer.’ Slap! ‘Hands off the chicken kare-age! You can eat when you get back.’ Doctor Jo Hani looked at her daughter’s long brown curly hair. ‘You’ve been using my curling wand again. It won’t straighten out your frizzy hair. And you can wipe the lipstick off too, Andrea. You’re not old enough.’
‘But everyone else in the class—. Okay, okay. I’m going Mom.’ Andrea flung her tanned arms in the air defensively. ‘You don’t have to point and get all hostile and the like.’
‘Mommy. Whatz zat cooking? It smells nice. Oh! It’s my favorite. Can I—?’ a voice piped up, Peter’s brown mitts reaching across the plate.
‘You too, Peter! Hands off! Even five-year olds have to wait. Don’t stare up at me with that sad, pathetic, dark little face. Go help your sister, then wash your hands, and your face — before supper.’
‘Hey! Andrea. Wait for me.’
‘Get out of my way Peter, this bag is heavy. Here, be helpful. Take the key and open the door at the top of the landing. No, the other one, the one to the attic,’ Andrea said, holding out the old key for him to take, trying not to drop the backpack. ‘Turn it the other way, you clod. Move it. This is heavy.’
The attic door squeaked open.
‘And—, turn on the light switch. Thanks Peter. I think we can just chuck it down here, inside.’ Thud!
‘Hey! A book fell out. It looks really old,’ Andrea said to her adopted brother, as she squatted down to pick it up. ‘I wonder what it’s about?’
‘Can I see? Can I see? Show me,’ Peter squealed excitedly.
‘Shush! Keep it down. Mom might hear,’ Andrea whispered, raising the book up out of his reach. ‘The title reads: Cassiop—. I can’t see. The end bit is covered with greasy paint or something — like yukky goo. It might be bees-wax? Anyway—, just get out of my way. Let’s sit down on the couch — there, it’s a bit dusty but that’s okay. Just, hands off! Let me open it first.’
‘Something else fell on the floor?’ Peter picked it up.
‘Here, give it to me.’ Snatch! ‘Oh, it’s a map. Look. There’s a farm house here, and another one over there.’
‘What’s that thing there?’ Peter asked pointing at the piece of paper in her hands. On his knees on the couch now, his dark face peered over Andrea’s skinny bare shoulder.
‘That’s a mine. And there’s a ghost house there.’
‘How d’ya know that?’
‘‘Cause it says here: “Ghost House” silly,’ she pointed with her small slender pink finger. ‘Hey look. There’s something on the other side of the paper. It’s a drawing of a girl set in a bright, spherical, glassy light.’
‘She’s got pale skin like you. Is she an angel?’
‘Yes, — no. I dunno. It’s just a girl standing in a ball of light.’ Andrea placed the loose page in the back of the book. ‘Okay. Let’s see what the story is about, shall we?’
‘Yes. But won’t Mommy be angry with us?’ Peter queried, poking at the book with a small finger. He scratched at his frizzy black hair.
‘But we aren’t gonna tell her — are we Peter? This’s our secret. It can’t hurt to have a peak, can it?’
‘Well then—? What’ya waitin’for then?’ Peter asked.
‘Wah! Did you see the book light up as I went to open it Peter, or am I just imagining things?’ Andrea dropped the book nervously, and then hurriedly picked it up.
‘Yeah, that’s real cool. Well, come on Andrea, read it anyways — hurry up.’
‘Huh? It starts with a warning?’ Andrea said in surprise.
“Warning!”
Andrea and Peter both jumped in fright as a jumbled set of letters wandered about on the page before combining to form the word! Then the rest of the paragraph slowly dissolved into focus. Snap! The book glowed and then abruptly snapped shut. They both recoiled.
‘What the —?’ Andrea gasped. Fumbling with the pages now, she flicked it open to the same page.
‘Ah! We really are dummies,’ she sighed. ‘It’s just my bumbling fingers. It’s not magic at all!’ She laughed nervously at her own stupidity. The book page lit up with a flash. Andrea jerked back, trembling in shock. Peter jumped up and down excitedly. ‘Shush! Keep it down. Peter! Sit down,’ she hissed. Andrea took a deep breath to calm down, and read on.
#
Warning!
If you like puzzles this is the book for you. Don’t be too concerned if the storyline jumps around — it will all make sense in the end. This book contains several distinct parallel story lines. They are linked. Follow the paintings. That’s the key to the story. If you miss a few of the links you might find yourself stuck in a maze looking for a link that may or may not even exist. And, anything is possible for the magic of science in this fantasy world of myth, magic and legend; a girl that floats in a bubble is still a pixie, a small grey alien an elf, and a nasty alien-like critter is just a troll that will scare you half to death.
Which is more scary anyway, an alien? — Or men in black, white and grey suits from different dimensions coldly manipulating us like one does a puppet on a string? If you knew the truth you couldn’t sleep at night. I do. And I can’t. And, what is a ghost or a UFO anyway but something you cannot explain. Did I say this is fantasy? Perhaps it’s true? Maybe it really did happen? — Parts of it, anyway. But you’re fine. You’re not scared of things that go bump in the night, and won’t have scary dreams. Hey! And don’t expect time to stop. But don’t be too shocked if it does!
#
Idaho, just out of Raft River: Early August, 1862
The sun pelted down overhead as the proud Indian, Bald Eagle, snuck his head over the side of the river bed peering down at the young girl below. The smoke of burning wagon trains on the distant prairie had caught his attention. Then he had watched from a small ridge as another band of Shoshone Indians stormed the wagons. The small band of men from the wagon train fought back valiantly with the few guns they had. In the end, the Indians overwhelmed them; killing and scalping some of the men, stealing women and children. But one child had escaped, tracked by Little Snake into a riverbed.
Wiping the beads of sweat off his face now, Bald Eagle crept forward for a better look, trying not to frighten off a small elk resting in the shadow of a nearby tree. The small six-year old dark-haired girl lay curled up on the river bank, hugging a brown fluffy bear and a hessian bag which contained a glassy blue ball. A small bundle wrapped in a grey blanket lay next to her, partly obscured by thick bladed grass. Slowly, the girl sat up, tears dripping down the side of her face grasping tightly at a brass pendant which hung around her neck. Standing now, she wandered over and prodded at the dead Indian laying on the ground nearby. He had tracked her, following as she rushed into the gravel-rich creek in a panic, trying to escape him. In the end she stopped, turning to face certain death.
#
The tiny dark-haired girl, let’s call her Sam for now, had dropped both her fluffy bear and the bag with the ball, fearfully clutching at the small gray bundle in her arms. The bluish glass ball landed with a bounce, rolling onto the grassy bank in front of her. The brass pendant around Sam’s neck abruptly reflected bright green. Clamping down tightly on her chest now it emitted a bright blaze of light. The strafing green rotating beacon of light hissing from the medallion caught Little Snake’s attention. He hesitated, stepping backward. Then, he decided to get it over with and scalp the child. Stepping forward now he rushed at the girl with a war whoop.
Zap! A sharp flash of lightning emanating from the pendant tossed him backwards into the air. Little Snake staggered to his feet, angry now, his eyes narrowing. Throwing his bow down onto the river bank and drawing his knife he moved in for the kill, circling the small girl. Now, the blue ball began to roll about on the ground glowing, bouncing about, like a growling bear. Little Snake froze, his face paling. Then, with a loud clunk, clunk, clunk the glass ball expanded, larger, until it reached the height of the girl.
The attacker suddenly the prey, Little Snake’s eyes widened in fear and he jerked backwards. Eyes darting about, his aggressiveness left him, replaced by panic. Spinning now, searching for an escape, shaking in fear, Little Snake dropped his knife. It clattered to the ground, bouncing off some rocks, splashing into the fast running gurgling water which frothed past. Little Snake frantically backed away trying to desperately run but his feet remained firmly stuck, glued to the ground. The blue ball, now a large white glow on the green grassy bank in front of him, slowly encompassed the girl in its midst. He trembled, thrusting his hands up to protect his face as the ball appeared to explode in a brilliant white flash. A front of glowing gas like that of a rushing tumultuous wall of water slammed into Little Snake, mowing him down, tossing his limp form hard back onto the river bank.
Sam exited the shrinking ball of white light, placing the small bundle down. Then, moving across and bending down now, hands shaking, she prodded at Little Snake with a stick. He never moved so she turned back and picked up her now small hand-sized glass ball. Placing it into her hessian bag, she swung it over her shoulder. Turning, she knelt down to collect up the small bundle in the grey writhing blanket. Sniffing, she wiped the tears from her eyes on her ripped dress and glanced down at the baby boy in the bundle in her arms. Then she lay on the grass and slept.
#
Later, the girl sat up, tears dripping down the side of her face grasping tightly at a brass pendant which hung around her neck. Standing now, she wandered over and prodded at the dead Indian laying on the ground nearby. The crack of a stick unnerved Sam. She stopped abruptly and stood very still. Then her head and large eyes slowly rotated upward. The broad shadow of Bald Eagle peered down from above.
‘Huh! Little Snake got what was coming to him,’ he muttered, kicking at the dead body. ‘He never knew when to leave well alone — always hankering for a fight.’ Bald Eagle spat on the ground, as his horse trotted up beside him. ‘Come with me little one. You look tired. And, what have you got in there? Come, don’t be frightened, Running Water will clean you both up and give you something to eat.’ Taking the grey bundle from the tiny trembling hands he mounted his pony. And then Bald Eagle’s massive hand reached down, grasped the child’s tiny hand and pulled her up onto the mount behind him. ‘Do you have name? If not, Small Elk, it is.’ Just then a small hawk landed flapping onto a nearby tree, then stopped peering down. Bald Eagle eyed it off, and then stole a look at the hot sun. Wiping the sweat off his forehead now he glanced down at the baby. ‘Little Hawk,’ he had named the baby. Turning the horse, he pointing its nose down the creek and they trotted off slowly.