Authors: Don Hurst
Paul's knees threatened to buckle, his body cold but sweating. Another of his dad's teachings came to mind: ‘Heroes experience fear and take action in spite of it—cowards experience fear and crumble before it.’ Paul hoped the building wasn't a coward.
Reaching the porch, his eyes adjusted to the shadow where the overhang blocked the late day sun. No one Paul knew had ever met Maken Fairchild in person, except for his dad. His schoolmates only knew where he lived, alone and doing strange stuff probably. He pushed the button beside the door and heard a distant clunk-ding. He backed from the door. Giving in to his fear, he turned and tiptoed down several steps. His dad never mentioned how many times he had to push the clunk-ding thing.
Two sounds stopped his retreat, the front door opening and a voice.
"Hey, where are you going?"
"I thought I'd look for the garden.” What garden? Stupid answer, Paul figured, but at least he could talk.
"Harry has told me about you, Paul. Enter, do not be afraid.” The owner of the voice remained partially hidden in the interior darkness.
I wonder old man would melt if he walked out into the evening sun
"On the other hand, be afraid and enter anyway.” The voice's tone had the same inviting softness as Paul's dad, a quiet authority able to summon respect and anticipation. This voice, however, had a bubbly quality, as if he were about to tell a joke. “You are fourteen. It is time you learned the truth about the worlds you have traveled in your dreams and imagined in your day visions. You need to find your sister. Maybe a few others along the way.” The voice lowered, lost its lilt and turned into almost a growl. “Come to me."
The porch creaked beneath Paul's feet. He willed his legs to step into the dark beyond the doorway. The enclosure contained a brand of stink suitable only for garbage dumps or sewers. Dirty gray-white sheets covered the room's furniture, like ghosts waiting to jump up and do their ‘Boo’ thing. If Maken Fairchild did the cleaning, he didn't do laundry or windows. Cobwebs filled the room, and he thought their owners might reach out to grab him if he stood in one spot too long.
The old man's white hair, the brightest thing in the room, startled Paul when it disappeared from his view along with its owner. “Sir? Mister Fairchild?"
"Paul. Up here.” The bubbly quality had returned to Maken's voice.
One minute Paul followed the old man and the next he called down from the second story balcony. Paul didn't need Vicki to tell him not to expect the standard fare within these walls.
Maken Fairchild, on the other hand, enjoyed creating a puzzle in Paul's mind. He receded into the balcony's shadows, a smile on his face.
The main staircase, with its dirty-brown carpet and railings covered with cobwebs had Paul staying in the center as he climbed. He eyed the webs. Each contained a spider, waiting, Paul thought, all too willing to inject poison into his body—fangs ready to sink into his skin and rip out chunks of his flesh. Thoughts about his lost sister kept Paul's mind off his pounding heart and the desire to sprint in the opposite direction. He hoped the spiders would think of him as being too skinny to be tasty.
He held his breath which caused an abrupt lack of odor. He let out a rush of air and took in a deep gulp along with the putrid stench which almost choked him upon entering the building.
"There comes a time when every boy must become a man to face life's challenges. Let this be your moment, Paul."
Paul's answer popped out before he considered who he talked to. “Easy for you to say.” He mounted the stairs with a little more speed, determined to meet his host's summons with action. Mimicking Maken Fairchild's words, he said, “There comes a time when a shadow would show himself and become a human being.” His words would prove his fearlessness, while he shook in his shoes. On the balcony he breathed in. The smell had disappeared.
"Now, that is the Paul Winsome your father told me about.” Maken Fairchild stepped forward. Slightly taller than his dad, slender, with a know-it-all half smile and thick luminous white hair. His face was slender, wrinkled, stern and jovial simultaneously.
Paul thought him the epitome of a strange guy living in his mansion doing bizarre stuff, like maybe eating spiders caught in their own webs.
Maken turned and touched a book on the bookcase filled floor to ceiling with expensive looking leather-bound volumes. A four-foot portion of the case receded inward and moved to the side in a silent glide.
"Please come in, Paul."
Being in the presence of the man and not imagining him from the horror stories he had heard at school, lessened Paul's fear—although he remained ready for an attack should Maken transform into a deadly horror-movie creature. The room looked like a well-stocked library with six comfortable easy chairs arranged in a circle in the middle. The golden wood paneling and soft glowing illumination gave warmth to the interior.
Maken motioned Paul into a brown leather recliner. The white-haired host sat in a maroon one. At least there didn't seem to be any obvious cobwebs.
"Still scared of me?"
"No.” He waited to see if Maken believed him. “A little, maybe."
"Well, boo."
Sitting back in his chair, Paul smiled, tried not to laugh and failed.
The voice lowered into a snarl. “You dare laugh in the presence of Maken Fairchild?"
"But—?"
"Who are you going to believe?” he said in a friendly sound. “A bunch of kids at school or a living breathing Maken Fairchild?” He chuckled. “Me, of course. Do you find my humble abode scary?"
Paul gave up any pretense. “Yes. It looks like it'll fall down at any second. Are you sure it's safe in here?"
"If it falls, I'm taking you with me.” Maken tipped his head back and laughed silently, followed by a sigh. “Lighten up, Paul. You're an imaginative lad, and this is the key to you saving the solar system."
"What!” Paul's eyebrows did their best to join in surprise. “Save the solar system? I want to save Vicki."
"Would you not be saving Vicki if you saved the solar system?"
"But, sir? I'm in junior high, almost in high school, but not yet. How can a fourteen-year-old boy like me save the solar system? Save it from what?” His stomach lurched with the magnitude of the thought. “Why does it need saving, anyway? Can't I just save Vicki and leave the solar system saving to someone else? I bet Dad would help if you asked."
"It has to be you. The facts will soon be demonstrated to your satisfaction.” Maken sat back in his chair. “You remember the cloud formations you and your father observed this very morning?"
"Yes sir."
"How they change shape and seemed alive?"
"Yes sir."
Maken leaned forward. “What if I told you they are exactly what they appear to be?"
"My father says perception is reality, so if I could see them as real, they would be real, in a way. Is that what you mean?"
"You have learned well. However, I ask you to go one step beyond this knowledge. I'm asking you to accept this as a universal reality despite all perceptions. A reality of cloud creatures, seeming of your own invention, which you will be able to journey on once you learn the method.” His eyelids closed to a squint, carefully watching Paul.
"Yes, sir?” Paul slapped his forehead. “What! What did you just say?"
Maken smiled. “Paul, your father was once my student."
Paul wanted to hear the story, but to interrupt at this point might lose his chance to learn what Maken knew about his missing sister.
Rising out of his chair, Maken motioned Paul to do the same. “The time has arrived to visit, what to you will be a new reality.” He walked toward a natural finished wooden door at the rear of the room. He opened it and Paul gasped.
Surely Paul hallucinated. Maken stood on a rise identical to the secluded knoll he and his dad visited earlier in the day. Maken now wore a robe with hanging sleeves, its burgundy color distinctive against the backdrop of green grass. His white hair appeared luminous, as if having a light source of its own.
"Welcome to my playground. Walk forward.” Maken spread his arms in a welcoming gesture. “The first time experiencing an unknown is always the most difficult. The feline you know as Isno Gravity patiently awaits your arrival."
Paul stepped through the doorway and onto the softness of the grass. The fresh aroma had a calming effect. The hill appeared to be the balcony itself. He breathed easier, realizing there didn't seem to be any spiders. On the side of the knoll sat Isno Gravity, his head cocked, demonstrating cat interest in his human's arrival.
Paul gazed upward and bit his lip. The clouds were identical in shape and movement as those he had watched earlier with his dad. He got it. On Maken Fairchild's balcony magic happened. Paul glanced around for his sister. Not seeing her came as no surprise.
"Hi, Isno. You're a part of this, huh?” Paul said. “Seen Vicki? Speak up now. Give one meow for yes, two for no."
The cat stretched and nodded. “Meow, meow."
"You can understand me? Like, really? Understand me?"
"Meow.” Isno quickly returned to his noncommittal expression.
The balcony, higher than the outer fence, added to the fact Isno had waited for him to open the gate to enter, equaled a mystery. “Did you jump up here?"
"Meow.” The cat sat back on his haunches and purred.
"The answer to Isno Gravity's presence resides in the sky above,” Maken instructed. He pointed skyward at the cloud his dad had called a unicorn. “Is it not an exact duplicate of the cloud of which you and your father exchanged opinions?” He continued to peer upward. “Is it not precisely the same as your remembrance? Is it not your remembrance itself? Perhaps you feel a smidgeon of curiosity about how I know this?"
"Because you're Maken Fairchild who lives in the haunted mansion at the end of Gable Avenue?” Paul instantly wished he didn't express smart-alecky thoughts out loud when nervous. “Could I ask how you moved the hill onto your balcony? And the sky?” There existed an even more important question. “And where's Vicki? Is she here somewhere?"
"Meow, meow,” Maken joked. “Please sit on the grass, Paul. All shall become known to you as the need arises."
Isno fixed his yellow eyes on Maken, not liking his mimicking of his meow, meow.
"Who determines when the need arises?” Paul said. “You?"
"Why, strangely enough, it is you who makes that determination."
"I need to know where Vicki is now,” Paul insisted.
Maken's voice filled with a lightness which mocked the heaviness of the situation, saying, “If Isno does not know the answer, how in all that is magical would I?"
"You're kidding. Anyway, that isn't fair. Aren't you kind of running the show here?"
Again the lightness of tone. “No. I am under the cat's rule."
Paul immediately felt he might be crossing thought-swords with a mental bully and should use a defensive maneuver. “Sorry. Sir, I need to find Vicki. So if Isno is in charge, should I ask him again?"
"Meow, meow,” said Isno.
"You could try, but I have it on good authority a fur ball has his tongue.” Maken smiled. “Come on, Paul. I joke with you not because this business lacks seriousness, but because you need to loosen up a bit. My spiders do not bite unless I ask them to do so, yet you imagined them doing so. I do not hide young ladies within these premises, yet you imagine I would do so. I do not take directions from Isno Gravity, yet you almost, for a fleeting moment, believed this. Do I take directions from you, Isno Gravity?"
"Meow, meow, meow,” Isno said in rapid succession.
"Please sit, Paul, and tell me what three meows mean. I do not recall you including them in your instructions to your cat friend."
Paul sat and squelched the desire to answer with four ‘meows'. “Means maybe, probably.” The grass felt warmer than he remembered it. “Do I imagine it, or is this grass heated?"
Maken's answer puzzled and irritated. “Meow, meow, meow, meow."
"Maybe I imagine the grass is heated?” Paul clenched his jaw, feeling like he faced a teacher who loved the ambiguous. He remembered when Vicki taught him the word
ambiguous
, and it returned his mind to the purpose of being there.
He recalled the exact conversation he had with his sister. “Sis, why do you suppose, Dad says ‘Action cures fear’ and ‘Study precedes action'? Doesn't one cancel out the other?” He replayed her answer. “Paulie, being ambiguous is like looking at a clock. The moment you think you know what time it is, the secondhand has moved and it's different.” He also remembered how they laughed.
When Paul spoke next, his voice contained a message of the-fun-is-over. “I don't care about nothing other than finding Vicki, Sir. I don't care if Isno can understand me, or even if you understand me. I want to find Vicki."
"Nothing is real, Paul. It is only an illusion you enjoy.” Maken hesitated. “I want you to forget your sister is missing, for the moment. I need your total concentration on another matter."
Maken's voice had the quality of dead seriousness. The sound reminded Paul of a character in a television movie who created magic. “Sir, are you a wizard?"
"Do you believe in wizards?"
"Of course not."
"Then your perception is I am not a wizard.” Maken chuckled. “I could be a figment of your imagination, a morsel of a leftover hallucination. A daytime reverie."
"You look like a wizard I saw in the movies once, only he had a long beard."
"Do you wish me to produce a beard?"
Paul stared at the old man.
"At the moment, the only important thing for you to know is, I am the teacher. You are the student, as was your father before you."
Paul's eyes widened. “Sir?” He waited to see if he had Maken's attention. “I'm here because of my sister Vicki. She's missing.” He took the folded note from his pocket. “This says I'm supposed to come here. But the note is very old. How come?"
Maken raised one hand and pointed a finger at Paul. Abruptly Paul's fear and puzzlement of the old man evaporated like a drop of water hitting the sun's surface, instantly replaced by hypnotic concentration.