Wolf Dreams

 With Christmas drawing ever closer and my children almost grown, I am finding myself reminiscing a bit, back to the days when they were still small. Every year, it was my labor of love (frequently at the last minute) to make a Christmas dress for Lyra. They usually included smocking, lace, all the things you can get away with when you have a small girl who likes dresses. These had to be finished by Christmas Eve afternoon, because we always attended the children’s Mass at our church on Christmas Eve. Most years she needed new fancy shoes to go with it, so I would let her open one package on Christmas Eve: the one containing a brand new pair of black patent leather Mary Janes, to go with her dress.

The boys would be dressed up, too, in something I made if they were still toddlers (little Eton suits, or for Aaron one year, a set of green corduroy knickerbockers with a plaid shirt with gingerbread men smocked on it - he was two at the time). If they were older, I just forced them into slacks, nice shirt, dress shoes and a tie. They endured it, because Santa was coming, you know.

We always got to the church early, because for quite a few of the children’s early years we were in the choir. We sang for at least half an hour before the service. (Pat has a lovely baritone voice. I am average, but very enthusiastic.)

I remember one year in particular, when Lyra and Aaron were small. Two children were needed to take the statue of the infant Jesus to the crèche on the altar as part of the opening procession. Lyra and Aaron were asked and agreed to do it. They were probably about 9 and 5 at the time. (I not sure, really, but somewhere in there.) Lyra, being the typical older sister, took charge and poor Aaron never stood a chance. My eyes - those of their mother, peering down from the choir loft - could see her bossing him about the right way to do it all the way down the aisle! Poor little guy, but they did look sweet.

I have several lovely Christmas memories from being in the choir loft. Several years, the church was dark and we (the choir) took small taper candles and filed into the sanctuary, lining the aisle leading up to the altar and singing O Come All Ye Faithful, first in English and then in Latin as the procession made its way to the front. Most years, Pat and a young woman with a beautiful soprano voice would sing O Holy Night as a duet during communion. They soloed on some parts and sang together at others. It was always wonderful. One memorable year, the church was darkened again after communion and someone sang a solo of Silent Night into the dark quietness. It was so peaceful.

We always went home slowly, driving around in the cold night to see the Christmas lights all over town as we went. They were the prettiest when it was snowy. Then at home, it was time for photographs before the kids were allowed to take off their good clothes (which had to be set out to wear again the next day to Denver - I always forced them to look nice at Christmas when they were little). They posed with and without their stockings (I knitted each of them a stocking) in front of the tree and in front of the fireplace both, and they always thought it took way too long. Funny, they still say that about Christmas photos. Then stockings were hung and “The Night Before Christmas” was read aloud before Pat and I ran them off to bed. After our work was done, we always left the tree lit (it was a real one back then, often one we cut in the mountains) and Christmas music on the radio. Even to my grownup eyes the scene was magical.

Early (very early) mornings with stockings get into and Santa’s presents under the tree, packages from each other to open later in the morning when Pat and I were moderately awake…I do miss those days. We still have the stockings, but no one gets up at the crack of dawn now and Santa doesn’t leave presents under the tree anymore. Still, I will always cherish those memories. The wonder of a small child at the magic of Christmas is something that will always be unrivaled in my heart.

-She Wolf (c) 2007

I picked through over 200 photos taken on our trip to Montana to put this little travelogue together. They are just a small sample of some of the things we saw on the trip.

We left Laramie at about 5:30 in the morning, just at sunrise.

This interestingly weathered hill is in Cokeville, WY - one of the few scenic areas in the early part of the trip.

Just over the border into Idaho was this lovely valley ringed with mountains.

This a view in Missoula. The town is absolutely beautiful.

The Clark Fork River runs through the middle of downtown Missoula, no doubt responsible for a lot of the confusing layout of the city! There are two other rivers flowing through the town, and water recreation is very popular - rafting, canoeing, kayaking and tubing. If you look carefully, you can see a kayaker just to the left of the little island in the picture.

A Missoula sunset, to go with my Laramie sunrise

Another Montana landscape

The object you see in the photo is the smelter stack from the Anaconda copper mine, in south west Montana. It is over 500 feet tall and can be seen for miles. It is even marked on maps! My husband said it reminded him of something out of Lord of the Rings!

This was taken looking south towards Yellowstone National Park, near Bozeman and Livingstone, MT. It was a very scenic drive and I wish we had had the time to turn south there and drive though the park. However, it would have added a day onto our trip, which we didn’t feel like we could do. Not far from here, the Yellowstone River flows down out of the park, and parallels Interstate Highway 90 through southern Montana. It was really neat to think of Lewis and Clark going up that river, exploring, and to know that they were going to see such wonderful things ahead in what is now the park!

This is in Thermopolis, WY, at the hot mineral springs.  Thermopolis is about 150 miles east and south of Yellowstone in central Wyoming. The springs are actually a state park, given to the state of Wyoming by Chief Washakie of the Shoshone Indian tribe. It was a special place for the Native Americans, and as a state park, it is available for everyone to use. Apparently it is the largest mineral hot springs in the U.S. What you see in the photo is where some of the hot springs have overflowed into the Big Horn River. The nifty formations are made by the dissolved lime and calcium in the water leaving minute deposits behind - it is the same way stalagtites and stalagmites are formed in limestone caves. The color is formed by different types of algae in the water. 27 different minerals make up the water and unfortunately, one of them is sulpher, so the whole area smells faintly of old eggs. The water is wonderful to soak in, though. It is cooled in several pools until it is cool enough for humans to soak in. Pat and I went to the State Bath House, where it is free to soak, but there are pools with slides and so forth, too, if you want to pay. Thermopolis is one of those places where people went to “take the cure” or “take the waters” as the mineral baths were thought to be theraputic. It felt really nice after a day in the car!

This is the Big Horn River at Thermopolis, looking north from the hot springs. The landscape is typical of that part of Wyoming.

For those of you who have ever wondered, this is what the middle of nowhere looks like, with sagebrush. It is very typical of central and southern Wyoming, except for those areas where mountains rise up. A lot of our trip was through land like this.

Most of these photos were taken out of the car window with Pat telling me to stop leaning out the window, which of course I denied doing even while I was doing it. It was a long hot trip, but a great deal of fun and we hope to be able to go back to Montana later this summer to see some of the things we didn’t have time for, like the Museum of the Rockies in Bozeman, where they have a fantastic dinosaur collection.

 Brother Thaddeus put down his pen and carefully capped the inks on the desk in front of him. The scriptorium was silent; all the other brothers had already left for dinner. Brother Thaddeus had wanted to finish the page he was working on. Father Jonas, the head of the order, would be pleased. The page was perfect and beautiful, each letter carefully and lovingly formed, the uncials uniquely decorated - it was a work of art, fit for the holy words written there.

Just as Brother Thaddeus thought of him, Father Jonas entered the scriptorium. He looked perturbed. “Brother Thaddeus - here you are. I need to talk to you somewhat urgently.” Father Jonas led the way into the herb garden outside the scriptorium door. “Something new has come up. I have hesitated to bring it to your attention - the attention of all of you who do the beautiful work in the scriptorium - but the time has come to talk of this.” Brother Thaddeus was puzzled. What on earth could the problem be?

“There has been a new invention. You know the printing press has been around for a bit, but it has been mostly used for images, as carving a page of words is difficult, to say the least. Now someone has come up with moveable type. Men arrange individual letters to make the page they want and print them, then move the letters around to make a new page. It is nearly effortless. It will enable thousand of books to be printed at one time. What it could do to us, well, is inconceivable. The holy words of God and the saints, reduced to mass printings, without the care and love we put into each page! And what could be printed! Men could print blasphemy with no effort at all! Any one who can tell a story can have it printed! This will ruin us, ruin the world with a flood of thoughtlessly printed garbage!”

Brother Thaddeus shook his head in shock and horror. “Father Jonas, I don’t know what to say! This is a tragedy indeed!”

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The Duke of Sandcastle paced through the little village near his home. “Matthew!” he called to his secretary, “Make a note!”

The secretary scurried up behind his master and tried to juggle the pen and ink and the little writing board he carried with him. “Yes, sir. What did you want to say, sir?”

“I wish to dismantle this ‘school’ the people have begun here in the village. Teaching the common people to read and write like their betters! What is this world coming to? Teach them to read and write and they will be discontent with their lot, and think they can be as good as those of us born to a better life! And they are even teaching their female children to read and write! Just imagine what could happen if one of them should decide they can write as well as a man! This could be disastrous!”

Matthew the secretary, uncomfortable aware of his own bourgeois background, duly noted all of his master’s concerns and then shook his head. “Just terrible, sir, just terrible!”

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“What on earth is this thing?” the publisher yelled as he slapped the cheaply printed digest down on his desk. “Pulp? They’re calling it pulp? I’m calling it garbage!”

“Yes, sir, I totally agree, sir!” answered his secretary. “This stuff is cheap to print, and now everyone is going to think he can be an author! We’ll be swamped with all kinds of people thinking they can write, just because they get published in this ‘pulp’ stuff.”

“Everyone can get printed in this junk!” raged her boss. “Who the hell is this Isaac Asimov fellow in this issue anyway? Next thing you know he’ll be knocking on our door, wanting us to publish some book he’s written! This is a disaster!”

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Every few generations we have new advances that allow more and more people access to writing and publishing. Rather than being the disaster that has been predicted each time, the new advance has sorted itself out and instead we find that our world is all the richer for a new group of writers gaining the attention of still more people.

“Please, please Mom, can’t we make it today? I really want to and you said we could make one this weekend! It quit raining…Please?”  Jenny tried hard not to whine, but the weekend was almost over and Mom didn’t look like she was going to be done with her project anytime soon. Jenny was getting desperate.

“All right. Did you clean out that old goldfish bowl yet? It needs to be ready,” said Mom.

“Yes! I did that yesterday!” Jenny ran to get the trowel and a little basket.

A little bit later they were combing the river banks, looking for just the right plants to put in the terrarium. A small cushion of soft green moss, some beautiful little ferns that looked like little fans, and some tiny ground plants called partridge berry all went into the basket, along with some of the dirt they grew in. A few more tiny ferns, and another cushion of moss and the basket was full. Mom and Jenny took their finds back to the house.

Carefully, Jenny arranged the moss on the bottom of the goldfish bowl, and then tucked the ferns in here and there. The partridge berry was added, and then the whole thing was watered thoroughly. Mom went and got a rubber band, and Jenny put a piece of plastic wrap tight over the top and used the rubber band to hold it in place. Then she put the bowl in the sunshine on the dining room table and waited for the magic.

Like most plant magic (unless your name is Jack and you plant magic beans) it took a while to happen. But slowly, each day, the little world inside the goldfish bowl changed and grew. It went from a collection of plants placed here and there to a tiny fairy garden. The plastic wrap kept the moisture in, and the sunshine coming in the window made it “rain” inside the bowl when it got warm, from the condensation. The little ferns settled in and grew and the partridge berry rambled around, making a little archway on one sided of the garden, against the glass. The moss was the smooth green fairy grass. Jenny would sit with her chin on the table and stare into the little fairy world for minutes on end- a long time for a busy, lively little girl. She told herself stories about the fairies that lived in there and kept the little garden growing well.

“Please, please Mom, can’t we do it today? I really want to and you said we could do it soon! There’s no one home today, and it would be perfect…Please?” Anastasia tried hard not to whine, but Mom kept putting things off.

“All right. It looks like they’ve gone out for the day, with the school bag and everything. Let’s go.” Mom led the way through the hole in the screen and a few minutes later she and Anastasia were standing on the dining room table looking into the little terrarium. It was the perfect size for a pair of fairies no bigger than small clothes moths.

“It’s perfect!” Anastasia breathed, admiring the little archway.

“It is a nice one,” Mom agreed. “Let’s go.”  She flitted to the top of the bowl, and very carefully cut a small slit in the plastic wrap. Anastasia followed her and they both squeezed inside. It was warm and wet inside, but that didn’t bother the fairies at all. They landed gently on the mossy ground. They wandered around, enjoying the tiny garden which was just their size, and then sat down under a fern to eat their lunch. Anastasia fell asleep and Mom almost did, it was so warm and peaceful inside.

A little while later, Mom squeezed out of the slit again and was sitting on top of the plastic wrap, looking around the big room, “Come on, we need to go now. We can come back another day,” she said. Then the front door banged. “They’re not supposed to be home yet!” Mom panicked. “You don’t have enough time to get out! Hide, quickly!”

Anastasia buried herself in the deepest part of the little garden and blended into the green, which is how fairies they keep from being seen. She was just in time, too, because Jenny came into the dining room and dropped into one of the chairs. She put her head down on the table and stared into the terrarium. Her face was very red and she looked miserable.

Her mom came into the room, and said, “I’ll get you something for your fever. Do you want something to eat before you go to bed? I’ll get you some soup and crackers.” She smoothed back Jenny’s hair and left the room. Jenny continued to stare listlessly into the terrarium.

Anastasia’s fairy mom had flitted to a plant hanging in the window and perched there, worriedly watching the scene below. Anastasia kept herself well hidden.

Jenny’s mom brought her juice and medicine, and then soup and crackers and more juice. Jenny ate a little and then dropped her spoon in the bowl with a little clink. “Mom, I want to go lie down now,” she said.

Mom answered, “All right.” She looked at the little fairy garden that Jenny loved so much. “Do you want to take your little garden with you?”

Jenny nodded, almost smiling, and they took the bowl with them into her bedroom.

Anastasia’s mom was frantic. Anastasia was still in the garden, and now the garden was gone.

She couldn’t fly around to find it until no one was around, and Jenny’s mom was going to be home for the rest of the day. She settled in for a long wait.

Meanwhile, Jenny was settled in her bed, with the bowl on her bedside table where she could gaze into it whenever she wanted. Mom turned on some quiet music and left Jenny in the darkened room so she could rest. Jenny was too achy from her fever to fall right asleep, so she just stared into her fairy garden while she lay there.

Since the room was dark and quiet, and Jenny was quiet, Anastasia thought she was safe. She came out from her hiding place and peeked around. Jenny’s head was a little lower than the bottom of the bowl, so Anastasia did not see here. Anastasia was a little bit stiff from hiding so long, so she stretched and fluttered her wings a little. Now, she was quite tiny, but still, the stretching and fluttering of wings was something Jenny could see. At first she thought a little clothes moth had found its way into her terrarium. However, clothes moths are not usually green, nor do they stand and do stretches.

Jenny blinked her eyes. She thought perhaps she was dreaming, but the little person with wings- the fairy- was still there. She sat up a little bit to get a better look.

Anastasia froze. She saw Jenny looking at her and she didn’t know what to do. Her mom was nowhere around and a human was looking at her.

“Wow,” breathed Jenny quietly. “I have a real fairy in my fairy garden.” She moved closer. Anastasia was still too frightened to move. Jenny put her face up to the glass and said, “Hello. My name is Jenny. I made this fairy garden. Who are you?”

Anastasia finally found her wings and started fluttering frantically. She could not find the slit her mother had cut in the plastic wrap on top, though, and soon fell back to the mossy ground, exhausted, with all the drops of water that had been clinging to the top raining down on her. She was crying.

Jenny couldn’t hear her, of course, because the glass was in the way and a tiny fairy’s voice is very tiny indeed, but she could see that Anastasia was very upset. She reached over and carefully took the plastic wrap off the top of the bowl. “There, you can get out now. I won’t hurt you.” Jenny couldn’t stand to see anyone scared and unhappy.

It took a minute or two for Anastasia to see that the top was open, but as soon as she did, she darted up and out. She quickly found a hiding place in the spider plant hanging in the window.

As soon as Jenny saw the fairy fly out, she put the top back on the bowl, finding the tiny slit cut in the plastic as she did so. Then she said, “I promise I won’t hurt you. Won’t you come down and talk to me? Do you like my fairy garden?”

Anastasia did not answer, of course. She was shaking as she hid in the spider plant.

“If you decide you want to talk, I’ll be here,” Jenny said, and closed her eyes. She fell asleep a few minutes later.

Anastasia watched as Jenny fell asleep and then fluttered quickly around the room, looking for a way out. There was none. She was too big to fit through the keyhole, and the space under the door was too small because of a carpet in Jenny’s room. She flew back over to the spider plant and sat there, disgusted, to wait for the door to open so she could get out.

When the door did open, and Jenny’s mom came in to check on her, Anastasia did not dare move. Jenny opened her eyes and said, “I found a fairy in my garden, Mom.”

Mom said, “That’s just the fever. Now close your eyes and go back to sleep.”

The plant was on the far side of the room from the door and if she moved, Jenny’s mother would be sure to see her. Anastasia knew her mom would be frantic by now, and so she decided to do something very risky. She decided to ask Jenny for help.

Fairies do not like to let humans know they exist. It can be very dangerous for them, because humans might decide to capture them. But Jenny had let Anastasia loose when she found her trapped in the bowl. Anastasia decided that Jenny might be trustworthy.

She sat on the edge of the bedside table, and waited, dangling her feet over the edge.

Eventually, she got tired of waiting, and fluttered over and tickled Jenny on the cheek. Jenny twitched, but didn’t wake up. She grabbed a strand of Jenny’s hair and tickled her under the nose. Jenny grumbled and opened her eyes. Anastasia flew back up to her spot on the bedside table.

Jenny saw the movement and her eyes widened. “Oh!” she said quietly, “You’re back!”

Anastasia made her voice as big as she could, using a little bit of magic.

“I’m Anastasia,” she introduced herself. “Yes, I’m a fairy.” Then she giggled. “And I really like your fairy garden, but I didn’t mean to get stuck in there. And now I’m stuck in here and my mom will be worried about me,” she said.

“I always knew there were fairies even if Mom says there aren’t. My grandmother used to see fairies playing outside her window.  I always hoped I would see one someday!”  She paused. “I can open the door for you, but I wish you’d stay for a while. I’m home sick from school and I’m lonely. I could use some company,” Jenny pleaded.

“I can’t go out where your mom will see me anyway. We’ll have to wait until she’s doing outside or something,” said Anastasia. “I can stay for a few minutes.”

Little girls are little girls, whether they are fairies or humans, and the time passed quickly. After a while, though, Jenny started to feel bad again, and lay back down on her bed. Then Anastasia had an idea. She said, “Why don’t you go tell your mom you feel worse, and I’ll ride out under your hair? When your mom goes to get your medicine, I’ll fly out to the plant in the dining room. I’ll bet that’s where my mom is hiding!”

Jenny agreed, and they did just that. Anastasia hid under her hair, which tickled quite a bit until she remembered to keep her wings still, and then flew safely away while they knew Jenny’s mom was busy. Jenny returned to her room alone. She hadn’t quite closed the door, though, and when her mother was outside checking the mail, she felt a tickle on her cheek again.

This time there were two fairies on her bedside table. They both smiled at her. Anastasia introduced Jenny to her mother.

“Thank you for helping Anastasia. You are a good friend to the fairies!” she said.  Then she added, “If you will cut a small hole in your screen, we will come and visit you often. We do that, when we find a trustworthy human- like you.” She smiled.

Jenny was delighted. She found some scissors in her desk and cut a very small slit in her screen, right down at the bottom where no one would notice. The two fairies left through the hole, with the promise that they would return.

And so they did. They came and brought their friends, too. They kept Jenny company while she was sick, and afterwards. They found that Jenny’s room was a fine place to wait out a thunderstorm or a bad windstorm. Jenny put several more plants in her room so they would have good places to hide, if they needed it.

A few weeks later, Jenny found a really huge old goldfish bowl out in the garage, and cleaned it out. She begged her mother until Mom finally took her out to the river again, and once more they scoured the banks for moss and ferns and partridge berry plants. This time Jenny took the bowl to her room and set it up in there with the door closed.

“Don’t you want some help?” asked Mom.

“No, I’m having fun myself,” answered Jenny. She giggled. She had all the help she needed fluttering around giving her advice. The finished fairy garden sat on a table in Jenny’s room. She added some other things, like pretty stones for a tiny path, colorful marbles, and small shells. She even found some tiny gardening tools from a doll house to put in there.

Her mom was looking at it one day soon after. “You really did a great job with this terrarium, Jenny. It looks like real fairies could live in it.”

Jenny just giggled. 
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Peter gave me a gargoyle for Christmas one year. It was just a tiny thing, about four inches high, and cast in resin. Despite his size, he was a dedicated little guardian.

I set him on top of the bookshelf by the window. Sometimes he was half-hidden in the trailing leaves of the spider plant, or obscured behind the curtains behind the shelf, but he was there, and he knew why was there. Unlike the winged cat, who was fun and adventurous and handsome, or the spotted shell which was content to sit there and be pretty, or the lizard candle with the colored swirls on it which sunned itself all the time, the gargoyle knew he was there to work. His ugly face was designed to scare away evil spirits and his claws and wings gave him the means to back it up. He took his job seriously, and was proud to do his best.

I bought some nice scary novels, anticipating reading them over a long weekend. They were by an author I had read before, and promised to be full of monsters and adventure. I was looking forward to the goosebumps and thrills I would get when I read them. I stacked them on the bookshelf under the window, because my bedside table was full, and one thing led to another for a few days. The books were temporarily left while I attended to other things.

The little gargoyle was very concerned about the books full of ghosties and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night. He paced quite close to the edge of the shelf, just waiting for one of them to make an appearance, invading his territory.

The books sat there innocently, though, and nothing crawled out of the books to challenge the little gargoyle. Finally, he could not stand it anymore. The little gargoyle sprang down to the shelf below and opened one of the books. He poked around in it for a few minutes, and soon found the first of the monsters. Happily, he launched himself into battle. That monster didn’t last long. He moved onto the next one. That one, too, was soon vanquished. By the end of the evening, he had bested every beastie in the book. He sat on the top shelf and carefully cleaned his claws and wings and looked very smug.

The next day, he took on the next book, and the day after that, the third. That evening, I finally had time to read the first of the novels. I picked it up, expecting to be absorbed in it quickly, but to my surprise, it was very bland and the supposedly scary creatures in it were anything but scary. I put it down, disappointed, and decided to try the next one. It too was lacking something in the way of suspense. I picked up the third and it was just the same. I was very puzzled. The author was usually very good, and the books had gotten good reviews.

I decided to quit for the day, and left the last book for tomorrow.

The little gargoyle knew that he had to act quickly to protect everyone against the monsters in the last book. He slipped down to the next shelf and opened the book.

To his surprise, the first monster was ready for him. “Now look here,” it said, “You already took care of the monsters in all the other books. You spoiled the suspense, and made them bad reads. I have no intention of letting you do that to MY book!” All the other monsters in the book were standing behind him, backing him up.

“If that’s the way you want it then,” said the little gargoyle, and he dusted off his claws and stretched his wings and waded in.

That evening I went to pick up the last book. It was not on the stack. Looking around, I found shreds of it half hidden around the corner of the bookshelf and more pieces jammed behind some of the other books. It had been destroyed.

“How on earth did this happen?” I exclaimed, looking around the room for a culprit.

The winged cat on the top shelf said, “Psst,” and nodded his head towards the big lavender candle on the top shelf. Puzzled, I looked at the candle. There was a wing sticking out from behind it, quivering slightly. The wing pulled back behind the candle as I reached for it.

I picked up the candle and found the little gargoyle hunched there miserably.  Reaching down, I picked him up and held him in front of me. “And what do you know about my book being damaged?” I asked.

“The dog! It must have been the dog!” he spluttered.

“No go, buddy. The dog was in his kennel all day.”

The little gargoyle drooped and sighed and then came clean. “I was just doing my job!” he said. “That last batch just didn’t want to give in!”

“Last batch? What do you mean by ‘last batch’?” I asked.

“The monsters in the books- they fought back, really hard. The other monsters in the other books, they weren’t so hard to beat! They didn’t tear up the books at all!”

“Well, that explains a lot of things,” I said. “Gargoyle, you didn’t tear up those other books on the outside, but you tore up the stories badly. They just weren’t any fun to read with the monsters gone or subdued!”

“But they were monsters! They shouldn’t be here!”

“Yes they should! They were book monsters,” I told him, “That was their job. They were supposed to be scary to entertain me! The ones that fought back were just trying to stay around to do their job!”

The little gargoyle had the good grace to look abashed.

“Now, if I go and buy some more books, are you going to beat up the monsters before I even have a chance to read the books?”

“If they’re dangerous…” he began.

“Let’s compromise. If they come out of the books, you can attack them, and only then. If they don’t, you have to leave them alone. Other wise, I’ll move you to the kitchen where the scariest thing is the garbage can!” I threatened.

The little gargoyle grumbled, but he saw reason. (He really didn’t want to move to the kitchen.) For my part, I have tried to keep books he might find threatening far away from him. Once in a while, though, I have to put some of the books on the shelf by the window. Then I catch him pacing up and down by the edge of the shelf waiting…just waiting.

“As long as you have a compass, you will never be lost!” Father told Sasha. Ivan was listening from behind the bushes. He didn’t mean to be, but he had been back there eating the pastry he had snitched from the kitchen when Father came along talking to Sasha. Sasha was going hunting in the forest with Father tomorrow. The two went on down the path to the pasture, and Ivan didn’t hear any more. Still, he thought about what he had heard. A compass sounded like a wondrous, magical thing. With one you would never get lost!

Ivan got lost a lot. He was always getting in trouble for wandering off. Sometimes he was lost to himself, sometimes just to Mother and Father. Still, it was a problem.

Ivan finished his ill-gotten pastry and wandered back to the house. He almost went to see the geese in the pond out in the pasture instead, but he remembered that last time he did that. Mother thought he had drowned because he took off his shoes to try and catch a gosling and Father had found them, but not him, because by then he was crouched in the reeds, trying to catch a frog. When Ivan got home, late and shoeless,  Mother had been crying, with her apron over her head, and Father had been looking very stern. When they found out he was not drowned, he had been sent to bed without his supper. Sasha and Ilya had laughed.

When he got there, everyone was busy. Sasha and Father were milking the cows, Mother was making dinner, and Ilya was doing his schoolwork. Ilya was a good scholar, and had won a place at the big school in town.

Ivan knew if anyone saw him, they would put him to work, so he went up into the hayloft to look for the kittens the old tabby had had last month. He thought about taking a walk to see if he could find a buried treasure, but the last time he did that he wound up in the woods, and had missed dinner trying to find his way out. Father had come to find him, and was angry with Ivan for getting lost. Mother had been crying with her apron over her head, and Sasha and Ilya had laughed at him for looking for treasure and getting lost. Father had made him go to bed without anything again, although since he had already missed supper, Ivan hadn’t thought this was such a problem. He hadn’t wanted a cold dinner, anyway.

He couldn’t find any kittens, so Ivan slipped through the parlor window into the house and tiptoed up the stairs. Ilya was still at his studies. Ivan sat quietly and watched him for a while. Sometimes if Ilya was doing history or literature, he would tell Ivan tales from what he was learning. Ivan liked that. But tonight, Ilya was playing with a little tool, making circles on paper, and measuring them. After he watched for a while, Ivan got bored. He finally asked, “What is that thing you are using?”

Ilya replied, “It’s just a compass.”

Ivan’s heart raced. It was a compass, that magical thing that meant you could never get lost. He wondered why Ilya was using it, and was going to ask, when Mother called, “Dinner!” and they both ran down the stairs to eat.

After dinner, Mother and Father caught Ivan before he could get away and made him do his chores, which he had neglected all day, until bedtime. By the time he went upstairs to sleep, Ilya had the compass put away in his schoolbag, and Ivan forgot to ask him about it.

The next morning, Ivan was awake early, before his brothers. He saw the little silver compass peaking out of Ilya’s school bag. Today wasn’t a school day. Perhaps he could get away with borrowing it, just for a while, so he could go out for a bit without getting lost and in trouble. He dressed quickly, and had just slipped the compass in his pocket when Father came upstairs to get Sasha so they could go hunting.

Father and Sasha were in a hurry, and didn’t notice anything. Father told Ivan to be good, and not to worry his mother that day just this once, and they left. Ivan had no intention of worrying his mother. He had the magic compass, so he wouldn’t get lost, and mother would never know.

He left Ilya sleeping and slipped downstairs to grab some bread, cheese and a lovely red apple to put in his pockets, and he was off. Father and Sasha had gone to the big forest, so Ivan thought that he would just go the woods on the other side of the village. It wouldn’t make for quite as good an adventure, but it couldn’t be helped. He didn’t want to meet up with Father and Sasha. They would scold him and send him home. They might even take the magical compass for themselves!

Ivan slipped through the fields beside the village. He did not go through the village, because if anyone saw him, they would stop him and send him home, saying he would get lost and he shouldn’t worry his parents. It took a little longer that way, but he was soon in the cool shade of the trees, where the underbrush was trampled by people looking for firewood. He went a little deeper in and whistled a happy little tune. He was off on an adventure for certain, today!

He walked beneath the trees, watching small animals scurry away, and listening to the birds sing. He splashed through a small stream and chased a blue dragonfly into a meadow full of flowers. Then he sat down on a rock and ate his bread and cheese. Spying some berry bushes across the way, he went to pick some to wash down the bread and cheese. They were very good, and he was happily plucking and eating berries when he heard a snuffling behind him.

Little boys aren’t the only ones who like berries, and when he turned around, Ivan saw that bears like them too. The bear clearly did not want to share the berry bushes with Ivan and was coming closer, and growling.

Ivan thought, “I do not want to lose my life to this bear, but the if the compass keeps me from getting lost, perhaps it will keep me from losing my life!” So he whipped out the compass, and spread it out and spun around in a circle just as he had see Ilya do, but in the air. A large circle appeared where the compass had spun and fell to the ground. It was a huge berry pie! Ivan reached down, grabbed the pie, and tossed it towards the bear.

Now the bear knew a good thing when he saw it and stopped to slurp up the pie. Ivan scooted into the bushes and away down a path until he was well away from the berry bushes and the bear.

Since he was on the path, he decided to follow it and see where it went. He walked happily along it until he came to a large stream. He was delighted. This was just the right size stream to try tickling trout. Sasha and Ilya had told him all about tickling trout. You had to be ever so still and slip your hand under them and gently rub their bellies until they weren’t suspecting anything and then scoop them out of the water as fast as you could.

Ivan promptly lay down on his belly on the bank to see if he could tickle a trout.

He did not see a trout, or any other fish for that matter, and he squirmed closer to the water, and closer still to see if he could see one. He squirmed closer yet again, when splash! He wiggled right over the edge and into the stream.

Now the stream was deeper and faster than it looked and Ivan found that he could not touch the bottom and the bank was moving away quickly. He could swim a little- Father had taught him after thinking he had drowned in the goose pond- and so the kept his head above the water while he felt for the compass. He pulled it out, swirled it around in the water, and all of a sudden he felt something underneath him.

A large lily pad was coming up under him, and soon folded around him like a huge cup. He was floating along on top of the stream in a lily pad boat! This was fun! Ivan happily bobbed along down the stream and when it joined up with the river, he decided to see where that took him for a while. He floated past the fields and beyond the little village and soon was floating through the forest. He saw a sandy beach ahead, and by paddling with his hand, managed to land his lily boat there.  When he hopped out, the lily pad floated off, and Ivan was on his own again.

Now, Ivan knew that Father and Sasha were hunting in the forest today, but he decided that since the forest was such a big place that they probably wouldn’t meet up. So, he started off into the big, tall trees to see what he could find there.

After a little bit, Ivan heard a snuffling and snorting sound. “Not another bear!” he thought, but then he came round a big tree and saw that it was not a bear, but a wild boar. Ivan had heard tales about wild boar, and knew how dangerous they were. He backed up slowly, before it could see him, and climbed into one of the enormous forest trees. He sat on a limb, watching the boar, and wondering what he was going to do. He took out his apple and ate it while he thought.

Then Ivan heard voices. It was Father and Sasha, and they were coming this way! Ivan was struck with terror with the thought that the boar might go after Father and Sasha. He threw down the rest of his apple to distract the boar. Thinking quickly, he pulled out his compass and, stretching it out as wide as it would go, twirled it in the air. A very large circle floated down from Ivan’s perch in the tree and landed on the path below, between the boar and Father and Sasha. It kept floating downward, and suddenly there was a large pit in the middle of the path.

The boar heard the people coming down the path and charged towards them- and right into the pit.

“What was that noise?” asked Father. “It sounded just like a wild boar!”

“I hope not,” replied Sasha nervously.

Ivan put his hands over his mouth so they would not hear him giggling in the tree over their heads.

“Look!” cried Father. “I don’t remember this pit being on this path, but it has caught a boar for us!”

As they set about getting the boar out of the pit and preparing to haul it away, Ivan crept down the tree and away from the path. He was getting hungry, and tired- it must be time for lunch by now- and he was ready to go home. He pulled out his trusty compass and twirled it in the air one more time. A stream of sparkling lights flew from the compass and off through the trees. Ivan followed at a jog and soon found himself very near home. The lights twinkled out and Ivan walked the rest of the way happily. Truly, he had had a wonderful day, and not gotten lost once, thanks to the magical compass.

When he came into the kitchen, Mother was just putting out lunch on the table. She scolded him, “Where have you been all morning? I thought you had gotten lost again! And look at you! What a mess you are! Go and wash and put on clean clothes right now, before you come to  this table!” Ivan ran off to change before she could ask him any more questions.

When he came back down the stairs, Father and Sasha were back. “You should see the grand boar we found in a pit in the woods! We are taking it to the village for a big pig roast!” boomed Father. Ilya came in from inspecting the boar and caught sight of Ivan, and the compass in Ivan’s pocket.

“Ivan! What are you doing with my compass? I have been looking all over for it! This is not a toy for you to play with!” cried Ilya.

Ivan said, “But Father says that if you have a compass you will never get lost, so since people always fuss at me about getting lost, I thought it might be a good thing for me!”

Ilya snatched it away and answered, “This is not the same kind of compass. This one is for geometry, for making circles!”

Father laughed and said, “Yes, Ivan, the other sort of compass is this,” and he took out a small case with letters in a circle and a small arrow in the middle. “this one always shows you which way is north. It is not magical, though. You must know the direction you need to go. Although I wish there were a magical compass for you, little one, with the way you like to get lost!” and he laughed.

Ivan opened his mouth to tell Father that he was wrong, Ilya’s was a magical compass, but then he closed it again. Sometimes it wasn’t worth it to try to tell big people anything.

“Hey!” said Ilya, “What have you done with this! It is filthy. Look, I found berry bits on it, and water weed stuck in it, and dirt in it, too. And what’s this sparkly stuff all over the ends?”

Ivan just smiled.

I have been interested in fairy tales and folk tales since I was a child. In college I took several classes about folklore, and have alway enjoyed reading other people’s versions of fairy and folk tales. I have tried writing fractured fairy tales, which are great fun, but this time I decided to try a folk tale featuring a youngest son who, although foolish, is full of faith and comes through in the end.

I must admit, I have some personal experience and my own personal source of inspiration. I have my own youngest son. He has now made it to the age of 16, and I think he has probably worn out several sets of guardian angels along the way. Like Ivan in my story, he was quite adept at giving his parents and older siblings the slip and going his own merry way! Fortunately, he always came back home about the time you realized he was gone. I think he may be the reason for some of these grey hairs I have so many of lately.

I hope to be writing more of this sort of story, and I may add in a few fractured fairy tales both here and at Riversleigh. They really are fun to write.

Comes a minstrel a-wandering,

Telling stories, singing songs.

Comes a minstrel a-wandering,

Won’t you come along?

He’s tunes to play and songs to sing-

A lute, a flute, a fiddle wild-

Fingers fly and voice trills

Enchanting each and every child.

Comes a minstrel a-wandering,

Over hills and through the pass.

Comes a minstrel a-wandering,

Winking at each comely lass!

He’s news to tell and stories, too-

Tales to chill and tales to thrill.

His voice echoes through the night

People listening with a will.

Comes a minstrel a-wandering,

Tattered, torn, limping some.

Comes a minstrel a-wandering,

Still he beckons, Come!

He sits beside the fire at night,

His voice rising in a song.

His listeners sit up straight and then-

Old ones smile and sing along.

Comes a minstrel a-wandering,

Folks will come from far and near.

Comes a minstrel a-wandering,

Come and listen, for he’s here.

“It is customary when setting a portal to choose one or two destinations. Unlimited portals are dangerous; one never knows what sort of world will be on the other side of the door. If an unlimited portal is set, it is recommended that the anchor end be in a place with as little magic as possible, in order that there be some control over who uses the portal. When there is sufficient magic, those on the far side of the portal may be able to open the door themselves; this may have disastrous results. Without enough magic, they may knock, but the guardian of the portal has the option of not opening the door. The maker always keys the portal to himself, as well, so he can always use the portal from either side. He can also change the destination after he opens the door, although he must keep part of himself in the anchor world to do so.”

 He knew the chances he was taking. That was why he had the dragons to spin in the presence of danger. He would simply set the portal in place somewhere without much magic. He made sure there was a portal that went to his home world  not too far away, but not on site. That was a rule.  If something went wrong, one didn’t want to provide easy access to one’s home. He was good, plenty good enough to manage the unlimited portal. He knew he was good. 

     The trip up the stairs was silent. Isadore wove through their legs and led the way through the door to the kitchen. At the top of the stairs, he stopped and nosed a plastic container that was tipped over on the floor and gave a silent meow. Obviously, this had been his food container and he thought it should be filled. The house was silent except for the sound of the rain and nearing thunder. Jon walked over to the kitchen table. It had mail stacked on it, with layers of dust on top. There were dishes in the sink, and in the dish drainer. The refrigerator was humming, and when I opened it up, I could see that the food in it was long past gone. What was left wasn’t even in any state to rebel. All that was left were dried up crusts and powders of things. Rob went over to the door and looked through the window. “No sign of the yard service,” he reported.

     “I don’t think the man who lived here ever left,” I said.

     “Let’s keep going,” said Jon.

     The door to the front room was nearly closed, so we bypassed it for now. In one bedroom, we found an unmade bed and clothing on the floor as well as in the closet and dresser, and a stack of books on the bedside table. The other bedroom was empty except for a bed and dresser. The bathroom had shaving things and toiletries in it, and a shower curtain with tropical fishes on it. And everywhere there was dust. Lots and lots of dust. We were uncharacteristically silent while we were exploring the house. Occasionally, one of us would go and look out the windows for the yard service, but so far we were safe. We weren’t finding anything strange or even any signs of whatever he had used to produce the stinks that
Florence had been laughing about.

     Finally, we approached the door to the front room, with Isadore going ahead of us and slipping through the crack in the door.

     When we pushed the door open, we stopped in wonder. The room was filled with table and books and strange looking apparatus of various sorts. The front window was covered over completely with a board with writing and drawings all over it. But the center piece of the room was the door, looking the same as it did on the other side, except that the dragons were moving openly, spinning in a circle around the doorknob. It was open a crack, with light coming through it. “It was shut, wasn’t it? On the other side, I mean,” said Jon.

     “I know it was. It always is. Besides, it’s storming out again, and that’s a different kind of light coming through the door,” replied Rob.

     I just stood there. I could feel something coming from the door. Something imploring me, begging for help. At the same time, I felt an overwhelming sense of danger. My heart pounding, I stepped forward, towards the door.

      Rob tried to grab at me, but I shrugged him off. Jon said, “Let her go. I feel it, too.”

     “So do I, but I also feel the danger,” replied Rob, but he let me go. They fell in behind me.

     I crossed the room slowly, carefully, waiting for something to come flying out at me, but nothing came. When I got to the door, I looked through the crack.

     There was a man there, an old man, with a beard and wild grey hair. He was wearing blue jeans and a sweatshirt, and he looked at me and blinked, in slow motion. I just stood there with my mouth open.

     “What the hell…” breathed Jon.

     “What on earth…” whispered Rob.

     The man’s mouth moved slowly, and although we couldn’t hear what he was saying, we understood what he wanted, because his hand moved up slowly, trying to reach for us. Isadore meowed and bumped his head on the door and looked up at the man hopefully.

The guys and I looked at each other.

     “He wants out.” I was stating the obvious.

     “Yeah, but how did he get there, and why is he stuck and why is he moving so slowly and where the hell has he been all this time?”  Jon exclaimed.

     “Do you think we should help him out? Something here just feels wrong,” said Rob.

     “I don’t know, but I’m willing to risk it. Isadore likes him, and he looks like the man that
Florence described,” I replied.

     We all stared at each other for a few moments, and then I stepped back over to the door.

     I reached out, along with Jon and Rob, and we grasped the man’s hand and arm. And then we pulled. We pulled hard, leaning back. I could tell he was trying to go with us, but he was like a cork in a bottle. Finally, with a slight popping sound, he came out of the crack in the door. He fell in a heap on the floor and simultaneously the back door burst open.

     We heard the glass shattering as the door crashed into the wall and then several sets of tromping footsteps making straight for the front room. The old man picked up his head and looked towards the doorway. He kicked his foot at the door, pushing it almost closed as the two whatever-they-were things from the lawn service entered the room.

     “Oh, no. Not after all this time, you  aren’t,’ he creaked at them in a rusty voice.

     “Over your dead body is how we planned to do this anyway,” the one on the left purred.

     The other one added, “What you want doesn’t matter to us. The protections are down and we are in. In just a few moments, it will all be over.”

     As they spoke, they were advancing on the door and the old man lying prone on the floor.

     Isadore hissed at them and ran between their feet, trying to get out of the room. Rob, Jon and I backed away slowly. I had never felt such evil as they exuded. I reached back for the guys and found them reaching for my hands, too. Jon pulled me out of the path to the door, as the old man on the floor gave a wheezy laugh. “Hubris. That was my downfall, too,” he said.

     The two things reached the old man as he staggered to his feet. One of them grabbed him as the other one reached for the door, opened it and stepped through.

I saw into the opening. The place on the other side of the door was not the front yard. It was some place wet and dark and foul-smelling. I could feel the evil of it rolling across the threshold. The old man grabbed hold of the man who was holding on to him and twisted, sending both of them through the door. The old man’s foot was still on this side of the door, but I could see the creature pulling on him, trying to get him all the way through.

     “More of them!”  shouted Jon, and I looked up, seeing what looked like a small army of the things, some of them only partially shaped like humans, waiting for the old man to be pulled through the door. Several of them reached out to help pull him through to their side.

     I grabbed his foot, and Rob grabbed me. As we pulled on the old man for the second time today, the scene in the door way suddenly changed and changed again. I saw a collage of scenes go by, most of them beautiful, enticing, enchanting. I smelled scents that made me ache with pleasure, and felt breezes like caresses on my cheeks. Strange sounds rang in my ears, bell-like and beautiful. And then it all stopped and the old man came sailing through the door again. Jon slammed the door shut and we all collapsed on the floor.

     As we all lay there, Isadore wandered into the sudden silence and bumped his chin against the old man, who was wheezing and gasping for breath. Finally, he spoke. “I have been in there, like a finger in a leaking dike, for far longer than I care to think. Even with stasis to keep me alive, I was almost out of energy. Had I run out of energy, they would have won. They would have seized the portal and overrun this world. I thank you.”

     “What is a portal and what the hell were they?” Jon sputtered, “and what do you mean, overrun this world!?”

     “The portal reaches other worlds. In this case, unlimited ones. In my pride, I thought that my system of using the dancing dragons as a warning for danger would keep me safe. I thought I was strong enough and smart enough not to get caught by creatures like those, who look for opportunities to invade other worlds.” He laughed mirthlessly. “If you three had not heard my summons and come to help, they would have been able to do that in a very short amount of time.”

     He told us that he had been careless, and when he had opened the portal one day to go to another world, the creatures had come through at the last second. They had meant to over power him and take control of the portal, but he had stuck himself in the gap, like a finger in a leaky dike, as he had said. He had put up protections around himself against their attacks, but in doing so, he made it impossible to get out without help. After that, it was a waiting game- would help come first, or would he weaken enough for them to finish their job? He put a protection on the house, to keep them out, and then put himself and Isadore (who had been caught between his feet when everything happened) in stasis to keep them alive longer. Occasionally, he would try to reach out for help, with either a mental summons or a display of light. He thought that someone, eventually, would come to see what was going on.

     He had felt me last week, and shown me the door to draw me closer, so I could feel his summons. Rob and Jon were drawn in when they came to look, too. Feeling this was his last chance for help, he had relaxed the stasis. Isadore had slipped out of the doorway and into the house, and the old man had sent out some of his last power to make Jon’s roof leaky and to suggest the renting of the house next door (which actually belonged to him.)

     “There was a letter, in the box at our house, and it seemed to be some sort of a warning,” said Jon.

     “Yes, my companions may very well have tried to warn me. Some of us can get hints of planned attacks like this one – from unnamed sources, of course.” He smiled wryly. “If the letter was mis-delivered, then they did not know that I was not been warned. The creatures would have been able to attack them from here when their attack on me failed. That would explain why my friends did not come to my aid.” He shook his head and sighed. “I have caused so much pain because of my pride.”

     We got him some food, and put him to bed. Then we went next door, returned the umbrella, and told
Florence that he was back. We said she might want to ask him what had happened; we knew she would never believe us.

     “Oh, and by the way, you really don’t want that lawn service. It turns out they were a bunch of bad characters.” I told her. Then we went back to the house on the other side and had several beers.

     Later that day,
Florence knocked on our door. “Come next door. He wants to see you,” she said.

     We followed her back to the house with the strange door and found the old man in the front room with a plate of  Florence’s cookies in front of him. He looked a little better, but was still very weak.

     “I need to go back to my home world, to regain my strength,” he told us. “I need strength to find a way to dismantle this portal without opening it up to the wrong worlds in the process. At the very least, I need to seal it permanently. As long as it exists, the temptation to use it or abuse it exists.  In time, someone would open it again, and then we would risk everything again.”

     We shrugged. “But what does this have to do with us?” I asked.

     He looked me in the eye. “I need someone to live here, with the door, to make sure no one uses it.” Before I could say anything else, he said, “My company, Pearsall, Inc., will pay you a handsome fee to stay here and watch over the door. You will never need to worry about money again. The house will be placed in your name. All you have to do is stay here, not leaving the house unless someone else is here,” and here he looked at Jon and Rob. “I need someone who understands exactly what is at stake. You saw what they were, and how quickly the portal works. I feel that the portal would be safe with you.”

     It took several days of arguing and discussing, but finally, in the end, I agreed. Jon was to move into the house next door, and Rob took over my house.

     The guys complained when they had to move all of my thousands of books, of course. I made the front room, the room with the door, my library. It seemed fitting that the room with the portal to infinite possibilities hold my own small portals to infinite possibilities. Isadore lives with me, and likes to curl up on shelves, among the books.

     Everything has gone just as it was supposed to.
Florence comes over to visit quite a bit- the old man told her everything, and surprisingly she believed him She door-sits sometimes so Rob and Jon and I can go out for nachos and beer. I keep busy with my books and knitting. I took up quilting, too, and have sold a few on-line.

     Sometimes I worry though, about when the old man, the Guardian, will come back. He says that time runs differently in his world. I hope he isn’t gone too long- I’d like to do a little traveling later on in life. Now that I know all the possibilities that are out there…

As you can see, my friend’s door is definitely in a category of its own. While that door can’t be moved, I liked the idea of infinite worlds to explore so I made this my door for Riversleigh. (Although my portal will lock out things I think are dangerous!) As long as we have our imaginations and creativity, my door will open.

     The rain brought us to our senses. We ran for the house, and, as one, with no discussion, we went straight through it to Rob’s car. Jon grabbed the cat on the way through. Once we were out on the street, I said, “My house.” It was the first thing any of us had said since we had left the alley.

     Rob nodded and then said, “Store first.”

     We looked at him and he said, “It would feel safer in a crowd right now.” He was right. I wanted bright florescent lights and lots and lots of humanity around me right now.

We left poor Isadore in the car by himself and went into the seeming safety and everyday ordinary normality of the busy discount store. We moved through it together, staying close to each other through the aisles of frozen foods and cold cuts. As the cart filled and the public address system blared out music and announcements, our sense of unreality lessened, and we made one last stop in the pet department to take care of Isadore’s basic needs. Litter box, litter, cat food, and catnip mice joined the junk food and comfort food in the cart. At the register, none of us even winced. We had been buying peace of mind and a feeling of security and that was priceless.

     No one said anything else for the rest of the trip to my house. We just took turns cuddling the cat as we rode.

     As soon as we were back at my house, the silence ended.

     “Dear God in heaven, what was that thing!?” was all I could say.

     “Wrong place. That thing never even saw the suburbs of heaven,” Jon answered.

     “That’s for sure. I don’t ever want to see anything like that ever, ever again,” Rob said.

     “But what was it?” I repeated.

     “I don’t know, and right now I don’t care,” said Jon. “Do you have any sage we can burn? It’s supposed to be good against evil spirits.”
     “It didn’t follow us, did it?” Now I was panicked again.

     “I don’t think so. We were at the store for a while, and I took a twisty route over here. I didn’t see any one following us, either.” Rob said.

     “As if something like that would need to follow us in a car,” Jon said. “Do you have any sage, or holy water, or anything?” He began rummaging in the kitchen cabinets.

     I found some sage in the kitchen, although I didn’t think it was precisely the kind he had in mind, and some sea salt. Jon went around, muttering and offering up prayers and trying to protect us against that whatever it was. Rob and I did more prosaic things like setting up the cat’s things and putting up the groceries. The cat was the least unsettled of all of us. He found a basket of hand-spun wool by my spinning wheel and set about discombobulating one of the balls. I didn’t have the heart to stop him.

     The thunder crashed and the rain came down in torrents. I started a fire in the fire place and we all huddled around it in shock. Isadore came over and curled up in my lap, purring.

     “What is going on?”  Rob said, “And what are we going to do about it?”

     “Do about it? Do you mean you want to go up against that whatever-it-was? Are you insane? No, I take that back. You are insane.” Jon turned and glared at him.

     “Think for a minute, Jon. This cat came from somewhere, probably the house. We saw something happen in the house that we can’t explain. Where’s the old man who used to be there? Is he still in there somewhere, like the cat was? I mean, if the cat could survive, maybe something is going on that would make it possible for a person to, too.”
     “Rob, how on earth is anyone going to live in there? What are you talking about?” Jon was angry now.

     I looked at them both. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Think about the door, the dreams. We don’t like to think it’s real, but maybe it is. Magic.”

     Jon opened his mouth to protest, but I put up my hand and stopped him. “No, Jon, who just went around the house and burned up my sage? Who lit the purple candles I had left over from Advent? You acknowledged it before any of the rest of us did. We all know. In some deep, primordial way, we all know. Magic. And whatever that thing was, it’s evil, and it wants to keep us out of the house.”

     I paused. “And, if it wants to keep us out of the house, that’s probably the first place we should go.” That statement dropped like a piece of lead.

     The rest of the afternoon and evening, we discussed and debated and downright argued. We argued until we were so tired from our sleepless night the night before and our unbelievable day that we could barely keep our eyes open. Finally, we agreed on one thing. It was time for bed. I retired with relief to my own bed, which I had missed, and Rob took my spare room. Jon stayed out on the couch. He said he wasn’t going to sleep anyway, so he might as well stay out there.

     Despite all that had happened, I slept like a log. When I got up, Rob was already in the kitchen, making some breakfast. Jon was “not sleeping” loudly, sprawled out on the sofa and snoring with the cat curled up on his chest. The smell of coffee woke him up shortly after that, though, and we resumed our discussion over breakfast.

     “You know, why don’t we just call the cops? That’s what you’re supposed to do in missing persons cases, isn’t it?” Jon really did not want to give up.

      I turned on him. “And tell them what? That the man who used to live there might still be in there even though he clearly made arrangements for the house to be taken care of, and oh, wait, there is some evil demon thing that’s trying to keep us out of the house? Oh, yeah, Jon, I can just hear them now. ‘Yes ma’am, and you say you just moved into the house next door and you’ve know him for how long? What makes you think he’s still in his house? And what kind of -ah- herbal supplements have you been taking?’ They’ll either think we’re nuts or we’re some kind of con artists. Take your pick. For sure they’re going to tell us to mind our own business. They may decide we’ve done something suspicious, and then we’re the ones who will be under investigation. Stunning idea, Jon, simply stunning!”

     Rob stared into his coffee cup. “I don’t want to do this either, but I think you’re right. I think we’re going to have to do this. Go into the house, I mean.”

     Jon slumped in his chair. “I know you’re both right, but I have never not wanted to do something like I don’t want to do this.”

     In the end, we agreed that we had to try to get into the house, and it should probably be as soon as possible. For one thing, if we put it off any longer, we would probably lose our nerve. We scrounged up some flashlights and Jon found a crowbar in my garage. We grabbed my cordless drill, too, because none of us wanted to go into our house. We just didn’t feel like it was safe, after yesterday. The last thing we grabbed was Isadore.

      “We need him,” said Jon. “If he was in the house, he might know something.”

      “What would he know? He’s a cat.”  Rob was skeptical. For that matter, so was I.

     “I don’t know. Cats are supposed to be sensitive to the supernatural. Anyway, it’s just a feeling I have.” Jon was clearly unsure of why he felt that way.

I understood that part. I wasn’t sure about anything to do with that house and that door and just what exactly we had to do with it. I only knew that we did have something to do with it.

     “Fine. Bring him,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say.

     When we got back over to the house, it was sprinkling lightly. Our house looked completely normal, but we weren’t taking any chances. We went through the gate to our back yard, and then out into the alley. As we jimmied the latch on the gate with my knitting needle, we were surprised to see
Florence come through her back gate. She held one umbrella over her head, and was carrying another.

     “I saw you drive up and head straight for the back,” she said. “I thought I might find you back here. I thought about what you said- about thinking you saw Isadore in the house last week. And then I thought about some of the strange things I have pretended not to see over here – lights that I could blame on reflections from cars and things like that. I don’t know exactly what you have in mind to do, and maybe it’s better if I don’t, but it’s raining out, and well, I brought you an umbrella.”

     With that,
Florence handed me the umbrella and marched back through her gate. We heard the back door close. We all stood there looking at each other. Isadore decided he had had enough, and dug his back legs into Rob’s stomach, spring boarding off him onto the top of the gate and down into the yard. We took that as a sign and entered the yard ourselves.

      Rob held the umbrella over us while Jon used the cordless drill and removed the screws holding the plywood in place over the basement window. I kept a nervous lookout for the lawn service or whatever they were. In just a few minutes, the plywood was off. Jon reached in the broken window and undid the catch. He pushed it open and slipped inside. We saw a flashlight turn on. “Come on down,” he whispered.

      Rob slipped inside next, and I collapsed the umbrella and followed – quickly because it was raining harder again.

     I landed in a small puddle on the concrete floor. This seemed to be a store room, with dusty shelves and boxes. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling. We ignored it in favor of our flashlights. There was no use advertising that we were here- just in case. A noise at the window made us jump and turn. Isadore slipped through the window and landed lightly on the floor, missing the puddle. He meowed quietly and rubbed against my legs, then jumped up on a shelf to wash his face.

     “Well, he seems at home,” Jon ventured. “But then cats can seem at home anywhere if they are where they want to be.”

     “I don’t think we ever had any question that this was Isadore,” I retorted, “The question was where he had been living recently and where he had come from.”

     Isadore jumped down from the shelf and trotted out the door. Turning our flashlights that direction, we followed. The basement seemed to be all storerooms and all very dusty. Mindful that the lawn service might show up at any time, we didn’t investigate the contents of the rooms too thoroughly; at a glance, they appeared to be things that might have been sold at the online store- crystals, carvings, and the like. We did find the answer to one of our questions, though. Isadore’s litter box was down here, and it was used- recently used, and in need of a change of litter. The dust around it was disturbed, although it looked like it had been quite heavy at one time. Isadore stood at it meowing. I got the feeling that he was trying to tell us to clean the darn thing. “Okay, Isadore, how do you explain this? Where did you come from? How did you get in here?” He just stared back at me.

     “Come on, the stairs are this way,” said Rob. Jon and I followed, with Isadore trotting behind us. We could hear thunder rumbling in the distance as we started up the stairs.