Rescuing Arnold
Rating: PG-13 (Swearing, weaponry, and violence)
Chapter 02
"The Mystery of the Journal"
~~~~~~~~~~
The wind whistled gently outside the window, proving the end of March and the coming of April. Petals of new flowers blew across the small basement window as small mice scurried across the rafters, their feet making the soft pitter-patter against the wood. A warm breeze entered the basement, ruffling the hair of a twelve-year-old boy. He sighed and shined the flashlight across some boxes, carefully reading the labels to himself. "Gertie's Costumes." He read as he came across one box. "Grandpa's Golf Trophies." He sighed again, coming to the second box. Grandpa still hadn't changed "Golf" to "Tennis". The boy groaned as he moved a large chest out of the way of a smaller cardboard box. "Miles' Expedition Things. Found it!" The boy cried and quickly dove for the box. He coughed as the dust rose in his lungs and chest. "Stupid basement." He muttered. A big rat scurried across the banister above the boy's head. "Let's see. There's Dad's collection of seashells, rocks, feathers, and reptile scales. What else is in here?" The boy sighed with exasperation as he searched the entire box. "Clothes, an old canister, junk, junk, junk - hey," he paused and picked up a huge book, "what's this? Strange. Why doesn't this have any dust on it?" The question haunted his thoughts for a second before he finally looked at the title of the book, which was written in small golden letters. The gold lettering glistened in the boy's green eyes. "Explorer's Journal?" He read aloud, very concerned with the gold lettering. He slowly traced it with his index finger as his other hand traveled along the spine of the book. "This must be one of Dad's other journals? I wonder what else he put in here? Why does it look so new?" The question was rhetorical, echoing in his mind as he slowly pried the book open. He flipped a few pages, noticing how strangely new the book smelled. Even the ink looked new. He turned slowly through the pages and stopped at a page that looked different from all the others. It was the only page in the entire book that looked old and worn out. Tired old fingerprints covered the page in dirt and sweat. It was torn and caked in mud in some spots, crumbling and moldy in others. The boy groaned at the sight and brushed off some dirt. "To our beloved son." His voice caught in his throat. His eyes scrolled down the page quickly and he gasped. It was dated not too long after his first birthday, and from his father. "Son, if you are reading this, that means you have found the exploring box your mother and I have kept all our stuff in. I'm sure by now your grandfather has explained to you about the adventures your mother and I have gone through, how we met, your miracle birth and so on. Son, if we're not home by the time you read this, either we didn't make it, or we're still needed. We love you, son. Keep us in your heart forever and we will return to you someday." The boy held back a river of tears as he slowly lowered the letter. He wiped away a few tears and held the soiled letter close to his chest. He slowly walked towards the stairs.
Suddenly, as if someone had thrown a Voodoo doll across a room in the boy's likeness he was thrown back and into a huge pile of boxes. He grunted and moaned painfully. His eyes darted towards the staircase as his grandmother's favorite black cat darted upstairs, meowing loudly. "Sorry about that." The voice of his grandmother rang down the stairs, echoing in the huge basement.
"No problem, Grandma!" The boy called out and pushed himself off the pile of boxes. He groaned again as he felt under his backside. He had fallen on something sharp. "Damn." He cursed under his breath and pulled out a cracked wooden picture frame. Inside was a picture of his mom and dad standing in front of a familiar looking building. The feeling of something wrong hit his mind, but he quickly brushed the feeling away. Those were his parents. The boy's eyes began to fill with tears. They looked happy wherever they were, uncaring of any dangers they may have faced between the times the picture was taken to the present.
"Hey, buddy. You down here?" A voice called from the top of the basement stairs. The boy wiped a few tears from his eyes.
"Yeah, Gerald. I'm down here." Gerald slowly descended the staircase, his eyes adjusting to the dim lights. Soon the he was standing next to his best friend. He sighed and sat down on a wooden crate, wiping his brow. The other boy looked at his friend. "Why are you all sweaty?" Gerald looked at him carefully for a second and blushed.
"It's nothing, Arnold. I was running from Helga. That girl has really got it in for someone today." At the mention of Helga's name, Arnold blushed. Though it had been a few months since the - incident, Arnold still felt really guilty and embarrassed he had pushed her away from him. They could no longer be in the same room together alone without blushing at each other then turning away. "I mean," Gerald began again, either ignoring or not even seeing the blush forming on Arnold's cheeks, "she goes around now a days and acts like she doesn't even know anyone, or would prefer not to talk to them. Ever since the whole neighborhood incident, she's seemed rather distant. Every time I ask her why she was with us, she acts like she doesn't know what I'm talking about and runs off in another direction and she doesn't even want any publicity for being there. Even when I asked Phoebe to ask her she told me that she couldn't say on the grounds she might loose Helga's trust. Whatever that means, right, man?" Arnold could only nod. "What you got there, Arnold?" Gerald asked, finally noticing the picture in his hand.
"A picture." Gerald gave him a dumbfounded look. "A picture of my mom and dad. I think this was taken about a year or so before I was born." Gerald took the picture from his friend's hand and flipped it to the back. He began to snicker and shook his head at Arnold.
"So that would make you," he smirked and looked at his friend again. "Less than one."
"What?" Arnold asked, snatching the picture.
"Check it out, buddy. The picture was taken on July 1st, a month before we saved the neighborhood. And that building behind it is Future Tech Industries." Sure enough, the familiar building was Future Tech Industries Headquarters and there were his parents, happily holding hands and smiling at the camera. Arnold's eyes narrowed in fury.
"That's impossible! They couldn't be alive! It's not possible!" He screamed and threw the paper to the ground. "They wouldn't do that to me. If they were alive, they would have at least tried getting in touch with me. They couldn't be alive."
"Arnold, buddy, calm down." Gerald said, holding his hands up, tried to calm his friend down.
"Calm down!" Arnold shouted at the top of his lungs. "First we get caught IN Future Tech Industries while trying to save the neighborhood, then we get caught AGAIN, then I find out Helga is Deep Voice, and then she tells me she loves me on the top of that stupid building, then I find out my parents are there!" Gerald eyes grew wide.
"Whoa. Slow down. Helga said what?" Arnold sighed and looked at the ground.
"She said she loved me."
"Whoa. I never would have guessed." Arnold smirked and turned back to the picture.
~~~~~~~~~~
"You want to what?" Grandpa's voice sounded hurt, and scared. His hand grew cold under the receiver of the telephone. "Okay, but what am I going to tell him?" He paused, waiting for the response on the other end. His other hand clutched the phone tightly as he grew white and pale. "Are you sure about this, Stella?" Again another pause filled the empty corridor. "Well, okay. If you think it's for the best. Good-bye." Grandpa sighed shakily as he set the phone back on its hook. He sniffed and looked at the clock. Midnight had rolled around, the boarders were asleep and the animals were out for the night. Grandpa felt his heart breaking as he trudged along upstairs and into his bedroom. Grandma sat in a rocking chair, staring out the window at the full moon. "They want to take him back." He whispered, unable to look at her.
"I knew it would come to this." Grandma answered, a tear rolling down her cheek and off her chin. "They were always alive and we knew it. We didn't want him to know but he found out and they want to take him back. I always knew we couldn't hide it from him, Phil."
"What are we going to do?"
"Go to him and tell him they want him. We've been good grandparents these last ten years, but right he needs them. He's entering his adolescent years and we can't keep up with that. He needs his mom and dad, and though it breaks my heart, we've got to let him go." Grandpa lowered his eyes and nodded solemnly.
Rating: PG-13 (Swearing, weaponry, and violence)
Chapter 02
"The Mystery of the Journal"
~~~~~~~~~~
The wind whistled gently outside the window, proving the end of March and the coming of April. Petals of new flowers blew across the small basement window as small mice scurried across the rafters, their feet making the soft pitter-patter against the wood. A warm breeze entered the basement, ruffling the hair of a twelve-year-old boy. He sighed and shined the flashlight across some boxes, carefully reading the labels to himself. "Gertie's Costumes." He read as he came across one box. "Grandpa's Golf Trophies." He sighed again, coming to the second box. Grandpa still hadn't changed "Golf" to "Tennis". The boy groaned as he moved a large chest out of the way of a smaller cardboard box. "Miles' Expedition Things. Found it!" The boy cried and quickly dove for the box. He coughed as the dust rose in his lungs and chest. "Stupid basement." He muttered. A big rat scurried across the banister above the boy's head. "Let's see. There's Dad's collection of seashells, rocks, feathers, and reptile scales. What else is in here?" The boy sighed with exasperation as he searched the entire box. "Clothes, an old canister, junk, junk, junk - hey," he paused and picked up a huge book, "what's this? Strange. Why doesn't this have any dust on it?" The question haunted his thoughts for a second before he finally looked at the title of the book, which was written in small golden letters. The gold lettering glistened in the boy's green eyes. "Explorer's Journal?" He read aloud, very concerned with the gold lettering. He slowly traced it with his index finger as his other hand traveled along the spine of the book. "This must be one of Dad's other journals? I wonder what else he put in here? Why does it look so new?" The question was rhetorical, echoing in his mind as he slowly pried the book open. He flipped a few pages, noticing how strangely new the book smelled. Even the ink looked new. He turned slowly through the pages and stopped at a page that looked different from all the others. It was the only page in the entire book that looked old and worn out. Tired old fingerprints covered the page in dirt and sweat. It was torn and caked in mud in some spots, crumbling and moldy in others. The boy groaned at the sight and brushed off some dirt. "To our beloved son." His voice caught in his throat. His eyes scrolled down the page quickly and he gasped. It was dated not too long after his first birthday, and from his father. "Son, if you are reading this, that means you have found the exploring box your mother and I have kept all our stuff in. I'm sure by now your grandfather has explained to you about the adventures your mother and I have gone through, how we met, your miracle birth and so on. Son, if we're not home by the time you read this, either we didn't make it, or we're still needed. We love you, son. Keep us in your heart forever and we will return to you someday." The boy held back a river of tears as he slowly lowered the letter. He wiped away a few tears and held the soiled letter close to his chest. He slowly walked towards the stairs.
Suddenly, as if someone had thrown a Voodoo doll across a room in the boy's likeness he was thrown back and into a huge pile of boxes. He grunted and moaned painfully. His eyes darted towards the staircase as his grandmother's favorite black cat darted upstairs, meowing loudly. "Sorry about that." The voice of his grandmother rang down the stairs, echoing in the huge basement.
"No problem, Grandma!" The boy called out and pushed himself off the pile of boxes. He groaned again as he felt under his backside. He had fallen on something sharp. "Damn." He cursed under his breath and pulled out a cracked wooden picture frame. Inside was a picture of his mom and dad standing in front of a familiar looking building. The feeling of something wrong hit his mind, but he quickly brushed the feeling away. Those were his parents. The boy's eyes began to fill with tears. They looked happy wherever they were, uncaring of any dangers they may have faced between the times the picture was taken to the present.
"Hey, buddy. You down here?" A voice called from the top of the basement stairs. The boy wiped a few tears from his eyes.
"Yeah, Gerald. I'm down here." Gerald slowly descended the staircase, his eyes adjusting to the dim lights. Soon the he was standing next to his best friend. He sighed and sat down on a wooden crate, wiping his brow. The other boy looked at his friend. "Why are you all sweaty?" Gerald looked at him carefully for a second and blushed.
"It's nothing, Arnold. I was running from Helga. That girl has really got it in for someone today." At the mention of Helga's name, Arnold blushed. Though it had been a few months since the - incident, Arnold still felt really guilty and embarrassed he had pushed her away from him. They could no longer be in the same room together alone without blushing at each other then turning away. "I mean," Gerald began again, either ignoring or not even seeing the blush forming on Arnold's cheeks, "she goes around now a days and acts like she doesn't even know anyone, or would prefer not to talk to them. Ever since the whole neighborhood incident, she's seemed rather distant. Every time I ask her why she was with us, she acts like she doesn't know what I'm talking about and runs off in another direction and she doesn't even want any publicity for being there. Even when I asked Phoebe to ask her she told me that she couldn't say on the grounds she might loose Helga's trust. Whatever that means, right, man?" Arnold could only nod. "What you got there, Arnold?" Gerald asked, finally noticing the picture in his hand.
"A picture." Gerald gave him a dumbfounded look. "A picture of my mom and dad. I think this was taken about a year or so before I was born." Gerald took the picture from his friend's hand and flipped it to the back. He began to snicker and shook his head at Arnold.
"So that would make you," he smirked and looked at his friend again. "Less than one."
"What?" Arnold asked, snatching the picture.
"Check it out, buddy. The picture was taken on July 1st, a month before we saved the neighborhood. And that building behind it is Future Tech Industries." Sure enough, the familiar building was Future Tech Industries Headquarters and there were his parents, happily holding hands and smiling at the camera. Arnold's eyes narrowed in fury.
"That's impossible! They couldn't be alive! It's not possible!" He screamed and threw the paper to the ground. "They wouldn't do that to me. If they were alive, they would have at least tried getting in touch with me. They couldn't be alive."
"Arnold, buddy, calm down." Gerald said, holding his hands up, tried to calm his friend down.
"Calm down!" Arnold shouted at the top of his lungs. "First we get caught IN Future Tech Industries while trying to save the neighborhood, then we get caught AGAIN, then I find out Helga is Deep Voice, and then she tells me she loves me on the top of that stupid building, then I find out my parents are there!" Gerald eyes grew wide.
"Whoa. Slow down. Helga said what?" Arnold sighed and looked at the ground.
"She said she loved me."
"Whoa. I never would have guessed." Arnold smirked and turned back to the picture.
~~~~~~~~~~
"You want to what?" Grandpa's voice sounded hurt, and scared. His hand grew cold under the receiver of the telephone. "Okay, but what am I going to tell him?" He paused, waiting for the response on the other end. His other hand clutched the phone tightly as he grew white and pale. "Are you sure about this, Stella?" Again another pause filled the empty corridor. "Well, okay. If you think it's for the best. Good-bye." Grandpa sighed shakily as he set the phone back on its hook. He sniffed and looked at the clock. Midnight had rolled around, the boarders were asleep and the animals were out for the night. Grandpa felt his heart breaking as he trudged along upstairs and into his bedroom. Grandma sat in a rocking chair, staring out the window at the full moon. "They want to take him back." He whispered, unable to look at her.
"I knew it would come to this." Grandma answered, a tear rolling down her cheek and off her chin. "They were always alive and we knew it. We didn't want him to know but he found out and they want to take him back. I always knew we couldn't hide it from him, Phil."
"What are we going to do?"
"Go to him and tell him they want him. We've been good grandparents these last ten years, but right he needs them. He's entering his adolescent years and we can't keep up with that. He needs his mom and dad, and though it breaks my heart, we've got to let him go." Grandpa lowered his eyes and nodded solemnly.