MOTHER'S DAY TIMES

Thursday, November 10, 1904

Local Couple Discovered Missing, Police "Utterly Baffled"

Mother's Day Times reporter George Foster, and his wife, Maria, were announced missing late last evening. Police investigated the couple's home after a neighbor reported "suspicious individuals" seen nearby, and though no signs have been found of a break-in or any sort of struggle, neither of them have been seen since.

"We are... utterly baffled," said Officer Terence Smith, "George's typewriter was out, the piece he had started was cut off mid-word. They had food cooking on the stove, Katherine was asleep in her crib... Their door was still locked, all their windows were intact... [It] was literally as if they had just vanished."

The couple, who last month celebrated the birth of their first child, had been investigating the recent phenomenon believed to be related to the cloud cover on Mt. Itoi. Mr. Foster was last seen walking home from a five-day expedition to the mountain's peak. His and his wife's disappearance happened approximately forty-five minutes after his return to their home.

Authorities wish to once again stress the importance of safety in light of the unexplained activity surrounding the mountain. Doors should remain locked and barred, outdoor activities should be completed before nightfall, and until further notice, all roads leading to Itoi will be closed. Any information regarding the couple's whereabouts must be reported to police immediately.

So, I guess I'll start with myself.

My name is Ninten. Yeah, I know, laugh all you'd like, it'll get old soon enough. My parents have sworn up and down they had no idea what sort of humiliating atrocity they'd committed when they gave me that name, insisting it means "lucky" or something. I know better, though. My parents are just geeks.

Anyway, for the first eleven years of my life, being the bearer of that name was the most remarkable thing you could say about me. I grew up in a tiny suburban town called Podunk. And that's not a dumb figure of speech or anything, the town I lived in was literally named Podunk. I don't think it was the town all podunks are named after, it wasn't that old, but it might as well have been.

I guess growing up there wasn't really bad, per say, it was just monotonous and lifeless. Every morning I would get up, either to the smell of Mom cooking bacon or the sound of my kid sisters arguing over who's turn it was to walk the dog. I'd dress myself the same way I always did, with the same striped T-shirt and the same red neckerchief. I'd walk to school, try to stay awake for the next eight hours, more often than not struggling under an armload of homework. Mimmie always insisted that I help her with hers anyway, though, so that didn't really matter. And the rest of each day was spent doing what every other kid did when there was nothing better to do: reading comics, watching TV, or playing video games. Every Saturday I rode my bike around town a bit, every Sunday Mom took us all to church, and every so often, if we were lucky, Dad would come home for a few days. I was an okay kid, I suppose, who got okay grades, had an okay family, and if having a few people in your class who didn't annoy the living daylights out of you counted as friends, then yeah, I had okay friends.

Then, one day, my lamp attacked me.

It was a Friday, and, per the norm, I was slaving away over a truckload homework. Unlike most days, though, I was actually making an effort to finish quickly. Dinner was being served earlier than usual, and Mom was making prime rib. I would eat nothing but prime rib for the rest of my life if given the chance. I was struggling against a particularly hard division problem when I heard a weird noise. Like somebody was poking around who shouldn't be.

My head jerked up.

"...Minnie? That you?"

No response; my entire room was completely still. I got up and checked all their usual hiding places. No sign of her, or her twin. Annoyed, I left my half-finished paper on my nightstand and headed for the door. If I was fast, I thought, I could finish it after dinner and still have half an hour before bed. Before leaving, though, I looked over my shoulder one more time. Living with those two, you never could be certain you were safe.

"Mimmie, I swear, if you jump out and-"

It happened fast, and yes, it was exactly as weird as you'd think it was. Without any warning at all, the lamp on my desk suddenly levitated itself two feet in the air and sped toward my head. And I don't mean it hurtled at me as if thrown by someone, I mean it literally hovered steadily toward me like some sort of deformed UFO. The only reason I didn't get my skull broken in right then and there was, out of reflex, I dodged it.

"What?!-"

It came right back at me, losing barely any speed as it changed direction. I put up an arm to protect my face, the glass knocking against my skin with a dull thud. I had a bruise there for a week, but it was better than a concussion. Still acting more out of instinct than rational thought, I grabbed the pot of it with both hands - it felt really hot for some reason - and threw it against the floor. I'm not sure if lamps could be stunned, but that's apparently what happened, and it gave me enough time to get to my bedside and grab my baseball bat. I was prepared for it this time. Putting all of my strength behind the swing, the bat connected, and the evil lamp was shattered. The fragments stayed suspended in mid-air for a brief moment, shuddered, then fell.

"What the… w-wh...?"

I took a draw from my inhaler and leaned back against my door, panting and sore from the fight, trying to take in the fact that my lamp just tried to kill me. How do you explain something like that? Had I suddenly gone nuts? Last I checked, spontaneous insanity wasn't exactly something that happened on a regular basis. Was this some sort of needlessly elaborate joke? I guess it could be possible, but it would be pretty malicious one if it was; that lamp was a millimeter away from breaking my neck.

Holy crap, I almost died...

I had just come to this jarring realization, when a terrified pair of screams sounded from outside my door. From the girls' room.

"Help!"

"Cupid Doll, NO!"

Remembering how fast the lamp had attacked me, I ran to the room, baseball bat still in hand.

The sight inside their room wouldn't have looked out of place in a laughably cheap horror movie, which made it even more jarring to witness in real life. Minnie and Mimmie were clutching each other on top of their dresser, screaming their pigtailed heads off. And on the floor, trying to get them, was Cupid Doll.

I told them that creepy thing would murder us in our sleep...

Cupid Doll was quite possibly the oldest, freakiest looking toy in existence. All the hair and color that had once upon a time made it look like a sweet little baby had been completely lost over the years, leaving behind a hunk of naked plastic. I still remember, when I was eight, begging my parents to get rid of it after having a nightmare where it had tried to drown me in the neighbor's goldfish pond. They wouldn't, and because of this, I now had to witness the sight of it walking around on its own two fat legs. Or... no, not really "walking", it still moved like a toy being played with, it just looked like whoever was playing with him was invisible.

"Ninten, help us!" Mimmie cried.

That's when I noticed, she had a welt on her face. Cupid Doll already got her. Infuriated, I charged into the room.

"Hey, Chuckie, over here!"

Cupid Doll spun around, its ugly face focusing on me just in time to watch me hit it. The doll's head popped clean off, and, just like the lamp, hovered for half a second before falling to the ground, along with the rest of its body. I poked at it with the end of my bat. Yep, lifeless.

"It's okay, girls. You can get down."

They did so. Minnie went to tearfully examine her mutilated toy, while Mimmie just stood there, shivering.

"That... that was so scary..."

"Mim, your face... Are you okay?"

"Uh huh..." She rubbed at the spot; it didn't seem too bad. "Ninten, what's going on?"

"Uh..."

Yeah, I'd almost forgotten; inanimate objects aren't supposed to magically come alive and kill you. And if Mimmie and Minnie had also seen it, it couldn't have been just me reacting to bad applesauce or something.

"Ninten, there's something inside the doll!"

Minnie was holding up some sort of small object, which she'd apparently found inside the doll's severed head.

"Get away from that thing!"

I swatted the head away from her. She squealed in protest.

"Ninten, be careful! He was Grandma's!"

I didn't care, if I was going to sleep in peace that night, that thing was going in the trash.

After the girls had calmed down some, I went downstairs to see if my mother could provide a shred of explanation as to what was happening. I was half expecting to find her in a boxing match with the blender or something, but she seemed to have been spared.

"Are you okay, Ninten? I heard shouting..."

"Mom, my… my lamp… "

"What about your lamp? Honey, you're shaking..."

After taking a moment to get ahold of myself, I described the events that had taken place. Surprisingly, she seemed to believe every word, a look of concern slowly spreading over her face as I sputtered out the story. When I finished, instead of asking me if I had fallen on my head at recess like I was expecting her to, she just stood there, her hands over her mouth. Her eyes were wide and scared.

"Mom...?"

"If only your father were here now..."

"W-why? Mom, do you have any idea what's going on?!"

She didn't say anything, but the look on her face told me "yes". My panic and confusion was giving way to frustration. I didn't enjoy getting angry at her, but when something or someone clearly wants me and possibly others I care about harmed, I'd rather not have their identity kept from me. I had just opened my mouth to speak, when:

Ring ring! Ring ring!

"Oh, the phone!" Mom sounded like she was in some sort of daze, "Could you get that, Ninten?"

"... Sure."

Answers later, then, I guess. Maybe, I should call Dad after this...

I picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Ninten? Hey, it's your dad."

Speak of the devil, he doth appear.

"Perfect timing, Dad."

"I... I see..."

Dad's reaction had been pretty much the same as Mom's.

"It, uh... it sounds like it must be a poltergeist of some sort..."

"A what? Dad, I'm serious!"

"I know, son, I know..."

His voice was drifting off, as if he was talking to more to himself than to me.

"I'm not sure how to deal with it either... but, your great-grandfather... maybe..."

"Dad?"

He caught himself.

"Is your mom there?"

"No, she went upstairs to check on the girls. Do you want to talk with her?"

"No, Ninten, listen to me. In the basement, there's something that I need you to find."

"The basement is locked, Dad."

"Ah, yes…"

One of Dad's more confusing habits was always locking the basement door before going outside, whether it be for thirty seconds to get something out of the car, or thirty days to go to work. We had all asked Mom many times why he did this, but she just kept assuring me it was nothing for us to worry about. I had never been down there, but I hadn't thought until now that he was hiding anything more significant than his favorite golf clubs or something.

"I know I left the basement key somewhere... I just don't remember where..."

"I'll find it somewhere. Just tell me what I'm looking for."

"Your great-grandpa's diary."

Grandpa George? Dad didn't keep anything that belonged to him, not even any pictures.

"What's that got to do with this poltergeist thing?"

"It's a long story, you'll understand when you read it."

"But..."

"Ninten, this is important."

He sounded completely serious.

"Okay, Dad." I sighed.

None of this was making me feel any less confused, but I decided to trust him. It was the only lead I had to resolving this madness.

"I'll call you guys again soon, son, say hi to your sisters for me."

"Later, Dad."

Not the longest conversation I'd had with him, but whatever. It was time to go key hunting.

Or, it would have been, until mom stepped in.

"That was your father, wasn't it? What did you two talk about?"

"Not a lot, just some weird stuff about my great grandpa…"

"About what…?"

"Yeah, something about finding his old diary and about how it would help explain the-"

"He told you what?!"

Mom hardly ever got mad at anybody, not even at Dad. Even though he was almost always away at work, she still smiled and spoke sweetly with him whenever they talked on the phone. But now, she sounded furious.

"Oh, if I told him once, I told him a thousand times!"

"Mom...?"

"We agreed... oh, we definitely agreed! It's not good for him! Not good for a growing boy!"

She was punching dad's number on the phone, still fuming to herself about how much Dad didn't understand how children should be raised.

"Mom, all I wanted to ask was where the key was…"

"No! Absolutely not! You are not going into that basement, and you are certainly not getting your hands on that diary!"

"But Dad said-"

"He didn't know what he was saying! This is a grown-up matter, not something you should be involved in!"

"But… the lamp…"

"I said forget about it! Now, go up with your sisters, we need to talk privately."

"But…"

"Your heard your mother! Go up to your room!"

There was nothing I could do about it; Mom was clearly dead set on making sure that diary stayed out of my reach, and in turn keep whatever had just happened to house a mystery. Downstairs, I could hear her and dad in a heated conversation, but couldn't make out a word of it. I couldn't go down there, not that I wanted to, so there was nothing to do except sit on my bed and mope.

I was hoping this would be it, I thought to myself as I half-heartedly bounced a baseball against the floor. Maybe this would be the time they'd finally cave in and tell me. But nope, just more "You'll understand when you're older", more "Just forget about it." How was I supposed to forget something like this?

Okay, about that…

When I said I was was a normal, boring kid with a normal, boring life, that was kind of a lie. A better way of putting it would be that I had a normal, boring life that sometimes involved weird situations that nobody ever explained to me or talked about once they were over. Nothing as out there as the killer lamp, mind you, but still enough to leave me wondering. When I was three, for example, my parents took me across town to go to the zoo. The new penguin exhibit had one of those critter food dispensers by it. You know the ones, you put in a quarter, and your kid gets a handful of little brown chow pellets to toss to the animals. I wanted to use it, badly, but my parents kept saying no. Then, in the middle of the biggest tantrum I ever threw, the machine popped opened like a piñata, sending all of its contents spilling to the asphalt. Me and those penguins have been close friends ever since.

Another time, when was about six, I was outside playing fetch with my new puppy, Mick. I had thrown the ball a little too hard, and it wound up on the other side of the street, just as a car came speeding by. The driver didn't put on the breaks in time and Mick would have been run over for sure, but in the half second I had to scream and reach toward him, something saved him. One moment he was ten feet away from me, in the middle of the road, the next he was right at my feet, looking dazed, but unharmed. And as I was crying and hugging him, promising I'd never play with him by the street again, I could have sworn I heard a voice telling me thank you.

But the weirdest one, and the one I pressed my parents for an answer for the longest, was during a baseball game when I was ten. I was up to bat, and Dennis Fritters was pitching. I'm usually a pretty good hitter, but as I learned the hard way, that kid could throw like a maniac. The ball ended up connecting not with my bat, but with my face, breaking my nose in clean. I was hurried to the school nurse, but when she pried away my hands to look at my face, she found it completely healed. There was still a lot of drying blood, but my nose was intact and otherwise normal. I didn't even have a headache anymore. This boggled me, since I can still remember hearing the very distinct crunch that should have spelled out a dent in my face for the rest of my life.

I was too old at that point for my parents to write it off as just an "overactive imagination" like they had before, so I was certain they'd finally fill me in on it, or if they didn't know, at least start looking into it. But no, every time I brought this, or any of the other weird things up, they'd just try and change the subject. That was the only problem with my folks, really. They loved me as much as any parents ever did, but they weren't very open with me about certain things. So with that in mind, I hope you won't judge me too harshly for what I did next.

As I was sitting there, brooding over the events of the day, a quiet jingling roused me from my thoughts.

"Hey, Mick."

Sensing my bad mood, the beagle hopped up on the bed and rested his head on my lap. I scratched him behind the ears, feeling my frown ebb away.

"Sorry about all the yelling, boy."

Mick looked up at me, as if to say "Don't worry, I understand."

I glanced outside; it was still a little light out, maybe there was still enough time to take him for a walk. Spending time with my pet often helped me feel better. I got up, dug his leash out from the wreck that was my closet, and hooked it onto his collar. I stood up, paused, then did a double-take.

There it was, jangling against his license. The basement key.

I wondered, briefly, why it was there. Mick, my trusty dog, the keeper of the single most elusive object in the house. But that thought passed quickly, it wasn't exactly the strangest thing I'd seen all day. The better question was, should I take it? It would be very easy, just wait until it was dark, the twins would be asleep and Mom would be engrossed in one of her soap operas. Nobody would notice me going down or up the stairs, I'd snuck more than enough midnight snacks to know that. Then the diary would be mine, and if what Dad said was true, I'd learn the truth about our little poltergeist problem. Furthermore, I had a hunch that it would get some clues as to what exactly my parents have been keeping from me all my life.

The only thing holding me back was my mother; how terrified she had looked when I described the attack, and how angry she had been when she heard what my father had instructed me to do. Even now, her voice downstairs was only just starting to simmer down, turning into the soft, loving tone she only used when talking with Dad. She might go a little overboard with it sometimes, but she'd never steered me wrong. But still…

"Ninten?"

My head jerked up. I was so absorbed in my thoughts, I hadn't even noticed her come in.

"Hey, Mimmie."

In her hands were two orange boxes. She held one out to me.

"Here's some juice, big brother. Minnie said you'd probably be thirsty."

"...Thanks."

My sisters could be nice when they felt like it. They'd even put in the straw for me. Minnie sat down on the bed next to me, petting Mick's back. His tail thumped against her lap.

"Minnie is still sad about Cupid Doll."

"Is she, now?"

"Yeah, but I'm not. He was being mean."

She pointed at one of her freckly cheeks.

"He hit me."

I patted her on the head.

"Don't worry, Mim. No more mean monsters are gonna get you on my watch."

We were quiet for a while. Mimmie swung her little legs back and forth, I took a few sips from the juicebox.

"When's dinner?"

Dinner, I'd forgotten about it. Suddenly, I was made aware of a wonderful scent coming from downstairs. A scent that, for the first time in my life, I had been too preoccupied to notice. Mom had gotten back to making her ribs.

"I dunno, Mimmie, probably soon."

I patted her again.

"How about you go check it out?"

"Okay."

She hopped off the bed and headed out the door. She came back quickly, bringing with her news that dinner would be ready within five minutes, and I should hurry downstairs to help her set the table. She was, however, gone just long enough for me to detach the key from Mick's collar, and slip it into my pocket.

The basement was pretty much what you'd expect: dark, dusty, and full of old stuff. Most of it was just your average junk; broken kitchen appliances, unusable tools, cardboard boxes filled with cables and Christmas decorations, just stuff you pile away and forget about. After digging around a bit, however, I found what I was looking for. In the very back, tucked away between a stack of lawn chairs and my parents' old record machine, was an ancient-looking trunk. It wasn't locked, but the hinges were stiff with rust. Inside it were three yellowed newspapers tied up with rubber bands, a few black and white pictures, a folded patchwork quilt, some red metallic thing that looked like a credit card, and a leather-bound book.

It was falling apart at the seams, the cover peeling and the pages eaten away by rats and mildew, but on the cover I could just make out the words "Diary and Memoirs of George Foster" written in curly, golden letters. Feeling excited, I wanted to dive in and investigate immediately, but there was hardly enough light to read, and I could tell the dust would get to me if I didn't leave soon. Leaving the rest of the stuff, I picked up the book, ascended the basement stairs, and headed up toward my room.

The sun outside my window had faded long ago, so, out of habit, I reached to turn my lamp on, only to find myself groping at the empty space above my desk.

Maybe I'll ask Mom about getting a new one tomorrow...

No, no thinking about Mom.

After rummaging a flashlight out of the closet, I laid down on the bed on my stomach and pulled the covers over my head.

As soon as the diary was opened, though, my eyes met a disappointing sight: it was almost entirely unreadable. Grandpa George's handwriting was a small, fancy cursive, something I was never able to get the hang of, but any legibility it could have had left was lost to heavy mildew damage. I could make out a few individual words, sometimes half a sentence or two, but that was about my limit. After paging feverishly until I was so tired my eyes were stinging, I was only able to find one page where a complete passage was understandable. It was only two sentences in length, one right above the other, like some sort of riddle:

Who has lost his tail?

The eternal one of the ship that sails the cosmos.

I gave up after that. Not only was it cryptic, it was completely unhelpful. Lost his tail? What was that supposed to mean? And who is this "one of the ship that sails the cosmos"? I thought we were dealing with ghosts, now there's aliens to worry about too? And if the rest of the book was nothing but stuff like this, it didn't explain squat about the poltergeist, or anything for that matter. Not wanting to get worked up again, I hid the book underneath my bed and leaned back against my pillow, running a hand through my hair.

Maybe Dad could read it, I thought. It's his Grandfather, after all. Maybe if he looked at it, he could make more sense of it.

But he, just like always, was a hundred miles away, working hard to make us money. About this time, he was probably clocking out and getting ready to leave for bed. I try not to get too upset that he's gone so much, it's the only way he can keep food on our table, but there were sometimes occasions like this where someone like him would be helpful to have around.

Spring break is coming up, I thought as my eyes closed. Maybe he'll get a chance to visit us then...

I had my first freaky dream that night.

I don't have dreams that I remember very often, and the ones I do remember don't ever make any sense. And I don't mean "My great uncle took over the world after a fat kid performed taxidermy on a dragon" doesn't make any sense, I mean that the dreams I remember never involve people, places, or things that are recognizable or describable with words. They're always abstract blurs that can only be described by how they made me feel, like "it was scary" or "it was boring". So that was the first sign that my dream wasn't one of my typical ones: I could definitely tell exactly what was going on.

I was standing somewhere dark and chilly, illuminated dimly and eerily by a yellowish glow from somewhere ahead of me. Standing between me and the source of the light was a person, about as tall as I was, facing away from me. I felt a strange sort of dread as I watched the kid stare at the light. Somehow I knew, whatever happened, I could not let him get to it. Whatever it was - a doomsday device, a Pandora's box, a tupperware of month-old tuna casserole - it was something that nobody should ever touch.

"Wait!" I yelled as I started to run toward him. "Wait, stop!"

The kid took a few steps forward, he reached out a hand.

"No, don't!"

The kid turned around just as I got to him, and we were face to face. And he was me.

He was identical to me in every way, same face, same clothes, even the same hat. Not a single freckle on his nose was out of place. And in his hand was the object he had reached for, a long, golden sword. He had taken it, I was too late.

Then, without any warning, he pulled the sword back and stabbed me through the heart. I gasped and recoiled, but it didn't hurt. It didn't even pierce my skin or tear my shirt. It just passed right through me as if I was a hologram. His eyes widened, and he looked down. A crimson stain was spreading across his own chest, somehow, he had taken the blow.

Then he smiled at me; not an evil, nasty smile or a melancholy, "facing death" smile, but a warm, honest smile, like one you would make in the presence of an old, dear friend. Then he was gone. He didn't dissolve or vanish in a flash of light or anything, he just wasn't there anymore. And where he had stood, from the spot where he took the sword, the ground began to crumble. And beneath it was open space - black, dotted with stars, and endless. Terrified, I turned to run. I ran as fast as it was possible for me to, but the collapse of the world wasn't escapable. Even if I could run at the speed of sound, there would soon be no ground to run on, anywhere. Then the earth beneath my shoes was gone and I was swallowed up.

I didn't feel the falling, there was no lurching in my belly like when I ride on a rollercoaster, but above my head I could see the crumbling earth rushing away from me. Then it was out of sight completely, and any sense that I was moving was gone. I was stranded in space, alone. Forever.

Then my dream shifted. I couldn't see, hear, speak, or move, and though I felt quite alone, a voice was speaking to me. It sounded kind of like my Dad's, but it seemed to be talking directly into my brain.

"It has begun, Ninten. After today, nothing about this world, about life as you know it, will ever be the same. Are you prepared?"

I don't know, dramatic voice in my head, what's going to happen?

"Tomorrow, your journey will begin, regardless of what you choose to do."

I couldn't really tell if the voice could hear me or not, but I figured if it was speaking to my mind my best bet was to respond the same way. Actually, the more I listened, the more it sounded like my own thinking voice...

"You've wanted an adventure for some time now, haven't you?"

Well, sure, I guess so. Podunk isn't exactly an exciting place to live.

"You won't be alone. Right now, you have friends waiting for you. Friends who you've never met."

Well, that's good to know. Would you mind giving me names, or... addresses or something, Mister Dramatic Dream Voice?

"With all of you together, it may yet be possible for you to prevent this world's destruction."

... Say that again?

I barely caught what the voice said next.

"It's quite remarkable, isn't it? The effects a single person can have."

I don't care how remarkable it is, what do you mean 'this world's destruction'?!

"I doubt anyone alive today can possibly imagine what this will one day amount to."

I can't save the world, I'm just a kid!

"It's really a shame, though... That none of you will live to see when it is finished."

Wait, what?

"Ninten..."

You mean I'm going to die?!

The voice was fading. I could feel a pillow against my face.

"Ninten, do you know..."

Wait, come back!

Morning sun was glowing red against my eyelids, making me squint. My dream had ended, but I could still remember the voice's final words:

"Who has lost his tail...?"