By Kaspar Stirling

Chapter One : Weird Ass Name For A Kid

Simsam Pigpin Flinbernaut. What a weird ass name for a kid. Simsam? Really? And Pigpin? What kind of stupid name is that? The origins of his family name were never explained other than Pigpin, who was the name of Simsam’s fathers closest friend in his military service days. Pigpin was killed by eating a toxic mushroom in the Honduran jungle in an attempt to experience a Psilocybin trip. Simsam’s father would fabricate an honorable heroic sacrifice for Pigpin every Veterans Day to glorify his friend.

Simsam was just seven years old and seven year olds don't really ever think about things like name origins and Psilocybin. They don't think about much at all. Their world is simple. Completely reliant on others. Never questioning or engaging in philosophical pondering. Just randomly wanting a shortbread cookie and a cold glass of artificial grape flavored sugar water.

It wasn't enough just to have a weird name, oh no, Simsam's parents had to suddenly move from the beautiful town of Saint Antony to the smelly armpit of the universe called Canter Town. A place where everyone was the same. The same skin tone, the same hair color, and the same accent. Simsam was instantly transported to another planet and stood out like a sore pinky toe. Not even a thumb, but a pinky toe. That's just how different he was.

He was immediately pushed around at his new school. Made fun of, exempted from activities, beat up, and bullied. His wonderful basic world in his previous life was gone. All it took was his parents to pack up and move to a strange new place where he didn't fit in. He was Annoranjay and everyone else was Baskanath. He spoke with a different style. His syllables were blurred and consonants were highly over exaggerated. The Baskanath people spoke with short choppy words made of murmurs and grunts.

He also knew nothing about the place or the people where he now lived. His parents failed to inform him of the vast complex history of the ancient region. He had no understanding about the ways of his new peers. No knowledge of their strange culture and rituals. He was an alien in an alien world and was just going to have to adjust.

Why didn't his parents warn him? Why didn't they educate their child before transplanting him in foreign soil? It's pretty simple really. They were self absorbed. Completely oblivious to the needs of their child. They simply didn't consider anything outside of themselves. They should have never had a child to begin with but they thought it would be a nice accessory to make themselves look like a complete professional family. A child would help them get places. After all, you can't get involved with the P.T.A. if you're not a P. You can't be a Scout if you don't have a Boy. Well, you can, but it's a lot less suspicious if you do. A child meant they were normal. Purely American. Driving a Chevrolet while listening to a baseball game on the AM radio and eating a hotdog.

Chapter Two : Relocation

The geography was interesting in Canter Town. The sandstone rocks were as big as mountains. They were a soft red and brown and lit up around sunset. There were valleys lined with prehistoric stone that looked like trails that led straight to the Gods. There were cliffs made up of piles of sandstone boulders, leaving pockets of caves and tunnels to explore. And inside the caves were drawings and carvings cut deep into the stone, left behind by indigenous Baskanath people of the past. The recent past and hundreds of years before. Maybe thousands. It was the playground and hunting ground for cavemen and creatures, surviving through a million rainstorms and freezing winters. Simsam could feel time itself standing with him in the cool shadows of the stone giants. It was the one place he felt like he was truly safe, guarded by the hardened sand stones of time.

His parents had bought property. Twenty-one and one quarter acres exactly. It was decided they would try their hand at country living. Being self sufficient and somewhat off the grid. Growing a garden and raising livestock. Trading chicken eggs for raw milk with near distant neighbors. Making butter straight from the rich cream floating above the cows milk in the glass gallon jar. Churning for hours, wearing out elbows with every lift of the wooden stick poking out of a lid on a big ceramic jug. Peeling the pods off of black eyed peas for three straight days in a row. Feeding the chickens and one lonely steer at the crack of dawn every single morning and every evening at dusk. Breaking the ice in their water troughs every few hours in the freezing cold. It was extremely convenient to have a child to help out and the Flinbernaut parents placed most of the duties and undesirable chores on Simsam. Pioneers were the inventors of child labor.

These experiences would last a lifetime although one could argue that the particular knowledge can be easier gained by reading books. But there were no books in the Flinbernaut household. Simsam's previous world was nothing like this. To be required to become a farmer at eight years old was much like being kidnapped by your own ancestors from the early seventeenth century.

Simsam was happy and had friends back in Saint Antony. He rode a three wheeler tricycle on smooth sidewalks that made a hard crunching sound with two squatty fat plastic tires under a hard plastic seat. The one oversized wheel in front with pedals attached was the kid powered engine. Later, he rode a metal bicycle with training wheels. He went to birthday parties with other kids his age. Gifts of bubble gum machines and toy race car tracks. There were shade tree canopies over the streets with lemonade stands and ice cream trucks. Huge stores with endless plastic toys and sugary sweet food. A convenience store on the corner with novelty candy and frozen syrup drinks and soda pops. Television with zany cartoons on Saturday mornings and sugar coated cereal out of a cardboard box with colorful printed puzzles, comics, and riddles. Lawns with tickly grass to run barefoot in and parks with dogs catching frisbees. And all of that was suddenly gone.

The neighborhood was replaced with a long winding rutted dirt road that went on for miles. The only other thing between the highway and his new home was one dilapidated single wide trailer house where two very old witch sisters lived. It was guarded by a demon possessed goat that lived inside one of two rusted old 1949 GMC pickup trucks in their front yard.

The nearest town was twenty-four miles away. There was no TV signal, so there was no TV. Sometimes, late at night, a distant radio signal would skip through the clouds and land inside his little transistor AM radio on his bed stand. If it didn't make the journey, there was only static across the span of the deeply embedded grooved thumb dial.

There was a barbed wire fence next to the only road dividing the land between the Annoranjay people and the Baskanath people. No one was allowed to cross the boundary. The Baskanath’s land was believed to be sacred and would be instantly spoiled by the presence of anyone without ancestral blood. Simsam was exploring once and happened upon an ancient graveyard where Baskanath remains were exposed by animals digging into the ground. An off white skull with tufts of frazzled white hair peeking up through a small tunnel in the dirt. A bare leg bone laying on the ground above the grave. He thought he heard a voice in the wind saying,”Be gone, for your tainted breath will spoil this land”. He didn't really understand it though It sounded more like, “wheehooo hoooo hisssss swee whooo”.

On some nights, there were three legged beasts that lined the ridge of the sandstone cliffs that yipped and howled, serenading the moonlight. There was a hot water spring coming from the center of the Earth that created clouds of steam on cold winter days. The snow was so deep in places you could sink in over your head and the mud was so thick in the melting springtime you couldn't walk without your feet getting stuck, making splatting and sucking noises with every strenuous step. In the winter, the puddles of mud turned to ice and crackled as the bitter cold hinted at frostbite on the ears and toes. The snow was frozen solid as you walked across the crystal sparkles on the white ground, occasionally breaking through the crust with the heel of your boot. It was a brief moment of excitement and satisfaction when that happened, breaking up the monotony of trudging through thick clouds of your own breath. When it was time, you had to murder your pet livestock, drain their blood and chop them up to eat. Hawks and wild beasts would kill your chickens and other animals if they weren't properly protected under shelter.

It was suddenly a different world than the comforts of Saint Antony. Very different. It would almost seem cruel to suddenly relocate a child to such a place. But then, it would take some consideration on someone's part to even think about it.

Chapter Three : Baskanath History

The geographical and anthropological history that no one had explained had a direct impact on Simsam's life. There has been a recent war. Actually an attempted genocide. About a hundred and fifty years ago, the Annoranjay people invaded and wanted to take the Baskanath people's land for resources. So they started killing them.

But it wasn't easy to kill them. Mostly because the Baskanaths started killing them back. They didn't want to give up their land because that's where their homes were, and their families, and their food, and even their Gods.

It became so hard to actually kill all the Baskanath people the Annoranjay people decided to make an exceptional deal. No one actually agreed with the deal but since it was either the deal or inevitable death, the deal was less resisted. The compromise was that they would build fences around a little part of what they decided to designate Baskanath land and the Baskanath people had to stay in there in order to not be killed. Also, the Annoranjay people would take their children far away and re-educate them. The Baskanath people allowed it, but most of them didn't really like it much.

The Annoranjay and Baskanath people that actually did all the initial killing and fighting are long gone but the stories are still around. And so are the Annoranjay Invaders and the divisional fences. Needless to say, there was still some lingering resentment and bitterness towards the Annoranjay people for all the killing and the fences and the brainwashing of their children.

And since Simsam was an Annoranjay person now living among the Baskanath people, he was unknowingly the object of discrimination and a target for hatred and revenge. Had his parents not been so self absorbed, they might have informed him of this situation. Also, since all of the Baskanath people, including the children of Baskanaths, knew this history very, very well, by being constantly reminded, they assumed that all Annoranjay people would know it too. Naturally.

The problem with not knowing something you should know is that you look really un-empathetic and even arrogant to the people who actually know because they believe you do know and just don't care. So then-even more bitterness and resentment ensures.

To make matters worse, the Annoranjay people were so proud of themselves for all the killing and invading, they made really insensitive movies and television shows about it. Mostly in the nineteen fifties and sixties. The generations of Simsam's parents and grandparents grew up on these movies that portrayed the Baskanath people as the bad people and the Annoranjay people as heroes. It was almost like years of propaganda, but it was so entertaining. Kids wore Halloween costumes dressed as Baskanaths wearing traditional garments and they celebrated the invading Annoranjay people wearing their frilly outfits and tall hats. They played games shooting each other with toy handguns. It was all in good wholesome fun.

It wasn't until quite recently that this history was re-examined and deemed kinda evil on the part of the Annoranjay people.

Chapter Four : Pontificate

Simsam's parents were vastly unconcerned that Simsam would often get the crap beat out of him at school. They didn't take note of his torn clothes, bruises, or dried up blood stains.

Simsam's dressing style was also based on the outfits that the Annoranjay people wore in the killing days. Somehow, amazingly, it never went out of style. Frilly shirts and tall hats. No one pointed out that it might not be a great idea to dress like the people that committed genocide around the people that were victims of that very same genocide. It seems like a no brainer, but then again, nobody was paying any attention.

One day, an angry Baskanath kid spit a loogie directly into Simsam's left ear. It got infected a few days later and Simsam's mom had to take him to a doctor because she was annoyed with all his whining and crying. They didn't bother to ask what happened and it didn't seem important to tell anyone since it was a pretty normal school bus ride. Hocking a loogie into an ear just seemed pretty creative, really. It was a nice change up from the usual punching and tall hat destroying.

There was a broken arm once. Simsam lied and said he fell down when he was actually pushed off the school bus. He knew telling on someone would be just cause for more abuse.

There was also a pretty serious concussion from being tripped while running in P.E. class. Simsam didn't remember much other than the full out lightening speed running then suddenly waking up and seeing all the classroom children's heads in a big circle looking down at him. Then stumbling into the school nurse's office and wearing a leaking ice pack all the way home on the twenty-four mile, hour and a half, screaming children school bus ride. Then stumbling down the dirt road, passing by the sister witches house and the demon goat and finally getting home and going straight to bed. Simsam's mom was concerned about how it might look to have a dead kid in the house, so she put him in the Chevy and drove to the hospital once again.

Simsam was forced to stay awake for thirty-seven hours in the hospital so he wouldn't die, but the ice cream and fruit flavored gelatin was worth it. He would've given four stars if that was a thing back then.

There was usually a daily altercation at school. It became so normal it didn't seem odd or even worth mentioning. Simsam really didn't think about things too much. There wasn't much time for philosophy or pontification. Life was just too busy with school work and chores and getting his ass kicked. He was also eight years old. Not too many eight year olds are intellectual ponderers.

Chapter Five : The Nap

One warm summer day, Simsam had endured his daily routine of torture and mayhem at school and walked home across the sandstone cliffs. There was a shortcut from a different bus stop.
It was actually the exact same distance, but it seemed shorter than the dirt road. Probably because the bus stop was at a country grocery store, post office, and tobacco outlet where Simsam could buy or steal a treat for the walk home.

There were no age restriction laws. No rules or regulations for children. Simsam often purchased tobacco as an after school treat. Plug chewing tobacco, ground up dipping snuff, or the classic English snuff in a little tin can to be snorted right up the nose. He could chew, dip, or snort nicotine for a little pick-me-up on the walk home or sitting in class. Cigarettes and cigars were just as available but there was the hassle of matches and all the smoke. Of course he was already an addict at eight years old since nicotine is extremely addictive, but he didn't know because he never attempted to quit. Simsam's parents thought it made him look like a grown up with his tall hat and chewtabaccy spit. 

Simsam also discovered that he could be a junior entrepreneur by selling whiskey in little fruit shaped plastic bottles. He'd fill them with his dad's ginormous bottle of Jim Beam after he ate up the candy powder that was inside. They sold easily for one dollar each. Not just because they were cheap whiskey shots in the school bathroom, but because no one had ever seen the little fruit shaped plastic bottles before. They didn't sell them around there. Simsam got them from the candy aisle in the drug store in the town his grandmother lived in far away. Usually, he'd stock up on Easter when they'd visit. They were filled with powdered saccharin candy with artificial flavors matching the bottle shape. Grape, strawberry, banana, pineapple, lemon, lime, and orange. It was a perfect product. It was unique, illegal,  and unethical. The free whiskey supply was always available and when he sold out, he was out. There was always a demand but supply was limited because of the novelty plastic bottle supply that could only be replenished after Easter. It was a quick sale that was mostly untraceable since the whiskey was always consumed and no one cared anyway.

But this warm summer day walking on the ridge top, something was different. Something had changed. Maybe he was maturing and beginning to question the perils of existence deep in his subconscious without knowing how to articulate the questions. Maybe it was the nicotine flowing through his blood and reacting to the warmth of the sun and strain of navigating the sandstone cliffs. For whatever reason, Simsam decided to take a nap as soon as he got home. His mind needed to rest. Take a break from reality for a while. There was no way to know but after this nap reality would never, ever be the same.

Chapter Six : The Narrow

The Narrow is the thin membrane in between reality and the realm of dreams. It's a place with no clocks, no magnetic north, and no rationale.

Everything would be slightly floating, like in the exact moment all gravity was released by the rules of physics. But there are no rules in the Narrow. Everything floats and everything sinks into itself. The free flow of thought does whatever it pleases.

It's where all creativity lives. When it feels almost divine to imagine something and it comes to life all on its own. Like music or a painting or an idea for a story. Suddenly, it's just there, channeling through to create itself and become real.

There are no consequences. It is arguably the best place to be. It's in-between awake and asleep, where you can remember your dreams and sometimes even guide them. Or the dreams guide you.

Some people have wondered if the Narrow is actually reality and life is the dream. Sometimes you can bring a dream with you. Out of the Narrow and into the physical world. It is the place of souls and the unexplained origin of life itself. It's where God lives or nothing lives. It's light without a source. Sound in the silence.

During a nap there is a dream. A deep unconscious dream. Things happen that can't be recalled but somehow there's a feeling that something else exists. Like something wakes up and is released from their chains. Not a monster but still something not altogether nice and cheerful. There's now a darkness following every step. Above and below and surrounding. Always watching and waiting. Waiting for the moment to enter reality.

There's a new physical weight inside the mind. A presence. A seemingly conscious entity that isn't you. Maybe it's a disease or maybe it's just maturity. Whatever it is, it's new and different and now it's a part of you. It came from the Narrow.

Chapter Seven : Runny Mashed Potatoes

From the instant Simsam fell asleep that afternoon he was dreaming. The most sudden and deliberate dream he'd ever had.

Oddly though, he didn't remember any of it. Not at first. It would come as little nonsensical pieces throughout the next few months.

He was visited by a small horse. That was the first sign of the dream and that's all he knew. There was no other context. No reason or purpose. Just a small, featureless horse with empty black eyes looking at him.

He remembered a fog next. It was a few weeks later. A black rolling fog traveling quickly across land and water, flowing over hills, moving intentionally towards an unknown destination.

Another vision was himself. A different version of himself. Standing in the near distance with his hands at his sides and staring back. There was no background, just gray empty space. Not even earth under his feet. Nothing. He was wearing some strange type of a particular outfit but it wasn't recognizable.

When he woke up from his nap, he was hungry. Starving actually. There was drool on his pillow and sweaty sheets. It was the deepest sleep he'd probably ever had in his entire eight years of life, and he was only asleep for seven minutes and thirteen seconds.

He immediately went to raid the pantry. There were Saltine crackers, strawberry powder, and a glass jar filled with wheat germ. He chose the crackers and headed for the refrigerator. He grabbed the milk and poured a glass and went back for the strawberry powder mix. He sat at the kitchen table and devoured it like he hadn't eaten in days.

The pantry was well stocked but it was odd food. Lots of powdered mixes and cans of strange soups. Not the kind of food you would expect in the home of a child.

Basic oats in a round cardboard container, cream of mushroom and tomato soups, twangy orange flavored outer space powdered drink mix, saltine crackers, and wheat germ in a weird shaped glass bottle. Chocolate baking powder, red cinnamon candy in a cellophane bag, spaghetti noodles, and a box of grape nuts.

There were days Simsam wished he could enjoy a special treat but eventually it turned into a basic primal need for sustenance. He'd challenge himself to eat a dry spoonful of wheat germ. His mother said it was healthy and would fight away disease and evil spirits. The chocolate baking powder was bitter and tasted horrible. It was for cooking something but he didn't know what. It had never been used. The red cinnamon candy would burn the back bottom of his tongue but it always seemed like a good idea at first, probably just for the sugar. The twangy orange space drink was a shocker to the nervous system and a quick eye opener. He was told astronauts live on it in outer space. Raw spaghetti noodles were crunchy and fun to nibble like a rabbit. A self challenge to see how fast it could be pushed through his lips and chomped into little bits.

Simsam was very skinny. His mom cooked something almost every day but it was usually inedible. He was probably malnourished. There was usually one thing on his plate he could stomach, so he would eat something at least. He became an expert, he thought, of rearranging the food on his plate to make it appear he ate a little bit of everything. Cutting away bite size portions and hiding it under other things. He'd always fill up on bread and beets. The red beets tasted like metal and looked like blood. It had some strange morbid appeal. Mashed potatoes should be simple but his mother somehow managed to make them inedible. Runny. How can mashed potatoes be runny?

Chapter Eight : Jibberty and Tangerine Flinbernaut

Jibberty Stick Flinbernaut was Simsam's dad. He engaged very little as a father. He would wake up at five o' five a.m. and leave for work at five forty-four. He would get home at five forty-four p.m. and be asleep in bed by eight-fourteen.It was the same routine Monday through Friday, every week, every month, every year with only the exception of holidays.

His middle name was Stick because he was born with an erection and his father thought it was hilarious to name him that.

Saturday and Sunday were the days for Jibberty’s hobbies. Listening to sports on the radio and keeping track of the statistics for every player and every game of every sport available. If there wasn't a game to track or there was a lull in the activity, he would work outside on farm projects. Building fences, shelter, and sheds. He was always chain smoking cigarettes and cursing at his tools. He had no talent or skill in maintaining a farm and usually wound up hurting himself.

He was generally mild mannered and reserved otherwise but was very fidgety. Always bouncing a knee or tapping his fingers. The one thing that would send him into an uncontrollable rage was the mispronouncing of his last name. His face would turn red, flushed with blood and anger, as he would explain through his gritted teeth, grumbling that it was pronounced “Flin-burr-not. Not Fil-bur-not. Flinn! Flinn!” He would then leave the room to de-escalate his fury, usually knocking over a chair or swiping an object across the room. Sometimes he'd punch a hole in the wall on his way out.

Farming was not his primary job. The animals were taken care of by Simsam unless there was something bigger to do. His father built the cages and pens and bought the animals, but after that it was all the kid's responsibility.

Jibberty's job was sales although no one knew what exactly he sold. He was gone all day selling in the nearby town and every week he had a paycheck. That's all anyone knew.

The only time Simsam would see his father was during the twelve and a half minutes of family proximity at the dinner table. Even then, Jibberty wasn't engaged in his child's life. He would just read up on more sports and finish the crossword puzzle in the newspaper he'd started earlier that day.

Tangerine was Simsam's mom. She was educated with a half year of college with the intention of studying law. Nothing specific, just law in general. She was highly qualified to do administrative work in any law firm. Mostly filing and getting coffee but she would forever claim the knowledge of a fully educated lawyer.

She didn't have a middle name but assigned herself one later in life. She called herself Becky because she assumed that was the name of Opie Taylor's mother on a popular television show. She once said she hoped she would die if she ever had a child, like Opie’s mother did.

She didn't work professionally much. Just when she was tired of being a homemaker every few months. The other months of the year she was a housewife. Being a mother was always easy for her. After all, it didn't take much time or effort on her part. She could just feed the child whenever she fed her husband. Same with the laundry. She was doing it anyway. What trouble was a few extra miniature garments?

The hardest part of motherhood was when there was an emergency, like the kid getting a concussion and having to drive them to the hospital. Other than that, there wasn't much else to do. Just keep the kid alive until it moved out someday.

Chapter Nine : Boogur Sleeze

Jibberty had a friend that lived in town, twenty-four miles away, but he eventually bought land next to the twenty-five and a half acre property that Jibberty owned and built himself a little cabin. He moved in and started helping out with the farm work on the weekends.

His name was Boogur Sleeze and he would eventually become a great friend and enemy to Simsam, although it would take many, many years to figure it all out.

He was short and round with a thick hairy mustache. He wore fat framed tan glasses and had unusually thin hair for a twenty-eight year old man. He spoke like he was straight out of the old west, saying things like "A fair amount of…" and "What in the Sam Hill!"

Boogur Sleeze would slowly take more and more advantage of Jibberty's trust and friendship. But Jibberty would never catch on. He was too involved in sports to notice much else.

Boogur Sleeze was a county road worker. He was the guy you would see standing with the other guys when one guy was doing all the work. The county would always hire three extra guys they didn't need to get a bigger yearly budget. There were always three in case two didn't show up. Boogur Sleeze was hired as one of those extra guys. He had a strong work ethic. He was never the extra guy who didn't show up. He was always on time and available to be the extra guy. He felt the need to earn his healthcare benefits and his future retirement income so he always showed up, because doing nothing was something very important to do.

Chapter Ten : The Ride

Another dream returned after a few months. The intrigue was set. Simsam was ready to see more but didn't know if more would come.

He went to bed after eating nibbles of some not fully cooked fresh fish his mom had scooped out of the pond on the property earlier that day. She could catch food but wasn't very good at making it edible. Luckily, there was some chalky cornbread he could fill up on. It was the usual bedtime, just after eight thirty-one.

It seemed like a regular school day. The long walk to the bus stop past Boogur Sleeze's cabin, past the rarely used road on the left, beyond the sister witches and the demon goat and onward through the rutted dirt road to the edge of the highway.

The squeaky brakes of the bus and the folded vertical door flapped open with a thwack. The driver stared blankly ahead, never making eye contact with anyone. The usual teasing, poking, punching, and prodding of the mean and horrible students as he walked down the aisle, looking for the least evil person that would allow him to sit next to them. He eventually chose to sit next to a massively overweight Annoranjay girl on the right side of the bus. She had thick rimmed glasses and absolutely refused to acknowledge his existence. A very usual morning. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The bus sped up and headed towards the next stop a few more miles away. Then, the horrible students started making grunting and chirping noises. Excited grunting and chirping noises and pointing at something on the side of the highway. The bus tilted towards one side as all the kids moved to the left side of the bus. The driver was completely unaware of the commotion other than putting an extra hand on the steering wheel to counter the sudden shift in weight. His job was to drive, not watch children. He wasn't even aware of the giant wide mirror reflecting the passengers of the bus above him. He just never noticed it, or if he did, he thought it was just a big rear view mirror he would never use anyway.

Simsam stood up to see. He moved from side to side trying to at least get a glimpse of what everyone was so excited about. It was a horse. A small horse. It was running full speed beside the bus. He could barely see it through the other kids wiggling and wobbling, aggressively competing for the best view. Then suddenly it was faster than the bus. It was the fastest horse he'd ever seen. It passed the bus in a blur. Too fast to tell what it even really looked like.

Simsam woke up still excited and enthralled. “What was that? What a dream! Wait, that was the same horse as before. I've seen that horse before”.

He woke up in a frenzy, quickly put on his boots and coat and left for school walking down the rutted road past the neighbors and the demon goat wondering what he might see. It seemed so real in the dream. It felt like it had to be true.

But nothing happened. He got beat up as usual, pushed down and pissed on. Same old boring day. At least it was a Friday and he'd get a break for the weekend.

Chapter Eleven : Pajama Party

He couldn't shake the image in the dream. It was all he could think about. It was so different, so cool and interesting. It was almost like he couldn't wait to go back to sleep to dream it again. Dream more.

It wouldn't be long before he was distracted from his wonder. This weekend had something new in store. His parents were going out of town and Simsam would stay with Boogur Sleeze, the neighbor friend of his Father's. It was going to be like a sleepover but with a grownup.

Jibberty trusted his friend. Why wouldn't he? They built fences together and laughed together and killed animals together. They even liked sports together. Besides, Simsam's mom wasn't concerned about it. She would be able to take a break from motherhood and forget she even had a stupid kid. It was gonna be great.

But Boogur Sleeze wasn't great. He was gross and creepy. Simsam didn't know it though because Boogur Sleeze had bought a new video game console for him to play with over the weekend. They cooked delicious hot dogs over the gas stove. They played card games like go fish and blackjack. They had music on the record player. Boogur Sleeze even had a TV that got a slight reception sometimes if you climbed on the roof and turned the antenna just right.

Boogur Sleeze even had a funny kind of drink that made you happy. It was in a big bottle on top of the refrigerator. It had a picture of an old man kinda like George Washington so you know it was cool. He had another drink that was even more fun because you had to lick salt off of your hand then squeeze a lemon in your mouth right after you gulped the burning water down. It was funny because it made your whole body shiver like it was freezing, but it wasn't even cold.

Simsam must've been worn out from all the fun because he fell right to sleep. He didn't undress for bed. He was so tired he didn't dream at all.

When he woke up the next morning in his sleeping bag, he was feeling extra groggy but he thought the TV might have cartoons like he used to watch in Saint Antony, so he plopped down on the floor in front of his sleeping bag in the living room and turned on the set.

During the first commercials he found some sugar fun fake fruit cereal. Boogur Sleeze had the best food. Simsam realized he was cold and went to put on some clothes. He thought he must've gotten hot in his sleep and taken off his clothes because he usually was in his pajamas. He didn't think about it anymore since the cartoons were back on.

Boogur Sleeze was still asleep, snoring away. He was tired too.

Chapter Twelve : Back To Normal

Jibberty and Tangerine were back Sunday afternoon from their trip. It was a special trip for salesmen and their wives. Simsam gathered that they were at some type of a playground equipment convention or something. They kept talking about swinging and playing games. It must've been a lot of fun. They seemed refreshed and very happy.

Boogur Sleeze took Simsam back home and insisted it was no trouble looking after him. In fact he was willing to do it again, maybe just for fun. Even if they weren't out of town. It was agreed that Simsam could spend the night with the fun neighbor any weekend anybody wanted.

School started again on Monday morning. Jibberty went to work. Tangerine did some laundry and prepped for dinner. Everything was back to usual and Simsam's dreams settled down for a few weeks.

One particularly difficult day at school, Simsam was chasing after a big red ball that had bounced off of his face with a painful sting making a high pitched pinging sound on instant contact. It had rolled behind the school cafeteria area where the trash cans and grease pit were located. Simsam turned a corner and discovered some kids smoking some kind of home-made cigarettes. They were not happy that Simsam was back there. They were concerned that he would tell on them, getting them in trouble with the authorities. But Simsam promised he wouldn't say anything. He actually didn't care at all. He just wanted the big red ball.

But the bigger kids didn't believe him so they formed a circle around him and closed in slowly. Talking to him and saying they just wanted to make sure he wouldn't tell anyone. One kid punched Simsam in the chest. Another behind him pushed him into the kid in front. They played a short game of ping pong with Simsam as the ball.

Suddenly, something took over inside Simsam's brain. Survival, fight, defend, inflict pain on your enemies. Without even thinking Simsam unleashed his belt and started swinging it in a circle. The other kids backed up shocked and surprised, but one kid didn't move fast enough. The hook on the belt buckle swiped against the belly of the kid, slicing open the skin on his stomach and pouring out blood. The other kids ran away in fear and amazement.

Simsam was just as shocked. The kid held his bleeding stomach and hunched over, slowly making his way around the corner.

Simsam wanted to help him. But he also wanted him to drop dead. He was very conflicted as he made his way back to class. The second bell had already rang so he was late.

Weirdly, nothing happened. Nobody noticed he was late. Nobody was informed of the bloody fight. No one was called to the principal's office. No police or FBI or ambulances or SWAT Team. There was just a dull hum in Simsam's ears, like a drastic change in air pressure. It lasted the rest of the school day, all the way home on the bus, and the entire walk home.

Chapter Thirteen : Supersonic

Two days later, it was another Friday. Dinner was white bread toast smothered in gravy mixed with leftover breakfast sausage. It was Jibberty's favorite meal. It reminded him of military food and the forced obedience and the nostalgic mealtime anticipation of traveling to a foreign country to kill people.

It wasn't bad. Simsam didn't have to hide or bury any of it. He even licked the plate clean proving that he is actually capable of finishing a meal.

It was a special night it seemed. His parents were in a great mood. They had been drinking the juice that makes people happy and were even dancing to the radio in the kitchen. It was off putting to Simsam but still interesting to see a different side of his usually boring parents.

He left to play with his little metal cars in his bedroom and eventually went to sleep. He woke up with a sound.

Crashing and shattering, then he heard his father yelling. It wasn't like the angry gritted teeth yelling. It was a loud wide open mouth kind of yelling. Then his mother started yelling the same way but a much higher pitch. A shrill. It was unnerving and Simsam was rattled. He intensely listened without making a sound or moving, wrapping his bed blanket tight around him.

“What could have possibly happened?” He thought. “They had the happy juice right? Maybe they should drink more happy juice to make them happy again”.

Blam! The sound of a slamming door. He could hear someone walking across broken pieces of whatever was on the kitchen floor and the click of the radio turning off. Then it was dead silent. Footsteps passed his bedroom and his parents bedroom door closed. There wasn't another sound for the rest of the night.

It was boring again and Simsam fell asleep.

He suddenly found himself outside. It was daylight, but slightly dim. It was a fuzzy morning with diffused light like a cloudy sky. He looked at his outfit and he was wearing chaps, boots, a tall hat, and a thick leather belt with a firearm inside a built-in pocket. He felt strangely confident.

He took two steps and lifted one hand up, placing two fingers inside his mouth and blew. A sharp whistle sound came out and a little horse came out of nowhere and stopped in front of him. It was the horse in the dream. He was in the dream.

He mounted the small beige horse with deep black eyes and rode away swiftly. He seemed to be moving really fast. So fast he couldn't make out his surroundings. It was exhilarating and powerful.

He saw his school bus heading towards town. He'd missed the bus. Oh no! But oh wait, he's on a horse and he's passing the bus. The kids inside are losing their minds, hollering and screaming and pointing. He slowed down just enough for everyone to get a good look at him. He wanted every mean horrible kid to know it was him on that horse. Then he sped away faster than sound can travel. He was supersonic.

He got to school and dismounted the horse. He gave a firm pat on its rump and it fled away. He leaned up against the front wall of the school, crossed his leg, and tipped his tall hat to the gawking kids passing by. Then he went inside and woke up from the dream.

Chapter Fourteen : Remember To Forget

The next morning it was quiet. His mother was puttering around the kitchen, sweeping and cleaning up the mess from the night before. His father wasn't home until later.

When he did come home, his parents spoke softly to each other. Simsam couldn't even overhear them. After a while they approached Simsam and told him he could stay at the neighbors house again.

Simsam was excited. There were the video games and the hot dogs and the card games and the music, and something else, oh yeah, the happy drink on top of the refrigerator. He hurried into his room and packed his pajamas, one pair of underwear, a toy metal car, and a pair of socks. Nobody was going to care if he wore the same pants and shirt for a few days.

The weekend was pretty much the same as before. The only thing different was that they took a late night hike up the road. It was more fun to hike at night after drinking some happy drink. Everything seemed funny and wobbly. It was weird that he even woke up without his pajamas on again. He couldn't remember why he didn't put on his pajamas to sleep. He couldn't remember anything after a certain time. He didn't remember the walk back from the hike.

This time, he was confused. He asked Boogur Sleeze if he knew why he wasn't getting dressed for bed. Boogur Sleeze seemed concerned for a moment, then asked if he could remember anything at all. He was relieved when Simsam couldn't and said it was a good thing. Because when you're really having a good time, you forget it so you can experience it again like it's the first time. It's normal and completely natural.

He asked Simsam to try and remember any of the times in his life he was really happy. Simsam couldn't remember a single really happy moment. The times in Saint Antony riding his Three Wheel were fun, but not really happy enough to make him forget.

It all made perfect sense.

Chapter Fifteen : Charlie Horse

That Sunday he realized he lost his toy metal car. He looked everywhere in Boogur Sleeze's house then remembered the hike the night before he forgot everything. He decided to take a hike back up the road and see if he could find it.

He walked up the dirt road to the top of the hill searching the ground all the way. He didn't see it anywhere. He decided to go a little further even though his memory was fading about the previous night. He didn't remember how far they hiked but surely not much farther.

There was the other road that went left. It led past two houses and towards the pond on the property. It was the only road that went to the bottom of the sandstone cliffs on the other side past the pond. Simsam's dad technically owned the pond, but the road to it was cut through someone else's land. It was a little strange but no one was around enough to care.

The little house on the right was an older lady named Marguerita. He'd only seen her once. She was short and round and wore a one piece dress. It had flowers printed on it and she smelled like vanilla. She had a strange accent but was very polite.

The next house was a log cabin further down on the left with a corral in front of it. Simsam never went down that road since it wasn't on either path home from school. He'd only been down it one other time when they first moved in and were exploring the property. It was close to the hot spring that steamed up in the cold air.

Simsam kept walking. He thought maybe they actually hiked down that road the night before. Maybe the toy metal car is down there somewhere. He passed Marguerita's home and still found nothing. He turned a corner to the log cabin and noticed something strange. The corral in front of the cabin was full of horses. About fifteen small horses. Some of them were lying down on the ground and some were leaning over the fence. As he got closer he could see that they were all horribly skinny he could see their ribs. Suddenly, in a panic, he realized that the little horses were starving and the ones laying down were actually dead. He didn't want to get any closer. He didn't want to see it up close so he turned and ran towards his home.

He ran almost all the way. He was out of breath when he saw his father tending to a fence. Jibberty had a cigarette in his mouth while trying to hammer a nail into the wooden fence but smoke was trailing into his left eye and he couldn't see. He took a swing and missed, flinging the hammer into the dirt. Simsam yelled at him. "The horses!" His father never looked up and mouthed the word, what? without actually saying it. As Simsam got closer, he yelled out again, "The horses!"
His father said, " What are you saying, horses? What horses?"
Simsam slowed his breath and spoke between the air, "The horses…down the road….at the house with the……horses. Starving. Dead. Dying….Go see"
His dad walked away shaking his head and got into his big green pickup truck and drove towards the cabin. A few minutes later he was speeding back. Kicking up a cloud of dust behind the pickup truck. He slid to a stop and went into the house and picked up the phone.

There were two people talking on the phone already. It was a party line. A telephone system that was shared by everyone in the area, which was only about twelve people altogether. He interrupted the people talking and said he needed to call the Sheriff. The other people politely hung up and he dialed a zero on the wheel of the rotary phone. It made a long drawn out ticking noise before the wheel with finger sized holes stopped. The connection on the receiver made a few clicks between a long silence before someone finally answered, “Operator”. Jibberty calmly said, “Sheriff's department please”, “One moment” answered the operator. After another very long pause, the next voice was the sheriff.

The next day, walking home from school, Simsam noticed a pickup truck with a horse trailer pulling up to their corral. Inside was one of the abandoned little horses from the log cabin corral. Simsam overheard a man talking with his father. He was saying something about the owner of the cabin, a guy named Chauncey Krook with a front as a Shetland Pony breeder but he was actually an international drug dealer and that he had gotten in trouble with the FBI and abandoned everything. He just disappeared. There was something about a cartel and big money and an airplane. That's all he could hear. Simsam didn't really know what some of those words meant anyway, he just had a feeling it was a bad situation.

Simsam's dad and the man walked up to him and told him that he could keep a horse since he was the one who found them. Inside the trailer was a skinny Shetland Pony. As the men opened the gate and led the little horse into its new corral, Simsam thought something was strange and familiar. The horse kind of looked like the horse in the dream. It was light brown with deep dark eyes. It had a long flowing blonde mane and tail. It was the supersonic horse.

He named it Charlie. It was the first thing that came to mind.

Probably because of two mean and horrible kids earlier that year that cornered him at school one day and rhetorically asked him who won the Kentucky Derby? Then immediately kneed him in the crotch without any time to answer saying, 'Charlie Horse'. It didn't even make sense. It just hurt and slightly ruptured a testicle leaving a blood stain on his pants.

Chapter Sixteen : Darclee Slive vs Knoname Legynd

Darclee Slive looked like a villain from the nineteen twenties. He was thin and moved like a snake with a black pencil mustache twisted at its ends. He was never seen in full light and only traveled through the shadows. He wore a low flanked black hat with a flat brim. He was dastardly and mischievous and always up to no good.

He had rerouted the snow tracks on the highway leading into town. He was hoping the school bus full of mean and horrible students would drive off a small cliff and die in a massive explosion. But it was not meant to be, for there was a hero that would save them all. And he rode a Supersonic Rescue Pony.

The hero whistled for his pony, mounted in one swift move and sped ahead of the school bus. The bus driver was confused as the snow covered highway became unclear to navigate. The tracks from the previous cars and pickup trucks had disappeared. Suddenly, the boy on the pony stood on the road ahead directly facing the bus driver. He signaled to follow him. The bus driver nodded. It was easy for the driver to look forward and stay focused since he never looked in the rear view mirror. His eyes unwavering as he followed the pony onto a bridge back onto the highway. The tracks had returned and the driver could safely deliver the kids to school.

The mean and horrible students were instantly less mean and horrible. They were amazed by the pony and rider. They didn't know what to call him so they loudly grunted and discussed what would be his name. They would call him simply, Knoname Legynd.

Chapter Seventeen : School Daze

The dreams were coming almost every night. It was a lot like watching his favorite TV show. The stories in the dreams were even like cartoons on Saturday mornings. Short and to the point. Sometimes the only point was that there was no point. Just absolute chaos and mayhem.

Simsam was so good at dreaming the dreams he could almost do it on command. There were moments at school where would put his head down behind a propped up book giving the illusion that he was reading and get in a quick dream before the next bell would ring.

Within a few months he could dream with his eyes open appearing to be paying attention in class but really, he was far away.

One day he was deep in trance sitting upright at his desk staring blankly ahead. He hadn't noticed the elderly scowling teacher parading up and down the aisles like a drill sergeant at boot camp. He was rudely awakened by a sharp pain in the back of his neck.

The angry teacher, full of hate and discontent, was pulling on the tuft of hair resembling the tail of a duck on the back of Simsam's neck. The intense pain caused him to react by standing up. He struggled to find footing as the heartless educator lifted him higher and led him into the baby blue tile-walled hallway of the school.

She pushed him down to the floor and demanded he stay put until she returned. His mind was mostly blank. Nothing resembling a thought entered his mind. He was in a state of shock and subdued by the strange instinct to surrender and play dead.

He couldn't even remember much of the dream he was experiencing before. The Supersonic Rescue Pony was running down a creek bed splashing water upwards into the sky causing a monolithic rainbow. That's all he could remember about it. He also remembered the sheet of paper on his desk. It might've been some sort of written test. He didn't know anymore.

The grumpy old teacher lady was storming towards him. Tagging along behind her was the wimpish school principal carrying a notepad. She was scowling as she ordered Simsam to stand up, drop his pants, and bend over. The principal passively explained that they had called his mother and gotten permission to discipline the boy. He explained that he tried to call his father first, but he was unfortunately unavailable.

Simsam did as he was told, exposing his bright white cotton underwear in the hallway. The beastly school marm pulled down his underwear and began to bare ass spank him with her hand. The smacking sounds echoed through the tiles in the hall, seeping through the quiet scribbling sounds of pencils of every classroom. Tears dripped onto the floor beneath the child. His face was as flushed red as his rear end. Pinkish and rose petal red. Twenty spanks counted meticulously. Perverse satisfaction hardly concealed in the aged ravaged teacher's voice.

Immediately after the twentieth smack, Simsam was ordered to pull up his pants and go back into the classroom as a spectacular display of obedience and control. A warning to any other child thinking they are above the laws of the authoritarian educator. Simsam forged ahead to his desk making small steps with nerve pain stiffened legs, shame and conformity on his face advertised to all the other children.

The teacher returned to the classroom within a few minutes. Proud and strong. Holding her tyranny with a tight fist in her left hand while gripping the power of fascism in her right. The silence was a heavy fog trapping the feet of every student pretending to ignore the sniffles and swipes of tears sitting among them.

The rest of the day was empty. There were children laughing and grunting and chirping but Simsam couldn't hear them. The long bus ride home was a deaf and blurred trek. It wasn't until halfway on the walk home that he could peacefully hear the wind and see the color of the pale blue sky.

Chapter Eighteen : Saving The Sky

Knoname Legynd was sitting on the shady side under a tree. He was peeling and eating away at an apple. Bright red and dripping with watery flavor. An ant was slurping up a drip on the ground oblivious to the giant above. He flung a wedge of the fruit towards his trusty companion standing a few feet away. The Supersonic Rescue Pony latched onto the flying fruit and gobbled it up, momentarily savoring the sweet flavor of content and happiness.

Everything was at peace in the world. There had been no sign of his nemesis in weeks. Knoname was fully relaxed and satisfied, but knowing the foolish antics of Darclee Slive would arrive at any moment.

Knoname was never worried. Darclee Slive was a foolish fool and would never defeat the likes of him and his powerfully crazy fast pony. His purpose was more of a small distraction to break up the monotony of bliss. It was only his evil duty to contrast happiness as a way to always recognize happiness. A simple temporary struggle to keep everything in check. To keep us all gratefully aware of our happy happiness.

Just then, a distraction from the awareness of bliss. The sky itself seemed to be tearing. A strip of blue was slowly ripping from the edge of the sky exposing only a deep void of darkness behind it. Holy crap! This was serious!

Knoname jumped quickly and swiftly from the shadows of the tree to his horse. Hyaaa! He exclaimed as the Supersonic Pony sped away towards the peeling sky.

As they rode closer they could see a rope with an arrow and a hook shooting towards an intact blue area of the sky. It pierced the sky like it was a cloth curtain, a prop made of painted fabric on a stage. The arrow and hook latched onto the sky and was being pulled down. The deafening sound of ripping like gigantic craft paper surrounded the boy and his horse. It shook the ground causing the pony to trip and fall. They slid for seven miles and seven minutes before they stopped at the base of the torn sky.

Knoname could see the Sun was setting towards the torn sky. He witnessed a cloud disappear into the darkness swallowed behind the gash. Knoname knew what he had to do. Save the Sun.

He quickly scanned the area around him, looking for some kind of solution to patch up the sky. He noticed they were conveniently near a hog farm. Actually he only smelled what smelled like a hog farm nearby. He whistled for his pony as he prayed he was actually smelling a hog farm and not something far more sinister.

As he mounted up he pointed upwards. The Supersonic Rescue Pony leapt into the sky as Knoname scanned the ground below. He could see the hog farm. He was extremely thankful that it was indeed a hog farm. And he could also see Darclee Slive moving inside a shadow.

Slive was hunched over trying to hide and covering his big pile of piled up rope. But the keen eyes of Knoname easily spotted him right away. What a foolish fool to think he could simply hide.

When Darclee saw that he'd been seen he quickly started loading what appeared to be a big arrow shooter thingy. He was stuffing an arrow with a hook tied to a rope into the shooter thingy.

"Quick!" Knoname shouted, "Down there, Supersonic Rescue Pony!" They dove out of the sky towards the hog farm. Knoname grabbed an empty metal slop bucket that had been conveniently placed by the pig pen and filled it with muddy water and pig poop. The lightning speed of the pony never slowed down as they turned and wizzed towards Darclee. They were headed straight for the evil foolish fool when just before reaching him Knoname calmly spoke the word, "Halt!"

Simultaneously Knoname tilted the full bucket of disgusting poop almost completely horizontal. The sudden stop propelled the mud and hog excrement directly towards Darclee, blasting him in the face and also completely clogging up the shooter thingy.

The shooter thingy exploded in a ball of flames as they do when soiled with the poop of swine and the pony and the boy shot back up into the sky. The Sun was on the edge of the tearing, but Knoname had grabbed the first ripped piece of the lower atmosphere and was putting it back in place. His hand dove deep into his jeans pocket and pulled out a bag of chewing tobacco. While flying upwards into the air he grabbed a handful of tobacco and shoved it into his mouth. He quickly worked up a big mouthful of brown spit just as they reached the top of the sky. He puckered his mouth and projectile spit onto the torn sky and glued it together just as the Sun touched the edge. They dove to the ground to repeat the process with the other torn piece and a big disgusting wod of chewing tobacco.

As the Sun continued to set as normal there was no sign of Darclee. Did he fail to escape the fiery explosion? Was he dead? Blown to pieces? Probably not.

The setting Sun and exploding cloud made a lot of shadows for Darclee to hide in and escape.

Chapter Nineteen : Pajamas

It was the weekend again. Simsam's parents said they were having a party for grown ups. He would have to stay with Boogur Sleeze again since they were going to be up late and noisy.

He packed up the usual pajamas, undies, and a toy metal car and walked over the next property where Boogur Sleeze's cabin was. He wasn't very excited about it this time but he didn't know why. He just felt a little down in the dumps.

He plopped down in front of the record player and put on an album. The picture on the cover was a guy with a goatee beard and mustache and a tall hat. The cardboard envelope was made to look like stamped leather with paisleys and lariats in the design. Most of the music had a steady bass line and solid drum beat with a twangy electric guitar. The lyrics were about everything from an unfaithful love affair to a handsome tall hat man making his own rules. There were fast songs and slow ones. For some reason the song Simsam would play over and over was about a man missing out on the love of his life. The wandering female background singer's voice floated above it all and was filled with beauty and sadness. It spoke to something inside Simsam although he wasn't old enough to really understand it.

Maybe it was the rain outside, shimmering as it fell slowly to the ground. It was strangely falling slower and slower. It almost seemed to stop and hang in the air for a moment. Like time itself was slowing down, but nothing else slowed as the music played on.

Boogur Sleeze had left him alone with a plate of cheese sandwiches and a bottle of root beer. Just two slices of white bread with a slice of American cheese. Simsam took a bite and realized Boogur Sleeze forgot to remove the plastic wrapping on the cheese.

Simsam was bored. He might've gone outside if it wasn't for the rain. He didn't have a way to dry off or extra clothes so he just sat and listening to the same song, over and over.

He was trying to hear each instrument separately. The guitar has a wavy sound to it, almost like it was under water. The background female singer with the pretty voice was echoing like she was singing inside a cave. The main voice sounded like he was very close. Deep and rumbling. He could hear them take a breath before singing a long note. He could make out a scratching sound against the guitar strings but had no idea what it was. He'd never seen anyone play a guitar. He dismantled every sound he could for hours until he felt sleepy.

Boogur Sleeze had come home to check on him but left again. He was just next door at the party he said with a joyous tone. But he insisted Simsam wasn't to come over unless it was an emergency, like a fire. Boogur Sleeze tried to think of another emergency but couldn't, so he repeated, "unless like there's a fire".

There was no fire. There was nothing but time. Simsam put on his pajamas and fell asleep in his sleeping bag on the living room floor.

The next morning, Simsam checked in the bedroom and saw Boogur Sleeze was asleep. Simsam went into the kitchen and poured a bowl of sugary cereal and turned on the TV. As he watched the cartoons he could hear Boogur Sleeze snoring loudly in the other room, so he got up and closed the door.

He sat back down in front of the TV and suddenly thought to himself that he remembered the night before. Everything. He even remembered putting on his pajamas. He briefly thought it was strange to remember for the first time. The fleeting thought went away as fast as it arrived. There was a rabbit arguing with a hunter wearing a ridiculous hat in the cartoon.

He went back home that evening. His house was trashed. There were sheets piled in the laundry room and pillows stacked in a pile in the living room. His parents looked exhausted. They were hardly speaking as they methodically trudged through the house putting things away. They looked like they hadn't slept or showered in a week. They didn't even comb or brush their hair and they were wearing loose grungy clothes.

Simsam decided to leave them alone and retreat to his room. He was just in their way most of the time anyway. It was nice to be home. In his room. His own private space to think and play and dream.

Chapter Twenty : The Faces And The Howling

That night, Simsam couldn't sleep. The rain storm had passed but the three legged beasts were on the ridge top howling.

The sound of the yipping and howling usually became a comfort once he got used to it. Almost like a white noise fan in the background to help him sleep. But their howling was different on this night. It was louder, closer, angrier.

He sat up in his bed, staring into the darkness towards his closet door. The door was made of plastic but it had a false wood design. Every door in the house was exactly the same with the same fake wood design. It was extremely tacky but Simsam was too young to be a connoisseur of taste and closet door fashion to know any better.

The door in his room was changing as he stared deeply at it. It was slightly open in a way he could see into it. The darkness was growing inside the door like a portal to even more darkness. He couldn't blink. He couldn't take his eyes off of it. It held him against his will, taunting at the expectation there was something inside it. Then he could see something. Something was there. It was a face, then another, and they were looking back at him. They were reflecting the minimal light shining from the stars through the window and bouncing off the antique headboard of his bed. It was just enough light to barely see them. Or maybe it was nothing. Just his mind playing tricks on him. Then the faces moved back into the darkness and were gone.

Simsam quickly got up and shut the closet door all the way. He couldn't see into it any more. No faces. No reflection. It kinda freaked him out.

He wouldn't fall asleep for hours. Thinking about what he'd seen. He just stared into the ceiling and listened to the howling of the three legged beasts.

Early the next morning he was awake and doing his chores. Feeding the chickens, the lonesome steer, and now his very own horse.

His parents were well rested and chipper. They even made breakfast together. His dad made pancakes, bacon, and sausage while his mom made watery gravy and doughy biscuits. It was mostly delicious, minus the biscuits and gravy. The strawberry powdered milk she made was close to excellent. Almost just the right amount of random scoops, stirred until it was dissolved. Well mostly dissolved. Strawberry powder bombs floating in milk are fun too.

The day would fade into the evening and Simsam would fall into the routine of getting ready for school the next day. It was always a treat when he would get a hot bath with his own water. Most nights he would be the last one to get a bath after his father and mother got one. The water was almost cold and sometimes a light brownish color by the time it was his turn.

There wasn't a water shortage or any reason to conserve energy. Simsam's mother was simply obsessed with being a minimalist. Everything was rationed. Food, toilet paper, towels, soap, shoes, clothing, and everything else you can think of. He'd worn the same winter coat for three years and it would be at least one more before he got a new one. It was mended with fake denim iron-on patches and duct tape. It was originally three sizes too big, but now it was so small his wrists were exposed. He wished he had extra long gloves to make up the difference. Snow would often get stuck between his gloves and his coat, freezing his bare wrists leaving them blistered and red.

His boots were the only shoes he had. They were also too big in the beginning but now his toes were squeezed together. He was told that his grandfather had deformed toes and it was hereditary. He even wore his boots in gym class, clip-clopping with every running step. Making it impossible to play kickball without violently sending the red rubber ball crashing into the stacked cafeteria tables against the wall making a deafening rattling steel noise for the whole school to hear. It was embarrassing but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.


Chapter Twenty-One : Spot Trap

From the very moment Simsam closed his eyes he could see a bright red light in the distance. It was far away. Beyond the valley with walls of sandstone cliffs. It was miles away in a direction he'd never been.

He heard a whistle behind him and by the time he turned to see, the Supersonic Rescue Pony leapt over him, heading towards the light. Simsam could see the shadow silhouette of the heroic rider on the horse's back, Knoname Legynd.

They rode into the horizon, into the last glimmer of the setting Sun where the red light stood. As Knoname rode closer he could see that it was something like a train engine headlight mounted onto what was left of an old rotted windmill. They sped closer and closer until they both plunged into a large hole in the ground. It had been covered with a camouflage canvas tarp. A trap! The canvas wrapped around the horse and rider as they fell to the bottom with a thud. It was at least ten thousand feet deep and it was pitch black dark.

Knoname struggled with the canvas tarp while attempting to ease the frightened pony. He finally pulled out his large pocket knife and sliced up the tarp. He freed himself then his equine companion. They collected their breath and their thoughts. Who would set such a trap? And who, or what was it for?

"Dang it you!" A shallow voice came from above. A dark spot appeared on the ground above at the edge of the hole. Looking up, the hole was just a little circle of faint light. "Twernt meant fer you rascals"
Knoname hollered up, "Get us out of here then!"
The dark spot moved out of sight and didn't return until four hours and thirteen minutes later.

During the long four hours and thirteen minutes, Knoname and the pony felt their way around the hole. There was only dirt and very small rocks with no way to climb. There was no room for the pony to leap. It was cramped and cold and slightly damp. Knoname reached into his pocket and pulled out an apple. He was especially careful to cut off a piece for his horse. The last thing he needed was to cut himself and bleed to death in a hole in the ground with a perfectly good horse beside him that was otherwise incapable of medical assistance. Knoname fed the pony the apple wedge. The pony mumble-whinnied as to say thanks but accidentally let out a small fart. "Fucking awesome" said Knoname.

When the dark spot returned, it threw down a small rope. It hit the bottom of the hole with a Flap! "What good is a short rope?" Knoname yelled after he felt along the dirt floor to retrieve it.
There was no response.
After a few more minutes, a long tube was lowered into the hole. It was almost big enough for Knoname to crawl inside it. "What's the plan?" Hollered Knoname. Still no reply from above. Just silence.
Knoname was stumped. He wasn't figuring out the puzzle. A short rope, a long tube not big enough to crawl into, it didn't make sense.
Then they felt a puff of air and a putrid smell. It was getting stronger, more powerful. It was kicking up dirt and dust. They had to close their eyes. No big deal since it was pitch black anyway, but still, it was unsettling. What was happening? The stench grew stronger and stronger. The air was blowing harder. Knoname and the Supersonic Rescue Pony could feel themselves becoming weightless. They were floating up. The stinky air was blowing them out of the hole.

When they reached the top, something big swiped them off to the side. They landed roughly on the surface and struggled to see through their dust filled eyes. The sliced up canvas tarp floated down from the sky and landed in the distance and when they could see again, no one was there. The light was even gone. Knoname noticed something moving far away. A dark round spot moving quickly into the fading horizon. It was round shaped and had stubby little stick thin arms flailing about and incredibly fast moving legs. It was running with a tiny, tiny trail of dust puffing behind. It was getting smaller and smaller and then it was gone.

They turned to look at the hole they'd fallen into but like the light, it was no longer there either. Just a hollow pipe barely sticking out of the ground. It looked more like a rotted tree stump. It was only hollow to ground level. Somehow it had filled up with dirt and rocks too.

The Sun had set hours before and there was nothing left to do. The mystery of the trap and the spot would go unsolved. Sometimes there are things that just can't be figured out.

Knoname and the pony walked home side by side. They were in no hurry for the next adventure.


Chapter Twenty-Two : Wowiehowie White

Every day on the walk home down the dirt road after getting off of the school bus, Simsam would walk next to the corral fence where Charlie Horse was. According to his dad and the neighbor, Charlie was unrideable. He was mean, skittish, and dangerous. But every day after school, Charlie would walk beside Simsam all the way down the fence. Simsam could easily spend time inside the corral, leaning on and petting Charlie. There didn't seem to be a mean bone in his body.

Simsam didn't want to ride Charlie, so he never even tried. He wasn't afraid. He just would rather be friends than use him as pointless transportation. There was nowhere to go that he couldn't just walk to get there. Why put a horse through all that? When he did walk with Charlie, he just put a halter on him and attached a lead rope to keep him close. They both seemed fine with that arrangement and it was good exercise.

Before reaching the corral on the way home, Simsam had to pass by the two 1949 GMC pickups and the demon goat. He was always concerned and a little scared. It was judgment day any time you passed by the sister witches home. Simsam always kept an even stride, never looking the goat in its creepy yellow linear eyes. The demon would always stop eating and stare. Judge. Decide. Simsam didn't know if the demon was good or bad. He didn't want to know. He just wanted to get past it and forget about it.

About a quarter of a mile before the demon goat on the path home, there was a commune compound just to the right of the bus stop on the highway. One of the kids on the bus lived there with his family. He had a little sister that would wave goodbye every morning and meet him in the afternoon. They were all strange though. They weren't Baskanath or Annoranjay but something very different. They were almost transparent. Sort of creamy white. It was like looking at a jellyfish. You could see their insides, guts, blood vessels, heart, and even their brains. It took some getting used to, but they were just people like everyone else.

Simsam's friend was named Wowiehowie White. His family was from another place, obviously. They said they were from France, but they didn't speak any other language but English. Whatever. It didn't matter. They were there on a mission to convert the Baskanath community into their wacky religion. They believed in the worship of Rice and Cheese. It was an odd religion, but no more than any other religion. They were open to all types, havarti, muenster, swiss, provolone, and more. And as for rice, they were equally open to jasmine, brown, and dirty. They were very nice and especially harmless as far as anyone knew.

Wowiehowie said he was bored and lonely and wanted to visit Simsam and go to his house to play. It was also a way to infiltrate and spy and see if their weird family could convert another family to their religion. So they set up a day after school one Friday afternoon. They walked down the rutted dirt road, snuck past the demon goat and strolled down by the corral to see Charlie Horse. Everything was going great. They were talking and laughing and pointing out weird looking trees and making fart noises with the inside of their elbows.

But when they turned the corner just past the chicken coop one of the chickens had escaped and had a crazed look in its eye. The two boys froze in their tracks. Simsam spoke softly, "Don't frickin move".
Simsam slowly grabbed a bucket and crept towards the chicken. It clucked, kinda loud, and it scared Wowiehowie. He started to run but the mad chicken took chase. The chicken latched onto Wowiehowie's pant leg and took him down. He wildly pecked and jumped and pecked on the back of his head and must've hit a weak spot and Wowiehowie's head exploded in a watery mess. There was nothing left of his head but some loose brains and a puddle. The whacked out poultry instantly devoured his brains as the rest of his body just sort of melted away absorbed into the dirt. Wowiehowie White was no more.

Simsam ran into the house frantically telling his mom what happened. She turned slowly from the kitchen sink and said, "Oh my God! Who the fuck is Wowiehowie White?"

Simsam realized that she had given permission for Wowiehowie to come over but she wasn't really paying attention when she did it and she couldn't care less about any of it.

Later that evening the phone rang. It was Wowiehowie's parents, the Whites. They wanted to know where their son was at? They didn't mind ending their question with a preposition since they clearly were from France and didn't speak English very well.

Simsam's mother hollered across the house rhetorically, "Simsam? Where is Wowiehowie White?" Before Simsam could answer, she answered the Whites for him, "He said he went home three hours and twenty-six minutes ago. Maybe the demon goat got him? You should go check. Welp, bye!" and hung up the phone. Simsam walked into the kitchen and blankly gazed upon his horrible mother. She looked at him briefly, turned away and comedically said, "Eh-problem eh-solveduh".

The next day at the bus stop, Simsam looked towards the commune compound and noticed Wowiehowie's little sister at their door as usual. She was waving goodbye. But Wowiehowie's dead, he thought. Just then he saw Wowiehowie getting onto the school bus. The pasty jellyfish looking kid walked past everyone on the bus smiling and nodding. He sat down in the rear of the bus near Simsam. The bus started moving without the driver looking back as usual. Simsam was wildly confused. He turned towards Wowiehowie and blatantly asked. "How?" Wowiehowie looked surprised. He raised up one hand and replied, "How!” Then said, “I'm Wowiehowie. What's your name?" Simsam just happened to look out the window at the commune compound and saw Wowiehowie's transparent parents looking very stern and directly at Simsam. It felt like they could see him through the steel wall of the bus. He could feel them burning a hole in his side with their glaring eyes. They were shaking their heads in disappointment. He looked back at Wowiehowie who was smiling eerily. This wasn't the same Wowiehowie. This was some sort of brainless clone.

“Whatever” he thought. At least no one will be blamed for the suspicious disappearance of Wowiehowie. It all worked out in the end.

Except Wowiehowie was never the same. The brainless clone had no remaining personality. Wowiehowie was too agreeable. He didn't seem to have a soul. He would walk off a bridge if he was asked and of course he repeatedly was. But he would come back the next day just as lifeless and bland as before. That mad chicken did kill him, at least the real him.



Chapter Twenty-Three : The Drift

Another regular day at school. It was a Tuesday. The weather had drastically changed over the last few days with the first heavy snow of winter. The skies cleared up and it was slightly cold and partly cloudy. Simsam walked home down a blanket of snow five inches above the dirt road. He was heading towards the glaring demon goat and the sister witches house. He realized he'd never actually seen the sister witches. He wasn't even sure how he'd heard about them in the first place.

He stopped for a minute and took a look around. He'd barely examined anything around the creepy house before. He was always too afraid of the goat and the witches to stop and look.

He stared into the space between the two GMC pickups then slowly scanned the area. The grass and weeds had been chomped down to the ground through the snow in random areas. The entire landscape surrounding the trucks had only a few trees, yucca plants, and a cactus left uneaten. There was only one single wide trailer house behind the two trucks. It had a long horizontal window across the front with dirty tan and brown curtains completely closed. It didn't look like anyone had been in or out in years. There were no footprints in the snow or a path to the front door tucked inside a small wooden deck patio. The back door didn't have steps and was obviously unusable unless someone was willing to jump or crawl three feet up to get inside.

There stood a dying juniper tree in the middle of the road. The snow covered embossed the shape of the dirt road split around it on both sides like a roundabout. The only sign of life was the demon goat who suddenly jumped on top of one of the old pickup trucks with a scrape and a clang. Snow powder floated like dust and sparkled in the sunshine as it slowly settled. The goat squinted and drove its piercing yellow eyes into Simsam while it weirdly lifted up his left front leg like it was trying to point.

Simsam took that as an unnerving sign to get going. He looked down at the bright white blanket of snow covering the dirt road and started walking. He forgot to breathe until he rounded the corner out of the goats line of sight. Everything was okay.

Simsam looked down the road in front of him. Suddenly he was startled and gasped as he saw the demon goat a few feet ahead on the right, just to the side of the dirt road. It just appeared out of nowhere and it was close. Closer than it had ever been before. The goat was staring directly at him breathing puffs of fog in the chilled air. Simsam made a wide half circle to the other side of the road. He walked slower, then faster as he passed the goat. "That was weird" he thought, "Damn demon goat!".

Minutes later he was focusing on the ground as his mind was mostly blank. He'd almost forgotten about the encounter as he continued on his path. He was distracted and entertained by pillows of snow falling from high tree branches and poofing onto the ground until he came up on the road that went towards Marguerita's home. Now the demon goat stood on the road to Simsam's, blocking his way home. Simsam stopped. He didn't know what to do. He was frozen in his snow covered boots.

The demon goat slowly backed up, just barely staying in sight. The Sun dimmed as it hid behind the clouds. Simsam started walking again, slowly. As he got closer to the split in the road the goat backed up even further. But when Simsam was at the point of turning one way or the other, the goat walked forward heading Simsam off. So he started going towards the neighbor Marguerita's house. When he'd passed his own road the demon goat was behind him urging him on. Herding him like a sheepdog.

The last time he'd gone down that road he discovered the abandoned horses. He had a feeling that nothing good could happen down that road but he kept going because the goat was insistently guiding him.

As he walked in front of the little blue house with light blue trim he stumbled and veered off of the road. The ruts were more shallow since that road was untraveled. It wasn't clear where the road even was. Simsam could feel his feet losing traction. His boots were sliding in slow motion like a pair of skis. He tried to turn and get above the slope but he slid further down into a snow filled ditch. He knew exactly where he was because he had memorized almost every square inch of the land exploring in the summertime. He knew he was about seven feet deep in a drainage ditch next to the dirt road that led into a creek. He could see the steam from the hot spring in the distance. He was in a snow drift somewhere in between the ditch and the creek in the deepest part. He must've made some noise as he slid and fell in because within a few minutes Marguerita was standing above the pit giggling and asking if he was okay.

She told him to wait there and she would get him out. He thought, "Where am I going to go?" She returned and tossed in a rope. It was a short rope and landed with a puff next to his boot. Marguerita scratched her nose and said, "Dangit, I figured that was longer". She told him to hang on and returned in a few minutes with an aluminum ladder. She slid it down and Simsam easily climbed out.

She told him to come inside and then made him some hot chocolate. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. Not too hot and the perfect chocolate to milk ratio with just a dollop of whipped cream floating like a little duck poop in a puddle of cream.

Simsam was sitting at a tiny square table in front of the big kitchen window. The red white and blue curtains were tied open with a bow that matched the tablecloth. The Sun happily gleamed across the snow covered yard. There were birds standing together in the tall leafless trees. There was a long black cat with a fluffy tail stretched across the top of a small couch in front of a warm crackling fire in the fireplace. The ceiling was made of bare pine logs and the walls were covered in bright wallpaper with subtle images of pots and herbs. It was cozy. It was warm, and it felt like the safest place on Earth.

Marguerita offered a shortbread cookie before sending him back home. She told him he was welcome to visit anytime. Then said, "That goes for my sisters too. They're always there if you need em’- don't never go nowhere. Just go right on up and knock on the door. Mind the goat though, it can be a might honery, but it's just playin'. Might knock you down once or twiced but then it'll leave you be. We'll be looking out for ya!"

About halfway home, Simsam deduced from all that, that she was the sister witches sister. How was she so nice? What about the demon goat? What about the witches?

He realized maybe he didn't know what he thought he knew.


Chapter Twenty-Four : Butcher Botchers

It was Springtime again and Simsam's father had the idea to eat his prized steer. But first he would have to kill it. Jibberty bought a book with instructions earlier that winter and was looking forward to another simple task of pioneering self sustainability.

Without having any previous experience slaughtering an animal, Jibberty Flinbernaut thought it wise to involve his friend and neighbor, Boogur Sleeze who also had no knowledge or experience of the proper way to execute food. 
One frosty early Friday morning on the long Memorial Day weekend, the two bumbling idiot self proclaimed farmers met at the corral to begin the project. Boogur Sleeze brought his rifle, a 
.22 caliber, and Jibberty brought a brand new slaughtering knife. It was gleaming and shimmering metal, sharp as a razor blade and safely holstered in its sheath attached through a belt loop on his brand new denim jeans.

Simsam took a seat in his wooden wagon with removable sides. He was curious and perfectly positioned to see the process involved with the beginnings of meatloaf. He even had a pillow to sit on in the wagon to make himself more comfortable. His father and neighbor were unaware of the relaxed single audience member camped out on the dirt road sixty-four feet away.

As the morning light grew brighter and the fog from their breath went away, they stood together for eighteen minutes pointing and discussing their strategy. Finally they decided they could place some hay on the ground in front of them, then as the steer approached, they could shoot it in the head.

Simsam's pony was cautiously hiding at the far end of the corral, trying staying out of any danger. Charlie Horse had been the bovine's corral mate since his arrival almost a year earlier sharing the same hay bails and keeping each other company. They weren't close friends but they did watch out for predators and keep each other safe. Charlie Horse would definitely feel the absence of the steer.

The bait was set. Simsam could see the nervousness of the two men. The steer walked in slow motion to the hay on the ground as Boogur Sleeze raised and aimed his rifle. They were standing twenty-four feet in front of the execution victim when he fired the shot. Pop! At the same exact moment, the tall hat on top of Boogur Sleeze's head fell to the ground behind him. The steer didn't seem to notice anything. It shook its head and kept on eating the delicious alfalfa hay. Boogur Sleeze picked up his tall hat and discovered a single bullet hole on the top edge. Jibberty's eyebrows raised in shock as they both realized Boogur Sleeze's bullet bounced off of the steer's head and came back at him. After a moment of contemplation, Boogur Sleeze went back to his cabin to get a much bigger gun.

He returned with a big pistol and the two men set up the alfalfa trap again and waited patiently for the slow moving steer to come and nibble away. The pistol sounded like a canon. Boom! It echoed through the distant sandstone canyon. Simsam jolted out of his wagon onto the dirt road as the steer fell instantly flat to the ground. It looked like gravity suddenly increased under the steer at the precise moment he was unplugged from life. It was instantly drawn to the Earth with a powerful magnet. Dead. Very, very dead. With its eyes wide open and salivating tongue hanging loosely in the dirt making mud and getting filthy. Blood dribbled from both its nostrils.

Charlie Horse was spooked on the other side of the corral kicking up dust and pacing along the back fence. Simsam was sitting on the ground in a daze while the two men flamed in pride, patting each other on the back and commenting on how the big gun sure did the job. The murder was over.

Simsam got closer as he watched Jibberty tie a cable to the dead steer's rear legs and slowly drag it across the dirt with a come-a-long winch leaving a trail of blood pooling in a wiggly line floating on top of the dirt refusing to blend. The men took turns cranking the winch by hand, eventually hanging the steer upside down from a tall rafter in the corral shelter.

Boogur Sleeze noticed Simsam watching and pointed and ordered him to fetch a galvanized aluminum water trough. Boogur Sleeze carefully slid it under the dead hanging steer as Jibberty took out his knife and slowly slit the bovine's throat. Blood drained out like motor oil, fast, then slower, filling the pan to overflowing.

Boogur Sleeze frantically drug the spilling pan across the corral and dumped it at the edge then quickly brought it back and placed it under the continually blood streaming steer.

It was all so dramatic and happening so quickly. Simsam didn't have time to think anything about any of it so he simply didn't. There was nothing unusual about not thinking.

They all decided to take a break and get a glass of iced tea while the rest of the blood drained from the corpse.

Fifty-three minutes later they returned. The skinning commenced by removing the hide and exposing the naked layer of raw muscle, nerves, and veins. It was time consuming and meticulous, so Jibberty gave the knife to Simsam to slice away for hours as he checked on his sports highlights in the newspaper comfortably inside the house.

It was oddly satisfying. A slight pull on the hair covered hide and a touch of the shimmering blade at the crease of the connecting filmy membrane. Slicing through a super thin layer of moist white fat. It was like it wanted to be stripped away, giving in with every soft tug, tearing like a craft paper sky with a crisp satisfying sound. The smell of iron from the blood mixed with the warm sunshine on his back made him feel comfortable and content. There was a slight tingling sensation in his brain. It was quiet beyond the slightest ruffle of brand new leaves in the treetops, swaying in the elevated breeze. For a little while he was inseparable from the corpse of the steer. One group of molecules joined with another. It felt like the most natural thing on Earth.

At two-sixteen in the afternoon Simsam was hungry and went inside for a sandwich. His mother prepared two slices of bleached white bread with a spoonful of wheat germ and apple butter. She offered to toast the bread first but got distracted by a bird outside the window and purposely forgot.

Boogur Sleeze and Jibberty went back out to the corral to keep working on their afternoon project. Jibberty took an ax to remove the cow's head. Simsam finished his sandwich and walked out towards the corral. But before he reached the corral the two men began yelling in distress. They were running towards the house, passing by Simsam, almost knocking him over as Tangerine opened the door to see what was going on. The men abruptly stopped and started checking each other over while catching their breath and laughing. Just then an overwhelming bomb of a stench hit Simsam across the face. It was the most disgusting smell he'd ever experienced. It was as if the colorless odor had the power to envelop the outdoor air for a thousand square miles and linger for twenty thousand years, stripping the paint off of cars and houses before traveling upwards to become a toxic layer of the ionic atmosphere.

The stupid men went into the house and washed their hands and toweled off. They explained to Tangerine that they were cutting away at the steer, removing the organs, when something made a hiss sound followed by a rancid vomit inducing smell. "What was it?" asked Tangerine as Jibberty thumbed through his slaughtering handbook for dummies manual. He ignored her completely. Boogur Sleeze sniffed his shirt and gagged then left to go home and clean up.

Simsam came running back into the house gasping for air just as his father condescendingly asked if he'd done his chores. Simsam turned around, held his breath, and headed back outside to feed the chickens and the now very lonely horse enveloped in the stench. The repulsive oder surrounded him and ate at his soul for the next thirty-seven and a half minutes.

The manly pheromones of the day had a sexualizing effect on Tangerine and she desired the enthralled touch of her manly beast, so she sent her only offspring to stay with the neighbor ignoring any instinctual signs of malice.

Simsam gathered his few things and hiked through the fading repulsive smell across the dirt road to the all too familiar cabin. Boogur Sleeze had prepared miniature pizzas and wedges of lime. It was tequila night. The happiest of the happy juices.

The usual party scene commenced. The twenty-eight year old and the nine year old drinking tequila shots with salt and lime chasers. Boogur Sleeze told dirty jokes and then had to explain them. It was a lot like school except a lot more wild and entertaining. The syllabus included the explanation of curse words, sex education, and scientific alcohol tolerance exercises.

Simsam partially woke up in the middle of the night. There was moonlight shining through a tear in the black plastic covered window in the bedroom illuminating a half open closet door. He didn't wonder where he was although he didn't know, but instead focused on the door. It was just like the door in his room. Brown plastic with fake wood designs. Maybe he was in his room he briefly thought, but he wasn't. He stared into the darkness of the door. A deep darkness seemed to appear in the center. He could see the faces again. They were looking at him and then at each other. They were talking to each other but there wasn't any sound. Soon they disappeared and faded away into the depths of the darkness. Simsam fell backwards onto a ruffled pillow and fell back asleep unaware of the naked snoring twenty-eight year old man next to him.


Chapter Twenty-Five : The Boring

The next week at school, Simsam couldn't stay focused on much. His mind seemed to be constantly drifting. Thinking about his toy car, his horse, the chickens, the stench of a sacrificial steer, and how strange it was that one insane chicken violently murdered Wowiehowie, plucking at his head until it exploded. Yet some version of Wowiehowie was still around although he didn't speak much and seemed distant. He acted as if nothing had happened and they didn't even know each other. Simsam was too embarrassed to say anything or try to smooth things over. Plus Wowiehowie's parents still death-glared at Simsam every time they saw him and the little sister would aggressively point.

The dramatic killing of the steer was hard to forget. Simsam's father finally discovered in his murder book that he cut into the animal's gallbladder, stomach, and intestines, and completely ruined the meat. It was toxic with bacteria and unusable. The completely wasted hanging steer was gone after two days but the subtle stench lingered for over a week. It was never spoken about again.

His father also decided to abruptly sell Charlie Horse. Simsam had three days before the horse was going to be trailered away. He spent all three afternoons walking with him outside the corral on a lead rope. Jibberty showed his son the fifty dollars he got for Charlie Horse and said it was his college fund and put it in his own pocket while making direct eye contact at him without blinking.

Simsam was remembering the faces in the closet doors. First in his own bedroom then while he was staying at Boogur Sleeze's place. The faces looked familiar but he didn't know them. He couldn't put the pieces of his missing memories together but he had a deep feeling something wasn't right. He remembered that night he woke up and he wasn't in his sleeping bag. He vaguely remembered being in the same bed as Boogur Sleeze but didn't remember how he got there. He remembered all the times he woke up without his pajamas on. And he was starting to wonder if the happy juice was also a forgetting juice since he could never remember much after he stayed over at Boogur Sleeze's cabin. His private parts always felt funny after he woke up too. Sometimes the skin was clammy and raw but he didn't know why.

He was thinking about the day he fell into the snow drift and how Marguerita threw down a rope. He suddenly remembered the rope was just like the one in his dream when Knoname and the Supersonic Rescue Pony fell in the trap. He thought he remembered that the witches were actually Marguerita's sisters but wasn't sure if that was in a dream. Sometimes the lines of dreams and reality were unclear and crossed over each other.

The days blurred together. The only markers of time were the holidays and the drastically changing seasons.

It was summer again now and the days were warm. Simsam finally made a friend on the school bus. One Baskanath boy the same age and in the same class started sitting next to him. He was curious about Simsam's Annoranjay heritage but Simsam knew absolutely nothing about himself or where he came from. His friend was named Keevyn. The daily school and school bus beatings slowed to weekly beatings since Keevyn started sitting next to him. It was a nice change but sort of boring.


Chapter Twenty-Six : No Birthday Birthday

The dreams continued. Sometimes they happened during the daytime at school or on the bus. Sometimes they would even happen on the walk home from the bus stop, but mostly they happened at night. Simsam was ten years old now and was very used to them. They didn't happen every day but on average about three a week.

He missed his own birthday by a week. He only realized it when he found a birthday card in his sock drawer from when he was five. Obviously there wasn't any kind of party or acknowledgement for his tenth.

Simsam thought of the dreams as his own little TV inside his mind. Especially since his family still didn't have one. The episodes were always unique and random but the plot was always basically the same. Knoname Legynd and the Supersonic Rescue Pony always saved the day. He felt like he might actually be Knoname Legynd and Charlie Horse was The Supersonic Rescue Pony.

One story was about rescuing wild bison from being driven off a deadly cliff by strange men with funny hats and blue suits riding tall horses also in blue suits. The heroes turned the stampede of bison around and ran over the bad guys, trampling them flat, leaving them dead and bloody and covered in a cloud of dust.

Many of the stories were about the nemesis, Darclee Slive and foiling his dastardly plans. Like the one where Darclee tried to blow a gigantic hole in the ground with dynamite causing the entire school to sink. It was easy to spoil his evil plan since Knoname and the Supersonic Rescue Pony replaced the dynamite with red tubes filled with baby powder before Darclee even started planting them. Most of the dream was just Darclee wasting his time as the heroic team sat and watched.

The sleepovers continued at Boogur Sleeze's cabin and Simsam was starting to understand that Boogur Sleeze was getting him blackout drunk, undressing and touching him. It was strange and hard to understand but he assumed, like so many other things, that this kind of thing just happened. If there were ever any questions, Boogur Sleaze would casually and quietly say it was completely normal and natural but to keep it their own private secret. Simsam just became immune and accustomed to the routine.

Simsam realized that he could see the faces that watched him almost anywhere. They lived in the darkest places. He saw them at school once during a power outage while he was at the sink in the restroom. They were inside a black metal paper towel dispenser. All they ever did was silently talk to each other and look around.

Simsam's mother got a part time job at a religious school for strictly Baskanath people. He thought it was odd that her job was at a place where there were children. She would sometimes forget to feed Simsam dinner or wash his clothes for school. He had to remind her often that he was still there.

His father continued to mostly ignore him. He was still focused on sports and was now an assistant to the assistant coach at the women's basketball team in town. He only spoke to Simsam when there was a chore to be done or he wanted to practice a tasteless joke.


Chapter Twenty-Seven : Big Snow

Winter had arrived again and it was harsh. The temperature dropped to seventeen below zero every night and barely made it up to twenty-eight in the daytime. It was bitter cold for weeks and made it miserable to walk home from the bus stop.

Simsam's toes were blue whenever he got home and took off his boots. His face was red and blistered for hours before his circulation returned. It had only slightly snowed twice so far. Less than two inches barely covered the ruts in the dirt road. Simsam would cut new trails to follow on the way home, being careful to not fall into another deep drift.

Sometimes the water would freeze and his father would go out to the well house and plug in space heaters. It would usually blow a fuse and be frozen again by morning.

One afternoon it had snowed heavily all day and all the night before. There were three and a half feet on the ground and snow still falling. The bus was slipping and sliding all the way to school. At one point there was a line of cars and pickups trying to make it up an icy hill. People were outside of their pickup trucks bouncing on the rear bumpers to get traction. The bus driver decided to floor it and go off the highway, passing all the struggling vehicles on the right and blasting them with a tidal wave of snow. The mean and horrible students all cheered with excitement and laughter as the bus fishtailed through the deep snow at sixty-six miles and hour. It was the closest thing to an amusement park any of them would ever experience.

After a half school day, Simsam eventually got off at his bus stop and started the long walk home. The snow was getting heavier. Large flakes surrounded Simsam like a giant curtain. He couldn't see the shadows or softly covered ruts in the dirt road and stopped to get his bearings. It was concerning.

A moment later he could see a pair of headlights in the distance. They bobbed and bounced through the wall of snow heading towards Simsam. He could hear the tires spinning and fighting for a grip as it got closer. It was coming straight for him. Simsam quickly powered through the snow and stepped out of the way. It was his father in the big green pickup truck. He yelled out, “Dad!”

The pickup kept going, fighting to stay in the ruts of the dirt road beneath. The fading red tail lights disappeared into the white void. Simsam followed the fresh tracks of his father's truck all the way home.

When he arrived, he brushed the frozen snow off of his stiffened boots and left them by the door. He walked through the kitchen hoping his mother would be making a pot of boiling water for her afternoon tea on the stove so he could make himself a hot chocolate but there wasn't anyone there. His father was in the living room chain smoking cigarettes and listening to a football game on the little gray transistor radio through static with the volume all the way up while thumbing through the newspaper sports section. His mother was reading in bed cuddled up in a mountain of blankets.

Simsam took off his socks, exposing his blue toes, removed all his wet clothes and put on his pajamas. He was shivering for twenty-nine minutes under the covers before he fell asleep.


Chapter Twenty-Eight : The Capture and the Kill

That night he had a dream. There was a strange diffused white glow all around him. There was no top, bottom, or sides. There wasn't any sound. It was a sensory deprivation dream, like an overexposed silent film.

He could see a red light far away. As he moved closer he saw a dark spot moving from side to side. It had short stubby arms and legs. The same one from an earlier dream. He could see a big hole in the ground again. This time as he approached he could see down into it. He could see his father at the bottom, standing with his hands on his hips and his mother sitting with her legs crossed. They weren't upset or even talking. They looked like they were just waiting.

In the distance he could hear someone screaming. It was a man's voice pleading, “Nooo, please stop. I'll stop! It won't happen again!”

Simsam stepped back as the dark spot came closer. The begging man was trapped inside the spot, curled up and slightly mangled. Simsam recognized the man as he was ejected into the pit, landing at the bottom with a thwack sound. It was Boogur Sleeze and he'd fallen on Simsam's mother, breaking her into three separate pieces. She didn't seem to mind at all while she put herself back together. Jibberty Flinbernaut just stood and observed, shaking his head.

Suddenly a large hollow tube striped like a barbershop pole fell out of the empty space above and flat on the ground. Mud and rocks and gravel and bones started spilling into the hole from the tube burying the three people alive. They started to scream and beg for their lives but were silenced one by one. Boogur Sleeze was the last screaming voice.

It suddenly was peaceful and calm and the white nothingness surrounding the strange world started to fade away, merging into a sunlit field of grass covered rolling hills and colorful fruit filled trees.

Simsam woke up the next morning feeling refreshed and rested. He went to the bathroom, peed, washed his hands, and brushed his teeth. He bounced into the kitchen as sunshine beamed through the window. It was oddly quiet. He was just about to look for his parents when there was a soft knock on the door. Simsam stepped carefully, not to get his feet wet in the pools of melted snow on the linoleum floor and looked through the frost covered french windows on the door.

It was Marguerita. She was holding a wicker basket with a red and white checkered cloth over it. Simsam opened the door and let her inside. She said, “Well there there kiddo. How about some toast and strawberry jam before you pack up everything you ever want and come live with me”

Simsam thought about asking questions, but instead he basked in the thought of enjoying toast and strawberry jam. Marguerita made him feel at ease and safe. She waited patiently while he savored every bite, never taking her eyes off of Simsam. She had a subtle, kind, smile that felt like home.

After a few moments of crunching noises, she said,” You know I had my sister's keepin’ an eye on you”.

Crunch crunch crunch

“We was waiting for the right time to come get you”.

Crunch crunch swallow

“You mighta’ seen em’ in the dark. They told me what that bad man was doin’ and how yer folks was treatin’ you. Want some chocolate milk?”

“Mmm hmm” Simsam muttered.

Marguerita poured Simsam a glass of milk with a very generous helping of her own special chocolate mix she had in her basket and stirred while staring blankly out the kitchen window. ”I reckon you'll be alright from here on. You can stay with me as long as you like. Least til you get some college learnin…if you want it”.
Simsam spoke as chocolate milk accidentally spilled out of his mouth, “Yes ma'am”.

After he ate his toast and drank up the best tasting chocolate milk he'd ever had in his whole life, she told him to pack up but also to take his time. She didn't want him to forget anything. He scurried away and got his stuff together.

She loaded his belongings into a big red suburban and they drove away leaving his home behind forever. Simsam couldn't hold his curiosity any longer as the suburban rumbled up the dirt road.

“What happened to my parents?” He asked. Marguerita told him that they'd been replaced but not to worry, no one would ever notice.

As they turned onto the road towards Marguerita's home, Simsam noticed a car going towards his parents house. Inside it he could see Wowiehowie's parents driving and the little sister in the middle.

In the back seat were Simsam's parents and Boogur Sleeze. They looked different. They were somewhat jellyfish-like. Pasty and slightly transparent. They had no expression looking straight ahead as the car turned down the road.

The little girl pointed at Simsam as Wowiehowie’s parents hesitantly waved at Marguerita. She didn't respond other than a slight glance and continued driving home.


The End

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