Authors: Aaron Starmer
But Martin didn’t want to try. All he wanted to do was read. That was the only thing he truly missed from his days alone on the island—stories, precise and contained, the type that answered your questions, the type that painted the world in simple strokes. Forget the ocean and the forest, the seaweed stink and the cold fog. Under his covers, with a stack of books by his side, he was home.
Blocking the entire world out was harder than that, though. The sound of the wind and the call of the chickadees still made it through the brick and glass. Chickadees rarely flew south in the winter. That was one of their defining characteristics, and Martin thought about that fact all too often. The chickadees were mocking him with their song, saying he was just like them—afraid to leave.
He
was
afraid. Too afraid even to leave the room. With the exception of his daily trip to the wooden crate, he stayed in bed. At night, he would use the dresser to barricade his door, because it locked only from the outside, and he was pretty sure he heard footsteps in the hall. They weren’t loud, but they were there, delicate and urgent and terrifying. At first he thought it might be Sigrid, but the steps weren’t those of a jogger. They shuffled too much. They were all stops and starts.
He wrote Darla a note.
Is anyone else coming to the hospital? I’ve been hearing footsteps in the hall
.
Don’t go all schizoid on me now, Maple. No one’s gotten within half a mile of that kook joint. Reading too many horror books, methinks. Going to switch you over to romance
.
Sometimes on the island he had wondered if he might end up going crazy. That seemed to happen to hermits in all the books he read. But during those lonesome years, he had never heard voices, or footsteps, or anything that might qualify as a hallucination.
Then again, he had never felt this much shame.
One evening, Martin found that the crate was empty. It had happened before. In the three and a half weeks that Martin spent in the hospital, Darla forgot to load the crate on two other occasions. Her excuses were convoluted and forgettable, and they didn’t matter really. Martin had stockpiled enough food and books to last.
This time was different. There was only one book left to get him through the night. The next day would be a dead zone, and he had only three choices. He could while away the hours listening to the wind and chickadees and letting his thoughts take over. He could risk going back into Xibalba, to the library, and loading up a backpack. Or he could try to locate some books right there in the hospital.
The footsteps usually only came at night. After careful consideration, he convinced himself that they were made by a raccoon or a fox that had dug its way into the hospital through the ductwork. So once morning came, he ventured out for some exploration. He started in the rooms losest
to his, but the books he found were ones he had already read—fantasy yarns, the Bible, some silly little tale about a seagull.
On the fifth floor, he hoped for better luck. He tore open drawers and thrust his hand under mattresses. He found a few magazines, which he wedged under his arm, but he knew they wouldn’t last him long.
By the time he reached room 512, he was almost ready to throw in the towel. The room was a bit odder than others he had seen, but that didn’t mean much. There were framed photos of a baby on the dresser, a stack of boxes in the corner, women’s dresses in the closet, a crudely formed wooden figurine hanging by a wire from the ceiling, and what looked like a dragon made of clay on the nightstand. Yet the strangest thing was that the bed was made. He had seen tidy beds in other rooms, but none of those rooms had so many decorations. It didn’t matter really, though. There weren’t any books, and that was all he cared about.
On his way to the door, he stopped to look at a painting on the wall. It was a colorful and absurd scene of armored men storming a beach on horseback while natives in elaborate headdresses rained spears down on them from colossal pyramids rising from a bordering jungle. In the background, there was a moored sailboat. The flag it flew was unmistakable. It was the Jolly Roger.
Martin lifted the painting off the wall to get a closer look. The wood felt flimsy, and the canvas thin, but the entire thing was much heavier than he had expected. He turned it over to see why. Tucked in the frame was a journal.
He’d seen this type of journal before, with a marbled black cover and a white label for writing your name. There
was nothing written on this one, but the edges of the pages were puffed up and warped and stained with sooty black fingerprints. He set the painting down and walked over to the bed. He sat on the corner, balanced the journal on his knee, and opened it. In messy black ink, the following was written:
The Life and Times of Kelvin Rice
Volume II
T
he curtains, chunky and powder blue and emblazoned with little cartoon ears of corn, defended the room from the light. Martin yanked them open and felt the early afternoon warmth cling to his face. He scooted back on the bed and got comfortable.
The journal was an absolute mess. Pages were stuck together and warped with water damage. The ink had bled everywhere, creating a gray broth with random fragments of legible text floating here and there. Throughout most of it, Martin could determine where one entry ended and another began, but it was nearly impossible to get a sense of when exactly they were written. They were just a sprinkling of thoughts and observations, completely open to interpretation.
… starting new with a new diary and a new life and a new world! That’s right!
Every! Stupid! Person! You turn on the TV and it’s static. Radio too. You scream your lungs out and no one can hear a damn thing. Swear. Scream your swears if you want. It happened. Look. Look!
… a pound of peanuts for dinner and drank a beer. Beer is gross, so I won’t be doing that again. I went to Marjorie’s room to make sure she wasn’t there. She wasn’t and that’s a good thing. It makes me mean I guess but there are so many times when I wished she was dead. This is better than dead. Wherever she is, they’re more able to handle her. I’ve never been able to. Isn’t that what loving someone is about, wanting the better thing for them? I could destroy things if I wanted. I could drive a car through the bowling alley. I’m not going to do that because I have been left here for a reason. To protect the world? Probably not. I did go to Tyler’s house. I put his clothes on his bed and I peed all over them and I smashed his computer and TV with a hammer. It felt okay to do that, but then, I can do anything I want
.
… put a sign up near the highway that said “Zombies keep out, no brains here.” Funny stuff, but jokes don’t work when there’s no one to …
… going out. I didn’t think about that. The water too. I guess those things don’t run on their own. I bet I could find a generator. You put gas in those and there’s lots of gas if you know how to siphon. I’ll need heat when the winter comes but that’s …
It was stupid for me to think I was the only one. I saw someone today
.
… like he’s my age. I want to follow him, but he’s up to something and I’m not sure it’s safe. He collects signs and books and other stuff. He burns them. He stacks them in Town Square and dumps gas on them. It stinks like nothing I’ve ever …
… a tiger. A tiger!
Since finding that first diary in his basement, Martin had wanted to know everything about Kelvin, but now he thought it might be best to put this book down. It had the potential to reveal things he wasn’t prepared to handle. He had operated under certain assumptions, and if those assumptions proved false, then it would be another deafening blow to the voice on his shoulder. But resistance, as they say, was futile. He dove back in.
… to my house with a statue of a lizard in its mouth. “You Have Been Summoned!”
That was written on it. You can’t make up that stuff. We met in the church. He was sitting in a puffy chair. A big lizard sat next to him. He told me there was work to be done. He was nice enough about it, polite and all that. His name is Nigel. He wants me to …
Nigel told me there will be others. He said he’s seen them out there. It’s taken a week or so to destroy everything that “needed to be destroyed” and he said I could name “our new kingdom.” Xibalba is what I came up with. He chuckled and he asked me if I knew what it meant. I told him it was the Mayan underworld. He told me it also meant “Place of Fear.” He had a bear with him when we were talking ab out this, so there was that …
… town this morning. He will make his entrance when the timing is right. He took the animals with him. I won’t miss him, but I don’t hate him. I really don’t
.
… is Trent and he seems like a good kid. It shocked him to see me, but we sat around in the church and he told me about how he got here. It was pretty wild. He seems wimpy and all, but he swam through a flooded subway tunnel! I told
him to stay and he decided to sleep in the McNallys’ house. It’s yours …
… once or twice a week. Lots of kids on bikes. One girl came in on a monster truck. She’s kind of nasty, but she’s smart and, you know, she drives a monster truck. I’m not great at being mayor or whatever, but they want to listen to me, so I started giving everyone jobs, based on what they’re good at. We should have plenty of fun, but I need to make up more rules. First things first. No one goes in the hospital. This is my place to get away from it all. This is my home away from …
… exactly like he said it would. We were leaving the church after doing the Arrival Stories for this crunchy girl named Gina. There was Nigel, waiting in Town Square with the tiger and the Komodo dragon and he pointed at me all serious and he said, “I will be talking to him and only him.” Then he walked up the hill and went inside Dr. Rubio’s house. The kids asked if I knew him and I told them I had never seen him in my life
.
I kissed four girls today, but not the one I really wanted to kiss. I’d like to bring her here and show her this room and tell her
the truth, but there are things you don’t tell when you are …
… Felix’s wacko plans. His Internet idea seems beyond strange, but Nigel told me to let him go ahead with it because it could prove useful. I call Felix plenty of terrible stuff and I’m not sure why I do it, but the kid bugs me more than …
… Green died right in her own bed. It took about two days and there was blood dripping out of her mouth and it was awful. Tiberia tried, but she couldn’t do a thing. Nigel was right on the money. It hurts me to wonder how on Earth he predicted it. He tells me over and over again that “sacrifices need to be made in order to have the world of our dreams.” Of our dreams? If he really thinks …
It was almost ten pages until the next set of legible entries. Martin held the smudged and dirty paper up to the light, but he couldn’t make out more than a few scattered words. When the entries were readable again, they seemed sloppier. It was as if each one had been written faster than the one before. He could see the anxiety in the ink and he could almost hear Kelvin’s voice, exactly as it sounded that night by the fire—wry, exhausted.
… and when I ask him where all this prophecy crap is getting us, he goes
full-on jerk and lectures me on leadership and power and how “the weak are here to serve the strong.” Kids used to be happy doing what they wanted for so long that I didn’t think it would end up like this. Now everyone’s getting nervous and arguments are starting. There hasn’t been a new Forgotten in almost a year. I think it’s finally time to do something. I got the Diggers together and told them about the mine shaft and they’re obsessed with it now. There are worse ideas than going down there and looking. For Marjorie’s sake, I should at least have a look. What’s wrong with …
… her a message in a bottle and she came and we hung out in my basement again and we stayed up for a long time talking about who we were and what we did before the Day. I told her that Xibalba was supposed to be the perfect place, a balsa world, popped out and glued to gether. Lane told me how mu ch she hated her family and so I pretended to hate Aunt Bonnie just as much, but I really don’t. Aunt Bonnie was there and that’s all and that’s fine. Not that I miss Aunt Bonnie. I miss her laugh, maybe. I miss Marjorie. More now than when I was alone. I don’t miss Tyler or school. I miss the
feel of being a kid and not making decisions that …
… swallows arrived fast and dark. I’m not sure how Nigel pulled that one off, but there has to be an explanation. Always seems to be. He gave me a bird-shaped clasp for my cloak and when I was leaving he told me that I’ll have to “take responsibility for my decisions.” What is that about? He can sit in his stinky zoo and blab in riddles and keep them all scared and docile, but he sure can’t control my decisions. I’m done with his garbage. I meet with the Diggers tonight and we pack for the …
… begging me not to go. She says she won’t be able to handle this place without me. I’m going anyway. I can always come …
I dumped water all over myself to clean off and I must have dumped it all over the journal and it’s like it’s wiping out my thoughts and erasing my past and telling me I never mattered. I’m worthless. A coward. I am a coward. A coward! They’re dead. All of them. I’m in this bed hugging the talisman that I made for Marjorie and I’m telling the demons that I want them out. Out! I want them gone for good
because I didn’t ask for this. The only thing I ever asked for was to be alone. But Nigel found me. He came to this room and I had to tell him what happened. I explained that I wasn’t there. I wasn’t even close. I was a hundred yards away, heading out, when it collapsed. Then I went back and there was nothing but rubble. Couldn’t even hear their screams anymore. Just like that. Just like that. Nigel didn’t seem pleased that he was right again and he didn’t judge me. He actually hugged me and he told me that I’ll have to wait a few days, to pretend like I was trapped in there, so it doesn’t seem like I abandoned them. I’ll have to take the blame, but he promised they’ll forgive me. As long as I go out into the world and find something to save us all. He said he’ll talk to Lane and give her a hopeful prophecy. And he said I should mark my trail to find my way back, because I have to go as far as the ocean. When I find it, I can return, and I’ll be welcomed as a hero. I asked him what “it” is. He said when I see “it,” I’ll know
.