A Strange Day in July

Since Squid Stories has resurfaced, most of what I've done is polish up old material. Thanks to an extensive, yet efficient editorial process (Thanks, Jess), they are quickly ready for posting. Then I stumbled across the Mysteries of Harris Burdick buried in the depths of my poor laptop. The author and illustrator, Chris Van Allsburg, originally intended the Mysteries for children, which is probably why they speak to me so strongly. So yesterday I began to delve into the Mysteries.

            The bright sun filtered through the sheer curtains, dappling the entire bed in a stippled pattern. A light breeze kept the curtains dancing causing the light to pulse through the room. A faint crash downstairs broke the hush. Archie’s eyes snapped open. I’ve overslept! he thought.

            After a brief struggle with the sheets, Archie was up and moving, a miniature whirlwind. He absorbed a pair of pants and socks as he tore a path to the door, where he snagged the shirt that was hanging from the doorknob. Less than ten seconds elapsed from when his eyes opened to his departure from his room.

            The stairs passed in a blur. His first stop was the kitchen for supplies. The old knapsack was propped up next to the counter where he had dropped it last night. He opened the scuffed top flap and started scooping in cookies and crackers.

            “Make sure you’re back before dark,” Archie glanced at his mom. Her attention was still focused on the newspaper in front of her face. Mom Radar was a well-established fact in the Burdick family, but it still caught Archie off guard at times.

            “Can I have some trail mix?” he asked, hopeful.

            “Yes, you can.” Archie stood waiting. Then he remembered.

            “May I have some trail mix?” Without looking up, his mother set her coffee cup on the table and pointed to the cupboard under the sink. Eagerly, Archie opened the cupboard and saw a small bag of trail mix next to a bottle of dishwashing soap.

In an effort to make the trail mix last more than three hours, Archie’s mother had divided up the stash into smaller bags and hidden them around the house. Both Archie and his father were under constant surveillance when they were in the house, otherwise they would start snooping, hunting for another bag. Mom Radar and Sister Alarm had caught them scavenging several times already that summer.

            Provisions properly prepared, Archie hefted the knapsack and crossed into the hallway. “Before dark, Archie,” followed him as he approached the door. As he knelt to lace his shoes he heard the stampede.

            “Aaaarrrchiiiiiee! Wait for meeee!” only a few notches below full Sister Alarm, Abby came crashing down the stairs. Only one year separated the siblings, but Archie sometimes felt like he was a hundred years older. Somehow though, during summers at the cabin, it was okay to have her along. He allowed her to be his sidekick, but had to be careful. If he snapped at her for anything, she would quickly become an albatross around his neck. It was good to have company though, so he waited.

            “Did you get some trail mix?” she asked, breathlessly as she buckled her shoes.

            “Yup. You ready?” Abby reached up and pulled her headband from the pegboard next to the door. The keys to the boatshed were gone; their father was surely out fishing already. She pulled the headband over her head, positioned it to make sure her hair stayed away from her face then nodded.

            The pair burst out the door. July was in full bloom. The sun fell upon the jade fir trees, sparkled off the sapphire lake, imbuing everything it touched with the magic of summer.

            Archie reached the boathouse first, stopping just long enough to pick up his sword, he continued past the open, empty building and sped down the dock. Abby was only a few steps behind, also armed.

            “Blackbeard takes no prisoners!” Sword held high above his head, Archie turned back to face his sister. She was positioned with her feet squarely planted on the dock, fists on her hips, sword poking from her right hand.

            “Neither does Admiral Hook!” she retorted, giving herself a promotion. Without another word, at least none that would be recognized as such by anyone older than eight, the battle commenced. Thrusts and parries were exchanged with an impressive rapidity. Their namesakes would have been proud of the miniature pirates.

The blades swiped through the air until Abby’s sword broke with a dull crack. A piece of the stick went clattering into the lake. There was a flash of triumph in Archie’s eyes. He stood back, graciously giving the defeated foe room to grieve. “Ye must walk the plank, Lassie Hook,” he intoned seriously.

            Abby looked up at her brother, clutching the stump of her sword. Defiance radiated out from her every pore. It was not her disposition to be compliant. “Nuh-uh, I get another sword. Those are the rules.” She stamped her foot for good measure.

            Rolling his eyes, Archie gave in, “Fine, we can find you another one at the fort.” He knew it was too early in the day to not let his sister slide by on some things, although it certainly not a rule that you got a new sword if yours broke. It was clearly her fault for selecting a poor weapon.

            Without any further discussion, they both took off running. On the way to the fort they tracked dinosaurs, discussed the pros and cons of laces versus Velcro, and found a snakeskin twelve feet long. Once at the fort, they found a new sword for Abby, but united to keep a watch for outlaws in the woods. They defended the fort from ogres and giants, throwing acorn grenades and pinecone bombs.

            A short break to feast on trail mix and crackers, followed by a cookie dessert was uninterrupted by the herds of spiders surrounding the fort. A brief food coma nap was ended by the screech of an eagle, or perhaps a hungry griffin chick, or was it called a cub? They launched an investigation. Their efforts were checked short by a massive liger that the mother had left behind to guard her chicks, or cubs. The slavering monster chased them all the way down to the lake.

            Once at the shore, they convened the defense council. They had lost the liger a little ways back and they had time to call for help. All present agreed that the best course of action was to summon the kraken. The decision made, action was immediately taken. If only all committees could be so effective. Admittedly, none are better motivated.

            Quickly, both of them scooped up rocks and commenced the summoning process. It is a delicate procedure, often undertaken in ignorance, which explains the occurrence of many mysterious and tragic accidents. Thus, it was with grave dignity that the duo began skipping rocks.

            It soon became apparent that Archie was the better skipper, doubtless a result of his experience piloting his own pirate ship. Invariably, every stone that Abby chucked into the lake struck water with a plunk and sunk. She tried an offhand toss, which made a different kind of plunk sound when it struck a tree behind her. The council reconvened, tasks were reassigned.

            Abby combed the beach for the best skipping rocks and brought them back to Blackbeard. She would supervise a couple throws and then resume the hunt, expanding her search radius. Archie kept up a steady effort, never producing more than five or six skips. It wasn’t sufficient to summon the kraken, but it was just enough to keep the intimidated liger at bay. It was buying them time.

            “These are the best of the best of the best,” Abby declared. She held her hands out, palms together, open to the sky. Resting there were four stones. Two were black shards of shale, one was the shape of a flat egg, a strange mint-green color. The last one was the holy grail of skipping stones. It was perfectly circular, had a thickness that gave it heft, but not too much weight. The taupe rock fit nicely in his hand when he plucked it from his sister’s hands.

            “This is the one,” he said in awe. “Kiss it.” He held it out to Abby, who gave it a peck. For good measure he blew on it. He had seen a man do the same thing with dice in a movie once, presumably to blow off the cooties of the woman who had kissed them first. Archie saw no reason to take chances.

            With the liger roaring from the tree line, Archie drew his arm back and let loose in a beautiful sidearm throw. The stone skipped once…twice…three times…four…five…six—and then it took a sharp right turn and disappeared. Archie’s shoulders slumped. Uncertain, Abby turned to her brother.

            “Was that enough?” Archie shook his head. Now there were only three chances left. Dejected, he threw the two pieces of shale. They were both too thin and flaky. One flew a hundred feet in the air after the first skip. Impressive, but unhelpful. The second broke into three pieces on the second impact. Without a single scrap of hope remaining, Archie tossed the third stone.

“That was the third rock I picked up today. I was saving it,” Abby said meekly. It skipped five times.

“I wish I could have it back,” Archie said ruefully. “I think I could do it if I only had another chance.” Disconsolate, he started walking along the waterline, wondering what the inside of a liger would look like. Eyes downcast, he feared what it would smell like. Then he saw it.

That green color was unmistakable, as was the eggy shape. The rock that he had just thrown was sitting on the beach in front of him. He picked it up. Walking behind him, Abby only got a glimpse of it once it was in his hands.

“You didn’t throw it?” she asked, puzzled.

“No, I did.”

“Then why are you holding it?”

“I just picked it up.”

“You got it back! Just like you wanted!” Abby clapped her hands excitedly.

“I didn’t want this one back, I meant the first one. The grey one. Brown. The rocky colored one.”

“Oh, well, you should have been more specific. Mom always says so. Say what you mean.” Archie glared at her. Then he cast his gaze out to the lake. It had been a pretty normal day so far, but now something was different. The afternoon sun glinted off tiny waves. A gentle breeze moved the trees ever so slightly. The sound of liger saliva dripping into the sand crept ever closer. But there was also something strange.

Archie drew a deep breath and faced the lake square on. He threw with all his might, but the third stone came skipping back. Its roundtrip completed, the rock landed in front of his feet, innocently waiting to be thrown again. Archie looked at Abby. Abby looked at Archie. Abby smiled first.

“Was that enough skips?” A grin started to grow on Archie’s face, too.

“Oh, most definit—” The jaws of the liger clamped down, engulfing both of the Burdick children. They were rudely swallowed and landed with twin splashes in the depths of the beast.

Before they had a chance to explore, however, an enormous splat sounded above their heads. They looked up and saw light shining through ropes of liger juice. The head with the giant mouth that had gulped them up was gone. The heavy liger body crashed onto the beach, lifeless. Archie and Abby crawled to the sand in time to see the kraken. Millions of purple tentacles waved in the air above the lake, the biggest one, at least as big around as the tree their fort was built in, was wrapped tightly around the liger’s head which was frozen in a silent snarl. With fascination they watched the head that had eaten them get lowered into the waiting beak of the kraken.

“The circle of life,” Archie said sagely. Abby nodded in agreement. They took off for home, stopping only to retrieve their swords from the fort, and once more to help the man in black save his flowery princess.

During dinner they listened to their father tell of the sixty-foot, eight-ton fish that he had caught that afternoon. He would have brought it home, he said, but the small rowboat had quickly begun to take on water, and he wasn’t sure he could make all the way home before sinking to depths.

Their mother showed off the completed newspaper crossword puzzle. One of the hardest in human history, she said. Then Archie and Abby regaled their parents with their adventures of the day.

Once the table cleared and the dishes clean by virtue of a family effort to defeat the garbage disposal creature, they practiced walking on stilts and shooting marbles with one eye shut.  Finally, tired from another full day, everyone shambled to bed.

Basking in the moonlight that was pouring through his open window, Archie saw that the mint-green egg rock lying on his pillow.