           It was going to be a fresh start for our family. My parents had been scrimping and saving every penny for the last five years just so they could buy a piece of land in the country.            For as far back as I can remember, which is only the fifteen years of my life, we moved every few months from one dingy apartment to the next. It was the only life I knew. So, when my parents took my little sister, Jackie, and I on a road trip one weekend, I had no idea what to expect.

“K.K.” my mom said, (K.K. was short for Kevin Keith, my actual name.) “Did you remember to bring your camera along?”

Photography was my passion. I had a second-hand Nikon camera that my mom picked up at a yard sale when I was ten. It wasn’t digital like modern cameras; it was an old 35mm camera that you had to load with film. Once my dad showed me how to operate it, I was shooting pictures everywhere I went. That is, until my parents told me that I couldn’t have any more film unless I could pay for it and the developing myself. That deterred me a bit, but I never lost interest.            One Christmas, when I was thirteen, my parents surprised me with a brand-new digital camera. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a point-and-shoot, but it meant no more limits on how many pictures I could take.            All along the way, I snapped pictures as we drove. I took photos of houses, signs, barns, and I even caught a picture of a man picking his nose while we were stopped at a red light. The further away from the city we travelled, the more beautiful the pictures became. There were horses and cattle in the fields. I saw a crop-dusting plane flying over our car too, but when my dad stopped the car and said, “We’re here!”, that is when things really started getting interesting.            We sat parked in front of a beautiful two-story house with a huge yard. A mailbox sat on a post near the gate that read, “THOMPSON” on it. I looked to my parents, and they just smiled gleefully.

“So, what do you think?” asked mother.            Jackie replied, “It’s so pretty.” Her eyes were as big as golf balls.

“What about you, K.K.?”            “It’s pretty sweet,” I said nonchalantly as I snapped off more shots of the house.

“Kids,” my mother began, “this is our new home!”            “But, how?” I asked.

“With all of the money we saved up, your father and I were able to buy this property, and ever since then, your father and Uncle Rick have been working very hard to build this house.”

My sister and I looked at one another, then ran to our parents and wrapped our arms around them tightly. I never dreamed that we would ever live in a place this nice. We gathered up the bags that we brought with us and hurried to the front door. I was very excited to see what the inside looked like.            The interior of the house was even more eye-catching than the outside. The floors were all a red hardwood. My dad said it was hickory. There was a staircase leading from the foyer to the second floor, and past the staircase, was the kitchen. To the right of the foyer was a large living room with a great big window. I had never seen windows this big in the apartments we lived in. It reminded me of a storefront window.            The kitchen had cupboards to match the floors and a big, walk-in pantry for all the food and ingredients. To the right of the kitchen, was the dining room with a round table in the center with wooden chairs surrounding it.            We raced mom and dad up the stairs next and argued over who got the bedroom at the front of the house. When my parents heard what the argument was about, they quickly settled it by saying that the front bedroom was theirs. I settled for the room with the bigger bed while my sister was happy with the room with the larger closet.            My mom said that the rest of our belongings would be arriving the next day, so we would need to get a good sleep and be ready when the movers arrived the next day. My dad ran into town and picked up a pizza for us to eat for dinner, then it was straight to bed.            The next morning, I woke to a commotion outside my bedroom door. I sleepily dragged my tired legs across the floor and propped open the door just a crack. There were strange men walking around outside my bedroom. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I closed my door and sat up against it, hoping to keep them from opening it.            I heard a tapping on the door and jumped slightly, then my mom’s voice asked me if I was ready for breakfast. I told her that I would be right down. What a relief that was. I quickly threw on some clothes and hurried down the stairs, narrowly avoiding a collision with a burly man in blue overalls carrying my mom’s bedroom lamps that she loved so much.            I could smell the bacon and eggs before I ever entered the room, and it made my tummy growl loudly. It felt like I hadn’t eaten in days. My mom told me that the country air always makes you hungrier than the city air. She even cooked up some extra food for the men that helped move the furniture, which they gratefully accepted.            After everything was unloaded, the unpacking began. My mom helped Jackie in her room while I worked on my own room. My dad started with the kitchen and dining room. By dinner that night, everything was put away in its place, and we all sat down to watch a DVD. My sister’s choice was always the same movie, “The Little Mermaid”. I didn’t want to admit it, but I kind of liked it too. Scuttle, the seagull was always my favourite character.            Before the film finished, Jackie was already sleeping, so my dad carried her up to bed. My mom asked me to help her tidy up a bit before I headed up to bed too. As I was putting a box of popcorn back into the pantry, I noticed a light coming from behind the wall. I tried to figure out what was on the other side of that wall when my mom called out my name. I shut the pantry door and decided to check it out another time.            It was a few days later when my dad ran into town for some supplies and my mom was upstairs bathing Jackie, that I saw my opportunity to investigate. I looked inside the pantry to see if there was a door that opened to another room, but I couldn’t find anything. I then slipped on my shoes and snuck outside and around to the side of the house. I estimated where the pantry was located and looked for an entrance along that wall. All I could see was wood siding and a bunch of junk piled next to an old rowboat that my dad said he was going to fix up one day so we could go fishing.            I approached the boat and saw that it was fasten to the wall with bungee cords. I undid one of the bungee cords and pulled the boat away from the house. There behind it, was what appeared to be a door hidden by the lapboard siding. I undid the other cords and pulled the boat back some more for a better look. That was when I heard the distinct sound of my dad’s old 1980s Ford LTD Crown Victoria that he bought at a police auction. About every ten minutes or so, it would backfire. I quickly refastened the bungee cords and hurried back into the house before he pulled in the driveway.            My mom came down with Jackie soon after I walked in the door and kicked my shoes off. When my dad entered, my mom greeted him at the door with a kiss. That was when she saw my shoes tossed haphazardly across the floor with chunks of mud left in a mess around them. When she brought it to my attention, my dad gave me a strange look. It was if he knew what I was doing.            I apologized and cleaned up the mess, then went up to my room. I tried to read a novel, but my mind kept turning toward the hidden door. I tried to imagine what could be hidden behind it and wondered why my dad was trying to keep it a secret.            An hour had passed, and I heard a knock at my bedroom door. “Come in,” I called out. The door opened and my dad walked in, closing the door behind him.

“Can I talk to you, Kevin?” he asked.

“Sure dad, what’s up?” I responded with hesitation in my voice.

“Were you out by the side of the house today?”

I figured this was it. He caught me.

“Yes dad, I was.”            “Were you messing around with that boat, Kevin?”

I had to think fast.

“Well, kind of. I was checking it out to see what had to be done to it. I figured that you and I could work on it together. Can we do that. Dad?”

My dad stared at me silently for what seemed an eternity, then said,

“I think that’s a great idea, Kevin, but it may be a while before I have time to start on it. Do you mind waiting?”            “Of course not, dad. Whenever you are ready.”

He smiled and asked me to stay away from the boat for now because he claimed it could be damaged easily in its current condition. Then he messed up my hair, gave me a playful shove, then left the room. I sighed with relief.            It was weeks later before I had another opportunity to go outside by myself. My dad was gone into town again, and my mom was in the garden out back with Jackie. This time, I slipped on my dad’s work boots and walked out to the boat. I quickly undid the cords and laid the boat down on the ground. There was no handle that I could see on the door, so I started pulling around the edges where I thought the door was located. It wouldn’t budge.            I leaned up against the wall of the house while I tried to think of another solution, and that is when I heard a click. I stood back, and a section of the wall popped away from the rest of the house. I swung it open slowly and behind the door was a room about six feet by six feet. Along one wall sat a shelf with several DVDs and some magazines. At the back of the room sat a small table and a chair. On top of the chair was a laptop.            I grabbed one of the magazines and discovered pictures of young girls around my age on the cover. I skimmed through and saw that the girls inside were all naked. I quickly put the magazine back where I found it and ran back out of the room.            I stood there for a minute and pondered what I should do next. I decided to go tell my mom what I had discovered. I ran back to the garden as fast as I could in my dad’s oversized boots, and I called my mom over. I told her that she needed to go see what I found around the side of the house. Jackie tried to follow, but I told Jackie that I needed her help to plant seeds.            Five minutes later, my mom walked unsteadily around the corner of the house. She had a look of shock on her face. When I caught her attention, she told me to bring Jackie into the house. A few minutes later, she came in too.            We sat in the living room and waited silently, except for Jackie. She was oblivious to what was going on and played joyfully with her dolls by the fireplace. It wasn’t long before we heard that familiar sound like gunshots in the wind. My dad was home.            He walked in through the front door carrying several bags of groceries and a brown paper bag that he tried concealing inside his jacket, but both my mom and I saw it poking through.

“K.K., take Jackie upstairs, please. Your father and I need to talk,” she stated in a gruff voice.            I grabbed Jackie by the arm and told her to come with me. She argued stating that she wanted to play with her dolls. I gathered up her dolls and told her to go. She wanted to bring her dollhouse too, but I told her that she would have to get it later. Once we were upstairs, I heard my mom laying into my dad about the hidden room. I turned on the radio so Jackie couldn’t hear them argue.            The yelling began to increase and then I heard a shriek. I told Jackie to stay in her room and I went downstairs to see what happened. I saw my dad racing out the door and I rushed to the living room where I spotted my mom laying unconscious by the fireplace. The hem of her dress was sitting on hot embers and ignited. I grabbed her under the arms and pulled her away from the fireplace. The fire was beginning to spread on the lower part of her dress, so I began to hit it with a pillow that I grabbed off the couch. The pillow soon caught fire as well, so I threw it out of my hand before it burned me. I then rolled my mother’s body over until I was able to smother the fire.            That is when I saw the pillow that I threw away ignite the couch. I shook my mom and yelled out her name until she finally woke up. Jackie came down the stairs during the commotion, and I told her to wait by the front door. I helped my mom to the door, and we stood out in the driveway as the flames began to spread throughout the house.            When my mom was able to focus, she reached into her pocket, pulled out her cellphone, and called the fire department. By the time the police, fire and ambulance arrived, the house was almost completely engulfed in flames.            When the fire was finally out, the Fire Marshall inspected the burnt structure and came across some of the materials that I had discovered in my dad’s hidden room. He brought it to the police officer on scene. The officer took my mom to the side and took her statement. I saw my mom pointing at me and assumed she was talking about my discovery.            Before the officer finished talking to my mom, my dad returned. When my mom told the officer who he was, my dad was taken into custody. I watched through the swirling rings of smoke as the police car drove away with my dad in the backseat looking back at me. His face was void of any expression.            My mom rejoined Jackie and I and we sat on the back of the ambulance watching the red glow of the embers beneath the skeleton of what was once our dream home.

“All that matters, is that we still have each other,” my mother began. “I spoke to your Aunt Barbara, and she said we can stay with her for a while until we get back on our feet.”

We climbed into the old Ford after everyone was gone, and we headed back into the city. The house that dad built was never going to be a home after discovering my dad’s dark secret. His life would go up in flames just like his dream home.            I managed to grab my camera before we left the house, and as I scrolled through the pictures, I came across my first picture of the house. I stared at it momentarily, then pressed “delete”.


The once-a-month cookery group would gather in what was called the Club Room of a residential complex in which the Pintos lived. Pinto’s wife Jay always hosted the event and the small group now came together. Jay welcomed the members. She was less than 30 and was good looking. She was dressed in a sari and her hair had been knotted into a bun. Kate was a member and she came dressed also in a sari. Jay told the group “Today we’ll see the new soup which can be heated and served even for a week. This will be demonstrated by madam Liyan.” Liyan who was of Chinese origin came wearing a flowered long shirt over loose pants with an apron on top, and showed how the soup was made. Members had a glass each to taste, It was found tasty enough and questions and answers followed about the ingredients and alternates which could be used. Next Kate showed how to make a cake with walnut topping. The cake was cut and passed round for opinion. It received only 50% rating. Kate was disappointed. She answered a few questions and the group then gossiped which was the main objective of the meeting. After the group dispersed, Kate was left alone with Jay. Jay knew that Kate was very disappointed at the low approval rating of what she had prepared. To mollify her, Jay said “There was nothing wrong with your cake except that it was less sweet than one would expect in a cake.” “Ask Pinto. Don’t tell him it was made by me,” “He returns only after 9 PM. I’ll call you and tell you what he said.” “You’re lucky you’ve a husband who never seems to criticise. Bye for now.” When Pinto came back Jay gave him a piece of the cake. He bit a piece and chewing it asked “It isn’t tasty. Change the supplier.” She said laughing “It was made by Kate.” “She has to give up cake making and stick to gossiping. I hate the sight of that woman whom you consider your best friend.” Pinto was a software man and ran his own business. He was of moderate height, lean, and had lost much of his hair. He was always pleasant to talk to. Jay served him dinner and said “I suppose you’ll be with the wordlists, dictionary and the PC.” “Jay you don’t understand. I’m a SCRABBLE* champion and hope to beat the present world champion Shakir Rashid. Unless I put in more effort how can I do it? I hope you understand.” She was silent. He continued “I’ve told you that the tournament to determine the new champion is just a week away in Kolkata. Should I not prepare?” She said “You’re continually neglecting me by getting absorbed in that stupid game.” “One of my big customers in Zurich wanted me to go over for a discussion. With the tournament coming up I’ve said Tabussum will represent me this time. She is well-qualified and experienced. That is the importance I give Scrabble.” “Kate said that even if I walked nude in front of you, you won’t look up from that Scrabble board.” “To hell with her! Always interfering in others’ matters and gossip! Now walk as she said and see what happens! Only make sure she gets to know.” Later they adjourned to the bedroom and it was late night when as Jay lay snoring, Pinto returned to his wordlists! Next morning Pinto asked “Jay have you spoken to Kate yet? What did she say?” She said “We womenfolk discuss many matters unfit for male ears. Anyway I can say with pride that Kate was wrong in her assumption of what you would do if I walked nude in front of you!” He said “You must allow me to pursue my goal. I’ve gone to several places abroad for tournaments and each time I’ve remembered you and got you something or other. Last time I was in Dubai and brought you the bead necklace which you liked. When I...........” “Enough! I’ve always appreciated your thinking of me at those tournaments. Continue with your dictionaries etc. I’m reconciled.” “I hope you’ll make it clear to Kate.” “You’ve a hatred towards her but she is my reliable friend. I confide in her.” She had told Kate about Pinto’s comment regarding the walnut cake. Kate told herself “I’ll get even with that........” “Whatever you may say I consider her a loose mouth and one who is venomous.” The day came for Pinto to fly to Kolkata and before he left he said “Jay wish me luck. I should be back in 3 or 4 days.” Pinto was lodged in Hotel Matrix in Kolkata where other players had also been booked as its tariffs were moderate. The tournament was scheduled for 3 days and he had booked his return flight on  the night of the closing event. Matrix was a small hotel but well maintained and was particularly appreciated by foreign guests. Pinto was booked into a double room number 108. There were nearly 150 participants in the event and some of them had been booked into that hotel. The public hall where the event would take place was almost next to the hotel After an inaugural function the tournament started. Pinto was very enthusiastic and defeated many lower rated opponents. There was lunch when a lady he had played against and defeated came to him and said “Mr.Pinto I’m Olive Mukono from Kenya. I teach in a school in Nairobi and have been playing this game for 4 years. You’ve a mighty vocabulary! You so easily defeated me even though I defeated some players.” Pinto saw she was a black woman with pleasant features. Could be around 25 he thought. She was wearing a knee length dress which set off her curves. The curly hair on her head had been combed to the level of her neck and she looked quite attractive. He said “Nice meeting you here Olive. That is the way the game goes! Luck also plays a part.” They chatted for a time. Then it was back to the game. The game continued the second day and Pinto remained unbeaten. The game went on to day three. Pinto planned to leave by the night flight the same day and so vacated the hotel room as he set out for the game. At the game venue, he faced strong players. At the end when play was over, Rashid was the champion again, and Pinto came second. He was very disappointed. Pinto was scheduled to catch the 10 PM flight but he was told due to some reason the flight would leave only at 10AM the next day. Also came the news that there was to be a strike the next day starting at 6 AM, and those catching flights would have to leave from the hotel at 5 AM and wait at the airport. Now Pinto faced a problem. His room 108 had been taken by someone else. The hotel had been overbooked. Since there were no rooms, many including foreigners went to the reception to sleep and wait. Pinto found all chairs and sofas in the foyer had also been occupied. He was tired and frustrated and felt very sleepy. As he was standing there not knowing what to do, he heard a voice asking “Mr.Pinto, have you no room here?” He turned and saw it was Olive the Kenyan. He said “I vacated my room this morning and it has been taken by someone else. The hotel is full. I’m wondering what to do.” Olive thought a moment and said “Mine is a double room though I’m paying for single occupancy. Considering the difficult times, the hotel wouldn’t mind if you spent the night in one of the rooms. You could share my room. I’m making the offer in view of the circumstances, and noting that you seem a well behaved man.” He was wondering what to say. She said “I trust you. You can stay in my room.”  “Am I not making a mistake?” he asked himself as he told her “I’ll sleep on the carpet.” She said “I leave it to you.” Inside the room he sat on the carpet on the floor and got ready to sleep using his bag as a pillow. He said “Let’s not lock the door.” “The hotel reception said it would be risky and guests have to take care that their belongings are not stolen. For me to feel safe the door has to be locked. You lie down. I’ll lock the door.” In the morning, Pinto left at 4.30 after waking Olive and thanking her. He was back home in time for afternoon lunch. He had called Jay the previous evening and told her about his change of programme. After lunch he said “Jay this time I had no time to buy some souvenir for you. It was a difficult trip. I wasn’t satisfied with my performance at the tournament either.” He told her about the difficulties he had faced except about having accepted Olive’s hospitality. He was sure Jay wouldn’t learn about that incident. A week later Jay stormed her husband “You didn’t tell me that you slept with an African woman .” He was shocked. She said “Reena from here went to play the tournament with her brother as escort and stayed in Hotel Matrix. She told Kate about seeing you with the African. Of course she told Kate not to tell me. But you know Kate!” He had a difficult time explaining the situation as Jay shouted asking what Olive had that she hadn’t etc: The usual charge sheet after having been provoked! He said “I slept on the carpet.” “If a man and a woman are together in a locked room , what else can be assumed? I’m charging you with marital infidelity.” She taunted him so much that he finally said “I accepted Olive’s help which is a mistake. I know it is something that no one can fix. If you still suspect me after all my explanation and want me out, let’s do it legally.” “If I say I forgive you, what would you do to atone for your sin?” He thought long and hard and said “I will give up Scrabble. Would that be adequate?” They were reconciled! The next day he donated his Scrabble belongings to the indoor sports section of the school nearby. Within himself he decided it was time to free Jay of Kate that gossiping ...... (strong bad words excised!) He consoled himself remembering what Omar Khayyam has said:” And in some corner of the hubbub coucht/Make game of that which makes as much of thee.” END *SCRABBLE is an indoor crossword board game where every letter counts with bonus points on premium squares and premium scores for creating 7 letter words.


*THIS STORY CONTAINS MENTIONS OF ALCOHOL AND CHILD ABUSE. Beep, beep, beep. Beep, beep, beep . Maya rolled over and flipped off the alarm. Then she slid out of bed and into her day clothes, skipping the shoes. Ever since their mother died three years ago, their father didn’t care much where they went or what they did. She wasn’t worried about waking her brother, Gilbert, who shared the room with her, because she knew his bed was empty.

The last two Tuesdays Maya had seen Gilbert rise at five in the morning and sneak out of their small three room house only to be back in time for breakfast and pretend that nothing had happened. Today she was going to follow him and find out once and for all. She had set her alarm for 5:10 and hoped that would work. Quietly she left the house. She looked around and spotted a figure leaving Rose Gardener’s house; the old lady that lived next door. It was definitely not Ms. Gardener so it must be Gilbert. When she spotted a package in his hands, her nine-year-old imagination took flight. It could be anything! The figure began walking farther away from the two houses and toward town. She crept after him, keeping to the shadows. Gilbert was six years older than Maya and practically kept the family going but, of course, she didn’t know this and was thoroughly convinced that he was up to mischief. After a little while of walking she began to wonder if it was indeed Gilbert that she was following? and if he knew that she was there? and how far he intended to go? and so on. Should I go back? But the thought of being alone in the dark on an unfamiliar road was rather foreboding, so she continued forward. Perhaps I should call out to him. He wouldn’t send me back alone so he would have to take me with him or go back with me. But then she remembered the package and thought that if it wasn’t Gilbert then it could be someone with a little girl’s head in his package; and so her thoughts went on until she had herself quite frightened and nearly ready to cry. After what seemed like forever and really wasn’t very long at all, a small light appeared along the horizon and buildings loomed in the distance. She hoped whoever it was wouldn’t see her trailing them. Suddenly and much to her distress the person turned into a fenced area to the left of the road. A graveyard. Maya shuddered but her curiosity got the best of her and she crept up to the gate. She could hear the person moving through the graves. There was no doubt that he knew where he was going and what he was going to do.

Then the footsteps stilled. Had he heard her? She slipped through the gate and behind a large headstone. The person stood staring at a smaller plot that seemed slightly familiar to her. Then he knelt on one knee and reached into the package. She froze. What will he do? she wondered silently, her heart pumping faster. And all at once it became clear. The mysterious feeling disappeared and the whole place silenced as if waiting for something. In the dim light she could see Gilbert kneeling by their mother’s grave. He lifted a bouquet of roses from the package and gently brushed away old, dead flowers, replacing it with the new ones. Then he spoke. “Hello, Mama. It’s me, Gilbert. Oh, I’m doing alright, I guess. I got a raise in my wages. You remember I got a job at McClellan’s feed store? Well, my boss said I’ve been a real help and deserve a raise. “How’s Maya? I reckon she’s doing fine. It’s hard to tell sometimes what’s on her mind and I know I ain’t always good about talking to her and making sure she doesn’t feel alone or neglected, although I try.

“But, Mama, it’s Pa that worries me. He doesn’t seem to care about living or us. I’ve been going to tell you but I really didn’t want to bother you about it but days turned into weeks and weeks into years and I don’t know what he’s gonna do. I try to protect Maya from finding out what he is really like but he yells at her too. Either that or ignore her. He spends most of his time in bed now, as if he’s sick. You see, the reason I’m worried is . . . well . . . he’s been drinking alcohol for the past few years and the other day I got tired of it and threw it all away. I’ve done that before and he always gets mad and yells at me, sometimes he hits me, but then he always goes out and buys more. This time he didn’t do any of that. He just went back to bed and stayed there. I tried to give him food but he wouldn’t even look at me. What am I supposed to do?” His cheek glistened and teardrops gently fell up the roses. He was quiet for a moment and Maya tried to let it all sink in. It was a little much for her to comprehend but she caught enough to realize how hard it was for Gilbert and see a sag in his shoulders as if there was a heavy weight upon them. She wanted to go tell him that it was okay and get him to stop crying but he began talking again, his voice still low and soft. “Some days it’s harder than others and I just want to crawl in a hole and die but I’m not gonna give up. I’ll do my best for Maya . . . and Pa. I miss you, Mama.” Then he lowered his head. “Dear Lord. I don’t know if Mama can hear me or if it’s foolish to be talking to a headstone but I feel the closest to her when I come here. I can’t come everyday but since you called her to be with you on a Tuesday it just seems right. Give me the strength to carry on, Lord, and wisdom to know what to do with Pa. And tell Mama I love her, will ya?” He stayed in this position for a while without saying anything. Maya wondered if she should head back so that he wouldn’t know she heard, or maybe hide and trail him back, or just tell him she was here, but before she could decide he rose and walked toward the gate and the headstone that she was hiding behind. He walked through the gate, not seeming to see her. Without further thought she stepped out from her hiding place. “Gibby,” she called softly. He stopped dead and slowly turned around. She saw the tears in his eyes and rushed toward him with open arms. He knelt on one knee and embraced her. He didn’t say anything so she spoke instead. “God will help you, Gibby.” She smiled slightly. “ And I’m always here too.” He sniffed. “I know.” Then, standing, they walked hand in hand into the rising sun.


My tired eyes were burning as sweat ran down my face. I felt my heart pumping loudly in my chest. My breath was shallow and harsh. My lungs hurt with every breath I took. The air was hot, and felt hostile, poisonous. I was overcome with fear, pure unadulterated fear. It was the kind of fear you felt when you knew your life was about to change for the worst. Few people knew this kind of fear, and I envied all who didn't. My hands were shaking and they felt foreign and clumsy as I clung to my camera. The scene before me felt unreal like a bad dream I would wake from at any moment. I wasn't looking for this. I told myself this, but I knew it wasn't the truth. The crossroads of my life had brought me here out of my own choosing. Now I had a choice to make. I had to admit I wanted adventure, thrills, and excitement when I left Kenya. Nature photography paid the bills, but every photo of a lioness creeping up on unsuspecting deer seemed so much like the one I took the day before. Pictures of wildlife never made it to the frontpages. Animals never offered enough value to be displayed as big news. I wanted to feel alive. I burned to feel an element of the unknown, danger even. Sudan appealed to me. It lured me with stories of conflict and depression. There would be many pictures that could tell frightening tales there. People loved the darkness that brewed there. I allowed myself to dream of the possibilities it could offer me. High class people could place the newspaper out of sight while having their high afternoon tea, but they would snatch it up again later once their guests have left and, yes, they would be enticed  by the horrific stories these pictures told, my name in bold letters printed proudly below them. Men who met each other weekly at the barbers would chat  about the images I had brought into their lives. Mothers in doctors' offices would tell their children to keep their eyes low and avoid looking at the shelves where the papers were displayed. How I longed to be a household name. This would be my chance. I would do what it took to make it happen. Decided, I started reading up on how exactly to get into Sudan. Time seemed to slow down, stop in fact, as I watched the figures in front of me. Unaware of my presence, the rebel threw the man to the ground. I realized this wasn't a man sobbing in the dirt, but merely a child , sixteen years old at most. He didn't deserve his young life to be cut short this cruel way. The rebel looked at him with such a hatred and disgust in his eyes that I knew this boy wouldn't get to rise from the dirt today, not unless there was an intervention. Making a decision is a strange process. You always think you'd know what to do. You assume you'd do the right thing, don't you? We all keep our heads high believing that if ever faced with a life-or-death situation that we'd do the right thing. Let me tell you, swallow your pride, my friend, because when that moment comes, it's not so clear at all. Right and wrong become blurred lines. A fly calmly walked over my righthand. Its confidence seemed to taunt me. My tongue felt fat and dry in my mouth. My head throbbed and my muscles ached. My entire body begged for a release from this tension that these last few moments brought. I was faced with a choice: Take the shot or interrupt. It was simple. A or B. Taking the shot would mean millions of dollars and the lifestyle of the rich and famous. I would be THAT person until someone new came along. I could interrupt the assault that was taking place in front of me. I could tell the rebel to stop. What good would that do? I would be a hero for a minute. Then the rebel would shoot me and shoot the young boy anyway. I'd be a hero to the young man only until he ate a bullet. Other than that no-one would be the wiser. People wouldn't know my name. My photos would never reach the front page. The boy was crying loudly now. Begging in a language that I didn't understand. His final words fell only on the ears of someone who hated him so deeply. I refused to think of his mother. I refused to think of the sadness that would consume her when she heard of her young son's death. I refused to think of what this boy looked like when he was happy, smiling and laughing while playing with siblings and friends. Just like the deer I had seen several times being preyed upon by lionesses, this boy's time had run out. Mere seconds remained. I had never interfered with the wild in Kenya. Animals needed to be left to their wild urges. Nature had to run its course, always. It's an unwritten rule. This boy before me, however, wasn't an animal trying to escape a predator on the Serengeti. He was human, and that justified interference, but at what cost to me? I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer. A prayer to a God that I wasn't sure was here, in this forsaken place and with a small sob, I reacted. My camera felt heavy when I got back to London. It seemed to cut into my neck, weighed with guilt. My conscience had manifested itself in the object that carried the proof that it was rotten. This was my last photo, I knew that the second I took the shot. I would be famous for a while. People would know my name, but my life ended in Sudan. My life ended with that final shot.


When I was brought into the world, novice and all, it was assigned to me a family of five turned six when chogo (lastborn) was born five years later after I. Life was big when I was small: our small kibanda (hut) near the never not smelly river seemed a mansion. The large population from non-stop procreation in the area allowed me to have as many alter egos; not being aware of what they called such places – rookeries, even worse, jhuggi. All houses, though we rambled on and on about living in the big city, were made of matope (mud). The only exception was the church, which was made of corrugated mabati. That was enough to make the pastor toot his own horn and throw around pieces of sardonic humor every now and then. Which one would you prefer, a house of mud or one of iron sheets and God’s presence? The pews in the center column of that ‘extravagant’ house of God were the first to always get filled; especially during the summer. The ones near the ‘walls’ were never rather seldom got filled. None was ready to sacrifice themselves for the other and be burnt by the blazing mabati during the sermon, which often taught about loving others more than we. Nobody prayed for rain, not even the pigs. However, the clouds can’t hold in pee forever, they also need to ease themselves. During my entire childhood, I have had three of “This is my worst day” days and on all of them, it was raining. When it rained, the lavatories would be washed, the drainage system, if any, would overflow, the nobody washes me market would be sparkling, and all that would be pushed into the river by the rain. If you can remember, we live on the river – in the river – just centimeters away from the river. With all this chaos, my parents could still afford to entertain guests. On every New Year’s Eve, my grandmama from my dad’s side would visit. It’s not like my dad was an only child or something; she had her own schemes. Apparently, my dad and mum’s mutwaano (marriage) was not a fruitful one according to grandmama. We are four girls and no boy- child. If you know anything about archaic cultures which are still alive and kicking somewhere in the world, you would remember that boys were what we call children, the fruit of the wombs. Girls, well women, were considered as wealth… {a for apple, boy is child, girl is a joke and women are wealth} … But this is not about that. At least, she brought us sukari ngutu (jaggery) which she claimed had a lot of health benefits listing them as: improving digestion, building immunity, cleansing the body, weight loss (as she looked at me furtively and I in likewise manner) – FYI I was a very chubby toddler; and maybe help someone conceive a male child? The amounts she would make my mum eat; I pitied her. New Year’s Eve is always fun, sorely filled with glee; that's if it didn’t rain. We enjoyed mouthwatering delicacies prepared by chef mum. Afterwards we would entertain ourselves with our 2-years to live TV, and just before the countdown, we would pray for the future which is beyond each one’s ken. My sisters and I would then join the entire neighborhood in counting, “3, 2, 1… yea… yea… Happy New Year.” I would then dash outside our abode to see the sky on the other side aglow. Just next to our neighborhood, there was another neighborhood. They were different from us though all are human. Later on, my mum would accompany my grandmama to where she would go to bye-byes. She would always spend the night in our next-door neighbor’s house. Mama Awuori and her had formed a good relationship over the years. I once heard her frivolously saying to Mama Awuori, who was a single mum of one daughter and two sons, that she would like it very much if dad would take her as a second wife – “you seem to have good genes.” I always thought it weird that apart from grandmama, all the other guest we had always squeezed and fitted in our kibanda for the night. When I asked the couple concerning their guest, my mum said, “It’s a bad omen for her to sleep in her sons house.” Why exactly? She didn’t know? “It’s tradition! It has been a custom from time immemorial.” Since grandmama was the one with the most tradition, I took it upon me to ask her when she came the next year. As we were feasting during this story-filled New Year’s Eve, I placed my color-matching plastic plate, which contained a huge piece of fleshy fried fish on one side; some kales (greens are good for ya) and a gigantic slice of ugali – just in case a fish bone would decide to stick in my throat, on the ground next to where I was sitting as I prepared myself to speak. “Grandmama, why don’t you sleep in our house every time you visit us?” I asked gingerly.  “I-s i-t bec-aus-e Mama Awuori has good genes?” Her eyes dilated, her lips fell and she almost chocked on her food. “It’s tradition… didn’t I already explain this to you?” Mum said. “No!” back at her “Our house is too small for her and she doesn’t like mum”, my sister born just 5-years before me conspiratorially whispered in my right ear, generously smearing fishy oil on me. “Long ago when I was slightly older than you, the teachers of the law of the community taught us this. They did not give us any reasons for it. We were just expected to follow or face the music from the gods. No one cracks jokes with the gods.” Dad finished as he shuddered. “But the gods are dead and know we believe in God alone; we are taught that in Sabbath school. Why do we still follow this immemorial customs?” ……….. (Silence) ………. (Silence)……. “Nyara, chiko it (My child, get ready to listen)”, she said, bobbing her hand every now and then to ease her itchy scalp. She went on to confirm that what my parents had said was correct; it was tradition. She explained that before God, was the gods, who ruled the land with an iron fist. The gods imposed heavy taxes and created a lot of rules. “We are lucky God has only 10,” she paused, strenuous swallowing the pool of saliva that had collected in her mouth. She explained that, to enable a married couple enjoy their marriage – especially at night, and procreate without any disturbance, they had to sleep in a different house from their parents. If both the couple and the parents rejected this rule: the gods would not bless the marriage and the parent(s) might die, depending on the moods of the gods that day. “The gods, as your father said, are not people; no one could crack a joke with them, not even the priests they appointed forcefully. We are glad God overthrew them.  But the fear they instilled is still present.”


I had heard the story dozens of times, no hundreds. Don’t tell grandpa that though. He had dutifully repeated the tale every time we visited him. And with such an uncanny vigor as if a new audience had manifested itself just for the recital. I love my grandpa, don’t get me wrong for one second. He was a retired policeman and a gentle soul. But my goodness gracious did he have a way of boring us teenagers half to death with that story of his about our great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather. On his side of the family, of course.

My sister and I were visiting for Thanksgiving. Dinner had concluded. Everyone else was in the kitchen cleaning the aftermath. We were sitting in the living room on opposite ends of the big couch, the football game on the television. Grandpa was a Jets fan and they happened to be playing that night so he was mildly interested at least initially. But as per usual, the game was awful with the Jets trailing by three touchdowns at the half. I could easily tell Grandpa was getting restless. I turned to look at my sister Sarah. She, like myself, was helplessly glued to her phone, the only way we could possibly hope to survive this harrowing ordeal. She looked up, flashed a smirk at me. Instantly I thought, what now?

Uh oh. Grandpa had shuffled over to the liquor cabinet and was pouring himself a drink. Undoubtedly necessitated by this pitiful game. He opened the sliding door, took a seat outside on the deck, and took out a cigar from his front pocket. It was a cool autumn night, the sky clear and the moon shining brightly.

There he sat for a while, drink in hand, cigar lit and billowing smoke like a chimney. I glanced back at the television. A muffed punt had led to another touchdown, the Jets were now down four scores. And there was an entire quarter left to go. From the couch I called out to Grandpa, “Always a thrill a minute this team ,eh?”

He was caught in some sort of nighttime reverie, his eyes transfixed on a mystical point out in the distance. Still staring, he at last replied. “You know Billy, it’s like anything else. Don’t have any expectations and you’ll never be disappointed.” He turned to me and smiled. After a short while he came back inside and closed the door behind him. He poured himself another. Some sort of Irish whiskey being tonight’s elixir of choice.

He took a seat back on the couch and took another sip and with his face aglow and eyes twinkling he asked, “Hey did I ever tell you two about your great-great-great-great grandfather?”

I hesitated for a moment trying to think of a polite way out of the painfully familiar trajectory that tonight’s discourse was headed towards. Suddenly, of course, my sister blurted out, “No grandpa, I don’t think you’ve told us before!”

I grimaced and glared at her from across the room. And she returned to me an obnoxious wink. I snatched my phone, my thumbs engaged in a furious flurry as I sent her a message, “I Hope you’re proud of yourself! Egging him on like that. Now here goes an hour of our life that we’ll never get back.”

“Oh not to worry.” She replied. “A friend of mine is picking me up to go shopping. You will tell me how it ends, won’t you?”

I put my phone down in disgust. Here I was a helpless thirteen-year-old stranded on my Grandpa's couch with a one-way ticket punched full steam ahead to an evening in 17th century England.

Sarah got up from the couch and said, “Grandpa I have to go but it was great to see you again. Love you.”

“Well, if you insist on leaving. Fine. But You’re missing out on a great story let me tell you!”

She hugged him before smiling at me one last time before leaving.

And so it began.

“Now you’re great-great-great-great-great-”, he paused suddenly eye-brows furrowed intently he stared at the ceiling a moment before stretching out his hand and counting out his fingers, he then nodded affirmatively and continued “great grandfather was a carpenter in Worcestershire. Or was it..Warwickshire? It was one or the other I’m almost certain. Anyways, he was a carpenter. Oh yes! William, I think that was his name, could make anything. Anything! Stools, chairs, tables, benches, anything with wood he could make it. And legend has it he once made a wicker basket for his neighbor. Can you believe that? A carpenter making a wicker basket. Now, you know there wasn’t WiFi in those days so communication was just a little…”

Stop it. Really no WiFi? Not even 3G?

“...slow back then. You know with the mail and what not.”

He paused for a moment in mid-breath and looked up at the ceiling. Once-again his eyebrows furrowed in intense thought before at last snapping his fingers in triumph, “Nope it couldn’t have been Worcestershire, it must have been Warwickshire. I’m almost certain. I’d bet your life on it. I’m kidding! I’d only wager your sister’s life on it. Don’t tell your mother I said that. Anyways, where were we?” “Something about Worcestershire I think.” “Ah, right, right, right. So one day a courier or man servant for the Duke of Worcestershire made the rounds saying the Duke’s treasured pet cat had gone missing and there would be a substantial reward if it were found alive. This particular Duke, actually he may have been an Earl. I’m not sure. In any case he wasn’t a baron that I’m certain of. And I think if memory serves me right he went by the name Walter, his friends called him Wally for short. Anyways, as it turns out the Duke never made any important decisions when his cat was not present. So this had proven quite the quandary. In fact, Wally was locked up in his lair and refused to leave until his cat was returned to him safely. If you ask me, things made more sense back then. Anyways, back to your great-great-great-great grandfather, he used his mettle to construct a trap to capture this cat. Unfortunately though he didn’t have enough wood to build a door for the trap. Would you believe it, the great master carpenter had run out of materials for such an unbelievable undertaking?”

The old man got himself another drink, apparently deeming it necessary to wet his whistle as we approached this tale’s denouement. I quickly texted my sister, “Let me tell you, you are missing quite the ripping yarn.”

“Now this is the amazing part…” He stopped for a second, mouth agape with his face flexed in a look of utter perplexity. He collected himself and nodded his head a few times.

“No, no, no... come to think of it the Duke’s name was Hubert. His middle name was Walter. Anyways, you’re great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather just so happened to have in his possession a tome of charms that he had won in a game of horseshoes. Another thing that your ancestor was adept at. Billy you should know you come from a pretty proud and historic lineage. Anyways, the book was full of old magics you know, sort of like witchcraft or voodoo. Anyways, one of them was a charm to help find things that are lost. He was smart enough to know a wandering cat wouldn’t just sit nicely in a doorless cage and wait nicely for someone to fetch it. No Sir! So he found within this book an enchantment. It would have made Merlin himself blush. So he recited this enchantment. I used to know the words to it..” He stopped for a moment again and scratched his head.

“Ah, I think there was something about a tree, thread, nail, and… a frog. Or was it a salamander? No, might have been a newt or one of those slimy things. Anyways, he recited it and placed some food inside the doorless cage to lure the cat in. I wonder what cats ate back then. No canned goods. I’ll have to do some research. So he put the cage outside in the woods near his house. And would you believe it, the very next morning he went out to inspect his handiwork and there was the cat, asleep in the cage. He picked up the slumbering beast and went to return it. But as it turns out it was actually the neighbor’s cat who in a remarkable turn of events had also gone missing at the same time. Amazing, eh?” “That’s putting it lightly”, I replied. “So, what happened to the Duke’s cat?” “No one knows, but decisions had to be made so the Duke was forced to get a new cat. As you know, affairs of state cannot wait. So your ancestor was an ingenious carpenter who had almost found the Duke’s missing cat.”

And so the tale came to a close. Grandpa went back to get another drink, returned to the couch, drained it, and immediately fell asleep leaving me in an all too familiar state of unenthusiasm.


October 4, 2019        Daniel Alderman walked into his bedroom after a short walk from school on a cool Friday afternoon. The leaves- changing color from deep green to a soft orange- scratched against the window softly in the breeze under a grey sky.        The floorboard in the exact middle of the room creaks as he steps on it, he usually avoids that floorboard because of the horrible noise that gives him goosebumps, but he had been too lost in thought to remember it.        “Uck,” he groans and rubs his arms until the tiny bumps subside, “I hate this house.” Daniel didn’t actually hate the house- a brick Victorian sitting on two acres of land that backed up to a whole forest- he was mostly just angry with his life at the moment.

       At sixteen-years-old, he had been forced to move from the big city he had spent his whole life into this boring small town when his dad was transferred to supervise finances at a new plant the company he worked for opened. They had been here since August and Daniel still had yet to make friends. Boxes still lined the walls as he held onto hope that they would move back. ***

October 4, 1949

Elizabeth Warren screamed into her pillow, tears pooling into the soft fabric. This was awful!        Sixteen and had to leave the small town she grew up in to go to the big city with her family because the farm had finally gone under. Four years of hearing about financial problems because of this stupid “bad harvest” her dad kept having since he came home from the Pacific. She knew her family was poor but why did she have to go? Couldn’t her dad just go and send the money back to the family?        Just when the leaves were changing and the town got ready for the sixth annual Harvest Fair next week. It was something that the entire town participated in to bring treats, music, costumes, a dance, and the Harvest King and Queen. Even a few rides were brought in and set up in the park for adults to drop their kids off to go dance to the musicians playing. She knew who would be crowned already- Caroline McCann, who lived in a massive white mansion on the most successful farm in the state, and Joseph Ryder, whose dad was the only doctor in a sixty-mile radius. Still, though, the harvest had enough going on to not want to enjoy.  ***  “Daniel,” Cindy Alderman, Daniel’s mom knocked on the door.        “Open,” he answered in a harsh voice. Cindy walked in and sighed at her soon when she saw him lying in bed with a sour expression on his face.        “How was school today?” she asked in a tone that she hoped sounded cheerful and friendly.        “Bad.”        Cindy frowned but tried again, “Make any friends or meet anyone who could be a friend?”        “No,” in a school of only three hundred people who had all grown up together, how was some city kid supposed to make friends with any of these hicks?        “Well, you’ll meet some eventually,” Daniel snorted rudely at that, but Cindy kept her anger down- she did feel bad that her son had had to leave everything he knew behind against his choice. “Are you going to the football game?”        “They’re away tonight,” Daniel told her in a monotone way. Not that he would have gone anyway, why would he support a school he hardly even knew?        “Well, the town’s annual Harvest Fair is starting tomorrow, want to come with your dad and me to that?” Cindy hoped something would bring her son out of his funk, “There’s supposed to be rides and music- might even be some cute girls,” she added with a raised eyebrow.        Daniel rolled his eyes, “I don’t care about rides and girls- I want to go back to the city where there’s actually stuff to do.”  ***        A knock came at the door, “Can I come in, hun?” her mother asked.        Elizabeth didn’t answer, her mom must have taken the silence as a welcome because the door opened.        Margaret Warren surveyed the room. It looked nothing like it had even just a week prior. Everything except a few choice items had been cleared in preparation for the move tomorrow.        “I know you’re upset, dear, but this is best for the family,” Margaret told her weeping daughter. “Besides, maybe you’ll like the city, there will be so many interesting people and so much more to do.”        “I’ve got all I want right here. Mama,” Elizabeth squeaked. “We couldn’t at least stay for the Harvest Fair?”        “I know it’s hard, Elizabeth, but we just can’t afford the house and farm anymore.”        “I’m right in the middle of school, though!” Elizabeth’s sorrow turned to anger, “What if I’m behind the other kids? I won’t know anyone! There are crazy people and murderers in the city!”        “Oh, hun,” Margaret spoke calmly, “that’s just what people say. The city isn’t bad.”        ‘The city isn’t bad” yeah right. Elizabeth had heard the horror stories of people just getting killed for walking down the wrong street or for having a pair of shoes that someone wanted- she was never going to make it.        She liked the openness of her town. It felt freeing and comforting. How was she ever going to survive being packed like a sardine in a tiny apartment in a building that a hundred other people lived in? How was she going to feel free with traffic and crowded sidewalks? She would miss the tress, reading with her back against the trunk of some great big oak, the only sounds being the wind and birds. Now, she was going to have to deal with horns, yelling, engine noises, it was too much.  ***

Cindy left the room, leaving the door open. He sighed and got up to close it back up. Grabbing his book off the desk by the door, he tripped on the loose floorboard.        “Sonuva-“ he grunted instead of finishing his phrase. His toe ached, but something else had caught his attention. ***        Margaret departed her daughter to make dinner. Elizabeth had to do something to take her mind of leaving home during her favorite time of the year.

       Taking her diary that she kept hidden in the floorboards, she dated the top of the empty page and wrote:

This is so childish, I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I have to do something. No one will probably even read this. ***

       Daniel pulled the floorboard back, careful not to snap it in half. In the gap, he found an old, rusted tin box, just fitting the slot it was placed in.        Being a fan of mysteries and fantasy novels, Daniel felt the excitement grow in him like a balloon being filled with air. It was the first time he had felt anything but anger for the last two months, and though he wouldn’t even admit it to himself, it did feel good.        The snaps on the container took some strength to open. The once light blue paint had chipped off in places and left ugly splotches on corrosion where it did. The lid opened it a dull

creaaak .        The first thing that caught Daniel’s eye was a small black and white polaroid. The back was dated

July 4, 1948 . The girl was cute. She had wavy dark hair, done up sweetly with a charming smile displaying dimples on both cheeks. She wore a dress that looked like it was plaid, Daniel wondered what colors the clothes had been. The image must have been taken at an Independence Day celebration because there were tons of blurry figures in the background running around.        The next thing Daniel’s hands found was a soft pack of cigarettes. The once white paper was now a sickly yellow with hints of dark brown everywhere left from the tobacco staining it for so long. The brand didn’t even exist anymore as far as he knew. Most of the paper had died away, leaving just a clump of dried-out shredded leaves that still held on to the offensive odor.

`The rest of the mementos were just little trinkets. A small cross necklace on a dainty chain, a matchbox containing a few matches with the brand worn off, some pennies and dimes dated from the mid-1930s, and a small tan seashell. Sitting on the bottom, was a folded note. ***

       Elizabeth finished the letter she wrote. Tearing the pages out of her diary, she neatly folded them and placed them in the box she kept under her diary on the floorboard. The box had once contained some makeup that her aunt had given her, but Elizabeth now used it as storage for things she didn’t want to be left in the open. She poured the contents out and placed the letter at the bottom of her treasure chest. Deciding that she couldn’t just leave a note for some future residents, she added some other things from the box. A few coins- it was more money than she would have liked to have given up, but maybe the person that found her stuff could use the thirty-nine cents to buy some candy and a soda or two. She also left the pack of cigarettes Tommy Barese lifted from his dad’s corner store for her. She tried one, but it had made her sick as a dog all night- maybe the person who found this would like smoking though. She also left the matchbook so he could light them if he needed to. Elizabeth also decided to leave the small cross necklace she found eight years ago on the floor of the church. She hadn’t worn it since she was nine and figured it would make a good addition to the time capsule. The last two things placed in the box were the hardest to part with, but Elizabeth figured that two more things on top of her childhood home left behind wouldn’t matter. After flipping through the small stack of photographs for a few minutes, she decided on one from last year’s Fourth of July celebration that the American Legion Post of the town always put on. Rebecca Thompson had been taking everyone’s picture that day and Elizabeth thought that it would be a good way for whoever found the box to know what she looked like. The last item was the small seashell she had found at the beach on a Florida vacation as a little girl when the family’s farm did much better.        She snapped the lid shut on the box with a heavy heart, wondering what the person who found the treasures would look like? From what time would they be from when they found it? Would the house be torn down before it was ever discovered? She placed the box back into the little hole under the floorboard and stomped the wood back in place. ***

Daniel read the first two sentences of the letter thinking, “Yes, I am reading it.” He read on, the letter was written by the girl in the photograph exactly seventy years ago. He wondered how small a chance that would be to find it on the exact day it was written. My name is Elizabeth Warren and I have lived in this house my entire life. I was even born in the master bedroom down the hall on December 23, 1933.

Chills ran through Daniel’s spine for the third time in ten minutes. His birthday was December 16. He was starting to wish he could talk to Elizabeth Warren and let her know that he had found her box and had close birthdays.

I am so heartbroken today. My family is moving to the big city. Have you ever been to the big city? It will be my first time tomorrow and I know that I will hate it. Also, the Harvest Fair is next week and it’s my favorite thing in the world but I have to miss it. Do they still do the fair every year? If so, who were the king and queen last time? Not that you will be able to tell me anyway.

       Anyway, how long have you lived in this house? My dad and grandpa built this house when he married my momma back in 1931 with the help of some of my uncles and a few friends? What year is it when you found this? Do they have any cool technology? Can cars fly yet? What is the future like? I mean, I suppose I’ll know for myself as it happens, but what if you’re from like a hundred years from now? I’ll probably be dead by that time, but I wish I could know what you look like?

Are you a boy or girl? How old are you? What do you look like? I hope the picture I left gives you a good idea of what I look like as I write this, it’s over a year old but I haven’t changed too much since it was taken?        Do you like to read? My favorite book is Jane Eyre. Have you read it? There’s a tree outside, you can see it directly out the window of my- well, our- room. The big oak tree that stands just before the forest, you should try it out, there’s the small nook on the far side of it that’s perfect to sit in. I’m sure you’ve already found what I left in this box since the letter is sitting under it all, but the necklace was from when I was a little girl. I found it in church and don’t wear it anymore, but maybe you might like it. The photograph was taken at the American Legion’s Fourth of July party (do they still do that too?), the money is for if you want to buy some candy or a book or something

(Daniel chuckled at what Elizabeth’s reaction would be if she knew how expensive the world had gotten since she wrote this) , and a seashell I found in Florida when I was little.

Anyway, I hope someone does read this one day. I hope you enjoy this house and our bedroom because it is the best place in the world. Treat it nicely and have a good time at the next Harvest Fair for me if it still goes on. I really wish I could meet whoever reads this, but I guess I never will.

Warmest Regards, Elizabeth Mary Warren P. S. I left you a pack of cigarettes in case you smoke. They made me sick.

Tears formed that he wiped away from his face as he finished the letter. A painful lump had appeared in his throat with an ache in his heart. He would have given everything to answer Elizabeth Warren’s questions. He wanted to tell her about his time and let her know that his favorite book was

Nine Stories  by J. D. Salinger. He wanted to tell her that no, flying cars did not exist unfortunately and that he found it on the exact day that she wrote it. He decided right then and there that he would try to appreciate the house as Elizabeth did and that he would enjoy the fair tomorrow and the rest of the week for her. A hollow feeling took over his body as he crawled into bed and read the letter over again. ***

Elizabeth crawled into bed and hugged her pillow. Darkness was encroaching on the sky as the sun fell lower and lower behind the earth. She would see this house one last time before leaving it forever tomorrow. Silent tears streamed down her eyes as she cried herself to sleep, wondering who would find her secret letter.


A nightmare took over the mind of Harold Thumperton on September 15, 1818 and caused him to toss and turn all night in a restless sweat.

His dream recalled in much too vivid detail the tumultuous sail across the Atlantic that had brought him from England five years before to seek his fortune as a wheat farmer in the rich fields of Maryland’s Lower Eastern Shore.        Over the course of the eight-week journey the ship carrying Harold and his family had run into seas so rough that his fellow passengers believed the ocean would swallow them whole before they came close to the New World they had heard about for years from letters sent home by the earlier settlers of the new land.       An avid reader of pamphlets containing the writings of William Shakespeare, during his family’s voyage he became more and more absorbed in the English bard’s Tempest . Like his own adventure, the play had taken place amid driving rain and howling winds that tossed and turned the writer’s humble sailing vessel in an ocean in a voyage propelled only by a scribe’s vivid imagination.        A half decade later, he and his family believed they finally had adjusted to their new surroundings.

Yet, continually exhausted from laboring all day to gather enough crops to sell and feed his wife and two young children, he often barely escaped the same type of storm that had brought them to their American homestead and welcomed them to this new land.       Fortunately, as morning’s light dawned the day after his nightmare, Harold had awoken to a pleasant and gently cloudy day.

Although exhausted from his struggle with his internal demons from the night before, he only had time for a quick breakfast of ground oats and warm milk before he prepared for another work-filled day on the farm.      Employing many of the methods passed down by generations of his

Thumperton ancestors across the ocean, he had labored from dawn to dusk clearing,

plowing and planting his new fields during the few bouts of moderate fall climate on the barrier island on the Atlantic Ocean.

     Unlike many of his fellow English transplants, he had brought with him to the New World a love of reading. His horizons also continued to expand thanks to the few copies of the pamphlets of the works of the bard of Avon he had brought with him from his home country.      Although the hard work of running a farm didn’t leave him much time for his avocation, he had begun to study Shakespeare through newly-established mail courses sponsored by Maryland’s Washington University and eventually earned a degree in the discipline.       He dreamed that, one day, he would be able to apply his education to advancing the lives of his fellow tillers of the sod by passing along his love of literature, but this remained an elusive dream. His heart and hands still primarily focused on helping grow the food to feed his family and helping out his neighbors in his small circle of life.

      Farming had not advanced nearly as far as the world of academia. Since tractors and other mechanized equipment didn’t exist, Harold and his fellow farmers cut the wheat with long-bladed scythes and bound the sheaves by hand.

They then used the strong horses of the ocean side island to harvest this rich crop.        Satisfying the huge appetites of the large creatures required year-round feeding not available on the inland sections of the island. During the times when their farms did not provide seasonal forage, the farmer and his neighbors would herd their horses to the island borders with the Atlantic Ocean, where they could feed on the rich salt hay.

          For almost two decades Mother Nature had provided an almost limitless supply along the shore to help their animals thrive in the off-season, and the weather often moderated enough to help them transport the animals to the water’s edge with no problem.          Then, in 1818, a foul wind that made Harold recall the account in The Tempest , swept up the East Coast without warning, smashing a path of destruction throughout the Sinepuxent Bay. Its force took down the small farmhouses and businesses that had grown up in the tiny village of Sinepuxent, on Sinepuxent Neck across the bay from the barrier island. The inlet there had allowed access to many ocean-going ships passing through the island from the Atlantic to the bay.

       As the farmers on Assateague Island tried to shelter their valuable animals from the storm several trees split right down the middle, threatening to destroy them, their masters and their home.

The horses, of course, went into a panic and began to rear up and run around wildly. Two members of Harold’s herd almost crushed him in a hurry to escape.          As he rushed after Starlight Master, his prize stallion, his rope slipped off the horse’s neck every time he attempted to lasso it. Finally, he pulled the animal to safety. The wind continued to howl, and the combination of the fearsome breezes and rains eventually flattened the village and made what once thrived as the homestead in Sinepuxent crumble and become an addition to the expanding ocean.      The forces of nature which helped Maryland’s Lower Eastern Shore contribute so much to the growth of America, destroyed the town which had, 39 years before produced Stephen Decatur, one of the country’s greatest naval heroes of the 18th century.     Harold managed to round up the remainder of his herd on the island, but the storm had other ideas. The raging sea, so similar in depth and power to that described by his favorite bard in the literature he loved as much as his new home in America, took with his beloved village the man who his fellow workers of the island fields had come to regard as one of the saviors of the famous Assateague ponies. The forces of nature which often had partnered with the gallant farmer swept him under the surf before he could breathe his last and drowned his dream to bring Shakespeare to the masses of the Eastern Shore.


George? He stood over the gas stove with the kettle warming pulling it off seconds before the whistle as not to startle his friend in the next room. “Hey Dom, do you care what kind of tea?” Leo asked from the kitchen. Dom didn’t answer but gave a slight head nod. Leo entered carrying a tray with two mugs filled with hot water, a string hanging over the side, and bowls of sugar and milk. He set it down on the small table between the couch and chair where they sat. Dom continued to stare off at the wall, but his eyes stayed unfocused. Leo knew he would have to speak first to pull Dom out of the shock of what had just happened. He didn’t know how to approach the situation other than a cup of tea to calm his nerves.  Dom’s clothes were in bad shape, with rips and stains covering them. One of his pant legs had almost been ripped all the way around as it hung off his knee. Leo inspected him closer to see that the stains took a faint color of red. He wondered if he needed to know what happened or call the cops. Leo was not the type that liked trouble and avoided it at all costs, but Dom was his oldest friend. He wanted to be there for him. “Dom, um… what happened?” He whispered, afraid of scaring him anymore. Dom’s head slowly turned to focus on Leo, who sat up straighter. “A fight.” “With who?” Leo questioned a little too loudly as Dom jumped back on the couch. “I’m sorry, with who Dom?” Leo corrected quietly. “Remi,” Dom mumbled “What? Remi? She wouldn’t do that.” “WELL, SHE DID!” Dom yelled back at him. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, please tell me the whole story,” Leo begged.              It all started yesterday. Remi and I went to eat lunch together and catch up at this new place called ‘The eatery.’ At the restaurant, the waitress took our drink order. She then didn’t come back. We asked another waitress to take our order.              “Excuse me, can we get some help?” Remi asked.              “You aren’t one of my tables.” She barked and walked away. Remi’s face turned red from anger. “I’m not taking this.” She got up. “I’m going to find the manager.” She stomped off, not going to let anybody treat her that way.              After ten minutes, a man stopped at my table, “Are you here with Remi?” I hesitated to answer, afraid of the trouble she had gotten into. “um… yes.”              He just walked away. After several steps, he turned back, “Are you coming?”              I jumped up from my seat on his heels as we went through the kitchen to the back door. “Hey, what happened? What’s wrong?” The guy wouldn’t answer me, just kept walking. He kicked open the door, “THERE!” He turned, going back inside. Remi laid on the paved ground, sprawled out with blood smeared across her face and arms. I dropped to her side, trying to get her up. She didn’t move. I couldn’t believe they would leave her like this without calling an ambulance. My anger began to grow. Out of the corner of my eye, somebody stepped out from behind the dumpster. I froze. I was next, and nobody would help. “You good?” She asked. I couldn’t believe it. “Piper! Where have you been? It’s been almost a year since I saw you last.” I yelled.              She shrugged.              “Wait, did you do this to Remi?”              She moved out from the shadows. “No! why would you think that. Why would I hurt her?” She snapped back.              “Then who did? Why won’t anybody help her?”              Piper took a step back into the shadows. “Just go. Grab her and go. Don’t ask any more questions.”              I reached down to pick up Remi. Maybe Piper knew what she was talking about. One thing I knew was that I needed to get Remi to the hospital right away. I had her arm over my shoulder as I walked down the alley to the parking lot.              “HEY! YOU!” A guy yelled from behind me.              I didn’t want to turn around. I wanted to get Remi to the car. I glanced back and stopped as he held a gun at my head.              “Drop her!” He barked.              “No!” I took another step towards my car.              “Drop her now, or I’ll shoot you. She is mine!”              “What? You can’t have her. She is a person, not a possession.” I snapped back at him. What was wrong with him thinking he could take her. It’s not like finder’s keepers. I sat Remi down softly on the ground, leaning against the side of my car. I turned to face him, ready to fight for her. I would not let him take her. I bent my knees with my hands up, ready to take him on. A head popped out from behind the alley not too far away. It was Piper! She was sneaking up behind this crazy guy. I had to distract him for just a minute to allow her to get a better advantage point.              “Why don’t you put down the gun, and let’s do this the old fashion style. Hand to hand, man against man.”              He took a minute to answer, “Or I could just shoot you, and it would be over.” He tightened his grip on the gun.              “Wait, wait. That wouldn’t be fair. I was with her first. You can’t take her from me then expect me not to fight for her?” I begged.              He seemed to understand that as he put his gun in the back waistband of his pants. “Alright, let’s do this the old fashion way then.” He agreed.              Oh, I wasn’t expecting him to take the bait that quickly. It worked, though. Piper flew out from behind a car slamming into the side of this guy sending him down to the pavement. His face slid across the loose rocks ripping the skin off and blood streaming down his cheek. He pushed himself up and Piper off him in one swift movement. She didn’t let him have a second’s rest as her fist connected with the side of his head, sending him stumbling backward. I couldn’t believe it. She was going to end this quickly.              The guy stood up, looking me straight in the eye even though I hadn’t done anything. He charged at me like an angry bull, slamming me against the car. I fell forward on the ground. The guy picked me up, throwing me across the parking lot, ripping my pants. He headed for Remi, sitting against the car. I jumped, running towards the guy, ready to tackle him to the ground to protect her.              Sirens sounded from down the street, stopping me in my tracks. Somebody had called it in. We were finally going to get some help—the police speed past us. My heart sank. We were going to have to handle this on our own. My hesitation allowed him to have time to start trying to pick Remi up. She had woken up some but didn’t seem like enough to defend herself against this big guy.              The next thing I knew, she stood up on her own, and the guy fell to the ground shaking, eyes wide open. She turned to me with a small smile holding up her tazer. “I don’t leave the house without it.”              “Okay, then hurry up get in the car before he wakes up.” I snapped.              She crawled in, laying down in the back seat. Piper kneeled next to the guy checking his pulse. “Um… Dom. His heart isn’t beating.” She whispered.              “What? Seriously? Now we are going to jail for murder.”              “Oh, too dramatic. Let’s make it go away then. Come on, help me put him in the trunk, and we can go dump him out in a field. “              “Geez… Piper. That is a bit extreme. Can’t we just leave him here?” I asked, afraid of doing anything more with him.              “Fine, I guess. Well, I’m not sticking around. Later!” She slid back into the shadows. I jumped in the car, dropped Remi off at the hospital, letting them know we were attacked. They asked me to leave, not allowing me in due to protocols. “Then I came here not sure of what to do next.” “Um… that is a lot,” Leo said, unsure how to handle all of this. “Yep.” “You can take a shower and borrow some clothes. Then we can check on Remi in the morning.” Leo suggested. Dom stood up, heading towards the bathroom. “Knock. Knock.” Leo turned to Dom, “Somebody is at the door.” Dom’s eyes were wide. There was no way he would get away with all of this. Leo made his way to the door; it flew open on its own. “FREEZE!” Both stuck their hands straight up in the air. Eyes squinted, trying to see through the flashlights. “Dom Hernandez, you are under arrest for crossing into the outer dimension and murder of George Happy.” A deep voice boomed through the room. “Wait, we didn’t go to the outer dimension. That is where the prisoners are held. Why would we go there? Plus, I can’t do that.” Dom argued back. The officer stepped into the room, “You weren’t alone, were you?” “Well, no. My sister Remi was with me, but she can’t cross dimensions either.” “Either way, you are the one that crossed over and committed murder. However, you made it happen. You are still under arrest.” He grabbed Dom’s arm, spinning him around slapping the handcuffs on him. He practically drug him out of the room. “Leo, help me. Fix this, please!” Dom called back to him. Something clicked, “Wait! You saw Piper in the outer dimension!” Then they were gone, and Leo was left to find his sister and prove his friend’s innocents, with no leads on where to start. He didn’t have the ability to cross dimensions. There were only a handful of people like that.  A bright light flashed, temporarily blinding him. “Leo! Let’s go!” Her voice yelled as a hand grabbed Leo’s arm, pulling him into the light. Once the light faded, darkness surrounded them, making it just as hard to figure out where he had landed. “You alright?” Leo recognized the voice. After all, it was his sister Piper. He would never forget her voice. “Yeah, what is going on? How did you do that?” He questioned. Piper turned on a small lamp illuminating the room with two wooden chairs. “Have a seat, little brother. Take a minute to gather your thoughts.” He grabbed a chair, knowing that he would never calm after everything that happened tonight. He let the questions fly. “What happened? Why are you here? Why didn’t you come home? What’s wrong? How do we fix this?” “Wow, Leo. Chill out. Look, I’ve always been able to do this. I hid it so I wouldn’t be taken away from you. Last year, somebody found out, and I’ve been on the run ever since.” Piper explained. “Okay, then why did you show up now?” “Well, it has all been a setup to pull me out of hiding.” “What has been a setup?” Leo questioned, confused by this whole thing. “Look, there are some very bad people out to get me because of what I can do. Since I have not been bound like the other ‘Pushers,’ I can reach more than one dimension. I would be able to do many things for them that would allow them to get away with anything.” She explained. “Piper, then you need to turn yourself in and stop all this.” “No! You don’t understand what they do to the ‘Pushers.’ They torture them and use them as tools and weapons.” She snapped back at him. “Then you are going to let Dom and Remi take the wrap for this?” Leo argued. “Leo, of course not. That is why I was there helping them and why I came to get you. We have to put a stop to all of this. I’m tired of hiding from them.” Piper stood up with a hand out towards Leo. “Let’s go. We don’t have much time to set this straight.” “I’m just supposed to go with you after a year, without you telling me a plan of any kind? How can I trust you?” Leo questioned. “I’m your sister. Know that you can always trust me and that I have your best interest at heart.” Leo stood slowly, allowing Piper to pull him into a tight bear hug that they both have missed. “Okay, let’s do this.” He spoke enthusiastically. A bright light flashed as they disappeared through the portal. They reappeared in a dark alley. Piper pulled Leo against a hard cold wall. “Shh… they are just around the corner.” “How do you know?” Leo questioned. “Shh…. I’ve been watching. Now let’s go, quietly.” Piper insisted. They slide alongside the wall to the metal door. Piper placed her hand on the door with a small flash of light, and the lock and handle disappeared. “I didn’t know Pushers could do that?” Leo spoke too loudly. Piper spun around, slapping her hand on his mouth. “You have to be quiet. The sensors detect sound, not light.” The overhead lights flashed on, the sirens blaring. “Too late, now we have to move fast. Stay on my heels, or you will be in jail like Remi and Dom.” Leo grabbed on the back of her shirt like he did when they were kids in a big crowd. He always knew that his big sister would take care of him and never get lost. They zigged-zagged through the corridors. Leo lost track of how many turns they made, but Piper knew exactly where to go. Piper stopped suddenly, with Leo slamming into her back, sending her past the wall. The guards saw her and opened fire in their direction. Piper turned back to Leo, grabbing his hand. “Stay here. I will be right back.” She disappeared in a flash of light. BANG! Leo kept his back to the wall as he waited, not breathing, afraid that she wouldn’t come back. The hallways were silent, raising his heart rate. He gasped for air, debating to run back through the maze. “Leo,” Piper whispered. “Leo!” He poked his head around the corner. “Oh, Piper, I thought they got you.” “Yeah, right, they wish. Let’s go.” Leo attached to Piper’s shirt again, and they were off weaving through the corridors. He had a stitch in his side as he tried to slow Piper down some. “I can’t…. Please… Just a minute.” Leo begged. “No, we have to keep moving if we stand any chance of getting them out. The alarms already went off. We are almost there.” Piper explained. They both knew what they had to do. They ran with everything they had straight into a large metal door. “Piper, can you do your light thing again?” Leo asked. She hesitated a minute, “Not sure if I can on this door. Hold on. I’ll blast it with everything I have.” A bright light flashed, and the door turned bright red from the heat. Piper waited and pushed in the middle of the door. It fell to the ground with a bang. The room on the other side stayed dark. A whisper came from the shadows, “Piper? Leo? Is that you?” Remi and Dom came running out of the room, jumping on them in big bear hugs. Piper grabbed Dom’s shoulders, holding him back to get a better view of his face as he had a black eye and a cut on his cheek. “Dom, what did they do? I thought the cops came and got you?” Piper questioned. “They did. By the time we reached the car, some other guys had charged us. Knocking the officer out instantly while they punched and beat me a bit before shoving me in their car and bringing me here with Remi.” “Well… I’m glad they put you two together. It is going to make this next step simple.” A flash of bright light appeared, and Piper led them all through to a new dimension. There were beautiful tall trees and green rolling hills. The sun shined bright. The wind blew fresh air across their faces. “Where are we?” Remi asked. “Home,” Piper answered.


…..……”It’s war.  Making this proclamation was Fenrir the magnificent, undisputed king of the cat cabal.

 Born of noble lineage, rarest of chinchilla Persian cats. With a silky luxuriously thick white fur, finely etched streaks of black on paws and around the neck, he was spectacular. Fenrir resided in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. His owner, Lord Garvagh, was descended from the errant son of a noble English family, banished to cool his aristocratic heels in the colonies. Links to the famous Courtauld's silversmiths kept the family in financially good shape.

Fenrir loved his home. The finest example of Victorian elegance in the smartest section .of the neighborhood, That scent of old money. Hard to describe, a bit of bergamot, faint lemon scented beeswax, a superb mix of deep comfort and warmth.

Daily feedings from Waterford crystal dishes of minced sirloin and cartons of full cream, Fenrir knew only the best. ……….” If you keep him permanently indoors, he’ll be a               lovable, loyal companion. If you let him roam                outside, he’ll be the same but a much happier cat” instructed his veterinarian, Dr. Feelgood.

### As daylight faded into dusky mysterious late evenings, lights appeared all over the City illuminating the mix of tall offices, apartment buildings, and stately old Victorian red brick mansions, the architecture of Bay Ridge. That was the time, each evening, when Fenrir strode confidently into the throng. A delightfully raucous bunch his best friends were two sisters, mangey striped tabbies, who lived in a nearby apartment building. A couple of battle-scarred tomcats who thought their names were Shoo and Scram. They were subsisting in a cruel world . Food was restaurant leftovers, which they fought over with cat gangs, and anywhere they could lick moisture, usually from drains. Then there was Sheba! An alley girl, of doubtful origin, she had great natural elegance.  Demurely flirting with sidelong glances in his direction, he trembled in ecstasy. To revel in the most sensual delights regardless of status was every cat’s right. There are no exceptions.

Twirling his whiskers contemplating nightly trysts, he could have jumped over the moon. Interrupting his reverie, was the sight of a rodent’s rump. The signal for a full-scale attack. Every cat was expected to do its bit to save the neighborhood being slowly nibbled away. Tally ho! missile-like the chase was on, round the corner, over a mound of garbage, Fenrir would have made the kill except for a newspaper, slapped by the breeze into his face, swatting it with a paw, it rebounded wrapping itself around his noble head.

####

He couldn’t have imagined how awful things could go so wrong so fast. Opening the kitchen window, placing an apple pie on the sill to cool was mistake number one, by Aggie the cook-housekeeper.

Straight from the oven, bubbling rivulets of amber liquid cascaded oozing and caramelizing over the golden brown pastry. A favorite of Lord Garvagh and his luminaries at their weekly Bridge game, it was served room temperature with Devonshire cream.

### Newly arrived and settling into the relative safety of urban life, a family of crows was attracted by the aroma of the pie invitingly placed within their reach. Seizing the opportunity with a “come and get it” excitement several more arrived. Highly intelligent, they carved up that pie in seconds. Classified by some obscure woman in the 18th century the murder of crows, nomen est omen, was spot on in this case. Dastardly intelligent those birds swooped down, sliced the pie into several pieces, and up and away to their nests. A feast for all and spare in the larder.

## After clearing the first course, Aggie returned to the kitchen looking at an empty pie dish on the open window, not a crumb left. Angrily, she had to blame …who? and looked with suspicion at the only possible explanation. Fenrir who loved the companionship and tasty titbits always fed to him, when Aggie was working, stared up at her pleading innocence with his incredibly ice-blue eyes. Witnessing the crime, knowing birds were off limits, he was stunned by their audacity, but helpless to intervene.

 Fenrir must have scarfed the whole thing, Aggie concluded. She couldn’t produce another pie. Biscuits and cheese and a profound apology sufficed.

Banished from the kitchen and scolded by Lord Garvagh, Fenrir was In hot water. Relating the incident later to his friends, they commiserated but were doubtful of his chances.

……….” they’ll send you away, Fenrir,” said the tabbies. ……….” or drop you off at the undertaker as permanent mouser,” said Sheba, mournfully. ………..” heh heh hee…..It’s kibbles ‘n bits, ooh, and 2%. Heh heh sniggered the Toms displaying misplaced but not malicious humor. A fault of the lower classes . ………..” with a name like mine, I’m going to fight this” Fenrir exclaimed with much eclat. Sheba smiled.

………..”I’m with you, who else is up to defend our leader” A combined murmur of assent, with one paw raised, was the answer. ###

It was a wonderful show of bravado, but nothing more. The nights were growing chilly, and so was the temperature inside for Fenrir. Banished to the basement, he commuted through the rusty bars of a busted window. Acutely aware of rejection, he began to molt. His once glossy coat turned dull and lifeless ### His nightly sojourn was now merely a reminder of loss of status. Dejected and humiliated, like Napoleon after Waterloo, defeat was intolerable. Although valiantly supporting their leader, there was little the cats could do. What a farce to talk of retaliation.

### Salvation is always a miracle and rewarding in every sense of the word. It came as a direct result of greed by the crows. Emboldened and fearless they circled in ever-widening flocks and on impulse rushed and struck the kitchen window with sharp impatient beats.

What a commotion! Even Lord Garvagh in his study on the top floor heard it.  Aggie, immediately realizing the cause and effect of the situation, ran for the broom. Flogging the daylight out of those rascals they scattered as autumn leaves disturbed by a blower. Peace and tranquility returned to the household. With an outpouring of love and affection, Fenrir was showered, primped, and cosseted like Marie Antoinette during her good days.

Triumphantly restored to prominence, Fenrir glowed and Sheba wore the mantle of First Lady once more. All’s well that ends well……..not quite. During his banishment the cats would often come by for a little cat nap, chew the fat and tell a few yarns. They liked Fenrir. Noticing the absence of greedy crows and no more demanding window bashing, Lord Garvagh and Aggie were cautiously optimistic. One fine evening Lord Garvagh strolling around his beautiful garden saw the two tomcats resting in a bed of golden marigolds. Aha, that’s the reason, he thought. They keep the crows away. Bending down intending to pat the head he could only see one ear, and the other cat a socket where an eye should rest. ………….”Poor little buggahs” he said to himself. At his express instruction Aggie would put out each evening Tupperware containing hamburger and milk. Shoo and Scram were on easy street at last.