The Lines Are Ours To Follow, Book 1: Making: The Lines Are Ours To Follow, #1

The sky is made of brilliance!

There are countless stars beyond the blue shell of our own planet, radiating their light out into the vast expanses beyond. This light potentially travels for eons to our own planet, reaching us as but a glimmer in the night sky. That light we perceive is a glimpse into what the originating star looked like all those ages ago.

Think on that, my friends!

The light is representative of what that star used to be. It was expelled violently outwards from the surface of a sun in a completely different part of our universe. And in that moment of us perceiving the starlight, we are... uh… allowing? Yes, allowing is a good word. We are allowing the starlight to complete a journey of simultaneous events.

A journey that is ironically both ancient yet instantaneous!

For the light particle, it left its home a mere moment ago and traversed the universe between its origination point and us, a brief set of moments containing both in its creation and destruction... It is simultaneously the same moment for the light.

Each of us are equivalent to this when compared to the scale of our universe.

Our existence is but a moment; a string of probabilities that occur in a briefest moment of time. Our own journey, as a species, is very much the same from an analogous point of view. To us, our races are ancient, at again, to us, each of us is constrained to a moment in and of ourselves. Our own lives, which seem to be so long, are filled completely by smaller moments… eating, sleeping, or sitting in a lecture hall listening to an old man talk!

This ever marching scale of comparison can be used to help us draw parallels between the moment a light particle is created to the moment a baby is born to the moment a star collapses to the moment our universe dies. Time is unfathomably deep, so we must use analogy and metaphor to appreciate it, or even to begin to understand it.

This understanding is critical for our ability to conceptualize the moment.

Moments are results!

Results are the consequences of choice and choice is nothing more than the execution of will. All moments can be seemingly the result of chance; forces of a fixed system at work. Some foolishly attribute these results to a higher power. Ha! Gods and Demigods!

They sense something larger than us... larger than each of us as unique individuals.

However, I would argue that the system is just a system! The forces of that system are no more a choice of a God than me giving this lecture to all of you is a choice of a God. It is my choice to lecture. Therefore if God exists, he exists outside the system. God is a force that if it was in the system, would destroy the system by being larger than what the God had created.

In contrast, our Will is within the system, and the consequences of our choices is in the system, and the environmental forces put upon us, those are in the system. As a result, one could correlate that every day we bring our Will against this System. Our method of understanding the System is through the understanding of Moments. And in the end, we come to bring our Will to act upon the Moment.

Shaping is the result of our Will applied against the Moment!

- Excerpt from The Principle Lectures, 612 atw, Preceptor Norrich Glass, University of Ilith Uani.

Chapter 1

Today is Saturday and my brother has been missing since Thursday. It is all my fault.

Shit.

Sorry. Shouldn't cuss. Hail Mary full of grace, and all of that. Father Deakins goes on and on about how cussing leads the virtuous down the path of evil. So I try my best. At least, sometimes.

But not for this… my brother is an asshole.

Calvin is fourteen. A mature fourteen year old in some ways. Actually, we are more mature than our peers in school, but only because of the stuff we have been through. Being foster kids is never easy, even at the best of times. So while he might seem mature, he still acts like the kid he his. A little kid that walks around like he owns the place, strutting with his flipped collar, thinking he looks cool. Honestly, he is just asking for trouble. He acts so much older when I have two years on him, almost three! I am no expert on how the world works, but I have some time on him. That should count for something, right?

My brother is nothing like me. He won't listen to me and some days he won't even talk to me.

My bedside clock flipped its plastic number over, making its soft clicking noise. Ten at night and where the hell is Cal? He walked out the front door two days ago. He didn't look back to see my face go from fury, to fear, to sadness, and back to fury. He didn't even give me a chance to say anything. He put one foot in front of the other and disappeared.

He shouldn't have done this. He has crossed a line. Our new foster family is nice... nicer than any other we have ever had. Mrs. Fuller even asked us to call her Mom. Who does that? What foster parent goes out of their way to treat you nice, take you in, and say it is ok to call her mom!? They haven't adopted us, but Mrs. Fuller is the real deal. She cares. I have a real mom and Mrs. Fuller knows that. She knows all the bad stuff already, and she still cares. Mr. Fuller is the same way. He is kind and treats us right. He always makes sure we always have an extra buck in our pocket in case we want to go to the movies or get a milkshake at Roxie's. The Fullers are the best thing that has ever happened to us.

And what does Cal do? He throws it all back in the Fuller’s faces. My brother is an asshole! He is ruining it, because he doesn't get it and I can't keep him in line, no matter what I try.

On Thursday I snapped. It’s the truth. I lost my temper and I hit him. Not hard, but enough to rattle his ears. I wanted to shake that dried out brain of his and see if I could knock some sense loose. I regretted the moment that I did it. And Cal was making sure that I was going to regret it to the fullest, that day, the day after, and every stinking moment since.

The police won't be any help. The Fullers had asked them to come by earlier this afternoon, and they did. They showed up in their shiny black and white Ford, with the chrome fenders and white walled tires. It sat in the sun, a silent symbol of authority, reflecting the sunlight as the two officers did their job. I sat mutely on the couch, trying to not look guilty while I stared out the window.

The two officers themselves were out of a penny drugstore novel. One was tall, lean, and gray. He asked all the questions and scritched with a small pencil into his small notebook. The other was short, fat, and mean looking. Like junkyard dog kind of mean.

Mrs. Fuller gave them a picture of Cal, and Mr. Fuller just shrugged as they asked questions. The tall one asked all the obvious ones. 'Was Calvin upset before he left?', 'Did Calvin have any fights recently?', 'Did Calvin say anything or leave a note?' and so on. They didn't look at me. They didn't even ask me. So I didn't have to lie. But I would have. Because I knew they weren't going to find him. You would have to look in order to find someone.

And I knew no one was going to look for Cal.

I excused myself to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of milk while I listened to their voices filter in from the living room. I looked out the window, hoping to see Cal strutting back down the street, dragging a broken branch against the picket fences, scraping the paint while the branch made its thunk-thunk-thunk noise to announce his arrival.

Instead, I could hear Mrs. Fuller trying to explain Cal to the officers like he was a dog. His recent behavior, his attitude towards adults, while Mr. Fuller would punctuate with his grunts and quiet affirmations. I could hear the scritching of a dry pencil on the police officer's notepad. No doubt he was taking copious notes that only read the single word ‘runaway’ over and over.

The fat one finally spoke, which perked my ears up. He hadn't said a word since they arrived.

He will probably turn up in a day or two, Mrs. Fuller. He will end up stranded at a bus stop or train station a couple towns over. Kids like this, you know... these kids with problems, they are troublemakers. They have a way of getting caught up in places at the end of the line. So don't worry, Ma'am. I am sure it will turn out fine, he had said in a nasally voice. He didn't sound emphatic at all, just another day on the job.

I imagined him leaning over and patting Mrs. Fuller on the shoulder while making some comment about unthankful orphans. They didn’t care. They would never care. Even with a lady standing in front of them with tears in her eyes, begging them to look for her foster kid.

I knew in my gut that it was my job to bring him back. I knew it. So right there at the kitchen sink, looking down the empty road, I knew that I would have to go hunt him down myself.

I glanced over at the clock as it flipped over to 10:05.

The Fullers went to bed like clockwork and they would have fallen asleep an hour ago. I pushed the covers back gently and stepped out fully dressed. I had planned ahead as best as I could. I had followed my own routine, said goodnight to the Fullers, changed in my room, huddled deep under the sheets, and pretended to fall asleep.

Now, slinking across my room, I avoided the squeaky parts of the floor, grabbing my backpack and jacket from the wall hooks. Slowly sliding my fingertips against the edge of the door, I pried it open gently. Thankfully, the hallway was dark and the Fuller's door was shut. I slid out the gap, pulling the door behind me and snuck down the stairs, taking care not to step on the squealing second step. I shouldered my backpack carefully, feeling the weight of my pack’s contents against my back. I had packed some clothes, some food, my canteen, a flashlight, and all my saved up allowance was shoved down in my front pocket... enough to help me find Cal, wherever he had finally ended up. I hope I had enough, because I had no idea how long this was actually going to take. I was going to find him, grab him by his ear and drag him back kicking and screaming.

I pulled a note from my back pocket and set it carefully on the mantelpiece next to Mr. Fuller's car keys. The sound of crying slowly wound its way from the kitchen and I immediately froze me in place, my ears were perked like a cat on a hunt. The crying wasn't bawling, it wasn't the gut wrenching tears that happens when someone dies... this was gentle. A hopeless crying. I walked carefully over to the dark kitchen doorway to see Mrs. Fuller sitting at the table, hunched over a cup of cold tea, crying. She clutched a picture of me and Cal in one hand, crushed and wrinkling against her forehead. In the picture, my brother and I were freshly arrived on her doorstep over a year ago, nervous smiles on our faces. I doubted she cried out of love, but it unnerved me all the same. I had to say something.

Mrs. Fuller?

She turned up towards me, her eyes bloodshot, and her face streaked with tears. Surprisingly, she smiled.

You are going after him, she said. There was no question in her voice.

I am. I left a note on the mantle, but um, I didn't want to sneak out, I said, trying to smile bravely.

I think I know why, Mrs. Fuller said as she stood, smoothing her night gown absentmindly. Her manner went from shaky to resolute in a moment. Do you have food?

Yes. And water, I replied.

Do you have money?

Her eyes looked worn-through. She must have been crying for a while. Yes Ma'am. I have a little. Enough to find him and bring him back. I think.

She reached into her robe and pulled out an old coin purse. She handed it to me slowly. There should be about fifty dollars or so in there as well.

I was expecting you to tell me to go back upstairs. This is way too much money... I trailed off.

I knew you would go after him. It's who you are, Ben. How long have you taken care of him? The fact that you thought to leave a note means more to me than you will ever know, so however I can help, I will. She moved to the counter and grabbed a couple apples from the bowl. Here, more food won't hurt either.

She handed me the apples and kissed me on the cheek. Her lips were warm, and I felt the brush of her wet cheek as she pulled away.

You are almost a man, but you still look so young. Be careful. It’s safe enough here in Carter, but there are dangerous sorts of... people... out there. She nodded at the kitchen window.

Thanks Mrs. Fuller. I appreciate it, I said. I felt my gut twist seeing someone like this over my brother. Over me.

I know. I know. She sniffed and clenched a tissue to her nose. Find him. I couldn't forgive myself if something happened to him. Now get out of here before I start crying again.

I'll be back. I went to the front door and left quickly. The screen door swung shut behind me, bouncing off its spring as I walked off into the dark before it had a chance to settle closed.

Chapter 2

I figured I would start with the dongs that Cal called friends.

They were easy enough to find, but I also knew where to look. They were old enough to be free of their parents’ curfew, but young enough that leaving the diner or movie theater for any other destination was nigh unthinkable. It was late for a Saturday, so most of them would be at Roxie's. Carter was a small town with limited choices. Roxie's was large enough and loud enough that most freshmen could feel older than they actually were.

Instead of walking through the front door, I swung around to the back to find the Thompson brothers and their flunkies standing around smoking and trying to look far cooler than they could successfully pull off. As soon as Brit Thompson saw me, he pushed out his chest and looked at me with unadulterated disgust. Being in the same year at school, Brit and I had never gotten along well. Most of the time I just wanted to hit him and I had the notion that the feeling was mutual. Brit's younger brother, Reid, was Calvin's link to this group of miscreants. Reid paled when he saw me come around the corner, and he apparently found something on his shoes that was worth starting at.

Hey, Reid, got a minute? I asked calmly.

I took my hands out of my jacket pockets and let them hang loosely at my sides. I thought maybe it would look non-threatening. It probably looked like I was ready to hit something. But I needed help, not a fight. Unfortunately Brit probably thought differently. Asking him for anything was sure to make his bullying week. He leaned against the wall, a cigarette in one hand, his leather jacket propped slightly opened, the white t-shirt peeking from underneath. He looked as cocky as a teenager possibly could. I hated it.

Hey Dork, Brit smirked. What the hell do you want?

I shrugged and tried to make eye contact with Reid. He was still staring downward. Hey Reid. Can I talk to you?

You going to ignore me, dipshit? Brit asked. He pushed off the wall and slid his hand into his pocket.

I looked him in the eye and tried a winning smile. Just taking a walk, Brit. Figured I would talk to your brother about something.

I haven't seen your loser brother around much lately, Ben. Why is that? Brit said, spitting my name like an epithet.

Calvin? Why do you think I am here about Calvin? I said with a blank look. Brit's smirk faltered a bit. I could play him, but not for long. He was as sharp as a bag of wet mice, but he had a nose for weakness.

Huh, really? Brit said.

He sounded a little too eager for something. Reid finally looked up from his shoes and paled all over again. He looked as if he was about to faint. I stood straighter and hoped the same tactic that worked for intimidating wild bears worked on Brit Thompson as well. As he was essentially was one.

Nope. Just walking. Figured I would stop by to see if Calvin had snuck back here for a bit. Maybe I will go get a milkshake or something.

The smirk on Brit's face reasserted itself. So you are here about Calvin. Haven't seen him.

Well that's handy Brit. Let me know when you do? I asked in the friendliest, go choke on a lemon kind of voice I could manage.

I will let you know when you can go fuck yourself, Brit guffawed.

I sighed inwardly and persisted. What about you, Reid? Want a milkshake?

Reid shook his head without looking up at me and I was certain that he knew something important. He was the color of a sheet and there is no way his shoes were that interesting.

No one has seen him, Ben. Are you deaf? Brit said, brushing his radiant blue Levi's with the back of his hands. My guess is that he skedaddled for greener pastures.

Greener pastures? Playing dumb worked well with Brit, but I wasn't about to act smart. That would just confuse him worse.

Yeah, you know, an orphan tends to get lost and no one really cares, Brit scoffed.

Orphan? You sure you got your facts straight, Brit? I said, trying to keep a straight face while I felt an immediate flush of my blood starting to boil. I tried to keep it down. Brit had never taken a swing at me, but it had been close a few times. The last thing I wanted was a fight right now.

Yep, pretty sure. Please tell me you are running off too?

Nope. Like I have said three times already, I am just out for a walk. Looks like one of us is deaf, I said. I couldn't resist. The guy was a walking hemorrhoid.

I hope you weren't talking about me, buddy, Brit said as he deftly pulled a switchblade from his pocket. Some of the other boys looked nervously at Brit's glimmer of shiny steel and back to me. A couple of the flunkies smiled viciously, but Reid looked like he was about to lose his dinner on the pavement.

Nice knife. But like I said, I was just out for a walk. If you see my brother, let him know I was looking for him, I said, grimacing through what I came to say.

Brit looked disappointed as he folded the knife away. Yeah right. See you around, shithead. Try not to trip over yourself on the way out of Carter.

I heard the jerk laugh at my back until I turned the corner and it faded away. Inside Roxie’s, Elvis was thick in the air while teenagers occupied almost every booth. It was a date night and the last show at the Maverick had vomited its contents into Roxie's en masse. Well, the good ones ended up here for fries or a milkshake. I couldn’t speak for the ones that parked up at the overlook.

A couple of old regulars and a lone trucker were at the counter, poking at pie and sipping from cups of coffee, trying their hardest to ignore the kids boxing them in. A couple of waitresses with their permanent updos and adorned in sky blue gracefully turned between counter and booths with coffee in hand while hollering orders over the rail. I ordered a Coke as one bustled by. She deftly pulled a glass from under the counter, dumped some brown fizz from the soda fountain and dropped it in front of me with nary a glance.

A few minutes after Don't be Cruel played for the third time, I was accidentally jostled by Jenny Holstead (one of the cutest girls in town) on her way to the restroom. I tried not to look after her like an idiot, but she was radiant. All blonde hair and smiles, with these bluebird eyes that could pierce a cloudy day. As I was nonchalantly trying not to enjoy the view, someone dropped onto the stool next to me. I turned to find Reid hunched over sideways conspiratorially fidgeting with his hands under the counter. He looked so self-conscious, I almost laughed. He looked as if he was about to spill some illicit state secrets in one of those serials.

My brother will kill me if he knew I was in here talking to you. He sent me in here to get him a milkshake, and I, uh... I wanted to tell you earlier, but you know Brit. He would have, you know... made it hard for me.

Yeah, I know your brother, Reid, I said. I couldn't imagine being his little brother. So have you seen Cal?

Yeah. It wasn’t my idea, I swear. I am so sick about it. Calvin and I went up the Hill. He wanted to break in and see if there was anything worth stealing. I think my brother put him up to it. He got inside. I waited for a long time but he didn't come back out. I would have gone in after him, but I was um... I was... I am so scared, Ben. I ditched him. I feel terrible, man. Reid was visibly shaking.

Why didn't you come tell me? Or the Fullers? Somebody? I asked.

I thought about it, honest. But Brit kept telling me to forget it. I was going to tell my pops, and Brit locked me in the root cellar last night until pop threatened to switch him for it. I just couldn't... I... are you mad at me?

No, Reid. I am not mad, just worried about Calvin. Get out of here before your brother finds out.

Thanks Ben. And... uh, sorry, Reid said, standing up quickly.

He rushed towards the bathroom, jostling every crowd of students on the way. He was probably close to throwing up. I dropped a couple nickels on the counter, pulled my backpack on and shoved a handful of star mints deep into my front pocket. I pushed the door open with its silly chime of bells and headed out into the night of a small American town on the edge of nowhere.

Chapter 3

I walked through the dark of a typical Carter evening. My breath plumed out as I walked, visible in the softly glowing streetlights. The air was chilly but not frigid yet as this part of the world was slowly turning towards a typical Midwest winter, with plenty of snow and ice and the relentless wind to remind us that summer was long gone. With every step I took I felt the weight of my backpack on my shoulders, the water in the canteen softly sloshing back and forth, punctuating my walk towards the Hill.

The Hill was at the center of town, on an old gentle slope a block east from the town square and two blocks west from the Courthouse. A single solitary house stood at its top, an empty derelict, ignored at large by the town. It was rarely given a glance by those that walked by, even though its size was impressive compared to the buildings that composed the rest of Carter. The House on the Hill was normal, like a boulder or a grain silo in any other town... a part of the landscape. Most of the town kids used it as a destination for escalating dares, to see who could get closest without running, or ring the doorbell without chickening out. Obviously Calvin thought there was something worth looking into beyond its dark facade. Maybe he thought it was a chance to prove himself. Because that is what you have to do for bullies that call themselves your friend.

Calvin could be hurt, or dead, or trapped, God knows what else. He always seemed to find the most trouble in the shortest amount of time. To be honest, I wasn't sure how I felt about all this. On one hand, I was angry with Cal, but at the same time, I was worried about him. How I was going to feel when I looked Cal in the eyes? Would I hug him and make his smug choice worse by ignoring it altogether? Maybe I would slug him across the jaw. I tried not to worry about it. I would end up doing the wrong thing no matter what. Every choice was wrong with Cal.

Hopefully he was just stuck in a pantry.

The moon towered high above, almost full. It served as a complement to the yellow street lamps winding their way intermittently down the streets that wound around me. The shops on Main were closed for the night, even though the Maverick Theatre was still brightly lit. The marquee was borderline gaudy, spilling red glow across the street and onto the other storefronts. Even over the darkened buildings on Main and the narrow rows of houses, I could see the House looming on its perch. From here, in the dark, it looked like a raven stooped low within the embrace of a tree. No light fell upon it to bring any visibility to its strange features, and no lights came from within. The trees around it were sparse from it being fall, but even in the summer, they rarely bloomed or leafed out. The House was from a horror movie. I half expected Bela Lugosi or Lon Chaney to open the door and step out into the moonlight and transform into something sinister before me. Ready to suck my blood or abduct me to the dark hallows of a strange recluse’s nightmare.

I put my hands against the wrought iron fence that wrapped the property, looking through the bars at the dark monster in its nest. Nothing moved... the silence was pervasive. It was everywhere, covering the Hill in a thick blanket of quiet. It gave me the creeps something fierce. Funny thing though, none of the windows were broken or boarded. Not a single one.

Damn it, Calvin, I muttered.

I nearly ran up the long drive, but stopped short of leaping on to the porch. I timidly climbed the steps to peer into the nearest window. I couldn’t see a thing inside. I was not a scaredy-cat, but the sense of this place made me feel like I needed to run and hide. The sooner I got out of here the better... My legs were aching to run in the other direction as quickly as they could take me.

Calvin, if you are in there, come out this minute! I yelled.

I waited for something to happen. Anything really. I sighed and counted to ten, steeling my nerves and trying to get my breathing under control. I laid my hand on the front door handle, half expecting a portal to hell to open underneath with screaming demons hurling insults and pitchforks at me. Thankfully that did not happen. I pushed down on the long handled door latch. The handle didn't move. It didn't even wiggle. I pushed against the solid heavy looking door, planted my feet, really trying to put my weight into it... and nothing.

Well, shit, I sighed. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted. Calvin!

I stepped off the porch and picked up a small chunk of paving stone in my hand, feeling the heft of its weight in my hand.

God, I hope you are not haunted, I muttered as I chucked the rock at one of the smaller parlor windows near the door. The glass plinked loudly and the rock simply dropped to the wooden porch with a sad bouncing roll.

Odd.

I was looking for something a bit more shatterery and tinkly (and satisfying.) I picked up larger rock. This would surely go through. I stood back, wound up like a baseball pitcher and let it fly as hard as I could. The rock sailed right into the same pane as before. The rock hit the window, and again, gravity asserted itself. The rock tumbled to the porch with a dull thud.

What the hell? Frustrated didn’t even begin to explain how I felt.

I noticed a litter of the different shaped rocks strung across the porch and resting on the window sills. I picked up a flat-ended rock and swung it against the window like a palm hammer. The glass made the same ringing noise in absolute defiance of my efforts. My arm shook with the reverberation of hitting something like steel. It made no sense.

The front door swung inwards silently without a noise. I stumbled in the opposite direction in panic, more reflex than anything, almost falling over backwards off of the porch.

DAMMIT CALVIN! Stop playing around. Come out here this minute!

I half expected to hear a giggle or muted laugh coming from beyond the dark entry way. But there was nothing. Not even Lon Chaney welcoming me to his lair with a sadistic half-grin. A part of me was disappointed. Another part of me almost needed a new pair of underpants. An empty doorway is in every way far scarier.

I pulled my flashlight in a panic and brandished it like it was a weapon. Switching it on did not help my confidence any and at this point I don’t think anything would. I took my first step into the darkness of the House, swinging the light back and forth, banishing the dark for only the slimmest moments of time feeling like an idiot.

Chapter 4

Have you ever stepped into a dark room and it felt like someone was watching you? That is exactly how I felt the moment I crossed the threshold. I swear I saw a pair of glowing blue eyes watching me from the staircase, but when I swung my flashlight, I only found what I expected. Empty stairs.

Hello? Anyone there? I called out tremulously.

I felt a hair braver when no one jumped out at me screaming. My own imagination was in overdrive, and that was not helping dissipate the solid chunk of fear that had made camp in my gut.

I played my flashlight across the doorways, the rooms, the stairs, and the walls around me in a slow rotation of light. Footprints? Could there be footprints in the dust? Clues to pinpoint my wayward brother? The stress was making me think I could be Sherlock Holmes. Idiot. And of course, the dark floor boards did not have a speck of dust for feet to disturb.

The foyer was larger than I thought, with a massive redoubled stairway curving around on itself to the upper floor of the house. Everything was bare. No furniture, no window coverings, no chandeliers, nothing that would give any sort of indication that this once was a place that was inhabited. There were no doors to speak of and every space was open. I could mostly see through to each corner of the house from right where I stood, although I made a point to make a quick circuit of the first floor anyway.

Honestly, the House was in amazing condition given its age. It did not smell old; it had none of that musty reek that some libraries and old storage barns get. You know that smell. The smell of old things that can't really be explained by dirt. Like you are smelling time itself. The entire house should reek of it.

Perhaps my brother had just split. If there was nothing to steal, then he probably left; at least that is what I wanted to tell myself. As I came back to my starting place in the foyer, my flashlight played against the wall, and I noticed drawings. The walls were bare, and yet it appeared that the drawings were scratched into the surface of the wall. And not just one, but all of them. I must not have noticed it because they were so faint. I walked up to the nearest wall and touched it lightly with my fingertips.

The relief was delicate, barely standing out against the underlying surface of a soft creamy blue. The scenes flowed from one to another, and the light from my flashlight seemed to wash them out. One scene depicted vast armies of warriors sporting swords, spears and other things that I couldn't make out. There were animals too, giant creatures out of some kid's storybook, arrayed in strange armor and strange shapes. There were castles, forests, entire cities captured on the walls.

As I worked up my way the staircase, I found the top floor was laid out like the floor underneath it, with walls in nearly the same places and no doors to speak of. It started to look like Calvin had left some other way, leaving poor Reid to freak out with his own imagination. After all, the House was quiet, all the doorways were open and rooms empty, with nothing to steal. Unfortunately, the chances of finding Calvin giggling in a closet was quickly approaching zero. I moved room to room, shining my light into every nook and cranny, looking for any place someone could hide or get stuck. And the bizarre scratchings continued wherever I looked. Maps, drawings, and what looked like technical diagrams for strange machines covered every wall.

Again, I swear I saw a pair of glowing blue eyes at the end of the hallway. I swung my flashlight in a panic to find only a door.

Is someone there? I yelled. Only the musty silence was there to reply.

The door itself was immense, much wider than the other doorways