Eerie, Indiana fanfiction: Kaleidoscope
Written for Day 21 of the 31_days April Challenge. The prompt was "kaleidoscope"
Simon was halfway through the latest issue of Crypts, Cryptids and Cryptography when Harley tugged at his sleeve and whispered in his ear that he could see a man. They were in Simon’s small bedroom, Harley squatting on the threadbare patch of dingy carpet in front of the bookcase, Simon stretched full-length on his narrow bed, facing the cracked and peeling ceiling.
They had stripped the torn and faded bedclothes from the sagging mattress and shoved them into the gap between the door and the floor. It made a flimsy and ineffective barrier to any adult wanting entry, but it muffled the sounds coming from the rest of the house just a little.
Sometimes just a little was the best the boys could get.
Moving as quietly as possible, Simon sat upright and swung his legs off the lumpy mattress. He bent at the waist and, with the ease of long practice, his fingers sought and found the battered backpack stuffed beneath his bed. It contained clean socks, shirts and underwear in two different sizes, a jar of peanut butter, and a six-pack of the kind of juice boxes that never expired and held only a passing acquaintance with the fruits they claimed to originate from.
Harley stood when his brother did, gathering his collection of cheap toys and shoving them into various pockets. At the age of seven, he no longer believed Simon when he claimed the backpack meant adventures lay ahead, but he understood the need for a stealthy exit once it made an appearance.
Simon bundled up his sheets and blankets, tossing them haphazardly onto the bare mattress, and opened his bedroom door a fraction. The house was silent. Holding Harley’s small hand in his own, backpack slung over one shoulder, he moved across the landing to the top of the stairs and peered through the banister towards the ground floor. Nothing moved below. Simon let out a low sigh and together, the brothers made their way down the steps, keeping to the edges to avoid unnecessary noise.
Once the front door had been closed and locked behind them, Simon pulled Harley across the dead lawn and around the corner, stopping once they were out of sight of the house. He checked his watch. The hands showed it was just a little past eight o’clock. Normally, the Tellers would be up and around at this point, Marilyn setting the coffee to percolate, Edgar perhaps washing the family car in the driveway or tinkling with something ill-advised in the garage. But they were back in Jersey, visiting Marshall’s grandparents.
Simon looped the dangling strap of his backpack over his other shoulder, looked at his brother and forced a smile.
“You wanna go to the park?” he said, injecting a note of cheer into his voice that he wasn’t feeling.
Harley looked up at him beneath his fine blonde hair and shrugged. Simon figured that was about as good a response as he was going to get.
Deadwood Park was quiet so early in the day; the only people about were a few dog walkers and the odd solitary pensioner feeding the pigeons (and steadfastly ignoring the pterodactyls that occasionally swooped down to eat the breadcrumbs along with the birds themselves). Simon spread a ragged sweatshirt beneath a copse of wind-swept trees, settled himself with his back pressed against the trunk of the biggest specimen, and opened his magazine. Harley retrieved his toys from their various hidey-holes and set them out on the makeshift blanket, then sat down in the damp grass, immediately staining his jeans at the knees.
Simon looked up when a slim black plastic tube landed in his lap.
“There’s a man,” said Harley. He pointed at the toy, a cheap kaleidoscope purchased from the bargain bin at the World o’ Stuff.
Simon sat up a little straighter, not quite scrambling away from the offending object, and inwardly cursed himself. He knew better than to assume any of Mister Radford’s merchandise would work exactly as advertised. Not that what the World o’ Stuff sold was ever broken, exactly; it was more that it came with a few unexpected features thrown in for free. He pulled the cuff of his shirt over his hand before picking the kaleidoscope up and held it at eye-level, careful not to let it touch his bare skin.
There was a man. Of course, there was a man. What else had he expected? Amidst the bursts of bright colours, the man was a black shape, outlined in red and orange flames, back arched in silent agony as he burned. Simon watched with a sick fascination, turning the cylinders with numb fingers grown slippery with a cold sweat. The brightly coloured shapes shifted and changed, but the man remained, his pain eternal.
Simon let the toy drop. It bounced on the hard, dry earth and rolled a little way. A hairline crack appeared in the black plastic casing. Simon thought for a moment he could hear screaming, distant and distorted, as though coming to him along the length of a long tube of plastic. He felt ill. Dimly, he was aware that Harley was speaking to him. With an effort, he pulled his eyes away from the kaleidoscope and focused on his brother’s face.
“Sorry, Harley,” he mumbled. “I broke it.”
“That’s okay,” said Harley. He picked up a fallen twig and gave the kaleidoscope an experimental prod. “It was dumb anyway.” He shook his fringe out of his eyes and met his brother’s gaze. “Let’s look for sea-monsters down by the lake.”
Later, buying shrimping nets in order to catch the tiny wriggling waterspooks that glittered and flashed through the shallows at the edge of the lake, Simon asked Mister Radford about the neat piles of kaleidoscopes stacked beneath a red and white “Clearance” sign. Radford sighed and shook his head.
“I guess Eerie isn’t ready for the rise of repurpose and upcycling movement,” he said. “The stained glass inside ’em came from the old chapel on Highway 48, and maybe some folks thought it was disrespectful.” He shrugged. “It was deconsecrated in ’74, but I guess that doesn’t make a difference.”
“No,” said Simon, casting a wary eye over the kaleidoscopes, innocuous in their smooth black casing. “I think it makes all the difference in the world.”
Simon was halfway through the latest issue of Crypts, Cryptids and Cryptography when Harley tugged at his sleeve and whispered in his ear that he could see a man. They were in Simon’s small bedroom, Harley squatting on the threadbare patch of dingy carpet in front of the bookcase, Simon stretched full-length on his narrow bed, facing the cracked and peeling ceiling.
They had stripped the torn and faded bedclothes from the sagging mattress and shoved them into the gap between the door and the floor. It made a flimsy and ineffective barrier to any adult wanting entry, but it muffled the sounds coming from the rest of the house just a little.
Sometimes just a little was the best the boys could get.
Moving as quietly as possible, Simon sat upright and swung his legs off the lumpy mattress. He bent at the waist and, with the ease of long practice, his fingers sought and found the battered backpack stuffed beneath his bed. It contained clean socks, shirts and underwear in two different sizes, a jar of peanut butter, and a six-pack of the kind of juice boxes that never expired and held only a passing acquaintance with the fruits they claimed to originate from.
Harley stood when his brother did, gathering his collection of cheap toys and shoving them into various pockets. At the age of seven, he no longer believed Simon when he claimed the backpack meant adventures lay ahead, but he understood the need for a stealthy exit once it made an appearance.
Simon bundled up his sheets and blankets, tossing them haphazardly onto the bare mattress, and opened his bedroom door a fraction. The house was silent. Holding Harley’s small hand in his own, backpack slung over one shoulder, he moved across the landing to the top of the stairs and peered through the banister towards the ground floor. Nothing moved below. Simon let out a low sigh and together, the brothers made their way down the steps, keeping to the edges to avoid unnecessary noise.
Once the front door had been closed and locked behind them, Simon pulled Harley across the dead lawn and around the corner, stopping once they were out of sight of the house. He checked his watch. The hands showed it was just a little past eight o’clock. Normally, the Tellers would be up and around at this point, Marilyn setting the coffee to percolate, Edgar perhaps washing the family car in the driveway or tinkling with something ill-advised in the garage. But they were back in Jersey, visiting Marshall’s grandparents.
Simon looped the dangling strap of his backpack over his other shoulder, looked at his brother and forced a smile.
“You wanna go to the park?” he said, injecting a note of cheer into his voice that he wasn’t feeling.
Harley looked up at him beneath his fine blonde hair and shrugged. Simon figured that was about as good a response as he was going to get.
Deadwood Park was quiet so early in the day; the only people about were a few dog walkers and the odd solitary pensioner feeding the pigeons (and steadfastly ignoring the pterodactyls that occasionally swooped down to eat the breadcrumbs along with the birds themselves). Simon spread a ragged sweatshirt beneath a copse of wind-swept trees, settled himself with his back pressed against the trunk of the biggest specimen, and opened his magazine. Harley retrieved his toys from their various hidey-holes and set them out on the makeshift blanket, then sat down in the damp grass, immediately staining his jeans at the knees.
Simon looked up when a slim black plastic tube landed in his lap.
“There’s a man,” said Harley. He pointed at the toy, a cheap kaleidoscope purchased from the bargain bin at the World o’ Stuff.
Simon sat up a little straighter, not quite scrambling away from the offending object, and inwardly cursed himself. He knew better than to assume any of Mister Radford’s merchandise would work exactly as advertised. Not that what the World o’ Stuff sold was ever broken, exactly; it was more that it came with a few unexpected features thrown in for free. He pulled the cuff of his shirt over his hand before picking the kaleidoscope up and held it at eye-level, careful not to let it touch his bare skin.
There was a man. Of course, there was a man. What else had he expected? Amidst the bursts of bright colours, the man was a black shape, outlined in red and orange flames, back arched in silent agony as he burned. Simon watched with a sick fascination, turning the cylinders with numb fingers grown slippery with a cold sweat. The brightly coloured shapes shifted and changed, but the man remained, his pain eternal.
Simon let the toy drop. It bounced on the hard, dry earth and rolled a little way. A hairline crack appeared in the black plastic casing. Simon thought for a moment he could hear screaming, distant and distorted, as though coming to him along the length of a long tube of plastic. He felt ill. Dimly, he was aware that Harley was speaking to him. With an effort, he pulled his eyes away from the kaleidoscope and focused on his brother’s face.
“Sorry, Harley,” he mumbled. “I broke it.”
“That’s okay,” said Harley. He picked up a fallen twig and gave the kaleidoscope an experimental prod. “It was dumb anyway.” He shook his fringe out of his eyes and met his brother’s gaze. “Let’s look for sea-monsters down by the lake.”
Later, buying shrimping nets in order to catch the tiny wriggling waterspooks that glittered and flashed through the shallows at the edge of the lake, Simon asked Mister Radford about the neat piles of kaleidoscopes stacked beneath a red and white “Clearance” sign. Radford sighed and shook his head.
“I guess Eerie isn’t ready for the rise of repurpose and upcycling movement,” he said. “The stained glass inside ’em came from the old chapel on Highway 48, and maybe some folks thought it was disrespectful.” He shrugged. “It was deconsecrated in ’74, but I guess that doesn’t make a difference.”
“No,” said Simon, casting a wary eye over the kaleidoscopes, innocuous in their smooth black casing. “I think it makes all the difference in the world.”