Around the Block: Episode 5 -- The Flea Market

Welcome to a new episode of Around the Block...

Today, Joan and Kathy are checking out the flea market.  They can't believe the boxes and piles of junk and treasures there are to look at. Joan is looking for something unusual and interesting for a blank wall in her bedroom. Jerry Slickhaire, of a local shop called "You Can Take It with You Vintage" and Kathy's secret admirer, is telling them about a great estate sale for a Mr. B. Lou Gosi. that he went to a few weeks ago. He says that Erica Swerica, local art dealer, had grabbed up some great artwork at the sale and they should check out her booth.

A few booths down, Joan and Kathy find themselves checking out the artwork of art dealer, Erica Swerica.  Kathy has purchased other artwork from Erica and says she has some great bargains. Erica points out the pieces she got at the sale.  Joan becomes entranced by rather odd painting of a man with really bad teeth.  On the back it says "Painting of V.  Lad Impaler."  She mesmerized by the brush strokes, the use of color, and assumes that he must be British, due to the teeth.  Joan asks how much?  Erica says 10 blocks.  Joan says Sold!  She can hardly wait to get home and hang it.

As they leave the booth, Jackie a.k.a. Catwoman shows up in a new suit that she found down the street in "Loretta's Lotta Vintage" booth.  And she informs them that she has renamed herself to Jackie a.k.a. Leopardess.  She sees Joan's new painting and kind of freaks out.  She can't get over the teeth.  She says that he must be British.  Regardless, Joan is happy and is ready to hang her painting.  Kathy say they must stop at Jerry's booth to purchase the magnifying glass she saw earlier, and she just loves looking at his junk.

 About ten minutes later, two extremely pale grey eccentrics approach Erica, asking if she was at the sale of their distant cousin, Mr. B. Lou Gosi.  They are anxious to find a painting that was sold.  It was of another relative that they simply refer to as Lad.  Erica tells them that she sold the painting.  They in turn hiss at her, bare their teeth, and scurry away.  Erica thinks they must be British because they were such a strange shade pale grey.

Meanwhile down the street at the pet store, there has been three parrots sitting in a row in the window.  Now there are only two. Polly and Cracker are starting to squawk about their missing friend, Wanda.  The pet store hasn't noticed the one that is missing yet.  But, Mr. Barton C. Mesteel, a local kleptomaniac, slowly walks out of the pet shop with a suitcase with a hole in it.  Out of that hole, crumbs are falling, creating a trail....

The Time Traveler's Club: Chapter 37 -- A West Coast Meeting

Xavier Graff was enjoying his favorite view of San Francisco, looking at its skyline from the coast.   The sunny vibrant city gave him strength and a satisfying feeling of freedom.   Here, his outfit of a bright yellow sport coat, dark brown pants with matching newsboy cap, and yellow patent leather shoes meant that he had no reason to hide or even be stared at.  It was the city where he could be himself and he loved it.

Looking down at the choppy dark waters of San Francisco Bay, he thought for a moment about life and himself.

What a day.  What a life!  Who else could live this life? All thanks to one book.  Imagine that.   One book could change a man's life.  Some have Shakespeare.  Some have Dante.  I learned incantations.  One of which is for time travel.

A hard wind blew with a smell of salty water, but he didn't notice.   Squawking seagulls broke his concentration, then he looked down and wondered if anyone had spotted him from below.   Sitting on top of one of the red-painted towers of the Golden Gate Bridge, he doubted anyone would or could see him.  He felt lucky.  He jumped up and shouted.

"Ha!  How many other people can say they've sat on the tip-top of the Golden Gate Bridge and ponder life?"

Xavier laughed, then flipped open his gold pocket watch to check the time.

"Time's up.  She'll be cursing my name if I'm late again to a meeting."

Today, he would be meeting Rose and William Trenda, the head of the West Coast Chapter of The Time Savers Club, at Bertie's Coffee Shop on a corner near Washington Square in San Francisco.  Since he was obviously not going to slide down the tower and stroll along the bridge, he opted for the Migration Incantation.

"Tollite me huic secreto locus Washington Square." In a split second, he stood in alley between two buildings.

"I just love that incantation.   I wish I could figure out how it knows where exactly to put you.  It's like a magical GPS system.   It must be a subconscious thing."  He rubbed his clean-shaven chin, straightened his jacket and cap, and strolled out onto the sidewalk.

It was shortly after nine on a quite Sunday morning.   For once, he was early for a meeting.

At Bertie's, morning coffee drinkers formed their line to the barista to order.   Xavier ordered his usual -- tall non-fat no-water chai, then secured a secluded corner table and waited for his drink.  He watched the last few customers in their suits and skirts mill about waiting impatiently.   Others sat leisurely, reading the morning paper, sipping drinks or snacking on thick slices of coffee cake or fresh fruit, or enjoying lively conversations.

After several customers raced off with their hot drinks in hand, the young barista cried out.  "Gotta a tall non-fat no-water chai for Xavier."  Getting up to retrieve his drink, someone from behind pushed him back down into his seat.

"Don't worry, I'll get it," said Rose, plopping her bag into the chair next to him then wove her way through the crowd to order.  "I need to order and I don't want you to lose that table."

"Thanks, love," said Xavier.

Watching her, Xavier saw her turn to look at the front door then pointing in his direction.  Towering above the crowd like a skinny redwood, William Trenda nodded, gave his order to Rose, then joined Xavier.  Trenda was the head of the largest group of the Time Travelers Club with a total of ten after the addition of two new members.

"Red, my old friend." Xavier was talking to Trenda, who was known for his bright auburn hair.  "Long time no see, dear. You're looking trim as always."  

"It's good to see you again," said Trenda.  "You're looking well. Any news of your Uncle Griff?"

"He was rescued last night," said Xavier, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Good to hear.  Did he have any useful information?"

"Apparently, Dr. H. called a meeting his numb brains. There's speculation among the council that there'll be some sort of retaliation over Quince's death, but personally I doubt it.  The Doctor has an 'easy come, easy go' attitude towards his group... As long as they're dead when they choose to leave the group."

Xavier's mind flashed back to the night when Quince had gotten caught in the middle of a duel with Vincent.   Quince had taken an orb to both sides of his head.   Xavier had run back into the park to catch his breath and organize his thoughts before zipping over to Whitechapel to warn Rose and Mrs. Steers to get Sam back home.

Rose arrived with their three drinks and three different muffins.

"Ahhh," said Rose as she sat down.  "It feels good to sit. I've been on the run all morning. William, good to see you.  What's your thoughts on this current situation? Lottie told me she had contacted you to see if the West Coast chapter could help in the developments."

"Not a problem.  You've got us to rely on," said Trenda.  "Keep in mind that you’re not working alone.  The Council will want a full report as well.

The five-member International Council of The Time Savers Club oversaw all the chapters.   A world-wide network of members consisted of those who had mastered most of the incantations from Namvelt's book.   Some had the abilities to make powerful orbs, while others could zip through time in a matter of milliseconds.  As far as anyone knew, only a few in the known history of the club had ever mastered the entire book of incantations and spells.

"So, Lottie is certain about this boy, Sam?" said William.  "The International Council wants to know more about her findings.   I heard she is about to be hounded about it."

"She swears it is him," said Rose.  "I have helped her with some of her research.  I feel confident as well.   She is writing up her research.  She is planning on one last trip to fill in any gaps and find further information."

"Very good," said Trenda.  "The Council will want a full presentation.   They want to avoid unfortunate accidents.   That wouldn't be good for public relations.  The Council will want to be involved as well.  The boy will need to be kept safe."

Xavier sipped his drink.  "Let's hope that their membership hasn't grown.  It's unfortunate he has persuaded the ones he has."

Sitting her cup down, Rose glanced at Xavier.

"Don't worry," said Xavier, patting her hand.   "All will be fine."

Trenda patted her other hand.   "This isn't the first we've lost to a brain-washer.  We've saved numerous others before this from others who had tried to use the incantations for personal power."

Rose smiled at them.  Trenda continued to assure her.

"Cheer up.  Enough about that for now.  By the way, we have two new members," said Trenda.  "Their names are Lewis and Darren Scott.  They are twin brothers who were introduced to the chapter by their father."

While William talked, Xavier happened to notice that one customer moved his coffee mug very slowly up to his mouth and almost to a complete stand still just before sipping.

"Hmmm, take a gander at the customers," said Xavier, scoping the crowd. "Someone has cast the Slow Incantation on them."

"This can only mean one thing," said Trenda, standing up.  "We have company."

Through the window, he spotted Bruno peeking around red Volkswagen in front of the coffee house.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 36 -- Time Travel Lag

At the kitchen table, Sam nibbled on his peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich and sipped on a glass of milk. Tomorrow, he would be in front of his history class giving his report. His mind was still filled with both vivid images of London, the ghostly figure of his Dad, flying orbs whizzing past his head then exploding in showers of sparks, and of course Jack the Ripper.

Sam lazily skimmed his notes, not just from the library books but also the ones he scribbled in London.

Jack the Ripper was credited with at least six murders -- those in Whitechapel and its vicinity.  However, there were several other murders similar to his style, some of which occurred years later.  Although the police had numerous suspects, the true identity of Jack the Ripper remains a mystery up to today.  Many theories exist…

"Ha!" said Sam out loud.

Cuckoo! The fake bird sang out nine times before returning to its secret compartment in the top center of the clock's face.

"What?  Did you say something?"  Emily looked up from the stack of papers she was studying at her computer.  She was busy working on a new book.

"Nothing," replied Sam.  "I was just reviewing my notes about Jack the Ripper.   I have to give my report tomorrow in class."

"You’ll do fine.   You love giving presentations."  Emily returned to reading her papers then shuffling through them.

"Yea, I suppose.  I just want to make sure the facts are in my head."

Facts nothing!  I know who you are Jack the Ripper!  No one would ever believe it was you.  Sam grinned still seeing the face of the notorious serial killer in his mind.

Sam went back to his notes but was finding he could barely keep his eyes open.  He started nodding off.  It was no wonder since he spent the day before running in the back streets of Whitechapel. In fact, he didn’t get home until after two in the morning… at least in 1880s London time. In reality, they had only been gone for a few minutes in present-day time.

So far, he had enjoyed the blustery Sunday morning by relaxing and reading.  Now at nine o’clock, Sam felt exhausted and overcome by a queasy stomach.    At first, he thought the sandwich had upset it, but it didn't feel like a normal upset stomach.  And then it hit him.  He thought he would be sick at any moment.

Sam sat perfectly still trying to concentrate on the library book.  

If I don’t move, I won’t throw up…  I wonder if you can get time-travel lag like when you fly on an airplane?

Losing focus on his readings trying not to think about his stomach, he relived various previous-day scenes, pondering what he had encountered, and most importantly, questioning Mrs. Steers and the others involvement in the Time-Savers. His newly acquired unofficial membership into the group opened up a whole new world of possibilities and exploration.

His stomach grumbled and rolled.  Just sit still and don't move.

Sam realized that secrets could enrich his life. He knew the true identity of Jack the Ripper.  Not everyone could say "Hey, I solved one of history’s greatest mysteries."   He was living a dream, still bubbling over this fact and ready to unearth more answers to history's secrets.

Oh, my stomach...  Concentrate... Don’t move...

Sam was also prepared for Bon tomorrow at school.  He could hardly wait to tell her about keeping the dare.  However, it wouldn’t happen because of two reasons.  First, he remembered Mrs. Steers words about no one believing him.  Second, without notice, Sam’s stomach loudly rumbled and tumultuously churned.  He sat straight up in his chair, then beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

Sam sat astonished as the kitchen cabinets began to sway back and forth.  The hard wood floor began to roll up and down like ocean waves.  The refrigerator began to swell and contrast like it was breathing.  The kitchen table bounced up and down.  Sam's eyes widened at the sight of the dancing kitchen.

Jumping up from the table, Sam raced to the bathroom, just making it to the toilet bowl. He heaved, but nothing came up.  Holding his stomach, Sam bent over again and dry heaved.  He sat down on the side of the tub.   Emily came immediately, grabbed a washcloth, soaked it with cool water and placed it on his forehead.

"Here, hold this while I get a chair."

Sam slid his way down the side of the tub until her was on the cool tile floor.  A few seconds later, Emily raced back with a kitchen chair and helped Sam up onto it.   He was very pale and rocked back and forth.   His stomach ached, his throat was sore, and his mouth was dry.

"You look like a zombie," said his Mom.  Sam glanced at himself in the mirror.

"I need some water," said Sam in a frail voice. 

The toilet bowl lid started flapping up and down like it was talking. Sam closed his eyes and then opened.  The lid wasn't moving.   Emily got a glass of ice water from the kitchen and hurried back to the bathroom.

"Sip this slowly," said Emily, handing him the glass.  Sam didn’t listen at first.  He swashed the cold water around his mouth and spit it out into the toilet before starting to sip.

Emily as she felt his cheek then forehead.  "You're burning up. You’ve got a fever."

She fumbled around for the thermometer in the wicker basket filled with the incidentals found in most bathrooms.  She pulled an old glass thermometer out of its plastic case and shook it making sure that the red line was at the bottom.

"Here." Emily stuck it under his tongue and Sam closed his mouth around it. "Keep it there.  We have to wait about a minute."

In the meantime, Emily rinsed out the washcloth, rewet it, and placed it on the back of Sam’s neck.  After about a minute, Emily took the thermometer and scanned the red line which ended at around 100.3.

"Yep, you’ve got a fever." Emily felt his forehead again.  "Alright take your shirt off, I want to make sure you aren’t breaking out in spots."

Sam usually hated undressing in front of other people, even his Mom.  He never removed his shirt in front of others for fear that they would make fun of his pale skin or chubbiness.  This time, he didn’t care.   He slipped his shirt off and Emily scanned his back and under his arms.

"Well, no signs of anything," said Emily. "Why don’t you take a hot shower?  I’ll get you some clean pajamas."   

Sam didn’t argue.  At least, the toilet bowl lid wasn’t flapping up and down.

Sam stood under the hot water letting it run over his face.    After a few minutes passed, Emily knocked on the door.

"Are you alright?  I changed your sheets as well. Get into bed."

"Yes, I'm fine," said Sam, even though his throat was raw from throwing-up nothing.  "Everything's standing still now."

Getting out of the shower, he put his clean pajamas on. In his bedroom, he crawled into his comfy bed.  The sheets smelled clean. His Mom gave him some cold medicine and before long, he was out.

Around the Block: Episode 4 -- A New Hat

Welcome to a new episode of Around the Block...

Today's episode is called "Joan's New Hat"

Jackie (a.k.a Cat Woman) and Kathy were out and about, stopping by their favorite java place, Jocelyn's Joe and Juice Shop, for their tall mocha sugar-free latte with low-fat whip and low-fat skim milk.  Now. they were on their way to their weekly appointment for their weekly blow-out at Raul's, the local hair stylist. They agree that it's overpriced, but worth the time to have Raul, the sexy Latin hairdresser (and oil changer at Bernie's Garage, but only on Wednesday mornings) run his fingers through their hair.

While heading down the street, they spotted Joan, who was grumbling to herself and was obviously not happy.  They couldn't wait to hear what's going on.  Joan explained that she just came from Raul's and he misunderstood what exactly she wanted done to her hair.  This lead to her stop and shop on the second floor hat department of the Block's Department Store.  She just purchased this new green beret.

 

Jackie and Kathy knew that Joan never wears hats and prodded her for the scoop.  Finally, Joan took off the beret. Only to reveal that now she had something totally different going on than her usual blond styling.  She explained that she distinctly told Raul "I want it clipped all around." Raul thought he heard her say "I want clown all around."  Another reason that Raul needs to keep the music to a low roar. After an hour, she found herself no longer a blond, but a red-head... Not just red-head, but clown red-head. She also has gotten stopped five times and asked if she did children's parties.  Joan was not happy.

Meanwhile down the street, three members of the Society of Perpetual Hilarity had stopped to plan their next performance. Billy B argued for balloon figures, Marcel O argued for mime sketches, while Jack J fought for card tricks. Four hours later, they realized that they had missed the performance andnow would debate rather to deflate, feel their way home, or just play 52 card pick up.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 35 -- Give Me the Information

(Dear reader, remember chapter 20.  The one where there was a man bound to a chair.  Did you wonder who it was?  Well, here’s that same chapter, only expanded.)

"Tell me what I want to know!" Dr. Herkeimer was sharp.  He loomed in the shadows of the barren room. 

The metal shade of the low-hanging ceiling light created a circle of light on the floor. In that circle sat Griffin Graff, strapped to a wooden chair.  Dried blood lined his face and matted his salt and pepper hair.  His bristly beard was greasy and mangled.  Barely conscious, he rolled his head from one side to the other.  His tired eyes squinted as he looked up at the glowing bulb.

Griffin had been kidnapped outside a small village in South Africa, where he had been tracking another copy of Namvelt's books on time-travel.  His nephew, Xavier, had reported his disappearance to the Time-Savers several few weeks ago.

"I don't know.  I swear to you," said Griffin, licking his dried chapped lips.

Bruno, the brutish of Dr. Herkeimer's minions, stood in front of Graff.  "Boss, I'm tired of askin'. I've been mussin' this guy for a couple of hours.  By now, he woulda spilled."

Dr. Herkeimer's voice responded.  "Very well. We must get the old lady or the boy.  One of them will know."

The Doctor and Bruno left the room.

Griffin slumped forward in the chair, feeling the ropes dig into his chest.

Outside in the dimly lit hallway, Dr. Herkeimer gave Bruno instructions.

"I want you to come back later and see if you can get any further information.”

With his instructions, Bruno hulked away.  Dr. Herkeimer popped his knuckles and marched to another door, unaware of the cloaked figure lurking in a dark corner of the hallway.  

The figure slipped along the wall and through the door of the room where Griff sat.  He gently closing it behind him trying to make any sound.

The shadow flattened against the inside wall, evaluating the bound man, then tiptoed slowly towards him.

"Griff," whispered the cloaked figure, laying his hand on his shoulder.  Griffin raised his head, dazed again at first by the bright light above him.

"I'll tell you nothing." Griffin barely looked at the shrouded face, but then recognized the voice.  “It’s you.”

"We must get you out of here."  The shadow pulled a knife from inside his reddish-brown cloak and cut through the rope.  Sliding the bindings off, Griffin managed to rise from the chair and with the help of the cloaked figure, staggered towards the door.

"Here drink this first.  It'll give you the quick strength you need to escape." 

Griffin took the small vile filled with bluish-green liquid.  After gulping it all, within moments, he perked up as if he had just come back to life.  Griffin wiped his moustache and mouth with his shirt sleeve. 

"Damn. What was that stuff?  Tasted like mix of sour grapes with a dead monkey." 

"I just mastered it.  I'll tell you later and besides it won't last long so we've got to move quickly.  Wait here."  The cloaked man went back to the chair and placed a white calling card with a winged-hourglass symbol.

The figure then slowly cracked the door open and checked in both directions.

"We have to go that way." The cloaked figure pointed to the far end of the corridor. An oak door with wrought-iron strap hinges was lit by a single lantern hanging above it.

When they reached the door, the cloaked figure slowly pulled it open. Griff felt a cool wind rush in on his face. They slipped out and found themselves outside.  The full moon provided some illumination on a gravel path weaving through a flower garden, well-groomed shrubs, and mighty trees.  The wind rustled the leaves.

Griffin followed as they hurried along the gravel path.  Griffin turned to see a gloomy old stone mansion.   The moonlight glowed on the dark glass panes in recessed and arched windows.  Towards one end of the wall, a few windows had light glowing from inside.  Turrets on each corner had high-pointed roofs that looked like witch's hats.

"So that’s Dr. Herkeimer’s lair, eh?" said Griffin.  "Looks like s typical villains’ hideout. So why don’t we poof out of here?"

“I don't want to do that here even though we are along the side of the house.  Takes too much of the excitement away from the daring escape."

They came to an iron gate overgrown with weeds.  "I oiled the hinges earlier, so they don't squeak."

They slipped through just as voices echoed from near the house.

"I think they've discovered I'm gone," said Griffin.

"Wait...," said the figure. "The voices are coming from the front of the house."

Hiding in the overgrowth around the gate, they could see long shadows on the ground cast from interior light coming out of the front entrance.  On the driveway, someone was getting into the driver's side of a roadster.

"Someone's leaving.  I see headlights."

Moving from the gate, they ducked behind a hedge that lined the entire side of the drive.  The car's headlights illuminated the drive as it raced past them.  Griffin and the figure ran along the other side of the hedge all the way to the drive's end.  The car turned and sped off. Taking advantage of the car's noisy exit, they ran across the road into an overgrown field.

"My car is hidden on the other side of this field," said the figure. "I found a path among the high grass. We follow it until we reach the other side.  We should be safe."

"You're great at making plans," said Griffin.  "Why don't we just poof to the other side?"

"Too dangerous.  And they're called incantations.  And quit asking.  They might see the flash of light caused by using them.  That's the problem with using some of them.  You can't use it in the dark that well, especially if you're trying not to be seen."

"Good thinking.  You really know this stuff."

"It's my job.  They don't call me The Rescuer for nothing."  They disappeared into the field.  Eventually, they emerged on the other side where an old beat-up yellow car sat.

"Nice car.  Where'd you get it?  The junkyard?"

"I bought this car a long time ago.  Its engine is the quietest I've ever heard."

They sped away.

Taking a Short Break

To my dear readers,

I hoped that you made it all the way through my first book.  There were times when I was posting it that I thought "Who wrote this!  This is awful."  This was a reminder that having an editor is worth it.

That has been my biggest challenge.  I have the story, but writing it down is difficult.

I am taking a brief break.  Book 2 is on the desk.  I am beginning the editing process.  Please come back on Sunday, April 26th.  That is when the first chapter will be posted.  The schedule will be the same -- Wednesdays and Sundays.

My other plan is to work on other writing projects.  I've got some more Lego stories coming...

CSM

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 34 -- The Doctor

"You bungler!  How could you let this happen?"  Dr. Herkeimer didn't mince words. He rumbled like thunder.  He berated the grieving Vincent over Quince's death.  "You were supposed to look out for him.  You knew he was not very bright."

Vincent could see the Doctor's eyes squint, a bad sign he was beyond angry.   The Doctor rubbed his temples below his perfectly combed gray hair.  The Doctor's jaw muscles flinched as he squeezed the back of a metal armchair, making its joints creak.

 "I tried to keep an eye on him," said Vincent, choking on his words, looking like a toddler being scolded.   "But he came out of nowhere…"

Vincent rose from the sofa and walked over to the casket sitting on a long table.  He looked down at Quince's barely recognizable burnt face.

"My dear Quince.   Oh why…  Why you my dear friend…"  Vincent whispered, then turned to the pacing Doctor.    "It was that damn Graff.  He's to blame for Quince's death."  Vincent sobbed again like a grieving widow.

"Stop it!  Get a hold of yourself.   Stop that confounded sniveling." Dr. Herkeimer rubbed his forehead, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.

The roaring fire cast shadows that danced on the bare white wall behind Vincent.   The Doctor clasped his hands, squeezing them in front of his pursed lips.  "We must find out what that boy knows.   He must be the key to finding a complete copy of the book.  We cannot cast complete incantations that work without it."

Grinding his teeth, Dr. Herkeimer took a deep breath and rolled his head slowly from side to side.  His pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and texted.

Come quickly.  Do not be late.  Gather the others.  Official meeting.  Revenge and get that boy.

Dr. Herkeimer stomped around the white-painted chamber, kicking and pushing furniture out of his path.  He grew angrier.

Vincent moved to the other side of the table where Quince's casket sat, fearing the Doctor might hit him or throw something at him.   He had never seen him this furious.  

Pacing hastily around the room, Dr. Herkeimer mumbled under his breath.  "That boy…  Must get that boy…  He must be the key…"

The Doctor pushed over a metal table, sending it and a worn leather-bound book sliding across the shiny oak floor.  Stopping and looking down at the book, he picked it up.

"This book," said the Doctor calmly, cradling the volume near him.  "This incomplete book will not due.   I must have a complete copy."

Dr. Herkeimer screamed shaking a fist in the air.  His dark eyes blazed with rage.  "I deserve that book! Even if it means death to whoever gets in my way."