Kevin’s buddy pulled up in an old pickup from the fifties, which was clearly his pride and joy. As soon as the old Chevrolet pulled into the junkyard, the owner left it, checked all sides of the car and wiped it down wit ha rag he kept somewhere in his overalls.

Zach recognized the man, who was known around the town as ‘Black Santa’, due to both his giant beard and his habit of driving through half the state to collect toys for toy drives and carrying giant bags full of them on his back, which all went in the back of the red pickup.

The man, who was well over six feet, waved a coal-shovel of a hand to the kids who weren’t sure if this was their ride.

Zach raised his hand in return.

“You the Brooks kids?” he called over, finishing the question for himself, “Gotta be. You look just like your dad. Though a better haircut...”

“That’s us, mister…” Zach replied dutifully.

“Just Carl, son…”

“Zach,” he introduced himself when the newcomer took his hand, practically crushing the bones, “And that’s Tara.”

Even though he knew on an intellectual level that the man had to have a normal name, finding out ‘Black Santa’ was actually named ‘Carl’ felt like a major letdown.

“So, you needed help with a dishwasher?”

Zach nodded.

“Where is it?”

Zach thought for a moment, pointed to the river, estimating whereabouts they saw it, “The other side of the water.”

“Well, shit, son. Should’ve said. ...Would’ve gotten me an extra pair of hands.”

Zach couldn’t imagine the giant man needed any help carrying it, but he simply nodded meekly.

“No sweat though. Get in, kids.”

Tara and Zach were planning to squeeze into the truck when they noticed a major problem. Even though there was ample room for four people to sit in front, there were only two seat belts. One of them being the driver’s.

“I’ll drive slow,” Carl said, checking his tires before getting in, “Won’t kill you.”

Zach turned to his sister.

“Tara,” he said firmly, “ You take the seat belt.”

Zach got in first, taking place between Carl and Tara who took the window seat, carefully putting on the two-point seat belt. She gave Zach a dubious look as she did, wondering if the old fashioned model would even help.

“So, little sis,” Carl said, carefully shutting his door, “what’s with the wool sweater? It’s pushing ninety, girl.”

Tara looked embarrassed, shuffling her feet on the car floor.

“I won’t laugh at you,” Carl assured her, starting the car, then turning the car around with a ballerina-like grace that belied the heavy vehicle’s appearance. Zach had to grab the dashboard to keep himself stable.

“Zach might…”

“He’ll have me to deal with,” Carl grinned, then pushed the gas, giving sawyer a run for his money with the speed he was getting from the car.

“So, what’s up with the wool?”

“… it’s my chain mail… ” Tara said softly.

“Chain mail, huh?” Carl chuckled, though not at the girl, “Hey, could you get met some smokes from the…”

He stopped in the middle of his sentence, remembering he had children in the car.

“Chain mail,” Carl repeated, avoiding the thought of his missing nicotine, “You wanna be a knight, little sis? That’s cool. I wanted to be a knight when I was little. Kinda forgot about it in high school, though.”

“What changed?” Zach asked for Tara, who was still seemed embarrassed at her confession.

“Well,” the man grinned his pearly teeth through his bushy beard, “When I got to high school, I learned that all those Black knights weren’t brothers, but their armor was black. Real white boy job, knighting. You ever read Ivanhoe? Stopped when I learned he kept slaves. Motherfucker…”

Carl swerved to avoid a cat, then stopped for a moment to inspect the animal, shook his head and kept driving.

“Hey, cheer up, little sis,” he continued, “It’s the eighties. Girls can be knights too. Can be a white girl job.”

Tara, who had found some of her courage back finally spoke, “There’s black knights though!”

“Really? Who?”

“I think Sir Morien was black.”

“Who that?”

“One of the Knights of the Round Table.”

“What, like Arthur and shit?

“Yeah.”

“In England? Bit of a rainy cold country. You’d wonder what a brother was doing there back then.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Knighting,” Tara said softly, then added, “So you can still be a knight!”

Carl laughed, “I’m over that, girl. I’ve got new plans!”

Neither of the children knew how to respond.

“It’s not a secret,” Carl continued, “I’m gonna be making movies.”

“What kind of movies…?” Zach asked, assuming the man really wanted to talk about whatever project he was working on.

“Well, I’m not much of a writer,” Carl admitted, “But I know cameras and lights and shit and I guess I can learn special effects…”

“So, you’re going to make art movies?”

“What like black and white shit about a French guy smoking a cigarette? Nah, son. I’m gonna remake famous movies. Starring cats.”

“What? Cats?”

“Cats. Little furry bros. I’m looking for my star.”

Carl couldn’t resist his curiosity, “What are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for a cat that looks like he spends all his days in the gym. Like a pitbull in a cat body.”

“To make what?”

“I’m gonna remake the Terminator. Catnold Schwarzenegger in the Purrminator.”

Tara broke out in a massive fit of giggles.

“Laugh all you want,” Carl said, “Some day people will love seeing shit like this.”

“Sure, Carl,” Zach said, then echoed Tara’s laughs.

In response to the laughter at his project, Carl drifted his car onto the ‘Bridge of Doom’ with such force that Zach was thrown against his sister, grinning as he did.

“To the right?” he asked, pretending he hadn’t intentionally knocked them over.

“To the right,” Zach confirmed, pretending it didn’t bother him, “Should be on the left somewhere.”

Five minutes later they were at the spot they had found the dishwasher, though strangely the heavy kitchen appliance was gone.

“Shit,” Zach sighed, “Somebody beat us to it…”

“I wonder who,” Tara added.

“Guess we can walk from here,” Zach turned to Carl, an apologetic note in his voice.

“Hey at least I had a nice drive, would’ve just sat at home listening to the radio otherwise. Too bad about your dishwasher, kids.”

Tara was the first out of the car.

“You sure you don’t want a ride home, Sir Tara?”

Zach shook his head, answering for both, “We’re almost there. Besides, we’ll probably stop by the mall.”

“Kids and malls,” Carl grinned, “Suit yourself, kids. Try to avoid sunburn on that white skin of yours.”

“Will do, Carl. Have a nice day.”

“You too, kids,” Carl said and winced when Zach closed the door just a little too hard.

With the same ballerina-like grace, he turned the heavy car around again and the Brooks children watched it recede into the distance.

At least, Zach Watched. Tara was distracted by something else entirely.

“Hey, Zach?”

“Yeah?”

“Look at this.”

Zach shuffled over and found the imprint that the dishwasher had left, but when he looked closer he noticed a bunch of extra imprints. Not the long time crushed grass, but the imprints of something heavy being tumbled through the bushes and further away. He followed the trail with his eyes, trying to force himself to see through the bushes.

“What’s over there?” Tara asked.

Zach thought for a moment about the days he had spent exploring with Dawn and the others, “Either an old barn or the old Cooper place.

“Wanna see who took the dishwasher there?”

“I guess? Maybe somebody new moved in.”

Tara was the first into the bushes, duck walking through the path the dishwasher had cleared. Zach followed a few paces behind, and being well over a head taller than his sister, he had to crawl through the thicket, cutting his bare knees open on the undergrowth.

“Who would,” he started a question, then was suddenly interrupted by a girls voice, followed by something that could vaguely be passed off as music, though it might also have been the noise of a mental hospital playing Vivaldi using a box of broken power tools.

Tara looked over her shoulder, whispering “I think we should go back.”

Zach nodded his assent, “Might be hobos…”

They hurried backwards and remained in the grass, waiting for their heartbeats to calm down.

“You know what hobos will do to you?” Zach laughed.

“No idea,” Tara replied.

“Real Nasty,” Zach said, chuckling, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.

“Thirteen?” Tara suggested bright-eyed.

“Maybe,” Zach said, “But you’re still a girl, so maybe when you’re fourteen.”

Tara made a face, then stuck her tongue out at her brother.

For a few minutes they simply sat along the road, watching a lone police cruiser pass by, then finally standing up.

“What’s next?’ Tara asked.

“Getting a movie.”

“Sweet. Maybe you can get the one I wanted to watch…”

“We’ll see…”

For the first ten steps or so, the siblings walked in silence, which was when Tara’s narration started anew, talking to herself about escaping the dangerous goblin tribe of Ku-por.

Zach smiled, leaving her to her imaginary adventure.