“Take a sip of water, Stanley.” Mr. Reece helped his son to a sitting position and raised a glass to his lips. The boy drank. They were in the family room, Stanley on the couch. When half the glass was gone, he leaned back against a stack of pillows.
“Thanks, Pop.”
The father placed his palm against Stanley’s forehead, held it there for about five seconds, then removed it. “No fever.” He then took a flashlight and shined it in the boy’s eyes, then moved the beam away, then back into his eyes. “Pupils are dilating. You feeling any better?”
It’d been a good half hour or so since Stanley had suffered his spell. He nodded. “Uh-huh. Just a little light-headed. I’m hungry.”
Mr. Reece laughed. “Well, that’s a good sign.”
“I’ll say,” added Gramps. He was standing halfway between the living room and the kitchen. He walked over and ran his fingertips along the back of his grandson’s head. “So, you just fell and bumped your noggin, Muskrat?”
“I think so. My head hurts a little back here,” he said, rubbing the back of his skull. “I guess it’s cause I was spraying the hose all over. Probably got the tree roots all wet and then slipped.”
“No bumps back there,” called Gramps as he went into the kitchen. He retrieved a frozen bag of peas from the freezer, then slammed it down on the table to loosen it up. He handed it to Stanley’s father, who placed it beneath Stanley’s head. Mr. Reece smoothed his graying hair back and threw on his dusty Phillies baseball cap. “Well, you’re going to sit right here and rest for a bit, okay?”
“Uh-huh,” mumbled the boy. “Can I read my comics?”
His father chuckled. “Sure. I’ll go get a couple from your room.” Mr. Reece started up the stairs.
“Thanks.”
Stanley’s eyes grew wide with fright. “Doris! She alright?” He propped himself up to look around and found the dog curled up on the area rug beneath the coffee table to his left.
“Hell, yes. She’s right there,” said Gramps, pointing. “She’s fine. Now, lie back down.”
Doris had raised her head and thumped her tail once. She looked from Stanley to Gramps and then lowered to the floor again.
Once his father had climbed the last of the steps, Stanley motioned for Gramps to come closer and he took a seat in the armchair opposite the couch. “What is it, Muskrat?”
“Um…” The boy hesitated, twiddling his fingers nervously. “Did you…”
After this second pause, Gramps frowned. “Well, are you gonna tell me or ain’t ya?”
Stanley licked his lips and began. “Did you see any lightning outside…when I fell?”
Gramps looked up, as if into his own head, searching his memory. “Nope. There wasn’t no storm.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Hell, you’re not going to stop there, Muskrat.”
“Huh? Whattya mean?”
Gramps sighed. “Explain why in the heck you asked such a strange question.”
“Oh.” He looked toward the top of the steps. From the creaking of the floorboards above, Stanley knew his father was still in his room and therefore safe to continue. “Just don’t tell my Pop, Gramps.”
Gramps nodded.
“I saw a flash of light before I fell.”
“A flash of light, hmm?” Gramps scratched his beard below his chin. “It could’ve been that you saw the light after you bumped your head and just thought it had been before. Sometimes that happens.”
Stanley shook his head. “Uh-uh. I saw it before. And the hairs on my arms stood out,” he added, holding up his left forearm as if presenting evidence of the phenomenon. But there was none. “Oh yeah, you can’t see it anymore, but…” he paused again, remembering. “It was like my body knew it was gonna happen just before it did.”
Gramps’ eye had narrowed as he listened. “Like you anticipated it.”
Stanley nodded. Mr. Reece began down the stairs and the boy looked at his grandfather. Gramps nodded, as if to say, Nothing to worry about, Muskrat. I won’t tell.
Mr. Reece crossed the room, stepped over Doris’ tail, sticking out from beneath the coffee table, and handed three comics to Stanley. “Here you go.” He rested his large hand atop the boy’s head. “I’m going back to work. Gramps said he’d stay with you until I’m finished. You need me, just call. I’ll have my phone. Okay?”
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“Okay, Pop.”
Gramps rose from the armchair and followed his father out into the kitchen. “Be right back, boy.” They both stepped outside.
Theirs was a family that didn’t rush to the emergency room for every bump or scratch. Both his father and Gramps liked to tell Stanley to “rub some dirt on it,” after suffering a minor cut. In the spring when he played township baseball and ended up on the ground, they’d yell: “Get up!” And he did. Made him tougher, that’s for sure.
Stanley could tell though that the mention of seeing a flash of light had concerned Gramps. He was probably telling his father about it right now. But Stanley figured that was okay. Gramps had to tell; it was his duty. After all, he’d told Stanley’s mom that he would look after her son. He just didn’t want his father to worry about him because it might cause him to drink more beer than he ought to. Besides, he didn’t even tell Gramps the whole truth about the light he’d seen. The whole truth was too scary to reveal.
The light had shown him something. A gigantic tree or something like it. A huge plant, bigger than a skyscraper, rising into the sky. It’d shown him death spreading out from it.
*********
Gray withdrew from the family room window where he’d been watching the interaction between Stanley and Gramps. Everything about this exchange generated an overwhelming sense of de ja vou. Then, Gray’s pulse spiked at the name, Muskrat.
Muskrat…he used to call me that.
He’d been nodding in agreement with the boy as he told the old man about the light and about sensing what was going to happen before it did. Gray, as he’d watched from the kitchen window, had also anticipated it. Yet, he’d been unable to stop it. He wished he could’ve.
Off some thirty yards to his right, he caught the sound of Mr. Reece and Gramps approaching. Slinking off, Gray watched from the tall cover of nearby evergreens, as Stanley’s father jumped off of the tractor. He seemed upset by something Gramps had said.
About the light, thought Gray. Gramps is telling him about the light.
Gray understood that this wasn’t his Gramps. That this Stanley wasn’t him at a younger age, but a different Stanley altogether. Despite the similarities, there was a difference. When Gray had been young – had been Stanley – he hadn’t been squirting Doris with the hose when the light had appeared. He’d been visiting his mother’s grave. And so, maybe this Stanley could be saved. Maybe he could be spared from becoming something like Gray.
He remembered. Only now did he realize how he came to be…what he was. At Mom’s grave up on the hill…
Gray’s heart soared with hope, but then plummeted. He remembered something else.
Hurrying along through the backyard, he stopped at the spot where the orb had spawned. There, floating two feet from the ground, was a tiny, glowing pinhead of light. Infuriated, Gray seized it, closing his fist around it. He squeezed as hard as he could.
He expected his hand to pass right through it, but it didn’t. He felt slight pressure, then sort of a…Pop!...followed by a tingling sensation that traveled up his arm. When he opened his hand, the orb was gone.
Gray had…absorbed the orb.
Inspired – and astonished – by this revelation, he quickened his pace, weaving through the cornfield as best he could without drawing attention to his presence. His massive size made this impossible however, and he abandoned his feeble attempt at stealth, the stalks thrashing in his wake. Hopefully, Mr. Reece and Gramps, preoccupied with Stanley’s health, didn’t notice.
When he arrived at Gramps’ place, Gray strode to the rear yard. He gasped when he rounded the corner of the house and saw the thing growing from the flower bed along the back porch. A blue flower. The blue flower Stanley had given his mother in the hospital. After she died, Gramps had planted it here. Now, however, it was five feet tall and growing. Gray could rip it out, tear it into bits, but its roots had already infected the ground.
He thought of Garrett…his Garrett.