LOST SOULS
Between shadowed night, the dark and light
In a place where dreams begin
A voice will call from where shadows fall
To a boy who’s just turned ten.
To Johnathon (10th B-day)
With Love, Dad
Midnight Shadows
“Will!” John said through the darkness. He stood at the door to his brother’s room. “Will, are you awake?” Hearing only deep, steady breathing coming through the night, he guessed Will was still asleep.
Peering down the dark hallway leading into the dining room and the kitchen beyond, he saw the pale white moon light barely touching the wooden chairs. The light cast eerie shadows against the wall near him, like a ghostly cage waiting to trap him if he ventured too near.
The bathroom door across from his bedroom stood open, the single night light glowing in the darkness dropping even more shadows around the sink and toilet. He quickly stepped into the bathroom, not to find relief from nature, but to find relief from the shadows that lingered down the hall; that slivery white cage that threatened to trap him.
Closing the door gently behind him, he turned on the bright lights that flooded his eyes with instant pain, causing a groan to escape his lips as he shielded his eyes. A moment later he managed to blink the pain away and focus on the mirror.
His eyes were darkened by what little sleep he had gotten. He felt shorter than before; although he noticed his shoulders were hunched over as he leaned against the cold sink. What’s going on? He asked himself. “Ugh,” he replied with a frown.
With one hand he patted down the tuft of hair that sprang up while he had slept. He noticed his hands were trembling. He knew he had been startled awake from a nightmare but he couldn’t remember details.
“I’ll have better dreams this time…I hope.”
He turned out the bathroom light as he launched himself across the dark hallway, completely aware of the cage that still hung on the wall near the dining room; that evil, ghostly cage.
I’m ten, he thought with force. I’m ten now, and I’m not letting anything interrupt my sleep. He slid deep into his warm blankets and pulled them firmly over his head.
The Voice in the Dream
“Johnathon…” a whisper came across the wind. The sweet, soft woman’s voice called to him as it had before; in the dream he couldn’t remember.
“Do not be afraid,” it came again. So soft, so soothing, filled with warmth and trust.
Johnathon looked around to find himself in great field with thick grass reaching to his knees for as far as he could see. The moon overhead cast bright silver beams into the night, which made the wind blown grass across the gentle hills sway as if alive…as if breathing.
The breeze chilled his arms and face, causing a slight shiver from the cold. Another dream? He asked himself. Looking up into the night sky, he realized that besides the moon, there were no other celestial lights to greet him; no stars, no planets…just darkness.
“You must come to me,” said the voice again, riding on the breeze as before. The voice was familiar to him, but only from the previous dream, the dream where…
He struggled to remember the dream; to remember what had happened. The feeling of some tragedy, some horrible event hung deep within his heart. But just the lingering feeling, and the voice, stayed with him.
“Where am I?!” He called out onto the breeze. “What am I doing here?”
No answer came to him. No soft voice. Nothing at all; just cold silence.
Turning to face the cool breeze, he began walking toward the voice. He began to feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and the skin on his arms became tight with goose bumps. He rubbed his arms briskly to stop the goose bumps as they began to tingle slightly, but the cause was lost. It wasn’t the cold that caused the bumps, he realized. It was fear; fear that seemed to stem from the faint memories of the previous dream…the dream that was forgotten.
“Yes, my love,” the voice came to him. “I’m waiting for you. Yes, come to me before it’s too late.”
“Too late?!” Johnathon called. Fear caused trembling in his voice. “What do you mean? Are you in trouble? Is there danger?”
The force of the wind suddenly burst into a fury against him, almost knocking him backward. The change in the wind was more than shear force, he realized, the temperature was much warmer, almost hot. The raging wind ceased as quickly as it had come, leaving him partially paralyzed with fear. His feet refused to move, although he felt the need to run.
“What’s going on?” He called into the openness. His feet remained still.
“Over the hill,” the woman said. The voice was no longer soft, no longer soothing, but assertive and almost demanding. “Go to the leafless oak. There you will find the path you must take. I will lead you and you must trust me.”
“I will,” Johnathon answered. He felt a ball form in his throat, as if his body wanted to cry; to warn him of the dream he could not recall. Something bad is here, he thought. She’s in danger and I’m her only hope. He played these words over in his mind, trying to convince himself the truth of the words, but feeling deep inside that it could not be true.
Visions of Good and Evil
The top of the huge oak slowly appeared to him as he moved up the gentle slope of drifting grass. The oak was indeed barren of leaves and life. The silver moon light seemed to become absorbed by the tree, casting the heavy branches into udder darkness. The trunk, as it came into sight was nothing more than a faint silhouette against the flowing grassy plains that stretched beyond. The darkened shroud that embraced the huge tree caused a single, instantaneous memory flash; a vision from the lost dream:
A shadowed face, features indefinable behind the cloud of darkness appeared within arms reach. The face hung above him, as if it belonged to someone tall, but there was no body formed beneath the head. The specter’s eyes glowed with the same silver light as the moon, but tinted with red as if touched with blood.
The vision sent waves of panic through his body. His hands shook uncontrollably, and his head trembled as a tear rolled down his cheek. This dream he was in, he realized, wasn’t just a dream. The details, the sensations of the cold breeze, the hot burst of wind, the moonlight, the shadows, the salty tear that graced his cheek and the goose bumps covering his quivering arms were much too real. So real, in fact, he was no longer convinced that this was a dream, but in fact reality…somehow. He now remembered the face from before, but who, or what that face was he couldn’t recall. The deep, heart stopping feeling that there was great evil associated with the face was overwhelming. He suddenly wanted to vomit.
Looking out upon tree that he was directed toward, he noticed something else. Something just beyond the hill that rolled off to his left: another tree top. The few branches that waved gently over the grassy crest were brilliant in the moonlight. Each branch filled with vibrant and living leaves which appeared to be made of pure silver in the light that illuminated them. He felt drawn to the tree, drawn to the life that it displayed so eagerly to him.
“Come to me,” her voice called again. This time the breeze did not seem to carry the voice. This time she called from the darkness itself; the darkness that held the leafless oak before him.
“I don’t want to,” he said. “I’m afraid.” He could hear his voice tremble, and he hated it. “There is evil here, I just know it.”
“I need you, my love,” she countered. “I need your help. I need you now.”
He looked back to his left and caught another glimpse of the silvery tree limbs in the distance. That was where he wanted to go. He knew it was safe there, although he didn’t know why.
“What do I do?” He asked.
“Come to the tree,” she said. “Do not be afraid. There at the base of the trunk you’ll find an opening where the trunk was split. Pass into the trunk and follow the path.”
Again, her words were more direct and demanding than the gentle pleading for help she offered before. Even so, he followed her directions and walked down the hill to the edge of darkness where the silvery moonlight ceased to exist. Fear held him at the edge of the shadowed grass. He noticed, as he stood at the edge of dark and light that the grass beyond the shadow’s edge was wilted and dead; curled as if lightly touched by death itself. Each blade, gray and decayed, appeared dry and worn by the very darkness that pressed upon them.
Tortured Souls
Johnathon held his breath as he stepped out of the moon’s soft light. Instantly the moon disappeared and even the cool breeze died around him. The goose bumps that remained on his arms were drawn forth from the fear that gripped him. He pulled his arms around his body hoping for warmth and comfort, but found little from the touch. Slowly he walked toward the tree.
In the darkness he found his eyes growing accustom to the world he had entered. There was no light, but yet his eyes could make sense of what lay ahead. Slowly, he found that he could not only see this new world, but he could see details that were previously hidden from his sight. This new vision he possessed brought a new awareness of the tree that stood before him, and of the life…and death…that it held.
Stopping to examine the ancient oak with all its detail, he found the split in the trunk as was described. He could see that there was indeed a path disappearing through that split, and that a great sense of dread flooded out of it, as if whatever chamber dwelt below could not contain the terrors within.
The thick trunk rose up out of the rotting ground like an ancient obelisk, intricately carved with hundreds of tortured faces. Each face held its pain with unique and very realistic expressions. Each face told its own story, told a tale of agonies eternal and infinite. Too troublesome to gaze upon these many faces, he moved his eyes upward to where the trunk divided into the first of the many branches overhead, and from there to the hundreds of smaller branches that had once teamed with beautiful green leaves and nests for birds and hives for bees. But now the tree was all but dead.
The bark itself, gray and worn, seemed to split and peel away from the body, but somehow could not separate and fall to the ground to become the cycle from life to death, and from death to life, as it was meant to be. But instead, it looked as if millions of dried scabs were glued to the tree in some sort of horrible attempt to keep the tree alive; a horrendous act against nature itself. Unforgivable and evil, he thought.
Suddenly, something shifted above him. He heard a short gasp escape his lips, and felt his heart skip a beat. Squinting his eyes to pierce the darkness, he found a small figure grasping a branch and peering down upon him. Another figure, to his amazement, appeared on another branch; then another, and another, and another. After a few moments, he realized that there were hundreds of these little creatures spread throughout the canopy of decayed branches above him. He found the nearest one and focused with all his might to see what these things were. He guessed chipmunks and that was what his mind attempted to draw out of the darkness. But his mind couldn’t grasp what his eyes had found to be true.
The small creature he focused on had no furry tail or large eyes or fluffy cheeks to hold food. Instead, it had wet leathery skin, bare with each little muscle defined along with the crimson veins coursing along the spindly arms and legs. The hand that could be seen had each finger tipped with blackened nails, long and razor like. The one foot he could see looked as if it was squid-like, with small tentacles stretching out to grasp the branch in all directions. The head that looked down upon him drew back the vision he had remembered earlier when he looked upon the tree for the very first time. The eyes, small slits that stretched out from a blackened hole where the nose should be, glowed with a ghostly silver light. Although he sensed that it wasn’t really light as much as it was the spirit that gave life to the creature. He was gazing upon the soul of this…this thing. The creature then opened its mouth to reveal several short, black teeth that appeared to drip with whatever secretions pressed out of the gums. The open mouth appeared to shift into a grin, almost a smile, if such a thing was possible. Then Johnathon realized with a sudden wave of fear that the creatures above him began moving through the branches toward him. Lowering their gruesome bodies down to the next branches using their razor nails and tentacle feet, their focus upon him became intense and deadly. He could hear their rhythmic breathing, all in unison as if made of one high pitched lung. Silvery eyes beheld him with cold hunger. Johnathon made his choice: run.
The Voice in the Darkness
Johnathon passed through the opening in the trunk easily, as if designed for a ten year old body. The tunnel that he followed smelled of wet earth and rotten wood. There was another stench that pressed against him, one that he knew only from the dream that he forgot: the smell of evil. Could evil have a smell? He wondered. Must have, because this was it and it was awful!
He looked back through the tunnel and did not see or sense that he was being followed. The creatures, he figured, would be waiting for him to come out of the tree before they had their meal.
“Johnathon,” the voice called. Her tone was soft and sweet once again. He stopped in his tracks, waiting without a breath.
“My love,” she continued. “My love, come to me. This is the way. Do not be afraid. I need you to be brave. You, my darling Johnathon, can set me free.”
“You’re trapped!?” He asked. “Where are you? What am I to do? It’s so very dark and I am so scared.”
“Come to me, free me, help this pain go away. I can bear it no more.” She said with soft agony that penetrated into Johnathon’s heart.
“I’m coming,” he called out. “I’ll save you from this dark evil.”
He began moving through the tunnel again. Each step became stronger and more determined; he had to save her. He could sense that he was moving deeper below the surface with every turn. The floor seemed to drop slowly, almost unperceivable, as he moved on.
After what seemed like an eternity, the tunnel suddenly opened up into a vast chamber that stretched out before him. The walls to his left and right opened up from the tunnel to form an enormous V, with the tunnel at the point.
“I am here,” the voice said from the darkness beyond his vision.
“Where are you?” He said. “I can’t see. Tell me where you are.”
“I am here. Walk into the darkness. This is where you will find me. This is where you will see me.”
Slowly, he walked away from the tunnels walls and into the opening of the great chamber. He could feel a coldness drop upon him as a wave upon his skin. Goose bumps instantly washed over him, and a shudder ran down his spine.
I shouldn’t be here, he thought, fighting the panic that threatened his sanity.
“That’s it…come closer,” the voice said.
Johnathon continued slowly into the darkness. He could no longer see the great expanse of the cavern. He tried to see his hand stretched out before him, but there was only darkness. The cold the surrounded him felt like ice. His breath caused moisture to build upon his lips. He knew that he was at the heart of the evil here, but he continued on. The woman, the voice…it was here. She had to be found.
“Yes, my love,” she whispered from the emptiness that engulfed him. “You have walked into the darkness. You have found me. Now you shall see me, and you will understand fully.”
The Face of Evil
The vision that he recalled from the lost dream became reality as silvery, blood tinted eyes slowly appeared before him. The bodiless head took shape and hung in the darkness as it had in the vision. His heart pounded with such force, he could feel his shirt pulsing with each beat. His hands trembled and he felt his legs begin to loose their strength. He fought to remain standing; to remain conscious in the face of this evil.
“Wh-where,” he stammered. “Where is she? Where’s the woman.”
The ghastly face stretched its mouth wide to form a thin smile. He realized that the features of the strange creatures hanging in the tree were very similar to this thing before him. The eyes, the mouth, the skeletal void in place of a nose, it was disgusting and horrifying.
“But my love,” the face said. “My darling, I said that you would see me.” The voice did indeed come from this specter, this phantasm that smiled to reveal thin razor teeth, black and covered with thick bloody saliva. “And here I am to be freed from this suffering of mine.”
“No…you…this is evil…you are evil,” he said. “I must get out.” He tried to turn. He tried to run, but his legs, weakened from fear, dropped him to his hands and knees. Behind him he felt the demon move.
“You, my boy, are perfect,” the voice, once warm and soft, was now vicious and venomous, full of hate. “Fresh, ten years old. Still a boy, but you’ve shown such braveness and determination. You are the final piece of the puzzle I have waited so long for. So many years I’ve been gathering those that I needed, and now I have you, Johnathon, the final sacrifice that will set me free.”
“No…” He managed to say through his weakened lips. His body felt weighted down with the pure evil that hung over him. The dirt beneath his hands felt warm against his skin and soft against his knees. He felt a tear pool in his left eye as hope passed away from him. This was the end, and this wasn’t a dream. He would not wake up tomorrow.
As the darkness closed down upon him, he could hear the soft cruel laughter coming from the demon that was about to devour him. He could feel its movement again. The icy air shifted and pressed against his side. He knew that this thing was now directly to his right.
Help me, Johnathon cried out from his very soul.
Suddenly a shape took form before him. He felt the shift in the air before it fully formed, but when it did he gasped, energy surged through him as if to fill his lungs with air for the very first time.
The shape knelt down on one knee, and leaned close to his face.
“William,” Johnathon whispered.
The soft, transparent vision of his brother smiled with deep, knowing wisdom and nodded. The clear eyes looked down to focus on the hand that reached out. Johnathon followed and looked down. William’s ghostly hand held a single seed in the center of the palm. The seed was silver, almost metallic, and very solid; very real. Johnathon pinched the seed from his brother’s hand and clenched it tight.
Deep concern came across William’s face. His eyes drawn heavy by the evil Johnathon faced. “Use it well,” William whispered, and vanished without a trace.
Johnathon opened his hand and looked upon the seed with some confusion. The seed felt warm and alive. It brought strength and hope to every part of his being. He just didn’t know what to do with the seed.
Beside him the demon released a deep growl and the icy air shifted again. Johnathon knew this thing was going to put an end to him this very moment. Turning sharply away from the monster, he narrowly missed being bitten by the razor teeth this thing bore down upon him with. A great scream bellowed from the specter as its prey move at the last second; its feast stolen away for the moment.
With one swift, decisive throw, Johnathon hurled the slivery seed toward the demon. To his amazement the seed seemed to shift in the air, adjusting its flight to pierce the left eye of the monster. He watched as the seed vanished into the blood tinted silvery eye.
The demon held quick for a moment, trying to grasp what had just happened. Its nightmarish eyes shifted to meet its prey. A short burst of laughter assaulted Johnathon’s ears, striking fear into his heart.
What happened? He thought. I’m going to die now. The seed…I shouldn’t have thrown it.
The monster smiled its evil smile and dropped slowly down to the dirt floor. Their eyes met; their faces within inches of each other. The blood within the eyes seemed to move, to pulse to a chaotic rhythm that must have been this creature’s life force; its heartbeat, if that was possible.
“Do you understand the meaning of your life, my child?” The womanly voice came out of the mouth before him. The horrid stench that filled this chamber and flowed through the tunnel came directly from this creature. The evil smell was created from the very breath of his attacker.
The strength that he been given by the living, silver seed still flowed through him in spite of the evil pressing into him from all sides. Straightening his back, he rested on his feet beneath him while still kneeling. He lightly brushed his hands together, removing the wet soil from his palms. He refused to give in again. Thrusting his chest out in defiance he said, “My life is not yours to have.”
“But you don’t understand,” it countered. “I’ve been waiting for you. You are the last that I’ll need. You can set me free.”
“Free from what!?” He demanded, his fear quickly turning to anger.
The eyes of the creature shifted slightly, although the living blood within the silvery light still moved. A new expression appeared on the ghostly face. Was it sadness…despair? He wondered.
“I’ve been cursed, you see, my love,” it began. “And now it must end. For years I have been gaining strength from the souls of children such as you. For years I’ve been forced to lure my children to this place through the dreams I give.”
“Why me?” he demanded. “Why now?”
“You are now ten years old. Your spirit has strength and great energy, as do all ten year olds. You might say that you have ripened as a fine peach.” The face shifted again. Despair turned to thirst and hunger. “Yes, a fine peach.”
“You can’t have me,” he said.
“My boy, I do love you. You are the strongest, bravest, most noble soul to come to me. It is almost a pity such a strong one need perish. But your strength, your life will be of great use to me. And I love you for what you will give me. You cannot fight this. It is…inevitable.”
The eyes, he noticed, shifted again. The left eye, where the seed had passed, began to quiver. The flowing blood became slow, without the chaotic rhythm as before.
“What have you done!?” It demanded. The ghostly face shifted again.
Fear, he recognized. The icy air pushed against him as the demon moved away, back into the thick darkness.
“My boy! My love! You cannot do this to me. I need you. Save me!”
Johnathon rose to his feet. He could feel the strength in his legs as never before: his arms, his chest, his mind, all alert and strong.
From the dark depths the evil face rushed toward him, thrusting the thick icy air toward him as an ocean wave. The face, it seemed, was covered with metallic veins that grew out of the thing’s left eye, which no longer could be seen fully. The razor teeth that had filled the vicious mouth were broken and no longer dripped blood as before. The right eye that remained held a faint glimmer of crimson but the pulse that drove the chaotic blood no longer moved.
Johnathon spun to his left to avoid the dying creature’s assault. He watched the specter drop onto the floor, writhing in agony and fear as the last of its life faded before him. Within moments, the dark shape was engulfed by the sliver veins that quickly began to resemble a metallic root system. The speed of the growth was astonishing, and the light that was produced was full of life and energy. He stood in awe as the roots pushed across the cavern floor, reaching into the darkness, bringing light where none had existed before.
Run, a voice came to him. The voice, a child’s voice, seemed to come from his own mind, rather than the air around him. He knew in his heart that this voice was to be trusted. And so he ran.
Quickly he found the tunnel, which was illuminated by the silver roots that reached out along the tunnel walls faster than his legs could carry him. He knew that he too could be engulfed and trapped by these overpowering roots if he delayed.
The tunnel opened at the split in the trunk, and as he burst into the darkness, he suddenly remembered the tiny evil creatures that were waiting for his return. Looking into the branches over head, he found the hundreds of silvery eyes glaring down upon him. He could hear the high pitched rhythmic breathing they produced in unison become quick with excitement. The little bodies began to shift and sway and pulse in excitement.
Turning to look at the tree’s trunk, he found that the silvery roots had surrounded the large mass, completely covering the many carved faces of agony and despair. The trunk it seemed became solid silver. He watched as the metallic veins coursed across the limbs, reaching to the very tips of the highest branches. The scab-like bark no longer could be seen, and the living metal appeared to become solid as if shaped by an unseen craftsman. The beauty was scarred only by the creatures clinging to the silvery branches.
As he watched in wonder, he noticed that the creatures above him became subject to the flowing metallic veins. Each little body was quickly covered to resemble small statuettes, with only the silvery eyes glowing through small holes. Suddenly, the tiny creatures, one by one, began to transform into figures of jello, swaying gently side to side. Then each body melted away before his very eyes, becoming part of the tree as if they had never existed.
Johnathon found himself saddened by the annihilation of the entire mass of creatures, even though they appeared gruesome and evil. This colony absorbed into silvery nothingness brought a wave of tears to his cheeks. Beneath the silver tree that once was death, but now was life, he wept.
New Beginnings
The tears that wetted his cheeks felt the first wave of the cool breeze that danced across the grassy plains. The moonlight began penetrating the dying shadows and lifted his spirits. He looked out upon the hills that lifted the swaying grass toward the horizon. The moon, full and bright, rested before him as if to guide the way home. He began walking toward the moon, up the hill that he knew would lead to the silver tipped tree that caught his eye earlier.
As he reached the top of the hill, he looked back to the tree that was to be his tomb. He remembered the little creatures and the sadness for their lost lives which still weighed upon his heart. Then, as if waiting for him to look back, a host of small silvery lights erupted from the very tips of the branches that reached to the starless sky. He could hear faint cries of excitement as these lights scattered in all directions. The lights, he realized, were each of the little creatures being set free. They were released from the confines of the tree that absorbed them, to return to wherever they had come.
Johnathon felt his heart wash clean of the sorrow he had felt, and was overjoyed for these souls escape. He wondered if he were to have been a victim of the evil beneath that tree, would that too have become his fate? To become a trapped soul within an evil frame clinging to that decaying ancient oak?
He stood atop that gentle hill with great silvery oaks on either side of him. He loved the feel of the moon beams on his chilled skin. He loved the warmth emanating from both trees. This is heaven, he thought. I could spend a life time right here.
“No,” said a child’s voice. “Not heaven.”
He recognized this voice as the same child that instructed him to run. The voice sounded so very familiar, but he wasn’t able to identify its owner.
“Who are you?” Johnathon asked into the air.
“You must return now,” the child said. “You will remember…everything.”
“I don’t want to go. I want to stay forever.” He pleaded.
“You have brought peace and life to so many. You are a peace maker, and you will be blessed.”
The world around him began to fade as his lids became heavy against his eyes. He could feel his body rising above the swaying grass, toward the moon that waited for him.
Morning Light
Thud
Johnathon awoke to the bathroom door being closed across the hall. The sunlight pierced through his curtains, shooting thin streaks of pain into his eyes.
“Ugh,” he moaned, shielding his eyes. “What time is it, anyway?”
7:45 AM
“William,” he heard his Mom call down the hall. “A little quieter with the door, please, John’s still sleeping.”
“Not any more,” he mumbled to himself. Crawling out of his warm blankets, he pulled on his slippers and made his way out into the hallway. He could hear the television in the living room; breakfast was cooking in the kitchen. A wash of French toast greeted his nose along with the beginnings of bacon.
His head felt heavy as if he hadn’t slept at all. He moved his feet sluggishly down the hall where he found his Mom flipping the French toast, dancing in her strange ‘mom’ kind of dance to some Latin music playing from the other end of the kitchen.
“Hey!” She greeted him with an energy level that should be outlawed before 10 AM. “Want to dance?”
“Ugh!” He grunted toward her, feeling what little energy he had was being sapped just watching her. He moved into the living room and dropped onto the sofa. He loved the fullness of the cushions and was grateful that it was Saturday. He panned the living room for the remote, but was nowhere in sight.
A figure moved into the living room, slowly dragging each step as if still asleep. He looked up to find William drifting toward him. His brother’s eyes half closed, arms dropped to his side as he too dropped onto the sofa.
The television caught their eyes as the screen flashed blue.
SPECIAL REPORT
“This is a special report. I am Rick Knight,” the news man began. “This morning something has happened that has medical experts in shock. It appears that hundreds of people have suddenly awaked from their comas. Reports started coming in from across the country from hospitals in every state and almost every city. What is more bizarre is the connection that each of these individuals had with one another.”
The man paused, drawing a big gulp of air before he continued.
“Each of these individuals began their comatose state just after turning ten years old. These people currently range in age from twelve to fifty years old. Doctors across the country cannot comprehend this mass awakening, but families are overjoyed as their loved ones return to them. We’ll bring you more as this story develops.”
Suddenly, the television flashed off; the black screen crackling with static. Johnathon turned to meet his brother’s eyes. He was stunned to find the same deep, knowing wisdom upon William’s face that he had in the dream. With a blink of an eye the expression was gone, replaced with the same dreary-eyed look he wore before. William dropped the remote onto the coffee table.
“What do you remember?” Johnathon asked.
“Huh?” William responded, confusion crossing his face.
“Nothing, never mind,” Johnathon said.
William shrugged and made his way toward the kitchen. He moved with more energy than he had just moments ago, and with a slight dance in his step, Johnathon heard his brother sing:
“He used it well, so very well…oh yeah!”
THE END
