George Brown and the Protector (3 page)

It was long and silvery, with numerous
protruding arms and devices, like so many tentacles. George’s
vision seemed to be zeroing in on a rectangular patch of light that
George realized was a window. As his view of the window expanded,
the rapid telescoping effect of his vision seemed to slow down,
until at last it stopped with the window consuming all of his
vision, and blotting out everything else.

Inside the window, he saw a dog. At least it
looked somewhat like a dog—and yet, it didn’t. The thing had a
protruding snout and hairy face like that of a dog or wolf, and
slobber was dripping from its protruding fangs. Yet there was
something very undoglike in its appearance that George could not
identify. The creature was looking to the side, as if looking at or
listening to someone or something just beyond the frame of the
window that George could not see.

But it was the creature’s eyes that most
captivated George as he looked at it. Although they were coal
black, they seemed to be lit within by a smoldering fire. There was
something frightening and deeply unsettling about those eyes. And
as George watched transfixed, the dog creature slowly turned toward
him as if it somehow was aware that it was being looked at.

The instant the eyes of the creature met with
those of George, he felt a shock of cold leap out at him like a
tongue of living flame. With a cry George stumbled back, raising
his hand to shield himself from the cruelty that emanated from the
creature’s eyes like a black shadow. And in that instant, George
was horrified to see his father just behind the creature, his deep,
soul-less eyes radiating an unspeakable sense of sadness.

Overwhelmed, George dropped the rock he had
been holding. The instant he did so, the vision vanished and he
found himself staring out at the starry night once more.

George was shaking and breathing heavily, the
horror of what he had just seen still grappling with his mind. Was
his father a prisoner of the strange dog-like creature he had seen?
Was he in pain? The memory of the soul-less look in his father’s
eyes was fixed in George’s mind, torturing him.

George looked down at the strange rock that
he had dropped. Its glow was growing dim, and George knew that if
he picked it up, it would already be cool to the touch, and would
soon turn icy. What was it? Where had it come from? What power did
it hold? He shook his head as if to clear it from a fog. He simply
didn’t have the answers.

After a time, George gingerly picked up the
rock and put it on his dresser, then got back into bed. Now at
least he could watch it, to see if it started to glow once
more.

It was a long time before George could go to
sleep again. When he did, his dreams were troubled with images of
slobbering dog-like creatures with eyes of malice, laughing cruelly
while controlling his father with puppet strings.

CHAPTER 5: Pickled Peaches

The next day, with
the sun shining brightly through George's window, the vision of the
night before seemed absurd and almost comical. He decided he must
have been imagining things. He had learned that his mind could run
away from him sometimes in the middle of the night, when the world
was dark. How could he see a spaceship way out in space from his
bedroom window? And how could some dog-like creatures on a
spaceship of some kind be holding his father captive? The idea
seemed ludicrous, although it was still somewhat unsettling.

As the day wore on, George grew fitful and
restless. He needed something to take his mind off the vision of
the night before. Finally, in a fit of extreme boredom, George
agreed to go grocery shopping with his mother. Normally he avoided
grocery shopping like the plague, but Jason was still out of town
and Alex and Michael had just come down with the measles.

Once in the store, George’s mother looked at
her shopping list and frowned. “I need a can of pickled peaches for
your aunt Agnes,” she said to George, as if buying such a bizarre
thing was an everyday occurrence. “She called the other day and
asked me to bring her some when we go there this weekend. It’s for
some new diet she’s trying.”

“Pickled peaches?” said George in disgust.
“How could anybody eat that?”

His mother looked at him sweetly and smiled.
“You know your Aunt Agnes. Anyway, could you go and look for it? I
really don’t know where such a thing would be found in this store,
and I’ve got other things to get.”

“I suppose,” replied George
unenthusiastically. There was nothing else to do, other than look
at cereal boxes.

George set off down the aisles to begin his
search. He quickly found the canned fruit section, but there were
no pickled peaches. He tried the diet section, but there was
nothing there either. He was just about to go back and tell his
mother pickled peaches didn’t exist when he sensed something hot in
his pocket. It was the rock from the fallen star, which he now
always carried with him.

George pulled it out and looked at it. He
held it up to the light. Nothing looked different through it. Why
was it hot now? There were no test questions in a grocery store to
solve or spaceships through a dark window to see. With mounting
curiosity, George held it up to a maze on the back of a cereal box.
He saw nothing different through the rock at all.

Putting it back in his pocket, George turned
to go find his mother. But, unexpectedly, he found himself heading
instead to another section of the store, to an aisle he hadn’t been
down yet. Halfway down this aisle, on the right, he found the
pickled food section. And on the lowest shelf was a can of pickled
peaches.

With mounting excitement, George pulled the
rock from his pocket. He held it up to the can of pickled peaches,
but saw nothing different through it. The rock was not as hot now.
It was cooling down fast. George put it back in his pocket.

What did it all mean? First it answered math
questions and now it somehow helped him find a can of pickled
peaches. What would it do next? Wasn’t there any way to control it?
And why was it helping him, but only at unexpected times?

Suddenly George heard his mother’s voice
behind him. “I see you found the pickled peaches. I never would
have thought of looking here.”

As George handed her the can, she squinted
her eyes at him. “What’s wrong?” she asked suddenly.

“Nothing,” said George quickly. He knew she
had an uncanny ability to sense when things were not quite normal.
“I was just surprised to actually find a can of pickled peaches. I
thought such a thing couldn’t exist.”

George’s mother gave him a long, hard look.
Then she sighed and looked away. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“It’s just that …”

George looked at the floor. He knew what she
was thinking. She used to sense when strange things happened to his
father too.

“O.k., lets get back to this list,” she said
abruptly. “Go and find me a hairnet.”

When George got home, he went to his room and
took the rock from his pocket again. Going over to the window, he
held it up to the sunlight. It seemed to magnify the light shining
through it, making everything around it brighter. He turned it
around. It seemed to glitter inside, as if happy to be in the
sunlight. But it was still cold as ice. Finally, George put it back
on his dresser.

Where had the rock come from, and what powers
did it have? That it was not an ordinary rock was now obvious. But
why had it come to him? Was he supposed to use it somehow? If so,
how was he supposed to control it? And how would he find the
answers to these questions?

Suddenly George heard a voice behind him,
deep and raspy.

“George Brown!” it hissed. “I’ve been waiting
for you!”

CHAPTER 6: Searching for the Protector

George whirled
around and found himself looking at one of the strangest creatures
he had ever seen. It was about two feet tall with dark brown,
leathery skin. It wore only a brown robe wrapped around its middle,
tied with a curious red belt, studded with shiny jewels. It had
only three toes on each foot, but the feet were very large, while
the legs were short, fat and stubby. The creature stared at George
with protruding, lamp-like eyes, then raised one of its stubby
arms, wagging its two fingers at him.

Before George could utter a cry or any sound
at all, the creature spoke in the same raspy voice as before.

“The world faces everlasting darkness and
fire in just a few days, George Brown. But your sacrifice may be
able to stop it. You must seek out the protector to better
understand what you must do.”

Stillness hung in the air while George
stared, speechless at the creature. Then, with an unexpected ‘pop!’
the creature disappeared, without even leaving a wrinkle on
George’s bedspread to show its passing.

George gaped at where the creature had been
sitting only a split second before. Then he cautiously approached
the bed and ran his hand over the bedspread. It wasn’t even warm.
He looked all around the room. The only thing that looked different
was the strange rock he had put on his dresser, which seemed to be
glowing.

George walked over and touched it. It was
hot—yet only a minute ago it had been as cold as ice! George picked
it up. With amazing speed it seemed to cool to his touch, and was
icy again within a few seconds. Quietly George put it in his pocket
then looked around the room once more. Things were getting weird.
George had experienced many strange things, but had never had a
visit by a bizarre creature like that before.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, his mind
racing. What did it all mean? Who was that creature, and who was
the protector? What had it meant about the world facing fire and
ice? What type of sacrifice was it talking about? Nothing made any
sense.

He shook his head as if to clear it from a
fog, then stood up and headed for the door. With things going the
way they were, it was definitely time for a visit to his secret
grove.

A short distance from George’s house was a
city park. It had the usual worn playground with a swing set for
little kids at one end, and a scattering of park benches and trees
throughout. Almost in the center of the park was a small patch of
tangled shrubs, like a little island. If a person knew just which
bush to duck under, and just which way to wriggle through the
undergrowth, he could worm his way into the center of the little
bushy grove where there was a tiny clear space, in the middle of
which was a large, knotted tree stump. If a person sat on the stump
he could see the whole park and the streets beyond without being
seen. This was George’s secret grove, where he often went to ponder
and think while watching what was going on in the park. And this is
where he now went.

After wriggling through the bushes, George
plopped himself down on the tree stump and rested his head in his
hands. It was time to try and figure out what was going on. Nothing
that had been happening made any sense. What was the strange, clear
rock he had found, and why had it seemed to come to him? It
certainly seemed to have some unusual powers. Was it possible to
learn more of what they were and how to control them?

And who was the strange creature that had
appeared in George’s room, with its gloomy warning? For that
matter, who was the protector that it had told him to find, and how
was George to find him? Was there any connection between the stone
and the creature’s visit, or this unknown protector?

George didn’t have any answers. All he was
stuck with were questions. Usually he could clear his mind and
reach important decisions when he was in his secret grove. But
today he seemed to be up against a brick wall.

He pulled a little pouch from his pocket that
he had found yesterday to put his rock in, and shook the rock out
onto his palm. It was icy cold, and glittered in the sunlight that
filtered through the trees. He held it up and looked through it at
the surrounding bushes. It was like looking through a piece of
glass, without any distortions at all.

After a moment George put the rock back in
the pouch. Absently he twirled the pouch around his finger by its
drawstring. Looking through the leafy branches all around him, he
could see only two people in the park. There was an old woman
walking her dog on the south side near the picnic tables, and a
middle aged man sleeping on a bench near the street. It looked like
it was going to be a quiet day.

Suddenly there was a flutter of wings and
George looked down to see a small yellow bird staring up at him. It
reminded him of the strange bird that had followed him for two
weeks the previous year.

“Hello,” said George with a smile. The bird
cocked his head to look at him with just one eye.

“I’m George Brown,” said George. “What’s your
name?” The bird shifted its head to the other side and looked at
him curiously. “You look like you understand what I’m saying,” said
George with a smile.

Suddenly the bird flew up and grabbed the
pouch out of George’s hand and flew off with it.

“Hey!” cried George as he lunged after the
bird. Tripping over a branch, George lost his balance and crashed
through a bush, then stumbled all the way out of his hiding place
and onto the park's lawn. He looked up to see the bird hopping
about with the pouch hanging from its beak, just a few feet in
front of him.

“Give that back!” yelled George as he lurched
to his feet and charged after the bird. Quick as a wink it darted
out of the way, fluttering just out of his hands. George chased it
across the park, nearly running into the lady walking her dog. Then
he watched in dismay as the bird flew into the open window of an
old, 1960s Volkswagen ‘Beetle’, parked next to where the man was
asleep on the park bench.