Groundhog Seeking Employment

Paige Harper, in her mysterious world, did not hear her brother as he snuck into her room, tiptoeing like Sylvester the cat after Tweety. The basement room had been used for storage until all three people concerned, felt it best that Paige take it as her room. Her mother didn't have to put up with her, her little brother got his own room in the attic, and she got blessed darkness and quiet.

Benny was the opposite of his sister. He played sports and ran around with school chums, usually on their bicycles, all summer long. They had a penchant for all things noisy and loud: firecrackers, horns that went AAA-OO-GAH!... cap guns, and so on. Even Benny’s little terrier mix made up for his wee size with a stupendously loud bark.

A month earlier, while school was still in session, Ricky had brought one of his father’s Coastguardsman’s airhorns to school. At lunchtime, the group of four boys raced off into the woods as far from the schoolyard as possible to sound it off. YOWZA! Whatta holler! Benny had coveted it ever since. After his eighth birthday, he had traded his new Spiderman watch for that magnificent horn.

Paige’s room was not entirely silent. Floorboards creaked above her where the kitchen was, as her mother prepared dinner. She heard cupboards thud, the oven door squeal open, and Redrum’s toenails clicking as the dog followed Phoebe around. A scrap or two would be his; Phoebe was messy. By the time she made dinner, she’d be four martinis into her cups.

Sometimes, when all was quiet, her mother’s four-quart soup pot would crash to the floor sending Paige’s nerves through her skin like needles burning with acid and the inevitable scream escaping her lips. She would shake uncontrollably for an hour afterwards, the sound echoing again and again in her head like a bass drum in a marching band of tormenting ghouls. The little tormenting ghoul upstairs would laugh hysterically and the screeching and stomping of their mother inevitably pushed her deeper into the blue lighthouse in the spectrum of her mind.

***

Just a half mile past the rundown house at the edge of town, the Oceanview River lazily winds its way through the forest, through the meadow at the looming dusty-purple foothills, and beyond. It was in this meadow, right at the edge under a vast hemlock bush, where Dusty lived. 

As the sun was setting, throwing long shadows over the dry yellow grass, a small figure plodded along a well-worn path to where it disappeared under a mass of blooming lavender. Dusty normally paused at the purple blooms to take in their heady aroma. He himself, smelled of the fragrant flower as he had a passion for rolling in it. Today, he merely glanced at it and sighed.

“What’s the matter, Dusty? You’re not your cheerful self.” It was his best buddy, Mike, a raccoon.

“Oh…nothing,” said Dusty.

“Well, for you to not stop and smell the flowers, I know something is terribly wrong.”

Dusty turned to his friend and sighed heavily.

Mike put an arm around the groundhog’s shoulders and turned with him, so they were facing west. “Look at that sunset. It’s magnificent tonight with the floaty clouds out there on the horizon.”

Dusty glanced up and nodded. “It is a smashing one indeed, my friend. But I think I’ll just go in to bed.”

“Don’t be daft. You’re going to share this wicked burrito with me and tell yer ole pal Mikey what’s wrong.”

Dusty had to smile. His mum was from London, both she and her son spoke with a lilting accent that Mike had found cool; the raccoon had picked up a slew of British terms from him. Dusty had no desire to pick up any of the American slang and his human employers had encouraged him in sticking to his British roots. They said his voice was pleasing to American viewers.

He sat next to Mike and sniffed at the proffered half burrito in the raccoon’s hand. “Egads! That thing’s turned at least a week ago…”

“Aged beef man. Heavenly. Besides, the wrapper says Taco Bell, so it’s full of yummy preservatives.”

Dusty raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “You’ll make yourself ill.”

“Don’t be daft. I’ve got an iron stomach,” Mike said as he rubbed his ash grey belly. “You’ve been eating too much good food…gour-may stuff. Am I right?”

Dusty sighed. He would miss the gourmet meals. “I’m just not hungry, you go on and enjoy your food.”

Mike shrugged and chomped and licked his lips. After half was gone, he said, “I’ve seen that commercial y’know.”

Dusty looked over, perplexed.

“Yeah, over at the Johnson’s house. Gotta good view of the tv from the window.”

“Mike. That’s dangerous. You said you wouldn’t do that anymore.”

“I know, you’re right. And I promise to stop…as soon as they’re done binge-watching Game of Thrones.”

They sat watching the sunset in silence only broken by Mike’s soft burps.

***

On this early evening, Paige’s basement room was deeply and calmingly dark, the only illumination, a small desk lamp on her desk. She was inking in a sketch she’d penciled the day before and pleased with the results so far. Illustrating put her in a pleasant zone like nothing else could. Her mother’s footsteps and Redrum’s clickings faded into a familiar cadence. Her soft light brown hair fell over her shoulder and onto the page as she leaned forward to select a finer tipped ink brush. She flipped her hair from off the page, it cascaded onto her left side, revealing her right eye in the profile of her pale, delicately featured face.

The shadow on the door behind her halted and froze. 

Slowly, with all the patience it could muster, the shadow raised its arm and slid from the rectangle of light against the door.

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! The airhorn was an apocalyptic weapon of mass destruction in the low-ceilinged room.

Paige screamed. She whacked her throbbing head against the desk but didn’t feel a thing as she fell. She curled up into a ball. The horn’s screaming wail went on and on. As her throat rawed like bloody road rash, the screaming grew hoarser, and she realized with revulsion that it was she who’d been making the noise. At last, when she stopped screaming, she heard a dog barking, a wicked boy laughing, and a drunk woman screeching.

The sounds were faint, as if she was going deaf.

“…in God’s name Benny!…”

“…arf…arf…arf…arf…arf!…”

“…and shut that mutt up before I do for good…”

“…aw Mom…having a little fun…”

“…arf…arf…arf!…”

“…gone and messed herself again…”

“…ew…sorry Mom…”

Their voices undulated like pulses under the sea. ‘I’m going deaf… Good.’

Paige was in her lighthouse, her safe place, her alone place. She’d teleported herself there through a blueish purplish portal that resembled a swirling intestinal tract.

It was always night here, cool, and dark. The white of the moon sometimes made her eyes tingle- not in an unpleasant way, but more like a hypnotist’s waving silver watch inspires positive apprehension.

On this night, the moon was just the sliver of a friendly eye winking at her. The stars were as bright as ever, cheerily twinkling, and cool as mentholated balm.

The revolving light of the lighthouse was steady in its slow revolutions, flashing in slow motion over the black ocean, sending a rippling pale blue streak to the far horizon.

When she’d hurtled into the circular stone room her heart had been lodged high in her throat, choking her; she could gather no air into her burning lungs. When she opened her eyes and saw the familiar place, she relaxed at last and sat at the arched stone window. Paige turned to her right and pulled the worn oak table to her. She fingered through the pencils and brushes on the shelf above it, chose a hard lead for light sketching, and began to draw on the creamy white page before her.

***

Dusty’s mum had always told him he was different. He was abnormally bright, as if a human brain had been implanted in his furry head. His mum had been taken from London, England, and put in a California game farm. She burrowed under a fence and was free, eventually finding the beautiful meadow and digging the burrow he now lived in. She’d escaped because she was pregnant and wanted her babies to live free like their groundhog ancestors. The lavender reminded her of the heather from her home.

One day when Dusty was just four months old, he’d been foraging in a garden behind a small wooden house not far from the meadow.

A small girl had been in the garden picking peas. A low-flying airplane had roared overhead, perhaps dusting a nearby field…the girl had curled into a ball, covering her face, and making herself small.

Dusty hid. As he watched, a woman came into the garden. She bent to the child and enveloped her into her arms. A man came to them. He smelled…bad. Sour, with crazy oozing from his pores. He said to the woman, “Leave her alone. Let her curl up and lie there. You go on and make my supper.”

“But Drake…she’s just delicate…please---”

The woman’s voice was cut by a sharp slap.

The woman carried the small child inside, following the man.

Three days later, Dusty was again in the garden sampling the new sweetpea flowers. He came around the end of a fragrant row and the girl was there. She was using her finger to draw in the soil. A small tin pail of beans sat beside her. The girl’s finger froze as she looked up and into Dusty’s eyes. The girl’s eyes were such a pale blue, they looked nearly grey. Her skin was the color of cream, she had a scattering of fine freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was radiant as she smiled. ‘Hello,’ she said softly. Her lips had not moved.

Her mother stomped over, and Dusty ducked out of sight.

The woman slapped the child across the back of her head and screeched, “Watchoo doin girl? Pick up that pail. What is wrong with you?!” She picked the small, frail girl up and stomped back to the house.

Dusty sat stunned for a minute. ‘My imagination.’ He shook off the strange feeling of confused awe, picked some beans for his mum, and went home.

It was no wonder his dreams that night were awfully strange.

He found himself along a rocky coast at night (he had never been to the ocean in his life), following a sandy path to a small wooden bridge with fat hemp rope sides. On the other side sat the tallest structure he’d ever seen. It was of rough stone and round and painted cerulean blue. Its top was lost in dark wispy clouds- they parted, and a bluish white light burst forth like a giant eye. He was very frightened and figured he would now wake up…

He did not. Instead, he heard a voice in his head, ‘hello friend. Welcome.’

It was the little girl’s voice, and the fear was replaced by a calm, ethereal happiness, and contentment he’d never felt before. He crossed the bridge and the realization that it was groundhog-sized made him smile.

“…Dusty.” Not the girl’s voice.

 ‘Go away.’

“…wake up sweetheart.” It was his mother. “This is a big day for you, c’mon now. I’m making your favorite breakfast.”

He had felt an overwhelming loss inside… of what, did couldn’t say. He loved his mother dearly, but she was a bit daft- in a loveable way- and he knew she’d prepared a salad for him. That was what she always made for their meals. He realized he was feeling intensely melancholy and needed to snap out of it. Today he was going to work…in the city.

***

And now, a year later, he huddled in the burrow, a bleak black fog of depression seeping into his ears, nose, mouth…every pore felt the destructive tendrils prying and invading. His mum had passed while he was at work in the city.

“Hey man. Snap out of it.” Mike was back.

Dusty groaned. “Leave me alone.”

“C’mon mate, get up.” Then he said in an ominous deep voice, “Winter is coming…”

That got the corners of Dusty’s mouth curling upwards.

Mike nudged Dusty and he sat up. Mike said, “…but not for another three months. Dude…no hibernating for you yet. Okay? Talk to me.”

“I got laid off.”

“I sorta figured it was something like that.”

“Yeah. I felt it coming. That last commercial killed my career.”

“But you’re not a gimmick! You can talk…to humans! That’s gobsmackin’…phenomenal!”

“I never should have revealed that in the first place. I’m a freak. They want to cut me up now to see how I do it. Barely escaped. Can’t go back.”

“I get that. But life here is great. Peaceful. So much beauty. C’mon, let’s watch the sunset. I gotta BK Whopper in mee pocket.” His brilliant fake British accent matched his toothy grin.

“Okay. Let’s.”

***

The next night…

Dusty wandered the streets of the city covertly, sticking to the shadows and alleys. He didn’t know what he was going to do, he was depressed and listless. He knew this but couldn’t shake the feeling of hopelessness.

He walked and walked…and crept and crept. His ears detected minute sounds and he ducked accordingly, out of sight. He thought to himself, ‘why do I bother?’ He was on the outskirts of the city when he heard a shrill scream. He’d heard it before. Curious, and with a newfound lust for life, he went towards the sound. Gradually, he detected more sounds of distress, sounds that hurt his heart. He had nothing to lose. He homed in on the sounds and eventually came upon a huge rectangular brick building…one that exuded an air of dismal despair and hopelessness.

It was an ugly design, ‘that architect should be shot,’ he thought, as he took in the enormity of its four stories. In the dark of night, he realized only by getting closer to it, that it was painted blue…and featured thick black iron bars on every single window.

Being an animal that could talk and read human stuff, he went around to the front and read the sign announcing: “LIGHTHOUSE INSTIT ION.” There was a capital iron ‘U’ hanging askew and a ‘T’ missing entirely. Dusty, after living in the city and with humans, understood that this was a home for the insane. Some criminally perhaps, some trapped in veg-state. His sharp ears heard screams and cries and moans. But he was drawn to the place regardless.

‘I feel I belong here. Lol.’ He slunk around the base of the building, inspecting it for access. A basement window was broken, a baseball-sized hole in it. It took little pushing to clear it wide enough for his body. He’d once been a fat, healthy groundhog. He discovered he’d become much thinner. In he went…’oof’, dropping six feet to a grungy cement floor.

He scuttled on all fours, it was faster than walking upright on two legs, and stopped periodically, listening for…? Guidance?

“Hey man.”

Dusty was shocked he had not heard the rat. He gathered himself, stood upright, and said calmly, “Well hello to you, mate.”

The fat charcoal grey rat grinned. “You’re new here. And big. Be on my side…we’d rule this---”

Dusty cut the rat off. “I’m looking for a human. A girl. Autistic. Not crazy. Pale grey eyes.” He was three times the rat’s size and loomed over him.

The rat sensed something about the groundhog, it was written all over its face. The rat’s eyes squinted, and it looked at Dusty as if the mammal was a human in disguise. It put a small finger to the corner of its mouth, and said, “Hmmm. I know whom you are referring to. For a small fee…”

“Quit it. I’ll give you…um…the address of a building that houses a studio where they film commercials. There’s a way in. Every day they toss out tons of doughnuts.”

The rat’s eyes glimmered. It licked its lips.

They exchanged information eagerly.

Dusty found the girl’s room, he huddled in the dark corridor, and waited for a nurse to leave. He skooched quickly through the doorway and looked around the gloomy, dismal room.

She was sitting up in the bed. She leaned forward and spit the pill from her mouth like he’d seen patients on tv do so many times. She grinned at him and said with her mouth, “Welcome friend.”

Dusty was dismayed at how frail and diminished she appeared to be. He came and jumped upon her bed. She squealed softly with glee and giggled, perhaps for the first time in her life, as she hugged him to her. Also, he knew, the first time she’d ever hugged anyone. “I knew you’d come. I know you’re not real, but I knew you’d come…”

“Sweetheart. I am real. As real as you are. What’s your name?”

Paige clapped her this pale hands together, delightedly. “Paige. But I prefer Pagan Star. What’s yours?”

“Wesley Dustin Humphreys the third. But I prefer Dusty.”

She frowned. Though she was little more than a skeletal waif, she possessed power and great strength. All this Dusty knew. Their eyes spoke volumes.

He said, “The lighthouse…?”

“Yes. My place. It’s real you know.”

“I believe you.”

“You’re my first and only friend.”

“You’re my savior.”

She looked around, fully aware of where she was…and shrugged as a tear drifted down her cheek.

Dusty said, “I can get us out of here…”

Paige said, “And I can take you to the lighthouse.”