499 Maple Avenue

His birth certificate read: Zimmerman James Groveland, but everyone just called him Zimmie. Although Zimmie was fifteen, he looked like he could have been eleven or twelve. With a full set of curls cascading down over his collar, his hair was a stunning shade of golden brown. His face was unblemished and as shiny as a waxed granny smith apple…not a trace of facial hair to be found.

Zimmie was one of the most popular kids in school, but even still his classmates teased him repeatedly because his voice, which was quite high for a boy his age, almost squeaked. He was a model student; an able athlete; a trustworthy young boy; and he was curious, almost to a fault. His curiosity always made him want to know just a little more. As a student in the fourth grade, he had won the school science fair because of his curiosity about electricity.

His father used to say to him;

"Zimmie my boy, tis good your quest for understanding. One day, though, you might carry it a bit too far and find yourself in trouble."

Zimmie's father was a tall, husky man with a large bushy beard and a deep baritone voice. He loved his son like nothing else and talked about him every chance he could. Zimmie had great respect for his father, and he wanted to be just like him. His father walked two miles to the factory every day and then back home in the evening so that Zimmie’s mother could have their car to run errands if she needed to. She always offered to drive Zimmie to school, but he wanted to be like his father. He wanted to be a man!

Walking home from school was something that Zimmie could almost do in his sleep. He had done it so many times. Out his door on Ambler Drive, right turn on Dorchester Road, left on Cunningham Street, right on Maple Avenue, and then five blocks to the two story brick schoolhouse that housed both the junior and senior high classrooms. Sometimes he would walk home backwards just for fun, counting down from 2247, the number of steps between his house and the school.

One particular day, walking home from school, facing forward this time, something caught his eye. As he passed the laundromat on the corner of Maple and Cunningham, he noticed a house that seemed to be out of place. There was a fog-like haze surrounding the house that looked just like most of the other houses in the neighborhood. How many hundreds of times had he walked down this street, and yet he couldn't recall ever noticing this house before? The house itself looked like all the other houses on the street, but it looked out of place.

"Maybe they freshly painted the house, or installed a new white picket fence?" he thought to himself.

Amid Zimmie's silent contemplation of the house, an individual emerged. Zimmie quickly snapped to attention. A sense of familiarity struck Zimmie upon seeing the tall man with a bushy beard. Zimmie wondered if he was dreaming because the man at the door bore a striking resemblance to his best friend Sherman. “But how could it be Sherman?”

Sherman was Zimmie's best friend; they had known each other since kindergarten. Zimmie knew Sherman almost better than he knew himself. They had been through almost everything that young boys go through together. Zimmie couldn't help but feel both curious and perplexed about what he was seeing. Here stood a man who appeared to be his best friend Sherman, walking out of a house that Zimmie wasn't even sure existed.

As the man walked down the path towards the sidewalk, he turned to Zimmie and smiled.

"What is going on around here?" Zimmie said out loud. But the stranger, who appeared to be in a trance, just walked right past without saying a word.

While trying to make sense of the situation, Zimmie observed the house door slowly opening. What Zimmie saw next left him shivering. Standing at the front door was the most beautiful creature that Zimmie had ever seen in his young life. She had a complexion as clear and as white as the cumulus clouds that graced the sky above. Cascading down her shoulders was silken blonde hair, wrapped around her body like the serpent wrapped around a tree in the painting of the Garden of Eden painting he had seen in art class. She appeared almost angelic, which reminded Zimmie of the stories he had read in his bible class. Yet something frightened him. Most other boys his age would probably have walked right past the house, nose buried in their cell phone, and never stopped. But Zimmie’s curiosity would not allow him to brush this off. He always wanted to know more!

As he stood transfixed, the girl motioned towards Zimmie to come into the house as she turned her back and reentered, leaving the door open.

Zimmie looked around to see if maybe there was someone else behind him, but he was the only one around. Better judgement told him to stay away, but his curiosity pushed him forward. Upon entering the house, Zimmie suddenly felt a shiver moving up and down his spine. The house was barren, and it did not appear like anybody had lived there for years. As he stood there taking it all in, the beauty appeared from the room on his right and took his hand. The sudden warmth of her hand momentarily startled him, but it soon spread through his body, replacing the previous chill.  

Down the hallway, she led without saying a word. Zimmie wanted to turn and run from the girl to the safety of his home, but his curiosity spurred him on, step by step with the beautiful girl.

At the end of the hall, they entered a large room, which seemed even stranger than the rest of the house. Something out of a horror movie or haunted house. Dozens of flickering candles filled the room, providing the only light. In the center of the room, like an altar in church, stood a large, four-poster brass bed. Covering the bed were scarlet colored satin sheets and two large feather pillows. Mirrors covered the ceiling above the bed, reflecting the flickering candles. The girl sat Zimmie down on the side of the bed and kneeled down in front of him.

"Why, you are just a boy," she whispered, stroking his hair gently.

It was true.

Taking his face in her soft hands, the girl removed his glasses and gently kissed Zimmie on the forehead. Despite his fear, he found pleasure in the gentle kiss. His curiosity was now in overdrive.

"What am I doing here? Who is this girl? What is going to happen to me?" His last thought was more than a thought as he said it out loud.

Smiling, the girl gently kissed him once more and said, "I'm going to make a man out of you."

A few hours later Zimmie awoke, the light from a streetlamp illuminating his face. Not entirely sure if he was in the middle of a dream, he sat up and surveyed the surrounding room. Squinting to get some bearing in the dark room, he realized his glasses were missing. A sparkle of light coming from the table beside the bed caught his attention, and he picked up his glasses! As the fog slowly cleared from his brain, he remembered the last thing he saw was the face of an angel staring into his eyes.

"Where am I?" he said out loud, which instantly sent a shiver up and down his spine.

Zimmie spun around, searching for the person who had just spoken…but he was alone.

"What is wrong with my voice?” he thought to himself, too scared to speak out loud again.

Something above him caught his attention as the mirrors over the bed were mimicking his every move. Glancing up, he screamed in terror at what the mirror was reflecting down on him. If the strange voice had not spooked him enough, what he saw scared him more than anything had ever scared him. The face looking back down at him had a bushy beard just like his father’s. Grasping at his face with both hands to see if what he saw in the mirror was real, he barked out in a voice that instantly reminded him of his father,

"What has this girl done to me?”

Glancing at his watch, he realized he was hours late and had already missed dinner. Dinner, however, was not his primary concern at the moment. How could he explain to his parents these sudden changes? How could he explain it to them when he didn't understand it himself? Zimmie hoped that this was all a bad dream, but he knew it wasn't.

Zimmie entered his house and tip-toed past the living room where his parents were watching the evening news.

"Zimmie, is that you?" his parents chimed in unison.

"Yes, I'm sorry that I'm late. I'm not feeling very well. Good night," Zimmie said in a whisper.

"You sound terrible," his mother said. "Come here, are you sick? I want to look at your throat."

Keenly aware that he couldn't remain concealed forever, Zimmie took hesitant steps into the living room. The look on his parent's face could have stopped a charging bull.

"What on earth have you got on your face, young man?" his mother screamed. “! Whatever it is, take it off right now!”

“I can't.” Zimmie answered meekly.

"What did you say? Why can't you take it off?" his mother shot back.

"I can't take it off because it is real," Zimmie said almost apologetically.

His mother was almost hysterical now. "How can it be real? Just this morning…"

Zimmie cut her off before she could finish.

“I know you won’t believe me, and I'm not sure I believe it either, but here goes. Today on the way home from school I passed by the house next to the laundromat on Maple Avenue and this girl came out. I don't know why, but when she motioned for me to come inside, I went.”

“Zimmie, there is no house next to the laundromat. That house burned down years ago!” his mother exclaimed.

“It was like a dream, the whole thing. It was like I was in the twilight zone or something. Anyway, she took me into this room, and I must have fallen asleep, or maybe she knocked me out with something. When I woke up, I had changed.”

As he was trying to explain, Zimmie observed a subtle smile on his father's face.

"I know you don't believe me, but that's what happened. I don't even understand it myself."

His father sat up in his chair and looked at Zimmie. "Where did you say this house was?" his father asked with a look of curiosity.

"Well, it was over on Maple Avenue. I remember it was number 499. It was a red house with a white picket fence. It was right next to the laundromat," Zimmie said triumphantly.

"Zimmie, I told you there is nothing next to that laundromat. That house burned down the year after your father and I got married. A young woman died in the fire and they never rebuilt it," his mother said, becoming even more exasperated.

Zimmie’s father turned to his wife and said gently but firmly,

“Why don’t you go fix up something for our son to eat? He missed dinner and I am sure he is famished.”

Zimmie, now almost in tears, looked at his father with pleading eyes. How could he explain it when he was in the dark himself?

“I don't know what to say, but that is the entire story.”

Zimmie said with a tear rolling down his cheek.

“I'm not at all happy with this entire situation, young man, and

you are not getting away with anything,” his mother barked as she headed towards the kitchen.

Zimmie's father peered over at Zimmie and in a stern voice said.

"Lad, I told you that one day, your curiosity would get you into trouble, and it looks like you've outdone yourself."

"But dad," Zimmie interrupted.

"I'm not finished," his father bellowed, more for his wife's benefit than Zimmie’s. "Zimmie, I was a boy your age once, in this same small town. I did some quick growing up like you did today. I was confused and thought that nobody believed a word I said. But I found out that being a man was more than just having a beard and your voice changing a few octaves. To become a man, you must earn respect. And maybe, my son, you earned that respect today, just like every other man in this town before you?”

Glancing towards the kitchen to make sure they were alone, Zimmie’s father leaned in towards him and, in a muffled voice, and a wink for effect, asked;

"Is the room still full of candles and mirrors on the ceiling? With this he leaned back, and with a stern look, pointed towards Zimmie's room. And in a voice, again meant for the benefit of Zimmie’s mother, "Now, off to bed, you go. We will talk in the morning!"

As Zimmie turned to go, a smile emblazoned across his face, his father stopped him. "Goodnight young man," he said with a wink and turned back towards the T.V.