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Here is a draft of a story that I wrote. Enjoy.

-Jay




News From the Other Side


I
THE VOICE


Stewart stood up slowly, not knowing where the whispering voice he kept hearing was coming from, or what exactly it was saying. He could hear it faintly all the time and gathered that it was sounding from somewhere far away.

Walking alone down this ally and that, he paused frequently to consider which way he should go next. When he first heard this unfamiliar voice, he took off with excitement, thinking that someone was calling from right down the street. Who knows? Perhaps word had finally come from across the plain.

But no one was there. He thought that perhaps he was imagining it, or even that he had somehow gone off his rocker. He couldn’t know for sure, but he felt normal, and this phantom call was being made steadily enough that he felt obliged to do its source the dignity of not dismissing it as some creation of his own.

Having looked since the cool of the day around the ins and outs of the city, he eventually sat down on the sidewalk to rest and proceeded to drift quietly to sleep. He dreamed he was journeying across the plain, pulling a little red wagon like the one he used to have when he was a boy. He had nothing in the contraption save the vague purpose of journeying across the expanse of tall grasses, deserts, and the occasional swamp, to see for himself what they had been waiting for news of since before he could remember.

He awoke with a start, but stood up slowly, not remembering exactly where he was. It was not his custom to wander the city at night.

“Strange dream, really,” he said to himself, turning over in his mind where such a cognition had come from. No one was supposed to walk the fields.

The voice was still sounding from time to time as it had been all night, with the same quality; far off only in that it never seemed to grow closer, but fainter and fainter in that it never got nearer, and anyone with half a mind would eventually give up when such a call, however persistent, goes unanswered for so long.




“Now where do you suppose my Stewart is all this time?” asked Abishai, “You haven’t seen him around Mother, eh?” she asked her mother Vanessa.

“Well,” began Vanessa, but she cut herself off as Marcus bounded into the room in sock feet and proceeded to slide around the table with his little sister Sue hot on his tracks.

“Gotcha! I Gotcha!” yelled Sue when she got close enough to graze his sleeve with her finger. “You’re it!” and with that she bounded out of the room and down the hall followed by Marcus, who tripped over a stool and tumbled out the door.

“Sweet lil’uns,” said Vanessa, beaming. “No, I haven’t seen him since this morning. He went outside to fetch the paper during my morning reading. Hant seen him since. Morning Tommy,” Vanessa greeted her oldest grandson as he entered the room.

“Morning Gran, morning Momma” said Tom, “It’s my turn to go to the market today.”

Abishai told Tommy what they needed from the market and sent him off. “Be back soon, son. Your brother and sister have been romping this morning and they’ll be hungry.”




Tommy loved to draw. He could draw anything he had ever seen, and often did, all over the walls of his room. His parents first suspected he had a photographic memory when they saw the silhouettes of a city skyline he had created to line his wall near the ceiling and the colorful flowers to line his wall near the floor. The skyline looked uncannily like the view Tommy had of it from school, and the flowers were the exactly the same ones that were at the park.




Stewart, still hearing the call, resolved to go back home.

“Don’t know where it’s calling from, but I don’t guess it’s any use not being home. And if whoever it is can’t just rightly make himself known, why, I wager he wouldn’t be worth finding out anyhow.”

But the voice didn’t stop when Stewart stopped tuning his ears for it. He wasn’t listening when it started, nor did he ask for it to start. And, for the time being at least, he had just as much say over when it was to go away.

On the way home he remembered that Tommy’s birthday was fast approaching. His mother and he had decided to get their son a sketchbook and some charcoal. He was not far from the art shop, so he decided to run the errand on the way.

It happened that not long after he picked up what he left the art shop, he met his son on the way back from the market, coming up the road behind him.

“Hey Dad, wait up!” called Tom when he noticed who it was. Tommy picked up his pace to meet his dad on in the middle of a little bridge and didn’t give him much time to think about hiding the book. He wouldn’t have had much time anyway, however. For right as his son began to draw near, a lion roared, came out from under the bridge, leapt from the stream to the road, and roared again. The two stumbled backwards toward the handrail, terrified. The beast stalked toward the boy, quickly closing the gap between itself and him. Without a thought, Stewart sprang forward, baring its way, and smacked the great cat sharply on the nose with the book that he had in his hand. The lion let out a small noise, very like a chuckle. It sat back on its haunches, then looked rather confused and fell over—out cold.

“Wow,” breathed Tom, leaning on the rail for support.

They took a moment to collect themselves, and Stewart could see out of the corner of his eye that his son had spied the book. Without a word he handed it to him, the charcoal being in his coat pocket all this time.



II
TWO WAYS



Tommy told everyone about the lion when they got home. That night Stewart spoke privately to Abishai about the strange voice he heard. Three days went by and still Stewart could hear it all the time, though ever so faintly when he was within his own walls.

He had not been sleeping well and on the third night he couldn’t sleep at all. Eventually he got up and absently paced the floor.

“What’s wrong, Stew?” asked Abishai

“Nothing, I just can’t sleep.”

“Is it the voice still?”

“Yes.” He looked away from her and out the window. His face was bathed in a pale blue light that was streaming softly in.

“Sometimes I think I can hear it, too.” She whispered. “What do you think you should do?”

“I don’t know— ” he paused. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe you should go try to find it again? It must be coming from somewhere.”

“Well, I never did check the old buildings on the far side of the city, but it would take a long time to get there and check them.” He paused. “…That could take a long time.”

Stewart looked out the window.

“You think you should go to check it out.” The man turned again from the window to face his wife. “Neither of us will get much sleep until you get that voice out of your head,” she said, smiling softly.

Stewart smiled back. “It’s not in my head.”

“I know.”

“The moon is blue tonight honey, look.” They both gazed out the window at the pale blue moon. “How strange.”

“I’ve never saw such a sight.” Abishai got up and put her arms around her husband and they stared at it for quite some time in silence.

“I had better get going, if I mean to start.”

“Yes,” Abishi understood her husband very well. There was little point in waiting around just for the sake of waiting. “It looks like it may storm soon. If you head out before long you can make it to the inn by midday tomorrow and beat the rain. I’ll fix you some lunch.”

They walked down the hall and noticed by the crack under Tommy’s door that his light was on.

“Tommy?” said Stewart, knocking lightly on the door and cracking it. Tommy turned to look at them from where he was standing on his bed. He looked rather sad. “What are ya’ doin’ up so late, son?”

Tommy was working on a mural on his wall. “I’m out of stuff to draw, Dad.”

“Don’t be silly son. You can draw anything you’ve ever seen.”

“I know… but it’s all the same. It’s all buildings and stuff. And, they’re swell, but…”

His parents came in and sat down. “They’re boring,” finished his mother.

Tommy looked up at her and nodded. Stewart reclined where he was sitting on the bed. “Those are neat son,” he said, pointing up to the ceiling where Tommy had painted clouds and the sun.

“Oh wow,” said Abishai. “Is that sun rising or setting?”

“Setting. I’m usually not awake when it comes up. …I like the sky. It’s never boring.”

“Goodness! I think I hear Sue now,” said Abishai. “Come on Stewart, we better check on those two. Be right back, Tommy.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” said Stewart when they were in the hall.

“I know. But what do you think, about, what if Tommy went with you Stew?”

“Huh?”

“He’d be able to keep you company and he’d see a lot of new things. He’s never been out that far, you know, and he’s old enough.”

“Well, I don’t know. You think he’d want to?”

“I’m sure he would.”

“Humm…” They stood quietly as they thought it over.

“Can I Dad? Can I?”

“Thomas! You shouldn’t listen in on people like that!” scolded Abishai.

Stewart winked at her. “Son, what do you think about taking a trip to the other side of the city?”

“Wow, the old part? With trees?”

“Yes, the old part.”

“Wow! When? When do we go?”

“Uh, well—” said Stewart.

Tommy began to dance around the room.

“Do you think it’s okay if we go tonight?” Stewart whispered to his wife.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Can I take my sketchbook?” asked Tommy, who was doing a handstand, leaning against the wall for support. “Can I? When do we leave?”

“I think we’ll leave tonight son. How’s that?”

“Okeydokey!”

“Get dressed Tommy.” Said Abishai. “I’ll make you two some lunch,” she said to her husband.

“I’ll be along.” he said.

“What about Mark and Suey?” said Tom, poking his head out of his room.

“You can say goodbye to them before you go.”

“Okeydokey.”




Stewart went about packing things, and so did Tommy. Stewart gathered camping gear, his trusty pocket knife, clothes for him and Tommy, and various other traveling essentials. He had everything they were likely to need, save maybe a compass. Tommy packed a bunch of note pads, the food his mother gave them, (mostly in the form of tablets and capsules) and other necessities into his little red wagon. Then the family met together and prayed.




“Bye Mom!” Tommy called back toward the house.

“Good bye son, I love you! Have fun!”

“Love you too!”

“Bye Stewart! Find that voice, will you?”

“Yes dear. Get some sleep!”

From that moment on, Abishai also heard the call, faintly as Stewart did.




The two journeyed for several days before reaching their destination. Tommy made note of several building styles along the way that he had never seen up close before. It sprinkled on them a little bit the second day, but only a little.

The particular district of the city that they were headed for was abandoned. The many large buildings were in shambles and ruin. About thirty yards from where the buildings stopped, tall grass and prairies began; the fields no one walked.

It didn’t take the pair long to conclude that there was nobody in any of the buildings to issue the call that Stewart was hearing.

“Now what are we supposed to do?” asked Tom as he ate a food tablet. They sat down on the steps facing the fields and were silent for some time. Silence was comfortable for them, so they made use of it whenever no words presented themselves.

It was comfortable because their relationship wasn’t built on words. Instead, the bond between the two resembled in many ways the wagon that Tommy pulled. It was a symbol of the time they spent together. Both of them remembered fondly the hours they had taken to play—Stewart pulling his son all around the neighborhood pretending they were in a race. These are the kinds of things that one never regrets or forgets.

Stewart began to look around to make sure they had checked everywhere before they headed back.

“You know what I think, Dad?”

“What, Tom Boy?”

“Is he still talking?”

“Yeah.”

“I think we should look over there.” He pointed to the fields.

“You think someone’s hiding in the grass somewhere?”

“I think he’s on the other side of the fields.”

From that moment forward, Tommy could hear the call as well.




The sun was setting. The moon, which was still blue, would soon have mastery of the sky. Endless fields spread out in front of them. There was almost no plant life, as was the case in most of the city, until the fields began. The pavement simply ended in rubble that blended into the earth.

Before them were two paths extending out into the distance, straight as two arrows. They were unkempt due to complete lack of use, but they had at one time been so well worn that it was hard for them to totally disappear. The moon was directly out in front of them, staring them in the face.




These were the paths that were said to stretch from one side of the expanse to the other. They were once thoroughfares of commerce, Stewart was told. One was used for coming and the other for going.

A part of Stewart knew they should go home, but another part of him felt that they had to go on. He could not hear the voice saying anything specific, but he did clearly hear a voice, and that alone demanded action. Plus, he felt deep down that Tommy was probably right about where the voice was coming from.

“We’ll call your mother and see what she says.”

“Okeydokey.” Tommy whipped out his cell phone and gave it to his dad, who didn’t have one. He made the call. The couple talked for awhile about many things. In the conversation, Abishai, who still heard the voice, held that they should press on until the voice was found or until the way became impassable.


III
THE JOURNEY




The man and his son stood looking at the paths.

“Which one?” asked Tommy, looking up at his dad.

Stew glanced back, “You pick.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. “But I don’t know the way!”

Stewart smiled. “I know the feeling, son. We’ll find the way together. You see, since we don’t know the way, we really had only one choice to make.”

“Left or right?”

“To go, or not.” corrected Stewart.

“Let’s take the right path,” said Tommy resolutely.

Stewart nodded, beaming because of his son’s words. “Why right?”

“From where we’re standing, the light is right above it.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“Yup.”




Stewart thought it was a very good reason.




They found the first leg of their path to be easy traveling. The parallel trails were as straight as arrows at first except for one or two turns. At one point the two paths led to a lake with cat-tails all around it. At about one hundred yards away from the lake the paths turned roughly forty-five degrees away from one another. From then on the travelers did not often see the other path. The one they were on was clearly discernable though, and it seemed to slope gently upward. The tall grass of the fields swayed in the breeze, which was constantly with them all they way through their journey. Sometimes fiercely—a mighty rushing wind, and sometimes it was as soft as the still small voice that everyone involved in the quest now heard. There weren’t many animals, but they did see an occasional cow. A mile passed the lake Tommy noticed that his cell phone was out of service. [[Is ‘passed’ the right word here?]]

Even though he was sure the history books with their monsters and their war were absurd (of that more later), he still wondered, “Are we putting anyone in danger? Am I putting my own son in danger?” After all, everyone held that no one must cross the fields. The reason given was malarkey, he was sure of it. “But why would we all believe a lie?” he wondered. Stewart may have been uncertain of the journey (After all, it is hard to break away from the pervasive belief with which one is brought up), but he was certain of the voice, and it was calling more earnestly now. Calling them to come and find it.

“So Tommy, what do you know about these fields?” asked Stewart.

“Well, I never saw any pictures of them. Look how tall it is!” said Tommy, referring to the grass. He was sketching ferociously in a booklet, glancing up and down from grass to paper. He had an eye for every blade.

“What have you learned in school though? What have you learned about the other side of the field where we’re going?”

“Umm,” said Tommy, “I didn’t really pay much attention.” His face turned slightly red. “But,” he added in his own defense, “It doesn’t seem like we talked about it much, now that you mention it.”

“Really? Don’t people wonder why we all stay in our own cities?”

“Well,” reasoned Tom, “they’re ‘walking cities.’ Wait, I know this one! Perfect Urbanism. That was chapter four. We just don’t need to go anywhere, I guess. Right?”

Stewart was amazed. The Story of the Colony was considered in his day to be a story of all-importance, though it never rang true to Stewart.

Stewart went on to tell Tommy the story. How people had explored their habitation far and wide, though not as far as some who never returned and were said to have fallen off the world’s edge.

The explorers who first journeyed across these same fields found a land that was ripe for settling. They soon had a bustling and thriving existence.

But then the monsters were discovered. No one can say who made first contact, or if that contact was friendly or not. This is probably because, as Stewart often pointed out, nobody, to his knowledge at least, had any relatives or ancestors who remember ever being over there.

The monsters were stronger than the people. They liked smoke because it helped them breath, and they didn’t care for trees. This was convenient because trees could be burned to create a tailored environment to suit their fancies, thus the city Tommy knew was practically void of vegetation.

These kinds of monsters (for there were of different kinds and clans) were not mindlessly hostile, though. They did not want more people coming to their land because they feared the human’s numbers and how well versed they were with fire.

The people and the monsters forged a more or less symbiotic relationship. The people from the first side of the expanse could not join those in the new colony. The people on the other side would, though their industry, destroy the trees and “fix” the air. The monsters wouldn’t destroy them and furthermore would protect them from the other monsters that would. That way the people could establish bases and small cities in safety and go on exploring.

“The final condition was that no one from our side of the fields was to go over to their side. If we did, the monsters would conclude that we were strengthening ourselves for war. They would, as they say, ‘end the peace.’ And nobody wants that, so everyone stays on their own side and life goes on.”

Stewart didn’t tell his son that the monsters were said to routinely scout the expanse to make sure the people were keeping their word. To Stewart, the story seemed less like history and more like the work of an inept storyteller, hastily wrought of necessity for the facilitation of a larger story.

Tommy showed great interest in the tale, but didn’t dwell on it. “They don’t teach about that, I guess.” he said.

“Yeah, I imagine they don’t encourage thinking about it too hard.” said Stewart. Then he thought to himself, “Bless me, what do they teach them at these schools?”




Later that day, Tommy had an epiphany. “Hey dad, why doesn’t someone call from the other side to tell us how they’re doing ever? It seems like they would.”

“Well son, they didn’t have cell phones or anything. This all took place a very long time ago.”

“But how did they keep in touch with people?”

“They just talked to them.”

Tommy stared at his dad.

“You know, face to face.”

“But how did they keep in touch with people when they were on the go?”

“Um, I guess they didn’t.”

“But, but how did they make any plans? How did they talk or do anything?”

Stewart chuckled. “Believe it or not, son, people got along just fine.




They had been walking through some short-grass fields. About that time they crested a hill. Into view came a sprawling landscape full of beautiful wild flowers. They stopped walking. Tommy dropped his pencil.

Neither of them had ever seen flowers like this before, but Tommy had never even heard of them. They stood wonderstruck for one, long, timeless moment.

“Look at the COLOR!!” said Tommy excitedly. He pulled out his colored pencils and his biggest paper, shook his head and then grabbed his acrylics too. “Look look look,” he said, mumbling to himself as he walked around trying not to step on anything.

Stewart was content to camp there for awhile while his son trotted around the hillside. They could see quite a distance in all directions from there and Stewart kept a close eye on him. Tommy was muttering things from time to time. Sometimes he was close enough to be heard and Stewart thought he caught something about Longfellow.

“…So much for black and white…” Tommy murmured as he sketched with a blue pencil. Stewart thought of the charcoal he and Abishia had planned to give his for his birthday. How their son was growing!

A few hours later Tommy called from the bottom of the hill. “Hey dad, come look at this!”

Tom had found a patch of wild strawberries. “What’d’ya think they are?” he asked.

“I’ve got a feeling…” Stewart reached down, picked one and ate it. “Yup. We’ll stay here tonight.”




The next morning they started out bright and early. At the top of the next hill Tommy took one last look at the carpet of wildflowers. All manner of wildflowers were there.




To their right they could make out what seemed to be a swampy wasteland. Far out in the distance to their left they could see that the hills rose gradually and became mountains. They stayed to the path, which was no longer always readily discernable. Nor did it tend to slope upward any longer. But, they knew that the path was straight, so when they couldn’t see it they just went on straight until it showed up again. It hadn’t rained in many days and the vegetation was getting sparse.

Suddenly, Tommy heard something rustling in the bushes they had just passed.

“What was that?!” he gasped, turning around and peering intently at the bushes as they rustled again. He jumped backward. “What is that? It smells funny.”

Stewart turned to look at it too. They hadn’t seen many animals on their journey, only an occasional cow. These bushes were small, so Stewart wasn’t too worried. The two of them stood there and tried to think of what it could be. They went through all they had in their heads about animals.

“I hope it’s not a skunk,” said Stewart in a low voice, “Or anything unfriendly.”

“I have a stinking suspicion,” whispered Tommy.

“Don’t you mean a sneaking suspicion?” corrected his father.

Just then, a little bitty rabbit hopped out of the bush.

“There it is!” cried Tommy, “My suspicion!”

Stewart was relieved. “That’s what you thought it was, huh?”

“Uh huh.”

They restrained themselves from petting it or getting close to it, but it followed some distance behind them all through their journey, and then on for the rest of its days until it died some years later, which was unfortunate because of the smell it carried.

The vegetation became sparser and sparser as they walked on. Eventually it became a sort of desert. The wind blew the coarse sand around with just enough strength to form some small dunes from time to time, but not strong enough to blow sand into Tommy’s eyes. The ever-present call seemed to be carried to them on this wind as it whistled through the rock formations around them. The wagon would have been hard to pull except that there wasn’t much in it to weigh it down.

The sun was bright overhead, so when a short little man emerged over a distant hill and started toward them, they hardly noticed.

“Hey! What’d’ya think that is?” Tommy pointed off to the left. “I’m pretty sure it’s moving.”

“Hmm. Don’t know. Too far to tell.”

They kept on going. The man was walking in a desultorily way but kept getting closer. He was three and a half feet tall, with a thick red beard and an unsettlingly serene looking face. He had a pointy green hat, a green cloak, and a sizable travel bag. “He doesn’t look like a monster,” thought Tommy.



“Hi travelers!” said the stranger. “Stand some company can ye?”

“The more the merrier,” said Stewart, not sure if this new development was a good thing or a bad thing.

“I’d ask ye where your’s from, but I’s already know. And I’d ask ye where your’s goen, but ye don’t rightly know.” Stewart’s eye’s narrowed.

“Where are you headed mister?” asked Tommy.

The stranger seemed startled for a moment. “Same as ye, o-course.”

“You look awfully tired, why don’t you rest a minute? I can pull you in our wagon!”

“Why, that’ers mightily kind’er ya.”


IV
DESTINATION




Stewart walked in front, followed by Tommy, who pulled the newcomer. The party made conversation intermittently as they plodded on. Each of them seemed thankful for some new company, but spoke little. Stewart wondered what would be appropriate to ask the man. He was careful about what he said because he wasn’t comfortable discussing purposes or destinations quite yet. He hoped that nobody would bring such topics up. “Let him be forthcoming about himself if he chooses.” thought Stewart.

But the little man was no more talkative than Stewart. Tommy spoke the most, mainly about sand dunes. He would turn his head back to ask his new friend something and then straighten up again, trying to keep an eye on the path. They were going up a tall and steep hill.




The man in the wagon’s demeanor abruptly began to change. His serene expression livened. His head tilted slightly down toward his chest while his eyes were fixed upward on Tommy’s hand, which was holding the wagon handle. His mouth began to smile wider and wider until all his teach were visible. The other two did not notice. His eyes widened and narrowed and widened again. Slowly, the man reached into his cloak, extracted a large knife, and began to raise it.

All the time Tommy was going on about how dunes form. He paused appropriately after finishing an antidote with, “you know?” and glanced back toward his companion. Instantly the man hid his knife behind his back. His face resumed its tranquility, and he appeared to be gazing off into space.

“Oh yes, well said, quite quite.”




When Tommy turned back, the traveler’s face again began to change and again the knife was lifted. But each time he snapped back to his tranquil appearance when threatened with observation. This cycle repeated several times.

On the last occasion it was Stewart, who had gotten much farther ahead and was on a flat place, who finally saw the manic little man. He turned around to answer one of Tommy’s questions. The man in the wagon did not mask the appalling grimace or hide the knife.

“I dunno, Tom, I would say you just, Tommy COME HERE!!”

“I’m coming!” exclaimed a confused Tommy, and he began to run with the wagon.

The little man, still smiling, tumbled over backward, and fell back down the hill with his knife.

Tommy did not notice the lightening of the load due to the quickening of his pace as he met his dad on the flat place.

“What is it?!” asked Tommy.




“Nothing,” Stewart replied, shocked from what had just happened. “I think our friend has decided to go his own way.”

Tommy turned around and noticed that the little man was no longer in the wagon. “How rude,” he thought, “to ride in a person’s wagon and then leave without saying goodbye!”

Both’s hearts were beating fast and they decided to finish climbing the hill and then rest a while.

“Well, there’s nothing in our wagon now,” said Tom.

“Nothing but our purpose,” thought Stewart. Then he remembered the dream he had had when he first started hearing the voice. “Hop in it Tommy. I’ll pull you for a while.” They journeyed leisurely on in this manner for several days.




As Tommy sat in the wagon he thought about many things. He counted the remaining food tablets. Then his thoughts turned to where the little man with the red beard had gone. He wondered what his siblings were doing. He wondered if the story of the colony and the monsters was true, and if not, he wondered what they would find at the end of their path. Would there be people there? He wondered if many people from his home side would follow their lead and journey back and forth again, as he supposed they used to do. But most of all he wondered about the voice. It was the kind of voice that a person only responds to in whispers. When one person whispers, other people whisper too, even if they don’t know what they’re whispering about. And this voice indeed spoke mostly in whispers now. Tommy, ever a talkative boy, would have tried to reply, but he did not even know what to call it.

Stewart also thought about the voice. He did not wonder much about evoking the wrath of the monsters, since he was now quite sure that he did not believe in them. “What kind of voice can be heard everywhere and all the time?” he wondered. “It must be in us, but it must be coming from somewhere else, or else how could Tommy and Abishai both hear it too?”

Suddenly, a familiar ringtone shattered the silence and interrupted their thoughts. “Hey!” said Tommy. “I thought we were out of service!”




“Wrong number,” said Tommy as he hung up. “…but at least the phone’s back on.”

“They must have cell phone towers on the other side after all,” said Stewart. “Only, nobody on this side knows the number of anybody on the other side. Or, maybe the technology’s different somehow.

That night they camped at a lake with cat tails all around it.

The next morning as they walked they noticed a path off to their left. It was unkempt and showed little signs of use. There were only faint footprints and a set of tire tracks.

That day they saw the two paths come close together and lead down to a city in the distance. “Wow!” exclaimed Stewart. “Well I… They did build a city! It looks a lot like where we came from!”

Tommy, who had a photographic memory, couldn't believe his eyes. “Dad...”

They stood there dumbfounded for awhile.

“Dad”

“Hmm?”

“Do you hear anything?”

“…No, son. I don’t hear anything at all. Do you?”

“Nothing.”





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