Eugene and Casper
Chapter Two: A Window of Opportunity
Eugene blinked. The boy in reflected in the mirror was looking around, seemingly searching for something. Then he caught sight of Eugene. From what Eugene could see, the boy grabbed a pencil and started scribbling something on a large piece of paper on his desk, looking over his shoulder every few seconds. Then he held up the piece of paper to the window. It was far away, but Eugene could still make out the large letters, written in his own handwriting: "Come down, quickly!"
He swallowed. Pacing back and forth in front of the blackboard, old Mr. Stonebridge was scattering chalkdust everywhere as he sketched out a series of sums for the students to do. In fact, his back was to the class; if Eugene hurried, he could slip out just in time. With a finger pressed to his lips as the other children stared at him with eyes wide open, he slid off his desk and tiptoed up his row and made his way to the door.
He was only a foot or two from escape when Mr. Stonebridge twirled around and pointed a sharp piece of chalk at him. "Just what do you think you're doing, young man?"
"N...n...nothing, sir," Eugene croaked. Then an idea came to him. "I mean, I feel sick. Please let me go!"
"Sick, eh? You don't look it. But it wouldn't do to have you make a mess of the schoolroom, now, would it. Be off with you, but hurry!" And he returned to his chalk tapestry.
Eugene dashed down the rickety stairs as fast as he could, even forgetting to leap over the creaky step, ran through the old kitchen which always smelled like barley and rotten cheese, slipped past the crumbling bricks at the side entrance, and practically stumbled down the stairs out into the courtyard.
His reflection wasn't there. The mirror still was, but the other boy was nowhere in sight. As Eugene walked closer to the mirror, some motion above him caught his eye, and he saw a window floating above him, up like a balloon. He looked closer and saw that it was actually flying, slowly beating its panes like wings. Up it went, higher and higher until Eugene couldn't see it anymore.
How odd, he thought. It had looked just like the window to his bedroom. But that was impossible.
In the middle of that thought, a shiny black raven flew down in front of him and landed on a crumpled ball of paper which he hadn't noticed until then. "No!" he shouted. "Go away!" He batted at the raven till it let go and took off, cawing at him in a nasty tone. It then flew round the corner of the school and disappeared.
He leaned over and picked up the paper, unfolding it as he stood up again. There were holes where the raven's talons had punctured the paper, with the words "Come down, quickly!" on one side. Eugene turned it over and read this message:
They're coming to kidnap me! I
need you to rescue me -- you're
the only one! Come here tonight
at midnight. There'll be an X
on the ground. Knock on it three
times and a door of opportunity
will open in the mirror. Don't
be late, or you won't get through!
Thanks.
-- Casper
There aren't many philosophical moments in the life of an eight-year-old, but this was one which Eugene remembered for the rest of his life. The logical absurdity of everything that was happening that day was at the forefront of his thoughts; clearly this was a delusion, an academically induced hallucination which would pass within the hour. The piece of paper he was holding was undoubtedly of his own creation, a fiction produced in reverie, concocted to engender an intoxicating confusion between reality and unreality. And yet there was Descartes -- if "I think, therefore I am," then perhaps "I dream, therefore it is," was equally valid, and this creation of his sadly demented mind was in fact a reality itself, in its own individual sphere and obeying its own laws of nature. Perhaps, Eugene thought to himself, there is more to reality than meets the eye, or nose, or ears, or any of the other senses. Creo ergo sunt. "I believe, therefore they are"; they being a purposefully vague pronoun with which one could substitute whatever subcreation happened to fit the argument at the time.
The philosophical moment passed and Eugene was a normal eight-year-old again. This was a good thing, for at that precise moment he heard Mr. Stonebridge's gravelly voice hollering out the window, "Young man!", and it simply wouldn't have done if he had responded in Kierkegaard's or Sartre's words. Instead, a confused panic set into Eugene's little heart and he ran back up past the brick, through the kitchen, and up the stairs into the schoolroom.
"Sick, eh?" said a finger-wagging Mr. Stonebridge. "An interesting definition of sick you have there. To your seat!"
Eugene quickly returned to his seat. Luckily Mr. Stonebridge seemed to forget about the entire incident for the rest of the day. Eugene couldn't forget about it, however. Every two minutes he would pull the wrinkled paper out from under his slate and re-read the message. Midnight. He'd go to bed and then wake up just before then and come back. Nobody would be around.
Wait. A sick feeling dangled in his stomach as he looked around at all the children in the room. One girl was all green, with a long warty nose and pointed hat and stringy hair. Another had a red cape and hood on and a basket of biscuits on her desk. The three boys in the back were dressed up as bears. Eugene had forgotten that it was Halloween.
School got out that evening at six (the hours were longer in those days) and he grabbed his slate and books and headed home. It ordinarily took fifteen minutes to get there, but he passed trick-or-treaters every few seconds and couldn't help stopping to stare at their costumes. As he crossed the bridge, which was the halfway point, he had the distinct sensation that somebody was following him. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed a tall man -- or thing -- in a black robe, slowly walking toward him. He picked up his pace. Sweat tingled on his skin. His heart pounded like a blacksmith's hammer upon the anvil. The number of trick-or-treaters was diminishing -- naturally, since Eugene's house was out in the sticks. The dark man was still on his trail, walking slowly and yet somehow keeping up with him.
It was at this moment that Eugene panicked.
He ran the rest of the way home, slammed the old front door, turned the deadbolt, and ducked under the front window. A careful peek outside later and he sighed with relief: there was nobody in sight. Maybe he'd just imagined it all.
Then there was a knock on the door.
Eugene felt like little spiders were running all over his skin. Where were his parents? He didn't dare call out to them.
Another knock. It echoed throughout the house.
Perhaps they'd already left to take his younger brother trick-or-treating. Or maybe they were taking a nap. He could crawl upstairs and see if they were there. Anything to get away from the door.
The knock came again, followed by a friendly voice. "Anybody home?"
Eugene sighed again with relief. It was just Uncle Ivan, Dad's brother who lived down the lane. He'd be able to take care of Eugene, certainly.
Eugene undid the deadbolt and opened the door wide. "Uncle --" was as far as he got before his stomach leapt into his throat. The dark man stood on his porch. He slammed the door shut and turned the deadbolt just as the man reached out a thin and bony hand, quite unlike Uncle Ivan's thick, pudgy one.
"Mom! Dad!" he hollered, pushing against the door with his back. No reply. He felt sick.
Then the scraping started. Eugene could hear the dark man scratch his fingernails down the length of the door, could feel the path wriggling its way down his spine. He couldn't stand it any longer and ran upstairs to his parents' bedroom.
Empty.
He ran to his bedroom. A raven was perched on what used to be his windowsill; the window itself was missing. He shut the door and climbed under his bed, which was on the side of the room opposite the window, and started to cry. The raven cawed. Eugene watched it tap the sill area three times with its talons. Then he almost screamed as he saw a thin, bony hand reach in and snatch the raven away.
