seymoure | (no subject)

42.

The inky blackness was followed by a moment of near weightlessness. The train, or whatever it was, must be going straight down at a staggeringly high rate of descent.

Another start and they seemed to be going horizontal again.

Lights began to slowly regenerate around them and Mickey was emboldened to see bad guys all littered around the inside of the cabin.

Then he saw the cloud thing was at exactly the place it had been before the black out. This was a bit of a downer, and replaced the thing on its original spot on the “things you should be scared of” list.

“Everyone but Mr. McCauley, out!” shouted the monster.

Without a question the crew vanished as quickly as it was possible for solid matter to move.

Mickey crawled up into the chair he had formerly used.

“I do not believe I can confuse or trick you,” The thing said to Mickey, “Nor am I foolish enough to think you will willingly give yourself over to my side, even though, eventually you will see that we are more
truly mirroring the desires you will eventually credit as worthwhile.

“But, I can make a deal with you.”

Mickey waited, with the kind of courtesy he had been taught to afford cumulous individuals of greater age than oneself.

“As long as you work with us, rather than against us, you and your family will not have to pay for your bad judgment.”

“What do you want me to do?” The boy probed.

“Each time I will ask you to do a small task, nothing that would involve hurting anyone or doing anything illegal,” He was assured, “You need do nothing you would be ashamed of being part of.”

“Just the company I’d be with” he thought, but looked outwardly like he was seriously considering the offer.

“Thank you for not cracking wise when that was your first impulse,” The Cloud Being said, “You have manners and that is a plus that will reward you.”

“Gurtenalia!” The thing bellowed.”

A door at the other end of the cabin, one Mickey had not seen used before, opened and a woman stuck her head out.

“Aye,” said the woman, who wore an apron and was at least in her forties, although this sort of thing is most relative to someone Mickey’s age.

“Bring the boy food and drink,” He ordered, and returning to Mickey asked, “It has been a while since you ate?”

He nodded. No need to go hungry. Since they thought he was going to work with them anyway, it was doubtful they would put anything in the food.

The cook disappeared and the cloud sat back in his desk chair.

“Music?”

Mickey didn’t answer. The thing touched something before him on the table and the initial crackle of the speakers was heard.

Mickey wondered if he would hear “Tocatta and Fugue,” or “Ride of the Valkari,” or even some John Tesh. All of these would be proof of the evil.

What played made Mickey sad.

He would never be able to hear this music in the fullness of his joy again.

The speakers began to play “Penny Lane” by The Beatles.

At least the bastard had not ruined the Chipmunks for him.