The Eyes of Kid Midas

  "You're dead, Midas!" screamed Bertram. "You're dead when I catch you! You're gonna pay!"

  And then Bertram's face changed. He wasn't a grimacing demon anymore, but a terrified thirteen- year-old boy.

  "Please," he whispered desperately, "please, Kevin, help me. I'm scared . . . pleeeeeease . . ."

  "I'm sorry!" cried Kevin. "I didn't mean it! I didn't even know there really was a Hell!"

  Bertram changed again. His face twisted into a snarl, and he lunged forward like a madman, only to be choked back once more by chains that seemed strong enough to hold a dinosaur.

  "You idiot!" growled Bertram. "You made this place! You made it for me!"

  Kevin knew it was the truth. Whatever other places there might be—in and out of the universe— this particular Hell was invented just for Bertram.

  The rage left Bertram's eyes again, and once more he was just a kid. He began to cry. "Please, Kevin, please, I'll be nice to you. I'll be your friend, just please get me out of here. . . ."

  If I step in the closet, Kevin thought, if I just cross over, I can bring him back.

  Bertram stretched his hand out as far as he could, and Kevin took one step toward the closet, reaching for Bertram's grimy, wriggling fingers.

  Then Bertram turned into an old winter coat, and the rattling chains became nothing more than the wire hangers clattering in the breeze of an open window. Kevin found himself in his pajamas, standing at the closet door.

  The dream, and the memory of Bertram's face, were already fading, but still Kevin knew this was no ordinary dream. Not just because of how real it felt, but because of the smell that still filled the house. The awful bubble-gum stench of a million rotten strawberries.

  Kevin stood for the longest time in front of Teri's bed, not having the nerve to wake her up. Eventually she awoke by herself, to see Kevin standing there, the way an ax murderer might. She gasped, then angrily threw a pillow at him. "You don't scare me," she declared. "So get outta here."

  Kevin didn't move. Teri sniffed the air.

  "Ughh! what is that stink? Did you fart, Kevin?"

  "No," he answered. "Teri," he said, his voice quavering, "I gotta talk to you."

  "Oh, for God's sake, it's three in the morning!"

  She peered at him in the darkness. Maybe there was enough light for her to see the trouble painted on his face. He had taken the glasses off, leaving them on his desk again, away from the outlet. He wondered if he looked as weak as he felt. It's all wrong, he thought. I shouldn't have to wear those stupid glasses just to feel good. I used to be able to feel good without them. But he couldn't even remember what that had been like.

  "Is this about Nicole?" asked Teri. "You know she likes you."

  Kevin nodded. He knew that now. He had figured out that the glasses didn't control Nicole's mind because they didn't have to—she had already liked him. Of course that didn't mean she had to admit it—not even to herself. But that was screwed up now, too.

  "It's about a whole lot of things," said Kevin. "I'm . . . I'm in trouble, Teri."

  Teri stared at him, studying him for the longest time.

  "Something's really wrong, isn't it?" she whispered.

  Kevin nodded.

  "Climb aboard." Teri tossed him her favorite pillow, and Kevin hopped onto the end of her bed, sitting with his knees tucked into his chest. True, much of the time Teri was a general nuisance to Kevin, but that was only part of her job as his big sister. This was the other part.

  "Tell me," said Teri. "Tell me everything."

  "You won't believe me."

  But the look on her face said that she would. No matter how crazy or awful his secret was.

  "If it's the truth, then I'll know," she said. Then she added, "But if you woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me a lie, I'll beat the crap out of you."

  She took his foot in her hands and began rubbing it, to get it warm.

  Kevin told her everything, from the beginning, and even though it was the word of her crazy brother against the rest of the sane, rational world, Teri did the most wonderful thing a sister could ever do. She chose to believe her brother.

  It was nearly dawn when Kevin was done. Teri didn't Say anything. She just sat there, staring at him. Then she finally said, "We have to do some serious thinking."

  "Can I stay with you tonight?"

  Kevin hadn't asked that since he was six, yet somehow he didn't feel ashamed to ask her now. He didn't think Teri would let him leave, anyway. He doubted she wanted to be alone, either.

  "As long as you don't snore," she said, then changed her mind. "Naah. You can snore as much as you want."

  They lay on the bed, stretched out in opposite directions, but neither one of them slept. Soon early dawn washed the room gray, and Kevin could hear his father getting ready for his morning run.

  On his way downstairs Patrick Midas passed by Teri's open door, and stopped when he caught sight of Kevin there. Teri pretended to be asleep, but Kevin didn't. He stared right at his father.

  Mr. Midas stood on the threshold for a moment, as if he were about to speak. Kevin wanted him to speak—to say anything. If I told Teri, thought Kevin, I could tell him, too. Whether he believed me or not, at least he 'd have to do something. Anything.

  Mr. Midas lingered by the door for a moment, then turned away. Kevin could hear him bounding down the stairs and out the door.

  "He didn't even ask what I'm doing in here," whispered Kevin. "He knows something's wrong, but he didn't even ask." Kevin couldn't remember the last time either of his parents wanted to know anything. They didn't ask about his recent mood swings, or what he spent his time thinking about. They didn't ask about the bursts of energy and hours of weariness that had filled his life since he found the glasses. They rarely seemed to notice when Kevin was out of whack, and when they did notice, they would write it off as if it were nothing.

  "If I were strangling to death, Mom would shove spoons of Robitussin down my throat to make it all better," Kevin told Teri. "If I were drowning, Dad would say, 'No pain, no gain.' They never ask what's really going on. Don't they even care?"

  "They care," whispered Teri. "But they won't ask because they're afraid of the answer."

  CHAPTER 11

  Life As We Know It

  Kirkpatrick was back in school on Monday, as Josh Wilson had hoped.

  Josh had avoided Kevin like the plague all weekend, and on that Monday morning he didn't wait for Kevin to show up at his door. He left early because he needed time to think things through without Kevin. . . . Kevin was getting creepy, and there were things going through Josh's mind that he wouldn't dare share with Kevin, even if he were his best friend.

  The fact was, things weren't "right" anymore. Not just the things Kevin had been wishing for, but things in general—things all around. Ever since Kevin had found those glasses, the days had begun to feel strange, but Josh couldn't put that feeling into words—or maybe he was just afraid to.

  So Josh went to talk to Kirkpatrick. If he could talk to anyone at school about such things, it was Kirkpatrick. He was the only real philosopheramong the Ridgeline Middle School teachers—he always seemed to have a keen interest in and an open mind to even the weirdest of notions. Besides, Kirkpatrick had started the whole thing. He was the one who planted the idea of climbing the mountain in Kevin's head, about as powerfully as Bertram had planted the pinecone in Kevin's mouth.

  The first bell was still twenty minutes away when Josh arrived in Mr. Kirkpatrick's classroom. Kirkpatrick sat at his desk, with a red, sniffy nose, correcting papers and taking care of all the problems left behind by Ms. Q. He didn't notice Josh until Josh was halfway to the front of the room.

  "You're early today, Josh."

  "Yeah. Can I talk to you, Mr. Kirkpatrick?"

  The teacher put down his pen and papers and looked up as Josh sat down in the closest chair. "Something wrong? Was it Ms. Quaackenbusch? Are other kids giving you a hard time?"

  "No, nothing
like that," said Josh. He was beginning to understand just what it was he wanted to ask, but how could he come right out and say it?

  "Mr. K.," asked Josh, "how do you think the world is going to end?"

  Kirkpatrick looked at him for a moment, and laughed. "I was expecting maybe girl trouble," he said. "I mean, don't seventh graders have enough to deal with without thinking about the end of life as we know it?"

  He studied Josh and finally realized that Josh was dead serious. Kirkpatrick leaned back and ran his fingers through his uneven hair.

  "I don't think the world will end, Josh. I don't think it can." He glanced up at the humming fluorescent lights and rocked a bit in his chair. "But when I was younger, I used to think about it a lot."

  "What did you think about?"

  Kirkpatrick shrugged. "A bunch of things. You know, nuclear war—someone turns a key, and poof, everything's gone. Sometimes I would wonder if there was really a great flood thousands of years ago, and if there might be another one. I would think about the dinosaurs and how they might have been wiped out by a meteor striking the earth—and wonder if it could happen again."

  Josh felt the tips of his ears begin to tingle as if they were getting cold. There were times when he had thought about these things, too.

  "But I don't worry anymore," said Kirkpatrick. "Now I just trust that those things won't happen."

  Josh shook his head. "I don't think that's how the world's going to end." He leaned in closer as he spoke. "I think it's going to be a quieter thing. It's going to happen in a way that no one even notices anything is wrong. I think things are going to sort of . . . stop making sense . . . bit by bit. Things won't work right, people won't think right, everything's going to get all mixed up, until nothing in the universe works the way it's supposed to. . . . And then, everything will just . . . stop."

  "The Dream Time," said Kirkpatrick, raising his eyebrows.

  "The what?"

  Kirkpatrick took on that knowing look of a shaman—as he had around the campfire two weekends before. "There are some cultures," he said, "that believe there will come a time when dreams cross the barrier into the real world, and the real world is dragged into an endless dream. All the laws of science and logic will break down into the chaos of nightmares. Pretty wild, huh?"

  Josh could feel his hands and feet grow numb. Kirkpatrick didn't know it, but he had hit the nail right on the head. This was exactly what Josh had been sensing. Everything was sort of . . . slipping away, and it was all because of Kevin and those awful glasses. Josh wanted to run home and take a shower to wash the feeling away. He wanted to slam his fist against the wall, just so he could feel it and know that it was real and not a dream.

  "You think that could happen?" asked Josh. "The Dream Time?"

  Kirkpatrick waved his hand as if he were swatting away a fly. "Naah. It's an ancient superstition made up by people who needed to explain things. It's the same as believing the world is flat, or that the sun revolves around the earth."

  "But the prophecy," said Josh, practically climbing out of his chair. "The legend about the Divine Watch—those people had to know something!"

  Kirkpatrick leaned back and laughed again. "Is that what this is all about, the mountain?"

  "The prophecy makes sense!" said Josh.

  "Maybe so," said Kirkpatrick, "but I made it up."

  Josh backed up until the hard wood of his chair pressed against his shoulder blades. "You what?"

  "I made it all up. It was a good campfire story," said Kirkpatrick, a bit pleased with himself. "Too good, I guess."

  Josh couldn't look at him now. "You don't understand. . . ." he mumbled.

  "Sure I do," said Kirkpatrick kindly.

  Josh couldn't let it go. There had to be a way to get through to him. "Nicole Patterson is six inches tall!" Josh blurted out.

  Kirkpatrick thought about that. "Well . . . I never gave it much thought . . . but now that you mention it, yes, she is about the size of a shoe. So?"

  "So, doesn't that seem strange to you?"

  "Should it?"

  Josh threw his hands up in the air.

  Kirkpatrick began to tap his pen against his desk and chew on his upper lip. "Josh, . . . maybe you ought to go down to guidance and have a talk with Dr. Cutler."

  "Why?" "Well, . . . obviously something is troubling yon. Maybe she could help."

  "I'm not crazy!"

  "No one said you were."

  Josh stood up so fast the chair flew out behind him and fell to the floor. He headed for the door as quickly as he could, but before he left he turned back to Kirkpatrick.

  "One more thing . . ." Josh kept his hand on the doorknob, as if touching something—anything— solid and real would give him the courage to ask the question he needed to ask and face the answer he knew he would get.

  "How much," asked Josh, "is two plus two?"

  Kirkpatrick looked at him, expecting there to be a punch line. "What's your point, Josh?"

  "Just answer the question," said Josh.

  Kirkpatrick shrugged. "Three, of course. The answer is three."

  CHAPTER 12

  Don't Touch That Dial

  Rumor was that Hal Hornbeck lost it completely that same day, during fourth period. Not that Hal had ever been wrapped too tightly to begin with, but for some reason, he walked into his Spanish class and went totally loco. Everyone who saw it had their own version of the story, but everyone did agree on this basic sequence of events: Hal had walked into class, looking tired and confused. Then, for no apparent reason, he launched into a screaming fit and had to be dragged out.

  Rumor also had it that he refused to say anything that made sense to Dr. Cutler, the guidance counselor. He just kept asking for Bertram, whoever that was, perhaps an imaginary playmate.

  Kevin and Josh, who did not have Spanish class with Hal, heard all of this in passing, but didn't think much of it. They had enough concerns of their own.

  Kevin and Josh also avoided Nicole Patterson tothe best of their ability, which might have been a mistake, because Nicole, who was in Hal's Spanish class, had the most accurate description of what really happened. Nicole claimed that Hal walked into the room, saw her, and began screaming at the top of his lungs. Everyone thought it was pretty funny that a clod like Hal could be frightened by someone as petite as Nicole.

  During lunch, there was further talk about how Hal had gotten a zero on his first-period math quiz, but Kevin was too busy looking for his sister to care much about the current status of Hal Hornbeck's math skills. Kevin was hoping Teri had come up with some advice as to what to do about the glasses.

  Teri did, indeed, have some advice.

  'Take the glasses, and smash them with a sledgehammer," she said. "I'll do it for you if you want." That was easy for her to say—they weren't hers. She wasn't the one who needed them. She wasn't the one who got sick when the glasses weren't around.

  "They can't be destroyed," said Kevin.

  "How do you know? Have you tried?"

  "What if we try to destroy them and they destroy us instead, in defense?"

  "You're talking like the thing is alive—it's just a pair of glasses."

  Kevin didn't answer her, and his silence made Teri shudder. "Then we'll bury them," said Teri, "where no one will ever find them. You, me, and Josh together—okay?"

  Kevin squirmed his way out of answering her. If she had made this suggestion the night before, when he was weak and vulnerable, he would have gone out with her in the middle of the night in his pajamas, and buried them halfway to China. But that was then. Now Kevin had a better idea, one that he was certain would work just fine, although he wasn't about to tell anyone. He would keep wearing the glasses, but learn to shut up.

  Kevin was reminded of a diabetic kid he knew. The kid went to class, played sports, had fun—was normal in every way. The only thing was, he had to have a shot of insulin every day, for the rest of his life.

  That's how it would be with Kevin and the glasses.


  What's the big deal? Kevin told himself. He had worn glasses every day for as long as he could remember. So now the rest of him needed glasses as much as his eyes did—what was the difference, really? He could grow used to keeping the glasses on and keeping his mouth shut, the way the diabetic boy got used to his insulin shots.

  Kevin was thinking about this when suddenly his crystal-clear world became blurry once more.

  Kevin didn't see the face of the kid who stole his glasses—but by the shape lumbering down the hall, he could tell who it had to be.

  Hal Hornbeck.

  Hal didn't taunt Kevin—he didn't play keep- away, or bullfight, or rodeo. He simply took the glasses and just kept on running until he burst out the side door of Ridgeline Middle School and disappeared.

  Kevin scarfed down a slice of pizza, practically inhaling it.

  "I'm so dumb!" said Kevin. There was no argument from Josh and Teri, who were sitting across from him at the pizza parlor. "I should have known," said Kevin. The fact was, Josh should have known, too. There were, after all, four of them there when Kevin found the glasses, and now that Bertram was out of the picture, it left three— three boys on the outside, looking in on a world going crazy. No wonder Hal had screamed when he saw Nicole. They should have known!

  It may have taken Hal most of the day to figure out what was going on, but when he did, he didn't waste any time. Kevin, Josh, and Teri had immediately taken to the streets to find Hal, but he was in none of the usual places. He had simply vanished.

  "More pizza!" said Kevin.

  "You've already eaten an entire pie," complained Teri. "If you don't stop, you're going to hurl."

  "More pizza!" demanded Kevin. He was hungry, and the more he ate, the hungrier he got. Even though his stomach was stuffed and he felt like barfing, he was still hungry.

  "Maybe it's better this way," offered Josh.

  "Are you kidding me?" said Teri. "Do you really want Hal Hornbeck using those glasses? If you thought Kevin was a screwup, can you imagine what things would be like with that pus-head running the show?"