Wizard Part XVIII

PART I PART II PART III PART IV PART V PART VI PART VII PART VIII PART IX PART X PART XI PART XII PART XIII PART XIV PART XV PART XVI PART XVII

ALL PARTS HERE

Part XVIII

I squinted as my irises dilated. As I moved my head down to get away from the sun, I saw where the Tall Man had been standing. Almost toe-toe, on the concrete front stoop were the prints of where he stood hadn't yet faded. They seemed almost burned into the concrete. I snorted, thinking about how I was now going to have to replace it. His steps had pulled all of the moisture out. There'd be holes full of crumbled concrete there in less than a week. What a prick.

I paused a moment, then stepped past them into the yard. I walked around the right side of the house, ducking under the tree limbs to see how the Van had faired. At first it seemed fine, until I made a full circuit around the back and noticed that the side turned from the street was sporting some punk's tag. I mumbled under my breath and the spray paint turned to ash and fell off the mural.

I admired the mural for a minute then went back around to the passenger side and opened the sliding side door. I climbed in and went straight back to the bed. I pulled out the drawer containing the skull bowling ball. I pulled it out and held it in my hands. I looked deep in its sockets and decided we needed to talk.

Back inside the house I cracked a beer, never talk to a skull in a bowling ball sober, that was just stupid. I took one of the kitchen towels and made a donut out of it on the mobile island, and rested the ball in the center. I righted it with a level of care I hadn't shown to anything in a long time.

I wasn't sure I could do it, but a yowl from the Old Man gave me confidence. I pulled a mouthful off of the beer and then stared deep into the sockets. The Old Man jumped up onto the island and hissed at the skull. I didn't know who this used to be, but if I was lucky I cold find out the basics.

The thing was, bones talked. Stuck in a clear acrylic ball though was a bit of a challenge to overcome. It was nine in the morning and I was sitting across from an acrylic coated skull trying to figure out how to make it talk, while my cat played lover to its smooth surface. The Old Man kept rubbing against the outside of the ball, completely confused why the lack of texture and surface couldn't satiate his desire to be loved.

By ten I'd cracked another beer and continued to sit shiva with the skull. I was sure the answer would come to me, I just wasn't sure if it would come before I passed out or choked on my own vomit.

I ate a sandwich around noon and settled back onto the stool to stare at the skull. The Old Man had long since given up on being satisfied and had made do with a spoonful of potion and something Carl had left in the fridge. I was pretty sure it was some sort of chicken dish, but when I'd put it down for the Old Man to eat he hit it like a drunk hooker pulling a drag off a sidewalk butt, so I stopped worrying about whether or not it was still good.

A case of beer later, the skull had become fuzzy, and so had I. The sun was running low and I was pretty sure that if my beer induced vision didn't come quick I'd have to chalk the days lesson up to being an alcoholic.

Just before I fell off the stool I heard a voice.

Where am I?