The Nothing

Quill bent down, while still watching the stars for any sign that the pigeons might return, and slowly picked up the last note. Percy perched silently on his shoulder, his giant eyes scanning back and forth.

“I didn’t realize pigeons were that strong,” the owl said.

“Get a big enough group of flying rats together and they can do almost anything.”

“Flying rats?”

Quill looked down at the scrap of paper in his hand. In elaborate multi colored cursive, the letter G was written.

The owl and the pirate spent the next three minutes rearranging the seven scraps of paper and trying to figure out what they meant. Each scrap had a letter on it: there were two N’s, a T, an H, an O, an I, and a G.”

The owl scrambled the letters back and forth on a park bench. “No night?”

The pirate rearranged the letters, scowling the whole time. “Nog hint?”

Percy froze. “No.”

Quill looked up from the bench. “Yes, no is in there too. Along with inn, if you shuffle things around.”

The owl shivered. “Nothing.”

“Oh. You’re right. That’s the only word that uses all 7 letters.”

“Nothing.”

Quill picked up the scraps and spelled out ‘nothing’ on the park bench. “Okay. Your the wise owl, I get it. You win. You don’t have to rub it in.”

“Nothing,” the owl repeated.

Quill picked up the owl slowly and looked into his eyes. They were filling with tears. “Percy, can you hear me?”

“Nothing,” the owl repeated.

Pigeon lift

Quill pointed at the birds and shook his head. “I don’t think they like owls.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

They ran across the park, dodging bushes and shadows, slowly gaining on the figure. Of course, when it shambled up to the second layer, yet another square of white paper flapped to the ground.

The pirate Quill swung a hard left to nab the note.

“That’s the fifth one,” Percy said.

“Maybe he’s writing a story for us,” Quill replied.

From the heads of all the statues on the second tier, every pigeon, black, white, and grey, flung itself into the sky.

“That was your fault again,” Quill said.

“When he drops the next note, I’ll grab it. You catch him,” Percy said.

“Don’t you want to grab him?”

“I have no idea what is under those rags.”

“So you’re gonna make me do it?”

They kept running and sure enough, when the gray figure scrabbled up to the third tier… it didn’t drop a note. Quill and Percy stopped.

“What?”

Then the note fell and the next set of birds cast themselves into the sky.

Quill squinted at the pigeons. “Was that your plan all along?”

“Obviously not,” Percy said while snatching up the note.

“Ok, new plan. Remove his cloak with your claws.”

Percy flew ahead and gave off a screech. Perhaps in response to this noise, or perhaps coincidentally, every pigeon in the park went skyward and formed a circle. Quill looked up and saw that the circle centered above the figure in gray.

“Percy, get back!”

The owl turned hard to the left and then boomeranged back to Quill. At the same time, the pigeons swooped down as a single form and lifted the gray figure off the ground and into the sky. When they finally disappeared, a single piece of paper glided down to the ground and landed at Quill’s feet.

Four layer cement cake

Without hesitation, Quill and Percy gave chase. The grey figure knocked into a box of soap, and a small slip of white paper fell to the floor.

“Got it,” Percy said, diving down and scooping up the note.

The figure slammed into the back door of the drugstore, giving off a grunt. Two more slips of paper drifted to the ground. The door swung wide.

Quill grabbed one of the notes. Percy snagged the other.

The door opened onto an empty public park. Most of the benches and chairs sat empty in the crisp night air except for a few which had become bees for poor souls with nowhere else to sleep. The park was a series of four cement circles that rose up like a wedding cake, each one slightly smaller than the last. Each layer of the park had half a dozen statues of famous citizens whose names were now lost to history but whose heads were covered in pigeons.

The figure hopped up to the first layer and another scrap floated to the ground. Quill swerved to grab it.

“He may be dropping those to slow us down,” Percy said.

At the sound of Percy’s voice, all the pigeons from the first layer flew up into the air circled wildly.

Maybe they need a fork?

The street came to a dead end about 15 feet past the entrance to the drugstore. A brick wall, smooth and three times as tall as Quill, stood in front of them. Percy silently flew up and perched on top.

“He’s not on the other side of it.”

Quill walked up and down the short street, trying the few doors. “These are all locked.”

They retraced their steps, and found themselves looking into the display window of the drugstore. Three mannequins holding umbrellas stared back at them. Two of them held the umbrellas down, unopened. The third held a purple umbrella open, pointing directly toward the window. It was difficult to see much else, but it appeared to be wearing grey pants.

Quill pointed at the third figure and nodded. Percy landed on his shoulder and together they walked into the drugstore. Despite the late hour, it was open. The clerk behind the counter didn’t look up from his book when they walked in.

They moved over toward the display window and saw that the purple umbrella on the ground. Footsteps echoed off the ground and they saw the grey figure running down an aisle full of forks and knives.

Just a heap of clothes

Quill took a step closer. He waited. There was no visible response. He stepped between the figure and the stage, to see if blocking the view might get a reaction. It did. The figure in gray shifted slightly to one side. Quill moved again to get in the way. The figure shifted back again.

This dance continued for several cycles until the figure finally stood up. Despite being less than an arms length away, Quill could still not see the face behind the hood. He could not see anything but the thick outer shell of garment.

They stood across from one another. Quill felt himself getting cold. First his toes and fingers, then his hands and feet. He shivered and took a small shuffle back. In that moment, the gray figure turned and strode out the door. Quill immediately gave chase.

Outside, Percy immediately landed on his shoulder. “He went down that street there, to the right, the one with the drugstore.”

Quill whipped his head to the right, spotted the retreating shadowy form, and burst into a run.

Hello, my name is nothing

A moment later, Percy landed silently on the sill.

“What are you doing? Someone’s going to see you.”

The owl slowly turned its head, surveying the room. “No. They’re all still listening to the warbling drunk.”

“She’s got the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard. Look at the way she holds the crowd.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes I saw the gray figure walk in. If you could call it walking. More of a slink.”

“What is it?”

“No idea. Go introduce yourself and find out.” Percy flew out as quietly as he had entered.

Quill strolled casually across the floor.

The grass it turned brown, the dirt dried to dust.

The truth went to seed, and the harvest was lies.

He looked at the stool the swaddled figure was sitting on. “Does that look like a rabbit hiding under an umbrella?”

Some people in the room turned to look at Quill, clearly annoyed that he would dare to speak out loud during such an epic song, a song he himself had requested. The figure in gray, however, offered no response at all. Nothing.

Notes to an owl

Her love seemed forever, her patience divine.

But she had a favorite, a dog named Regina.

Her wisdom infinite, her compassion an ocean

But when Regina was lost, it all came unbound.

Quill casually strolled over to the window and pushed it open. He reached into his pirate pockets and found a scrap of paper and a pen. Turning his back to the room, he scrawled a quick note on it.

“Did you see the gray figure walk in?”

Quill, as secretly as he could manage, held the scrap out the window until he felt Percy’s claws snatch it away.

And also, a hood

When the queen she spoke, even grass, it listened.

And when she commanded, even dirt, it obeyed.

So sown was the truth, and righteousness grew.

So peace was the harvest, and spirit the bloom.

The figure sat still, head turned toward the music. Maybe it was watching. Maybe it was listening. The face was hidden behind a long, deep hood. Quill scanned the room and saw that no one else in the “dormant door” seemed to have noticed the newcomer.

Amorphous stranger

She was not fair, or long of hair

But she was fair, her justice bare.

The crowd laughed quickly, afraid to cover up any of the music.

A queen unknown, who ruled alone

But she was known, by heart and bone.

During the musical interlude before the next verse, a tall figure crept into the warm room. It was impossible to discern age or gender, for the figure was swaddled from head to toe in thick gray garments that hid even the outline of the limbs from view. They slunk silently around the edge of the room and sat on a bench that looked something like a rabbit hiding under a tree from the rain. Quill watched the figure and listened again when the lyrics started back up.

Have it your weigh

The woman shifted in her too large brown shirt. She looked down at the garment and moved some of the wrinkles in the fabric about with her hand. She looked back up at Quill. “Alright. Playtime is over. Tell me what story you really want to hear.”

The bald pirate sat down quietly on a stool that was more of a lump of wood than an actual stool. “The crown and the stones.”

The woman nodded and walked back onto the stage which was really just the bench where the blind harpist was still sitting. She whispered something in his ear and he immediately struck up a fast paced tune. All conversation halted immediately and all eyes turned to the musicians. As the harp bolted ahead, the vocals rose like a whispering wind sneaking through the crack of an open door on a hot summer night.

Haunting your meanings

“Thank you,” said the harpist, his sightless eyes wandering across the room. “Thank you. So great to see you all out here tonight.”

The crowd laughed. “Good to hear you,” someone crooned.

The singer stood up and walked through the crowd to the bar, which was a banana shaped hunk of wood that was raised off the floor with long iron spikes. As with everywhere else in the room, no two stools at the bar looked alike. She sat on something that looked like an umbrella that had come to life and then been transmuted into wood.

Quill strolled over. “You’re singing is haunting.”

“Maybe I’m a ghost.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well then why did you say it?”

“I meant that your singing took my breath away.”

“Shouldn’t listen for too long then, or you’ll die.”

“That’s not what I meant either.”

“Well then maybe you should just say what you mean.”

“I guess I can’t.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t talk.”

“But I want to know your story.”

A Harper’s Burial

The building stank of firewood and old beer. Thick oaken tables, precision cut into odd geometries, were scattered loosely about the room. No chair in the place matched any other chair. Some had three legs. Others had four. One had five. There were stools of various heights and widths. There were armrests that scooped, armrests that drooped, and many armrests that did not exist. It all seemed to be one carpenter’s work, an artisan who never repeated themselves.

The people held their breath. They were all intent on the song of the harp, played by a blind old man dressed in clothes so brightly colored and clashing it was somewhat painful to look at him. Sitting next to him, on a bench that looked like no other bench in the place, was a woman that seemed to be close to his age, swathed in loose brown clothing. She started to sing.

And the people they buried her

Buried her deep

And the people they buried her

For forever to keep

The harp sounded a last note and the crowd exhaled with joy. There was applause for a full minute.

Still bald

Quill scanned the street, sniffing for stories.

“You’re still a pirate,” the owl on his shoulder said.

With a flick of a lacy sleeve, Quill shook out a hand and touched his perfectly smooth scalp. “You’re still an owl.”

The owl stayed silent.

Harp music bounced off the cobblestone streets. A voice warbled along, dodging just so in between the notes, like a dancer weaving in between the raindrops of a storm.

“That sounds like stories to me,” Quill said.

Percy closed his eyes and muttered.

“What?”

“I said it sounds like the tittering of a drunken fool to me.”

“Right. Like I said, stories.”

The owl unshuttered his eyes. “I’ll be waiting on the roof this time.”

“Eavesdropping from the eaves this fine eve?”

The white flash of feathers silently departed Quill’s shoulder, landing just above the open window from which the music still poured. He looked up at the battered door, which had once been green, and perhaps could still be called green because some traces of paint still remained, but mostly was simply remembered as green by those who had been in and out of the building for decades.

He read the sign aloud. “The Dormant Door.”

“A ridiculous name,” Percy said.

“Said the talking owl.” Quill pushed the door and walked inside.

Got story?

“What?” The mask stood, looking back and forth from owl to owl.

“What, what,” the two owls said in tandem.

The mask turned and ran, disappearing out a door that let in starlight. The two owls looked at each other.

“How can you stand being covered in feathers all the time?”

The other owl blinked slowly, holding its eyes closed for a moment. “Do you know why he was after us?”

“Probably jealous of our ability to swallow a mouse whole.” The owl paused and flew toward the door. “We can do that, right?”

“It becomes difficult to come up with a plan if we don’t understand the obstacles in our way, Quill.”

The other owl spun around three times on the floor and then there was a pirate Quill again. “You know what’s difficult? Opening a door as a bird.” He opened the door and took a deep breath of the dark air. “Still time until sun up to catch more stories.”

Percy flew and perched on his shoulder. “Lose the pirate outfit.”

Quill rubbed his bald head and smiled. “Just a little bit more pirate, then I’ll change, I promise.”

They walked away from the building, looking for more stories.

Twinsies?

“Then what, exactly, is inside of this box?”

Quill shrugged. “It’s your box. Why are you asking me?”

“The owl is inside of the box.”

“What owl?”

“The white owl. The one you had with you in the dance hall.”

“Oh, right. That owl. Do you still want to buy it?” Quill stepped closer.

“No, I never wanted to buy it, fool.” The mask raised his foot higher over the box. “I told you not to get closer.”

Quill stepped back two steps and started slowly rotating in place.

“What are you doing?”

“Not getting any closer,” Quill said.

“Stop that.”

Quill stopped turning around but now there was a white owl where Quill had been. “I’m out of your box.”

The mask stood up straight, looked at the owl and then at the box. He bent over and twisted a key that was sticking out of the back. The top opened and Percy, the white owl came flying out, landing right next to the other owl.

I’m the owl in the box

“Then I crush the little owl.”

“There’s an owl in that box?”

“You’re smart, you’re quick, whatever you are.”

Quill could now see the mask clearly. It was cradling a solid black box in both hands. “That looks heavy. Want some help carrying it?” Quill extended a hand.

The mask stepped back and laughed lightly. “This machine is very fast. It’s like I said, I have the finest of everything.” He set the box down on the smooth white stone floor and hovered a gray boot over the top of it. “If I step down, the owl dies. Instantly. Now, suppose you tell me your story.”

Quill slid his hand down to his side. “Well it’s more of a compilation of stories, really, but they all start with a queen and her…”

“I see you don’t believe me. You don’t think I’ll kill your pet?”

“I don’t have a pet.”

Blinded by the white... light

The snake slithered over the white jacket and stopped next to Jimmy’s still breathing body. It touched the human’s cheek with its forked black tongue. “Nice moves.”

It rolled over three times and now the pirate re-appeared, standing over the unconscious thug. Quill reached down and dug through the pockets of the white pants. There was a jingle. Quill nodded and pulled out a handful of keys.

She walked over to the dark, solid metal door and carefully tried each key. Eventually, one clicked and the door swung outward into white light.

“Stop right there, whatever you are.” Quill couldn’t see yet because of the massive change in light levels but he knew it was the mask speaking, somewhere close.

“What if I can’t stop.” Quill squinted and began to make out the outline of a standing figure holding something metal. A box, maybe?

Is it getting reptilian in here, or is that just me?

Quill put his feet on the floor, and despite his ankles being tied tightly together, pushed himself and his chair backwards. The wood made a crunching sound but did not break.

“Still got all your limbs. Just on the floor now.” Jimmy folded his arms and watched. “Easier to kick you there, I guess.”

Quill rolled, chair attached, three times. Where there had been a pirate, there was now a giant green snake. A forked black tongue flicked in and out of the mouth.

Jimmy ran backwards, hit his skull onto the gray brick wall and collapsed into a heap.

Performance pirate

“Well I like to dress like a pirate. That counts for something, right?”

“Counts for nothing. You gonna tell me the story or am I gonna beat the story outta you?” Jimmy began taking off his white jacket, revealing a white shirt underneath.

“What if I told you a joke?”

Jimmy froze, his jacket halfway off. “Then if it’s any good, I’ll be laughing as I punch you, but I usually laugh when I punch people. It’s my thing.”

“Good for you. They say the man who knows himself knows how best to live his life. So, hey, what did the ocean say to the pirate?”

Jimmy stood up, tossed his jacket to the floor and turned his hat around again. “I dunno, something ‘bout eyepatches I guess?”

“No. It didn’t say anything, it just waved.”

“But it ain’t got no arms to wave with.”

“Neither do I, actually.”

“What?”

Tots noir

Snakes. Everything was snakes. Snakes wrapping around wrists, snakes wrapping around ankles, snakes. They squeezed, too. Constricted. That’s what snakes do. They gripped and wrapped and held tight until there was nothing left to hold on to.

Quill’s eyes fluttered open. Jimmy was sitting in a brushed steel chair across from him.

“Sleepy story is over.” Jimmy spun his white baseball hat around backwards and hopped up to standing. “Boss says now you tell us a story.”

Quill looked down and saw both his wrists and ankles were bound tightly with thick, scratchy rope. “Want to hear one about crowns? I know lots of stories about crowns and gems.”

“Boss says you tell us a story ‘bout you.”

“Just a pirate who loves to dance.”

“Nah. Not so much.” Jimmy sat back down and slowly turned his hat back around. “What are you, for real?”