The Adventures Of Lil Man And Skeets Complete Collection: Series One

By A. Hansley Jr.

Haunted…hunted…horrified. From a macabre jungle in the Caribbean to a miracle worker’s rendezvous with Air Force One, come and join Lil Man and Skeets, the ferret, on a summer vacation like no other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483536415

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Table of Contents

Journey to Grub Island

Journey to Grub Island

The Adventures of Lil Man & Skeets

By A. Hansley Jr.

Copyright © 2010 LeRoy Aloysius Hansley Jr.

All rights reserved by the author. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Special thanks to those who made this book possible, Rick, and especially my nephew. This book is dedicated to you.

Okay, so here’s the story as best as I can remember it. I guess I should start at no place like any place you’ve ever been to or seen even in a picture book—but I won’t. I’ll just say that from the air, it looked like another small island similar to so many others that can be seen dotting the Caribbean. But this one was about as far from similar as possible to anything to come before or after it.

To the pilot of the plane passing over, it probably resembled his idea of what paradise must look like, but, deep in its thick, nearly impenetrable green heart lay another world entirely. It was a world so far removed from what you and I know of as reality that even as I’m telling this to you, I’m still not sure that I lived every bizarre moment.

And why the pilot of the four-passenger Cessna decided to try and land his plane in the middle of those tall palms and thick brush—to the horror of his business partner and two kids—was a question that could only be answered by saying that something or someone got into his head and told him to do it. Like so many others before, the jungle swallowed the plane, and neither it nor its four passengers were ever seen again.

You see, it all started just offshore on a dark and stormy night more than three hundred years ago. As one crewman so distinctly described it just before he was washed overboard: As far as I be concerned, she be the mother of all typhoons.

The ship’s rigging had already been torn to shreds, and half the crew had been lost to the giant waves that had mercilessly washed them overboard. The captain stood at the helm of the frigate barking out orders, but it was useless. Still, stoically he persisted. If only he could have seen the island just a few hundred yards away, but the storm wouldn’t allow it.

In all his ten years of sailing the high seas, he had yet to lose a cargo, and he wasn’t about to start then. But this time the wind howled like he’d never heard it before. It sounded like a rabid pack of dogs coming to tear his ship apart. The thunder and lightning intermixed at its highest intensity since the storm began.

Suddenly, the storm struck with all its force, cutting his mainmast in half.

Sensing all would be lost, the captain, being a charitable man, decided to do what very few others in his position would have done. After ordering all to abandon ship, he went to mid-ships and stood over a giant, grated hatch that appeared as if it had grown eyes of its own while those trapped below strained to get a better look at what was happening above. Reaching into his soaking wet vest pocket, the captain pulled out a set of keys and opened the lock on the grate.

At first, his cargo seemed puzzled as the captain reconsidered his actions, but once he’d thrown them the keys, their fate was decided. They’d die like everyone else, but at least they’d die free.

One by one, they crawled out of their filthy prison, most of them with wrists and ankles swollen and bleeding from the chains that had held them captive in a hole below deck. At first, they came out slowly until the urgency of the matter sunk in to those still below. Soon, the deck was crowded with slaves: male and female. The many dead left below would have their burial at sea with the ship as their coffin.

They all looked to the captain as he fought the gale-force winds in an effort to climb the few steps to the wheel. There he stood, staring into the face of the ferocious storm, cursing it as if it cared. Barely able to keep himself upright, his grip on the wheel loosened. He seemed to be smiling as he was washed overboard by the biggest wave yet, followed by most of the rest—slaves and crew.

Those that weren’t swallowed by the sea jumped in of their own accord, knowing the ship wouldn’t stay afloat much longer.

The next morning, six surviving slaves scavenged what they could from the wreckage on the beach and headed inland into the thick jungle never to be seen or heard from again—at least not until now.

On second thoughts, maybe I should start at the beginning. Well, the beginning for me that is…

It was a scorching hot, summer night in big, bad Capitol City. Another crazy night in an overcrowded city full of blinking, bright lights. The bustle of sweaty people was everywhere, and gobs of tourists, all looking to have a good time, littered the sidewalks. Oh yes! Let’s not forget the tourists. On this particular night, they reminded me of a fat ol’ juicy apple from the Jamaican ladies’ fruit stand—just ripe for the picking.

My real name is Abraham John Robert Martin. Go ahead and laugh if you want—I’m used to it. You see, that’s the kind of name you end up with when you let a bunch of nuns go around naming folk. But for now, that’s neither here nor there. You guys and girls can call me Lil Man—everybody else does.

I’ve lived in a downtown orphanage run by catholic nuns for most of my thirteen years. That’s a long time to be in an orphanage, you might say. Well, it seems the older you get, the less desirable you become until eventually, you’re just not wanted, and that’s when the system swallows you whole. Which is kind of ironic, especially with the story I’m about to tell.

And the little guy in my inside pocket? Why, that’s Skeets. He is, believe it or not, a ferret that I found by accident in the garbage behind the pet store while I was hiding from a bunch of nefarious young thugs. At the time, I thought he was dead, and I guess so did the shopkeepers, but he was far from it. I remember thinking to myself, This ain’t no way to treat an animal, even if it is dead.

While I was on my way to the city park to give him a proper burial, all of a sudden I felt something wiggling in my pocket. There he was looking at me with that Hey, I did it look on his face. If you knew Skeets like I’ve come to, I really do believe he’s smart enough to fake his own death, knowing that, if they thought he was dead, he’d get tossed out just like others before him. He has a white face and his coat is a dark brindle color. His eyes match his coat perfectly. His waterproof fur is as soft as a pillow, and he has these two razor-sharp teeth that lay visible on his bottom lip.

But what happens when you get out? At least inside he got fed every day, you might ask. Well, I guess in that respect, Skeets and I have always shared the same belief that anything is better than a cage. We’ve been inseparable ever since.

For the last few years or so, I’ve been living a double life: perfect little hard-done-by orphan in the day, streetwise opportunist at night.

It was on just such a night that I decided it was time for me to step up my game. So I set my sights for uptown. Boy, what a mistake that was!

There I was, cruising the streets, having already scored twice and feeling like there was no end to my good luck. The way I gamed those Aussies—that’s short for Australians—was a work of art. Any hustler worth his wad would tell you that it was so smooth it could’ve brought tears to his eyes. Before those Aussies knew it, me and Skeets had them reaching into their pockets and literally giving this poor little street urchin enough cash for a bus ride clear across the entire country, even though I had no plans on going anywhere except on to the next hustle. What I should’ve done was quit while I was ahead. As it turned out, that would be my last night on the mean streets of big, bad Capitol City.

One of the last things I remember was standing on the street corner in front of one of those juke joints on the strip staring at the TV above the bar. If only I’d listened to the lady newscaster, but, unfortunately for me, the street noise was way too loud, making it virtually impossible to hear, not that it would have mattered that much anyway.

It was one of those city confidential ‘exposes.’ You know the kind that always sensationalizes something other than the truth while at the same time posing the question—accompanied by the most dramatic of music—But what if?

That’s when a picture of one of my worst nightmares flashed up on the screen. I had a hard time adjusting to what I’d just seen. So, using a little skullduggery, I managed to wriggle my way undetected into the bar so I couldn’t only see the screen better but also hear as well.

Her newscast went something like this:

Living alone on the mean streets of Capitol City is treacherous enough for an adult male: imagine what it must be like for a boy not yet able to grow a mustache. Well, such was the case for one twelve-year-old Eric Hattersfield—the ‘Mad Hatter’ to his friends. Picture yourself a twelve-year-old boy who had the horrible fate of seeing his mother die at the hands of his father.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I wanted to scream out loud, And all of it because of the boy’s actions. That’s right; you see it was Eric’s gun. I know because he showed it to a bunch of us one night when we were all hanging out. Eric didn’t get the name ‘the Mad Hatter’ for nothing. He was as evil as they come. The only thing his courtroom testimony did was make it look like his dad was the culprit. His father being a felon already meant the court wouldn’t believe the father’s testimony that he’d never seen the gun… until the day he found it and, while confronting Eric, the gun accidently discharged, killing the mother instantly. Horrible I know, but in big bad Capitol City, things like this happen all the time. Some people are just born bad, and Eric was one of them.

The announcer went on:

A life oppressed by tragedy, forced to live on the streets, twelve-year-old Eric Hattersfield eked out a meager living by hustling.

I thought to myself, Yeah, and when all else failed, he had a great cripple act that he’d do—props and all. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was totally legit. If the opportunity was right that’s when the gun came out, and there went the victim’s valuables.

The newscaster continued:

"And then on a cold, dark night while heading back to the condemned tenement that he shared with others like himself, little did the young scruff know that someone or something evil was waiting. Eric Hattersfield was last seen running into an alley that night. He has not been seen since.

Hello, my name is Roz Tannenbaum, your investigative reporter coming to you from the mean streets of Capitol City. Once again, one of our little ones is missing, and the law seems all but helpless. So, the question begs to be answered: Who is taking our children? Take a look at the screen; if anyone out there has seen this child, please contact your local authorities.

Yeah, a little justice, I said to myself, but did I listen to her warning? Of course I didn’t.

So there I was wondering where to go next when it hit me: most of the shows on the strip would be closing soon. Maybe I could get enough to take a plane back from my cross-country bus ride. Now wouldn’t that be something? I remember laughing and thinking to myself, Aren’t I the clever one? I just might have been able to pull it off had it not been for my bright idea to take the shortcut through the alley.

I was about to break a cardinal rule for street kids everywhere: never, ever, take the alley, especially by yourself, especially after dark. Even Skeets knew better as he climbed up onto my shoulders and started pulling at my collar, trying his best to pull me back. I have no idea what had gotten into me, but for some delusional reason, I decided to risk it.

About halfway through, I had this creepy sensation, you know the one that tells you something just ain’t right? It was a little too late to turn around, so I did the only thing I could do.

While Skeets was making a mad dash for the safety of my inside jacket pocket, I took off running as fast as my little legs could take me. Just as I reached full stride and was about to make it safely through, I was suddenly thrust into the dark. Something or someone, smelling like a wet dog, snatched me up into the air and, before I knew it, carried us away. Of course, I kicked and screamed and did everything I could to escape, but my efforts were futile.

That’s when Skeets went into action. Clamoring out of my pocket, he began his own assault on our would-be captors, using his razor-sharp teeth and claws, biting here and scratching there, with this strange fur-like stuff flying in every direction. Skeets was relentless in his efforts to protect me. He actually drew blood from our attacker, only to be grabbed by the scruff of his neck and thrown headfirst into a bunch of garbage cans by the assailant’s partner.

Skeets may be small in stature but his heart… well, his heart is that of a lion. All his life, Skeets has been a fierce fighter, and he wasn’t about to let whatever it was keep him away from his bud—that’s me—so while he was still sliding across the alleyway, Skeets was scrambling to his feet. Once in an upright position, he took a quick look around and then charged after the moving van, running as fast as his little legs would take him, and, to be truthful, he was a pretty fast little guy. He managed to get the tip of his tail into the closing van door just as the spinning wheels of the van got a grip and was about to pull away.

So there we were, bundled up and taken to a cold, dark and damp room somewhere near the docks. I managed, with a little help from Skeets, to fandangle my way out of my restraints and loosen my blindfold. It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the dark. That’s when I realized we were moving, not like on a bus or something—no, this was different. Having felt the sensation once before when I took the ferry, that’s when I realized that we must be inside a room on a ship.

I don’t know what came over me, but I panicked and started to scream at the top of my lungs. Between the screaming and the kicking at the door, I soon exhausted myself and collapsed back onto the damp floor.

Not yet resigned to my fate, I quickly rose and lunged at the door one last time with the same painful result.

Frustrated and on the verge of losing it completely, I was surprised when the door suddenly burst open, allowing the painful light to unmercifully flood into the room unfettered. It felt as if someone had stabbed me in the eyes with a flashlight.

Despite the handicap, I was able to make out three figures standing in the entrance. And then, much to my surprise, from behind them a much smaller body was shoved through the doorway.

Without thinking, I vaulted over the body and made a mad dash for the light. I was just a few inches away from my captors when the door slammed in my face, literally knocking me halfway back into the room.

Stubborn me, I’d have gotten up again had I not seen those strange eyes staring at me from across the room. I’ll never forget how my new ‘roomie’ and I just sat there staring at each other for more than a minute. I don’t know what triggered it, but before I knew it, she screamed at the top of her lungs and scurried off to the nearest corner.

What are you screaming at me for? I shouted back. I’m not the one who threw you in here! I paused for a long moment. Dang, I’m just as scared as you are.

And then it hit me: instead of just one pair of eyes—mine—looking at her, she must have seen two large and two small eyes—that would be Skeets—staring at her. It probably would have scared a scream or two out of me as well. Still, all I could see were those piercing eyes.

As a kid growing up on the streets, you learn at an early age how to read somebody’s eyes. At that moment, the look I was reading was one of fear.

I was just about to introduce myself when again the door suddenly burst open, and before I had time to turn around, another kid came hurtling through, landing smack dab in the middle of my lap. Talk about moving; believe me, I couldn’t get out of the way quick enough. Good thing too, as two more bodies came flailing by, landing as if they were playing Twister.

As the new kids on the block struggled with their restraints, a strange feeling crept over me. At first, I thought that this was some kind of a truant thing. Boy, was I wrong. All at once it hit me, and man, we were in some deep trouble.

With just a little assistance from me, it wasn’t long until all of the new kids managed to free themselves. There were two more girls added to the mix and one boy, all as shocked as I was.

As soon as she got her blindfold off, one of the new girls got a close-up of Skeets and began to scream and rant as loud as she could. She demanded to be released immediately.

Everyone just sat in the dark room staring in amazement as she went on and on. Spent, she finally collapsed into the darkness. Just then, the boy who’d been thrown in with her began to stutter fearfully, Diablo has us in his g-gut.

You’re kidding, right? one of the girls asked sarcastically. After a second or two, that same person said, I think we’re being held captive in the hull of a ship.

The h-hull? the other new kid stuttered.

Yeah, you know, like a room inside the ship, she answered, finishing with a Shhh… I think we’re moving.

Out of nowhere, the other girl shouted, A ship, moving… are you nuts? By the time her head popped up off the floor, she was in full rant. Will you just stop trying to be funny because it’s not funny?

She looked around the darkened room, barely able to see, but she saw that none of us were laughing. Realizing the perilous situation that we were in, she dreadfully exclaimed, Oh my God! You’re not kidding!

From behind the two of them, a husky female voice asked, But what do they want with us?

Now that’s the money ball, I answered. Continuing, I asked in the direction of the husky voice, What’s your name?

My name is Kisha, she answered.

I asked a general question directed around the room. You guys know each other?

They all stared at each other through the darkness and shook their heads ‘no.’

What’s your name? I asked the boy who stuttered.

M-my f-friends c-call m-me A.J., he answered, though it took a while.

So what do we call you? I asked in a joking fashion.

A.J., was his deadpan reply. I guess my little shot at humor missed its mark.

By this time, little Miss Hysterical had drawn her knees up to her chin and began rocking back and forth, repeating over and over again, This can’t be real… this can’t be real.

Hey! I yelled directly at her. Hey you, what’s your name? I finally had to crawl over to where she was sitting and try as best I could to hold her still. Her hysterics were starting to affect the entire room, even Skeets was starting to get freaked out. So, very deliberately, I asked her again, Hey, what’s your name?

She suddenly stopped shaking and looked me square in the eye, and just as deliberately started her reply.

My name is Meredith, her volume grew noticeably louder, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Michael P. Bently, one of the Bentlys of Stratford.

Soon, she was screaming right into my kisser. And, I would kindly ask you to remove your dirty little paws from my person.

Noticing the movement in my jacket, she pointed and asked, And what is that?

With a slight grin on my face, I answered, Oh him? Why, that’s Skeets. And then pulling open my jacket, I invited him out. I thought it would have a horror-diverting effect on everyone. Instead, it was just the opposite as they all, except the cat-eyed girl, screamed simultaneously when Skeets popped up and out of my pocket onto my shoulders.

Hey, would everybody just calm down. It’s only a ferret, and he ain’t gonna hurt nobody, I assured them.

It took a while, but they all calmed down and just stared for a moment until the silence was broken by Kisha, who was sitting in the corner looking skeptical.

Who’s that? Kisha asked, her shadowy hand pointing to the opposite corner.

Without turning, I said, Oh! That’s Cat-Eyes. She doesn’t say much. She just screams. Ain’t that right, Cat-Eyes?

To my surprise, little Cat-Eyes began speaking in broken English, My name Mizu, not Cat-Eyes.

Roz had a hunch and, as with all her hunches, she decided to follow this one till the bitter end, After all, this one was personal.

You see, two years before to the very day was the saddest day of Roz Tannenbaum’s life, and deep down inside, it pained her to no end. But today was not to be a day of sorrow. She’d promised herself that. There was a story to be told, and she was determined to be the one to tell it. To her and the entire city’s dismay, once again kids were disappearing at an alarming rate, just as her only child had done two years before.

Her story went something like this. Roz had suffered from asthma all of her life, and on this particular smog-filled day, she was having a particularly hard time breathing. And wouldn’t you know it, her inhaler was empty. So she sent her son, who was a pretty streetwise kid, down to the pharmacy to pick up her new inhaler. She’d given him strict instructions to return straight home.

Knowing that his mother was in great distress, he decided to take a shortcut through the alley. He was never heard from again. It was as if the alley had just up and swallowed him whole.

The strangest thing is that from that day on, Roz never had another asthma attack, not one. Not even the top specialist could explain it, but it was true that from that tragic day on, not one single episode occurred.

Roz’s interest was renewed when one day, out of nowhere, this kid approached her and said he had a story to tell, one that she should pay special attention to because it might involve a member of her family. He told Roz that on the night that the Mad Hatter went missing, he saw something strange going on in the alley, but he didn’t have the courage to investigate. He also said that the closer he got to the alley, the more the sensation came over him to enter, almost as if some kind of a spell had been put on him.

Suddenly, he looked down the street, past Roz, saw the cops approaching at a hurried pace and decided it was time to make a quick exit. He did exactly that. As a matter of fact, it was so sudden that Roz could have almost sworn that he just up and disappeared.

Most others would have just brushed the encounter off as some stoned-out little delinquent hopped up on something and talking a lot of trash, but not Roz. She had a hunch, and after all that she’d been through, she wasn’t about to give up now. Roz needed to believe her son was still alive, and after all this time, this four-one-one only added more fuel to the fire burning inside her.

Roz was as tough a journalist as they come. No one in her field commanded and deserved more respect. So when she told her editor that she was on to something special, he took her at her word.

Boss, she said, her voice as raspy as ever, you gotta hear this kid’s story. She eagerly fumbled through her notes.

He says that on the evening in question, he noticed the Mad Hatter—that’s Eric Hattersfield—running across Central Boulevard, at about nine thirty at night. Eric owed him some money. So he took off after him, only to lose him as he turned into the alley. By the way, boss, that’s a big no-no among street kids everywhere.

A big no-no, huh? her boss questioned sarcastically.

You got it, boss, a really, really big no-no, she answered bluntly, trying to keep her aggravation under control.

For a brief moment, Roz was lost in the imagined scenario painted by the street urchin, which was so similar to her son’s. Her boss brought her back to the here and now when he asked, And?

And then it gets strange, Roz answered. Clearing her head of her musings, she sensed a touch of genuine curiosity in her boss’s tone of voice.

Well, he says he saw three… Roz paused again. thinking of how foolish it was going to sound.

Once again, her boss interrupted her deep thought with an agitated outburst. C’mon, Roz, I don’t have all day. He turned in his high-back swivel chair to eye the panoramic view from his picture window thirty stories up.

Well, he says he saw… again she paused, cleared her throat and continued, three tall figures that seemed to be monkeys, or people wearing monkey masks and black trench coats, stuffing something very lively into the back of a black van.

Give me a break, will ya? The editor snickered as he whirled back around to face her. This is the Capitol Gazette, not the National Inquirer. Of all the things, monkey-men!

He spun his chair back around after he’d finished. He wanted to look at Roz’s reflection in the glass and was surprised to see that her stoic facial expression hadn’t changed.

C’mon, Roz, don’t tell me you believe this crap spewed at you by some hopped-up runaway looking to make a fast buck on some insane notion that monkey-men are going around the city snatching up little kids. Give me a break, will ya?

Roz didn’t as much as blink at his remarks. Finally, the editor turned back around and said, Okay, you got it, but this had better be good.

Does that mean that I can run with it? she asked.

Sure, go on, run with it, but remember, it’s your reputation on the line.

Thanks, and as far as my reputation is concerned, I stopped worrying about that two years ago today. Now more determined than ever, Roz turned and headed for the door.

It was a long and thoughtful elevator ride down to the lobby. By the time she got to the bottom, Roz was almost in tears. All this talk about missing children only dredged up emotions she’d long since tried to bury. So there she stood in front of the Gazette Towers staring at the busy city street.

The rain drizzled lazily down her forehead while she watched a young couple go rushing by. She studied them as they hurried across the chaotic boulevard. The man had an infant child asleep on his shoulder. Had the cab not arrived when it did, Roz would have surely lost herself in deep reflection. As it happened, she simply got into the cab and ordered him to take her to the docks.

Sliding into the back seat, she looked down and noticed that someone had left a lighter. She offered it to the driver. He politely refused with, Thank you, but I don’t smoke.

For some reason still unknown to her—she didn’t smoke either—she stuck it into her pocket. Little did Roz know what impact that one little action would have on her survival.

Well, anyway, the kid she’d spoken to earlier had given her one more clue, one that she decided to keep close to her chest, so to speak, partly because she didn’t like being snickered at, and partly because she had a hunch. The street kid had mentioned that he noticed, when one of the monkey-men opened the van door, that the interior light went on, and he could see the word ‘Windship’ printed on the interior panel. The closest Windships that she knew of were at the docks.

Any particular part of the docks that you want, ma’am? the driver asked.

Roz was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear a thing; she just sat and stared out the window. The driver’s repeat of the question brought Roz back to the here and now.

Just cruise for a while. I’ll know it when I see it, she answered.

Your dime, the driver mumbled.

Actually, it was more than a dime—quite a bit more. The meter read almost a hundred dollars when the driver suddenly stopped the taxi in the middle of the fog-laden cobblestone road, turned, looked at Roz, and in an irritated voice, said, Look, ma’am, we’ve been up and down these here docks for the better part of an hour. Whatever it is you’re looking for just ain’t here. So look, do us both a favor, pay the meter now, and I’ll drop you off anywhere you want for free. What’d ya say? How ‘bout it?

Roz hated to admit it, but the driver was right. What she was searching for just wasn’t here. She stared at the driver and reluctantly said, Deal.

Good, he said as he turned back around and shifted into drive. No sooner had he made the U,turn than Roz spotted it.

That’s it, that’s it! she exclaimed, all the while vigorously tapping the driver on the shoulder. He pulled to a screeching halt, forcing Roz to brace herself against the glass.

Hey look, you’ve been great, Roz said as she steadied herself. Here take this. She threw the driver his fare plus a twenty for his trouble; after all, the boss did say ‘run with it.’

You can let me out right here, Roz finished with a renewed sense of excitement.

Lady, has you lost your cotton-picking mind? the driver asked, beaming over the large tip. I wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out down here if I were you. This place is weird enough in the daytime; Lord knows what’s creeping around here at night, he finished, shaking his shoulders with a shiver.

I’ll be just fine, Roz answered with a hint of excitement in her voice.

You see, just as they’d turned around, Roz saw a black van—fitting the description given by her little street urchin—pull up and park alongside the entrance to one of the numerous wooden piers.

Roz checked it out from a distance. Then, peering through the fog, she saw a light flashing on and off three times, as if giving a signal. She began to see the outline of a long ship making its way eerily through the dense fog. Like something out of a Melville novel, it made its silent journey and seemed to pull off a number of complicated docking maneuvers all by itself. That’s when Roz heard a rustle coming from the van.

Roz watched in anticipation as the van door opened, and just as described by her little informant, the inside light came on and illuminated the interior back panel of the van. There it was in bold letters, the name ‘Windship.’

Moving stealthily so as not to be noticed, Roz crept across the slippery, wet cobblestones. Taking advantage of the large containers stacked and scattered around the pier, Roz ducked behind one and grabbed her camera from her bag, mumbling to herself that old adage, A picture says a thousand words.

Roz took a deep breath and stepped from behind the shipping container. Focusing on the van, she watched through the camera lens while two extremely tall figures got out and started towards the rear of the vehicle. As she zoomed in on what she assumed to be costumes, she got the shock of her life. Those weren’t costumes, and those monkey faces… well, they weren’t masks either.

Unfortunately, that was the last thing Roz remembered as four elongated hairy fingers grabbed her around the mouth.

There we were, my four new acquaintances and I, on the journey of a lifetime. Yet, instead of having the time of our young lives, we were scared half to death. Mizu was the first to notice it.

Boat move, she whispered from her corner.

Ah! You’re j-just imagining th-things, A.J. stuttered.

No! Boat move, Mizu insisted.

Hey, guys, I think she’s right, Kisha chimed in.

Everybody began to talk at once. Shh! Kisha almost yelled.

We all sat there in silence, virtually petrified as we listened to the water lapping hard up against the hull of the ship. It’s a sound I will never forget as long as I live. I’d venture to say that goes for everyone aboard, including Skeets.

Oh, my God! Meredith screamed and then made a mad dash for the door. She had trouble getting to her feet, as the floor was quite slippery. Once at the door, she began to scream at the top of her lungs, all the while pounding frantically on it. Her antics only compounded the collective fear we were all facing, and, quite frankly, made me feel a whole lot less secure if that were humanly possible.

Like I said, Meredith’s tirade didn’t help us out any, but it sure got the newcomer’s attention. It seems that all of that commotion helped rouse our female reporter from the daze in which she’d found herself. It was then that she began to tackle her bindings in earnest. She then struggled with her gag. Once it was off, she yelled out, Hello, hello, is anybody there?

Fortunately for us, Meredith had stopped her pounding just in time for us to hear someone calling out. Suddenly, the whole room was abuzz with excitement.

Yes, yes, several of us screamed while the rest made a beeline to the wall from whence the voice had come. Once at the wall, we all began to shout at the top of our lungs, sounding more and more like the scared children we were.

Help! Help! Call the police! There’s five of us in here, and we’ve all been kidnapped! Please, you’ve got to help us! That was Meredith pleading.

Realizing the voices coming through the walls were all kids, she called out, Hey, guys, my name is Roz. Are there any adults in there with you?

No, I answered. Just a bunch of kids.

Kisha grabbed me by the shoulder and said, You can call yourself what you want, I ain’t no kid, got it?

Taken totally by surprise, I answered, Absolutely. After all, she was almost twice my size.

Without warning, Meredith pushed me aside and began screaming, Help me please! You must call my father. His name is… But before she could finish, Kisha had snatched her back and put her finger to her lips, indicating that she should keep her mouth shut.

You got to help us, Miss Roz, I pleaded, figuring it best that I put on my manners.

I will, I will. I’ve just got to figure this out, Roz shouted back, sounding a little insecure but oh, so reassuring. I don’t know about the others, but ‘little Mr. Who-needs-adults,’ that’s me of course, sure was happy to hear a grown-up voice.

A sense of relief seemed to cover the whole room with her assurances, but, oh boy, how quickly it vanished when the door came crashing open, and for the first time, we got a good look at our captors.

OMG! They looked like something right out of a science-fiction movie. We only saw two, but that was two too many. Much taller than a regular man, they had furry faces with extremely protruding eyebrows. Their eyes were very close together and slightly slanted, and their noses were spread nearly halfway across their faces. Their fingers were long and furry, and they had no lips. If there was such a thing as the missing link, these guys—or gals—definitely fit the bill.

As they paused in the doorway and stared down at us, we all began to huddle together, slowly inching our way to the nearest corner. The larger of the two ‘monkey-men’ stepped in through the doorway and glared down at us, which caused the others to scurry back the final few inches. Not me though, as usual I was looking for a way out.

The monkey-man was carrying a large box that he placed in the middle of the floor. With the utmost confidence in his dominance, he turned very slowly and started for the door. Big mistake, I beat him there, just like a major leaguer sliding into home plate. I slid between his legs and scrambled for the stairs that were only a few feet away. I was way too excited to be scared, but once I made it to the top, reality set in.

Standing outside on the old wooden deck, all I could see were stars in the sky: it was truly mesmerizing. Then my heart sank in my chest when I realized I couldn’t have escaped even if I wanted to. In every direction, all I could see was water. I’d never seen so much water in one place in my life.

Next thing I knew, a large furry hand lifted me up into the air, and, not so gently either, escorted me back to my cold, dark and damp prison. Sure, I probably could have put up some kind of resistance, but even monkeys and babies know when to come in out of the rain. With a flick of his wrist, I went sailing across the dark room like a discarded tissue, landing unceremoniously up against the wall.

Up to this point, our captors had been more or less emotionless, but a fierce growl in my direction made me realize that they were a little more than just perturbed by my escape attempt. With one last menacing growl, the monkey-man turned his back and slammed the door shut on his way out.

Are y-you all r-right? A.J. stuttered.

If you mean is anything broken, no, but I ain’t all right, I whined. Not by any stretch of the imagination, I finished with an agonized moan.

Meredith barged in with her usual insistence. What did you see? We’re still in Capitol City, right? she asked repeatedly, her voice brimming with hope.

Yeah, if Capitol City is the name of a star or the endless ocean, well then, I’d have to say ‘yes.’ The anger in my voice did nothing to distract her from continuing to badger me with her incessant questioning.

What’s that supposed to mean? she asked indignantly.

That’s when I ‘lost it,’ and I do mean ‘lost it.’

What’s that supposed to mean? I screamed. What’s that supposed to mean? I’ll tell you what it’s supposed to mean. It’s supposed to mean that there ain’t no more Capitol City, there ain’t no more nothing, just water and sky. Even though I was still in tons of pain, I jerked my arm upward and screamed, Sky! Then I jerked my arm downward. Water, got it?

By this time, I was right in her face and was completely exasperated.

With nowhere else to turn, Meredith stared at me for a second and then broke down, sobbing.

So there I was stuck in this cubbyhole with a bunch of kids I didn’t know, when just a few hours before, I was having the time of my life with not a care in the world. And then it struck me: if I didn’t find a bathroom and soon, that little cubbyhole of a room we were all stuck in sure was going to start stinking.

I wasn’t the only one with that exact same thought. As if reading my mind, Mizu chimed out, Mizu must go bathroom.

Me too, Kisha added with a certain amount of urgency in her voice.

Y-yeah, A.J. said as he and Kisha searched the box that the monkey-man had thrown into the room.

Ah! Kisha let out a huge sigh of relief. Looks like I found our toilet. She held up a round metal pot that looked like it’d been made before dirt.

I sure hope it’s got a lid or something, I remarked from across the room.

Yep! she exclaimed, holding the lid up just as high. I think there’s food and water in here too, she remarked excitedly.

If only we h-had some k-kind of a l-light, A.J. wished out loud while he rummaged through the box. That’s when it hit me—a light. I immediately began to feel around my pants, and sure enough, there it was crammed in the little secret pocket that I’d sewn inside Skeet’s bigger inside pocket. So, by my saying the magic word lighter, Skeets went into his act.

Now, one thing you have to remember is that I taught him none of this. I don’t know how, but he does it all on his own. Not only that, but I swear that he understands several different languages because every time someone asks for a light, no matter the language, Skeets, to the delight of my potential hustle, crawls out of my pocket, lighter in his mouth, and proceeds to drop it in my hand. It’s good for at least a fiver every time he does it.

And this time was no exception. In spite of our predicament, Skeets managed to bring a smile to all of our faces. I thought to myself, This is how the first man must have felt right before he lit his very first fire. Showing the lighter to the rest of the room, I smiled and said, God bless the man who invented disposable lighters.

Amen to that! Kisha shouted back.

Even in the dark, I could see their faces light up. Without saying a word, everyone instantly began looking for something to burn.

Lucky you smoke, Mizu said as she crawled by me, looking for burning material.

I don’t smoke, I answered. I keep this as part of my job.

You got a job? Kisha asked.

"No, not a job-job. Look, it’s like this. In my game, you got to be ready when the circumstances present themselves. Say, for instance, you’re in front of the downtown shows and its intermission; people are