My Father, My Friend

By Jay Greenstein

Dave Cook lives with a crazy-man. Ted, his father, likes nothing more than to drive young Dave to distraction. It's part of his plan to teach him to think for himself. To accomplish that, Ted is apt to introduce himself as his nonexistent twin brother, the third member of a pair of twins, or as a creature from a far-off galaxy. He has a penchant for such things as bringing live chickens on a camping trip, making bananas appear to be pre-sliced, and convincing young Dave that the voice coming through the heating vent is that of a creature who lives within the floor.

In the story, Dave will teach you to palm a coin, magically pull a string through your neck, bake a foolproof cake, and even, how to properly tell a ghost story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay Greenstein
• Release date: Nov 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463238585

Jay Greenstein

I'm a storyteller. My skills at writing are subject to opinion, my punctuation has been called interesting, at best—but I am a storyteller. I am, of course, many other things. In seven decades of living, there are great numbers of things that have attracted my attention. I am, for example, an electrician. I can also design, build, and install a range of things from stairs and railings to flooring, and tile backsplashes. I can even giftwrap a box from the inside, so to speak, by wallpapering the house. I'm an engineer, one who has designed computers and computer systems; one of which—during the bad old days of the cold war—flew in the plane designated as the American President's Airborne Command Post: The Doomsday Jet. I've spent seven years as the chief-engineer of a company that built bar-code readers. I spent thirteen of the most enjoyable years of my life as a scoutmaster, and three, nearly as good, as a cubmaster. I joined the Air Force to learn jet engine mechanics, but ended up working in broadcast and closed circuit television, serving in such unlikely locations as the War Room of the Strategic Air Command, and a television station on the island of Okinawa. I have been involved in sports car racing, scuba diving, sailing, and anything else that sounded like fun. I can fix most things that break, sew a fairly neat seam, and have raised three pretty nice kids, all of who are smarter and prettier than I am—more talented, too, thanks to the genes my wife kindly provided. Once, while camping with a group of cubs and their families, one of the dads announced, "You guys better make up crosses to keep the Purple Bishop away." When I asked for more information, the man shrugged and said, "I don't really know much about the story. It's some kind of a local thing that was mentioned on my last camping trip." Intrigued, I wondered if I could come up with something to go with his comment about the crosses; something to provide a gentle terror-of-the-night to entertain the boys. The result was a virtual forest of crosses outside the boys' tents. That was the event that switched on something within me that, now, more than twenty-five years later, I can't seem to switch off. Stories came and came… so easily it was sometimes frightening. Stories so frightening that one boy swore he watched my eyes begin to glow with a dim red light as I told them (it was the campfire reflecting from my ...

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Jay Greenstein

Jay Greenstein

All rights reserved

Published by Continuation Services at SmashWords

Copyright 2018

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious and created by the author for entertainment purposes. Any similarities between living and non-living persons are purely coincidental.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the scouts of Troop 970, of Philadelphia, without whom it couldn’t have been written. For nine truly wonderful years they brought excitement, inspiration, entertainment, and more than a few moments of terror into my life.

It’s also dedicated to my three amazing children. Without them, there would have been no reason to have joined the scouts as a leader.

And finally, and most importantly, to my grandchildren. Because, like you, they should experience the fun we had, if only vicariously.

Jay Greenstein

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 In Which I Meet Magic

Chapter 2 My Father is Possessed

Chapter 3 Winning

Chapter 4 Books

Chapter 5 Insanity

Chapter 6 Bedroom Battles

Chapter 7 Evil Magic

Chapter 8 In Which I Discover Nature

Chapter 9 Things in the Night

Chapter 10 Of Fish and Decisions

Chapter 11 Bombs and Trust

Chapter 12 Birds in the Night

Chapter 13 Earthquakes and Other Things on the Roof

Chapter 14 Death

Chapter 15 My Life of Crime

Chapter 16 Summer Camp

Chapter 17 Still More Summer Camp

Chapter 18 A Bit More of Summer Camp

Chapter 19 Return to the Waters of Life

Chapter 20 Dancing in the Dark

Chapter 21 Indians and Chicken Dinner

Chapter 22 Flying Fish & Other Canoe Tricks

Chapter 23 Sadness

Chapter 24 Endings

Chapter 1 - In Which I Meet Magic

Magic entered my life on the day I met Floorzan. I must have been about four years old, but I remember it as if it was yesterday. I was in the living room, lying on the rug and feeling pretty good.

We had just come from grandmom’s house, and I was playing with the toy they’d given me when, from the heating vent, came the oddest noise—what I later learned was called yodeling. At the time I thought someone, or some thing was inside the floor.

You might wonder why I was so easily fooled. But for me, at four, strange things happened all the time. After all, television sets and telephones talked, so why not floors?

For a while, I stared at the vent wondering what was going on. After all, it’s a surprise when something you believed a benign—and inert—part of the house seems to be hosting living things. It’s more of a surprise when it begins to talk, which the vent soon began to do.

The yodeling continued, so I hurried over for a look. I was nervous about what I might find, but figured the tiny openings in the vent would keep whatever was making the noises inside the floor. Besides, no one ever said the vent could be dangerous, and they surely would have if it was, right?

I strained to see into the vent, but it was pretty dark in there. In any case, before I could do much in the way of checking, a high-pitched voice said, Hello? That got my face back from the vent with a jerk. I would guess my eyebrows probably tried to climb into my hairline, too.

I suppose I should have been scared, and maybe I was for a moment or two. But now, I only remember being surprised and intrigued. In the interest of establishing communications, I said a friendly Hello? I was still a bit unsure.

Who’s that? asked the voice, as though it’d been expecting someone else.

I’m David, I said, wondering if I should stay or run for help. Who...who are you?

I’m a Floorzan, the voice said. I’m hunting pergles. Where are you? I can’t see you.

That set me thinking. In the first place, I didn’t know what a pergle was. Added to that, I really wanted to ask the creature what it was. Four-year-olds aren’t able to handle too much at once, though, so I concentrated on the problem of where I was, informing Floorzan, I’m here.

That wasn’t much help, I suppose, because he asked, Here? Where’s here?

I’d never given much thought to the idea that here might not mean the same thing to someone else as it did to me, or that it wouldn’t tell them too much about where I was, especially if they couldn’t see me. I must have waited too long, because Floorzan prompted me with, Are you in the floor?

It made me giggle, that he could be so silly.

No, I said, laughing, Of course not. Then, I had a thought and stopped laughing. I leaned close to the vent to ask, Are you...do you live in the floor? An intriguing possibility.

Sure, he said. Doesn’t everyone? Where else would— He stopped, abruptly. Then in a hesitant voice, said, You’re not...not a wallzan, are you?

By then I was having a wonderful time, so I lay down next to the vent and rested my chin on the back of my hands, asking, What’s a wallzan? It sounded as though there were a whole host of things about my house that I didn’t know.

You don’t know? How can you not know? A wallzan is a tall thin creature who lives in the walls. They don’t talk and they smell awful. They scare me, because they’re mean and rotten, and they eat floorzans whenever they can. That’s why I never get close to the walls, and why I use the vents to get from one floor to the other. He was quiet for a moment, then asked, What do you look like? Are you handsome?

With four-year-old brilliance, I said, I look like me, David. What do you look like?

After a thoughtful silence, Floorzan said, Well, I’m very handsome. I have ten beautiful legs, and—

I couldn’t let that statement pass uncommented on, so I interrupted with, "You have ten legs?"

Of course. How many legs do you have? He sounded surprised that I would ask.

I have two, I told him, firmly.

There was wonder in his voice when he finally spoke. Only two legs? How horrible. Did a wallzan catch you and eat them off? He sounded sorry for me, but I laughed.

No, I said, still giggling. Everybody has two legs.

I don’t, he pointed out. Then, in a voice every bit as assured as mine, he said, I have ten, just like everyone else. There was a sudden frown in his voice, when he said, Hey, what are you? Aren’t you a Floorzan, too?

There I was on firm ground. I’m a boy, I said, but he only asked what a boy was, and when I said I was a human, he asked what a human was. That had me stumped, but before I could say anything in response, he said, I have to go now, I hear a pergle.

With that, he began the strange yodeling again. It got softer and softer as though going away. I called, but no answer came.

Several days passed before I heard from Floorzan again. This time I was in my bedroom, investigating the underside of my bed. It was much more interesting than the underside of the dresser, which was unpainted wood with my scribbled pencil marks here and there. Cloth covered the bed’s bottom, and if you pushed up on it with a fingertip there was nothing on the other side, so it just stretched upward. Holes marked the spots where I pushed a pencil through, trying to write on it, and I was wondering what was on inside. I was about to spread one of the holes with my fingers, to find out, when from the bedroom heating vent, came Floorzan’s call. By then I pretty much knew it was Dad, somehow sending his voice through the heating system. Impressed with my own deductive powers, I hurried to the vent, laughing as I said, Hi Daddy. I hadn’t figured out how he did it, but still, it had to be him.

Daddy? asked the voice. What’s a daddy? And who are you? I’m looking for the David creature. Have you seen it? He sounded confused. Had I been wrong about it being Dad? That didn’t seem possible. It must be him.

But then, a thought came: If it was him, and I insisted that it was, the game would be over. Did I want that? No. I was having too much fun, so instead, I said, You’re silly, a daddy is somebody who takes care of you. Do you have a daddy?

As though I hadn’t questioned his reality, he went on with the game, deliberately skeptical of my assumptions—forcing me to think for myself, and challenging my tiny intellect to solve the problems he posed.

Over the next few years, I came to know and love Floorzan in his many variations. There was Carzan, the creature who lived under the car seat, and Frank, the vent-cleaning beast, who only came on Thursdays. Many other creatures lived under my floor, and I loved them all.

I never did catch Dad at it, though I tried pretty hard for a time. He always heard me coming, or guessed by my silence that I was stalking him, and when I charged into the room where he was, he was always well away from the room’s vent, reading, or pretending to be asleep. If I mentioned Floorzan, he always denied that such a creature existed, claiming I had an overactive imagination.

Of course, my friends thought Dad was crazy, if he did it when they were visiting, but they loved it too. I can’t wait until I have kids so I can do the same thing to them.

° ° ° °

Chapter 2

My Father is Possessed

I’m not quite sure when it happened, but, for a time, Dad was possessed by an alien being from Beta Cygnus, whatever that is. Actually, he first converted to a robot, which led to his being taken over by the alien.

I know that sounds confusing, but a great deal of what happened between Dad and me was confusing.

I think I was six when I refused to go to bed for the first time. I mean really refused to go. I wasn’t sleepy (at least I insisted I wasn’t), and wanted to do what I wanted to do.

I don’t blame you, Davy, Dad said, as he picked me up, his voice filled with sympathy, I wouldn’t want to go to bed if I were you, and I don’t want to have to put you to bed, either. He headed toward the steps, with me in his arms, while I tried to understand how I could be going to bed when we both agreed it was a bad idea. It didn’t help when he added, I don’t want to but it’s time.

I looked to my mother for support, but she just spread her hands in a What can you do, gesture.

Somehow, I found myself without anyone to argue with.

I tried again about a week later. When Dad came into the playroom and said it was bedtime I said, "Daddy, I really don’t want to go to bed now."

I turned at him for reaction, but he stared blankly ahead. Daddy! I shouted, trying to get his attention. His only response was to slowly turn his head in my direction.

Daddy? I was becoming worried.

I-am-not-your-father, he informed me in a droning voice, devoid of any emotion. I-am-your-undressing-robot.

I think I giggled.

It-is-time-to-undress-the-David-person, he informed me, heading toward me with machine-jerky movements.

He knelt in front of me, saying, I-must-remove-your-hat-first.

I told him I wasn’t wearing a hat, but he paid no attention, and carefully, but ineptly, removed the non-existent hat from my head, crumpling it in his hand as he did so. I-will-put-it-in-the-closet, he said, as he opened an imaginary closet door and threw the hat inside.

Now-it-is-time-for-your-coat. Stand-over-here. He pointed to one side of where I stood, but I made no move to comply. I was too busy laughing. My lack of cooperation didn’t make too much of a difference though. He simply waited a moment, said, Thank you, and began to remove an invisible coat from an equally invisible David. He ignored me when I jumped on his back, shouting, It’s not me. It’s not me, over and over. From the looks of his motions, though, he pretty well destroyed the coat he was removing. I was glad I hadn’t been dressed for the outside.

After he finished pretending to hang up what might have been left of the coat, he turned to me once more, saying, Now-I-will-carry-you-up-the-steps-to-the-bed-place. So saying, he picked me up, and I found myself hanging upside down as he carried me upstairs, all the while talking to my feet as though he held me upright.

Somehow, I was undressed, washed, and put to bed, laughing the whole time. Dad returned to his normal self, though, to read me my nightly story, give me my good night hug, and to sit with me. He always sat in the dark with me for a few moments after the light went out, to chase away the nighttime monsters, and get me settled down. He claimed it was peaceful sitting in the dark, and that went a long way toward calming my fears.

Lying there, after Dad left, I thought it was strange that somehow, after deciding I was not going to bed without a battle, I’d cooperated wholeheartedly with the process. Once again I found myself tucked in, on the verge of sleep, and feeling pretty good about the whole affair. It appeared that Dad was pretty tricky, but still, I was looking forward to the next night, as I did every night, as long as he tucked me in. Even now, getting ready for bed is a friendly and relaxing kind of thing.

It was only years later that I understood what he’d done. If he’d insisted I go to bed, I would have insisted, just as strongly, that I didn't want to, which was an argument I couldn't win. It was also one that would have left us both angry, and me in bed. By refusing to force me into that situation, he saved wear and tear on our tempers and I was introduced to the concept of a higher authority, one to which even he had to demur.

The undressing robot put in occasional appearances over the next year or so, but he was eventually displaced by the inept alien space traveler. That happened one night when I was hoping Dad would play the dead game. I know that sounds pretty morbid, but it’s not what you might think. Dad closed his eyes and went limp, usually without warning. The idea was for me to, somehow, force him back into the world of the living, without hurting him (which ended the game), and sometimes involved a good deal of inspiration on my part.

He'd somehow, managed to convince me that he wasn’t ticklish. I didn’t find out until I was nearly fifteen that he’d gone through hell, pretending that my attempts to tickle him were unsuccessful. Because of that, I didn’t try, which was just as well, as it would have forced the game to end long before it had.

Part of the fun was opening his eyelids with my fingers. Dad could roll his eyeballs back into his head so there was nothing but blank whiteness, as he said, Nobody’s home. The words were his way of assuring me that he was playing. He’d even argue the point with me, as I insisted that someone must be home because he was talking to me, but he wouldn’t talk about anything else. Sometimes, when I peeled back the lids, he would be home, so to speak, and his eyes would look directly at me, the pupils fixed and staring. That was more frightening than when there was nothing but white there. When it happened, I invariably let go of his eyelid and pushed his head away, saying, Yuck!

I managed to wake him in a variety of ways, almost always fun. Sometimes it was a jelly bean or M&M pushed into his mouth—once, a marble. Sometimes something as simple as a hug, or a kiss. Untying his shoes often worked, but I once managed to unbutton his shirt, remove both his shoes and socks, and was working on his belt before he stopped me.

This time, however, he opened his eyes, as though waking. He blinked, then looked at me curiously, as though I was a stranger. He then studied the room, as if he’d never seen it before, while I wondered what new thing was about to happen. Finally, he turned to me, his movements awkward, and his voice odd. Is this the center? he demanded, angrily.

What center?

Once more he studied the room, saying, There has been a terrible mistake, for which many will be destroyed.

Entranced, I asked, What kind of mistake?

He ignored my question. What planet is this? What place?

At last, I was on firm ground, and informed him that he was on Earth. I wasn’t sure what a planet was, but I knew mine was called Earth.

Frowning, he said, Earth? What sector is that in? I don’t recognize that name, and I know all ten thousand worlds in the Plampillian empire. Before I could respond, he looked wildly around, as though struck by a frightening idea. Is this...am I on an enemy world? Have I been captured by the hated Comex alliance? He leaned toward me. Have you intercepted the theta wave that was carrying me to Kuto?

He’d asked far too many questions, and I wasn’t sure of the rules of this game yet, so I said, This is the Earth, and we aren’t part of anything. At least, I was pretty sure we weren’t.

That didn’t seem to satisfy him, so I asked him who he was.

His voice turned haughty as he informed me, I am Togar, the master of the ten-thousand worlds. I am the great king of kings, the supreme ruler of the Plampillian empire. He allowed me to absorb that for a moment, then added, And, I am now the ruler of Earth, which I claim for the empire. He waved a casual hand at me and said. You are honored to be the first to know.

It was a game. I knew that. But he was good at that sort of