It Happened in Belacan: Book One: Jeppa and Elsa

By Roy Mckenna

Belacan is a land of a different dimension into which Jeppa falls, along with a girl from the town where he lives, Elsa, who has a very crude mouth that Jeppa censors in order to tell a better story. If Jeppa had a dime for every time Elsa clobbered him, he would be rich.

Magic creatures abound around Jeppa. Jeppa lends a hand when invaders attack, stilling all the water. Jeppa learns never to trust girls as Elsa traps him into a life he didnt think he wanted but now he wouldnt change.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546231592

Roy Mckenna

Roy Mckenna has been in the entertainment industry for twenty-five years. He has been a magician, a balloon artist, and a Santa. Roy grew up in Utah, not knowing how to read until high school. Since then he has read several hours a day, with a fancy for science fiction. He has several ideas for future books in this series and plans to continue writing.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I T HAS BEEN a long day. After driving all day I pulled into my driveway, with the sun setting behind the mountain peaks, casting long shadows across my yard. The gate groans on its hinges in protest as I open it, drawing the attention of Spudz. He’s my dog. Lately, he’s been sleeping under the rosebushes surrounding the gate whenever I leave him alone. He will lie there watching the house so intently that he seldom, if ever, hears me until the gate squeals. Today I find him totally beside himself, flipping a double somersault in his excitement to reach me. Whimpering, he crawls between my legs, shaking as if he’s seen a ghost, making it impossible to keep my hand on his head.

Let me start from the time I moved down from Canada—that was two weeks ago yesterday—with the hope of finding work here in the mountains of the West. I had found the advertisement for this old house in a travel magazine, and being unable to think of anything else, I up and sold everything and bought the house sight unseen. All I have left is a little money and Spudz. I knew my life was about to change, but little did I know how much.

I’m sitting out back of the house under a large nut tree, on an old wooden crate. The old labeling exclaims that it once contained apples. The crate makes a lousy chair, but it’s the best that I have. I’m wishing that I’d stayed home in Canada. My family and friends warned me about making the move, but being young and stubborn and dead set on making the move, I paid little attention to them. So here I’m sitting all alone while the people in this town avoid me as if I have the plague. At times I have seen several of them cross to the other side of the street in order to avoid me. Spudz is my only companion, and he has become deeply troubled.

What is it, Spudz? I ask, giving his head a little brushing with my hand. He looks up at me as if begging to get away from here. I’d left him alone to go to Salt Lake City to get this laptop. I was gone for about ten hours, and now he’s acting like he’s seen a ghost.

It took three days of fighting with myself, but I eventually decided to get this computer and give it a try. It’s up to you to decide if you want to believe the story I’m about to tell. If you don’t, you can always throw the book in the trash.

It’s quiet in the house, and I let out a silent sigh of relief. Not a single thing is amiss. For once, everything is in its place.

After placing my things on the table, I pull over a rickety old chair, totally forgetting about Spudz, and proceed to activate this laptop. Now where to begin? I’m sitting here like a dumb log on my rickety old chair, thinking that I might be safer sitting on the old crate from out back. After staring into the monitor, I put down a few notes of what has already happened within the confines of this property.

Suddenly, there is this tremendous growl erupting from the center of the room. Spudz springs to his feet, smacking his head on the table. Howling, he sinks his teeth into one of the table legs, wrenching it loose. This causes the table to lean dangerously.

Thirty seconds later, my stomach bellows again, reminding me it’s time to stuff it. Pulling open the fridge door, I vomit all over the floor. Clouds of green mold and some putrid smells reek out into the room.

Have you ever tried to hold your breath and barf at the same time? I’ll tell you: it’s not easy. But I finally get the fridge cleaned out. It is my lucky day. I find one can of cola. Although it’s covered in green slime, it’s still good.

There is nothing for Spudz, who won’t touch anything from the fridge. And we all know that dogs will eat just about anything and everything.

Spudz and I have to get out of here and go for a walk.

His appetite returns as soon as we exit the gate. The first garbage can that comes within his reach is promptly tipped over. He starts acting like a pig, attracting the owner of the can. You should hear the guy yelling as he starts throwing apples at us. Plucking one of them out of the air, just before it hits me dead center between my eyes, I take a bite and yell at Spudz, Let’s get out of here!

Finishing off the apple, I throw the core into the rosebushes standing next to my gate. Spudz sits on his rump, refusing to follow me in, which forces me to grab his collar and drag him inside.

My laptop lies upon the table where I’d left it, except that now it is open. I’m sure that I closed it before we left the house. Turning the computer so I can read it, I gasp while holding my breath for a moment. In big bold letters across the screen is a warning: BEWARE OF MY SISTER!

What the—

I can’t tell you what I said, because it wasn’t very good English. Anyway, the screen still reads, BEWARE OF MY SISTER, even after I get control of my mouth.

This time I put a leash on Spudz to keep him out of trouble and the neighbors’ garbage can, and then we head for the market to replenish our supplies.

Don’t tell me you need more milk and veggies, Mr. Kerbs says after I enter his store. He’s the clerk as well as the owner—and the only person who speaks with me. His greed for money is greater than his fear of me. Don’t tell me your supplies spoiled on you already.

Okay, I won’t tell you. How’d you know everything had spoiled?

You can’t tell me you ate all the things you got two days ago, so they must have spoiled.

Mr. Kerbs gathers my things, chatting about everything—just making small talk—until I ask him about the house. His attitude changes and he says, You had better get going.

He finishes my order and shows me the door, rather rudely.

Spudz once again remains at the gate, refusing to follow me in as I go to put the milk away.

A half hour later, he is still hiding under the rosebushes, lying there with his paws folded over his eyes. I call him several times, but he refuses to move. You can stay out there then! I yell.

With my laptop open, I begin working on my story to get it up to the present time. The hardest part that I face is this stupid keyboard; it’s possessed and won’t let me write the story the way I want to. For example, Spudz’s name is really spelled with a z at the end and not with an s. It should be Spudz. Every time I try typing his name, this computer tries telling me that he’s a sack of potatoes. Instead of saying that Spudz and I were going to eat, the computer changes it to I’m going to eat spuds. That’s disgusting. Why would I want to eat Spudz? I don’t know much about proper English, but I know what I have to say. You’ll just have to put up with it.

I’m not getting anywhere with this stupid laptop, so I might as well bring Spudz in.

Spudz! I called several times, but to no avail. He is not about to come out from under the rosebushes. I’ll have to go in after him.

I drop onto my hands and knees and worm my way into the bush. A thorny branch brushes across my face, setting off an alarm within the bush. The bush comes alive, thrashing its branches as if they are arms. Countless thorns rip at my body. Blood runs freely down my face and arms, spackling the ground with droplets. The thorns act like fishhooks, preventing me from backing out. I can only move forward.

While trying to retreat, I get a huge thorn embedded in the back of my neck. Rescuing Spudz has become a one-way mission.

Inching my way in beside Spudz, I lie exhausted, gasping for breath until the pain eases off. You ready, Spudz? I ask while pulling my legs in under myself. "When I say now, we back out and then run. Ignore the thorns."

I grip Spudz’s collar. Without my having to say now, we shoot forward into the street, not backward into the yard as I had said. Leaving hide and hair clinging to the thorns of the bush.

Now free of the roses, I fall flat on my face, from which position I wait for my wits to return from their vacation. I almost forgot to say that Spudz has broken away from me and returned to his spot under the rosebush, with his paws once again covering his eyes.

Mr. Kerbs never says a word to me when I return to his store that evening. In fact, he avoids me, making me corner him after hunting all over his store and failing to find any bush clippers.

Kerbs states bluntly, Don’t you mean you want the first aid supplies?

If I’d wanted first aid, I’d have asked for it.

Kerbs leads me into the back of the store, where a small sign says, Seasonal Supplies. After pushing a Santa Claus display out of the way and knocking some Halloween decorations onto the floor, he picks up a set of clippers and says, That’ll be $18.22. Before I can say anything, he adds, That includes a first aid kit with an extra box of Band-Aids.

With clippers in hand, I tear into the rosebush, branch after branch falling away. The more I cut, the worse the bush becomes. One branch springs at my face as if it were spring-loaded. Thorns imbed themselves into my hands, dragging me deeper into the bush. The war continues as I cut deeper into the bush. Finally I snip through a branch two inches thick, and Spudz springs forward before the bush can regroup for another attack.

Once free of the bush, Spudz joins in on my attack of the bush. He does the telling off while I do the cutting. Do you know what happens? All the bush does is stand there and do nothing, as if it were dead. Within an hour the rosebush has been reduced to a stump, and all the debris lies in the fire pit.

Some people are born stupid, but I must be too stupid to be stupid. I should have set fire to the bush before turning in last night, because I am facing the … thing … again. The fire pit is empty, and the entire bush once again stand blocking the gate. The hole that I’d made yesterday when I’d crashed through the fence is now surrounded, leaving me with a new walkway.

I go at it again. With snippers snapping, thorns and branches fly. Did I mention thorns? I am in a losing battle that had no end. Mr. Kerbs had better have plenty of bandages in stock. The last first aid kit he sold me only had three hundred Band-Aids in it, and now I am out. Not exactly out, because I am completely covered in Band-Aids.

I see you need more Band-Aids, Mr. Kerbs states as I open the door.

Guess you could say I need more, as I’m trying out for a new job as a walking billboard, advertising Band-Aids.

Are you going to tell me what happened?

Only if you promise not to laugh.

I won’t laugh. I believe anything from that old house is possible, he replies.

Did you know the rosebush by my front gate is alive? We had a fight and I won.

You don’t look like you won. That’ll be $1.23, unless you want six boxes, and then we’ll call it an even seven bucks.

Chapter 2

T HE NIGHT PASSED without anything weird happening, just the normal creeks and scrapes that all old buildings make, the sounds that go bang in the night.

I think I spoke too soon. I was doing some cleaning on the second-story balcony, throwing junk over the railing. Spudz was sleeping in the corner, trying to keep out of the way. Over to the east, clouds were beginning to form high up against the mountain peaks, while a cool breeze ruffled the stained curtains covering the doorway leading onto the balcony.

Spudz, looks like it’s going to rain. The clouds piled up thicker by the minute, casting shadows over the house. Slowly I realized that something was wrong out there. The clouds were gathering only around my house, and not up against the mountains as I’d first thought.

Thunder cracked with all the power of an atom bomb, and the rain crashed down, cascading off the roof in sheets of violent destruction. Yet all around the house the sun stood out and shone brightly, without a drop of rain.

I’ve seen stranger things than a little storm like this one since moving into this two-story Victorian mansion that I call home. The floor creaked as I walked across the room. A flash of lightning lit the room for a brief moment, which was enough to allow me to see that in the middle of the room, where I’d just swept, lay a bill. It wasn’t a bill demanding money, but a fifty-dollar bill, one of the old type, you know, without any of the security devices built in. The date of issue was 1938. It was now 2013, making the bill seventy-five years old, yet the bill looked brand new. Pinned to the bill was a note that read, Sorry about my sister. Maybe this will help. The