The Eighth Day

By Edgar Alan Ongtengco

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

"Then God looked over all he had made, and he saw that it was very good! And evening passed and morning came, marking the sixth day" (Gen. 1:31).

On the seventh day, he ended his work and blessed it.

Before long, that fateful day came to a close.

And God ended his rest.

It was time.

Behold the eighth day.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781639036431

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The Eighth Day

Edgar Alan Ongtengco

ISBN 978-1-63903-642-4 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63903-643-1 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Edgar Alan Ongtengco

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

1

DEMON

2

WHITE MOUNTAIN

3

FROSTY THE SNOWMAN

4

POLTERGEIST

5

THUNDER SNOW

6

THE BAT SIGNAL

7

TWILIGHT ZONE

8

LION'S DEN

9

COVID-41

10

GIRL SCOUT COOKIES

11

METAMORPHOSIS

12

ICED TEA

13

PAL'S

14

GERONIMO!

15

SCYTHE

16

DEE-OH-GEE

17

ALIEN ABDUCTIONS!

18

THE FINAL FRONTIER

19

THE PLAINS TO ARMAGEDDON

20

LIGHTS

21

GHOST STORY

22

LOCUTUS

23

HOME

On Colored Horses

CREDITS (Drawings)

About the Author

Hear ye! Romans 5, verses 6 to 8:

Oh! So perfect whence he came

How little we'd appreciate

Weak and lame we were, such shame!

Yes! Wretched, without class

You, and me, the human race

He acted first and breathed his last

To save us on that tree, his wondrous grace

Save ourselves? You jest. We fail, no doubt

Our sins and idols we devour

Undeserved, we dare cry out

Yet love he bestowed in power!

Neither worth nor works we make

To enter heaven's gate we craved

'Twas only a perfect lamb would take

Our sins erased; our souls be saved.

(E. Alan Ongtengco, MD)

1

DEMON

Johnson City, Tennessee

A blustery cold late September afternoon

The year 2040

This is crazy, Edward thought.

It was one of those Tennessee weather anomalies. Just yesterday, it was in the mid-seventies. One might have assumed that the tennis courts at Science Hill would have been barren. But there they were, the handful of die-hard tennis players with their windbreakers and long johns punishing those fuzzy yellow balls—one gentleman with his Lobster tennis ball machine. Perhaps one last time before putting it in storage?

You could count on Kori and Juan pounding the courts, showing off their powerful ground strokes. Just enough topspin with each practiced swing. They reaped what they had sown. Good players on the rise.

True warriors. Subzero temperatures nor wind gusts up to 20 mph was seldom a deterrence. To and fro, side to side, Federer wannabees, hoping to get one more frigid set in before year's end. Edward would have joined them and played Australian doubles with three people (one vs. two), but he was not up to it with that cold, knifelike wind. No, thank you.

This year's abbreviated anthocyanin-induced autumn foliage was quite striking, but most of the leaves had already fallen, littering the neighborhood from one lawn to the next and back again. But it never failed. When they were somehow raked and compiled together in large imposing heaps, they unfailingly attracted the most animated of children. It must be something embedded in their DNA.

Sure enough, from across the way, Sascha and Rian and their cousin Matthieu were there busy diving, jumping, and thrusting themselves into one of those giant piles till only their tiny happy faces were visible. With yet another mound reformed and recompiled here or there, the cycle would inevitably repeat itself.

The multiplicity of colors brilliantly decorated on the trees just a few weeks prior became but a faded memory. The skittish wind made sure of that. The few remaining combatants that stubbornly clung onto the branches looked anemic and withered, flailing helplessly by the most tenuous of tethers.

But that didn't stop true outdoor lovers. On any given weekend, the three sibling musketeers—Katy, Joshua, and Seira—might be seen trekking up the side of Buffalo Mountain at sunset to behold the spectrum of auburn and deep-purple hues upon the horizon. Their faces a maroon red glimmering then around a makeshift campfire, they would spy for more of the meteors amidst the faint shimmers of the aurora.

Later that evening…

Fast-forward to nighttime. It was now 9:45 p.m. on the dot per her watch. Twenty years ago, it would have been just 8:45.

Spring forward and fall back was the mantra in the ol' days. Edward read that from his history book. Because of daylight savings time, it felt like midnight outside by 6:00 p.m. back when. Nobody was used to it. And not many people had enjoyed changing their clocks. But finally, legislators got on the ball. But it took a while to get rid of the tradition established in 1918.

The air was thin and crisp, but the stars did not seem to mind. They came out in force, twinkling insolently, ever so brightly and clear.

The harsh arctic blast they had predicted arrived with a vengeance, casting no doubt that Old Man Winter was going to be especially grumpy and ornery this year. It was 11°F (−12°C) for heaven's sake!

Where was man-made global warming when you needed it? muttered Edward, relying on his favorite Detroit Lions beanie and a thick crop of dark, wavy hair to help insulate his head in the coming months.

That's my favorite! Mr. LaGore taught you that piece well.

His mother always liked listening to Clair de Lune. One could hear her humming the theme every time Edward tickled the ivories. As he completed the last arpeggio, he closed his eyes and paid attention to the last-held chord resonate into oblivion. His teacher wanted him to hold it with the pedal and savor it as it rang out and faded into nothingness.

Out of the blue, a muffled, sublime high-D flat note was appended to Debussy's famous piece. Edward opened his eyes. Arman's extended finger had delivered the annotated musical note. Edward knew that that was his dad's way of showing his appreciation.

Those endless lessons his father would drive him to. Week after week. Month after month. Year after year. Who would do that?! Edward was happy he could bring some joy to his parents through their investment.

Norr noticed the time. It was now 10:00 p.m. on the dot, without the time change, of course.

Okay, it's time. Everyone, let's go, let's go. Come on, come on.

Edward quickly wiped off the black-and-white keys with a fresh cloth and pushed the piano bench onto the Story & Clark upright. As the four of them congregated into the bedroom, one could see the frosted condensation that had built up on the inside corner of his sister's single-paned window.

Ever since he was a little boy, they all met together in that room every late night, unless they were off visiting relatives. Then it would just be someone else's room. They had done it so often that it became commonplace, firmly embodied in their family life. But more and more, as the years passed, Edward realized its importance.

Otherwise, the night had settled into an unusual quietude, a few errant meteorites racing across the sky. The red cedars outside tucked away their armament of fine needles, deep in slumber. They casted eerie shadows, their giant silhouettes towering over the rickety fence. The creepy beasts were dimly visible in the gloom of the skeletonized crescent moon, itself struggling to maintain significance above the horizon.

On bright, moonlit nights, these reticent hulking evergreens would be reaching out to the stars above. They would be awakened with renewed intentions, their misshapen appendages quivering even to the slightest zephyr, desperately clawing at the house and at any foolish passersby.

It's getting late. Come on, you two. Kneel. ‘Assume' the position.

Their mother had a knack for words and spoke with a straight face. The foursome positioned themselves on that time-beaten carpet remnant, kneeling side by side. The hardened imprints of their knees over time serve as reminders, in case they would ever forget their designated positions.

As customary, the siblings, he and his sister, were compartmentalized in the middle according to age, between their parents. The lights were intentionally subdued so they avoided distractions and appreciated one another's presence more intimately. It might have been cold outside, but they, indeed, felt each other's warmth.

With little pomp and circumstance, the family unity was in full display on that small, frayed rug. A small inconsequential nightlight and the enthusiastic tap, tap, tap of the dog's tail against the wooden floor helped provide the final ambience, if not only to reveal the canine's whereabouts in the murkiness of the room. Dee-oh-Gee was behind the hind bedpost near the closet door. He was in full rhythm and energized tonight, as if segueing some percussion jazz solo.

Ow! Can you please move your elbow? It's pressing on my side.

Adele aired her complaint bluntly. Shyness was never her character flaw.

I think this rug is too small. It's not enough space. Scoot to your right a little, will you?

Edward had a recent growth spurt and accompanying weight gain. He also started working out in the gym.

Okay, you two. Hush! Please settle down! Norr commanded.

Then, per protocol, Arman promptly began.

"Our Father, who art in heaven…"

Edward sensed a tiredness in his father's voice that night, a softened monotone with a pseudo-melancholy yet pedantic pitch. But even with this, his father remained unwaveringly reverent. With bowed heads and clasped hands, they all chimed in in unison.

"Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. Give us—"

Before they could utter the remainder of the prophetic phrases, the night sky outside the window lit up with startling iridescence! The bedroom illuminated sufficiently enough to unveil every crevice of its much-maligned clutter.

As if on cue, they raised and turned their heads like gazelles spying a lion. They instinctively peered at the window, looking skyward with their eyes from their reposed kneeling positions.

The entire hemisphere was like that the past ten to fourteen days. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the fading meteorite's long tail, their gazes became asynchronous. The siblings looked at each other. Without warning, Adele jettisoned herself like a premature rocket and won the race toward the windowpane.

Wow! That was really bright! she exclaimed. Mom, was that another meteor?!

Of course, it was! interjected Edward rather brazenly. It's that heavy meteor shower they talked about all month on the Weather Channel.

Honey, there is no need for concern. We are all safe. Have faith.

His mother tried to hide her own apprehension.

You can come back now.

Well, I hope they don't hit our house, said Adele squeamishly, lowering her head, aiming to be a smaller target for the next one, just in case.

Of course, Dee-oh-Gee was nowhere to be found. Like a bat out of hell, he had scurried to his almighty fortress, his hind claws skirting on the floor like the General Lee fishtailing about around a dusty bend. The fortified buttress was an area sandwiched between the commode and the bathtub. It was probably the safest place to be in the house, at least, in case of a tornado. The tiles on the floor were also quite cool on his fur.

Don't you worry, sis. They usually burn up in the atmosphere. If they hit the ground, and I estimate the odds to be rather small, they are called meteorites, sounding off with some haughty commiseration.

He was a Star Trek buff and worshipped the mannerism of his favorite pointed-eared, green-bloodied Vulcan.

Still kneeling on the rug, their father cleared his throat like a laboring engine starter. He was the shepherd trying to herd his wandering sheep back to the fold. Yet the excited siblings remained oblivious to his calls. He opened up on the throttle a bit more and caught their attention. They knew they had to return to the rug in earnest and complete the Lord's Prayer.

It was nearing Thanksgiving. The days had shortened. Their father would go to work every day before the sun rose and return home long after it had set. He would reach the hospital every morning before the slumbering sun could even extend its first far-reaching maize tentacles. He worked long hours the past few weeks so he very much longed for his head to merge with his soft waiting pillow.

In addition, he was experiencing some terrible postprandial lethargy from the heavy meal. All that rice! But it was good to be Filipino, his father would always say. As a result, Arman could not contain the intensity of some rather manly yawns and eructation.

Their mother promptly intervened, gesturing with her hands to the recalcitrant herd of two.

Come, both of you. Take your place. Now! she exhorted at the dynamic duo.

Obediently, they returned and assumed their positions without undue whimpering or a flagrant elbow to the ribs between siblings.

Norr was the enforcer. They knew she meant business when they propelled her to that I mean it soundbite. So they settled their knees expeditiously back into the designated rug indentations. Without further ado, the family started the prayer where they had left off.

"Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen."

Then the four of them took the usual couple of minutes in silence for a few personal supplementary supplications. Edward and his sister kept their hands folded in front, although their eyes meandered a time or two, peeping at the window, hoping to spy an incidental stray incandescence. They were not the only ones keeping surveillance.

Take your prayers seriously! You may go to the window in a short while, reprimanded Norr.

Their hearts were racing in anticipation, but with their eyes now firmly shut. The floor creaked as their father got up from his kneeling position. That was the proverbial green light. The two got up, stumbling over themselves from the starting line like two stock cars, their legs churning in a blur to the frosty window.

I won! Haha! yelled Adele.

No. You just got a head start!

As they peered outside, their enthusiasm fogged up the glass pane. Perusing the night sky through that moistened bedroom window became like looking through dense fog. They barely saw anything.

Mine's going to be better than yours!

Adele took the opportunity and started stamping as many of those silly footprints on the window with the side of her clenched fist. She was so competitive.

Although he was nine years her senior, Edward was not going to be outdone by his little sister. Soon, the entire window became populated with their alien markings, big and small. They both finished each footprint with the customary dots using their index finger.

Their mother got up and rushed to the kitchen, probably to get the Windex. On the other hand, here came their father on stealth mode. Without warning, a muscular outstretched arm reached from just behind Adele's head, delicately touching the dampened windowpane with the side of his hand.

Their father had extraordinarily large, powerful hands with a number of callouses. Arman was forced to perform a lot of manual labor as a child. His family was quite impoverished growing up.

The golden bracelet slid up and down his right wrist. As far as they could remember, he never parted away from that bracelet, a cherished Christmas present from their mother when they were first dating.

Arman accentuated his claim-to-fame imprint with the final succession of dots, but using his large thumbs. So his alien footprint looked hypertrophied. It was gigantic. Adele looked giddily at her father's handiwork.

There. The piece de resistance.

That's the daddy! mused Adele.

He chortled. Arman always did so. It was becoming. The three of them looked at each other and burst out laughing. And with that, they exchanged good night pleasantries.

A generous portion of I love you ensued. Their mother gave each of them one of her long, patented embraces. Adele squeezed her father with her typical vice-like bear hug vs. death grip, her fingertips barely touching each other behind him. She then followed it up with a wet kiss on his cheek as he leaned down to receive it.

In contrast, Edward got the abridged hug from his father—a two-second, man-to-man hybrid. It was somewhere between a pat on the back and a bona fide embrace—for he was now fifteen. There was that understanding between father and the burgeoning man-son. It was one of those unwritten agreement—a pact meant to safeguard Edward's big brother persona.

Their mother dialed up the amperage on the table lamp to facilitate their exodus. Edward was closest to the door and stepped through the archway but unable to hide a series of loud yawns. The pundits were right. They were quite contagious as a cascade of mighty yawns ensued unimpeded. He started down that narrow hall but only to hesitate preemptively to enable his father to pick up on it.

You okay, Edward? Still worried?

He saw the apprehension in his son's face. Edward's pupils were a bit dilated. In an effort to console him, his father engaged him. For a few seconds, father and son stood together motionless, affixed on one another.

I can't promise anything, but they should subside. We'll just pray about it, okay?

He put his hands on his shoulders and started a chant together.

Heavenly Father, no more nightmares. No more nightmares. No more nightmares! No more nightmares! No more nightmares!

They ended with a furious cadence before mutually letting out involuntary wide-mouth yawns at each other. Like two jarring hippos, they could not stop. It was funny. It was contagious. They recognized the absurdity of it all and chuckled, almost apologetically.

But they were both spent. Edward had no desire to further delay and encumber his father's time for sleep. So they gave each other the rhetorical two thumbs-up/head-nod combo ritual before Edward's reluctant send-off to his room.

One last parceled pseudo-hug, and then off he went. The motion detector lit up the hall light as he sauntered begrudgingly down to his bedroom. Edward wished he had a fortress, like Dee-oh-Gee.

He had an inkling to knock on his own bedroom door but instead slowly pushed open the creaky thing, permitting the light beams ample time to scatter off any maladjusted poltergeist. Then he meandered to his bathroom, only to feel the cold rigidity of the ceramic tile beneath his feet.

He proceeded to brush his teeth, tasting the minty tanginess of his toothpaste, all the while staring through the small opening—a miniaturized window he used as vantage point to survey the outside milieu. But it was not big enough to fully appreciate the colors of the aurora along the horizon.

Gargle, gargle. It might as well have been a peephole, he thought, as he swished and spit out the rest of his mouthwash.

No meteors. No more light shows outside. He had hoped for an encore performance. Unfortunately, the rest of the night remained a dud. He welcomed any excuse to stay awake, even the casual bioluminescence from a renegade firefly.

He took his time to shut the door. His eyes adjusted quickly to the blackness of his room but wished for higher wattage on the night-light just beyond the shadow of his bed. The hall light managed to flicker through a tiny sliver just beneath his door before, itself, turned off.

He heard his parents' door close shut. The sound was a bit muffled as if it came from a distant galaxy. Then all was really quiet. His room needed a fan, he thought. Some static noise in the background or something. They had several types at Meijer.

He contemplated and looked around a final time to scrutinize the environs of his room before flicking off his slippers into unchartered space. He heard them plop down somewhere near the wall. He'd probably trip over them later. At least he'd be awake.

He would not allow his eyelids to close. Not just yet. He tried to come up with a proverb from catechism so he can be delivered from his purgatory.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding was a good one, he thought.

He was far from mastering it. Okay, that was a hard one. If he could only turn off his emotions. Oh, how he envied Spock!

Edward was tired, but he had little desire to go to sleep these last few weeks. He decided to sit back up on the edge of his bed, if not merely to monitor for any irregularities in that expansive listlessness. However, in the end, he witnessed only his own tired nasal breathing and countless fortuitous yawns.

That's all she wrote, he thought, feeling the numbness that invaded his tush. Nothing else to do. He was given little choice. He slithered into the concavity of his bunk bed but, again, was not ready to raise the white flag to the abysmal emptiness around him.

Although he felt fatigued, he fought valiantly and wiggled aimlessly for another half an hour or so, holding on as long as he could. He shook his head with desperation. For nighttime was his enemy, and REM sleep became its battleground. Despite his father's reassurances, he knew deep in his heart that the unpleasant dreams would recur.

It came to visit. It came with the meteors. It was biding its time under the cover of darkness. It was waiting for him to sleep. He sensed it in his soul for it was sentient. Nothing in this world could stop it from returning…

*****

Edward could see the blackness in its eyes. It stood there, motionless, camouflaged against the forest gray. Oh, ever so quiet. Unblinking. The velvet of its antlers was a sweet, dark-chocolate brown, the fur of its lean muscular body blending nicely with the surroundings. It dared not move, fully cognizant of their upwind presence a few meters away. Only the occasional controlled release of some exhaled compulsory mist from its flared nostrils and tiny subtle movements of the gray pelt on its ears risked disclosing its covert surveillance operation.

It stood no more than a few feet tall at shoulder height. It had used its crescent-shaped toes to dig for lichen along the shore. But for now, it stood erect, the rim of its cloven hooves cutting into the jagged lake ice to provide traction and support for its full weight.

The air was still, the sky a crystal blue clear. It was so peaceful, so tranquil. All was calm for that instance. No movement. No anxiety. No pain, as if the world held its breath. Sheer bliss. Sheer beauty. One could wish to remain there, forever frozen in that eternal, serene moment.

Please don't move. No, don't go! Please. Not again. Somebody make it stay! Why does it have to go?!

But the young reindeer detected something yet again. Without warning, it propelled itself skyward with its powerful hind legs and bolted back toward its hidden fortress. With exuberant zigzag agility, it vanished into the forest, eager to be consumed within the deep recesses of the thick arboreal viscera.

Everything was a big blur from then on. It was as though a light switch had been turned on.

His father seemed to stretch out with all his might, but the suddenly-possessed psycho dog escaped his grasp. Its furious attempts to chase the deer halted precipitously at the outer edge of the prickly thicket. The furry end of the frantic tail wagging would come again to view. The incessant barking kept on but was soon drowned out as before by the unmitigated thunderous uproar from somewhere in the other direction. It would do nothing to deter the determined canine from continuing his pursuit into the woods.

But the entity was willful and unforgiving. There was no stopping the evilness. It was relentless. It came without trepidation. It must come again, like before. Please, God, no. No! Not again. That sound. That terrible, infernal sound. It had an agenda.

The demon.

It came from below, a crackling, unstoppable noise, shattering through with its cold powerful hand and pulling his hapless torso down with an icy iron clench. He thrashed wildly against it, but the biting current was its accomplice. His legs floundered and felt like lead pipes weighing him down lower and deeper into the frigid aquatic netherworld.

He could hear more vociferous yelling, growing more desperate and clamorous with each passing minute. He envisioned his panic-stricken mother crying out in despair from the far end of the shore. His energy deserted him as his tiny, slippery, wet, frozen fingers struggled to maintain their tenuous hold only to fail him one final time.

Then it seized him. He felt it engulf him. It was overwhelming and absolute. There was an almost depraved, sentient willfulness in its action as if it took delight in executing the moribund finality.

It was so cold. So very cold. So dark and cheerless. And dreadfully lonely. He wished he could shout out, but his lungs felt like molasses, unable to muster the energy to expand his chest wall. Eternity forfeited only a few precious remaining moments, impatiently conceding time to emit the last of but a handful of bubbles.

He began to drift and float freely with the current as the resistance waned, his nose just inches under the ice shelf. It was now only a matter of time. With his eyes partially opened to the light above, he fought to discern the silhouette of his parents but could only see the vague erratic shadowy frenetic movements of the panic on the other side.

Surely, there were no audible sounds that could comfort him in the emptiness of that buoyant isolation, only the muffled vibrations of his heartbeat. It was everywhere, but only he could hear it, one coming slower than the one before, fading assuredly in that watery grave.

No one to turn to. No one to say farewell to. There was only a resigned surrender. He saw himself. He saw the opaqueness in his own eyes!

No! God, no! Daddy, don't leave me. Don't let me die. It's not fair!

One final utterance. One last cry…

Nooooooo!

2

WHITE MOUNTAIN

A tropical January day, sixteen years prior

On an island resort far, far, away…

Aloha! Welcome.

A young tanned hotel greeter named Maloo held up her colorful sign at the terminal, they recalled. It was complete with a picture that portrayed a vibrant rainbow, a couple of palm trees, and an ocean-full of bright sun.

The both of them perceived that the young lady was a denizen of the islands. She probably had some percentage of Filipino in her heritage with her black hair, mannerisms, and petite stature. She was relieved to locate the newlyweds among the invading vociferous sea of humanity from the mainland.

Their flight had been delayed an hour from LAX. They were so relieved to be on solid ground after being confined all those hours in the air. First class next time. No doubt!

They had experienced a few topsy-turvy, turbulent moments against some rather strong headwinds on their final approach. The crew of Hawaiian Airlines had done their best to be accommodating but could not allay the anxiety level, not to mention the quickened average heart rates in that cabin, first class or not. Luckily, they were not privy to any undue histrionics on board nor loose luggage crashing down on any passenger's head, unlike in the old Airplane spoof they had watched during the flight.

They were still in awe. How extraordinary was it to have such precision! For the pilots to have the wherewithal and ability to find—no!—bring to life the remote tiny piece of real estate among a consortium of Lilliputian islands somewhere in the middle of all that unending blue expanse! A veritable speck in the middle of the Pacific! How even more wonderful was it to stick the landing in all that wind! They were sure glad the pilots had been sober. Or were they?

I still can't believe we are actually here! It's like paradise!

His delighted wife was, again, taken aback by the grandeur and opulence of the marble banisters and floors of their luxury resort they had selected. The exhilaration of actually waking up to Maui for the first time did wonders to mask their lingering sleep deprivation.

The soft emulsifying gel, the boutique smell of the island soap, and cute hand-made shower cap all helped enhance the experience. Even the shower water was luxurious! Only if they could have brought all of this back home!

It is hard to believe, honey! But we are here. This is so great! Thank God!

Nothing could detract him from his elation, not even the dramatic fifth remake of the Orson Welles Martian invasion. That was the other movie they watched in the airplane. He was in la-la land and intended to savor their mutual bliss.

The morning frutas frescas and cuisine-style Hawaiian breakfast before them made them feel even more invigorated. All kinds of eye-popping baked goods, exquisite meats, fresh fish, a myriad of dessert concoctions!

In addition, the traditional breakfast items were made available, all thanks to the world-famous Latina master chef, Ms. Retiza. She had arrived at the islands a number of years ago, now a staple for the Grand Hotel. That was one reason they selected that particular posada for their honeymoon to begin with.

They couldn't believe it! There was even sushi Spam! Every imaginable type of delectable fruit that God created was at hand for the discerning palate to sample. All of this while listening to the sound of the waves and unbelievable picturesque ocean views.

We're so lucky the medical conference doesn't start till tomorrow, he gleamed.

It felt so good to don khaki shorts and his flamboyant Hawaiian shirt, he thought. He looked forward to relaxing in the warmth of the tropical air. They wore matching bright outfits which exemplified their excitement.

It still smells so fresh.

She alluded to the wreath of flowers around their necks. They both got lei'd last night when they checked in.

They are so soft and real, she sighed gleefully.

A distinguished-looking Filipino man sauntered up toward the happy couple with a purpose. He drew up to their table and stopped just within arm's length of the edge.

Anything else we might get for you, sir and mademoiselle? Perhaps one of our tropical mango mimosas? queried the maître d'.

They both turned their heads toward one another while he stood motionless, holding the wine list. He continued and spoke with a calm attentiveness. They felt like aristocracy.

He had a unique name: Dan-Dan. It must have been a nickname. It was well-known that Filipinos had a proclivity to give nicknames with syllables that repeated. Nene, Junjun, Ning-Ning, Chichi, Bang-bang. Why? It's not because they suffered from a pathological repetitive disorder, like palilalia. It was meant more as terms of endearment.

They are very refreshing in the morning, Mr. Dan-Dan added.

You go ahead and order one, honey. I insist. She motioned, although a bit tempted herself.

Okay. Are you sure? her husband asked, being sensitive to their situation. Okay. I'll try one.

The patient waiter acknowledged his decision and nodded. She moved her hand, and he noticed the shiny ring.

Very well, sir. And for you, madame?

Her eyes sparkled. No, not for me. I'll just have pineapple juice.

The maître d' sensed she had more to say. Like a Christian with the Good News, she could not contain herself. She beamed toward her husband and appeared almost giddy before her revelation.

You see, we are having twins!

That is wonderful, madame. So wonderful!

He offered his words with an accompanying gracious smile.

May I express my happiest congratulations to the both of you.

Before the next set of waves from the horizon came crashing onto Wailea Beach, the happy couple intertwined arms and glasses as they celebrated and sipped their chosen libations. The precious gold bracelet she gave him on Christmas Day shimmered against the bright light, gravitating down his wrist as he raised his mimosa to her pineapple juice. They mouthed sweet words to each other and kissed a good long kiss. They hoped that this was the beginning of a promising journey for the two of them.

Hey, that does taste good! she kidded gleefully. I love mango!

The wind finally behaved itself after the clouds disbanded. And so, the glorious sun, the forty-plus acres of tropical gardens along the sandiest of beaches, the blue water pools, the two-thousand-foot-long lazy river, and even the three-story lava tube slide beckoned them onward after that mighty kiss. Arman and Norr went out into the sun-drenched shores, replete and relaxed.

Grand Wailea Maui was indeed paradise!

A brisk January, later on that same week, on the same island

A few thousand feet up the mountain…

Over and out!

The rather gruff voice uttered the idiom from the other end of the ham radio conversation to indicate the end of the call. With that, he grabbed the steering wheel firmly with both hands and pushed the pedal to the metal. The vehicle responded to the urgency and came to life.

The serpentine drive up that unpaved, dusky east access road to the summit was all too familiar. He had such a keen familiarity with it that he knew every intimate twist and turn, every rocky prominence, and every constriction that jackknifed above that treacherous gnawing ravine below. He honestly believed he could have maneuvered on the road using one eye while the other eye fumbled and multitasked on some last-minute calculations on the optimal angular resolution or radial disc aperture. But not today.

Today was different. It was the dead of night. He was rushing to the top of the dormant volcano, unable to contain his growing excitement as he maneuvered through each hazardous turn. The millions of twinkling stars in the expanse high above kept permanent surveillance.

He knew each constellation by heart, yet tonight, he was oblivious to their brilliance. For the empty winding road before him seemed almost alien and foreboding. The shoulders appeared narrower, partially obscured by wispy growing patches of cold haze that crept lazily alongside the bend up that snowy white mountain. The bright headlights only shrouded the mist even more intensely. But he was sure of himself. There was no stopping him. At least, he thought so.

After all, an hour or so ago, he was still surveying the sky at the time as part of his reconnaissance of the horizon near that abandoned shack atop the western side. The oxygen was thin, but he was used to it. The spectacular sunset was breathtaking. It had always been the highlight of the day.

Amidst that frozen wonderland, the old ranger cabin appeared grim, almost ghastly. Its big, creaky door flapped against its misaligned frame, swaying to and fro to the heartbeat of the cold, whimsical wind. It was the only sign of viable egress to that gloomy, godforsaken place, banging dispassionately day and night to hikers and nene alike. It may have been a relic for disinterested historians, a sad, fading reminder of ages past, but it was now a delight to both flora and fauna.

Gregory had received that fateful call from the observatory as he was hiking passed its pointy orange roof brazenly piercing the starry night sky, heavy icicles dangling from its rafters. He hurriedly got into his beat-up, drafty four-wheeled Jeep and raced down from Pu'u La'au (elevation, 10,035 ft.), heating up his brakes on the way down. By and by he drove along the base of the mountain then turned skyward again, quickly whisking past the visitor center on the ascent back up Mauna Kea.

The road suddenly gave way as his vehicle flailed around the acute corner. He felt the sudden deceleration and abrupt backward tilt. The loose gravel whisked mercilessly and clanged loudly underneath his chassis as his engine revved up to return him back onto more secure footing. He felt lucky he did not end up in the quagmire below.

Oh, man! That was so close.

He breathed a big sigh of relief and regained his focus, although a bit shaken up by the close call and acceleration of his heart. Proceeding on, he reached the home stretch. The skies cleared and the stars were bright once again. One more mile to go, he thought. He pressed the ham microphone button to update his ETA.

T4WTP, this is W2KAG. My QTH is one mile. ETA approximately five minutes. Almost lost it on the end around. QSL? Anything else to report?

W2KAG, this is T4WTP. You're five by nine here. Negative on the home front. Still QRU. A big seventy-three on your approach.

Fine business, Vitalus. Catch you soon. W2KAG clear.

As he finally neared the frigid summit, he thought to himself about that old ranger station slowly deteriorating at the west end. It was something more than a frozen crumbling outpost. To him, it symbolized the unmitigated resolute spirit of generations past, always on guard, always faithful, ever watching. For today was the day that the very skies would behold a new and undiscovered country—a divulgence that would have far-reaching ramifications of global proportions.

As his truck navigated through the final precarious gravel-strewn bend, that revelation was now but a few fateful minutes away…

*****

The Lord is in his holy temple; the Lord is on his heavenly throne. He observes everyone on earth; his eyes examine them. The Lord examines the righteous, but the wicked, those who love violence, he hates with a passion. On the wicked he will rain fiery coals and burning sulfur; a scorching wind will be their lot. For the Lord is righteous, he loves justice; the upright will see his face.

*****

The newly-constructed thirty-meter telescope (TMT) with its 492 segmented mirrors showcased its immense light-gathering power maximized by the low latitude location of the island. The dark skies with the pristine clean air at that high altitude of almost fourteen