The Letter Chronicles - Chapter One

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*****CHAPTER ONE*****


How this all happened tends to be a question I cannot answer with any distinct certainty and, as a certain consequence as I near the end of my days, rightfully can be called one of my life’s largest regrets. For it’s an absolute truth, were I able to perfectly recall every stringent detail, every salient fact, that I could leave this world in peace. I’m sure you will eventually find, as I have, that as that youthful light fades, the small regrets tend to melt away as well. Knowing your certain end is coming, though fearful, tends to strengthen the true disappointments you’ve faced in life. A lost love, a missed chance at greatness, these things will haunt you, make no mistake. But, in my particular case, those failures, those regrets, have nothing on what I am about to tell you.

Perhaps you’ll choose to believe me, perhaps you won’t, in the end, at least to me, it won’t matter much. I’ll be dead, you likely won’t. So why share this tale, this story, this . . . this event? I fear that if I do not tell what I remember, what I may have learned, that others, unknowing others, will suffer an even greater fate than mine. Though as I depart, I will, as previously stated, regret my failure to recall every detail, I shall go somewhat peacefully knowing that you, and others, will be armed with enough coherency to be stronger than I ever could. Guard this information well.

Resourcefully yours,

G. Parlonski III


“What in the heck does that all mean?” Jesse Waters had a knack for getting to the point.

I folded the yellowed parchment.

“My mom gave it to me yesterday, she says it’s something from my grandpa.”

“Does the ‘G’ stand for Gordie, just like you?” Rachael Thoms pointedly asked.

I nodded, “Yup, that’s why I’m Gordon Parlonski the fourth”. Regal sounding, I enjoyed saying it aloud.

“Where’s the enclosure?” Jesse asked. Her green eyes were alit.

Reaching into my backpack, I pulled out a red and cream colored shoebox. An envelope was taped onto the top of the box: “FOR GEEFORE ONLY

Rachael eyed the box, “Who’s Geefore?”

“Me” I answered, “that’s what grandpa called me.”

Jesse smiled, “Yah dummy – couldn’t you figure that out – you’re supposed to be the smart one.”

Rachael blushed and flashed an angry smile at Jesse, “I was asking for your benefit.”

I sat down on the ground and looked at the box. Mom had given me this last night at dinner. She’d been away the previous week helping with Grandpa’s “affairs”, as she called it. He’d passed away so quickly, I had not quite come to grips with him being gone. I’d cried a bit, talked about it some with Rachael (her grandma had died last year), but I wasn’t ready to let go. Anyway, during dinner, Mom handed me this box. I had asked her what was in it, but she said she didn’t know. Only that it was obviously meant for me. I could tell she was a little angry – probably from having to deal with being away from work – she was a little serious like that. I suppose she was also a little like me and hadn’t quite figured out how to deal with Grandpa being gone.

“Should I open it?”

Rachael and Jesse both nodded vigorously. We’d been friends since first grade. Some of my guy friends thought it weird that I spent most of my time hanging out with two girls, but I didn’t care. They liked the same stuff as I did – exploring untamed woods, coming up with outlandish stories, camping, reading, and, well, basically a lot of the stuff my other friends thought wasn't “cool” anymore. We were on summer break – in between sixth and seventh grade – and if this summer was going to be ½ as fun as last summer, well, I’d take it.

“Go ahead Gordie, open it.” Jesse broke my spell.

I lifted the top off the box, completely unprepared for what was inside.

Letters. Lots and lots of letters. They were all addressed to me, but different dates were on each envelope. There was also some map of a place I did not immediately recognize. Jesse reached in and grabbed a couple letters.

"That's strange" Jesse was eyeballing one of the letters.

Rachael also grabbed a few and began examining them. I also took a handful and saw what was perplexing Jesse.

The dates. The dates on all of the envelopes were marked in the future. I began shuffling the letters in my hand.

June 22, 2009 . . . July 29, 2009 . . . 3 p.m., June 25, 2009 . . .

"These dates are all off. Why would your grandpa do that Gordie?" Rachael questioned.

"Yah, these dates haven't happened yet - must be a mistake." Jesse began laying out the letters.

Rachael glanced at Jesse's collection, looked at hers, and then gasped, "All these dates look like they happen this summer - give me yours Gordie."

I handed Rachael the letters. She sat down next to Jesse and began placing all the letters out like a calendar.

"Ok, what's today's date?"

I looked at my watch, "May 30th."

Rachael looked at the collection of envelopes, "Look, here's the earliest date - it says 8:00 a.m, June 4, 2009."

"That's next week," Jesse exclaimed "Let's open it!"

"Hold on, hold on, let's see how many we have and how many dates there are, there has to be a good explanation for this." Rachael looked up at me for approval.

"Uh, yah, OK." I was trying to think why my grandpa would have done this.

"Hey - there's one dated today!" Jesse yelled. She pulled an envelope out of the box that we had overlooked.

"See? 12:15 p.m., May 30, 2009." Our eyes widened.

I looked at my watch again, "It's 12:10 . . . holy crap!"

"I think we should wait until exactly 12:15 to open it." Rachael cautioned.

"Me too," Jesse chimed in.

My heart was beating fast and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I looked around half expecting to see someone come rushing out of the woods. We were standing at the entrance of Fort Banks Lake Park - an old abandoned military base that we loved exploring. I looked at my friends.

"OK. Is there anything else in the box?" I returned my attention to the box's contents.

Sure enough, there was a black pen and a spiral notebook. On the cover of the notebook was written "Correspondence." It was definitely my grandpa's writing.

"What do you think that is for?" Jesse asked.

"Writing I guess." I opened the notebook and flipped through the pages. They were all blank.

"What time is it?" Rachael came over to me and grabbed my wrist.

"12:15!! Open the letter!"

I took the letter from Jesse's hand. I carefully opened one side of the envelope and took out a folded yellow piece of paper.

"What's it say?" Rachael and Jesse both exclaimed.

I took a deep breath and began reading.

If you are reading this, good. That means you are reading this at 12:15 p.m. on May 30, 2009. Had you tried to open this letter any earlier, you would have only found blank paper.

Understandably, you are probably most confused at this moment. I was too. Worry about this later, for you have much work to do and, I fear, so little time.

Unfortunately, my time runs short as I write this. So I shall present you with the broad strokes. I know you are smart enough to figure out what I may miss. First, only open the letters at the appropriately marked times. The consequences of opening early I have already explained. Opening the letters later than designated cannot be an option you entertain. Either way marks a path of failure. Second, you should have found a notebook and pen in the box. I need you to take it out now.

I looked at my friends and shrugged. Taking the notebook out, I continued to read the letter.

This is how you can communicate with me. I do not have the time to explain to you now why this is or how it works. You must trust what I say. Take the pen now and write in the notebook 'I understand.'

My hands were visibly shaking. He was dead! What was he talking about? How could I write to him? How would he know I understood? With some apprehension, I took the cap off the pen and wrote in the notebook: “I understand.

Jesse shuffled her feet impatiently, “Well, now what?” I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was starting to get scared. I tried giving her a shrug to indicate that there was nothing to worry about. Unfortunately, as tough as she tried to portray herself, Jesse could be spooked by her own shadow.

Concentrating on the letter, I read on: Now close the notebook.

I flipped the cover closed.

Now open it.

I opened the notebook and immediately felt like I had been punched in the gut.

“What?” Rachael grabbed my arm.

I was too stunned to speak. I pointed at the page and showed it to her. Jesse peered over as well. Their eyes collectively widened. Jesse starting inching backwards.

“Holy crud! That’s impossible!” Jesse yelped.

“Is that your handwriting?” Rachael looked at me.

I grabbed the notebook and stared down at the page. Sure enough, my phrase, “I understand” was still on the page. But that wasn’t what Rachael was talking about – it was what was written underneath.

My grandpa had written back.

I read the words carefully to myself.

Good. Good boy. I knew I could count on you. Finish reading the letter. We’ll talk soon. The most important step has been taken. Do not worry Geefore, as long as you use your head and carefully read my letters, we’ll get through this together. I must warn you though, DO NOT SHARE THIS WITH ANYONE. I can trust you will be able handle the danger ahead. However, I do not know, nor wish to concern myself with the harm that may befall others if you involve them. Should you need help or seek council with others, you (and they) do so at their peril.


G. Parlonski III

No way. This was impossible. I felt my legs giving out from under me. I could not let Rachael and Jesse know they were in danger . . . I couldn't fathom actually putting them in harm's way. Though they didn't know it, I always have kind of thought of myself as their personal protector. Not like a bodyguard, just more of a guardian angel. Usually it was stupid stuff, like going down a bike trail first to make sure we knew where all the exposed roots were, or taking the first plunge into the lake, just in case some sort of creature lurked beneath. But as I looked up at both of them, I knew that this was different, I slowly realized that I could not NOT tell them. As I met their gaze, I could already see fear and doubt slowly creeping into their thoughts. They were freaked. And now, I had to freak them out even more.

Measuring my words carefully, I spoke slowly, "Guys, um, I'm not sure you want to know anything further."

I didn't really think this would persuade my friends to forget the letters, I was merely stalling for time and hoped for some sort of cosmic intervention that would help me make a decision on how to tell them what my grandpa had written. I tried holding their hands.

"Gordie! What is going on?" Jesse snapped her hand back. Rachael did the same. O.K., now I felt a little awkward.

"Just read the dang note!" Rachael made a move to grab the notebook.

"NO!" And instead of saying "No" firmly, I screamed, I mean really screamed at Rachael. As much as Jesse tries to make people not think she's afraid, Rachael does the same with her "feelings." She hates getting yelled at. It tends to make her cry. She won't tell anyone - well, except for me and Jesse - it's because that's what happens at home a lot. Her mom yells at her, her dad yells at her, even her brothers yell at her. It's not because they're particularly mean people, it's just that they like things done certain ways. Rachael, being on the rebellious side, tends to try and buck their rules every chance she gets. Unfortunately, this has resulted in a lot of shouting matches. She confided in me once that as a little girl she started crying as a defense mechanism, as a way to stop the yelling. For a couple years, it worked. However, as she got older, the crying became automatic, people yelling at her did not. In fact, lately, Rachael told me that her parents would hit another level of screaming at her whenever she cried. This has resulted in repeated episodes of her running out of the house, running down Ward Street, and banging on the door of my house. Good thing she liked my mom's cooking. Watching her hold back tears, I knew I had only a couple seconds before she'd either break down completely, or, worse, sprint off into the woods.

"Rachael, I mean, shoot, I mean, I, uh, I . . ." Skilled in the verbal arts I was not. Luckily, Jesse had the foresight to step in.

"Rach, don't listen to Gordie, he's spooked out just like us. I mean, how would you feel if this was your Grams that was writing all this?" Jesse's voice could have a soothing quality when she put her mind to it.

Unfortunately, the mention of Rachael's Grams opened the floodgates.

"SCREW YOU GUYS!!!" Rachael collapsed on the ground, sobbing.

Jesse gave me the evil eye. She sat down and hugged Rachael.

"Just read the stupid letter Gordie" Jesse hissed.

I sighed and took a deep breath, "OK, but you guys really aren't going to like this."

I read the entry in the notebook quickly and waited for my friends to respond. Jesse whispered something in Rachael's ear. Rachael nodded and whispered back. They both looked up at me.

"Sweet!" Through her reddened eyes, Rachael was smiling.

I thought she'd gone crazy, "What do you mean 'sweet'? Didn't you hear the part about 'harm' and 'peril'?"

Jesse took a look at Rachael and smiled, "I agree, this is sweeeeeet. We're in for an adventure!"

My jaw dropped. I thought these two were smart enough to know when something bad was around the corner. That the both of them were now excited, well, something definitely was not right with the universe.

"I don't understand how you guys can't be scared by this."

"Gordie, come on, seriously?" Jesse stood up.

Jesse's tone did not make sense to me. Why wasn't she scared?

"Yah, Gordie, you're taking this a little too far aren't you?" Rachael wiped her nose and joined Jesse.

I couldn't speak.

Jesse turned to Rachael, half laughing, "Oh my god Rach. Look at poor Gordie, he didn't think we'd figure it out!"

It slowly dawned on me -- they did not believe this thing with the letters and notebook was real. They thought I had made everything up! They thought I was playing some stupid game!

. . . to be continued . . .
© 2007-2008. All rights reserved by the author of this blog.

The Letter Chronicles - Chapter Two

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*****CHAPTER TWO*****

An elderly man sits at an antique rolltop desk. The only light in the room comes from a dim mushroom shaped lamp sitting on top of the desk. The man sighs heavily and opens a notebook sitting in front of him. The pages are blank. He closes the book, sits back in his chair, then reaches into a lower drawer and pulls out a silver pocket watch.

Shaking his head, the man allows himself to speak, "Damn."

The sound of scraping footsteps outside the room causes the man to go stone still. Not even a breath escapes his lips. The footsteps fade. A second or two passes before the man allows himself to move.

He looks at the watch and frantically opens the notebook. Instead of a blank page, the words "I understand." have appeared. The man turns the page and begins writing furiously. As he writes a shadow emerges from a far corner of the room. No distinct shape can be discerned, but whatever it is, the man pays it no heed. Making no sound, the shadow shifts along the floor, and stops a foot or two away from the desk.

The man suddenly stops writing. He looks up at nobody in particular, then jots a few remaining words on the page. He places his hand on the page, then slams the notebook shut. Suddenly, the shadow takes form and another man is now standing by the desk, fists clenched. He looks somewhat similar to the writer, the only difference being that he has no eyes.

The figure opens his mouth, a raspy metallic voice escapes, "What have you done?"

Gordon Parlonski III does not immediately respond. Finally, he opens the notebook, "See for yourself."

The eyeless man reaches his arms out and opens his hands revealing black lidless eyes on each palm.

The man hisses, "What is this? What were you writing"

Gordon points to the notebook, "Nothing. There is nothing there Watcher."

"But I saw you . . "

"You saw nothing." Gordon slams the notebook shut.

"You're scared and you are lying." The Watcher closes his fists.

Gordon clenches the pen, obviously thinking of attacking his unwanted visitor. He then relaxes, knowing such a move could jeapordize everything he'd worked for up to this point. It wasn't worth it, at least not yet. Instead, he slowly turns around.

However, he finds nothing, the Watcher has left.

Scraping footsteps return outside the room's door, pause, and then continue past.

Gordon hurls the pen across the room and suppresses a sob. Dejectedly, he walks over to the pen to pick it up. As he returns to the desk, an impromptu thought crosses his mind. Putting the pen to rest on the desktop, Gordon purposefully strides to the door. He reaches for the handle.


Startled, Gordon freezes.

"Who's there?" Gordon looks to the darkened corners. Silence. The lamp dims.

Gordon reaches again for the door.

"Do not pass through there Gordon." A feminine voice cautions.

"Show yourself." Again, no reply.

Gordon steps cautiously to the corner of the room closest to his desk, "You must show yourself, it is the rule."

Nothing answers.

The lamp has almost completely gone black. Gordon puts his hands on the wall and begins to slowly walk to another corner of the room.

"What trick is this? Why aren't you showing yourself." Gordon's voice begins to crack.

"Sit down," the voice gently commands.

Gordon stops heading towards the corner and goes back to the desk. Sitting down, he again questions, "Where are you? I know the rule, you must show, you must."

"Here." This time, there is no mistaking where the voice is located. Gordon looks up at the ceiling and gasps.

The remaining light in the room illuminates a figure that can only be described as heavenly. Flowing yellow robes hold a young woman from falling to the floor. Her head is adorned in some sort of red flower crown. She smiles at Gordon and nods her head. The robes that had been holding her up, now dance across her body and slowly lower her to the ground. When her feet touch, the robes quickly draw tight around her. She raises a finger to the lamp, and the room brightens.

"Why. . . . " Gordon can't speak.

"You know what I am?"

"I've been here long enough, yes, I know what you are." Gordon whispers.

"Then you know why I am here." The woman walks towards Gordon.

"No. I mean, yes. I mean, I fully understand exactly what you are and what you do. You are an Assistente . . . " Gordon pauses, staring at her.

"Yes, Assistente, that is one of my names. "

"Why are you here?" Gordon questions.

"You are in need of my help."

"I don't understand, why now? What help could you possibly offer now?" Anger laces Gordon's words.

Just as he finishes speaking, the scraping sound returns outside the door. Gordon's eyes grow wide.

"A Watcher! You must leave." Gordon cautions.

The Assistente looks towards the door and yawns. She looks back at Gordon.

"As you wish. But know that I'll be back, we have much to discuss." She starts receding towards the back of the room. She turns her head with one last comment for Gordon, "Good, I'm glad you found that."

He looks to where she points - the notebook. Gordon raises his head back up, but she has vanished. Gordon quickly dashes to the notebook expecting to find some answer to this curious visit. However, when he opens it, the pages are still blank.

Continue forward to: Chapter Three.


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This chapter and all previous and subsequent chapters are copyrighted by the author of this blog - © 2007 All rights reserved.

The Letter Chronicles - Chapter Three

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I could not believe it. Jesse and Rachael seriously thought I was making this all up? A little anger started swirling around my thoughts. Fine. Let them think that, what the heck do I need them for anyway. Grandpa’s letter did say to tell no one.

I did my best to laugh with the girls. Since they were so eager to believe I was kidding, it didn’t take much on my part to have them buy in to my acting.

“Yup, you guys got me!”

Jesse hooted, “What in the world were you thinking?”

Rachael put her arm around me, “Trying to find a way to deal, huh?”

I thought about her comment for a moment. Was that it? Maybe this all wasn’t real, maybe I was deluding myself into thinking my grandpa was communicating with me. He was dead after all and the dead don’t speak.

“Sorry guys, I kinda took this too far.” I gave them a sheepish grin.

“Jesse, grab those letters, let’s help Gordie put this stuff away. It’s gotta be close to lunch – we should head over to the T-Ray for lunch.”

Ah, the T-Ray. Your typical small town burger joint. Sure, there was McDonald’s and a KFC in town, but you just couldn’t beat the Ray-Freeze and T-Burgers . . . my mind started to drift as I half remembered some summer lunch with my grandpa at the T-Ray. At the time, it seemed so odd for such a prim and proper old guy to want to hang out at a greasy burger joint with a kid . . . especially since he insisted on eating burgers with a fork and knife. I laughed to myself.

“What?” Rachael nudged me in the arm.

“Just thinking of my grandpa.”

She smiled and I noticed something. I had to catch myself for a moment. Whoa, this was a first. She had a cute smile. I mean, I guess I always knew she was cute – that’s what everyone always says. But she’s my friend and thinking about a girl that way, well, not quite something I was prepared for.

“Now whatcha thinking dork? Hey, what’s up with your eyes?”

I coughed and shook my head, “Um, sorry, just some dirt.” I quickly bent down and pretended to wipe my eyes.

Jesse yelled at us, “Come on guys, let’s race.”

She handed me the box of letters and I put it in my backpack. Right before I zipped it up, I decided to quickly check the dates one more time. I flipped through them and found that the next date was tomorrow. I guess enough weirdness for today.

That afternoon was as good as any summer day. We did race to the T-Ray, stuffed ourselves with fries, burgers and shakes. Spent a few hours down by Parsons Creek, just throwing stones, telling jokes, and basically forgetting about everything that had happened earlier in the day.

By the time I pulled my bike into my driveway, I was pretty exhausted. Mom wasn’t going to be home until late, at least that’s what her note said. Another Rotary meeting or something, blah, blah, meatloaf in the microwave, blah blah, not too much T.V., Love Mom.

I immediately flipped on the TV and grabbed a bag of chips out of the pantry. Meatloaf indeed.

After about an hour of surfing through the world of cable, my mind sorta wandered back to the letters. What were they? Was what happened today real? The questions finally took over and I grabbed my backpack and took out the box of letters.

Assembling them as we had done earlier in the day, I again noticed that all were marked with specific dates, and some with specific times. I couldn’t figure out any pattern, just that they were all in the future. I turned my attention to the notebook.

Carefully, I opened it – half expecting a dragon or wizard or Harry Potter to jump out and say “Boo.” All I found were the same blank pages. I reached into the backpack and took out the pen.

I sat there for a good ten minutes, and realized that I really missed my grandpa. I didn’t grow up with a dad (long story, not worth the time on the loser) and grandpa filled that obvious void. Him leaving me didn’t make any sense. That I now had a way to communicate with him . . . as strange as it sounded, I couldn’t resist trying again.

I took a real deep breath, exhaled, and started writing.

Hi Grandpa, it’s me (which maybe you already know) Geefore. I really miss you, I . . .

I had to remind myself quickly that he wasn’t always big on sharing “overt emotions”, and likely would want me to get to the point. I continued to write.

So, I have this notebook, I have these letters (which I HAVE NOT opened) and I have no idea what is going on. I read your earlier warning and just want you to know that I did end up telling my two best friends. You might remember them – Jesse – the hothead? Rachael, the smart one? Anyway, I share everything with them, so they were bound to find out eventually. I’m kind of hoping you will write back and tell me they’ll be OK. Especially since they do not believe in any of this. That sort of gives them a pass, right?

A pass? What the heck was I writing about. This was too strange.

OK, I’ll keep it short. I really miss you and I hope you write back and let me know how you are doing. Mom and I are fine, but we’d be better with you here. Though, I know if you could have stayed, you would have. Don’t worry, I’ll do everything you say and I won’t be too scared.



I looked at my words. I don’t think I had written anything longhand since my days in grade school and my penmanship definitely reflected that. Oh well, not much I could do. No spell check, no eraser, no delete key . . . I guess it would have to go as is.

I closed the notebook and waited.

And waited. I had a sinking feeling that I did not want to open the notebook and see the reply. Wasn’t I supposed to wait to read the letters? No, I think grandpa had said to not open the letters until the marked time and date. Nothing about writing him. In fact, I think he specifically said that I could communicate with him through the notebook. If that was true, then I had nothing to worry about. My nerves calmed and I decided to see if I had a reply.


You have made a terrible, terrible mistake. Do not correspond any further until you hear otherwise. I fear your friend is in danger now and has been marked. To save her you . . . . . .

The letter ended in a scribble. Obviously I should have followed my instincts and left the notebook closed. Though, maybe the message would have been in there and then I wouldn’t know about helping my friend. Which friend? I looked at the message again. Something had stopped grandpa from finishing his note. Great. A friend was in danger and I could do nothing about it. Closing the notebook, I ran to the phone and dialed Jesse’s phone number.

“Gordie?” Thank god Jesse picked up.

“Jesse – you gotta get over here quick. I just heard from my grandpa.” I was almost yelling.

“Gordie, come on, joke’s over.”

My heard skipped a beat. That’s right, they didn’t believe me. Crud.

“Just come over.” I tired to sound scared.

“I can’t, Dad says I have to help him with the VW tonight.” Jesse’s dad was a car nut. The latest project was rebuilding a “69 Volkswagen Bug that he had pulled from Tank’s Junkyard. For the last couple of years he had started getting Jesse involved – and not surprisingly, she loved it. Getting her over here would be too tough.

“OK, I’m coming over then.”

“That works – Dad thinks you're a good worker. Bring some extra clothes though – we’re going in deep tonight and it could get dirty.” Jesse giggled.

“You got it. I’m going to call Rach too, she’ll want to pitch in.”

“Good.” She hung up and I immediately dialed Rachael.

The phone rang several times, she wasn’t there. I gulped. Was she the friend that was going to be in trouble. I tried to remember what I had written – did I name names? Is that what the problem was – was there someone else reading on the other end? The other end of what? There were so many questions and I was not even close to having an answer to any of them. I closed my eyes and tried to recall what I had told grandpa.

. . . You might remember them – Jesse – the hothead? Rachael, the smart one? . . .

I had named them both, they were both in danger. No, grandpa had only mentioned one. Or maybe he was rushed and wasn't thinking. I had just talked with Jesse and she seemed to be fine. That left . . .Rachael. Oh my god, it was Rachael.

I dialed her house again. No answer.

I started to run out of the house, she did just live four doors down. Then thinking it might be of some use, I grabbed the notebook and the box of letters. As I sprinted through the front door, I could hear sirens coming down our street. Running at a dead sprint, I could tell the sirens were coming from behind me, towards me. I stopped and looked. There, in order, speeding down my street were a ladder truck, an ambulance and two cop cars. I turned towards Rachael’s house and couldn’t move. I could see smoke billowing past her front porch. The fire engine screeched to a halt. I could hear even more sirens wailing in the distance.

“RACHAEL!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. This broke my temporary paralysis and I flew toward the flames.

As I got closer to her house, my spirits lifted. It wasn’t her house; her house was not on fire. It was the neighbor’s. I could see Rachael standing on her front lawn looking at flames.

I slowly approached. She turned around.

I started crying. This surprised me, I don’t cry. I tried to hide my tears.

Rachael spoke softly, “Hey Gordie, what is it?”

How was I going to explain this?

Continue forward to: Chapter Four

Return to Chapter Two

Return to Chapter One

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This chapter and all previous and subsequent chapters are copyrighted by the author of this blog - © 2007 All rights reserved.

The Letter Chronicles - Chapter Four

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*****CHAPTER FOUR*****

Gordon Parlonski III sat at the desk, opening and closing the notebook. He didn’t expect any writings from Geefore, none were supposed to happen for another day. However, because of his grandson’s curious nature, Gordon was nervous about Geefore trying to make early contact.

His fears materialized when during one of the aimless flips, words appeared on the notebook’s pages.

Hi, Grandpa, it’s me (which maybe you already know) Geefore. I really miss you, I

For a brief moment, Gordon’s heart filled with joy, but it was immediately replaced with terror as he realized the error committed by his grandson. He had made contact from the outside . . . not that such contact was in and of itself bad . . . no, the problem was that Geefore had contacted Gordon before any arrangements could be made for protection from them . . . the Watchers. Without adequate safety measures in place, any writing coming from Geefore would immediately alert the Watchers that Gordon had succeeded (again) in establishing a line of contact with the outside, and that just was not allowed.

Gordon knew he had to act fast. Looking over the entire note, he realized two immediate problems. First, Geefore had signed his name, meaning the Watchers would now have something to go on if they decided to reach over to the outside, meaning Geefore’s safety was compromised. Second, Geefore had identified two of his friends . . . .they too would be targets for the Watchers. Gordon had precious little time to try and protect his grandson. He took a deep breath and began chanting a memorized radunare canzone . . . a summoning song.

Opening his mouth, a blue and silver mist escaped and formed into a small sphere. As gentle words cooed from his mouth, Gordon brought his hands to the orb and slowly tapped it down towards the notebook, until it rested an inch or so above Geefore’s message. Gordon put his hands on top of his head, took a deep breath, and blew down on the ball of mist. This caused it to disperse over the paper. As Gordon finished singing, a male face appeared on the page.

“Erase.” Gordon spoke this one word with authority.

The face, as best as a face on paper can do, nodded. Closing its eyes, the face began breathing in. As it did so, the words on the page began disappearing into its mouth.

“Halt!” Gordon suddenly commanded.

Gordon knew if he didn’t respond to Geefore on this particular page and at this particular time, he would never be able to properly warn him of the dangers he was about to face. Though he was confident that the Erase could shield most of the message from the Watchers, he knew complete secrecy was impossible. Only so much could be hidden. They would learn something. And they would be angry. And they would want revenge.

Gordon’s thoughts were racing, he had little time.


As soon as the words were spoken, Gordon looked at his grandson’s message, or what was left of it – several words were not disappearing. Geefore’s friend’s name, Rachael, was still on the page. He knew the Erase was near the end of its effectiveness. He had to write something before a Watcher appeared.


You have made a terrible, terrible mistake. Do not correspond any further until you hear otherwise. I fear your friend is in danger now and has been marked. To save her you . . . . .

A scraping sound came through the door to the room. Gordon slammed the notebook closed. It was the best he could do under the circumstances. Hoping he had strength for one more radunare, he closed his eyes and began preparing his mind for separation.

Just as he completed compartmentalizing his thoughts, Gordon felt the Watcher enter the room and move immediately towards the desk. He remained completely still.

Several minutes passed by without any movement from the Watcher. Though he could not see it directly, Gordon knew its hands were extended right over his head. “Intro-seeking” is what they called it. It was how they retained control over those like Gordon – it was how they identified those who would be trouble.

He’d been through this before, in fact, more times than he’d like to recall. The first few Intro-seeks did not end well. But that was the whole idea, wasn’t it? You would eventually get too scared to break their rules, you would be too scared to do anything but play their game and eventually . . . Gordon shuddered slightly.

This very brief movement resulted in a sharp pain flashing through Gordon’s head. That was the Watcher probing deeper, making sure no stone was left unturned. Gordon could not afford to make any further voluntary movements – the slightest shift in weight, or flex of his muscles would easily cause the deep protective meditation shield to crumble, leaving his free mind fully exposed.

If performed correctly, the Watcher would never know that it was Intro-seeking a false shell. Gordon’s summoning had managed to put up an ethereal wall between his true thoughts and memories and those that he was allowing the Watcher to view. What the Watcher hopefully was learning was that Gordon had been sitting quietly at his desk. The memory of the notebook would be hidden enough that the Watcher could not discern its existence. But Gordon had been rushed, that every salient detail had been pulled into his mind’s safe haven was no certainty.

Finally, Gordon was able to sense the Watcher leaving his thoughts. He waited a minute, then ended the protective meditation. He turned and observed the Watcher leaving the room. He breathed deeply and hoped that his grandson, Jesse and Rachael had remained undiscovered.

The Watcher suddenly turned to face Gordon.

“Raaaaaaaaachaelllllllll.” A hissing whisper escaped from its mouth.

Gordon had let his guard down too soon.

Continue forward to: Chapter Five *currently unavailable*

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