Marin's Dale

II

Sunrise.

A golden rose bled over the evergreen crown of Marin's Dale.

Far below, the boulevards lined with watering holes, fine eateries, and a smattering of antique shops and trinket stores were opening. Shop signs turned in display windows. Small business owners grabbed their coffees.

Elementary School students boarded buses. Middle School students boarded buses. High School students boarded buses. From suburbia and row-homes and estates, they came.

Many of the buses turned into a cragged parking lot. A building, seeming everything like a jail with black slits for windows, sat in waiting. The center display read: "Marin's Dale Senior High."

It was 7:00 am.

                                         ###

You're higher than the goddamn peak of K2

Tyler Diehl gave his face a touch. The numbness around the right jaw was already setting in. His tongue was barely there—if there. And there was no guarantee that it was there.

It might've been there.

"Mr. Diehl."

Tyler nodded with a soft "yup." He pulled alongside the yellow hallway with the yellow lockers looking like an endless honeycomb wet dream. There were kids everywhere, with funny eyes and buzzing mouths. Their faces looked like that one painting with the stars and the night and all. Aw, hell... what the hell was it

This shit is ridiculous

He shoved his backpack in his locker. He didn't have any of his books today. They were "lost"—and who wasn't? Tyler knew the Gaylick would be offended as usual, but the chum would blow it off soon enough.

The last few days had been weird. Last night had been funky—real rare shit that just hit you outta the b—

"Tie Die!"

Tyler gave a quick fist bump to one of the bros. He was some junior, thought he was hot shit cuz his girlfriend did gymnastics and he had like, maaaybe two receptions on the season. Tyler pretended to know everybody. What did it matter? He was outta this scumhole at the end of the year. Peace, suckaaas!

It was right about then that Tyler remembered he was supposed to meet his girlfriend. He frowned. After all, that was the plan from the beginning. Plans got amended of course, but it was usually a good idea to at least attempt to remember them. Tyler chewed his lip. Total numbness now. Total.

But he had to meet her. She probly had his books. And she was probably freakin out by now without the shit. Tyler chuckled. Nah, she'd be fine. The freaking-out would start later, when Tyler told her about the crazy night it had taken to pick up. And about that weird flash from beyond the Dale.

                                         ###

Blood-orange sliced through the tight blinds.

Mr. Malcolm Ghulic was staring at his reflection in the T.V. It was not on, and he continued to stare nonetheless.

He was tall and thin with curly ear-length auburn hair and a premature bald spot atop the dome. His face was plaster white, his clementine eyes burning with intelligence and infallible 20/10 vision. Laymen believed him to be afflicted with the condition of albinism. Of course, this was not the case. But Ghulic had his fun from time to time entertaining such delusions.

He clicked the television on. He cycled through channel after channel. They were all blank. Nothing but the proliferating static of empty stations—snow. And that noise. White noise. What a vacant, most lonely noise thought Ghulic. Though somehow, somewhere, it was beautiful...

Malcolm Ghulic could not breathe well, not now, not like this. What a most unfortunate dilemma. He had prepared a video for his morning AP class, one that would excite them surely, and sustain a strong educational value as well.

In AP he dealt with them all—the underachievers, the overachievers, the midliners, the pranksters and the MIAs. He took it as his personal responsibility to inform the brightest minds in the school. He took it very personally. Which was why the T.V and DVD player had better start working.

He had not prepared a backup plan.

Another empty station flicked before him. White noise. There were a million different zigzags. The patterns were so clear, so lucid, but yet there didn't seem to be anything at all... if you looked the right way you could see the right thing, but if you made yourself view it through a different filter...

Quite an underappreciated visual manifestation, Ghulic reckoned. Quite indeed. But Ghulic, age 31, high school teacher of 6 years, could feel his eyes giving in. The anomaly had a hold on him, and if his rational mind had turned against him, he might've thought differently. Because what he thought in that moment, as he stared at the buzzing snow displayed on the screen, was one thing. But what he felt. What he felt was terrible. Like the worst gnawing at the pit of your stomach before the worst onset from the bowels of Hell.

He switched the screen off. The noise ended.

The spell broke.

Mr. Ghulic could see his reflection, once again. He neared the television. He seemed paler—if possible. And his eyes, a little less bright. The pupils had shrunken considerably.

"Ghoulz?"

Ghulic turned to see the attractive senior.

She wore frayed jeans, a pea green blouse, and an array of multicolored wristbands and bracelets. Her highlighted brunette hair was fastened in a bun, pulled back to reveal a face of soft, alluring features.

Bold brown glasses rested on her nose. Behind them, oceanic eyes topped with purple mascara appraised the teacher.

Ghulic gave a smile. "Miss Jennings, you're awfully early this morning. Class doesn’t start for another 5 minutes.

"Shouldn't you be arriving in 20?"

The girl rolled her eyes. Despite her tardiness, she was his best student. Highly intelligent, highly capable of modifying her inner and outer environments to satisfy her queries.

"Ghoulz... I never miss the days that matter!"

"And you flatter me mightily, Miss Jennings,"  the teacher said. She was in no danger, academically speaking. She would graduate top of the class, Malcolm knew, and probably excel even more so in her further pursuits at Rutgers. In fact, they were lucky to have her. Why she had turned down the other schools, Malcolm would never fully understand. But then again, it was her path to choose, and only she could walk it in confidence. It didn't matter where she went; Audrey Jennings was going to make it.

Malcolm tossed the remote controller to his desk and moved closer to the girl.

"What can I help you with, Audrey?"

She rifled through her purse for a moment before finding a folded piece of paper. She unfolded the paper and held it out for him to see. Malcolm scrutinized it for a moment.

"This is good."

Audrey followed his facial expressions as he read. She bit her lip softly.

"Actually, very good."

He scratched the back of his head. "You might run into some ontological issues, but other than th—"

"Oh, yea, well I have an alternate thesis too, so..." Audrey withdrew another folded piece of paper from her purse. Malcolm was nodding with an expectant smile.

Always ready for anything