Possession < Spider-Man • Book 1 >

- 2 -

chapter two:

Caelum sat quietly, screwing in the final bolt on the old-school radio. “Okay. . .” He muttered, turning it back around and flicking on the switch in front.

It crackled and hissed as Caelum played with the knobs. Finally, it began to make coherent noises. Distant voices, and the steady hum of music. Caelum double checked the antenna sticking out the top, adjusting them when necessary. Then, he tuned the knobs again.

Finally, steady jazz filtered through the radio. Caelum leaned back, rubbing his hands on the raggedy grey towel beside him. “Mr. Goldson!” He called to the main room. “I’m done!”

He heard a bit of shuffling and a few things being moved out of the way, before finally a older man stepped out and looked at him.

He was very short, heavy set and always wore a scowl, giving him the look of a disgruntled troll. He had rectangular glasses bridged on his nose and wrinkles from squinting around his eyes. He was missing a finger on his right hand ― he claimed it was a hunting accident, but in the same sentence said that he crushed it with a mallet. In his left hand was a short cane, which he used to get around ― and occasionally swat Caelum with.

He always smelt of tobacco, and was usually found with a cigarette defying gravity between his lips. Caelum hated the smell, it choked his lungs and it stuck to his clothes, but he couldn’t get Mr. Goldson to quit.

“It workin'?” Mr. Goldson asked gruffly, looking behind Caelum to the radio.

“Yes, sir,” Caelum replied, stepping away and to show the radio that was still playing steady jazz.

Mr. Goldson, however, frowned, “Okay. . .” he muttered, not being able to find fault in this radio. Caelum breathed a quiet sigh, also not wanting to get in a row with the older man. “Come over 'ere, I need you to lift some of these boxes.” He said, and waved him out of the back room.

Caelum followed as Mr. Goldson hobbled towards the door. They were in a auto-repair shop. Usually, Caelum spent his time there repairing car parts, or moving Mr. Goldson’s endless supply of heavy boxes ― like he was doing today. But, when he came in that afternoon, Mr. Goldson had him fix his radio, which was almost as prehistoric has Mr. Goldson himself. It was a stubborn thing, but Caelum managed it, like he did everything else.

Mr. Goldson pointed to the dozen of large boxes on the ground. “I need you to move those to the work room,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Caelum replied and bent down. The box was immensely heavy ― which made Caelum wonder how this old man got it in the house in the first place. Mr. Goldson turned his back to leave as Caelum struggled to lift it. Then, he remembered something from earlier. “Mr. Goldson!” The man froze, turning around to see him. “I, uh, didn’t get my check last week. . . do you still have it?”

Mr. Goldson curled his lip, annoyed. “You’ll get it, be patient boy,” he scowled, looking more like the troll than ever. Caelum knew money was an unpleasant subject for the older man, but. . . he wasn’t keen on doing Principal Davis any more favours.

“I’m just asking,” Caelum continued, “Because my family has a few overdue bills to pay. I. . . I don’t want us getting kicked out of our house. My dad’s already fixing on getting us to move soon, probably to Brooklyn. I don’t want to leave this place, and I want to help my folks. . .” He trailed off, waiting for Mr. Goldson to answer. Waiting for him to take the bait.