Stubbs and Puddle
Stubbs lay on his back, a slow mournful groan
escaping his lips as if he were slowly being pressed by a large weight.
“I’m gonna die. I just know it. This is it Puddle. Say a prayer for me when I’m
gone. REMEMBER ME!!” The last line was shouted as the pudgy boy jumped to his
feet, his clenched fist raised aloft in defiance. The gangly boy next to him in
an overlarge t-shirt and tattered jeans pushed a lank of dark hair out of his
face, raising his head from the massive tome which filled his lap.
“Hmm?” he queried. Stubbs lowered his fist, his freckled face a mask of worry
and sorrow.
“I think I ate bugs or something this afternoon at lunch. There was something
in the pudding but I was so hungry I thought I’d die so I ate it anyway and now
I really will die and I don’t know what to do Idon’twanttodiePUDDLE!.” He ran
his hands miserably through his shock of bright red hair and moaned. Puddle
turned his focus back to the book in his lap.
“Those were raisins. Non-lethal in doses under 27.6 kilograms per 24 hours. You
would need to eat 900.2 kilograms of pudding to be in danger.” Immediately
Stubbs’ face brightened, his grin showing a missing front tooth. He jumped up
and down, whooping in delight and pumping his fists in the air.
“I’m alive! I’m gonna live! Come on Puddle, we need to celebrate!” he tucked
his chin to his chest and thought for a moment. “Do you think they have any more
of that pudding from lunch?” Puddle didn’t respond, but it was clear that he
wasn’t expected to. Stubbs sat back on the boulder and began to muse aloud
about the relative merits of chocolate versus vanilla pudding, decrying the
pure evil of raisins.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dr. Richard Pillner had been director of the Hereford Asylum for Boys for
nearly twelve years. Before that he had practiced as a primary care physician
at the asylum, after two years of residency and four summers interning there
during medical school. He had even worked as an orderly at the asylum to help
pay his way through undergrad. The Hereford Asylum was his life. Although more
headaches than he could remember (and more than one set of stitches) were
because of the place, it was his home.
Dr. Pillner glanced at the memo on his desk from the Hereford Asylum Board of
Commissioners. It stated clearly that he should cooperate with any and all
requests made by the man now sitting in his office, his legs crossed, his dark
coat and hat wetting the soft leather chair and dripping on the plush rug. Dr.
Pillner frowned. He didn’t like it. He didn’t trust this man. He turned from
the filing cabinet he had been searching through, gripping two files and
sliding the drawer shut somewhat harder than he intended.
“Not to be rude, but may I ask what is your interest in my patients?” The man
merely held out a still-gloved hand, his eyes glinting dangerously in the dark
shadow of his wide brimmed hat. Dr. Pillner’s lips tightened, a frown pinching
the corners of his mouth into a disapproving and worried line. He handed over
the two files. After a few minutes of looking through the files, the man spoke.
“Dr. Pillner, what can you tell me about these boys?” he asked with a slow and
grating voice. Dr. Pillner crossed his arms, still standing and frowning,
trying to decide how best to answer. Should he lie and hope to make the boys
seem unfit for whatever role this man wished for them? No, that would only
cause more problems, plus it could just as easily backfire and make the boys
seem more desirable. Dr. Pillner sighed and said shortly,
“Well, you have the charts. Everything is there. What else do you want to
know?” The man closed the charts and leaned forward, his hoarse voice seeming
to claw its way from his throat.
“What do they like? How do they get along with the other boys? … What do they
fear?” Dr. Pillner bit back a sharp retort and swallowed his disgust. He sat
for a few moments before answering.
“Jeremy Stubbs is certainly a bright boy; however, due to his condition his
evaluations are… erratic. He is prone to extreme mood swings. They’re rarely
dangerous, but often swing between clinical depression, carefree joy, and a
spectrum of anxiety disorders. Due to his acute changes in disposition, Stubbs
has trouble concentrating; thus, linear thinking is not his strong suit.
However, he can often use his… unorthodox thought process for some delightfully
brilliant creative problem solving. That is, as long as he can remain calm.
“His unlikely best friend is Carlyle Oakland, perhaps the most intelligent boy
this facility has ever seen. He has an IQ of nearly 200. The other boys have
nicknamed him ‘Puddle’, an admittedly apropos moniker due to his alexithymia or
blunted affect disorder, a condition characterized by a lack of expression of
emotion and difficulty in relating to others. In contrast to Stubbs, Puddle �"
sorry Oakland �" has extreme focus, bordering on an obsessive-compulsive personality
disorder. This can cause him to be lost in personal projects for hours or even
days at a time.”
“For activities, Stubbs switches between moping, running around pretending to
fight ‘bad guys’, and orating dramatically on various subjects from war to insects.
Puddle �" sorry Oakland �" can often be found reading or building some device of
his own design.”
“I’m afraid other than their fast friendship with each other, they do not
interact with the other boys, preferring to be left alone. As for their fears…
I’m afraid I don’t know.” Dr. Pillner’s lips were still tight with displeasure,
his arms crossed as he finished, “Anything else?”
The man in black grinned, his smile dotted with teeth shining dully in silver
and gold. “No, thank you very much Dr. Pillner.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Stubbs’ culinary considerations were interrupted when a dark, towering figure
crossed the sopping yard to where the two boys sat. Stubbs glanced up at him
enquiringly.
“Come with me” he growled. Stubbs’s face immediately crumpled, fat tears
beginning to fall down his cheeks.
“I duh-don’t wanna!” he sobbed, his body quivering. Puddle didn’t even look up
from his book. The man reached down and grabbed Stubbs by the arm, wrenching
him to his feet.
Suddenly the man in black was on the ground, Puddle standing over him
brandishing the large book like a batter at the plate. His face was impassive,
but it was obvious that Puddle was ready and willing to give the man another
whack with the book if he persisted. The man grinned, holding out a placating
hand and standing. Puddle didn’t lower the book, his dark, intent eyes never
leaving him as the man slowly backed away and returned across the courtyard.
Halfway to the building, he was met by a very angry Dr. Pillner and led back
inside. Stubbs, meanwhile, had seemingly already forgotten the incident. He was
soliloquizing about combining food before you ate it. Puddle lowered himself to
the ground, opened the book once more, and began to read.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nighttime was the worst. Stubbs hated showering and brushing his teeth. He felt
like all the character was washed out of him, leaving behind a pale, ghostly
thing made of peppermint and soap. Laying in bed and staring at the dark
ceiling, he ran his tongue over his protruding front teeth, disliking the
gritty yet overly-clean feeling.
Two days. Just two days until his birthday. He was excited, but also nervous.
He would be turning 10. That was double digits. He wouldn’t add another digit
until he turned 100. And that was like a million years away. But what about his
parents? Would they come to visit him? He missed them. At least, he thought he
did. He only had a vague recollection of them. A feeling of light and warmth,
the smell of cinnamon. He wanted to see them again. It had been so long. He
didn’t remember how long, but it was too long. He sniffed.
“Hey Puddle, you awake?” Puddle grunted, presumably with his nose stuck in a
book. “You remember your parents?” Puddle remained silent. “Me neither,”
replied Stubbs. “At least, not well. Think they’ll visit me for my birthday
next week?” A voice from the darkness rang out,
“Hey Stubbs! Shut it, wouldya? We’re trying to sleep.” Stubbs rolled onto his
side, shrugging the blanket up to his ears and closing his eyes.
“Goodnight” he murmured.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next morning Stubbs found himself in the library. He didn’t much care for
the musty books and quiet aisles, but Puddle liked it there. He wandered
aimlessly, stroking the spines of the books and wondering if they had other
body parts? Like feet or noses of books?
He was suddenly struck by an impulse and pulled a book off the shelf. It was a
large, leather-bound tome with strange writing on the front. Stubbs plopped it
on the table and opened it cautiously. He had never seen this book before. At
least, he didn’t think so. He flipped through it cautiously. The pages were
packed with delicate, flowing script from the very top to bottom of the page,
running right to the edges of the pages. He didn’t have the patience to read
it, but he liked the look of it. The slanting letters and graceful writing made
him think of magic and fairies.
Suddenly the book shuddered and the pages became rigid in his fingers. Then, as
if a strong breeze had lifted in the stuffy library, the pages spun out of
Stubbs’ fingers, flipping wildly back and forth. Stubbs stepped back, awed and
alarmed. He looked around. No one was nearby.
“Puddle!” he cried. Puddle appeared at his elbow, his eyes wide, staring at the
book flipping crazily on the table.
“What’s going on?” Stubbs shrugged, and just as he was about to call out to the
librarian, the book shuddered and went still. Stubbs and Puddle slowly
approached the open book, peering into the now mostly-blank pages. A single
line read in thin, cursive font:
HELP. 154154 WALFORD
The boys looked at each other, then back at the page. Puddle cocked a
questioning eyebrow.
“What does it mean?” he asked. Stubbs grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“This, my dear Puddle, means adventure!”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dr. Pillner was worried. “Are you sure this is what they were looking at?” he
asked the librarian. The old woman nodded her head.
“Aye, Doctor. Couldnaye say why so keen on it, but that’s what it was all
right.” Dr. Pillner picked the book up from the table and examined it closely.
A phone book. Why were they interested in a phone book? And why had it caused
them to flee the safety of Hereford Asylum? He chewed his lower lip. This
wasn’t good. Perhaps they were getting worse?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I’m telling you Puddle, we’ll be back before they even notice we’re gone! I’m
from Walford. Once we get on the river, all we gotta do is go south and we’ll
be there in no time!” Puddle shrugged, plodding along behind Stubbs, his muddy
sneakers making squelching sounds in the wet earth. The forest around them was
damp, the bright green leaves and grasping vines dripping on their heads and
soaking the bottom of their pants. Stubbs was certain that the river was just
an hour’s walk from the asylum. He just wished the forest wasn’t so thick… or
wet.
“So, what do you think the message meant?” Puddle asked quietly. Stubbs was
surprised. Puddle rarely initiated conversation.
“Well, it’s pretty obvious, right? It’s a princess trapped by an evil wizard,
most likely. Although it could also be a space cowboy stuck in an alternate
dimension. I guess we won’t really know until we help them, will we?” Puddle
didn’t answer.
Suddenly they heard the sound of running water. Stubbs grinned and broke into a
run, scrambling through the underbrush. Puddle, however, did not rush forward.
He merely continued his plodding advance. Stubbs ran straight into a thick
copse of prickly bushes and vines, ripping at their leaves and tripping over
their exposed roots. The thin branches scratched at his exposed face and hands,
but he didn’t notice. Finally he broke through, tripping over a final root and
tumbling ungainly down a muddy embankment. He was covered from head to toe in
thick river mud, but he didn’t care. They’d reached the river!
In front of him lay an old dock, many of the planks missing or rotten with age.
At the end was a small raft, not much more than a few boards strapped to a pair
of barrels. A slim figure in nothing but overalls and a wide straw hat was
seated at the dock, a fishing pole in his hands, its tip dipping in the swiftly
flowing water. The figure turned his head, a white stick protruding from his
lips. Stubbs smiled and waved his hand high in the air. He approached the
rotting dock and stepped on the first mushy board. The figure rose and held out
a hand,
“Now hold on there, kid!” he croaked out. But Stubbs wasn’t listening. He
slowly stretched out a foot along the strut of dock, testing his weight on a
board. When he was satisfied it would hold him, he transferred his weight and
repeated the strategy. Meanwhile, the man on the dock called out again,
“Aye there! Stop! Ye might take a drop in the drink!” But Stubbs was deaf, continuing
his slow progress. Finally, he was within a step of the man on the dock. He
looked up, smiling.
“Hi! Can we borrow your raft? We need to get to Walford. It’s urgent.” But when
he looked up, he found that the man with the straw hat was leering down at him,
a thin bone clenched tightly between dully glinting gold and silver teeth.
Stubbs gasped, staggering back. He felt a crunch of rotten wood and his foot
flailed wildly in empty space. The swirling water below rushed up to greet him.
Suddenly, the front of his muddy shirt was gripped in two bony hands.
“Careful there, boyo. Ye may… drown.” Rasped the man, his glinting eyes burning
like angry embers. Suddenly there was an animalistic yowl. Out of nowhere came
Puddle, his eyes wild and fists clenched. He tackled the man in overalls,
sending him careening over the side of the pier. With a shriek, the man was
lost beneath the rushing waters and the boys collapsed together at the end of
the dock. They lay there, panting.
“You owe me,” said Puddle. Stubbs just grinned.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dr. Pillner was now even more worried. They were on the river. And they had
attacked that man. Thankfully the man was okay, but still. This was certainly worrying
news. At least they now knew where the boys were going. Stubbs was trying to go
home to Walford, and he was taking the river. They could cut him off at the
next crossing.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Stubbs was singing a song with no real words and only the hint of a tune. But
he sure put his back into it, no one could deny that. The valley rang with his
high boy soprano as the riverbanks rushed past. Stubbs loved the river. All his
worries seemed to melt away when he was surrounded by water. It was like being
in another world. A single step was all it would take to flee his own mind, and
that was comforting.
Puddle sat cross-legged on the swiftly-moving raft, his nose once more in a
book. Where the heck did he even get
that book? Thought
Stubbs, but the question was quickly lost in the music of the river. They were
on their way! Adventure and excitement awaited just down the river. And now
they had their faithful steed to carry them on their way. Stubbs gave the
simple rudder a shake. It was really just a board nailed to a stick and tied to
the raft, but it worked well enough to steer.
The boys turned a bend in the river, a bridge coming into view in the distance.
As they neared, Stubbs squinted and made out dark blobs on the bridge. The
bridge and blobs grew, Stubbs beginning to make out features. A few bumps on
the bridge… Oh,
they’re people. And a
crisscross pattern in the arch of the bridge, where the river cut under it… Oh no. A net!
“PUDDLE! A NET!” Puddle jumped to his feet, whirling around and scanning the
river. He jumped to the till, grabbing the rudder and pulling on it hard. “What
are you doing?!” Stubbs yelled, seeing that their current trajectory took them
toward where the river, embankment, and bridge all met. Puddle gritted his
teeth and hissed,
“There’s a gap. It’s our only chance.” Stubbs saw what he meant. The net didn’t
reach all the way to both sides of the arch under the bridge. There was a
chance they could slip through, if they were all the way to the side of the
river. Stubbs pounced on the till, adding his weight to changing their course.
Suddenly, they were there.
The earth scraped the sides and bottom of the small raft as they steered it
toward the bridge, looming larger and larger. Stubbs looked up and briefly saw
waving hands and heard calling voices before the stones of the bridge filled
his view.
He felt a crunch and was flung forward, sliding
along the rough planks of the raft. They had overshot the riverbank and crashed
into the bridge. The frayed ropes which held the small craft snapped and the
boards splintered.
Stubbs closed his eyes and grabbed the first thing his fingers touched. It
happened to be one of the barrels which had allowed the raft to float. It had
escaped the wreckage unscathed and made it through the gap in the net. As he
sped down the river, gripping his lifeboat, Stubbs called out to his friend
Puddle. He didn’t respond.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dr. Pillner ground his teeth and glared at the policeman. “HOW COULD YOU LET
THAT HAPPEN?!” The policeman looked embarrassed and shrugged.
“Sorry, guvna. Don’t worry, though, we’ll get im.” Dr. Pillner took a deep
breath and stalked back to his car. At least I know their destination. As long as
they survive…
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Stubbs gripped the barrel, sobbing. Puddle was dead. He would never forgive
himself. This stupid adventure was all his idea, after all.
How long he stayed like that, clutching the barrel and floating down the river,
he didn’t know. But slowly, the river widened and slowed, becoming shallower.
Suddenly, Stubbs recognized something down the river. A house. A treehouse,
built over the river. That was his treehouse! He remembered it! A moldy rope
hung down from the treehouse just inches from the surface of the river. Stubbs
blinked to clear his eyes and sniffed. Weakly, he paddled toward the
approaching rope. He took a deep breath and pushed off from the barrel,
reaching for the rope. His fingers grasped it, but began sliding down the slime
and mold, stopping inches from the end. He’d done it! He caught his breath once
more and used the rope to help him paddle to shore. When he felt pebbles under
his knees, Stubbs collapsed, crawling the rest of the way up the bank.
He lay there, catching his breath and thanking God he had survived. Eventually
he rose, looking around. He remembered this place. It was his treehouse. His
dad had built it for him, hadn’t he? Stubbs shook his head, a memory buzzing at
the back of his eyes like an angry wasp. He walked forward, following a path
through the woods. His house was this way, he knew it. But
he couldn’t remember it? Why not?
The trees cleared, opening onto an ill-kempt yard. The path became paved, but
shattered and jagged. It wound its weed-covered way through a yard dotted with
rotting playground equipment. Stubbs felt sick, the world spun beneath his
feet. He saw the broken, rain-drenched yard in front of him; but, he also saw a
sunny day, the yard trimmed and the playground new. He rushed forward, darting
between the dead fixtures, and found himself staring at a house. His house.
But it was different. It was empty, its windows cold and lifeless, shining a
dull silver with muted yellow shutters. He saw a “FOR SALE” sign in the front
yard. Stubbs felt as if he were in a dream. Why couldn’t he remember this
place? But he knew it was home. He staggered forward, collapsing against the
faded red door.
Suddenly the door opened, and Stubbs fell back, his tear-streaked faced looking
up at a dark figure in a billowing black cloak and wide-brimmed hat. The
figure’s burning eyes seemed to sear Stubbs’ mind, blackening it. He cried out
in pain and anguish.
Suddenly Puddle was there, dripping and covered in muck.
He was brandishing a book, held in front of him like a shield. His eyes burned
just as strongly as the man in black, but bright and warm. The man growled,
showing rows of burnished gold and silver teeth.
“Ye canna best me, boy.” The man in black rumbled, the words thrumming hot in
Stubbs’ bones. Puddle swung the book at the man in black, keeping him at bay.
The man’s grimace turned into a grin.
“Just ye wait. Time’s agin ye.” Puddle once more swung the book, stepping
toward the man in black. He continued to swing, the man keeping the distance
between them. Puddle cocked the book behind his head, heaving it with his whole
body at the man in black, who now stood in the doorway. The book struck him,
causing him to fall back into the house, the door closing behind him.
Suddenly a voice rang out. Stubbs turned and saw Dr. Pillner getting out of his
car. His face was lined with worry and his white lab coat flapped behind him as
he pelted across the damp lawn toward the boys. Stubbs struggled to his feet
and cried out in relief. He staggered toward Dr. Pillner, who dropped to his
knees and slid to embrace him. He hugged him tight, saying soothingly, “I’ve
got you. You’re okay now. Don’t worry. You’re okay.” Repeating this over and
over.
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