3 Worlds Journey

Prologue

Squirrelman

An Adventure in Adaven

The Marlon Haze

PROLOGUE

Hi! I am about to take you on a marvelous journey. It is a journey between three different worlds-my worlds. These worlds are for your enjoyment, and I wanted to share them with you.

In my first world, you will visit with a man who is given a whole new identity and struggles to accept it. In the second, you will meet a man who travels to a whole new world. And finally, in the third, you will cheer on a group of people as they do battle with a century-and-a-half-old evil in their town.

You are my guest in my world and welcome to it.

SQUIRRELMAN

Chapter I

Dr. West, come here, please.

Dr. Roy West strolled over to his partner, who was examining a squirrel. The squirrel was inside a small cage in the scientists' laboratory.

What is it, Dr. Williams? he asked.

I have been performing tests on this particular squirrel like you asked, and its mysteries grow stranger by the minute, replied Dr. Janet Williams. For example, watch this.

She removed her nametag, which bore her name in large green letters, and dangled it in front of the squirrel's eyes.

So? asked Dr. West.

Watch, Dr. Williams replied. She stifled a gasp as the nametag fell to the floor.

What happened? asked Dr. West.

Feel it, she told him.

Dr. West then bent down and slowly reached his finger out to the nameplate.

YOW!!! He cried out in pain as his finger shot from the nameplate to his lips. Was that hot! How did that happen?

We're still trying to figure that out, said Dr. Williams. But that's nothing. Watch him now.

She walked over to the light switch and turned it to the off position. Both scientists then turned their attentions to the squirrel, waiting for something to happen.

Neither was disappointed. The room was immediately illuminated by beams of light from the squirrel's eyes. The beams shined on a sleeping laboratory rat in the process.

Amazing! exclaimed Dr. West.

You haven't seen anything yet, said Dr. Williams. Watch the rat.

The rat suddenly woke up. It then started to scurry around in its cage, and, as the scientists watched in total amazement, it chewed through the bars of its cage and scampered quickly out of sight.

Man, commented Dr. West. I'd hate to imagine what would happen if that squirrel did that to a human being!

Really, said Dr. Williams. Whoever did meet it would have one heck of a life to look forward to.

Dr. West shivered as he thought of what could have happened. He had been the one who discovered the squirrel sitting outside the laboratory building just six weeks earlier. The squirrel's light beams had been much weaker, but it seemed to be no ordinary squirrel. Every animal seemed to be affected somewhat by the beams and appeared to be stronger and faster when exposed to them.

Intrigued, Dr. West took the animal in for tests to see if the squirrel had been exposed to toxins. Tests proved negative but seemed to make it stronger. Further experiments involving benign steroids and others did likewise.

As they left the laboratory, Dr. West said, Say, I've got a pair of tickets to the Hamilton Pier Champions' Canoe Race on Friday and another pair to the basketball game on Saturday. Would you like to come to either?

I really can't, she replied. A clock they walked past read 11:35 p.m. I have to go to downtown Maples and talk to the producers from the television station KLUV-TV both nights. They want more information on our research for a story. I've heard the boss there is really tough and hates it when people stand them up. Besides, I think Hamilton Pier is too windy.

I understand, said Dr. West. It is supposed to be the windiest place in Maples. Oops, I forgot to lock the door.

He walked back to the lab door and inserted the key, turning it to lock. As he did, he was unaware of the bars in the squirrel's cage melting. Or the tiny footsteps running across the table the cage had been set on. Or the WHOOSH of its flight to the window sill. Or its jumping out the open window.

Chapter II

Vic, I'm nervous. I haven't been on a date since I was in high school.

Roger, relax, the black man said as he straightened Roger's bow tie. Standing only an inch shorter than the six-foot-tall, handsome, sandy-haired man, he didn't have to reach very far. Remember all the fun you used to have with your old girlfriend Kayla?

I've told you about her? Roger asked as his palms became drenched with sweat.

Roger, you've told me about Kayla Jackson so many times, I feel like I practically know her, Vic said as he put the finishing touches on Roger's tie. You dated her all through high school. She had the most beautiful sky blue eyes you had ever seen. After you both graduated high school the same year, you never saw her again because you 'stayed home' in Texas to go to college and went to Midwestern State up north in Wichita Falls, and she went to Northeastern University in Boston and started a life on the east coast, which had been in her plans throughout her senior year in high school. Did I sum that up fairly well?

Um, yeah, said Roger as his teeth started to chatter.

He found himself thinking of his own life. He was pleased his parents could attend both his high school and college graduations, but he was disappointed that he and Kayla had missed each others' college graduation ceremonies. The only child of McBride Sanders and Junie Thomas Sanders, Roger had graduated from Midwestern State University cum laude with a degree in communications.

He had loved it in Wichita Falls and considered living there for a while. However, after graduation, he decided to move back to Maples (There's no place like home,) and landed a job as a reporter at KLUV-TV, where he met Vic, a graduate of Texas A&M and a new reporter at the station himself after a brief stint in broadcasting minor league baseball games. The two became instant friends. The rest, as they say, is history.

His thoughts were shattered by the doorbell ringing. I'll get it, said Vic. When he opened the door, a man wearing a black outfit and police-like hat was standing in the threshold.

Are you Mr. Victor Smith? the man asked.

Yes. Call me Vic, please, Vic replied as the two men shook hands.

Vic, I have two ladies in my limousine requesting the company of you and a Mr. Roger Sanders, said the mane standing in the doorway.

Terrific, said Vic. We'll be right out. The limo driver went back to his car. Are you coming, Roger?

Sure, said Roger. I'll be right behind you.

Okay, replied Vic. See you in the limo. He quickly hustled out into the chilly night air.

Roger checked himself in the mirror and adjusted his bowtie. The tuxedo pretty much distracted from the faint blemish on his left cheek, something he had from an incident as a child. Well, here goes nothing. I'm sure I'll have a great time. He then strolled out the house and went quickly to the limo.

* * * * *

That was terrific, wasn't it, Roger? Vic laughed as the limo pulled in front of Roger's house.

It got better as time progressed, admitted a sheepish Roger.

I got a bit worried when you had to run off to the bathroom so many times after we entered the restaurant, Vic teased him.

Hey, I was nervous, Roger muttered.

Did you have to stammer so much during the conversation? Vic continued his teasing.

Like I said, Roger shot back.

Hey, enough's enough, admitted Vic. See you tomorrow at work?

You can count on it, responded Roger as he stepped out of the limo. Neither he nor Vic noticed an object fall out of his pocket. When does the Boss want us in?

Approximately ten-ish were his exact words, said Vic. Which, in Boss's language, means ten o'clock sharp. And you know how he feels about tardiness.

Gosh, do I! said Roger with a smile. Bye! Vic waved back, and the limo drove out of sight.

Roger walked to his front door, shivering in the cold fall air. Fall nights are cold at night, even in Texas. Upon reaching his destination, he reached in his pockets for his keys, revealing nothing. Oops, he thought. I must have dropped them when I got out of the limo.

He quickly ran over to the curb and breathed a silent sigh of relief when he saw the keys by the sidewalk, reflecting the light of a nearby streetlight. He snatched them up.

A single bead of sweat trickled down his face.

Funny, he thought as he wiped his forehead and slowly stood up. He wiped the sweat off his brow and felt a little tired as he leaned against his metal mailbox.

OUCH!!! he nearly screamed as he pulled his hand away from the scorching structure. Why id it all of a sudden so hot? And why do I feel like I'm being watched? His attention was drawn to a nearby tree.

Whew, he thought. It's only a squirrel. His back drenched with sudden sweat, Roger slowly strolled to his front door. He found the right key, inserted it into the lock, and started to turn it.

Something made him slowly turn his head. He saw a familiar looking squirrel standing behind him. The squirrel was smiling at him.

Roger, came a voice.

Who said that? asked a suddenly frightened Roger. What is this, a joke?

Don't be afraid, Roger, said the voice.

Who's doing this? Roger demanded.

Look no further than me, the soothing voice responded. It seemed to be coming from the animal by the porch.

This has got to be some kind of a sick joke.

It's no joke, replied the voice. A pair of blinding lights struck Roger squarely in the face. Too startled to scream, he just gasped. He sank to the ground as the beams of light drained him of his strength. Finally, exhausted, he collapsed on his porch. He felt his consciousness leave him, replaced by darkness.

Chapter III

When Roger awoke the following morning, the first thing he saw was the morning sun. The next thing he saw was his watch, which read 7:55 A.M. He realized he was still on the porch.

A quick check of his pocket revealed his wallet, and his key was still in the lock. Feeling stiff and groggy, he stood up, unlocked the door, and went inside the house.

As he started to remove his tuxedo, a strange feeling came over him. It's amazing what sleeping in a tux on the porch all night will do to you, he thought.

I also need a shave, he thought as he rubbed his face.

Roger, came a familiar voice.

"All right, this is not