The Maze The Lost Labyrinth

CHAPTER 5



Darrell Gene Rankin started off his day as he usually did: with a heaping handful of meds. Lately, everything in his house talked to him, and the doctor assured him the meds would keep things quiet. After hitching his sleep pants up and running his fingers through his matted hair, he chased down a variety of blue, red, yellow, and green tablets with a gulp of tepid tap water. The pills made his mouth dry as they slid down his throat. He took another gulp of water to finish the job.

At the other end of the house, he heard the toaster and his electric toothbrush chattering about something in their white noise language, and he clamped his hands over his ears, willing the pills to hurry up and do their job. The voices were always louder first thing in the morning, but he didn’t know why. Maybe all of the gadgets in his house woke up at the same time he did. It sounded as good as any other theory.

He scratched his beer belly and belched loudly as he lumbered down the hallway in search of breakfast. Cautiously, he withdrew his hands from his ears, hoping the ruckus had stopped. The machinery in his house still chattered away. The washer and dryer discussed what a wonderful family they all were-one big cohesive unit of gears, belts, cogs, and pulleys. The microwave oven chimed in, buzzing about how wonderful it felt to be included in such a tightly-knit group. All of the clocks in the house agreed, voicing their feelings in a Morse code smattering of short ticks and long tocks. The kitchen appliances got in on the act next.

A new voice came out of nowhere. “We have a job for you.”

Darrell Gene knew the way the appliances sounded when they spoke to him. This was something different.

“Who's there?”

He searched his house for the source of the voice. He checked every room, looking in closets, under beds, in the bathtub, any place that might conceal an intruder. The house was empty except for him and the voice.

“We need to discuss your destiny. Your place in this world.”

“I don’t have a place in this world.”

“Oh, yes.” The voice spoke with confidence. “You have a very important role to play.”

“I’ve never been important.” Darrell Gene thought back to all of the times his father called him worthless.

“You are important now,” the voice said. “I need you.”

“Who are you? You’re just a voice in my head. The pills will make you go away soon enough.”

Darrell Gene clamped his hands over his ears, willing the sounds to disappear.

The voice persisted. “I‘m very real. It’s my job to speak up on behalf of those who have been trampled by Fate. Poor, downtrodden souls like you who have been scoffed at, ridiculed, mistreated. I'm a friend, and I need a couple of small favors.”

“What kind of favors?”

“Ones that will bring rewards the likes of which you've never seen. In exchange for these small favors, I will reward you with a family. I know you've always wanted one of your own.”

“A family?” Darrell Gene wondered if it could be true.

“A family.”

“What do I have to do?”

“It’s very simple. The first thing I need you to do is deliver a small note.”

Darrell Gene nodded. “I can do that.”

“I have no doubt,” the voice said. “Do we have a deal? A few small tasks in exchange for a family?”

“How do I know you can deliver what you promise?”

“Look around you, dear boy. Look at your life in its current state. What do you have to lose? Have a little faith.”

Darrell Gene chewed on that reminder of how sad his life truly was. “Fine. I'm sure this is all a dream anyway. The meds will have me thinking clearly again in no time.”

“So it's a win-win situation. If you do what I ask and I turn out to be real, you end up with a big reward. If I'm something that can be chased away with a handful of pills, you will come to your senses soon and see the foolishness in all of this before any harm is done.”

“Fair enough.” Darrell Gene’s mind raced at the prospect of having a family, people who loved him and cared about him. “Tell me what to do.”

“Excellent! Here's what you should write on that note.”

Suddenly, the chattering inside Darrell Gene's house went from a white-noise murmuring to a deafening roar that sounded like feedback. Yet, he understood every word.

To the untrained eye, Darrell Gene’s house was nothing special. His small two-bedroom single-story with red brick and a small yard that boasted more dirt than grass was empty. An angel viewing the scene from overhead saw something very different. The place was infested.

Demons in The Piper's employ swarmed around the house like ants stirred into a frenzy, spewing curses and blasphemies. From the looks of things they had set up camp on his doorstep. Darrell Gene scarcely noticed the difference.

He was too busy writing down what he had been told and preparing to deliver the note. Nervously, he looked both ways before crossing the street, ran to his neighbor's mailbox and did what he had been told to do.

“Very good,” the voice told him. “Now, grab your cell phone and hurry to this address. I need you to snap a photograph and send a simple text.”

Darrell Gene was already headed out the door toward his truck.