Secret Places and Hidden Things

Chapter Twelve

The distant future...

The blankets were warm and a cool draft was blowing across Elliot's face from the window. Outside, the snow was falling, collecting on the trees in unhurried masses. He was watching his alarm clock, waiting for it to go off, but seven o'clock came and went without a sound. A comfortable smile crept its way across his face, and he turned over slowly. Two eyes were peering at him from the side of his bed.

"Merry Christmas, Elliot," Michael said, one of his long, furry ears twitching.

"How did you get in here?" Elliot asked.

"The door was open," Michael said, pointing to the closet. "Do you want to go play in the snow?" He was wearing a floppy red hat that fell down the sides of his face and smiling mischievously. Elliot turned over with a groan, but Michael jumped up on the bed and poked his side. "Come on sleepy, it's not even cold out!"

Elliot got up and walked over to the mirror. He had to do a double take; he was much older again, and so massive he had to stoop down just to see his face.

"I'm not sure I'll ever get used to this," he said, "What if my parents see me?"

"Parents?" Michael asked.

Elliot looked around. He was standing in an unfamiliar apartment. His bed was the same, but the walls and floor had changed around it. The floors were wood instead of the old tan carpet he was used to, and there was a big red rug with a gold pattern around the edges. Where his closet had been, there was a small kitchenette, and an old CRT TV in the corner.

"Wow, I have an apartment."

"Well, what did you expect?" Michael asked.

"I don't know. I was much younger when I woke up."

"Did you want to play in the snow, then?" Michael asked again. He grabbed a big sweater and sweatpants from the closet and threw them at Elliot.

"Everything is so small," Elliot said, pulling the tent-like sweatshirt over his head.

The snow outside the window looked inviting, thick wads of cotton white collecting on the sill. When he opened the door, flurries came billowing in from the back draft, melting as they hit the floor. There was a long hallway with a door every few meters, and snow was falling from from the ceiling. There were garlands and pine boughs everywhere, with a wreath on every door.

"Come on, Elliot!" Michael said, grabbing his hand. As they ran down the hall, their steps kicked up clouds of white. It was warm enough to be without a coat, but the snow was cool on Elliot's face. The hall opened into a wide stairwell, the ceiling curving away into a peaked canopy that faded into the sky.

"So, do I live here, or is this somewhere else now?" Elliot asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Michael said, "I suppose you don't really live here yet since you don't even know where it is."

"Is this even my body then?" Elliot asked.

"Probably not."

Elliot stopped on one of the long stairs. "What exactly am I, then?"

Michael threw a snowball and hit Elliot in the face.

"Hey!" Elliot chased Michael down the steps, slipping as he descended the last few, and out onto a wide hilltop. He had to stop again.

The horizon was gray, and the snow, falling lightly, collected into a mist in the air. He could hear the flakes falling, like the softest drumbeat. Michael walked up next to him and stood still, his ears flicking as flakes settled on them. Off in the distance, a huge castle wound its way into the air.

"What is that place?"

"That's the helm. We'll go there sometime." Michael stopped. "I mean, we've been there a lot, but you'll go there sometime when I'm there." He began to walk down the hill, and Elliot followed him, the snow parting softly around their feet. They made their way into a pine woods, the smell coming up in waves as their feet crushed the needles.

"Elliot?"

"Yeah?"

"How much do you know about me?"

Elliot looked over at the creature beside him. "I don't know much, to be honest."

"Then why do you trust me?" Michael asked.

"I'm not sure how I couldn't trust you," Elliot said. "I knew right away when I saw you in that field. You and I are meant to wander together."

"You mean it?" Michael asked, his eyes searching.

"Why is this so important?" Elliot asked, laughing a little.

"Oh," Michael said, "when I was much younger I lost someone." He kicked a pinecone.

"How did you lose them?"

Michael breathed in deeply and sighed. "I lost them by being something I wasn't meant to be, and when the time came for me to be there for them, I got lost in my own dreams. To be honest, it was never meant to work out. I should have known that from the beginning, but I loved the idea of it. We both changed and became different people."

"Well there's not much about me that changes. I don't have anywhere I'm going, and there's nothing I want," Elliot said. "I think you can rely on me."

"Yes," Michael said, "I think that's true. I spent so much of my time wanting when I was young. I was lost in myself. I've been to the edge of existence and the still point at the center, and I never really found what I needed. I'm so full of wanting that it's become my only way of existing, but I think all I really wanted was someone to make things for." He put out his hand and arced it through the air making the snow drift into tendrils and streamers, which transformed into white petals as they hit the ground.

"I could never do that," Elliot said, "but it doesn't matter."

Michael looked over at him, frowning. "I'm sorry I took you away. You won't ever get to know what it's like to be normal."

"I think that's okay," Elliot said. "I don't know that it matters as long as I'm enjoying myself. I can't see my life ever losing interest when you're around."

"Maybe you're right," Michael said. "I think I've found a good place for my thoughts now, anyway. I'm not lost anymore. There's just a movement I follow. I don't have any intentions about it."

"I wonder if that makes the things you create better," Elliot said. "Did you make all this?" Elliot motioned to the forest around them.

"No, I'm only part of this," Michael said. "That's always true, though. I never make anything completely."

"What part did you make?" Elliot asked.

"This part." Michael reached down and grabbed a long wire laying on the ground. It had a small plug on the end and he pushed it into a hole in a nearby stump. A wave of light moved through the trees, fading slowly.

"You put up Christmas lights?" Elliot said, laughing. "I think that's the most normal thing I've seen you do."

"I've always loved Christmas," Michael said. "It seemed right to be here with you. A long time ago, but maybe not so long, you gave me something important on Christmas."

"What was it?"

"I don't even remember." Michael said, laughing.

Suddenly, Elliot was lying in bed. Someone was knocking on his door.

"Elliot, wake up! Santa came!" It was his sister. He rolled over and looked out the window. For a moment he could see a forest full of lights—a great castle beyond it, reaching towards the sky—then it faded and there was only the street outside.