Nowhere, Arizona Part 1

He was totally alone, on the inside as well as the outside.

The air was so still that he could hear the tread of his gym shoes as he walked on the edge of the weed-lined highway. No cars had passed since the taxi dropped him off at the bottom of the hill over a half an hour ago. He felt both a gnawing emptiness and a fierce determination, and the two fought a fierce battle within him. His many thoughts shot through his mind and bounced around his skull in a random confusion.

So it’s over, and they won’t get back together. Just keep the flashlight beam on the road ahead of you. Never mind that your blister has broken and there is blood in your sock. Your stuff in Santa Maria’s gonna get sold, you know. How long have you been walking uphill? Two miles? No, more like three miles. Is this a mesa? It keeps going uphill. You should have known that you were a throwaway. Wish the taxi would have taken you a little bit further, to the top of the hill at least. You’ve been discarded, man.

Jack Derry stepped off the highway and stared into the deep Arizona midnight terrain. He leaned over, dropped his duffel bag and rubbed his knobby knees. He pulled the crumpled note out of his pocket and fingered it, not wanting to read it again. From this elevation, all he could see was a sprinkling of house lights miles below him. Jack smoothed the wrinkled note and folded it carefully. He always felt like his life was a book, a few paragraphs and maybe a page being written each day. The narrative had been pretty good up until a few weeks ago. Okay then. Things will need to be different. Come on, the driver said the house should be at the top of the hill, on the right. Just get to the top of the hill and you’ll be okay.

You gotta pick up the pieces, man. You need to write a new chapter, change the plot, you know?
Jack sighed and stepped back onto the still-warm highway asphalt, his feet crunching the few bits of gravel on the road. The flashlight beam spread out over the roadway and Jack noticed the cracks and potholes as he walked.

This road is rotted out. Seems like it isn’t used very much. Guess there’s no reason for anyone to head to this part of Arizona. A town called Mofarse, Arizona. That’s going to be your new home.

Here was how he was going to spend the rest of his sophomore school year. He had been shipped from California to Arizona in order to stay out of his parents’ way while they settled the final details of the divorce.

Trashed you. Like it was your fault they busted up. They treated you like you were the reason behind all the trouble. Well, okay then.

He visibly winced when he recalled the rainy October evening as his folks sat in the kitchen, phoning every possible relative, trying to find someone to take him for the remainder of the school year. Someone, anyone. It took them over two hours and thirteen phone calls before they found distant relatives Uncle Bert and Aunt Lea willing to take him in. Before he knew it, his parents had packed him off in the nearest Greyhound and he was heading out of California. It finally hit him as he left the Greyhound and got into the taxi: he wasn’t going back to Santa Maria.

Mofarse. Man, you’re in nowhere. Nowhere, Arizona. This really is permanent, then.

You’ll make it. You don’t need them. You don’t need anybody.

A dry and gentle autumn breeze blew in his face. They said the house was at the top of the hill. You’re almost there. Just find the house and see what happens next. Jack’s flashlight flickered and went out. Great. He shook it while he walked, trying to get even a weak beam, but in the darkness he slammed against a ledge of some kind.

The collision made him stumble forward onto the gravel, fighting for balance. He slid, dropping his flashlight and tearing the zipper of his duffle bag as he fell hard.. A few items slid out in the darkness. The impact of hitting the ground turned the flashlight on again. Jack grabbed the light and inspected himself, checking the scrape marks on his palms and the books lying in front of him. One of the books was his family Bible. He laughed without humor, stuffing it back into the bag. Nice send-off present.

Jack shifted his duffel bag to his shoulder and swung the flashlight beam around the area, searching for anything else he may have dropped. He aimed the light toward the tall rock ...and realized that it wasn’t a rock at all. It was a sign ... a low-slung thick concrete marker type of a sign, about ten feet long and almost three feet high, with some upper wooden parts rotted and splintered. What kind of a sign would be way out here...? . Some of the letters along the concrete were missing, but Jack could make out a few words: M...S...then ...A..U...S...E...M..E...N.. then ...P...A...R...K... Jack stared at the letters unbelievingly. Couldn’t be. This is an old ... amusement park? He raised his flashlight beam and caught a red-and-white striped phone-booth-like construction with a front opening. An old ticket booth.

Jack shook his head as he took a few steps forward. Oh, brother. Your new home is in a defunct amusement park in Nowhere, Arizona...

He walked up the steep grade a few more steps, through a rusted gateway and by an empty concrete fountain, seeing the only illuminated building in sight. That must be Uncle Bert’s. He walked past a cracked sign that said “Midway” and headed toward the lighted building. In front was a standing mailbox attached to a large sign that spelled “BUMPER CARS” in ornate letters. Jack smiled in spite of himself. You’re going to live with some crazies who have renovated a bumper car building for their home. Well, it could have been worse. They could have moved into the House of Mirrors. He walked to the front door, knocked and waited, breathing in the cool night air.

No answer.

He knocked again, loudly, and the front door swung open slowly, letting Jack see the entire front living room. Every light was on, and the inside was amazing. A blue and white carousel horse stood in one corner next to a juke box. Overhead were neon signs pointing directions to popcorn, soft drinks and rest rooms. Bubble gum machines of all sizes lined the side wall. It was all a bit exciting ... but nobody was around to greet him. He cleared his throat nervously.

“Uh...Uncle Bert?”
Jack stepped inside cautiously. He gazed carefully down the hallway, past a full-size clown statue.

“Aunt Lea? It’s Jack. Are - are you home?”

No answer. He lay down his gear and scratched his chin, thinking.

Wait a minute. It’s past midnight. They knew you would be arriving at the house around 11:45 to midnight...

...is this some kind of a trick?

“Uncle Bert? Hey...what’s going on?”

He dropped his duffel bag and walked slowly down the large hallway, finding well-lit side rooms filled with bumper cars, pin-ball machines and fifty-gallon aquariums. He came to the end of the hall and glanced into a what seemed to be the only normal-looking room in the entire building. There was a well-worn sofa and a comfortable Lazy Boy recliner with a large book opened and parts of a page highlighted in yellow crayon. Jack walked over and read the highlighted passage:

“His feet were like burnished bronze, when it has been made to glow in a furnace...”

Jack lifted up the book checked the front cover. Oh, yeah. A Bible. A real help right now. Jack lay the Bible down at the open passage, and his eye caught the notation written in ink right next to the highlighted passage: “Jack should know.”

What’s that supposed to mean? Maybe that’s Uncle Bert’s handwriting, maybe it isn’t. ‘Jack should know’ this passage? Doesn’t make any sense. Did they want Jack to teach them about feet? Does Uncle Bert want to know about bronze?

Too many puzzles. Too many questions. Nobody in sight. Jack could feel his stomach tighten. Weird, this was way too weird. If this is some kind of a joke, it’s not funny anymore. It needs to stop. He stepped across the hall into what seemed to be the kitchen area. He stopped short, gasping.

He saw an open jelly-jar of strawberry jam and a piece of bread sitting onthe table. That wasn’t what scared him. What shook him was seeing piles of ten and twenty-dollar bills, arranged in straight rows from one side of the room to the other, stacked neatly across the linoleum floor. There’s gotta be more than ten thousand dollars here. Are they real? He knelt down and felt the nearest bills to him. Yes, they seemed to have the crisp feel of a genuine bill. He looked underneath the table and saw a thick yellow safe, opened and empty. The time-clock readout said that the safe was opened at 1855 hours. That would be...6:55 p.m. But why would they lay their money out like this.... and then leave? Is this actually the place where Uncle Bert and Aunt Lea kept their life’s savings? Naw, it couldn’t be, it wouldn’t make sense...

...but has anything else made sense so far?

He stood up and accidentally kicked a TV remote across the floor as he ran back to the front hallway where had he deposited his duffel bag.

It was gone.

Cold sweat broke out on the back of Jack’s neck. Whoever got to Uncle Bert is still nearby...maybe still in the house. They’re toying with you, man. They know you’re in here. Jack backed down the hall toward the kitchen, trying to think of a weapon. He stepped onto the old linoleum, almost slipping on a stack of twenties. Grabbing the door frame, he steadied himself and looked about. Well, if they want to try to take you on, give them a fight. They’ll see you won’t give up. But what to use for protection? He heard a noise...


Wait, hold still. What was that? Rumbling noise.


Rumbling outside the house.

He crept toward the window and the noise became louder. Jack walked to the back door toward the sound. He looked out through the back window and flipped on a wall switch. The backyard flooded with light and Jack saw railroad tracks come right by the back steps. The rumbling was getting louder. Somebody is riding a rail car right up to the house. There are three shadows in the car, and they look too young to be Uncle Bert and Aunt Lea. They caused all this.

Grabbing a broom handle and stepping out on the back porch, he took a baseball batter’s stance. The pit of his stomach felt queasy, and sweat dripped from his hands.

Screech! The green and white car skidded to a stop on the tracks and the car door swung open. Three teen boys fought to get out at the same time, shushing and pushing each other. They darted around and spoke in exaggerated whisper, not noticing the fact that Jack stood at the back door with a broom handle in a threatening position.

“I don't like confrontations, Mike” hissed one boy with thick Coke-bottle glasses.. “Hey, maybe Andy'll do it for me. He's so dumb, he thinks the English Channel is a British T.V. station.”

“Unfunny,” whispered a short stocky boy. “Why don’t you try to be nice for a change?”

“I tried ‘nice’ once. I didn't care for it,” retorted the boy with glasses.
“Oh, is that you did to ‘smart’ as well?” said the short boy.

“Enough.” The tallest of the three boys was raised his gangly arms to silence them. His large eyes darted around the back yard, and he pointed to windows around the Bumper Car building. “Attend to the task, then. Stay low, and keep an eye out for any clues.”

“Who are you?” demanded Jack, still holding the broomstick.
The tall boy jumped, looked toward the door at Jack and grinned. “Say, here’s our man now. Sorry to intrude, my friend, but we have a tendency to poke our noses in diverse places.”

The boy with glasses grunted. “With a nose like yours, it’s inevitable.”

The blonde haired boy gave him a withering look. “Droll, very droll.” He turned and stuck his hand out to Jack. “Name’s Hansen. The short fellow here’s Andy - he wants to be an archeologist - and the spectacled annoying one is Murray - he’s already achieved his twin goals of being ugly and unnecessary.”

“Har har,” said Murray, turning to Jack. “They always tease me. Everyone thinks I'm a hypochondriac. It makes me sick.”

Hansen continued. “Welcome to incredibly remote metropolis of Mofarse, Arizona, and to the once-celebrated but now long-forgotten Mesa Amusement Park. Closed down for good in 1977, but a pleasing retirement place for your aunt and uncle We hang around here whenever we get bored, which is approximately ninety-five percent of our waking hours. And your name is Jack, is it not? Your relatives told us you’d be coming.”

“Yes, Jack. Jack Derry.” Jack shook Hansen’s hand.

“Derry. Familiar ring to it,” asked Andy, nodding his head. “The famed Dr. Douglas Derry did the renowned autopsy on the King Tut mummy in 1925, I believe. He discovered a blow on the left cheek, and some other findings that arose speculation Tutankhamun could have died by violence.”

“Don’t let Andy fool you,” said Murray. “He’s not that smart. He once tried to use White-Out on his teeth instead of toothpaste. He's the kind of guy who would stick his tongue on a frozen flagpole twice.”

“My uncle and aunt are gone,” said Jack.

“Quite right, the primary reason we are here!” exclaimed Hansen. “Missing persons, mystery lights and the ilk... I can see it’s been wearing on you.” He looked deep into Jack’s eyes. “But you, my wandering friend, are evidently missing more than your aunt and uncle, I note.” Jack blushed; he wondered if his uncle had told them about the divorce.


“What is easy to see,” said Murray, stepping forward and inspecting the footprints near the window, “is your ability to continue to talk without taking a breath.”

Hansen swept the blonde hair from his eyes and continued grinning. “The ineffectual rancor reflected in that remark I don't intend to dignify with comment, but I would like to address the fact that we’ve come upon trouble.” He waved his cell phone in the air as Jack led them into the kitchen.

“We’ve been trying to call your uncle and aunt for the last hour and a half. No answer. No matter where they are, they always answer our phone calls.”

“We got up here as soon as possible from town,” said Murray, closing the door behind him and looking at the floor covered with money. “Hmmm. Business transaction?”

“Car broke down,” said Andy, dropping to his knees and inspecting the stashes of money, “so we hiked to the eastern edge of the Park and rode the Trolley over here - we know how to activate it, it’s one of our pet projects here at the Park. Now, let’s get to the task at hand. Trouble here, real trouble. Jack, you entered this house about five minutes after midnight, didn’t you?”

“Well, y-yes, that sounds about right...” answered Jack. “But how did you know?”

“We could see the front door open from where we were,” replied Hansen. “We thought your uncle and aunt had come home. It was one of the few lights we saw as we approached the area.”

“All these lights were on when I came in. There were others?” asked Jack. “You saw signs of someone else in here?”

“Yes,” answered Burt. “And we intend to find out where he or she went.”

“We should be able to draw a conclusion fairly easily. All we need is some quiet in order to think,” said Hansen, pulling a pencil and pad from his pocket.

And that’s when the kitchen window exploded.