VI

Uncle Pablo was shipping in boxes of fruits when Dale went to see him. Michael had offered to give him and the child a lift to Uncle Pablo's shop. Dale fumbled as he stepped out of the Sedan.
"Oh, Dale!" Uncle Pablo called out, clearly surprised by the sudden visit.
"Hey tio, I need help."
"You doin' the sniff sniff, hijo?"
"What?"
"You know, the powder?" Uncle Pablo furthered his effort by closing one nostril and sucking in air with the other.
"You mean drugs?"
"Shhhh, the cops might be around. They like hyenas, know?" Uncle Pablo glanced around like a guilty child after stealing a jar full of cookies.
"Heck no!" Dale looked at Uncle Pablo in disbelief.
"Watch your language, boys!" Aunty Juannita called out from inside the shop.
"Sorry, Tia!" Dale shouted back. "You think your hijo would do such a thing?"
"Sheesh, siento, alright?" Uncle Pablo wiped his sweaty forehead with a grey handkerchief. Was that a sigh? Dale thought. "Can never be too careful these days, know? With all the street gangsters and the getto kids."
"You mean ghetto," Dale corrected.
"Yuh, getto. That's what I said."
Dale led out a grin and patted Uncle Pablo on the back. It sure was sweaty.

Dale spent the next hour explaining the whole story to Uncle Pablo, verbatim. Uncle Pablo wore a worried and amused expression throughout the whole session.
"Okay, so you telling me that you found a child in the forest, all naked?"
Dale nodded.
"Sounds like rape to me."
Dale was shocked. He was both dumbfounded and bemused at the same time. Perhaps it was because Dale has never considered the possibility of this child being sexually assaulted. "You think so, tio?"
"I don't see why not. He not talking, he not eating, just lies there. Could be trauma, know?"
Dale rubbed his chin with his index finger and gave the idea a thought.
"Hm, whatever the reason, can I ask for a favor, tio?"
"You want me to bring him to the office?"
Dale shook his head. "No, no."
Uncle Pablo raised a brow and waited for an answer. Seconds later he sighed and rubbed his forehead with his palm. Perhaps he saw the question in Dale's eyes.
"You want me to take him in. And take care of him. Like a little cerdo."
Dale chuckled at the comparison.
"Yes, tio. Like a little cerdo."

And on that day, Caleb was born.  

V

"Hey Mike," Dale whispered. "Wake up. Wake up!" 

Michael grunted, flipped his body to the other side and started to snore.

"My goodness, Mike." Dale slowly-very, very slowly-got to his knees and reached out to his backpack. He was directly above Michael now. Beads of sweat trickled down his chin and landed unto Michael's pants. Michael must have felt them, because he shifted his legs. Must be cold. Dale carefully unzipped the front pocket of his Overboard Backpack and dug for the wrench. Dale brought the wrench in case of an emergency. He has heard from sufficient sources about the sudden and deadly attacks of mountain bears and angry antelopes. Heck, maybe even the Sasquatch. Minutes later, Dale's fingers came into contact with the metal tool. Dale hurriedly (but so carefully) took the wrench out and sat down. He stared at the weapon and back to the figure. The figure was still sitting there, still as the Antarctic air. Dale got on his fours and slowly crawled towards the entrance of the tent. Behind him, he could still hear the occasional snores of Michael. He mustered whatever courage and strength he has left and reached for the zip of the tent. 

What Dale saw next not only made him drop the weapon, but also made him rush towards the figure. It was a girl, or a boy with a really long hair. And the figure was naked. Not half naked or barely clothed, but whole-ass naked. Dale hastily reached for the boy (now that Dale has seen his ding-dongs, as what Olivia would call it) and brought him into the tent. It was almost 10 degree Celsius above zero outside. Dale laid the child down, dragged his blanket and placed it over him. 

"Whut was that, Dil?" Michael muttered, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

"Look at this, Mike!" Dale shouted. "This poor, poor child!"

"Whut? Whut chil--"

Dale grabbed Michael's arm left arm and yanked it over. "Here!"

"Woah, where did ya get 'em?" Michael was awake now, definitely. 

"Outside," Dale was panting. "by the fire."

Dale spent the next hour explaining the whole thing. Michael spent the next hour listening, nodding as though he was a third grade student paying rapt attention to a science teacher. The child spent the next hour sleeping. So still, as if he was already dead. 

***    

"So whut d'ya plan to do with 'em?" Michael asked, slurping down his breakfast. "I mean, he wouldn't talk, wouldn't eat, he just sits there. And he was naked, Dil. He might have 'em rabies or sumthin'. Maybe the influenza." 

Dale kept quiet, looking at the child, now sitting outside the tent and staring straight at the fire. Sunrise at the hilltop was surely beautiful. Dale could not forget the touch of warmth spread across his skin as the morning sunlight filled the skies, turning the orange dawn into a yellow morning. In the background, Michael was still rambling on. 

"-might be a starchild, Dil. Ya knuh, hybrids of aliens."

The child looked up almost instantly. His gaze was fixed at Michael. 

"Come on, Mike. Don't scare him. Quit it with your nonsense, will ya?" Dale prodded Michael. "Give me some time to think about this. You keep an eye out for animals at the mean time." 

"You the boss, Dil." Michael said and got up. The way Michael said 'boss' sounded almost like 'balls'.

As michael was pacing towards the tent, Dale smashed his left fist unto his right palm. Michael turned back, half-expecting an animal attack. 

"I got it, Mike." Dale said with a grin. "Come on, let's pack up."

"Whut ya got there, Dil?" Michael asked, looking puzzled. "Children wilfare?"

"No, no. Nothing like that," Dale answered. "I'm bringing him to a friend of mine."

"Francis? Ken?"

Dale shook his head.

"Dun tell me its Crazy Bob."

Dale looked out into the dense forest beneath the cliff.

"Nope, I'm bringing him to Uncle Pablo." 

IV

Dale sat upright, pressed both his elbows against his shaking thighs and squeezed his temples with his left thumb and forefinger. First, there was the hangover. Now, this. Great, Dale thought. Just what I've needed. Extra mysteries in my already-mysterious life. More like miserable, a voice shouted back. Shut up, Dale replied.

Dale switched his gaze unto Caleb, who was minding his own business. "Hey there, sport," Dale called out. Caleb gave no response. "hey. Caleb." Still no response, it was as though he was in another world. His OWN world. Dale gave up and sighed. Caleb has always been a queer child to Dale. Up to this day, Dale could not forget his first encounter with Caleb. It was as dark as the Boogieman himself.

It was about three years back(when Olivia and Miley was still around), Dale was hiking with a fellow colleague. Back then Dale had a job(can you believe that?)as a factory worker.The only agenda of the day was to inspect and box third grade toys from 9 a.m. up to 6-sometimes 7 in the evening. Dale could still remember the stench of his boss, that sour, salty taste in the air whenever he walks past. Speed up, lads, his boss would chant. speed up if you're not all that bads. Dale disliked his boss. No, wait. More like despised  Yeah, that's a better word. He hated the fact that his boss was a stuffed up walking talking elephant toy whom was expected to have type 2 diabetes by the age of 40. Maybe even coronary heart disease, or perhaps high blood pressure. Dale also loathed the fact that his boss would utter the most ridiculous phrases just so they can rhyme. Work faster ladies, and later enjoy the candies. Dale wanted to tell his boss that there were in actuality no candies; no shit on a stick or stinking carpet candy; just a bunch of pathetic middle-aged men working for a pathetic boss in a pathetic factory. All these thoughts almost crushed Dale's desire of wanting to hike on that day.

It was around 5 in the evening when Dale's colleague, Michael first suggested that they increase their pace. Dale looked up and squinted at the radiant beam of the sun above. The strong, yellowish glare had already turned into a mild orange blanket of light. Soon, they reached the summit. It was a rather satisfying feeling, to be honest. Dale stood by the edge of the hill and looked into the skies while Michael pitched the tent.The twilight beam was warm as Dale enjoyed the evening air. The ambience was magnificent. Flocks of birds glided across the orange sky, chirping merrily along the way. The breeze was also cool and soothing. It was worth the time, Dale thought. A thousand times better than that old fart's factory.

"Come sit down, Dil. You ought to give them legs a rest, ya knuh?" Michael suggested. He was american but with a thick, native British accent. "Give it a little more and it will sound Scottish, ya know?" Dale would sometimes tell Michael. Michael handed Dale a can of sizzling hot tuna, freshly cooked by the camp fire. "Thanks, bud." Dale dug into the can of cooked fish with a metal fork with full enthusiasm. "Eh, dun mention it pal. What ya did back there was a saver, ya knuh?" Michael was referring to the 600 dollars that Dale had lent Michael. It was for a family matter, it seemed. "My wife is really really grateful. Thanks Dil." Dale slurped through the remnants of the tuna and nodded. "Don't mention it. A friends gotta do what a friends gotta-burp-do!" Michael looked at Dale and Dale squeezed out another belch. They both laughed.

By 10 p.m., Dale and Michael was already sleeping in the tent. Their fire was still on, but not as strong as before. Bits and pieces of charred firewood cracked and hissed as puffs of smoke rose to the air.

Dale heard a sound. Was it the snapping of a tree branch? Nah, probably my own imaginations. Spurred by the hordes of angry, dead tuna swimming in my tummy. Dale smiled at the idea and went back to sleep, this time clutching his own belly.

SNAP

There it is again. This time louder. NEARER. Seconds later Dale gasped. His body was stiff. Out from the corner of his right eye, a figure was moving towards their camp fire  It was crouching. No, more like crawling. Dale's mouth gaped open for what seemed to be forever.

There it was. A silhouette so clear and bold that Dale could almost make out the length of the limbs. The figure sat there silently. It seemed to Dale that the figure was facing their tent. What scared Dale most wasn't the stealthiness of the shadow, but something else.

Dale was afraid because the silhouette was that of a small child.      

III

Dale woke up with damped patches of sweat all over his shirt. He felt hot, but somehow cold on the inside. For a jiffy there Dale thought he was in heaven, finally meeting The Lord Himself. A pang of relief struck Dale. If I am dead, I do not need to give a duck about everything. Dale grinned foolishly and pondered on the reasons for his death. Then, the first earthly object came into his field of vision: an air conditioner that was either very old or decades overused.

But wait, doesn't the air conditioner look familiar? Old, cream colored ancient gizmo with strands of tape hanging down from its top, making it look as though it has hair. The strands were flapping and dancing in mid-air, causing yet another pounding in Dale's already aching head.

"You awake."
Dale snapped out of his daze and jumped from where he was lying. The voice, both cold and monotonous, blew across him like an eerie stream of ice-cold air. That gave him the goose pimples.
"Yahh!"
Dale grabbed the sides of the sofa and spun his head towards his right.
"Owh, it's you Caleb. Uhh, thank goodness. You always give me the scares." Dale was panting like a marathon runner at this point.
Caleb looked at Dale and brought his face close to Dale's. For a moment-just a brief moment-Dale couldn't move. He was stuck to the sofa. It was as though his soul wasn't there any more  But strangely enough, he was conscious. Soon, Caleb's round, freckles-clad nose was in contact with Dale's reddish one. Caleb had a serene and emotionless look on his face, but yet worried at the same time. Dale wanted to scream so badly he swallowed hard. His Adam's apple shifted so drastically he could practically hear them move. Beads of fresh, cold sweat popped out of his pores and slid down his chin. Caleb then shifted his face across Dale's and soon enough his mouth was close to Dale's right ear. Dale could hear the sound of Caleb's lips opening. Dale felt the air rushing out of Caleb's mouth as he whispered. The air was rather cold.
"They're here."
What happened next was so odd Dale could, and never would comprehend for perhaps the rest of his life. Caleb placed his petite and pale palm against Dale's fear-stricken face. For a split second Dale's vision was blurred and it eventually blacked out. Dale could see nothing but only hear a noise. A scurrying noise. The sound of little kitten paws scratching against dense layers of dried leaves. Dale could hear panting and was pretty sure that it wasn't his. Then, within what seemed to be a millionth of a second, two yellow, orb-like objects flashed across his vision.

Dale jerked frontwards and gasped for air. He looked around and grabbed his chest, struggling for oxygen to breathe. He turned his head around and saw Caleb sitting at the corner across the room, staring at a children's book. It was as though nothing had happened.

Dale lied back down. He was scared, although not sure of what.

But there was one thing he was sure of.

Those orb-like objects were the persimmons he saw earlier in the park.

Except this time they weren't persimmons.

They were eyes.