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.

II

It was dark, as dark as the deepest pits. Dale reached out his hands and grabbed at the air. Nothing could be seen. There was a weird sensation, a gut feeling that someone, or something was watching him. All of a sudden he felt a cool breeze brush across his face and that sent a tingling feeling right through his spine. 

Then there was that sound. 

More like a moan, actually. And it sounded like a child's. The moan started out soft and gentle, then it grew in volume and intensity. Soon, it was coming from the back of Dale's ears. He clenched his fist tightly and spun around. 

A white and almost bloodless face was staring at him. It was suspended in mid-air. It did not move. Dale tried his best to identify the complexion of the floating face, but all he could see was a blur. It was there, but somehow vague, like a dream that has just past. It's jaw was moving up and down in a rhythmic pattern as the moaning continued. It was weird because one is supposed to be afraid under such circumstance, but to Dale's surprise he wasn't scared at all. Instead it was somewhat soothing. He felt...serene. 

Dale tried talking but his voice box was suppressed. He reached out his arms and tried to grab at the head. Then it disappeared and Dale felt a sharp pain pierced through his face and everything went dark again.

By then the all-too-familiar pain of a hangover has already started to lurk over Dale.   

Chapter Two: Caleb

I

"Mi Dios! Dale!"shouted Pablo, rushing across Dale's unconscious body.

Pablo shifted Dale's limp body to a sitting positioned, leaned him against the moss-clad wall and started to do what most people would do.

"Wake up, boy,"Pablo whispered, while flinging his left palm unto Dale's cheek repetitively. "This is no time for dormir!"

After a few slaps and what seemed to be pats on the shoulders, Dale finally lifted his heavy eyelids. The sudden stream of light hurt his eyes and he squinted just to make up the figure in front of him. For a second the world seemed to have cloned itself in an infinite number and everything was a blur. Then came the shout.

"Dale!!"

Almost immediately Dale came to his senses and the all-too familiar face appeared instantly.

"Tio Pablo..?" Dale mumbled.

"Si, si. Now come on, follow me back. Your tia Juan is going to freak out seeing you like this," Pablo said while trying to help Dale unto his feet.

"Hungghh.."

"What is that my boy?"asked Pablo, bringing his ears closer to Dale. Pablo winced as the strong alcoholic scent of overnight Old Pulteney entered his nostrils. 

"Grrrhhh.."

"Que?"

For a second the world seemed to stop and Pablo knew what was going to happen. Dale threw his head backwards in an awkward manner and jerked forward as streams of liquor and God-knows-what came flushing out of his throat. Pablo tried to move backwards but his effort was to no avail. 

His Hawaiian shirt, previously drenched only in his own sweat, now contains also of alcohol, spit and some other horrifying substance that even himself do not want to find out.  

V

It was never a trend for a street to be busy in Deadwood Town. Not in the past, not in the present, certainly not in the future. As rumours, or rather folklore once stated that the person who founded this town was a gravedigger. Mr Thatcher was his name. People used to call him The Hatchet. Night and day he would be digging non-stop at that wretched cemetery just next to the abandoned wasteland(which is now known as Deadwood Town). Witnesses say that his whole family got buried there, all five of them. According to town myth(or truth, no one would know), that his brother, Tobby, who has manic depression drugged all of his family members and later on stuff their heads into the fireplace while they were unconscious. Thatcher was out buying lunch that time. Some said that his brother chose this time because he did not want to kill Thatcher, apparently, because of the brotherly love that Thatcher showed him during his hard times. Poor Tobby killed himself later on in a even more gruesome fashion. Investigators claimed to have found bits of body parts of Tobby stuffed in the refrigerator, while his head, still connected to the torso and a leg, was found to be lying in the bathtub filled with what seemed to be a nasty combination of blood and Mr Bubble. 

Reports have shown that Thatcher was actually unconscious the time the police arrived. After that he went into a coma for more than 2 years and they were about to pull the plug on him, that was when his eyes opened. Nurses have claimed that his eyes were as blank as night. Some said he had no eyes, while others exclaimed that his eyes were completely black, as though his pupils took over the whole cornea. Doctors were baffled by his situation, as he sat up, led out a bray and dashed out of the hospital. Pedestrians said that they saw him running towards the cemetery his family was buried in and just sat there. Thatcher said that he heard his family members calling him.  Medical officers tried to take him back for the rest of the medical procedure, but to no avail. Thatcher struggles whenever someone tries to take him away from the cemetery. Soon the people gave up and let him be. During his two years being stuck in a coma, Deadwood Town has actually already started. Streets and facilities began to appear and residents began to move in. Deadwood Town became more and more infamous due to the Thatcher case and the reason why people actually live there is because of that particular urban legend. The name 'Thatcher' got so famous that the couple whom developed the place decided to put the title under the name of Mr Thatcher.

***  

It was sunny when Pablo was filling the fruit boxes. The sunlight glared unto the shop lot along Mariner street. Beads of sweat began to rush out of Pablo's pores and gathered at the side of his eyes. He led out a gruntle and wiped them away. 

"Ma ma mia, looks like Bruce Willis gotta go to the sun again!"said Pablo.

"Dios Mio! It was an asteroid, my love. Not the sun!"answered Juanitta, half-way sniggering. 

"Ah, all the same, all spacey patootey! Gosh this heat is killing me."

"Why don't you head on in and take a few puffs of that new air conditioner?"

"Nah, air cost money, here we have natural air!"

"You're the boss," said Juannita, grinning.

Then came a loud crash from the alley across the street. Pablo got startled and bumped his head on one of the shelves.

"Joder!"

"Pablo, watch your language! By the way, what on earth was that?"

"Aiyayai, let me go check it out. You stay here, Juan. Take care of the shop."

Pablo ran across the street and peered into the alley. On the ground laid what seemed to be a body. Beside it laid a knocked-over trash can(presumably done by a cat or something). Pablo mustered all of his courage and walked over to the body. 

At the back of his mind, only one word was ringing through.

Relajarse, Pablo. Relajarse.   

IV

Dale's eyes flashed open. His head was still flaming from the alcohol. He raised his arm and touched his face. It was ice-cold. He grimaced as his spine popped as he shifted his body from a supine position to a sitting one. He felt the bench vibrate, only to find out a couple of seconds later that it was his own heartbeat. Dale lowered his head and almost immediately could feel the throbbing at the back of his head. Note to self: Never, ever get drunk in the park at night. Dale tried as best as he could to remember the cause to his sudden wakeness. It was a shout, wasn't it? 

No. It was something louder. 

A bang. 

A gunshot. 

Yeah, more likely a gunshot. 

Dale shrugged off this ridiculous assumption(since it was almost impossible for a citizen of Deadwood Town to actually own a real gun) and got up. He struggled as he pushed against the handles of the bench. He straightened his vertebrae and led out what seemed to be an awkward bray. Dale was startled at his own verbal expression and immediately thought of Donkey from The Shrek. Somehow, at the back of his head, almost vaguely, he could hear Donkey's voice. "And in the morning, I'm making waffles!"

Somehow, that made Dale grin.

Dale shambled towards town. All he knew was that he needed company.

He needed reassurance.

Most importantly, he needed food.

Donkey's random yet enlightening quote about waffles reminded Dale that he hasn't eaten anything ever since last night's supper. Well, except for that bottle of Pulteney.

Dale clenched his tummy as he felt the sharp, agonizing stab from the alcohol he consumed earlier. That would be my last bottle, he promised.

But that was a covenant he made all too often to himself.

Unfortunately it fails, every single time. 

After all, as what Seneca says, "drunkenness is nothing but voluntary madness."

You don't say, Seneca, Dale thought. You don't say.