When Ben Harris' sister passes away, her husband, Roger Keswick, is mysteriously absent from her funeral. It's not until 6 months later that Ben is pulled back in to Roger's life, only to find that he's moved on. His new wife may be called Jessica, but she's the spitting image of Ben's sister. Things escalate when Roger claims there's a factory under his house run by little people called the Katoy.
"Ben?" Audry called from the far gate.
"Here, Audry," I said, getting to my feet.
Roger did the same.
By the time we made it to the front yard the police were driving away.
Jessica and Audry approached us, each slipping an arm around Roger and me.
"Jessica, Audry. I..." Roger stammered before he broke down into tears.
Arm in arm we went into the house.
"Come over here, all of you," Roger said, rushing into the living room. Opening the wall cabinet that held his computer, he flipped it on. "Let me show you. I have proof."
The girls moved, one to each side of him and I in the center, just far enough not to interfere. The monitor hummed to life.
Audry silently wiped tears from her face and held my hand tightly.
Roger opened file after file until reaching one called 'Katoy.'
Excitedly, he got up, knocking over his chair, and rushed to turn on the stereo. He adjusted it, making it a little louder than usual before righting the chair, retaking his place.
"You must promise never to speak of this outside of these four walls," he said, covering the screen with his left hand.
We looked at each other and vowed our oath of silence.
"Ok, Bob," Roger said and a new image jumped to the screen.
"Bob is your computer?" I asked a little bewildered.
"Yeah. Cool huh?" he said, grinning, half turning to me. "I have him hooked up all over the house."
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
I was raised pretty much the same as everyone else... devoted mother, strict father and all the imaginary friends I could conjure. Not that I wasn't friendly, I just wasn't "people orientated". Maybe I lived in my head way more than I should have, maybe not. I liked machines more than people, at least I did until I met my wife.
The first thing I can remember writing was for her. For the life of me I can't remember what it was about... something about dust bunnies under the bed and monsters in my closet. It must have been pretty good because she married me shortly after that. I spent a good number of years after inventing games and prototypes for a variety of ideas before I got back to writing.
It wasn't a deliberate conscious thought it was more of a stepping stone. My wife and I had joined a dream interpret group and we were encouraged to write down our dreams as they occurred. "Be as detailed as you can," we were told.
I was thrilled. If there is one thing I enjoy it's making people believe me and I like to exaggerate. Not a big exaggeration or an outright lie mine you, just a little step out of sync, just enough so you couldn't be sure if it were true or not. When I write, I always write with the effort of "it could happen" very much in mind and nothing, I guarantee you, nothing, makes me happier.
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