The Adventures of Danny Walcott: Book 1 - The Cloud Portal

Chapter 1

The Cloud Portal

Mr. William H. Walcott, who lived in a big, red farmhouse, along a dusty, country road, was a very stern and ordinary man.  He had a simple job, a normal house and for the most part, an ordinary life.  He was middle-aged, average height and wasn’t exceptionally thin.  Nor was he exceptionally large, and he often reveled in pointing out those who were large to his family while snarling about their lack of personal health.  He was, more or less, stocky and well-built; a strong man that had grown up on a farm.  He knew the value of money and the fruits of his own labor.  He didn’t go spending his hard-earned money freely and he didn’t expect others to do things for him.  He was a no-nonsense kind of guy.  Contrary to many of his friends and family’s opinions, Mr. Walcott did like to have fun; but he couldn’t tolerate others having fun when there was work to be done, so he almost always masked his desires and channeled his energy into working on something, even if that something was of a trivial matter.

He didn’t believe in fairy tales and serendipity or extraordinarily, fortuitous circumstances.  He didn’t even believe in creativity or imagination.  It wasn’t that imagination was a bad thing.  It was just too unrealistic for his liking, and, to Mr. Walcott, anything unrealistic and abstract was completely useless.  Overthinking things and daydreaming always led to less accomplishment and more inactivity than it led to a successful life.  And for a man who always felt impelled to be doing something, inactivity was to be avoided at all costs.  He hated boredom and would frequently seek out those who weren’t keeping busy in order to criticize them.  This trait came in very useful at work.

His job at J.W. Plastics, INC. seemed very ordinary; a nine to five job with relatively normal co-workers and a disciplinarian for a boss.  Mr. Walcott quite enjoyed working for his boss, since he too was a disciplined man.  He had recently been upgraded to foreman of his particular department, and his boss was more than pleased to see their philosophy being implemented during everyday tasks.  When he was not working at the local plastics plant, Mr. Walcott could be found in his garage on evenings and weekends, fixing cars and welding different odds and ends for extra cash on the side.  One day, his boss, John Weil, needed a few things installed on his car and Mr. Walcott was more than happy to perform the task, free of charge.  Many of Mr. Walcott’s friends, who also happened to work at J.W. Plastics, assumed that this favor was the main reason he had landed the foreman job, which coincidentally was offered to him not long after he fixed his boss’s car.  Though they don’t say it directly to Mr. Walcott, they often speak about it in private, in addition to several other rumors involving J.W. Plastics employees.

During the summer months, Mr. Walcott would spend less time fixing things and more time building things.  His skilled carpentry came in handy when he fashioned all of the cabinets found in his family’s house out of an old pile of wood that he found outside of an Amish sawmill.  The fence that lines the driveway, which he had built last summer, keeps the family’s horses and chickens within property boundaries during the summer months and prevents the snow from drifting over the driveway in the winter.  He would always pride himself in being able to build things that would last.  His life was about as busy and normal as one’s life could get; wake up, go to work, come home, work some more, relax for a bit, then sleep.  He always seemed to be content with the most ordinary things.  He didn’t wear anything flashy, except for the warm flannel shirts which he frequently wore during the northwestern Pennsylvania winters.  Most of the time, he could be found wearing heavy work jeans, a pair of steel-toed work boots and one of his many ripped, oil stained t-shirts.  His diet was fairly ordinary; meat, potatoes and fresh vegetables from the summer garden.  He was a man of habit, a man who kept his head down and worked harder than the men around him.  It was a part of his family’s heritage, and he was very proud of it.  Anything unusual or unexplained was certainly not something Mr. Walcott wanted to delve into anymore deeper than a cat wanting to dip its paws into a pond.

Mr. Walcott’s wife, Mrs. Debra M. Walcott, originally Debra McCreary from Pearl Street, in nearby Georgetown, was a very simple and ordinary woman.  She too was middle aged, although she looked noticeably younger than her husband, despite being only two years younger.  Mr. Walcott’s hair was beginning to sprout grey speckles in some spots, even on his thick mustache.  Gone were the days of his solid, jet-black hair, which his wife so unequivocally loved and bragged about to her friends.  With each passing year, Mr. Walcott’s face grew older and more tired, circles formed under his eyes and his big round nose looking smudged and wrinkled.  Nearly twenty years of laborious work, sometimes dangerous, was beginning to catch up with him.  Mrs. Walcott on the other hand, had rosy cheeks, a pink, round nose and a warm smile.  Her hair was a beautiful golden, brown with huge curls.  Many of the local women claimed Mrs. Walcott would curl her hair for two hours every morning, but her closest friends knew that she did not do this because her hair was, in fact, naturally curly.  She, like her husband, was neither thin nor large, but somewhere in the middle.  A short, sturdy woman, Mrs. Walcott loved to tend to the house and garden, as well as cook elaborate, homemade dishes and dinners.  It was well known among the local community that Mrs. Walcott’s homemade apple pie was the best pie within a 15 mile radius.  This was a guarantee.

Although Mrs. Walcott didn’t work, her days were certainly busy, and about as ordinary as any middle-aged mother’s day would be.  First thing in the morning, she would roll out of bed, trying not to wake her husband, for he valued every second of sleep, even though the insensitive buzz from his alarm clock would wake him only five minutes later.  She would then walk downstairs in her nightgown and whip up breakfast for her husband, son and father-in-law, while all three males fought over the two bathtubs in the home.  Afterwards, she would see that her husband and son got off to work and school respectively and then find something to clean or drive into town to visit her mother.  Sometimes she would stop in at one or all of the following; the grocery store, the bank (if she had to get money for the groceries), the salon and manicure shop (to see her friends and catch up on the latest gossip) and the library (to check out a book that she had heard good reviews on).  When she returned home, she would make a quick lunch and begin reading or working on something outside, if it was sunny and warm.  By the time her son arrived home from school, she was already preparing dinner and her husband would arrive shortly thereafter.  The family would recall the highlights of their day, Mrs. Walcott, who could not stand to see the house anything but spotless, would once again clean after dinner, she would help her son with his homework, to her husband’s dismay, and finally she would climb into bed, kiss her husband on the cheek and go to sleep.  Her life was incredibly ordinary, and she was quite happy with it, although sometimes she yearned for something to happen; something interesting, something exciting, something that she could talk to people about.  She certainly feared the idea of something very unusual, anything that could change in her life, but she also longed for more substance in it.

On the surface, Mr. and Mrs. Walcott’s son, Danny, was an ordinary boy.  He loved to play computer games, play outside with his friends and build with toy bricks.  He’d get upset if he wasn’t allowed to do something, or get overexcited when his friends were allowed to come over to his house.  One might look at Danny and assume there was nothing special about him.  But he looked different from his parents.  He was tall and wiry, with long fingers, big brown eyes, and brown, curly hair.  His nose was long and thin and closely resembled a bird’s beak.  Danny also loved to draw.  He would imagine and create the most wonderful made up worlds, something his father was not impressed with.  He was about as ordinary as any eight year old boy was.  But there was something deep within him that was not ordinary.  It was something quite extraordinary in fact, so much, that Danny always seemed to have the most unusual, fortuitous circumstances happen in his life.  The most interesting thing about Danny was that he would routinely find himself in the right place at the right time.  Completely unconscious to this phenomenon, he would find himself needing something very specific, and like magic, the exact thing he needed seemed to present itself to him in ways and in methods that no person could logically explain.

One day, he and his best friend, Justin Miller along with Justin’s mother, were at Riley’s Funspot, the local go-kart park.  Mrs. Miller had let the two boys play miniature golf while she read a magazine, under the picnic area’s giant umbrella.  On one of the holes, Danny whacked his putt a little harder than he intended and he watched it ricochet off a boulder across the park’s fence and down the hill to the main road.  Danny was annoyed at the prospect of walking all the way back across the course just to get a new ball, which he knew would cost him an extra quarter.  To a young boy, a quarter is a fortune.  But as he turned to walk back he noticed a green ball in the bush, exactly like the green ball that he had just lost.  Another day, he had the unfortunate situation of forgetting his lunchbox on the bus.  As the lunch bell rang, he walked to the cafeteria with the rest of the school; his stomach vibrating uncontrollably and no money to buy a lunch.  As he was rounding the corner, he slipped on something and immediately hit the ground.  While he lay on the cold and ugly, tile floor, a piece of green paper slowly fell down to him, swaying from side to side until it landed on his face.  It was a $5 bill; enough to buy two lunches… and a snack!

Danny always seemed to worm his way out of things too.  He would find that if there was something that he absolutely did not want to do, weird events and circumstances would take place to prevent him from having to do it.  This especially ticked off Mrs. Walcott, who constantly had to change her schedule because of the strange circumstances.  She would say things in a mocking voice like, How did you do that?  How did you pull that one off? 

Danny didn’t know the answer.  In fact, he found it really amusing that his mother seemed to think that he was somehow connected to all these unusual events.  He seemed to have an incredible streak of good luck.  On one occasion, when he was four years old, Danny’s parents had to go away to Indianapolis for the weekend.  There had been a death in his Mother’s family and the last thing Mrs. Walcott wanted to do was to bring Danny along to a funeral.  She had planned on dropping him off with an extremely elderly neighbor, Mrs. Gruber.  Danny hated Mrs. Gruber.  She had babysat him several times and each time was more awful than the last.  He once had to sit on the couch where Mrs. Gruber could keep an eye on him while she knitted.  He ended up sitting there all day, drawing pictures.  It wouldn’t have been so bad except he wasn’t allowed to go to the bathroom until she had finished knitting a sock, which took about five hours.  And instead of a book, Mrs. Gruber had given Danny a frying pan for a hard surface to draw on.  Another time, the only food Mrs. Gruber had to eat was raw, uncooked cabbage and a big bowl of cottage cheese.  She did, however, have half a dozen stale saltine crackers hiding in the back of the cupboard, which Danny opted for without hesitation, even though they were soft, chewy and tasteless. 

This time Danny was adamant about not going over to Mrs. Gruber’s house.  He was very emotional about the whole ordeal even though he kept it bottled up inside, particularly when his father was around.  On the morning that Danny was supposed to be dropped off, Mrs. Walcott got a call from Mrs. Gruber, saying that she had, out of nowhere, caught the flu, and was in no state to look after Danny.  What luck!  Panicked with the idea of taking Danny all the way to Indiana, Mrs. Walcott made several frantic phone calls, but the answers were all the same;

Oh I’m quite sorry, dear, I’m unavailable this weekend.

So sorry.  I will be out of town for the weekend.

I’m very sorry, hun.  Had you called ten minutes ago, I would’ve been able to take him.  But, I literally just booked to babysit another person’s child for the weekend right before you called.

Danny ended up riding to Indianapolis with his parents and grandmother, and what an incredible trip it had been.  Until that trip, he had never seen fields so large, buildings so tall, and so many people in suits.

Another such time, that Mrs. Walcott would like to forget, was when Danny was seven years old.  He was supposed to go to the dentist to get the last of his baby teeth pulled, which the orthodontist required in order for him to get braces.  Danny feared the whole situation, and was determined to avoid it completely.  He knew he didn’t want to get his teeth pulled, he knew it would be a horrible experience.  Justin Miller had his teeth pulled just two months earlier and it was traumatic, according to Justin.  Danny didn’t like the dentist, or the office.  He especially didn’t like the loud, annoying, young receptionist who always seemed to have a fist-sized wad of bubblegum in her mouth.  Imagine all that sugar.  Maybe she should go to the dentist instead of him, he thought.  He wanted nothing more than to go straight home and play on his brand new Playstation. 

His mother had picked him up from school early, and they set off towards Wheatleyville, a slightly larger town than their hometown of Georgetown.  Danny had never liked Wheatleyville; perhaps it was because he had always associated it with the dentist.  It was, however, a very pleasant town.  The main street was clean and all the storefronts were decorated with seasonal goods.  On the main drag, there stood a building that looked well out of place.  It had a bright blue and white colored dome that looked as if it belonged more on St. Basil’s Cathedral in Russia, than in a small town in northwestern Pennsylvania.  Every time Danny saw this building, he knew he was almost at the dentist’s office.  Danny’s heart sank into the bottom of his stomach and he wanted to open up the car door, jump out and run.  As they pulled into the parking lot, Danny started to feel sick, but as they walked into the office, his emotions changed immediately.

The receptionist, almost choking on a big gob of pink bubblegum waved at Danny and Mrs. Walcott and motioned for them to come to the desk.  She had a concerned look on her face.  Mrs. Walcott listened in horror as the lady explained how the dentist had just been bitten on the hand by a young boy and was being rushed to the emergency room to receive stitches.  Danny’s appointment would have to be canceled and rescheduled for a later date.  Again, what luck!  Danny had somehow gotten his way, even if he didn’t understand how.  His mother rolled her eyes and took him home, where he could play on his new Playstation.

Although Mrs. Walcott was often annoyed by these circumstances, it was clear that she loved her son very much.  Most of the time she was very protective of her Danny, perhaps overprotective.  She would constantly worry about what could happen to him and would come up with irrational reasons why she wanted him to stay at home, instead of going to play ball with his friends, or swim in the creek.

Oh you’ll trip on a tree root.

Someone will let go of the bat and it’ll hit you in the head.

It might rain and you’ll slip and break your ankle.

Danny would never bother to say that none of these things ever remotely happened.  Even though he would sneak off and do crazy things with his friends, no one ever got hurt.  One time, Danny’s cousin Evan, who always seemed to have a smudge of dirt on his face, had managed to catch a snapping turtle in the creek and the three of them wanted to adopt it as a pet.  Justin had taken it home but his mother told him to take it back because she didn’t want a slimy turtle in the house.  If Danny had come home with a snapping turtle, his mother may have flipped the roof off of the house in anger; but who could blame her?  Danny, after all, was her only child. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Miller was the exact opposite.  She had six children, one boy and five girls.  Her only son, Justin, was Danny’s best friend.  Both boys were the same age and had been in the same class every year at school.  It wasn’t uncommon to see Mrs. Miller drinking an afternoon tea in her living room and reading Mrs. Nuren’s Guide to Astrology and the Beyond while her boy pelted his sisters with toy hammers and her daughters made a mess of the kitchen.  She was used to it.  She gave her children plenty of space to enjoy their childhood.  She didn’t see any reason to interfere too much with her children’s’ lives as long as they didn’t break too many bones or windows.  The only child that Mrs. Miller ever seemed to get frustrated with was Danny’s cousin Evan, who was a bit of a brat and often wound up breaking things.  No matter what it was, he would find himself in trouble every time he hung out with Danny and Justin.  Not only was he a pain for other mothers to deal with, but his antics rubbed off on the other boys, effectively tripling their mischief.  Despite this, Mrs. Miller, was by far the most lenient of the mothers.

Though Mrs. Walcott considered Mrs. Miller to be a bit of a wacko, and oftentimes a neglectful parent, she nonetheless considered her as one of her friends.  The Millers weren’t overly religious, and neither were the Walcott’s, but Mr. and Mrs. Walcott had always found Mrs. Miller to be a bit strange.  Sometimes they worried Danny was hanging around with the wrong sort of people and when Mrs. Walcott would begin to worry, it would last for hours or days.

Mr. Walcott also cared deeply about his son, but not in the same way his wife cared.  He wanted only the best for his son, and since he knew what worked in life, and what was best, he was determined to make sure his boy learned it.  He taught Danny to be disciplined, to do his chores, to work hard, how to do things right; not unlike most parents who want their children to be successful.  But because he cared so much about his son, he wouldn’t give his son any choices or options.  He didn’t consider Danny’s feelings.  He didn’t think about what his son’s dreams and goals were.  He just wanted to make sure that his son had a successful life, providing his son followed a similar path as him.

*            *            *            *            *            *

Winter was in full force.  A strong band of lake-effect snow barreled through the rolling hills of northwestern Pennsylvania.  The faint sound of bells, Christmas carolers and children’s laughter resonated from a nearby town.  It was Christmas Eve and many of the town folk were returning from church service or getting their last minute Christmas shopping in.  Many children had engaged in a spontaneous snowball fight in the unplowed streets, completely unaware of their mothers’ meticulous and often obsessive preparation of dressing them up nicely for the evening.  One of the young boys was eight year old Danny Walcott.  He was a quiet, but intelligent boy, tall for his age and his brown curly hair was covered up by a red and white zigzagged stocking cap.  He kept ducking out of the way while his best friend, Justin Miller hid behind a parked car and periodically popped out to try to nail him in the face with a snowball.  Evan, Danny’s often mischievous cousin, kept pelting Sarah McCafferty who was curled up in a ball and yelling at him to stop.  Many other children had joined in on the fight and snowballs flew through the air like bullets and cannonballs on a Civil War battlefield.  Even parents and grandparents had fallen victim to stray snowballs.  Horrified mothers shouted at their children and fathers scrambled to locate them and carry them away from the warzone.

Parents escorted their children to their cars and homes.  Three children remained pummeling each other with snowballs; Evan, Justin and Danny.  Danny, noticing the ever increasing silence, realized that everyone else had left.  He looked around for his parents, but there was no sign of them.  Then he heard voices down coming from around the corner and realized that their parents were still talking outside of a storefront.  Justin thought this was a perfect time to strike and clobbered Danny in the face.

YEOWWW! Danny shouted, clutching his freezing cheek.

Evan laughed and then, turning to his cousin, said, Hey Danny, on three… motioning towards Justin’s hiding spot.  One…two…THREE!  Danny and Evan ran around the car and tackled Justin into a snow bank.  They began to pile snow on top of him.

Justin started pleading, Guys… no!  Stop!  PLEASE! but Danny wasn’t going to let Justin have the satisfaction of a cheap shot.  Evan finished by sitting on top of the pile.

What are you boys doing!? came a voice.  It was Danny’s mother.  The mothers had just rounded the corner and looked completely confused, except for Danny’s mother, who was scowling.  Danny and Evan scrambled to their feet.

And where is Justin? asked Mrs. Miller, with a concerned look on her face.  Justin’s hand popped out of the snow pile and Danny heard a muffled, I’m here.

Evan smirked.  We were playing.  Justin crawled out of the snow pile.  His black coat was almost completely covered in snow.

Indeed you were, muttered Aunt Lizzie. Come on, Evan.  Time to go home.  Evan clumsily stood up and said goodbye to Danny and Justin.

The other two followed their mothers.  I bet Evan is responsible for this, Mrs. Miller whispered to Danny’s mother.  He’s always getting himself into trouble.

Danny’s mother nodded in agreement.  I don’t know how Lizzie puts up with him.  If he were my son he wouldn’t be such a brat.  I’d see to it.  Danny and Justin looked at each other and smiled.  Danny’s always been a good boy at home, she continued.  It’s only when Evan is around that he turns into a little monster."

Oh yes!  Absolutely!  Mrs. Miller concurred.  I almost don’t want him over at my house.  The other day, that little devil got into our chicken coop and was running around with our old hen, Daisy, in his arms.  She’s older than Justin, bless her heart.  That’s not how an old lady should be treated, don’t you agree?

After a few goodbyes and another several minutes of endless mother chatter, Danny was in the backseat of his family’s grey Ford Taurus.  His father had gone to warm up the car earlier and was complaining to his mother about how long he had to leave the car idling as he waited for her.

Above the valley, the snow became heavier.  From an old farmhouse, an elderly man watched the snow fall from the living room window while drinking a heavily scented hazelnut coffee.  He had brilliant blue eyes, a white, bushy mustache and a long, thin nose.  He was nearly bald.  The bit of hair he had left was as snow white as his mustache.  A set of headlights appeared at the far end of the long, winding driveway.  His son, daughter-in-law and grandson had returned from town.

Several hours passed, and so did several bands of snow.  A new snow band had just arrived, and with it came more grumbling from Mr. Walcott.  Danny watched his father take on the nearly impossible task of shoveling the walking path and driveway in a whiteout.  Grandpa Jesse, he said to the elderly man.  Can you tell me another story?

The old man sat back in his chair and reflected for a several moments.  He had not expected his grandson to ask for another story, especially this late at night.  The hands on the old grandfather clock pointed to a quarter till eleven.  The embers in the fireplace had dwindled to glowing red and orange specks, not unlike the silvery specks of snow, glistening outside.  Ice was forming on the living room windows as the cold wind howled through the cracks in the walls of the upstairs attic.  Mr. Walcott, who looked like he had just returned from Siberia, was muttering profanities in the mudroom while stomping snow off of his boots.  Grandpa Jesse settled into his chair, closed his eyes and clapped his hands together.  Sure Danny, he said calmly.  What would you like to hear?  I’m afraid I’m all out of Christmas stories.

Danny snuggled up under a blanket on the couch.  How about – something exciting! he exclaimed.  Something with adventure – something with mystery.

Grandpa Jesse’s eyes lit up.  Although he was old, his blue eyes looked as young as Danny’s.  His smile was as warm as the flickering fire place that was roasting a pot of chestnuts.  He pondered and stroked his big, white mustache.  He had never told Danny this story before.  In fact, he had not told it to anyone in almost 40 years.  Was Danny ready to hear it?  What would Danny’s father say?  The young boy watched his grandfather intently.  Grandpa Jesse knew he was out of good stories.  This was the last one.  But the difference was this story was real.  He wanted to retreat to his bedroom.  There he could rest until morning and contrive another story for the boy.  But a child’s imagination should not be restrained.  After all, he also had the same curious imagination when he was young.  After quite a dilemma, he finally smiled, crossed his arms and said, Oh I’ve got a story, Danny.  I’ve got a story alright…  Have you ever heard the story of the cloud portal?

"The cloud portal?" Danny repeated loudly.

Shhh!  Grandpa Jesse whispered holding his index finger to his lips.  He looked towards the kitchen to see if his son was listening to the story, but Mr. Walcott was still grumbling and rummaging around the kitchen.  Grandpa Jesse got out of his chair and sat down on the couch beside Danny’s feet.  The cloud portal is the most amazing thing that mankind has ever seen.  But its secret has been kept for thousands of years.  They’ve been documented in only a few ancient texts, and personal accounts are only limited to those who have actually seen it.  Heck, just about anyone who saw it and went blabbing about it in public, was written off as a nut case.

So what is it?  Danny asked.

Grandpa Jesse leaned forward and spoke quietly.  "Every few generations or so, the most extraordinary phenomenon occurs.  Mysterious, meteorological events beyond human comprehension lead to an opening in the clouds.  That opening… becomes a gateway… a gateway… to another world.  Throughout history, there have been accounts of these events.  Over and over, men of considerable power, wealth and ingenuity have attempted to pass through these gateways.  The ancient Sumerians, Genghis Khan, Da Vinci, Ben Franklin, heck, even Napoleon tried to find a way to pass through it.  Legend has it that no human has ever succeeded in doing so, but what do we know.  They can close just as fast as they open.  All it takes is a plane to be in the right place at the right time.  Maybe it might explain some of the disappearances of aircraft over the years but that’s beside the point, Danny.  No one knows why these cloud portals open up, where they will open and when.  And no one knows how long they will stay open."

Suddenly, Danny’s father walked into the living room holding a cup of coffee with a rolled up newspaper under his arm.  Are you telling this poor boy that old wives’ tale?  He sneered.  If you’re gonna’ tell him made-up stories, the least you can do is make it a Christmas story.

Grandpa Jesse looked taken aback.  He was almost in tears.  It’s not a wives’ tale Billy, he tried to explain.  My grandfather saw it with his own two eyes.  He –

"Dad, how many times do I have to tell you?  Don’t call me Billy!  Mr. Walcott growled as he pointed his newspaper at Grandpa Jesse.  I wasted half my childhood searching for something that doesn’t exist and I’ll be damned if I let you do the same thing to my son!  At least Ma would agree with me if she were alive today.  She never understood your silly adventures either."

That’s not true! Grandpa Jesse intervened.

Mr. Walcott glared at his father.  He pointed the newspaper at Danny.  Don’t buy into these legends and wives’ tales, Danny.  They’re not real.  They won’t serve you in life.  They won’t get you anywhere.  They’ll only make you dream.

What’s wrong with dreaming? asked Grandpa Jesse.

Mr. Walcott snarled and left in a huff.  Grandpa Jesse slouched and rubbed his brow.  I’m sorry Danny.  I should never have brought up that story.  Just so you know, your grandmother always supported me until she passed on, bless her heart.  Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you, Helen.  You’ve always been my inspiration.  I –

But Grandpa Jesse, Danny interrupted, clearly annoyed that his grandfather had stopped telling the story.  What do the cloud portals look like?  And how do we know there’s another world on the other side?

The old man smiled.  There was a twinkle in his eyes.  You’re a smart boy Danny, he said.  It’s been said that not a human alive today has ever seen one of these gateways, but I’m willing to bet you that someone somewhere in this great, big world, has seen it.  Your great-great-grandfather saw one once.  He was about sixteen years old when it happened.  He told me the story when I was your age.  The day he saw it, there was a strange ambiance in the air.  It was a beautiful, calm summer day; a bit warm and a bit breezy.  He had just returned from town and was going to work on the cattle fence.  The wind began to pick up, so naturally, he looked around to see if a thunderstorm was approaching.  As he gazed up into the sky he noticed a strange group of puffy clouds shifting and morphing.  It was unlike anything he had ever seen before…

What happened then? Danny asked.

Grandpa Jesse winked at his grandson and said softly, I think you know the answer to your own question, Danny.  The cloud opened up!  Your great-great-grandfather was stunned.  It didn’t just break apart like some clouds do, no, this cloud opened up.  The hole in the cloud grew larger and kept shifting until it formed a perfect square…

A square hole!?  Danny asked in a shocked tone.  He was no longer laying on the couch.  He was sitting up straight and listening intently to his grandfather.  His eyes were as big as saucers.  What happened next?

Grandpa Jesse leaned in towards Danny.  He stood there as perplexed as a cow on a beach.  As he stared, he noticed something come out from behind the clouds; a dirigible.

"A what?" Danny asked.

A dirigible, Grandpa Jesse explained.  It’s an airship; like a hot air balloon, but bigger.  It had a beautiful array of colors; reds, yellows, blues and greens.

Danny knew how much Grandpa Jesse loved airships.  Before WWII, he had become an accomplished balloonist, and later, a pilot.  Following the war, he had a profitable career as a commercial pilot which took him to many countries around the world.  He had retired several years before Danny’s birth to focus entirely on giving private flying lessons.  Danny could vividly remember riding in his grandfather’s old plane, a bright red Boeing-Stearman E75 biplane, at a very young age.  The Ruby Lady, as they called it, had been in his grandfather’s possession for over fifty years.  Grandpa Jesse had promised Danny’s mother that he would give up, what she called ‘that ungrateful, maniacal pastime,’ when he moved in with the family after his wife had passed on.  Danny’s mother had always viewed Grandpa Jesse as a daredevil and constantly sought to point it out to Danny saying, Don’t be like your grandfather Danny; you’ll wind up crashing into a barn someday.  To her horror, Grandpa Jesse went out and bought a motorized paraglider shortly after making his promise.  Every time Mrs. Walcott would complain about it, he would nudge Danny, wink at him and say, I promised her I’d stop flying my plane, but I never said I would stop flying.

Grandpa Jesse, stood up, threw a couple logs into the fireplace and poked them a few times with the fire poker.  Then, with youth in his step, he went into the kitchen and came back out with a plate of cookies and two big glasses of chocolate milk.  I know your mother wouldn’t want me doing this but she’s asleep.  And since I’m the only adult still up… well… looks like I’m the one in charge, he said handing the plate to Danny.

Grandpa Jesse, Danny said, while dipping his snowman cookie into his glass of milk, What about the story?

Of course, the old man grinned, wiping chocolate milk off of his mustache.  Where were we?  … Ah yes.  He set his glass on the coffee table and sat back, folding his arms behind his head.  So your great-great-grandfather saw something that day.  Something he couldn’t explain.  He tried to piece together a logical explanation.  Maybe the great Henri Giffard was touring the US with his steam-powered airship?  He watched to see if the dirigible came out on the other side of the cloud, but it didn’t!  He was stumped.  How on Earth could an airship of that size pass behind a cloud and not come out the other side?  That’s when he knew that there was something quite unusual about this cloud.

What happened? Danny queried.

Well, Grandpa Jesse said, "it disappeared.  Your great-great grandfather watched the cloud for a few more minutes and the hole began to shrink.  Eventually the cloud dispersed and that was it.  But you know what?  Years later, he discovered an old leather-bound book called Secrets of the Ancients at a flea market.  He gave it to me.  Wanna’ see?"

Not right now, Grandpa, Danny said.  He wanted to hear the rest of the story.

Ok, ok, Grandpa Jesse said, taking another sip of chocolate milk.  So this very old book just happened to be sitting atop a pile of books from all genres; Charles Dickens, Thoreau, Emerson, biographies even Dictionaries and encyclopedias.  He was scanning through the book and listening to two old geezers talking about baseball and Cleveland’s unstoppable pitcher, Cy Young.  And all of the sudden a page caught his eye.  There was a drawing of the very thing he had seen many years before!

Danny was awestruck.  May I see the book, Grandpa?

The old man chuckled and stood up.  Now you want to see it.  Follow me, Danny, he said.  Danny got up and followed his grandfather out of the living room and down the dark hallway, which was overly-decorated with family pictures.  Danny’s mother loved framing photos of the family, and just like she had a habit of worrying too much, she had a habit of taking her framing too far.  At the end of the hallway was a window with doors on both sides.  Grandpa Jesse’s room was on the right.  It had been converted from a crafts room when he moved in with the family.  On the far wall was a bookcase which contained numerous biographies, novels, and textbooks.  Decorations from countries around the world dotted the walls.  Grandpa Jesse scanned the rows of books until he came upon an old book.  It looked more like an old piece of cow hide than a book.  Here it is, he said handing the book to Danny.  Danny read the titled aloud. "Secrets of the Ancients: Mysterious Tales for the Common Man by E. Percy Mullins.  Who’s E. Percy Mullins?"

I don’t know, Grandpa Jesse said.  I’ve been searching for more information on him for years and have found next to nothing.  I’ve gone to countless libraries around the world; even the Library of Congress and the British Library in London.  I’ve looked through thousands of texts and have found only two books about him.

Grandpa Jesse scratched the back of his head.  Well… it’s more like two books that mention him, he continued.  "One book had a grand total of two or three sentences about him and the other book had an entire page dedicated to him, but about half of that was a description of his works.  Here’s what I do know about him…  He was born in Bromyard, England in the first half of the 18th century and he was known for traveling the world and searching for lost civilizations.  Secrets of the Ancients is the only known book that he published, although he published several poems, riddles and newspaper articles in London papers.  There were only two hundred copies of Secrets of the Ancients made!  Then, sometime in the mid-19th century, around the time your great-great grandfather was born, someone commissioned a printing company in Virginia to print almost 1000 additional copies of the book.  But something happened to most of those copies.  He paused because Danny had a shocked and somewhat confused look on his face.  Well— he continued, it’s not surprising.  It was a very rare book from an exceptionally rare author.  And the Civil War took place at about the same time, so they could have been lost during all the chaos.  To this day, not a soul knows what happened to those copies.  But I tell you one thing, Danny.  There’s something really fishy about the whole thing.  None of the books were sold.  The printing company soon went out of business.  1000 brand new rare books would’ve made them quite a bit of money back then, especially in a time when conspiracy and suspicion ran rampant.  Had they sold those books, the company would have been well off.  My guess is the books were stolen." 

Young Danny gasped.

Grandpa Jesse whispered, I bet they were stolen by someone who didn’t want them out on the market.  Imagine, Danny, somebody obviously wanted it available to the public and someone else didn’t.  Who knows… maybe they had been quarreling over it for years.  The old man sat down in his chair and let out a heavy sigh. 

Danny looked inside the cover of the book.  It read Published in London, England 1771.  It was an amazing feeling to hold a book that was well over 200 years old.  It was as if the book tingled and vibrated with energy.  He wondered who may have read it before it came into his great-great-grandfather’s possession.  He wondered if they may have seen the cloud portal themselves.  Then he wondered where the newer printed books were, even though he found it a bit silly to call 150 year-old books new.  Danny’s attention turned back to the author.  Grandpa Jesse, whatever happened to E. Percy Mullins?

Grandpa Jesse stood up again and walked over to look at the book in Danny’s hands.  I don’t know what happened to him, he said in a frustrated voice.  I couldn’t find any concrete information on his death or his family, besides the family that he had when growing up in England.  They all died when he was still relatively young.  It was said that he had moved to the colonies and was killed at a young age by a disease sometime during the 1750s.  But he published his book back in England shortly before the Revolutionary War broke out.  So we know that didn’t happen.  And even more unusual, is the fact that his name and home town were documented by New York immigration in the 1840s.  Could it have been the same man?  Impossible.  He would’ve been over 100 years old!  He didn’t have any relatives as far as I know; except maybe a distant cousin.  But the odds of there being another E. Percy Mullins from Bromyard, England seems very coincidental, wouldn’t you agree?  This is quite the mysterious man, Danny.

But… Grandpa, Danny said very slowly.  Didn’t they keep records of the immigrants on Ellis Island?

This was well before that time, Danny, Grandpa Jesse explained.  It wasn’t common to have your name recorded back then.  In fact many people didn’t want their identity known at all, for fear of being captured and sent back to the countries they emigrated from.  Remember, there was still a lot of religious persecution going on in the world at that time.  People kept to themselves more often than not.

Grandpa Jesse fiddled through the pages, while Danny held the book in his palms.  Suddenly, Grandpa Jesse exclaimed, Here it is!

Danny stared at the drawing.  Sure enough, as Grandpa Jesse had described, there was a big, puffy cloud with a perfectly cut square in the middle of it.  The sky in the drawing was pink, most likely the effects of a sunset.  But the sky inside the square was crisp blue; the kind of blue that you only see on a cloudless morning.  Against the blue sky, was a marvelous blue balloon attached to what looked like a great sea ship.  Danny imagined the balloon floating across the sky in his mind.

Below the drawing was a text that read:

The Cloud Portal

Of all secrets mentioned in this section of the book, this in particular, is the one in which this author has the most experience with, for the author has seen this with his own eyes.  According to legend, a world of abundance awaits the individual who successfully enters through the Cloud Portal.  These portals, known to have formed through unknown causes, have been documented throughout the history of Western Europe and in the Eastern World pre-modern era.  The author of this book has met with leaders of many tribes in Africa and the New World who claim of similar events in their oral history.  The consensus among those who lay claim is that these mysterious portals open up to our world during important times in human history and should not go unnoticed.  Opportunity awaits the weary traveler who remains steadfast and focused. 

Author’s note – Information on this particular topic, has been suppressed by those in power for thousands of years.  If knowledge of the Cloud Portal were bestowed upon the common man, the world would find itself in a dangerous place.

Grandpa Jesse looked down at his watch and gasped.  Danny, I think it’s time for you to go to bed.  It’s past midnight, and if your mother knew you were still awake, I fear we’d both be in trouble.  He gave Danny a sharp look, followed by a wink and a smile.  Danny hesitantly handed the book back to his grandfather and bid him goodnight.  He headed upstairs to bed, but first made a quick stop in the dark kitchen to grab another plate of Christmas cookies.  He nearly tripped over Cracker Jack, the family’s calico cat, but managed to balance himself and keep hold of his plate.

Snow was bouncing off of his bedroom window.  In a matter of hours, Danny would be opening Christmas presents of all sorts.  There would be chocolate truffles, fruit candies, peppermint candy canes and even more cookies.  But the young boy wasn’t thinking about Christmas morning.  Under the covers he lay, replaying the image of the dirigible crossing the sky in his mind’s eye.  He wished he could see a cloud portal.  He would readily give up his Christmas presents in exchange for a good look at one.  As he drifted off to sleep, he imagined himself riding in the airship, captaining its crew, and sailing across the sky to distant lands.

Chapter 2

The Stranger

Four years passed.  A boy with brown, curly hair walked to his desk in a second story classroom of Georgetown Junior High School.  He was much taller, his long fingers clutched around his Civil War history test, his curious, brown eyes gazing at the large A+ marked with red ink on his paper.

It was late May.  Dandelions were scattered across the bright, green fields and a warm breeze blew through the open window.  The humidity made the clouds on the horizon blend with the sky.  Danny Walcott sat down next to Justin Miller, who was scoffing at the D- he had received.  Danny knew all too well that his best friend never studied for tests and history wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

You’re honestly lucky to have even passed, man, Danny whispered.

Yeah, well, at least it was an easy test.  I didn’t have to study, Justin replied.

Neither did I, laughed Danny.

Justin made a ridiculous face.  Whoop-dee-doo, he said, sarcastically while flailing his arms around.  Justin, like Danny, was a tall, thin boy.  He too had brown eyes and hair, although his hair was very straight.  He had a very round face, unlike Danny’s, and quite often seemed to strut about the hallways acting as if he was the most popular person in the school.

Now class, Mrs. Mellor began, you will find all the correct answers on the projector screen.  If you have any questions…  She shot a particularly concerned look at Justin.  Please ask.  Now for the remainder of class, I’d like you to think of a research topic for your next paper, which will deal with the Reconstruction Era.  Unless you are discussing the test or the research paper, I want you to remain silent in your seats until the bell rings.

Justin began glancing back and forth from his test to the projector screen.  Danny sat there trying not to laugh.  Justin noticed Danny staring at him and flashed him a dirty look.  Danny smiled and turned to look out the window.  It was a beautiful day.  Black-Capped Chickadees were chirping loudly in the nearest tree, and white puffy clouds were forming on the horizon.  The air was thick and humid, very uncommon for early May.  Danny wished he could be outside with the last period gym class, instead of sitting in boring, history reviewing a test.  He enjoyed school, but felt under-challenged by it.  He was always a straight A student. He would turn his homework assignments in on time and finish his projects well ahead of their due dates, but he found the curriculum to be dry and boring.  Justin was the complete opposite.  He was always failing homework assignments and projects and if it weren’t for Danny’s secretive help, he would still be in the third grade.  It wasn’t that Justin was a stupid kid.  He was actually very smart; he just didn’t apply himself.  As Justin’s mother would say, his interests were outside of the world of testable academics.

Danny glanced at the clock; 2:31.  In twenty minutes the bell would ring and the school day would be over.  Justin let out a slow groan.  Danny looked up at the clock again; 2:32.  One minute closer, he thought.  He flipped his paper over and began to doodle.  A boy in the back row sneezed and he glanced up at the clock again; 2:35.  It was torture, sitting in that classroom while another class laughed and played kickball outside; complete and utter torture.  Danny kept doodling, not paying very much attention to what he was drawing.  Sarah McCafferty raised her hand and asked Mrs. Mellor a question.  Danny stared out the window again and watched a rather bulky boy kick the ball over the school hedges, while his teammates celebrated.  When they started walking toward the school building, he knew it was time to start packing up.  He picked up his test paper, but before he could put it in his bag, he noticed the drawing.  There was farmhouse, a barn, a large field, and a cloud.  He set the paper back down on the desk and drew a square hole in the cloud.  Smiling, he folded up the paper and stowed it away in his bag, as the bell rang and students filed into the hallway.

Justin was talking to Sarah McCafferty, as Danny passed by on his way to his locker.  It was well known that Justin liked Sarah, and during his free time in study hall he was always devising plans and strategies to get Sarah to go out with him, each time failing more extraordinarily than the last, much to Danny’s amusement.  As Danny grabbed his books and backpack and headed for the school buses, he spotted his cousin Evan, a short, stubborn, dirty-blonde haired boy who hadn’t yet lost his baby fat.

Danny! he shouted, attempting to push a group of sixth graders out of the way.

What’s up? Danny replied as casually as could be.

Video games at my house tonight, okay? said Evan.  There was a tone in his voice that seemed to imply, ‘if you don’t show up, I’m going to come to your house and kill you.’

Um… okay that sounds good, Danny said.  Should I let Justin know?

But before Evan could answer, a voice called out from behind them.  Hey Walcott!  There was no mistaking who this was.  A large boy with black eyes and a big jaw strolled up to Danny and Evan.  He was followed by two boys; one who had red hair, a twisted nose and a perpetual scowl on his face.  The other had black curly hair, big bulging, black eyes and a vacant expression, as if he had never realized he could think for himself.  His jaw was similar to the large boy in the middle but slightly more rounded

Hello Gordon, Danny said disgustedly.  Gordon Brodie was the school bully.  He was bigger than everyone else and loved shoving sixth graders into lockers and giving them swirlies in the school toilets.  He and his goons, Alex Hartnell and younger brother Scotty Brodie, particularly liked to pick on Danny and Justin, and since Evan was in Scotty’s grade, he was picked on to the same extent.  Since Danny was nearly as tall as Gordon and was very quick, Gordon didn’t dare pull the same stunts with him that he pulled on other kids, so he resorted to verbal abuse.

I hear yer gonna’ try out for the high school track team, said Gordon, a smirk starting to form across his face.  Do they have a rule against runners with chicken legs?  Alex and Scotty snickered behind him.  Danny glared at Gordon.  It was true that he was going to try out for the track team.  Mr. Kirsch, the P.E. teacher, was also the track coach and he constantly praised Danny’s running and jumping abilities.  It was also true that Danny’s legs were less than muscular.  But Danny didn’t think it affected his speed.  He was, after all, one of the better runners on the middle school team.  He could outrun Gordon Brodie in his sleep. 

Gordon competes in shot put, Alex said.  His evil eyes pierced Danny like a knife.  He made a creepy smile, revealing crooked yellow teeth.  He likes to practice launching it at new runners.  Gordon Brodie was a freak for his age, granted he had been held back for a year.  It was not uncommon for middle school students to compete for the high school’s track and field team.  Danny had plans of competing as an 8th grader the following year, but Gordon had been representing the high school in shot put since the 6th grade and had done quite well for his age.

Well he’ll never be able to throw it far enough, Danny said.  By the time he finishes spinning around like a drunken ogre, I’ll be long gone.  Evan laughed so hard at this that a few girls nearby noticed it.  Danny knew he had crossed the line.  The smiles on the bullies’ faces faded to frowns and all three glared at him.  Gordon’s face went bright red and he looked like he was about to punch Danny.  Instead, he puffed up his chest and raised his chin, staring down on Danny as if he was a dead animal that he had just found on the road.  Then he pointed at Danny threateningly.

You better watch yourself Walcott! he warned.  The track that you’ll be practicing on runs right by our shot put practice.  One day you might find a shot put ball hurled at your head when you’re running by.  With his chin still raised high in the air, Gordon turned around and walked away, followed closely by his younger brother and Alex Hartnell.  Scotty looked back at Evan and smirked.  See you in study hall tomorrow, piggy boy."

Evan let out a deep sigh.  I’m surely gonna’ get the swirly this time.

Danny tried not to laugh.  You’ve just got to learn to stand up for yourself.

Easier said than done, Evan remarked.

Justin came running up to them. I just saw Gordon Brodie and his cronies talking to you guys.  What did you say to him?  He looked pretty pissed.

He called him an ogre, Evan said as they boarded the bus.

Did he now? Justin said, very surprised.  I bet he liked that.  You better watch out, though Danny.  Gordon Brodie is rat.  He’ll find a way to get back at you.  The three sat down in their seats.  What did he say to you anyway?

He said he would throw a shot put at my head when I’m running by, Danny said.

Ha!  What a jagoff, Justin laughed.  Don’t let him get into your head.  He loves placing fear in the minds of his victims.  I don’t really think he would do that in front of the coaches.  No, Brodie is afraid of getting caught.  He’ll probably corner you somewhere in the halls and give you a black eye.  Justin said these words as if it was absolute certainty.

As the bus rolled down the road the sky began to darken.  A thunderstorm was forming in the western sky, blocking out the sun.  Danny thought about the drawing he had made in his history class.  He pulled it out of his bag and looked at it.

What’s that?  Evan queried.

Justin, who could only see the other side of the paper, pried it out of Danny’s hands and said, It’s his history test.  See?  Another A+.  What a suck-up.

I’m not a suck-up.  I studied, Danny replied immediately.  Something you never do.

But Evan was unconvinced.  No.  On the other side.  Evan grabbed the paper and looked. 

Justin, now completely befuddled, peered at the drawing on the back of the test.  After a few moments, he realized what the drawing was and said, Oh for god’s sake, you’re not still on about that cloud portal thing, are you?

So what if he is? Evan said angrily.

It’s just that none of us have seen anything remotely like it, Justin explained, and we’ve been looking for it for over four years.  Maybe it just doesn’t exist.  I mean it sounds a bit too wild to be true.

You sound like my dad, Danny said stuffing the drawing back into his bag.

Well think about it, Danny, Justin said, trying to be logical, which Danny thought was ironic considering Justin used no logic whatsoever in school.  "How many people alive today have even seen one of these cloud portal thingies?  I mean it’s hard to take a person’s statement to