By James L.
Jones
April
1, 2002
The alley stretched ahead
a long way. There were no people. I was a little afraid.
Yet, I was brave. I was looking
for that guy, that guy who had done those bad things. What would I
do if I caught him? I don’t know, I’m just a small spirit. If I caught
him, or caught up with him, he might mangle me like he did the others
and then I would just be a small mangled spirit-thing.
My soft spirit-feet slid
along under me on the stone walls. That’s how spirit-people walk, on
the sides of things. It’s not like we’re real people. Real people
can’t see us. I tried to move silently like the spirit-animal (they
live in the factory and feed off the parts of what was spirit-people).
Determination welled up inside
me and started to break through my spirit-chest. This mean guy, this
spirit-animal that had mangled many a defenseless soul would soon have
to deal with me, and I’m good. I’m capable.
My name’s Jim. I’m part of
a bigger effort to catch this guy Tom. We (Spirit Patrol B) go out
every Saturday night in groups of three trying to catch Tom. Well,
if it’s not Tom (it’s been Tom for three weeks now), then it’s some
other spirit-thing that’s gone awry. They get sent back to the factory
for dismantling.
A spirit-sound ahead made
me freeze. Another spirit was in the shadows, I knew, I heard
it. I moved slowly now along the side of the wall. It probably was
Tom, and all he had to look forward to was being dismantled, which probably
made him furtive. I waved my spirit-hand to my two Spirit Patrol members
on the wall.
The shadow with the spirit
moved again -- cautious, uncertain, furtive. It peered forward, edged
on. His spirit-face told me that it was indeed that guy Tom.
My spirit-heart was pounding
in my spirit-chest, and then unfortunately I fell off the side of the
wall behind a large garbage can. I’m a 400 year-old spirit and still
I can’t stay on the side of a wall (a very simple spirit-skill). Fortunately
the fall was noiseless.
Tom was now too close. I
had managed to right myself on the wall, but Tom jumped me. He was
on top of me, but I knew that my team members were in control. The
only sounds I heard were the spirit -grunts of Tom’s crazed exertion.
Steely muscles clamped around my neck and tightened. It felt warm where
mean crazen Tom bit off part of the back of my spirit-neck. But it
was ok. I’d get it back, and it’d get re-attached.
Deftly, silently, quickly,
my team members got him into the sack.
The soothing voice of Tim
(Spirit Patrol B Team Member) said ‘We’ve got him now.’
“Tom’s in the spirit-sack
now,” said Jack (the third team member of Spirit Patrol B).
He’ll get sent back to the
factory for dismantling by the great dismantling machines.
