The Boy in the Red Sweater. Part 2.

Hello Friends,
Yesterday I met a boy wearing a red sweater while walking down a mysterious lane outside of Cloverdale. The boy intrigued me. I was curious about his identity, who his parents were, and why his small community was so secretive.

I was hungry for more information and decided to attempt another encounter by trailing Cloverdale's mailman as he made his daily deliveries. According to my friends at the Pub, a young boy wearing a red sweater picks up the mail every day from the community's dozen or so mailboxes posted side by side on Highway 3.

I finished my morning's responsibilities and parked my car near the "Welcome to Cloverdale" sign on Highway 3. I waited for the mailman. He's punctual so I knew the wait wouldn't be long. At exactly 2:35 P.M. the blue and white mail truck drove by. I followed as the mailman made several stops to fill the roadside mailboxes. After a mile or two I began feeling foolish. Here I was, a grown man, following a mail truck so I could get another glimpse of a resident of The Twilight Zone. I pulled to the side of the road to turn around for home when I saw the boy's red sweater in the distance. He was walking alone down the lane with his hands in his pockets.

The boy stopped near the mailboxes and waited for the mailman. I didn't want to be noticed so I parked on the road's shoulder about 100 yards away. The mailman got out of his truck, dropped the mail into each mailbox, waved at the boy and jumped into this truck to drive away. The boy watched him closely, staying motionless until the mailman was out of sight. Only then did he step cautiously forward. He hesitated for a moment before stepping off the gravel road and onto the asphalt. He walked toward the mailboxes, then saw my car. Our eyes met for a moment. He paused in mid step, turned slightly and walked towards me.

My heart beat an African tribal rhythm, beating faster and faster the closer he came. I instinctively locked the car's doors. Common sense urged me to drive on. Curiosity begged me to stay. My curiosity won and I nervously waited.

He stopped next to the front passenger door and bent down to peer in. Our eyes met. There was no smile, no joy, not even the slightest spark of curiosity. He just stared. I accepted the challenge and stared back. Our eyes locked in mortal combat. A minute later I noticed the first signs of a headache. The pain grew worse as the seconds passed. I felt something dripping from my nose. I broke his gaze to look into my rear view mirror. I had a bloody nose. I found a small dust rag in my glove compartment and held it to my nose. My eyes were off the boy for a few seconds. When I looked up again he was gone. I found him down the road gathering the mail. It was amazing how he covered that distance in just the moment my eyes were off his.

I started the car, made a U turn onto Highway 3 and started back for Cloverdale. My headache disappeared along with the nose bleed a few moments later. I was left again with unanswered questions and a curiosity that wouldn't let me leave this matter alone. This boy in the red sweater and I would meet again - that I was sure of.

The Boy in the Red Sweater

The Boy in the Red Sweater.

One early October day I woke up with a bit of time on my hands. It was 7:00 A.M. The house was still. There was nothing on TV. Cloverdale Weekend Television doesn’t start broadcasting until 7:30 A.M. on weekdays. I looked out the window. The sky was heavy with dark clouds. I stepped outside to sniff the air. I thought it might smell of of rain, but it didn't . There was a cool breeze foretelling a storm, perhaps a few hours still in the making. I had a brief window to step through for a nice morning walk.

I put on my walking shoes, found a suitable light jacket, wired up my ipod and set out on a hour’s long adventure into the village and surrounding countryside. The village was coming to life. I said a few “Goodmornings” to the over 60’s streaming down the lanes and avenues on their way to McDuff’s for a their Gabbing Geezer’s Breakfast Club, complete with hot coffee and sticky buns. I noticed that most were wearing their dentures. Then I remembered it was Friday. Friday’s are reserved for “Breakfast Surprises”. McDuff’s like to surprise the Old Timers with something delicious for their final meeting of the week. And since they don't know what it will be, they all think it best to wear their teeth.

The Coastal Express just arrived as I passed the train station. The station was packed with ten or twenty people either arriving or departing. I stopped for a moment to review the morning headlines at the small news stand in the station's lobby before continuing on. Ten minutes later I was outside the village proper, walking down Highway 3.

About a quarter mile outside of town I discovered a mysterious, unnamed, dusty road I’d never seen before. I decided to explore this new, uncharted land. It would be my adventure for the day. .

Fifty steps further I noticed something. The air was absent of sound, except for that of my shoes on the pavement. I turned off my ipod and removed my headphones. I was right, there was no sound. Where were the chirping birds or barking dogs? I felt the wind, I saw the wind moving thought the trees - but didn’t hear it. I continued.

I saw faces in the windows of the few homes I passed. They looked at me intently, as curious about me as I was of them. One older woman wearing a dress of blue with little white flowers watched me from her front porch as I approached. She shook her head ever so slightly the closer I got. I couldn’t tell why. Was she disapproving of my encroachment into their little hamlet or perhaps she was warning me to stop and go back. I hoped to talk. She disappeared behind her front door before I was close enough to talk without shouting. A moment later I saw her in her front window and waved. She closed the curtains.

I noticed something red in the distance coming toward me. I was excited to meet another person on the road. I hoped it would be someone I could talk to and ask about this strange place and its residents.
I saw it was a boy. A boy on his way to school perhaps, yet he had no books or lunch. His hands were in his pockets. His face was stern and unwelcoming. The distance between us shrank as I tried to think of someway to start a conversation. He stared into my eyes, never taking his off mine. We finally stepped up to each other. He stood directly in front of me as if to dare me to continue on.

The road forward was blocked by this young boy wearing a red sweater.
“Goodmorning,” I said in my best cheerful voice. He didn’t respond. He looked right at me and stood, hands in pocket. I heard thunder in the distance. The noise was welcome.
“Look’s like rain,” I continued. “Can you tell me the name of this street?” He shook his head. I could smell rain in the rising wind.
“Can you tell me your name,” I asked. He stared. The quiet was uncomfortable. His staring unnerved me.
“Well, have a nice day,” I said to finish my attempt at neighborliness. I took a step to the left wanting to move on. He blocked my step stopping my way forward.
I’d like to move on,” I said politely. He shook his head no. I saw him blink, then slightly smile. It was barely perceptible.

I heard doors opening in every nearby home. Men, women and children emerged from their dark homes and stood on their porches watching me and the boy with the red sweater. I looked again at the boy. He moved his head up slightly then back down in a gesture telling me to turn around and leave.

Again, thunder accented my intrusion into this twilight zone. The wind picked up speed. Dust blew down the road, swirling at times around the boy and I.

“Well, I’d better go. Looks like rain,” I said. I turned and walked. My pace increased when I noticed the people on the porches were slowly moving in my direction. I felt a drop on my face. I started to jog. A few minutes later I reached Highway 3, turned left and jogged toward Cloverdale. I turned my head and glanced back at the forgotten lane one last time before turning out of sight. The boy’s red sweater was still visible in the distance. He was still there, standing beside the highway near the mailboxes, watching me.

Later that day I asked my local friends about that mysterious lane while enjoying a Diet Coke at the Kicking Donkey. They said that part of the Shire was home to a strange extended family group, recently immigrated from the Ukraine. Their privacy seemed of paramount importance. No one went down that lane, not even the postman. Their mail boxes were lined up side by side along Highway 3. According to my friends, the only person ever seen collecting the mail was a young boy, wearing a red sweater.

That lane leading to the Shire's outer limits intrigues me. I may attempt another breech of its security. Except the next time I'll choose a bright sunny day.

Cloverdale's Kitty Alert Program

All that's left of the Widow Marcell's pedigreed Siamese Cat, the Empress Chow. The "Kitty Alert" failed to find her.
She'll appear in the next thaw for proper burial.

Hello Friends,
A quick read of the posted weather shows another winter storm developing over the Sea of Sorrows. There will be snow and more snow. I really don't worry too much about the resilient folks of Cloverdale. Vasts amounts of snow usually don't stop us. When you live in a small village everything is close by. If you need a dozen eggs, the Piggly Wiggly is a few blocks away. If you want to go to a movie, the Grand Theater is again, only a few blocks away. If you're really depressed because of the ice and cold, the Moss Wonderland Bakery is, once again , only a few blocks away. A walk through the deep snow is quickly rewarded with a cup of hot, milky chocolate and a warm sticky bun.

The one problem we have in Cloverdale, resulting from deep and never ending snow, is lost pets. Villagers will let sweet Petunia or grumpy Bowser outside to do their business and forget all about them. Sometimes they get lost in the knee deep stuff, and when they do, the Constable is called to activate the village's "Kitty Alert".

Cloverdale has a special program for lost pets called "Kitty Alert". The police station activates the program when you call in a lost pet . A text message goes out to every cell phone in the village telling us to be on the lookout for the lost pet. Just last week a call went out when the Widow Marcell's pedigreed Siamese Cat, the Empress Chow, disappeared in deep snow while in the back garden being a good girl. That alert brought out the villagers because a reward was offered. You know there's a reward if a couple dollar signs appear in the text of the alert.

The alert is also broadcast to Cloverdale Weekend Television. Right in the middle of your favorite program a "Kitty Alert"message scrolls across the bottom of your screen. Just last night I was caught up in a good episode of Gunsmoke. Right in the middle of a nasty gunfight between Marshall Dillon and a desperate bank robber a "Kitty Alert" scrolled across the bottom of the screen telling me that the Wilburs of Cottonwood Avenue were looking for Flipper, their Parakeet. I don't think that particular alert bought many villagers out of their homes on a cold New Year's Eve to look for a yellow parakeet. Chances are it was dead a few minutes after fluttering out into the bone chilling evening.

I urge Cloverdale's pet owners to be mindful of their animals during our blanketing storms. Don't toss them out into it with no regard for the comfort of your fellow citizens that don't want to be disturbed with an annoying text message on their phone and a frustrating scroll across the bottom of their teles.

The Office of Propaganda and Intelligence Covers the War.

Thanks to government stimulus spending, or perhaps a mistake in the budgetary process, enough money has been raised to create a new online news outlet called The Confederacy Defense Review. The Review will be published by the Confederacy Defense Force's Office of Propaganda and Intelligence. The department has enough money to hire five intrepid reporters to cover the Confederacy's moral support and limited involvement in the current wars and other military operations around the world of interest to our readers and viewers. These reporters, all former soldiers (and until recently, unemployed), have been sent to cover military operations in Europe, Africa, the Middle East and Afghanistan. They will also cover the Pentagon in Washington DC.

Our First Report, Filed by Mickey Splunker

Confederacy Military Transport Scatters the Locals, Apologies are forthcoming.

Our first report comes from eastern Africa, where Mickey Splunker recently arrived to cover the growing threat of the Ju-ju weed drug warlord clans. The attached photo was taken by American Embassy personnel as Mickey's plane arrived on the dusty runway at JangaMara, scattering the local welcoming committee. While all the civilians were miraculously unharmed, a military mule inadvertently collided with the aircraft, suffering mortal wounds.

At the impromptu barbecue that afternoon, Mickey was given a briefing and sent out to begin his work covering the warlord battles among the poor people near JangaMara. We hope to soon hear from Mickey and other reporters as they begin this important journalistic crusade to bring our citizens the news, the whole news and nothing but the news.

This Post Approved by

Mark Daymont
Permanent Secretary
Office of Propaganda and Intelligence

Cable and Clark Plunker Learn to Skateboard

Cable and Clark Plunker are identical twins. They live at 42 Blossom Lane, Cloverdale. The boys enjoy pizza, TV, video games and their new skateboards delivered by Santa on Christmas. The moment they finished opening gifts, eating breakfast, helping their mother clean up after breakfast and helping their dad put together the new TV cabinet, the boys grabbed their new skateboards and headed outside into the cold. The boys were new at skateboarding and suffered some pretty nasty spills the first few hours on the streets. They were yelled at several times for riding their skateboards on private property. The police chased them away from the Piggly Wiggly’s loading dock. The local Anglican Vicar threatened to call the constable if they didn’t leave church property.

It soon became apparent that skateboarders where a seriously neglected minority in Cloverdale. They had the skateboards and a real desire to learn the sport but had nowhere to practice. As a last resort they moved camp to Cloverdale’s Lake Park. It was Christmas Day and the park was empty. They found a few planks of wood near the Park’s Maintenance Shed and set to work building a few simple ramps. It wasn’t long before their few ramps turned into a complete obstacle course. They’d skate and fall and skate some more. One hour passed then two. Each hour saw another layer of mud and grim accumulate on their clothes and skin. By 3:00 P.M. the boys headed for home. Every car that passed slowed to look at the filthiest boys in Cloverdale. The twins just waved and smiled. The whites of their eyes and teeth shown brightly against the dark browns of the layered, caked mud.

They found their mother returning from the next door neighbors. She didn’t recognized them at first, and screamed when she did. She ordered them to the back yard. They stood on the lawn as she fetched the garden hose. The boys yelped, laughed and hugged each other for warmth as she sprayed them down in the 42 degree weather.

"Into the garage and strip," she ordered. The boys ran into the garage and striped down to their underwear. Mother put their mud crusted clothes in a garbage bag and took them to the wash room. They shivered in the cold and waited for her next orders.
“Into the house and shower,” Mother ordered after returning from putting the clothes in the washer.
“Mom, we’re in our underwear. You want us walking around outside naked for the neighbors to see?” Cable asked. "You could of brought us out something to wear."
“You weren't embarrased walking all the way home completely covered in mud, were you?" Mother said. " So off you go.” She was happy with herself. Perhaps this would teach them to be more considerate of her time. The two boys looked at each other, nodded and smiled.
“What's going on?” Mother questioned. She recognized their devious looks. The boys ran out of the open garage door and into the street. They ran down the street, running and jumping so everyone in the neighborhood would see them.

Mrs. Plunker shouted at them to “come back at once." They paid no attention. She stopped shouting a moment later, realizing her shouting was bringing the neighbors to the windows. The boys ran to the nearest intersection, rounded the stop sign and ran back, being sure to wave at every passing car on the road and face in the windows.

Mrs. Plunker’s anger turned to laughter as they got closer. She loved everything there was to love about her boys. She loved their energy, their enthusiasm, and their love for fun. They were her life and she adorned them.

The boys ran straight to her with hugs and kisses. They were wet but she didn’t care. The three walked into the house arm and arm. It was one of those Christmases they'd remember their entire lives.