
Maxwell Edison Menu
NOTE: This is only a first draft.
Chapter 4
Hanging with Billy Shears
Maxwell woke up the next morning feeling groggy and unrested. He hadn’t slept well, as the loss of the silver hammer had really shaken him. He had spent the entire afternoon and most of the evening on his bicycle retracing his route from the high school over and over, but never found even the slightest trace of where the hammer could have fallen. Finally, exhausted and drained of energy, he had tumbled onto his bed and conked out.
Maxwell’s sanctuary was his bedroom. He loved being in it and took pride in all the work he had done to make it his own.
Last year, with his mom’s permission, he had re-designed his bedroom. Maxwell started it off by taking everything out and painting the walls Stonehenge Gray because he wanted it to feel like he was living inside of a castle. He then built three rows of bookshelves that started near the ceiling and went all the way around his room, except for over the doors where there was room for only two shelves. They were now stuffed with novels of his favorite fantasy authors, like Terry Brooks, J.K. Rowling, Piers Anthony, C.S. Lewis, Rick Riordan, Anne McCaffrey, Robert Asprin, R.A. Salvatore, J.R.R. Tolkien, and even Stephen King.
Below the bookshelves were a mixture of maps of fantasy lands pinned to the walls that he had drawn by hand using only his imagination. These images were mixed in with posters of his favorite fantasy movies, like all of the Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter movies. He even had one for Willow and The Princess Bride. On his desk were drawings he had created with charcoal and pencils of characters he imagined.
To top it off, there was his prized collection of Middle Earth movie statues and figurines that he kept in an enclosed glass cabinet in the corner. On top of the cabinet was a cheap replica of Sting, Frodo’s sword. And for some reason, which seemed a little out of place, there was a 15” tall statue of Spock from the original Star Trek series. Maxwell figured that if you looked closely at the Vulcan, you might mistake him for an elf. Live long and prosper, Mr. Spock!
Over his bed, hanging from the ceiling with heavy fishing line, was a model of a red dragon with outstretched wings. From wingtip to wingtip, this incredible monster stretched six feet across and had glowing green eyes. Maxwell had built it out of paper mache a couple of years ago for the science fair when he was in seventh grade. If the door to his room is opened, a sensor in the dragon’s eye causes the dragon to let out a mighty bellow that sounds remarkably similar to the Godzilla monster from the Japanese movies of the 1960’s.
Over the years, as the interests of his best friends changed, mostly turning to either girls, sports, or cars, Maxwell’s didn’t. As a result of this, Maxwell’s friends moved on, leaving him behind, that is, until he met Billy Shears. Maxwell never played any sports in school, doesn’t really talk with too many of the students, and he and Billy pretty much exist on their own. Sometimes, they are joined by a boy nicknamed Buck Rogers, who is more a fan of science fiction than he is of fantasy. But Buck only shows up at school every Wednesday. . . for some unknown reason.
Maxwell often feels out of place in the modern, technological world. Maybe this is why he never wanted a computer or a smartphone. He prefers his books and movies. He is an old soul this way.
After looking around his room for ten or so minutes while he slowly woke up, Maxwell kicked his sheet and blanket off of him, stood up, and headed for the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, after getting dressed and making his bed, something his mother demanded, he made his way downstairs for breakfast. His mother usually left for work at Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital around 6:00 am, but today was Saturday, so his mother liked to sleep in. He ate a couple of bowls of cereal, first a healthy one and then a sugary one for desert. He left the dirty dishes in the sink, brushed his teeth, and then headed off to the beach. One definite perk about living in Santa Barbara was that the beach is never far away.
Last year, Maxwell and Billy had found a cool little cave in a sandstone cliff face that was located around a point of land that beach-walkers rarely visited. The two friends loved to sit in this cave and tell stories about sea serpents and other aquatic monsters. They did have to be careful, though, about the tide coming in. More than once, they hadn’t paid attention to the waves making their way up the beach and had been shocked by the feeling of the salt water washing over the top of their tennis shoes. On those occasions, they had to hurriedly swim out of the cave and make their way around the point until they could crawl up onto the sandy beach, usually quite exhausted. After all, the swirling tide was quite strong on the Pacific coast, and can be deadly if you don’t know how to handle it. Luckily, Maxwell was an excellent swimmer and didn’t fear the water. Billy, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as strong and sometimes needed Maxwell to pull him past the riptide.
This morning, Maxwell hung out in the cave and tried to change his mood while he waited for Billy to arrive. The loss of the silver hammer had really thrown him for a loop and even though he only had wielded it once, it somehow had felt right in his hand, like it was supposed to belong to him, and only him. This cave was their happy place, but it didn’t seem to be helping his mood much this morning. He couldn’t seem to put the loss behind him and move on. Every time he forced himself to think of something else, a moment later he would start thinking about that darned hammer again.
How could I have lost it? He thought, slapping his right hand against his thigh. I just don’t understand. The backpack was zipped up when I arrived at home, so it couldn’t have fallen out. Now that I think about it, how did I get the hammer in the first place?
Maxwell stared out of the entrance of the cave and watched the waves roll over the rocky shore and sparse amount of sand, as the tide was currently out at its maximum distance from the land. He could think of no explanation of how he had gotten hold of the hammer, except by . . . magic. But magic wasn’t real, right?
The only explanation is magic, but that’s crazy. Right? But what else could it have been? Or, was it all just a hallucination brought on by the smell of the whiteboard markers? I’m just not sure . . .
Billy came around the point and walked into the cave, interrupting Maxwell’s train of thought. “I figured I would find you here already. Sorry I’m late. I started watching a movie last night and went to bed after 3:00 am.”
“What’d you watch?”
“On TBS, they showed the original Clash of the Titans. Who knew there was one from the ‘80’s? It’s a pretty good movie, but special effects weren’t up to snuff. The creatures were all jerky and stuff. There is this cute mechanical owl that I really liked, though. After it ended, I felt the need to watch the newer one, and then the sequel too.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, I just love those stories about the old gods. And that kraken. Oh boy! ‘RELEASE THE KRAKEN!’” Billy yelled and then laughed at himself.
“Kraken, yeah,” Maxwell said, unenthusiastically.
“Hey, man. What’s wrong?”
Maxwell looked up at Billy and wondered what his best friend might think if he told him about what happened yesterday. Would he think he was crazy? But what are best friends for if you cannot trust them with your deepest secrets?
“You may not believe this,” Maxwell started, “but I know that magic is real.”
“What? How? What do you mean? Real? For sure?”
“Do you promise not to tell anyone? Cross your heart and hope to die?”
“Yeah, of course. You can tell me anything,” Billy promised sincerely.
“Okay. Well, as you might have guessed, I kind of messed up in Astronomy class yesterday.”
“I figured that when I saw you still in the classroom after school let out,” Billy nodded.
“I wasn’t paying attention in class, per usual. Because of this, I had to write a stupid sentence on the board fifty times, or at least I was supposed to. In cursive, no less. Well, anyway, I was about halfway done, when . . .”
“When what?”
“When . . . when something crawled out of Ms. Marschak’s head.”
“What?!” Billy yelled, standing up. “What do you mean? What was it?”
“It was this kind of shadow thing. It had yellow eyes, was black all over, and had lots and lots of teeth. I could kind of see through it, like it wasn’t quite solid. Plus, it looked really mean and pissed off.”
“Holy moly, Batman. What’d you do?”
“I didn’t know what to do at first. And then I looked down and there was a silver hammer in my hand.”
“Where’d you get that?” Billy asked.
“Nowhere. I mean, it just appeared there, like out of thin air.”
“No way!”
“Yes way! There was something about it. Like, it felt like part of me, or something. It felt right in my hand. I knew at that moment that I was supposed to have this weapon.”
“What did it look like? Did it look like a regular old hammer, like the one my dad has in the toolshed behind our house?”
Maxwell shook his head. “No. Not at all. You’ve seen all the Marvel movies, like me. So, you know what Mjolnir looks like.”
“Thor’s hammer?”
“Yes, sort of like that, but smaller, with red symbols on it.”
“No way.”
“Way.”
“Cool. What’d you do?”
“I did the only thing I could think of. I attacked the creature!”
“What about Ms. Marschak?”
“She didn’t have a clue,” Maxwell said. “She just kept watching puppies on her phone. She didn’t even seem to realize that anything was going on. So, I charged the beast and hit it with the hammer . . . twice! That only seemed to make it madder. I didn’t know what else to do so hit it two more times. Then it just kind of disappeared and Ms. Marschak slumped in her chair. I think she may have passed out. I’m not sure. And, do you want to know the weirdest thing?”
“You know I do.”
“The hammer passed through Ms. Marschak.”
“What, how is that even possible?”
“I don’t know,” Maxwell said, scratching his head. “Maybe the hammer only attacks shadow creatures and can’t hurt humans, although I sometimes feel that Ms. Marschak cannot possibly be human.”
Billy laughed and then said, “Then what happened?”
“I shoved the hammer in my backpack and rode home as fast as I could. But, when I got up to my room and opened my backpack, it was gone.”
“No!”
“Yes! I rode my bike back and forth between home and school until it got dark. I never found it.”
“Oh, man. That sucks!”
“Yeah. I’ve been bummed all morning,” Maxwell admitted, shrugging his shoulders.
Billy had a funny look on his face.
“What?” Maxwell asked.
“Um,” Billy said with some apprehension. “Are you sure that this really happened and you weren’t just daydreaming again? After all, you are you, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I sure,” Maxwell said vehemently. “It happened. I know it did. Well, at least I am pretty sure it did. It felt real. Maybe it didn’t. No, it did happen . . . I think. Now you have me second guessing myself.”
Billy nodded, not quite sure if he believed Maxwell’s story, but he was always there to support his best friend.
That talked for another hour or so about this and that, but hunger soon made them leave their cave. Neither had brought a lunch, so they split up and headed back to their homes.