Amber by Dan-Dwayne Spencer (e book reader .TXT) 📕

barren landscape, rocks jutted out of the dry sand like petrified remains of the ancient dead reaching for the sunlight.

From inside a sage bush, Mr. Dark’s gravelly voice called out. “Hey, Freak, you’re in the back of the van. This isn’t real.”

It sure looked real to me. Everything from the grainy sand in my shoes to the sun’s radiant heat beating down sure felt real. Especially the cloudless, crystal blue sky. High above, dozens of ravens glided around in a circle.

I reached into my waistcoat and took out a folded photograph, all brown and tattered from exposure to the weather. I don’t know how I knew it was there, I just did. Slowly, I unfolded it and peered at the image. A knock-out, teenage chick wearing a high-necked, corseted top stared back at me. She looked familiar, however, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember her name even though my heart ached for her.

I folded the photo and stuffed it back where it came from. Desperately, I longed to be with her, but how? Standing still was no way to get to her, so I walked in the general direction of the circling birds. Dry sand found its way into everything and every crevice. After kicking sand up with every step, a powerful thirst took root in my dry throat. Eventually, I managed to reach a small pond over which birds circled.

I leaned down and put my lips to its silvery surface, inhaling the life-giving liquid. Drawing back on my heels, I took in my surroundings. The birds landed flocking around the pond—surrounding me. What had been only twenty birds, turned into fifty, no, seventy-five…perhaps a hundred ravens landed on the dry sand. In unison, they turned and gazed at me. Some tilted their heads and squawked mournful cries.

One raven, larger than the others, hopped close. He spoke. I saw the beak move up and down, but his voice was the harsh voice of Mr. Dark.

“Why have you come so far only to be trapped here by this pond?” the Raven growled.

“This is only a place to rest,” I replied. “It’s not the end of my journey. I will be leaving soon.”

“It is a pity there is no water near enough for you to survive the journey.”

“What do you mean? If I cannot continue to search for my Lady-Love, I could always go back the way I came.” I was talking like Flower. Like they did in the old days.

“Sadly, the water well you passed has also gone dry. You lack water in any direction from here. If you leave this pond, you will surely die of thirst before you reach another.”

“I shall walk on and dig a well to fill my need.”

“Oh, intrepid one. It would take far too long, and you would have to dig far too deep. You would die of thirst before you were successful. No, you should give up your goal. Stay here and live the rest of your days in happiness by this silvery pond.”

A deep sadness welled up inside me. Feelings I had never known before overtook me, and I determined there was no point in living. I wanted to die…and yet, I stayed by the well day after day and lonely night after night because of the promise of further life. Suddenly, I realized my futile situation and knew the truth; I was a coward. I could not face my death to achieve a life better than the one I had there by the pond. My love for my lady was not greater than my love for life itself—I wept bitterly.

From somewhere in the distance I heard my name, “Arland. Arland, we’re here. Wake up.” I opened my eyes to see Flower. She leaned in through the sliding door, shaking my foot. I stretched and made my legs move. I started to speak but noticed everyone else still slept. Even Roger had finally leaned over and was out like a light.

I climbed through the open door and stretched again. Glancing all around, I realized we were standing at the edge of a meadow, out in the middle of nowhere, by a dirt road where there weren’t even fields.

“I thought we were going to a town—Eudora, Kansas. Where are we?”

“Presently, the township has been moved to its current location. Well, it was moved a century ago.” Flower explained, “I’m sure no one remembers why the founding fathers moved it, but I will explain. This is where the original town of Eudora originally stood. The town was the dream of one Elmer Cumberland. His wife had died many years before he came to Kansas, and his only living family was his beautiful daughter, Flechia.

“Mr. Cumberland wanted to find a permanent home for his carnival, The Cumberland Circus of the Bizarre. He thought his roadies and carney-folk could build homes here. He found out freaks aren’t welcome anywhere. The whole thing turned out to be a total failure, but Elmer wouldn’t give up on his dream, so he found the one way he could keep his dream alive—or so he thought. The story goes to keep from declaring himself a failure he sold his soul to one of the fallen angels. The sad thing about making deals with devils is they never give you what you think you’re getting. His dream carnival continued to operate, but only during the month of angels, the eighth month of the year. The rest of the year it is nothing but a vacant meadow.”

“So, what happened to the people who ran it?” I asked.

“They are still here, no more than spirits—ghosts if you like the word better. They regain their humanity one month out of every year.” She swallowed hard. “When I realized our prophet came to us in the eighth month, I should have known events would lead us here.”

“Okay, I get