"Angus, dear, are you okay?"
Angus opened his eyes to see Gramma kneeling over him in concern. She was plump, grey-haired, and wore a whimsical cat apron. He was still in the attic.
“I must have fallen asleep,” mumbled Angus evasively. He sat up and looked around. "The ticket? Is there a ticket on the piano?"
"Ticket?" asked his grandmother. "There is nothing on the piano, I'm afraid."
It was just a dream. Angus sighed in relief.
Gramma brushed his hair back, revealing the blue eye, and felt his forehead for a fever. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” said Angus, not used to being fussed over. He took a moment to collect his thoughts while his grandmother shuffled to her feet.
"Gramma, my mother wasn't a rockstar, was she?" asked Angus.
"No, no, no…" she chuckled at the question, "Tianna played piano in high school and had a lovely singing voice, but no, music was just a hobby for her. I see you found her old piano and other belongings. I planned to show you her things but didn't want to overwhelm you since you’ve hardly settled in."
His fingers tapped on the wooden floor as he pondered.
My mother could sing. Why can’t I?
Over the years, although his uncle warned against it, Angus had tried to sing on many occasions. It wasn’t like he was just out of tune. Angus literally could not sing.
"Gramma," said Angus, "do you know how to sing?"
"Well, everyone does," she smiled. "I follow along with the radio, but that's about it."
"I don’t think I can," said Angus, "I've tried a couple of times, and all that comes out is gravelly noises that sound like burps."
"How peculiar," she smiled gently, "Maybe one day, we could try together. I’m pretty sure you can."
I’m pretty sure I can’t, thought Angus.
He carefully stood and looked at the piano where the ticket had been. But it seemed so real, he thought.
"If my mom played the piano, why doesn't Uncle Benjamin let me anywhere near music?" asked Angus.
"He has strange theories, as you well know," said Gramma.
"Your uncle means well but sometimes gets caught up in his notions and can't shake them. Even before your mother passed, he was fascinated by the paranormal, but the accident turned his hobby into an obsession. He even stopped eating carrots, which used to be his favorite vegetable. At one point, he was convinced that carrots were biologically engineered to prevent people from seeing aliens. I don't think he's eaten a carrot since."
"Yeah. No, we don't eat carrots," said Angus, glancing back at the piano, "Now I know why. But how on earth could music be that bad?"
"Oh, I don't pay too much attention," she said," it's got to do with mind control or hypnosis? Something about an agreement or contract, maybe? Honestly, Angus, it's all a bunch of silliness."
Gramma ushered him to the attic stairs. Angus skipped the second last step as they climbed down, just in case.
His grandmother shook her head, “Avoiding the second step, just like your uncle. You sure have become a lot like Benjamin. Even your clothes are similar.”
Uncle Benjamin disapproved of flashy attire. They typically bought their clothing in bulk, ten black t-shirts, a bundle of socks and underpants, flannel button-ups, and jeans when they were on sale. It was cheaper and made it easy to get dressed.
“Angus,” asked his grandmother, “with all your traveling, do you ever get to make friends? Your grandpa and I are worried that you’re too isolated; no school, clubs, or even the chance to be around other kids.”
Angus had never been to school. His uncle Ben taught him the basics and bought him an extensive set of 1990s encyclopedias at a yard sale, even though reading was not one of Angus’s strengths. His classroom was the wilderness, and he learned fast. Angus was an expert bush tracker and readily absorbed the patterns of diverse ecosystems, intuitively understanding how each plant and animal fit the grand scheme. He and his uncle often lived off the land as they explored, fishing and gathering, leaving no trace or damage. Angus loved climbing trees, jumping from rock to rock over fast-moving water, and scrambling nimbly up sheer cliff faces. He was incredibly agile and quick on his feet but, having no basis for comparison, thought nothing of his athletic skills.
“Friends?” Angus sniffed, “haven’t found much need for them. They sound like a lot of work, and I’m busy helping Uncle Ben with our investigations; I don’t have time for friends.” The truth was that Angus was deeply lonely; he just didn’t know it.
“Speaking of your uncle, he’s looking for you.” said Gramma, changing the subject, “I think he’s still eating lunch in the kitchen.”
Angus and his grandmother made their way to the ground floor.
“You should be careful in the attic,” she advised, “There are mice; we ought to get a cat one day. I know, we'll call him Angus! Wouldn't that be fun?"
The scent of cookies baking filled the big kitchen where a massive man was busily cramming a triple-decker sandwich into his mouth. His bushy red beard matched a wild mane of hair, topped with a green mesh baseball cap that said ‘Squatching.’
“There you are, buddy!” Uncle Benjamin spoke through a mouthful, “Things are going great on the island, and we are making some outstanding progress. I need to stop in town for supplies. You feel like coming along?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Angus, “Just give me a couple minutes to eat and grab my backpack.”
“That’s my boy,” grinned Uncle Ben, ruffling Angus’s hair with a mustard-smeared hand.
Angus wasn’t especially interested in going shopping at that moment. Still, he wasn't especially interested in being near the attic either.
***
Uncle Benjamin drove their motorhome into town. It was the only home Angus had ever known. Hastily painted a dull grey to deter attention, it didn't look like much outside. The inside, however, was equipped with all the comforts money could buy. The elaborate cockpit featured several of Uncle Benjamin’s detection devices and was as complicated as any aircraft. The washroom and kitchen were fully functional, and a tiny elevator led to a retractable rooftop patio with a gas barbecue. The windows were bulletproof, and the gas tank was so big they could drive for days without stopping and refueling. Angus even had a private cabin with an escape hatch behind the folding bed, just in case.
Angus immediately dashed to his cabin and opened a video game on his top-end console. Angus loved video games and played like a pro. His favorites were action adventures with platforms and moving floors, enemies to dodge, and cool weapons to collect. He had a knack for predicting moves and often finished games quickly, even on an expert level. It was all about timing, and Angus’s internal sense was so accurate that he rarely used a timer or clock.
The console was his most valued possession and one of the few electronic devices Angus was allowed to have. It was purchased on the condition that there would be no internet access and sound effects only; the music must always be disabled.
"Too many lies on those darn internets, tv, and radio too," his uncle always said. "And they're constantly watching and monitoring you. Best to avoid it altogether." Uncle Benjamin kept up to date with newspapers and bought them everywhere they went. Angus glanced at the pictures occasionally, but reading articles was too much effort; he trusted his uncle to tell him about anything important.
To some, Uncle Benjamin might seem paranoid and overprotective. Young Angus simply accepted the rules as ordinary routine; that was just life. No internet, no TV, and no radio to ‘fill your head with nonsense.’ They lived comfortably in their little bubble, yet his uncle knew it would pop as Angus got older.
Angus's game character fell off a platform and died. He wasn't playing very well and felt distracted with thoughts about the piano-ghost dream. Sighing in frustration, he put the console away and went up front to the passenger seat. Uncle Benjamin took his hand off the steering wheel and turned on a podcast called 'They Don't Want You to Know.' It was a conspiracy theory show and one of the few things he downloaded from the internet.
"Songwriting performer Billy Jackson has gone missing. He is the fifth famous composer to have vanished over the past ten years. The whereabouts of Creä, Lady Shade, Eddy Buckets, Tori Z, and now Billy Jackson are unknown. At first, these disappearances appeared coincidental, but now it seems more and more like something bigger. We'll follow up on this story right after UFO Talk with Allan Murphy."
“That’s what happens when you mess with music,” said his uncle, “you end up disappearing, or even worse, they clone you like they did with Elvis.”
Why is everything about music lately? Angus wondered.
"Hey, check it out," said his uncle, pointing through the passenger window, "you can still see broken trees from the hurricane last fall. Those dang storms hit every couple of years. They sure scared the dickens out of me when I was a kid."
Angus saw a massive oak tree split down the middle like a giant had cleaved it in half with an equally giant ax.
"Have I ever told you how some hurricanes are generated by lizard people?" asked his uncle.
"Yup, many times," Angus rolled his eyes. As he grew older, Angus became increasingly skeptical of the more outlandish theories, and the idea of lizard-made hurricanes was one of them.
When they arrived at the grocery store, Angus jumped out with his EMF detector. It beeped and hissed as he inspected the parking space.
"All clear," announced Angus.
"Good job on the scan," said his uncle, exiting the motorhome. "Can't be too careful."
“Uncle Ben,” said Angus, “Do you mind if I look around town while you’re shopping?”
“Sure, buddy,” said his uncle, “As long as you follow the three golden rules.”
“No internets, no carrots, and NO MUSIC,” they repeated together.
“You’re such a good kid,” said his uncle, patting him on the back. “How about a test today?”
When his uncle said test, he meant a survival test.
“Let me guess,” said Angus, “I have to find my way home?”
“You got it,” said his uncle, handing him a map, “It should only be about an hour’s walk, so I’d leave by 4 pm to be on time for dinner. Call me on your emergency flip phone if you run into any trouble. Pack up your bugout bag with extra supplies, just in case.”
Angus hated tests just as much as any other kid, but at least he got to explore the town. He stuffed the map, extra batteries for his EMF detector, and some emergency rations on top of the blanket in his red backpack, still packed from the morning’s adventure.
Uncle Benjamin gave Angus a bearhug, squeezing the air out of him, “Love ya, buddy!” and tromped off to the grocery store.
***
Lunenburg was a quaint little town. Houses painted in vibrant shades of red, yellow, and teal looked down on a cheerful shopping district bustling with late summer tourists. Seagulls plummeted, screaming for dropped french fries, the fragrance of baking waffle cones swirled in the salty air, and the sounds of happy conversation gave the afternoon a festive atmosphere. Like other Canadian East Coast towns, the focus was the harbor. Watercraft traffic generated brisk business for the port services, from graceful schooners to hulking fishing vessels, tiny tugs, and sleek speedboats.
Everyone Angus passed appeared happy, and some greeted him like a local. He had never visited a friendlier town. It felt like something he'd always been missing. It felt like home.
While walking down the main street, Angus paused to admire an overflowing display of freeze-dried gourmet survival foods. A sudden chill interrupted his window shopping, and he felt the hair on his arms rise. Someone was watching him.
Nah, it must be that bump on my head. He reached back and gingerly felt the tender spot under his hair.
What did that Tuner guy say? I might be in danger. Now I'm getting paranoid like Uncle Ben.
He pulled out his EMF detector and hastily scanned about but saw no anomalies.
Tok, tok-tok, tok
A hollow tapping sound reached his ears. Could it be a woodpecker here in town?
Tok, tok-tok, tok
It's too rhythmic to be a woodpecker, and it sounds metallic.
Angus glanced over his shoulder to see a grubby, heavy-set man in dark sunglasses watching him from across the street. Even though it was warm and sunny, he wore a long, dark oilskin raincoat and what appeared to be a pirate hat.
A pirate? OK, now that’s just ridiculous. I'll keep my distance from that guy, just in case.
Angus continued on his way but couldn’t shake the paranoid feeling.
Maybe I should get off the street for a bit.
Angus bent to leave a clue for his uncle: his chalked initials on the sidewalk. Can't be too careful. He strode quickly to the nearest shop, knocked three times, opened the door, and entered. Before him, bathed in warm light from the front window, stood a magnificent grand piano.