The Call (The Magnificent 12 1)

“I was made by great Grimluk.”

“Grim Look?”

“Grimluk.”

“Sometimes the name just fits, you know?”

“Not really.”

Mack sighed. He was trying to be a good sport. He was playing along. Mostly because he found golems more interesting than his usual life.

It wasn’t that Mack was unhappy. He had nothing to be unhappy about, really. He did okay in school. He had one or two friends, although he didn’t think of them as particularly close. But they would say, “Hey, Mack,” when he walked by. And sometimes they’d hang out together on a Saturday and maybe even play some ball.

He had parents who weren’t mean, kids who kind of liked him, teachers who weren’t terrible, a nice house, a nice room, a decent laptop—what was there not to like?

But exciting? As exciting as having time frozen by ancient apparitions? As exciting as a mythical clay creature who slept on the ceiling?

However, as much as Mack was willing to play along for the sheer adventure of it, he was feeling a need for answers. Question number one: Is this real, or am I having some kind of cosmic kernel panic? Is this the real-life equivalent of the Blue Screen of Death? Did I miss an important software update?

If so, is there some way I can reboot?

Ah, but Mack admitted to himself, you wouldn’t reboot this even if you could.

He wasn’t looking for a quick, reassuring return to normal. He was anxious for the craziness to move to the next phase.

He noticed the clock.

“I’m late,” he said. “Look, Golem, stay clear of my mom, okay? Hide in the closet. Yeah. That’s what you do.”

“Okay,” the golem said.

Mack headed downstairs.

“Make yourself a Breakfast Pocket,” Mack’s mother said. She was adding creamer to her coffee. The small kitchen TV was on to the news.

“I want a Toaster Strudel,” Mack said.

“Breakfast Pocket.”

“Okay,” Mack said, surrendering. He pulled a Toaster Strudel from the freezer and popped it into the toaster. His mother had never yet noticed that he ignored her on this. Sometimes it puzzled Mack. Didn’t she notice when she went to the grocery store that she kept buying Toaster Strudels?

“Have a good day at school,” his mother said. She headed toward the garage. “Love you.”

“Love you,” he called back.

His father was already gone. He had a longer commute.

Mack headed down the street toward his bus stop as his mother backed her car out of the garage.

It was a nice day out, a wide blue sky overhead with just a scattering of cirrus clouds off to the south. The heat of summer was mostly a memory now, and the desert air had just a slight snap to it in the morning. It felt good in Mack’s lungs as he trudged down the street to the corner.

Out of the corner of his eye he happened to see an old man coming down the street.

The man was very old and dressed spectacularly, all in shades of green. He was dressed nicely, not like a crazy street person. He wore dark green slacks and a grass-green blazer over a brownish green vest. His shirt was white and starched, the only touch of nongreen aside from brown shoes.

The thing that made the whole outfit kind of work was the green derby hat.

The man in green had a walking stick in one hand and a bulky leather overnight bag in the other. Mack glanced back at him a couple of times but didn’t want to look as if he was staring.