Intro

This is a YA story about three childhood friends who find out the world they created as children has come to life. Now that world is threatened and it's up to the kids to help save their creations.

Some of the characters are based on those created by my brother and I when we were kids.

Chapter 1

Part 1

            The silver starship coasted into orbit above the dull gray planet.  With its sleek lines the ship didn't seem built so much as carved from some giant piece of ore.  Only the black streaks along the hull marred the beauty of the scene.

            The reason for these streaks soon came into view.  Unlike the silver ship, this trio of vessels were ugly, blocky shapes, nearly as dark as the space around them.  From the blisters along their craggy hulls came bursts of red energy that rained down upon the silver ship.  The blue lines of energy from the silver ship did little to deter the black vessels in their pursuit.

            The silver ship rocked violently, flame mushrooming from its port side momentarily.  After the flames dissipated came bits of debris and even humanoid figures clad in bulky spacesuits.  These figures flailed against the planet's gravity, but there was no escape.  They were pulled down to flare as briefly in the atmosphere as the initial explosion.

            At first the silver ship appeared to shrug off this damage, plowing ahead unhindered.  Then the orange drive lights on the engine blisters along the side of the ship faded to black.  The silver craft continued to float ahead on momentum until like the doomed crewmembers in their spacesuits, the ship began to descend towards the atmosphere.

            The black ships didn't give up their pursuit.  Like a pair of vultures they swept down on their prey, continuing to rain down bolts of energy at an even more frantic pace.  Beneath this withering barrage, the silver ship's previously smooth hull rent in dozens of places until it finally broke open.  Many more figures were hurled into the atmosphere, where they faced certain death.

            In its last throes, the silver ship ejected what seemed at first like more debris.  But as tongues of blue leapt from behind these chunks of debris it became clear they were escape pods to ferry the crew safely to the planet below.  A few of these managed to safely enter the atmosphere before the black ships became aware of the tiny craft.

            They opened fire.

            "Will!"

            "Yeah, Dad?"

            "Are you getting ready?  We need to get moving."

            Will Denton pressed the stop button on the remote control.  Nothing happened.  The tape continued to play, the vicious black ships blasting the escape pods as if they were clay pigeons.  Will tried the button again without results.  "Must be out of batteries," he grumbled.  He pushed off the couch to hit the stop button on the VCR.  Finally the image faded from the screen.

            He ejected the tape to put it back into its cardboard sleeve.  He studied the sleeve thoughtfully for a moment.  He had seen all three Space Empire movies at least two dozen times, but he couldn't remember ever seeing the battle that had just played out on the screen.  Maybe his father had somehow gotten a hold of a director's cut version.

            His father appeared in the doorway at that moment, his arms folded across his chest.  "Will, didn't you hear me?  It's time to go.  I've got to get to work."

            "Sorry, I was just taking out the tape.  Is this new?"

            "It's the same copy you watched the last six times you came over."

            Will thought about the strange battle again.  "You mind if I take this home?"

            "Sure, if you promise to get your keester in gear."

            "All right.  Don't have a cow."  Will had already taken the precaution of packing his duffel bag with his dirty clothes; the bedding he would leave for next weekend.  He tucked the videotape into a pocket of the bag and then held up his hands.  "Ta da.  All done."

            "Don't get smart with me.  You're not so big that I can't still whoop you," his father said, the menace belied by his smile.  He put an arm around Will's shoulder to lead him out to the garage.  Will chucked his bag into the truck's bed before hopping into the cab.  His father waited for him to buckle in before backing down the driveway.

            As usual during their drives home, they didn't say anything.  They had already exhausted all the pleasantries and mundane topics like school and Will's love life—or lack thereof—at the start of the weekend.  By the end of the weekend they had nothing left to discuss.  They let talk radio fill the silence, a pundit vehemently declaring that electing Clinton would lead to the country's destruction.  Will's father nodded along with each point the pundit made.  Politics was another area where his parents disagreed, his mother having slapped a Clinton bumper sticker on her car the week before, probably after seeing the Bush sticker on her former husband's truck. 

Will tuned out the radio, not seeing any point in worrying about an election he couldn't vote in.  He leaned back in his seat to stare out the window as the tree-lined streets of Preston went by.  At seven in the morning there wasn't much to see except for the occasional middle-aged jogger or elderly dog walker.

            The ride lasted only five minutes, long enough to cover the three blocks that separated Will's parents.  And yet this distance felt as vast as the galaxy in the Space Empire films.  As his father pulled into the driveway, Will felt as if he had completed a monumental journey.  He yawned as a weariness set into him, a weariness not due entirely to having stayed up all night watching videos but the weariness of another parting.

            Will stared straight ahead a moment, making no attempt to move.  "You want to come in?" he asked, as he did every time, still hoping against the odds to foster a reconciliation.

            "Afraid I don't have time."

            "Right."

            As Will opened the door, his father patted him on the shoulder.  "Have a good week, champ.  Call me if you need anything."

            "I will."  With that he hopped out of the truck.  He reached into the cab for his duffel bag and then stepped back.  His father gave him a wave before backing down the driveway.  Will stood there until the taillights faded away completely.

#

            The usual procedure was for Will to come home on Sunday morning to face his mother's inquisition over breakfast.  Though he had been making these weekend visits for the last four years, his mother still didn't trust her former husband.  She asked Will where they ate, what they ate, how late he stayed up, and if he brushed his teeth.  Every week he told the same lies, saying his father took him to the Country Kitchen for meat loaf and green beans, they went to bed at eleven o'clock, and he brushed his teeth twice a day.  In reality they usually ordered a pizza, stayed up until falling asleep in front of the TV, and never brushed their teeth.  That she never saw through these lies he chalked up to her self-delusion more than his ability to lie.

            Only this time things were different.  He found a note taped to the door.  Something had come up at the hospital and so his mother had to cover another nurse's shift.  "There's waffles in the freezer," she had written.  "I'll be back this afternoon.  Be sure to feed Carl."

            Carl was Will's goldfish, the only pet his mother would let him own—and only after he won the fish in the carnival three months ago.  Out of patriotism he had named the goldfish Carl after gold medal-winning track star Carl Lewis.  That Carl was also his father's name had not occurred to him until it was too late.  His mother had grimaced at first, but she made no protest.  Will imagined she talked about it during the next trip to her therapist.

            He dumped a few sprinkles of dry food into the bowl.  The goldfish darted up to the surface to lap up these crumbs.  "Easy on those or you're going to get fat."

            Having fed the fish, Will decided next to feed himself.  He opened the freezer to take out the box of waffles his mother had generously left for him.  While two of these toasted, he rifled through the pile of mail on the counter, sorting through the promises of winning a million dollars if he bought a magazine subscription and those of politicians to clean up the government if he voted for them.  He frowned as he tossed aside the last envelope; Tom had not answered his letter after two weeks.

            The waffles popped from the toaster.  Will tossed them on a paper plate to eat while sitting at the counter so as not to get crumbs in the living room.  That would drive his mother into a fit, leading to a grounding or loss of his meager allowance.  He could clean up the crumbs, but somehow she always found the one he missed.  "You're going to attract ants or mice," she would say.

            After finishing his breakfast, Will checked the clock.  He still had a few hours before he needed to start his homework.  More than enough time for him to get in a little nap and then maybe watch the end of his movie. 

            First he made sure to empty out the duffel bag.  The dirty clothes he dumped into the hamper for his mother to wash after she came home.  When she thought he wasn't watching, she would sniff the clothes to make sure Will and his father hadn't been smoking marijuana or something worse.

            In his bedroom, he went over to the telescope in the corner.  On occasion he did use the gift from his Aunt Mary to gaze at the heavens to watch a meteor shower or comet or the rings of Saturn.  More often he leveled the telescope at the backyard of the neighboring house to catch a glimpse of Jessie McCormick.  The thought of her floating on the surface of her pool, clad in only a red bikini, haunted his nighttime fantasies. 

            At the moment he didn't see anything nearly so arousing.  Jessie's mother, a tiny woman with the same dark hair as her daughter, watered the flowers next to the house.  Jessie was probably still in bed, sleeping peacefully, like an angel—

            He tilted the telescope up to stop himself before anything happened.  With a weary sigh, he sank onto his bed.  A glimpse through the telescope was about as close as he could get to Jessie these days.  Only in his fantasies could he hope even to touch her.  To think just four years ago they had been riding their bikes around the neighborhood—with Tom. 

            Will pulled the covers over his head and rolled over to sleep.

#

            He awoke hours later to a crash.  Sitting up in bed, his bleary mind identified the sound as coming from the closet.  He climbed out of bed and opened the doors to inspect the damage.  As expected, something had fallen from the top shelf, an avalanche of old stuffed toys diving like so many lemmings to the floor, taking board games and Legos with them.

            Will picked up a stuffed gray dog with brown ears.  Spot Mangy Mutt II, he had named the dog despite its obvious lack of spots.  Around Spot lay some of his kin:  his sons Spot III and Spot IV, his wife Marshy, and brother Jeremiah.  "Trying to get out?" Will said to the toys.

            He stuffed the Mutt family back into the garbage bag.  Every year he considered giving them away to charity so some child might actually love them.  But then he would think of Spot II ending up in a Dumpster or a pile of rubbish at the dump, like what had most likely happened to his predecessor, Spot Mangy Mutt I.  So another year would go by with the stuffed toys of his childhood sealed in the garbage bag, waiting perhaps for the day he might give them to his children—his and Jessie's children.

            He rebuilt the pile of board games he had once played with Jessie and Tom.  Like the stuffed toys, he couldn't bear to rid himself of the games either.  They wouldn't have any value to anyone else with pieces missing from Monopoly and Life and mustaches drawn on the female Clue characters.  These relics of his childhood would only be junk to someone else. 

            After settling the garbage bag on the board games, Will surveyed the closet to make sure he had found everything.  His mother checked the closet at least twice a week at random intervals to make sure he wasn't smuggling drugs or weapons or anything else.  Not that he had done anything to make her paranoid; she just didn't want him to end up like Tom, the failure of four years ago continuing to haunt her—and him.

            He went back to the living room, putting the Space Empire video into the VCR.  The scene with the silver ship and its black pursuers had faded away.  In its place he were the scenes remembered of Captain Tadd Iceslinger and his band of freedom fighters landing on a planet covered in lush jungles, battling terrifying snakes to reach the enemy stronghold to blow up the control center for the dreaded Mechanaut army.

            Just as Tadd planted the final charge, the synthesized voice of the evil Warlord said, "There will be no escape for you this time, Iceslinger."  Will braced himself for the climactic battle between Tadd and the Warlord, their crystal swords flashing like lightning.

            Instead, the scene cut away to another shot of space.  Once again Will saw the bulky black ships from earlier in the morning.  This time there were dozens, maybe even a hundred of them cruising into orbit around a blue planet not so different from Earth.  A few swept-wing fighters similar to the silver ship he had seen before fired on the black vessels.  They were quickly eliminated in a hellish blaze of energy.

            Then the black ship turned their weapons on the planet below.  As Will watched, oceans boiled away from the planet's surface, leaving vast deserts.  Forests became infernos, unfamiliar animals running in all directions, though there was no escape.  Vibrant cities as large as New York or Los Angeles turned to blackened rubble.  This wasn't enough for the black ships, who unleashed a second volley and then a third.

            "What is this?" Will said.  He picked up the remote control to hit the stop button.  As in the morning, nothing happened.  He tried again.  It didn't seem likely that the remotes in both houses had gone dead at the same time.  He took out the batteries and then reinserted them, but still the tape would not stop. 

            Will finally lurched across the living room to press the stop button.  The counter on the VCR stopped and yet the scene continued to play.  The world that had been blue and tranquil only minutes before had now turned a mixture of brown and black.  A flotilla of triumphant black ships descended into the atmosphere to mop up anything that remained.

            "What the hell is going on?"  Will turned the VCR off.  When that didn't work he unplugged the machine.  Still the scene continued to play.  In desperation he changed the channel.  He flipped through every channel on the TV, but every one showed the same image of the black ships coming in for a landing.  He finally turned off the TV, sighing with relief when the scene faded.

            He didn't dare try turning it back on, afraid of what he might find.  Am I going crazy? he wondered.  There was no way what he had seen could be a director's cut of the movie.  It couldn't be a movie at all for it to show up on every channel.  Maybe someone was messing with him, somehow beaming signals to the antenna on the roof.  One of the clowns from school, though he couldn't think of any with the expertise for such a prank.  Or maybe it was an overactive imagination from too little sleep.

            Will decided to get a few more hours of sleep.  When he woke up things would make sense.  The TV would function normally and when he played the tape in the VCR it would be the epic duel at the end of the Space Empire movie.  If not, he might have to place an emergency call to his mother's therapist.

            Opening the door to his bedroom, he saw he hadn't put away all of the stuffed toys from his closet.  Though how Ricky Raccoon had managed to bounce from the top shelf of the closet onto Will's desk he couldn't fathom.  But that was the only explanation unless someone had climbed in through the window to put the toy there.  After all, stuffed animals couldn't walk.

            Will picked up the stuffed raccoon, stroking its soft brown fur.  His father had bought Ricky for him from the gift shop of the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago.  That had come only days after the demise of Spot I; Ricky had been meant to soothe Will for the next two weeks as the family drove to Florida and back—the last time they went to Florida as a family.

            Turning the raccoon over in his hands, he noticed something different.  Where had the black leather belt beaded with silver cases come from?  And was that a sword on the raccoon's back?  Maybe it wasn't the same stuffed raccoon.  Will flipped the toy over to see the name, 'Ricky' scribbled on the tag in blocky, childish letters.  He turned the raccoon over again to look into its glassy eyes.

            "Greetings, Will Denton," the raccoon said.

            Will screamed.

Chapter 2

            He threw the stuffed raccoon across the room.  It impacted against the wall with a squeak before collapsing to the floor.  Will ran a hand over his face.  First a video playing scenes he didn't remember that couldn't be turned off and then a stuffed animal talking to him.  He was losing his mind.  That could be the only answer. 

            To his horror, Ricky Raccoon levered himself up onto his chubby legs.  His head turned up so that the masked face looked squarely into Will's.  "Please remain calm," the raccoon said in the raspy voice of a late night prank caller.  "Let me explain."

            "Explain?  You can't talk.  You can't walk either.  You're not alive!"

            "You're right:  I'm not alive.  Not in the sense you would understand.  Or at least not here.  It might help to think of me as an avatar."

            "Yeah, that's great, I've got an avatar in my room," Will said as he slid away from the desk, towards the door.  "Well, good luck with that."

            He burst through the door, running towards the living room.  As he picked up the phone, he stopped himself.  Who could he call?  The police would think he was making a prank call; if they sent a car it would be to lock him up.  His mother's reaction would be only slightly less angry; she would only send him to her therapist.  Maybe he could call Earl and ask him to get his dad's video camera so they could record the walking, talking stuffed raccoon.  The avatar as it called itself.

            Before he could dial the phone, he let out another scream.  Ricky Raccoon stood by the telephone.  "You don't have to be afraid of me.  I'm not here to hurt you."

            "I'm not afraid of you.  You're made out of cotton and polyester.  Probably made by some ten-year-old in China."

            "You must listen to me, Will Denton.  We don't have much time."

            "Why's that?  You going to turn back into a pumpkin at midnight?"  Will looked around the living room for a weapon, but there were only the stack of videotapes, his mother's potted plant, and Carl.  A goldfish wouldn't be much use against even a stuffed toy, though maybe if he broke the bowl, the glass—

            Then Will saw what he needed:  the duffel bag he had brought from his father's house.  "So, um, what exactly are you doing here?" he asked, edging over towards the bag.

            "I've come for your help.  The Bloc is its most serious crisis.  You're the only one—"  Ricky didn't get the chance to finish as Will swept him into the open duffel bag.  Will zipped the bag shut and then ran to the front door.  He flung the bag as high as he could into the air.  The duffel's shoulder strap caught a branch of the pine tree in the front yard.  The bag hung suspended in the air like a bizarre piñata. 

            That was the end of that.  Will settled onto the couch, but he couldn't bring himself to turn on the television.  Instead, he watched Carl make leisurely circuits around the bowl until he fell asleep again.

#

            He woke up later to the front door banging open.  His mother came through the doorway, her face haggard and hair mussed as if she had stayed up all night.  "Looks like you've been busy," she said as she tossed her keys into the bowl next to the door.  "Didn't you get any sleep at your father's?"

            "Sure, lots of sleep.  I just thought I'd take a little break from studying.  A little power nap."

            "Did you at least manage to feed Carl before you took your power nap?"

            "Yes."

            "Good."  She went into the kitchen, opening the freezer to inspect the box of waffles.  Satisfied with this, she returned to the living room to begin what she thought was a covert sweep of the carpet for any offending crumbs.  Will waited for her to turn up something, maybe a bit of Carl's food.  She finally leaned down to kiss his cheek.  "Did you have a good time?"

            "It was fine," Will said, always trying to remain noncommittal so as to be neutral in the war between his parents.

            The inquisition went on from there, with Will providing his usual answers.  Once his mother was satisfied he and his father hadn't been smoking crack or buying prostitutes, Will asked, "How was work?"

            "Exhausting."  She went on to describe the painstaking process of turning over a four-hundred-pound man for a sponge bath.  Then came the ordeal of dealing with an old man suffering from emphysema, who started hacking up blood.  "Though this nice man did ask for my phone number—after he pinched my rear."

            "Come on, Mom."

            "What?  I thought it was very flattering.  Don't you think it's about time for your old mom to start looking for someone?  Then you could have a stepfather."

            "Great, just what I need."

            She smoothed down his hair as if he were still five years old.  "What are you going to do the rest of the day?"

            "I've got to study.  There's a test in geometry tomorrow."

            "You'd better get to it then.  Try not to take many more power naps."

            "I won't."  Will slithered from his mother's embrace to head back to his room.

            Before he could get too far, she called out, "Could you get that bag off the tree in the front yard?"

            "Yeah, sure."  Will tried not to grumble under his breath as he trudged to the front door.  The duffel bag still hung from the tree branch exactly as he left it.  He considered finding his old baseball bat or the weed whacker from the garage or something to use as a weapon, but then reminded himself that would be acting paranoid.  Stuffed animals couldn't talk or walk.

            Plucking the duffel bag from the tree, he saw a gash in one side.  The bag was empty.

#

            Ricky Raccoon had vanished.  Will searched the front yard, backyard, and even the garage for his old stuffed toy.  The raccoon was nowhere to be found.  Discreetly, Will looked around inside the house, everywhere except his mother's bedroom, where she dozed after her early shift.  He decided an animal must have cut open the bag, that was all.

            The rest of the day went by easily.  Will settled at his desk, studying for the geometry test and writing the rough draft for a paper on the causes of World War I.  Every few minutes he looked over his shoulder for the stuffed raccoon before reminding himself it had been a dream or delusion or something like that.

            His mother picked up on his mood, saying to him over dinner, "Are you feeling all right?"  She put a hand to his forehead and then clucked her tongue.  "You don't feel warm.  What were you and your father doing?"

            "Nothing!"

            "Don't shout at me, young man.  Now hurry up and eat your dinner.  I've got to be getting back to work."

            "You're going back?"

            "I've still got my shift."  She patted his arm.  "I couldn't turn down the overtime.  Money's tight right now and it won't be too long before a certain son of mine goes to college."

            "I know."  That was three years off, but his mother was the type to plan ahead; she had begun saving the moment she learned she was pregnant with him.

            She kissed him on the cheek again before sweeping up her purse and keys.  "Don't stay up too late," she said, wagging a finger.

            "I know."  He had no intention of staying up late.  With the day he'd had, a good night's sleep was all he wanted.

            He made sure to lock the door before retreating to the bedroom.  Then he checked the closet and under the bed as he'd used to ask Tom or his parents to do when he was a little kid.  There was no sign of the malicious stuffed animal.  Nevertheless, Will made sure to keep his baseball bat next to the nightstand.

            Then he closed his eyes to go to sleep.

            For the third time that day he was rudely awakened.  This time by a blast of cold water into his face.  Blinking open his eyes, he found himself looking back at the face of Ricky Raccoon, the stuffed animal's face looking demonic in the red glow of the digital alarm clock.

            Will tried to move his arms to bat the raccoon away only to find they wouldn't move.  Trying to move his legs met similar resistance.  Even his mouth wouldn't work, a piece of tape stretched over it.  Will made garbled noises from his throat, which Ricky seemed to understand.

            "I'm not going to hurt you," the raccoon said.  "I only needed to get your attention."

            The raccoon's left arm moved, the mitten-like paw on the end of it touching something on his belt.  Will was jerked roughly into a vertical position.  He realized he had somehow been strapped to a metal device that resembled a bed frame.  "Now perhaps you'll listen to me."

            He touched another button on his belt.  An image like that Will had seen on the television appeared in the air.  "What you saw was not a film.  It's real.  My people are under attack.  Our worlds are being destroyed one-by-one.  Millions of lives have been lost, whole planets turned into deserts that won't grow anything for generations.  All attempts at resistance have failed.  That's why I've come for your help.  Only you have the power to destroy them."

            "Me?" Will said through the tape.

            "That's right.  You are one of the Creators, that gives you the power to destroy them.  That's why I've come for you."  The raccoon leaned forward, one hand reaching out to Will's mouth.  "If I remove this, will you scream?"  Will shook his head.

            Ricky pulled back the tape.  Will resisted the urge to scream and thus breaking his promise.  "I don't understand," Will said.  "What do you mean I'm the Creator?  I'm not God.  I don't even go to church!"

            "The place I come from is called the Bloc of Planetary States.  Do you remember it?"

            Will stared at Ricky, his eyes going wide.  He remembered.

 

Chapter 3

            It all started on Christmas morning ten years earlier.  Back then Will still believed in Santa Claus.  He had barely gotten any sleep that night, waiting anxiously to hear the jingle of bells and sound of hooves on the rooftop just like the story Daddy had read them that night.  The door to the room he shared with Tom opened at one in the morning; Will ducked under the covers, thinking it was Santa, but it was only Mommy.  She stood in the doorway for nearly a minute before closing the door.

            Outside the door came the sound of whispered voices.  Will rolled out of bed and then crept over to Tom's.  "Is Santa here?" he asked.

            "No, it's just Mom and Dad," Tom said.

            "What are they doing?"

            "They're getting the cookies and milk and all that out, stupid."

            "Really?"

            "Yes.  Now go back to bed or Santa will never show up and you won't get anything."

            Will gasped at this and then retreated to his bed.  He crawled beneath the covers, not even leaving his head visible.  With his eyes closed, he breathed in the warm air trapped by the blankets as he imagined the living room the next morning:  presents stacked from floor to ceiling, so many that they could hardly get into the room.  There would be toy soldiers and robots and Space Empire action figures.  And to cap it off would be his very own bike, just like the one Tom had.  A two-wheel bike, a big boy's bike, not a trike or big wheel.

            With these thoughts dancing around his head, he fell asleep at last, though he didn't stay that way for long.  Two hours later he felt someone shaking him, interrupting his dreams of a treasure trove of gifts.  "Wake up, stupid," Tom said.

            Will pushed back the covers to look at his brother.  "What?"

            "Santa just left.  You want to see what he brought?"

            "But Mommy said—"

            "She won't know."

            Will doubted this.  Mommy had ways to know when they did something bad; she had a kind of sixth sense to tell her when Will or Tom had done something wrong.  "Yes she will."

            "Fine, you can just lie there and wait.  I'm going out there."

            Will lay in bed for a minute, long enough for Tom to get down the hall.  Then Will threw aside the covers to run after his brother, catching up to him in the dining room.  "I want to see!"

            "Shut up, dummy, or they'll hear you."

            "Sorry."

            "Come on.  And be quiet."  Will followed his brother through the dining room, tiptoeing and keeping a hand over his mouth so as not to make any noise that might alert their parents.  If Mommy and Daddy found out, then they wouldn't get any presents at all.

            Then, in the blinking red-and-green glow of the Christmas lights, he saw his dreams had come true.  Perhaps not exactly like his dreams—there was still room on the floor and along the ceiling—but still quite a haul.  Presents in their shiny paper radiating out from beneath the tree to take up half of the living room.

            Will wanted to run forward into the horde, but Tom held him back.  "Hold on.  Be careful."  Tom examined the doorway, looking for booby traps like an explorer.  When satisfied that his parents hadn't set any traps, Tom stepped into the room.  He knelt down beside a package, studying the tag.  "That's for you."

            Will picked up the gift, shaking it.  No sound came from within.  Probably clothes.  With a sigh he dropped the package to the floor.  Tom sifted through the rest of the gifts, giving each of his a shake.  Even Will knew enough not to actually open any of the packages for fear of what his parents would do when they found out.  But he could imagine what might be inside.

            "Is there a bike?" he asked as Tom disappeared behind the tree.

            "No."

            "Oh."

            "It's probably in the garage or something.  They just want to surprise you."

            "You think so?"

            "Sure.  That's how it works."  Tom began arranging the gifts back as they had been, his memory impeccable when it came to covering up the evidence of their crime.  "Let's go."

            They went back to bed, Will still unable to sleep easily.  If anything, seeing the pile of gifts had inflamed his anticipation.  He desperately wanted to go into the garage to find the bike, but Tom wouldn't let him.  "Just wait."

            There was no bike.  Will got the toy soldiers and robots he wanted, as well as clothes he didn't, but no bike.  Mommy handed out the gifts that year, watching with joy as Will ravaged the boxes to tear away the wrapping paper.  She reached behind the tree for a large box.  "Here you go, honey.  This one's from Santa."

            Will ripped off the wrapping paper, wondering if perhaps Santa had shrunk down the bike to fit into the box.  Or maybe it would come in pieces for Daddy to put together.  It wasn't a bike.  It was a stuffed gray dog with floppy brown ears and a cluster of brown spots that formed a footprint on his back.  The mouth at the end of the dog's long snout wore a sort of bemused expression.  Will tossed the dog to the floor.  "Is that it?"

            His mother looked around the tree.  "That's all."

            Will began to cry.  His mother leaned over to put a hand on the shoulder.  "What is it, honey?  What's wrong?"

            "Santa was supposed to bring me a bike."

            "Oh.  Well, maybe Santa didn't think you were quite ready for a bike yet."

            "I am so!  I'm a big boy!  I'm five."  He held up one hand, just as he had learned in kindergarten to indicate five.

            "I know, but—"

            "Then why didn't he bring it?"

            "Maybe next year," Daddy said.  "If you're a good boy."

            "But it's not fair!"  He picked up the stuffed dog, hurling it across the room.  The dog's face struck the windowsill, its right eye shattering.  Mommy picked the dog up from off the floor.  She returned it to Will, the stump of the dog's right eye glaring back at him.

            "Here's your doggie."

            "I don't want it."

            "Oh, well, I guess if you don't want him then I'll take him."  Mommy hugged the gray dog to her chest.  She made a low barking noise and then made the stuffed toy imitate licking her face.  "Nice doggie."

            Will reached out, yanking the dog away from his mother's hands.  He clutched the stuffed toy to his chest.  "He's mine!  Santa gave him to me."

            "If you say so, honey.  But if he's really yours, I think he needs a name."

            Will studied the gray dog with brown spots.  "Spot," he said.  He thought of an expression he had heard in a cartoon.  "Spot Mangy Mutt."

            Mommy tousled his hair.  "That's a very nice name."

            "Come on, Spot.  Let's go."  With Spot still pressed to his chest, Will sauntered off to his room.  He hopped onto his bed, smiling at the dog; the dog smiled back.  "You and I are going to be friends forever."

#

            Will sat on his bed, tossing Spot into the air, when Tom came in, a stuffed dog tucked under his arm.  "It's not fair," Will said.  "I wanted a bike.  Why didn't Santa bring it?"

            "Maybe he couldn't fit in into his sled," Tom said.

            "You have a bike."

            "I got mine last year.  So maybe Santa will bring you one next year."

            "Maybe."  Will let Spot fall to the bed, where he bounced off into a wall, nearly breaking his other eye.  "It's still not fair."

            "Yeah, well, I didn't get everything I asked for either.  You don't see me acting like a baby about it."

            "I'm not acting like a baby."

            "Yes you are."

            "Am not!"

            "Are so."

            Mommy stuck her head into the room.  "Are you boys behaving yourselves?"

            "Yes, Mom," Tom said.  "We were just playing."

            "OK.  Breakfast will be ready soon."

            After breakfast, Will retreated again to the bedroom.  He leaned against the headboard of his bed, idly bashing Spot against the mattress.  "Are you just going to sit there all day?" Tom asked.

            "It's not fair," Will grumbled for the umpteenth time that morning.

            Tom picked the stuffed dog he had received that morning off the bed, an English bulldog.  Tom stared at the strange, pushed-in face of the bulldog.  "What do you think I should name him?"

            Will studied the dog with its white face and belly and dark brown back.  "Milky Cocoa," he said.

            "That's a stupid name.  He looks more like a Buster.  Buster Maximillion Bulldog."  He pronounced the middle name as two words.  "He's rich, richer than Mom and Dad put together.  A millionaire, no, a billionaire.  He can do whatever he wants, like fly around in his own plane.  He has his own country, no, a planet.  And everyone on the planet does what he says and if he gets tired of them he hops on his rocket plane and flies somewhere else."

            Tom picked up the dog, walking it across the bed towards Will.  "Your dog has to do what he says because mine is the boss."

            "He does not."  Will picked Spot up, pressing him protectively against his chest.  "Spot has his own planet too.  And if you try to tell him what to do he'll hop in his rocket plane and fly away from you."

            "Your dog can't have a planet too.  He's stupid.  Look, he only has one eye."

            "That's because he lost it fighting monsters.  Spot's not a stupid baby like your dog."

            "Oh yeah, Buster's killed a lot more monsters than Spot."  Tom pointed to the red plastic collar around the bulldog's neck.  "He's got a special Power Collar that shoots laser beams to kill monsters."

            "Spot has a Power Collar too."

            "He does not.  He's too stupid to have a Power Collar."

            "Is not!"

            "Is so!"

            Mommy burst into the room again.  "Boys, what is going on in here?"

            "We're just playing," Tom insisted again.  He held up his dog.  "Buster and Spot are hunting monsters."

            Mommy smiled at this.  "I see.  Well, I hope they check in your closet and under your bed."

            "No, they don't fight monsters here.  They fight monsters out there—in space, just like Captain Tadd Iceslinger."

            "Well, just make sure you boys don't go too far away.  Your grandparents are coming over at one o'clock."  She wagged a finger at them.  "I want you on your best behavior."

            "Yes, Mommy," they said in unison. 

            Once she had left, Tom picked Buster up again.  "Come on, let's get in our ships and hunt down some monsters," he said.  He began making noises like a rocket ship taking off, zigzagging Buster around in the air as he flew through space to hunt down and kill the evil monsters.  Will followed suit with Spot, forgetting all about the bike Santa didn't bring him.

            That was only the beginning of Buster and Spot's adventures.

 

Chapter 4

            A crash interrupted Will's thoughts.  It took him a moment to realize the crash had not come from his house.  "Did you hear something?" he asked Ricky.

            "Please, Will Denton, we do not have time—"

            A scream came from next door—Jessie's house.  Another crash came from her house.  "She's in trouble," he said.  He turned to Ricky.  "You've got to let me go."

            "I can't.  You must—"

            "Please, Jessie is in trouble."

            "That does not matter.  My people—"

            "You've got to let me help her.  She's my best friend.  Or at least she was."

            The stuffed raccoon couldn't do much in terms of facial expressions, but still he managed to convey surprise on his masked face.  "This Jessie is a female?"

            "Yes, Jessica McCormick.  You know her?"

            "We must help her."  Ricky touched something on his belt.  The restraints holding Will to the frame fell away.  He collapsed onto his knees but quickly picked himself up.  Ricky was already trotting out of the room on his stubby legs.

            Will easily caught up to him, scooping him up as he went to the kitchen.  He picked up the phone to dial 911.  "We can't alert the authorities," Ricky said.

            "Why not?  If someone is robbing the house—"

            "No, it's nothing like that.  Please, we have to do this on our own."

            There was a pleading note in the raccoon's voice Will couldn't resist.  "All right.  But if it looks too hairy we're calling the cops."  With Ricky perched on his shoulder he headed for the door, pausing to snatch his grandmother's spare cane from the umbrella stand.  The metal cane wouldn't make much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing.

            Jessie's Chevette was the only car in the driveway, meaning her parents had gone away.  As he crept around the Chevette, he heard glass breaking, followed by what sounded like a cat yowling.  So far as he knew, Jessie didn't have any cats—real ones at any rate.

            Keeping low as he'd seen in secret agent movies, Will climbed up the front steps to the doors.  He put a hand on the knob and his ear up against the metal of the door to listen.  He couldn't hear anything from inside.  Maybe the attacker had already been subdued.  That would be just his luck; a chance to play white knight for Jessie and she'd have already saved herself.

            He turned the knob slowly, carefully pulling the door open so as not to make a sound.  Staying low, he crept into the living room, hiding behind a La-Z-Boy recliner.  He resisted the urge to call out her name, not wanting to alert the attacker if he or she was still around.

            With the cane raised and Ricky perched on his shoulder like a pirate's parrot, Will scurried from the recliner, into the dining room.  There was still no sign of the attacker as he neared the kitchen.  There, hiding behind the refrigerator, he looked down the hallway.  For a moment he thought he saw a white shape. 

            Then he heard what sounding like a low hiss.  "Must be some kind of animal," he whispered to Ricky.

            "Yes, I'm afraid so."

            Will took a deep breath and then started down the hallway.  It was probably a possum that had gotten into the house to look for food; he'd had to scare one away from the patio a few months ago with the broom.  He considered going back to call animal control, but didn't.  He could handle this.  After all, it was just a stupid animal.

            He stopped at the end of the hallway, which branched off into three bedrooms and a linen closet.  Peering around the corner of the hallway, he saw the attacker was an animal, but not the kind he had expected.

            The stuffed white cat turned and leapt at him.

#

            Not even a living stuffed cat had the mass to knock Will over.  Still it managed to somehow attach itself to his face, yowling and hissing just like a real cat.  He heard Ricky shout, "Lieutenant Catt, stand down!"  A moment later he felt Ricky tumble off his shoulder.

            Will put his hands to his face only to feel a sharp pain in his right hand.  The cat's body muffled his scream.  The stuffed cat slashed at him again, this time cutting his left hand.  Will finally fell back on the floor, his mind still trying to comprehend what was happening.

            He batted at his face with the heel of his right hand.  The stuffed cat fell away from his face.  Will scrambled up to his feet.  He found the metal cane lying a foot away and snatched it off the floor.  Holding it like a baseball bat, he looked around for the stuffed cat.

            "What is—" he managed to get out before he heard a growl from the ceiling.  The stuffed white cat dropped towards him, a metal spike affixed to its front right paw aimed at his eye.  Will brought up the cane, remembering that his career average in Little League had been .011 with his only hit coming on an accidental bunt. 

            He hit the first and last home run of his career, the end of the cane connecting with the side of the stuffed cat's face.  The white cat went flying down the hallway, almost reaching the kitchen.  Like a real cat it landed on its feet, quickly turning to face Will.

            He didn't have time to celebrate before he heard a whine coming from the cat's direction.  A moment later, a marble-sized ball of white light flew from where the stuffed cat sat.  Will held out the cane to bat the ball of light aside, but to his shock, the light vaporized the cane in his hand.  He tossed the molten remains to the floor and then spun around the corner.

            Looking around him, Will searched for another weapon.  All he saw was a wicker basket resting against a pink bedroom door.  It's better than nothing, he thought.  As he seized the basket, he heard a tiny squeak.  Ricky hopped onto the basket and then skittered up Will's arm.  To Will's surprise, the raccoon had a sword attached to his left hand.

            "I'll disarm her," he whispered into Will's ear.  "You trap her with the basket."

            "But how—" Will didn't get a chance to finish as Ricky had already hopped off Will's shoulder to disappear around the corner.

            Not even as a child had Will ever imagined stuffed animals fighting each other the way Ricky and the stuffed cat did.  The raccoon used his tail to propel himself into the air, springing over the white cat.  As he landed, Ricky slashed the sword on his left hand, cutting a strap on the cat's back.  The gun that had slagged Will's cane fell to the floor.  With one stubby leg the raccoon kicked this away.

            The cat hissed, whirling around to use her spike as a sword.  Ricky deflected her wild blows with little difficulty, but it seemed only a matter of time before one of them landed.  If Ricky were hurt here, would his real body in the Bloc of Planetary States feel it?

            Ricky interrupted Will's thoughts by shouting, "Now!"

            Will sprang forward with the basket.  In that moment Ricky finally went on the offensive, swinging in an uppercut that slashed the spike from the white cat's paw.  Then the raccoon sprung back, giving Will an opening to drop the basket onto the cat.  Inside the basket, the cat hissed, spat, and yowled, but it couldn't move the basket with Will's knee on it.

            He heaved a sigh of relief, but the moment was short-lived as he heard a familiar voice shout, "What the hell was that thing?"

#

            A second, smaller voice said, "Jessie, you swore.  Mommy said you shouldn't swear."

            "I did not swear, you little twerp."  Then came the sound of muffled crying.  "I'm sorry.  Come here."  Jessie McCormick appeared around the corner a moment later, cradling a little girl in her arms.  "Will?  What are you doing here?"

            "I heard a commotion," he said.  To emphasize this, the basket beneath his knee rattled.  "Can you get something heavy to put on it?"

            "Oh, sure."  Jessie opened a door and then returned a minute later with a history and a geology textbook.  "Will this work?"

            "I hope so."  Will took the books from her to set on the basket.  The basket rattled again, but didn't move.  "That looks like it'll do it."

            "Is the mean cat gone?" the little girl asked.

            "Yes, it's gone now, isn't it?"

            "That's right, it's gone," Will said.

            "You're the boy from next door," the little girl said.

            "Yes."

            "Mommy says your family is white trash."

            "Oh, well—"

            "Megan, that isn't nice," Jessie said.  She pushed the little girl's dark hair away from her face.  "I think it's time you went back to bed."

            "OK."  Jessie opened the pink door and carried her sister inside.  The room was the same color pink with stuffed penguins scattered about the floor.  For the moment at least none of these seemed to be coming to life.  After setting Megan down on the bed, Jessie picked up a penguin with a red scarf and earmuffs.

            "Here's Percy," she said.  Jessie made some vague quacking sounds until the little girl giggled.  "Now, you two go to sleep and tomorrow I'll make you pancakes for breakfast."

            "Oh boy!" Megan said.  She pressed the penguin to her face and then closed her eyes.  Jessie pulled up the pink comforter to her little sister's chin; she kissed Megan on the forehead before backing away to where Will stood in the doorway.

            Jessie waited until she closed the door to whisper, "Now you can tell me what the hell is going on around here."

 

Chapter 5

            Jessie led Will into the living room, motioning for him to take the recliner while she sat on the couch.  She turned on a lamp that conveniently shone in Will's eyes like an interrogation room light.  "What was that thing?" she asked.

            "I'm not really sure," he said.

            "Her name is Heather Catt," Ricky said.  He hopped from the arm of the recliner onto the coffee table. 

            Jessie put a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream.  She picked up a newspaper to swat at the stuffed raccoon.  "There's another one of them!"

            Will reached out to grab her wrist.  "He's all right.  He's a friend."

            "What is it?"

            "His name is Ricky Raccoon.  He's an avatar."

            "What?"

            "The physical representation of a spirit," Ricky said.

            "I know what it means," Jessie snapped.  "What's it an avatar of?"

            Will cleared his throat.  "You remember when we were kids and we used to play in your backyard?"  Jessie nodded.  He continued, "I had a stuffed raccoon named Ricky.  And, um, I guess now he's become real."

            "Uh huh.  Can one of you make sense of this and tell me why that thing tried to kill us?"

            Will turned to Ricky.  "I think we both deserve to know what's going on here."

            Ricky nodded his head slightly.  "Very well.  I will try to explain.  There is much not even I fully understand, though."

            With that the raccoon touched a button on his belt.  A holographic projection of a galaxy floated in the center of the living room.

#

            "This is our galaxy," Ricky said.

            "It looks like the Milky Way," Jessie said.

            "Yes, it is very similar.  Our galaxy is what you would call a parallel universe.  It is in many ways identical to yours.  And in other ways it is not."  The image zoomed in from the galaxy to one of its arms.  Using his sword as a pointer, Ricky motioned to the end of the arm.  "Each of these stars represents a system belonging to the Bloc of Planetary States."

            "Wait," Jessie said.  "The Bloc of Planetary States?  That was that silly thing you and Tom made up, wasn't it?"

            "Yes," Will said.

            "And that's where you're from?" she asked Ricky.

            "Correct."

            "How did you get here?"

            "We are not really here," Ricky said.  "Our bodies are still in the Bloc, in the Dog's Head Nebula to be exact.  The way it was explained to me is that our spirits—our souls if you prefer—are inhabiting these bodies."

            "So that's what you mean by an avatar."

            "Yes, exactly."

            "And that thing that attacked us is one too?"

            "Yes.  Her name is Lieutenant Heather Catt.  We were assigned to make contact with the Creators."

            "You mentioned the Creators before," Will said.  "I still don't understand what that means."

            "You created our universe and everything in it.  You, Jessica McCormick, and Thomas Denton.  We were dispatched here to make contact with you and plead for you to accompany us back to the Bloc."

            "Accompany you?  Why?" Jessie asked.

            "Because we need your help.  Our universe is dying."

#

            Ricky touched another button on his belt.  The footage Will had seen on his television that morning at his father's house appeared on the screen again.  The black ships again pounded the silver one into submission and then destroyed its escape pods.  To Will's shock, the black ships then turned their weapons on the planet's surface.  Bursts of red light pounded the brown surface, leaving angry black scars across the land.

            "As I tried to explain to you, our planets are being destroyed one-by-one.  It started with our outermost colonies.  This footage was obtained from a sensor probe in the F19 system approximately two weeks ago.  We fear the Black Ships will next begin targeting our core planets."

            "Black Ships?" Jessie asked.

            "That is what we call them because we have no idea who or what they are.  No one has ever seen one of them without their armor.  At least no one has survived to tell us about it."      "My God," Will said.  "But what can we do?"

            "You are the Creators," Ricky said simply.

            "We didn't create those," Jessie said.  "Where'd they come from?"

            "We don't know.  But Dr. Ruff feels you have the power to destroy them.  That is why he dispatched us here, to retrieve you."

            Just then, lights flashed in the living room.  Will turned to the window to see a car pulling into the driveway.  "Who's that?" he asked.

            "Mom and Roger," Jessie said.  She sprang off the couch, plucking Ricky off the coffee table and snagging Will by the elbow in one motion.  She hustled both down the hallway, into her bedroom.  She roughly shoved them inside.  Before Will could say anything, the wicker basket was pressed into his chest.  "Stay here and don't make a sound."

            Will looked down into the basket at the white cat inside.  The little cat glared up at him.  Ricky dropped next to her, leveling his sword at Heather's neck.  "Stand down, Lieutenant.  That's an order," he said.

            "Fine," Heather hissed.  Her tiny body sagged to the bottom of the basket.  Something fell from the top shelf to hit Will on the head.  Reaching up, he found another stuffed cat, this one larger than Heather.  It was Heather's mother, Whiskers Catt.  It was this cat who had begun Jessie's involvement with the Bloc of Planetary States.

 

Chapter 6

            The 'For Sale' sign had been on the front lawn of the house next door for six months.  As Will's father loaded up the car, a man in a suit plucked the sign out of the ground.  "Looks like we're going to have some new neighbors," Dad said.

            "Who?" Will asked.

            "I'm not sure."

            "Will they be nice?"

            "I don't know.  I assume so."

            "They're probably going to be vampires," Tom said after they had got in the car.

            "Are not."

            "Yes they will.  And they'll live in coffins in the basement and they'll only come out at night to bite you in the neck and suck your blood."

            "Will not!"

            "Will so.  They'll suck your blood first because you're the youngest, so yours is the sweetest.  Little boys' blood is like candy to them."

            Will screamed at this, ducking in his seat so no vampires could see him.  His mother turned around, her face turning red.  "Stop it, you two.  We haven't even left yet and you two are already fighting."

            "He started it," Will said.  "He said our neighbors are going to be vampires."

            "Tom, don't scare your brother."

            "I can't help he's such a baby he's easy to scare."

            "Thomas, I mean it."

            "Fine."  Tom folded his arms across his chest.  He looked away from Will, not so much looking at him until they reached the South Dakota border.  When they passed the sign, Tom leaned over to punch Will in the shoulder.  "That's one down."

            Will tried to hit his brother back, but Tom easily deflected it.  "Mo-om!"

            "Boys, settle down.  Your father is trying to drive."

            Will stuck out his tongue at Tom and then took Spot from where he lay on the top of the goods piled up in the rear of the station wagon.  As they passed by cars, Will had Spot wave at them with one paw.  When he tired of this, he began narrating to himself.  "We're going deep into enemy territory to find the plans for the deadly Doom Laser.  If we don't find the plans and return, everyone will be killed."

            "You're not looking for the plans," Tom said.  He took Buster from the trunk.  "We're looking for the plans."

            "Why don't you both look for the plans?" Mom said.  To Dad she snapped, "We were supposed to get off on that exit."

            "I know what I'm doing," Dad said.

            Will and Tom ignored this.  "We're going deep into enemy territory," Tom repeated.  "It's going to be a long, dangerous mission.  If they find us, they'll feed us to the Magma Monster, where we'll be burned alive."

            Will shivered at this, picturing a huge creature with molten lava dripping from it, incinerating anything it touched.  "But where are the plans?" Spot asked through Will.

            "They're in a fortress, at the top of the highest spire, guarded by a legion of the most powerful Mechanauts," Buster said through Tom.

            "Our Power Collars should be able to handle them."

            "Maybe, but we can't use them until absolutely necessary or else we'll have the entire Galactic Dominion on us.  That's why we're riding in this merchant ship, so we can go in disguise and infiltrate the fortress.  But we have to make sure not to do anything to draw attention to ourselves."

            "Right."  Will and Spot stared out the window, watching the other merchant vessels of the Galactic Dominion, the sworn enemies of the Bloc of Planetary States.  It was of course risky for the Bloc to send in its two greatest leaders, but there was no one else they could trust with a mission of such vital importance.

            The merchant ship stopped to refuel at an outpost in Quadrant Epsilon Seven, also referred to as Minneapolis.  Buster and Spot stayed with the merchants in a small inn, where they would make camp for the night until the ship's power cells recharged.  They decided to take turns standing guard, Spot taking the first watch, sitting on Will's chest, his Power Collar ready to eliminate any threat.

            During the night, Will rolled over in his sleep, Spot tumbling off him into a crack between the bed and wall.

#

            The next morning, Dad shook Will awake.  "Come on, champ, we have to get going.  We have a long way to go today."  When Will didn't immediately stir, Dad carried him from the bed, into the bathroom.  He tousled Will's hair and then said, "Make sure you get it all out.  I don't want to have to stop at the next exit."

            Will emptied out his bladder and then went back into his room to find Mom had already laid out his clothes for the day.  "Hurry up, young man.  We have to get moving."

            "All right."

            It wasn't until they reached the Illinois border that Tom took Buster from the trunk.  "We're getting closer," Buster said through Tom.

            Will reached back to find Spot, but the stuffed dog wasn't there.  He took off his seatbelt so he could turn all the way around.  Searching through suitcases and other items in the trunk, he still couldn't find Spot.  "Mom, where's Spot?"

            "I don't know, honey, didn't you have him?"

            "No."

            "Tom did you take your brother's toy?"

            "No, I didn't touch it."

            "Thomas, if you're lying—"

            "Honest, Mom, I didn't take it!"

            "Then where is he?" Will asked, tears bubbling up in his eyes.

            "Are you sure you didn't put him in a suitcase?" Mom asked.

            Will thought back to that morning, trying to remember the last time he had seen Spot.  The stuffed dog had been with him when he fell asleep that night—"He's in the motel!"  The tears became sobs.  "We have to go back for him!"

            "Now, Will—"

            "We have to, Daddy!  We can't leave him behind."

            His parents whispered to each other in the front seat.  Finally his father nodded.  "All right, we'll go back for him.  Just wait for the next exit."

            The return trip took a grueling hour, during which Will couldn't stop crying.  How could he have left Spot behind?  How could he have forgotten about him?  Even Tom sensed his distress, putting a consoling hand on Will's shoulder.  "I'm sure he's still there."

            The station wagon pulled into the motel parking lot and up to the office.  Once he stopped the car, Dad looked back at Will.  "I'll go in and talk to them."

            "I want to come," Will protested.

            "You stay here with your mom."

            It took another fifteen minutes before Dad returned.  "There he is!" Will said, pointing to his father.  Then he saw Dad's hands were empty. 

#

            The rest of the trip went by in a depressing haze.  Dad bought Will a stuffed raccoon from the Lincoln Park Zoo, whom Will named Ricky.  He tried to play with the raccoon in the same fashion, but it wasn't the same.  Spot had been his toy and near-constant companion for over two years; he couldn't be replaced so easily. 

            No more mention was made about deadly missions into Dominion territory.  Even when they arrived at the Magic Kingdom, Tom didn't try to storm the main spire to find the Doom Laser plans.  It was understood between them that the loss of Spot had put the game on hold, at least for the moment.

            By the time they reached Florida, Will managed to stop crying and even laugh and smile at times like normal.  But when alone at night, he shed tears for his lost companion, blaming himself for being so careless as to leave Spot behind.  The stuffed dog had been as loyal as a real dog and Will had repaid this faithfulness with neglect.

            Two weeks since they left Preston, they pulled into the driveway.  Other than the newspapers on the overgrown front lawn, not much had changed since they left, at least not at their house.  Next door was another matter.  A Honda sedan now sat in the driveway of the house and someone had put curtains over the windows.  Perhaps the biggest change was the little girl sitting in the backyard.

            She sat at a plastic table in front of a pink playhouse.  A white cat with a tiara on its head occupied the other chair at the table.  "More tea, Whiskers?" the little girl asked.

            "Do you think she's a vampire?" Will asked his brother.           

            "Of course not, stupid.  Vampires only come out at night."

            "Oh, right."

            They didn't go over to her right away, watching her from their bedroom window instead.  "Can't we go outside?" Will asked in a whine.

            "You can do what you want.  I'm making sure she's not up to something."

            From what Will could tell, the little girl wasn't up to anything except drinking imaginary tea with her stuffed cat.  Growing bored of watching her, Will sank onto his bed to idly throw Ricky Raccoon in the air.  He had thrown Ricky twenty-five times before Tom pulled away from the window.  Tom grabbed Buster off the bed.  "I'm going over there."

            "I want to go too."

            "Fine, but don't say anything stupid."

            "I won't."

            Mom and Dad had the same idea.  They escorted Will and Tom next door, keeping them in front as they went up the front steps.  Mom rang the doorbell and then put a hand on Will to hold him in place.  "I want you two on your best behavior," she said.

            A woman with long dark hair answered the door.  The dark hair combined with her pale skin put Will in mind of a vampire.  Maybe this was a new kind of vampire that could go out in the daylight.  He squirmed in his mother's grasp but she held him steady.  The woman's pale face lit up as she smiled.  "Hello!  You must be our neighbors.  I'm Patricia McCormick."

            "I'm Vicki Denton.  This is my husband Carl and my two boys Thomas and William.  We live next door."

            "How lovely.  And how old are your boys?"

            "Tom is nine and Will is seven."

            "That's great!  My little Jessica is eight.  She's in the backyard if they'd like to go say hello," Mrs. McCormick said.

            "What do you think, boys?"

            "Sure," Tom said too readily.  "Come on, dummy."  He took Will's arm, pulling him off the front step and around to the backyard.  Jessica was still playing in front of her playhouse with her cat, serving imaginary crumpets with the imaginary tea.

            "These crumpets are so delightful, Mrs. Catt," she said, giving the stuffed cat a curtsy.  When she looked up, she let out a startled cry.  "Who are you?"

            "I'm Tom and he's Will.  And this is Buster," Tom said, holding up the bulldog.

            "He looks gross," Jessie said.

            "Hear that, dummy, she wants you to leave," Tom said.

            "I meant the dog.  He's ugly."

            "He is not.  You're ugly."

            "Am not.  My face isn't all pushed-in and wrinkled like his."

            "Your face is just covered in cooties."

            "Is not."

            Tom stuck a foot out to knock over the chair the stuffed cat sat in.  The white cat tumbled onto the grass, its tiara falling away.  "Cats are stupid and ugly."

            "They are not!  Whiskers is a lot prettier than that thing!"  Jessie picked up her cat, pressing it to her chest.  "Why don't you leave me alone?"

            "We're not leaving.  This whole backyard is part of the Bloc of Planetary States.  That makes it Buster's territory."

            "It is not the State of Planetary Blocks.  This backyard is Cattatonia and it's ruled by Whiskers."  To emphasize this, Jessie picked up the plastic tiara and settled it on Whiskers' head.  "Now get out of our country."

            Tom made a zapping sound.  "Buster just killed your stupid cat with his Power Collar."

            "No he didn't."

            "Did so.  His Power Collar can destroy anything."

            "No.  Whiskers' collar puts up a shield that can block anything."

            "No it can't.  There's no such thing as a shield that can stop a Power Collar."

            "There is now," Jessie said smugly.  She turned on her heel, pigtails brushing against Tom's face.  Then she ducked into the pink playhouse with her stuffed cat.

            "We'll be back," Tom said.

#

            The next day, they met Jessie in front of her house as she waited for the bus.  "We're going to come over today with the full might of the Bloc of Planetary States," Tom said.  "Then we'll see what happens to your stupid cat and its shield."

            "You can do whatever you want, but it won't matter.  Cattatonia has a shield that can deflect anything.  So there."

            Will stayed out of this exchange.  He didn't really want to declare war on Cattatonia or this little girl.  She was just a stupid girl and she probably did have cooties, but Will still didn't want to fight her.  He knew there was nothing he could say to dissuade Tom, though, not after he made up his mind about something like this.  So he stayed out of it.

            That afternoon, as soon as the bus let them off Tom ran inside to begin mustering their forces for the assault.  Will followed more slowly, still uncommitted.  "What's with the long face?" his mother asked.  "Bad day at school?"

            "Not really," he said.

            "Well, your father and I have something to cheer you up."  His mother reached beneath the kitchen counter for a package wrapped in green paper.

            "It's not my birthday," Will said.  "Or Christmas."

            "Just go on and open it."

            Will tore off the green paper.  Beneath it, a familiar face looked back at him.  It was Spot!  Or at least Spot as he had originally looked, with both of his plastic eyes still attached.  Though when Will looked closer, the gray dog's ears were a darker brown, almost black.  He ripped open the rest of the package to free the dog.  When he did, he threw it to the floor.  "This isn't Spot!"

            "Now, honey, your father spent all last night looking.  This is the best he could find."

            "But he doesn't have any spots," Will said.  Indeed the gray dog's back was completely gray without a single spot on it.

            "I know, but I was thinking I could sew some spots on for you.  Then he'd look the same as your old dog."

            "No he wouldn't."

            Mom bent down to retrieve the dog.  She stayed on her knees to look Will in the eye.  "Please, honey, can't you just give it a try?"

            Will looked at the dog's plastic eyes that seemed to plead with him.  "OK.  But he isn't Spot Mangy Mutt.  He's…Spot Mangy Mutt II."

            "That's good.  Now, why don't you go show your brother?"

            Tom snorted at the new dog.  "How can he be Spot II when he doesn't have any spots?"

            "He did have spots, but he lost them.  Some evil Mechanauts burned them off and when his fur grew back, the spots didn't grow back."

            "Fine, but I still think it's dumb."

            "I don't care.  That's his name.  And now he's the ruler of Muttlandia and he has a Power Collar too."

            "Good, then he can help take over Cattatonia from that stupid girl."

            "I don't know—"

            "We have to take it over.  Cats are evil."

            "Well, I suppose."

            Carrying an armload of stuffed toys apiece, they marched next door to wage war on Cattatonia.  Jessie had prepared for them by taking cover in her playhouse.  "There's no way you can break down our shields," she said.  "You and your stupid toys might as well go away."

            Tom dropped his toys on the ground, except for Buster.  He made whooshing sounds like a jet fighter and zigzagged his way towards the playhouse.  Once he got close to the playhouse, he made a zapping sound again.  He tried to tip over the playhouse, but it wouldn't move.  He tried again and again with the same result.  "We'll use both of our Power Collars, Spot."

            Will lent his muscles to the task, but the playhouse still wouldn't move.  They kept trying right until their mother called them for dinner without success.  "This isn't fair!" Tom shouted.  "You're cheating."

            "I am not," Jessie said from inside.

            "Yes you are."

            "I told you our shields could stop anything."

            Tom harrumphed.  Mom called them for dinner again, sounding more insistent this time.  "Hurry up, boys, before it gets cold."

            "Fine, we don't want your stupid planet anyway."  As Will gathered up the fallen stuffed toys, Tom stared at the playhouse.  He thrust Buster forward.  "You've proven yourself a worthy adversary.  Instead of fighting each other, we should work together.  What do you say, truce?"

            The plastic shutters of the playhouse opened to reveal Whiskers and Jessie.  "Meow, that sounds like a good idea."  She stuck the cat through the window, its pink nose and plastic whiskers brushing against the bulldog's pushed-in face.  "Meow, maybe we can be friends."

            "I would like that," Buster said, or perhaps it was really Tom saying it.

#

            A week later, Buster and Whiskers were married in Jessie's backyard.  It was a ceremony befitting the coming together of the president of Bulldogovia and queen of Cattatonia.  All of the other stuffed toys were in attendance.  Spot II served as the best dog for Buster, while Dr. Randy Ruff, a chocolate lab, presided over the ceremony.

            "I now pronounce you dog and wife," Dr. Ruff said.  Tom brought Buster forward at the same moment Jessie brought Whiskers forward.  Their mouths touched in the middle.  They made slurping and smacking noises for a moment and then it was over.  The Bloc had grown.