Chapter Four

“Death of a Podman’s dream”

The office floors of the NY-NJ podcast building seemed lonely, empty–almost desolate. Hallway pictures hung crooked; some were even on the floor, leaning against the walls beside broken frames and glass. Loose papers floated aimlessly down the hall with the slightest breeze.

It had been just over two months since September 21st, when the third airing of Mr. Trevor Lewis’ new podcast, “The Rest of Us,” featured two anonymous guests and their black box demon. Unbeknownst to Mr. Lewis at the time, it would be his last.

The unscripted show became one of the most talked-about, viral, and searched broadcasts on the Internet, YouTube, and TikTok. It shot the podcast and its ratings through the roof, but for Mr. Lewis, it marked the death of his career.

Mr. Lewis’ entrance was announced by the buzzer on the wall intercom, set off by his associate. His attempt to use the elevator proved futile; it hadn’t worked for the last couple of weeks. Three flights of stairs were his only recourse. The last obstacle was the entrance to his personal section, “Podcasts and Development.” When he entered, he was met by his ex-audio engineer, Mason Dylan.

Mason made first contact in the hallway. “Good morning Mr. Lewis, How’s it going?”

Trevor trudged along with his briefcase in hand, stopped, and turned to him. “Morning Mason, Let’s see. I just sold my 4 month old–brand new truck for half price. Half in stocks in some company called ‘The Pet rock’ the other half in gift cards to a place called Paco’s German restaurant; I don’t even know where that is. I am also wearing yesterday’s clothes because; I lost my apartment key and all you have to say; is how’s it going?”

Mason took a step back. “Mr. Lewis; I am sorry I didn’t mean it like that, but I did what you asked and I was able to re-wire the first five faders on the control console as per your request. Is there anything else you need me to do?”

Trevor’s face tightened with disgust. “Uggh.” Pale and slumped, he continued down the hall until he reached the door where it had all taken place. It was closed. Afraid to enter, he stood silent with one hand on the doorknob and the other pressed flat against the door, fingers spread, but he held back.

From down the hall, Mason exited the audio room and looked toward Mr. Lewis. “There are 3 more boxes in there; they just keep coming, I wasn’t sure where to put them.”

Mr. Lewis stared at the letters on the door and rubbed his fingers over them one at a time: S.T.U.D.I.O-A. “What can I do, what should I do?”

Mason stood in the center of the hallway, fiddling with a piece of spare wire between his fingers. He looked up. “If I may Mr. Lewis, you need to get them back.”

Since that day, the podcast had tanked so badly that sponsors started pulling out and questioning the future of Mr. Lewis and the company itself. Mr. Lewis turned to Mason with despair. “I don’t know how to get them back”

Trevor continued to his office, only to be reminded yet again by the boxes stacked six high and six wide against one wall–all hate mail.

On his desk were stacks of envelopes from his personal life marked past due, final warning, and rent overdue. Mr. Lewis flung his briefcase across the room and stared out the window.

Eventually, Trevor sat at his desk and began stacking the letters one at a time. One stood out: handwritten in different colored crayons and postmarked two weeks earlier.

Inside were only a few lines, written mostly in Banana Mania, Electric Lime, and Mellow Yellow. “I know where they live! ‘Cup of Joe’ corner of 5th and main. December 3rd, 9pm sharp. Take a seat…Don’t be late.”

He flipped the letter and envelope over. No return address, email, or phone number. Glancing at the wall calendar, Mr. Lewis stood. “That’s tonight!” His scream echoed through the building. “MASON… GET IN HERE…. NOW”

Mason’s voice carried through the offices as he barreled down the hall. “I’m coming boss–I’m coming.”

He reached the door out of breath and stood firm. “What’s up boss everything okay?”

Trevor picked up the letter and shook it in front of him. “We got work to do” Mason grabbed it, read it, and looked up. “No fucking way, this is incredible!”

Trevor’s sarcastic response was simple. “No Shit!”

Mason looked up at Trevor with a gleam in his eye. “Mr. Lewis; Are all these colors from the Crayola 64 piece value pack?”

Mr. Lewis’ hand bounced in midair like it was hitting a speed bag. “No you idiot–the letter, read the letter!”

Mason looked back down. “Holy Shit; no fucking way!”

Trevor rubbed his hands together, grinning from ear to ear as his words climbed in volume and pitch. “Oh it be….Way”

Mason handed the letter back. “Well Mr. Charlie Bucket it looks like you found your Golden ticket”

Trevor began to fold the letter. “And tonight Charlie is going to meet Willy Wonka himself at the chocolate factory”

As Mason strolled down the hall, he made one last request. “Hey; can you grab me some Fizzy lifting drink and don’t forget to clean the walls on your way down, Hahaha.”

At 8:30 p.m., the Cup of Joe Factory held its usual crowd. A few tables were occupied by shut-ins keeping to themselves, their faces plastered to their laptops. It was how they mingled with the outside world.

Trevor scoped out everyone sitting, ordering, or hanging around, searching for one unknown person.

Seconds became minutes with no contact. At 8:55, the clock seemed to move backward. Discouraged, Trevor checked the time on his phone and wristwatch again. It was now 9 p.m.

As the second hand entered the final 15 seconds, a waiter approached his table. “Excuse me; are you Mr. Lewis?”

“Yes that’s me?” replied Trevor.

The waiter held out a portable phone. “There’s a call for you”

“For me”

“You are Mr. Lewis right?”

“Yes. Yes that is me”

“Then it’s for you.”

Surprised by the call, Trevor reached for the phone. “Thank you”

As the waiter walked away, he muttered, “These people have got to get a job”

Trevor cautiously brought the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“I know where they live.” A female voice on the other end sounded determined to give him vital information.

Trevor questioned the legality of the call. “Who are you and what do you know?”

The voice continued with hatred and disgust, dark and mysterious. “That couch ruined my life”

Curious, Trevor asked, “How so?”

“I was the original owner of that couch and it has been hell ever since.”

The conversation went on for a few minutes while Mr. Lewis took notes. “What’s your name?”

“That is not important; but what is; is the information, I retain.”

An excited Trevor wrote down his final notes. “Thank you so much for this, this is going to be very helpful. Is there anything I can do for you?”

A moment of silence followed as the voice considered it. “Hmm, yes there is.”

“Anything you need, just say the word”

“I want 5 minutes alone with him, just me and Rocco, can you make that happen?”

“You got it–by the way; good way to attract my attention by using a crayon–Nice move”

Her voice never wavered. It was scratchy, monotone, and smoky with a soft edge. “It’s the only thing they let you write with in jail.” Then it changed drastically, as if she were auditioning for a commercial: jovial, uplifting, and relaxed. “They are also quite edible–a safety thing I guess. I’ll be in touch”

CLICK… Trevor’s eyes hardened. Under his breath, he said, “I got you now–you mother-Fucker” He immediately devised a plan and called Mason.

“Hey Charlie; I mean Mr. Lewis, how did it go at the factory”

“I don’t care what you do or how you do it; we are going to flush them out into the open.”

Mason, excited at the prospect of working again, hopped in place. “You got it boss, what do you need me to do first?”

Trevor answered immediately. “I will be heading to their house tomorrow and I will try to reason with them. I want you to come up with an advertisement scheme, one they can’t ignore. We will make it so they will have to come to us.”

Mason replied, “You got it boss; I have just the thing”

Two days later, Trevor made his way to an undisclosed address. He parked two houses down and walked the rest of the way. Everything seemed normal. It was Stephen’s house, just as described on the show. As Trevor reached the end of the driveway, he heard girls singing.

His knocks at the front door went unanswered. Circling the house brought him closer to the voices and the blacked-out garage door windows, so he tried the side entrance.

Inside, Stephen’s two daughters, Jillian and Lucy Lu, were singing with Rocco and the Coasters. Outside, Mr. Lewis could hear only the girls. Rocco suddenly turned to them. “Shush be quiet I think there is someone outside the garage”

Rocco whispered toward the shelves. “Stanley, you still on watch?”

               “Yes, of course third shelf; I can see better from here”

Rocco asked anxiously, “What do you see?”

               “It’s hard to tell. Hold on… It’s a human; wait. He just took off his hat. Geeez H. Definitely bald, definitely bald. Hat is a ruse—I repeat hat is a ruse, a cover up. Sylvester come here”

Sylvester slid over. “What’s up?”

               “Would you look at that lunar eclipse on him?”

               “No way; I will never get like that”

Susan slipped in a pirouette. “I bet it already has started”

Stanley burst out, “Wait he is turning around… BLACK RIMMED GLASSES–BLACK RIMMED GLASSES, It’s him. It’s the guy from the show!”

Rocco was taken by surprise. “What do you mean it is him; It’s him who—you mean Mr. Lewis from the show?” He turned to the girls. “Hurry Jillian; call for your mother.”

Jillian screamed, “AHHHH Mommy; Mommy, there’s a guy at the garage door”

“Holy crap; Do you hear the chops on that kid? Sarah you better watch out” remarked Southie.

Sarah turned confidently. “You’ll never replace me; you don’t have the knots”

Sylvester took another look. “Jillian; he heard your scream; he’s shuffling in one spot now, doesn’t know what to do… Yes, he is definitely confused”

“Excuse me can I help you?” came a voice from behind. The storm door on the side of the house swung open with such force that it broke the chain meant to hold it during a storm.

It was Stephen’s wife, Arianna. She followed with a warning. “You stay away from the garage or I will call the police”

The garage side door opened and Stephen’s two children stepped out, then stopped and stared. Arianna lashed out. “Kids go back in the garage, now!”

Mr. Lewis held out his open hands, determined to ease her mind. “No. No, Mrs. Cole please; my name is Mr. Trevor Lewis. I am looking for your husband Stephen is he around?”

Arianna took a few steps forward. “I know who you are; you are the guy from the podcast”

Excited to be recognized, Trevor said, “Yes, how did you know”

Arianna wiped her hands dry. “Mr. Lewis; I am an educated woman; so please hold your ignorance with me. I listened to the show and I heard what happened. Rocco can get deep inside and mess you up… You were warned.”

               “Well nevertheless, I am here now. Mrs. Cole—“

               First off Mr. Lewis; I am actually surprised that it took you this long to find us, and my name is not, Mrs. Cole. My husband was not dumb enough to use his real name; or any of our names, on the air”

Embarrassment crossed Trevor’s face. “So that is why I couldn’t find you?”

               “Privacy Mr. Lewis is our main concern. So what can we do for you; why are you here?”

Trevor held to his scheme. “Mrs. Cole or whatever your name is, I am requesting that your husband, his brother and Rocco return to the show or things might get out of hand.”

               “Are you threatening me Mr. Lewis?”

               “Please call me Trevor”

               “Of course Mr. Lewis; but by husband made it clear that returning to the show was not going to happen, so please take your empty words elsewhere.”

               “It seems I have the upper hand; unless you want everyone to know where you live and make your life a living hell, I think it would be best for your husband to come back on the show.”

Arianna raised her arm and made a strong, confident demand. “Get out, get off my property right now or I am calling the police.”

Mr. Lewis started down the driveway. “Suit yourself, but I know your husband will be running to me very soon.”

As Arianna stepped back toward the door, she gave him one last sarcastic farewell. “Good bye Mr. Lewis, and good luck”

Back in the garage, Rocco took a drastic step. “Wow guys that was close. From now on; we must be diligent at all times: 2 coasters on watch; third and fourth shelves; same thing at Billy’s house is that understood?”

Skyler rolled up. “It will be done”

Rocco turned to Jillian. “Jillian I need you to do me a favor; and we have to keep it between you and I, can you do that for me?”

Jillian looked at her sister, then at the seven coasters staring down, and finally at Rocco. “What do you need me to do?”

               “That’s my girl. Now you might want to send your sister in the house; she is too young to see this.”

Rocco looked up. “Sylvester take watch. Jillian; I need you to go over to the workbench and grab those blue handled pliers.”

               “Got-um”

               “Now I need you to go to my back leg–either one; reach up as high as you can go and snap off a piece of it. Do you know what a sliver is?”

               “Yes; a thin slice; like homemade apple pie”

               “Perfect”

High on the third shelf, all the coasters rolled to the edge and looked down. Sarah grew worried. “What did he just say”

Skyler looked down. “Rocco what are you doing?”

Santiago turned away. “He is losing his zipper, I can’t watch”

Sarah fell onto her back. “Lord Oh mighty, save his soul from the devil”

               “Shush, all of you. Go ahead Jillian do it; like ripping off a band aid, just like your mother does it”

Jillian calmly told Rocco, “I hate band aids”

Rocco tried to comfort her. “I hate band aids too. AHHHHHH!!… What the hell was that?” His scream was violent.

Jillian stood proudly with a thin piece of Rocco’s leg in her hand. “That’s how my mommy does it; she waits till I least expect it, then she rips it off. Do you want a band aid?”

Rocco’s brows lifted from the inside. “Well; I will have a talk with her; she needs to learn some manners” He bounced on one leg as if shaking off a sleepy limb. “Wow that really sucked. You know; you are just like your father; he did before he thought.”

Jillian giggled. “Why thank you, what’s next”

               “Hey Rocco, I guess the pine cone didn’t fall far from the tree–Get it?”

Rocco looked over the moon. “Yeah Southie, I got it–Good one”

A creek ran beside Stephen’s house, serving as overflow for the neighborhood on rainy days. Years earlier, Stephen had hung a swing from an old Aspen tree there, and neighborhood children played on it every day. Over the last year or so, the creek had run dry, and the rope had been removed for safety. That was where Rocco planned to retaliate against Trevor for threatening the kids and Arianna.

               “Jillian, take that piece of my leg over to the old Aspen tree; where your tire swing was and place it up against its trunk. If you find a loose piece of bark; stick it right in, and make sure it stays there and can’t fall out. Can you do that for me?”

Jillian was already at the door. She turned and smiled. “You got it Rocco”

Jillian strolled casually over to the Big-tooth Aspen tree and looked up. By the time she reached its base, she was staring straight into the canopy. “Hi my name is Jillian. I don’t know if you can hear me, but Rocco told me to put this in your bark. I am sorry; I hope it doesn’t hurt; I brought a band aid just in case.”

As Jillian inserted the sliver into the bark, she whispered, “Psst. I never got to thank you for all the fun rides you gave us, sorry about the creek. See you later” As she ran off, a loud snap and splintering came from above.

Back in the garage, Rocco slipped into a trance. His eyes closed and his brows drew inward. The coasters seemed to know what he was doing and began a slow, seven-voiced harmonized chant. “UmmJA, UmmJA, UmmJA!” Every part of Rocco trembled slightly.

At the Aspen tree, the splintering and cracking became a voice audible only through Rocco’s sliver–deep, dark, mysterious, and wise. The Aspen’s vibration could be felt beneath the soil as if his roots stretched far and deep. “Who dare approach Augustus of Aspen without fair warning?”

Rocco, who had grown among Oaks and Maples, had little fear. “Old Wise sprawled Augustus of Aspen; my name is Rocco Pine of Pennsylvania. I seek: your wisdom, your strength, and to fulfill every ‘Woodies’ dream.”

Augustus swayed as if spreading word of the visit to the others. “So, it is you? The one who has made friends with the adolescents; you are the talk of the high tops and the brush below.”

In the garage, the chanting intensified as if Rocco needed more “Woodie” energy. The coasters lined the edge of the shelving, rocking in unison as the chant grew louder and faster. “UmJA – UmJA – UmJA”

                “Old and Wise Augustus; I have seen what the dry creek has done to you; and I am sorry I cannot offer ways to replenish your lost nourishment. I feel: in your bark, through my sliver, your pain and suffering.”

A loud crackle echoed through the garage as Augustus asked, “Why is it, that you request my audience?”

               “There is a man who has threatened my family and their children; ones who have played upon your mighty trunk and limps through the years.”

Augustus swayed slightly. “I know these little ones of the rope and rubber disc; they brought laughter and good cheer amongst the Woodies of the creek. They left beside us; flowers to bloom, to brighten our dreary days. We all have enjoyed their presence; yet their names escape me. My wilting canopy bears little memory. My life rings are shriveling up, and my sap is low. It seems Mother Nature has her reasons; but until then; I will fight till the last leaf falls. What can I do for your friends?”

               “There is a man who visited them: Bald, black glasses and he drives a little dark green box with rubber discs.”

               “I know this flying fishbowl that needs no horse to lead. When I rose with the light of the morning; I saw its presence; I thought I was going to spew the last of my sap from my knots”

               “That’s the one. I need you to take it out.”

Augustus grew distressed, his voice building in volume, depth, and disgust. “Are you asking to end a human! THAT IS FORBIDDEN! THAT IS A RULE WE SWORE TO OUR LAST RINGS!”

A thunderous crackling erupted all around them, like wet wood and leaves burning in a fire. Rocco remained determined. “Please forgive me ole’ canopy of the dry creek; you miss-understood; Just the conveyance.” Rocco turned to the camera. “No humans are to be hurt in the making of this request.”

The trees along the creek swayed in unison as Augustus spoke. “Are you asking for my final snap; my last personal creak and splinter?”

               “Yes; I am oh great one of the creek”

Suddenly, the high tops shook and released a shower of leaves–a gift of approval. “Ahhhh; to take a humans transport has been a dream of mine for many, many rings and I see it is for a good cause. If the human returns, it shall be done!”

               “Thank you, we will save a limp of the great Augustus Aspen for the garage, to remind us all of the great sacrifice you swore to, today”

Back in the garage, Rocco’s eyes opened and his brows lifted. His dead stare toward the garage door worried the Coasters.

Skyler leaned over. “Rocco, are you okay?”

Rocco seemed drained but managed to respond. “I never did that before; I didn’t even know if it would work”

Skyler understood. “You need your rest; we will talk later” Rocco closed his eyes.

Two days later, Mason made a frantic call to Mr. Lewis. “Boss I got it!”

               “Got what?”

“The answer you seek” Mason flipped through some papers and revealed his plan. “Christmas eve!”

               “What about it?”

               “We start advertising right now that Rocco, Stephen and Billy will be returning to the show on Christmas Eve.

               “That’s good. Who wouldn’t love a Christmas Eve podcast with Rocco; go on.”

               “We will use the Patreon mailing list and the internet will do the rest. The worst that can happen is they sue us for false advertisement, but by that time it will be too late. The internet will have already served its purpose.”

Trevor became skeptical. “But what’s the catch; what will drive them to do it”

Mason added, “We will include in the advertisement; that we know where Kris kringle lives”

               “OMG: that’s perfect, that’s brilliant, and that is so devious. Excellent work Mason, excellent work. I am going to go back there in a couple of days and leave a note in their mailbox; that will burn their asses and get them moving”

               “Hey boss, can I ask you a favor?”

               “Yes of course, anything?

               “Do you think I can get a raise?”

               “Don’t you have another 5 faders to fix?”

End of Chapter Four