Mikey and the Mysterious Kite - Chapter One by Mike Foster

CHAPTER ONE
It was a magical blustery day the first time the kite landed in the rain gutter outside Mikey's bedroom window.
Mikey Roberts was on his bed, reading a Dangerous Dave comic book, when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Thinking it was just the wind again, (which had already blown Mr. Carpenter's newspaper all over his front lawn and had totally destroyed his mother's tomato plants) he didn't give it a second thought. He resumed reading about the heroic efforts of Dave and his trusty sidekick, Wickham, as they battled the forces of evil.
He sat back into his pillows, closed his eyes, and dreamed about how cool it would be to possess "special powers" like Dangerous Dave. How awesome it would be to have the intelligence of a super-computer, the agility of a dozen monkeys, and the strength and stealth of a leopard. Dangerous Dave was just about the most--
Something banged against his bedroom window, enough to snap him out of his daydreaming and open his eyes. And he saw it then, what at first glimpse looked like a giant caterpillar, maybe a centipede. Or a python. A long, white and gray snakelike creature slithering just outside his window. He felt something slither around the insides of his stomach, one of those nervous sensations he sometimes got in school when the teacher called on him and he wasn't listening or was not prepared. This was similar to that queasy feeling, but worse. He felt a little scared.
Mikey crept to the edge of his bed, his eyes glued to the snakelike thing outside his window. More like an undersea creature, he thought, like a moray eel; he'd seen a special on the Discovery Channel about them that was wicked cool. But if he wasn't mistaken, the program said that they lived in the deepest depths of the ocean. No, this couldn't be an eel, but is sure looked like one.
That nervous feeling was back in his belly, the same way he felt the only time he ever came close to getting into a fight at school. Last year, in fifth grade. Derrick Madden: a big kid, who was picking on his best friend Jimmy. Mikey took if upon himself to intervene and was just about to get his face caved in when the bell rang and the recess teacher arrived on the scene. A week later Derrick's family moved away and Mikey never had to deal with the repercussions of his semi-heroic, albeit foolish actions. But this was different: he was inside his own room, his own turf; whatever was outside his window was nothing to be--
The long snakelike thing slammed against the window again and Mikey dove underneath his bed.
Wimp.
Peeking out from the darkness beneath his bed, he leveled his gaze back at the window and the thing beyond it. Then snorted a giggle out his nose that felt almost as good as drinking too much Mountain Dew too fast.
Not a snake or a python; nor centipede nor caterpillar. And most definitely not a moray eel. It was a kite tail, attached to what appeared to be a most colorful kite. From his new angle on the floor, cowering underneath his bed, Mikey Roberts could now clearly see what it was that was banging at his window on this blustery day in the first week of June while he tried to read about his favorite superhero and his trusty sidekick.
A kite.
Just a kite that got tangled up in the gutter above his window, sporting one of the longest and most intricate tails he had ever seen before.
Something about that tail…


Mikey Roberts had brown hair and the same color eyes. He was told he had his mother's nose (slightly upturned at its tip) and his father's lips (full) and chin (not so full). He was slender and tall for his age, which was almost twelve years old, an age where he was seriously considering telling his mother that he preferred to be called Mike, or maybe even Michael. Not that Mikey was that bad, he'd been a Mikey ever since he could remember; all his life. In fact, the only people who ever called him anything but Mikey were his teachers at the beginning of a school year, until they, too, eventually joined the rest of his classmates in calling him by the name that he had been known by since birth. He still liked Mikey, but lately he was thinking that maybe he was outgrowing it.
He was still mentally debating the pros and cons of changing his name while he hung precariously out of his bedroom window, the tail of the colorful kite just out of reach of his right hand.
After locking his bedroom door (this after peeking out of it to make sure his mother was still busy preparing dinner downstairs), he crept up to the window, still not 100 percent positive that it was a kite and not some serpentine creature. But after studying it up close, he concluded that it for sure was no moray eel; just a kite. With the longest, most incredible tail he had ever seen before. He then carefully jimmied the window open, and was immediately rewarded with a gust of wind that swept cobwebs and dirt and dust into his room and into his left eye. Digging at his eye with a finger, he was serenaded by the fierce howl of the wind. It sounded like a freight train, or the mournful moan of a sad woman. That sickly sensation inside his belly returned for a second, but he pushed it aside, cleared his eye, and sized up his options.
The kite had shifted with the wind. He thought if he could just lean out and stretch his arm as far as it could go he could easily retrieve it. But it was out there a good ten feet now, twisting in the still strong breeze, barely clinging to the gutter. By the looks of it, just hanging on by a thread. If he wanted to get the kite inside he would have to work fast.
So here he was, leaning his slim frame as far out the window as he dared, his right foot hooked to the bottom shelf of the bookcase that was beside it. He was stretched to the max of his almost five foot eight frame and still the kite was flapping at least another three feet out of reach of his extended right arm. What to do? He could try to sneak downstairs and grab a broom or a mop from the kitchen closet, but that would surely bring his mother into the mix. Nothing wrong with his mom, except she'd more than likely ask him to help with some chore --set the table or take out the garbage or…going downstairs was out of the question. Besides, as another strong gust fluttered the kite like a bed sheet on a clothesline, it didn't look like he had time. He had to do something now or the kite (which he was already becoming attached to, even though he had yet to lay a finger on it) would be history.
What would Dangerous Dave do? He'd ask Wickham, his trusty sidekick, for his advice; that's what he'd do. Dave had numerous powers, was strong and swift and agile, but still he often asked Wick (his sidekick's nickname) for help. What would Wick tell him?
Mikey reeled himself back inside the window just as it hit him: the idea that ended all other ideas! His fishing pole! A genuine brainstorm, as Wick would say.
He hurried to his closet, dug through all the junk that he kept stashed inside (his baseball card collection; several old pairs of sneakers; tennis rackets; an obsolete computer game; tons of comics), and found his fishing pole crammed in the far corner. It was bent beside some jeans that no longer fit and a battered guitar case that he'd found at the dump one day.
After checking the pole for damage, running a hand up and down the smooth shaft, he was now ready. All he had to do was send a perfect cast (like his Uncle Bob had taught him years ago when he had taken him on his one and only fishing trip to Lake Francis) out his window, snag the kite, and reel that baby in. No problemo, as Dangerous Dave liked to say. Except…
"Mikey!"
He almost tripped over the pole and snapped it in two.
"Yeah?" he called down to his mother.
He hurried over to the open window and peeked out: there was the kite, its incredible colors--vivid blues and amazing greens; torrid reds and wild yellows; crazy oranges, powerful purples, and what looked like liquid silver--glinting back at him. It sent a rush through his insides, not unlike the sensation he sometimes felt when he got within touching distance of Gwen Vanilli, a cute girl in his class that he had a serious crush on. Both sensations were nice feelings, ones that set his cheeks on fire and his heart racing. The kite was still there, but barely, the next heavy gust of wind would surely send it on it way.
"Mikey!"
The voice sounded closer; his mother was no doubt at the bottom of the staircase. It was only a matter of seconds before she started up the steps, and then she'd be at his door. For some reason he did not want his mother to see the kite; it was his secret.
He hurried over to the door, cracked it open and called out:
"Yeah, Mom?"
"You done with your homework?"
"Almost." Truth be told he'd yet to start it, consumed with the exploits of Dangerous Dave and now the kite.
"Well, dinner's almost ready. Why don't you go wash up and be down in a few minutes."
"Okay."
"And, Son?"
"Yeah?"
He glanced behind him toward the window--the curtains were dancing inside a fresh breeze. He had to hurry!
"No more comics until your homework is finished. No TV either. Just because it's the last week of school doesn't mean you slack off. You know you need to concentrate on your math. Right?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"I'm here to help, anytime."
"Thanks, Mom. I'll be down in a few minutes."
"And wash your hands thoroughly."
"Always."
"One more thing."
Another blast of wind rattled the windowpane, and as he glanced behind him he saw the kite's massive tail float into view as if it were alive. He wanted to retrieve that kite more than anything! Something about that tail…
"Yes, Mom?"
"Love you, kiddo."
And despite his anxiety about wanting desperately to get back to the task of retrieving the mysterious kite, he had to smile at his mother's words. Love you, kiddo. She'd been saying the same three words to him ever since he could remember, even way back when she and his father were still married; a long, long time ago. He always said in response:
"Ditto, kiddo."
Never failing to make them both giggle.
"Five minutes, no later," his mother said, snickering to herself.
"Okay, bye," said Mikey, as he closed his door and hurried back over to the window, chuckling despite his growing sense of urgency.


Mikey was back leaning out the window, the fishing pole in his hand, his foot hooked inside the bottom shelf of the bookcase, carefully deciding how next to proceed. The wind was gusting up a storm, swirling the tail around like a snake charmers snake. And from what he could tell the tail was quite heavy; he had to be careful when he did hook the kite that he did not drop it from the tail's weight.
He decided aiming for the middle would be best, somehow snag the cross-sticks in the center of the kite with the tip of the fishing pole, then slowly pulling it back in. He had also considered casting out for it, but in this severe wind he'd leave that option only as a last resort.
He jabbed at the kite, carefully balancing himself on one leg, pretending the kite was a fire-breathing dragon and the fishing pole was a knight's lance. His first three attempts yielded nothing but a cramp in his shoulder. He took a deep breath, and poked again at the kite, this time feeling something snag at the other end.
Yes!
Now the difficult part: slowly dragging the kite back in through the window without dropping it. He cast a quick peek at the clock on his bedside table--it had taken him three minutes thus far--he had a few left before his mother started up with her yelling again. He had to hurry!
He drew the pole back, but the kite stayed where it was, snagged on the gutter that ran across the rim of the house's roof. He jiggled the pole, wiggled it back and forth, up and down, and felt some of the tension slacken--he had freed it from the gutter! The kite was suspended in air by only the hooked end of the fishing pole, his for the taking. All he had to do was carefully pull it back inside.
One foot. Another. Slow going because the tail was so heavy. His arms were already straining, starting to shake from the effort--and he had another six feet to go.
Another foot, and another. Almost halfway there.
"Come on," he said as he pulled another foot of the pole back inside the window, the kite clinging to its end like a cocktail wiener on a toothpick, the kind of snacks his friend Wolf had at his cool birthday party last year.
One more foot, and now the kite was more than halfway there.
Mikey felt a drip of sweat form on his eyebrows and slowly leak down between them, slide past his nose and drain onto his lip. Ignoring it, he pulled the kite in another foot. Less than three feet remained. He was going to do it!
"Mikey!"
He almost dropped the pole, his mother's voice sounding like it was right outside his door.
"Be right down, Mom!"
"Now!"
"Just finishing washing up."
"Thirty seconds, Son."
"All right."
When he turned back to check on the kite, his heart felt like it was in his mouth. The sudden jerking movement of his arms when his mother startled him had rattled the kite--it was now hanging by the thinnest of threads! The next breeze would send it flying off, back to wherever it came.
"Oh, man…no, please don't…"
As he tried to slowly pull the kite in the last few feet, a fresh gust of the irritating wind swept up along side it. The kite seemed to flutter inside the breeze, as if it were taking in a deep breath--and then it popped off the pole!
"No!"
Mikey jabbed at the kite once, twice, three times but to no avail--it was no longer attached to the pole and was now heading for the ground like a misjudged pop fly landing between two outfielders.
"Oh no!"
And then something amazing happened, something strange and incredible: the tail, that long gray serpentine thing, suddenly wrapped itself around the fishing pole, as if it had a mind of its own. Mikey felt its weight as he jerked backwards with the pole. But it held, tighter than ever. He pulled it in a few feet, and the tail refused to let go. He dragged the pole the rest of the way inside his room, the tail holding tight to the pole and the kite right behind it, just as he heard footsteps bounding up the stairs. Followed by a firm rap on his bedroom door.
"Mikey, I'm not asking you again."
"Coming, Mother!"
The kite was at last his, safe and sound inside his room. He did it!
"Be right down!"
He quickly gathered in the immense tail, taking a moment to marvel at the amazing colors of the kite close up, and felt something both magical and mysterious flutter through his belly. Wow, he'd never seen anything like it. He hid the kite inside his closet just as his mother knocked one more time on his bedroom door and then pushed it open a crack.
Sticking her head inside, she said, "Why is it always such a chore, huh, Michael?"
Mikey looked at her, understanding her sentiments more than she would ever know. He smiled, shrugged, then met her at the door.
"Wouldn't be me if it wasn't," he said.
"Got that right, kiddo."
He headed down the stairs for dinner with his mother, suddenly realizing how terribly hungry he was. He sure hoped they weren't having meatloaf.