Juno brought Milo to his apartment and helped him to a rundown yellow sofa. She pulled his beanie off, revealing his ears. Then she pulled off his shirt, revealing several cuts and a few much deeper wounds, including the one where the knife had entered him. He slumped backwards, laying his head on the couch’s armrest, as he grasped his stomach in pain.
“I’m telling you, it’s fine,” said Milo. “My body is finally healing itself again, but it takes time. Just throw a bandage on it like usual, and I’ll be good to go.”
“Well thanks to Charlie showing up, I think we can do a bit better than a bandage this time,” said Juno, making room for and setting her instrument case on a cluttered dining table before opening it to pull out the ukeytar.
The apartment was a complete mess. It was full of stacked cardboard boxes, filled with random knick knacks, books, newspaper clippings, assorted linens, as well as many which were completely empty. The trash cans were full, which had led Milo to throw crumpled papers and plastic bags onto the floor instead. Crusts, cores and crumbs of finished meals lay forgotten on plates and napkins across the table. The walls were covered with various maps of the city which Milo had hung and then drawn on with red markers in order to track his clients and marks.
Juno made a mental note to help Milo clean up some of the mess once she was done easing his pain. She knew full well that he hadn’t processed Arthur’s passing with much grace. Whether he said so or not, he was still very much grieving. Add to that the fact that his mother hadn’t been around to teach him how to live like a proper human after he’d become one, and anyone would understand why he had such a hard time creating a livable living space.
She walked over to him, ukeytar in hand, moved a stack of books off a footstool, and sat down on it. She then began to play a soft, relaxing song with a light beat. Words lit up on the ukeytar’s wood:
Now Playing Lo-Fi Hip Hop Playlist.
As she played, glowing butterflies fluttered to life around her and flew onto Milo’s stomach. They spread their wings, overlapping one another to completely cover the wound with their light. The effect was nearly instant as Milo’s whole body relaxed into the cushions, and a long soft groan escaped his lips.
“Better, right?” she asked as her fingers continued to pluck away at the strings and dance along the white and black keys.
Milo side-eyed her and resumed his grouchy expression. “It’s fine, I guess.” But she wasn’t fooled.
She laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell everyone your wounds healed on their own. That way you can keep up your tough appearance.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, softening his scowl.
“Speaking of tough, you went pretty hard on Charlie considering you just met him.”
Milo scoffed. “This whole time, I kept thinking that the reason none of us could get the backpack to open was because Arthur’s heir was the only one truly deserving of it. Like he was some Godlike figure that none of us could match up to. But that guy? That guy’s just another flimsy city kid. I could flick him and he’d fall over crying.” He mimed a flicking motion with his fingers. “And if that guy is our only hope of getting our powers back and keeping them? Might as well not get too used to using them again. Mark my words, he’ll be gone before the week is over. This will all be a cute story he tells people. In fact, he might even say it’s all made up. That we’re all made up. Our relics will turn off again, and we’ll be back to square one. You’ll see.”
“And what if he does stay?” asked Juno. “What if he sees everything this place is and all the people who live here and decides not to leave? What if he actually decides this is where he’s supposed to be?”
“That’s even worse!” growled Milo.
“How so?”
“Because if he stays, he’ll be doing so because he thinks we need him. He’ll be staying because he sees us all scrambling to survive, afraid to lose our powers and he’ll stay just so he can be the hero.”
“Honestly Milo, I don’t think saving us has even crossed his mind. Arthur was the kind of guy who saw people going through a rough time and gave them the tools to save themselves, but this guy is really only thinking about himself right now.”
Milo’s eyes darted to her. “And that makes it better?”
“No,” said Juno. “What I mean is, if anyone needs saving right now, it’s him.”
“Ugh, you’re such a sap,” said Milo, rolling his eyes.
“I’m serious! He’s not okay, Milo. When I’m near him, I can feel this ocean’s worth of pain inside him. It’s so different from what I’m used to.” She pointed at the butterflies still basking on Milo’s stomach. “With you, for example, I knew what needed fixing. I knew exactly where to send the butterflies to ease the pain and heal the wound. But Charlie, he is hurting everywhere. It’s practically radiating off him. When I got home this morning, I knew he was in the building, and I knew exactly where he was, because I could feel him from on the street.”
“So he’s a little depressed,” said Milo nonchalantly. “This is New York. Who isn’t?”
“He’s more than a little depressed. He’s given up completely.” A soft smile came to her face. “But when we started playing with Arty’s backpack; when he started figuring out how it worked, I could feel this tiny little spark come to life inside him.”
Milo glared at her. “Or maybe he just saw you and got turned on. Are you sure that little spark wasn’t just him picturing you naked?”
“Oh my god!” groaned Juno, slapping Milo’s arm.
Milo hissed in reply, grabbing at his arm where there was another deep cut from the earlier fight.
“Sorry,” she said, as one of the butterflies flitted over to Milo’s arm and sat atop the cut with its wings outstretched. “Anyway, he’s definitely gay,” she said as a matter of fact.
“You can’t possibly know that,” hissed Milo.
“I knew you were gay back when you were still a cat,” she said slyly. “Trust me.”
“Whatever,” he said, staring up at the ceiling.
“My point is, he needs our help.”
“Gross,” growled Milo.
“Easy tiger,” she said. She ended the song and the butterflies flitted off of Milo’s stomach before disappearing altogether. “How’s that? Feeling better?”
“Not at all,” said Milo, crossing his arms.
Juno stared at him with a knowing smile.
“Yes Tía Juno, I’m feeling much better,” he said, affecting a childlike tone.
“Good,” she said, standing up and patting his head between his ears. She went to the table to start cleaning up and organizing some of the clutter.
“You don’t have to do that,” said Milo, but he didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he rolled over and nuzzled his face into the cushions, hugging one of the couch’s many pillows to his chest.
As she cleaned, she uncovered a framed photo of an older black woman with a small black and gray striped tabby sitting on her lap. Around its neck was a collar affixed with a star-shaped pendant. She sat the frame on the small table next to the couch. Then she went back to organizing mail, disposing of trash, and collecting the plates and glasses that were strewn across the apartment. Apparently, Milo was not one for doing dishes. Hopefully when he woke up, the clean apartment would help soften his bad attitude.
* * *
After tidying the apartment, Juno snuck quietly out, trying not to wake him.
“There you are,” said Charlie. She turned to see him rushing towards her from down the hallway.
“Hey, how’s it going up in the garden?”
“Good, I guess. I leveled up the backpack to level two, so that’s … something.” He wasn’t sure if it was worth getting excited over, but at least it felt like a step in the right direction.
“That’s great!” exclaimed Juno, then remembering that Milo was sleeping, moved away from the door and lowered her voice. “Did you get any new creations?”
“Actually, I did,” said Charlie. “However they seem to have a strong focus on farming, or possibly gardening? Are those two things the same?” He shook off the question. “Either way, I don’t really know how to do … any of that. The backpack also mentioned that I could level up again by farming, so that seems to be important.” He paused, contemplating the backpack’s last messages. “Though it also mentioned monsters. So that’s concerning. Oh, and I think there might be a wild animal on the roof!”
“A wild animal?” asked Juno.
“Yes, I saw … something in the bushes.” He gulped down his rising anxiety. “And I don’t want to be dramatic, but I’m pretty sure it was hunting me.”
“Well, it is a little overgrown up there. Maybe it’s just like a wolf or a bear that lives in the garden?” She asked this as if it were perfectly normal.
Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he tried to decide if she was messing with him or not. “Should we be concerned that a terrifying wild beast is living on the roof of this building and might, I don’t know, attack someone up there?”
“Well you’re the only one with any reason to go up there at the moment,” she said, as though that made it less of a concern.
“So, we aren’t worried?” he asked, shakily.
“Nah, I’m sure it’s more scared of you than you are of it.”
“That is a bold claim.”
“Tell me more about this gardening thing,” she said, changing the subject. He stared at her, still imagining a roof grizzly eating him in the night, but finally rolled his eyes and pulled the backpack off his shoulders. He showed her the new creations he’d been given.
“Interesting,” she said. “These aren’t just good for planting things, but for gathering resources too. You’ve got a scythe for cutting grass faster, and an axe for clearing some of the trees. Oh and a pickaxe too! That should help you get rid of the rocks!”
“Hold on,” said Charlie, halting her thought process. “I’m not some construction worker or a lumberjack. I don’t know the first thing about cutting down trees or … pickaxing rocks. How am I supposed to do all these things? And for what? So I can pioneer a cleanup project on your roof? I didn’t sign up for this!”
“And what did you sign up for, exactly? What were you hoping to find when you came here this morning?” She crossed her arms and stared at him.
This gave him pause. Mostly because he didn’t actually have an answer. He wasn’t really sure what he’d hoped to find coming here, but it certainly hadn’t been a magical backpack capable of creating magical items, constructing buildings, and magically landscaping a whole forest.
He cleared his throat. “I … uh … guess I wanted to get to know more about my grandpa.”
“Well this, all of this, was incredibly important to him. We were incredibly important to him, and he was important to us. Maybe discovering the secrets of this backpack is your way of getting to know him, even if that might not feel super clear right now.”
Charlie sucked in a breath and then gave a conceding nod.
“Besides,” said Juno, leaning closer to him. “Milo thinks you’re gonna give up by the end of the week. It would be awesome if you could prove his grouchy butt wrong. I would literally pay to see him eat his words.”
Charlie let out a short laugh. “He really hates me, doesn’t he?”
“He’s a cat. He hates everybody. At least at first.” She grabbed his hand and made to move down the hallway. “But enough of that, let’s go see Harriet.”
Charlie followed her but not without asking the obvious question. “Who’s Harriet?”
“The plant lady,” said Juno.
“Right,” said Charlie. “And we’re going to see a plant lady because…”
She quirked her head at him as if it were the most preposterous question she’d ever heard. “Because you can’t plant a garden without seeds.”
This chapter very much feels like a transition to our next part of the story but I just love that we get a little moment of calm to explore Juno and Milo as friends. Juno is the bestie we all need in our life and I think that really shines through here. Milo is a booger butt but I love him to death and hope that you all will too, if not now, eventually! Can’t wait to start introducing you all to the other residents of Darkmoon Drive soon!
Juno led Charlie into the elevator. As she closed the gate behind them, she pressed a finger into a button marked ‘R.’
“R?” asked Charlie.
“Roof,” she replied
“There’s a garden on the roof?”
“There is a … garden on the roof.”
“Why’d you pause like that?”
“Did I pause?”
“You did. You paused.”
Juno sighed. “Just remember that in this situation, ‘garden’ is a relative term.”
This was not comforting to Charlie, but luckily it didn’t take long before the shaking elevator ground to a halt and she pulled open the gate.
They were definitely outside. Whether it was the roof or not remained to be seen. The late morning sky was visible above them and a cool breeze blew in through the open elevator door. But the knowledge that they were on a roof did not explain anything else that Charlie now saw before him. Charlie couldn’t help but feel as though he had just stepped through a magical portal. And he most certainly would not call anything he was now looking at a ‘garden.’
Just beyond the elevator door was a sprawling landscape more akin to an overgrown forest than a rooftop. Tall, lush trees stretched high into the sky, spreading their green leaves to bask in the sun. Layers of moss and vines crawled up their trunks which ranged from thick and sturdy to thin and knobby. Long-bladed grass, moss-coated boulders, berry-filled bushes, mushroom-infested logs and dead branches of various sizes covered the ground in every direction, stretching back into darkness. The shade of the trees above made seeing further into the forest’s depths impossible. And noticing this, Charlie realized that he also couldn’t see the edges of the roof. Usually when one stepped onto a roof, they could see the parapets which prevented people from falling off the building. But to his left and right, he only saw more forest. He turned and find that behind the elevator there stood a great brick wall, matching the exterior of the apartment building, built high enough that he couldn’t see beyond it. If Charlie didn’t know better, he’d have thought they had somehow taken a Brooklyn apartment elevator up to an unkempt portion of Central Park.
“What is … Where are … How is this possible?” asked Charlie, finding it difficult to form his thoughts or the words to articulate them. None of this made any sort of sense, and Charlie was not good in situations didn’t make sense. He liked order, and plans, and roofs that looked and acted the way a roof ought to. He needed to sit down, to catch his breath and wake up from this dream where nothing made sense. He dropped down to the dirt beneath his feet and sat, placing his head into his hands.
“I told you,” started Juno. “Arthur built this whole building. He created it using that backpack.” She gestured to the red backpack currently hanging from his back. “It doesn’t abide by the normal rules of reality because it was created with relic magic.”
Charlie shook his head, desperately trying to catch his breath. “You mean to tell me, he somehow created a forest … pocket dimension on the roof of a Brooklyn apartment?” He pulled the backpack off and tossed it on the ground in front of him. “And he did it … with that?”
“Well, yeah,” she said, shrugging her shoulders as if there weren’t anything more to it.
“It’s … not possible,” said Charlie.
“Oh Charlie,” she said with a wry grin. “Anything is possible.”
“Don’t Disney channel me,” he snapped, standing up and turning to face her. “This!” He waved his hands frantically at the forest around them, “is not possible!”
“An hour ago I bet you would have said the same thing about a backpack that turns one thing into another.”
“That was one piece of wood. This is the entire damn forest!”
Juno gave him a minute to calm down as she swayed on the balls of her feet. “Well, possible or not, the garden is sort of the answer to your current problem.”
“What current problem are we talking about?” asked Charlie, a frantic edge to his voice. “Because I would say ‘inherited magic apartment with Middle Earth on the roof’ is my main problem and this is not an answer to that. If anything, it brings up a whole bunch of other problems that I now have to wrap my head around. Like, question one, how do you grow sky high pine trees on a city roof?”
“Really, you think they’re pine?” asked Juno, peering up at the trees. “They look more like elm to me. Or oak. That one over there is definitely an oak.” She pointed to one of the nearby trees.
Charlie fumed. “Question two,” he pressed on, not caring whatsoever which type of trees were growing around him. “Why can’t anyone see any of this from the street? I definitely would have noticed if this building had a national park on the roof when I walked up!”
“Oh that’s the magic,” said Juno. “People don’t see it unless they’re looking for it. And let’s be honest, New Yorkers aren’t great at looking up.”
“Question three!” snapped Charlie. “This looks like it spreads out as far as a football field, or further. I don’t honestly know how big a football field is. My point is, this building is not as long as a football field! So how? How? HOW!?”
“Okay, take a breath.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and mirrored taking a deep breath in.
“I don’t want to breathe!” he yelled, pulling away from her.
“Well then you’re gonna suffocate and probably die!” she cut back.
“Maybe that would be for the best!”
Juno pulled back, but to his surprise, she didn’t look angry or disgusted. Her expression was filled with kindness and compassion. They stood for a long moment, both silent, allowing Charlie’s last words to hang, drift, and finally settle like fallen leaves.
“Charlie Cole,” said Juno softly. “I only just met you, but I can tell you without a doubt that there is no circumstance on this Earth where you dying would be ‘for the best.’ Do you hear me?”
Charlie chewed his bottom lip, avoiding her eyes.
“Do you hear me?”
“I hear you,” he grumbled.
“Do you believe me?”
“I’m having a hard time believing anything right now,” he said. Finally he lifted his eyes to meet hers. “But I’m trying.”
“Well, that’s a start.”
Charlie sucked in a breath. “So,” he started, his voice much calmer than before. “What problem does this solve?”
Juno took a step towards the forest. “You need materials to make creations with the backpack. And this place just happens to be full of them.”
He eyed the forest suspiciously. “I … guess so.” Charlie had never once in his life foraged for anything outside of a yogurt in the back of the fridge. Looking around, he couldn’t help but think that this was going to take a good deal more work than that.
“Why don’t we take a look at the creations you can make so far,” said Juno.
Charlie bent over and picked the backpack off the ground. He turned it over and tapped the screen. Much like a tablet, he saw different icons on the screen with small labels beneath them.
“Do all the relics have this?” he asked.
“A menu?” asked Juno. “Some do. But none of them look like this.”
Charlie pressed the Inventory icon.
Inventory Wood x 2
He swiped back and clicked ‘Abilities’ next. There was only one.
Abilities
Creation Crafting You are able to craft materials into creations using learned creation recipes. New recipes unlock by leveling up or by meeting select conditions.
Charlie wondered what exactly ‘select conditions’ meant, but no further information was provided. He swiped back to the home screen and pressed ‘Settings.’ The only setting he could currently change was the language of the menu. According to a number at the side of the screen, there were 6,512 languages to choose from. He figured he’d not take any chances and leave this setting alone lest he change it and was then unable to change it back. He swiped back and finally clicked into the ‘Creations’ page.
Level One Creations
Wooden Plank – Useful for creating other wooden creations
Rope – Starting length: 25 ft. May be made longer by multiplying required materials.
Cardboard Box – A box made of cardboard.
Cup – Good for drinking out of. Beverage not included.
Pillow – Makes sleeping more comfortable
“Well I already made a wooden plank,” said Charlie.
“And it was very impressive,” joked Juno who was now looking over his shoulder. “Let’s check out the others.”
Charlie pressed Rope and found that it required 25 Grass.
“Easy!” exclaimed Juno. “Just go pick some grass and you’ll have yourself some rope!”
“And then I’ll be able to, what, join a rodeo? Catch a cow?” Charlie could not, at this moment, think of one time in his life when he had actually used, needed, or even touched rope.
“Hey, rope can be super useful!” said Juno. “Besides, this is about making things so that you can hopefully level up and unlock new creations.”
Charlie thought about the games he played. To some degree, this made sense. No mage started with a full spell list. They had to earn them through the steady process of gaining experience points. This process of making things just to make them would be known in a video game as ‘grinding.’ Usually, this meant killing low level enemies over and over again to get easy experience points until the player’s character leveled up. Charlie’s form of ‘grinding’ was apparently making rope. And if he made enough rope, hopefully he’d learn how to make something else just as futile.
“Okay, fine,” conceded Charlie. “I’ll make some stupid rope.” He awkwardly walked forward, moving towards the nearest patch of long grass. When he reached it, he leaned down and began to pull at the stalks which were surprisingly tough. He ripped them from the earth, flinging dirt onto his face and clothes. The longer stalks cut into the palms of his hands with their serrated edges. As he moved along, removing grass with his hands, he noticed more and more red cuts in his skin. With the exception of doing dishes, Charlie couldn’t recall a time when he had done this much physical labor in his entire life. He shoved another fistful of grass and dirt into the backpack. The stalks disappeared into it.
“You could help, you know?” he said, turning to look back at Juno.
She smiled and crossed her arms. “Oh,I know.”
“Unbelievable,” he mumbled under his breath as he went back to pulling grass up from the ground. He found that every time he put grass into the pack, the screen would briefly show the number of grass units going up. It seemed that one handful equated more or less to a single unit of grass. He briefly wondered who had been tasked in determining the value of units for the various ingredients the backpack needed to function.
After scrounging around on the ground for several minutes, he finally had exactly 25 grass. “That should do it!” he exclaimed. He stood up, selecting the rope from the menu on the front screen. A green progress bar filled up just as it had done with the wooden plank.
Crafting Successful! +1 Rope
He reached into the backpack and wrapped his hand around something rough. He pulled his hand back out and found that he was holding a tightly coiled length of thick yellow rope.
“Rope quest complete!” he exclaimed, thrusting the rope into the air victoriously. He turned, ready to accept his congratulations from Juno, but instead of her, he came face to face with a man. The man had light brown skin, piercing gray blue eyes, and seemed to be around the same age as Charlie. He wore a maroon beanie, a multicolored sweater, that was cut into a crop top, and white pants with black designs that appeared to have been drawn on with a thick black marker. Charlie couldn’t help but notice the man’s toned stomach, which was on full display. Around his neck was a black choker with a star shaped pendant hanging from its front. Somehow Charlie took this all in as his eyes and the man’s eyes remained locked onto each other.
“So this is him?” asked the man. To Charlie’s horror, he felt his cheeks flushing. Not out of anger or fear, but out of an indescribable and sudden attraction to the man before him. This man, however, gave Charlie a look which suggested that he wasn’t impressed in the slightest. “This is Arthur’s heir? This is the guy who gets the keys to the kingdom?” He shook his head.
“So I’ve been told,” said Charlie nervously. Charlie was not comfortable with people he didn’t know being so very close to him. Especially when the person in question had a jawline that could cut glass and smelled like a spring day just after its finished raining. Still, he wanted to be polite, so he offered a hand to the man, but also took a step back at the same time. The man was apparently not in the mood for handshakes though, because he ignored Charlie’s outstretched hand entirely.
“He left everything to you. The backpack. The apartment. The whole building. And yet, you didn’t even come to his funeral,” said the man.
“I didn’t actually know he had passed,” said Charlie in a meek voice.
“He died six months ago and you didn’t even know?” The man scoffed. “Or maybe you did know. You just didn’t care. But now that there’s an inheritance involved, well, you wasted absolutely no time getting here.”
“I … um…” Charlie didn’t know how to form all the thoughts spinning around his head into words. He didn’t know how to start explaining that he hadn’t chosen to not have a relationship with his grandfather. He hadn’t chosen to not know that Arthur had passed away. All of these things had just happened and now he was here and he still wasn’t even sure what being here even meant. “I just…”
“You just what?” snarled the man.
“Leave him alone Milo,” said Juno from behind him. “He’s still figuring it all out. He didn’t know anything about … anything. The letter and keys you dropped off were the first time he even knew this place existed. This is all totally new to him.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Milo, sniffed the air in front of Charlie. “You smell like dirt.”
“I was picking grass,” explained Charlie weakly. “To make rope. It was actually pretty hard. I’ve never really worked outside like this before and I—”
“Of course, you haven’t” interrupted Milo. “Let me guess, this is your first time seeing a tree?”
“No,” said Charlie, who was completely flustered now. He simply couldn’t figure out what he’d done to upset this person he’d just met. “I used to go camping a lot as a kid. Actually, this roof kind of reminds me of—”
“Camping!?” snapped Milo. “This is not some little adventure you go on for a week to get merit badges and sing songs by the campfire while you eat some mores.”
“I think you mean S’mores,” croaked Charlie.
“Shut up!” hissed Milo.
“Sorry, I just—” Charlie could feel himself shaking now. He was terrible at talking to new people, and he was even worse at having a full on conflict with them.
“This is our home. We live here. You think you can just suddenly come in here and replace Arthur?”
“No!” shot back Charlie. He most definitely did not think this, especially since he had no idea how he would replace someone he’d never known. He needed to turn this around and quickly. “But hey, Juno said your relics turned back on after I got here and opened the backpack. So that’s good … right?”
To Charlie’s horror, Milo gritted his teeth and seemed to get even angrier. “Yeah, it’s great,” he said, not sounding the least bit happy. “Now that you’re here, everything is fixed. It’s like Arthur never died. Like the last six months never happened. We’ve all been struggling with losing our powers, watching the building fall apart, trying to figure out how to keep moving forward without the man who gave us a second chance, and all along, all we really needed was a scrawny white boy to show up and save the fucking day.” The air around them seemed to freeze. Juno let out a soft gasp. Milo shook his head and turned back towards the elevator, glaring at Juno as he went. “My money says he gives up on all of this and runs home by the end of the week.”
“And so what if I do?” asked Charlie. Milo stopped, turning his head back. “What if I am gone by the end of the week? It’s not like I asked for any of this. I didn’t ask for rooftop forests or magic backpacks. The only thing I ever wanted from my grandfather was to know him, and he could barely be bothered to call on my birthday, and when he did, I was lucky if he got my age right.” Charlie could feel heat rising in his chest. “My mom told me my grandpa was lost in his own fantasy world. And sure, now I know that fantasy world was very real, but it still doesn’t change the fact that he left us so he could be here in this … fairy tale. He left our family, for all of you!”
“This isn’t a fairy tale!” growled Milo. “The people living in this building are real. And maybe your grandfather wasn’t there for you, but we owe him everything. He built this place from the ground up. He gave us a home, a purpose. And then he just … died! And apparently none of us was good enough to follow in his footsteps. None of us except you.”
Charlie swallowed hard and then spoke softly. “Maybe he just wanted to keep it in the family.”
“We are his family!” roared Milo. The words echoed off the trees around them. “We were his family.” This time, the words came out as a whisper.
“Okay,” said Juno, stepping between the two of them. “Let’s all just take a breath.”
“I’m good,” said Milo, turning away again. But this time he stopped in his tracks. Suddenly, he grasped his stomach, as a groan escaped his lips.
“Milo?” asked Juno in alarm.
Milo fell forward onto his knees. Before Charlie could react, Juno was at Milo’s side, her hand on his back. “I’m fine,” he said.
“You’re not,” she reprimanded. “Milo, you’re bleeding!”
“It’s just a scratch,” he hissed.
“Let’s get you inside so I can take a look.” She turned to Charlie. “I’ll take care of him. You…um…”
“I’ll keep making rope,” sighed Charlie who was still shaken by the encounter with Milo. “Yeah, I got it.” His shoulders slumped as Juno helped Milo to his feet, walked him to the elevator, and disappeared as they descended into the bowels of the building.
Charlie turned to look at the forest around him. Tearing up grass to make rope hadn’t been very fun when he started, and now that he knew that at least one person in the building actively hated him, it made it even less appealing. Maybe Milo was right. Maybe he was just going to give up after a day or two. After all, he didn’t belong here. Even his grandfather had kept him and his mother away from this place. They were unwanted in his world of relics and magic. Charlie took a deep breath and then dropped the backpack and the rope onto the ground. He clapped his hands together to clean off the dirt, then turned to walk back to the elevator. But a thought stopped him in his tracks.
It was a simple question which arose in his mind. If he left now, where would he go? Before all of this, Charlie had been fully prepared to end his life. He had no prospects. No friends. No job. A mother who only acknowledged his existence when she needed something. But now he was here, doing something that was, at the very least, new and different. Sure, Milo’s words stung, but pulling the wooden plank and then the rope out of the backpack had made him feel something. Despite being completely outside the realm of reality, creating these seemingly useless items filled him with a strange sense of accomplishment, wonder and possibility.
And sure, he was just following the backpack’s instructions. He was just adding wood and making a plank; just throwing in grass and pulling out rope. But it still felt like he was doing something. A task completed. A quest turned in. A single footstep in a direction he’d never walked before. And Charlie liked this feeling, which was surprising because Charlie couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed anything.
He slowly turned back to look down at the discarded backpack. He took a step forward, leaned down, and picked it back up off the ground. Then he quietly went back to pulling grass and inserting it into the backpack. Charlie didn’t know if he could shoulder the huge responsibility his grandfather had left him. He didn’t know if he could prove to Milo that he was worthy of being here. He didn’t know if he would still be at Darkmoon Drive by the end of the week. But pulling up grass and putting it in the backpack to make a coil of rope? This he could do. He’d done it once and he could do it again.
Before long, he’d made a second rope. And then a third. Soon, he had a whole pile of rope coils just sitting on the ground around him. As he repeated this task of pulling grass and making rope, he slowly cleared away a small patch of earth. And in creating this small clearing, he felt that he was quietly giving the forest a small bit of love and care. He had created this small patch of forest with his own hands. The sweat from his brow and the blood from his hands was a part of it now. And this made Charlie feel, if only for a brief moment, that he wasn’t such a stranger in this place.
He was creating his twelfth rope when he heard a high pitched ringing sound jingling from the backpack. He almost dropped the bag in surprise. He threw the newly created rope on the ground and turned the pack around to look at the front screen.
Congratulations! Level 2 Unlocked!
“Yes!” yelled Charlie, pumping his fists into the air. He quickly lowered them again. He wasn’t used to making sounds of excitement as he was rarely excited about anything at all, and the fact that he had done so made him feel an odd sense of embarrassment despite being alone. He looked back at the screen.
New Creations Unlocked!
This was it! Finally he’d be able to make something useful. He swiped down to inspect the list of new recipes.
Basic Axe – Useful for chopping wood
Basic Hoe – Useful for tilling, weeding and planting
Basic Watering Can – Holds 1 Gallon of water
Basic Pickaxe – Useful for mining resources, breaking down rocks
Basic Scythe – Better at cutting grass than your hands
Basic Sword – Low level weapon
Ladder – Stands 6 ft. tall
New Ability Acquired! Light the Way – Once per day you may pull a basic flashlight from the backpack at no cost. This flashlight will expire after 24 hours.
Charlie stared at the list in utter disbelief. “What the hell is this?” he asked no one in particular. “What even is a basic hoe?” he wondered aloud, noting that the only time he ever heard the term was when he was being called a ‘basic ho’ by his high school boyfriend during their breakup fight. “What am I supposed to do with any of this?” The ladder might be useful, and the sword definitely appealed to his nerdier side but everything else seemed to be aimed at giving him new ways to manually labor, and he hadn’t necessarily been aching for more tasks like pulling grass in his immediate future. Just as he was getting ready to angrily throw the backpack into one of the nearby trees, a new message appeared.
Tutorial Message: With each new level, your relic will gain new creations and previously learned creations will have lower costs. Some may even become free over time.
Actions which grant experience towards Level 3 Craft more creations Farming Monster Fighting
The screen returned to the main menu. Charlie was even more perplexed than before. Farming? Monster fighting? What exactly did this backpack have in mind? And if this had once belonged to his grandfather, had the old man really leveled it up by building a farm and fighting monsters? This was New York City, not Middle Earth. The only monster he could think of fighting was a rat running away with a slice of pizza.
And he didn’t know the first thing about farming. The only knowledge he had of farming were simulation games he’d played on his computer. But then, was that what this was? Perhaps he actually jumped off the bridge last night, and now he was being forced to live out a realistic farming simulation game. That explanation would at least help everything make sense. But knowing his incredibly bad luck, he was probably still alive and all of this insanity was, in fact, real.
Charlie now had an incredible number of new questions, and the only person he knew with at least some answers was Juno. Before doing anything else, he would need to consult with her again.
He sighed and let his shoulders slump in mild defeat. Before heading back into the building, however, he decided to try activating his new ability. He pulled up the Ability menu and selected ‘Light the Way.’ He reached into the backpack and felt around until his hand wrapped around something plastic cylindrical. He pulled his hand back out to find it gripping a very basic red flashlight; the kind you could buy at a convenience store in case of emergency.
He flicked it on with the white switch on its side and aimed it towards the darkest part of the forest.
He froze.
Far off in the bushes, two large round eyes were staring back at him.
“Gaaaah!!!” he cried, dropping the flashlight and jumping backwards. “Crap!” He quickly scrambled to pick the flashlight back up. He aimed the beam of light back into the bushes, but the eyes were already gone. He waited for a long moment, afraid to move, afraid to stay still. “H-hello?” he called in a shaky voice. He wasn’t sure what response he expected, or even if he wanted a response at all. The eyes had been much lower to the ground than his own, so he didn’t think it was a person. No, it had to be some sort of wild animal. Or perhaps … one of the monsters the backpack mentioned?
He slowly backed away until his back bumped against the elevator. He jabbed a finger into the call button and waited, sweeping the light back and forth in front of him. When the elevator finally arrived, he backed himself into it, never taking the light off the bushes in the distance. He only switched off the light once the doors were shut and the elevator was moving down into the building.
Oh wow, this is a LONG chapter! But you’ll thank me for long chapters when we get to some later on that are criminally short. That being said, I love how much information we get in this chapter. We learn more about the backpack. We see the Garden for the first time. We see a monster in the woods??? I often describe this series as Stardew Valley in the city and I’m hoping now you are really starting to see what that means and how this little apartment building has some big possibilities in the future!
As always, let me know what you think of this chapter, and the story so far, in the comments!
Not too far away, Milo dropped from a different rooftop, down to a landing just outside the bedroom window of Mr. Harold Wilder. He peered in through the gap between the curtains. The room inside was dark, lit only by a soft red nightlight, an odd choice, Milo thought, for a grown man, and the early morning twilight which seeped in from outside. He adjusted the maroon beanie on his head and tightened his fingerless gloves, before lifting the window just enough that he could fit his slender, agile body through it. He rolled into the room, landing on all fours.
Just like a cat.
Despite what Juno said, Milo was very much a man, or at least he was mostly a man. His features were those of a completely normal twenty-five-year-old man. He had beige-toned skin, tightly coiled natural black hair, beneath the beanie, and piercing gray-blue eyes. Around his neck, he wore what seemed to be a thin red collar with a silver star-shaped pendant which hung just beneath his throat. His royal blue coat dusted the floor like a cloak as he stood and made his way to the ornate dresser where sat several small ceramic boxes full of trinkets. One by one, he opened the boxes until he found what he was looking for: a golden locket in the shape of a heart, attached to a thin chain necklace. He undid the clasp and opened it to find a photo of Mrs. Eveline Wilder, a much younger woman than when he had met her several days earlier, standing next to an older woman, presumably her mother, in front of an old farmhouse.
Much like this trinket, Eveline was no longer Harold’s. Milo was a jack of all trades and had many well-to-do clients who paid him handsomely to do odd jobs, one of which included the procuring of lost, or stolen, goods. Eveline had been recommended Milo’s services from a friend of hers whom she regularly played tennis with, and Milo had agreed to help her. For a fee of course. After all, Harold Wilder was a powerful man. A rich man. A man who ran a multi-million dollar corporation by day and an even more lucrative crime ring by night. Though according to the authorities, there wasn’t enough proof of the latter to press any kind of charges. Milo was putting his life on the line to be in this apartment. If he was caught, Harold would hunt him to the ends of the earth.
“Put it down, and turn around slowly,” said a calm voice behind Milo. Milo froze. He was sure the apartment was empty. He watched Harold leave. Or at least, he thought he did. Despite the request, he did not put the trinket down. He slowly turned to face Harold. Milo grinned at the man, sly and nonchalant.
Never show them your fear.
“I’m sorry, can I help you?” asked Milo, as if it were Harold intruding.
“Help me?” asked Harold. Milo now saw that the man was holding a silver handgun pointed directly at him. Other than this, Harold wasn’t all that threatening. He was a man of average height with light skin and salt and pepper hair. His face was rigid and pointed like that of someone who often had to make cold, calculating decisions. He too wore a coat, the one that Milo had seen him wearing when he left. “You’re in my house!”
Milo looked around. “Wait! This isn’t Barclay’s Center?” He grabbed his chest in mock surprise. “Unbelievable! I knew I shouldn’t have taken directions from that old lady on the corner. I mean, I thought it was weird that she was screaming that JFK Jr. was coming back to save us all. But I figured she was just a little crazy. I figured she could be off her rocker and still know her way around Cobble Hill. Never want to make assumptions, ya know? I swear. Just when you try to give people the benefit of the doubt.”
Harold switched the safety off. “What are you doing in my home?”
“Well I thought I was seeing the Jonas Brothers perform, but apparently—”
Harold cocked the pistol. “I am giving you one more chance before I blow your fucking head off,” snapped Harold. “Now tell me, did she send you? Are you here for Eveline? Because she should know better than to send a two-bit thief into my home. If she thinks she’s even getting a penny of my—”
From under his coat, Milo whipped out a yellow umbrella, swung it upwards, and knocked the gun out of Harold’s hand with a loud ‘THWACK!’ The umbrella remained closed, a silver clasp holding it snug. It was a classic, straight umbrella with a polished handle and hooked end. However, unlike most umbrellas, it had been crafted by a master weaponsmith to have all the durability and design of a well crafted martial weapon. That being said, it was also quite effective at sheltering its user from the rain.
Milo jumped left and kicked off the wall. He spun in the air, landing a second kick across Harold’s face, and sent the man sprawling. Unfortunately, Harold fell right in front of the window which Milo had used to enter the room. The same window he was planning to escape through.
“Shit,” Milo hissed. He turned and lunged for the room’s door, slammed through it, and sped off down a long hallway, fixing the umbrella back onto the clasp on the belt around his waist.
“Get back here you little shit!” yelled Harold from behind him.
Milo pushed on each door he came to, searching frantically for another exit. There was a loud popping noise behind him, and then a chunk of drywall exploded next to his head, signaling that Harold was in the hallway now and firing the gun recklessly as he chased Milo. Milo came out the other end of the hallway to a dining room. A long table surrounded by six chairs, set with a white cloth and flowery centerpiece, filled most of the room. There were cabinets pushed against the walls as well as photos and antiquities hanging from them. But what caught Milo’s attention was the far wall which was covered in tall windows.
He jumped over the table, then smashed one of the windows with his umbrella. The glass shattered, showering the alley below. He pulled himself out the window, grabbed onto the ledge above it, and started pulling himself up.
But he wasn’t fast enough. Harold reached through the shattered window and grabbed Milo’s foot, pulling him down. Milo kicked out but Harold was stronger than him, and soon he found himself being pulled back into the dining room. Shards of broken glass sticking out from the window’s frame dug into his skin. Pain shot through his body and blood seeped from the wounds, soiling his shirt and pants. He scrambled, flailing his arms as he tried to grab onto something, anything, but it was no use.
Harold swung Milo by his ankle, throwing him onto the dining table, which snapped in half. The flower centerpiece crashed to the ground, sending roses careening across the room and shattering the white vase they’d been in. Milo rolled off the broken table, onto the floor. He scrambled to stand up, to get his bearings. In the confusion, one corner of his coat snagged on the broken table and ripped off of him, and his beanie fell to the floor. He finally freed himself from the table’s remains, and as he stood, grabbing his beanie off the floor, Harold gasped in surprise.
Atop Milo’s head, nestled in his thick, tightly coiled black hair, were two pointed gray and black striped cat ears. And if this wasn’t already an unbelievable sight, waving behind him, starting at the base of his spine just above his rear, was a fluffy striped tail which flicked back and forth in frustration.
“What …. are you?” asked Harold, a look of horror filling his face.
“What I am…” replied Milo, “is pissed off.”
Every muscle in his body ached. Blood dripped from his wounds. It had been some time since Milo had found himself in a spot as tight as this and chances were good he wouldn’t make it out alive. Still, if he was going down, he was going down swinging. He took in a deep, strained breath, and prepared for what would most likely be the final fight of his life.
It was at this moment that the star shaped pendant hanging from the red collar around his neck lit up. Milo heard a voice, which sounded very much like his mother’s, whisper in his ear. As the voice spoke, its words magically appeared before him, visible only to him.
Reset Complete Level 1 Unlocked!
New Melee Arte Unlocked!
Catlike Reflexes Passive Ability You channel your inner feline. Movement speed increased by 50% Reaction speed increased by 100%
Licked Wounds Passive Ability Increases natural recovery rate and ability to survive minor wounds
Actions which grant experience towards Level 2 – Channel Cat Like Reflexes in order to build your strength. – Improve speed, strength and stamina through training. – Stay alive.
Milo gave a surprised laugh. “Looks like Juno was wrong about fate.” The words disappeared and the whispers ceased, leaving Milo face to face with Harold.
“Whatever you are, I’m sure you can still die,” snarled Harold. He steadied the gun in his hand.
“You’re really gonna kill me, Harold?” asked Milo. “You want that blood on your hands? You want that police investigation? The media attention? The paperwork?”
Harold cackled like a deranged super villain. “You are breaking and entering into my home. And let’s be honest, you’re nobody.” He eyed Milo up and down, taking in the young man. “They’ll care even less with the law on my side and some cash lining their pockets.”
“Wow! Rich and corrupt. Shocking!” quipped Milo, sounding not the least bit shocked.
“So long, cat boy.” The gun fired. The pendant hanging from Milo’s neck glistened as if catching the quickest reflection of light. The words Catlike Reflexes Now Active appeared in Milo’s vision. Before the bullet could hit him, he grabbed the hilt of the umbrella hanging from his waist, swung upwards, and deflected the bullet. It ricocheted into the wall. Harold shot again. To Milo, it was as if the bullets were now moving in slow motion, giving him the time he needed to defend against them. Four more bullets fired only to be blocked one by one by the ultra-dense wood of the umbrella.
“Just die already!” Harold cried. He threw the empty gun to the side and grabbed for a long decorated sword hanging above one of the cabinets on a nearby wall. He pointed the sword at Milo, prepared to duel.
“I received three gold medals for fencing in my time at Duke,” said Harold proudly. Milo got the impression that he relished sharing this very unimportant information with anyone who would listen.
“Fancy,” said Milo. “I used to be a cat.”
“I prefer dogs,” spat Harold.
“I prefer men who don’t cheat on their wives with their secretaries,” said Milo. Harold’s face turned bright red. “Guess we both picked the wrong company today.”
They lunged at each other, Milo with his umbrella and Harold with his sword. The two weapons clashed, swinging and crashing into the chandelier above. Electrical sparks and glass showered the room. Milo twisted the hilt of the umbrella, expanding it to its full size, knocking Harold back.
Harold quickly recovered and leapt back into the fray, grabbing the umbrella, and spinning Milo and the weapon around so that Milo’s back was to the shattered window. Milo closed the umbrella and parried, avoiding a swipe from the sword. Harold’ eyes suddenly filled with a manic glee. Before Milo could understand why, Harold’s free hand whipped out and stabbed a steak knife into Milo’s stomach.
The pain shot through Milo’s whole body as a gasp escaped his lips.
Harold leaned into him and whispered in his ear. “Now get the hell out of my house.” Then he kicked Milo unceremoniously through the window.
Milo fell several stories towards the dark alley below. But just as he was about to slam into the ground, his tail spun, his body twisted, and he landed, crouched on the balls of his feet. He coughed and blood spewed from his mouth, spattering the pavement.
“Are you fucking kidding me!?” screamed Harold from above.
Milo stood, using his umbrella to support his wait, and pointed a middle finger up towards a raging Harold. “Nine lives bitch!” he yelled back. He wasn’t sure if he actually had nine lives, but if he did, this little stunt would certainly use up one of them. What was this, his fourth? Fifth? He’d lost count. He prodded the skin around the knife wound, then gripped the handle of the steak knife and yanked it free in one pull.
“Gah!” he cringed. He could already feel the minor cuts on his arms and legs closing up thanks to his “Licked Wounds” ability. The knife wound would take some extra attention. Luckily, it didn’t seem as though it had cut into anything important. At least he hoped it hadn’t. He was still standing, which was usually a good sign. Harold was still cursing wildly from the window above, but Milo no longer cared.
He turned and began stumbling down the alleyway, using the brick wall to steady himself.
He had a necklace to deliver, a payment to receive, and then it would be time to reward himself with a delicious dinner somewhere, and maybe a visit to Juno to get patched up. She lost her ability to do so magically when they all lost their powers, but she still knew her way around a bandage and a sewing kit.
He was also curious what had triggered the pendant on his collar, his relic, to activate suddenly after being dormant for so long. Had Arthur’s heir actually made it to the apartment? Had they managed to open the backpack? Had anyone else’s relics started working again? Even with all the curiosity spinning through his mind, he reminded himself that some curiosities could kill a cat.
He decided that his questions could definitely wait, at least until after breakfast.
I have SO much to say about Milo but I will try to keep some of it for future chapters. First and foremost, Milo was, at one point, a character in his own story. I had outlined a tale about Milo but felt it didn’t have enough to really make it a full story. This is also true of Juno as well. Eventually I would start to imagine them in a tale with Charlie and it all just seemed to click together. In some ways, Milo is the easiest character for me to write. He’s sharp and sassy and any time I am not sure what he would do, I just watch my cats for a few minutes and it all comes together.
I’m also excited that we get our first action scene in this chapter! Don’t worry, there are plenty more where that came from!
What do you think of Milo’s entrance into the world of Darkmoon Drive? Let me know in the comments!
A warm golden glow filled the room, radiating out from the backpack like sunshine on a summer day as Charlie unzipped it. Charlie had closed his eyes, afraid of what he might find in the backpack, but once he’d brought the zipper all the way to the opposite side of the backpack, he finally opened them again.
“Woah,” he gasped as the light spilled into his eyes. He held up a hand to shield them. After a moment, however, the glow gently subsided and then vanished. “Okay,” said Charlie, gulping down nothing but air as his mouth had gone completely dry with the mounting anxiety. “That’s super weird.” Charlie was not in the habit of talking to himself but things being as they were, it seemed to be the best way of keeping grounded and reassuring that everything happening was real.
He shook off the shock and, after a moment’s hesitation, reached a hand into the backpack. He felt two things that were rather odd. One was that the air inside the backpack was quite cold. The other was that the backpack seemed to have no bottom or even sides. No matter how far he reached in, he couldn’t manage to find an end to the space within the backpack. He pulled his arm back out, suddenly fearing that it would be torn off if he lingered a moment longer. He stepped away from the backpack and the table it sat on.
“What in the Mary Poppins bag from hell is this thing?” he whispered.
The tablet-like screen on the front of the backpack suddenly lit up and words appeared in the center of it, written in an analog-like script.
System Reset Complete!
The words vanished before Charlie had a moment to question them.
Relic Reset Complete! Level 1 Unlocked
“Level One?” he asked, tapping the screen with his forefinger. “Is this some kind of video game?” The words vanished again and were replaced with a menu-like list
New Creations Unlocked
Wooden Plank – Useful for creating other wooden Creations
Rope – Starting length: 25 ft. May be made longer by multiplying required materials.
Cardboard Box – A box made of cardboard.
Cup – Good for drinking out of. Beverage not included.
Pillow – Makes sleeping more comfortable
Tutorial: Select any Creation to display materials required to craft. Select Inventory to display current contents of Backpack. Creations may be crafted as many times as desired provided There are enough materials in Backpack inventory.
Actions which grant experience towards Level 2 Craft various Creations!
Charlie simply stared at the list, trying to understand how exactly a backpack was going to create a pillow or a cardboard box or any of the things that it was currently showing him for that matter. He reached out again and pressed the first item on the list: a wooden plank. The menu disappeared and was replaced by a new screen.
Wooden Plank Useful for Creating other Wooden Creations Materials Required – Wood Units x 2
Charlie eyed the prompt quizzically. What exactly made up a unit of wood? Now that he thought about it, where in New York City did one even get wood? It was odd to think of such a common commodity and not have any idea how one might acquire it. Was this something they carried at a home goods store? Did the people who worked in said store know what a unit of wood was? And even if he managed to actually acquire wood, did he really believe that if it was inside the backpack, he could press a button and have it built into something? That didn’t seem physically possible. He’d never heard of a contraption in the shape of a backpack that could turn random bits of wood into planks. As far as he knew, that required a saw of some sort, and he didn’t imagine there was a saw or a saw operator hiding inside the red bag.
As he eyed the backpack, pondering his plethora of questions, his eyes drifted to the chair sitting in front of the table. The wooden chair.
A long moment passed as Charlie contemplated the absolute insanity of considering that he might try to put a whole chair, one of the only two pieces of furniture currently in the apartment, into the backpack in order to create wooden planks. He began to pace back and forth in front of the table several times, turning around in circles now and then, before starting to pace again. He half expected someone to jump out and yell “Surprise!” and tell him that this was all just a silly stunt for a television show.
But no one did.
“Fine,” he said, finally stopping his nervous pacing. He had made up his mind. He wasn’t just going to stumble down this rabbit hole of insanity. He was going to run wholeheartedly into it. “You want wood? I’ll give you wood.” It occurred to him that a perfectly sane person probably wouldn’t speak to an inanimate backpack in this way, but then again, he felt as though sanity was slowly becoming less and less possible with every passing minute.
He picked up the chair and examined it. His eyes shifted to the backpack. There was no way the chair was going to fit. “Well, if we’re doing this, we’re doing this.” He lifted the chair high above his head. “Sorry grandpa,” he said and then swung the chair downwards, slamming it down onto the floor. There was a loud ‘bang’ as the chair clattered out of his hands. He stumbled backwards into the nearby wall in surprise at the sheer loudness of the impact. Charlie was not used to making loud noises or calling attention to himself in any way, and yet he had just made enough noise to wake up the entire apartment complex.
He noticed right away that the chair was still fully intact. The only damage that seemed to have been done was to the floor which now displayed a chip in the wood where the chair leg had landed.
“Really thought that would work,” he said, picking up the chair again. He eyed it, thinking of a different way he could break it apart, hopefully one with less loud noises. He placed one foot on the chair leg and grabbed onto another and then, putting his whole back into it, pulled upwards. For a long moment, nothing happened, but then, he gave a low grown and another pull and finally one of the legs snapped off with a ‘crunch.’
He stumbled backwards with the now free chair leg in hand. “Alright then,” he said. He turned the chair to one side and repeated the process with the second leg. It wasn’t easier this time, but he pushed onwards, breaking the second, then the third leg off the chair as beads of sweat began to roll down his forehead. Ripping off the last leg was also enough to separate the chair back from the seat as he put his body weight on the chair back to pull the leg free. The chair pieces now sat in a pile on the floor.
He eyed the destruction unhappily. “Great. Now I’m a chair murderer.” It was the first time in his adult life that he could remember actively breaking a piece of furniture. He had to admit, it felt cathartic. He quickly gathered up the pieces of the chair, and before he had a moment to contemplate how absolutely insane this all was, he shoved the pieces into the backpack. To his surprise, the bag seemed to suck them in almost like a vacuum.
Once all the pieces of the chair were placed in the bag, the screen flashed on again.
Inventory Update: + 4 Wood Units
Charlie made a mental note. A unit of wood was approximately a quarter of a chair. Charlie was proud to have discovered this, even if he couldn’t imagine what usefulness this information would provide. He swiped a finger across the screen, realizing that it functioned much the same as a phone or tablet screen, and was returned to the Creations page. He selected the ‘Wooden Plank,’ tapping on it, and watched as a small green progress bar appeared, quickly filled up, and then promptly announced with a golden glow:
Crafting Successful! +1 Wood Plank
Charlie stood and stared at the backpack, chewing his bottom lip as he waited for the wooden plank to appear. “Hello?” he said, annoyed. “I believe you owe me some wood!” The opened pack lit up with an almost reactionary golden light. “What am I supposed to do? Come in there and get it?” There was another flash. If he didn’t know better he would have sworn that the backpack might actually be trying to communicate with him. But that was absolutely absurd!
He stepped up to the backpack and, hoping he wasn’t about to lose a limb, reached past the open zipper into the backpack’s mouth. To his great surprise, he felt his hand wrap around something solid. Pulling his hand back out, he found a smooth wooden board which was about as wide as his hand and about as long as his arm. It was perfectly shaped as if cut by an electric saw and sanded smooth. He turned it over, admiring the craftsmanship.
“How is this possible?” he asked himself. “And what the hell am I supposed to do with it?”
“Oh, I’m sure you can come up with something.”
“Gah!” Charlie jumped practically out of his skin, turning towards the apartment door to see a young woman standing just inside it.
“Yikes! Somebody’s got the case of the jumps.” she said, walking into the room and looking around at the surprising lack of anything in the apartment. “Wow. This place is certainly different than I remember it. It’s like he never even lived here.”
Charlie, who held the plank up as if to defend himself from the girl, lowered it and relaxed a bit. “You … knew my grandfather?”
A kind smile spread across her face, suddenly making Charlie feel at ease. “Arty was your grandfather? Seriously?”
“I … er … yes,” said Charlie who felt a pang of jealousy that this stranger in a sundress apparently had a close enough relationship with his grandfather that she had a nickname for him. “Arthur Cole was my grandfather,” he said, feeling as if he were claiming a total stranger.
“Incredible!” she exclaimed. She spun around the room, searching for something that wasn’t there, or perhaps just remembering the things that once were. He noticed she had a violin-shaped case hanging by a strap from her back.
“So you knew him then?” Charlie asked again.
“Oh sure. Everyone in the apartment did.” She suddenly stopped moving, noticing the backpack on the table. Then she looked up at Charlie and snapped her fingers. “So that’s it! That’s why my uke started working again! You opened the backpack!”
“I … uh … yes?” he said, feeling more and more like an imposter in someone else’s story.
“I was starting to think no one ever would,” she said. “Not for nothing, but when we couldn’t hunt down even one of Arthur’s heirs we all tried to open it at some point. Milo especially. He … well, I think he thought he’d be the one to … but I suppose that doesn’t matter now.”
“Milo? Was he … related to my grandfather somehow?” Charlie had never heard of a relative named Milo, but then he hadn’t heard of any of these people or this building until today so it wouldn’t have surprised him if he had a long lost cousin, twice removed.
“Oh no,” she shook her head. “But they were close. I mean, Arthur loved Milo like a son even before he turned into a … well …” she cleared her throat. “I suppose I ought to let Milo tell you that story.”
Charlie suddenly wondered if his grandfather had some sort of relationship with another man. Perhaps that was something he and his grandfather had in common? He felt his hopes rise and then fall again as he realized it would be one more thing they’d never get to discuss.
“So what have you made with it so far?” asked the girl. “Anything cool?”
Charlie stared at her for a long moment. Technically he understood all of the words she was using but the question still felt strangely like it was being spoken in a foreign language. “Sorry. Made anything? I don’t think I understand—”
“With the backpack!” she said, pointing at the open pack behind him. “Arty used to make incredible things with it. He made my ukeytar with it! Milo’s pendant. Mama’s dominoes. Harriet’s cabinet. Everyone living in this building has something that came out of that very backpack.”
“Oh, well…” Charlie held up the wooden plank, feeling both proud and incredibly embarrassed of the item all at the same time. “I made this wooden board … thing.”
She peered at it, inspecting the wood closely, then looked into his eyes and let out a soft giggle. “Very impressive.”
He wasn’t sure if she was being sincere or making fun of him but he chose to take it as a compliment. “I thought so too.” For the first time since he’d arrived at Darkmoon Drive, he felt his body relax, and he even allowed himself a small smile. “I’m Charlie, by the way. Charlie Cole”
“Juno,” she said. “Juno De La Cruz.”
He held out his hand, but to his surprise, she gave him a big, tight hug. “Sorry Charlie. Mama’s rules. In this house, we hug.”
It was the first genuine hug he’d received in a very long time, and while every part of his introverted self screamed out to run and hide, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly comforted by it. She patted his back and then pulled away. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“You too,” he said. He expected the next moment to be one of awkward silence, but Juno quickly pressed onward without missing a beat.
“Now, wood planks are exciting and all, but maybe you could try making something a little more…”
“Useful?” he asked.
“I was going to say practical, but I like where your head’s at.”
Charlie scratched his neck. “Honestly, I would love to make something else, but it can only make, like, five things. I needed materials to make them and all I had was the wooden chair. Which I broke … and fed to the backpack.” He paused. “And I am now realizing that I no longer have a place to sit.”
“Hmm, interesting,” said Juno thoughtfully. “When Arty used it, he could make all sorts of things.”
“Well it did say it was only level one, so maybe it needs to … level up?” Charlie often enjoyed playing video games and when he’d been in college he’d even been in a Dungeons and Dragons club. If there was one thing any gamer worth their salt understood, it was that in order to get stronger, one had to gain experience to level up. This was the way a character in a game gained new skills and abilities. He wasn’t sure how this translated to something like a backpack, or even how it translated to the real world, but it seemed to make sense that if he could ‘level up’ the backpack, he might be able to create more things with it.
“My relic reverted to level one as well,” said Juno who seemed to be doing mental gymnastics to make all this information make sense. “I’m willing to bet everyone’s relics reset! And if that’s true, then maybe the backpack resetting to level one is what triggered it. Maybe we all have to start over again.” She pursed her lips. “It’s like Arthur’s death not only took away our relics’ abilities but also our progress, and now you being here has hit some kind of global reset button.”
“I love your enthusiasm, but I think I should take this moment to tell you that I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Charlie, who’s mind was spinning.
“Which part?” she asked.
“All of the parts.”
“Okay,” she said, pressing her hands down her dress. “What exactly did Arthur tell you?”
He gulped down the sudden emotions that bubbled up in his chest. “He didn’t tell me anything. I didn’t have a relationship with my grandpa. He sent a card sometimes on my birthday, but that was it. He and my mom didn’t get along because she, and everyone else in the family, thought he was crazy.” He paused. “Which is now starting to make a hell of a lot of sense. I didn’t even know he was dead until yesterday when these keys mysteriously showed up in a box outside my place.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key-filled keychain to show her.
Juno groaned. “I knew I should have managed the hand-off. I told Milo just leaving them for the heir to find without any explanation would be weird.”
“Wait. This Milo guy left the keys for me?”
“Well I’m assuming so,” she replied. “I haven’t seen him today, but I know he was looking for Arthur’s heir to give the keys to. So if you have them, then I’d just assume he was the one who left them for you. But he always said that if he found you, he’d just leave them and let fate decide what happened next and … well you know how cats can be? Everything’s a game with them!”
Charlie’s eyes narrowed, his brain working overtime to process what Juno was saying. “So Milo … is … a cat?”
Juno chewed on her lip and then took a deep breath. “I think maybe we should start from the beginning.”
“Ya think?” asked Charlie. “I think we could probably go a couple steps before the beginning at this point. I could use an introduction and a prologue. I’d even take a dedication page or a meaningful pre-story quote at this point.”
“Ohhh,” she cooed. “Literary humor. I like that.”
“Just assume I know nothing.”
“Got it.”
“Because I don’t … know anything … at all.”
“Understood,” said Juno. “But you should probably sit down.”
Charlie stared at her in disbelief.
“Oh, right,” she smacked a hand to her forehead. “You fed the chair to the backpack. Sorry, I forgot.”
“Why don’t we just sit on the counters in the kitchen?” asked Charlie.
“Great idea!” she snapped. They moved to the small kitchen and both of them lifted themselves to sit facing each other on opposite counters.
“Okay, so starting from the beginning.” Juno took a deep breath and then began. “Your grandfather was an inventor. He made things, built things, created things. But he was also an adventurer. The story, as most of us know it, is that many years ago he went on an expedition to some faraway place, and when he came back to the states, he brought with him something he found on his expedition: a backpack. And this backpack looked totally normal, but it was actually anything but. See, this backpack could do the hard work of making things for him. All he had to do was imagine something, feed the backpack a few materials and, like magic, he could pull his creations out of it.”
“So you’re saying the backpack is some sort of … wish granting machine?” asked Charlie.
“I suppose you could say that, but there are rules of course. I don’t know everything, but you’ve already experienced the main one. Nothing is free. At least at first. To get something out of the backpack, you have to pay a price. You have to provide the materials it asks for.”
“Any other rules I should know about?” asked Charlie, hoping to glean as much information as he could from Juno.
“The only other one I know for sure is that the backpack has no limit to how much it can hold. You can put as many things in it as you want and it will never get full. And just because you put in the wood to make your plank, doesn’t mean you have to craft the plank then and there. As long as the materials are in the pack, you can create the thing you want whenever you’re ready.”
“That … sort of makes sense,” said Charlie. “I mean, it actually makes no sense, but I’m going to pretend that it does for the sake of this conversation.”
“Love that,” said Juno. “So, as I was saying, he brought that backpack back to the states and, as you can imagine, it took the science world by storm. Everyone wanted to get their hands on it. But your grandpa wasn’t having it. He wanted to use the backpack for good, but he knew that if scientists started running experiments on the thing, pretty soon it would end up in the hands of the billionaires funding those experiments. Unfortunately, his beliefs basically got him blacklisted by the scientific community. So, instead of striking it big for his discovery, he struck out on his own and built this instead.” She motioned to everything around them. “A place where he could help people on his own terms.”
“Wait, you’re saying my grandpa built this whole building … using that backpack?” Charlie was completely baffled. How had something that had so far only managed to make him a piece of smooth wood been used to create all of Darkmoon Drive?
“And that’s only part of what he made,” she said. “Every single person here has a special item that came out of that backpack that helped us to be the person we were meant to be.” At this, she reached behind her and pulled the instrument case around her body so that it sat in her lap. She popped open the metal clasps and lifted the lid of the case to reveal an instrument that was half ukulele and half keyboard. “We call them relics, and this one is mine.”
Charlie eyed the instrument and then looked up at her. “So every single person in the apartment has one of these?”
“Well, not an instrument, but a relic of some kind. That’s what we call them, what Arthur called them. Something made just for the person it’s for,” said Juno. “Mine just happens to be a ukeytar.”
“And you can create things with this? Like I can with the backpack?”
“Oh no, my uke just makes music but that music can … shift reality for those who hear it. Not to mention cast a few spells, heal some light wounds. Mama always used to have me heal her up after she cut herself slicing tomatoes.”
“So you’re like … a bard?” asked Charlie. He decided that he would think of everything in terms of games since it seemed to make everything easier to understand.
“I prefer musical muse,” she said with a wry grin.
“So then you can also level this thing up?” he asked. “How do you do that?”
“I just play mostly,” she said. “For musicians, the best way to get better is to practice, and I like to push myself with various musical styles to challenge my skills. Those same rules apply for leveling up my ukeytar.”
“I don’t think I can just practice making wood planks with different kinds of wood all day and expect to level up.” Charlie imagined himself making wooden plank after wooden plank until his apartment was filled with them. It was not an appealing prospect.
“You could make some other things? Maybe if you make a few different creations, you’ll open up some new options.”
“The backpack did mention that crafting various creations would help me level up,” he sighed. “But I don’t have any of the right materials. I mean, I guess I could go out and buy some stuff, but I also don’t really have any money.”
If you’ve ever heard me talk about this story on social media, you probably know I’ve mentioned it being inspired by things like Harvest Moon and Stardew Valley. I think this is very hard to understand until we get to this chapter. Now, hopefully, all of that is starting to make more sense!
I love this chapter because we FINALLY get a look into the lore of this world and what you can expect to see from the progression side of this tale. I also really love the relationship between the main characters and this is really the start of Charlie and Juno’s friendship.
If you enjoyed these chapters, feel free to like and comment! I’d love to hear what your thoughts are so far! Next week we’ll meet another new character and I can’t wait because he’s one of my faves in the whole series!!
Charlie’s decision to end his own life was not sudden or unforeseen in any way. He’d been considering the possibility; the pros, the cons and the means of doing so for months, years even. There was a time when Charlie was younger than his now 27 years when he simply knew as a matter of indisputable fact that he would not live to see ‘old age.’ He would never experience senior discounts, an AARP memberships or retirement in Florida. He also knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, his demise would not come at the hands of a car accident, an incurable tumor or another person. His climactic scene in this world would be one of his own making. He accepted this as fact, but locked it away in his mind only to contemplate every now and then. Anytime things got too hard or he had a particularly bad day, the thought would resurface.
Is today my last day?
When his father left them, she took it out on him. Despite him only being a child at the time, she’d screamed and raged at him, telling him how much she hated him and how it was his fault for ever being born, for ever having the audacity to exist in the first place. As if this were something Charlie chose to do out of spite. She would lock him out of the apartment, without his key, so that he was forced to wander the streets of Queens in search of a dry, not to mention safe, spot to spend the night. Usually he would land on one of the many public benches overlooking Astoria Park.
Is today my last day?
When the man he’d spent four years dating, two years living with, and was fully prepared to marry and adopt children, two cats, and a dog with, broke up with him over a text message. This man had decided that instead of marrying Charlie he was going to move across the world to be with a six-foot-tall German adonis that he met online. Apparently they’d been talking for months, but he hadn’t got around to telling Charlie because “There was never a good time.” Charlie was forced to move back home with his mother who’d barely even noticed his absence, only that the chores around the apartment weren’t getting done as regularly as she liked. “Oh you’re back?” She said when he walked in the door with two suitcases and a backpack holding all his worldly belongings. Everything else belonged to his now ex. “Can you take out the trash? It’s really piling up.” No hug. No ‘What happened sweetie?’ Simply a request to take out the trash. Ironic since at that precise moment Charlie felt as if he were the trash.
Is today my last day?
When he’d been fired, again, from a job he hated. He’d been working as a Human Resources consultant for a clothing company, a job which he had exactly no qualifications for, and finally decided to report his boss for a myriad of infractions towards himself and other employees including discrimination, hostility, and hurling a mannequin down a flight of stairs at one of the cleaning people because there was dust on one of the shelves. This complaint somehow resulted in her being promoted and him being terminated. It was ironic because he’d wanted to leave the job for months but couldn’t possibly leave because he needed the money to feed both himself and his mother. His mother was on disability leave with reduced pay, but she spent her meager income on cigarettes and celebrity magazines. It was up to Charlie to provide things like food and pay for trivialities like heat and water. There was no telling how long they would manage with him out of work.
Is today my last day?
He’d hoped to get himself out there and even attempted to go on a date or two. He’d gone on three dates with a guy he thought was actually something special, only to find out that the guy thought his name was ‘Chauncey’ the entire time. While they sat at an overpriced Manhattan restaurant, this man had been calling out to ‘Chauncey’ over and over again, asking him what he wanted to order. Charlie had been sitting there, like a moron, looking around for this Chauncey person. He’d corrected the man, and it was awkward, but he’d apologized, and Charlie had tried to chalk it up to a simple mistake. Later that night, they were in bed together for the first time, when the man whispered “You like that Chauncey?” This guy, who on their first date bragged that he’d memorized every lyric to Hamilton couldn’t even remember his very common name. Charlie ran from the apartment, forgetting his cell phone along the way. This meant the next day he had to awkwardly go back and retrieve it.
The second guy, who had seemed very kind over messages on the dating app where they connected, he met at a cafe on the west side, only to be told immediately “Sorry, but I thought, from your photos, that you were better looking.”
Is today my last day?
But on all of those days, the answer had ultimately been “No.” Those incredibly challenging days had not, in fact, been his last day, because today, the first cold day of the year in the middle of October, was the day.
His credit cards were maxed out. He was drowning in student loan debt. His English degree might as well have been toilet paper because at least then it would have been put to some kind of use. And none of this was even taking into account the absolute terrifying mess that had become the world around him. Every day seemed to bring a new hell that made everything seem even more hopeless. Just when things seemed as though they couldn’t get any worse, they got worse. So much worse.
He’d managed to get a new job, only to lose it a week later when he’d arrived three minutes late due to his subway train stalling. He was cold and tired. Any one of these bad things might have been manageable on their own, but all together over a short period of time and then compounded by Charlie’s already raging depression and anxiety, they created a self-loathing cocktail of doubt, fear, destruction and the unbearable need to escape from it all. And to add insult to injury, not one but two pigeons had defecated on him as he walked down the street.
It was degrading, as if the heavens saw his misfortune and decided to spit on him just to make sure he got the point. But Charlie understood perfectly. And he was done.
Today was his last day.
He left home just past midnight. He’d written a note addressed to his mother and propped it on the dining room table atop the mountain of unpaid bills and then left without another word. He walked for a while, letting his feet guide him to lower Manhattan, in the direction of the Brooklyn Bridge where he now stood. He climbed over the fence and barrier railing, past where people were allowed to be for their own safety, and stood with his feet on the very edge of the bridge’s metal beams. His arms stretched out to either side of himself, his hands holding onto the railing. All he had to do now was work up the courage to let go.
The old metal of the bridge felt icy on his hands. His wavy chestnut hair fluttered over his forehead and eyes in the light breeze. His denim jacket and grey beanie did nothing to keep the chill from his bones. He only imagined the black water below would be far worse. But he couldn’t think about that now. Just a moment of bravery. That was all he needed. He just had to let go. His breath furled out in front of him like mist in the cold night air. Horns honked. Sirens blared from somewhere distant within the concrete jungle.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, catching him off guard.
By now it was nearing two in the morning. Who could be texting him at two in the morning? He held tight to the railing with his left hand, using his right to pull the phone from his pocket. The screen lit up as soon as it recognized his face.
MOM: Where are you?
Never once had his mother wondered where he was unless she was short on cash or couldn’t find her lighter. Well, she’d just have to figure out everything on her own now.
Today was his last day.
He sighed and lowered the phone, ready to replace it in his pocket, when another text came through.
MOM: Come home.
A moment went by as three dots appeared, indicating that she was typing another message.
MOM: Not that you care, but your Grandpa is dead.
As he read the words on the screen again, his breath caught, and a shiver ran through his entire body. Suddenly, he felt his grip on the railing slipping. He spun wildly, flailing, desperate to grab a hold of the rail, a beam, a cable running up and down the bridge, or anything really. In the wild frenzy, the phone flew out of his hand. He caught himself from falling, and watched as his phone spun through the air—all the way down to the water below and disappeared with an almost imperceptible plop beneath the surface of the East River.
“Dammit,” he said under his breath. All his photos were on that phone. His high-level character on Genshin Impact was on that phone. Every phone number he’d never gotten around to memorizing was on that phone. Every message he’d ever sent. Every message he hadn’t sent. All the bookmarks and the to-do lists and the apps. So many apps. They were all just … gone.
He wasn’t sure if it was the realization that he’d just lost a phone full of minor conveniences he might want for the future, most of which were probably saved to the cloud anyway, or the fact that he’d watched the phone fall for what seemed like hours before hitting the water, or that he’d just learned of his grandfather’s death. Perhaps it was even that the wind had picked up more now, chilling every inch of him from his face to his toes. But Charlie Cole realized in that moment a very important fact, one that he would someday realize altered the course of his life from that moment forward.
Today was NOT his last day.
He pulled himself back over the railing, back onto the pedestrian path that led from one end of the bridge to the other and started the slow, melancholy walk back to the Q Train which would take him home.
He hadn’t known his grandfather all that well. The old man kept to himself and rarely reached out, sending a card on holidays and Charlie’s birthday when he remembered. He knew his mother didn’t have a great relationship with the man, calling him a nut job, a deadbeat, and all sorts of other nasty names.
As he reached the subway station and descended the stairs to the platform, a fleeting thought occurred to him. Charlie wondered, for just the briefest moment, if the old man had left him something. Not something of value. Charlie imagined that if the old man had money to help them, he would have done it while he was alive. But perhaps something to help make his absence make sense. A letter, or a journal, or even an old photo which held some sort of family secret.
But then, his grandfather could have sent any of those things to Charlie and his mother when he was still alive. There was no reason to think that the old man’s death would be the tipping point for some sort of sudden revelation.
He resolved that his grandfather hadn’t left him anything and that was that. Charlie and his mother would probably have to go to some stuffy funeral, and everyone would apologize for their loss, even though Charlie hadn’t really lost anything because he’d never had anything with the man to lose. Then things would go back to normal. And for Charlie, normal usually meant unbearable. Before long he imagined he would surely be asking himself the same old question.
Is today my last day?
But Charlie, as it turned out, could not have been more wrong.
This section is where I will take some time at the end of each chapter to chat with all of you. Some of these might be a sentence long. This one will be a bit longer since it is, of course, the very first.
First of all, I want to humbly welcome you all to The Relics of Darkmoon Drive! I’ve posted the first three chapters on day one because I think by the end of them you’ll have a much better idea where this story is headed. They were originally one chapter but at some point in the writing process I decided to make the chapters (or at least most of them) more bite size so it’s easier to get caught up if you miss an update!
While this chapter (and this entire book) is a work of fiction, Charlie’s feelings of desperation and his desire to give up on life all reflect how I felt the night I originally imagined this story nearly ten years ago. A lot has changed for me and this story in that time, but it’s birth place in my mind has always remained the same, and thus, I wanted that to be the point where Charlie’s story begins. For Charlie, what keeps him alive to see tomorrow is an ominous text message. For me, it was the idea of this story which for many years was called simply “The Backpack.”
The Backpack went through more versions, drafts, and failed attempts than anything else I’ve ever written. For many years, I simply decided I would never actually write it. And now here we are and it is bigger, wilder and so much more than I ever thought possible on that cold New York night when it first came to me.
I want to thank my husband Carl for being a huge part of the creative process on this and all the other books I’ve written so far, and all the books I will write in the future, because according to him this one isn’t my last even though some days I swear it will be. I also want to thank my friends Yuting, LaQuita and Ryan for encouraging me everyday to write this story, reading early drafts and believing in me even when I don’t, which is often. Thank you to Mari for their work on the incredible character art pieces and cover art for this first part of the story and for helping me to bring these characters to life for the first time. And of course thank you to my Mother and Grandmother who read everything I write even when it’s a little too weird and wild for them. That’s enough thank you’s. Let’s talk about something else.
Each chapter will allow comments so let me know what you think! Eventually I hope to also have polls for side stories and things of that nature though much more of that will be part of the Patreon.
Speaking of which: the Patreon for this project is currently super limited. If there’s something you think would make a good edition to that, and something you’d be willing to help support Darkmoon Drive for, please let me know! I’m new to Patreon and welcome thoughts and suggestions. Please know, however, that reading new chapters will ALWAYS be free, though I would like to eventually allow Patreons early access.
That’s enough out of me! Click the link below to continue to the next chapter and find out what happens to poor Charlie. Thank you for reading and welcome to The Relics of Darkmoon Drive!
