The Cloaked Man

Chapter 1: The Trip

“Is everything packed?” Dad called from the other room.

“Almost,” I answered.

We would be going on a vacation. My father, Dr. Norman Wright, recently acquired free tickets for us. He is a tall, muscular guy. His green eyes are passed down to me, though his was a tone darker. He is never seen without a large, brown briefcase that no one, except him, can open. If you tried opening his briefcase, you might find yourself being smacked by it (or him), literally. If you ask what’s in it, he will be miraculously deaf until the subject is changed. He also has an uncanny ability to read minds, because he can always anticipate if I was about to steal food from the fridge.

Then someone suddenly shouted.

“– DIDN’T I TELL YOU NOT TO BRING YOUR PHONE ON THE VACATION? WHAT IS IT DOING IN YOUR POCKET?!”

That’s my mother, Mrs. Mary Wright. She’s a short, plump woman, with nice, hazel eyes. She is so beautiful, despite the height, and nice to everyone, though slightly marred by the fact that she always has a reason to shout at someone in the house (which might be the reason why no one lives next door).

“But Mom, I will just use it on times we are not on the move! We’re not always busy there, are we?” my sister retorted. She’s not afraid of Mom anymore. We are now used to her shouting.

My sister, Becca Wright, is a tall, pretty girl who got Mom’s eyes. Her long, dark hair always shines whatever angle you look at it from. She always has headphones on, listening to her music everywhere, may it be classic, rock or modern. Her friends always visit her in the house, which thoroughly irritated me as they giggle loudly at the sitting room while I study, then eat all my favorite snacks in the counter. After that, they will borrow the computer from me while I use it, mainly used for uploading their photos, which makes me sick.

“Oh, okay. But I’ll arrange the time limits,” Mom finally threw in the towel. Even if she is strict, she still has a kind heart. It’s just my misfortune I can’t see that part much. (Dad coughed. He read my mind, I think.)

The first hour of the trip to the outing place hasn’t been so much fun. The uneven road rocked the rusty, dilapidated Jeep so much I hardly slept. The view, an endless barren landscape, is not so fun to watch either. No wonder Becca wants her phone brought.

Dad and Mom, on the other hand, look like they are enjoying; they keep a running commentary on everything we pass on: trees, animals, and insects.

“– See that American red squirrel, scientific name of Tamiasciurius hudsoniscus –”

“– How about that red oak, Quercus rubra –”

They droned on and on, barely knowing that Becca and I are not listening. They continued until, after hearing a yawn I had a job to stifle, they stopped. We just continued driving in silence, our minds wandering to everything that is happening on the place we just left.

We drove for some more kilometers in silence; the odometer showed it. I had been looking at the bleak outside; counting how many plants we will pass by. It was the time when the first thing of something unusual – which always happens – appeared.

A large animal is coming straight into us. I thought at first it is a stray bull, before I saw that it is – no, they are – elephants. Five, huge grey elephants with their trunks waving and trumpeting loud noises. Their bed-size ears are flapping wildly, and I think I know how it feels if those sharp tusks hit me in my chest.

I looked at the others; they are staring too at the elephants. I knew that we are thinking the same thing: we’ll be shish kebabs if they reached us. Dad drives a little bit faster to get away as far as possible.