Flora & Ulysses

Her father pulled the car into the driveway and cut the engine. The windshield wipers let out a surprised squeak and then froze in midwave. The rain slowed to a trickle. The sun came out from behind a cloud and then disappeared again, and the smell of ketchup melded with butterscotch rose with a gentle persistence from the seats of the car.

“Here we are,” said her father.

“Yep,” said Flora. “Here we are.”

412 Bellegrade Avenue.

It was the house that Flora had lived in for the whole of her life.

But something was different about it; something had changed.

What was it?

Ulysses crawled up onto her shoulder. She put her hand on him.

The house looked sneaky somehow, almost as if it were up to no good.

Foreboding.

That was the word that popped into Flora’s head.

The house seemed full of foreboding.

“Do inanimate objects (couches, chairs, spatulas, etc.) absorb the energy of the criminals, the wrongdoers among whom they live?” The Criminal Element had queried in a recent issue.

“It is, of course, entirely unscientific to assume such a thing. But still, we are forced to admit that in this woeful world, there exist objects with an almost palpable energy of menace . . . spatulas that seem cursed, couches that contain literal and metaphorical stains of the past, houses that seem to perpetually groan and moan for the sins contained in their environs. Can we explain this? No. Do we understand this? We do not. Do we know that criminals exist? We do. We are also terribly (and unfortunately) certain that the criminal element will be Forever Among Us.”

And the arch-nemesis, thought Flora, the arch-nemesis will be forever among us, too. Ulysses’s arch-nemesis is in that house right now.

“Do you remember the Darkness of 10,000 Hands?” Flora said to her father.

“Yep,” said her father. “He wields 10,000 hands of anger, greed, and revenge. He is the sworn enemy of Incandesto.”

“He’s Incandesto’s arch-nemesis,” said Flora.

“Right,” said her father. “I tell you what. The Darkness of 10,000 Hands better stay away from our squirrel.”

He honked the horn.

“Home the warrior!” he shouted. “Home the cat-conquering, superhero squirrel!”

Ulysses puffed out his chest.

“Let’s go,” Flora said. “We have to do it. We have to face the arch-nemesis.”

“Right!” said her father. “Bravely forward!”

And he honked the horn again.