Chapter 2

THE INVISIBLE HAND

Months went by, winter turned into spring, spring turned to summer, motionless and sticky hot. Everything in New York City seemed ordinary, except what was happening in the Bokimble apartment that overlooked Central Park, where nothing was ever “ordinary.”

Mr.Bokimble continued his elaborate “smelling” experiments in his den, where he was attempting to manufacture a spray that would make smells visible. Eversince he was a young man, Mr. Bokimble had a keen olfactory sense. He could identify any smell or any combination of odors – a first-order aroma expert. If there was an unusual smell somewhere, Mr. Bokimble knew exactly what was causing it – “that’s a wacky waft of unwashed hair, honey–baked ham, and leftover bean curd, with an underlying hint of wet sock.” His nose was very,very small but incredibly powerful. Some even say Mr. Bokimble’s nose was too small or freakishly small – “just two tiny holes in a round face.” He endured alot of abuse as a child, but eventually, Mr. Bokimble and his wee nose were hired by perfume companies to create enticing scents. Just recently, he started his dream project – creating “The Smelluminator” – a product that could be sprayed into the air, making any smell (or combination of smells) visible and identifiable by a certain color or colors. If the air was filled with a smell of dog poo, one could spray Mr. Bokimble’s spray and see the dog dropping “smell” and avoid it. If the air was filled with the wonderful aroma of roses, one could spray Mr. Bokimble’s spray and see the rose smell and walk directly into it. But at this point he was still years away from finding the right formula for “The Smelluminator” and working long hours in his home lab to create it.

While Mr. Bokimble worked on his smelling solution, Mrs. Bokimble made decisions forpeople on her famous Internet site –I’LLMAKETHEDECISIONSYOUCAN’T.COM. It was a simple webpage, where people who had trouble making daily decisions would log on and ask Mrs. Bokimble to make choices for them. A man from Italy had just asked Mrs. B what color sock he should wear to work – blue stripped or woollyred. A woman from Oklahoma had recently asked Mrs. Bokimble if she should eat refried beans, canned ham or pea soup as a midnight snack. Mrs. Bokimble answered quickly – “pea soup.” The woman was ecstatic.

As the Bokimble parents both worked in their home, baby Jack was always nearby, growing into a healthy boy. But every day since his birth, a countless number of peculiar events plagued the Bokimble’s once-cozy residence. More toys were broken (164 to be exact, not including the truck). Glasses dropped off shelves in the kitchen at an alarming rate (89 approximately). Picture frames fell off the walls in the living room (3 Kandinskys and a grotesque imitation Picasso). The Bokimbles couldn’t explain why any of this was happening and they were growing very concerned.

It wasn’t until Jack was nine months old that the most peculiar, of all the peculiar things, came to pass. This peculiarity wasn’t one single event. It was a culmination of numerous phenomena, a series of strange sightings and feelings. An unseen presence had entered the Bokimble home and was wandering about creating the ever-increasing havoc.

Now this may sound very unlikely, and indeed quite bizarre, but here goes anyway – Mr. and Mrs. Bokimble began to feel an invisible baby’s hand as Mrs. Bokimble described it, moving about their apartment freely.

It happened frequently at night when that now-familiar white moon was out, providing soft light to the dark hours. It was downright eerie, completely weird, and inexplicably intrusive. Mrs. Bokimble encountered the so–called invisible babyhand first while she was on her computer making a decision for a woman who couldn’t decide if she should trim her nostril hair before or after dinner.

“Tiny fingers, tiny fingers like Jack’s, running softly over my face, grabbing my hair, pulling my nose while I was working. It never hurts. I can’t see it. ButI can feel it! It’s an invisible baby hand in our home!”

“It’stime you saw a doctor, Lady Luscious Love Handles,” Mr. Bokimble joked.

It wasn’t long before Mr. Bokimble felt that “invisible hand” too. It cracked him hard in the face one night when he was lying on the couch enjoying a nap after a long day of arduous aroma work. Another night, at dinner, the “invisible hand” stuck its finger in his ear, then swiftly picked his left nostril, as if searching for treasure. (It found none, by the way.)

Suffice it to say, Mr. Bokimble was frightfully convinced that something very strange was going on. He undoubtedly believed there was a bugger of a ghost, with a wacky fetish for breaking toys, glasses, and paintings. The tiny ghost also seemed to enjoy hurling food (Gerber’s sweet-potato mash preferably), and becoming a wee bit too familiar with the inner workings of his left nostril.

Mr. Bokimble decided there was only one thing for the Bokimbles to do.

“It’s time to move, Fantastically Freckly Faced Female. This home is clearly haunted,” he said reluctantly to his wife after the ghostly hand invaded hisleft nostril once again.

“I know. But I’ve really liked this place. It would’ve been a great place for Jack to grow up,” Mrs. Bokimble said remorsefully. She then added hopefully, “Maybe the ghost will go away.”

Just then, just as she said that, WHAM! A painting fell off the wall as if the alleged ghost tenant was delivering an affirmation of his presence and his plans to stay put.

“I’m sorry to say but we’re definitely going to have to move,” Mr. Bokimble saidrather miserably.

As the Bokimbles glumly exited the living room that night, they failed to notice a clue that would have helped them understand all the strangeness that had unfolded over the last several months. Jack was waving his hands over his head happily. The moonlight behind him was alive and romping and projecting his shadow on the wall upon which that painting once hung.

“WHAT WAS THE CLUE?”

“You’re quite impatient, aren’t you?”

“TELL ME THE CLUE! PLEASE!”

“The clue was this – a shadow.”

“Baby Jack’s shadow?”

“Yes, his shadow.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You will soon enough.”

“I sense a storytelling trick.”

“Trust me, please.”

“I hope I’m in good hands with you. I’ve been let down many times. I’M WEARY!”

Baby Jack’s shadow was not an ordinary shadow like yours or mine. Jack’s shadow was significantly darker, a velvety sable, and much more well–defined. It seemed, in some inexplicable way, stronger, heavier, more powerful than a regular shadow.

Unfortunately, no one saw Jack’s shadow that night. The Bokimbles wouldn’t see it or realize what it was capable of for some time. So their questions about the truck, the“invisible hand,” and the ghostly presence were left unresolved.

Next Chapter: Chapter 3