THE DISCOVERY

A few weeks later, after several more peculiar incidents, the Bokimbles were packed and ready to leave their apartment. It wasn’t until this sad day of departure that they finally saw the clue, and figured out that something extraordinary (even more extraordinary than a ghost) was in their home, causing all this strangeness.

The sky was a collage of white and black. Moonbeams strayed from their source, racing across the dark canvas of sky. Mrs. Bokimble was busy cleaning the living room, tidying up for the next family that would be moving in. Mr. Bokimble was in the kitchen, making sure everything was packed and ready to go. It was a melancholy day for the Bokimbles. They enjoyed living in this apartment and would miss it dearly.

Young Jack, so quiet you could almost forget he was even in the room, was sitting in his high chair in front of the window, sipping formula from his green baby bottle. He was eleven months old and starting to understand words.

“Sir Spits When He Speaks, could you get me a glass of water? I’m getting really thirsty from packing up,” Mrs. Bokimble asked her husband.

“I’ll bring it out in a minute,” Mr. Bokimble called from the kitchen.

Mrs. Bokimble continued her work, waiting patiently for a glass of water. It was at that moment that she heard:

“Baba!”

“Baba” is how young Jack pronounced the word bottle. He also pronounced other words rather funnily. Instead of saying “Daddy,” he said “Doody,” and instead of “Mommy,” he said “Mummenshantyboggerhornforknork” for some never–to–be–explained reason.

“Baba, Mummenshantyboggerhornforknork,” Jack said once again, as he moved his hand quite funkily in front of the bright white moon that hovered outside the window behind him, casting the shadow of his hand upon his baby bottle.

Mrs. Bokimble peered up at her son and smiled when she saw something that grabbed her attention. Something quite bizarre! She stood up, alerted.

“COME LOOK WHAT THE GHOST IS DOING!” Mrs. Bokimble shouted to her husband, her eyes dancing spastically.

Mr. Bokimble ran out of the kitchen, holding a glass of water for his wife. An amazing sight met his eyes as he entered the living room.

Suddenly, right in plain sight, Jack’s baby bottle moved across the room. It seemed to float slowly, but floating isn’t actually what it was doing. It glided or drifted across surfaces all by itself, or seemingly by itself. First, it travelled down Baby Jack’s high chair,

then along the floor,

then up the wall,

back down the wall,

and up Mrs. Bokimble’s body,

and right into Mrs. Bokimble’s left hand. It was as if the ghost had brought her something to quench her thirst!

“What a gracious ghost!”

“But wait! It wasn’t a ghost. Listen to this!”         

“BABA!” Jack said once again.

His parents remained frozen, like two ancient statues in a museum. This was the most phenomenal event they had ever witnessed. And as Mrs. Bokimble stood there, grasping the bottle, stuck in a tableau of pure bafflement, her husband saw SOMETHING. He rubbed his eyes, refocusing. He saw it! He had finally seen the clue!

“OH MY GOODNESS. YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS!” shouted Mr. Bokimble.

“What are you talking about, Brilliant Beautiful Bushy-Browed Bald Bloke?” Mrs. Bokimble wondered out loud dubiously.

“It hasn’t been a ghost all this time – it’s something even weirder! It’s little JACK! IT WAS OUR SON! Put the bottle on the couch, and WATCH THIS!” Mr. Bokimble said, his voice full of wonder. He then said, “Baba, Jackie, can I have Baba? I’m thirsty, too!”

Jack smiled. He lifted his right arm in front of that white moon’s beam, casting the shadow of his hand upon the bottle. And to everyone’s bafflement, the bottle floated down the side of the couch, gently clinging to his shadow. The bottle then glided along the floor, just as it did before, toward Mr. Bokimble, moving along the same route the shadow of Jack’s hand traveled. As the shadow and the bottle came toward him, Mr. Bokimble noticed the heavy, distinct sable color of his son’s shadow for the very first time.

During this most peculiar event, Mrs. Bokimble watched with terrified eyes. Without realizing it, she released a booming fart, which she had the tendency to do whenever becoming nervous or excited.

And by this time, the shadow hand and the bottle had travelled up Mr. Bokimble’s body, tickling him along the way, until he grabbed the bottle away from the shadow. He felt tiny shadow fingers release the bottle as he took hold of it. A cartoon might feel just like this, Mr. Bokimble thought. Tingly and soft and rugged and gentle, all at once.

“Baba, Doody!” Jack remarked from his chair. His parents stared at their son in stunned silence. Mrs. Bokimble farted again and again and again – releasing a furious flurry of frightened flatulence (some would say that Mrs. Bokimble’s tendency to fart under stress was the reason Mr. Bokimble was trying to create a spray that would make smells visible – but he would always deny that this was the reason).

But neither Mother nor Father reacted to the sound or hideous stink of the trumpeting gas blasts. They were too shocked by what just happened. It took eleven months, but at that moment Mr. and Mrs. Bokimble figured out what caused all those peculiar events in their home. It was their son, with his extraordinary power, who had done it all. That night long ago, what Mr. Bokimble had sensed in the air was the presence of his son’s unique shadow. It wasn’t a nagging ghost. It was Jack Bokimble. The boy who could move things,

and carry things,

and feel things,

and touch things,

and reach into places no one else in the whole world could, with his unique, all-powerful, wonderfully magical super-shadow.

“Fantastic! I never heard of such a thing! Something new! I like it”

 “Thank you!”

 “Don’t get too full of yourself yet. We’re still early in. Let’s see where you take it.”