Chapter 11
Lightning Boy and the Trail of Skulls
It was never good when Flora was waiting out in the driveway, especially when she was wringing a dishtowel.
“Miss, miss…. Patrick…. No school…. No Patrick… no children… all no children…”
She said much more than that.
I just didn’t understand the rest.
All of it was in Spanish.
It was enough.
My son was missing.
Patrick was his own special kind of child.
But when things go wrong with Patrick—they go really wrong.
“Flora, you…” I pointed to the ground.
“You stay here and wait for Patrick if he comes home.”
“Si, Patrick… casa.”
That’s covered.
My son is missing.
Where do I start?
The school.
Don’t take your bike.
He’s on foot.
You go on foot.
The walk to school went quickly.
My eyes were scanning the park.
There were kids everywhere.
There were never so many kids roaming free after school.
Each child had a maid or a mom.
Something feels very… off.
My son is missing.
I made it to the back door of the school where they release the kids.
The principal was there.
I hate her.
Don’t hate.
Breathless from the situation—not the walk—my words were rushed.
“Patrick is missing!”
“No, we just released school fifteen minutes early.”
Why would you do that? Was there a fire?
“Why would you do that?”
“We had an assembly, and it was over. It was easier just to release the kids.”
“Excuse me? That’s the most irresponsible thing I’ve heard.”
There was a crowd around me now—other parents without children.
They looked mad.
They agreed with me.
“Well, at the time it seemed like the best thing.”
“The parents aren’t here to get the kids that walk.
The maids aren’t here yet.
Patrick could be out there!”
“Why would any child go toward the gates?”
“Because he’s PATRICK!”
A mom grabbed me by the arm.
“He took off with Brant Staffer.”
That got the principal’s attention.
His dad was pretty high ranked.
“What way?”
She pointed toward the park.
I took off for the gate.
“Wait!” she called out.
I stopped mid-run and turned.
“I said they went the other way.”
“Yes, but—”
“It isn’t just Patrick and Brant. Those guards need to know that kids are unattended. They might not go through the gate—if they are on base, they are probably safe. Out there?”
I took off running.
It was close enough to see.
Getting there was fast.
“Short Straw!”
“Short Straw! The kids were let out fifteen minutes early.
The maids weren’t there and the kids went home unescorted.”
He stood at the corner of the yellow box painted around the official guard shack area.
“What? Why?”
“It’s that principal.
She thought it was a good idea.
My son’s somewhere on base—I have to go find him.
I just need to know he can’t make it outside.”
“We’ve got this covered.”
I took off running.
Straight to in front of the school.
He loves walking down the big stairs.
Across the driveway.
Towards the park.
There!
He was there.
I’m reading tracks on the ground.
It may sound unbelievable to people who don’t know my son—but I have learned his footprints.
It wasn’t something I set out to learn.
It happened by accident.
It was Memorial Day.
We were at a family graveyard with my in-laws.
My mother-in-law nearly had a heart attack.
She was white as a sheet and pointing toward the ground.
“I thought I was imagining things—but these skulls keep turning up in the dirt!
Come look! There are more than there used to be. It was only one to begin with.”
Everyone went to see.
Sure enough—skulls in the dirt.
Four or five. Scattered.
Different graves.
Wait a minute.
That’s a pattern.
These prints are everywhere Patrick was.
“Son, come here.”
It took Patrick a minute to get anywhere.
He believed in taking the most interesting route possible.
“Show me the bottom of your shoes.”
Brand-new Goosebumps tennis shoes.
On the bottom, a skull.
Relief.
Granny felt instantly better.
This type of Patrick chaos was familiar to me.
I somewhat relaxed when I found the first print in the sand.
He ran toward the swings.
I ran toward the swings.
Skulls everywhere.
I need a single pair.
Spaced far apart.
Patrick running.
There.
The chin up bars.
The slide next.
Prints toward the grass.
Direction.
Not home… toward…
Brant’s!
I ran to Brant’s house and rang the bell.
I could hear the oldest brother upstairs.
He didn’t go to school with the others.
His mother homeschooled him.
He was shouting “Hello!” from a third-floor window.
The colonel’s houses on this side of base were massive.
The door swung open. Brant’s mother answered.
“Hello!”
“Hi—is Patrick here?”
“No, he dropped Brant off.
Wasn’t that sweet?
He said that he didn’t want his friend to get lost.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“He took off for your house. I’m surprised you didn’t pass him.”
“I didn’t come from that direction. I’ll head there now.”
I took off running.
I knew he was safe.
I ran anyway.
“Call me and let me know he’s safe!” she shouted.
I threw a thumbs-up over my shoulder and kept going.
I saw that Patrick was in the driveway.
He was pacing.
I ran to him.
“Hey! You had quite an adventure!”
“Mom! They let me out early and I got to walk all the way home from school by myself!”
“They sure did. Did you come straight home?”
“Yeah, I dropped Brant off—he’s smaller than me. I didn’t want him to get lost.”
“You did great.”
Flora stood in the driveway.
“The maid wouldn’t let me go find you! I was scared you were lost.”
“Well, I thought I was picking you up from school.”
“Me too! But you should have been back before me.
And you came up the other side of the street.
What took you so long?”
“I didn’t know where you were, so I was following your shoe prints.”
He looked down.
“But I went straight to Brant’s house!”
“Not really. You went by the swings… the pull-up bars… other places.”
He thought hard.
“I did, didn’t I.”
He seemed surprised by himself.
He truly never understood how imaginative he was.
“I thought I did like you told me—come straight home if something happened to Flora.”
He sagged.
“Son—you did come straight home. Those things were just on the way.”
“They were right there!”
He stood a little taller.
“What took you so long?”
“I haven’t learned how to ride a lightning bolt like you.”
The neighbor’s maid helped with the Spanish/English translating.
Flora now understood that the school officials had made a mistake.
She was reassured that we knew it wasn’t her fault.
Daniel's Den 