The Call - Michael Grant [12]
Mack sidled past the creature and slid into his desk chair. He opened his laptop and clicked on the browser icon.
He typed the word golem into the Google search box. The first hit was Wikipedia.
Mack scanned down the page.
“You’re Jewish?” he asked the golem.
“I’m whatever you are,” the golem answered.
“But golems, they’re a Hebrew thing, originally. An incomplete being made of clay.”
Mack was just beginning to get the idea that having a golem could be useful. He hadn’t quite worked out how, but he was sensing an opportunity there.
“Do you have superpowers?”
The golem shrugged. “I am made to be you.”
Mack pushed back from the computer, swiveled his desk chair, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
“Why are you here?”
“I am here to replace you.”
That didn’t sound good. “Um…what?”
“While you are away, I will take your place here.”
“Am I going somewhere?”
The golem smiled, revealing its creepy tooth thing and a hint of the little paper scroll. “You are going everywhere.”
Seven
The golem was supposed to spend the night on the floor beside Mack’s bed. Mack had sneaked an extra blanket and one sheet from the linen closet in the hallway. But when Mack woke up the next morning, he was looking at the golem.
It took him a few seconds to become oriented. He swatted the sheets beside him to ensure that he was in fact lying on his back—that he was faceup, and that his eyes were pointed in that same direction.
The golem was awake, too.
“Dude. Golem. Why are you on the ceiling?”
The golem was apparently quite at ease on the ceiling. He was lying on his back, mirroring Mack. But not quite directly above because there was a ceiling fan in the way.
“Should I come down?”
“I kind of think so.”
The golem did not float down or drop down. It stood up, which brought its head down to just a foot above Mack’s face. Then it walked to the corner of the room and stepped from the ceiling onto the wall, where it was once again upright. In a horizontal sort of way.
It sidestepped the dresser and stepped from wall to floor.
“I thought you didn’t have any superpowers,” Mack said.
The golem shrugged. “I am a golem.”
“What are we going to do with you, man?” Mack wondered aloud. “I have to go to school. I keep expecting smelly old guy to show up and explain what’s going on.”
“Smelly old guy?”
“Is he the one who made you? This really old guy with, like, green fingernails?”
“I was made by great Grimluk.”
“Grim Look?”
“Grimluk.”
“Sometimes the name just fits, you know?”
“Not really.”
Mack sighed. He was trying to be a good sport. He was playing along. Mostly because he found golems more interesting than his usual life.
It wasn’t that Mack was unhappy. He had nothing to be unhappy about, really. He did okay in school. He had one or two friends, although he didn’t think of them as particularly close. But they would say, “Hey, Mack,” when he walked by. And sometimes they’d hang out together on a Saturday and maybe even play some ball.
He had parents who weren’t mean, kids who kind of liked him, teachers who weren’t terrible, a nice house, a nice room, a decent laptop—what was there not to like?
But exciting? As exciting as having time frozen by ancient apparitions? As exciting as a mythical clay creature who slept on the ceiling?
However, as much as Mack was willing to play along for the sheer adventure of it, he was feeling a need for answers. Question number one: Is this real, or am I having some kind of cosmic kernel panic? Is this the real-life equivalent of the Blue Screen of Death? Did I miss an important software update?
If so, is there some way I can reboot?
Ah, but Mack admitted to himself, you wouldn’t reboot this even if you could.
He wasn’t looking for a quick, reassuring return to normal. He was anxious for the craziness to move to the next phase.
He noticed the clock.
“I’m late,” he said. “Look, Golem, stay clear of my mom, okay? Hide in the closet. Yeah. That’s what you do.”
“Okay,” the golem said.
Mack headed downstairs.