Legends, myths, tall tales, cults, unsolved mysteries—anything. When he found nothing, he searched other cities, looking at local information. He went from the south all the way to the north, arriving there in the bitter cold of winter. On the island of Hokkaido, the place where we now rode on a speeding train, Dad finally stumbled onto something.

  The locals on the east side of the island were very superstitious, and one ancient myth in particular jumped out and almost bit my dad on the nose. It was rumored that a people from another world had placed something most precious deep inside a fiery mountain.

  A key.

  A key that would open the door to all understanding, and make its owner the traveler of all worlds.

  To Dad, he only needed two words to make him realize that he had finally found something worth pursuing.

  Key.

  Door.

  It had to be it.

  Suddenly, Dad had help. Strange men would show up out of nowhere, telling him to go here or to go there, or dropping off ancient maps. The men would never tell him who they were, and they would always disappear as quickly as they had come. Following their advice led him to the strangest place he'd ever seen.

  A mountain, a lake, an eerie tower of black stone. The details were foggy to him ten years later, and it had taken all his power to just remember where the place had been, finally figuring it out after the last week of intense study.

  He remembered an ancient book in a sweltering, lava-strewn place. He remembered opening the book and reading that he must never remove it from its resting place, or that it would burst into flame. He read another passage in the book that he couldn't remember, and the next thing he knew, he was growing extremely tired, like he'd been awake for days and days.

  A compelling force of fatigue overcame him, dragging him toward unconsciousness despite his efforts to fight it. Right there, in the middle of a mountain, with lava all around him, Dad went to sleep on the warm, hard stone.

  Once asleep, Dad had a dream, as vivid as real life.

  It was a flash of images, only some of which he remembered.

  A person he didn't know, his hands against the sides of his head, face in agony, like he was trying to prevent his head from exploding. There was something about the shape of the person that didn't seem quite right.

  A giant, hairy creature, passing him in a flash, too quickly to make out any details.

  A furious storm, rain and wind and lightning, a woman in white clothing untouched by its fury.

  Masses of people, surging through the streets of a city, frantically running from something. Yet they all ran in different directions, in complete chaos.

  A view of a sunny landscape, quickly devoured by black clouds.

  And then, the most shocking and frightening thing of all.

  He had seen me, laughing and smiling, and then an image of me asleep on a bed made of stone.

  Dad started to get shaken up at this point, the memories hurling through his mind as he did his best to share them with us. He had awakened with a jerk when he saw me in his dream that day, and when he did, there was a key lying on his chest, the key that would go through many hands until it finally met mine, and opened the Door in the woods.

  Dad had barely escaped alive from the place of the book, but couldn't tell us anything more of the story right then. He was exhausted from reliving that year, and on the ragged edge of emotion. He said he would tell us more later, and then fell silent and closed his eyes.

  I looked over at Rusty, and he looked like he had just seen five sheep doing a jig on their tippytoes while singing the Star-Spangled Banner, his eyes as big as grapefruits. He returned my look, and just slowly shook his head. Mom said something about how this was all more confusing than Matlock and Murder, She Wrote combined. I just took off my Braves hat, put my head back and looked out the window at the passing landscape, wondering what all those things could mean that my dad had seen in his dream.

  We had just started to recover from Dad's long story and relax a bit, and Rusty and Mom had already fallen asleep, the Sounding Rod keeping us company, hovering in the air above us, when I caught a glimpse of something that just about made me fall out of my seat.

  An old man had been leaning against the door that led to the next train car, reading a newspaper. I had noticed him when we first sat down. Now, I took another glance in his direction.

  He was staring straight at me.

  My heart quit beating, and I almost choked on my tongue.

  The man's eyes widened in fear, and he quickly dropped his paper and ran out the door onto the other train car.

  The world seemed to freeze, and my eyes stared in shock. It couldn't be possible, but there was no doubt. That creepy old man's face had never left my memory. Neither had his crazy eyes and his bummy appearance. It had been such an insignificant meeting, he had seemed like such an insignificant person. I can truly say he would've been the very last person I could have ever guessed we'd see again—anywhere, much less in Japan. But it was him. It was definitely him.

  Geezer.

  Geezer from Oklahoma.

  “Dad, Dad, Dad!” I yelled, once I could get some words out.

  “What is it, son?” He asked, shaking himself awake, bewildered at why I was suddenly yelling hysterically.

  People on the train were giving me all kinds of weird looks.

  “It's Geezer, Dad! I just saw Geezer!”

  “What're you talking about? Who's Geezer?”

  “The man in Oklahoma! The man at the hotel in Oklahoma who told us about Mom and Rusty disappearing! That crazy old man!”

  “What—” Dad looked back in that direction, then swung back toward me. “Jimmy, are you sure?”

  I didn't wait to explain anything. I just knew that something wacky was going on here, and I had to find out what it was. I put my hat back on and took off after Geezer, through the door and onto the next train car. Dad yelled at me to stop, and followed right on my heels.

  Rusty was snoring.

  I ran through the door to the adjacent train car and caught a glimpse of Geezer, just as he was closing the far door to the next one. My legs burst forth in a glorious display of speed and I was at the door and through in no time. Geezer was only halfway through the car, continuing his attempt to flee. I ran straight for him, and caught up to him just as he reached the end of the aisle. I grabbed his shoulder and twisted him around to look at me. I did all of this despite the fact that Geezer was six times my age and a foot taller.

  He spun around and slammed his back against the door. His face was all scrunched up in panic, and his eyes blazed with fear. He smelled like rotten cheese, and was dirty from head to toe. The nasty clothes that he wore couldn't have been washed in days. But there was no doubt that this was the same old man we had met at the hotel in Oklahoma, the one who had told us all about my mom and brother being swallowed up by the Blackness. My thoughts churned, wondering how in the world this same old fool could be here in Japan, on the same train as me. Impossible. It just couldn't be a coinky-dinky, as my nerdy Uncle Steve used to say.

  I was panting from running, but I spat out, “Who are you! Why are you here! Talk to me!”

  Geezer coughed, then let out a whimpering moan, the frightened sound of a man tormented by ghosts.

  By that time, Dad had caught up with me and pulled me off of Geezer.

  “Just hold tight, Jimmy,” he said, “What's going on here? What do you think you're—”

  Then Dad recognized him.

  “Oh, gravy. You are the old man from Oklahoma. What the—”

  “Dad,” I yelled, “I tried to tell you! He's the old man that told us about Mom and Rusty being taken into the Blackness at the hotel!”

  Geezer just kept moaning, interrupting himself by mumbling something we couldn't quite make out.

  Dad and I stared at each other, letting our breathing slow before we turned to Geezer. Dad held him gently by the shoulder.

  “Alright, old man,” Dad said, “Who are you? Tell us. Now.”

  Geezer shrieked, and tried to get away. Dad held him tighter. Geezer gave up, and whimpered again.

  “Tell us!” Dad yelled, making me jump. Dad almost never yelled.

  “Please, please, don't hurt me!” Geezer said, in his gravelly voice. “I didn't do anything, I swear! I'm only here to give a message. Nothing more! Please, don't hurt me!”

  “What message?” I asked.

  “The Hooded One! The Hooded One! You must follow The Hooded One! Please, leave me be, leave me be. I'm just an old man. Leave me be!” Geezer then broke down and cried. He shrunk to the floor, and my dad slowly let go of him.

  “The Hooded One,” Geezer sobbed, “The Hooded One. That's all I know. You must find him. You must follow him.” His shoulders shook with grief, and I found myself feeling sorry for him.

  Dad and I stepped away, and looked at the sorry excuse for a man, sitting there on the ground, crying like a bullied kid. I felt a deep sadness for the poor cuss, and again wondered who on earth he could possibly be, and what he was doing here in Japan.

  Dad began asking him something about The Hooded One, but he was cut off by a huge, hacking cough from Geezer. Then the old man slowly stood and opened the door to the next train. I thought Dad would stop him, but instead, he just shook his head and walked back toward Mom and Rusty.

  “Whatever,” Dad said as he walked away.

  Just before Geezer shut the door, he suddenly yelled out, “The Pointing Finger! The Pointing Finger! You will not find it without The Hooded One!”

  Then he slammed the door and I could see him run down the aisle of the next train. I didn't go after him, because I figured if my Dad thought he was a waste of time, then he must not be worth bothering about. I didn't have a clue about anything he had just said, and wondered if I ever would.

  As I began down the aisle toward my family's car, I looked up and noticed the Sounding Rod, still floating in the air, still following me around. What a strange life I led.

  I sneezed at one point walking down the aisle, and some nice old lady said something to me that had to have been the Japanese version of “bless you.” It sounded like, “Kaze ohiku.” Weird how life goes on, and people can say, “bless you” in another language and it seems totally normal.

  As I headed for my seat, my eyes wandered aimlessly over all the Japanese faces as they rode to their ordinary destinations. They all seemed to keep to themselves, and not even wonder about our little escapades. Maybe they were used to crazy old men sounding off in another language and black rods floating in the air. Of course, it seemed as if only we could even see the stupid thing.

  I sighed, and decided I was going to throw all this nonsense out of my head and take a nap in my seat. I was about three steps from my seat, just about to say something to Rusty, when the Sounding Rod swooshed down and hovered right in front of my face, like it had invisible eyes that were staring at me. I stopped, shocked, and stared right back.

  The end of it started to rotate, and little flaps started to twist off of it like layers of an onion, like a whirlpool, twisting and twisting until it was obvious that it was opening up. The hole got bigger and bigger until the Rod looked like a long stick with an upside-down cone on the end of it, with the inside of the cone so dark that I couldn't make out if anything was inside the cone or inside the Rod itself. Then, at the very center of the cone, a small light appeared.

  Without warning, a sound exploded out of the Rod, high-pitched and terrible. My hands clamped onto my ears, and I screamed from the sudden pain of the stabbing thunder of noise. Others on the train may not have been able to see the Sounding Rod, but they all heard its horrific sound, and within seconds the inside of the train exploded in chaos. The deafening sound filled the air, people screamed, holding hands over their ears, rolling on the ground in the aisles and between the seats. People were running. And I suddenly felt different. Something was missing. I felt very odd.

  A Japanese man rushed past me, bumping me and throwing me onto the floor of the train. Another man stepped on my leg, causing me to grab it because it hurt like crazy, only to clamp my hands right back on my ears when the sound exploded through my head.

  And then, I knew.

  The Shield was gone.

  The man bumping me, the man stepping on my leg. That was all it took for me to know.

  The Shield was gone.

  I only had seconds to ponder this chilling thought before the world around us exploded in a swarm of glass and wind.

  I never knew that the world could be filled with so many horrendous sounds at the same time. The piercing blast of the Sounding Rod, the screams of the passengers, the noise of people falling and shouting—all were overwhelming. Then it was joined by the sudden blast of shattering glass. Every window on the train exploded inward simultaneously, with a great rush of wind that splattered us with little shards of glass. I realized quickly how horrible it was not to have The Shield to protect me. I could feel the glass grazing my skin all over, and the fear more than the pain seemed too much for me to bear. I squeezed my eyes shut, fell on my knees, and wailed, my hands still pressed against my ears.

  Only seconds after the windows exploded, a mass of black bodies flew onto the train from above. It was hard to tell where they came from or how they did it. In every window, a man dressed in black flew through, feet first, and landed in the middle aisle, standing up. Every direction, every window, it was the same. A man in black, with a very familiar trademark. Red bandannas.

  The Bosu Zoku.

  The words of Kenji came back to me. How the Sounding Rod would soon go off, and they would be there, waiting, ready when it happened. They were here.

  The panic of the situation, coupled with the fact that I was now a kid without The Shield, burst throughout my body in the form of adrenaline. I jumped up, while instinct figured out what to do. There was no doubt what these freaks were up to. They wanted me, and they now knew I had no protection.

  Everything happened so quickly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw several of the Bosu Zoku grabbing my family, putting handcuffs on their wrists. My dad struggled, punching and kicking and pushing like a madman. But they were too much for him. They had him down on the ground, and they handcuffed his legs as well.

  My mom was screaming, my brother crying. They didn't even try to get away. They knew their situation was hopeless, that they were powerless against these crazed bikers. All of this, I saw in seconds. And then, they were on me.

  Two guys in black hit me from behind, knocking me onto my stomach. As my hands left my ears, the roar of the Sounding Rod exploded in my head. I had no choice but to endure it now, and my ears seemed to have grown accustomed to it. I rolled over and kicked upward, not even taking the time to think or aim. My right foot landed in the best place possible, making one of the guys yell out and shrink to the floor. My left foot landed square on the knee of the second guy, and I felt more than heard a sickening crunch. Amazing what a little adrenaline can do to a guy's kicking abilities.

  But there were more coming from either direction. I had no hope, no chance. But I couldn't give up.

  I jumped onto one of the seats to my right, across the aisle from my family. I made for the window just as three or four Bosu Zoku lunged for me. They were grabbing me all over the place, searching for a good hold. I just kept squirming and kicking, trying to make it to the window. But they had me.

  Then the train lurched, like it had just hit the unluckiest cow in all of Japan. Everyone on the train was thrown forward a few feet, and the men in black lost their hold on me. Without hesitating, I jumped back onto a seat, and reached for the plastic loop above the window, the thing people hold onto as they get up from their seats. I grabbed it and jumped off of the seat onto the window sill, balancing my feet on the thin edge that used to hold a nice big window for passengers to gaze out as they watched the beautiful landscape of Japan.

  I turned my body around, so that my bottom and back were hanging out of the train. It was then that I realized that this train was moving dang fast, and the fierce wind just about blew me out onto the rushing terrain. I held on with strength that came from sheer desperation. I was terrified. If I jumped, surely I'd smash against some rocks and get killed. If I went back in, the Bosu Zoku had me. I didn't know what to do.

  Then a hand grabbed my leg. I kicked it away, and reached outside of the train, above the window, looking for anything to grab. Half a foot above the window on the outside was a metal railing that ran all the way down the train. I gripped it with both hands, and pushed off with my feet, swinging myself a few feet from the window. Just as I did, a Bosu Zoku grabbed for my legs, trying to hug them and pull me back in. I glanced in shock as he tumbled from the train, smacked against the ground and was gone in a flash.

  Confirmed. That wasn't the way to escape.

  My body swung back down, and I kicked out at anything I could. I caught another guy in the jaw, and heard him say something in Japanese that I'm fairly certain wasn't very nice. I put my feet back on the bottom edge of the window sill, steadied myself, and then pushed off again, jumping up with my legs to try and hook them around the same railing that I was so desperately holding onto. Another guy lunged for me as my legs swung upward, just barely catching himself before he met the same nasty fate as his buddy.

  My legs found the railing, and I hooked them over it and pulled myself up so that I was even with the railing. This made another guy miss me, and he couldn't save himself. This time, I was glad that my back was to the ground so that I couldn't see his tragic end.

  The wind was strong, ripping at my hair and clothes and roaring in my ears with a hurricane force that managed to drown out the Sounding Rod. But it was still there.

  Holding on with strength I didn't know I had, I reached one arm over the top edge of the train and felt for a handhold. I felt some kind of metal pole, and grabbed it. Grunting with effort, exerting every ounce of strength in my puny body, I pulled myself up onto the top of the train, kicking and squirming with my legs and body to help. Straining until I thought my arms would pop, I finally was on top, and immediately scooted to the middle, holding onto anything I could find to keep myself from being blown off by the wind.