u/Constant-Simple7240

The open sign flickered and the only sound was the hum of the refrigerators. 
I sat behind the cash register, a cheap tabloid magazine in one hand and an energy drink in the other. It was the perfect compliment to my dinner of hot dogs and Cheetos. 
I had another hour on my shift and nobody had been in since one.
The moon was out and the only light from outside were the street lamps. The parking lot was vacant of any cars, the only thing out there was a man stumbling towards the door. 
  This was the graveyard shift. It was my preferred shift, I hardly had to do any work and no customers were around to bother me. I was really more just getting paid to wait for the morning shift people to come in. 
The front door opened and I didn’t even look up. I continued to read about some schlock article and sipped my raspberry and orange flavored Redbull. 
  If whoever came in stole something, I wouldn’t give a shit. 
As I was finishing reading an article about a colony of doomsday crazies who lived underground, I noticed deep heavy breaths coming from in front of the counter. 
I looked up from my magazine and saw the most grotesque looking man I had ever seen. 
He had a big unkept beard that was stained dark black. His skin was deathly pale, I could see the black veins under his paper white skin. 
He wore a trench coat, a once plain white undershirt, and jeans. All of them were riddled with holes and stains that could only be described as ominous. His hair was long, black, and greasy. He was staring me down, I didn’t feel like a socially awkward customer, it felt like I was looking down the barrel of a shotgun. 
  “Looking for a pack of smokes?” I asked while putting my magazine down. 
He said nothing, his only response was heavy breathing.
I glanced down and saw my only line of defense. 
An aluminum baseball bat that was definitely older than me.
“You strike me as a Camel man,” I said, trying to defuse the situation. 
  He said nothing, he just kept staring at me. It looked like he wasn’t blinking at first but as I slowly crept towards the baseball bat, I noticed he was blinking exactly when I was.
 “Are you lost?” I asked. 
He said nothing still. 
“Hey look man, you gotta buy something or leave,” I said with a firm tone.
  I felt the handle of the baseball bat in the tip of my fingers. 
  “Are you okay? Do I need to call someone?” I asked. 
He jumped over the counter and I immediately grabbed the baseball and swung it at his face. 
  The aluminum baseball bat made contact with the man’s cheek and the swing followed through the whole way. 
He froze for a second but he didn’t go down.
“Fucking tweaker,” I said under my breath.
I swung at him again but as I was about to make contact with his temple, he grabbed the bat with one hand.
He looked tired and dazed but I couldn’t shake him off of it. 
He tore the bat out of my hands and threw it at the drink fridge. The shattering of glass broke me from a trance of terror that I hadn’t realized I was caught in. 
I booked it from behind the counter and ran to the supply room. I could feel he was only a foot away but in a desperate effort to give me some space I grabbed one of the wine bottles we had on display and chucked it at him. As the glass bottle shattered on the ground I made it into the storage room and slammed the door shut. I locked it and barricaded myself in with a folding chair we had.
He began to pound on the door. It was loud and angry pounding. He didn’t speak, he only screamed. It didn’t sound like a human screaming, it sounded like an animal screaming. I pushed my fear aside and made my way to the manager's office. That would give me one more level of protection and I could use the landline to call for help. 
Chuck kept a revolver in the desk, he thinks we don’t know about it but it’s a public secret.
  I got to the door of the manager's office and I shook the handle. It wasn’t opening, it wasn’t budging. 
It dawned on me that it would obviously be locked if management wasn't on the clock. 
As I tried to figure out what to do, I heard him throwing his body against the door.
If I went out the fire door, that would be a dead give away where I was. This guy would leave the store and come out back. There was a key that disarmed the alarm but that was in management’s office. 
Then the simplest solution came to me: just call the cops. 
I pulled my cell phone out and used my trembling fingers to dial 911. 
As soon as my finger was about to press the call button, the door broke down. 
He stood in the doorframe as the door hung on its hinges. 
I bolted to the fire door, I could see the silver and red door bar was only inches away from me. 
Then I felt his hands on my shoulders. I felt his weight pulling me down to the ground and I felt my head being thrown against the tile on the floor. 
Everything then went black. 

“Dylan? Are you okay?” A voice asked. 
My head felt like it had been hit by a truck.
My eyes felt too heavy to open. 
“What’sgoingon?” I slurred out. 
My eyes forced themselves open and I saw the dim glow of the fluorescent lights in the storage room. 
  “Dylan, I called an ambulance. Are you okay?” The voice said again. 
I looked up and saw the hot pink converse standing before me.
“Gabby?” I asked. 
  “Yes, it’s me,” she said with a hidden terror in her voice. It was rather odd to see her not overly bubbly.
She was the usual opener and she never seemed to be in a bad mood. 
I forced myself to get off the ground but everything felt so much heavier. 
  “Did you catch him?” I asked. 
 “Catch who?” She asked.
I was able to roll over and was now on my stomach. 
  I looked up at the rest of her and saw the pure white fear that was in her eyes. 
  “There’s was a fucking tweaker in here,” I said. 
I pushed my hands against the tile and forced myself up. I fell into the wall almost immediately. Gabby was nice enough to try and help me on my feet. 
 “I’m not sure if you should be standing, I think the EMTS really need to check you out,” she said. 
  “I’m fine,” I said. 
She let out a laugh that was oozing with stress. 
 “No, no you are not,” she said. 
  I glared at her. 
“I’m gonna be fine. I just need to get home,” I said. 
My hand pressed firm against the wall. 
That’s when I started to hear the sirens. 
 “Dylan, just let the EMTS look at you. You were out cold,” Gabby pleaded. 
Everything felt wobbly, I was stumbling towards the door while using the shelving units to help keep me up. 
 “Chuck said he’s coming by,” she said. 
Each step I took felt like an act of labor. It felt like I was learning to walk all over again. 
  I swung open the door and stared at the store. The fridge door was still shattered and the remains of a wine bottle still rested on the ground. 
 I saw the flashing lights of cop cars and ambulances. Two EMTS rushed in and ambushed me. They made me sit on the stretcher. 
Questions were asked left and right. They poked and prodded at me.
“I don’t know, some guy came in and attacked me. I hit my head against the ground and everything went black,” I said. 
  One EMT was now in front of me, the other was behind me. 
  “Hey, can you check this out?” The EMT standing behind me asked. 
  “What’s going on?” I asked. 
The EMT passed a stethoscope to his colleague. 
“I don’t hear anything,” he said with mild confusion before shifting to bewilderment. 
He took the end of the stethoscope and placed it on my chest. 
The EMT from behind placed his fingers on my neck. 
  They both exchanged looks of horror. 
“We gotta be doing something wrong,” the first EMT said. 
 “We are doing one of the first things to teach you in school,” the second EMT said with an annoyed look. 
“We gotta bring you in buddy,” the first EMT said. 
  I shook my head. 
“I’m sorry, what’s going on?” I asked. 
Before I knew it, I was in the back of an ambulance. 
An EMT sat in the back with me, he kept his arms close to himself. He tried not to look at me but was taking glances at me from the corner of his eye. He was treating me like I was grizzly car accident he to drive past. 
“Aren’t you supposed to be doing…something?” I asked. 
He cleared his throat. 
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he replied. 
A puzzled look was spread across my face. 
“What?” I asked. 
He held his arms closer to his torso. He was trying to find a shell to hide in. 
“If I’m being honest sir…I’ve never seen a case like yours before,” he said. 
“Okay but like, shouldn’t you be doing chest compressions or giving me a shot or something?” I asked. 
“Normally yes,” he said. 
I leaned in closer towards him. 
“Well why aren’t you?” I asked. 
He shook his head and said nothing. 
“Okay so what the hell is wrong with me?” I asked. 
He looked at me for a moment and bit his lip. 
“We ran every field test we’re meant to run. You seem to have fine cognition and you’re breathing properly. You have some motor issues but nothing that would explain the condition you seem to have,” he explained. 
I rubbed my head. 
“I don’t want to sound like a dick but you didn’t really answer my question,” I said. 
He sighed and looked at me. 
“You should be dead right now, this shouldn’t be a conversation we’re having,” he said. 
“You should be in a body bag,” he added. 
I couldn’t decipher what the man was saying. 
“I’ve been doing this job for years and I’ve never seen a person like you,” he said. 
“What is wrong with me?” I asked. 
“Well, we need to take you to a doctor to properly diagnose you. This has to be a rare condition,” he said. 
“For fucks sake! What the hell is wrong with me?” I yelled. 
He flinched, a grown man flinched at me raising my voice. 
“I really don’t know how to tell you this,” he said. 
“I can handle it, I can’t handle this vague beating around the bush bullshit,” I said. 
He took a second and cleared his throat.
“Sir, you don’t have a pulse,” he said. 

The open sign flickered and the only sound was the hum of the refrigerators. 
I sat behind the cash register, a cheap tabloid magazine in one hand and an energy drink in the other. It was the perfect compliment to my dinner of hot dogs and Cheetos. 
I had another hour on my shift and nobody had been in since one.
The moon was out and the only light from outside were the street lamps. The parking lot was vacant of any cars, the only thing out there was a man stumbling towards the door. 
  This was the graveyard shift. It was my preferred shift, I hardly had to do any work and no customers were around to bother me. I was really more just getting paid to wait for the morning shift people to come in. 
The front door opened and I didn’t even look up. I continued to read about some schlock article and sipped my raspberry and orange flavored Redbull. 
  If whoever came in stole something, I wouldn’t give a shit. 
As I was finishing reading an article about a colony of doomsday crazies who lived underground, I noticed deep heavy breaths coming from in front of the counter. 
I looked up from my magazine and saw the most grotesque looking man I had ever seen. 
He had a big unkept beard that was stained dark black. His skin was deathly pale, I could see the black veins under his paper white skin. 
He wore a trench coat, a once plain white undershirt, and jeans. All of them were riddled with holes and stains that could only be described as ominous. His hair was long, black, and greasy. He was staring me down, I didn’t feel like a socially awkward customer, it felt like I was looking down the barrel of a shotgun. 
  “Looking for a pack of smokes?” I asked while putting my magazine down. 
He said nothing, his only response was heavy breathing.
I glanced down and saw my only line of defense. 
An aluminum baseball bat that was definitely older than me.
“You strike me as a Camel man,” I said, trying to defuse the situation. 
  He said nothing, he just kept staring at me. It looked like he wasn’t blinking at first but as I slowly crept towards the baseball bat, I noticed he was blinking exactly when I was.
 “Are you lost?” I asked. 
He said nothing still. 
“Hey look man, you gotta buy something or leave,” I said with a firm tone.
  I felt the handle of the baseball bat in the tip of my fingers. 
  “Are you okay? Do I need to call someone?” I asked. 
He jumped over the counter and I immediately grabbed the baseball and swung it at his face. 
  The aluminum baseball bat made contact with the man’s cheek and the swing followed through the whole way. 
He froze for a second but he didn’t go down.
“Fucking tweaker,” I said under my breath.
I swung at him again but as I was about to make contact with his temple, he grabbed the bat with one hand.
He looked tired and dazed but I couldn’t shake him off of it. 
He tore the bat out of my hands and threw it at the drink fridge. The shattering of glass broke me from a trance of terror that I hadn’t realized I was caught in. 
I booked it from behind the counter and ran to the supply room. I could feel he was only a foot away but in a desperate effort to give me some space I grabbed one of the wine bottles we had on display and chucked it at him. As the glass bottle shattered on the ground I made it into the storage room and slammed the door shut. I locked it and barricaded myself in with a folding chair we had.
He began to pound on the door. It was loud and angry pounding. He didn’t speak, he only screamed. It didn’t sound like a human screaming, it sounded like an animal screaming. I pushed my fear aside and made my way to the manager's office. That would give me one more level of protection and I could use the landline to call for help. 
Chuck kept a revolver in the desk, he thinks we don’t know about it but it’s a public secret.
  I got to the door of the manager's office and I shook the handle. It wasn’t opening, it wasn’t budging. 
It dawned on me that it would obviously be locked if management wasn't on the clock. 
As I tried to figure out what to do, I heard him throwing his body against the door.
If I went out the fire door, that would be a dead give away where I was. This guy would leave the store and come out back. There was a key that disarmed the alarm but that was in management’s office. 
Then the simplest solution came to me: just call the cops. 
I pulled my cell phone out and used my trembling fingers to dial 911. 
As soon as my finger was about to press the call button, the door broke down. 
He stood in the doorframe as the door hung on its hinges. 
I bolted to the fire door, I could see the silver and red door bar was only inches away from me. 
Then I felt his hands on my shoulders. I felt his weight pulling me down to the ground and I felt my head being thrown against the tile on the floor. 
Everything then went black. 

“Dylan? Are you okay?” A voice asked. 
My head felt like it had been hit by a truck.
My eyes felt too heavy to open. 
“What’sgoingon?” I slurred out. 
My eyes forced themselves open and I saw the dim glow of the fluorescent lights in the storage room. 
  “Dylan, I called an ambulance. Are you okay?” The voice said again. 
I looked up and saw the hot pink converse standing before me.
“Gabby?” I asked. 
  “Yes, it’s me,” she said with a hidden terror in her voice. It was rather odd to see her not overly bubbly.
She was the usual opener and she never seemed to be in a bad mood. 
I forced myself to get off the ground but everything felt so much heavier. 
  “Did you catch him?” I asked. 
 “Catch who?” She asked.
I was able to roll over and was now on my stomach. 
  I looked up at the rest of her and saw the pure white fear that was in her eyes. 
  “There’s was a fucking tweaker in here,” I said. 
I pushed my hands against the tile and forced myself up. I fell into the wall almost immediately. Gabby was nice enough to try and help me on my feet. 
 “I’m not sure if you should be standing, I think the EMTS really need to check you out,” she said. 
  “I’m fine,” I said. 
She let out a laugh that was oozing with stress. 
 “No, no you are not,” she said. 
  I glared at her. 
“I’m gonna be fine. I just need to get home,” I said. 
My hand pressed firm against the wall. 
That’s when I started to hear the sirens. 
 “Dylan, just let the EMTS look at you. You were out cold,” Gabby pleaded. 
Everything felt wobbly, I was stumbling towards the door while using the shelving units to help keep me up. 
 “Chuck said he’s coming by,” she said. 
Each step I took felt like an act of labor. It felt like I was learning to walk all over again. 
  I swung open the door and stared at the store. The fridge door was still shattered and the remains of a wine bottle still rested on the ground. 
 I saw the flashing lights of cop cars and ambulances. Two EMTS rushed in and ambushed me. They made me sit on the stretcher. 
Questions were asked left and right. They poked and prodded at me.
“I don’t know, some guy came in and attacked me. I hit my head against the ground and everything went black,” I said. 
  One EMT was now in front of me, the other was behind me. 
  “Hey, can you check this out?” The EMT standing behind me asked. 
  “What’s going on?” I asked. 
The EMT passed a stethoscope to his colleague. 
“I don’t hear anything,” he said with mild confusion before shifting to bewilderment. 
He took the end of the stethoscope and placed it on my chest. 
The EMT from behind placed his fingers on my neck. 
  They both exchanged looks of horror. 
“We gotta be doing something wrong,” the first EMT said. 
 “We are doing one of the first things to teach you in school,” the second EMT said with an annoyed look. 
“We gotta bring you in buddy,” the first EMT said. 
  I shook my head. 
“I’m sorry, what’s going on?” I asked. 
Before I knew it, I was in the back of an ambulance. 
An EMT sat in the back with me, he kept his arms close to himself. He tried not to look at me but was taking glances at me from the corner of his eye. He was treating me like I was grizzly car accident he to drive past. 
“Aren’t you supposed to be doing…something?” I asked. 
He cleared his throat. 
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he replied. 
A puzzled look was spread across my face. 
“What?” I asked. 
He held his arms closer to his torso. He was trying to find a shell to hide in. 
“If I’m being honest sir…I’ve never seen a case like yours before,” he said. 
“Okay but like, shouldn’t you be doing chest compressions or giving me a shot or something?” I asked. 
“Normally yes,” he said. 
I leaned in closer towards him. 
“Well why aren’t you?” I asked. 
He shook his head and said nothing. 
“Okay so what the hell is wrong with me?” I asked. 
He looked at me for a moment and bit his lip. 
“We ran every field test we’re meant to run. You seem to have fine cognition and you’re breathing properly. You have some motor issues but nothing that would explain the condition you seem to have,” he explained. 
I rubbed my head. 
“I don’t want to sound like a dick but you didn’t really answer my question,” I said. 
He sighed and looked at me. 
“You should be dead right now, this shouldn’t be a conversation we’re having,” he said. 
“You should be in a body bag,” he added. 
I couldn’t decipher what the man was saying. 
“I’ve been doing this job for years and I’ve never seen a person like you,” he said. 
“What is wrong with me?” I asked. 
“Well, we need to take you to a doctor to properly diagnose you. This has to be a rare condition,” he said. 
“For fucks sake! What the hell is wrong with me?” I yelled. 
He flinched, a grown man flinched at me raising my voice. 
“I really don’t know how to tell you this,” he said. 
“I can handle it, I can’t handle this vague beating around the bush bullshit,” I said. 
He took a second and cleared his throat.
“Sir, you don’t have a pulse,” he said. 

It was super popular with my classmates back in my Elementary school in Oklahoma. That would have made the timeframe be something around 2011 to 2014. That would have put me between the third and fifth grade. It was a super popular book. 

It had a kid who dressed up as a superhero he made up for Halloween. He convinced his two other friends to also do DIY costumes instead of doing store bought ones. 

I also remember there being a thing about how the kids older brother got into an accident while playing football and was hospitalized. 

The title was a self deprecating superhero name. I want to say it was something like loser boy but Google says that it isn’t it. 

Now, here is the reason why I’m looking for it. I never finished the book, I got a few chapters in and I had to give it back to the school library because summer break was about to start.
Has it been ten to fifteen years? Yeah. Am I still miffed that I didn't finish it? Also yeah.

I'm trying to find a place where I can post a multi-part satire story. It is science fiction in a technical sense.

I'm basically posting a novel chapter by chapter and I would love to find a place where I could post it.

We arrived home late that night. More accurately we arrived home late for an eight year old. 
 I was in bed but I heard my parents talking downstairs in hushed whispers. 
I knew not to eavesdrop, my parents always told me it was rude. However, the curiosity was too much to bear for me. I got out of bed and quietly snuck towards my bedroom door. I avoided the random toys and clothes I had scattered around on my floor, avoiding them like I was in a minefield.
  I creaked the door open ever so slightly and stuck my ear out. 
  “I just feel like he’s a hack. Why would a man who can print gold ask for money?” My Dad asked.
  “I mean, it makes sense. He said he needed to try and find ways to improve his machine,” my Mom replied.
There was silence for a moment. 
  “That apple had to be worth at least a few grand,” he said.
 “Well, maybe it’s a walk of faith? We keep praying for financial stability and this might be the Lord's way of helping,” she said. 
  There was another long silence. 
  “Let’s send him a hundred bucks. I don’t want to buy a case of snake oil,” my Dad said. 
I closed my door and walked back to my bed. 
  I shut my eyes and dreamed of the Midas machine. I saw visions of gold, golden streets with golden cars. Golden homes and golden trees. Golden people who I did greet. Yet the golden people never said anything back to me. 

I woke up the next morning and rushed downstairs. Mom was eating breakfast and Dad was reading the paper. The morning ritual was as followed in our home: 
Mom made breakfast for Dad and herself. I always got stuck eating cereal except for on the weekends. Dad would read his paper and tell Mom a very water down version of what he just read. I’d usually ask a question about what he said and I was greeted with the same response every time: “You’ll understand that when you’re older.”

I poured a bowl of cornflakes and sprinkled some sugar on top before dumping milk over it. 
 “They’re already talking about him in the paper,” he said, disgruntled. 
  “Do you blame them? It was absolutely spectacular!” My Mom replied. 
I dove my spoon into the bowl and munched away. I had much more important matters to deal with that day. 
  As soon as my bowl was empty and rinsed, I booked it outside and hopped on my bike. 
  It was a cherry red cruiser and I swear on the Bible it was the fastest bike I ever had. I’d added a clothespin and a card to the back tire to make it sound like a motorcycle. I told myself it boosted the speed.
 I rushed down to the park because I knew they’d be there. We met there everyday during the summer time. 
  “Hey Billy!” Yelled Randy Green. 
I looked over and saw him and the gang hanging out at the swings. 
This was back when playgrounds didn’t really care about safety. Our swing set was on a hill and we would always try to swing as high as we possibly could and jump off it and then roll down the hill. We called it a “kamikaze”. 
  I put my bike on top of the pile of bikes that was our calling card. 
Randy rode a green bike that he painted himself. 
Oliver had a bright yellow bike that we always called the bumble bee.
 Robin had a chrome bike that she said looked like it was from the future. 
Walter had no bike. 

“Billy! Was that really you on stage yesterday?” Randy asked. 
  I smiled and held my head high in confidence. 
  “Yes it was!” I exclaimed. 
“No it wasn’t,” Oliver said.
Randy punched him in the arm. 
  “Yes it was!” Randy said, defending me. 
 “It could have been any number of kids named Billy, I know like three,” Oliver said. 
  “Can you knuckleheads knock it off?” Robin said. 
Randy and Oliver glared at each other for a moment before having any tension between the two evaporate like a puddle on a summer day. 
We spoke of our Fourth of July’s and what we all did. We talked about the mesmerizing fireworks and the delicious food. Walter bragged about how his old man gave him a sip of beer and he suddenly seemed cooler to all of us. 
Yet no matter what we talked about, the conversation still turned back to the same thing. 
“He had to have just been a magician,” Oliver said smugly. 
“No, I held the apple in my hands, it was solid gold dude!” I refuted. 
 “Then why was he asking for money? If he can just print gold why not just do that?” Oliver asked with the smuggest look I’ve ever seen. 
I narrowed my eyes on him. 
“He wants to help us. He’s helping me, I gave him ten bucks,” I said proudly. 
Oliver laughed so hard I thought he was going to vomit. “You really think he’s going to pay it back?” he said in between pockets of breath. 
I clenched my fist and felt my jaw tighten. I thought of what to say, my eight year old brain tried to think of the perfect statement that would open the eyes to such a non-believer. 
“My Mom and Dad are giving him money!” I yelled. 
He froze for a second and looked at me like a doe in the headlights. 
He began to laugh somehow even harder and ended up on the floor. He was gasping for air as he laid on the sand around the swing set. 
“I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree?” he asked. 
He got his laughter under control but still sat on the ground. 
“It was real! I held it!” I said. 
“Look Billy, when you’re older you’ll understand,” Oliver said in a condescending tone. 
I loathed when adults said that but hearing Oliver Scott say that to me made my blood boil. He was only a year older than us and he made sure to remind us of that once a week. 
“What can I do to prove it was real?” I asked. 
Oliver looked up and bobbed his head for a moment. 
“I don’t really think you can,” he said before shrugging. 
I darted my eyes left and right. I was hoping someone would speak up and help me.
Oliver sat smugly on the sand with his knuckles under his chin.
I had one thing to prove I was serious, the nuclear option for a child back then. 
“Bullshit,” I said stoically. Everyone’s eyes grew wide and I heard Robin gasp. 
Oliver stood up immediately. 
I felt like a cowboy in the movies, I was at a duel at high noon and I just fired my shot. 
“You said a bad word!” Oliver cried. 
“And?” I asked, feeling the most bad ass I ever felt in my life at that moment. 
“I’m telling,” Oliver said before walking towards the pile of bikes. 
“How about we make a deal?” I asked. 
Oliver stood in his place and turned around. 
“If I can prove to you that it was real, you don’t tell my parents I cussed,” I said. 
“And what if you can’t?” he asked. 
I hesitated for a second. I was wondering how good my hand was. 
“I’ll drop an f-bomb in front of my parents tonight at dinner,” I said.
With how everyone looked at me, I might as well have said I was going to burn down the local orphanage. 
“No way,” he said. 
I shrugged my shoulders. 
“I’m dead serious,” I said. 
I held my hand out for him to shake and soon Oliver Scott hacked a loggie into his palm and shook my hand. 
This would end up being one of the worst deals of my life. 

We rode our bikes around town. Walter scuttled right behind us.
I kept my eyes peeled for any indication of where the Doctor lived. 
With each house we passed, I began to feel the pressure rising. 
I didn’t know what house I was looking for, I had never seen the man before in my life. 
We went from east to west and north to south. We covered as much of town as possible. 
“I’m getting tired guys, can we slow down?” Walter asked. 
I looked behind to see poor Walter red faced and drenched so deeply in sweat that it looked like he had just gotten out of a pool. 
I held my bike brake just enough to slow down to his pace. 
He was breathing heavily. 
“I need a drink,” he said. 
I looked around and realized I had no idea where we were. 
This wasn’t a super uncommon thing, this was back when kids were allowed to be feral nomads. As long as we were home for dinner, our parents didn’t really care where we went. 
I stopped and saw a water hose in the front yard of a house I had never seen before.   
We dumped our bikes in the front yard and helped ourselves to the delicious taste of hose water. 
Walter was so thirsty he didn’t wait for the water to cool down. He guzzled down stale water that had been sitting for God knows how long in the hot summer sun.
 We each took turns drinking from the random hose. 
I turned my head as Robin was sipping down her share and I saw him. He was down the street in a house at the end of the road. 
He was just getting into his car and was beginning to drive away. 
My mouth was wide open and I immediately got on my bike and peddled as fast as my legs could. 
“Doctor!” I yelled out but it was too late. He was already gone. 
I stopped as soon as I was in his front yard. The  gang was right behind me. 
His house was oddly normal looking. It was underwhelming to see it. I thought it would be some castle like what all the scientists had in the movies. It was a normal looking house with a yard that had dead grass in patches. 
“What was that Billy?” Oliver asked in a disgruntled voice. 
“He was right here!” I yelled while waving my hand. 
“Well, you said that he could actually turn things into gold, not that he existed,” Oliver said. 
I looked over my shoulder and saw Oliver with the same smug look he always had. His bowl cut and thick black glasses somehow amplified the pompous demeanor he wore like a badge of honor. 
 I tossed my bike to the ground and began to walk towards the house.
“What are you doing Billy?” Walter asked. 
I felt the hesitation in my bones fighting against the determination in my heart. Each step I took was a war of ethics in my head. 
I found myself standing at the front door. I put my hand on the door handle and pressed down on it with the type of caution an archaeologist would have entering a forgotten tomb.
The door didn’t open, it was obviously locked. 
“Still dropping the F bomb in front of your parents tonight?” Oliver said with a chuckle. 
I turned around and began to walk around the house. 
I jumped over the chain link fence and heard the pattering of feet right behind me. 
“Billy, don't do this! I'll take it back!” Oliver pleaded. 
I didn’t listen to him, I walked through the barren backyard and found the door. The unlocked back door. The now open back door. 
I walked in and froze almost immediately. Reality had caught up to me. 
As I stood on the linoleum floor I realized what I was doing was completely illegal. 
I peaked my head out the back door and saw the gang leaning over the chain link fence. I could turn back around and call it quits. 
I could have done that but I didn’t. 
I waved my hand and invited everyone in like it was my own home. 
One by one they all jumped over the fence and rushed inside. 
I hadn’t really looked at the place when I first entered, it was weirdly generic. It didn’t seem like a house a person actually lived in. Everything was organized and arranged like it was under the assumption that a person would have and own those things. There were two couches and a recliner in the living room and they were all surrounding a dust collector of a T.V.
The dust was everywhere, the house was otherwise very clean but the dust covered every surface that was flat.
As we wandered around from room to room, I kept my eyes peeled for what I could use for evidence. 
“Hey look Billy, I won’t tell your parents that you cussed if you don’t tell my parents we went here,” Oliver said. 
“Deal,” I replied.
I still kept looking around the house. I thought we had seen everything, but that was until I saw the door. 
Right next to the kitchen pantry was a door. A normal door that you would find in any American house in any American town. 
I know what I’m about to say is stupid but that door felt evil. Like pure unadulterated evil lurked through the door but it also called out for me. I put my hand on the door knob and pulled it open.
A stairway descended to a black abyss. I felt my hands trembling. I looked to the side and saw a light switch. I held my finger under it and waited for someone to tell me no. I wanted someone to tell me that we needed to leave and that we went too far with this. Yet nobody spoke, everyone was right behind and I think they wanted me to turn around. 
I flipped on the light switch and began to walk down the stairs. 
When I got down into the depths of the basement, I was taken back for a moment.
There was the Midas Machine in the middle of the room. A panel on one of its legs was open and a wrench was right next to it. 
All types of tools and books laid around on the concrete floor. The books were either old manuscripts that looked like they belonged in a museum or books that looked like they came straight from a college book store. The walls were covered in papers that had symbols and concepts I still don’t understand. 
I stood in awe of the machine, a voice was telling me to run but I didn’t listen to it. 
On a work table in the corner of the room was the golden apple.
It wasn’t the only thing, there was a golden comb, golden handgun, a golden golf ball, and a golden human finger.
I wanted to pick it up. I wanted to grab one of them and run. Yet I knew that would be too far.
“He’s real, I believe you, let’s go,” Oliver said in a rushed tone. 
We went up the stairs and left. We got on our bikes and Walter followed behind us. We didn’t say anything, we knew this was a secret and that we would never go back again. That’s what I thought at the time. I wish I had just got the ass beating my parents would have given me for swearing.
I went home, ate my dinner, and was in bed before nine. 
I woke up the next morning and expected to do the same thing I always did in the summer time. 
However, when I got downstairs a woman was talking with my parents.
Her face was wet and clothes looked like they hadn’t been washed in ages. 
It was Walter’s Mom. 
“Hello Mrs. Cunningham,” I said with an on edge tone. 
She looked at me but didn’t let out a single word. 
My Mom looked at my Dad and my Dad then stood and walked over to me. 
He put his hand on my shoulder and got down to my level.
“Do you know where Walter is?” He asked. 
I shook my head.
“What’s happening?” I asked with a tinge of fear in my voice. 
My Dad looked over his shoulder and looked at the stressed Mrs. Cunningham. 
“We can’t find Walter,” Mrs. Cunningham said quietly. 
“I woke up this morning and when I hollered for him to get his breakfast he didn’t respond. I went to wake him up and he was gone,” she said with a crackling voice. 
Mrs. Cunningham cried and my Mom comforted her. 
I knew exactly where he was. The moment they asked about his whereabouts, I knew exactly where he was. There was a voice screaming in my ear to tell them but I was too scared of what my parents might do to me. 
I just didn’t know at that time how awful things were about to get. 

We arrived home late that night. More accurately we arrived home late for an eight year old. 
 I was in bed but I heard my parents talking downstairs in hushed whispers. 
I knew not to eavesdrop, my parents always told me it was rude. However, the curiosity was too much to bear for me. I got out of bed and quietly snuck towards my bedroom door. I avoided the random toys and clothes I had scattered around on my floor, avoiding them like I was in a minefield.
  I creaked the door open ever so slightly and stuck my ear out. 
  “I just feel like he’s a hack. Why would a man who can print gold ask for money?” My Dad asked.
  “I mean, it makes sense. He said he needed to try and find ways to improve his machine,” my Mom replied.
There was silence for a moment. 
  “That apple had to be worth at least a few grand,” he said.
 “Well, maybe it’s a walk of faith? We keep praying for financial stability and this might be the Lord's way of helping,” she said. 
  There was another long silence. 
  “Let’s send him a hundred bucks. I don’t want to buy a case of snake oil,” my Dad said. 
I closed my door and walked back to my bed. 
  I shut my eyes and dreamed of the Midas machine. I saw visions of gold, golden streets with golden cars. Golden homes and golden trees. Golden people who I did greet. Yet the golden people never said anything back to me. 

I woke up the next morning and rushed downstairs. Mom was eating breakfast and Dad was reading the paper. The morning ritual was as followed in our home: 
Mom made breakfast for Dad and herself. I always got stuck eating cereal except for on the weekends. Dad would read his paper and tell Mom a very water down version of what he just read. I’d usually ask a question about what he said and I was greeted with the same response every time: “You’ll understand that when you’re older.”

I poured a bowl of cornflakes and sprinkled some sugar on top before dumping milk over it. 
 “They’re already talking about him in the paper,” he said, disgruntled. 
  “Do you blame them? It was absolutely spectacular!” My Mom replied. 
I dove my spoon into the bowl and munched away. I had much more important matters to deal with that day. 
  As soon as my bowl was empty and rinsed, I booked it outside and hopped on my bike. 
  It was a cherry red cruiser and I swear on the Bible it was the fastest bike I ever had. I’d added a clothespin and a card to the back tire to make it sound like a motorcycle. I told myself it boosted the speed.
 I rushed down to the park because I knew they’d be there. We met there everyday during the summer time. 
  “Hey Billy!” Yelled Randy Green. 
I looked over and saw him and the gang hanging out at the swings. 
This was back when playgrounds didn’t really care about safety. Our swing set was on a hill and we would always try to swing as high as we possibly could and jump off it and then roll down the hill. We called it a “kamikaze”. 
  I put my bike on top of the pile of bikes that was our calling card. 
Randy rode a green bike that he painted himself. 
Oliver had a bright yellow bike that we always called the bumble bee.
 Robin had a chrome bike that she said looked like it was from the future. 
Walter had no bike. 

“Billy! Was that really you on stage yesterday?” Randy asked. 
  I smiled and held my head high in confidence. 
  “Yes it was!” I exclaimed. 
“No it wasn’t,” Oliver said.
Randy punched him in the arm. 
  “Yes it was!” Randy said, defending me. 
 “It could have been any number of kids named Billy, I know like three,” Oliver said. 
  “Can you knuckleheads knock it off?” Robin said. 
Randy and Oliver glared at each other for a moment before having any tension between the two evaporate like a puddle on a summer day. 
We spoke of our Fourth of July’s and what we all did. We talked about the mesmerizing fireworks and the delicious food. Walter bragged about how his old man gave him a sip of beer and he suddenly seemed cooler to all of us. 
Yet no matter what we talked about, the conversation still turned back to the same thing. 
“He had to have just been a magician,” Oliver said smugly. 
“No, I held the apple in my hands, it was solid gold dude!” I refuted. 
 “Then why was he asking for money? If he can just print gold why not just do that?” Oliver asked with the smuggest look I’ve ever seen. 
I narrowed my eyes on him. 
“He wants to help us. He’s helping me, I gave him ten bucks,” I said proudly. 
Oliver laughed so hard I thought he was going to vomit. “You really think he’s going to pay it back?” he said in between pockets of breath. 
I clenched my fist and felt my jaw tighten. I thought of what to say, my eight year old brain tried to think of the perfect statement that would open the eyes to such a non-believer. 
“My Mom and Dad are giving him money!” I yelled. 
He froze for a second and looked at me like a doe in the headlights. 
He began to laugh somehow even harder and ended up on the floor. He was gasping for air as he laid on the sand around the swing set. 
“I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree?” he asked. 
He got his laughter under control but still sat on the ground. 
“It was real! I held it!” I said. 
“Look Billy, when you’re older you’ll understand,” Oliver said in a condescending tone. 
I loathed when adults said that but hearing Oliver Scott say that to me made my blood boil. He was only a year older than us and he made sure to remind us of that once a week. 
“What can I do to prove it was real?” I asked. 
Oliver looked up and bobbed his head for a moment. 
“I don’t really think you can,” he said before shrugging. 
I darted my eyes left and right. I was hoping someone would speak up and help me.
Oliver sat smugly on the sand with his knuckles under his chin.
I had one thing to prove I was serious, the nuclear option for a child back then. 
“Bullshit,” I said stoically. Everyone’s eyes grew wide and I heard Robin gasp. 
Oliver stood up immediately. 
I felt like a cowboy in the movies, I was at a duel at high noon and I just fired my shot. 
“You said a bad word!” Oliver cried. 
“And?” I asked, feeling the most bad ass I ever felt in my life at that moment. 
“I’m telling,” Oliver said before walking towards the pile of bikes. 
“How about we make a deal?” I asked. 
Oliver stood in his place and turned around. 
“If I can prove to you that it was real, you don’t tell my parents I cussed,” I said. 
“And what if you can’t?” he asked. 
I hesitated for a second. I was wondering how good my hand was. 
“I’ll drop an f-bomb in front of my parents tonight at dinner,” I said.
With how everyone looked at me, I might as well have said I was going to burn down the local orphanage. 
“No way,” he said. 
I shrugged my shoulders. 
“I’m dead serious,” I said. 
I held my hand out for him to shake and soon Oliver Scott hacked a loggie into his palm and shook my hand. 
This would end up being one of the worst deals of my life. 

We rode our bikes around town. Walter scuttled right behind us.
I kept my eyes peeled for any indication of where the Doctor lived. 
With each house we passed, I began to feel the pressure rising. 
I didn’t know what house I was looking for, I had never seen the man before in my life. 
We went from east to west and north to south. We covered as much of town as possible. 
“I’m getting tired guys, can we slow down?” Walter asked. 
I looked behind to see poor Walter red faced and drenched so deeply in sweat that it looked like he had just gotten out of a pool. 
I held my bike brake just enough to slow down to his pace. 
He was breathing heavily. 
“I need a drink,” he said. 
I looked around and realized I had no idea where we were. 
This wasn’t a super uncommon thing, this was back when kids were allowed to be feral nomads. As long as we were home for dinner, our parents didn’t really care where we went. 
I stopped and saw a water hose in the front yard of a house I had never seen before.   
We dumped our bikes in the front yard and helped ourselves to the delicious taste of hose water. 
Walter was so thirsty he didn’t wait for the water to cool down. He guzzled down stale water that had been sitting for God knows how long in the hot summer sun.
 We each took turns drinking from the random hose. 
I turned my head as Robin was sipping down her share and I saw him. He was down the street in a house at the end of the road. 
He was just getting into his car and was beginning to drive away. 
My mouth was wide open and I immediately got on my bike and peddled as fast as my legs could. 
“Doctor!” I yelled out but it was too late. He was already gone. 
I stopped as soon as I was in his front yard. The  gang was right behind me. 
His house was oddly normal looking. It was underwhelming to see it. I thought it would be some castle like what all the scientists had in the movies. It was a normal looking house with a yard that had dead grass in patches. 
“What was that Billy?” Oliver asked in a disgruntled voice. 
“He was right here!” I yelled while waving my hand. 
“Well, you said that he could actually turn things into gold, not that he existed,” Oliver said. 
I looked over my shoulder and saw Oliver with the same smug look he always had. His bowl cut and thick black glasses somehow amplified the pompous demeanor he wore like a badge of honor. 
 I tossed my bike to the ground and began to walk towards the house.
“What are you doing Billy?” Walter asked. 
I felt the hesitation in my bones fighting against the determination in my heart. Each step I took was a war of ethics in my head. 
I found myself standing at the front door. I put my hand on the door handle and pressed down on it with the type of caution an archaeologist would have entering a forgotten tomb.
The door didn’t open, it was obviously locked. 
“Still dropping the F bomb in front of your parents tonight?” Oliver said with a chuckle. 
I turned around and began to walk around the house. 
I jumped over the chain link fence and heard the pattering of feet right behind me. 
“Billy, don't do this! I'll take it back!” Oliver pleaded. 
I didn’t listen to him, I walked through the barren backyard and found the door. The unlocked back door. The now open back door. 
I walked in and froze almost immediately. Reality had caught up to me. 
As I stood on the linoleum floor I realized what I was doing was completely illegal. 
I peaked my head out the back door and saw the gang leaning over the chain link fence. I could turn back around and call it quits. 
I could have done that but I didn’t. 
I waved my hand and invited everyone in like it was my own home. 
One by one they all jumped over the fence and rushed inside. 
I hadn’t really looked at the place when I first entered, it was weirdly generic. It didn’t seem like a house a person actually lived in. Everything was organized and arranged like it was under the assumption that a person would have and own those things. There were two couches and a recliner in the living room and they were all surrounding a dust collector of a T.V.
The dust was everywhere, the house was otherwise very clean but the dust covered every surface that was flat.
As we wandered around from room to room, I kept my eyes peeled for what I could use for evidence. 
“Hey look Billy, I won’t tell your parents that you cussed if you don’t tell my parents we went here,” Oliver said. 
“Deal,” I replied.
I still kept looking around the house. I thought we had seen everything, but that was until I saw the door. 
Right next to the kitchen pantry was a door. A normal door that you would find in any American house in any American town. 
I know what I’m about to say is stupid but that door felt evil. Like pure unadulterated evil lurked through the door but it also called out for me. I put my hand on the door knob and pulled it open.
A stairway descended to a black abyss. I felt my hands trembling. I looked to the side and saw a light switch. I held my finger under it and waited for someone to tell me no. I wanted someone to tell me that we needed to leave and that we went too far with this. Yet nobody spoke, everyone was right behind and I think they wanted me to turn around. 
I flipped on the light switch and began to walk down the stairs. 
When I got down into the depths of the basement, I was taken back for a moment.
There was the Midas Machine in the middle of the room. A panel on one of its legs was open and a wrench was right next to it. 
All types of tools and books laid around on the concrete floor. The books were either old manuscripts that looked like they belonged in a museum or books that looked like they came straight from a college book store. The walls were covered in papers that had symbols and concepts I still don’t understand. 
I stood in awe of the machine, a voice was telling me to run but I didn’t listen to it. 
On a work table in the corner of the room was the golden apple.
It wasn’t the only thing, there was a golden comb, golden handgun, a golden golf ball, and a golden human finger.
I wanted to pick it up. I wanted to grab one of them and run. Yet I knew that would be too far.
“He’s real, I believe you, let’s go,” Oliver said in a rushed tone. 
We went up the stairs and left. We got on our bikes and Walter followed behind us. We didn’t say anything, we knew this was a secret and that we would never go back again. That’s what I thought at the time. I wish I had just got the ass beating my parents would have given me for swearing.
I went home, ate my dinner, and was in bed before nine. 
I woke up the next morning and expected to do the same thing I always did in the summer time. 
However, when I got downstairs a woman was talking with my parents.
Her face was wet and clothes looked like they hadn’t been washed in ages. 
It was Walter’s Mom. 
“Hello Mrs. Cunningham,” I said with an on edge tone. 
She looked at me but didn’t let out a single word. 
My Mom looked at my Dad and my Dad then stood and walked over to me. 
He put his hand on my shoulder and got down to my level.
“Do you know where Walter is?” He asked. 
I shook my head.
“What’s happening?” I asked with a tinge of fear in my voice. 
My Dad looked over his shoulder and looked at the stressed Mrs. Cunningham. 
“We can’t find Walter,” Mrs. Cunningham said quietly. 
“I woke up this morning and when I hollered for him to get his breakfast he didn’t respond. I went to wake him up and he was gone,” she said with a crackling voice. 
Mrs. Cunningham cried and my Mom comforted her. 
I knew exactly where he was. The moment they asked about his whereabouts, I knew exactly where he was. There was a voice screaming in my ear to tell them but I was too scared of what my parents might do to me. 
I just didn’t know at that time how awful things were about to get.