EXCERPT

Chapter 1
Bunker is Kidnapped

Sometimes things happen to us that are so strange, so bizarre, that they are beyond our understanding. We don’t know how to cope with what is going on at the moment, so we become afraid.

This was what happened to Bunker Charles one beautiful summer morning as he lay quietly in bed. At first, he thought he was still dreaming. He could swear he heard a voice calling his name. But when he looked around, no one was there. The voice sounded far away, mysterious, and at the same time, it sounded very close—so close he could reach out and touch it. Or, was it all inside his head?

He raised his head and looked around.

There was nothing.

“Someone there?” he asked, listening to the quiet that penetrated his room high above in the castle. The structure was built long ago in and around towering slabs of solid rock. A powerful laser was used to fashion rooms and passageways into the stone, then polished and smoothed to perfection.

Bunker sat up and looked around. The furnishings in his room were lush with velvet draperies and thick woolen rugs. Colorful oil paintings of the countryside were evenly spaced about the thick walls. The furniture was hand-carved from woods taken from the nearby forest. Interior fashions throughout the castle were a mixture of the past, present, and even future designs. On one table were advanced computer hardware technologies, along with the latest computer games and software. Outside his room, sliding doors and secret passageways connected many of the adjoining rooms in the castle. The chambers were a maze of smooth stone, wood, stainless steel, and glass. Swift elevators operated silently within the castle. A variety of windows offered breathtaking views of the charming countryside of Otherland.

Bunker saw nothing. Now, there was no sound at all.

“Oh well,” he said, and started to turn over.

“I’m over here!” a tiny voice spoke.

“What?” he asked, “Where?”

“I said, I’m over here . . . on your night stand,” the tiny voice remarked.

Bunker knew he heard a voice, but could see no one. He looked around quickly.

“Here I am,” the voice spoke, as Bunker strained to hear. The sound was thin, like a voice that was far away, yet it was very close.

Bunker turned his head toward the nightstand—and faced the biggest surprise of his life. There, on the nightstand beside the bed, stood a fully dressed man . . . and he was only one-inch tall!

“Come on. What is this?” Bunker asked in disbelief. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. “Am I dreaming?”

“You are not dreaming, Bunker. I am Magan, a Flooglebopper, and I came to ask for your help.”

“You are who? And what do you want?” Bunker asked. He was having a hard time processing the fact that he was talking to a one-inch tall person.

“I am Magan. I come from the country of Flooglebop. I came here to ask for you help.”

“Well, what can I do for you? I mean . . .” Bunker looked at the little man. He wore a one-piece outfit, much like the clothing Bunker wore. The beige clothing fit well on the stout-looking little man.

Bunker noticed something peculiar attached to his dark brown belt. It looked like it could be a tiny fluorescent rod. “What’s that?” Bunker asked, watching his new visitor with interest.

“It is for my protection,” the wee man said. “Don’t worry, you are in no danger.”

Bunker picked up the little man with his fingers, placed him in the palm of his left hand and studied him closely. He could see the man’s tiny features. He was a handsome little devil with long brown hair that hung down to his broad shoulders.

“Where in the world did you come from?” Bunker asked, inspecting the small man. “You look just like me, I mean, a real person—only you’re so small!”

“I am a real person. I live underground near the center of Otherland in a place called Flooglebop. I am a Flooglebopper.”

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Bunker said, getting out of bed. He placed the little man on an oak table next to his computer. “It’ll take me a while to get used to seeing a guy so small. I mean . . .”

“I can imagine,” Magan said, then added, “And I have to get used to your size also. You are so big! Why, even your thumb would make two of me!”

They looked at each other a few moments, each studying the other’s features.

“We are a lot a like,” Bunker said.

“Yes we are,” Magan said, then sat down on the edge of a yellow note pad.

“I’ll be right back,” Bunker said. “I gotta check out if I’m dreaming—or loosing my mind!” He went into the nearby bathroom, brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face.

Looking into the mirror, he squinted his eyes shut, then opened them slowly. His curly brown hair and face looked the same. He still had his father’s handsome features, which made him proud. His teeth were all there in two even rows. His tongue worked fine when he stuck it out at himself.

“Is this some strange, weird cyberspace I’ve stumbled into in my dreams? Or is it for real?” He slapped both cheeks, shook his head, and returned to the bedroom.

“Owanic,” Dillon said, awakening from where he lay on his bed in the corner.

Dillon was Bunker’s favorite canfer. Canfers were small, cuddly animals with petite wings and tails. Some could fly short distances. Other canfers could talk. A few could even sing. Canfers looked a lot like baby seals with large soulful eyes. They were heart-grabbers who came in all colors and were special to the people of Otherland. Canfers lived mostly on raw vegetables . . . and lots of love and attention.

“You’re weird, Dillon. You’re really weird!” Bunker reached out and touched his favorite green canfer. He scratched him behind his small ears.

“Owanic, Dillon weird,” the canfer replied in its strange, raspy voice. Bunker often told Dillon that he sounded like a cross between a parrot trying to whisper and a seal with a sore throat.

“You don’t seem afraid of my canfer,” Bunker said. “As small as you are, a canfer could have you for a snack.”

“No, I’m not afraid,” Magan said, climbing up on a nearby note pad. “We’ve been spying on you long enough to know that canfers are friendly and not predators. Canfers sense we are peaceful and understand our nature.”

“I have to tell my Dad about you,” Bunker said, reaching for the phone.

“No!” Magan cried. “Don’t touch that phone!” his voice threatened.