Being the Private Journal of George Moley

After a rough night against robots and aliens and pulling Lloyd out of the fire, there’s nothing Ninten would like more than to sleep it off and forget that it ever happened. But happen it all certainly did, and the strange lady’s voice in the sky is so insistent of the great journey before the two boys that she even tells their dads about it!

Now, armed with the mysterious legacy of Ninten’s great ancestor, they have no choice but to pack plenty of inhalers and a twenty-three pack of fortified bottle rockets, and set off in search of ah… two other people, whoever they are, who will help them get, somewhere else, I think?, to reach the ultimate goal of… hm, I guess it’s not very clear yet. As bad as Ninten’s summer vacations usually are, this one is shaping up to be the worst one yet!

Will Ninten’s lazy dog ever tell him where the basement key is hiding? Will he ever make sense of the mad ramblings of his great-great-grandfather George Moley? And will he and Lloyd encounter the Youngtown Neighborhood Watch and live to tell the tale?

Find out on this week’s episode of… The Podcast Against Giygas! No crying until the ending.

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You’re listening to… The Podcast Against Giygas!

Episode two: Being the Private Journal of George Moley

*

Ninten had let Lloyd sleep over at his house that night. He had already stayed up later than most in Podunk, and all his exertions made him more exhausted than he expected. He didn’t wake the next morning until ten am, most unusual for a Saturday. Even then, he was still so tired he lumbered from his bedroom and down the stairs without even bothering to change out of his pj’s, expecting only Lloyd to be in the living room waiting for him and not much worried about keeping up appearances just for him.

He was fully shocked awake to find, not just Lloyd sitting on the couch waiting for him, but also Mr. Fahrquhar, and also, most unusual of all for a Saturday, Mr. Elliott. 

—…dad? What are you doing here?

—Hello, boy. I was on my way back last night anyhow, and I heard that you and your friend here ah, went through some stuff. Have a seat with us, would you?

Ninten looked his father over. He was still in his slacks and collared shirt and tie and nice shoes, and still had on his trenchcoat. He indeed looked like he had been on his way to work, only to be recalled for some urgent business at home. And Lloyd’s father? Well, he looked like Lloyd’s father. 

Ninten regretted having ever invited Lloyd over, as it led to this moment, hopelessly exposed in front of Lloyd and these two adults, sitting together waiting for his arrival. Nonetheless, he obliged his dad and sat on the couch beside Lloyd.

—I know we’ve grown apart, and that’s on me. But I think we have a lot to talk about right now. 

He grabbed a briefcase beside him and gently produced a crisp document, placing it on his own lap. 

—So, there’s a part of your mother’s will, that she said not to tell you about until the time was right. Well, I think the time is right. There’s an old chest in the basement, you know the one, we always told you not to poke around in it? Well, what’s in that chest is yours. You just have to unlock it. 

Ninten didn’t say anything, and looked himself over, his stained white shirt he only wore to bed, his threadbare polka-dot shorts. He looked at his hands, the nails were clean enough and not too long but could use a trim. He looked to the floor, at his ugly bare feet on the shag carpet, too long and too skinny. He hated the sight of them, and unlike his fingers, the nails were long overdue for a paring. 

—Okay. Where’s the key?

—Um… there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it. You have to ask Rink. 

As his father worried it would, this made Ninten grumble and raise his eyebrow.

—One more time?

—…no no, you heard right. You have to ask Rink.

—I have to ask… our dog?

Ninten’s father sighed and read from the will, following along with his index finger.

—“I also leave my only son, Ninten Elliott, the old oak chest in the basement, the contents of which can only be unlocked with a specific key, the whereabouts of which he must ask our family dog.” Here, see for yourself. 

Ninten grumbled and took the paper, skimming over the relevant entry. Well, it was in the will, what choice did he have? Without bothering to put on his slippers, not even paying attention to the bewildered faces of Lloyd and his dad, he made a beeline to the front door and slammed it behind him. 

The sight of Rink, the Elliott family’s sleepy Shar-Pei, lazing in his doghouse made Ninten angrier than he already was, as if what was once a dear friend in his youth, and lately an expensive boarder in the house than no one had the heart to evict, was now a co-conspirator in some horrible plot to make a fool of him.

—Well, where is it?  

The dog raised his head, shook it while blowing breath and slobber out of his wide flapping jowls, and rested it back down on the ground to continue his nap. Ninten grumbled and grabbed Rink’s collar, jerking him up and at ‘em.

—Come on, you dumb mutt! Where’s this stupid key?! Cough it up!

Now, that’s not a very nice thing to say at all, is it? 

Ninten jumped out of his skin in surprise when he heard the voice in his head. Much like the pleasant voice of the strange woman from the night before, it was localized directly in the middle of his head, and not too loud, but not nearly as pleasant as that woman’s voice.

Yeah, it’s me. Down here.

Ninten looked down to see his dog staring right back at him.

I know you’ve been going through a lot, and you miss her as much as I do, so just this one time I’m gonna let that slide. And I’m thankful you still keep me fed and take me on long walks and let me inside at night when it’s cold, but… still, we’ve been drifting apart, you and I. We used to be best friends, it was you and me against the whole dog park. I miss those days, don’t you? I just wanna say, if you’re ever feeling down in the dumps, like nothing’s going right, you can still talk to me, okay?

Ninten, not knowing what to say, just stood there and nodded yes.

It’s in the locket in my collar, by the way. Here, go ahead. 

Rink raised himself up on his hind legs and lifted his head, baring his neck and the locket dangling on his collar. Ninten bent down to his level, futzed around with the clasp on the locket, and produced from it a small skeleton key. 

And ah… before you go? Can you do me a favor for my trouble? Can you scratch me on my head? You know the spot, right above my ears? 

Ninten, already feeling weirded out by his dog speaking to him and thinking things couldn’t get any weirder if he begged them to, shrugged why not and obliged his pet.

OOOOOH. Awwwww yeah, that’s the spot. Oooooooo yessssss. 

About five minutes after he stormed out the front door, Ninten returned to the living room, sheepishly holding a key in his hand. Lloyd saw the thing and his face lit up.

—Wow! There it is, huh? So did you really talk to…

Ninten grunted, as if to say shut up I don’t wanna talk about it, and headed to the basement door not far from the living room. 

The steps leading to the basement and the floor itself were  grimy with years of neglect, and it was only now that Ninten really wished he had put his slippers on. He fumbled for a light switch on a string up above, and then scanned the room. Finding a lot of boxes and more and more of his mother’s antiques that his father never had the heart to sell or give away, he spotted it at the far end of the room. Without wasting any time, he unlocked the thing and swung its lid open.

There was another locked chest within. Ninten tried the skeleton key on this chest, and while fortunately this key also did the trick, unfortunately he found yet another locked chest inside the last one. 

Ninten grumbled at how needlessly stupid the process was, and only ever-so-slightly cheered by how this was so typical of his mother. He remembered a time when he was six years old, and wanted a new pair of roller skates. There was big wrapped present in the house, as tall as he was and just as wide. When he eagerly ripped the gift wrapping off the huge thing and opened the box, he was surprised to find another cardboard box deep inside. He duly opened eight more wrapped boxes, shrinking to the size of a shoebox, finding at the very end the skates he so much desired. 

Well, this time there were only five chests, and once he opened the last he found a book inside. Not a book, though, a leather-bound diary, quite fragile, and full of ink-scribblings that made his head spin. 

Among all the arcane math formulas that not even his excessive studies helped him to recognize, and words technically in English but could have been in a foreign language for as much sense as those words put together made, only one thing stood out. And when he saw it, a wave of intermingled shock and rage swept over his heart. He yanked the light switch off and slammed the basement door, stomping all the way back to the living room with his dad, the journal in hand. 

Ninten flipped to the first page of the tattered book and read it aloud.

—Being the private journal of… of George Moley.

*

Everyone in Podunk knew who George Moley was. Almost a century ago, tall tales were whispered of a man and his wife, a flash of light washing over them and vanishing, and two years after that, the man himself reappearing just as mysteriously. Aliens in the sky flying on metal ships, and two that followed him back to earth. George evaporated them with a lightning blast and flew away. The story of Mad George Moley and his poor wife Maria captivated the otherwise unremarkable town of Podunk for years. A statue was erected in the town square, supposedly the site of the man’s return, depicting him pointing up to the starry night sky. Every now and then, they would experience an uptick of tourists from the city thirsty for other strange mysteries akin to Area 51 or Bigfoot. 

And now, Ninten held his personal diary in his hands. 

 —…yeah, buddy. George Moley was your great-great-grandfather. And your mother, she could do things with her mind. I could never hide even the smallest fib from her, she could always read it on me. Remember that one day we told you we just up and got rid of the sofa? Well, the truth was, we got into a little argument about who knows what and ah, she accidentally set it on fire.

As tense as the moment was, his little reminiscences made Ninten’s father chuckle just a bit. 

—All this time. You never told me!

—You have to understand, she… when could we have possibly told you, that you can probably move things with your mind, or maybe you can shoot lasers out of your hands? On your first day of kindergarten, or your tenth birthday? We wanted to wait till the time was right, till we thought you could handle it. She… wanted you to have as normal a life as possible, a… happy childhood, before she sprung this on you… she wanted for you what she didn’t have. Look, I never imagined in a million years I’d be having this talk with you, without her next to me. You gotta believe me on that.

That sentiment calmed Ninten just a little bit. He believed that that was true enough.

—Anyway… it looks like you can do things with your mind too, kiddo. And, the voice of a woman spoke to… Mr. Fahrquhar here and I. I think you heard her too. She wants you to go somewhere, and… I think you should do what she says. That book you have there, I think that’ll help you make sense of… whatever this all is.

Ninten’s father rose from his chair and picked up his son’s backpack, already quite full, giving it to him. He also took out a card from his wallet.

—So. Plenty of inhalers in here, and just in case you run out I gave you a copy of your prescription. I took out another credit card too, if you need anything else. Just ah, pretend you’re me and you should be fine. 

—This… this is insane! I have final exams, and a summer job, and… I can’t just go, who knows where, alone…

—Well ah, you won’t be alone, kiddo. 

Mr. Fahrquhar rose from his seat too, talking to Ninten as if Lloyd wasn’t sitting right beside him on the couch.

—I'd like you to take Lloyd with you. 

—What?! No way! Me, go with him, out there? There’s… aliens, and monsters… if I go up against any of that, there’s a… gah! Fermi’s paradox! Aliens aren’t even supposed to exist! How do you even calculate the odds of-

Lloyd’s dad kept speaking to Ninten, all but ignoring his son.

—True, he is just about worthless in a fight. Muscles made of cottage cheese... twigs for limbs... and he'll probably slow you down, can't run to save his life... awkward around girls... well, awkward around everyone, really... but somehow I have a feeling he'll be safer around you than if he stays here.

But before Lloyd could get too miffed at his father’s assessment of him, one more voice made itself known to the boys and their dads.

🎶

They all looked up to where the sound came from. It sounded like a child with a beautiful singing voice, operatic even, but it came from the mantel on the fireplace, next to the urn beside the last family photo of Ninten and his parents.

It was the porcelain doll! Something had possessed it, once again, to get up on its artificial legs and belt out one bar of a curious melody. But just one bar, and just before the next one, just when it was about to get interesting, it sat itself back down on the mantel and whatever force it was that animated this inanimate object disappeared for good. 

Well, if anything was to settle Ninten and Lloyd setting out for good, that was it. Porcelain dolls don’t just get up and sing willy-nilly every day, and one shouldn’t ignore it when they do. 

That morning, the boys stopped at Twinkle High School for one last errand. The Twinkle High School science and chemical labs, to be more specific. It transpired that of all the days the Eagleland postal service could have delivered to the Fahrquhar residence a twenty four-pack of official Duncan-issue bottle rockets (strictly for educational purposes in amateur jet-propulsion experiments and not to be used as otherwise indicated, of course), it was that very same morning they were to set out. The precious rockets in his flat-white hands, Lloyd deemed it an awful shame that he was to miss out on the experiment he was looking forward to with them, that is, in constructing fully-radio controlled, “fortified” bottle rockets. Unless, of course, his friend and companion were to indulge him in a little pit-stop on the way.

Lloyd had a plan that was sure to work, and all he needed was Ninten’s help. As final exams were well underway, it was easy enough to enter the school proper, but the lab was another story, given Lloyd’s multiple three-strike bans as a result of earlier mishaps. Lloyd was to get in, er, the way he usually did, which was a mystery to everyone to this day, and all Ninten had to do was stand beside the front door. Not blocking it, per se, but close enough to be noticed by any unwitting fellow nerd wanting to use the science facilities only to be put off by the perpetually-glum Ninten. 

Well, the plan was working like a charm, and for a good fifteen minutes at that. But just when Ninten was getting antsy to leave the school and get the big journey to wherever underway, he was rocked by a massive bang that shook him off the wall upon which he leaned his shoulder. A second later Lloyd scrambled out of the front door, looking down the hall with shifty eyes. His face was covered with black soot and his white hair stuck on end. 

—Well, that’s that! A smashing success! I now have twenty three fortified bottle rockets! 

—Don’t you mean twenty four?

—Yeah, that’s what I said. Twenty four.

—…Lloyd. Did you blow up the lab again?

—Nope! Definitely not. Say, Ninten. Do you think this journey’s going to be long?

—I really couldn’t say. Why do you-

—You think it may take us to some ah… very far away places?

—…Lloyd? Are you…

—Like, let’s say, strictly for the sake of argument, one of us might have done something really really bad, well, do you think it’ll last long enough for whatever trouble there is to uh, blow over?

—You’re sure you didn’t blow up the lab?

Lloyd stiffened his shoulders, raised his chin, and put his right hand over his heart while holding up his left hand in a salute.

—Scout’s honor. Well, former scout, I only got to Webelos. May God strike me down if I GWAH! 

Another bang erupted in the lab behind Lloyd, shocking him out of his solemn salute. But a moment later, seeing he was otherwise unharmed, without missing a beat he faced Ninten and put his hand back on his heart.

—See?

The night before, the strange voice in the sky had said to go to Youngtown. That was easy enough, as the local Paradise Line station was a short walk from the school, and never mind that there were noticeably more police cars and firetrucks than usual, speeding away with sirens blaring in their opposite direction. 

—Hm… I wonder what that could be for. 

The station reached and a credit card-swipe later, Ninten and Lloyd were aboard a speeding train Youngtown-bound. The train car was sparsely filled, which allowed Ninten to claim a window seat. As Lloyd tried to look over Ninten’s shoulders and out the window at various woodsy and mountainous vistas and swung his legs on his seat, which were too short to touch the floor by just that much, Ninten pored over the journal, his old and tattered family legacy. 

—I’ve never been on a Paradise Line train before, you know… “Now we’re going in style/let’s start wearing a smile/life keeps getting better all the time… so much better… taking the-”

—Lloyd! Who sings that song?

Lloyd gave his friend a look like he was from Mars. To be fair to him, it was a strange question to ask, as it was everywhere on the radio, one of the biggest-charting hits of 197X. You couldn’t get away from it even if you tried. 

—The Runaway Five, of course.

—Do me a favor, let’s keep it that way, huh?

This deflated Lloyd well enough and he went back to staring out the window for a couple minutes, before motioning to the journal in another risky attempt at breaking the long silence.

—How’s that coming along?

—I’m making more sense of it, but not much. There’s a couple things here about my powers. I guess it’s called, “psionic power.”

—So it’s true, what my dad said? You really can like, shoot laser beams and stuff?

—It says there’s constructive and destructive psi. I guess I’m destructive… But for every one thing in here that makes sense, there are whole pages that are illegible, or just plain crazy. Like this… “How to defeat the Universal Cosmic Destroyer: Step one, take a melody, simple as can be. Step two, give it some words and sweet harmony. Step three, raise your voices all day long now, love grows strong now. Step four, sing a melody of…”

The note reached the end of the page and Ninten turned to the next one.

—“…of love, oh love.”

—Say. That’s kinda nice. 

—It’s nonsense. What even is a “universal cosmic destroyer,” anyway? Universal and cosmic are synonyms-

Ninten was interrupted by a wheezing fit. He took his inhaler from his pocket and puffed on the stuff, and a minute later he was back to normal. He glared at Lloyd, who was looking to him with concern the whole while.

—I’m fine.

*

Who really knows, except maybe the local historical society there, why Youngtown was named the way it was. Perhaps it was due to the sheer will and grit of its founding member, a lady or gentleman with the last name of Young. Or perhaps it was wryly dubbed so by its founders all those decades ago as the last of a series of other established townships, a literal “young town” amid a bevy of older fogies in the bunch. 

What an amazing coincidence, then, that decades after that first barn-raising, Ninten would step off the Paradise line and set foot into Youngtown and find all around him not a single adult in the entire town. Everyone, police officers, mail couriers, city construction workers, and people bustling back and forth in business suits, was younger than Ninten by at least a couple years. There were no cars on the streets as far as he could tell, presumably because there was no one around old enough to drive them, but sure enough a bus came careening down the Main Street, driven by a little boy not tall enough to see through the windshield as his feet touched the pedals on the floor. 

Before Ninten and Lloyd could head any further down that Main Street, however, they were accosted by a group of eight kids, none of which could have been any older than twelve, who stood in their way and gave them a mean look. As Ninten tried to walk past them, he was stopped by all of them drawing a slingshot and training them at the boys point blank. The posse’s apparent leader inched a little forward, keeping his weapon aimed as Ninten and Lloyd held up their hands in surrender.

—How old are you?

—I, what?

—Your age, big britches! Now!

—I’m fifteen. 

—Fourteen.

The leader mulled over this, then went to a companion to whisper among themselves as the others kept their slingshots trained. Then, he turned to Ninten and Lloyd.

—I guess you’re not an adult yet, but it’s pushing it. You’re okay for now. 

Ninten sighed and tried to walk further, but was stopped again by the armed children.

—Whoa there, bucko! When I said you’re okay, I meant we’re not gonna pelt you with rocks, not that you can just waltz right on into our home!

—Look, I really don’t have time for this…

—Well, that’s too bad. We’re the neighborhood watch, we got oodles of time. 

The kids all pulled their weapons even more taut, which made Ninten draw his bat and hold it aloft, at which point a tense and silent stalemate was reached between the two. It was Lloyd of all people who stepped forward and broke the silence.

—Wait!. Those are Gutsy-brand slingshots, vulcanized rubber slings welded to a rare petrified wood from a small forest in Sri Lanka. And those pebbles look metamorphic, very dense. At a distance of three feet between us, and the velocity those can achieve… there’s an eighty percent chances of bruises, sixty percent severe lacerations, and even forty-five percent chance of an eye injury in your case. I wouldn’t mess with those odds!

—That’s ah… he’s right! Listen to your nerd friend, buddy.

Lloyd then cleared his throat and turned to the attackers.

—Maybe we can settle this peacefully. Is there any way we can, earn our way into Youngtown? 

—Pah! There’s nothing you have that we want! 

—…say, Mikey, what about Pippi?

The leader spun around and glared at the boy among them who spoke, a heavyset and rather timid-looking member among them.

—Shut up, Trevor!

Ninten raised an eyebrow and put his bat down.

—Who’s Pippi?

—Nobody! Now listen, you-

—She’s the head of the neighborhood watch. She’s been missing for a couple days now, last we saw her she was doing a recon mission to Spookane. 

—Trevor!

Another among them, a tomboyish girl, put her slingshot down and piped in to their apparent leader.

—Say, that’s sounds like a good deal, Mikey! If they rescue Pippi, we let them into Youngtown. 

—That’s enough now! Who’s the leader of this outfit anyway, me, or you buncha chowderheads?

—Well, neither. It’s Pippi… so that’s why, I mean…

—Agh! Just shut up and lemme think!

The leader mulled this over for a long time, glaring at his companions and at the boys before him all the while. Finally, he grumbled and lowered his weapon, before producing a photo to show to the boys.

—Here, this is what she looks like. If you can find her out there, and if you get these idiots to shut their traps for once, then we’ll let you in. But don’t show yourself here without her, unless you want a face full of pebbles, got it?!

What choice did they have? It was either go to Spookane, or turn right back around into that train station and buy a ticket to Podunk. There was no Paradise Line route that led to Spookane, so Ninten and Lloyd hoofed it over from the Youngtown city limits. Sure, an hour-long walk seems far away to most people who’d rather not walk somewhere, but fortunately Ninten and Lloyd were both accustomed to daily treks from their school to their houses, so it was not too far out of the realm of feasibility. Unfortunately, the previous train ride to Youngtown was long enough that the sky was now turning pink and orange, and the sun was starting to creep closer and closer down to the horizon. The air was thick and smoky, like someone was burning leaves. It irritated Ninten’s breathing a little, and while he didn’t quite need an inhaler yet, it made him stop and catch his breath all the same. 

—Hey, Ninten?

—Yeah, Lloyd?

—I didn’t get a chance to say before we left, but uh… thanks, by the way.

—For what?

—For saving me yesterday… and also, no one’s ever let me sleep over at their house before. 

Ninten, his asthma just abating, now let a feeling of intense shame wash over him. The journey ahead of them was strange enough without Lloyd sharing feelings like this with him, and it made him uncomfortable. By his friend’s admission, he was the best friend he ever had, and it was a bare minimum of acknowledgment due to a mere willful expediency on his part. Lloyd certainly wasn’t his best friend, after all, and neither did Ninten feel as though he behaved toward him to earn such a distinction in the first place. 

—It’s alright. Come on, let’s get this over with. 

*

You’ve been listening to The Podcast Against Giygas. The Podcast Against Giygas is an audiobook written and performed by me, Garrett McMahon, based on Mother, the 1989 video game for the Nintendo Entertainment System directed by Shigesato Itoi. With production by William Pawlowski, thumbnail design and art direction by David Peters, and musical selections from the recent Earthbound Beginnings remake hack, with arrangements by livvy94, Snyderman, Bluestone, Pinci, and Mary Strawberry.

This podcast is a guaranteed masterpiece! It is also a fan-made project affiliated in no way whatsoever with the Nintendo Corporation or Mr. Itoi. This podcast is free to listen to, ad-free, and always will be. I hope you enjoyed today’s episode, and if you did, a rating and review on your podcast service of choice is always appreciated. Well, I’ll see you back next Monday, but until then, no crying till the ending!