Moon Over Malacruz

by Jeff Baker

We knew something was wrong when we stepped out of the hotel.

My younger brother Zander and I had gone with our Dad on a business trip, staying in some town on the edge of the Malacruz Mountains. We’d bugged Dad to take us up on the ski lift which ran for tourists all through the summer but he was busy.

He always said he was busy.

The snacks at the hotel were expensive, at least a buck-fifty for a small bag of chips seemed expensive back in 1975 when I was fourteen and Zander was twelve. So early that evening we decided to go to the gas station which was only half a block away. But we stepped out the hotel’s front door, stopped and stared.

We could see the Malacruz Mountains in the distance but they weren’t their usual mottled brown and green; they were covered in snow. A cool breeze was stirring up. I glanced up and down the street; a lot of the flat roofs of low buildings were replaced with pointed domes like I’d seen in an Arabian Nights cartoon. In addition to cars there were several horse-drawn wagons on the street. A few of the people walking around were wearing flowing robes.

“I know this is California, but this is crazy,” I said.

Zander was pulling on my shirt and pointing at the mountains. There was a pinkish-white full Moon rising over the snow-covered peaks.

Zander stammered. He did that sometimes when he got excited. Or scared.

“G-G-Gordie! Th-the Moon! It’s full! It’s not supposed to be full, it was full last week, remember?”

Zander was the one who was into Astronomy and was always trying to take closeups of the Moon and stars by holding his little Kodak up to the eyepiece of the telescope. Me? I was into sports and checking out girls and guys. (But I hadn’t told anybody that last part yet!)

“Let’s get back into the hotel,” I said, grabbing Zander’s shoulders and steering him back through the doors. I stared again; the big stone pillars were now carved images of tall, thickly-muscled men holding scimitars at their sides.

Inside, the hotel lobby now looked like a set for a sultan’s palace in a movie. Big pillows on the floor had replaced the chairs and couches. There was a round pond full of glittering fish in the center of the floor under a round skylight. But the hotel desk was still there even if the desk clerk didn’t look familiar. I walked up to the desk, pulling Zander along with me, both of us trying not to gawk at the lobby. I felt that a lot depended on our acting like nothing was different.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Gordon Hankins. My brother and I are here with our Dad, Alexander Hankins and we got turned around. Could you look him up please? I think he’s in Room 786.”

I was hanging on to the hope that we’d gone out the wrong door.

The desk clerk gave us the once-over and flipped through the registration book. He was, thankfully, wearing a conventional suit and tie.

“Alexander Hankins, Senior,” I said. “We checked in three days ago. It was Monday.”

The clerk ran a finger over a list of names.

“Noooo,” he murmured to himself. He looked up. “No Alexander Hankins registered here. And we don’t have a Room 786.”

“This…this is the Broadway Hotel, isn’t it?” I was trying not to panic.

“Of course,” said the clerk. “But there’s nobody by that name here.” The clerk gave us another once-over. Our shorts, sneakers and cartoon t-shirts felt way out of place.

“Are you two wanting to check in?”

I barely had enough change for the chips and soda I’d planned to buy. I managed a “no” and half-walked, half-pushed Zander through the front doors and out onto the sidewalk.

—end—

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I certainly didn’t plan on starting another serial, but here it is! (I already have one going on in “RoMMantic Reads” https://rommanticreads.wordpress.com/2023/07/15/jeff-baker-at-the-market-of-the-two-dark-moons/ ) By the way, those aren’t mountains in the prompt pic (taken by me, by the way, from the second floor of the Wichita Public Library where this story was written!) they are clouds! And I have seen the Moon rise over mountains—beautiful! —-jsb