A Story about Justin Beaver, Stephen Harpy, and an Unstoppable Pair of Glasses.
Written by Heather Mitchell
Justin looked up at the sky from the windowsill inside the rickety, old house in which he lived with his mother and goldfish. He remembered a time when they had lived in the city. A series of unfortunate events had unfortunately left him and his family bankrupt and his father had left in an attempt to find financial aid. He had never returned. Sometimes Justin wondered where he would have been if he had not began a career in the music industry. Things might have been better. Instead, violent protests had forced his family from
Manhattan, and he now lived on the prairies on the outskirts of
Tennessee. His only friend was Fred. Fred was the goldfish. His mother spent most of the time at the coal mine in the nearest populated area, which needless to say was very far away. Justin sighed. Boredom was the one of his greatest foes. He was contemplating watching television, when a speck appeared in the horizon. The speck grew larger. Justin watched it contemplatively. He had never seen anything like it. It drew closer. Justin blanched when he realized what it was. A mob. An angry mob consisting of multitudes of middle aged women. His first instinct was to run, expecting mothers to pelt him with eggs and yell for him to stop corrupting their daughters. He soon realized that they were angry for other reasons.
“Down with Harpy,” one screamed.
“Defeat Harpy,” another yelled.
At first Justin didn’t understand. Harpy? Then Justin remembered.
Canada. The origin of his birth. The prime minister’s name was Stephen Harpy. Could they be referring to him? When he had left
Canada years ago, Harpy had been alright. Not a great guy, but decent enough for a politician. Justin drew the curtains and hoped that they would go away. Why did they want him to kill Harpy? He shrugged and turned on the television. After a few minutes of flipping channels, he came across
Sesame Street, and decided that it would do till the mob had gone. He couldn’t actually hear the television anyways. Suddenly, without warning, Elmo turned towards Justin and gestured wildly to come closer. Justin, flabbergasted, drew nearer to the television.
“Justin Beaver,” Elmo said, “you need to kill Stephen Harpy.”
“What‽” He exclaimed. “Why? And how are you talking to me?”
“Talking to you is simple. Television is actually a top secret government plan to infiltrate homes across the world. Every television show you watch is preformed by real, miniature people, who listen to your conversations. But that is completely irrelevant. During your absence from the entertainment world, Stephen Harpy has taken control of
Canada, and is making plans to corrupt the
United States of America! It turns out that he was an alien from a distant solar system who has been planning world domination from the very beginning of time itself. The only reason he waited so long, was that your songs gave him weeklong headaches that prevented him from getting any plotting done.”
Justin was used to this type of criticism, so he ignored it, and waited for Elmo to continue.
“Anyways,” Elmo said, “You need to travel to the alternate dimension in which Stephen is mortal, and destroy him! We hope that that will destroy him in this reality as well. If someone travels to another dimension, the version of them there is destroyed, and we believe if you bring Stephen from that dimension back dead, the same affect will occur.”
“Who is we?” Justin asked.
“Me, Bert, Ernie, and Weird Al Yankovic. We are also aliens from another planet that he has already destroyed. We hope to stop Stephen before he creates any more trouble.”
“Fair enough. How shall I do it?”
“Take these glasses,” Elmo said, reaching through the television screen, “They will give you further instructions. With them you are invincible.”
“One more question…” Justin started, grabbing the glasses. “Why me?”
“You’re the only one Stephen is afraid of.” Elmo stated simply. “I have to go. The CIA is getting suspicious of our conversation.”
The television clicked off, and Justin sat, staring at the black screen. The mob seemed to have gone, or perhaps it was just a ruse. He glanced out the window, but they were really gone. He put on the glasses, and a message flashed across the lenses. It told him to go to
British Columbia, and that more information would be given on location. He sighed, and walked towards the phone, ready to book plane tickets.
It had set him back 600 Canadian dollars, but he had made it. It was lucky that he had set aside a thousand dollars back in the day. Without it, he would have had to hitchhike. He arrived at 10am, and hailed a taxi immediately, afraid of being recognized. He had noticed several billboards inside the airport that pictured Stephen Harpy standing in the middle of a flowered field. A message of promised prosperity and general happiness ran along the bottom. These signs made him go even faster. After landing, a new message flashed before him. Now he had to go to Whistler. It was a two hour drive, but he had promised the cab driver an extra $50, and the driver displayed excellent driving techniques and skills that made the trip go faster.
He stepped out of the cab and marvelled at the picturesque mountain before him. It was noon, and the sun was set high in the sky, and there was not a cloud in sight. After being prompted by the glasses, he walked briskly to a ticket booth. One ticket later, he was up the gondola, and on the mountain. A new message guided him towards a demo tent, where he ‘borrowed’ a snowboard and boots. It was rough going down, as he was only a novice boarder, but he finally made it to Dave Murray Downhill which, the glasses told him, had a set of rings located on the run. He was supposed to jump through the centre one, and then he would find himself in an alternate dimension. With as much agility as he could muster, Justin accomplished this feat. He was suspended in mid air, when the world began to spin. Faster, faster. His vision stopped moving abruptly, and to his mild surprise, he was now in a small compartment. He turned to his left, where a small, oval window was located. He looked out, and gasped when he realized that he was miles above the ground.
“Shit.” He muttered. He couldn’t see anyone else in the plane with him, and he had turned down Usher’s offer at pilot lessons 4 years prior. He frantically looked around for instructions, and when he found none, he panicked more. He looked out the window again. The ground appeared much closer, and the glasses didn’t display any lifesaving messages; other than get out of the plane. The plane was plummeting. Justin felt a dizzy spell coming on, and he put his head between his legs in an attempt to get blood circulating in his head again. Then he saw the parachute, conveniently located underneath the seat. He grabbed it and ran to the exit lit by neon letters. He opened the door easily, and wondered why it wasn’t pressure sealed. He jumped out, after securing the parachute to his person and tucking his glasses into his pocket. Seconds later, after pulling the strap, he was drifting at leisurely pace towards the ground.
─ ╬ ─
When he reached the ground, he was immediately surrounded by army personnel, jabbing him with sharp, metallic sticks.
“Who are you?” One said; his eyes outlined with heavy eye shadow, and his hair curled neatly into a single ringlet on top of his head.
“My name is Justin Beaver,” he said, “and I am on a mission to kill Stephen Harpy.” The army men sighed in relief, and lowered their weapons.
“That’s good to hear.” The same guy said. “My name is Joe, but you can call me Joseph. I am the leader on the local militia. Our primary target is Stephen Harpy. Our intelligence suggested that we would find an ally here. It looks like they were right.”
Justin was about to ask them questions, when his cell phone rang. Perplexed at his good reception in an alternate dimension, he answered without checking the caller id.
“Justin Beaver.” A voice said. “Nice of you to join us in our dimension. It’s such a treat to be able to be able to talk with you.”
“Who are you?” Justin asked. “And how do you know my phone number?”
“I was given it by my nearly-identical replica in your dimension. You know me and him by the name of Stephen Harpy. We manage to exchange information my using a messenger of sorts.”
“Son of a…” Justin swore. “Why are you phoning me?”
“Well, you see… I am aware of your plan, and I hope to persuade you to stop your impossible mission.” Stephen Harpy said; his voice tinged with malice.
“How do you plan to do that?”
“Well… I seemed to have someone very dear to you… Someone from your dimension… Do you remember Elizabeth Taylor?”
“My ex?” Justin laughed. “Why would I care about her? I don’t even remember why we were dating. She’s so old… And she cheated on me.”
“Hmmm… Plan B then….” Stephen Harpy murmured.
“What’s plan B?” Justin asked, afraid of the condescending tone of Stephen Harpys voice.
“Do you remember your father? Hasn’t he been missing for a few years now?” Stephen Harpy asked, laughing maniacally before hanging up.
Justin froze, and he felt the blood drain from his head. His father had left and now seemed to be in the hands of a maniac. Justin knew it was all his fault. He would have been there forever, had Joseph not placed his hand on his shoulder and asked him what was up.
“He has my father.”
Joseph’s eyes lit up. “I know where your father is! Everyone does!”
Justin looked at him beseechingly.
“Well, your father, Jeremy Beaver, is a multimillionaire, so naturally it was big news when he got nabbed by the Harpy.”
“Where is he?” Justin asked, angry at his father for not returning home with his fortune, hoarding it all for himself.
“Mars.” Joseph stated.
“Mars?”
“Mars.”
“What…? How?” Justin’s head was so muddled and confused, he felt like asking questions was now just wasting time.
“Stephen Harpy funded the first permanent Mars base, and he turned it into a prison a few yeas ago.”
“Can you take me there?” Justin asked Joseph.
“Yep. I am a fully trained astronaut able to man a full sized rocket without a crew.” He proudly said. “If you want to go there, you just have to follow me to the rocket ship.”
Justin sighed and followed Joseph.
─ ╬ ─
Justin barely managed to get to Mars in one piece. Joseph could man a rocket without a crew, but not very well. The journey was very perilous and very long. Justin approached the domed prison cautiously, but there was a single guard in sight. Perhaps Stephen Harpy didn’t think that anyone would try to break someone out of a prison on Mars, or perhaps the prisoners weren’t given spacesuits, and if they attempted to break out, they wouldn’t be able to breathe. Justin wouldn’t have even guessed that the dome was a prison, except for the large, bolded word ‘prison’ written on the side of the building in Comic Sans. There was a large door to one side, and it opened easily. Joseph said that he would wait outside, so that Justin and his father could talk privately.
The door was designed so that no oxygen left the room, and Justin was able to remove his bulky spacesuit. Inside the dome was single room, filled with fruit trees and a single person on the far side. Justin ran to him.
“Dad!” He yelled, and the person turned around and smiled.
“Justin! I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again!” His father exclaimed.
“I wasn’t sure either.” Justin said accusingly. “Why didn’t you come home?”
“I came here and saw it as a business opportunity. I made millions! I was just about to return home, when Stephen Harpy came to me, and locked me up. I’ve been here ever since.”
“I can bring you back! I’m going to kill Stephen Harpy, and then we’ll go back home together!”
Justin’s dad sighed. “No Justin. I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”
Justin stared at him in disbelief. “Why not?”
“I’ve become accustomed to the gravity level here. If I go back to Earth, I would feel like I was being crushed. It would kill me, son.”
Tears filled Justin’s eyes. “What will happen, then?”
His dad smiled. “You will do what you came to do. Kill Stephen Harpy. Rid the world of a menace, and then go home to your mother. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll miss you.” Justin said.
“And I you, but your time is running out. Every second you spend here is a second you could be using to save the world.”
“Goodbye, father,” Justin said.
“Goodbye.”
Justin turned to go, and ran from the room.
─ ╬ ─
Justin had just left the dome, when he saw him. It was Stephen Harpy, and he had Joseph in a headlock. Justin glared at him, so angry at him for everything he had put his family through.
“Justin, I have your friend. Surrender.” Stephen said, tightening his grip.
“Never.”
“Do not try my patience, boy. You have troubled me for long enough.”
Without thinking, Justin reached into his pocket, grasped the glasses, and threw them at Stephen Harpy, aiming for the head. The throw hit a few centimetres lower than intended, and they stuck him at is neck. Justin hadn’t known it, but the glasses were diamond-edged, and the hit severed Stephen Harpy’s head. It fell with a thump, and rolled a few feet to the left. Joseph screamed, now soaked in blood.
“I hope you enjoy hell.” Justin whispered, as he picked up his head and placed it into a conveniently located sack. Upon touching the head, Justin felt a surge of power. He turned toward Joseph, who was still screaming. “Let’s go back.” Joseph nodded.
─ ╬ ─
During a few days recuperating at a hotel, Justin played several games of baseball with a group of kids who lived close by. It turned out that Justin had a knack for playing baseball, and was scouted on the second day. Justin had agreed for the fun of it, and even played a few professional league games as a pitcher. He won all of them. He was on a high. He was making more than he had ever dreamed, and people loved him. There were no mobs, except for those who wanted his autographs. He was in a bus, on the way to another game when a thought occurred to him. The head was giving him this power. He had tried baseball a few years ago, and he sucked. Now that he had killed Stephen Harpy, he was a pro. And he had been gone from his own dimension for years. Horrified, Justin remembered the glasses, and franticly rummaged through his sock drawer trying to find them. When he found them, he placed them on his head, and no message appeared. He was stuck, and he didn’t know how to get back. A moan escaped him, and he slumped back against a wall. That was when his manager appeared, not recognizing Justin with the glasses.
“What are you doing in here?” He asked alarmed.
“What are you…?” Justin began.
“It’s fans like you that give regular fans bad names! You could have asked for a signature, but instead you…”
“You don’t…”
“…go through his drawers like a freak! Get out!”
“But I’m…”
“No! Leave! You’re trespassing!” Justin’s manager yelled. “STOP THE BUS!” The bus screeched to a stop. The manager proceeded to drag Justin to the door, and threw him out. “Get out of my sight!” For good measure, he tossed a cup of orange juice at him. The wave of liquid flew towards Justin, and he closed his eyes in anticipation.
When nothing happened, he opened his eyes slowly, and marvelled at the sight. He was back, sitting at the windowsill in his house on the prairies of
Tennessee. He laughed. It had all been a dream. He stood up, stretched, and turned on the radio.
“….And the world was a little bit better after the invention of the toaster. Breaking news. Just in, it turns out that the Prime Minister of Canada, Stephen Harpy has been confirmed dead, and his decapitated head was found moments ago. More as the story unfolds.”
