Pajama Sam: No Need to hide when you've got Mac OS X 10.5!

The Common Room Non-Pixar Art
#1

Do you want to read the next chapter?

  • Yeah, I’ve never heard of this fella before!
  • Yes, I love Pajama Sam!
  • No, you should stop. I hate Pajama Sam.

0 voters

Crinkle HAD been Sam’s greatest achievement in his entire life, that much was certain.
When he was younger, about six, he became accustomed to the practice of drawing his feelings, fantasies, and innermost wishes. At only six years of age, his art had taken on a deeper wisdom much beyond Sam’s years. His imagination held no parallel.
So of course it was an utter mistake when his father had taken matters into his own hands of his son’s future–”I’ll not have him growing up a dreamer!”–and shoved the hapless artwork into the depths of the paper shredder.
Sam hadn’t meant to let his father go. He just wanted, more than anything, to save what was his. Great art should NEVER be crushed within a shredder. Did Michelangelo’s father, intent on his son throwing the discus when he was sketching and sculpting, throw his son’s beloved work and toil into the Kracken’s cage? So it was a surprise, when the only prime instinct within Sam told him he had to do SOMETHING, ANYTHING to stop his father, to get his drawings back to him, to let them be a part of him again…
It was a surprise to both of them when the paper CRINKLED…and sprung out of the shredder, bits and pieces flying off every which way…
And then the paper MOVED, like a human being, although it certainly didn’t look like one. The crayon and paint scrawls of Sam’s had evolved into a being of such silliness, so unorthodox and out of place, the colors had run together to create something, not quite an animal, but certainly not a robot or human, although it contained bits and pieces of each. A mouth had formed underneath the billowing mass of tie-dye, onto what looked like a pair of flat penguin-like feet. It grinned, the toes turning up at the ends, and despite how much trouble he was in, Sam had to laugh.
His father kissed Sam’s mother goodbye, claimed he had an urgent meeting to attend, and stormed out without another word. He did spare a hateful look at Sam and his newfound rebellion, however.
That hatred of Sam’s free will stayed with him for years.

He never remembered his father any other way.
#2

So wait. Are we talking about the Pajama Sam computer game? Because I grew up with it and enjoyed it. :slight_smile:

Or does this have something to do with the story you have in your post? Because that sounds cool so far too. :wink:

#3

This is a fan fiction. It’s like an extension of the Pajama Sam story. Think of it as Pajama Sam 5 or something. laughs.

#4

Sweet…am loving it so far. Please continue…

#5

Of course, we could also talk about that, because I plan to post a series of fanfictions here (or on another topic, I suppose) of the games plots (I know, I have a long road ahead of me, because I don’t even own the games because my computer’s too new, and the game changes randomly. But I’m up for it. I may even spruce up some of the dumb stuff, which is few and far between) and I’ll continue this, obviously. It began with an English prompt in school, so that’s good I guess. Makes school less unbearable. :laughing:

#6

FIVE YEARS LATER…

“Love is when you’re kept up all night thinking of him, and then when you fall asleep, you find him in your dreams.”

Amy did this, every night, like clockwork, but it wasn’t until three fateful months ago that she knew who to dream about.

“Flatter me, and I may not believe you. Criticize me, and I may not like you. Ignore me, and I may not forgive you. Encourage me, and I will not forget you. Love me and I may be forced to love you.”

She hated her weakness, hated the fact that his eyes, his looks, his HAIR…

One look and she knew. There was no turning back to her childish dreams, those STUPID infatuations…

“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.”

Was it really? Reality was supposed to be NORMAL. Oh no, can’t have that. Her life wasn’t normal with Sam. It was dreamlike enough already. Her life was “normal” back when she had a crush on Tom Hulce in Amadeus. No sooner had Sam arrived, she automatically forgot Amadeus…

She forgot…for the time being.

“Dreams are illustrations… from the book your soul is writing about you.”

Amy’s crazy life she had led with Sam for those three blissful months would certainly make for a strange book, with lots of colorful pictures, and toffee. Why it had to be toffee, she had no clue, but it wouldn’t make the “book” her soul was writing a bestseller. She was convinced after reading this quote, that if her soul was writing a book about her, it was constantly procrastinating, taking coffee breaks, and killing time by playing music and throwing small office supplies out the window. THIS was her soul.

And here she was, reading random quotes she had printed off the web for writing inspiration, swigging coffee and lazily thinking of her sad, sad love life. What did that say about her?

“I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart so long. If we’re in each other’s dreams, we can be together all the time.”

They were ALWAYS together, she and Sam. And for the oddest reason more often that not Sam was the weaker sex in the couple. He cried when she turned off her phone, convinced she wouldn’t call him, even if they were snuggling on the burgundy living room couch, three feet away from each other (a lot of the time, the distance between them was less, especially when they felt extra affectionate). He would stand in front of her house in the Seattle rain for days on end if she was quarantined with the flu. If she got mad at him, he spent days wondering why with all the attention to the subject a philosopher would give to the topic of improving mankind. After he gave it much thought, he would bombard her with flowers. There were no end to the flowers. The flowers would suffocate her if he dared bring another bouquet.

This bothered her immensely, these stupid habits of his, so she would do everything in her power to assert authority on Sam. She kept her phone off all day, coughed in his face with her germy mouth, repeatedly shouted at him for the same stupid reasons, all to drive the message in his thick skull that he was annoying and to stop it before she did something drastic. Once she even made the maid burn all his love letters to her right in front of him as he pined for her at the window that one time she had the flu. (Amy had no parents, they were overseas for a few years, leaving her with just the maid, who was Spanish and vaguely reminded her of Lucille Ball. The maid, named Francesca, had always loved seeing the two of them together, Amy and Sam, Sam and Amy, and muttered to herself in very fast Spanish whenever she was ordered to shred Sam’s latest poem before his very eyes. Francesca hated the look he gave her. It wasn’t just the initial fear and sadness of seeing his proclamations of love destroyed, but it was like the shredder was his ENEMY, like he hated it, was afraid, staring wide eyed at her, still a child, speaking with his eyes, How could you?) However, Amy’s TRUE idea of drastic measures was to fall in a puddle at his feet and beg him to stop the nonsense before her heart exploded by how much she loved him, and continued to love him, and increased her love for him until it reached dangerous levels.

“Be careful what you wear to bed at night, you never know who you’ll meet in your dreams.”

This quote amused Amy very much. She always read it and thought of herself, dressed in loose boxers (Sam’s favorite) and a gigantic T-shirt that slipped off her shoulders and almost touched the floor. Dressing up like a kid was a thing Sam LOVED for her to do. He ate it up. It reminded him of his past. Not the dreaded day of his father’s departure, GOD no, but his escapades. He LOVED her when she wore sloppy, boyish clothes.
It sounded perverted, but she could just see her own face, placid and lilting, dreaming of Tom Hulce as Amadeus, just like old times. But she couldn’t bring her feelings back at all. Not one ounce.
Sam was a love thief.

“Love is when you shed a tear and still want him, it’s when he ignores you and you still love him, it’s when he loves another girl but you still smile and say I’m happy for you, when all you really do is cry.”

When Amy first heard this one, she mistook parts of it, revising it in her head to render, “Love is when you shed a tear and still want him, it’s when he ignores you and you still love him, it’s when he loves another girl but changes his mind and throws his arms around you, begging you to still smile and says I love you, when all you really ever do is cry.” When she proudly and reverently recited it to Sam, he guffawed and declared it mushy and too much like movies or anime. “Who says that stuff anymore, anyway?” He had said.

I want YOU to say it, in the chilling Seattle rain, when I’m chasing after you as you leave for a flight to somewhere sunny to see another girl, and it’ll be all Casablanca style, she thought, her imagination drifting into chaotic waters, never to return, And I’ll run until I collapse, and you’ll save me, and we pick up where we left off…where you never take me, to that really romantic, fuzzy place you never want to initiate the trip to…

I always have to do EVERYTHING.

Did it say anything about the way she wished her romance with Sam was like?

You can bet your sweet life it did.

“I love you, and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling you the truth than adore me for telling you lies.”

This is a load of bull, she thought, and shredded this one. That’s right. SHREDDED it.

She didn’t know he was watching.

He cried. That was usually a common occurrence, but today, he didn’t bawl as usual, but slowly sobbed, eyes squeezing out devastated tears.

Whatever put him over the edge today was serious. An old, bitter memory. Something he’d never tell her in a million years.

Well, if that didn’t prove how close they were, she didn’t now what would. Angry, she stormed out of the office without so much as a glance toward him. She knew that was cruel. he NEEDED eye contact. That was the signal that everything was OKAY.

He really, really, loved her.

LOVES her. Loves. He still does. Forgive my grammar.

If one is truly dedicated, they love their love regardless of what they do, even if it hurts them, or tears the two apart further away than Alaska and the moon.

He continued to cry, sobbing, sniffling and hiccuping with childish abandon, inconsolable by even Francesca, who offered him a tissue. He needed this cry. He never had this cry in all those years. Was Crinkle still there? Where was his father? Who deserved his love the most? Who received the most? The answers would NOT be the same person.

He loved her despite her mistake of making him cry.

You shouldn’t love someone who does that to you. That makes you the BIGGEST COWARD in the galaxy. You become needy. You shrink into the meekest being alive or dead. Everyone takes advantage of you, in time…in time…

Like those trees that took my things…and Darkness…And the General, ready for war…Thunder, Lightning…

He made a list in his mind of all the people who presumably scared him, hurt him, or took advantage of him in the past. He multiplied the hurt by ten and STILL didn’t reach the level of sadness he felt here, with her, RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM…

She didn’t mean anything. By it, he added. Of course she meant something to him, but he was sure, positive, that she still loved him. She would fix things.

No matter what, he would still love her.

A crinkling noise escaped from the side of his left shoe. This, he did not need. No matter what, he didn’t want to cry again. Brushing back tears, he turned his foot gently to cease the noise and see what he had trodden on. It was a muddled piece of printer paper, revealing the core of his very thoughts. He ran away, desperately trying not to weep right then and there.

“She laughs at my dreams, but I dream about her laughter.”

#7

I am sooooooo waiting for you to do that :smiley: ! This story already had me. Can’t wait to see how you redo the game plots (I’ve only played the first game, and I want the second and third ones so badly!).

One thing: Are you gonna compile playlists for your Pajama Sam fanfics, like with AUTO-Biography? ‘Cause I liked your playlist for that one, and I’d like to see what you have in store for our favorite pajama-clad tyke. :wink:

#8

+++++
Ch. 3
+++++

“Your car gets dirty too easily.”

This was the one complaint Sam had uttered during the moody car ride to the car wash. Amy couldn’t even fathom all the strangeness of the petulant comment and of the situation itself. First off, Sam didn’t make any sense saying that, for there is no recorded history of any car with the ability to collect dirt more than another. But he was right in the respect that Amy had driven the two of them to the car wash three times this week, which is too many visits for even an off-roader. It was also a waste of water, and even more so since the men that owned the local car wash were incompetent, scruffy-mustachioed men, who slipped on thin air and slipped motor oil everywhere. If you asked for a paint job, they’d probably ask, “You mean everywhere?” Not to mention the fact that it was an exceptionally rainy day, and there would be odds of about 7 to 1 that Amy’s grey Bug would be immaculate by the time she reached her destination. Even worse, the forecast had predicted thunder, with frequent lightning, and already Sam began to quiver and shake in the backseat. Every time a faint rumbling was heard, Amy could hear Sam whimper and screech, and then press himself obnoxiously into the back of the driver’s seat, annoying and distracting Amy.

It was a long, arduous trip. Both of the passengers were upset for different reasons. Sam was hoping to make Amy turn back and drive somewhere where the two of them could be alone, or at the very least, where no thunderstorms were approaching for the next millennium. Meanwhile, Amy desperately wanted Sam to stop being such a kid and ride in the front seat like a man.

Or, at the very least, stop crying into her back while she was trying to drive safely. That would help.

However, there was a small consolation for Amy as she drove and listened to the pleading in the backseat: every time there was a flash, or a distant reverberation, Sam pressed deep into the back of Amy’s seat. It was then, only then, when the shuddering and crying subsided, that Amy felt Sam’s gentle pulse, accelerated and frightened, but the beat of the boy she loved.

Soothed, Amy turned up the CD player and listened carefully to an acoustic song she loved and knew well, before she had ever met Sam. Gradually, she heard Sam’s heart slow, and became accepting of his endearing childlike flaws.

“What’s that, Sam? Did you say something?”

“I said, this is the song I listened to to go to sleep when I was little. With Crinkle.”

The sound of the name of the only person (if you could call Crinkle a person) that Sam loved besides Amy cut her like a small, sharp knife. But she willed the acute pain away, and asked, “You miss Crinkle, don’t you, Sam?”

Sam responded hesitantly. “Yeah…but…”

Amy had never known Sam at such a loss for words, except probably when he was this timid. “What?”

“I think I can be strong without relying on what I miss, and have lost. And also I…”

“What?” Amy asked again, gently, barely a whisper. She was almost to tears when Sam had said what he said just now.

“I have…you.”

That broke the threshold. By the time the two of them reached the car wash, Amy had to excuse herself to dry her eyes. She didn’t return for an hour, and by then she had forgotten all about the car wash and walked to the drugstore, leaving Sam alone.
+++++
While Amy was gone, Sam decided to have a little fun. After inserting two quarters, he squirted the entire car with freezing cold water, getting himself and the proprietors soaked in the process. He finally switched to soap when the men shouted for him to stop. Sam sang happily while sudsing the windows and the like. Before he rinsed off, though, he couldn’t resist sitting inside the car and watching the foam slide off the windshield. He made up a song about “Slippery Sam”, and laughed and laughed until he completely forgot about the thunderstorm.

Amy came back with seven bars of chocolate and a more or less relieved face. She even congratulated Sam on such a great job on the car. But once they returned to the vehicle, Amy knew the subject of Crinkle had not been dropped. Obviously the thunder had found it’s way back into Sam’s paranoia, and he screamed this time around.

A miserable Amy contemplated what to do on the ride home.
+++++
When Sam awoke the next morning, the day was bright, but in an unnoticeable way. The sky was still dark, Amy still infuriated, and everything that might go wrong should go wrong today for him. This much he knew.

But as he stumbled out of bed and heard Amy call his name (it had not gone unnoticed by him that she called him “Pajama Sam” for the first time since forever), he discovered the brightness standing before him.

Sliding down to him, on the oak banister, was an older, taller, and, realer than he had ever been before, Crinkle.

With Sam’s growing imagination came a more complex and solidified vision of his dearest friend. Instead of an undefinable shape, Crinkle now had a smooth-round, oblong shape, almost like a Russian stacking doll. Crinkle’s feet were nowhere to be seen, and before Sam could panic, Crinkle explained that he no longer needed feet, that hopping around was far more fun and convenient. He now wore a belt, adorned with a slightly off-kelter David’s Star, around his brightly-striped body. His beak was now more defined, strong, and long, with a silvery star emblem at the bridge of it, and surrounded by greasy feathers of alternating black and white. A tendril of feathers spiralled up towards the crown of his head, ending in a little silver twitch at the top. Even his eyes were more expressive, alight in their own universe, with a life unlike no other.

Sam was elated.

As the two friends united once more, Amy ran into the kitchen to bake some caramel turtles. For once, all was well.

But not for long…

#9

I know I’ve already reviewed it, but I’ve got to say, this is a wonderful chapter. I especially love the meeting between Sam and Crinkle. It’s like a family reunion-type of moment.

And the storm part, that really did grab my attention. Especially when Sam gets so scared of the storm, and then plays with the water hose at the station. :laughing:

I do have one question, however, concerning the last chapter:

Is the General you mentioned supposed to be this guy?

Quote from Wikipedia article on “Pajama Sam 3”

#10

I mention a General? looks over chapter 3. Erm, I’m pretty sure I didn’t mention a general, but if I did, it’s not Beetfoot. The game references are coming up soon.

#11

No, I meant in Chapter Two.

But now I’ve also got another question about Chapter Three.

[spoil]Are Thunder and Lightning subtly making a cameo appearance by causing the storm?[/spoil]

#12

Oh, that… :blush: Yeah, it is. Pfft, I can’t believe I forgot that.

And yes, Thunder and Lightning are making a short cameo. :smiley:

#13

Thanks for the quick reply. :smiley: You’re so awesome!

And hooray for Thunder and Lightning’s short appearance! I don’t know why, but I like these characters so much, even though I haven’t played the game they’re in.

#14

We had a strom today. I’m using the excitement drawn from it, to write a little extra then I had intended before getting to the next big plot device.

I needed some inspiration for a connecting chapter anyway. :blush:

And thanks for the comments, JustSoWall-eCrazy! I’m so glad you like the fanfic so far! The chapters planned after the next one will get a little turbulent!

#15

+++++
CHAPTER FOUR
+++++
“Sam…are you ready?”

“Probably not, but who cares?”

“That’s the spirit! Atta boy! Let’s go hook this thing up!”

Crinkle kept repeatedly shouting various “Atta boy”s and “Let’s go”s all the way up the stairs. Sam just tried to keep up, the only sounds from him being some grunts and occasionally a short puff of air, signifying that Sam was not cut out for superhuman activity.

This, however, was different. The minute Sam was alone with Crinkle, the puckish little Russian-doll figure hatched a plan to celebrate his return, and to guarantee him and Sam a few jollies in the process as well. At first, Sam was reluctant, but he soon regretted rejecting the idea because no soon after he had said no had Crinkle welled up into violent, pathetic tears. The bawling wouldn’t stop until Sam agreed to execute the plan.

It was a good plan, besides. With a little wood from the firewood stockpile behind the house and a little craftsmanship from Sam (with surprisingly little help from Crinkle, though it was his plan and he was the most enthusiastic), Sam had rigged a little wooden raft like the ones he and Crinkle had enacted pirate adventures on. It was a symbol of their friendship, their mischievousness, and ultimately, a chance to remind the world that the two of them together were a fantastic pair. It even had an old skull-and-crossbones flag on its short, thick mast, where it would wave proudly once it was in motion.

The intention was to tie the raft at the top of the staircase, where Sam would wait until the signal was given. It was then Crinkle’s duty to descend the stairs (he preferred to slide down the banister, as it required no need for legs or feet) and head towards the kitchen, where Amy currently was. Crinkle would distract Amy until she had fully turned around and her back was facing the opened front door, out of her sight. Then Crinkle would give the signal, a loud, bizarre cough, and Sam would cut the rope, and send the raft out into the front yard, across the street, and would be in sight of all the neighbors in their yards doing yard work or relaxing, who were still oblivious to the fact that their leisure was soon to be disturbed by a four foot six inch land raft.

It helped that Amy’s house was expensive, and on a hill. That would help because the neighbors were highbrow and snooty, and would never expect the booby trap soon to occur. The slope of the road below Amy’s house ensured the swift travel of the S.S. WACKOO!!!,dubbed such by Crinkle.
“Their reaction’s gonna be PRICELESS!” Crinkle insisted during the trip up the stairs. “I swear to you, man, this will be the latest and greatest adventure by the incredible duo of Sam ‘n’ Crinkle yet! They’ll never forget it!” He added with a dramatic swing of his wing-arms.

“I hope I never forget it, either.” Sam muttered under his breath. Because inside his mind, Sam still felt a sense of loss, as if soon, something from his childhood he had spent his whole life carefully preserving would disappear. He shuddered.

The raft endured one last push, and the unstoppable pair of Sam and Crinkle had made it up the whole flight of stairs with their wooden partner in crime.

Crinkle started to adjust the angle of the S.S WACKOO!!! until he claimed it was aimed straight at the open doorway.

“I don’t know, Crinkle…it looks a little off. A LOT off. Are you sure it’s aimed properly? I don’t want anyone to get hurt. This thing could seriously harm-”

“This THING, as you call it, happens to be the S.S WACKOO!!!, Sam, and I assure you, it can survive anything.” Crinkle insisted, almost irritably. “This baby will not hurt a thing! I’ve got it aimed in a way that will make the result of this awesome prank much, much better. Trust me. I wont let ya’ down.”

Sam studied the face of his buddy, his best friend, his sidekick. The gleam in his eyes seemed sincere, or maybe something else. Whatever the case, Sam should have trusted Crinkle from the beginning. He shook his head to send all the suspicious thoughts away.

“Okay, then. You’d better get down to that kitchen and give the signal! Time waits for no one!” he shouted encouragingly, and offered his hand for a handshake.

Crinkle accepted the handshake as best as he could, considering his wing-like arms, gave Sam a look saying “Right on!”, and began his hammy descent down the banister. He had an agenda, and it would be completed.
+++++
Within the gigantic expanse of the kitchen downstairs, Amy cooked up a storm. However, the kitchen never became humid, it was simply too large. There were marble counters all around the perimeter, with an island in the center for serving snacks, hors d’oeuvres, and breakfast to Sam.

Francesca usually did the cooking, but Amy preferred to broaden her skills and cook by herself at least once a week. Today she was making boeuf bourguignon.

She was perfectly content as she sang her and Sam’s song and poured the beef broth and red wine into the simmering steak pieces and veggies. She felt, in an oddly humble way, on top of the world, as if she was feeding all the world like an omnipotent mother, a goddess of food and simple joy.

“Nothing can stop you now…” She found herself singing in time to the acoustic tune of Sam’s younger days spent with her. She was…most definitely…on top of the world…

“Hey, Ayms! What’cha cookin’?”

On top of the world…

At least, she was until Crinkle walked in.

“Hello, Crinkle…” She said as diplomatically as possible. It didn’t help that she was chopping carrots with a butcher knife.

“So, whazzat smell? it’s really good.” He advanced in a slow, deliberate way, almost sauntering. How could you do that without any feet?
She knew he was trying to get to her. The look in his eyes was of a sinister nature. Sam couldn’t see it, but Amy was no fool.

But what did he want?

“So…boeuf bourguignon?” Crinkle asked, studying the recipe across the cutting table. “That sounds really nice, and…French.”

Oh, how Amy wanted to chop HIM up. In slow, deliberate movements. She imagined his beak as one of the carrots. Chop…chop…CHOP…

“I came down to ask you something…” Crinkle went on, ignoring the silence. “How did you learn to be such a great cook?”

Amy set down her knife and sighed. “All I know is I gotta keep stirring this stew meat and not let it burn. That’s all. Nothing special.”

Crinkle seemed smugly satisfied with the answer, almost as if he was happy to hear that Amy wasn’t a total prodigy at something.

Amy twitched. She had to think of something to stop this unnerving…THING…from pushing her over the edge. Slowly, she pushed a can of stewed tomatoes into Crinkle’s hands…or whatever those feathery, fingery things were called.

“Please open this can.” The words strained to come out coherently.

Crinkle sought out a can opener. “I hate tomatoes.” he grumbled as he slipped the can into position and it spun around.

“Well, then…” Amy said, catching the can and dumping its contents into the simmering mixture in the pot, “Don’t eat any.”

“It’s just…I feel so blasphemous now, after opening that can, like I betrayed my beliefs or something…” Crinkle admitted.

“There’s no religious prohibition on eating tomatoes or opening a can of them if you don’t like them. Lighten up.” said Amy.

Crinkle seemed not to hear what Amy told him. He nodded, but it seemed an absentminded nod, as if Crinkle was contemplating something more important than canned tomatoes.

But as soon as he opened the can and put it down on the counter, Crinkle whipped back around with a beaming smile. “Great! See you later!” He shouted in a freakishly cheery voice.

He went back up the stairs with a horrible series of coughs.
+++++
Sam was waiting reluctantly at the top of the staircase. While he couldn’t hear what Crinkle and Amy were talking about, the conversation went far too long for Sam’s liking before Crinkle gave him the signal.

He untied the rope and let the S.S. WACKOO!!! set sail.

He watched it in awe for the graceful moments it spent gliding over the staircase, it’s momentum making it barely touch the ground. The flag rippled in majestic and comical abandon.

It sailed above the stairs…

Made an unexpected turn over the banister…

And made a crashing noise somewhere inside the kitchen.

Amy screamed. Sam would soon follow. He ran into the kitchen, Crinkle trailing hesitantly behind.
+++++
Amy had taken full force of the blow, and she lay in a heap on the floor, leaning on the palm of one of her outstretched hands. The other one was limp, and her ankle was trailing blood. The slight possibility
that it could have been red wine wasn’t plausible.
“Amy!” Sam screamed over and over. He reached for her hand and kissed it several times, tears streaming down his face. “Amy! Amy! I’m sorry!”

Amy just sat there with an empty expression. She didn’t wince when Sam tested her injured limbs, didn’t react to his romantic and sad reassurances, but only sat there, vacant, holding it all in.

“No, Amy, I’m sorry. I thought I aimed it perfectly at the door. We were gong to launch it out into the street. I apologize. Are you hurt?”

Then Crinkle got the gall to talk.

The only thing in Amy’s power she do to in response to that was stare daggers at Crinkle and reply, “I. Hurt. EVERYWHERE. You’d better hope nothing’s broken. This is all your-”

Sam ran to her and took her hand. “Amy! Crinkle didn’t know! He’s really sorry! You know he wouldn’t hurt a fly…”

Amy just stared at Crinkle again, unblinking.

“Let me…get you a doctor…” And Sam ran over to the phone to make an appointment for Amy.

Behind Sam’s back, Crinkle turned over to Amy and stared right back at her with as much intensity as she used staring at him. He narrowed his eyes so his face almost seemed to say, “Good luck getting better.”
+++++
Amy spent a week at the doctor. Nothing was broken, but she sprained her ankle. Her days at the hospital consisted of nothing but drinking milkshakes and playing rummy with her 96-year-old roommate.

It was such sheer madness and monotony that she almost had to stay extra days at the hospital for mental recovery. Sam had already had a hard time cooking up a story of how Amy got injured besides one that involved imaginary friends or runaway rafts. But the hospital released Amy on time as promised, and all seemed well.

In order to cheer Amy up, Sam took her to their favorite childhood hideout. Amy tried to convince Sam she could walk, but Sam insisted on carrying her anyway. It didn’t do much for her sanity. She went dizzy every time the thought crossed her mind that she was IN SAM’S ARMS.

Their hideout wasn’t exactly a traditional hideout, for there was no clubhouse, and the area was mostly wide open space. It was really just a hill or so, with some trees dotting the place every so often. All kinds of trees grew there: eucalyptus, pine, oak, maple, and ash. Amy called it “Dream Hills” when she was younger and Sam asked her to name the place.

Before today, she would have hated the name, but now, as she was in Sam’s arms as he carried her up the hill like a strong, sensitive hero, she knew her romantic dreams had come true.
+++++
They sat at the summit of the highest hills, where some snow still lay. Amy was afraid of getting cold, but Sam put his jacket down for her to sit on. He didn’t mind sitting in the slush.

Amy just sat there waiting for Sam to say something. The silence seemed unbearable.

After what seemed like an eternity, Sam spoke.

“What do you believe in?”

It was a question that seemed out of place for Sam to ask, but Amy knew she should answer. It must have taken all his courage for Sam to ask that. Not that Amy knew why.

“I…believe in long baths and chocolate.” She started. When she saw that Sam was listening without a sign of stopping her, she continued. “And living life well, but in a way that will make sense later in your life. Like…it’s hard to explain, but a sort of uncomfortable life, but one where you find what you were looking for. It’s just that…you have to work for it, and then you’re happy.”

She turned to Sam and waited for his answer.

“Erm…I’ve always wanted a life where you don’t have to worry about anything…like you’re protected by whatever kind of force is watching over you. And you’ll never have to worry about losing your innocence or anything getting you down.”

His words were said with such strong belief that Amy ignored the fact that her philosophy and Sam’s were completely different.

“I know…” Sam continued, “That you’re probably thinking that we aren’t meant to be…that we’re too different, and we think different things…but…I don’t want to lose you. If I lost you…I’d…be stuck in a cold cave within myself. A place where not even Crinkle could drag me out of.

“I’ve never found love before you. I know that if I went out into the world…the way I am…no one would put up with me. I’m sorry you got hurt. I was devastated. I…don’t want you to get hurt again…not matter how little. I…I’ll protect you. Like I should have been doing. Like I would be able to as Pajama Sam. If the case ever came up, and I hope it never will…I’d…die for you.”

Sam’s proclamation of love hit Amy harder than even the S.S. WACKOO!!! Before she completely lost it, he reached out and patted her head. It wasn’t a truly romantic gesture, but between the two of them, it was deeply moving.
+++++
Amy fell asleep on Sam’s soft, scratchy navy jacket, feeling the sense of innocent love and joy pulling her back to the days long ago…

Sam was playing near a stream, attempting to pull a small plank of wood out of the water. His arms were too stubby, so he was not successful.

He left the board in the water and crossed the bridge, only to run straight into a loop of rope. It tightened around his ankle and he was yanked upwards until he was at the same level with the trees.

The trees were customs, and stole his belongings, such as his lunchbox, Illuminator mark V Junior, and especially his beloved Pajama Sam mask.

After they had done their awful deed, the trees froze back into their normal tree-like state.

Sam dangled in the air, helpless. Meanwhile, a figure he could not see shimmied up the blueish tree to the right of him and climbed down the rope to pull him up. Sam only felt himself untying the knot that held him suspended in the air.

After he fell, the shadow ran away.

When Sam returned from his adventure in his closet, he went right to sleep.

In the morning, Sam went over to Dream Hills to play. But while he was trying to climb up one of the largest trees, his foot got tangled in some of the crooked branches. He struggled to break free, but the fall would be devastating if he tried any harder.

He called for help, but no one answered. He felt alone, and this time he knew he couldn’t make his way out of it.

He wasn’t Pajama Sam here.

He called one last time before giving up, a low, pathetic wail:

“Help…!”

It came as a shock to him when he was answered by a screeching:

“Don’t worry! I’m comin’! Stay right where you are!”

In a flash, a girl had appeared. She was running with so much zeal and speed that it was like she had been running her whole life. Her hair, which came to her shoulders, was shiny, and whipped along as she ran on. Her eyes and face were flawless for a little girl her age, contorted into a face of determination with the desire to reach her rescue mission: Sam.

He was in awe. He didn’t like love then, only friendship, but as soon as he saw her, he wanted to become best friends forever and always.

Maybe even get engaged.

When the girl finally made it, she stopped abruptly to catch her breath, then she scaled the tree. Her climbing was so swift and like second nature that Sam thought she was a monkey at first.

When she reached the top, she carefully pulled the branches away from Sam’s foot and caught him before he fell down.

“I’m Amy.” She grinned, as if this was the perfect time to introduce herself while being stuck in a tree holding somebody’s ankle.

“Sam.”

“Sam?” She repeated, pulling Sam up into the leafy part of the tree where she sat. He sat down, too. “Well, Sam, I jus’ KNOW we’re gonna be good friends! Whad’dya say?” She asked, reaching out with her hand.

Sam accepted the handshake, still dazed, but in a good way.

“Sure, Amy!”
+++++
They laid on their backs watching the gray sky until it started to rain on them. As a fat raindrop landed on Sam’s cheek and splashed across his face, Amy quickly leaned over and kissed Sam on the cheek.

Each of them blushed the whole way home.
+++++

#16

Just one question: Why is the boat called the “S.S. WACKOO!!!”, and where did you come up with that name?

BTW, is the shadow mentioned in this passage supposed to be the kind tree lady or Darkness? :confused:

#17

Well, first off, about the boat, I honestly have no idea where I came up with that name. XD
I guess I kinda wanted something silly and undignified for the name, obviously named by Crinkle, so that’s where the odd idea came from.

As for the shadow, I did my best to keep it’s identity a secret, but also to almost divulge who it was, but if I point out the similarities between that scene and a similar one, it’d be too obvious. But I can clearly say here: it’s not the kind blue tree.

#18

Thanks for telling me. :smiley: I really appreciate it.

#19

Not at all! It’s a pleasure to answer questions like that!

#20

At last, an update! :smiley:

+++++
chapter 5
+++++
Sam’s mother finally returned the week before summer vacation was over, with mixed results. When she had heard of the accident and Amy’s stay at the hospital, she dropped everything and started to head home to her son.

Once the pair had heard of Sam’s mother’s return (from Crinkle of all people), Sam and Amy had hurried and rushed and bustled to ensure that nothing signifying their anarchist summer vacation displayed itself. This meant no cookie crumbs, no lipstick stains, no Crinkle.

When he was little, Sam would stow Crinkle away in the closet to hide him. But after his little adventure in the Land of Darkness, he decided to put his good friend under the bed instead. At least the dust bunnies would provide some padding for Crinkle.

However, Amy and Sam soon found that Crinkle was too tall to hide completely under Amy’s bed, too big for her closet, and too loud to hide in the first place.

Keep in mind that Amy’s house is bigger and more expensive than Sam’s, with a wide, luxurious feather bed and a spacious closet holding at least three times Sam’s wardrobe.

“Geez, the thing’s the same height as us, but when it comes to hide him, it’s almost like he’s swollen or something.” Amy snorted.

At the very last moment, they had no choice but to put him in the kitchen, under the sink, which surprisingly had enough room due to the additional space underneath the central counter. Easy to keep Crinkle hidden, but with just enough room to move about a bit if he got bored or uncomfortable.

Stuffing Crinkle in was an entirely different circumstance entirely. He kicked, pushed, screeched, and shoved, and all the while, Sam and Amy were running out of time. Even logic and coaxing didn’t seem to work.

“Just get in there, Crinkle. I promise we’ll let you back out!” Amy tried to console him.

“Sam might promise, but I know you of all people wouldn’t Amy dearest.” He shot back.

Sam merely stood there, silently pushing, unaware of how on Earth his friend could be so horrid, so ornery. It was as if everything awful silently stirring within him was rising to the surface, like bubbles in a boiling pot of water.

Sam tried to ignore it and tell himself that Crinkle was just mad about being confined. Crinkle had even shouted, “I SHALL NOT BE CONFINED!” repeatedly.

After another arduous fifteen minutes, Amy and Sam had managed to finally stuff Crinkle completely into the bottom of the counter.

And just in time for Sam’s mom arriving, Amy mused. At least he won’t bother us from under there. it’s quiet and comfortable.

And indeed it was. The carpet around the counter also lay underneath it, and it was frayed and fuzzy from the friction from cooking on the counter, providing an almost nest-like interior. If Crinkle extended his neck or arched his back, touching the “ceiling” of the counter, his feathers rubbing on wood would be almost undetectable by the ear. Sam’s friend was safe, and would certainly never be discovered by his mother.

No sooner than Amy had thought that, when Crinkle wobbled around in a little circle as dogs do, trying to get comfortable in his little nest. The sound was, how shall we put it, unbearable. Amy had clearly forgotten Crinkle’s oily texture to his feathers, and oil made feathers scratchy, and the abrasion on wood did not bode well.

Worse still, Crinkle couldn’t seem to shut up. as he turned about, he mumbled something under his breath. The words were unintelligible, but loud enough to be audible and unpleasant.

Before Amy could tell Crinkle to kindly SHUT UP, the front door opened, and a familiar voice called out, “Sam, are you in here?”

It was too late. Time for the exciting adventure of Try to Hide Captain Horribly Obnoxious from Sam’s Mother Dearest.
+++++
“So, you two didn’t wear out poor Francesca, did you?”

“It’s her day off, Mom. Besides, Amy’s been cooking more often than Francesca has.”

Sam’s mom raised her eyebrow and directed her next question to Amy, “You guys didn’t just eat take out, did you? You know how Sam is with junk food…”

“Mom! Amy’s a great cook! Look at this kitchen! She even had it specially designed to make it easier for her to learn-”

“ ‘Learn’? You mean she’s not familiar with cooking? Sam, I-”

“No, wait, that’s not what I meant!” Sam interrupted, waving his hands in front of his mother. “I mean, Amy CAN cook, she just wants to learn more advanced stuff, like crepes, boeuf bourguignon…”
Suddenly, while Sam’s voice trailed off, a muffled sneeze came out of nowhere. Sam’s mother began to look around suspiciously, and while she wasn’t looking, Amy quickly kicked the little gap underneath the middle counter, where a bunch of feathers were conspicuously peeking out.

“OW!”

Sam’s mother turned around quickly. “What was that?”

“Oh, must have been the…television! I’m so sorry, Amy and I usually don’t leave it on! I’ll be right back!” Sam shouted, running up the stairs.

“So…Amy,” Sam’s mother continued, “What have you and Sam’s been doing in your evenings?”

Amy swallowed slowly, trying as hard as she could to avoid answering the uncomfortable question.

“I’m sorry if it sounds like I’m such a busybody, Amy, but Sam trusts you, you know, and I’m just a worried mother. You remember his days as a kid when he would get lost in his own closet and I couldn’t find him for ages! I just don’t want a large scale disappearance occurring.”

The guilt kicked in, and Amy replied,“Well, we…watch movies, and…visit the neighbors…and…I bake cookies, we listen to music, go to the park…”

“Besides Francesca, you don’t have anyone else living here, do you?”

Another sneeze, this time spraying Russian Birdie Doll Snot on Amy’s bare foot. She tired to wipe it on the floor as covertly as possible, but Sam’s mom spied the odd sweeping motion and gave Amy a concerned look.

“Amy…”

This was singlehandedly the most awkward moment of Amy’s life. “Uh…huh?”

“Do you have to go to the bathroom?”
+++++

After about another thousand questions directed to both Amy and Sam on a caliber rivaling the Spanish Inquisition, Sam’s mother decided it was high time she and Sam took a vacation to Seattle.

Though it was her favorite place in the entire world, Amy wasn’t allowed to accompany them.

Of course, Crinkle wasn’t either.

Guess where he got to stay?
+++++

There was only one more day left until Sam came back from his trip to Seattle. Only one more day…

And Amy couldn’t take another minute in her own house.

Francesca soon discovered Crinkle while sweeping up in Amy’s usually immaculate room. She was already suspicious of why it was so dirty when Amy had always kept it clean before. While the discovery of a giant bird-like creature would have fazed most, Francesca chalked it up to another crazy American dressing up in one of those animal costumes just for fun. She didn’t even mind the extra work or the task of cooking for Crinkle’s voracious appetite. In fact, the additional work would get her a raise.

But Amy was not a happy camper during all this. This is why, on the last day of Sam’s vacation away from his vacation, and two days before kids had to prepare for school, Amy bolted out her front door and ran as fast as she could to the nearest store.

The nearest store happened to be a Blockbuster outlet, and Amy wasted no time in attempting to lose herself among hundreds of newly released video games and cheap movies.

All of her efforts went out the window, however, when she passed through the computer game aisle and set her sights upon a very familiar face.

Sam’s.

But before you begin to wonder about exactly why Sam was in Blockbuster while he was supposed to be on vacation, let me clarify: it was his face on a computer game box. Granted, he was five years younger here, but it was definitely him. Amy would make no such mistake.

Above Sam’s childhood likeness were the words “Pajama Sam”.

Quickly snatching up the box, Amy read every bit of text on the package, from the game description to the computer requirements, hoping to find some sense or explanation for this violation of not only Sam’s privacy, but his childhood, his fears…everything.

It was only when she skimmed the barcode’s UPC that she deciphered the obvious culprit.

0934C R657001I 001N45601K 00123LE

Of course.

I have to act, I have to go NOW, Amy thought in a confused haze, And tell somebody, anything, anybody, anyone…

“Nice, isn’t it?”

Amy slowly craned her neck to reveal what she was knew was there, but dreaded even the thought of it, Crinkle himself. He looked smugly at the all computer games disclosing Sam’s adventures.

“How…how long has this been going on, Crinkle?” Amy asked breathlessly.

“Oh, about thirteen years, the series has been around since 1997, and I even got the rights to make it into a Wii game!” he shouted gleefully, holding up a Nintendo Wii with the Pajama Sam advertisement boldly labelled across the front.

“Crinkle…” muttered Amy furiously, “You won’t get away with this. Sam trusted you.

In a flash, Crinkle whirled around to look his adversary square in the eye. Amy suddenly felt paralyzed, in shock, and could do nothing outside of freezing into position and gasping slightly.

“Amy, Amy, Amy…” Crinkle began in a frigid voice, “You thought you could keep Sam to yourself and I could be out of the picture for good, eh? Well, it’s hard to like that little sentiment, considering what it means for my own welfare, but I wouldn’t want to disappoint you…”

Try as she might, the struggle to break free of whatever strange hold Crinkle had on her was impossible for Amy.

“You know, during all the time I’ve been here, I wondered why Sam didn’t bring me back instead of you. But I’ve noticed something about you. You’re desperate. You wanted so badly to hold on to your precious Sam, you thought bringing me back to him would keep him around.

“Well, that’s kinda funny, ‘cuz he’ll spend so much time with me, YOU’LL be the one on the outside. And you can’t imagine how much I’ve wanted that to happen.

“On the other hand, I love how you’ve tried to keep your desperation a secret. It’s like you’ve got two settings, and when you brought me back, you set yourself on one setting only, your Machine Mode. And it makes you act and feel cold and distant like you’ve got no emotions whatsoever, so you can bake your cookies and listen to your music and be a drone that does nothing but that. An unfeeling, baking, listening machine, and no more.

“But on the inside, your wheels are turning, and underneath your chilly exterior, I detect a fragile consciousness that’s about to break.”

“And now I want you to close your eyes and visualize your life as what I’m about to tell you, because that’s exactly what it is.”

The spontaneous change in Crinkle’s tone of voice chilled Amy more than his insightful look into her soul. She obeyed, not noticing Crinkle circling behind her to whisper in her ear.

“Are you ready?” Amy nodded, slightly shocked at the unexpected hiss in her ear.

“Your life is like…a yard sale.

“Because I’m going to take everything away from you.”

Crinkle chuckled at his metaphor, and continued, “That’s right, I’m like those shoppers that buy you out and even haggle their way into buying something you put on display but didn’t want to get rid of. And then I’m stealing your cash register.”

As Crinkle spoke, Amy suddenly felt completely different. Her body felt all hunched over, and she felt as uncomfortable as if she were all lanky limbs and nothing else. In fact, that’s exactly what she felt like. The sensation made her seem like a rag doll.

“Because you’re nearly broken, and I’m gonna break you, and then buy it.”

Suddenly, the looseness, the dizzy feeling, and Crinkle’s frightening words and scary intentions discombobulated poor Amy. She fell to the floor, slipping away.

“And then you’ll completely belong to me.”

+++++