The Fantastic Expungement of Henly York

I’ve heard whispers of a place named Pinnikle. It is a wonderful place - unlike the land you and I are familiar with - where there are sights much more splendid than those we know. There are many differences between that land and this. I did not go for the wanderlust, though. My reason for visiting: to erase a few things from the very ledger with which time records all the things that exist. My "crime": I had swindled when I could have been giving, to say the least.

As for entrance into Pinnikle: If you have not been born there, the only way in is by wish. The wish must be made on either a very bad day, or a very good day - never a normal one. Even then, you are not guaranteed to wish upon the right star. Luckily, I heard of just the right one to wish upon. They called me Henly - no last name - just Henly. I have been to Pinnikle and back.

As for my career: I only ever stole from the rich - the type who took joy in replacing lost goods with new things. I pawned their items at street markets, and used the cash to place sporting bets at Ol’ Shay Farcus’s pub.

I didn’t drink though, for my own reason: Every so often, I’d stop at the children’s hospital to leave a good-will donation. I thought a habit like that ought to be accompanied by another upstanding trait, so I didn’t ever drink with the bar crowd. Anyways, the sober mind helped me master the art of gambling.

The day I went to Pinnikle is a fond memory. It started the night before - a night of a fine day. It was one of those days I had stopped by the hospital, only to come home to my crummy apartment. In my bedroom there was a paneled ceiling, and I stashed what remained of the day’s earnings there, with all the rest. After falling asleep, I was awoken sometime past midnight by the old woman across the alley, shouting at stars from the rooftop of her building… Sophia Liona - the batty, white haired woman - would do that every so often.

“Trynity Everglade,” She called to the sky. “Aren’t you up there? I’d sure like to go back and see my brother before I die.”

“Quiet!” I yelled out my window, weary that losing rest could cause sloppy work the next day.

“Trynity Everglade,” She turned to me, and pointed up.

The woman was so old, I thought she had forgotten words that weren’t a part of her fantasies. I looked up anyways, and to my bewilderment: A star shaped like a human - glimmering, and glinting sparkles of every color as if she were a diamond - came from the sky to talk with old Sophia!

“Sophie Lionhartt,” said the star - her voice like glimmering things. “I’ve come to take you, at last. Your brother, the king, will be pleased to see you again.”

“Oh!” Sophia moaned happily, then asked, “Bring me to the boy’s window first?” and pointed toward me.

The star did so. In no great hurry, floating Sophia told me: “Time, himself, lives where I’m going. If you’d venture a new life, come to Pinnikle and talk with him. You can only enter by wish on a very good day, or a very bad day - never a normal one. Make your wish, but only when you see this star shoot across the sky.”

The star - named Trynity - took the woman into the sky. They vanished in a blast of light, leaving a tail of stardust. I put the strange things out of my head, and fell asleep. The next day, I pondered how it might be to put thievery behind me. I decided to put Sophia’s “wisdom” to the test, not knowing if I could will a good day; but feeling certain I could force a very bad one - to meet Sophia’s wishing criteria.

I wasn’t even confident any of it was true, and supposed the unknown outcome would only cause hopelessness - a great start to a terrible day. I stole many things from the usual places, but I did so clumsily, and escaped to the metro when police were called. I pawned openly, nearby the scene, and was quickly pursued again. I ditched the law, and hailed a cab to Farcus’s pub.

The old man looked at me, and pointed to the telly. News channels plastered my face, with the headline: “The thievius York man.” Without breaking eye contact with me, Farcus picked up the phone and called the authorities on me - gave ‘em my address and all. It hurt.

“Traitor,” I whispered, and made a dash for my home.

Once there, I pulled my millions down from my secret space and threw them out the window into the alleyway dumpster. Sirens whirred as I ran into the street to hale a cabbie, and I thought about the children whose illnesses brought burdensome bills to their parents. I could have donated the money. My heart sank... We drove for the country.

By the time he stopped, it was dark. I couldn’t pay him, so I ran through a field, tripped in a hole, rolled; and ended the series of unfortunate events lying face up, and holding my ankle in my hands.

“Dangit,” I thought, as I looked to insomniac skies.

I heard the cabbie call the authorities, and I was upset. I’d stolen from a good and honest man.

I stood, and made my wish with gritted teeth, “I wish for an audience with time, himself - a second chance!”

Just as I finished my yearning, the peculiar star bolted across the sky, and suddenly I was inside a circular room - lit warmly, and brimming with books! Before me: a long bearded man in a pointy hat sat beside a fireplace. Adjacent to the supposed wizard: a silver, reflective man reached, as if it were pulling a little black book from the shelf.

“You’ve come!” said the thing, and I shuddered.

“You didn’t tell me we’d have a visitor!” The wizard said back.

“I don’t know the future, only what’s history,” Said the silver man, as he pulled his book off the shelf.

Facing me, he ruffled through it. The little thing had many more pages than I had expected - more than what should fit in so small a book. He abruptly stopped fanning them, turned his smooth silver head up to me, and requested, “Name?”

“Wh-who are you!” I asked.

The wizard answered for him, “You speak to Time, himself —”

“—And what is time, but a reflection?” the silver man asked, then urged again, “State your name.”

“H-Henly,” I gave my alias.

“Henly? Just Henly?” said the wizard.

“Not very just, is he?” said the silver man, sarcastically, and again shuffled through his little black book.

“I wasn’t saying he was upstanding at all! Only that he has no last name!” The wizard exclaimed.

“He speaks truth,” said Time, as he found my name. “My records are current, and the last second shows you are only called, ‘Henly’. Were you not given a surname?” he asked, though I could tell he knew.

“Says here: you’re quite the thief,” he added, flapping through many pages of the magic ledger.

“York - You can call me Henly York!” I said.

“Okay, Mr. York. Today is your lucky day. Sophie Lionhartt is back, and I’m in quite the hurry to see her. She is an old friend. Lofi, the wizard, and I shall quite like to see her again before she… You know…”

“D-dies?” I guessed, awkwardly.

“Yes,” said the mirror man, indignantly, then held out the book to draw my attention.

“Do you see this?” he asked.

“I… I do,” I answered.

“All of history is recorded in this book,” He said factually, “And I see here, you’ve wished to be given a second chance?”

“Y-yes, quite accurate Mr…”

“Jack, you can call me Jack. I like that name,” he said.

“Mr. Jack,” I replied, “Can anything be done about my past?”

“I could make you a child again…But I suppose your childhood was full of unfond memories,” Jack pondered, and was not wrong. “Your racooning as a young man, however - we can do something about that. How does an expungement of seven years sound?”

I did not know. I suddenly became distracted by my full bladder.

“‘I do not know,’ thinks Henly York,” He read from the booklet, “‘My bladder is about to —’”

“— Cut it out!” I interrupted.

“Mr. York,” the mirror man said smoothly, “Every moment, thought, and anything which has ever been discovered or still is mysterious, is bound to existence by my ink. This is my ledger of all the things that have ever existed.”

“Could you really take away my time as a thief?” I wondered.

“I can do it, and more, good Mr. York,” said the mirror man.

“You will return to your own land,” He began, “Seven years past, and seven years younger. You can keep your memory of all these things, but will be able to reclaim the years lost to thieving. How does that sound?”

“I’d quite like to try,” I said.

“And try, you will,” He conceded.

The mirror man - whose name is Jack - tore manny little pages of history from those seven years, and I felt a hole in my heart as he did. He had been wearing a pretty wooden box as a necklace, wrung round his neck, though I had not noticed until then. Jack put the papers inside, and as they fell, the sorrow in my heart disappeared. I completely forgot how to steal, and did not mourn the lost skill.

“Wh-what’s that box?” I asked, uncomposed.

“All the things that don’t exist,” He said casually, “It is something I have only recently procured, though it has belonged to me since my conception.”

Quite the piece of merchandise, it was! I found myself surprised I did not want to steal it, and even more shocked at my sudden change in mannerism.

“What happens now?” I asked both the wizard, and the mirror man.

“This and that,” Time replied, casually.

He snapped, and I found myself in bed - it was late morning. I heard sirens, and could not contain feelings of concern for being arrested. Through the window, I saw the service vehicle pass by my building. I jumped onto my mattress, and tore down the ceiling panel. There was nothing inside! I reached up instinctively, as if Time had written I should do so. My hand found a bundle of cash, and I brought it down to see a letter attached. It read:

Henly York,

Take this twenty thousand dollars, and start your life over - not having to steal, but only to receive this sweet gift.

— Signed: Jack

P.S: Sophie says you can find her tales in her house across the way. Perhaps they’ll be of some good to you, in your new life.

I went straight to the children’s hospital, and told the receptionist I’d like to become a kid’s doctor. I insisted on donating a thousand of my twenty to the children in intensive care, to show my devotion. They processed my donation, and a physician came to thank me, in person.

The little doctor was named Misty Midgens. She pulled strings at a local university, and made me her understudy. For seven reclaimed years, I studied and worked under Dr. Midgens. Now I’m a physician, too; and I dedicate three hours each day for patients whose families cannot afford to pay.

A final detail: Misty had been the personal doctor to Sophie, and somehow advocated to keep her out of the looney bin. Every so often, I accompanied Dr. Midgens to visit the old woman, until she vanished seven years later. I tell all my little patients the stories that Sophie left behind - beginning with her tale of Pinnikle, the lost truth.

The End