CEDO LOOKED LIKE PEOPLE

—E.C. MCMULLEN JR.—

I first made friends with Cedo Eidolon as the next door neighbor kid and schoolmate, and then with Firth as just the next door neighbor kid. They were two different people sharing the same bedroom at different times of the day. 

They lived next door to me where our upstairs bedroom windows faced each other across the grassy gulf of property line. 

I had slat blinds on my window, Cedo and Firth had a single curtain. 

Of the two, I only went to school with Cedo. 

The thing was, Cedo only lived in his house during the day. At night, Firth lived there. 

Cedo looked like people: Firth didn’t: not really. 

I had tried to share this new found knowledge with my parents, but only once. My parents didn’t know, didn’t care, and didn’t believe me. If I wanted to call Cedo ‘Firth’ at night, fine. Kids have an imagination, imaginary friends, all of that crazy kid stuff. 

“So go play with Firth or Cedo or whoever.” 

“Be home by eight.” 

“Don’t make us come get you.” 

They never saw Firth. Mom saw Cedo and me get on the bus in the morning. She’d be there to pick up Cedo and me when we came back—when it was her turn. That satisfied her sense of involvement in my friends, and her personal tolerance of rudimentary obligations to the neighborhood. 

At night, Firth and I would talk from our bedroom windows. Sometimes I’d go over and we’d play video games until I had to come home. 

Being a neighbor of the Eidolons, tuned me to a different set of normal. 

The weekend of my first sleepover, Cedo and I played in his backyard, fighting unseen enemies, dying, and getting up to fight again. Later we read comic books in his bedroom. 

Then the sun set, and Cedo dropped to the floor still as a doll. 

I blinked in surprise. His eyes stared out at nothing. 

Fingers of fear reached out for me, but before I could react on them, Cedo’s bed sheets made a kind of gasping sound. I turned my head to see them inflate with an inhale, and as they did, the bed sheets fell away as my friend Firth sat up. 

I looked back to the doll-like Cedo, as Firth took him and shoved him under the bed. 

“I wish my folks would let me throw that away,” he said. 

Just like that, what was Cedo was gone. Only Firth and I were in the room, while something that almost looked like Cedo, was hidden out of sight. 

Firth’s mom called us to dinner as I tried to make sense of what had just happened. 

We ate with his parents and nothing was said of Cedo. It was like it had always been Firth there in the house. My confusion left me curious and concerned. I wasn’t quite afraid. Not quite. Fear sat invisible on one side of me, waiting to snatch at my heart, while my friend Firth sat next to me: dark and crusted as a burnt match. 

Firth’s parents chattered like any parents at dinner time. Mr. Eidolon asked what plans we had tonight. 

“Read some comics,” Firth said. “Play some video games.” 

His bright yellow eyes burned from the charcoal pits of his sockets as the grey whispy hair that moved like smoke, shrouded his head. In his actions and words, Firth was almost like anyone’s little boy. 

I waited to hear a peep, some mention, but nothing was said of my friend Cedo. 

Cedo simply didn’t live in this house at night. 

“Pass the potatoes please.” 

“Would you like a roll?” 

“Easy with the salt.” 

“We rented a comedy tonight. You boys can watch it with us if you like. We’re making popcorn.” 

The flow of the Eidolon household was so natural, so conventional in every way. The only hole was the missing Cedo. The only bump, Firth. 

During the movie, Firth and I sat on the floor next to the couch, where Mr. and Mrs. Eidolon sat against each other. At one point, they all laughed at something in the show. Eyes not moving from the screen, Firth reached up a burnt, cracked hand, and Mr. Eidolon held it. That tableau stayed so I turned away as not to stare. 

I didn’t know what to make of it. But the fear I may have felt didn’t come to the fore. My seven year old self didn’t know what else to do but imitate the calm of those around me and accept it as well. 

Still, even without fear, there remained my childish curiosity. My questions wouldn’t let me sleep through the long night, but first I had to figure out what I was asking. 

My sleeplessness was fine with Firth. We played WarBlast for hours: shooting, killing, being shot and killed onscreen, then respawning to fight again. We didn’t go to bed until the early morning. 

Firth got beneath his covers and I got in my sleeping bag on the floor. We talked about everything that boys talk about, but Firth said nothing when I talked about the things I did in the day. He wasn’t there and knew nothing about it. 

At the same time, Firth talked about things he did in the night when I wasn’t there: played video games, read, walked in the foggy night and woods, and I didn’t know how to respond to that either. 

As we spoke, I couldn’t stop my eyes from moving between Firth’s and the dark beneath the bed. 

Something in the room named Cedo lay there, unseen and lifeless. I kept expecting my friend’s blue eyes to look at me from out of the dark. 

So the first time I stayed over in the Eidolon household, it took me years to fall asleep in a single night. 

I woke to Mrs. Eidolon knocking on the door. The sun shone through the windows and Cedo crawled out from beneath the bed, sleepily smiling at me while rubbing his eyes. He toddled off to his bathroom for a morning pee. He was real again; a doll no more. 

I sat up straight to see dusty grey soot on the pillow where Firth slept. 

Cedo’s mom stripped the bed sheets and pillow case away and took them out for laundry. His pop called us down to breakfast. 

Cedo sat in Firth’s chair, bright and healthy, his eyes only reflecting light, not creating it. 

“How do you like your eggs?” 

“Sausage or bacon?” 

“Juice?” 

Nothing was said of Firth. 

At that moment I had a starting point for my many questions. My friend Firth somehow died at dawn to be replaced by my friend, Cedo, and Cedo died at dusk to be replaced by my friend Firth. 

That wasn’t the way it was in my house, or with my cousins during the holidays, or anybody I knew. 

I’d watched enough television and movies to know that my family was the normal one. People stay the same night or day. Even Cedo and Firth’s parents stayed the same. I sure stayed the same and so did my little sister, Sere. So what was going on? 

After breakfast, Cedo and I built a cardboard fort in the backyard. 

I asked him how it worked, but he didn’t understand my question. 

“You know, about Firth.” 

“Firth?” 

“Your brother who puts you under the bed at night.” 

“What brother? What are you talking about?” 

I didn’t know a better way to put it and Cedo grew angry with me for trying. 

But I had to know. 

“When it was night,” I said. “Where did you go?” 

“We went to sleep!” Cedo said. 

“No we didn’t. Firth put you under the bed and then we had dinner and—” 

Cedo snapped at me. “Nobody has dinner in the fall! Dinner is for summer time.” 

I didn’t know what to say and Cedo’s anger, as if I was being mean to him, intimidated me. 

With the night came Firth. 

“Is this death?” I asked as Firth shoved the lifeless Cedo-doll under his bed. 

“Huh?” 

“What you’re doing with Cedo. Is he dead?” 

Even though Firth didn’t look like people, he spoke like people. 

“This thing?” Firth asked, holding vacant-eyed Cedo by his now limp neck. “It’s just a dumb toy my parents make me keep.” 

He dropped Cedo’s head on the floor and shoved him into the dark. 

“How does this work?” I asked, “Because everybody else only dies once.” 

“I’ll only die once,” Firth answered. “When the sun rises.” 

“But that’s every day.” 

“No,” he countered, and was unusually solemn. “Only night for you and me. Grandpa said there is a time for everyone when the day comes. The day came for my grandpa, and our day will come for us. You and me. Everyone.” 

So Cedo knew nothing of Firth and Firth knew nothing of Cedo. 

Or at least that’s what they told me. 

That’s as far as I ever got into the mystery until I finally just accepted it: which was that same weekend. 

The only other choice was to make Cedo or Firth angry with me; maybe lose their friendship, and why would I want that? 

My parents had no interest in Cedo and Firth’s parents as friends. They already had their own friends and with work and two kids, their free time was limited. As far as my folks were concerned, the Eidolons were good enough neighbors and that was good enough in itself. 

“Good morning.” 

“Good evening.” 

Then one day, “Good Bye.” 

It was the goodbye that changed everything for Cedo, Firth, and me. 

In the second grade, we were the “Pals” in school: Cedo and Ankar. Even at the age of seven, Cedo had a way with the girls he didn’t understand. 

They would cluster in their groups of three or four and smile at him. 

“Hi Cedo.” 

“Do you like me, Cedo?” 

“You’re cute!” 

And when they spoke to him, he would smile, bow his head, and blush all at the same time. Which threw the girls into fits of admiring giggles. 

I was the one of us who handled the bullies. 

“You guys sisters?” 

“Why, you gotta problem?” 

“You wanna fight?” 

“Yeah, I do!” 

We weren’t the most popular kids in our grade, but we weren’t anybody’s garbage either. 

We had our birthdays during the school year, turning eight within weeks of each other. We were the pals, inseparable. 

But the move split the pals apart. 

My pop was offered a better job in another town. 

“We could own a house instead of renting one.” 

“I might even make enough to afford a swimming pool.” 

“Ankar, you are going to love where we’re moving to, but it’s far away and you have to say goodbye to Cedo. 

“And Firth,” I added. 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

“Ted, he’s going to leave his imaginary friend behind. Treat it like a good thing.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Say goodbye to Firth.” 

Cedo didn’t take it well. 

“What am I going to do all alone in school?” 

“I’ll be alone where I’m going, too.” 

“You’ll make friends! You’ll beat them up if they don’t!” 

“I never beat you up.” 

“That’s because we’re friends!” 

“I wish I could stay.” 

“Maybe my parents could adopt you. I can ask!” 

And he did. And of course, they said no. 

Cedo went on such a crying jag that he followed me back home, crying to my parents to please not move. My folks didn’t know how to handle it all, so Mom called Cedo’s folks to come get him, which they did. They practically dragged him back to their house, as he cried all the way, begging us not to move. 

“Wow,” my pop said. “Moving away is going to be the best thing for that kid.” 

Mom agreed. “He has to learn to make other friends.” 

As bad as it was with Cedo, it was worse with Firth. 

It is said that within the Arctic Circle, there is only one day and one night in the year. Only now do I fully understand that all of the many days that Cedo lived were only one to him. He woke, ate, played, slept, and then he woke again and it was always day: All of life lived in a single day. And for Firth, all of the many nights were also only one. Firth is what Cedo became when he died. 

I know this is true, because I was there to see it happen for the last time. 

At some point however, there had to be a first time. 

Cedo’s parents must have known. At the moment of Cedo’s first, real death, with rational thought blinded by their loss, what did they do or say to bring Cedo back? I have no idea, but whatever it was that got them their Cedo, the price was Firth. 

I wasn’t allowed to return to the Eidolons that night. 

From up in my room, while my parents packed and taped boxes of stuff, I heard Firth harshly whisper my name from across the gulf. 

“Ankar!” 

I opened my blinds. 

“Don’t go, Ankar.”

“I have to. My parents are moving.” 

“Stay here with me. We can dig a hole in the backyard. It will be your fort and I can bring you food!” 

“I’m not living in a hole!” 

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Firth spoke in a quieter voice. 

“Don’t you want to be my friend anymore?” 

“Of course. But I don’t have a choice.” 

“You’re my only friend, Ankar. We’re the pals! When you go, I’ll be alone.” 

“Someone else will move in and...” 

“No!” Firth shouted “There can’t be no one!” and pulled his curtain closed. 

His bedroom light clicked out, and there was only the diffused glow of his eyes through his curtain. 

“It’s not fair,” he said. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” 

We stared at each other in silence. 

My parents didn’t go to bed, choosing to finish packing for the movers in the morning. 

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I awoke at my window when my mom called me down to breakfast. It was still dark out, but the stars were fading as dawn reached across the sky. A river of fog flowed across the ground below. Firth was no longer staring at me from his window, and I wondered if he was soot yet. 

I no sooner descended the stairs when there was a knock at the door. 

“Wow,” Mom said. “The movers are here early.” 

Pop came up lugging a large box. 

“They can take this first,” he said. 

Mom opened the door to see Firth standing there. 

“Please stay here,” he said. “Don’t move away. Ankar’s my friend.” 

Only Mom heard nothing past “Please stay here.” All she heard was the sound of her own screaming at the sight of Firth. Pop dropped the box, a klaxon of dishes shattering. He shouted through Mom’s scream. All the noise frightened the baby. 

Firth came forward, entering the house, morning fog following at his feet. 

“Please, Mrs. Watts,” he said. “If you move, I’ll have no one.” 

Even years later during family therapy sessions, Mom would vividly recall seeing the burnt husk of a dead child approaching her, looking at her and—Oh my god!—reaching for her! 

“The damn thing spoke to me! It said my name!” 

My parents were too panic stricken to even realize I was on the stairs. Mom barely had enough thought to grab Sere’s playpen and drag it back with her as she tried to flee. 

They didn’t just run. It was like they were fighting a paralysis that threatened to overtake them, freezing them in place. 

Stark-eyed and shaking, my parents retreated as they toppled over boxes and furniture, crawling away from the approaching Firth. 

Even though Firth was my friend, seeing my family’s fear, frightened me. 

Pop shouting, Mom screaming, my sister crying, and Firth pleading to be heard through it all. 

“Firth!” I shouted.

Firth paused, turned to look at me, and the burning glow that was his eyes spread its flame out to his sockets in halo, revealing the blue eyes of Cedo. I had never seen, never known, that one could turn into the other. Cedo’s blue eyes were crying, spilling tears that sizzled down Firth’s burnt charcoal face. 

The flame continued to spread out, replacing the corpse of Firth with the living one of Cedo. Except Cedo was still on fire. 

“Please,” he begged my parents again. 

Slowly, agonizingly, Cedo/Firth walked through our house, leaving fiery footprints as my parents parted on either side of him. 

Finding their strength, Mom grabbed Sere out of the crib and they ran for the front door. They fled, leaving Cedo/Firth behind, powerless to stop them, and crying at the hopelessness of it all. 

“Don’t go!” 

Pop took me up as he ran and we flew to our car. 

From between them on the car seat, I looked to see our house on fire. 

“Firth?” Mom suddenly shrieked. “That’s Firth?” 

Pop tore out of the driveway. 

Cedo/Firth was now Firth/Cedo and he stood in the doorway of our home, the morning sun burning through him. Out of nowhere a wind came, blowing his body to scattered ash. Cedo’s night was over and Firth’s day had come. 

Pop squealed around a corner, and all was gone. 

That was long years of therapy ago. Psychologists convinced my parents that their memories were flawed. Instead they shared a horrific vision brought on by guilt; from not taking enough interest in their young son’s life. 

“That’s what really happened.” 

“It must have happened that way.” 

“Thinking of it any other way isn’t healthy.” 

They both became obsessed with my life after that. 

Eventually I learned the best way to repeat the lies of my parents and therapists so they could believe I believed, and the sessions of questions would stop. 

But I know what I know. Deep inside this hard grown skull, Cedo and Firth eternally run through my memories in an unending reprise of innocence, happiness, horror and grief.