We have to go back for this story. Way back to the start of everything. There was no Earth. There was no sky, no sun, no day, no night, no winter, no spring, and, for sure, no summer vacation. There was only Chaos, great swirling masses of matter. But inside that matter were the little sparks of all future life.

The first life to show up out of the Chaos was my granny, Mother Earth, otherwise known as Mama Gaia. Then came Night, Love, Day, and the Sea. Finally my grandpa, Uranus, also known as Sky Daddy, showed up. He went bonkers over Mama Gaia, and the two of them got married. Then those sparks of life really started flying. Together, Mama Gaia and Sky Daddy had bunches of giant children: the Cyclopes, the Hundred-Handed Ones, and the Titans.

Cronus was the youngest Titan, and Mama Gaia spoiled him rotten. In time, Cronus bullied his way to the top and took over the universe. He married the Titaness Rhea, and they became the parents of us gods. Rhea was a great mom—still is. But Cronus was not exactly a candidate for Father of the Year. For one thing, he swallowed his kids. No joke! Only Zeus escaped that fate. Finally, Mom came to our rescue. She fed Dad some herbs that made him urp us up.

After a time, we gods rebelled against Dad. That led to us fighting a huge battle with the Titans. It was an awful, destructive war. (And what war isn’t?) Trees were pulled up by their roots. Hills were flattened like pancakes. Most of the mortals living on earth at the time were wiped out. Most of the creatures, too. But in the end, we gods beat the Titans. Then it was our turn to rule. That’s when my little brother, you-know-who, lied, swindled and cheated his way into becoming Ruler of the Universe. I’m the oldest god. It really should be me sitting on that throne up on Mount Olympus. But hey, I’m not bitter about it. In fact, I prefer ruling the Underworld.

After the war, Cronus and some of his thug Titan buddies ended up doing time in the Underworld slammer. But not all Titans fought with Cronus. The ones who didn’t were still around. Hyperion was the Titan in charge of all the light in the universe. When we gods took over, he was out of a job, so he made a major career switch and became a cattle rancher in the Underworld. The Titaness Metis stayed on earth. Zeus had a major crush on her. The Titan twins, Prometheus and Epimetheus, lived on earth, too. I guess you could say the story of Pandora starts with these two brothers.

Back then, I hadn’t been ruler of the Underworld very long. I didn’t have a TV. So I had no Earth Channel or HB-Olympus. I had no way of knowing what was going on in the realms above the Underworld except to go up and see for myself. Going to earth on a regular basis was out of the question. It was a nine-day trip! I couldn’t astro-travel. (That’s a little thing we gods can do when we want to go instantly from one place to another. We chant a spell and—ZIP! We’re there. Sad to say, the Underworld is one of the very few places in the whole universe where astro-traveling doesn’t work.) And this was back before I found out about a certain shortcut through a cave.

One day the Underworld sky was particularly gloomy. A crew of carpenter ghosts was working on my palace, Villa Pluto. They were hammering and sawing and drilling. Cerberus was only a little three-headed guard puppy back then, and the noise was driving him crazy. He was barking his heads off.

I had to get out of there. I clipped my Helmet of Darkness to my girdle—(old speak for “belt”). The helmet had been a gift from my Cyclopes uncles. When I put it on, POOF! I disappeared. I walked Cerbie out to the stables and asked a couple of groom ghosts to look after him. Then I backed one of my chariots out of the garage, hitched up my steeds, Harley and Davidson, and drove up to earth.

I got there nine days later. I took Harley and Davidson straight to the Asopus River to give them a drink. And there, on the riverbank, I spied two Titans, Prometheus and Epimetheus (better known as Epi). They were sitting beside the river. What were they doing? I couldn’t quite see. But Prometheus was always doing something interesting. He could see into the future. And he was brainy. Even Athena, the goddess of wisdom, was impressed. I had to go check out what he was up to now, so after my steeds had drunk their fill, I steered them toward the Titans.

Epi heard me coming and looked up. He was the handsome brother, with his head of dark curls and his wide brown eyes. “Hades!” he called with a wave.

I stepped out of my chariot and walked over to the Titans. They were molding figures out of the riverbank clay.

“We haven’t seen you since the kickstone battle ended, Hades,” Epi said. “You know, the one where we Titans played against you gods to see who got to live up on Mount Olympus? The one that got so totally out of hand that it wiped out almost all the creatures and old mortals who lived on earth?”

“I remember,” I told him. Did he think I could forget taking part in a battle that lasted for ten years? Besides, many of those mortals—called “Old Ones”—were ghosts now. They lived down in my kingdom. Epi was the sweetest guy in the world. But I wondered if he was all that bright.

Prometheus never even looked up. He stayed bent over, concentrating on his work.

“Look what Prometheus and I are making,” said Epi. “Aren’t they great?”

Dozens of half-finished clay figures were scattered around Epi. I’d never seen anything quite like them. “What are they?” I asked.

“Animals,” said Epi. He patted one. “I think I’ll call this a baboon.” To my great surprise, the clay figure moved!

“Whoa!” I said. “How did you do that?”

“It’s the clay here, “ said Epi. “Still has lots of sparks in it from the Chaos days.” He turned back and studied the baboon. “I can’t give you the gift of speed,” he told it. “I already gave that to the cheetah. I can’t give you the gift of swimming upstream. I gave that to the salmon. And the owl got the gift of smarts. Let me see what I can find.” He put his hand into a big clay pot and drew out a small piece of parchment. “Oh, this is a good gift.” He waved his free hand over the baboon and chanted, “I give you the gift of fast tree climbing!”

With that, the animal turned from a clay figure into a creature with bushy fur. It sprinted away. I caught a flash of its bright red rear end as it scampered up the nearest tree.

“Nice backside, huh?” said Epi. “I get a little far out and artistic sometimes. But I can’t help it. I have to express myself.” He smiled up at me sweetly. “Zeus told us to do this, Hades. After the big battle, he wanted Prometheus and me to make lots of new kinds of creatures to live on the earth. He gave us this big pot of gifts to give them, too. I can make a couple dozen creatures a day, no problem. But Prometheus is really slow. He’s only done one!”

“Two,” said Prometheus. He wasn’t nearly as good-looking as his brother. But he was ten times smarter. He patted the figure he’d been working on. It began to move, but its color stayed the light brown of the clay.

I gasped when I saw what he had made. “It looks like you, Prometheus!” I exclaimed.

“It does, doesn’t it?” the Titan said happily.

“It’s a mini Prometheus,” said Epi. “A Mini P!”

I spotted the second Mini P.

Prometheus beamed with pride at his new creations. “What gift shall we give them, Epi?” he asked.

“Hmm, let’s see.” Epi scratched his head. “He looks like he could use a super sense of smell. Oops! Wait. I gave that to the bloodhound already. Okay, what about the ability to jump a hundred times his own height?” He slapped his forehead. “What am I thinking? Gave that gift to the flea.”

“Hurry up, Epi,” said Prometheus. “They’re getting cold. Can you give them something to keep them warm?”

Epi frowned. “That might be tricky. I gave the wolf the gift of warm fur. The mink got the gift of soft fur. The raccoon got the gift of thick fur. The skunk got the gift of black-and-white-striped fur.” He smiled. “There was a bonus gift on that piece of parchment. A second gift of this amazing scent gland. Stinks to high Mount Olympus!” He began picking pieces of parchment from the pot, looking at them, and tossing them back. After a while, he shrugged. “Sorry, Prometheus. But all the keeping-warm-with-fur gifts are gone.”

“Epi!” said Prometheus. “You didn’t think ahead. You’ve given all the good gifts to the creatures. Now there aren’t any left for the mortals I’m making.”

“Sorry, Prometheus,” mumbled Epi. “You’re right, as usual.”

Just then I heard thundering hooves. Careening down the riverbank toward us at breakneck speed was a chariot decorated with glittering lightning bolts.

“Who’s that?” asked Epi.

“Who would drive a chariot that gaudy?” I asked. “Nobody but the Ruler of the Universe, my conniving baby brother, Zeus.”

Zeus! I thought about putting on my Helmet of Darkness and simply vanishing. But I was too late. The old myth-o-maniac had already spotted me.