the strange case of jack spark

7/30/2019 The Strange Case of Jack Spark

1/33


2/33

1


3/33

2

Victor Dixen

The Strange Case

of Jack Spark

Season 1. Mutant Summer

Prologue and Chapter 1,

English version

All rights reserved

Jean-Claude Gawsewitch diteur

www.victordixen.com
http://www.victordixen.com/http://www.victordixen.com/http://www.victordixen.com/http://www.victordixen.com/


4/33

3

Prologue

Im running. Im out of breath. Blood is pounding

in my ears; my forehead is dripping with sweat. My

head resonates like a drum with the wild beating of

my heart.

Bom-Bom...Bom-BomBom-Bom

Walls are whizzing past on either side. Huge walls

that seem to lean towards each other as they rise.

Maybe they actually meet, up there, in the darkness

of the ceiling. And its so hot!

Bom-Bom...Bom-BomBom-Bom


5/33

4

The hallway is racing ahead of me, looking like a

narrow crevice in the burning darkness. It threatens

to collapse at any moment and crush me to death.

Faster, faster!...

I want to run faster still, but my feet slip, skid and

slide on the slippery floor. Im breathing so hard my

ribs are aching. Im so hot that it feels like a fire isburning inside me. My heart is about to explode!

Bom !

Like a jack-in-the-box I spring up against my

pillow. What a terrifying nightmare! Always the same

one. It has blighted my life for fifteen years. There

hasnt been one night when I havent dreamt about

that corridor, not a single night when I havent felt

that drum in my chest, not one night without that

frantic run. Where to? Fleeing from what? I have no

clue.

Fifteen times three hundred and sixty five nights

makes, lets see Im not very good with figures!...

Over five thousand! Yes, Ive raced down that

corridor over five thousand times without ever

finding out where it starts or where it ends. All I


6/33

5

know, unfortunately, is that once Im awake, I cant

go back to sleep.

I cast a feverish glance at the clock, in the shape

of a garden gnome, on my bedside table. I never

bought that eyesore in lederhosen myself, naturally!

It was given to me by Aunt Felicia, who thinks Im still

a baby and has terrible taste. Anyway, I called it

Grumpy (as in Snow White) and I hate it. I have to

say, there is nothing more stressful to me than an

alarm clock. In fact, whereas most people are afraid

to oversleep, my worst fear is to wake up too early.

Oh darn! Grumpys snarling dial shows its only 2AM. Its going to be a long wait. From the middle of

the night, morning looks as distant as the end of that

nightmarish corridor

I stretch out, I pull offthe sheet. Im drenched in

sweat, as usual. I briefly stare at the room, streaked

by a moonbeam peeping in through a crack in the

drapes. I strain my ears. At first, I hear only silence.

Then, little by little, I pick up the sounds of the

slumbering city: the sizzling of the invisible neon

lights, the purr of an engine, and, occasionally, the

muffled wailing of a horn.


7/33

6

I do not hurry through this transition stage. The

one good thing about waking up five hours before

the official signal is that you can take your time tocome up to the surface

When I think that my senses are in night mode, I

get up. I tiptoe across the room: its essential not to

wake up the parents! My latest report card, the last

report card before the summer vacation, didnt go

down well last night. I admit it wasnt great. But at

least Im accepted in high school, thats the main

thing! Actually, I thought I was doomed to repeat.

With a 1.5 GPA, the case was open and shut, I

thought. I must have looked so surprised when Mrs.

Pickwick, the middle-school principal, announced

that I was promoted! A true miracle, frankly.

A true miracle. Im going to need more of those

next year in order to survive. Ninth grade is no bed ofroses, Ive been told. Frankly, I dont think I will be

able to manage. When I think of it, I could cry. But I

dont, because Im a guy after all!

Exhaustion those who can sleep cannot imagine

it.

How can I explain how it feels to drag yourself

around school all day, to concentrate so hard on


8/33

7

keeping your eyes open that you forget everything

else, the teachers, their lessons and their questions?

You have to experience it yourself, the buzzing in

your head from dawn to dusk, the grindstone that

reduces your brain to mush.

You have to feel in your own flesh the tingling in

your legs when you walk from one class to the next,feeling like a bunch of leeches are sucking out your

strength in a matter of seconds and you have to lean

against the wall.

Not to mention the biting daylight that burns your

flesh, pierces your eyes, and dries up your nostrils.

Its been like this for fifteen years, maybe, but

every morning its the same ordeal, day in, day out.

You cannot, never can, get used to exhaustion.

So, naturally, I live in fear, constant fear. Every

night, Im afraid to go to bed. Im afraid to go to

sleep, and be trapped in the endless corridor. Im

afraid to wake up. Im afraid ofGrumpys cruel sneer

and of the digital figures on his obese belly. Im afraidof the grueling wait until the hated sun rises, of

endlessly counting the missed hours of sleep. Im


9/33

8

afraid of facing a new day, the next one and all the

following ones. Im afraid of the future.

Im afraid of the future and Im only fifteen!

Calm down, take a deep breath, and think for a

minute.

You can grow out of insomnia, you know, thats

what Dr. Smith said. In any case, you dont need to

think of the next school year yet. The summer

vacation starts next week, doesnt it! Only five short

days before the extended annual break: two months

worth of relaxing at Grandpas house in San

Francisco. Two months when I can go to the last

show at the movies; two months when I can sleep in

past noon everyday; two months when I can have

lunch at dinner time, and dinner well after midnight;

two months of complete freedom in the company of

a wonderfully eccentric, totally off the wall Grandpa,

of sleeping during the day, and living it up at night.

Hang in there, buddy I tell Quaker as I open thecage sitting on the chest of drawers.


10/33

9

Quaker is the hamster Grandpa gave me for my

fifteenth birthday. You might think Im too old to

have this kind of pet, but he is my only companyduring those long, lonely nights.

People often think I named him after the brand of

breakfast cereals, Quaker Oats. They think its a good

name for a cereal eater. They are completely off the

mark. The truth is that my hamster has epileptic

seizures: they come over him all of a sudden when he

is upset. He shakes in a frightening way, as if he was

being electrocuted. Grandpa found his name, a

tribute to the Quakers, who start quaking when they

pray and feel moved by the Holy Spirit. As a matter of

fact, the character on the cereal box, with his black

hat, his white wig, and his fat red cheeks looks like an

actual Quaker!

Quaker the hamster also has fat cheeks, alwaysfilled with pellets or tiny bits of furniture that he

gathers during his trips around the apartment. But

his favorite food is crackerjacks. Preferably nice and

crisp. Vacations at Grandpas are heavenly for him

too. The reason is that before he retired, Grandpawas a pastry chef; the best in California, perhaps in

the whole United States.


11/33

10

I hold out my hand in the cage and Quaker jumps

on it: he is very well trained. I put him in my pajama

pocket, his head sticking out like a baby kangaroos,and off we go until dawn.

What do you do at night when youre fifteen and

diagnosed with severe insomnia by Dr. Smith? Well,

for starters, you go to the bathroom. My bladder

feels like its about to blow up! Moms herbal teas

are fearsome. She makes me drink at least a quart of

chamomile, valerian root, or hawthorn leaves tea

every evening. I get to try every type of supposedly

soothing plant. Mostly, they taste gross!

So here I am, in the bathroom, peeing for a good

three minutes. I catch a reflection of my head in the

mirror of the cabinet. My forehead is as white as the

sink. Dr. Smith says that insomnia has made me

allergic to the sun, unless its the other way round. SoI never leave home until I have slathered my face,

arms, and every square inch of exposed skin with sun

block. If you add to this spiky blond hair and large

purplish-black rings under my eyes, you have me,

Jack Spark, a New York City teenager and schooldisaster survivor.


12/33

11

Once relieved, I tiptoe across the apartment,

heading for the kitchen. Im always ravenous when I

wake up. Mom decided that a light dinner was moreconducive to sleep. I have to do without dessert, as

sugar makes you hyper. I cant have salt, either, as

Im allergic to it. Once, when I was a kid, I almost

died. At the school cafeteria, a new employee who

hadnt been told about my special diet had put salt inmy mashed potatoes. It burned my mouth and I had

to have my stomach pumped at the hospital. Since

then I havent had a school lunch. Mom makes me

salt-free bread sandwiches instead. And every night, I

get a green salad and boiled vegetables, followed bythe customary pitcher of herbal tea

I softly close the kitchen door. In front of me, the

window is bolted shut: our Manhattan apartment

building is so tall that, because of the wind, it would

be dangerous to open it. On the other side of the

double panes, an endless vista of twinkling lights:

New York. My kind of town. Like me, it never sleeps.

Squeek goes Quaker in my pocket. OK, buddy,

coming up.

I open the fridge and, right there, is living proof

that my mother takes food very, very seriously (she


13/33

12

has an excuse, of course: she is a nutritionist by

trade). Tens of plastic containers are carefully

stashed on the frosted shelves. Each one is hand-labeled, the result of a culinary experiment carried

out by Mom in an attempt to flesh out her next book

of recipes:

Salsify in vinegar 70 calories per 3 oz

Expiration date: July 10

Raw snail pure 90 calories per cup

Expiration date: June 30

Steamed frogs legs 42 calories per leg

(look out for bones)

Expiration date: July 5

And so on, not to mention even better ones, so tospeak

Squeek goes Quaker again, a tad impatiently.

Without further ado, I grab a container on the top

shelf, way back on the left.

One hundred year eggs 120 calories per unit


14/33

13

Expiration date: ?

(check with Lee)

Even Mom cant stomach those. But she wont

admit it. The eggs were given to her by her good

Chinese friend, Lee Sung, and she has obstinately

kept them in the fridge for several years. Just in case,

she says. If she knew that I threw out the eggs longago, and whats in the box now!

Yum! A lovely smell floats out of the container as I

lift up the plastic lid. We have an arrangement,

Grandpa and me: every other week, he ships me a

box of fresh, salt-free, pastries prepared especially

for me. He sends them to a post office box so that

Mom doesnt find out.

In fact, a new shipment is probably waiting for me

at the post office. My supply is almost gone. Theres

only half a coffee clair that spilled all over the

bottom of the container, as well as a shrunken lemon

meringue tartlet and two flat chocolate macarons.

Removing the hardened meringue, I feed it toQuaker, then I dig into the tartlet with a spoon,

fantasizing about the feasts that are in store for me

at Grandpas next week. Like my hamster, I have a


15/33

14

sweet tooth. I cant resist a pastry. Even though,

according to Moms nutritional principles, its

anathema!

Once full, I tiptoe to the living-room. From the

stereo, I unplug the headset Dad uses to listen to his

CDs, and I plug it into the TV, leaving Quaker to his

own devices (a couple of weeks ago, he started

burrowing a tunnel in the backrest of our new sofa).

On the screen, the nightly offerings follow each

other in monotonous sequence. From a visual

perspective, the night is as predictable as lasagna:

animal world documentaries and old B-series moviesfollow each other in time-honored order: Surviving in

the Desert/The Mummy Goes Berserk/Rocky

Mountain Wolves/The Curse of the Werewolf/Preys

and Predators/Draculas Bride/etc.

When I have enough of this menagerie in which

real beasts and imaginary ones coexist so closely that

you cant tell one from another, I sneak into Dads

study and I turn on the computer. Officially, Im not

allowed to use the PC after 8:00PM: it seems that

video games give insomnia. So Dad himself keys in his

password to log on when I need it for my homework.


16/33

15

However, after school one day, Dad caught me

with a bag of sugar puffs from Grandpa (luckily, he

didnt ask how I had got them!). He first started tolecture me, but we quickly reached an agreement:

we shared the puffs and he didnt tell Mom. Then he

typed his password and left me alone in his study.

Just then, I had a brainwave. I collected the

confectioners sugar that was left in the bag and Iblew it onto the keyboard, where it stuck to the keys

that Dad had pressed with his greasy fingers.

January 27. Thats the password. My birthday?

No, the day the Giants last won the Super Bowl, in

1991. Dad was a quarterback in college and has

remained addicted to the game ever since

Anyway, I surf randomly for a few hours. I take

part in an online action game with Australian players,

who come home from school when New York beginsto wake up. But I am starting to feel tired. I yawn,

sigh, stretch out. Mom and Dad will be getting up

soon. Its time for me to go to bed and pretend that I

managed to get some sleep.

Its the strategy Ive used with my parents:

pretend, make them think that my insomnia is

getting better. If they suspected that in fact its


17/33

16

getting worse, that I sleep a little less every night,

they would immediately tell Dr. Smith, and then

where would I be? He has prescribed so many drugs,Ive been subjected to so many treatments over the

years I have tried everything, literally: Ive seen

hypnotic pendulums swing for hours before my eyes,

I was stuck with an acupuncturists needles, I had

electrodes placed on my head. In vain. Sleeping pillsare the only remedy that I was spared, as Mom is

against them and swears by her cursed herbal teas.

I go back to my room, slip under the sweat

hardened sheets. The room is getting lighter as the

first rays of the sun pierce the darkness like sharp

blades. Before I close my eyes, I glance one last time

at Grumpy, whose belly shows 6:50AM. Only one

more week to put up with you, cake face, one short

week!


18/33

17


19/33

18

PART ONE

LARVA


20/33

19

1 THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE

Beep-Beep-Beep!

HMMM

Beep-Beep-Beep!

What the?

Beep-Beep-Beep!

For goodness sake, let me sleep a little longer


21/33

20

Jack!

Mom is knocking on the door. She always knocks

after the third ring.

Jack, cant you hear the alarm? Its 7:15! Youre

going to be late for school, Jack!

Mom walks in, followed by a cloud of expensive

perfume. In a graceful, yet firm, gesture, she pulls the

drapes. The June sun floods the room like a torrent

of molten lava.

I take a shower, brush my hair and grab my

backpack. I arrive in the living-room, where we eat all

our meals. The apartment doesnt have a dining-

room, and Mom thinks its not nice to eat in the

kitchen. My parents are seated around a balancedbreakfast: salt-free whole-wheat rolls, cholesterol-

free margarine, sugar-free jam and decaff coffee.

As usual, Mom is dressed to the nines. With her

satin blouse, her tight fitting skirt hugging her slender

hips, and her flawless hairdo, shes as beautiful as a

TV shopping host. Im very proud of Mom: all my

friends are in love with her and all the mothers envy


22/33

21

her. She is like a living ad for her weight-loss method:

the Fast French Formula, or FFF, as she calls it.

Indeed, American women are fascinated by theparadox between the slimness of French women and

the richness of French food, such as foie gras, cheese

and great wines. Did I mention it? Mom is French.

Before she married Dad, and became Mrs. Spark, her

name was Marie Croustignon.

Just like Grandpa.

His name is still Fernand Croustignon. The two of

them often disagree. Mom thinks that Grandpa is too

old to live alone, and that he should look for acomfortable nursing home close to Miami. As for

Grandpa, he absolutely refuses to leave San

Francisco, considering it to be the most European

of American cities, and the only one whose

population is capable of appreciating real pastry (andnot those dreadful frozen donuts, thawed in a

microwave just before consumption, as he often

argues). In fact, he thinks the FFF is both heresy

and an act of treason. Can you imagine? A program

that claims to embody the essence of French eating,while prohibiting desserts!


23/33

22

Dad looks terrific too, even though I can tell, by

his look of disgust, as he stares at his piece of salt

free whole-wheat bread, that he would give anythingfor another of Grandpas sugar puffs! From the tips

of his impeccably polished shoes, to the flawless knot

of his tie, he is the very picture of success and

energy. His cufflinks shine like an armor, his carefully

waxed hair gleams like a helmet. Im not exactly surewhat Dad does for a living, but when he leaves for

the office, he looks to me like a knight leaving for the

crusades.

Morning, Mom. Morning Dad.

I settle down in front of my cocoa-free hot

chocolate, expecting a greeting that doesnt come.

Hmm, they are strangely quiet this morning. Im

sure they must be plotting something.

Jack, my boy says Dad, his voice trailing.

My parents tend to be over protective, probably

because of my little health problems. Yet, I hate it

when Dad calls me that, Im too old now! Why notBuddy while hes at it?


24/33

23

Buddy he says, sounding more self-assured

now, weve been lucky to be accepted in high

school, havent we?

Ouch! When he starts using the plural, I hear the

coach in him talking. He thinks hes on a football field

and theres every reason to fear the worst!

But were not going to sit on the sideline now.We have to score!

Whats he driving at? I stare at the bottom of my

mug, waiting to hear the rest.

Mother and I had a long talk with Mrs. Pickwick.

We worked on her, we laid siege to her. And we

won!

Dad happily bangs the table.

Yes, we won in the end, but the Pickwick woman

scored a few points too. Win some, lose some!

What the? I dont like the way Dad is talking. Am

I going into 9th

grade or not?

Its a victory we had to negotiate. We fought

hard. It sure wasnt easy!


25/33

24

What Dad means interrupts Mom softly, is that

Mrs. Pickwick placed some conditions

My throat is so tight that I cant swallow the last

of my hot chocolate.

Does that mean I will have to take homework to

Grandpas?

I play dumb, but deep inside, I already know that

my world is about to collapse.

It means that youre not going to Grandpas, not

this year.

There!

My world has collapsed.

A weight of several billion tons is crushing my

shoulders, my neck and my head.

Dad has found a special summer camp for you,

Mom goes on as if nothing had happened. Its one of

the best for kids like you, who have some behavioral

disorders. Mrs. Pickwick thinks that it can help youget rid of your sleep disorder, and give you a leg up

to start the next school year with an easy mind.


26/33

25

Im not a kid!

I must fight back, find counterarguments, fast.

I meant kids and teenagers, of course, dear. Its

the Redrock summer camp, in Colorado, at the foot

of the Rocky Mountains

Hee haw! Western country! bellows Dad with

fake enthusiasm, holding his hands as pretend guns.

They use a revolutionary method developed by

Dr. Krampus. Its proved very effective, and Mrs.

Pickwick thinks very highly of it. Mornings are

devoted to behavioral therapy sessions and in the

afternoons, there are lots of outdoors activities:

hiking, horseback riding, archery. After that, you

should sleep like a log! They have even designed

special diets, with menus specifically intended to

promote daytime concentration and make sleeping

easier at night. And you know whats funny? The

Krampus diet is totally salt-free! It couldnt be better,

could it?

But, I hate the countrysideI object weakly

I must do better.

and my sun intolerance!


27/33

26

At last a valid objection! They cant do that to me.

They cant send me to bake in the Colorado sun. No

outdoor activities for me!

You cant remain locked up indoors all your life,

sweetheart Mom says with devilish calm. We

talked to Dr. Smith, and he thinks that you should get

more exposure to the sun. To desensitize you. Youll

just have to bring a whole lot of sunscreen. Anyway,

its no use arguing: Dad has already sent in the check

and made your plane reservations. Youre leaving this

Sunday.

Ill pick you up at school this afternoon, says Dad.Well go and shop for your hiking boots, a sleeping

bag for camping, and also a camp stove and a Swiss

army knife. Youll see, youll be the best trapper, a

real Davy Crockett!

I am so stunned that I cant even protest. Davy

Crockett! Thats so outdated, so old-fashioned, so

ludicrous! This is the worst ordeal Ive been through.

Frankly, I cant imagine anything worse.

Ah exclaims Dad stretching his arms with a

beatific smile. All this reminds me of my youth in the

cub scouts: the campfire vigils, roasting

marshmallows, and cooking eggs in the embers in the


28/33

27

morning. By the way, honey, I feel like having eggs

this morning. Do we have any?

I take it back, I can imagine something worse.

Much worse!

I close my eyes as Mom gets up and goes to the

kitchen.

I dont think so she calls out. Ah, yes, we

have Lees eggs. Im sure theyre delicious, darling.

My eyes are shut very, very tight. So tight that

theyre hurting and begin to water. Maybe this is just

a nightmare after all, and in a few minutes good old

Grumpy will start ringing?

AAAAAARRRRGH!

I almost fall off my seat. I open my eyes.

Unfortunately, Im not in bed. Back in the living-

room, Mom has dropped my secret plastic container.

The runny clair filling is spreading inexorably on the

carpet, forming a sticky pool where the wreckage of

the macarons emerges.


29/33

28

Whats Whats this disgusting stuff??? Mom is

gasping. Jack!!!

There are times when you just wish you could

disappear. Stop existing.

Did Grandpa give you this poison? Dont lie to

me, I know its him! The old scoundrel! Hes going to

get a piece of my mind.

Jack! You know that Mom doesnt want any

pastries in this house. My Dad is such a hypocrite!

Look at me when I talk to you!

The reason Im not looking at Dad while he is

yelling at me is that something much worse just

caught my attention. Emerging from the back of the

couch, Quaker jumps down on the carpet. I belatedly

remember that I forgot to put him back in his cage

last night!

Following my gaze, Dad turns around in his chair

and also notices Quaker, who is making a bee line for

the clair filling. Moms eyes are staring at the couch,

whose foam is bulging out, revealing a beautifullycrafted tunnel.

AAAAAARRRRGH!


30/33

29

My! What a day!

My new sofa! shrieks Mom. Made in Italy, from

top quality leather hide!

A small fortune Dad adds. Weve only paid one

installment out of three!

Quaker drops the bit of macaron he was nibbling

on, casts a worried glance around him and starts

quaking.

Stop yelling I beg my parents.

What? Mom is near hysterical, her beautifullyblow-dried hair flying in every direction around her

purple face.

Youre scaring Quaker I mutter.

Is this the way you talk to your mother?! roars

Dad. He is frowning so hard that he is squinting.

I want to ask them to calm down, but its already

too late.

Quaker is vibrating like a food-processor in the

coffee filling, squirting cream all around him.


31/33

30

I rush to his rescue, catch the tablecloth as I leave

the table, and bring everything crashing down: the

china, the coffee pot and the remnants of breakfast. Isnatch the hamster from the pool of cream, ignoring

my parents screams, then I put him, sticky as he is, in

my pocket. I grab my coat and I run down the

stairwell.

A desperate situation calls for desperate

remedies: I have decided to run away.

Here I am, wandering aimlessly three blocks away

from our apartment building, in a coffee-drenched

shirt, with a dripping hamster in my pocket.

Running away is all well and good, but it requires

a lot of energy. More than I have after such a night

and such a morning. First of all, where should I go?

The first and only destination I can think of is San

Francisco. Grandpa will agree to help me out, no

doubt. I will live with Quaker somewhere in the

Sierra Nevada, deep in the California hinterland, and

every week, he will bring us supplies of croissants,

nougat and other goodies.


32/33

31

Taking out my phone, I dial Grandpas number. I

know it by heart. Its his home number. He could

never bring himself to switch to a cell phone.

Driiing!

If there is a god of insomniacs, let him hear me!

Driiing!

Please pick up the phone!

Driiing!

Come on, Grandpa Pick up!

Drii

Hello?

Its a womans voice. Grandma? She died a long

time ago. Who is it, then?

Hello? the woman repeats, who is it?

Id Id like to speak to Fernand Croustignon.

He doesnt live here anymore she snaps back.

Now, if youll excuse me, I have this entire house to

clean out


33/33

32

But, its impossible. Grandpa has always lived

there!

Ah replies the woman, more gently, youre the

grandson of the ex-owner Your parents havent told

you? Theyve decided to sell this old pile to allow

your Grandpa to spend his retirement years in a

sunny location Near Miami I think.

the strange case of jack spark

Documents