Errol paced around the office, his hands behind his back. He announced, “No one can stand Cloyce—”
​
Othmer interjected under his breath, “No one more than me,” but Errol didn’t hear him.
​
Errol swept on, “I’ve thought of a simple solution to your problem. Before you do anything else today, you’re going to go home and get rid of Cloyce.”
​
Othmer, leaving quite a bit of ink left, picked up the ink bottle and skulked away. Errol continued, “He’s not only ruining your life, but sabotaging my business!”
​
​
“I don’t think it’s that drastic, for you at least,” Othmer pointed out.
​
Errol shoved Othmer out of his office. Yelping, Othmer crashed into a stack of papers. Several workers gave him quizzical looks, and a few snickered behind their hands.
​
“Just get rid of him!” Errol yelled. “Then you can come back.” And with that, Errol slammed his door, resulting in more laughter from the onlookers.
​
Othmer stood, rubbing his rump and glaring at the snickering employees.
​
Claudette pointed her thumb in Othmer’s direction and snorted, “Ha, ha! Guess Errol gave you the boot, eh, Othmer?”
​
Othmer headed for the doors. Marigold spotted him and called, “Ottie! What happened?” He tried to force a smile. He waved to her, then left. How could he possibly tell her about the humiliating situation he was in?
​
He trudged down the path to town. Thoughts swirled about his head in a jumbled heap. Of course he wanted to get rid of Cloyce. He thought of ways to kick him out every night, and sometimes tried to put his plans into action, but Cloyce stuck like glue.
​
As Othmer went on, he examined Errol’s ink bottle. He hadn’t realized that he had held onto it the whole time. He passed it from his right hand to his left, thinking, Time to kick Cloyce out. Then back to work. I’ve got to accept that I’ll never have time to work on my experiment!
​
The image of Marigold staying behind at work irritated Othmer. He shook his head. He wished she didn’t have to have such a demeaning job. He thought about the beautiful flower paintings that Marigold made in her spare time. He sighed. She deserved to spend all her time honing her skills, not withering away in that stuffy building, working on mundane little pencils.
​
Othmer neared the alleyway, exclaiming, “I was going to change everybody’s lives and make things better!”
​
Two toons lurking near the alley pointed at him. One chortled, “Sure you were, Othmer old chum!”
​
“Can’t wait to see what stupid scheme you come up with next!” the other toon exclaimed.
​
Othmer glared at them, his face flushing with embarrassment. He disappeared down the alley. Entering the cool shadows of the forest didn’t calm him like he hoped it would. As he approached his house, he clenched his fists, muttering, “If it wasn’t for this job, and for Cloyce, they’d all see what I could accomplish.”
​
As Othmer got closer to the trellis, he spied Cloyce lounging in a lawn chair, sipping lemonade.
​
“CLOYCE!” Othmer cried out, stomping to where Cloyce was seated. Stopping with a huff, he planted his hands on his hips and hissed, “I thought you were job hunting today?”
​
“Yeah, well, game was scarce. Hee hee!” Cloyce giggled. He smiled at Othmer and gave a cheeky shrug, pouring more lemonade in his glass. “It was awfully boring today, though,” Cloyce twittered, reaching down toward something in the grass. “You and Marigold ought to skip a day or two sometime. Then we can all have so much fun!”
​
“You look like you’re having enough fun right now,” Othmer grumbled.
​
“It was dull, like I said,” Cloyce chirped with a shrug. “So I made arts and crafts. Take a gander at this!”
​
Cloyce raised the object he had lifted from the grass. It was one of Othmer’s history books. Cloyce opened the book and flipped to the center of it. A folded paper pop-up sprang from the pages. Cloyce had bent, glued, and cut multiple pages to make a miniature paper building.
​
“Ta-da! It’s a castle!” Cloyce exclaimed, shoving the book to Othmer’s face. “You just cut and fold the pages from an old book—”
​
Othmer felt the ground dip and buck under him. His hands trembling, he swiped the mangled book out of Cloyce’s grip. Othmer cried out, “That is not an old book. I just got it!”
​
Cloyce cast Othmer a confused glance and said, “Golly, Othmer. I found it lyin’ around in the basement. Thought you were done with it.”
​
The volcano that had been sizzling under the surface inside Othmer finally found the perfect excuse to erupt. Turning on Cloyce he snapped, “I am done with something. You!”
​
“What do you mean?” Cloyce whimpered. “You can’t be this upset over a book.”
​
Othmer raved, “Just get out of here! You’re ruining my life, and my toothbrushes!”
​
Cloyce took a step back and squashed a pumpkin’s vine. He clasped his hands under his chin, whining, “But I don’t want cavities!”
​
Othmer swiped the book at Cloyce’s head. Cloyce ducked and missed the book by an inch. Othmer chased him out of the garden, screeching, “Go! And get yourself a job. I don’t care if you ever come back!”
​
Cloyce rolled in the dirt. He scrambled to his feet and sped off into the woods. Othmer watched until Cloyce’s figure vanished in the shadows. Looking around for the book he had dropped, Othmer spied it near the pumpkin vine that Cloyce had crushed. He stooped over to gather the remains of the tattered book, muttering, “Hmph! Cloyce can have my job for all I care.” Othmer scurried into his house, newfound excitement bubbling inside him. “Finally, time to do what I want!”
​
Othmer rushed to his basement and flicked on the light. He gently laid the book on the table and noticed grass stains and a band aid plastered on what had once been a pristine cover. Cloyce’s scrawled handwriting, Cloyce was hear, adorned the front. Othmer shook his head, wondering if it was worth it to try to salvage the book. He decided the most important part of the book to look at was the pages. Othmer flipped it open to the pop-up castle Cloyce had made. Othmer bit his lip as he realized that the pages were beyond any type of repair. He delicately touched one of the pages that was now the castle’s tower and read some of the sentences that were still partly visible. He stopped when he noticed the page contained a portrait of Roland and Velda.
​
“Huh. What are the odds that he’d choose this page?” he mused, squinting at it to take a closer look. The page read:
​
Roland and Velda never revealed their origins. The secrets to their rubber hose attributes (a phrase they coined, referring to their amazing abilities) are also unknown. What is known, however, is that their most prized possession, an ink bottle, was buried with them.
​
Othmer ripped the page free from the book, finishing the sentence out loud, “Obviously it held some type of importance to them.” Othmer glanced at the ink bottle he had taken from Errol, then reread the page again.
​
Turning around, he sped up the stairs and scribbled a note for Marigold. Grabbing a coat and hat, he rushed out of the house, forgetting to turn off the lights.
​
***
​
Back at the Short Pencils factory, Marigold slapped on her coat and hat. While pulling on her gloves, she announced, “Errol, I’m going home.”
​
“I forbid it!” Errol snapped.
​
Marigold faced him and adjusted her hat. “Othmer’s been gone for over an hour. I need to talk with him.”
​
Errol shrugged. “He’s probably trying to kick Cloyce out. I told him too, or else I’d fire him.”
​
Eyes widening, Marigold gasped, “You WHAT?”
​
“Hey, somebody had to give him the right push!” Errol sniffed. “Do you want Cloyce living with you forever?”
​
“You’ve got no right to interfere in Ottie’s life like that, Errol!” Marigold cried out.
​
“For goodness sake, woman, I did you both a favor! Nobody likes Cloyce,” Errol spluttered, walking toward her with outstretched hands. “Othmer would’ve let that heel live with you both longer if it wasn’t for me.”
​
Marigold shot Errol an icy glare. “I’m done for the day,” she snapped. She spun around and left, slamming the door.
​
Claudette leaned against the wall, smirking and nudging Errol’s arm with her elbow. “Hmph! Someone’s an ungrateful little peach, eh?”
​
Errol whisked his arm away and rubbed it where Claudette had elbowed him. “They should thank me. I saved their lives!” he grumbled.
​
Meanwhile, Marigold hurried home. She couldn’t believe the way Errol had meddled in her and Ottie’s lives like that. Now that she thought of it, Errol was always sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong. Immediately she felt a twinge of guilt. When she had moved to the coast years ago, Errol was the first toon she had met, and the first to befriend her. She had been the first one he’d confided to about his dream to start his business, and she had been swept up in his enthusiasm. She and Errol had built Short Pencils together. Ottie was one of the first toons Errol had hired. If it hadn’t been for Errol, Marigold might never have met Ottie.
​
Marigold made it to her house. Opening the door, she called, “Ottie?”
​
​No answer.
Marigold looked around the house, even the basement, but the house was empty. Wandering into the kitchen, she saw something tacked onto the door. She grabbed it, realizing it was a note Ottie had written. She skimmed over it: “Marigold: Cloyce left. I had to run an errand. I’ll be back later.”
Marigold flipped the letter over, but that was all Ottie had written. Marigold murmured, “Errand? Where?”
Stepping outside the house and staring at the sky, Marigold whispered, “Ottie, where did you go?”
Othmer had been right. That day had been more tedious than usual. Twice he had fallen asleep while Errol talked to him, and Othmer had stumbled over his words and feet multiple times. The next three weeks became progressively worse, and it showed in Othmer’s work. Othmer was always too exhausted at the end of the day to even work on his special project. Short Pencils and keeping the house safe from Cloyce became his life.
​
As the third week of Cloyce’s visit came to a close, Othmer didn’t even bother trying to refrain from sleeping during Errol’s meetings. One particular day, Errol was lecturing Othmer about the sub-par quality of his work again. Othmer’s eyelids were growing heavier and heavier.
​
“OTHMER! Wake up!” A voice jarred Othmer out of his doze. Othmer whipped his head around so fast his glasses flew off his head. Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Othmer pried his eyelids open. He was in Errol’s office. Errol glared at him, tapping his foot and strumming his fingers against his desk.
​
“Did you hear anything I said?” Errol snapped.
​
“Uh…”
​
“You’ve been acting odd all day,” Errol grumbled. “What’s the matter with you?”
​
Othmer rubbed his temples. “Cloyce, that’s what.”
​
“Cloyce has been living with you for far too long,” Errol snorted. “Treat him how I treat my family: kick him out!”
​
“I wish I could,” Othmer groaned, rubbing his eyes again. He wished he could curl up on the floor and return to his nap. “He’s making it hard for me to focus on Short Pencils, and my own hobbies.”
​
Errol narrowed his eyes at Othmer, muttering, “Hobbies? Don’t tell me you’re still trying to decapitate folks and crush them with anvils.”
​
“That’s not what I’m trying to do, you twit,” Othmer snapped. “I want to make life better in Insec—”
​
Errol sliced his hand through the air in a “stop” motion and snapped, “Enough! We’re not here to talk about your idiotic fantasies. Your job is at stake!”
​
Othmer rolled his eyes in disregard to Errol’s statement. “At least you’re able to have control of your life, Errol,” he growled. “Cloyce has taken over mine! I don’t know how much longer I can listen to his sleep yodeling, or buy more toothbrushes. He’s destroyed seven of them!”
​
“That’s it!” Errol burst out. “Every day you complain about your lousy cousin and do low-quality work.” He leaned over the table and waved his hands in the air. “If you get your work done at all! If you keep this up, I’ll have to consider firing you.”
​
Errol’s hand connected with an ink bottle on the ledge of the table. It flew off its perch and spilled ink all over Errol’s rug. Errol and Othmer stared at it for a moment. Errol furrowed his eyebrows at Othmer.
​
“Swell. Look what you made me do!” Errol growled.
​
“It’s just a bit of ink,” Othmer muttered. “I’ll clean it.” Othmer kneeled on the ground and started half-heartedly dabbing at the ink puddle with a cloth.