Young Johnny Depp - A Short Story by Julia King

        My dream started with my sister and I sitting on the stairs in the foyer of a newly built colonial house clothed with white siding and baby blue shutters. The stairs were shinny and still smelled of varnish. We stared at a television that was playing a movie. A few of us were in the room awaiting something—something we didn’t know about. It was a dream so we didn’t need any reason to be there. The others in the room had no faces. They were just filling space in the recesses of the dream. My sister took notice of a boy featured in the movie.

“That’s Johnny Depp, only younger!” she exclaimed.

“Really?” I replied after rushing up to the screen to press my finger on the young Johnny’s face.

“It is him. Is he singing?” The movies scene scanned over a choir group, stilling on Johnny’s face as he sang a beautiful tune. It was like the young Christian Bale singing in Empire of the Sun only not as angelically.

“It looks like him,” she answered.

“Wow, he was even cute as a little boy with his chubby cheeks.” I finally removed my hand from the screen of the TV—a little dust clung to my finger in which I rubbed off on my pant leg. “Wouldn’t it be great to meet him, sis?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind that.”

Seconds later, the windowed door with lace curtains opened. A mom with long, brown hair and a young boy, no older than twelve, walked into the room. The boy was fussing and causing all sorts of problems for the woman.

“Let’s go, Mom. I don’t want to run errands anymore. Take me home, so I can finish my haunted house. Now!” he screamed.

“I will take you home when I am done!” She looked at him with little patience and shook her head in out direction. “He will be the death of me.”

I leaned toward my sister and whispered in her ear, “Is that who I think it is?”

The boy was now impatiently waiting for his mom who had disappeared into a back room. He kicked his sneakered foot on the hardwood floor, leaving a smudge.

I responded in awe, “I think so. Its Johnny only younger.”

As nonchalantly as possible, I shuffled over to where he stood. I looked at a vase of red roses that sat on a half circle table with three legs. “What’s your name?” I asked the boy.

“Johnny Depp. Why do you ask?” He sneered at me.

“Just wondering.” I smiled. “Are you an actor?”

“No!" He stuck his tongue out at me. "I would like to be putting the finishing touches on my haunted house, but my Mom,” he pointed to the other room with an accusing finger, “is taking her time getting home.”

Still in awe and gawking at the young boy, I suggested, “How about we go see it?” I eyed my sister, wanting approval to go. She nodded and gawked just as much as I was at the young Johnny. “My question is why are you making a haunted house in December?”

“Why not?” the young Johnny asked. I shrugged, knowing it was just fine to make a haunted house in December. It was a dream, and in dreams things automatically make sense.

We left without any thought of waiting for his mom. It was as if she had never existed. By the time we got to young Johnny’s house, his haunted house was astonishingly finished.

After a torturous first time through the haunted house, we exited it scared out of our wits. In actuality, the haunted house was whimsical and funny, but to us, it was catastrophically terrifying. When the multi-colored clowns popped out at us, they were smiling, not wanting to rip our heads off.

After walking out of the haunted house, the young Johnny demanded, “You need to go through it again.”

We complied even though we dared not go through again. Once out of it, he demanded the same thing of us, so we complied. After multiple times being scared silly at the rather funny haunted house, we finally wanted to leave, and no longer felt like gawking at Johnny anymore.

He turned on us. He told us that we could never leave. We were his captives and would need to travel the haunted house again and again. FOREVER. We tried to get out of the windows with no luck. We tried getting out of the front and back door, but Johnny always got in the way. There was always something up his sleeve blocking our way from egress.

Just once, he let his guard down, and we escaped through the front door. We ran out of the cul-de-sac only to be found by our little friend, Johnny.

“Where are you going? Don’t you like the haunted house anymore?” He gawked at us now.

“No, we love it,” I lied.

My sister kicked me in the shin. “No, Johnny, we hate it. We want to leave. Just let us go. Now!” she yelled.

“Alright, I admit, we are tired and want to go home. You are pretty much creeping us out kid.” I tried smiling at him to work on his possible softer side.

“But, you are the King Sisters. I have wanted to meet you for, like, forever.” He stomped his foot. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“What?” We both coughed out together. “The King Sisters?”

“Yes,” he smiled. “The King Sisters. I have watched you in TV and movies for, like, ever. You are famous.” He then was no longer a little boy, he was the older, one and only, Johnny Depp, and now he was graveling at our feet.

“Um,” I said, “We aren’t famous. You are?”

“No, I’m not.” He banged his hand hard on the gravel road. "Ouch," he said. He gazed at us with admiring eyes. "A little pain is worth it for the two of you."

“Don’t you remember 21 Jump Street, Edward Scissorhands, Benny and Joon, Chocolat?” I questioned him.

His chin dropped and a little drool spilled out. “What?”

“Pirates of the Caribbean?” I asked. He shrugged only to drool some more. “You can’t remember the movies you’ve starred in.”

“What? Did you say something?” He bent over kissing our shoes. “Oh, sorry, I’m dirtying your shoes. Let me get a tissue and wipe my slobber off.” He ran back to the house.

Looking at each other in bewilderment, we shot off running like mad women. Graciously, my red car suddenly appeared on the street corner with my keys in the ignition. We hopped in car, I put the car into first gear, pumped the gas, and we sped off. I looked in the mirror to see him running after us, with a pad of paper and a pen in his hand.

I could hear him screaming something inaudible. It sounded like, “Wait, just let me get your autographs. Please.” We turned the corner.

“Wow, that was weird. Us, famous,” my sister said.

“Yeah, that would be a trip.” I stopped at the red light, and looked over at the car that just pulled up. The car's window rolled down, and I heard the passenger saying something to me.

“Did you need something,” I said as I rolled the window down by pressing on the button on the armrest.

“Are you Julia King? Oh, my gosh, it’s the King Sisters. Look.” He punched his buddy in the arm, “It’s the King Sisters. They are so hot! Can we have your autographs?”

My sister and I looked at each other, not knowing what to say. The light turned green, so I gunned the car. The wheels screeched and we were off. I could smell burning rubber in my nose.

I woke up laughing. “Wow that was a strange dream. I should write a short story about it. 
So the blog has been written, some of the dream has been altered to make it more entertaining, and I am still sick with a cold. Maybe Johnny will read this one day and get a laugh out of it, as I hope you did.