Hidden Messages

From the journal of one Michael Gideon:

June 27, 2010

“Mitchell?”There’s my groggy voice on the tape.  Clearly hallucinations can’t be captured by electronic means.  Mitchell began to stir when I said his name.

“Ugh.  And I mean ugh.  I feel like I’ve just been birthed through a goose’s butt.”

“What the hell happened?  What is that stuff, that Morpheus Dust?”  I tried to get up and found that it wasn’t as easy as I remembered.

“What do you mean?  It’s cool.  You’re fine.”  He stood up and shook his head; a little wobbly. “Guess we didn’t make it back to camp.  Let’s go get the others, I’m starving.”

I kept the Amble and Quarry bit to myself, not seeing the need to bring up talking forest dwellers, but I had to ask about Coix.  “Did we hang out with some young guy?  A kid, really.  Kind of a street poet maybe?”

Mitchell laughed.  “No.  Not that I remember.  Man, you are such a lightweight!”

Mitchell helped me up and we started walking toward where Patty and Hudson had ridden off to camp.  I felt too unsteady, though, and my head was killing me.

“I’m calling this party over.  Think I’ll just walk back to my place.  Tell Patty, huh?”

Mitchell took me by the shoulder, “Okay, brother.  You go forth and, well, do whatever it is you do after a night out.  How about tonight?  You good to go again?  I feel bad about knocking you out with the Dust, so drinks are on me.”  He headed off down the pathway through the woods, not waiting for my reply.

As I headed back to the house, my head was swimming with the night’s events, with everything I’ve listed here.  The recorder was tapped, seven to eight hours of recording nothing tends to drain the battery, so I walked back not taping.  Who did that voice belong to in the conch shell?  Hallucination or not, I know that I know it from somewhere.

The walk back was uneventful at any rate and later I waved off all entreaties to spend the evening in cups.  Patty went with them in my stead, touting about the bevy of women that the trio would pick up.  He was quite wasted when he showed back up here at four this morning, but wasn’t accompanied by the fairer sex.

I spent the evening here all because of one thing that the hallucination who was Coix said to me: Potbellied pigs parading past pink pavilions.

I remembered the phrase once I got back to Fallenstar Manor, and that made me remember the painting.  It’s an oil painting, a little thing, really, up in the bedroom where I found the records.  Hanging all by itself on the wall.  A pink carousel with farmyard animals as the seats.  Two of which are pink pigs.

I ran up to the room and snatched the painting off the wall, investigating it inch by inch.  It’s painted by an untrained hand which is probably why I dismissed it at a glance before.  That and it’s a merry-go-round with barn creatures.  But then I noticed the house behind the carousel.

It’s Fallenstar Manor.

Which was freaky enough by itself before I noticed some of the other things in the painting.  In the corner is a little old woman, standing behind her fence and pointing at Fallenstar Manor.  In the foreground, next to the carousel is a large tree.  Its branches were all withering except one strong limb, coated with leaves.  That limb also pointed at the house.  So I took a closer look.  I couldn’t figure out what I was missing.

You with the heavy feet and dead eyes.

Then I saw it.  The windows.  My manor, my home here in Timber Haven, has three bottom windows at the front of the house and three top windows.  The manor in the painting has four windows each, top and bottom.

I took the painting and walked around and around the house, over and over.  I was obsessed with imagined clues and false leads.  What did the extra windows mean?  Are there hidden rooms?  So I spent the night knocking on walls and checking light fixtures.  I pulled at floorboards and moved rugs.  By the time Patty got back I had turned the house upside down, all for nothing.

After cleaning up the crock pot that Patty puked in, I went to bed, exhausted.  I gathered up the blankets and threw them on the floor, opting for the sheet instead.  As I laid there going over the events of the weekend, meeting Mitchell, the Morpheus Dust, discovering Jarboe’s connection to Bernie, it occurred to me how much I’ve changed in these past two weeks.  I reread this journal sometimes and wonder if I’ve just completely lost my mind.  It seems too much to have happened in such a short period.  If I hadn’t written it all down…

I dreamt of strange tidings once sleep found me.  I was at the Pub, eating a turkey sandwich. A very old German shepherd came in the front door and padded over to my table.  “Might interest regular readers.”  It said to me.  Then it walked back out the door and into an operating room.  Afterwards, Gerald came up to me and said, “Best heed the dog, he’s the owner.  That’ll be $17.50.” and handed me a bill for my sandwich.

And when I woke up, I swore I would never touch Morpheus Dust again as long as I lived.

It’s a beautiful morning outside, but I hear Patty bumping around in the kitchen and I need to pick up the house before he starts asking why I tore it up in the first place.

Houseguests, who needs ‘em.

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The Gathering (part three)

From the journal of one Michael Gideon

June 22, 2010 (cont’d)

“The knight who protects your dreams is missing.” I repeated, trying to better understand what madness tasted like, “I think, yes, this is my fault.  When I said – you remember a moment ago?  I said ‘Speak to me like a small, alien child’ and I think perhaps maybe the concept is just too, well, um, you know, alien.”

I really sound like this?  I speak like an idiot.  Granted, dream protecting knights being bandied about in adult conversation can throw a guy off, but still.

“Maybe you could just start from the beginning?  For us newbies?” I asked Thegan.

“Oh, yes, sorry.  You see, we here in Timber Haven, well, mostly in the Village and Old Town, not so much in the city proper, have grown accustomed to having a Knight protecting us as we sleep.  He generally shows up in the dream when you’re in the most danger.  Most afraid.  Some say – though there are others who reject this theory out of hand, allowing that there is no evidence to suggest that it’s anything more than drink-induced hearsay –”Thegan had looked to Mr. Trepp, “but some claim that you can sometimes see the Knight really patrolling, outside of dreams.  He’s sometimes seen galloping on a steed.  Other times he patrols on foot.  I say it’s possible, though I’ve not witnessed an appearance firsthand.  Maybe an astral projection of some kind?  If I knew whether he showed up as a corporeal presence, I could better decipher – well, look, I think I have some notes here.  Let me show you –”

“Ahem.  Thegan, I think that Mr. Gideon is finding this particular concept hard enough to grasp without reading any notes on the subject right now.” Lady Nicoline said, bringing Thegan’s attention from his satchel to her, “If he doesn’t mind, maybe we could persuade Mr. Gideon to lunch with us later this week.  Parson Leets has been maintaining the barrier quite well I think, considering the absence of the Knight, but perhaps he’ll join us as well.”

“Certainly!  The Parson is doing a wonderful job.  It was for his benefit that I had wanted to bring the topic up this evening.  He’s wearing himself too thin, I think.  He could use the help.  And we still don’t know the outcome of the Knight.  But yes, it could wait until we can explain things to Michael.  I’ll arrange everything after the Gathering.”

At this point Mr. Trepp suggested we move along to the third item we were meant to discuss.  I remember his excitement, the tone of his voice changing, now that I think about it.  Thegan, on the other hand, placed his satchel on his lap and shrunk back into his chair.

“Okay.” Thegan nearly whispered, “We can move along to. . .to what comes next.”

Mr. Trepp stood up.  He slowly walked around the table, around all of us, continuing in his excited speech that Timber Haven had been through enough after recent events.  That the burden of fixing and maintaining the barrier (I need, Journal, to find out more about whatever this is), especially with an unfamiliar as the Weaver (I remember mentally thanking him for the shot at my abilities even though, you know, I have no idea what they really are) was plenty on their plate.  He was more than happy (I’d call it eager) to claim responsibility for this latest problem.  Claim it, and take it with him.

Lady Nicoline quietly listened to Mr. Trepp until he finished speaking and sat back down.  I noticed that she looked to Thegan from time to time during Mr. Trepp’s speech.

“I see.  You wish to take her with you.  By rights, she should remain in Timber Haven, but this is a delicate matter, given. . .given the circumstances.” She was looking to Thegan again, who in turn was absently latching and unlatching the satchel in his lap.

“Thegan?”

“I. . .do not ask this of me.  I cannot – I will not see her stay here.  Salme, look at what she is!” Thegan had tears in his eyes.

“Thegan, things need not be that way.  She is merely potential here in Timber Haven.  Her path no more decided than –”

“I will not see to her.  That is my vote.  Let Mr. Trepp take her.” Thegan looked back down to his satchel.

“As you wish.  We Three cannot take her either.  Our nature would only serve to confuse her, and she is bound to be lost enough as it is.  Though we think it an awful idea, I must vote for her to go with who will take her.”  Lady Nicoline looked down at the table.

I didn’t like where this had headed.  We were talking about a “her”.  Who would take her.  What to do with her.

“What are you talking about?  A person?  Look, I don’t know what’s going on now, but –” I started.

Mr. Trepp and Thegan interrupted me.  “Leave it alone, son.” Mr. Trepp had said to me, I remember, though he’s still not on the tape.  “Please, Michael, you don’t understand.” Thegan pleaded.

Finally, Lady Nicoline stood up, giving little “hush” waves at us to quiet the two of them speaking at once.

“It seems, Mr. Trepp, that you may – ”

“Wait a minute!” I said.  Well, yelled, really, “I have a, I have something to say.  Or, proclaim, as it were.”

I could see that Lady Nicoline smiled slightly.  Mr. Trepp, did not.

“I am serving as a proxy vote for Hurd. . .uh, whatever his last name is.  My neighbor, Hurd.  Well, his wife Angela, actually.  Who should be here to cast this vote themselves, but, for whatever reason, can’t.”

“Michael, don’t do this!  Please!”  Thegan yelled at me, “You don’t understand!  Regardless of what Salme says, she’s evil!  Evil is evil, no matter what side of the barrier you’re on!  You don’t know what you’d be allowing here!”

I was taken completely off guard by Thegan’s outburst.  I thought maybe I should shut my mouth and let things play out as they may.  Then I saw Mr. Trepp.  He. . .I can’t explain it well here, Journal.  With words, I mean.  I felt that Mr. Trepp really wanted whoever we were discussing to go with him, and, for reasons I don’t understand, I couldn’t let that happen.

“What is your vote, then, Mr. Gideon?” Salme asked.

“Well, understanding that it’s not mine, but a proxy vote for Angela, I say yes.  She can stay in Timber Haven.”

Thegan quickly got up from the table and left Lady Nicoline’s yard.  Mr. Trepp leaned a bit back into his chair and nodded my way.  I don’t have it recorded, of course, but he said to me: “You seem to be keeping me from conducting my business, Mr. Gideon.”

“We are all finished here, Mr. Trepp.” Lady Nicoline said, “You may return to your hotel now.”

“Don’t I get to stay for the unveiling?” was the last thing I remember Mr. Trepp saying.

“The Gathering is over.  Good night, Mr. Trepp.” was all Lady Nicoline said to him as she started cleaning her table off.

Mr. Trepp smiled as he left the yard.

Lady Nicoline reached into the pocket of her dress once we were alone and handed me an envelope.

“And this is our last bit of business to attend to this evening, Mr. Gideon.” she kept talking as I opened the envelope, “I hope you will forgive Thegan’s being upset.  It’s understandable, of course.”

“You all have a tendency to speak in riddles, do you know that?” I fumbled with the envelope, trying not to rip whatever was inside, “What is this?”

“Yes, well, some minds prefer dot-to-dot puzzles, I know.  Riddles are much more telling though, don’t you think?  About the asker of the riddle and the guesser.  Any child can connect the dots until they see the picture of a boat or a horse.  But a riddle, a good one at any rate, can take you to unknown places as you try and work it out.  Parts of your mind that you had never used, or had merely forgotten once you grew up.  And what you have there, Mr. Gideon, by way and care of Angela, is the final piece to this particular riddle.  But I must warn you, this riddle’s answer leads to more questions, I’m afraid.  Go home.  Rest.  Once you think you’ve got your mind around it, play back the tape you’ve had recording since your arrival and write everything down.  I think you’ll find that doing so might help you in your duties as Weaver.”

I was embarrassed about the tape but tried to hide it.

“Yeah, um, what about this Weaver business?  What am I supposed to do?” I asked, pulling the note out of the envelope.

“We’ll discuss everything at lunch.  Your duties, questions, whatever you like.  I’ll leave another note on your door with the particulars, seeing as that seems to work for you.  Oh, and Michael?  Thank you for the figs.  They are my favorite.  That Audrey Fell hears everything.  Good night.” she said, walking back into the house, her screen door slamming shut behind her.

I looked down at the note.  In the little light left to me I could see that it had only one word written on it:

Corabeth.

I read it aloud.

The screen door burst open and a little girl, maybe seven years old, stood before me, her black hair framing her pale white face like a doll’s.

“I’d like to go home now.” she told me.

Lady Nicoline turned her fairytale Christmas lights off.

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The Gathering (part two)

From the journal of one Michael Gideon

June 22, 2010 (cont’d)

Even over all the sounds of the forest around us that night, I can hear my breathing start to quicken on the tape as the casting starts.

Mrs. Nicoline was the first to stand.

“As the Voice of Three this evening, I, Salme, cast my vote for Michael.  I feel Timber Haven can only benefit from his talent, and I have faith in his strengths, as well as what he perceives as weaknesses.  Samuel, however, remains unimpressed with Michael, having tried to secure a tale from him in the Western Woods only to be told no.  His vote lies with Cade.  Number One wishes to abstain, seeing wisdom in neutrality.”

That’s when I figured out where I knew Mrs. Nicoline’s face from, when she mentioned “Samuel” in the woods.  I still don’t really get the “Voice of Three” bit, if she suffers from MPD or something, but after she spoke her vote and took her seat again, the voting continued to her left with Brynne.

“I sense fantastic promise in Michael.  Even if he can’t sing.” She had smiled at me, “He gets my vote.”

As Brynne sat down, two dogs begin barking in the background on the tape.  I only vaguely remember it happening I was so wrapped up in the events of the table, but Jarboe is yelling on the tape, “Lincoln!  Leopold!  Stop that ruckus immediately!”  Meanwhile, to Brynne’s left, Thegan had risen to speak:

“Mr. Gideon – Michael – is my vote.  He saw to my safety when I had no one else.  He’s a good friend and will make a fine Weaver.”  I have no idea what Thegan meant.  I mean, I looked out for him when he was going to walk into that branch the other day, sure, but it’s not like I gave him a kidney.

Wait.  What was that?

Thegan was sitting right across from me, close enough that the tape seems to have caught him muttering something under his breath.  Lemme try and rewind it.  Maybe crank up the volume.

I can’t be sure what he’s saying entirely, but he definitely mentions “Dorthea” as he’s sitting down.

In reading back through you, Journal, I see that that’s the second time Dorthea’s name has come up.  Interesting.

Sasha stood next.

“Cade is an amazing talent.  I could guarantee a solid sixteen percent increase in ad sales if I could have –”I remember, Mr. Trepp had caught her gaze, “b-but he would be of fantastic use here in his hometown of Timber Haven.  Help you guys out of your. . .bind.  I vote for Cade.”

Mr. Trepp stood before Sasha had even finished sitting down.  He started speaking (yet again, I have no audio for him) about passion and proven mettle.  It was pretty powerful, actually.  Bit bizarre, too, but this whole thing was.  He cast his vote for Cade, brandishing his arm toward him like a proud father.

Then Cade rose to speak.  His eloquent speaking voice in no way matches his appearance.

“I am Timber Haven’s Weaver.  I’ve trained my entire life for it.  Darkness holds no mystery for me, and so, can summon no fear.  We have sat undefended for far too long.  A situation I intend to remedy.  I vote for myself.”

Next up, Jarboe:

“I apologize, Lady Nicoline, for the disruption by the boys.  Huskies are notorious for forgetting their manners.  It’s double lessons for you lot tomorrow!” He yelled the latter over his shoulder, “At any rate, I vote for Mr. Gideon.  He’s what we need here, I just know it.”

It was at this point that the pressure was getting to be too much for me.  I felt prodded and pushed.  I didn’t understand anything that was going on.  Information was being thrown around at a mile a minute, things were going over my head and I was just about done.

“Mr. Gideon?” Lady Nicoline said.

“Yes?  Um, yes?  Ah-ha, um.  Yes.  I don’t really – that is, this is all just insane to me.  I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”

I had looked around the table.  Jarboe and Thegan looked hurt.  Brynne, disappointed.  Mr. Trepp smiled his toothy smile.

“Well, Mr. Gideon, it appears that you are breaking a tie in Timber Haven’s vote for a Weaver.” Lady Nicoline said, smiling, “and doing a fine job of it, might I add.  I know that your mind must be positively racing with questions and doubts.  You’re no fool, after all.  And you’re not crazy.  Dreams coming at you while you’re asleep and awake, weird noises and neighbors, all when you had only come looking for a quiet place to do your work.  It would fill anyone with nerves.  But you’re a writer.  Even more so, a storyteller.  A fly on the wall in every room you’ve ever been in, to better transform events therein into stories later.”

Mr. Trepp spoke up at this point, attempting to interrupt Lady Nicoline, but she just went on,

“Well, sir, you are at the edge of another story.  Curiosity has led you this far, but only a solid decision opens the next door.  Do you say nay, thereby asking us to leave you to your work, alone and quiet in your rented home to finish your book?  If that is your wish, you must only say so now and we will oblige.  Or do you continue down the path that you’ve discovered and say yes, able to sate that curiosity on whatever comes next?”

And she was right.  I had far too many questions.  I wanted some answers and this might be the only way to continue collecting to the pieces.

I voted for myself, with no idea of what I was accepting.

“Well, then, that concludes the vote.  Mr. Gideon, at a vote of five-four, is the new Weaver of Timber Haven.”  Lady Nicoline announced to all around the table, “Now, as the next bit of business is sensitive to town Titles, I’m afraid we must say good evening to you unbound citizens among us.”

I didn’t know whether I was to stay or go.  Thegan motioned for me to stay seated.  Brynne, Jarboe, Sasha and Cade all left the backyard.  Cade gave a cold stare my way as he left.

Once there were only four of us in earshot, Lady Nicoline continued:

“Good Evening, Titles.  Everyone have a full drink?  Good.  Let us begin with the second item to discuss this evening.  Thegan?”

“Thank you.  We haven’t had a Knight sighting since. . .the incident and the suffering has increased tenfold every day we go without a, well, a guard of some kind, maybe a patrol.”

I had dreamt of a knight.  A brilliant white came from his armor in the dream, like it was plated in pure light.

“A knight sighting?” I’d asked the table, “I had a weird dream about a knight.  And how did you know about my dreams, Mrs. Nicoline?  And guard what?  Patrol?  I can only take so much of this, this!” I admit now, I was feeling punch drunk from everything.  My head was spinning, “I’m a Title, or a, a Weaver whatever, so you’ve got to tell it to me but, do it, yes, talk to me like, well, as if I’m a child.  A child from another country, or no, a planet.  Yeah, a small child from another planet.  Someone, please.”

“The Knight protects our borders from the things that wish us harm.  He protects us as we sleep.  Protects our dreams.  And he’s missing.”  Thegan explained.

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