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John sat in the back seat of a car, he was seven years old, and his best friend, James, sat beside him. They were laughing.
The car was moving fast, skidding around, and throwing them back and forth across the back seat. Cory, the car’s driver, looked back at them and laughed. He was James’s big brother, and he built this car with his friend Rob. Rob was in the front passenger seat, making whooping noises.
The car threw them all to one side as it roared around in a circle. He didn’t see the rock. He didn’t even know it was there until now. He did see Cory and Rob smash through the windscreen, shattering thousands of tiny safety-glass cubes around the car. He saw his friend, thrown over the driver’s seat, hit the steering wheel, all twisted up. He saw a man in strange clothes wearing a big, black hat. The man smiled through the window, and tipped the hat with a white gloved hand.
“The man who isn’t there,” John wheezed, as the darkness closed in on him, and everything went away.
“I suppose you never wondered about what happens to all the missing homeless and runaways, the ones that never make the news?” said Mary.
The world spun back.
Mary watched him. “It’s ok, John. People don’t.”
John fixed on the voice, as Mary came into focus. He opened his mouth, and tried to speak.
“Some of them just die, John,” interrupted Mary. “Some are left to rot in a ditch somewhere, nobody knowing or caring. But a few, just a few, they escape. They manage to cross over the nothing, they get to the other-place; they’re free and happy forever.” Her eyes lost focus, staring at some distant unseen something. “Not counting the rabbits, that is.”
John closed his eyes as a torrent of thoughts screamed through his head, was she mad. Was she really mad, dangerous mad? Surely these stories couldn’t be real. “Shangri-La-La land right?” he said.
“Every flower has its bees, John.”
“My best friend died in this car.” He said.
She put her hand on his. “I know, John”.
“You know. How? How do you know?” His nostrils flared his eyes widened. Small beads of spit flew from his mouth as he spat out the words.
He turned to face Mary, the crazy lady, staring into her wide blue eyes. She didn’t flinch.
“Research, John.” She answered in a practiced calm voice.
“I’ve known who I was trying to find for years, I just didn’t know where you were, or even if you were still alive, that’s all.”
She rummaged in the large bag, removing several pages of crumpled papers.
“Police report, witness statements, emergence services records, and the medical report.” She said, placing the papers in front of him, on the floor of the burnt-out car.
John grabbed the papers and began to read, his lip quivering as tears rolled down his face.
“You were lucky, John. Your joy-ride had been reported to the authorities. A police constable was already in the car park when you crashed.” She stabbed one of the papers with her finger. “He saved your life, John, kept you alive with mouth-to-mouth, until the fire-brigade and ambulance arrived. Had to cut you out the car, got you out just before it caught fire.”
He shuffled the pages, reading outlined bits and pieces from each. He stared at the medical report. His eyes grew wider and wetter with each word.
“You died, John. One minute twenty three seconds, you were dead.”
He looked up at her. No readable expression lay on her face.
“You probably ripped the hole to the other place before you lost consciousness, and it stayed open because you died before…”
“Stop. Stop all this crap about pretend fairy-worlds.” He yelled. “My friend died, I died, and I didn’t even remember it, nobody even told me.”
He closed his eyes, holding his throbbing head in shaking hands.
He felt two quick light taps on his shoulder.
“There-there John, it’ll be alright,” said the shaky voice.
He opened his eyes to see Mary, white faced, leaning over him, her eyes red and wet.
“Say you believe me. Say you don’t think I’m mad, John. John?” Her voice warbled, punctuated by stifled sobs.
He reached out and touched her white wet cheek. “God help me, I believe you.”
She smiled a proper, full, sweet innocent smile. His heart skipped a beat.
John got out the car and walked towards the tree-line at the far end of the area. The ground crunched under his shoes as it grew stonier. He stopped; staring down at the small drainage ditch he had once called ‘the river’. Sitting on the gravel strewn bank, he threw a small stone into the slow moving brown water.
Mary sat down beside him. “It’s coming.” She said.
The water had stopped, frozen in mid flow. Trees began to disappear, engulfed by a featureless rolling white fog. It consumed reality, clearing the sky of blue, erasing the green from the grass. It swallowed the sights, sounds, and smells of the world.
Screaming and cowering figures had begun to emerge from the white nothingness. Each twisted, tortured creature existed only for a fraction of a second before once again being engulfed in the fog.
Shifting shapeless smudges of the nothing-fog roll over him, they ooze over his skin attempting to leak the colour, the substance out of him. He looked at Mary. She was busy dusting the white smudges off her clothes. She shook her head and muttered something to herself before turning her heat towards him.
“Nothing to worry about, John, not here, not this time,” she said, then winked.
John considered her comments, apparently, she had made a joke.
It was over, and the world, a world, existed again.
The light cloud broke and the sun shone through, bathing the waste-ground in bright yellow patches. As he looked around the scent of flowers crammed his nose. Hundreds, thousands of flowers filled the wasteland. He had never noticed so many different types before, the colours blazed in the sun. The buzzing of bees and chirping of birds filled the air. The clear water gurgled and splashed down the sandy stream.
He looked at Mary; she sat on a sandy bank, the rough dusty gravel gone.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
Mary’s face lit-up as she surveyed her surroundings. “We passed through the nothing. Now, we’re in another place.”
The other place looked much like the wasteland, and at the same time felt very different.
John stared into the horizon. “You could imagine Dragons living here, or islands floating on clouds,” he said.
He stood up and walked to where the car wreck once stood. A bright white light shone from where the rear passenger seat of the car should be.
He stared, wide eyed. The light held a shape, too obscured by the brightness to recognize.
Mary stood beside him. “That’s you, that is.” She pointed to the shape in the light. “You tore a hole, made a door”
“And we came through this door, to an imaginary land, right?”
“Not as such, John. We’re special, we don’t need it.”
The sound of arguing interrupted his thoughts. The voices grew louder, as a few words were understood. “You… they… infected… will destroy… away… No, you… punish us… Go.”
A small thin figure stumbled backwards from behind the light; it tiptoed and wobbled, waving its arms around as it righted itself.
The creature was human shaped, its face protruded to a pointed snout with a long set of twitching whiskers. It watched them with beady eyes.
“Good day to you, Sir, Miss.” Its gangly legs folded in a complicated dance as it effected a low bow.
“Rabbit,” growled Mary.
The creature stiffened to its full four foot, and straightened its waistcoat, the only clothing it wore.
“I’m not a rabbit. I’m a weasel.” Is said; in a high-pitched squeak of a voice.
John scratched his head, and opened his mouth to speak.
; “Weasels are interlopers, John. Just like us… well, they’re a bit more accepted than us, seeing as how they are story-book folk.”
Mary looked behind the creature. “You may as well come out, too,” she shouted.
Another similar looking but slightly smaller creature emerged from behind the glow. It stared at its furry feet as it walked to the side of its companion.
“So,” said Mary, placing her hands on her hips. “You are the welcome committee?”
The weasels gazed from side to side, shifting their feet as they swayed back and forth.
“But, but they’re just characters from a children’s book,” blurted John.
“Look closer, John. They’re imagined characters, not made here. You’re not a child; don’t look with children’s eyes.”
He stared at the two figures. They looked harmless, comical at first glance, two partially dressed, anthropomorphic caricatures. On closer inspection the matted fur covering their scraggly legs hid a collection of scars and sores. Their pointed snouts held a large mouth that contained many sharp teeth. What passed for hands were little more than paws with long pointed finger length talons. The matching waistcoats held many dark brown stains. These creatures wouldn’t make a good cuddly-toy.
“Weasels will rip your sanity out, given half a chance, John. They’re allowed to exist here by the rabbits, as foot soldiers.”
The smaller of the two creatures crouched down, its long legs shaking under the compressed muscle power. It screeched as it released the pressure, hurling itself forwards, towards Mary.
Mary took a step back, shielding her head with her arm.
Form nowhere, or from nothing, a small girl appeared, and stood in front of her. She wore a frilly pink sun-dress and had flowers in her long blonde locks.
The girl held her hand in front of her, palm up in a ‘stop’ gesture.
The creature flew straight at her, colliding with her hand. It should have knocked both of them over; it should have ripped them to pieces. Instead it was gone, no trace of the thing remained. The other creature ducked down, not to jump, but to shield itself; it shook from head to toe.
John turned, staring at Mary, open mouthed.
“Meet Julie, my imaginary friend,” she said, with a wide smile. Julie waved.
John held his head; it throbbed as the strange imagined world spun round him. He collapsed onto the warm grass. He closed his eyes on this strange delusion, as memories flooded his head.
It had been a hard time after the accident. His parents and everybody else he knew were being too kind. He got home from the hospital after three weeks, but was allowed to skip school for another two months. The doctors frequently visited his house, doing tests and checking his injuries.
He spent a long time alone in his room, except, after a while he wasn’t alone anymore. He made a friend, a friend that wasn’t there, but a very real, much needed friend nonetheless.
The days alone in his room came and went, things returned to normal. He thought about his pretend friend less and less as the real things took up his time.
Kevin, his imaginary friend was called Kevin.
The headache had gone, the world stopped spinning. He felt hands grasp his waist, helping him to his feet. He turned round to thank Mary, and stood face to face with Kevin, a grown up Kevin, the same age as him.
He stared at his long forgotten imaginary friend, now standing before him like a real-life flesh –and-blood person.
“Hello, Kevin.” He said. Surprised at how easy it was to believe in this place.
His imaginary friend winked, and walked over to where the Mary stood.
Julie now looked several years older; she swung her hips and smiled at Kevin.
Kevin slipped his hand in hers and they both walked towards the river.
“Pretend friends haven’t got many inhibitions, John.” She blushed.
“Are they gone?” He asked.
“Oh, they’re never gone.”
“So where’d they come from then?” John asked.
“From us, of course, they’re white rabbits, good ones, made by us.”
John scratched his head. “I thought you said rabbits were bad, and why do you call them Rabbits anyway? They look human to me.” John paused as his thoughts shifted to the strange figure permanently dressed for dinner. “Well, mostly human,” he added.
Mary laughed. “Because they’re creatures of the rabbit-warn, the other-place, silly. Because they naturally belong here,” she said, as she spun around and giggled.
Mary raised a hand over her eyes and squinted at the tree line. He followed her gaze. A large forest lay towards the far side of the clearing they now stood in. Now the clearing only bore a vague resemblance to the waste-ground. The forest stood where the car-park should be. The remaining weasel crawled along the grass towards a nearby clump of trees. As John stared, the creature stopped to look back at him.
“Please, I’m just a messenger. I just watch the gate, that’s all. Please the boss will be angry if I don’t tell, but she’ll kill me if I do.” It pointed at Mary.
“Please, I’m only a message boy. Please don’t kill me, Sir.” Streams of tears ran down the creature’s snout, rolling off the whiskers in tiny droplets. It stared at him with wide bloodshot eyes. “He was my brother, you know.” It sniffed.
Mary gazed along the tree-line, with her back to the creature.
John looked into the weasel’s red wet eyes and mouthed the word ‘RUN’. It did.
John closed his eyes and stared into the blackness. In his minds eye he could see the dinner-suited man. He sat on a rock next to the gurgling, crystal clear waters of a small stream. The rock stood on the end of a thicket of tall grass that spread down the side of the river bank. The grass rustled as the creature that identified itself as a Weasel emerged, panting and wheezing.
“So, they are here already,” said the man.
“Yes sir, in the clearing by the gate, sir.”
A smile spread over the man’s face as he turned to look in John’s direction. “Are you watching me, little human?” He grinned.
John jumped, and opened his eyes. Mary stood beside him. She pointed at the light, then at the trees, then back again, her lips moved but he didn’t hear the words.
She put her hand on his shoulder and shook.
“You listening, John?”
“What. Yes. No. What?” He said.
“The gate John, we can bring them all through. All the lost ones, the ones stuck in the nothing. All that suffering, we can stop it by bringing them all through.”
Julie and Kevin had returned, once again standing beside Mary. Julie held a bunch of flowers. She sniffed them and smiled at Kevin.
John glanced behind them, a large clump of flowers had been uprooted, and a single footprint lay in the freshly turned soil.
He looked at the doorway-hole, his heart beat faster as he neared it.
“It feels wrong,” he said.
Mary gaped at him. Julie and Kevin, Mary’s white-rabbits, took a step forwards.
“It’s wrong to help people, John? It’s wrong to free people from torment and give them a better place to be?” Mary’s eyes grew wide.
John pointed at Julie. “She killed that creature, the weasel.”
“Can’t kill a weasel, John, can’t kill it because it’s not alive. Just a story-book idea, that’s all.”
“But it’s alive here.” He looked at Julie and Kevin. “They’re all real here. So when they die here, they really die.”
“I told you to be careful,” said Kevin. “Remember, in the house. I did tell you.”
Kevin stretched out a long arm, and grabbed John by the throat. “Now, open the dammed gate.”
Mary gasped. “What’s happening, what are you doing?” She screamed.
Julie laughed; there was no humour in the dry crackle.
Julie's clothing changed into a school uniform as she began to sing. “Mary-Jane has no brain; in fact she’s just
a spastic. Her dad’s a slob, he has no job, and her mother couldn’t hack it.”
Julie finished her ditty and grabbed Jane by the arm. Jane squealed.
“Silly plain-Jane; plain-Jane wasn’t good enough, she can’t get the door open, but he can.” Julie pointed to John.
Mary stared at Julie “But you’re me friend,” she rasped.
“No. You’re my cage.” Julie spat the words. “You think I like you, you think anybody likes you?” She pointed at John. “You think he likes you? I know you like him, but he thinks you’re just an insane plane-Jane, crazy Mary the bag lady stalker, and he wishes he’d never met you.”
Mary dropped to her knees, cradling her head in her hands.
John heard her sobbing and tried to speak, but Kevin’s grip was too tight. He shook John back and forth.
“Open it and let them in. Let them all in.” He bellowed.
Kevin had grabbed John’s hand, and thrust it forward into the light. A ring of blue light pulsed from John’s hand, and then another, stronger, pulse opened up the gateway. John gazed into a distorted fish-eye image of the nothing, the space in-between. The screaming figures in the nothing had notice the hole, and began to clamber and crawl their way towards it.
Then it closed. The light dimmed to a low orange glow, and the man dressed for dinner stood beside the light.
“Stop,” he said, pointing at Julie. She did, frozen on the spot.
He tapped Kevin with his walking stick. Kevin flew backwards. He hit the ground rolling, did two cartwheels and came to a stop sprawled in the dirt by Julie’s feat.
Mary looked up as John ran towards her. Knelling beside her he took her hand.
“I don’t think any of that stuff, you know.” He whispered.
“I can throw them around forever, old boy. Or imprison them if you wish. Unfortunately I can not destroy them. Only their makers can do that,” the well-dressed figure said.
They both looked at the large creature.
“What are you?” Mary asked through stifled sniffs.
“Unleashed, my Dear Lady.” It smiled. “I am much as these two would want to be, but for very different reasons.”
“You’re the rabbit, from that house.” John said, and stared at the very large rabbit. “How? How, do I destroy it?”
“With a single thought, Dear Boy.” The rabbit waved its hand through the air in front of its face, and disappeared.
John stared at Kevin, he was beginning to come round. He leaned over his pet-rabbit; his face only inches away and whispered in its ear.
“You are not real. You are not here.” And it wasn’t.
A sharp penetrating shriek filled the clearing as Julie grabbed at Mary.
“She isn’t real without you.” John shouted.
Mary fell to the ground, and scrabbled backwards in the dirt. “I hate you.” She yelled. “You’re nasty and not even real. Go away.” And Julie was not there.
Mary got up. Her head moving back and forth as she scanned the tree line.
“There are rabbits in the trees, John, other people’s rabbits, lots of them. I thought people’s rabbits were good. I thought ours were good, but they’re not.” Tears welled up in her eyes. He wiped them with his sleeve. The voice in his head was dead, this time it was all him that wanted to kiss her tears away.
“I think we’d better move,” he said.
They followed the stream out of the forest clearing. A small dusty path led along the bank. The stream widened, and joined with smaller brooks and tributaries until the clear waters deepened to a rush of blue. As they walked along the river bank, John thought this other-place truly was a land full of wonder. The land constantly changed around them. The blue velvet water glistened with a thousand reflected pin-pricks of light. Just enough wisps of cloud peppered the light blue sky, as the bright sun bathed everything in a happy yellow glow. Snow covered mountains lined the horizon, the sunlight glinting from the peaks, making him guess at the wonders and secrets hidden beyond.
John stopped as they came upon a fork in the road. The left path followed the river-bank, the other turned inland, towards the forest.
Mary looked at the tree-line.
“Remember, there’s rabbits in the trees, John.”
He moved towards the river path.
“You’re going the wrong way you know,” said a familiar high-pitched voice.
The weasel stood beside a lone tree off to his side. It watched the two of them with its black-Perl eyes, scanning for any sign of movement.
Mary lowered her head, and gazed at her shoes. “I’m sorry about your brother,” She said.
The weasel stared at her. “So am I, Lady. But I know the rabbit killed my brother, and tricked you into believing it was for the good.”
A tear rolled down Mary’s cheek. “I was stupid.”
“That is for you to decide, not me,” said the weasel.
It turned to look at John.
“If you believe in such things, your destiny awaits you on the forest trail.”
It twitched its nose, shaking a fly off its whiskers.
“Of course, there is always a third path. You can return to your office, lunchtime has long since gone, and, a world away, people are looking for you.” It stared at him, unmoving.
John looked at the creature’s frozen face. In a fraction of a second it was dark, and he was standing in the station where he worked. His feet ached. It felt like he had been walking all-day. John stared up at the grey building. He gazed at the pale light leaching from his office window into the cold night air. He turned and checked the old Victorian station clock, eleven thirty. He could still catch the last train back to his car. But what would he do when he got there. “Run for the gateway,” he whispered to the night, and the other-place flooded back.
He looked at the weasel and winked. “The forest it is then.”
The forest road grew darker with every step, the light of the river back shrunk to a distant glow through the trees.
“Hello there,” boomed an old but firm voice. “You don’t see many humans around here.”
An old man was sitting on a large tree stump at the edge of the path. He waved at them as something moved in the trees above. The man looked up and smiled.
“Oh, don’t mind him. That’s just my Thing. He’s taking a look at you, that’s all.”
An eye on the end of what looked like a branch slithered down from the treetops and hovered above them. The stalk-eye blinked as it circled around them.
“My names Dave, by the way.” Dave stared past them, down the forest road. “At least it used to be, not much call for a name around here.”
“Mary,” said Mary. “And this is John.” John nodded, while trying to squint up at the thing in the trees.
A long tube dropped from the branches the end dangled at head level.
“I am thing. Yes, yes I am.” The tube spoke through a gum filled opening, it sounded like someone talking through a rubber hosepipe stuffed with old socks.
Thing swayed an eye stalk towards them, moving it up and down.
“You is very good at crossing the nothing, missy.” Another eye-stalk slithered along the ground, rearing up to wave in front of Mary. “You travel deep into rabbit-hole, yes. You go lots of places others can’t.” It blinked a large eye. “You take him with you, yes?”
It turned an eye to look closely at John. “But you, you can choose; choose, yes, who to bring though, choose who to put back, or remove. What is you?”
John looked at the various appendages; they slithered along the ground, and through the trees, surrounding them.
“What do you want?” he asked.
A combination eye-mouth tentacle rose over the old man’s shoulder.
“To test, yes?” it said.
The old man shifted on his seat, gesturing to a thicket of tangled vines.
The vines parted, revealing a range of figures, all secured to trees by climbing plant, or the thing’s tentacles, or a c
ombination of both.
Mary jumped and grabbed John’s arm as the vine curtain revealed its captives. John stood straight. His back had stiffened as he clenched his fists.
“You’re both Halflings, a bit real a bit fantasy. Didn’t you know that? Didn’t your life only ever feel half real?” Dave said. “That’s why you can get through the nothing. It’s why you both had make-believe friends that managed to hang on past childhood. You half-belong to both worlds. The Problem is whose side are you on…”
“Oh, the good side obviously,” Mary interrupted, as she clasped her hands behind her back and bit her lip.
Dave laughed. “Is that so? Your task is simple. Judge three of them.”
More tentacles emerged from the forest behind them. Some contained eyes, but most ended in large sharp spikes and hooks. Some prodded their backs, guiding them forwards.
As John and Mary walked into a small, previously hidden, glade several more human shaped figures became visible. Some stood shackled to the trees and others lay motionless on the ground, almost cocooned in foliage. Some fought against their restraints, others were motionless.
John walked forwards, towards one of the closer trees. A dishevelled figure hung motionless on his restraints, slumped forward.
John moved forward and carefully lifted the figure’s head.
“I know this man.” he said, looking round at Mary and the old man.
Mary walked forwards to join him.
“Who is it John?”
John stared, mouth open. “It’s the old tramp I met earlier today, the one that called me a rabbit.” He looked at Dave. “He’s harmless. Did you capture him for this test?” He spat the words.
“He has been here for a very long time.” Dave’s face held no expression.
“So what do I do? How do I judge him?”
“Bring through, put back, or remove,” the speaking tube hissed.
John thought of the muddled, dirty figure begging by the side of the street. There was nothing for this man in the real-world. He pulled the man’s restraints; they came away with little effort and the man fell forwards.
John caught him in his arms. “Then I’ll bring him through. He’ll do no harm, and has nothing but undue misery in the real world.”
Dave waved a hand. “You already have.”
The tramp stood straight, and looked John in the eye. “I’m here, the other place. Thank you Mr Rabbit,” said the old tramp.
John opened his mouth to speak, but the man wasn’t there.
“You brought him through, set him loos. He’s in his own world now,” Dave said. “Still have another two to go.” He waved his hand at the remaining captives.
Mary stood in the centre of the glade. She looked round the assembled throng.
“All these people are stuck, trying to get through.” She said.
“Yes, we can anchor them here.” Dave looked at John. “They aren’t prisoners, some make it through on their own, and some never do.”
Mary wandered towards a woman in her mid twenties. The woman twisted and strained against her bindings, throwing herself back and forth.
“They’re refugees, John, stuck in the airport of nothing-land without a passport.”
She stooped forward, peering into the woman’s eyes. They glowed as images flashed through them, thousands of impossible places. Mary took a gentle hold of the woman’s head and gazed deep. A universe of unattainable scenes reached out to her, longing to be real.
“Oh, she sees so much, John, so many wonderful places that only exist in her head.” Mary frowned. “But she doesn’t want them; she wants to take care of her family. She wants to be normal.”
“Then I’ll send her back.”
Mary looked at him. “Oh, that won’t work, John. The places want to be real. They need to live, that’s why they keep dragging her in-between.”
Mary’s own eyes widened as she looked deep into the struggling woman’s tortured face. “I’d love to see those places. If they existed here we could go.” Her face flushed red as she smiled at him.
The glow intensified, as Mary approached it seamed to reach out to her. John took Mary’s hand and touched the struggling woman.
“I can see them John,” Mary squeaked in a shrill high-pitched voice, her face full of smiles.
The woman struggled less as the images rushed into Mary. Shapes and colours at first, then sounds and smells, the building-blocks of unknown places. Blue jungles growing on clouds, seas that rose vertically from gold and silver beaches, and creatures the like of which she could never have imagined. A myriad of possibilities flowed in through Mary’s wide eyes. Then it stopped. Mary closed her eyes and giggled. The woman slumped forward and the glow in her eyes was gone.
John looked at the woman and smiled. “Go home, forget all this,” he said, and she was gone.
“Mary opened her eyes, they glowed for an instant. “Wonderful.” She beamed.
“One more, yes,” the Thing hissed.
Mary tightened her grip on John’s hand. She looked to the nearest tree. It held a young man. He stood straight and still. He wore an expensive tailored suit, designer sunglasses, and a blank empty expression on his tanned face. John looked at Mary. She bit her lip narrowing her eyes, as she peered at the man.
“Nasty little nothing-man, not even a rabbit yet,” she hissed. “They’re the worst, John, always trying to creep in through the back-door.”
John didn’t fully understand, but he knew the empty man was no tortured sole or benevolent creation. The figure turned its head to face them. The face remained still, no twitching, no smile, no worry, nothing.
“Back to the Nothingness where you belong, I think,” he said, and the tree was empty.
“Ah, yes see, you’s is good peoples. He is waiting for you’s. He is smiling, Mr John. Yes, yes he is, still smiling.” The thing recoiled itself, sliding back up into the branches.
“Well, looks like you passed muster John, Mary.” Dave nodded. “Just follow the path. It ain’t far.” He pointed up the dark forest trail.
“And watch out for them rabbits.”
With that the testing area and Dave were gone, hidden once again by the forest.
Hours passed as they followed the twisty trail through the heavy forest. John tried to glimpse the shifting position of the sun through the tight canopy. Judging by the fading light, and rumbling in his stomach, he decided it must have bean around tea-time before the forest began to thin. The sound of fast flowing water could be heard beyond the trees.
John stepped into a familiar clearing. The sound of the water filled the air now.
He walked over to the large rock he had seen the man in dinner-dress sitting on. The tall grass swayed in the wind, sending a sweet smell through the air. To the side of the rock, at the top of the river bank, lay a small carved-stone. It glinted in the sunshine, just visible in the encroaching grass.
John knelt down beside the stone and cleared some stray grass. It was a simple rectangular piece of granite with the words ‘Thomas Arnold Henderson. 23/03/1856 to 04/06/1905. Gone but not forgetting’ engraved in rough scratched lettering.
The man in full dinner-dress appeared from behind a tree.
“He was my human,” it said. “My name is Marmalade, for I conserve.” Marmalade nodded at the grave, and smiled. “His little joke, I’m afraid.”
Mary poked her red face out from behind the large rabbit.
“You keep this place safe, from us,” she said. Her eyes had grown wider with each word. She stood still, her mouth hung open as Marmalade raised his finger to her trembling lips.
“From those who would do this place harm, dear lady.”
He turned to look at John. “Then you came, my good Sir; and I simply had to find the boy who tore a hole in reality.”
John got to his feat. “You tried to kill me.”
“No. I simply intended to make you forget. It was your friend Kevin that wanted you here, not I. I made a promise t
o keep this place free from harm. Humans, and human imaginings, hold a great capacity to destroy. I thank you for riding this realm of Kevin and Julie, your rather destructive creations, but many interlopers still remain. There are those that are welcome. There are those I would gladly help.” He waved his glove clad hand at them in a low bow. “Unfortunately there are many that would destroy this place.”
“But aren’t you a ‘human imagining’ too.” John asked.
“No, I am not. I am from this place, what your lady would refer to as an indigenous rabbit. I contacted my human friend, not he me. He understood my plight. He died in your world, defending this one.” He gestured to the gravestone. “My little reminder of his sacrifice will remain here forever.”
The words ‘Your lady’ rang round John’s head as he looked round at Mary. She smiled, her cheeks the deepest red he had yet seen.
She shuffled closer, jerking forwards, then back, then forwards again, and planted a small peck on his left cheek, her face a deep beetroot.
He smiled. “What was that for?”
Mary took his hand, and gently squeezed.
Marmalade rose to his full height. “The nothing between worlds is a natural barrier; unfortunately humans can be very unnatural creatures. They and their creations constantly try to claw through. You have met some of my helpers, but we are always in need of assistance.”
Mary looked into John’s eyes. “The rabbit hole goes a long way, John.”
His head buzzed, his heart thumped and he felt more alive, more real than he could remember.
He looked from Mary to Marmalade and back again.
John laughed. “Let’s go chasing rabbits.”
###
Thank you for reading The Crazies.
You can find out what other adventures are planned for the OtherWhere at
https:// www.other-where.co.cc
So why not take a sneak peak at what John, Mary and Marmalade will do next. And find out what other characters are going to stumble their way into the flip-side of reality.
About the author:
Garry Grierson was the first of three children born to Jeanette and Tom. He came into this world on the ninth of October 1968, and is now quite old.
He had an unremarkable childhood growing up in a small mining village in Fife, Scotland.
He was twenty years old when he mailed his first short-story entry to a competition, and received his very first form-rejection letter.
From then on he has continued the dream of publishing that first Novell, whenever real-life as a husband and applications developer doesn’t get in the way.
Although he has had some success with short-stories the dream of publishing that elusive first Novell still lingers on.
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