chimere-Chapter6

Chapter 6

Home.

 

Grandfather Pio offered the tumbler to me, which I took hesitantly. This scenario somehow exuded a sense of foreboding although I should have felt relieved to finally be able to return to familiarity. Slowly, I twisted off the lid of the tumbler and dipped a hand in. A sensation of mud and broken clumps of moss met my fingertips. Drawing a deep breath, I closed my eyelids and threw a handful of the substance over myself. As I faded off, the last thing I heard was Grandfather Pio’s words, ”Remember, nothing is stopping you from coming back.”

 

Once again, I opened my eyes. I was standing in my own apartment, old and dull coloured, but familiar. The sounds of evening traffic and neighbours’ television sets leaked through the walls. The tumbler was no longer with me, but what I did have was my car keys in my left hand. My briefcase and documents lay on the coffee table beside me. Heaving a sigh of relief, I walked myself downstairs to check on my car. My footsteps echoed melancholically down the thinly carpeted staircase as I passed by the closed doors of different neighbours on different floors. Reaching the ground floor, I extended my hand to open the front door. I could have swore that the door knob felt of cold brass for a split second. I could have swore that it was solid and globular for a split second. But to my shock, as I tightened my grip on the knob, it suddenly turned to crackling white paper and fell through my fingers. I stood there stunned for a moment, not believing my eyes. Was this a dream? Had I been deceived? Snapping out of my thoughts, I instinctively placed a palm on the door. It was a painted grey wooden door, or so it seemed. But at its contact with my palm, all it’s colour drained to the floor in a pool of black liquid. Sensing what was coming next, I quickly withdrew my palm, but it was too late. The door seemed to dry up before my eyes and collapsed in a pile of white confetti at my feet.

 

Bright sunlight poured in through the newly created hole. I stepped outside into the light, but the light was not warm, yellow, and natural as I expected. It was fluorescent. My eyes, slowly adjusting to this blinding monstrosity, were met with another unsettling horror. For around me were not the houses, roads nor gardens I was accustomed to. Instead, there in front of me spread a flat terrain of unending whiteness, dotted with millions and millions of rusting and dusty radios. Trembling with fear, I walked dazed amongst this ungodly field, passing radio after radio. Each had a different sound; the sound of a car engine being started over and over again in a loop, the sound of a barking dog, the sound of someone cooking dinner; sounds of a natural neighbourhood in such an unnatural setting. I turned around and faced my apartment. As I had come to expect, it was nothing more than merely a house of cards. Loose pieces of paper occasionally fluttered down to the ground. More to prove my conclusion right, rather than any other reason, I stepped back into the apartment building. Black liquid drained off every surface where once there used to be colour. Pools washed against my ankles as I sloshed through the doorway. I looked up the deserted stairwell. Was this the real reality or a figment of imagination? I brushed a hand against the handrails and watched as the whole building collapsed in a storm of white confetti all around me.

 

I wished myself back.

Chimere-Chapter5

Chapter 5

Grandfather Pio.

 

“Ohhhhhhhhohohohohohoho… Welcome back, my boy!”

 

“Grandfather Pio! As healthy as always!” Grandfather Pio was a rather small sized man with thin limbs and liver spotted skin wrinkled and stretched over hard worn bones. He walked with a twisted wooden cane and had a back bent forward dramatically, but his hand gestures were lively when he talked, as if he was a 20-year-old Italian man. But what he lacked in size, he made up for with the sheer length of facial hair. His eyebrows, moustache and beard were pearly white and flowed to the ground, dragging behind him as he walked. From a distance, he would have looked like an extremely old pygmy elephant munching on cotton candy.

 

“Oooooo…you flatter me, dear boy”, Grandfather Pio patted the hatted man on one shoulder, or as high up on his arm as he could reach. “It was getting quiet here without you, all the youngsters nowadays only want to go to the music hall, music hall, music hall.”

 

‘I noticed you made some clockwork birds to put in the labyrinth of mirrors. Very nice effort, I must say.”

 

“Aaaa… cute little things aren’t they? Ohohohohohohohohack!! Hack!! Uhumk…” Grandfather Pio coughed and the hatted man thumped him on the back. “Uhum. Yes, I made them last Christmas. I’m quite proud of them, makes the place more cheerful, don’t you think?” He did not have many teeth and spoke slowly but spiritedly.

 

“Indeed. But it’s about time you had that bridge renovated.”

 

“Ooooo…this old man is sentimental of that bridge. It has served me well for the past 1034 years. I don’t think I will feel the same if I do not walk across that bridge every morning to get to this room.”

 

Looking around, I noticed that the room was a modest sized kitchen and matched the living room that we had been in when we first entered this so-called cottage. I wondered if we couldn’t have just exited the cottage and gone round to the back to reach this room.

 

“Oooo…but who is this excellent gentleman that you have brought with you?”

 

“Well, now that you ask, I’m not too sure myself. I just met him at the bazaar fountain and thought that he could use your help.”

 

There was an awkward silence and I felt both their gazes on me.

 

“Hmmmmm…well, he does look a bit pale.”

 

All of a sudden, the old man pulled me with great gusto to a kitchen stool and sat me down on it. He was much stronger than he looked. Grabbing a bowl from the kitchen counter, he stirred a ladle that was in it, rapidly, and shouted,” Open up, boy, this will help!” And with that, he quickly rammed the entire ladle into my mouth. “How’s that?” He leaned forwards, still carrying the bowl, and stared intently into my eyes. The ladle, as it turned out, was full of some green substance of uneven texture, which tasted bitter and raw and stale, and I fancied that there was something still very much alive and swimming in it. Hurriedly, I jumped back off the stool and ran to the sink to vomit everything out again. The substance hit the sink noisily as I belched. Indeed, I could see some small, unidentified creature with tiny claws and far too many legs wriggling about in the mess. I rinsed my mouth from the tap repeatedly and washed everything down the sink.

 

“Oh… that didn’t quite work did it?... Hold on, boy, I know just the thing!” Grandfather Pio was again rapidly opening and closing cupboard doors, taking out ingredients, shaking a bit of it into the bowl, pouring out a bit, chopping and throwing in a bit, sloshing in a bit. The mixture was changing from mossy green to murky brown, to vivid purple and fluorescent orange. He pulled the ladle out of my hand, and without bothering to wash it, began stirring the mixture rapidly. “Powdered bat’s wings and bulls’ intestines worked for poor John of Greenfield the last time. Although he did have an allergic reaction to the wings almost immediately. I have not been able to wash off all of his phlegm from this ladle ever since.”

 

“Why don’t you try a mixture of lemon juice and baking soda? The missus swears by it. Says it’s better than Chemicorp’s new omni detergent.”

 

“Aaah…I could give it a try.” Grandfather Pio tapped the ladle thoughtfully against his temple.

 

“Please! I’m ok! I’m fine! All alright!” I stood up straight and gave a brave smile. Grandfather Pio and the hatted man stared at me wordlessly, shocked by my sudden cheerfulness.

 

“MnM’s?  Grandfather Pio held out a packet of chocolate.

 

Cautiously, I chose a yellow MnM and popped it into my mouth. It tasted normal. The hatted man politely waited for all of us to be settled from our less than ordinary encounter. Then, he said, “As for the point I stated earlier, you, young man, looked to me as if you could use some help from Grandfather Pio, as do I. So now I will show you how it is done.” As if on cue, Grandfather Pio hobbled over to an overhead kitchen cabinet to his left. With much difficulty, he stretched his arms as far as they would go, and flicked the cabinet door open. Within, there were 3 levels of shelves, each of them labeled with alphabets; ‘A-H’, ‘I-R’ and ‘S-Z’, looking like a strange filing system for clinic patients. But instead of cards, there were many bottles of various sizes, shapes and materials. Some were as large as elephant heads, made of green and red glass décor, and seemed to be filled ¾ full of acorns, feathers and sequins. Others were as small as perfume bottles, and indeed, they did have little spray nozzles attached to the top of them. Yet others were the size of jam jars, made of wood that made them look like miniature wine barrels, or made of many faceted glass, full of swirling purple mist and what seemed like flying moths from a distance.

 

Finally admitting to his inadequate stature, Grandfather Pio dragged a small metal rimmed wooden basin beneath the cabinet and reached out towards the middle shelf. Then, he withdrew an orange flask. He swatted the cabinet close again and hobbled up to the hatted man.

 

“Are you ready, child?”

 

“Ready as ever.” Grandfather Pio pulled open the flask and threw out a handful of multicoloured tendrils with the tip of his fingers. They seemed to be made of ribbons, but yet they were less substantial, like a thick, curling fog, and nevertheless countless times more potent.

 

“See you then”, the hatted man said to me, twiddling his fingers. Before his last word was finished, his whole body had faded from view, enveloped by the ribbons of smog. As the fumes cleared away, he was nowhere to be found.

 

I was momentarily shocked. This did not look to me to be any sort of remedy, or at least not one I was familiar to in my own world. For this world, I decided, was not the same one as the one where I had come from. For a few seconds I wondered if a mistake had happened and something nasty had befallen the hatted man. I had only known him for a short time but he seemed like a pleasant guy.

 

“Aww…don’t be so surprised, young one.”

 

“What happened to him?”

 

“He has gone someplace else.”

 

“What?!!...”

 

“Don’t worry, he will return when he feels like it.” Grandfather Pio had a hearty laugh at my worried expression. He must have known that the words ‘gone someplace else’ had triggered unpleasant images in my mind associated with genteelly communicating about mortal harm.

 

“Now it is your turn. So where is it that you would most want to go?”

 

“Home.” The word spilled out of my mouth automatically. Precisely the subject that I was thinking about all this while.

 

‘Ah…but what a boring choice.”

 

“It’s my choice.”

 

“Well, if you insist”. Grandfather Pio now had a huge round basin in front of him that I could have swore was not there a moment ago. “Why is it that you want to go home so badly, son?”

 

“I have a job to hold, I have responsibilities to my editor and clients. How can I just disappear suddenly? Life must go on. And this place is so strange. It scares me.” At my words, little squares of white paper flew out of Grandfather Pio’s fingertips and into the basin. As soon as the fluttering subsided, he gentle touched the top of the paper mound, and a puddle of black liquid rose in the basin. Grandfather Pio’s face had become overcast, his expression difficult to determine.

 

“And here we have it.” The basin transformed into a steel tumbler.

 

Chimere-Chapter4

Chapter 4

The house of magic.

 

All the way to this place that he had mentioned, the hatted man had his hands nonchalantly in his pockets, humming a tune. He gave me an impression of an old uncle sauntering about on a Sunday afternoon.

 

“So, where is this place we are going?”

 

“Oh, it’s a wonderful place, just you wait and see.”

 

“You’re not taking me to a brothel are you?”

 

“Hahah…no, no, no. I’m not that kind of person. To me, pleasure is in the mind, not body.” Here, he tapped the side of his hat with one finger and nodded to me. The rest of the journey, we walked in silence, punctuated by the hatted man’s humming. I did not recognize the tune, but it sounded like it would be right at home in a circus. This silence was not uncomfortable to me.

 

Up ahead on the dirt road was a single wooden cottage. It was not surrounded by a wooden fence to keep intruders out, but by flowering shrubs and bird feeders intended to invite people in. Middle eastern glass lamps hung in abundance from the porch ceiling and the glass windows were coloured cheerfully. A white rabbit and its babies lollopped about on the porch, their pink noses wiggling. The cottage seemed to belong to either a friendly witch or an eccentric old lady.

 

Without bothering to knock on the door, the hatted man entered the cottage, careful not to step on the rabbits which seemed quite curious at our arrival. However, he took off his shoes and left them outside the door. I did the same. Once inside the shady cottage, he took off his hat as if in a sign of respect, maybe to the cottage itself, and not to it’s occupant. His footsteps were clearly audible upon the old wooden floorboards. He walked towards the middle of what I presumed to be the living room. There, he stood still and hollered, ‘Grandfather Pio! Are you here?”, to which a voice of an old man called back, sounding distant, “Oh, it’s you, my boy. I’m up here.”

 

“Alright, follow me then”, the hatted man told me, “I’m going to introduce you to Grandfather Pio, who can perhaps help you.”

 

The hatted man then walked back out of the living room and turned left. There was a rickety staircase painted white, although the paint was now crackled. Up the stairs went. On the landing, we turned right and went down a long corridor, light spilling in from various windows and open doors. A wide variety of pictures hung on the walls or sat in gilded frames atop tables. Watercolours of colourful countrysides, old family photographs, native African artwork, modern art in relief. At the end of the corridor, we took another right turn and walked a short distance before descending a little staircase, barely half a floor downwards. Here was yet another corridor, even longer than the one before.

 

“How can all this fit into a small cottage? It looked much more modest in size from the outside”, I said to the hatted man.

 

“Well, I do not know for sure, but it is after all a magic place”, he shrugged.

 

The corridor that we now walked down was a cavernously high one, with an ornate white plaster ceiling, corniced at the sides and intricately flowered n the centres. If I had known less, I would have thought myself to be in an Admiral’s mansion. Statues of glass and stone, wood and metal, lined both sides of this corridor. Some were full sized human figures, some busts of noble looking men and women, yet others were majestic and ferocious replicas of beasts, so lifelike that they seemed to charge down the hallway. Grand looking mahogany doors with brass handles opened into unknown rooms on the left and right at regular intervals. As I walked pass them, sweet music streamed out of each one, all of different periods, but each as beautiful as the next.

 

Just then, light footsteps echoed down the hallway, and I turned to see a young boy running, barely 10 years of age, holding onto a satchel with one hand and a piccolo in the other. He slid to a stop in front of one of those doors, it’s size looking ridiculous compared to his. With an anxious expression, he opened the door with much effort, and slid in. Through the crack in the door, I heard a snippet of orchestral music, which withered to a stop, apparently upon the young boy’s sudden appearance. Before the door closed again, I heard what I supposed would be the music master’s voice, giving the young boy a sound lecture about the importance of punctuality. In contrast, at the door on the opposite side, another orchestra could be heard playing, this one full of grace and hard earned knowledge. The thought of this made me smile to myself, the young musicians had a long way to go, but they were on their way.

 

Along the corridor, other musicians played, behind glass windows or within closed doors, calming and melancholy jazz, powerful and youthful rock, deep and resonant vocals. Yet, there was no audience lingering about the place, the music was for the musicians’ own fancy. As we came to the end of the corridor, there was a towering structure, covered in cloth. It’s shape was uncertain, yet I could see a gargantuan marble foot protruding from a gap in the cloth. My eyes lingered wonderingly at it as we turned yet another corner.

 

When at last I turned my head back to the path that we were walking, I almost fell for surprise at what I saw. Not a single corridor, but 10? 20? An infinite number of identical corridors, stretching into the distance. The staggering of my feet sounded sharp and crystalline and I looked down. There, I saw my own reflection staring back at me and I understood where we were. We were in a hall of mirrors. Clear mirrors and glass framed in ornate gold vines covered every surface of the hall. Sparkling chandeliers hung from the ceiling in abundance, all of different sizes, all of them complimentary and beautiful. There were no windows in this hall, yet it was as bright as daylight, there was bound to be a light source somewhere here, distributed and magnified by the mirrors. A gust of wind blew down the corridor, and a flock of white doves fluttered down upon the mirrored floor, like so many snowflakes.

 

Feeling on the verge of dizziness, I kept close to the hatted man, only daring to let my eyes wander around the hall every so often. Still, my eyes caught a glimpse of a group of ballerinas, how many exactly, I would not know. They danced gracefully around in their studio, but once I felt that they were encircling me. It could have been a trick of the mirrors, but they seemed to be casting an enchantment on me, as they danced to crystalline music that leaked from the hall of music. Indeed, I was getting mesmerised by their lilting movements, and, as engaging as I found this to be, I still felt some uneasiness for this place. It was so strange and other-worldly that by instinct I thought it to be dangerous, a deceiving spider baiting its prey into its lair.

 

And dangerous it soon proved itself to be, albeit not exactly in a way that I would have expected.

 

“Step.”

 

Hearing the hatted man’s word too late, I crashed to the ground painfully.

 

“Oh my, do be careful. The journey from here is going to be a bit rough.” The hatted man offered me a hand and I pulled myself off the ground, brushing myself off. However, when I looked up again, I wished I was back sitting on the nice, firm, solid ground.

 

“Oh…my…”

 

“Grandfather Pio, where are you?”

 

“Over here.”

 

“OK, let’s go. Stay close by me please.”

 

And thus, we proceeded forward, into a massive labyrinth of mirrored stairs. My knees shook as we proceeded. Forward, left, right, up, down, backwards and throught the left turning, upside down, sideways, diagonally…

 

“Say this is not true”, I gulped,” Are we not upside down?”

 

“Ohoho… this is indeed a magical house.” The hatted man sauntered onwards, leaving me no choice but to follow him less I be left alone in this nightmare maze, left to die of hunger or insanity, or both. My face, which was reflected a million times around me, all looked whitish green.

            We walked up; or down, I do not know, a horizontal spiral staircase and turned to the right upwards. Walking across a rickety glass hanging bridge, a few clockwork birds twittered round and round my head, mocking me. I tried to swat them away, but almost vomited into the mirrored abyss as the bridge swung at the energy of my flapping hands.

 

“My dear man, please try to be a bit more gentle. This bridge is not as sturdy as it looks.” The bridge looked anything but sturdy to me. “Oh, and mind that missing pane.” I quickly avoided the gap in the bridge.

 

Reaching the end of the bridge, I deliberately planted both palms on the nearest mirrored wall and slid myself slowly and carefully to the blessed mirrored ground. If I was lucky, the hall would stop spinning about in a few minutes’ time.

 

“Ah, we’re nearly there, young man! Brighten up!” The hatted man threw his hands up in genuine gladness and did a sort of jiggling walk towards a door at the end of the hall. Grudgingly, I pulled myself off the ground and slowly followed him out of the damned mirrored labyrinth.

Chimere-Chapter3

Chapter 3

The market.

 

A new wave of panic rushed over me. For the second time today, I had managed to get myself more lost than I had ever been in my life. Here I was in an area that would technically be impossible to exist; yet here it was and here I was as well. As for my tour guide, I lost him as well, and even more than that, I could not yell out his name for I did not even know his name. Perhaps what your parents tell you is correct; never follow strangers around.

 

I looked left and right, turning round in circles, disorientated by a primal fear of unknown territory. The joyful bazaar atmosphere was no longer intriguing, but rather, it was dangerous, intimidating, overwhelming. Did these people around me even speak my language?

 

Frantically, I grabbed at random sleeves, asking if anyone had seen the mysterious man.

 

“Excuse me, sir!...”

 

“…Did you see…”

 

“…Light brown hair. Shoulder length…”

 

“Pardon me, madam…”

“Excuse me…”

 

“…About this high…”

 

“Please, help!...”

 

Dozens of faces I had appealed to, but every one of them either had not seen him, were apathic, or did not understand what I was talking about. A feeling of having to scream at someone was welling up in my chest. The next sleeve I grasped almost gave me a good reason to do so.

 

“Excuse me, sir…” I began, but was cut short by this man’s booming voice and words horrendously mangled by an accent thicker than latex.

 

“AAAaarrr…fair master.Guud arfternoon to you! Would you care to have a look at my here wearers? Shainny silverwearre for the table? 100% pure silverr mined from the deepest caverns of Midoorkhstan, crafted by the most sckilled silverschmiths of Voelin, definitely will make yoar dinner guests envious yaaar? Wat about these loevely scented candlesticks? Here, smell them!! Smell them!! Wonderful yaaar? Only the best materials to make these here candles. I give you guud discount yaar? 30% discount. For you onely! That’s not all, if you buy now…”

 

The vendor’s voice rattled on and on at high speed, but hardly anything registered in my brain. His overaggressive sales tactics and flapping hand gestures would have caused me to walk quickly away and pretend that I had not heard anything or even seen him, but something decidedly familiar looking caught my eye.

 

Reaching out a hand, I picked up something small, almost insignificant looking, from the mass of goods upon the carpeted floor. Something square with three little buttons on it and two keys.

 

“AAAaarrr, very guud choice! This one is a very rare artifact taken from the ruins of Brogin! It was used bai Brogin judiciaries to determine whether or not a convict was guilty or innocent. I sell it for 10 silver pieces only, but you can have it for eight, because you are kind looking customer.”

 

The vendor was about to snatch the small object from my hand and put it into a cloth bag, thus sealing the deal, but not before I retorted, “But this is my car keys!”

 

“AAAaarr, ok, if you want to name it ‘kar kiiz’”. The vendor pulled the keys out of my hand and dropped them into a small green drawstring bag.

 

“No! Those belong to me! You stole them somehow! Give them back! The vendor only gave me a bemused smile as I snatched back the bag to take out the car keys. But when I pulled apart the strings, the keys were no longer there. Instead, there was a strange, ancient looking object, roughly the shape of the keys, but made out of wood and stone, with delicate carvings on it. I held up the object to my eyes wordlessly, as the vendor’s expression changed to one that showed plainly that he thought I was mad.

 

“How can this be?” then, something else caught my eye, something rigid and black, with a handle at the top. “My briefcase!” Yet again, I reached out a hand to pick it up, but as my fingers touched the surface of the leather, the object changed into an old dusty horse saddle.

 

“This can’t be real. I’m dreaming”.

 

The next object I saw was my hand phone. Disbelievingly, I put a hand into my pocket where my hand phone should have been, but my suspicions were confirmed when my pockets turned out to be empty. All three pockets. Which meant that besides those previous objects, my wallet, business cards and office access tag were all missing.

 

I took my hand out of my pocket and stood stock still for a moment. Then, eyeing my hand phone suspiciously, I slowly reached out a hand to touch it. In my mind, I already knew what was about to happen. Just as my fingers closed around the phone’s body, it turned into a deck of playing cards.

 

“Right”. Feeling light headed, I closed my eyes.

 

“Sir, is there anything else you would like to buy?” The vendor’s voice had stopped being overenthusiastic and now sounded cautious. My head was swimming. Many illogical things had happened within this short span of morning hours, and I was starting to fear for my sanity.

 

Urban housing estates were never 100% empty.

 

Crowded bazaars did not suddenly pop out  from behind trees.

 

People do not wear winter clothing in hot and dusty cities.

 

And most importantly, personal possessions do not suddenly teleport to stall displays and change into museum artifacts at will.

 

“Right.”

 

My mind was seeking desperately for an answer to all this madness. That’s right, I get it now. My car broke down, and while waiting for the tow truck to arrive; I fell asleep in my car. This is all just a wonderful dream, and I am still in my own familiar city, in my own familiar car, and all my possessions are still in the car with me. Any moment now I was about to be awakened by some burly tow truck guy and asked to exit the car while he links it to his truck.

 

“Right?”

 

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes again. No use. The freaking bazaar was still there and it did not look like it was about to go anywhere very soon. Depressed, I walked away from the stall, with no certain direction or destination.

 

“Sir, your artifact?” I did not reply. I did not turn around. I did not have eight silver pieces for my so-called car keys, even if I did want to buy them. I was lost in a strange land, all alone and with no money. I should have taken better care of my car. If it had not broken down, maybe I would not be here. I should have taken it for a service like I was supposed to. Heck, I should have given it a new paint job, installed a new air cond unit and fixed that window that refused to shut completely. I should have treasured my job more, pleased the editor, flattered the authors’ works and seized any opportunity for excellence that I got, however monotonous the job got. Approaching a cracked and dry stone fountain, I sat down on its edge dejectedly and buried my face in my hands. Then, I changed my mind, jumped up and roared out loud, clenching at my hair. Some shoppers stopped in their tracks and decided to give me and the fountain a wider berth.

 

Presently, a shadow fell across my face. I turned to face this person. It was a kind looking man wearing a brown hat with a feather in it, and a loose trench coat. Both hands were in his pockets.

 

“You look like you could use some help.”

 

“Don’t I”. The hatted man went back and forth on the balls of his heels, humming to himself.

 

“If you’re selling anything, I don’t have any money.”

 

“Oh, it’s not that”. He gave a  small laugh and made a swatting action with one hand. “But I know a place where the lost ones go to seek sanctuary, if you are game enough. I was on my way there myself, so I could show you the way, if you want.”

 

Deciding that I had not much to lose in following him, I gave a shrug and shuffled along.

Chimere-Chapter2

Chapter 2

Welcome.

I stood dazed in the sunlight for a few moments, then decided not to add a sunburn to my list of current displeasures. Resigned to my situation, I wandered over to the nearest porch and sat down on a wooden step. I pulled my knees up and closed my eyes, folding my arms around myself.

 

The darkness beneath my eyelids coupled with the total lack of noise was making me feel lonely. Not even a twittering bird, a crackling TV, or a caterwauling alley cat to be heard. This must be how it feels like to be in a town that has recently been nuked, I thought to myself. I was just about to fall asleep when suddenly, the strange sound of feet shuffling across gravel caught my attention. I opened my eyes and looked up.

 

There, standing right above me as if he was a friend about to ask me out for a fishing trip, was a young man, looking at me with interest, with his head cocked to one side, hands in his pockets. “Oh, at last”, I thought, and staggered to my feet.

 

“Do you live here? Hey, can you help me, my car broke down and I could not get a towing company, because my hand phone is out of its network region. I was on my way to work and I got lost, and oh Gosh, I’m late for an important meeting, and the editor is gonna kill me. So the thing is, can I use your landline? I’ll make it quick.”

 

No answer. The guy blinked.

 

“Do you live here?”

 

The guy cocked his head to the other side and continued regarding me with those big round eyes.

 

“Er…do you understand English?”

 

Still no reply. I wanted to ask him if he could hear, but decided that would sound sarcastic. And I was eager to stay on good terms with probably the only person who could help me now. 12pm. Oh, well, I did not have a good feeling about that editor’s meeting from the start anyway. To look on the bright side of things, at least he could not call me to shout at me.

 

The stranger broke into a grin and reached out a hand, tugging my sleeve gently before motioning for me to follow him.

 

“Hey, what…”

 

He turned back again and made a beckoning sign with his hand. Then, he continued on his way. Feeling that there was nothing for me to lose, I jogged to catch up with him. Presently, I caught up with him and started to walk at the same pace astride him.

 

“This is strange. Who are you? Where are you going?” My mind momentarily flits to some stories about inventive methods of robbery, kidnapping or car jacking that was happening more frequently nowadays. This guy seemed sincere, but you could not trust anyone nowadays, even sweet looking ladies could turn out to be accomplices of robbery gangs.

 

“Really, I want to know who you are…” and then,

 

“Wait, do I know you?”, because suddenly I realized that he did indeed look familiar, but somehow I could not name any names. It was as if he was a childhood friend that I used to have, but then forgot about later in life. I did not feel threatened by him in the least, but for good measure, I added, “Don’t try anything funny, I have a black belt in karate.” To which he just laughed and skipped forward, beckoning for me to catch up. That laugh was very familiar. This guy was strange. As strange as this town and just as charming.

 

We passed many rows of houses, and the buildings grew sparser and sparser. Concrete houses turned to red brick ones, and the brick houses turned to modest wooden countryside villas. Nature seemed to be taking over the man-made structures, and even now, the houses looked as if they could have been built by fairy folk or gentle animals; beings unknown to human civilization, as we like to call it. Faintly, I wondered how far we had traveled. It seemed to be many miles, but yet my feet were not weary. On the contrary, I was starting to feel a sense of curiosity. Where would this road take us? Probably not to a car workshop or my editor’s office, but I felt like there was a solid purpose for which we were venturing, all the same.

 

The scene all around us was one of serenity. A wonderland of which all children dream of. One where people are free to go wherever they will and do whatever they please. No fear of criminals, accidents, or judgement by discerning public, out to rate your every move like a judge at a dog show, even though they themselves despise such snobbish prejudices. This was a wonderland that children all someday are taught to forget about, and in turn tell their children to do the same, a vicious chain of victims who loose their humanity to become humans.

 

Ahead of me, the mysterious man led the way, his hair gleaming in the sunlight. This man was not part of the chain.

 

By now, we were in a dewy field, with only a dirt road under our feet. Grasshoppers sang as small butterflies danced within a courtyard of wild flowers. The mysterious man slowed to a walk, and approached a riverbank. Smooth rocks clacked under his feet as he respectfully approached an old mossy bridge. As he walked, he let his fingertips brush the top of the riverbank grass. Then, he came to a halt in front of a dilapidated wooden signboard at the foot of the bridge. Both the wooden signboard and the bridge had deep veins carved into them by the hands of Mother Nature’s many years. Yet, they were built strong and sturdy and had many more years of use in them still.

 

Wordlessly, I stood beside the man, wondering what was about to happen next. As if in a mime, he lifted one finger and looked at me with his back arched backwards slightly. Then, he bent forward and rapped on the signboard with his other hand. When the echo of his last knock faded off, he marched purposefully onto the bridge. Thoroughly nonplussed, I just followed him.

 

At the end of the bridge, there was a curtain of leaves and long graceful vines. Golden berries hung on them like Christmas ornaments.

 

The stranger turned to face me.

 

“Welcome.”

 

“What? So you can talk!” I had barely finished my sentence when he flitted behind the veil of leaves and disappeared completely from my view. The greenery must have been a lot thicker than it looked like from this side. I advanced forward and pushed aside the vines to walk through.

 

I was taken aback by what I saw behind the vines. For instead of more shrubbery that I had expected to find, there before me was a bustling flea market! On the left and right side, stone buildings towered. In front of me, there was a full range of colourful stalls, tents, bull carts, curtains, stands, lines and anything else you would care to mention. Swarms of people flowed around me in all it’s noisy glory. Tall people in billowing scarves. Dark people decked in gold. Short people with their hands moving as fast as they talked. Little children in groups of ten, playing hide and seek under vendors’ tables and between women’s skirts. Stately women in expensive clothes and powdered faces, attended to by her servants, bodyguards, escorts and advisors. Live animals for sale, transport, entertainment or company further added to the sounds, smells, and general atmosphere of the market. Cows tethered pitifully to sturdy trees, goats bleating and swatting flies with their tails, chickens escaped and running helter-skelter, with their owners chasing after them in close pursuit, scattering the onlooking, giggling crowd. Monkeys sat on window sills and hung from stall umbrellas, snatching fruits whenever the stall vendors had their backs turned. Pigs wearing bowties played hopscotch and did math for an appreciative audience.

 

Here, the sky was a cloudless indigo. It was a comfortable temperature, but I could not tell what season it was. Some people wore gloves and hats with flaps. Others wore Hawaii shirts and flip-flops. Still others wore traditional garments of 6 continents and went around barefooted. The ground below was dry and sandy, a stark contrast against the dewy untamed grass across the bridge. I turned behind, but to my surprise, there was just the flea market street, and no leafy curtain from which I had exited.

 

But most importantly, the mysterious man was nowhere to be found.

Chimere-chapter1

Chapter 1

Monday morning.

 

            It all began on a normal day. A very normal, dreary day. An oppressively normal, dreary day. As the sole illustrator for a small publishing company, I was supposed to send in my thumbnails for a current project, an illustrated teens’ novel. I did not have much faith in the work I had done so far. The author of the novel was an unknown and his story was mediocre, something destined to remain in the dusty corner of a rural bookstore. My illustrations, far from trying to redeem any semblance of dignity for the novel, was subconsciously reflecting my boredom at the author’s apparent lack of talent. My work was so unremarkable that it would have caused me to pull out a few tufts of hair in frustration were I not completely apathic to it by now.

 

            This had been the current tone of my work for the past three years. Just a blank grey field of apathy. I was beginning to wonder if it was indeed the fault of the substandard scripts that I had received, or my own lack of determination for each project. Either way, it was all the same to me. Today, as I drove my clunky old white car to the publisher’s office, I played with the thought of changing companies, if only to have some variety in life. Just stick my head into the lion’s mouth just to see what would happen.

 

            Only half listening to the morning political commentaries on the out-of-tune radio, the smell of old papers and the ghost of pass cigarette butts wafting around the car, I let my mind drift as I drove, taking it for granted that I would automatically drive my way to the office, after so many years of repeating the same old route. I remember passing the antique records shop, the convenience store and the donut place just fine, but the next thing I knew, I was lost. I might not even have noticed, but the total lack of any other vehicle on the road at peak hour was too suspicious to pass unnoticed.

 

            Switching off the radio, I snapped out of my daydream and turned my attention to finding out where in the world I had accidentally driven myself to. It seemed to me that I had come across a rather strange neighbourhood. The houses here were spread far apart and shaped irregularly, vastly different from the compact blockish town houses of my area. The architecture was something I could not put a finger on, it seemed to be a sort of Victorian style, but with none of it’s formality and dustiness. It looked like it could be a variety of de stilj, but, no, it was not as rigid as that. Maybe the only word that would fit the description is ‘fantasy’. The houses looked like they had come out of a children’s storybook; no normal town folk would be seen living in a house like this.

 

 

            Involuntarily, I drove my car slower than usual, my eyes dragged away from the road to wander in the sight of  this foreign territory. Involuntarily, I was getting more and more lost by the minute. Moments later I was in a trance-like ecstasy, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small lithe figure dart in front of my windscreen. In a panic, I slammed on the brakes, bringing my car to a total and sudden halt. As my car was a manual and in it’s twilight years, this also caused the engine to give a dramatic wheeze and die off. I got out of the car, but the figure was nowhere to be found. I glanced between the houses, in the alleys, heck, even under the car, but there was nobody around. Which was fine to me, as long as I had not hurt anyone because of my negligence. Suddenly, it struck me that this neighbourhood was completely silent. The houses did look lived in, but there were no actual residents to be seen. No housewives dusting the windows, no grandparents reading the papers in comfy armchairs, no children playing with their dogs in the yard. However, the light out in the open somehow seemed different. Sounds illogical, but the light seemed to literally dance and sparkle, as if it was blessed. And there was a pleasant smell with no certain origin. The smell of strong sea breeze, enigmatic deep green woods and exotic spices of lands far away.

 

            Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I walked back to my car and tried to start the engine. Old rusty gave a few feeble coughs at the turn of the key, but refused to start up. I got back out of the car and opened up the hood to check for any signs of damage. However, everything looked fine, so fine that it was almost a disappointment. Soon I would have to call for a tow truck and they would find the problem in five minute flat. The problem would have been staring at me all this time. Frustrated, I closed the hood and went back into the car to see if I would get lucky trying to start the engine again. But again, there was no sign of life in Old Rusty. I really did expect something to be visibly wrong with my car, perhaps some smoke coming up from beneath the hood. To my horror, I had barely finished conjuring up this image in my head when a thick cloud of white smoke really did come up from beneath the hood. Or billow out, to be more precise. Immediately. I rushed towards the hood with my water bottle, ready to douse the flames before anything exploded dramatically.

 

            Sitting in the driver’s seat with the door open, I took a look at my watch. 10:45am. I was sure to be late for the editor’s meeting at 11:00am now. Hastily, I dialed for the towing company on my hand phone.

 

            Beep…

 

            Beep…

 

            Silence. The line was cut off. I looked at my hand phone’s screen and saw the message: No network coverage. Damn… Where the hell was I? I could kiss my meeting goodbye now. The editor would not be happy.

 

            I slammed the car door and half ran to the nearest house, with the intention of borrowing their landline. I knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked again, harder this time. Still no answer. There was nobody home.

 

            I went to the next house and rang the doorbell. No answer. Next house. Yelled for an answer. Also nobody home. Next house. And the next. And the next. Nobody home. The whole neighbourhood really was deserted. I was starting to freak out. There was something wrong with this neighbourhood.

 

            Desperate, I ran along a few roads, trying to find a way out, or a main road, or at least another vehicle. But if I had a hard time finding my way around in a car, I was faring even worse on foot. Soon, I was winded and, sweating profusely, I sat down on a curb to catch my breath. My mind went momentarily blank. I did not know what to do. Maybe wait for the evening to come to see if anyone would return to this ghost town, then ask them for help. Or maybe not. Angrily, I got up and kicked a letterbox with all my might. That’s right, kick it. Nobody would see the damage because nobody actually lives in this freak town.

Chimere-Prologue

Prologue

Here is the beginning of a story. It is a ‘story’ because if I told you it was true, you would not believe me. A story such as this does not have a place in the cold dreariness of the modern world. It may not be your reality, but a lie it is not either. For are humans really capable of lying? One’s lie is only another story that will lead you to the profound reality of oneself. Thus I present to you my story, a story that will remain one unless you choose to believe.