

### ~~~ ~*~ ~~~

### Orphan of Reality

### Tony Espino

### Published by Tony Espino

### Smashwords Edition

### Copyright 2013 Tony Espino

### This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### _Chapter 1_

_Hank had vaguely remembered_ the day when there was a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see sleep waving goodbye as it boarded a train to the moon. The days became lost, and all Hank wanted was his dear friend back. Then, one day there came a knock at his door. A package. With a return address 238,900 miles away. Hank made the mistake of opening this package before sleep had arrived. It was labeled: Dreams.

### _Chapter 2_

_Into the darkness of the windy night_ , Hank threw his jacket onto a pile of leaves and studied the sky above. Stars shook off their ageless dust, and dying gods smiled down on him with hesitation. He tried to remember why he was walking, and why the scenery didn't appear to change. Hank wondered how many hours he had forced his puny legs to propel his awkward skeleton down this desolate road. Although he didn't have a watch, he did have a strong desire to conduct a successful experiment in mind over matter.

Hank had attempted several times already on his journey down this road to make himself disappear. And now, like any lost teenage soul wishing to vanish, he tried once again. Most magicians tend to rely on illusions for tricks of this nature, but Hank was depending on pure magic alone. He stood perfectly still and attempted to refrain from breathing. He believed that making himself utterly still would provide the most conducive environment for the vibrations to reach the appropriate level for body dematerialization. As it turns out, he was wrong.

Hank remained motionless, his heart still pumping, and his lungs still taking in the lonely air from the atmosphere he desired to escape. His body remained fully intact as he, in fact, did not disappear at all. Perhaps he would try again in a few thousand more toe-numbing steps. Unconsciously, Hank began scratching at the lower right side of his neck. The soft, tender area easily irritated where his own jacket had been itching him before he hastily discarded it. Traitor, he thought. As he continued to scratch, he felt the universe sucking up massive chunks of precious minutes like a pinball machine acquiring a high score. Smoke began billowing out around his fingers as flames began to appear from his neck. Hank screamed in horror as he patted the side of his neck in an attempt to extinguish the blaze.

His eyes grew large as he instantly became aware, and slowly all of his current commotion came to a halt. With a heavy sigh, he closely examined his hand. Showing no visible signs of burns he laughed realizing his neck wasn't on fire after all.

"Hey fella, what's so funny?" questioned a man in a tiny red wagon by the side of the road.

Hank wasn't sure where the man or the wagon had suddenly appeared from. "Are you talking to me?" Hank replied.

"Yeah. Isn't it amazing? You want a ride out of this place?"

Hank walked over, slowly dragging his feet not entirely sure about the man's intentions. As he approached the wagon the man spread open his arms welcoming Hank into his small mysterious world, "Don't be bashful. Come on in."

"I'm not quite sure. I don't actually know you," Hank replied.

"Suit yourself, kid. But this rain isn't going to let up anytime soon. Wherever it is you're planning on going, hopefully they have dry clothes. Where'd ya say you were heading?"

Hank thought for a moment trying to remember exactly where his destination was. "Just up the road. Right off the highway -"

The man smiled, shaking his head as if withholding a secret. "Allow me the honors, would you? I'll return you in no time."

Hank looked at the stretch of freeway behind him where he had traveled and then at the road ahead. His heart waved a tattered white flag in surrender. Hank began to feel his hamstring muscles fill with lactic acid and knew his legs couldn't take much more movement. Reluctantly he squeezed into the wagon. "I would say thanks, but I'm still not sure if you're going to stab me or not. I'm hoping not as I have a tendency to get a little gassy when I get stabbed. Especially in the face," Hank warned. Suddenly the man whipped out a switchblade and held it inches from Hank's face. "I guess I should get rid of this then?" he said as he tossed the switchblade on the street. Just then the wind came strolling through and began tossing the switchblade around as a rattlesnake undulated across the street. The musical reptile paused and, thinking about its newly formed street gang, swallowed the switchblade and slithered away.

Hank, unable to control his nerves, belched directly into the man's face. "Wow. That was not appropriate," Hank pointed out. Unsure of what to do, Hank attempted to wave the burp away from the man's face. "Here, let me just take that back." He used both hands to wave the burp back into his mouth. "There we go. All better now."

Burp particles and an expression that one might consider shock covered the man's face. "I dreamed of you burping in my face ever since we first met," the man said. "Now that we're done exchanging pleasantries, how about we get you outta here?"

Hank's knees were shaking from fear and too much caffeine. But he nodded his head and hoped for the best. A long velour carpet rolled out in front of the wagon creating a crimson red walkway for yet unknown quests. Hank brushed the fine strands of his hair away from his face as he marveled at the nature of the elegant carpet layered in ivy and dead flowers. The outline of hundreds of beings suddenly manifested on the carpet, each one as indistinguishable as the next. With a loud howl, and blatant disregard toward the speed limit, these beings began pulling the wagon down the highway.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I got drunk with the gnomes in your head?" the man asked Hank.

"No. You haven't told me anything. In fact, I still don't think you've told me your name yet. Mine's Hank." Hank's hand dangled there awaiting a handshake from the mysterious man as they continued at incredible speeds. The unchanging scenery was now just a constant blur.

"Nice to make your acquaintance Hank. Let me tell you," the man said, "those gnomes sure can party. They will suck every bit of your being into their bellies before spewing it into a mug. Really, there's no option but to drink it. Here's a little piece of advice for you: you're never thirsty enough to drink your entire soul. Oh, of course, I'd be remiss if I failed to mention the coughing that accompanies this endeavor. Well, let's just say -"

As Hank's reality started slowly returning to him, he could hear loud voices cheering. Something wet splattered across his face. Still raining perhaps.

"Hank! Hank! Get down!" screamed a male voice below him.

Reality, smacking Hank in the face, revealed the cheering as hysterical laughter. As Hank wiped the wetness from his face, he looked at his hand and saw it covered in mashed potatoes.

"Come on get down! What are you doing up there?" the male voice continued to shout.

Hank with a blank look on his face glanced around to find himself in his high school cafeteria standing atop of a lunch table being laughed at by hundreds of other students. His friends, having mercy on him, finally pulled him off the table forcing him into his seat.

"What are you some kind of comedian now?" asked Kevin.

"Just standing up there screaming about getting stoned with garden gnomes? You're lucky they only threw mashed potatoes at your face," Melvin added.

"I don't remember any of that," Hank said as he stared at Melvin's giant forehead trying to recall what had happened.

"You're going to wish you didn't. I think Sheila may have just seen your epic performance," Charlie noted.

After wiping off the potatoes, Hank buried his face in his clammy hands. "Oh man. I was truly hoping to tongue kiss her with my mouth too. Now she's not going to want to have anything to do with my mouth since she's seen what it's capable of," he said in defeat.

Hank had longed to be with Sheila since they first met in the sixth grade where she sat at her desk wearing jeans that fell just short of her ankles. Hank, ever the creative one, would continue to drop his pencil on the floor to gain a quick glimpse of Sheila's exposed ankle skin. When Sheila caught on she made sure to lecture and emasculate Hank in front of their classmates. But that didn't stop his creepy love from blossoming. His bedroom closet was full of stuffed teddy bears and stale chocolate truffles he accumulated over the years from being too shy to give to her. But deep down in his hollow four-chambered heart he knew that one day they would share a special moment and afterwards be together forever. That was Hank's dream of course, and we all know sometimes dreams come true.

"You need to redeem your mouth. It's as simple as that," Melvin suggested with confidence as he tapped his fork against his teeth.

The bell rang marking the end of lunch and round one of Hank being humiliated. As everyone began exiting the cafeteria, they walked by Hank and made sure to point and laugh at him just in case he got the idea to start feeling like a normal person. No longer enjoying being on display, Hank ungracefully made his way through the crowd and spotted Alicia. Or was it Sheila? It was Sheila. Yes, it certainly was. Her long, purple, braided hair was unmistakable. He approached her and shyly muttered, "Hey, how's it going?"

Sheila looked at him and sighed heavily as her eyes slowly drifted from Hank's face down to the ground next to her. Then Sheila vomited. Hank thought about how adorable his delicate flower looked in that moment as her eyes bulged out of her head and snot bubbled from her nostrils. He suddenly began to wonder if it were rude, the way she was behaving. But, never one to exhibit poor etiquette, Sheila wiped her mouth on Hank's shirt. His questions regarding her mannerisms were quickly put to rest. This was the kind of girl he could bring home to his mother - if he wanted to be put up for adoption. Without offering as much as an apology Sheila turned and continued toward her class. Walking away she looked back at Hank and gave him a wink. The kind of wink that says, my stomach insides are on your shirt.

Hank hurriedly began walking down the hall toward his classroom, staring at the monstrosity on his cotton short sleeve, when someone out of nowhere came up and shoved him into the lockers. Dressed in a trench coat, brown top hat, and a sparkling monocle, this person was a real classy fella minus his sudden violent outbursts. With Hank pressed up against the locker, the man moved his head back and forth gradually closing in on Hank's face. His hot breath landed on Hank's face like a dead platypus. The man pressed his thick mustache up to Hank's nose, and there it remained.

"I hear someone's in need of a mouth redemption?" the man asked.

"That would be me," Hank responded.

"You're in luck. I'm a certified mouth redeemer." He punched the locker next to Hank's head, and thousands of papers poured out on the floor. "You see those? Those are testimonials regarding my impeccable service. You'd be wise to read them. All of them."

Hank bent down trying to retrieve the papers and spotted what he thought was a hoof coming out the bottom of the man's trench coat. The man yanked him back up and said, "Not now. Can't you see I'm trying to do something?"

Hank scratched the side of his neck and wondered where this man came from and, more importantly, what Sheila had for lunch. Whatever she ate it didn't smell like something he wanted to keep on his shirt forever and ever like a blood stain.

"So, do we have a deal?" asked the man.

"No."

The man told Hank to close his eyes, and then whispered in Hank's floppy ear, "Smell my mustache. Real quick."

Hank with his eyes closed smelled the man's mustache, and was pleasantly surprised that he enjoyed the smell of sophistication and wet oak trees. He began smiling as he rubbed his haunches into the lockers. Opening his eyes he noticed the man had disappeared, and a business card lay in his hand. All of the mouth redeemer's contact information displayed on a beautifully crafted card. It felt like magic, or rather, cardboard in the palm of his hand. Must be a new kid, Hank thought. "Shouldn't you be in class instead of grinding up on school property, mister?" The principle was staring at Hank in disgust, chewing on her pencil and ever so happy that she wasn't a locker.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think anyone was watching. I mean I didn't know how...I don't think...I'm going to go to class now"

"Not so fast!" the principle shouted.

Hank froze and stood there like a frightened puppy dog with his penis between his legs.

"I should have that locker removed," said the principle. She folded her arms awaiting an explanation.

"I'm sorry. It was just my butt. It's not even a big deal. It was mostly my jeans. The butt part of my jeans mostly and I barely sat anywhere that filthy today," Hank tried to explain.

"I meant I should have it removed for your personal use. As a gift from me to you." She gnawed on her pencil unsure of what to make of this odd young man.

"No, it's fine. I umm...already have one. Thanks anyway."

Hank ran off down the hall searching for his classroom. He slowed down and thought, I can't go to class with Sheila's vomit on me. I'm not an intestinal plumber. Even if she is the only girl I know who vomits glitter and sunshine.

Hank made a detour into, the only place where it seemed acceptable to have someone's bile on your clothes, the boy's bathroom. He pushed open the old door and listened to it make a bizarre noise that reminded him of an alien groaning in pain. Kevin was standing on wet floor tiles in front of the mirror slicking his long, blonde hair back. The black sludge built up on the mirror made Hank wonder how Kevin could view anything at all through it.

"Hey funny man," Kevin said as he searched for a clear spot in the reflecting glass to check his hair.

Charlie and Melvin, completely indifferent to what held up their lazy bodies, were unwisely leaning against a urine stained wall blowing smoke out a small rectangular window. "Here you go," Charlie said as he passed Hank a joint.

Without thinking twice, maybe once, but definitely not twice, Hank began getting high.

"Thanks, this is just what my soul needs right now. Where did you get this from?"

"Just a friendly gift from the gods," Melvin replied.

Melvin was always getting gifts from the gods: his mediocre looks, terrible sense of direction, and his pesky scoliosis. The latter, the main reason he blamed his shirts for their crooked fit.

As Hank was blowing a column of smoke out the window, a White-browed Coucal flew over and landed on the window sill. Someone's pet, perhaps? He passed the joint to Kevin and fixed his sight on the newly arrived bird.

"So, how does this compare with smoking with those gnomes?" Charlie joked while returning his lighter to the pocket of his army jacket.

"How come you never take us to smoke with any creatures?" Melvin asked.

"Yeah, what's up with you bogarting all the gnomes?" argued Kevin

"You ready, kid?" the cuckoo asked Hank.

Hank looked around to get everyone's reaction to the talking bird, except no one seemed to notice. "Huh? I think I'm already pretty stoned guys," Hank said. Hank and the bird locked eyes in a staring contest which Hank lost when his opponent got into his mind and forced him to blink.

Charlie patted Hank on the shoulder and said, "Come on Hank. We're going to be late for class...again."

They walked out the door expecting Hank to follow behind them, but good ol' Hank stood there motionless except for his brain. It was opening up doors it would never be able to close again. Hank would try to shut them, but they would open again. He would try to board them up, but they would open again. Why did he need so many doors in his brain anyway?

"Tell me, how does your love of flame talk to the demons walking inside you?" asked the White-browed Coucal.

Hank shook his head like an Etch A Sketch, trying to remove his current reality. "Why are you looking at me like that with those bizarre bird eyes?" Hank asked.

"I see the monster in you. He's magnificent, but you hate him."

"What? I just want to smoke this joint and be happy."

"We can be happy. We can be happy," the bird replied as it started to make its way through the glass pane.

Hank took a step backwards and watched as the bird walked through the glass like an apparition. The bird steadied itself on the inside of the window sill and repeated, "We can be happy. We can be happy."

Hank slowly began backing up toward the door and watched as the bird struggled to keep its balance on the sill. The cuckoo slipped and dove straight at the ground. Preparing himself for the bird to take flight, Hank carefully watched the scene unfold. But for reasons unknown the bird's wings never did expand. The bird plunged toward the damp, unyielding floor and spoke one last time, "We can be happy. We can be happy."

With his back to the door, Hank felt for the doorknob and prepared himself for the inevitable collision. Then it happened. The bird crashed. It had crashed and vanished. In its place laid an exploded nucleus of pander surrounded by yellow yolk. Even with all the essential amino acids laying on the floor in front of him Hank ran out the door in horror and immediately began hyperventilating. Collapsing to his knees, he looked around and noticed his world was in complete darkness. The heart that was beating patiently in his chest a moment ago was now trying to pummel its way out. Every ounce of fluid flowing through his lanky body was planning an escape route through the palms of his hands. Reaching his arms out, he felt in all directions searching for some semblance of the place he used to call school. His eyes were squinting as he tried to cut through the darkness, but this only resulted in more darkness. Panicking, he decided it best to pry open his eyes as far as they would allow. He felt them bulging and on the verge of popping out of his spastic head. Something began pushing into his abdomen. Hank stood up and felt something prodding him in his side like horns on a bull trying to impale its prey. After a brief pause, more prodding began hammering into his lower back. Suddenly, he was spinning in circles. He could hear horrible gut wrenching screams and the feeling of his body being covered in wet leaves.

Continuing his spiral through the darkness, he could feel cold hands rubbing up and down his back. Sharp nails dug into his skin searching for gold. Hank unleashed a primal scream and was shocked to find his mouth overflowing with strawberries. Suddenly, he collapsed into a hole where his body plunged endlessly into a mysterious abyss.

### _Chapter 3_

_Hank sat in the oversized leather armchair_ staring at the model sailboat on the shelf while rotating two Baoding balls in the palm of his hand. The sun struggled to find its way through the vertical blinds casting a depressing shadow on the stained, low carpet. Here he was again, for his typical evening session, in the drab environment of his sleep therapist's office.

"Nice place," Hank commented sarcastically. Months upon endless months of sleepless nights tossing and turning in a fruitless attempt to fall into a deep slumber finally led him to the bald, stoic faced enigma whom Hank addressed as Chris, his sleep therapist.

"So, are you positive you weren't under the influence of any drugs when you happened to see this talking bird?" Chris asked as he leaned back in his chair and began rolling up his sleeves.

"Positive," Hank lied. He had a natural distrust toward people like Chris. The type of people who allowed their bushy gray beards to dwarf their facial features. The ones who couldn't button their shirts all the way up due to their unruly chest hair. And the first ones to talk about cannibalism when your plane crashes on a mountain.

"Well, let's take a look at your sleep journal and see how you're making out with that."

Hank sifted through his backpack pushing crumpled papers and broken pencils aside until he came across the journal in question. His journal that Chris advised he use to keep track of the time he went to bed at night, awoke in the morning, how many times he awoke during the night, how he felt in the morning, and other things Hank found tedious and not quite effective. Chris leaned out of his chair to meet Hank half way. After retrieving the journal, he crossed his legs and began thumbing through the pages. He paused for a moment, perplexed, and then began flipping several pages forward and then quickly back in the opposite direction. "It looks as though you forgot to fill in some pages. There hasn't been a new entry in here in...," Chris double checked his findings and continued, "in six days."

"Oh, I didn't forget."

"So...you don't like the idea of keeping a sleep journal?"

"I just haven't had anything to write since then."

"You're saying you haven't slept in six days?" Chris asked.

"Yeah. I mean if that's what it says in there." Hank didn't see what the big deal was. He was, after all, in a sleep therapist's office. He wondered whether day six was some sort of significant milestone in the sleep deprived community. Was he entering into some unknown territory reserved for the patients of the psychiatric hospital? Or was he tapping into some latent human potential that lies deep inside all of us that can only be reached when we go far beyond our limits?

Chris closed the journal and said, "We're going to continue working on getting to the root of your problem, Hank. Perhaps tomorrow we can send you home with the biofeedback device and see what clues we can obtain from those findings." Chris stood up and walked over to the CD player on the desk next to the couch. He signaled Hank to come and lay down on the leather sofa. As Hank was getting comfortable Chris began placing headphones over Hank's ears and said, "But for now you're just going to relax and listen to these binaural beats. It will aim to stimulate the Delta/Theta range of your brain waves inducing deep meditation and hopefully loss of body awareness. Relax and enjoy."

Hank closed his eyes as the oscillating frequencies played in his ears. Behind his shut lids, he watched as a thought bubble put on its underpants and squirmed out the top of his head. Inside this bubble, Hank began walking with a bow and arrow through a swamp of sunflowers and sawdust. Soon he came upon a castle made of gold. Entering it, he glided unseen from room to room until finally arriving at an ancient washroom.

Hank stood in the doorway staring at the back of a large fat pig. The pig was standing with his pot belly hanging over a deep sink. A mirror hung in front of him, but the pig was too short to view his reflection. Instead, he shaved blindly over the sink. His razor sent shreds of bacon down the drain.

Hank's eyes took in the remaining interior of the washroom as the pig continued shaving. Lying on a chaise lounge several feet from the pig was a beautiful princess with her arms and legs tied together like a captured prey. The extension cord to Hank's heart came unplugged as he made eye contact with this beautiful princess. He had found his Princess Sheila. Her eyes lit up with excitement upon seeing Hank. Her mouth began to move, but Hank put his finger to his lips to silence her.

"I can't wait for our date tonight. I hope you like hog rides," the pig said to Sheila.

Hank pulled an arrow back in his bow and aimed it carefully in the pig's direction. He studied his target, waiting, for the precise moment to strike. The flow of the universe was now in slow motion. Hank was the universe, and he could feel its time and rhythm through his pulse. As the pig was reaching for his bottle of aftershave, Hank released the arrow and sent it soaring rapidly into the back of the pig's skull. An explosion of pig rattled the walls of the ancient washroom. Where the pig stood a moment ago, was now just a puddle of grease. Thick layers of grease soaked the deep sink, the ground, and the walls.

Hank rushed over to Princess Sheila and tossed her over his shoulder. Running toward the door he slipped in the puddle of grease causing him to crash to the floor with Sheila. They attempted to stand up, but the grease removed their legs out from under them before they could become vertical. Again they tried, and again they failed. The grease was covering Hank and Princess Sheila causing them to slip when they tried to move. Their antics resembled a comedy scene from a silent film. They began giggling at their predicament, and soon their slipping had positioned Hank on top of Sheila. This time they abandoned their plan of standing up in favor of kissing one another. Kissing and laughing one another in disgusting pig grease on a golden castle floor.

The binaural beats came to a stop, and Hank opened his eyes. He thought for a moment trying to remember where he was. "So, I guess time's up for today?" he asked.

Chris looked at his sundial and said, "It's all just shadows and shit. So, yeah."

### _Chapter 4_

_A loud scream_ _was exiting Hank's house_ and entering his ears as he approached the driveway. It was a female's voice filled with panic and despair. The setting sun began sinking quicker to flee the impending doom. Hank's casual stroll now turned into a gallop as he got on four legs and sprinted toward the door. Entering the house he spotted his mother standing in the corner of the living room. Still screaming, she stared in horror at his father wielding a butcher knife. Hank ran toward him, but stopped when he saw the rattlesnake at his father's feet. Then there was a powerful thud. A moment later his father was walking toward the front door with the body of a snake in one hand and its head in the other. Walking past Hank he asked, "So how was the therapist today?"

"Oh time-consuming. You know. Real time-consuming. Always talking about not sleeping and stuff," Hank said.

Hank's mother, pale as an albino ghost, asked, "Honey, do they know what's wrong with you yet?"

Hank leaned back in the sofa preparing to inform the world of his condition. "No, but I do," Hank said.

"Oh that's glorious! Well, what is it? What's wrong with you?" his mother asked.

"I'm a hero. That's all."

Hank's father replied, "You know who the real hero is? Your old man. I chopped the shit out of that snake's head." He began swinging the knife next to Hank's head and moving negative energy away from his aura. "I used Chi and all that ancient shit. The force was so strong with my hand and wrist action. G.I. Joe ain't got nothing on me."

Hank's dad was an old war vet, and he had no problem showing off when the moment required it. And boy was this a moment that required it. In fact, it down right demanded it. And as always Hank's father delivered. Still feeling like the big man in the house, he pinned Hank's mother against the wall and ushered his tongue into her mouth. It was a battle of the dueling drools at the Hank Corral. The inventor of saliva would have been proud. Never would he have imagined a headless rattlesnake being the cause of two people exchanging so much mouth secretion.

Hank didn't enjoy being the only spectator in a team sport, so he carried his bony body upstairs to his room. A naïve melody began playing from the radio as he climbed the stairs. Like a puppy following in his shadow, his fingers trailed behind him along the railing. Through a thick layer of dust, they carved out a deep path to the top of the stairs.

Resembling someone in an altered state of consciousness Hank suddenly began dancing his final steps into the bedroom. The toppled globe lying on the floor attempted to break his rhythm, but it failed. He stood now in front of the full length mirror hanging on the outside of his closet door. His eyes made contact with the ones in the mirror as he left behind a dust print trying to touch the image before him.

Hank swept his finger underneath his right eye. A streak of dust was left in its tracks. A nod of recognition was all it took for him to repeat the process underneath his left eye. It reminded him of some sort of ritual as if preparing for war. Slowly, he became more entranced with the reflection before him. A reflection that stared deeply back into Hank's eyes. It was the first time he could recall showing such interest in his physical appearance.

He watched as his face began to distort. Pieces began going missing. Then they returned. He looked younger, and yet he looked older. But he also appeared ageless. He was glowing. He was melting. Sweat formed over his brow, and something grabbed at the back of his head. Something was pulling at his feet, but Hank was too deep in his trance to look down. It will go away. It should go away. I'm probably just being a little paranoid, he thought.

An arm reached through the mirror and took a handful of Hank's collar. Without hesitation, it yanked him forward with an otherworldly force.

"Stop staring at me," a voice grumbled.

Hank realized the arm wasn't letting go but was now pulling him through the mirror. It was then that Hank wondered if he remembered to hide the pornographic magazine he stole from the convenience store. The last thing he wanted was his mom to find his magazine full of naked ladies having intercourse. Adding to the shame were the notes he made in the margins of the pages where he fabricated back stories that led the girls to sex. His favorite story involved a traveling circus, a strong man, poor money management and severed heads. Hank also wrote his name in red ink on all of the girls. This artsy creation served as a tattoo to show their everlasting devotion to him.

With no time to make sure his sluts were safe, Hank slipped through the mirror. To his surprise, he didn't find himself on the other side of his closet door. Instead, he was in some kind of waiting room. Looking around, Hank realized clocks of all shapes and sizes were covering every inch of the walls.

A hideous beast monster, sharing many similarities to Hank's former girlfriend, stood before him. Long matted down gray and purple hair covered its troll-like body. After each blink, a wave of blood crashed over its eyes. The beast monster put his hand on Hank's shoulder and said, "Listen man, you gotta stop staring at me like that."

Hank sniffed the air with his nose, and his face contorted as if tackled by human feces.

"What's that smell?" Hank asked.

"I'm a vegan."

"Vinyl shoes?"

"Don't judge."

"You said I was staring at you. I didn't even know you were in here or over here. Or wherever this is," said Hank.

"You knew. Trust me, you knew. Oh, the things you know about yourself. You don't even know you know things about yourself that you know. But you know."

"The only thing I'm pretty sure about at this point is that I'm a hero, but I shouldn't brag. I mean, I guess I should brag. I bet if you were a hero you would brag too. Do you know how much work it is being a hero? It's not for everyone you know," Hank said.

The hideous beast now had both his beastly hands on Hank's shoulders and firmly began pressing down. Hank noticed the hideous beast getting taller. As the clocks seemed to appear higher on the walls, Hank realized it wasn't the hideous beast growing taller but him shrinking smaller.

"Hey get off me. What are you doing to me? Let go of me!" Hank demanded.

"It's you. Not me. I'm not doing anything."

"Like hell you're not. You're making me shrink. I'm not going to let you get away with this!"

"But you've already let yourself get away with it. So unless you stop yourself there's nothing to be done," said the beast.

Hank wanted to kick and scream and be back inside his mother's womb where it was safe. But, unfortunately, that option didn't exist anywhere in the miracle pamphlet. Hank struggled to break away from the tight grip on his shoulders, but he only seemed to succeed in tightening the grip even further. He closed his eyes and tried to wish the hideous beast away. He remembered seeing this before in movies where kids drank too much apple juice before bed and wet the sheets. They would inevitably try to make their sheets disappear by simply closing their eyes and willing them into oblivion. Those films, however, weren't reality. This was reality. But in the end he figured it couldn't hurt to try.

As he opened his eyes, Hank was unable to spot the hideous beast. It was then Hank looked up and realized he had shrunk even more. During this moment of reflection, the hideous beast finally relinquished its desperate hold on Hank's shoulders. Hank turned back to the mirror and saw this as his opportunity to escape. He ran over and searched the mirror's surface for a secret entrance to the other side.

"Where do you think you're going?" questioned the hideous beast.

"I'm going back to my room! I never want to see this place again!"

"I'm afraid you can't go anywhere just yet."

"What do you mean!" Hank asked in a fearful rage.

"I mean you have to wait."

"Wait for what? What are we waiting for exactly?"

"For the show to be over," answered the hideous beast.

"What are you talking about? Let me out of here!" Hank demanded.

The lights in the room began flickering on and off. In between the flickers of light, Hank began growing back to his normal height again. Finally, he stood at full height breathing heavily and staring at the hideous beast. The hideous beast's lower jaw opened further and further until it lay on the ground below him. A deep, loud howl came from its mouth emitting a cone of red light that traveled to where Hank was standing. A cloud of smoke materialized inside the cone spelling out the word, 'disappear'. Held captive by the red light, Hank was unable to move as the smoke drifted into his body.

A giant curtain drew down in front of the hideous beast vanishing him from sight. The lights darkened, and an invisible audience could be heard loudly applauding and cheering. The clocks began falling off the walls and crashing loudly to the ground. Parts smashed to the floor as the rest of the clocks continued to fall. The noise grew louder drowning out the cheering of the audience. Bells, chimes, and whistles clashing with wood and metal became too unbearable for Hank, and he covered his ears with his hands and again shut his eyes tightly.

Hank screamed.

It felt like an eternity, but Hank could feel his body slowly drifting backwards through time. The loud raucous of the falling clocks faded into the background. The terrible sounds had somehow morphed into a naïve melody. The music continued to grow inside Hank's head until his eyes quickly popped open. He took a deep breath and sat up in his bed. He looked across the room into the mirror hanging from his closet door. He stared for a moment at his face covered in a thick layer of dust.

Hank jumped out of bed and dragged his blanket with him as he went over to the mirror. He opened his closet door and tossed the blanket over the top of the door and slammed it shut covering the mirror. Freedom was his, at least, for the moment. He didn't know what that even meant, but he could feel it in his bones. His cold, lonely bones driving his meat around through this perilous world.

A loud bang came from outside Hank's window. As he walked over to see what it was he leapt back at what he saw coming into his bedroom: a giant bear. It wasn't the most nimble bear. Trying to get through the window it nearly slipped off the ladder and fumbled into the bedroom taking down the curtains.

"What's up Hank?" spoke the bear.

"Not again," Hank said.

The bear put its hands on each side of its head and began removing it from its body.

"It's just me," said Charlie.

"Why are you wearing a bear suit?"

"It's comfortable. Come on, the guys are waiting out there."

"I don't know. I should probably just get some sleep."

"Well, that sounds stupid. Sheila invited us to a party at her house tonight since her parents are on vacation. I know you wouldn't want to miss that."

"Ugh. Fine. All she ever does is wipe puke on me. I'll be down in a minute," Hank said.

As Charlie replaced his bear head and descended the ladder, Hank walked over to his bed and reached underneath his pillow. He felt around for a minute before grabbing a hold of his recently stolen porno magazine. He walked over to his desk, placed it in the drawer, and locked it. It was the safest thing in Hank's reality.

### _Chapter 5_

_When Hank reached the bottom of the ladder_ , the bear was defecating on someone's front lawn while pounding on his chest. It had no problem increasing a stranger's property value free of charge. However, one confused soul would awake in the morning wondering why their pink flamingo had turned brown.

"Bad bear! Bad bear!" Hank lectured.

"Hey look what I brought with me," Kevin said as he opened his hand up for Hank.

"Can I have one?"

"Sure," Kevin said.

Hank grabbed a Chinese throwing star from Kevin's hand, and they started to chase Charlie off the lawn. Hank threw the star at the bear and lodged it into its neck. Kevin's star was intercepted in its tracks by a beam a light coming from a saucer in the sky.

Charlie jumped in front of a bus driving by and flagged it down. Everyone on the bus stared at him and his neck, as Hank and the others followed behind him. Hank sat down behind the bus driver and looked out the front window. He watched the street lights of the night pass in slow motion before him. The vampires stood on the street corners waiting for their next meal. The homeless and the roadkill covered the streets, although, there wasn't much of a difference between the two.

"Let me off up here," Hank said to the driver.

The driver nodded his head and came to an abrupt stop. As the doors flew open, Hank jumped out leaving the bear and its two handlers on the bus as it drove away. Hank dug through his wallet and pulled out his fake id and walked to a nearby bar. As Hank walked through the door a blonde lady in high heels, mini skirt, and low-cut blouse put her arms around his neck.

"Welcome to the Easy Glide, handsome," she said.

"Hey can I see some id?" a bouncer cut in.

Hank handed him his fake id and acted as if he'd done this a million times before. The bouncer looked at it under his flashlight and nodded to Hank as he handed him back his id. "Enjoy," he said.

Hank walked over and sat down at the bar as topless girls danced all around him. He had long imagined what it would be like to sit in a strip club. He imagined this is where he would find his future wife one day. The thought that went into this was little. He was just fairly certain if he had to marry someone then he would marry someone extremely slutty. He never had imagined just marrying some non-slutty female. What was the point? And what better place he imagined was there to find a more attractive slutty lady than a titty bar? Hank was yet to visit the more run down titty bars that held no standards for the workers they employed. For now, though, the fantasy was still strong.

A woman who's nipple rings could clearly be seen through her tank top, came over and sat down next to Hank. His eyes were obsessing over her pierced nipples. He loved the way they looked. They were the kind of piercings that were most likely done at a tattoo party in someone's garage with a shard of aluminum from a soda can. She had long, brown hair and began to run her sharp nails down the outside of Hank's thigh.

Hank was too afraid to move or say anything. But inside his head, neurons were high fiving each other to an early death.

"So, what are you drinking?" the lady asked.

Hank forced his dry mouth open and said, "Umm. Nothing yet."

The lady turned to the bartender and said, "Two beers please."

For whatever reason Hank couldn't help but notice that she said please. He thought it odd that a lady with nipple rings popping through her shirt would have such good manners. Perhaps she didn't even notice she said that. Maybe she's full of more surprises.

"You look like a Tom," she said.

"Who me? No. No, I'm not Tom," Hank replied.

The lady laughed. "Then who are you?"

"I'm that guy. You know?" Hank asked this question as though he were unsure of his own name. "I'm Hank. My name's Hank. That's who I am."

"Well, aren't you going to ask my name? Certainly you must be curious?" she asked.

"Oh yeah. Yes, definitely. I mean I was going to ask I just forgot for a second. But, I was just wondering what your name is?" Hank said awkwardly.

"I don't know if I want to tell you my name. You could be some weird stalker who's planning on kidnapping me and selling my organs on the black market," she said.

"That's probably not me. Besides, I don't think there's such a high demand for giant keyboards on the black market."

"Ok. That's somewhat reassuring. My name's Sheila," the lady said.

Hank's face looked horrified, "Huh? I'm sorry what did you say your name was?" he asked.

"Brenda," she said.

"Oh good," Hank muttered under his breath.

"What's that?"

"Oh nothing. Nothing,"

"Well. Cheers!" Brenda said as she held up her glass.

"Cheers!"

"So what are you doing here all by yourself? Kids your age usually come here in bundles."

Hank wondered if she actually knew how old he was. Kids his age? He didn't even think of bringing his friends. He just ditched them on the bus. Chances were it would have been even harder getting in with a bear in tow. Was he an awful friend for not saying goodbye to them? Would they even notice he was missing? There was an attractive young lady with nipple rings popping through her tank top sitting next to him, and yet these were the thoughts crawling through his brain.

"I couldn't sleep. You know how it is when you can't sleep sometimes you just need to stare at boobs," he responded. He couldn't believe those words just came out of his mouth, but they did. Where was that mouth redeemer when he needed him? But apparently Brenda didn't mind his sense of humor.

"I know exactly what you mean. Sheep don't exactly get me tired. Not like sex does. I guess you could say I couldn't sleep either."

Brenda and Hank locked eyes as they stared at one another. Hank could feel his heart pounding against his chest and felt caterpillars turning into sweet butterflies in his belly. It was the moment he dreamed about for ages. He thought about how he should make his move, when the right moment was to move in for a kiss. No female had ever stared at him so intently. He had no idea how excited he could become from just simply being acknowledged by someone's eyeballs. And boy were her eyeballs pretty. They were bright blue with a shade of yellow around the pupil. He dreamed of laying naked next to her in bed and staring into those eyes. His life had suddenly taken an amazing turn since getting off of that bus. Now here he was with the lady of his dreams as they gazed into one another's eyes.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Sure," Hank replied feeling she may make the first move instead of him.

"What the hell is all over your face?"

"Oh it's just some war paint I applied myself with my war painting skills that I learned from being a warrior in life," Hank explained.

"It looks like dust."

"It is something like dust. To the uninitiated it certainly does look like dust."

"Hmm. Interesting. How about a couple more beers over here bartender?" Brenda said.

Hank was yet to build up a tolerance to alcohol, but he was still sober enough to take notice that Brenda neglected to say please this time. Maybe she's finally loosening up, he thought. He imagined her ripping her clothes off for him in a drunken state that would suggest her wanting to engage in the ancient ritual of intercourse.

"Here's to strange acquaintances," Brenda said as she lifted up her glass.

"To strange acquaintances."

The two glasses touched like two souls meeting for the first time in a titty bar.

"You know, I feel like I've known you forever. But it's like we just met, right? Or do I know you from somewhere? Because, it feels like I know you. Maybe I'm just drunk, but I feel like we have some sort of connection," Hank mused.

Brenda decided to entertain Hank's slightly drunken ramblings. "Hey, maybe we do have some sort of connection. Do you believe in parallel universes?" asked Brenda.

"I'm not sure. Maybe I do believe in parallel universes. Are you suggesting perhaps we may possibly know each other in some other world?"

"Maybe I'm a sexy doctor in a parallel existence, and you're my dying patient. And maybe I suffocated you with your penis after I cut it off. That could be why I seem so familiar to you," Brenda said as she lit a cigarette.

"That's upsetting me right now. But that would explain why I feel such a connection to you. I'm bonded to my killer forever. My penis was in your hands, and then in my mouth until I choked and died. Fuck. You bring so much joy and so much sadness into my life."

"What if I told you that you were a vegan in that parallel universe until I suffocated you with your own member? What would you think then?" Brenda asked.

"I would think that I should have known better than to trust someone who was affiliated with the Vegetable Ministry of Defense. You thought you were fooling me by pretending to be a doctor, but I saw the carrot and the cross tattoo on your wrist, and we all know that's the secret symbol of the V.M.D." Hank said.

Brenda laughed, "You're kind of funny. A good kind of funny though."

Hank slammed his empty glass down after finishing his beer and said, "Is there any other kind of funny? Is there a bad kind of funny?"

"Well, see there is a difference. Let me explain."

"Wait, hold on a minute." Hank interrupted Brenda. He reached over the counter and started reaching for the bartender.

"Hey drink getter fella! I need things to make me drunker. What I'm saying is a few more for this sensual lady friend and me. BEER!" Hank said.

Brenda laughed and said, "That was the bad kind of funny."

The bartender brought over two more drinks, and Brenda said to Hank, "Care to make a toast this time?"

"Sure," Hank raised his glass, "here's to compartmentalizing humor."

This elicited a slight chuckle from Sheila, "Glad you're seeing things my way!" she said.

Her hand touched Hank's thigh. Was it an accident? He wasn't sure. But he felt this was much more telling, and had more meaning than when they had first met and she ran her fingernails on the outside of his thigh. Something about getting to know her, and being convinced that they had met before in a parallel universe, somehow made the slightest touch of her hand on his thigh the most important touch he's ever felt. That touch, accidental or not, filled him with an immense amount of validation and hope that made Hank's body yearn for more. He felt as though he might cry if never to feel that soft touch again. He couldn't bear to think of the thought of her never touching him. The idea alone was inconceivable. It was as though it weren't even an option. As if the gods above had full control over this situation, and they would never dare let him get so hurt and feel such pain. They would spare him that mercy because he was different. He knew he was. And for the first time he felt that someone else was finally seeing that in him too.

"Beautiful. Your way is the way of beauty and grace. A perfect reflection of who you genuinely are," Hank said.

Hank couldn't believe what he just said. This time he didn't feel the need for a mouth redeemer. He couldn't believe he spoke so passionately about someone he just met when moments ago he had yelled at the bartender. If only he had more experience, he would know what to attribute this to: the bizarre effects of alcohol. But he seemed glad he was able to speak his mind and didn't feel held back for once. It felt wonderful not to have to apologize to himself right away for something he spoke. He was so used to second-guessing his words as if someone actually cared that much about them. He knew no one really did, but he didn't like reminding them that they really don't. But this time he was quite satisfied with the words that came from his mouth.

Brenda put her cigarette out and sat her hand on Hank's thigh. This time it wasn't an accident, and she made sure he knew that as she gently squeezed his leg. She brushed her long hair aside and put her other hand softly against his face pressing her lips up against his. She kissed him a long, slow kiss that made everything in Hank's world disappear except for her soft, angelic lips. The grip on his leg got tighter the longer their two lips stayed together. Hank felt as if he were going to pass out from pure ecstasy. His heart that he always felt beating didn't feel like a heart anymore. Not the mechanical, robotic heart that simply kept him alive. For the first time, it felt like an unexplainable object that filled his whole body with a new life. It was as if a battery of white heavenly light exploded in his chest.

It was the heart he had heard about in fairy tales, the kind people recommend you follow. This is what they were referring to. It was so different he thought it should have a new name. Their lips finally separated. Hank gazed into Brenda's eyes with a smile so big his face never returned to normal.

"Hey! You look sexy as hell tonight," a man said as he approached Brenda and immediately started kissing her on her neck. "I told Todd to come in with his girl and maybe we can have a foursome, but I think they're gonna go fuck in the graveyard," the man said to Brenda.

This man was apparently either Brenda's boyfriend or a confident man with a strange pick up line. And seeing as she wasn't brushing off this man's advances it could only mean they were together. But, maybe he felt he too knew Brenda from a parallel existence. It became immediately clear that all that was pure fantasy. A terrible, terrible fantasy that he felt ashamed of buying into. He wanted to rip this man's heart out. No, he wanted to rip her heart out. He wanted to rip both their hearts out and throw them on the floor and stomp on them until there was nothing left. That's how he felt, and he wanted them to feel the same. Mostly he wanted her to feel what she did to him. This was his first reaction and the only one that made sense to him. If he could take whatever she called a heart, remove it from her chest, lock it in a dark, cold closet until it turns completely black and rotten with decay, then that's what he would have done. Oh, the things he would do to her and her heart. He already knew how he would spend the next several months writing in his journal about all the things he would inflict on her heart. He didn't even have a journal, but if there were ever a moment to acquire one now was the time.

The man looked at Hank and said, "Hey, who's this queer with the lipstick? What are you some kind of gay?"

Hank wanted so desperately to explain that the lipstick came from his beautiful girlfriend and that she didn't deserve a piece of garbage like him. But words didn't form on his lips at all this time. Fear and sadness crippled his vocabulary. Even worse was that Brenda sat there and not only did she refuse to say anything in Hank's defense, but she flat-out laughed at Hank's expense. This bitch is crazy, Hank thought. He tried to relay this message to her with his eyes as he tried to make contact with hers. But Brenda never gave him a second glance.

"Dude! This motherfucker's whole face is covered in makeup! What's that white shit all over your face? What are you a fucking rodeo clown? Get out of here you gay ass rodeo clown! Go blow someone with those sexy lips of yours!" the man yelled at Hank.

Hank stood up and walked into the restroom. The bathroom was grimy and smelled like dead squid and piss. He walked over to the sink and turned the water on. He ran his hands under the water and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He didn't think he looked like a rodeo clown, but he started to wash the dust off his face anyway. The lipstick wasn't coming off, and the dust was streaking down his sad face.

"Fucking bullshit," he said aloud staring at his face in the mirror. "I'm way cooler than that guy. His eyebrows don't even look right. So tired of my stupid life," he said to his reflection. Hank moved his face closer to the mirror and stared glassy-eyed deep into its surface.

"Hey! Where you at in there? You think it's fun to drag me out of my reality? Why don't you drag me out of this mess? Come out and get me you son of a bitch!" Hank screamed into the mirror.

The counter was soaking wet and covered in damp, torn paper towels. He didn't let that stop him from climbing on top of it searching the mirror up and down for a portal to the other side.

"Let me in there! You stupid hideous beast where are you?" Hank continued to yell.

A man walked into the bathroom and watched as Hank yelled into the mirror in a drunken rage. "Hey, are you all right fella?" the man asked.

"What are you doing over there, hideous beast?" asked Hank as he slipped on the wet counter and landed with one knee in the sink. Hank stared at the man with his fist size eyeballs, and with a big burst of lunacy said, "Get me out of here you hideous beast." The man ran out of the bathroom, and Hank hollered after him, "Where are you going?"

A moment later the bouncer made his grand entrance back into Hank's life, and spotted him fumbling to make his way out of the sink.

"What do you want?" Hank asked the bouncer belligerently.

"You've had enough. You gotta leave. Let's go." The bouncer drug Hank out of the sink by the back of his shirt, and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of human flesh and escorted him toward the exit.

"Hey, you can't do this to me. I'm a hero. This is no way to treat a hero!" Hank argued.

As the bouncer carried Hank past Brenda and her boyfriend, Hank reached out his arm to her and pleaded, "Tell them I'm all right! I love you! I'm not insane I swear!"

"Sorry buddy you're too drunk for your own good," the bouncer said.

"Do you know how drunk I am?"

"How drunk are you?"

"Not that drunk."

The doors flew open and Hank went flying, like a wingless drunk teenager, onto the dirty city streets. But before the doors slammed shut behind him he heard Brenda yell in the background, "It was nice seeing you again!"

### _Chapter 6_

_A group of college kids_ threw some change at Hank as they stepped over him and said, "Nice lipstick you faggy bum."

Hank turned his head in their direction and yelled, "I just made out with a hot chick!" Struggling to find the right word he finally yelled, "Duh!"

Hank stood up and attempted to wipe the lipstick from his man lips, but gave up when he saw someone walk out of a pizza shop with a slice of pizza. This reminded Hank of how much he also enjoyed pizza. The thought of it caressing his drunken taste buds was enough to make him stumble into the shop. He found himself face to face with an old greasy man behind the counter.

"I want to make pizza be in my mouth," Hank said."Ok," the man replied.

"Well, where is it?"

"Excuse me?"

"I want my pizza. Where is it?" asked Hank.

"I have to cook it," the man explained with all the certainty of someone who cooks pizzas for a living.

"No, you don't." Hank slammed his fists down on the counter and hung his head as if getting ready to vomit.

The old greasy man grabbed a burnt slice of pizza out of the trash and handed it to Hank. "Do you want your pizza or what?" he asked.

Suddenly Charlie ran into the store in his bear costume. "Bear hungry!" Charlie yelled as he snatched the slice of pizza and ran out the door. Hank popped up and chased him down the street.

"Get back here! You need to pay for that!" the man hollered after them.

Hank hunted Charlie down for several blocks and found Kevin and Melvin waiting for them when they arrived at the cemetery. He thought for sure they would have been long gone by now.

"Hey, I thought we lost you back there," Melvin said.

"Sorry. I was checking out the trash at the Easy Glide until they decided I was the trash and threw me out."

"Well, in case you forgot, we still have a party to go to. Remember Sheila? The only girl you thought looked hot with chicken pox? The one whose vomit is still on your shirt? We have to reach her tonight because her hot friends will be there, and they'll probably want to rub my knuckles into their crotch," Kevin said.

They continued their journey through the cemetery under the night sky. As they made their way up a hill, they came across a dark red, Pontiac Bonneville parked underneath some low hanging trees. And they knew why dark red Bonnevilles parked in cemeteries, under low hanging trees, at night. Moans, indicating the insertion of one human into another, were echoing from the vehicle.

"Hey guys check this out," Kevin said.

"Fucking Todd," Hank said

Coming around the side of the car, the bear was preparing for a sneak attack. If this were a thumb wrestling match, he would be the unpredictable index finger. The bear flopped onto the hood of the car and began pounding on the windshield. It wasn't long before Todd and his female sex accomplice popped up and were screaming with their mouths. As Todd turned and glanced out the back window, he couldn't help but do a double take as Hank stood there peeing into his gas tank yelling, "Fuck you, Todd!" Todd's lady friend screamed in horror as Kevin's grotesque man balls rested like deformed, baby dinosaur eggs on the rear window. Finally, despite the dropping temperatures, Melvin made the ultimate sacrifice by smushing his penis head into the side window. This event would become Todd's personal Vietnam.

As everyone began dispersing, Hank approached the window and spat on it before showing Todd the ferociousness of his middle finger. I can't believe I just did that, Hank thought. I feel like a living, breathing character from some novel no one has ever heard of. And then he ran.

It was everything Hank dreamed of doing if he were ever a professional wrestler. He had those dreams all the time as a child: growing up, body slamming C3-PO and whipping Vader into the turnbuckles. He imagined a future where there existed a Star Wars Wrestling Foundation and he its superstar.

After running through the extensive landscape of the cemetery and feeling exhausted from their recent pursuits in debauchery, everyone gradually began slowing down. They were out of breath and panting when they stopped to rest.

"It's taking forever to get to this party," Kevin said.

"Can't we just be there already?" Hank asked. He folded his hands behind his head, and leaned back to stare at the moon and try to regain his breath. The others bent over, with their hands on their knees thinking of a shortcut.

"Sure just climb into my belly," Charlie said.

"Excuse me?" Hank said.

"I'm pretty sure I'm a human portal. I swallowed a G.I. Joe once when I was a kid, and the doctors couldn't locate it on any x-rays. The only logical solution, that they could come to, was that it disappeared into another dimension."

"So what are you suggesting exactly?" asked Hank.

"I'm suggesting you just dive into my belly. I'm sure it will transport you to some parallel dimension. I guarantee you it's a shortcut to this party. And let me know if you find my action figure while you're there."

"But we have zero experience climbing into bellies," Hank argued.

"We should suit up," Melvin said.

It was wise to suit up before entering the belly of a bear and Melvin knew that better than anyone. That's why he came prepared with his bear belly diving kit in his trusty suitcase. He laid his suitcase out and entered the three digit security code and gently opened it. A gleam of light shone from it as it opened up.

"I bet there's a shit ton of magic in there," Hank said.

Melvin winked at him with two eyes and prepared to get down to business. It was his middle name. Melvin Business. But whatever you do don't call him Mel B. That will upset him and when Melvin gets upset he has no problem putting spiders underneath your covers before you go to bed. He knows you don't sleep with socks on.

"Here take this and rub it all over your bodies," Melvin said as he handed the group a bottle of some strange lubricant. It was just another day at the office for Melvin. An office that's involved with helping people enter a bear's belly. Hank and Kevin looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders. They assumed they didn't have much to lose, and before long they had helped cover each other in the nondescript greasy solution.

"Well, I guess that should do it for now. Is everyone lubed up and ready to go?" Taking a quick look around Melvin noticed they were dripping in the liquid he handed them, and then began applying it to himself.

"Open up," he said to the bear.

The bear opened his mouth as wide as it could go. Kevin and Hank looked at each other in confusion not sure who would go first.

"Come on. Who's going down first?" Melvin asked.

Hank pushed Kevin in front of him toward the bear.

"Great. Don't be afraid. It's just like diving into the belly of any other creature," Melvin reassured him. He tied a long rope around Kevin's waist and handed him a flashlight. He knelt down and clasped his hands together, "Come on, I'll give you a lift." Melvin hoisted Kevin up and into the bear's mouth.

"I don't think I can fit," Kevin said.

"It's always like that at first. Just keep going. It's bigger than it looks," Melvin said.

Kevin continued to wiggle his way in, and before he knew it he was fully inside of the bear's mouth. Hank stood there hesitating as it was his time to enter the bear's mouth. Wishful thinking had him believing Kevin wouldn't make it inside. Those hopes were now erased, and a cold breeze began to blow throughout the cemetery. The hair stood up on his arms followed by goose bumps. He recalled the one superpower he had since childhood. Being the hero that he convinced himself he was, he figured it would be a welcome tool in his virtually empty arsenal. Now seemed as good a time as any to unveil it. "Melvin, you gotta see this."

Melvin was down on one knee testing the flashlight he was getting ready to hand Hank. As Hank approached him, Melvin impatiently asked, "What is it?"

"Watch my goose bumps. Keep an eye on them," Hank said. As Melvin stared at Hank's goose bumps, he watched as they slowly faded away. "Is that it?" Melvin asked unenthusiastically.

Hank shook his head and threw his arms up. "It's a superpower. Some of us are just born that way buddy."

Melvin grabbed Hank by the collar, handed him a flashlight and tied a rope around his waist. Hank wondered how Melvin became such an expert at diving into bear bellies. The two knew each other very well, and never did Melvin make it known that he had acquired such skills. Was this really the same Melvin he knew since second grade? Hank wondered if an impostor had taken over Melvin's body, and was setting them up for some type of trap. If it was an impostor, then Kevin was surely in danger and would need help.

"Time to feed the monster!" Melvin shouted in Hank's face. He helped hoist Hank up into the bear's wide open mouth while tightly holding the other end of the rope.

The amount of room inside the bear was much greater than Hank had anticipated. The dimensions certainly didn't make any logical sense. The inside was clearly much larger by far than the outside. He thought how this could be possible as nearly the whole interior almost seemed to grow the further he descended. He began to wonder just how long the rope was that Melvin tied around his waist. Shining his light as he rappelled down, Hank saw some sort of artwork engraved in the wall. There were many drawings of human bodies with animal heads. Some with the head of a bull or a ram. They all appeared in a consecutive order and as Hank quickly turned his flashlight on and off they seemed to come to life. There was a movement to them as if running or flying. Some sort of animation. Hank could hear water dripping below him and assumed he was finally approaching the bottom.

"Come on guys, hurry up!" Kevin yelled as he got sight of Hank making his way down. Kevin was kneeling down next to a body of crystal clear water. He was cupping the water in his hand and letting it drip out back into the pool it came from. He thought it had a unique smell to it that reminded him of sacred healing waters. It had a certain freshness to it; a type of purity. He wanted to lose his soul to this water and become whole again. To Kevin the body of water before him represented infinity. And he felt as if his whole life had led him to this moment to stand before this enchanting lake, and worship the goddess inhabiting it for the opportunity to become united once again with the universe. His heart filled with overwhelming joy, and a tear ran down the side of his cheek. In the distance, he could hear running water. There was no doubt in his mind that it was a majestic waterfall, and he was about to go find it. He followed the water's edge a few hundred feet, and saw Hank standing there peeing into the lake tarnishing the sacred waters.

Kevin ran toward him pleading him to stop. "What are you doing? You're destroying everything! These are magical waters!"

Hank shook off, zippered his pants and said, "Well, now they are."

Kevin stared in disgust at Hank. His face slowly turned to sadness as he looked into the lake and said, "It probably wasn't too much pee. It should still be OK."

As Kevin was deciding on the fate of the lake, Melvin ran over to where the two were standing. "Oh my god! You wouldn't believe how desperately I have to pee!" Melvin unzipped his pants and relieved himself into the holiest of lakes. Kevin cringed and was hoping any second for Melvin to stop, but the urine continued to flow. It was such a long pee Melvin closed his eyes. He knew that it was going to be so long that he had time to take a nap. Kevin just shook his head in disbelief as he stared into the water listening to Melvin's pee make horrible music in the background. In Kevin's mind, every drop of Melvin's urine that made contact with the water was like a tiny missile from outer space landing without warning on a utopian planet made of sparkles and unicorn hearts. It would be futile to stop him as the damage had already been done. Admitting defeat, Kevin approached the water, unzipped his pants, and began the process of relieving his bladder. He felt a sense of betrayal to his lovely lake, but in a way he also felt as if he were reclaiming what he felt was his to begin with.

As they continued to walk along the path by the water, Hank began taunting Kevin, "Dude, I can't believe what you did to that water. Look at it. It's not even clear anymore, man."

"What kind of savage are you?" Melvin said.

"I bet those were super sacred waters and you just pissed all inside them," Hank said.

"Probably some god put that lake there and not for you to take a leak in either," said Melvin.

Kevin didn't like being verbally attacked with words. He was hurting on the inside. There was devastation done. First to the lake and then to his heart. And now to his ears. He thought of so many words that he could use to assemble an army against them. He began recruiting them in his mind and training them. At first they were weak, but they all showed potential as future soldiers. He shaved their heads, and welcomed them to boot camp with extreme physical challenges and mental training. They slept with their weapons, and painted quotes on their helmets as they trained for war. Slowly they became a team. The many molded into one and created one unstoppable formidable foe, hell-bent on destruction. The word, 'mercy' did not exist in its language anymore. It couldn't define it if its life depending on it. If a sixth grade spelling bee trophy depending on its spelling, then this monster would be going home empty-handed. The time had come for Kevin to unleash this highly trained army of words, "You guys can all lick my nards. Hangman style."

"This is how I'm going to react to that," Melvin said as he continued walking down the path. His reaction was slow like a time bomb that forgot how to explode. He stared at his hands for advice, and they told him to slap Kevin. Although he didn't slap him, there was a version of him in some parallel universe that did slap him. And it felt good.

"Hey, guys I think I see something," Kevin said.

A seahorse was swimming to the shore of the lake with a bottle strapped to its back. This horse of the sea looked a few hundred years old in seahorse years. His skin was folded, like a paper fortune-teller, layer upon layer. His whiskers had once been made of gold, and many in the land tried to assassinate him for this precious metal that grew from his face. But they failed. Oh did they fail. Not a one succeeded. Every single person who tried to end the seahorse's life had no follow through. It was as if they were all high school dropouts. The seahorse himself had dropped out of high school to pursue work with his father's delivery service. It wasn't what he always wanted to do, but he didn't exactly know what he wanted to do. He just knew that he needed his freedom to elevate his mind in what he considered the "real world". The "real world" was always full of surprises. He came across many items that didn't belong in this "real world". His job allowed him to see these rare artifacts that came from another world, and return them to the shore. On this particular day, the artifact discovered was a glass bottle that the seahorse carried to shore.

"It looks like there's paper or something in here," said Kevin as he picked up the bottle. He shook it a few times trying to get the paper loose before finally smashing it over his skull. The rescue mission was a success. Kevin wondered what ancient message would be encoded on the paper as he unraveled it.

"I bet it's a message from someone begging for help," Melvin said.

"I bet it's a treasure map that leads to someone begging for help," Hank guessed.

Kevin finished unraveling it and looked a bit unenthusiastic about the contents of the bottle. He shook his head not sure what to make of it.

"Well, what is it?" Hank asked.

"It's a chart on how to care for a newborn baby," Kevin said.

Melvin snatched the chart out of Kevin's hands and said, "Let me see that. Let me figure out how to take care of you."

"Just leave him in the toilet. We need to keep moving," Hank said.

Unfortunately, their feet felt as if they were preparing to fall off. Their beaten down feet had already said goodbye to their friends and loved ones and even picked out foot coffins. But oh well. Sometimes, in life, it's necessary to push the feet to their limits and beyond.

Hank had walked for ten minutes with his eyes shut before realizing it. It wasn't until someone called his name that he realized he couldn't see the person calling him. Hank was knee-deep in dreamland. This can't be real, he thought. Birds were flying through his head and landing in houses designed specifically for them. Hank thought about how exciting being a real estate agent for birdhouses would be. He envisioned the giant homes he would sell and the families that would inhabit them. He would work by word of mouth only and be the most successful birdhouse real estate agent ever. Certainly he would go down in history as being such an innovative thinker. The odds would be heavily stacked in his favor to give a commencement speech at an ivy league university. And he would do it dressed as a bird.

Hank had managed to pry open an eye, but struggled to push forward as fatigue was slowly diminishing his progress. Toward where or what he didn't know. His day so far had been long and strange. He remembered wanting to attend Sheila's party, but even now sleep was starting to look like the much more tempting vixen. He wouldn't give in. Couldn't. He was stronger than this, and he was going to prove it if it was the last thing he did.

"It's so cold," Hank said as his body got a complete makeover in the form of goose bumps. Why was his life so tired? No matter how many times he asked himself this question he never answered. Hank had become excellent at ignoring himself when he talked to himself. In the end, it was rather convenient or else the conversations would be endless. The hours and days spent on mindless drivel. He surely would have ended up in a mental facility; however, not every conversation was with himself or his friends. There was the time when he had a lengthy chit-chat with a spark. Just a simple spark from a cigarette and he talked to it for hours. They made a deep connection, but, unfortunately, lost it due to water.

Being as cold as he was, Hank was seriously contemplating getting a job at the flea market in the future. He would stand around with his shirt off in the cold weather, and charge people to watch him remove his goose bumps with nothing but his mind. He would use his superpowers to turn a profit, but he wasn't sure how other heroes may react to this. Perhaps they would just view it as desperation, or worst case scenario they would view it as not even being a real superpower. None of this mattered to Hank because he knew that people at flea markets tend to know little about real superpowers.

But in any case Hank still felt he had the ability to control things with his mind. Especially now as he was on the verge of sleep. The fabric of life seemed most loosely knit when he was this far beyond exhaustion. Objects appeared to bend and shake before his weary eyes as if someone or something behind the scenes changed the vibrational level of all matter in the material realm. If this were to happen to a common non-superhero person, that person would panic like a child who just lost its blanket. But not Hank. He was far too tired to have any kind of reaction at all. All he could do was acknowledge what was happening and, somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, believe that he was the one causing it to happen.

He was trying to recall what day of the week it was, and whether he could sleep in the next morning. He thought back to the days of his youth, and petting long-haired guinea pigs. He remembered the strange noises they made. He thought they were stupid. Hank wondered how long they had been down in the belly of the bear. Was this actually a shortcut to Sheila's party? Maybe this was an after death/before life station; a neutral zone before being thrown into the wakefulness of death or the sleepiness of life. At this point, it honestly didn't matter. Forward motion was all that _did_ matter. The journey, as they say, is what matters most.

### _Chapter 7_

_"The cave gods are coming! The end of days are near!"_ a voice cried. He was an old man with an old beard and an old face. His appearance seemed to tell the story of someone possibly lacking an actual home to reside in. One clue to suggest this was in the way he wore every article of clothing he owned at the same time. His face was beaten by life itself, and the beard that had sprung from this defeated lump of meat was completely unkempt and devastatingly disgusting. Like a true showman, he made himself utterly hard to ignore. They may not possess the talent to bang on drums, or choreograph dance routines like a human pretzel to their favorite music, but they still know how to entertain.

As they started walking by this man, trying not to stare directly at him, he reached out and grabbed a hold of Kevin. His old hands still seemed to have a young man's grip to them as they held on to Kevin's arm and pulled him toward the man's body. "This one's a healer!" he shouted as he held Kevin's face in his hands.

Melvin and Hank pulled Kevin away while simultaneously pushing the old man down to the ground. The same ground he had spent so many nights sleeping on. The same ground that spent all those nights breaking him, and any dreams he may have once had. The same ground that erased hope from his vocabulary. The same ground that had now accepted him with arms wide open. It had become, after all, his new home.

"I used to be just like you. A no good brainless rat with two overused feet," said the old man. They looked down and noticed that the man had not two, but three feet. He was so greedy with his limbs that another one was beginning to grow out of his left foot.

"I feel it slipping away," Hank said.

"I refuse to exist in this godforsaken nightmare another day," muttered the old man. He began to shake as did everything else around him. An extremely loud high-pitched screeching made its way through the atmosphere. It sounded as if someone kicked over the DJ booth in heaven. They covered their ears, and the old man stared at them and laughed. This was his entertainment for the evening. He was more than accustomed to all the things they feared most. Their deepest fears were his warmest companions. Every night he would snuggle up by the fire and read a long adventurous novel with their darkest fears.

The old man continued shaking back and forth, and all they could see were trails of where he was just a moment before. As the screeching continued it quickly began to get dark, but then suddenly a spotlight appeared on the old man. Still shaking faster, the spotlight turned into a strobe light slowing down the old man's motions to the naked eye. His face became more and more distorted as his skin stretched like melted swiss cheese. As it did, pieces of it started to become detached from his skull and fly in all directions. The skin on his neck loosened and began to do the same thing as did the skin on his arms and chest. Soon his whole decrepit body was shedding skin like a leper in Jesus' living room. His bones collapsed into a giant pile on the ground where he stood. The screeching noise gradually came to a halt, and the bones had appeared to soak up the blood that moments earlier circulated through the old man. Could this be what happened to the dinosaurs? Hank wondered. Did they suddenly meet their end in a similar and utterly unpredictable fashion?

"We didn't even get a chance to ask him for directions," Melvin said.

A gray apparition appeared above the bones of the old man and stood there like it owned the place. No one invited it to this party. It didn't even bring any dip or good dance music. Instead, it spoke in an ominous tone and transformed their current surroundings to the inside of a rather large teepee. The apparition slowly morphed into a Native American male. He immediately made his distaste known for the video game Golden Spike, claiming it's racist toward his people. They weren't sure how to address this claim, but apologized for it anyway somehow feeling they were to blame. They watched as he carefully gathered up the old man's bones, grounded them in a stone bowl, and filled a long smoking pipe with them.

The Native American didn't speak a word as he took a long drag from the pipe before handing it to Hank. Hank held it in his hands, waiting to see what the effects of smoking a homeless person would be on the Native American. Was he going to go mad? Was he going to become violent and try to attack them? The Native American hadn't exhaled yet, but his eyes were penetrating through the back of Hank's head, and telling him to hurry up and take a hit. Hank drew a small hit, but took heed of the Native American's glance and thought it wise to fill his lungs even further. He started to blow the smoke out, but the Native looked at him and shook his head in disapproval forcing him to hold it in. Melvin and Kevin joined in the ceremony both holding their hits in until given the signal to exhale. The smoke from each of their mouths turned to ashes forming a mysterious message on the ground. The message read, 'Recommend a friend and receive one free redemption. Contact the mouth redeemer today.'

"A god damn salesman. Are you kidding me," Melvin said.

The teepee faded away as did the Native American, and the old man's bones.

"That's why I don't stop and talk to homeless men. I don't know what it is, but now I have the sudden urge to play bingo," Kevin said.

Hank and Melvin agreed with this assessment, and wondered if it had anything to do with smoking the old man's bones. But the desire to compete in this game was so great they couldn't help but wish they were taking a short cut to a bingo hall rather than to a party with hot chicks. But maybe, just maybe, they would get lucky.

"Maybe they'll have an extreme bingo game going on when we get to this party," Hank said.

"I sure hope so. It better not be some lame party where all they do is drink alcohol and smoke weed," Melvin said.

"Yeah, for real. It will probably be one of those stupid parties where a bunch of girls, who spend all their time staying in shape, go around barely wearing any clothes and flashing their breasts to everyone," said Kevin in dismay.

"Gay!" Hank proclaimed.

"Listen, the only way I'm going to tolerate that kind of bullshit is if there's bingo," Melvin stated. He was laying down the law, and he expected people to obey it.

"All I know is Sheila better not let us down with this party, or I'm going to be pretty upset after what we're going through to get there," said Kevin.

"What happens if we get there and Sheila's been drinking a lot and starts farting?" Melvin asked.

"Have you ever even heard her fart before, Hank?" asked Kevin.

Hank touched his finger to his lips and focused his eyes upwards as if searching his brain for the memory. The slot machine began spinning in his mind, the first wheel stopped on Sheila, and the next wheel stopped on a fart. The final wheel slowing down came to a halt on Hank's ears. Jackpot! "Yeah, I actually did hear her fart before."

"Wow! That must have been pretty interesting hearing a noise come from her butt when it's supposed to sit there and be quiet and look snazzy. What did it sound like?" Kevin asked.

"It was like a flower giving birth to an angel. That's the only way I can explain it. In fact, I started to blog about it after it happened," Hank said.

"Wait. You blogged about Sheila farting?" Melvin asked.

Hank rolled his eyes, "It was called 'Fairy Farts: A Trip Inside an Enchanted Creature's Butthole' It got a few dozen hits. People are pretty open-minded. You'd be surprised. Well, except all the people who were truly close-minded. They didn't care much for my blog. They were mostly women who claimed to have never farted. They said it was impossible for females to do that because of the way their bodies bend, it supposedly restricts any significant amount of air from entering their butt region. One lady said she actually used to fart. The problem was she did it too much. She couldn't stop. She would wake up, and just fart all day until she passed out from the sheer exhaustion of farting. She decided it was no way to live her life, and had undergone a special surgery so she would never have to fart again. She hasn't farted since."

Melvin crouched down on his knees with his head in his hands weeping. A small stream started forming around him as tears shot out from his stupid cryballs. The sadness filled the air and sad-faced clowns repelled from the ceiling on the backs of disfigured miniature ponies covered in blood. There was a bowl of sugar with a king ant sitting down holding the bowl with its two large ant hands. He picked it up and smelled it before setting it back down on the table where he licked his finger and stuck it in the bowl. He licked the sugar off his finger and made a face which showed his satisfaction for the sweet white stuff. Then he dumped the bowl out on the table and called one of the clowns over. The clown slowly trotted over on his horribly disfigured miniature pony. The ant pounded his fist down with fierce ferociousness onto the table, and grabbed the clown by his sad pathetic face and made a statement about assholes growing on trees. He pulled on the clown's ear until it loosened up, and then with a quick yank removed it from its precious home. The ant poured some gasoline on the open wound and set the clown on his way.

Using his newly acquired sad clown ear (a rare commodity even on the ant market) he began cutting up his sugar into individual lines. The ant let out a big, hearty laugh and then began snorting up the lines of sugar laid out on the table. When he finished inhaling the sweet life before him, he tossed the severed clown ear on the floor for the miniature pony to gnaw on. The pony walked over to it and sniffed it before picking it up in its mouth. The clown tried to coax the pony into giving it back to him, but the pony had other plans. It started digging a hole and looked at the clown and then back to the hole. It took another gaze at the clown, and this time winked at him as if it to say, "Your days of getting pussy on the dance floor are over."

Then the pony dropped the ear into the hole, and filled the hole back up with sand and dead mice from a nearby mice killing factory. As the clown ran toward the pony to stop the madness, the pony stood up on two legs and head-butted him in the face. The clown bent down holding his concave face in his hands as Melvin stood up sniffling from shedding too many tears and said, "I bet that bitch still farts first thing in the morning."

"That's impossible," Hank said.

"The apocalypse is right around the corner, and this broad ain't farting first thing in the morning? Get the fuck out of here," Melvin replied.

"You guys are behaving so badly right now," Kevin said as he was running around lighting cherry bombs, and sticking them in mailboxes in the shape of different enlightened figures throughout history.

"Should we stop him?" Melvin asked Hank.

"Seeing what we've seen so far, I'm starting to think it might not be a bad idea to let him finish whatever he's doing," Hank said as Buddha's belly exploded in the background.

"Hey guys come check this out!" Kevin yelled. He was running, trying to catch up to them when he tripped on a hard metal object in the ground. It was a two foot wide circular object resembling a lid with bars crisscrossing along the top.

"Congratulations you found the sewer," Hank said with zero amount of enthusiasm.

Kevin brushed the debris off the top of it and read the label, 'Not the sewer.' He looked up at Hank and Hank just shrugged his shoulders. What could it be, if not the sewer?

"I bet it's a grave," Melvin said.

Kevin tried prying the lid open and said, "Typically people fill graves and don't treat them like mason jars by simply placing a lid on top of them." Kevin began to turn the lid, and it turned halfway before coming to an abrupt stop. After many failed attempts at kicking it loose, Kevin outlined the circumference of the metal object with left over cherry bombs. They plugged their ears with their fingers and waited. The explosion turned the lid the rest of the way, and as they reached down to lift it up, it became red-hot and disintegrated.

They all stared at each other, unsure of what the next smart move was. Intelligence wasn't one of their stronger attributes. Their logic up until now seemed flawed, but perhaps the tide was turning. Maybe now was when they would step up their game, and make some wise decisions to lead them closer to their goal. Whatever that may have been. They weren't even sure of what their goal was anymore or even if they ever had one.

Hank remembered having a goal once when he was in fourth grade. His goal was to eat his sandwich at lunch without the cheese, and dispose of said cheese without the lunch aid noticing. She was such a stickler for nutrition, and making sure the kids ate every last bite of their lunches regardless of how much disdain they had for them. Hank had been successful at removing the cheese, and enjoyed every bite of his cheeseless sandwich. Then in ecstasy from his lunch, he absent-mindedly walked up to the trash can and emptied the contents of his tray. These contents consisted of several slices of cheese removed from the sandwich by Hank. A tiny radar on the lunch aid's head went off and sent a message to her brain informing her of the current situation. The lunch aid removed the cheese from the trash can and made Hank eat it. And then he threw up. After that, he made it a goal never to set goals.

As Hank started walking toward the entrance of this mysterious hole in the ground, Melvin stuck his foot out and tripped him. Hank tumbled and watched the world, and Melvin's smile spin and turn upside down. He had flashbacks of being kicked out of the Easy Glide again and he wasn't happy about it. He made everyone aware of his unhappiness by stating, "I'm not happy about this."

"Hank's never happy," Kevin said staring down into the dark hole.

Melvin sat down on the ground and began tightening his shoelaces, "Yeah I know. He's always saying things like, 'I bet if I were an aardvark I'd be happy. God didn't intend for me to exist as some unhappy scallop trapped inside a human body.'

Kevin was pacing back and forth next to the hole and scratching his head. "Sometimes it's just really hard being friends with someone who wants to say words in that order. I feel like he has poor organizational skills, at best, when it comes to words from the English language. But perhaps I'm just projecting my own insecurities onto him," he said.

"I couldn't agree more with whatever you just said. I have no clue what you said, but I do agree with it, and I won't tell you why," Melvin said. He stretched his tired legs out and laid back with his hands folded behind his head.

"We should probably stop being friends with Hank now since he fell down that hole and got all angry and sore about it. Agree?" Kevin suggested using his highly organized words.

"Let's just tell him, 'Listen Hank you were our friend once, but now you're all into being angry about things. Things that we can't always control. We should be the angry ones. You told us you were a huge fishing fan, and we've never seen you handle your rod once. And really we don't think that's too cool. Unfortunately, that just means we can't be pals anymore,'" Kevin said.

"I mean I was only friends with him originally because I thought his mom was hot. But she's been getting fat now anyway. So who cares," said Melvin.

"Remember when she was really hot, back when she got tonsillitis? They had to cut those things out of her mouth and she couldn't eat, so she got real skinny?"

"Remember it? I caused it. I went to the library and located an extremely hard to find magazine. In the back of the magazine, there was an order form to send away for an infection package. I mailed in my money for the tonsillitis infection, and waited four to forever weeks until it finally showed up on my doorstep. I went over Hank's house that day, and knowing that his mom was going to smell my nape as soon as I walked in the door, I made sure to apply the powdered tonsillitis where her nose couldn't hide from it. And before you can say, 'Girl whatchu sniffin' her face was already covered in tonsillitis. And I did that because I knew it would eventually lead to a wonderful weight loss," Melvin said.

It was just a matter of time before this unique way of losing weight became known as another fad diet. So called experts jumped at the opportunity to publish books on the benefits of the tonsillitis diet. Losing weight by losing extra parts. It didn't take long at all before those who were desperate to lose any ounce of weight would have their appendixes removed along with any other obsolete items. Marketing campaigns wasted no time in taking advantage of this, as the most popular diet book was titled, 'If You Aren't Using It Then It's Just Weighing You Down.' A whole nationwide trend was inadvertently started by Melvin, but he never would get credit for it. A simple thank you would have sufficed.

But knowing he was personally responsible for turning Hank's mother into a gorgeous thin specimen? Well, that was a comforting thought that soothed him to sleep on those troubled restless nights. And on those nights he slept with a smile. A smile that concealed a secret. A secret that was his and his alone.

### _Chapter 8_

_Hank stood at the bottom of the pit_ he just fell into and brushed himself off. Cursing at the conditions of his current situation, a chaotic scene had begun to form around him. Giant balls of lint were closing in on him. The kind of lint that causes problems not just in your personal life but everywhere. It was apparent they were up to no good. When was the last time anyone had encountered a giant ball of lint that was up to any good? This simply didn't occur. And here they were a whole gang of them heading for Hank. They were drinking milkshakes and pretending to smoke cigarettes. They were too cool for their own good.

"You guys care to join me down here sometime today?" Hank yelled up to Melvin and Kevin. He was becoming a little anxious from the surrounding lint balls, and blood slowly started dripping from his left nostril. There was no time for Hank to tame a bloody nose at this moment. There was only time to panic, and try to conceive of a plan to prevent being attacked by giant balls of lint rapidly encroaching his surroundings.

"I hope you guys brought some shakes for me." Hank said to the lint balls.

It was uncertain as to whether or not they actually did bring an extra milkshake for Hank since one of them was double fisting. Certainly someone taught this lint ball how to share at some point in its life, right? Hank doubted it. It was turning into a pessimistic moment for him, and he felt kind of somber about that.

"Get your own, sucker," replied one of the lint balls wearing a cowboy hat.

Hank shrugged his shoulders completely unsure of where to obtain his own milkshake in this bizarre short cut world that he wasn't even sure existed at all. But he figured he didn't have much to lose and asked, "Well, where can I get one?"

The giant lint ball took a long drag off its imaginary cigarette, and tipped its cowboy hat as it approached Hank with a limp. It stood in front of Hank eyeing him up and down, smelling him for fear. The rest of the lint balls closed in around Hank and waited for their cue. Hank began sweating heavily through his blood stained shirt. Mentally he was preparing himself for the worst. He feared these lint balls might be seeking revenge as a result of a horrible joke he had once told. He thought back to the spring of his freshman year in high school.

Hank had gotten the idea to try his hands at the complicated art form of stand up comedy. Hank's first open mic was a small coffee shop in a town where even the garbage men were stuck-up. He walked in there full of confidence, and fresh brilliant original material. At least so he assumed. Hank ordered an expensive coffee, and sat down in the front row and waited. After little anticipation, the house band took the stage and played a song about trees and ozone layers. When the song ended, they spoke to the audience as though they were very deep and had lives full of meaning and purpose. Hank wanted to vomit, but his coffee was well overpriced. They introduced Hank to the stage, and he walked up with several steps of false confidence. He grabbed the microphone and said, "I met this guy who's a personal trainer, and he keeps telling me that he can get me washboard abs. But I'm not sure if I want washboard abs...especially if it's just gonna lead to more belly button lint."

"Not funny!" an audience member yelled out.

"My mother's a lint ball!" hollered another.

The crowd began throwing soy beans at Hank and chanting, "Stop the hate! Stop the hate!"

Hank leaned into the microphone and said, "But I didn't even get to my joke about dissecting a frog with a cinderblock yet." A soybean pelted Hank in the throat, and he ducked for cover. Crawling behind stage, he located a rear exit and managed to escape unharmed.

Inside, the crowd had located Hank's coffee and were emptying it into an energy-efficient toilet. They filled the empty cup with their own belly button lint, and threw it at Hank's car window as he drove away.

The giant ball of lint removed its cowboy hat and put its face up to Hank's. It took a drag from its imaginary cigarette, and pretended to put it out in the palm of its hand.

"Do you want to die?" asked the ball of lint.

"Excuse me?" Hank replied with sweat pouring down his brow and blood still dripping from his left nostril.

"I said do you want to die?" repeated the ball of lint.

Panicking, Hank said, "No! No! What do you mean do I want to die?"

"I mean do you want to die? Would you like to experience death," continued the giant ball of lint "by chocolate?"

Hank was so confused he didn't know if it was a joke or if he was really about to die. He started to open his mouth and begin muttering something resembling human speech, but then the giant ball of lint cut in and said, "Well, come on let's go get you a milkshake." It put its lint ball arm around Hank, and the rest of the lint balls surrounded them and began laughing.

These guys are pretty funny, Hank thought. Hank and the giant ball of lint walked arm in arm as the rest of the lint balls followed behind them exchanging stories and laughing.

"So I guess we should head down this hole now and see what happened to Hank, huh?" Kevin asked Melvin.

Melvin stood up and looked down the hole hoping that Hank would magically pop up so he could avoid descending into another mysterious abyss. "Maybe we should just wait here for him," Melvin said.

"Yeah that might not be a bad idea. In case he comes back looking for us, we should probably be around. You know how easily upset he gets," Kevin said.

"We'll just wait five more minutes for him, and if he's not back then we'll go in. I think that sounds like a plan of some sort."

Kevin, staring down into the hole agreed, "Yeah, what could possibly happen in five minutes?"

### _Chapter 9_

_The lint ball in the cowboy hat went by the name of Harold._ Harold was leading Hank and the others down a long, winding trail that led to his humble cottage where his wife and young daughter awaited him. A sudden arrangement of flowers demanded the attention of Hank's eyes. Separating himself from the group of lint balls, he bent down to admire the beauty of these flowers up close. The flowers smiled at him and whispered something about what a handsome man he was. He began blushing and tried to ignore them, but they couldn't stop tempting him with their flowerish ways.

"Come here," suggested one of the flowers. Hank bent down and placed his ear closer to the flower's mouth. "Do you think I'm sexy?" whispered the flower.

Hank had never thought much of flowers being sexy before. He hadn't thought much of flowers in general. But this particular flower seemed to change all that. Probably because she showed an interest in Hank. It may have also been the natural beauty she exuded, or how she didn't really seem to try. Perhaps the real attraction was the way she grew toward the sun like an obedient slave. But, most likely, it was just because she showed an interest in Hank.

He imagined her dressed as a school girl wearing a tight mini skirt. Eyeing her up and down he wondered if the roots matched the petals. Then he realized how ridiculous he was being. It was hard to imagine how far he'd let himself go into this fantasy. Insanity is where he knew he was heading. Even a lunatic doesn't care if the roots match the petals. But Hank wasn't a lunatic, his insanity wasn't due to the fullness of the moon.

"Yes, I do think you are...sexy," replied Hank. The flower began stretching out toward Hank and continued past him toward the clouds. As it stretched, it took on the appearance of a muscular, bipedal creature wearing a detestable countenance.

The creature, which had been a flower a moment ago, looked down on Hank and began laughing at him, "You're so pathetic. You thought a flower was sexy. Loser!" The big bully of a creature shoved Hank and sent him flying to the ground.

Harold turned back to see the brawny creature standing over Hank. Harold yelled out to his fellow lint balls, "The lint brushes are attacking! The lint brushes are ATTACKING!"

Soon the entire field of sexy flowers quickly transformed into these massive goons. With great joy, they began kicking balls of lint until they were just nothing more than tiny balls of lint. "It's time for your free grooming!" one yelled as he kicked a ball to pieces.

Hank stood with his fists clenched by his side ready for battle and said, "You just messed with the wrong ball of lint."

The lint brush looked at Hank and said, "OK." It took one look at Harold's wife and punched her square in her colorfully disgusting nose. As she collapsed to the ground, the lint brush scooped up her baby and ran off with her.

Harold's wife laid on the ground weeping as she watched her only daughter, Isabella, be kidnapped by the nasty lint brushes. Isabella was enjoying a wonderful existence as a strong young healthy lint ball until now. Now she was being dragged away by some evil lint brush and probably shoved in a medicine cabinet somewhere.

"This would have never happened if you weren't so pathetic and turned on by a stupid flower!" Harold's wife yelled at Hank as he attempted to console them.

"Now. Now. It's not his fault dear. He's just a teenager with all types of hormones. Besides did you see that flower? It really was kind of sexy in some bizarre way," Harold replied. His wife smacked him in his face, and pulled on his back hair until he screamed.

"Get out of here! Both of you! Go find my daughter! What's the matter with you!" she scolded. She was not happy about her tiny, little lint ball of a daughter being abducted by huge muscle flexing lint brushes. The clock was ticking, and now all hope laid with Hank and Harold.

Harold welcomed Hank into his little cottage, and offered him a drink as they entered the kitchen. "Are you in the mood to put wet liquids in your mouth right now?" asked Harold.

"I'm pretty certain I am," replied Hank.

Harold poured Hank a drink full of courage and gunpowder and set it on the table. "These lint brushes at one time were just folklore. A story told around campfires to scare kids at night." Harold paced back and forth across the kitchen floor. "But as you've witnessed they undoubtedly exist outside of the realm of folklore," he said.

"I'm not sure I'm familiar with the story," Hank said sipping his drink.

"The story goes that they prey on baby lint balls, kidnapping them for their king. One in a thousand baby lint balls possesses the unique ability to swallow swords. The lint brushes abduct them at random until they locate the one capable of sword swallowing." Harold leaned against the counter, thinking about Isabella as the knife in his heart dug deeper. "According to the story, the king is an insomniac who hasn't slept since he was a child. His parents found that the only thing that would soothe him to sleep were baby lint balls swallowing swords. Eventually, though, they would grow and lose their special gift for swallowing deadly weapons. When that happened the king's parents would attempt to force the swords down the lint ball's throats. Unable to swallow anymore, the lint balls inevitably would be impaled.

"But, one lint ball came along and changed all that. Just a few seconds of bravery was all it took for that lint ball to turn the sword on the king's parents, decapitating them in his presence. From that night on the king never slept. And so," Harold said, "the king's search for his sleep aid continues."

"That's a strange story," Hank said.

"There are no normal stories when it comes to folklore."

"Do you believe it?"

"I don't know what to believe anymore."

"So, how do we find them?" Hank asked.

Harold shook his head with uncertainty. He could feel a memory running up the stairs of his memory basement huffing and puffing, out of breath. "Negluham. That's the land they're from. And I think I know how to get there," he said.

Harold leaned back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath preparing his mind to bring those memories back.

It was a cold, windy night and Harold was having sweet dreams of flying on the backs of butterflies. He awoke when a strong breeze came through his window and sent chills throughout his bedroom. He shot up in a hurry and tried pushing down on the window to shut it. But it wouldn't budge. "Come on," he said to himself, "just shut already." Putting as much of his weight as he could on top of it the window still refused to budge. Harold stood there shivering contemplating a new strategy when he heard something in between the chattering of his teeth. When he forced them to stop clicking he could hear people speaking. He listened carefully but was unable to identify who the voices belonged to. There were two distinct voices in the conversation, but their location remained a mystery. His eyes set out to solve this mystery as they worked to penetrate through the darkness covering his backyard.

That's when he saw it. Hiding beneath the trees that lined the border of the property was a large rock vibrating back and forth. As Harold examined the trees, he noticed a bird sitting on a branch several feet above the vibrating rock. He began to suspect that the bird and the rock were the sources of the conservation he was hearing. Harold looked around the rest of his yard searching for a better explanation, but the yard did not offer one. There were no other explanations, however, he still remained unconvinced. But the voices continued, and the bird and the rock carried on as if in a normal conversation.

When the bird hopped down from the tree, the rock began rolling toward the front yard. Harold watched as the rock rolled into the driveway with the bird hovering slowly above it. When he could no longer see them, he rushed over to the other window to regain his view only to find the rock and the bird continuing down the driveway. Are you kidding me? Harold thought.

He watched them continue onto the street with no intention of slowing down. Harold wasted no time slipping on his moccasins and bath robe. He sprinted down the stairs, unlocked the front door and dashed into the street. He stared out into the darkness, the only person seemingly awake at such an hour, and spotted the rock and the bird still making their way down the lonely moonlit road. They were becoming harder to see, so he cautiously tried to catch up to them. He checked his surroundings making sure no one was looking out their windows as he surely would have appeared suspicious.

Harold continued following them down the street tiptoeing from tree to tree like a character in an old-timey spy film. He lost sight of them after retreating behind a tree for a moment too long. Panicking, he quickly rushed ahead so as not to lose them and slowed down as he approached an alleyway. He turned down the alley and immediately spotted the rock and the bird. But they were slowing their pace significantly. Harold wisely withdrew to the street corner where he peeked around a fence down the alley. He watched them come to a stop, and wondered why they were attracted to this particular alleyway.

Harold looked on as the bird, standing now on the ground, began sprouting the legs and arms of a monster. Its chest stretched out to magnificent proportions, and its head morphed into the head of a grotesque lint brush. The bird's entire body had morphed into a muscular, living breathing lint brush with hideous facial features. Harold, horrified by what he was witnessing and knowing he should turn and run, couldn't peel his eyes away. He was holding his breath in anticipation; even if given access to a thousand fortune cookies he wouldn't have been able to predict what was about to happen next.

Harold stared at the rock vibrating back and forth as it began to pop and bounce around the alleyway. It made a great racket banging and clanging into dumpsters and dead bodies. It began to leave a trail of sparks in the alley as it broke apart sending debris flying. Every time a piece of the rock broke off there appeared something else in its place. Without warning the alleyway transformed into complete darkness as if someone pulled a shade over the moon. Harold's eyes grew large, and his mouth agape at witnessing the rock generate a luminous spark that left behind a translucent glowing ball of white light with a figure standing inside.

Harold looked around to see if the neighborhood awoke from the events that had just transpired, but everyone still appeared sound asleep in dreamland. As he shifted his attention back down the alley, the ball of light was beginning to dim, and the shade on the moon had lifted. It was as if some sort of balance were in the process of being restored to the universe.

When the glowing ball of light disappeared, in its place was an old homeless man who appeared weathered and beaten down. What just happened? Harold began to wonder.

The homeless man and the lint brush were speaking to each other, but Harold was too far away to hear what they were saying. But now his curiosity was getting the best of him, and he just had to find out what they were saying to each other. He gingerly stepped around the corner into the alley and put his back to the fence as he crouched down low.

They continued talking to each other while still remaining inaudible to Harold. He began to get anxious and started approaching them at a more rapid pace. His eager nature along with the abandonment of his cautious steps caused him to kick a trash bag full of glass bottles. Frozen in time, Harold felt stuck and didn't know what to do. Something, perhaps fear, made Harold run and hide in between the dumpster and the fence. But, unfortunately, his accidental bottle kicking didn't go unnoticed by the two hideous creatures in the alleyway. Harold was able to keep one eye on them from behind the dumpster. He was afraid to look, but something was drawing him to investigate.

The large, muscular lint brush began opening its mouth as eyes started bulging out of its head. Its mouth grew wider and wider until the bottom hit the ground. It was the largest mouth Harold had ever seen and certainly the most disgusting. He could smell the awful odors emanating from it, even through the large amount of trash filling the dumpster directly under his nose. The old homeless person looked behind him to see if anyone was watching, and then started walking into the lint brush's mouth. He struggled to fit all the way in, but finally seemed to have made it all the way inside its mouth. The lint brush slowly began closing its mouth. It was a delicate process, and Harold was unsure of whom the lint brush was trying to avoid injuring. The lint brush started stomping its foot on the ground repeatedly. Each stomp growing harder and louder. Harold thought it was in some sort of pain and contemplated helping before realizing it would most likely not be a good idea with him being a lint ball and this creature being a muscular lint brush. Reason had won this time. The lint brush finally closed its monstrous mouth and stood for a moment gazing up at the night sky. It started vibrating at a rapid pace back and forth.

Harold watched in confusion wondering what he was about to witness next. It continued its vibrational pattern, but it had grown more intense and was leaving trails for anyone to view. Harold being the only observer watched trails of the lint brush stretch out across the alley in all directions as the intensity at which it vibrated continued to grow. It appeared to be everywhere as if in a million places at once. Harold grew more and more worried about being caught now that this creature was everywhere at once and yet nowhere at all. And then suddenly just like someone turning off a television, it flashed out of existence. Gone.

Harold stood in complete silence holding his breath for what seemed an eternity. He slowly shifted his eyes up and then to his sides. He didn't see anything above him or in his peripherals. Not knowing where the creatures had disappeared to had made him afraid to move. He felt safe crushed between the dumpster and the fence. Here, he felt he was invisible and that leaving this spot would make him vulnerable. He thought of walking back home alone, scared, paranoid and tired. He wanted to sleep and return to his comfortable bed. But he was too scared to move. He knew even his home wouldn't feel safe right now, but something about his bed always made him feel secure.

He wondered who he could tell about what he had just witnessed. Would there be anyone who would believe him? Would they just think he's another crazy lint ball? After all most lint balls had gotten a bad reputation as being a little mentally unstable. Was there a strong basis for their reputation? Was Harold maybe becoming a bit mentally unstable himself and simply hallucinating everything he just saw? As he tried to recall the events that brought him here, he realized how quickly everything seemed to unfold. One second he was waking up, and the next he was standing here behind a dumpster in his bathrobe. Could he be sure he wasn't still laying in bed sleeping? Perhaps this is what they meant by lucid dreaming, he thought. Harold closed his eyes tightly and tried to wish himself awake. Nothing was happening, so he closed them more tightly. He tried with all his lint ball might to force himself awake. And then finally his eyes opened wide and he could feel the cold breeze once again blowing against his face. It was starting to get cold standing behind the dumpster. This was as awake as he was getting, and that harsh reality was slowly sinking in as he tried to gather up enough courage and strength to free himself from the dumpster's clutches and walk back to his cozy home.

You can do it he told himself. Just go out there and walk home as if nothing happened. Just don't even think about it. Not until morning. I just got to get home, get in bed and go back to sleep. In the morning, it will all seem like a bizarre dream. And then I'll forget all about it.

Harold slowly crept out from behind the dumpster and took extreme caution so as not to make any more noise. He stared at the end of the alley where his street was and used it to keep his focus. He felt bare and vulnerable no longer being protected by the filthy dumpster. He was rigid in his movements but soon loosened up, and began to relax not sensing the presence of any immediate danger. As he approached the end of the alley, he stopped to look back one last time. Would there be something there he wondered? But as Harold stared down the alley there was nothing there. No creatures, no rocks, no birds...nothing. Then Harold turned around. Standing there in his face was an old, weathered, beaten down homeless man. "Can you spare some change?" the man asked.

Harold couldn't believe what he was seeing. How could the old man he just saw in the alley who climbed into a creature's mouth and disappeared now reappear in front of him begging for change? It didn't make any sense. But Harold's heart was beating so fast he could barely feel it. It felt like it was just causing his entire body to vibrate from the speed at which it was beating. Every nightmare he ever experienced as a child that made him wake up in the middle of the night in cold sweats, and caused such fear that he couldn't even close his eyes again, was nothing compared to the fear of being face to face with this supposedly other worldly creature disguised as a human being.

Harold hastily made his way past the old man and, with one eye on him, began shuffling backwards down the street. The back of his foot caught an uneven part of the sidewalk and sent him down to the concrete. As he started to make his way up, he noticed he lost sight of the old man and stood for a moment trying to locate him in the horizon. Then panic set in. Realizing he would rather not encounter the old man again, Harold turned and ran as fast as he could back toward his house. His legs were heavy and were taking all his energy to lift them continually and propel them forward. He felt like it was going to take him all night to return home, and then finally he spotted the broken fence at the end of his yard. He ran across his yard, sprinted through the front door, slammed it shut and locked it behind him. The stairs welcomed his frenzied state, and remained as stable as ever as he ascended them to his bedroom. Harold shut his bedroom door and climbed into his bed pulling the sheets over him up to his head. Then, he felt a cold breeze blow across his face and remembered that the window was still open. Harold sprung out of bed and again tried to shut the window, but it apparently had not loosened up since his previous attempt. With much reluctance, he gave up and left it open and quickly returned to bed. Here he was in the one spot that had always provided security for him, but the open window left an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't like how those creatures were in his backyard and could possible return there tonight. He didn't like the idea that there may even be other creatures he was unaware of also in his yard. And he certainly didn't enjoy the idea that they may find their way into his home through this open window.

Harold would try to close his eyes only to open them again out of fear and paranoia. But eventually his exhaustion had forced his eyes shut. Harold laid asleep in dreamland as the cold breeze blew across his face sending chills up and down his sleepy spine.

He dreamt of being on a lightless highway in the middle of nowhere. There stood at least hundreds of beings in the highway all disappearing and reappearing. Flashing in and out of existence. He was simply an observer in the middle of all this. No one seemed to notice him standing there and watching. He stood there and watched as they all disappeared around him, vanishing into thin air.

Harold began floating above the highway. As he drifted higher and higher, he noticed a log cabin at the bottom of a hill down a path next to the highway. The cabin had a large fence around it, and multicolored lights were illuminating it from the interior. As smoke poured out of the chimney it spelled out a seemingly important message into the air: 'Come Visit Negluham'

"And then I woke up, only it didn't feel like I was dreaming. Did you ever have those dreams that feel so real that you know there's no way you could be dreaming? That's how it felt. I think this cabin may actually exist. We just need to find it," Harold said to Hank still sitting at the kitchen table.

"Well, I guess if we want to rescue your daughter we better go find it," Hank said.

"I couldn't agree more. There's a storm coming, so we better get moving," Harold suggested. They got into Harold's truck and drove to the highway from his dreams. He continued driving on it searching for a clue as to where in the road all the creatures began disappearing. A broken mile marker, skid marks, red paint streaked across the guardrail. This had been the spot from his dream. Harold slammed on the brakes, and they jumped out of the truck.

"Over here!" yelled Harold as he jumped over the guardrail and ran down a path. The sky was darkening, and rain was beginning to fall.

Hank followed Harold down the trail deep into the woods. The rain was coming down harder, and the path was becoming more difficult to see.

"How much farther?" Hank asked.

But Harold couldn't hear him over the loud pounding of the rain. They continued running down the path until Harold suddenly fell, and slid down the side of a hill. Hank soon followed behind him. The two landed next to each other at the bottom and stared at a log cabin surrounded by a large fence several hundred yards away.

"I think that's it," Harold said.

They ran over to the cabin searching around the perimeter for any signs of life. Nothing, except for a few squirrels. The place appeared empty as they made their way around to the front. They stood, soaking wet under the awning, at the front door preparing to knock. They gave each other one last glance hoping this was the right location. Harold knocked on the door and waited for a response. No one answered, so he knocked again but still there was no answer. They waited a moment and Hank said, "Come on let's go." Turning and taking a step away from the house the door suddenly swung open. Harold turned around and slowly began walking into the house with Hank right behind him.

As they entered the house the man standing behind the door holding it open welcomed them, "Come on in. There's all types of dryness in here." Harold faced the man as the door closed behind them, shook his hand, and thanked him for his hospitality. Hank looked up at the man and bewildered, scared and completely disoriented simply said, "Charlie?"

### _Chapter 10_

_"There's no way Bigfoot can take on a pack of lions_ in a fight to the death! You're crazy," Kevin said to Melvin. The two were trying to put off the task of going into the hole.

"You have no clue what you're talking about. Bigfoot has lion taming skills that he learned in Japan when he trained with the world-famous Assassin Plus Clan in the Ninja Death Camps. How you don't know that is beyond me. Obviously all he has to do is tame the lions real quick, and then knee them in the face till they die. The whole thing will probably only take about eight minutes. And that's including time for him to stop and cook minute rice," Melvin replied.

"There's no way. Lions aren't just going to let some hairy dope in the middle of the woods tame them. Lions have mind control, Bigfoot would never even get a chance to use his stupid Chinese skills."

"They're Japanese. And mind control doesn't work on Bigfoot. He read a Uri Gellar book about dismantling your opponents mind control abilities," said Melvin.

"How do you know Bigfoot is a boy anyway?"

"They found tracks in Switzerland. Giant tracks right next to his footprints. Big round tracks that drug from one set of footprints to the next. Scientists from around the world agreed that the tracks can only be made from the testicles of a Squatch," Melvin said.

"So you mean to tell me there's a giant apelike creature out there in the woods with giant feet dragging his balls along the countryside scaring the piss out of everyone?" asked Kevin.

"Basically."

"Lions would claw the shit out of those testicles. They would just pounce on them like a giant ball of yarn and start batting them around. They would play with them for a little bit before digging their claws in and ripping them open exposing millions of tiny Bigfoots or Bigfeet. It would be the saddest sight ever, and Bigfoot would be trying to gather up all his little minions in his disgusting hand palms. And while he's busy trying to scoop them all up the lions will attack his neck and rip his dumb hairy throat out," Kevin said.

"You're insane. Bigfoot doesn't give a shit about his little monsters living inside of him. He's so indifferent toward them he could give an iguana's shit what happens to them. He's just whatever about it. That's why he's cool. That's why chicks dig him cause he doesn't even care about his sack of minions and their potential of being future Bigfoots. You know what would happen if they clawed his testes open? He would watch all those wannabes pour out, and he would spit on them. He would spit on them while grabbing lions and biting their faces off. Then he would smoke a cigarette and look at porn. Because that's how Bigfoot rolls."

"I'm going to teach you something. Is that ok?" asked Kevin.

"I'm ready."

Kevin stared into Melvin's eye sockets and said, "I don't know if anyone's ever taught you this before, so I hope you're prepared." Kevin pointed to his face and said, "This face that you see right now. This face staring back at you. It means I don't give two dicks. I don't give one dick or two dicks. I don't give any amount of dicks. In particular, two."

Melvin pulled out a notepad and began taking notes using bullet points and italics where needed. "Do you have a highlighter I can borrow?" he asked.

"You're supposed to bring your own supplies! I can't believe you!" Kevin yelled as he tackled Melvin. He laid on top of him and started choking him with his choking hand.

"What are you...doing?" Melvin asked as he gasped for air from the atmosphere.

Kevin reached into Melvin's pocket and pulled out a giant turkey that had been spray painted blue, "What am I doing? What are you doing with a turkey in your pocket? Huh, Melvin? If that's your real name."

Melvin threw Kevin off him, and jumped on top of him and held him down. The blue turkey got into a kung fu stance, and started kicking Kevin in his leg repeatedly.

"Call the turkey off! Come on this is upsetting me! Make it stop, something naughty is happening!" Kevin yelled. The turkey continued to kick him in his leg and Kevin began screaming in agony. "Dammit! I'm growing a mustache! AHHHH!" Kevin's face sprouted a casual yet quite superb mustache that looked as if it belonged in a police department.

"This thing on your face. Is it real?" Melvin asked.

"What do you mean is it real? It's all I got. It's my soul in hair form. Of course it's real."

"Well, I think you need to shampoo your soul because that thing is nasty looking. It looks like someone sneezed in it a few dozen times, and tried to clean it with Noxzeema. You should be apologizing for that thing."

"Sorry we all can't be perfect like you," replied Kevin.

Melvin got off Kevin and sat on the ground hanging his head. He began crying as he stared down at the floor. "I'm not perfect. Melvin's not even my real name. My real name is Asteroid. It's the most imperfect name in the world. I told everyone my name was Melvin since I first learned to talk because...Melvin is an amazing name. A perfect name." The blue turkey walked over to Melvin and wiped his tears with its mohawk.

"It's all right man, I think Asteroid is a cool name," Kevin said.

"You really think so? I mean it's all planetary and shit. I feel like a walking arcade game, as though people should be shoving quarters in me all the time. I don't want people to shove quarters in me. I can't handle that. I thought I could, but when I was a kid I tried it out for a few days, and it just didn't feel right. My body is not meant for accepting quarters."

Kevin stood over Melvin and offered him his hand, "Touch it. Please. Touch it."

Melvin looked at the turkey, and the turkey gave him a nod suggesting it's OK to extend his hand. Melvin wiped the tears from his rotund eyes and put his hand out to Kevin's. Their hands grasped one another.

"An alliance has been made," Kevin stated.

"People could learn from us," said Melvin.

"We should have our own television show. The Middle East would be solved. No more problems. There or anywhere in the world. We're natural-born teachers. Roaming the desert teaching up the world."

"N.B.T. for life"

"For life," Kevin said as he pulled Melvin up off the ground.

They walked over to the hole and hovered over it once again. The dimensions hadn't changed. It was still the same intimidating hole that appeared miles deep and barely a few feet wide. It didn't seem anymore inviting than it previously did. It certainly wasn't sending out any vibes of wanting to hang out. They wished it would throw Hank up so they wouldn't have to allow the hole to swallow them. But the things one does for a friend. They could stall no longer. Surely the five minutes they had planned on waiting had elapsed, and now they knew they were running out of options. It was apparent Hank wasn't returning anytime soon, so they were going to have to go in after him.

"Where are my Bruce Lee shoes?" Melvin asked. The turkey pointed down to Melvin's feet. Melvin looked down and said, "Oh yes. I'm already wearing them." He walked over and sat down dangling his legs inside the hole. He lifted himself up and braced himself over the hole preparing to let himself drop down. "All right here I go."

"Wait! Hang on! Come check this out real quick!" Kevin hollered.

Melvin pulled himself out of the hole and walked over to Kevin. In the distance was a pink fur door with candles over the top of it melting wax onto the floor.

"Let's go check it out before we head down that hole," Kevin suggested. They walked over to it, and noticed the wax dripping from above the door.

"That wax is going to block the entrance at some point if those candles keep burning," Melvin said.

"Well then let's head in there," Kevin said as he grabbed the doorknob and began to turn it.

"Hold it," a man said who appeared next to the door. An apparent guardian. "Some ID please."

"Sure," Kevin said as he turned to face the man. Kevin lifted up his shirt and unzipped the flesh covering his heart and showed it to the man.

"Go ahead," the man said. "ID?" he asked Melvin.

Melvin put his head down and unbuttoned the top of his head exposing his brain to the guardian. A hologram popped out of his head that read, 'Asteroid'.

The man studied the hologram and said, "Weird. Go ahead. Have a safe journey and don't forget -" The man's face grew large and fiery red. He drew his shoulders back, closed his eyes and screamed in their faces.

"Run!" Melvin shouted.

Kevin and Melvin pushed the door open, and ran as fast as their legs would allow them. They were outside in someone's neighborhood. There were houses all over, and people were screaming in the background. They stopped at the house in front of them where people were running all over the place, drinking and partying. A man in a bear suit was jumping up on a young females back and pretending to gnaw on her head.

"Charlie?" Kevin and Melvin said in unison.

### _Chapter 11_

_"Charlie? What are you doing here?"_ Hank wondered as he stared at the man who just welcomed him into his home.

"You know this guy, Hank?" Harold asked.

"Of course I know him. This is my friend Charlie."

"Wait. I'm sorry. I think you have me mistaken for somebody else. I'm afraid I don't know who you are," replied the man.

"What do you mean? It's me Hank."

"I'm sorry," he said looking into Hank's helpless gaze.

If this man wasn't Charlie then who was he? Hank wondered. Had he never paid much attention to what Charlie really looked like? Hank came up with a fool-proof plan to find out if it actually was Charlie.

"What's your name?" asked Hank.

"Karolis the Younger," he replied as he extended his hand.

Hank shook his hand and said, "I'll just call you Charlie."

"You guys trying to recruit some cult members? What are you doing out this way?" asked Charlie aka Karolis the Younger.

"We were actually trying to find a way to Negluham. We just thought for some reason maybe you could help us," Harold responded.

They followed Charlie as he walked into the living room, "It's been awhile since anyone has come here asking to go to Negluham. It hasn't been much of a tourist attraction since the king and his lint brushes destroyed most of the land."

"But we aren't tourists," said Harold.

"Everyone is a tourist. Listen, I don't take people over there anymore. It's too risky. The landscape has changed too much. Just do me a favor and stay here. I turn away about half a dozen of you folks each year. It's over. Negluham is just a creepy nightmare land now. Its golden years are long gone. I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter how risky it is, we need you to show us how to get there. Please," Harold pleaded.

"You won't get far even if I do show you the way. The forest has grown immensely grotesque and terrifying. The majestic display of sparkling trees that once grew there has rotted down to the roots leaving a hideous ocean of horrific woodlands. Once one desires to navigate through the wasted woodlands they must prepare for an extremely perilous journey."

"We're prepared," Harold replied with much confidence.

"Wait. What are we?" Hank asked with a look of confused confusion.

"We're prepared. Aren't we? We're prepared to go rescue my baby Isabella. Come on did you forget?"

"Your baby's over there!" Charlie gasped in shock.

"Yeah," Hank explained. "It's kind of my fault. There was this flower, and she kind of made a pass at me. I had my shirt off so you can understand. One thing led to another, and she turned out to be a giant lint brush, and a total bitch really when it came down to it. She ran off with Harold's baby, and I decided it was best to end the relationship there."

"What a shame. I bet she would have looked amazing in a tight little mini skirt," Charlie said.

"I was thinking the same thing!"

"You guys!" Harold interrupted. "Missing baby. Giant lint brushes. Ring a bell?"

"Oh yes! You're right," Charlie said. "You know what? I like you guys. Let's go get this baby lint ball."

"What? What about all that stuff about horrific woodlands and the creepy nightmare land?" asked Harold.

"It's all true. It is pretty much like the grim reaper's toilet, but luckily for you guys I have a strange fascination for toilets."

"That's crazy, 'cause my head also has a strange fascination for toilets thanks to the varsity football team," Hank replied.

Harold simply shook his head and asked, "Now how do we get there?"

Charlie began closing the curtains and said, "Well, there's this portal."

Hank was admiring a piece of art on the wall and, noticing it was a little crooked, he tried to adjust it and straighten it out. As he tried to do so, it accidentally fell to the ground. Behind the picture on the wall was a black cloth lying against the wall. Hank reached toward it and pushed it aside exposing a hole in the wall. He reached his hand inside the hole and began feeling around. He could feel the plaster of the wall, and some old rusty nails that must have gotten lost in there. He felt something licking his hand, and he started to pull his hand out, but it was getting caught on something. It was as if a thick brush of sticks grew underneath his arm since it entered this hole.

A heavy, hot breath descended on his hand and sent waves of fear and panic through Hank's body like a balloon person encountering a cactus. He tried to feel around for something to grab on to and push-off of, but, instead, his hand brushed into a scaly object that was dripping a thick, slimy liquid on his hand. His bones had the sudden desire to leap out of his skin and find a body that wasn't being subjected to odd caresses from unknown creatures in a wall.

I need to get out of this wall, he thought. The situation was begging for him to take control. In order to obtain a better understanding of the contents of the hole, Hank peered inside to see two wide eyes glowing in the darkness. A third eye lit up and appeared shocked to see him as if he just kicked open the stall door to a public restroom. Below the eyes, were a handful of small creatures jumping up trying to grab a hold of his hand. Some had succeeded, the rest were jumping up and holding the feet of the others that had made it on top. They were all determined to get on his hand one way or another, and yet he couldn't understand what their intent was. He tried to shake them off, but they remained tight. The tiny creatures that had found refuge on his hand began lighting small lanterns. The fire they were using to illuminate the hole was burning from the palm of their miniature hands. The fire was just enough to light up a small circle around Hank's hand. There was perhaps only a few short seconds of visibility for Hank to assess what the inside of the hole held in store before the fires quickly faded away.

What Hank examined in that brief moment would leave his heart strangled, and his brain wishing he would wake up. The glowing third eye, held up by four hands that were horribly gnarled and covered in warts and brownish ooze, moved closer to him. The fingers on the hands were fragile and bony with nails so long in length they curled up in fear of growing any longer. Hank couldn't tell if the eye was a gift offering or a scare tactic from some ungodly demon.

The only thing decipherable about the minute creatures upon his hand was their gnome-like features. Each one showed signs of resistance to having a fully developed face, but that didn't stop them from beginning to climb his arm one at a time. He could feel them marching in synch one after another toward his shoulder. They continued their journey up his shoulder and walked onto his neck. Hank began scratching at the side of his neck with his free hand. Ascending his neck they hiked up to his ear, and there they entered the cave-like structure of Hank's ear canal. Finally, he was able to free his arm from the hole.

I'm not alone anymore, Hank thought. The idea of having dozens of tiny gnome creatures living inside of him like a hotel should have driven him mad, but it didn't. For some reason, he was no longer afraid. As much as he attempted to hide it, he felt alone and scared his whole life. Never would he admit to it, but his isolation had grown into a monster all of its own. Now, however, he felt he had a companion or twelve. He had even hoped that maybe they would just use him up, and leave him to rot. But, nonetheless, their company was more than welcomed. There was a memory stored somewhere of their existence that Hank struggled to retrieve. Whatever the gnomes intended on doing in Hank's ear failed to invoke any fear in their new host. His belief and trust in them was absolutely unwarranted, but he was too tired to fight this particular fight.

Unable to take in any of the details of his current environment, Hank let his eyes wander around the room in confusion. He was getting tired again. Sleep had evaded him for far too long. Trying to remember the last time he enjoyed such slumber only made him more sleepy. Just the thought of the warmth of a heavy blanket or even a large, furry dog was making him regret having eyes that wouldn't close. This could all be for nothing, Hank thought.

Hank fixed his glassy eyes on Harold and saw a rose that was using wings located on its back to cover its eyes. Inside Harold's chest, a stocky man with one leg dragged an iron lighting bolt around a makeshift gear that turned a fan located under his heart. The fan assisted in enlarging a fire that grew around Harold's heart.

Turning his attention to Charlie, Hank pierced into Charlie's chest with his groggy eyes and saw three angelic cherub statues lined up next to one another. One had its hands over its ears, the other over its eyes, and the last one over its mouth. See no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil, Hank thought. He smiled, and the image of these three cherubs put him at ease, which was what he needed. As he stared at the cherub in the middle, he noticed it was attempting to come to life. The cherub locked eyes with Hank, and its face slowly morphed into a twisted and distorted countenance. It was as if the devil had taken it upon himself to animate this cherub statue to instill an unforgettable fear deep within Hank's soul. Without warning the statue opened its small mouth and screamed. Fear had paralyzed Hank and wouldn't allow him to look away. His mouth opened in an attempt to scream and release the fear bottling up inside him, only nothing came out. Fear had broken him as a human being. Everything a human being is capable of was off-limits in the presence of pure and true evil. The system fails when fear has the opportunity to rise to the occasion. And boy was this a special occasion for fear. In the future, fear would buy flowers to celebrate this moment, and when flowers weren't good enough then the time-honored dinner and a movie would be the appropriate course of action.

"You need help with that picture?" Charlie asked Hank.

Hank snapped out of his daze and readjusted his eyes back to reality. He mentally shook the cobwebs and gnomes out of his head. This world is breaking me. It's too heavy, he thought. He could hear whispers in his ear but ignored them and tried harder to focus on his current reality. Hank swallowed hard and smiled at Charlie. "It's all right, I got it," he said. Hank picked the artwork up off the floor and gently placed it back on the wall over the black cloth.

"So, show me this portal you speak of," Harold said to Charlie.

### _Chapter 12_

_Kevin and Melvin walked onto the front yard_ of the house party and tapped Charlie on the shoulder of his bear suit. "How did you get here?" asked Kevin.

Charlie, with a drunken female teenager in each arm, replied, "How did you get here?"

"What do you mean? You know how we got here. We went in your stomach. You got some wacky shit in there, by the way. I don't know what you've been eating lately, but damn it's crazy down there. We just went out a door some guy was guarding, and now we're here," Melvin said.

Charlie laughed and handed them both a beer. "Come on. Let's get drunk!" Kevin and Melvin stared at each other in disbelief and then shrugged their shoulders and began drinking.

"Where all the hot chicks at?" Melvin yelled as he ran into the house. As he entered the living room, the music was making everyone gyrate like a large group of terrible dancers. It was like a dance team gone wrong. As if they all decided to join the dance team and never show up for practice. They might as well have had broken legs the way they shook them about. Melvin walked over to a group of young ladies dancing with each other and put his face next to theirs.

"Check out my face ladies. It's all up in your faces, and now you can touch it," he said. They all gave him dirty, disgusting looks suggesting they had no interest in placing their beloved hands on his atrocious face. That is...all but one. She lifted her lovely hands and placed them on Melvin's face. All over his face. She rubbed it like a genie was going to pop out of it.

"Your face is so fucking rad," she said. Her nose began running, and she leaned in and wiped it on Melvin's face. Then, she used her hands to rub her nose drippings into Melvin's epidermis. "This thing is so amazing. It's like heaven on a neck!" she exclaimed in stunning amazement.

"What are you going to do with it?" Melvin asked.

"I'm going to poop giant poop all over it. You like that? Huh big boy? You like when hot drunk girls like me take big dumps on your man face?"

"I'm honestly, not into giant poop all over my face or anything like that. It hasn't been my thing for a while. Oh god, it's such a long story," Melvin replied.

The girl put her arm around Melvin and guided him over to a couch on the side of the room. She sat down with him on the couch and said, "Tell me about it. Why don't you like giant poop all over your face? What happened that made you feel this way? Were you molested? Did you trust someone who betrayed you? I want to know what happened. Talk to me, sweetie."

Melvin took a deep breath of oxygen from the air, and started using it without even asking anyone. He remembered he had a mouth, and that he was going to use it, so he opened it and spoke, "I was four years old just chilling by the fireplace getting drunk. My life had hit rock bottom, and I didn't know how to deal with it. I finished the bottle in my hand, and chucked it into the fireplace along with the ten other bottles I tossed in there. I popped open another cold one and started drooling on my pet turtle. I threw him in the fire too. Fuck him. Does he think he's better than me cause he carries a house around all day long? I got my own problems ya know?

"So I'm all hammered and the doorbell rings. And I'm like whom the fuck is ringing my door at an hour like this? Then I stumbled around for a bit, 'cause I was angry at the furniture. I had to slam into it a few times to demand some respect. So I open the door, and this chick is trying to just walk in my house like she belongs there. Then she tries to justify it by claiming she's there to babysit me. I told her I'm no fucking baby so she can sit her ass out on the curb. She didn't like that. In fact, she loved it. She was like, 'Oh yeah? You're a randy little bastard.'

"She wants to babysit me, and she doesn't even know my name? No way. I looked at my watch, and it said, 'not on me.' She walks inside, and my cat immediately starts throwing up a hair ball. 'That's stupid. Clean it up,' she says to me. I disagree with her and put the hair ball in the microwave for later, but she thinks I'm trying to build a bomb.

"I told her she sucked at babysitting and smelled like underarm dust. Then my cat crossed her path and started rubbing his face up against her leg. She looks at me with her dead eye and says, 'Cat's got nine lives right?' Then she pulls her pants down and shoves her highly unsophisticated butt in my cat's adorable furry face and farts directly in it.

"I was so stunned, but not just me, my cat had gotten wobbled by it and was up against the ropes. He was barely hanging on. What the hell came out of that farm ass? Toxic poisons from out of this world?

"Still bent over, with her butt in his face, she stared at me and started pounding on the floor in front her. She screamed and then began punching her own teeth out. She started pulling out her hair and shoving it in her mouth, grunting like a barbarian who was in a hurry to become barbaric. 'Here comes the cancer fart!' she screamed.

"When I heard that, I knew I had to spring into action or else my poor injured cat would be decimated to pieces. So, I did what any piss drunk four-year old would do in such a situation, and I dove in front of her ass as I shoved the cat away. The whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion. The cat was like, 'Meoowwww?' And her butt slowly opened wide and I could see the air leaving her anal cavity gradually turning brown and sprinting out of her ass.

"All I could think was, 'If I was the Virgin Mary this would be totally wrong.' And then it hit me. The massive amount of feces that once inhabited inside her atrocious intestines was now on my face. I looked like a psychic who couldn't predict the future. I just laid there half unconscious, and all I could hear was the cat throwing up another hair ball and the babysitter saying, 'It seems someone still insists on dying through its mouth.'

"After that day I became obsessed with the Ouija board. For years following that incident I tried endlessly through that Ouija board to contact my dignity. And here you are, you dumb lesbian, trying to break me! Making me cry again! I'm not a public toilet seat! You can't just poop all over me, and walk away like a sniper. What are you part of some Mexican gang? You know what? I don't need to put up with this. And you could use a breast reduction for those confused looking jugs you're lugging around." Melvin stood up and walked away until he arrived somewhere other than where he was.

Outside, Kevin was doing body shots off of an extra-large drunken polish girl with an interesting amount of body hair. He poured a shot into her belly button and started slapping her belly with his bare hands.

"I could kill Bigfoot if I had the chance," he said. He slapped her stomach harder until the liquor bounced out of her belly button and toward his mouth. "So don't give me the chance," Kevin continued.

"What do you mean?" she asked him with her Polish tongues.

"I mean. Do you think you could take on a pack of lions?" Kevin asked as he winked to himself in his mind.

"Keep slapping my belly, bitch," she said. Kevin obeyed and continued giving her a pink belly. "Not only could I take on a pack of lions, but I would smoke a cigarette afterwards while watching porn. Cause that's how I roll," she continued. Vodka slowly trickled down her stomach on the Ping-Pong table below her.

"Figures," Kevin replied.

Poland slid off the table and pulled down her short, white tank top over her alcohol soaked stomach. A drunk teenager walked over to them with a bag in his hand, "You guys want to buy some weed?" he asked.

"I would love to, but I'm flat broke," Poland said. The guy started turning and walking away when she yelled, "I'll make a trade!"

He stopped and turned back around to Kevin and Poland. "What do you got?"

"I'll let you touch my boobs," then motioning in Kevin's direction she said, "and pee on him."

The man, after checking his pockets for gloves and coming up short, said, "I'll pass on the boobs, but I'd love to pee on him."

"Wait! Wait! Wait! This is not cool. I did not volunteer for this. No one is peeing on me! That's disgusting," Kevin stated.

"Come on. Don't you want to get high?" Poland asked him.

"Yeah, but I don't feel like being peed on. Come on! I'm a human being. Sort of," replied Kevin.

She gave him a sad face with pouty, fuzzy lips. How could he say no to such an experimental face?

"Ok, I'll do it," Kevin agreed. "But just on my foot, that's all."

The drug dealer thought about it and said, "You have to let four of us do it if it's just going to be on your foot, and then you have a deal."

Kevin looked at Poland who nodded her head in encouragement as she pretended to smoke a joint. Shaking his head in disbelief, Kevin rolled his eyes and with much reluctance said, "Fine."

"Hey guys come on over here, and help me piss on this guy's foot," the dealer said. He waited for his friends to walk over in their drunken state and gather around Kevin. Kevin took a step backwards and put his right foot in front of him. A sacrificial lamb his foot was to become. It laid there, not even a human body part anymore, just a mere target. A target worthy only of annihilation and desecration.

They gathered around his foot and unzipped their pants. Kevin turned and looked away, unable to witness the atrocity being performed on his foot. He tried to block out the sound of bodily fluids splashing off his shoe but the growing heaviness of urine-soaked leather made it difficult. Slowly his sock became moist and began sticking to his foot. When his nose picked up on the toxic scent of piss, he thought it a wise decision to begin holding his breath. He held his breath until he heard them zipping up their pants. After laughing at the way they shamed Kevin, the dealer's friends walked off in search of more beer. The dealer handed Poland the bag and turned to walk away.

"Hey, where's the rest?" she asked.

"That's it," he said.

She showed Kevin the bag and disappointment covered his face. "I just got pissed on for a dime bag of weed? Are you kidding me?"

"Sorry," she replied. Poland pulled out a pack of rolling papers from her pocket, and started the tedious process of rolling a joint. After rubbing a few sticks together, she lit it up and drew a hit before passing it to Kevin.

"Time to get high," he said as he put the joint in his mouth.

They walked out behind the shed in the driveway and continued smoking. Alone in the darkness they stood looking out into the star-speckled sky. Poland stuck her arm out in front of Kevin and pointed into the darkness. "You see that really bright star right there?" she said. "That's actually not even a star. That's Mars. I've always wanted to go there. I always thought it was crazy how we could sit here on this planet and look up and just see the other planets in our solar system. Most of the time I forget about these other planets. It starts to seem like a dream sometimes." Poland laid down in the grass and gazed into the sky.

"I never actually think about the other planets that much," Kevin said as he laid down next to her.

"We learn about these things when we're young, but we never get to experience them. We never get to see the planets up close. We can't just go there and touch them, and find out what they smell like or even examine them with any of our senses. We can only view them from a distance. Right now there's a robot on Mars just roaming around up there while we get stoned down here. That should really blow our mind when we think about it. Another planet with a robot on it. Crazy. Look at it. There it is. Mars. And it's just out there. It's just out there in outer space existing forever. It's been here long before we were even here on Earth, and it will be here long after we're gone. And all we can do is observe it," Poland said as she took a hit off the joint and passed it to Kevin.

"It is pretty awesome. You definitely get a feeling of oneness with the universe when you think about it like that," Kevin said.

"I don't know how anyone could feel that way all the time. I don't know how you would get anything accomplished walking around in a constant state of astonishment all day long. Only every once in a while are you reminded of the ecstasy of being alive and aware. And sometimes all it takes is a little weed."

Kevin laughed, "Yeah, guess we can thank the planet for that one," he said handing Poland the joint.

"But, you know other times it's just being alone and hearing all those voices in your head, and reminding yourself they weren't always there. And then you slowly remember what it was like before they got in there." Poland exhaled a puff of smoke and continued, "And then comes a brief moment of clarity. The voices begin to quiet down and fade away. Soon you can hear everything around you. You can hear a pin drop in the middle of a noisy crowd. One second you're taking out the trash at night running through your list of chores, and the next you're suddenly gazing up at the stars without a single thought running through your head. Then, out of nowhere, comes a feeling that washes over you that feels like this is home. This is where home is." Poland let out a long sigh, then rested her arms down by her side and let herself sink into the Earth. "This is what it feels like. It's so familiar but eludes us constantly. It's an otherworldly feeling."

"Like a giant firework exploding and becoming one with existence," said Kevin.

"It's like a validation of the feelings you had as a child when you wanted to believe in a limitless world. And when you get older you're still searching to see if there's magic in the world, but when you finally have that experience confirming its existence then your mind tries to label it. It wants to break it down, and store it away for later. But it's fleeting. We always try to hold on to the greatest moments somehow by analyzing them to see what makes them so special in an effort to save the ingredients to reproduce the recipe at a later time."

"Like an alchemist trying to turn boring moments into gold," Kevin said.

Poland laughed and piled her hair underneath her head to create a pillow. "But as soon as the mind begins searching for ways to identify it then the moment is lost. The mind acts like a big gust of wind blowing your home down the street. Now you're stuck out in the cold again back to the you that you're more accustomed to. The one that makes you sad because you know the real you has been blown away again. You start to feel like an impostor knowing this isn't the real you. And the search begins again to find that you that makes you feel at home." She took a long drag off the joint, and closed her eyes smiling with delight.

Kevin didn't realize how deep Poland was. He thought about the extensive number of men who were most likely unaware of this admirable quality she possessed. Most boys his age wouldn't give Poland the time of day since she fits the mold of a large, hairy, unattractive female. But Kevin was glad he did. He felt like he was evolving somewhat as a person, and that gave him hope that he may avoid turning into an asshole after all. He looked out into the forest of trees surrounding the backyard. "Those trees. When you think about it," he said, "they're probably a lot like the contents of your stomach. All kinds of woodland creatures and stuff just roaming around in there. People just pissing on log furniture and tugging at their nipples. I bet there are more undiscovered species in your stomach than in the rainforest. I'll take a lie detector test to prove it."

"Now you're starting to sound like a real pothead," Poland said.

"I can't help but think about you turning into a cannibal right now and eating me. It seems so strange, but I know it's a realistic possibility. I mean, I see the size of your belly. You're a hungry girl, no doubt. I don't want to be a victim tonight. A lot of cold case files start this way. Someone like me befriends someone like you, they do some drugs, and someone gets really hungry.

"I don't know how I would defend myself. I shouldn't admit that since it exposes my weakness, but I'm vulnerable right now and I can't help that. I would try to punch you. You would absorb it like a sponge that absorbs fists. Sure, maybe I would start crying in hopes that you would rape me first before eating me. Not that I would want you to rape me, but it would buy me more alive time.

"I've played it over and over in my mind millions of times. The image of me tied to an oak tree as you spit in my face and lecture me about telephone poles, is burned in my mind. The more irate you get about telephone poles, the more of my flesh you shove into your mouth. I turn into a crocodile in self-defense, but it turns out you love the taste of crocodiles. Crocodiles and telephone poles - the only things you care about."

"It does seem pretty archaic that we still have telephone poles," Poland replied.

Kevin stroked his chin where a beard might one day grow. "To you, I'm sure telephone poles just represent giant chopsticks. That's fine, even though I am judging you because of that. Life is pretty crazy when you might be lying down next to a cannibal. I never really thought about any of this before now. Must be the weed."

"See, aren't you glad you got pissed on?" Poland said.

"Someone pissed on me?"

Poland giggled and said, "Wow. I think you're stoned."

"Yeah, I think so. Don't fucking eat me," Kevin said.

They both laughed and stared up into the night sky at Mars as Poland's stomach began to growl.

### _Chapter 13_

_Hank stood there in the room as Harold and Charlie were about to enter the portal._ But Hank was feeling a little insane with gnomes crawling in his ear and his ever shifting reality. He decided to lay down on the couch and let Harold fill Charlie in on all the details of their current situation.

Finally I can get a minutes rest, Hank thought. He shut his eyes, but as he did the miniature gnomes began crawling out of his ear and dancing on his chest.

"Oh what did you think you were going to get some sleep?" one of them asked.

"I really need to sleep. I feel like I've been up forever," Hank explained.

"Come on have some fun," the gnome was dancing up and down Hank's chest with glee. "Here have a drink why don't you."

"No, thanks. I'd rather just sleep."

"Nope. Not going to happen. Sleep doesn't exist for you anymore. I have decided."

The scene on Hank's stomach turned into a courtroom filled with gnomes and a judge banging his gavel announcing, "I hereby declare no more sleep for Mr. Hank"

Hank sat up and tried to open his eyes as wide as he could.

"He's awake!" the gnome shouted. "Now drink up and let's party!"

Hank thought about it for a second and then said, "Why not? I'm supposed to be at a party now anyway." He took one of their tiny mugs and began drinking from it. It tasted peculiar to his taste buds. They weren't trained for this sort of flavor. He continued drinking. Hank could not believe the amount of liquid in such a small mug. He didn't understand where it was all coming from. It became a challenge to find the bottom of this beverage for it certainly seemed endless. And what was it anyway? It was like no alcoholic beverage he had ever tasted before. Perhaps it was some hard liquor he had yet to experience. Something elderly sophisticated accountants drink before bed and refer to as a nightcap.

"You're doing such a good job. Most people have a little more difficulty at this phase, but you are just a monster aren't you?" the gnome said.

Hank continued to drink and finally reached the bottom of his mug. He began coughing and couldn't stop. In the midst of his coughing fit, the gnomes flew off his chest.

Hank closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like to make out with Sheila and her mouth. He thought about putting his tongue in her eye and cleaning her contacts. He could save her so much money on contact lens solution that she would love him forever. Who else could do that for her? Not some crazy football player with a greedy tongue. But him and his unselfish tongue.

Harold walked over to Hank and said, "Come on. We're all set to enter this portal now, apparently."

Hank stood up, and they gathered around the dark sitting room in preparation for the ritual. Glowing candles outlined the hexagram drawn in salt in which they sat around. Sitting with their legs folded on the floor they bowed their heads and raised their right hands. With their left hands, they formed an inverted pentagram in the air. After circling the pentagram with their left hand, they pushed it into the middle of the hexagram. In the palm of their right hands appeared a wide open eye. As they pushed their hands together joining the three eyes, an immense fire engulfed the center of the hexagram. A large peacock appeared at the heart of the flames dancing with large uncoordinated peacock feet. Its glass feathers spun as though on a pinwheel, and the flames reflecting off of them spread multicolored light throughout the room. A voice in their heads spoke softly, "Get off your lazy asses, and walk through this portal I just created for you."

Replacing the inflamed peacock at the center of the hexagram was a large glowing ball of white light. Cautiously they entered this portal and were swept away cell by cell not knowing where or how they would end up.

A moment later they were sitting on top of a rainbow shouting obscenities about colors. One side of the rainbow beneath a sheet of fog was the world Hank lived in, and the world Harold and Charlie inhabited. On the other side of the rainbow was a vast dark forest with sprawling hills in the distance. A bright crescent-shaped blue moon hovered in the darkness. Dangling from it was a sign created out of burning dragonflies that lit up the sky and read, 'Negluham'.

Hank looked down at the foggy world they came from. "Look at that, the rainbow actually falls into both of our worlds," he said.

"That's right. When you're ready to return home you just ride the rainbow down to your world. It's that easy, but you probably already knew that," Charlie said.

"Umm. No. I had no idea about any rainbows or portals to other worlds until now. I haven't even slept in days, so for all I know this could just be another hallucination," Hank replied. He continued looking back and forth at both sides of the rainbow in disbelief.

Harold took a long gander over Negluham and said, "This place sure looks pretty bleak."

Charlie patted him on the shoulder and said, "It could be worse. At least there's still hope." He pointed out into the distance at a large meter used to measure hope on Negluham. "Something still gives this place hope," Charlie said. "If not we wouldn't have been able to get here. So long as any hope remains this portal will remain open. Once hope begins to disappear from Negluham this rainbow will slowly begin to fade. And when all hope is gone this rainbow will no longer exist. This portal will forever be closed."

"I wouldn't want to be stuck here when that happens," Hank said. He was becoming uncomfortable sitting on top of a rainbow and asked, "How do we get down from here?"

"Should we jump?" asked Harold.

"We definitely should not jump. I feel like that's not the best option. I don't have the science to back it up though, so I apologize," Hank said.

"No need to apologize," Charlie said as he pulled out a giant flowchart breaking down the physics of falling from atop an extremely large rainbow in the middle of nowhere.

"Does this rainbow have an elevator or what?" Hank asked.

Charlie looked around in search of an elevator and said, "Nope. No elevator."

"So, how do we get down exactly?" questioned Hank.

"The trick is you have to squeeze into the colors and ride them down. It's more of a floating technique, but beware it's quite important to navigate the yellow and green hues," Charlie warned.

Charlie was the first to squeeze through the colors and begin floating. Then Hank joined him and wondered how long it would take to descend the rainbow in this fashion. Harold haphazardly squeezed through the colors along with them, and didn't heed the warnings of floating down a rainbow. He slipped into the orange hue and began to get ripped away outside the rainbow until Charlie rescued him by his wrist.

"Hang on!" Charlie yelled as he worked to pull Harold back inside the rainbow. Hank floated over and held out his hand to assist in wrangling Harold back in.

"Listen. You have to stay between yellow and green, or else you are going to end up as death meat," Charlie said.

They succeeded in not becoming death meat, and were eager to have their feet on the ground once again. Looking around at their new environment Charlie was a bit taken back. "No hideous creatures here to greet us? That's a bit of a disappointment. I spent so much time away from this land. The least they could do is welcome me back. Well, at least it deteriorated according to my expectations. Anyway, here we are guys. Welcome to Negluham," he said.

"Please don't let there be any hideous creatures," Hank muttered under his breath. If he had it his way, there wouldn't be any creatures hideous or otherwise.

Darkness was surrounding them. A moon and a single star rolled their eyes at each other. Even the celestial beings were strange outsiders in this bizarre land, but it was the only sky they could afford to inhabit. The better skies required a bank loan and inspection papers.

Hank, Charlie, and Harold stood with a dark forest looming before them, not expressing any interest in visitors at such an hour. There was an eerie calm suggesting the most unsettling type of hospitality. High-pitched, wailing cellos could be heard in the distance taking requests from loud animals screeching in horror. As they approached the forest, they stopped at an old sign nailed to an even older tree that simply read, 'Enter'. For whatever reason Hank always felt there was nothing more sinister than the capital 'E'. But alas, the capital 'E' was his fate, and he would now have to overcome it.

What would a hero do? Hank wondered. A hero would go in unafraid, and journey through the horrific forest until he came out the other side. He would continue his journey until he fulfilled his goal. He wouldn't be sitting here afraid of letters. I'm not actually afraid of letters, he thought, just the capital 'E'. This stupid fear of a big 'E' is killing me. Wherever this baby Isabella is at, I'm going to find her and save her like a true hero. It's my fate. It's what I'm meant to do. Live or die, I shall rescue this tiny lint ball child. When I tell Sheila about all this she'll be so impressed with me, and how I've grown as a human being and accepted my role as a hero. A hero leads his men into war and brings them out heroes themselves, Hank thought. That's what I must do. These men need me. They need me more than they care to admit. I know they do, they are just too embarrassed to say so. And I can respect that. No one wants to admit that they're afraid and that they need someone to lead them and show them how to live. But I'm willing to accept that responsibility. I shall be their beacon of shining light, and show them my bravery and lead by example. I will inspire them with my authentic samurai-like warrior spirit, and they will use that inspiration to rise above their own fears, and follow me into the dark horrors that lurk in the forest. There's no more time for playing games. I have to treat this like the Old West, and take no prisoners. I must kidnap their souls, and carry them on my back through the horrendous nightmare that lays before us. I will not break before them. It is time to put on my warrior face and lead these fine young, but terrified, men through the hardships and adversity of the hero's quest. They just need to follow me as if I'm a modern-day Jim Jones.

"Hey Hank! You coming or what?" Harold yelled, already several hundred yards into the forest.

Hank looked around and noticed he was standing by himself at the entrance of the forest. "Of course! I just had to deal with some hero stuff," he said. "You guys wouldn't understand."

As they wandered through the woods, not sure what they would turn up, they came upon a dried up creek. They stood and gazed down into it, and deciding it was too steep to descend, they searched for another way across.

Fortune was on their side as Harold spotted a fallen tree that looked to provide the perfect bridge for crossing. They began to walk across the fallen tree, and a loud thunderous boom from deep in the forest resonated through their bones. The unexpected noise caused Charlie to stumble on the fallen tree. Almost plunging into the empty creek, he quickly managed to regain his balance long enough to leap to the other side where he landed safely to await his two compadres.

Harold and Hank used their nimble footwork to maneuver across without a problem. All of the trees were eagerly reaching out to grab them as they walked past them in haste. Each one filled with evil intentions if they could just get their branches on them. Hank thought about how much easier it would be to navigate the forest if he could just torch the whole place, and wait for it to burn to the ground. One way to clear a path, he thought.

Then Hank spotted something in his peripheral vision. It was some blurry object he saw scurry across the forest. He looked but didn't see anything. As he turned back around, he noticed a shadow dashing behind a tree. His feet looked at each other, and with great hesitation agreed to take his body over to investigate the mysterious creature. When Hank arrived there was nothing there. The sound of branches cracking behind him sent him running through the forest again. Chasing after the shadow, he thought about how terrified he actually was of this unknown being. That was a fear he would have to overcome if he wanted to identify whatever it was, if, for nothing else, to simply validate the stability of his own mind.

Something rustled in front of him, and a dark shadow shot behind a large, pale white, leafless tree. Its branches had twisted and wrapped around themselves creating a fence-like exterior. The roots were long and mighty, lifting up nearby trees to stake its claim in the middle of the ghastly woodlands. Hank reached the tree and inspected the area directly behind it. There was nothing there. No hideous creature. Just thoughts of what one would like look. Harold and Charlie caught up to him and questioned him about what he saw. Neither one had seen what Hank was referring to and secretly hoped he was just seeing things so as not to confirm their own fears. Hank began examining the back of the tree and squatted down to investigate a small oval hole at the bottom. He got closer and ran his hand across it. An odd energy could be felt coming from the tree. A warm, welcoming energy was encompassing Hank's body. A comforting feeling that allowed him to slide his back down the tree and relax against its trunk.

"Did you see something?" Charlie asked.

"It's just a hole," Hank said.

As Charlie and Harold were checking their surroundings, they looked back to see Hank being sucked through the hole in the tree. They both sprinted trying to rescue Hank. They dove with their arms outstretched trying to reach Hank as he dissolved into the tree. Their hands had managed to wrap around his ankles before the tree swallowed all three of them deep into the hole.

The hole widened as if they stretched the tree out during their descent. There was more than enough room at the bottom of the hole for them to move freely. Against the wall, there stood a glowing wood burning stove substituting the need for heavy blankets. Photos that seemed to extend several generations adorned the walls. The furniture was all hand-crafted and intricately designed. It exhibited all the features of a master craftsman. More than anything the place was cozy. Almost too cozy. It was warm and welcoming, and the only place in the forest that didn't invoke man's deepest fears.

Hank noticed many rooms and corridors running throughout the tree. He thought it would be the perfect place to finally get some rest. He had succeeded at keeping the thought of sleep at bay for some time now, but this was the perfect place to rest his head. If only he had a pillow, he wouldn't be standing. Interrupting Hank's vision of sleep Harold asked, "Does anyone have any idea where we are?"

"Heaven," Hank replied looking around admiring his new surroundings.

"I'll accept that answer," Charlie said gazing up at the endless roof of the treehouse.

Hank walked along the perimeter of the room, and held his hand against the wall dragging it along its exterior feeling the details in the finely crafted work. He closed his eyes, and he enjoyed the fine natural textures of the tree rubbing against the palm of his hand. A smile crossed his face as he thought about how wonderful it would be to make a life for himself here someday. Then he remembered what exists just outside of the treehouse. How could this exist in such a damn creepy forest? he wondered. He thought about living here with his family and enjoying the holidays with his loved ones, and making everyone feel at home and never wanting to leave. The only thing missing from this place was the smell of warm apple pie.

"Would you boys care for some freshly baked warm apple pie?" a voice entering the room asked.

### _Chapter 14_

_Melvin had been in the bathroom_ watching the television mounted to the wall. He was observing a news report of a Bigfoot sighting in the area. The report brought back memories of a time when Melvin was an avid Bigfoot investigator. It wasn't something he had done recently. In fact, it had been quite some time since he tried hunting down the giant hairy behemoth.

He thought back to the moment he became fascinated with Bigfoot. He was in fourth grade, and he should have been in class, but his dear old dad decided a much-needed camping trip was in order. Melvin and his father gathered up their camping gear, loaded the pick up truck, and spent the day driving out to the forest that they would call home for the night.

Dinosaurs slitting their throats on the side of the highway and rabbits nailing down their own feet to the ground did little to deter their efforts. In spite of all the treacherous signs sent from the mighty gods above, they continued onward. The only thing on their mind was living the simple life while being one with nature. A one of a kind bonding experience with father and son that would create memories to last a lifetime.

When they arrived at the campsite, Melvin helped his dad unload their equipment and erect their new temporary living quarters: a small tent designed for two, but barely able to fit one. They went fishing for dinner and built a fire for heat and cooking. Finishing with the ceremonial roasting of marshmallows and telling of horrifying ghost stories, Melvin retired to the tent. While his father had gone off to fetch a pail of water to extinguish the fire, Melvin bundled himself up tight in his sleeping bag and wished he had put on an extra pair of socks since his were failing in the warmth department. He began tossing and turning struggling with the futility of trying to sleep on a bed of rocks in freezing temperatures. This was the part of camping that would renew his love affair with his box spring and mattress.

As he closed his eyes, Melvin could hear footsteps in the distance. Slowly, they began to get louder with each step crushing to pieces the dead leaves in its path. It wasn't long before he could hear a creature, on the other side of the tent, snorting with excitement. Not wanting his precious skull attacked, Melvin made sure to refrain from any sudden movements. Almost haphazardly, the creature's body pressed up against the tent while sniffing the odors that lay bundled up inside. The obnoxious snorting continued to grow frantic around the perimeter of Melvin's tiny portable shelter. Perhaps out of fear, or a short attention span, Melvin missed whatever warning signs were given as the creature grabbed a hold of the tent and started dragging it through the woods.

Melvin did such an excellent job of zipping himself up that he now found himself stuck in his own sleeping bag and struggled to maneuver out of it. In his attempt to escape, panic set in and his vocal cords unleashed a primal scream as the creature continued to drag him further into the woods. The tent slammed into almost every living and dead tree in its path crashing into huge boulders while tossing Melvin around like a useless lump of bones.

Bouncing up and down along the rocky path Melvin continued his request for the unexpected ride to stop. He didn't know what intentions this monster had in store for him, but he knew it was time to go into survival mode. Melvin tried searching his pants for his pocket knife the best he could while still being hemmed up inside the sleeping bag. The sleeping bag that was about to turn into a body bag if he didn't act fast. Reaching into his right pocket he found nothing. Just a couple of dirty rocks he collected earlier by the stream. Squeezing his hand into his other pocket he also turned up nothing useful. Then, he remembered he had hidden the knife in his sock so he could emulate a rogue soldier who's never left weaponless even when captured. He removed it from his sock, and he held the short two-inch blade in his hand wondering what vital target he would need to aim for to achieve a kill shot with such a small weapon. Suddenly, a familiar feeling returned to Melvin's world when he realized he had come to a halt and that he was no longer being pulled through the infinitely large and densely populated forest.

Breathing heavily, he worked with immense desperation to unzip his sleeping bag before time expired. The noise coming from outside suggested the creature was dragging something heavy as it casually sauntered toward the entrance. Melvin had succeeded in the solitary mission of freeing himself from the confines of his sleeping trap. Now he held his breath in both hands in hopes that the creature wouldn't notice his presence. The creature knew all too well what was hidden inside and began pulling at the zipper of the tent. Melvin took one step backward. It was as far as he could go with such limited borders. The zipper was opening up slowly. Melvin clenched his pocket knife as if it were a mighty sword that would be used for terrible acts of violence which would result in massive amounts of bloodshed that would stain the Earth's crust for centuries to come. As the tent unzipped, Melvin bit down hard on his lip and closed his eyes while holding his knife out in front of him with his shaky hand.

The creature entered the tent and stood there with its heavy breath trespassing on Melvin's sensitive nostrils. Melvin opened his eyes slightly to see a monstrous beast with an impenetrable coat of long fur standing before him. The creature stood hunched over unable to stand fully erect within the dimensions of the tent. Its face was unlike any bear Melvin had ever observed at the zoo and its shoulders much broader. Most significant was the tremendous size of the creature's two feet which were abnormally large and out of proportion to the rest of its body, as if strategically designed that way.

Melvin stood there horrified as the beast pulled its hair-infested arm back and swung it in his direction. Melvin cringed as his legs gave out from under him dropping him to his knees. His instincts led him to claw at the tent floor with his bare hands. Droplets of sweat inched down his shivering spinal column in slow motion. The creature's arm was on course to send Melvin into another dimension when the unexpected occurred. The arm stopped in the middle of its path. Opening up its hand, the beast pointed one finger at Melvin and poked him solidly in the chest.

"You're it," said the creature.

The creature smiled, revealing its whimsical nature. Then, without any altercations, it exited the tent and fled back into the forest. Melvin stood in shock for several moments trying to make sense out of the events that had just unfolded. He knew for certain that he didn't have the courage to enter the forest and locate the creature. Instead, he sat and contemplated what few options he had. After much debate as to whether or not it would be safe to leave the tent, Melvin finally decided to peek his head out. Gazing into the darkness, he tried to see if he could spot the creature roaming around the vicinity. He was unable to establish a visual connection with the beast himself, but he did notice large footprints on the ground. In between the footprints was another print and Melvin knew this was obviously where the creature had dragged his enormous testicles in the sand. He knew then what he wanted for Christmas. As he stood, admiring the trails left by his new acquaintance, he heard his father yelling in the distance, "Asteroid! Asteroid! Where are you?"

After that mind-expanding camping trip, Melvin began keeping a journal of any close encounters he had with Bigfoot. There would never be another encounter as close as the one from the trip with his father. Most of the encounters would only offer clues from locations the beast had wandered. His journal had become filled with strands of hair, photos of footprints, and oddly shaped furballs. Although many years had passed since he had any new evidence to contribute to his journal, he still continued carrying it along with him. Melvin's secret obsession was to prove to the world that the mythological beast, known as Bigfoot, actually exists.

Melvin, staring at the television screen in the bathroom, recognized the location of the new Bigfoot sighting as being a local one. This excited him and lit a fire in his belly. The thought of being so close to Bigfoot again was unimaginable. Quickly, he pulled out his journal and began a new entry containing the whereabouts of this new sighting along with specific details from the news report. He would follow up these notes with his own investigation as he had done so many times in the past.

There was a loud banging at the door. "Hey! Are you almost done in there?" A man cried out from the other side.

"I'm almost done. Just washing my dirty, filthy hands that I had to use to clean up after all this toxic waste that I expunged from my body," Melvin replied.

The man let out a heavy sigh and asked, "Why does everything remind me of my mother giving birth?" He slumped down against the door and waited for Melvin to exit.

As Melvin opened the door, the man toppled over. Looking down at him Melvin could see he was far past the point of being drunk. As he stepped over him, he watched as the man struggled to pull himself back up. He tried to do so with the help from the doorknob, but yet he still remained firmly planted on his bottom. Sweat was gushing out of his wobbly body, and his head looked like it had just been submerged into a tub of yuck. He began dry heaving and stomping his feet on the ground in pain. His eyes were beginning to leak with patheticness, and a cascading waterfall had taken over occupancy of his mouth.

The music continued pounding downstairs. Melvin looked down the stairs at all the drunk people dancing, then back at the man barely functioning. He wondered where all this man's friends were, and if they knew he was barely hanging on to reality. Before Melvin descended the stairs, he approached the man and looked deep into his blood-shot eyes.

"What do you want?" the drunk man asked rather typically.

Melvin searched deep within his soul in an effort to assemble the most profound group of words that would forever change this drunken man's life. After digging up the words, he poked the man in his chest and said, "You're it." Melvin let the drunken man rot from alcohol poisoning as he turned and walked downstairs with a new mission firmly set in his mind.

### _Chapter 15_

_As Kevin and Poland were staring up into the sky,_ dreaming of visiting other planets, their souls were awakening to something new. It was something they lacked the proper language to precisely define. Perhaps it was just all the weed they were smoking. Kevin looked away from the sky and noticed Poland had stood up and began walking toward the forest beyond the backyard. "Hey, where are you going?" he called after her.

"Just a super amazing place where I like to go to further contemplate the finer things in this strange world," she replied.

A fast food restaurant this time at night? Kevin wondered. "Well, wait up," Kevin said. "I'm hungry too." He ran after Poland and his shoe began squishing from being water-logged with the urine of strange men. It was a reminder that he didn't enjoy. For a while, as he was getting lost into the universe, he had forgotten about the whole incident. Now, however, there was no denying that his foot was disgustingly sticky and wet. Regardless, Kevin continued to run after Poland with one human foot and one defiled foot.

They continued walking across the backyard until they reached a path through the forest. As they started their way down the path, the air suddenly changed and became much chillier than it was before they had entered.

"I wish it wasn't so cold out here," Kevin complained.

"You need a nice fur coat like me," Poland said. She continued walking forward pushing down large branches in front of her that were blocking the path.

Dodging a branch flying in his direction Kevin said, "Speaking of fur coats, did you see that guy in the bear suit at the party back there?"

"Oh yeah. Weird outfit huh?"

"Definitely. That's my friend, Charlie. I was actually inside him earlier."

"Really? I had you pegged as a bottom."

"What? Oh...no. No. I wasn't inside him like that. I mean I was inside his mouth."

Hey, whatever gets you off. I'm not judging. You didn't have to go into such detail to tell me your gay. I wasn't going to hit on you anyway," Poland said.

Frustrated, Kevin explained, "I'm not gay. I mean there's, probably, nothing wrong with it. I don't think. But I never had gay sex with anyone. Not even Charlie."

"Whatever. It sounds like you had gay sex before."

"It sounds that way, but I'm pretty sure I haven't. Anyway, what actually happened was that we climbed inside his mouth and ended up in some bizarre world. I know it sounds insane, but that's what happened. Luckily we ended up at Sheila's house, and there was Charlie. I don't know why I told you that because now you're clearly going to think I'm crazy. "

Poland was in the process of removing an invisible spiderweb from her face and said, "I would think you were crazy if I didn't have a similar experience. I've come to learn that this world isn't what it seems. That portals to other worlds exist everywhere, and you just have to know where to look. Most of the time they're in places you would never suspect." She wiped the spider's silk onto her pants.

"Yeah. Apparently," Kevin replied.

"Oh. You don't know the half of it. I was helping my mom do some secretarial work at the gynecologist's office she works at when Sister Mary walked in and went into an exam room."

"You mean Sister Mary from the soup kitchen?"

"Yup, that Sister Mary."

"I didn't even think she had a vagina," Kevin said.

"Well, she does. Lucky me, I had to go into the room to retrieve some files. Fortunately they have a large privacy divider in there for these particular situations."

"That's a shame."

"I couldn't see, but I could hear everything. Suzie was the doctor that day and she said, 'Spread 'em Sister! Let's see what's doing.' Sister Mary must have been a little shy because you could actually hear Suzie prying open her huge thighs with a spatula.

"For the first time it appeared Suzie was baffled because she said, 'I'm baffled. I've never seen this before.'

"Sister Mary said, 'What is it?'

"Suzie turned her head away from the weathered old thing she was examining before taking a deep breath and said, 'It appears your vagina is the gateway to hell.'

"And you could tell Sister Mary didn't believe her 'cause she was like, 'Are you sure?'

"Then all of a sudden the whole room turned black. The windows flew open, and the wind came storming into the room blowing vagina tools everywhere. I pulled the curtain on the divider back to find Suzie's head and chest missing. The poor lady. Only her legs were left dangling out of Sister Mary's vaginal gateway to hell."

"That must have been a terrible looking vagina," Kevin said.

"For sure. It did not look good on her. It looked as if she had let someone else pick out a vagina for her."

"Interesting. Then what happened?"

"Then, in an instant, Suzie was gone and the room returned to normal. It was like nothing happened. Besides all that bizarre shit, it was as though nothing happened. For whatever reason they had to stop seeing her because of that little incident.

"Anyway, ever since that moment I have had this fascination with finding these random portals. I imagine there are tons of amazing worlds yet to be experienced, and it looks like we can get there through a friend's mouth or a nun's vagina. The possibilities are endless."

At this point, Kevin and Poland had traveled far down their path. Kevin had listened in quiet astonishment, and he had since forgotten about his urine soaked shoe. He wasn't sure how to respond to the wild tale he had just heard. He wasn't even sure if it were true. After all, he had just met Poland and didn't know what to believe. His world was filling up with other worlds, and maybe Poland was even a portal to one of those worlds. Then, he began to wonder if maybe he was a portal himself. Or if maybe, quite possibly, he was just genuinely stoned.

### _Chapter 16_

_The smell of fresh, warm apple pie filled the room_ as a large magnificent bird with a hooked beak and forward-facing eyes set the dessert on the table. The bird smiled at her guests as she removed her apron. Although many times larger than the ones Hank had grown accustomed to seeing, it was clear by all visual evidence that this majestic bird before them was, without a doubt, an owl.

"They all call me Mama around here," said the owl. "Would you boys care for some apple pie?"

"It certainly does look good," Hank said.

They gathered around the table and waited with mouths watering as Mama sliced the apple pie. Hank was in dire need of something to boost energy into his exhausted body. Hopefully, he thought, there will be enough buckets of sugar in the pie to wake me up.

"Sorry about intruding on your home. We kind of just got sucked in here," Harold said.

"Oh, it's quite all right. It happens more than one would expect. Especially here in these morbid woods. Many a person has run through them searching for some sort of refuge. I, personally, always like to make sure I have a nice warm apple pie ready for their arrival," Mama said.

The pie melted in Hank's mouth like a wicked witch in water. His eyes wandered around at his new surroundings while he continued overwhelming his taste buds with the greatest tasting pie ever created by an owl. "If you don't mind me asking. Why would you want to build such a beautiful home in the middle of a forest filled with such darkness and despair?" he asked.

Mama shuffled her ancient feet over to a bookshelf and scanned the multitude of titles. She slid out a thick book still barely stitched together. "You see, there wasn't always darkness and despair. Brighter days have existed," Mama said as she dropped the book on the kitchen table. A dust cloud saying farewell to the book had momentarily distorted their vision. "As for how it got this way. Well that's -" Mama blew off the remaining layer of dust suffering from separation anxiety to reveal the cover of the book. She underlined the title with her claw. "History," she said. Opening the book a hologram beamed out from the pages. They were instantly taken back to what would be the major turning point in Negluham's history.

The tree stood tall and hovered over the king like an umbrella shielding the midday sun. Frogs leaped from one pad to another across the stream; the perfect moment for relaxing. Even the fishing line in the water rocked slowly back and forth preparing to slip away into a dream. Something tugged at the line. The king jumped up and scrambled to reel it in. A large salmon splashed in and out of the water trying its best to remove the hook from its mouth. Dinner, the king thought.

The king began punching holes in the walls of his memory in search of where he hid his award-winning salmon recipe. He was momentarily sidetracked from this endeavor when the beast known as Bigfoot strolled into the path of his fishing line. Paranoia teleported into the king's mind at the sight of this beast. He simply couldn't trust a monster covered in hair who exhibited no fear of water or fishing lines.

Bigfoot's growling stomach fueled the king's suspicions that the salmon was now in danger of a new predator. The plan was to sneak the fish away from Bigfoot's path before he noticed. The king kept a close eye on the furry mutant as he gently wound up the line. Little by little the king was pulling away the fish. A slow process that could have gone smoother had the fish stopped trying to survive.

As it turns out, nothing draws the attention of a hungry mutant like flopping your body repeatedly in and out of the water. This is exactly what the salmon continued to do. Bigfoot quickly became agitated with the salmon's spastic splashing. With the utmost disrespect, Bigfoot snatched the salmon from the fishing line and introduced it to his empty stomach.

To mess with a king's food is to say the least, an unwise move of the most magnificent kind. Enraged and hungry, the king commanded his army of lint brushes to disregard their own safety and capture the ape-like creature. Bigfoot soon learned the meaning of respect upon spending several days and nights trapped inside a tiny thimble. Here, he had play dates with his imaginary friend who taught him that life was about the yin and yang. The flow. Tao. The invasion of Bigfoot's mind by this unseen ally would eventually lead him to seek out methods of expanding his consciousness in a quest to explore the layers and depths of his inner self. That meant no more beheading videos before bed.

Bigfoot continued to spend more and more time getting acquainted with the clouds during long periods of ingesting copious amounts of acid. At this point the king, with a newfound trust in the hairy behemoth, appointed him his right hand man. With this honor came the keys to a brand new Bigfoot hair salon. Finally, there would be a place where Sasquatches the world over could get Squatch In The City hair. The only problem was that the king was unaware that the Sasquatch population had dwindled down to Bigfoot and Bigfoot's mother's ass.

To correct this dilemma, the king began collecting hair from Bigfoot's shower drain. After obtaining the proper amount of hair, he would tie them in knots around clay dolls. The king would then place the dolls under Bigfoot's nose where Bigfoot would breathe life into them as he slept. In the morning, the dolls were replaced by miniature Bigfoot clones. The king would enter the room and upon seeing this would punch the miniature Bigfoot in its face. Thus with a single jab to the clone's face it was born into its new world. Just like Jesus. The king had performed these rituals with the mindset that the basic act of kindness began with the replication of a despicable mutant with oddly disproportionate feet.

Being made in the likeness of Bigfoot could be construed as a burden to some, but to these loyal clones they went so far as to partake in the same mind-expansion drugs as the Holy Squatch. Faster than bat sex they had, unfortunately, forgotten their intentions for taking these mind-altering drugs. Every moment they were alive was a moment they were consuming acid. This led to an erratic and unpredictable nature with no memory of their actions. For clones, waking up in piles of moon vomit on Earth was nothing short of a daily occurrence.

The clones slowly gravitated toward the lint brushes, and in each other they found a kindred spirit. Dissecting each other to find these spirits, however, was a different matter. Together they created such chaos on Negluham that other worlds began committing suicide for fear of being their next target. This Duo of Don't made Negluham their princess by means of raping her over and over. Zero times did they offer to buy her birth control, or pay for an abortion. Their malevolent behavior left behind shadows of the darkest darkness they were letting into the world. Sadly, not a single being shed a tear in the historic transformation of Negluham into a galactic wasteland.

The hologram disappeared, and a cold silence filled the room. Hank's brain was tallying votes to determine whether he was hallucinating again. Since he entered Charlie's stomach in the cemetery, there wasn't much contrast between Hank's hallucinations and the world around him. Both were peculiar nonsensical realities where if one stayed too long could result in a psychotic break. Luckily, Hank's mind was still safely intact like a tennis ball on a roller coaster.

"Do you have some milk or anything?" Charlie asked Mama.

Harold gave Charlie a look of disappointment he usually reserved for his wife when her jaw began to hurt. "Never mind him," Harold said. "We're sorry for what they've done to your land. It's unfortunate you have to be here all alone with those savages just outside your door."

"Oh, don't be silly. I'm not alone."

"You're not?"

"Come. Follow me," she said. Mama walked down a long corridor, and the walls appeared to become wider the further they walked. The place was like a giant sea monster giving birth to more sea monsters. Reaching the end of the hall, they entered into a room of inordinate size where a massive fireplace constituted the entire far wall. The room was full of smoke that the fireplace was only partially responsible for.

There were dozens of owls singing and dancing inside the room. They were passing a long smoking pipe amongst them. When one of them handed it to Hank he reluctantly took a few puffs. The smoke he exhaled traveled up the tree house and began taking the form of a purple-speckled dragon. The fully manifested dragon shot milk out of its nostrils as it began laughing uncontrollably.

"Oh you can just ignore him," an owl said as he approached Hank.

"I blew him into existence. I feel like it would be rude of me to ignore him," Hank said.

"It's obvious you guys are on some type of mission. I know that much. I don't know what kind of mission, but I do know that no one passes through here who's not on a mission." The owl started to an adjacent room and ordered Hank to follow.

Entering the room, they stopped in front of a large closet where the owl turned to Hank and said, "Listen, I don't know what you are up to, but I'm warning you not to bring those clones back here. This tree house is all we've got."

The owl swung open the closet door and stepped aside to display the contents to Hank. Hank was having trouble believing the story his eyes were telling him. Hangers upon hangers lined the closet each carrying the skin of an unfortunate Bigfoot clone.

"You bring them back here, and this is what will happen to you. Understand?"

Hank stared in amazement at the atrocity before him and could only utter an insufficient, "Wow." He didn't want to face the wrath of the owls if it meant becoming a part of their wardrobe selection. Hank walked into the closet and started removing one of the skins from its hanger.

"What do you think you're doing?" the owl asked.

"Seeing if it fits," Hank said.

"Are you out of your mind? You can't just start putting on the skin of a Bigfoot clone!" the owl said. "Not without giving me a high five!"

Hank high fived the owl and pulled one of the lifeless flesh pieces over his awkward teenage frame. "I feel like a superhero," he said. His voice muffled from the slab of skin draped over his body. "How does my butt look?" he asked.

"Like it was cloned. You should wash it."

"I ain't washing nothing. Nasty ass till I die, Bird Man!"

Hank picked up a pillow from the bed and slammed it on the floor. He stood over it with a menacing grin and mimicked slitting his own throat. Foot stomps descended on the pillow trying to end its short-lived wrestling career.

"Hey, relax there buddy. That pillow's filled with my great uncle's feathers," the owl said.

"Ha. What's so great about him? He doesn't even have any feathers."

"You are starting to worry me a little bit. At first I thought you were just weird, but now I think you're like an orthodontist or something. It is rather disturbing."

"You know what's disturbing?" Hank said. "Trying to run in skin that's not mine." It appeared the room was about to turn into a racetrack at any moment. Hank squatted down and began stretching into a sprinter's ready position.

In the living room, Charlie was chatting with a young tempting female owl. The two had isolated themselves off by the fireplace and were taking turns thinking of things to say while the other spoke.

"So, you look pretty dainty for an owl." Charlie said.

"Oh yeah. I'm really dainty," she said in a slow, seductive manner. It was as if being dainty unlocked some sort of magical superpowers. "I can kill you with my daintiness. Make you suffer and bleed like a dandelion." She drug her claw slowly across his bottom lip and down to his chin. "I can make you beg for mercy. Turn your dreams into dainty nightmares. Fuck. You're such a disappointment," she said. Grabbing him by the throat, she forced his head against the wall and began making out with him.

Harold was sitting down talking to one of the elders. The owl he was speaking to was quite wary of their company. Harold was working hard to plead his case that they were, in fact, good people and on a mission to rescue his daughter.

"I hope you find your daughter well. But I'm not sure how we could be of any assistance to you and your people," said the elder owl. "I don't know for how long you will be able to stay here, unfortunately."

"I understand. We weren't planning on falling into your home, but I must say it is a welcome escape from the horrors that lurk outside," Harold said.

"And you must also understand that we like to keep those horrors outside. We have made it quite some time without any intrusions from them. We can't risk any outsiders accidentally luring them in here. I hope you can understand my position," said the elder.

Harold nodded his head, and after a long pause said, "I understand. You have my word that while we're here you have nothing to worry about. We're good people. Charlie has a fabulous heart of goblins. Just a bunch of extraordinarily good-natured goblins. He brought us to Negluham so I could find my daughter, and he certainly had no obligation to do so. And Hank...I mean he's a hero. He epitomizes what a true hero is all about. I mean...he probably does. I'm not sure if he's done anything to be a hero yet. He might though. It seems like that's on his to-do list. I can't think of another aspiring hero I would want by my side in search of my baby lint ball than Hank. Well, maybe an actual hero may be preferable. Eh. Hank has all the potential of an actual hero I suppose. I believe in him and that's all that matters."

Just then Hank ran through the living room door. "I'm an ordinary guy!" he shouted. All eyes locked on Hank as he began walking toward the shocked onlookers. The parliament of owls flocked their feathers frantically, and their flat faces disappeared behind sharp golden fangs. Their eyes began to boil over with the blood of their great ancestors. The lights flickered as if they were somehow drawing energy from them. No one had realized it was Hank who existed underneath the skin of the Bigfoot clone they were staring at. It was possible that they could choose to tear him apart. This possibility continued to grow with every passing second.

Hank was standing at the corner of Real and Unreal. His mind had unfriended him ever since sleep left town. Insomnia had combined with the bizarre elements of his new surroundings crippling his ability to distinguish his visions from reality. Previously, there was a world he could snap back into that he recognized as reality. Now, the only world to snap back into was one of equal abnormality as his sleep-deprived hallucinations. It had become virtually impossible to separate the two.

Hank pulled the skin away from his head to reveal he was not a Bigfoot clone. He stood there in silence as everyone stared at him in complete bewilderment. Hank wondered why everyone was staring at him. He didn't see what the problem was. All of a sudden there were rules in this bizarre world he entered? His whole day consisted of chaos. This was his attempt to finally fit in. After all, could his behavior be considered so odd in comparison to everything he's experienced thus far?

"See? Ordinary guy," he said.

The elder owl stood up and began walking over toward Hank, but Mama was able to reach him first. She leaned in and whispered in his ear, "I think it's best you get going now."

Hank just stood there laughing on the inside at his current situation. Another perfect world that he entered into that collapsed around him in a mere matter of minutes. Another glimpse of hope that would vanish before his weary eyes.

Two young owls escorted them out as Hank begged for another chance, "Please, just let us stay. I don't even want to wear monster skin anymore. That was the old me. I've matured since then. I like my own skin now. See?" Hank showed his appreciation for his own skin by kissing it with his chapped human lips.

The young owls, nevertheless, tossed Hank and company out of the tree house. Trying to regain their balance after tripping over the exposed roots of the tree house, they tumbled back into the forest of doom. Brushing himself off, Hank peeled wet leaves from his face and smiled. "I almost forgot about this place," he said.

"Well, it looks as if the only people who could have helped us...won't be," Charlie said as he shook the worms out of his shirt.

"I'm sorry, guys. I just ate too much pie. That place was creepy anyway. We're much better out here." Hank said.

Charlie's face was a sign of disapproval that Hank tried to ignore. This became difficult to do as Charlie continued placing his face in Hank's line of sight making his disapproval known.

Harold looked at the darkness surrounding them and listened to the creatures bellowing in the distance. "My little lint ball is still out there, somewhere. Hank is right. We are better off out here. It's the only way we're going to find Isabella," he said.

Hank followed Harold into the woods while Charlie stood there motionless. Walking past Charlie, Hank patted him on the shoulder and said, "It's OK. There's plenty of other sultry owls in the forest."

"Not with a beak like that," Charlie said with a smile that would make a sultry owl vomit.

### _Chapter 17_

_Melvin was unsure of how long he had walked down the dirt road_ searching for the spot of the most recent Bigfoot sighting. He wasn't sure if his journey would lead him to any clues, but he felt confident that something or someone would help guide him. That the gods up above, if they still existed, would lend their assistance and lead him to the creature known as Bigfoot. Even if he had to reinvent the gods, he was willing to do so. It didn't matter to him. His newly restored passion for discovering the unknown and making it known was turning more into an obsession, and he was willing to sacrifice anything for it. This was the closest he had been to locating Bigfoot since his youth, and the thought of letting the elusive beast slip away was unacceptable.

Without realizing it, Melvin was fast approaching the wooded location from the news report. He cautiously entered the area searching to see if others were also out to investigate the claim. After confirming he was alone, he walked further into the woods and shined his flashlight on the ground in search of clues. A few empty bottles of cough syrup. Teenagers looking for a cheap high, he thought. This put doubts in Melvin's mind about the claims. It wouldn't be the first time that a few kids got drunk and performed a Bigfoot hoax, however, something inside him made him believe there was a bit of authenticity in this sighting.

He continued his search through the woods and wondered what he would do if he were to find the magnificent beast. Would he try to communicate with him or just simply observe him? He wasn't exactly sure. He had a lot of tough decisions to make and not a lot of time to do it if he was on the right path.

Melvin was trying to cut through the darkness with his eyes when suddenly the factory workers assembling his eyesight began working overtime. They were on a quest to transmute their own blood, sweat, and tears into superior eyeballs for Melvin. The years those workers spent providing average and at times below average eyesight were a thing of the past. For now, Melvin's vision was far above average. Melvin's eyes had spotted a tiny, single strand of hair attached to a wayward branch. He picked it up to examine it more closely. As he pulled out his notebook, he rested one knee against the tree. Opening up the notebook he flipped through dozens of pages until he stopped on a page filled with many strands of hair that were securely taped down. He looked them over meticulously and compared them to the one he held in his hand. The density, the coarseness, the brittle nature that would make it an unlikely candidate for sewing, all seemed to indicate this hair was identical to the Bigfoot samples in his notebook. He placed the hair in his book and closed the pages with as little force as possible before sealing it with a kiss.

Rays of multicolored lights began flashing in the distance. Each individual ray beamed toward Melvin and demanded his attention. The light sparkled as if illuminating an atmosphere steeped in rainbow glitter. He wondered what it could be. Maybe something had exploded, he thought. Maybe the world was ending? Maybe Bigfoot had horribly bad gas? Or maybe, just maybe, it didn't matter, and he would pretend as though he saw nothing. Yes, in fact, that is precisely what he would do. Melvin shrugged his shoulders and smiled ignorantly like a beauty pageant contestant as he continued walking.

Following the path that lay before him, he could hear something in the distance. He stopped to listen, and it was apparent the workers at the ear factory had less to prove. The only sound waves approaching his ear canals were that of the strong wind only getting stronger. Quite certain he did hear something, he followed the phantom noise anyway. The more he walked the closer he came to the sound. He was not sure if the sound he heard had stood still and he was getting closer to it, or if these were new sounds he was approaching. There was only one way to find out, and his feet were going to assist him in doing so. One in front of another they continued until he could hear branches breaking in front of him.

Melvin crouched down behind a tree and peeked out from around it. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary he walked forward in the direction of the breaking branches. Using the tips of his toes he moved like a spy in a cartoon from tree to tree hoping not to scare off or alert whatever was heading his way.

Fear was beginning to settle in with each precarious step forward. Melvin stopped breathing for a moment, and his heart cut the strings that had guided its movement for all those long years inside his chest. Please don't die, he thought. It was the most motivational pep talk Melvin had given himself in years. Here in this moment, it was like being in the contact lens of a hurricane. An immense, sudden, eerie calm permeated the entire atmosphere. He was slowly drowning on the inside, yet he didn't even know it.

Standing before him was a creature that would put all other creatures to shame. Layers of hair rot draped over its inflated skeleton. There were probably fewer stars in the milky way than there were hairs on this creature. The odor exuded from this creature greeted Melvin's nasal cavity with a note that read: I'm sorry. Everything about this beast was not quite as he remembered it. Time didn't do much in terms of helping this creature look any better. It was as if Time simply discarded any garbage it collected over the years, to form this "thing". The creature was basically a compost pile come to life. Perhaps this wasn't the same beast he saw that night when he was just a frightened, young Melvin. Or perhaps that frightened child's mind produced its own false image out of fear.

Melvin ran through different scenarios in his mind about the events that could take place in the immediate future. The best scenario: the two of them embracing in a warm welcome such as that of two estranged friends rekindling their friendship. They would have little words for each other, but their smiles would say it all. The creature would hand Melvin a single, dead dandelion, and he would act embarrassingly shocked, blushing and giggling. Then the creature would rip its chest open and pull out its heart to hand to Melvin, but Melvin would grab its arm and stop it from doing that. He would take the creature's hand in his, and the two would skip hand in hand throughout the forest. It would be the most majestic experience of either of their lives.

The other scenario: Melvin would extend his hand for a friendly handshake, but the creature would spit in his face and kick him in into a nearby tree in a most unfriendly manner. Then, as Melvin laid there motionless on the ground the beast would walk away only looking back to give Melvin the middle finger. A month later Melvin would receive a medical bill in the mail for the creature's pulled hamstring.

As Melvin stood there, trying to decide which of these scenarios were most likely to unfold, the creature continued coming toward him with a threatening disposition. Sneaking out from behind the hideous creature appeared a fellow human being. Someone else on the trail of Bigfoot? Melvin must not have been the only one to act on the news report, but he could have sworn he checked the grounds for any other potential trackers when he arrived. This person must have been in the woods prior to his arrival. There was no way this person could have entered the woods after him and picked up on the trail so soon. As the creature stepped aside, Melvin quickly identified the person.

"Kevin? What are you doing out here?" Melvin asked.

"Me and uh...this lady friend of mine here were just going to some super mega mind-blowing place. She's pretty awesome. She says all kinds of words that arrive on time with other words," Kevin explained.

Melvin shook his head in disappointment. The last thing he was hoping to run into was his stoned buddy and his desperate hook up. "I have no idea what the hell you're talking about. And why are you trying to make out with Bigfoot?" he said.

"You and that Bigfoot. He probably got arrested and thrown in prison. And here you are worrying your silly life away on him. I think you need a new hobby. And you were doing so good these past few months keeping that crazy notebook away," Kevin said.

"First of all no one could arrest Bigfoot. Ask your friend here. I bet she knows. They don't make handcuffs that big or strong. Even if they did he hates the feel of cold metal, and would go berserk once the cuffs made contact with his beastly wrists. That my friend is a fact. Every copy of Britannica at the library verifies this. As for my crazy notebook, check this out." Melvin opened up his notebook to the newly acquired strand of Bigfoot hair that had been gingerly placed into its new home. Slowly removing it from the page he held it up for Kevin to see, "What do you think of this?"

Kevin squinted his eyes to see what Melvin was holding up. Eventually, he managed to identify it as a piece of ordinary hair. He rolled his eyes questioning why he remained friends with such a crazy homo sapien. "I think I have a million of these in my shower at home from my sister."

"I suppose that is a possibility if your sister is bulimic and vomits Bigfoot hair," Melvin said.

"Hey! Watch it! You don't know the pain -"

"You're right, I'll apologize some other time when I care about your feelings. But the point I'm trying to make is that this is a quality hair from the one and only Bigfoot. Ain't that right, Bones?" Melvin looked at the creature standing next to Kevin for verification but only received a blank stare.

"Her name is Poland, probably."

"It matches every other strand I've managed to collect over the years," Melvin continued. "Which means besides you two knuckleheads there must be another hideous beast out here, and I believe that beast is Bigfoot."

"I don't even know how you could find a single hair like that in this dense forest at this time of night. There isn't even a full moon," said Kevin.

"I'm telling you it's authentic. I just know it."

Poland, who was listening to them argue, took the hair from Melvin's hand.

"Hey give that back!" Melvin demanded.

But Poland gave nothing back. She took the Bigfoot hair in question and raised it up closely to her eye. Without hesitation, she inserted the end of the hair into the far corner of her left eye. She continued to insert the rest of the hair into her eye socket until it had disappeared entirely. A moment later she extracted it from the far corner of her right eye. She handed it back to Melvin and said, "You're right. It's authentic."

Melvin and Kevin stood there with their jaws wide open staring at Poland. "What?" Melvin asked.

Smiling, Poland replied, "You were right. It's a Bigfoot hair. Good job."

"Thanks?" Melvin said. He slowly retrieved the hair from Poland's extended hand never taking his eyes off of her.

"Ok. I'm going to say it. That was weird," Kevin said. "You just threaded some random animal hair through one eye and out the other like it was no big deal, and then verified that it came from Bigfoot. No offense, but I don't think that's normal."

"I have to agree with him on this one. That was a little unexpected. I'm not comprehending what just happened," said Melvin.

"I wouldn't expect you to. You two are humans it would seem. I am 3-7-2, and I am an android. The reason for my design - to hunt down and banish the Bigfoot race from existence. The government is afraid people like Melvin will expose the truth before the opportunity to completely extinguish them arrives. They have known of their presence for ages and have continually made you humans doubt your own observations. Their numbers have steadily grown throughout the years, but now they're multiplying at an unprecedented rate. They present an extremely dangerous threat if their numbers continue to escalate as they predict they will. Someday you humans will be wiped out, not by a giant meteor from outer space, but by a stealthy Bigfoot uprising. My only goal is to prevent that from happening," Poland said.

"So, you alone are supposed to save planet Earth?" Kevin asked with much disbelief.

"I am one of many. I believe our numbers are reaching two or three if not more very soon. We are all over this Earth, and the ease at which we are capable of integrating ourselves amongst you humans makes us nearly undetectable," she said.

"How could you be an android when we were just getting stoned together?" asked Kevin.

"You got stoned without me?" Melvin asked as tears formed in his eyes.

"I am actually quite capable of mimicking human behavior. It is, after all, part of the reason for my existence," Poland said.

"They certainly could have made a better looking android," said Melvin.

"Hey! Have some respect," replied Kevin.

"What's really important here is that you're an expert Bigfoot tracker, and that's all that matters right now. He's in this forest, and I need you to lead us to him," Melvin said.

"I was heading to a nearby cave where I have spotted several in the past. It happens to be a special place for me. I caught my first Bigfoot there, and it always brings me wonderful memories of binary bliss. A moment before we ran into you I had noticed fresh tracks heading west. They disappeared rather quickly though. I think if we continue in that direction we'll be able to pick up the trail again," Poland said.

"Lead the way 3-7-2," Melvin said as he stepped aside to let her in front of him.

They began heading west as Poland had suggested, and as she predicted they were able to pick up the trail again. She was an expert of the likes Melvin had never seen. He wished he shared her tracking skills but knew he was at a serious disadvantage as she was skillfully programmed by superior beings. If only he were an android.

In the distance, bright lights began flashing on and off. Various colors of the rainbow were lighting up the pitch black sky at the most random intervals. As far as they could detect, the flashes of light were coming from the same direction as the tracks they were following. Cautiously navigating through the thick woods, anticipating the source of the mysterious light, they had suddenly come to a halt.

"Why are we stopping?" Kevin asked.

"I can smell him. He's using something to disguise his scent. He must have known we were on his trail," Poland said.

She crouched down and instructed the others to do the same. She pointed through the thick branches in front of them into the distance. "Right there," she said.

To Melvin and Kevin's surprise they spotted the creature and immediately identified it as Bigfoot. There was no doubt about the hairy behemoth standing before them. He was standing in a small clearing seeming to take a break from something. In one gargantuan hand, he held a clove cigarette. In the other, a discarded branch he fashioned into a walking stick. The horrendous fragrance emitted from the cigarette was clearly being used in an attempt to mask his natural scent. Oddly enough he enjoyed partaking in this precious human pastime.

Bigfoot paced back and forth as patience began penning its farewell letter. He distinguished the area that constituted his beard by stroking it with his free hand. He stood motionless for a moment and tapped the cigarette with the tip of his finger. His massive finger crashed into the cigarette like a meteor from outer space. Ashes crumbled away from the thin cylinder of tobacco and disappeared into the surrounding darkness. As his eyes closed, his mouth opened. A white puff of smoke floated from his mouth and drifted throughout the night sky. Bigfoot nodded his head as if agreeing upon something which he suggested to himself. Perhaps a sudden conclusion came to him in that moment, or maybe there was a nonverbal conversation he was participating in with others. Whatever it was, it was clearly baffling his spectators as they sat and observed his unusual behavior.

As Bigfoot was pacing back and forth, a bright glowing light appeared behind him. It was an ever-changing pattern of colors that varied constantly in intensity and brightness. As he turned around, the sight of the lights stopped him in his tracks. His face exhibited an expression one might consider a smile.

The wait was over. Bigfoot's ride had come, and it had come in the form of colors. Approaching the glowing light, he paused in front of it for a moment, looked around, and then continued to enter through it.

Bigfoot sent sparks soaring as he passed through the portal of light. Fireflies manifested from the madness of the sparks and began playing air guitar. Like some sort of firefly suicide pact, they held their breath until they passed out. Poland saw this as the perfect opportunity to advance their position.

"Hurry! Follow me!" Poland instructed Kevin and Melvin.

Poland ran toward the portal of light as it started fading away into oblivion. She was able to make it through the portal with Kevin passing through soon after her. Melvin was nearing the portal when misfortune struck causing him to trip over an unconscious firefly laying on the ground. As he started to pick himself off the ground, he looked up at the portal and saw it diminishing before his eyes.

"Come on! Hurry up!" Kevin yelled.

Melvin stumbled as he struggled to find his footing on the rough terrain. He was unsure if his feet would be capable of moving at the speed necessary for his body to arrive at the portal of light before it vanished. He recalled a life and death moment from one of the most unforgettable days of his youth. It was the day he had to outrun a homeless woman after she broke free from her chain. Crystal meth made her look like a moth ball but also gave her legs a turbo boost. He wasn't completely able to outrun the woman and suffered a large bite on his ribs before locking himself in a neighbor's shed. It probably was not the most resourceful memory to conjure up at this time, but it was all he had to motivate himself.

Chugging along, with this thought in mind, Melvin barreled forward with an unstoppable force. The portal of light was barely visible when he passed through its threshold. A moment later the light was gone. A cloud of firefly dust was all that remained.

"Hold on!" Poland screamed.

"What's going on?" Kevin asked in a panic.

Something was prodding them in their stomachs. The prodding became more intense as they began spinning in circles. Horrible gut wrenching screams could be heard from a distant place inside their heads. Cell by cell their bodies began the deconstruction process necessary to pass through the portal.

"This feels so unnecessary!" Melvin informed everyone.

Hanging in a void, where their bodies dematerialized, they were unable to do anything but observe. They hovered outside of the shells of their bodies in a state not defined as life nor death. It was simply a state of knowing. And it was over before they realized what had happened. Awareness had shifted back to their reconstructed bodies and alerted them to their new surroundings.

Long, cold, bone-chilling winds gusted in their faces as they stood in the middle of a densely populated forest. The sound of violins in the distance presented the eerie notion of young children screaming in distress. For a moment, Kevin thought he could hear an owl hooting, but it was probably just his stomach grumbling.

Standing before them was a tree thousands of years old from the looks of it. Its trunk was unusually large. The thickness of which spanned many yards in diameter. The branches hung low as if they were trying to grasp at whatever crossed their path. The tree's mouth attempted to open, but in doing so revealed that it was sewn together with a thick silk material. Resting in the corner of the tree's mouth was a spider of amazing proportions. It sat admiring its fantastic stitch job. The tree was its prisoner, and torture was the main dish for the evening. One must wonder what type of wine best suits such a sophisticated meal.

Upon observing the intimidating scene laid out in front of them, they couldn't help but to acknowledge that they too could end up like the tree - old and imprisoned in the forest. That type of misery didn't appear anywhere on their itinerary which, apparently, must have disappeared while traveling through dimensions as itineraries are known to do.

### _Chapter 18_

_Hank couldn't help but feel disappointed_ that the owls didn't let him stay and make him their new non-owl family member. These, of course, were his unspoken hopes he was sure would have come to fruition if he only knew how to act somewhat human. He tried to remember who he was. Thinking, with his thoughts, he failed to remember any exact identity of who he really was. Or at least who he had told himself he was up until now. The reality he cultivated in his mind was fading like a reflection in a mirror slowly fogging up before his eyes. He could feel something dying or being born. He wasn't sure. The thing that made him feel so inferior to the rest of his human counterparts was his inability to coherently or creatively cultivate sentences or images to accurately portray his emotional or mental state at any given moment. Lacking this gift, he resigned to being just another mediocre human being remaining unaware of his innermost flare of existence. The need to recreate himself arose stronger than ever before, and a renewed urgency to portray the hero set into his bones.

"Shall we continue on our quest?" Hank asked.

"Lead the way my friend," Charlie replied.

They continued their rigorous journey through the unforgiving forest when they came upon a most interesting obstacle in the middle of their path. Thousands upon thousands of smoking snails were spread out like a bed of hot coals. After a brief moment of observing the snails, they noticed that they started spontaneously exploding at random. Shrapnel from their shells flew with blatant disregard in Hank's direction. If silent long enough one could hear a faint childish laugh after each explosion. It was as if someone were playing games at an amusement park. What was the prize for taking out a human from planet Earth? A large stuffed animal? A mountain bike? Or perhaps an impressively large pencil to sign autographs for accomplishing such an amazing feat?

"Maybe we should wait for all them to explode first before trying to cross," Harold suggested.

"We don't have time for that. There's too many. They're just snails. They can't possibly do that much harm. They just look deadly because they're blowing up in your face, that's all," Hank said.

"So, then do you have a plan?"

"As it turns out I certainly do." Hank spread his legs apart and reached his hands out to his ankles. After stretching his hamstrings, he said, "We're gonna run." Hank turned the settings on his ever-growing teenage legs to sprint and began blazing across the sea of exploding snails.

Harold peddled his legs behind Hank but quickly encountered difficulties navigating the unpredictable obstacle course. Snails were blowing up where he was attempting to step, and they were beginning to do so at an increasingly rapid pace. They lacked a set pattern to their explosions, and the confusion of not knowing where to place his foot next caused Harold to slow down almost to a halt.

"Don't slow down! You need to stay ahead of the explosions!" Hank warned.

Harold had always been the slowest lint ball on his softball team, and his performance now was worse than it was during the sixth inning of a doubleheader. His heavy set of legs earned him an exploding snail shell embedded into his thigh.

"They don't respect me!" Harold yelled to anyone who would listen.

Safely on the other side of the Lake O' Snails, Hank and Charlie awaited Harold's arrival. Harold slowly limped his way into their graces where Hank examined Harold's war injury. As Harold bit down on a towel, Hank removed the shell with his rusty pocket knife.

"You'll live. But you might not be able to put full pressure on it for a while," Hank said.

Grimacing through the pain, Harold said, "Thanks man. I didn't think I was going to make it."

"Don't mention it. Let's go find that little lint ball of yours. First we need to figure a way out of this damn forest."

"Yeah, we sure do. It's getting pretty chilly out here. I'm starting to get goosebumps all over my arms," Harold said.

"I have an idea," said Hank. "Let's gather together. Come on, everyone in real close." He wrapped his arms around Harold and Charlie to form a small circle. "I don't know if this will work, but I think it's worth a shot," Hank said.

"I'm willing to try anything if it gets us out of this place," said Harold.

"Close your eyes," Hank said. "Imagine a wave of intense heat coming over you as if you are standing in the middle of the desert. Picture the sun beating down harshly on your skin focusing each individual ray upon your body. Sweat begins forming on your forehead. Now imagine the goosebumps on your body slowly fading away as the sun's rays wash over you. Now let that feeling permeate through the rest of your body until you feel the need to gasp for air. When that's about to happen don't gasp. Hold your breath and wait. It's the edge, and all you need to do is tip yourself over it. Once we fall we can land somewhere else. Now get ready. Hold your breath."

With their weary eyes closed, they all held their breath and waited as they approached the edge. Slipping off of it in wonderful amazement they opened their eyes and appeared atop of a luscious green hilltop.

"It worked!" Hank shouted.

Charlie looked around at their new location and nodded his head in approval of Hank's mysterious technique.

"Look over there!" Harold pointed below them to a village in the distance.

"Shall we?" Hank asked as he readied himself to descend the hill and travel toward the village.

Hank had a newfound determination about him accompanied by severe sleep deprivation. As much as Hank desired sleep he knew he would be unable to fall into it. It was becoming tough to continue into the unknown in his current state of mind, but it was the only state of mind he knew. There was nothing he could do to alter it now. As long as he kept the village in his sights and moved in its general direction, then his mind could do as it pleased.

Hank wondered who the inhabitants of the village would be. He hoped someone there would have superpowers that he could obtain by slitting their throat. As he was wondering this, he thought he could hear Harold and Charlie whispering to one another. He began to grow suspicious of their behavior. Hank's mind was perceiving two men conspiring against him. Their words were a mystery to his ears, but he was certain they were plotting his demise. How much of this had been a set up, he wondered. Did Harold know these lint brushes who stole his daughter? Was it really even his daughter? These questions burned in Hank's mind until Harold looked over his shoulder and smirked at him. To Harold it was simply a smirk, but to Hank it was a dagger aimed precisely at his back. He knew he could handle a knife in the back. That would be nothing compared to his scoliosis.

### _Chapter 19_

_The eyes of the spider were scanning the area for its next prey._ Its mouth watered at the sight of three incompetent humans. The fluid flowed off its lips, down the side of the tree trunk, across the moss and around Kevin's feet forming a pool of spider saliva around his cheap high-tops.

"Can we get moving before this giant spider starts getting hungry?" Kevin asked.

"Don't be scared. They're like caterpillars...they can sense your fear," Melvin said.

"I don't think caterpillars can sense fear. But I do think your mouth is a machine specifically designed to devalue the English language," Kevin said.

"Will you girls stop fighting," said Poland.

In the midst of their quarrel, the spider had tiptoed behind them and slowly wrapped them up like mummies in its silk web.

"Does anyone feel all warm and cozy all of a sudden?" Kevin asked.

"Yeah. I think it's because your hands are in my pants," Melvin replied.

"I would never disrespect my hands like that," Kevin said.

"You idiots! We've just been wrapped up like a burrito by that giant spider!" Poland said.

"Oh."

"Oh."

"AHHH!"

"Don't panic. We can eat our way out," Melvin said.

"Of all the people I get stuck in a spider web with. You two are a pathetic excuse for humans," Poland said.

"Us? We don't even know what you are. Some sort of android that appears human, but apparently you're just a bunch of zeros and ones randomly switching on and off. I mean what are you anyway?" Kevin asked.

"Whether I'm human or an android I guess is up to you to figure out. Maybe I lied about some things. Maybe I didn't. Does it even matter?" Poland responded.

"A little bit of certainty about anything right now would be rather comforting actually," Kevin said.

As they continued uncomfortably squeezing into each other in tight quarters, the silk encircling them began to section off into squares. The squares began flipping over to resemble mirrored tiles and started playing scenes from their childhood. Soon the entire webbing had converted into mirrored tiles, and scenes played out on them like an old projector showing home movies.

Watching the scenes unfold Kevin nudged Melvin and said, "Oh, look it's that time you drug me down the street on your go-cart."

An adjacent tile offered a scene of Kevin jumping off his bed with a blanket tied around his neck. Replacing that scene was a young version of Melvin shooting grape juice out of his nose.

Kevin managed to rewind the scene with his mind and play it again so he could continue laughing at it.

"Hey wait!" Poland said. "You can control them? I think I have an idea."

"You want to see me in the shower? I can look for that one," Kevin said.

"Do you drown?" asked Melvin.

"Find the one where you're jumping off your bed again, and pause it," Poland said.

After a few unsuccessful attempts, Kevin managed to track down the scene and pause it at the moment he leapt off his bed.

"It's your turn Melvin you need to find a memory of being airborne," Poland said.

A mirrored tile changed its appearance to video footage of Melvin soaring over the handlebars of his bicycle after a stick rudely entered his bike's spokes.

"Pause it!" Poland shouted.

The scene froze. The remaining mirrored tiles projected moving pictures of Poland rising from the ashes like a phoenix. This final puzzle piece unlocked three rockets that appeared underneath them. Fire began breathing from the rockets and, without warning, shot them into the sky.

"Seriously?" Melvin asked in shock.

Launched far above the forest into the night sky they traveled at incredible speeds over many horrid sights below. The chances of their survival had they traversed the forest on foot would have been zero point zero. The madness and insanity that had attached itself to the entities that inhabited the ancient woodlands would have devoured novice travelers such as themselves. Even if they were to make it out alive on foot, they would in no way exit with the same soul they entered with. The forest itself was a considerable comparison to the devil's own lunchbox. Finding yourself inside it was just the precursor to being chewed up and swallowed by the devil herself.

Continuing their flight of fancy across the sky a handful of owls greeted them and, after sniffing them, decided they weren't a threat and retreated. With rockets propelling them at incredible speeds, the forest was soon behind them. A terrain of hills had taken the forest's place with the largest hill having a heart carved into its apex. This is where the rocket fueled spiderweb came to a halt and released its passengers from its webbing and dropped them onto the heart carved hilltop below.

With their feet firmly planted on hard ground, they inspected their current drop-off zone. The most obvious observation was that it lacked any similarity to the forest. Here, one could relax and smoke an imaginary cigarette if one desired. But with no imaginary cigarettes on hand they opted to take advantage of their altitude and examine their surroundings below.

Poland stood on the edge of the hilltop pointing to a small village in the distance. "If my instincts are correct that's where our Bigfoot is," she said.

"Wasn't what I had imagined," Melvin said.

"Is any of it?" Poland asked.

### _Chapter 20_

_Hank could hear the rhythm of his heart beating_ at an increased tempo, in reaction to the atmosphere surrounding the village. The beating was so loud he feared falling into a shamanic trance-like state. Hank didn't need anything else to enhance his paranoia, and the lack of noticeable inhabitants did just that. He feared walking straight into an ambush and meeting his sudden demise without anyone knowing his whereabouts.

Charlie pointed out a small red object in the distance. "Guys, over there," he whispered.

A shiny red wagon sat abandoned on the roadside. A man of the most grotesque variety approached the wagon. He had a twisted, gnarled face similar to that of a tree trunk grown bizarre from the elements of nature. His eyes had been overgrown with skin that bore the wrinkles of a life gone on for too long. In what would be considered the middle of the man's face was a nose that gave the impression of a seedling trying to sprout new life. Somewhere across his forehead there grew long eyebrows coated with thick layers of dust and anger. A tattered top hat protected frail strands of white hair from becoming nesting material for homeless birds. A matching trench coat was responsible for covering the length of his long, slender, bony body. With a bit of help from a sturdy walking stick, the man stepped into the abandoned red wagon. As he stepped up, his trench coat rose several inches exposing dense layers of hair and a hoof where one would expect to find a foot.

Sitting down in the seat of the red wagon he shut his eyes. A long velour carpet covered in ivy and dead flowers rolled out in front of the wagon. Upon this carpet crept a dark mist carrying an air of mystery. The mist seamlessly transformed into the silhouettes of innumerable beings. As these beings appeared out of the mist so did the unexpected stench of a decaying sun.

The beings pulled the wagon out of sight and straight into the unknown. The red wagon left behind silky, black doves that fed on dead worms and sucked the blood out of passing butterflies. The doves turned from black to white as they sucked on butterfly blood. Once the transformation was complete, they assembled into an unbreakable line flying away until completely vanishing from sight. To the casual observer they appeared to disappear altogether from existence.

"Pretty birdies," Charlie commented.

Hank gave Charlie a crooked look with his crooked face. Turning back around he ducked down behind a wall of rubble and warned the others, "Get down. Something is coming."

Glancing out from behind the wall of rubble they could see a small group of people approaching. Slowly, their identities started to become clear to Hank. He began to feel like a madman awaking from a lifelong hallucination as Kevin and Melvin appeared before his drowsy eyes.

"I'm telling you there's no way a honey badger on cocaine would lose to a rattlesnake with napalm venom," Melvin said to Kevin as they unknowingly closed in on Hank's location.

There also appeared another person with them unknown to Hank. He studied her closely trying to recall whether he knew her. Standing up, he walked out from behind the wall of rubble and yelled out, "What happened to you guys?"

Poland looked at Hank with intense confusion, and then checked with Kevin to see if he knew this strange man. Kevin stopped in his tracks and squinted his eyes in an attempt to focus them.

"Hank?" Kevin said in complete bewilderment.

"Did you say Hank?" Melvin asked. He stood next to Kevin and stared at the man yelling from next to a pile of rubble. After a long moment, he said, "That _is_ Hank!"

They ran over and smacked Hank in his face, and then met with Charlie and Harold. They weren't expecting Hank to have gathered a welcoming party together on such short notice, but they did find it rather impressive.

"Charlie!" Melvin said. He gave Charlie a long stare wondering how he met up with Hank and where his stupid bear suit went.

"Oh. That's a different Charlie. I'll just let you know that now. I don't actually know all the specifics, but it sounds complicated. It's been a long day, and we have a baby lint ball to rescue apparently, and I am also ready for sleep," Hank said.

Melvin put his hand down his pants to address an itch and said, "Hey, different Charlie. I feel like we've known each other forever. I'm just going to pretend you're not an alien for right now."

Harold put out his hand for a handshake and said, "Hi, I'm Harold. The baby lint ball we're trying to rescue is my daughter. It's pretty much all Hank's fault, and we could use all the help we could get if you're interested. "

"Yeah. I've never met a giant lint ball like yourself before, but we'll definitely help you locate your daughter. This is 3-7-2 she's been helping us track Bigfoot, so I'm sure she can help track down a baby lint ball," Kevin replied.

"I'm pretty good at finding things. I was actually a metal detector in a past life," Poland said. "And I think that building right there is a perfect place to start." She pointed out a small dilapidated building that looked like it hadn't been inhabited in several years. It appeared lost in time, long forgotten by whatever or whoever roamed these lands.

They marched toward the building but stopped at the front door. A spinal column of a human skeleton, jammed into a hole securing a latch shut, was preventing them from opening the door.

"Now what?" Harold asked.

"Let's bust this thing open!" Melvin recommended.

"Just yell at it until it opens," Charlie suggested.

On cue, they started yelling at the door and making it feel inferior until the spinal cord holding the door shut stood up and ran away hanging its head in shame. The door slowly swung open, and they entered the kingdom of nowhere.

The interior of the dilapidated rundown building was a far cry from the exterior. The ceiling appeared limitless and hung above floors adorned with magnificent marble tiles. It was an immaculate sight with the surfaces of objects sparkling before their eyes. The walls refused to reveal an age due to the meticulously cut diamonds used for its construction. A stone dragonfly stood in the middle of the room and beckoned them to utilize its assistance. Its head turned with all the smoothness of a stone dragonfly and asked, "What floor?"

"We need to go all the way up," Poland said to Hank.

Hank stood before the stone dragonfly and said, "Top floor."

"Climb aboard," said the dragonfly.

They climbed on top of the stone figure in front of them and prepared to take off to the top floor.

"Welcome to nowhere. We hope you enjoy your stay, and please don't steal our towels. Thank you," said the dragonfly.

With everyone on its back, the dragonfly walked over to the wall and stared intently at the total internal reflection the diamonds were exhibiting. Slowly and magically the dragonfly absorbed into the wall as a xylophone played cryptic bedtime murder music in the background.

Once inside the wall the dragonfly's wings began to flap in a loud thunderous manner lifting them off the ground. Soon, tiny drops of sunlight poured onto the stone dragonfly as they neared the top floor. An alarm sounded indicating that their happiness had exceeded the recommended daily intake. Parting ways with the stone dragonfly, they made their way down a long corridor constructed of walls that were eager to whisper secrets had one stopped to listen.

### _Chapter 21_

_The room waiting at the end of the hall had hundreds of empty seats_. The middle of the room had a massive hole in it covered by a glass dome. After approaching the large hole, it became evident that the room's purpose was for observing experiments and procedures taking place below them.

Looking down through the glass dome they could see scientists in a bizarre laboratory setting. Strapped down to wooden medical tables by a drug-induced psychosis were dozens of Bigfoot clones. They were all sedated and had several tubes inserted directly into their brains providing constant drops of acid. In the far corner stood a tall, black, machine with gold trim, and a highly enforced door secured with a rather intricate locking mechanism that required the combination of the user's breath and sweat to unlock. The machine projected a hologram of a woman with gloves holding a large magnifying glass. She stared through the magnifying glass at the palm of her hand and counted down the hours, minutes, and seconds until the machine manufactured its next product.

"What are they doing?" Kevin asked.

"They're creating psychedelic Bigfoot clones," Hank replied.

"It's the Bigfoot motherland. I knew we would reach it eventually. I need to touch them," Melvin said.

"Follow me," Hank whispered. He ran over to a spiral staircase made of tie-dyed Bigfoot hair that led them to the laboratory.

"Who's in charge here? Where is the king!" Hank shouted. The scientists continued working, choosing to ignore the group of outsiders who had rudely crashed their scientific studies. Hank, tired and irritated, decided to try again, "Maybe you didn't hear me! I asked, where is -"

A man, who appeared from somewhere unseen to the naked eye, interrupted Hank and pushed a button on his chest to enable his head to protrude from his neck. He unbuttoned a long cloud that covered his breath and spoke, "I am the king. You are an intruder, and I should have your heads shrunk to the size of a Negluham worm. But I have business to tend to. So, assuming you came here to stop my experiments you'll have to talk to my assistant about that. He won't be happy to hear such sad news." The king licked his expressionless face with his tongue, and used it to paint on a contemptuous visage.

An extraordinary large behemoth of a monster with extravagant layers of thick, heavy flowing locks of hair draped over its menacing, gargantuan frame had slowly maneuvered its body into the room. It possessed a head large enough to use as a naval base, with eyes void of any life that stretched across its face like empty black holes. Its lower jaw strategically designed specifically for the consumption of both foreign and domestic mid-sized sedans. The shoulders that held up the mythical beast's head could have easily staged the world tournament to crown the next yokozuna.

Melvin stared in awe at the creature before him and said, "Hey Hank, what the hell's your mom doing here?"

Hank stepped forward and faced the king. "We don't want any trouble. We just want to find a baby lint ball who was stolen from us. We have reason to believe she was brought to this land. Is there any way you can help us?"

"I am afraid I can not. Although I am quite capable of doing so, I simply can not. I will have to ask you to please exit the premises and return to your home. Maybe, perhaps, you can always create new lint balls in the future such as we are creating our own children," the king replied.

"I hear everything you're saying, and it turns out that it sounds rather stupid to my ears. Listen, I didn't do all these majorly time-consuming tasks just to have you tell me to go home. I'm supposed to be at a party with a girl who has an unusually sensitive stomach. I should be there plotting a way to make my hands encounter her breasts. But instead we tried to take one little shortcut and somehow we end up here. So, I've come to the conclusion that one way or another I'm going home feeling like a winner. And since Sheila isn't here with her breasts of seduction, then I must turn my attention to retrieving one stolen baby lint ball from your possession. And we're not leaving until you hand her over. Now take us to her!" Hank demanded.

"No," the king said voicing no emotion.

Bigfoot stood next to the king and started laughing a loud hairball filled laugh. They turned to each other and high fived. The king stood there staring at Hank waiting for him to leave as Bigfoot began picking through the king's hair searching for bugs. Bigfoot chuckled and said, "You said no. That was great. Look how stupid they look. I bet they have butts for ears that's why they don't understand."

"Yes. Idiots indeed. I think they have butts for bodies, especially that grotesque one that's trying to look like you," the king replied.

"Hey fat girl! Why don't you stop having a butt for a body?" Bigfoot shouted to Poland.

A loud stomping came from a nearby room and quickly accelerated until it reached the laboratory. Entering the room with determination and more hair than Bigfoot was his not-so-proud mother. She gave Bigfoot an angry scowl and smacked him on the back of his head. "What's the matter with you? That's no way to talk to a lady. Now give them back their baby lint ball. Come on, don't make me smack you again!" she said.

"He'll never do it! Now be gone!" the king cried.

Bigfoot's mother turned and rapidly swept her long, sharp claws across Bigfoot's stomach. Slicing his stomach open revealed a large interior structure where much activity was taking place.

Peering inside, Hank was struck with the vision of many Bigfoot clones sitting in chairs getting their hair cut, dried, and styled. It was a fully operational Bigfoot hair salon and the ones operating it were the same giant lint brushes that appeared outside of Harold's house. Lint brushes were carefully styling the hair of Bigfoot clones and making them look exceptionally marvelous.

"No! How dare you expose my Bigfoot hair salon to these intruders!" yelled the king.

Atop a golden pedestal, inside the Bigfoot hair salon, sat a lone baby lint ball driving a rather long and deadly sword down her throat.

The king looked at Harold and explained, "Your lovely daughter holds the secret that all the alchemists throughout history have sought. She holds within her the fabled philosopher's stone, that is, the elixir of life."

Isabella withdrew the sword from her throat. A tiny white drop hung from the tip of the sword's blade. She held the blade over a jar marked with a skull and crossbones. The drop fell into the jar as the splash resonated all through the building. As if in some sort of hypnotic state, Isabella slowly guided the sword back down her throat to retrieve another drop of liquid gold.

Having seen enough, Harold ran after Isabella in an effort to rescue her. As he approached Bigfoot's exposed belly, an enormous fist bludgeoned him directly in the chest. Harold's eyes exploded in his head, and his body flew back several yards landing in front of Hank.

Hank bent down to help him up, but Harold wasn't responding. Hank quickly tried searching for any signs of life. "There's no pulse, and he's not breathing!" he alerted everyone in a panic.

The scientists in the room began pulling out the tubes feeding acid to the Bigfoot clones. Feeling entrapped and watching the people in the room begin to age rapidly, the clones were reaching the mountaintops of a bad trip. In all directions, the horizon offered only evil intentions.

"We have to get Harold's daughter out of there!" Hank yelled. "I'm going in!"

"No! You can't! You saw what happened to Harold. We need to think of a plan," Kevin said as the scientists finished removing the feeding tubes from the clones.

"You better think of one fast. I don't think being in a room surrounded by Bigfoot clones on acid is a good plan," Melvin said.

The scientists had vanished from existence, and the clones were now stumbling off the medical tables and taking an interest in the only humans that were standing in the room. They began dragging their hairy bodies over to Hank and the other outsiders.

"We need to get out of here!" Kevin screamed.

"I'm not leaving without Isabella!" Hank stated. Rescuing Harold's daughter now seemed to entail embarking on a full-blown suicide mission.

Bigfoot snarled at Hank's determination and sought to separate him from life as he sprinted toward Hank with his vicious death fangs exposed. With time no longer a friend, Hank lifted Harold over his shoulder and dashed out of the laboratory into a long corridor. Looking over their shoulders they could see Bigfoot and his clones chasing after them. Experimenting with various hallways and false exits they finally located one that returned them to the outside world. They entered the darkness of the night and stood for a moment in shock.

"What do we do now?" Charlie asked.

"It's too open out here. There's nowhere to hide!" Kevin said.

Hank paused to think. He only had a brief moment in time to do anything, and thinking seemed like the wisest way to spend it. Holding Harold over his shoulder he knew he wouldn't be able to carry him for too long. They would need to go someplace where they could hide and still keep Bigfoot in their sights. He wondered how he was going to rescue Isabella from Bigfoot's belly. Doubts as to whether he would rise to hero status began to cripple his confidence. Maybe I am just a mediocre teenager destined for failure after all, he thought. Hank looked up at the gods waiting in the skies above him and said matter-of-factly, "Eat my ass."

"Come on we need to go. Now!" Melvin yelled in Hank's ear.

"To the woods!" Hank commanded.

"I can get us there quick. Follow me," Poland said.

They followed Poland toward the dreaded forest of doom as Bigfoot, and his clones hunted them down. As they approached the forest, a thick fog was beginning to emerge setting the scene for what would surely turn into an ugly showdown. Hank's pace was gradually decreasing from carrying Harold over his shoulder. The thought of leaving him behind continued to creep into Hank's mind whenever the weight became too much to bear. What was the use of carrying around a lifeless carcass anyway? he wondered.

The group was getting ahead of Hank as the fog thickened in the forest causing visibility to further diminish. The pounding of the footsteps chasing behind him, and the wretched stench of Bigfoot's heavy breath left him no option but to enter once again into the dreaded forest. Hank knew the only way an altercation with Bigfoot and his clones would end would be in death. He decided that if he had to fight for his life he didn't want to bring the rest of the group with him to an early demise. Seeing that they were now long out of sight, Hank made a sharp left turn and hoped to lure Bigfoot and his clones far away from the others. The quick move was a success and Bigfoot and his clones followed right in Hank's footsteps.

A moment later as the group continued further into the woods Charlie stopped everyone and asked, "Has anyone seen Hank?"

"He was right behind us a minute ago," Kevin said.

"Shit, we probably lost him in this damn fog," said Melvin.

"I better go back for him," Charlie said. "You guys keep going and try to get the hell out of here."

Charlie ran off in the opposite direction to see where Hank had disappeared to. Kevin, Poland, and Melvin stood for a moment staring at each other debating their next move.

### _Chapter 22_

_Hank's pace was slowing, and his legs were constructing signs_ to protest the war he was putting them through. The weight of Harold's body had Hank forced into a hunchback position with one hand on the ground propelling him forward. His momentum shattered when his skeletal system became unglued and toppled over. Exhaustion had conquered Hank's body and left him on the ground hopeless with Harold's lifeless body trapped beneath him. I need to get up, Hank told himself. But he couldn't get up. His legs were officially on strike.

Bigfoot and his clones were fast approaching Hank, and he was hoping the thick fog would shield him from their view. What Hank wasn't aware of was that Bigfoot had borrowed fog-penetrating eyeballs from someone who wasn't using them anymore and had spotted Hank with no difficulty. Bigfoot patted himself on the back and let out a primal howl before rushing toward Hank.

Hank struggled to get out of harm's way and whispered to Harold's corpse, "It looks like you're about to have some company."

The ground began tearing at the seams under Bigfoot's stampede. He was preparing his claws for enough momentum to shred through Hank's flesh with a single blow. Hank watched helplessly as Bigfoot grew larger with each passing second. Dust storms rose in the monster's tracks resulting in traffic accidents for many flying insects. Staring into his eyes Hank witnessed Bigfoot's pupils transform into time bombs. As the bombs neared detonation, Bigfoot's claws were descending onto Hank's body when a loud noise from high in the sky begged for his attention. A sea of birds blanketing the sky began to descend into the fog. They swept down and made terrible screeching sounds reminiscent of tortured drunken souls. Bigfoot and his clones were ignorant to the deadly threat these birds posed and attempted to swat them away like bothersome flies.

"There's Hank," said one of the birds.

With his face buried in the ground, Hank's ears perked up at the sound of the voice. "Mama?" he said to himself.

A hurricane of owls descending from the sky were preparing their gold fangs and talons to annihilate Bigfoot and his clones. The clones were helpless and surrounded by innumerable bloodthirsty owls. One by one, the owls plucked the clones off the ground and carried them into the vast expanse far above the forest. The owls tore apart the clones bit by bit and sent blood, entrails and other useless body parts showering down through the heavy fog. Taking over the sky were the silhouettes of a myriad of owls spinning their heads repeatedly in a three hundred and sixty degree motion tearing apart the carcasses of clones.

Bigfoot watched in anger at his clones being deconstructed and would swat his clumsy paws at the owls anytime they attempted to kidnap another one of his clones. With the owls eluding his grasp, Bigfoot chose to unleash his anger on a more attainable target and set his sights back on Hank. Once again Hank tried to will his body to rise but realized it was futile as Bigfoot was already too close for him to escape. For the first time, Hank felt as if he could fall effortlessly into a deep slumber. Despair was settling over him when a dark figure sunk from the sky. Death was right on schedule. Hank squeezed Harold's corpse tightly in search of the same solace a child finds in the embrace of a teddy bear worn and frayed from many nights of battling the darkness. Words tried to leave his mouth but met an unseen barrier forcing Hank to communicate with Death through means of mental telepathy. Death responded by arriving in the form of the elder owl from the temple clasping its golden fangs around Bigfoot's neck. The elder owl spent ages awaiting the opportunity to bring home the long sought after souvenir of an authentic Bigfoot head. The tearing of the hairy behemoth's flesh echoed throughout the forest as the owl continued its attempt at decapitation. After thinking it over Bigfoot decided on maintaining ownership of his head and, following a bit of a struggle, succeeded in separating the elder owl from his mutilated neck. In a unsportsmanlike gesture, Bigfoot chewed off the elder owl's left wing and threw him across the forest. He landed in the large web of an anxious spider where he was slowly eaten alive and regurgitated and then eaten and regurgitated again. This act continued until the elder owl was nothing more than a lumpy ball of shallow breathing white goo.

Hank spotted a blurry figure running toward him through the fog. He feared another clone approaching but soon saw Charlie come into focus gripping a razor-sharp stick in his hand.

"Hey sexy! Prepare to meet your end!" Charlie yelled as he leaped onto Bigfoot's back. Charlie postured up on Bigfoot's shoulders holding the stick over his head preparing to blind the mythical mutant. He drove the stick into Bigfoot's eyes and spat in his face. After having both his eyes stabbed out Bigfoot dropped to his knees in front of Hank.

"Now's your chance!" Charlie yelled to Hank.

Hank looked up and could see inside Bigfoot's belly into the hair salon. Isabella remained standing there with a sword in her throat as if in some sort of hypnotized state. A strange new energy entered Hank's body upon seeing her. There was no thinking about attempting to move his limbs for they seemed to operate under their own will. Something awoke inside of Hank and took control over his actions. Without hesitation, he sprung to his feet and lunged himself inside Bigfoot's belly. Hank instantly removed the sword from Isabella's throat and swept her up in his arms before diving back to solid ground. He stood now with a baby lint ball in one arm and her deceased father in the other.

Bigfoot rose to his feet and swung his arms around searching for any nearby humans. He found Charlie and made him pay for stabbing his eyes out by slamming him into the ground and stomping on his chest. Unable to help his friend, Hank ran and took cover in the underbrush. "Hey you big hairy ape!" Melvin screamed.

In the distance, Melvin was rushing to Charlie's aid alongside Poland and Kevin. Using rocks as their weapons of choice they attempted to back Bigfoot away from Charlie's flattened body. Bigfoot remained unfazed by their pathetic attempts; however, he did eventually become quite agitated and stopped stomping on Charlie long enough to turn and growl at the three humans.

Behind Bigfoot, Charlie lay on the ground moaning in agony and despair. Charlie fixed his attention on another furry creature slowly navigating through the forest. This creature didn't arrive alone, but instead, brought along the rest of the pride. Charlie quickly realized the lions were cautiously stalking the already wounded Bigfoot. A drop of blood crashing to the ground from Bigfoot's eye socket served as the starting pistol that sent the lions racing to devour the giant. They drove their claws deep into his fur coat while clamping their jaws down on his thighs. Bigfoot swung his body feverishly trying to remove them, but they continued to accumulate on his beastly frame. The lions proved to have an unmatched determination as they pounced off nearby trees landing on Bigfoot's body. The lions' eyes closed and receded into their skulls as a third eye opened up on their foreheads. Bigfoot, not feeling under his own power, started to spin in circles. He placed a single exposed claw over his wrist and ripped through his fur coat opening up a long, narrow wound that erupted gallons of blood with each passing second. Like a robot set to self-destruct, Bigfoot treated his other wrist with the same pleasure. The lions drug Bigfoot's body to the ground where they shattered his skull with their powerful jaws, spraying chunks of splintered bones and teeth across the forest floor. The sign in the hair salon flipped over and read: 'closed'.

After witnessing Bigfoot take his own life, the lint brushes resolved to escape from inside his belly. Leaping out of the hair salon they transformed into stained-glass butterflies that flew off in formation into the sky. Their trajectory was soon disrupted by guardians from the temple of owls who bit the wings off of the flying caterpillars sending them into a free fall where a sea of young, hungry owls awaited.

Kevin, Poland and Melvin ran over to help Charlie who was still lying motionless on the ground. Kevin bent down to shake him and demanded him to speak. Charlie looked at Kevin with eyes slowly vanquishing from reality and said, "Happy paper starts with smiling trees."

"What does that mean?" Kevin asked.

"I got that in a fortune cookie once. I figured I would understand it before I died, but I guess not," Charlie said.

"Listen, none of that's important now. You're going to be fine."

"It's time I continue my journey elsewhere. Before I go, I need you to do something." Charlie took Kevin's hand and placed it over his chest. Charlie's heart was beating slowly, and the moments between beats continued to grow further apart. There was one final beat, however, that pounded its way to the surface. Charlie's whole body began to shake as this heartbeat made its way up through his chest and began vibrating out of his body and into the palm of Kevin's hand. Kevin looked down and stared deep into Charlie's eyes. He searched, but Charlie had already disappeared from behind his eyes, exiting his body for a more spacious residence. Kevin was holding Charlie's heartbeat in his hand when he stood up and walked over to Hank.

Hank was holding Isabella and sitting next to Harold's dead body when Kevin arrived. Kevin picked up a stone and struck it against the side of Hank's neck to create a spark. Calling upon years of extensive training in such matters, Kevin caught the spark in his hand and threw it into Harold's chest. Once inside his chest the spark surveyed the area and proceeded to begin bouncing around and replicating itself. Soon, odd geometrical patterns of jumping sparks covered Harold's chest. After a respectful and cordial invitation, Kevin's hand entered the pattern of sparks. As he placed his hand upon the geometrical patterns, he could feel the heartbeat he carried in his hand get sucked out and into Harold's body. The sparks continued to grow until forming a long cylinder of white light that sent Kevin jumping backwards as it stretched far into the heavens. Otherworldly fists, in reaction to the cylinder of white light, pounded into the ground causing an explosive bolt of lightning to travel down the glowing cylinder into Harold's chest. The cylinder of sparks receded into Harold's body reviving his heart and bringing his body back to life. He took a deep breath and jolted into an upright position. His eyes - still filled with visions of the afterlife - were now beginning to float in tears at the sight of Isabella reaching her two eager hands out for love.

Bigfoot's ravaged corpse was soon discovered by his mother and the king as they came storming through the woods. The sight of her son's mutilated body stopped Bigfoot's mother in her tracks. She stared in horror at the discarded pieces of her child strewn across the forest floor. She was already conceiving a plan to return with a mason jar to preserve those pieces, and use them to conduct séances in a nightly effort to raise him from the dead. Her final teardrop slipped out of its cage and leaped from her eye as her body began to swell with an uncontrollable rage. Someone needed to answer for the atrocities performed on her only son. She turned to face the king, who stood there indifferent to the loss of his long time companion, and shouted, "This is all your fault!" The king begged for forgiveness and understanding, but the anger erupting inside Bigfoot's mother made her deaf to his pleas. The overflowing fury from within transformed her into a mother unwilling to show mercy in avenging her son's death. In this moment, the fog intensified to such a degree that the only visible object was the fleeing silhouette of the king disappearing into the deep confines of the forest after being sought after by Bigfoot's mother whose soul was now altogether consumed with vengeance.

Harold held Isabella in his arms, as images of bite-sized swords on plates of rotting flesh formed behind her eyelids and created the landscape of what would be her first encounter with a nightmare that would continue to haunt her whenever she traversed the threshold into the realm of dreams. It was a nightmare that would never allow her to forget her experience inside the Bigfoot hair salon, but whether or not that experience was a dream or reality would further be blurred by the hands of time. Harold pressed his lips against Isabella's forehead and gave her a kiss to let her know she wasn't alone when it came to navigating a world full of nightmares.

"Gross," said Melvin who was watching impatiently and waiting for the cue to return home.

Hank's mind had rested for the first time. It was finally beginning to process the bizarre and unnatural events he had witnessed in a day that showed no signs of writing an ending. With no desire to contribute any more memories of Negluham to his memory vault, Hank said, "I think it's time to get the hell out of here."

Hours after their departure, the king had managed to elude Bigfoot's mother and sought his own revenge arriving at the temple of the owls with gasoline and a book of matches. The meter designed to measure the level of hope on Negluham began to drop the moment billows of black smoke floated into the atmosphere. The clouds of smoke drifted through the woods, around giant spiderwebs, over a bed of exploding snails, and into a rainbow portal which was beginning to show signs of fading away for the first time.

### _Chapter 23_

_Hank sat in his bed gazing out the window into the night sky_. What were once authentic images of the moon and stars appeared now as nothing more than cheap replicas. A night sky that, not so long ago, represented the vast and infinite now took on the characteristics of a dark curtain drawn only to eliminate the sunlight from the world for a few short hours. Somehow his world was not only shrinking and disappearing but also creating an unpolished duplicate in its place. In his mind, he begged for sleep and waited for something in the darkness of his plastic existence to render him unconscious. Every breath Hank drew he could hear echo throughout the hollowness forming inside of him. He watched the constellations sail across the sky fading away into oblivion as the sun pushed away the night. Hank waited, and listened for the voices inside his head to drive him out of bed.

With his jacket in his hands, he walked to the end of his driveway where he stopped and let out a long sigh of confusion. A cold gust of wind blew across his torso and sent chills through his body. He stared with glassy eyes at the goosebumps taking over his arm and envisioned the sun's warm rays sinking their heat deep into his flesh. The magical formula, specially designed for the termination of goosebumps, had failed, prompting Hank to impatiently put his jacket on and button it up. With his hands in his pockets, Hank stood there and gazed off into the distance. Clouds of black smoke rising from a rainbow that was slowly fading away into obscurity, caught his attention. Hank's mouth stretched open wide as he began to yawn. It was the longest yawn ever experienced at the end of Hank's driveway. As the minutes passed he continued to yawn, and a boy riding by on his bike threw a dead mouse into the hole in Hank's face. Hank immediately started gagging and spit the mouse out as the boy continued peddling down the street.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Hank asked as he stood there hunched over, dry heaving onto the sidewalk.

"Sorry! I thought it was a trash can!" the boy responded as he peddled out of sight.

Spitting on the sidewalk and pulling hair out of his teeth, Hank couldn't understand the reason a car was slowing down and coming to a stop next to him. The driver stared at Hank in the shadows without speaking a word. Just when Hank began to approach the car and decipher the face peering back at him, the wheels screeched and the car was gone leaving behind the wretched stench of burnt rubber in a blanket of exhaust smoke. Appearing through the slowly dispersing smoke a gorgeous young lady stood in the middle of the street admiring Hank's rodent infested mouth.

"I'll help you remove that mouse fur," she said seductively.

Hank couldn't believe his eyes as he gazed upon the beauty offering her gracious help.

"Sheila," Hank said. "I can't believe you're here."

They stood smiling at each other with their eyes journeying deeper and deeper into one another's soul. Hank felt like a giant stick of butter melting into a sea of bliss as he took inventory of all of Sheila's goddess-like features. He would give anything to remain in her presence and stare at her until his eyes dried out of his head. Hank had expected the gods to wrap a massive ribbon around the two of them tying them together securely for all eternity. A form of celestial marriage. Instead, a large white van pulled up quickly beside Sheila. Two masked men quickly jumped out and grabbed her. As Sheila screamed for help, Hank stood there frozen in utter amazement. The masked men covered Sheila's mouth and swiftly tossed her into the van and sped away. Hank turned his head and watched the van jump a curb as it turned a corner and disappeared.

With his mouth agape, Hank looked back at the billows of black smoke floating above the fading rainbow that stretched across the horizon. He turned and looked back again where the van disappeared hoping it would return with Sheila, but the street remained empty. A notarized, hand-delivered letter addressed to Hank's brain simply read: something's wrong. Hank's body cried for him to assist with its movement and, after being blinded by much indecision, he finally obliged. The black clouds enticed him to move forward and further away from the bitter taste left behind by Sheila's sudden disappearance. He wondered how he could feel so wrong and right at the same time. Still Hank remained steadfast on his quest to reach that dying rainbow in the sky. His thoughts then did the impossible and nestled deep within the covers of solitude for the first time. He had dreamed on many occasions that this would happen and cure him of his insomnia. The strings of his soul strummed gently as he floated down the endless road saying goodbye to the bright lights and sunshine, as dying gods smiled down on him and watched as he set out on the path to resurrect that other world from the clutches of death.

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