Pretty birds with brilliant plumage caw and dive amongst the puce limned trees, and off in the distance is a small vermilion brook rushing along between wine soaked banks. Patches of lush greensward smeared in scarlet pepper the radiant, frightful landscape while disturbing splashes of aubergine blanket blue-green bushes everywhere.
The radiant blue-green leaves of every stately tree in my sight are flecked with varying shades of red. And from the ribbons of variegated blooms that line a bright yellow brick road doused in rosy goo, crimson drips in thick, spine-tingling globs. Vivid colors imbrued in a deep, dark redness surround me, and it sets off alarms that clench my stomach and seize my breath.
Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?
It’s an explosion of color so vivid and ominous my eyes need a more than a moment to adjust. I rub my eyes and shake my head. When I open them again, I still see a technicolor world dipped in dread. It’s as though my brain can’t process what’s before me, like it makes no sense, and the dichotomy of its beauty and wickedness jar me to my core. With my mouth agape, outright stunned, I try to assimilate the paralyzing scene.
Have I landed in some radiant, colorful hell?
Dumbstruck, I stand gazing at a polychromatic land as enchanting as it is sinister when a group of four people—three short men and one tall woman, each dressed in peculiar costumes—step out from behind a large topiary trimmed in the shape of an egg. They wear odd looking armor made of silver metals and animal skins.
Conical hats sit on their heads that have little dangling crosses around the brims that tinkle as they move. The hats of the men are robin’s egg blue, but the woman’s hat is pearl white, and under her plated platinum colored armor she wears a pure white outfit that hugs her muscular, lean body like a second skin. Tiny stars that glisten in the bright sun like diamonds bespangle the snow-white fabric while tight blue clothes of the same robin’s egg shade adorn the little men under their silver armor. On their feet are distinctive leather boots with a deep roll of the same blue at the tops, and at the soles of the shoes is caked-on mud, red and blue-black and at least an inch thick.
The little men are about as old as Uncle Henry, with long, hoary beards, while the woman looks as though she’s in her twenties or perhaps her thirties. She may look young, but her eyes read older, like she has seen a lot. She has eyes like my Aunt Em—cold, gray, and hardened. With hair as snowy as an arctic fox, styled in a severe bob that accentuates the severity of her fine features, she charges toward me in a stiff walk flanked by her men in blue. Maybe she’s an angel, welcoming me into the afterlife. Or a demon welcoming me to hell.
Wary as they draw near, their eyes slimmed in appraisal, they pause and whisper amongst themselves as if they are too suspicious to come any closer. The woman stops their conference and approaches, makes a low bow, and speaks in a velvety voice.
“Hello, and welcome, most noble Sorceress, to the land of the Munchkins. We are indebted to you for slaying the Vampire Witch of the East and for saving our unbitten.”
Uhhh… I slew a Vampire Witch?
Did she say vampire? Did she say witch? Could she be serious?
Of course she’s serious. This is hell. Why wouldn’t they have vampires and witches? Because they’re not real, that’s why. Maybe I’m hallucinating. Or maybe this is just a nightmare—I’m still asleep and haven’t woken up yet. Maybe I’ll never wake up because I’m already dead and this hell is my eternity.
The ghost white woman with pale silver armor stares at me as though she expects me to answer while more little people come out from behind trees and bushes, daring to step forward and eye me with curiosity.
Dizzy with consternation, I take a deep breath, trying to relax my knit brows, and say, “You must be mistaken. I have killed no one.”
“Ah, but your vehicle did,” replies the woman, with a laugh, “and I’d say it is the same thing. See?” she continues, pointing to the corner of the house. “There are her two feet, still sticking out from under a block of wood.”
I dare to look, and when I see it, I gasp in horror. Just under the corner of the great beam the house rests on, two feet stick out shod in shining metallic silver boots with sharp knives coming from the toes. They are covered in what looks like dripping blood. All the red around here looks like blood, some fresh and bright, some old and blackening.
“Oh, no. No,” I cry, covering my mouth in shock, “What do we do?”
“Nothing,” says the woman with a calm shrug.
“She might still be alive. Oh, please, we have to help her,” I beg, horrified by what’s happened, by what I’ve done, and by her disregard for this person’s life.
“No, she is dead,” she says with a titter, “And it is a blessing. The Vampire Witch of the East terrorized Munchkins for many years.”
“What are Munchkins?”
“Munchkins are the people who live in this land of the East,” she says with her pale brows knit, a nonplussed look in her ancient eyes. “The Vampire Witch of the East turned the poor Munchkins at her will when she needed more slaves to do her bidding, and I thank you for freeing them from the threat of being turned by her.”
“Are you a Munchkin?”
“No, but I am their friend. Even though I live in the land of the North, I do my best to protect them. I was engaged in battle with the Vampire Witch of the East when your vehicle came down and landed on her. We all thank you for ending a long struggle. I am Gayelette the Slayer Witch of the North.”
“Okay…”
Is this a joke? A crazy, messed up dream?
Disbelief overrides my good manners, and I ask, unsure of whether or not to buy any of this, “Are you a real witch?”
“Yes, but I am on the righteous side of this relentless battle. Protector of the unbitten, slayer of the bloodthirsty. Although I am not as powerful as the wicked Vampire Witch who had overrun this land because her boots made her unstoppable. If it were not for them, I would have set the people free myself. For your aid, I thank you.”
“All witches are wicked, aren’t they?” I ask, wary of this strange woman calling herself a witch.
“No,” she laughs. “There were only five witches in all the Land of Oz, and two of us—I, who lives in the North, and another who lives in the South—we are the good witches, Slayers of the Bloodthirsty, Protectors of the Unbitten. Those who dwell in the East and the West are wicked Vampire Witches. And there is the Zombie Witch Mombi up in Gillikin Country, but none of us have heard from her for a while. She stays out of things, being the wretched old crone she is. Thanks to you though, there is but one Vampire Witch left in the Land of Oz—the one who lives in the West.”
“Witches aren’t real, and neither are vampires, and neither are zombies. Not where I come from.”
“Where might that be?”
“Kansas.”
The Slayer Witch seems to think for a time, her head bowed and her eyes downcast.
“I do not know where Kansas is, for I have never heard that country mentioned before. Is it a civilized country?”
“A lot more so than here, I’m guessing.”
Where the hell am I that she’s never heard of Kansas? Another world? Another realm of demonic things? Witches and vampires and zombies—this can’t be real. It must be a nightmare.
“That accounts for it. In the civilized realm I believe there are no witches left, nor wizards, nor sorceresses, and there are no vampires, werebeasts, or zombies. The Land of Oz was never civil. We still have witches and wizards and all the aforementioned among us.”
Stupefied by every absurd thing that comes out of her mouth, I ask with a light laugh, “Wizards?”
“Yes, Oz himself is the Great Wizard. More powerful than all the rest of us together. He lives in the City of Emeralds, the only city that is a vampire free zone in all the land.”
“So… not only are there vampires and witches here, but there are zombies and werebeasts, you said?” I hope I heard her wrong.
When sh
e gives me an affirmative nod, my heart sinks.
“Thanks to the Vampire Witches there is a plague of vampirism that has spread throughout the realm. Some people opted to become zombies or werebeasts, either for protection or immunity from the plague. Others have tried their luck, like the Munchkins, hoping to hide from the many bloodthirsty vampires throughout the land, hoping the plague will end someday and the vampires will be extinguished so they can return to a normal life.”
“Why would someone want to become a zombie over a vampire? Both options sound just as bad as the other.”
“From what I understand, zombies do not lose their souls the way vampires do, and there is also a rumor they can cure zombiism.”
“Are there Zombie-Vampires?” That seems like an even more horrifying combination.
“No,” she says and titters. “The reason people become zombies is to avoid being bitten. If a vampire bites a zombie, they are dead for good.”
“Is it the same for the werebeasts, or only on the full moon when they change into the beast version of themselves?”
“I am not sure what the moon phase has to do with it. Werebeasts are shifters, and although they can shift back into their human forms, I am told it is excruciating, so most do not do it but once. They became shifters to ward off vampires, so they remain as beasts. When they are in their beastly state, vampires know not to bite them. When a vampire bites a shifter, they transform into a monster unlike any other and end up in necrosis. The process is agonizing, and no one has survived it yet.”
“Why would someone turn into a zombie if they can become werebeasts and shift into a human at will?”
“Aside from the harrowing transformation, there is no cure for the shifters. Most believe zombiism has a cure although I am not sure how true that is.”
I want to ask another question, but the Munchkins, who have been standing by in silence, give a loud shout and point to the corner of the house where the Vampire Witch of the East lies.
“What is it?” asks Gayelette, who looks over and laughs as the feet of the dead Vampire Witch disappear, fizzling away to ash, leaving nothing but the silver, blood-soaked boots. “That’s the end of her!” Gayelette giggles in joy when the boots appear on my feet. What the… “The silver boots are yours,” she sighs, disappointment heavy in her tone. “I have been after those boots for years,” she grumbles. “But… perhaps you are the one,” she says, her eyes narrowing on me in perusal.
“The one what?” I ask, nervous to hear the answer.
“The one we have been waiting for.”
“To do what?”
“End it.”
“End what?”
“We have been fighting a relentless battle. Perhaps you are the one to end the struggle.”
“Me? No,” I say, shaking my head.
“The boots have chosen you.”
“Boots of a Vampire Witch chose me? Lady, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but I am nobody with no skills to fight a battle. I’m just a girl from Kansas. You can keep the damn boots—I don’t want them,” I say as I sit on the front step beneath my feet and try to take them off, but they won’t budge. “Ugh, why won’t they come off?” I grunt, struggling with the things that have clamped themselves to my feet.
She thinks for a moment before she answers. “Perhaps you will need them.”
“The Vampire Witch of the East was proud of those silver boots,” says one of the Munchkins, “and there is a charm connected with them, but what it is we never knew.”
“Ugh,” I say, giving up on the boots and standing to face them. Yeah, this is not something I need to involve myself in. “Is there a way out of here, this realm, or whatever you call it, so I can go back to my realm, the civilized realm?”
The Munchkins and Gayelette first look at one another, then at me, and shake their heads.
“At the East, close to here,” says one, “there is a great desert, but none have lived to cross it.”
“It is the same at the South,” says another, “for I have been there myself and seen it. The South is the country of the Quadlings.”
Quadlings? That’s new, but at least it sounds safer than zombies, vampires, and werebeasts.
“I am told,” says the third man, “that it is the same at the West, where the Winkies live, a country the Vampire Witch of the West rules, and she will turn you if you pass her way.”
“Turn me?”
“Into a vampire,” he clarifies.
Awesome. No thank you.
“The North is my home,” says Gayelette, “and at its edge is the same great desert that surrounds this Land of Oz. I’m afraid, my dear, you must stay. There is no way out.”
Stay here? No. Hell no.
Unable to contain my emotions any longer, I burst into tears knowing I’ll never get back to my life, a life I never got the chance to live, a life where existing was all I did, and it was never enough for me. I must have been awful to end up here in this twisted, plagued land of monsters. A few kindhearted Munchkins take out their handkerchiefs and weep along with me. I bet being stuck here is just as bad for them as it is for me, worse, enduring this dreadful place for as long as they’ve lived. It’s wrong. No soul deserves this existence.
Gayelette huffs out an irritated sigh, takes off her cap, and balances the point in her palm as she counts in a solemn voice.
“One, two, three.”
The cap morphs to a slate before my crying eyes. In big, white chalk-like marks, words appear:
DOROTHY MUST GO TO THE CITY OF EMERALDS
Gayelette takes the slate from her palm and reads the words on it.
“Your name is Dorothy?”
“Yes,” I breathe, my mouth agape in shock at seeing my name written in what I assume is magic on her hat of all things. I snap out of my stunned daze and collect myself, drying my tears with the backs of my hands.
“If you go to the City of Emeralds, perhaps the Wizard will help you.”
“Where is this city?” I ask, eager to get directions out of this accursed netherworld.
“It is in the center of the country, and the Great Wizard rules the city.”
“This wizard, is he a ‘good guy’?” I ask with a wince, hoping the answer is yes.
“He is a good Wizard. If he is a ‘guy’ I cannot tell, for I have never seen him.”
“How do I get to this City of Emeralds?” I want out of this hellhole, fast.
“You must walk there. But know that it is a long, dark, and terrible journey. I will use all the magic arts I know of to keep you from harm, and those boots should help, so do not worry.”
There is something saccharine in her words, but I ask her anyway.
“Will you come with me? Show me the way?” I beseech her. Even though I don’t think I can trust her, this woman is my only hope of making it if she’s a slayer of monsters. I won’t make it dodging vampires and zombies and werebeasts and twinkles and quadleys or whatever the heck they are.
“Sorry, no. I am busy with a life of responsibilities, and it is a long journey,” she replies, and I’m stunned by her callousness, but I can’t expect much more from a stranger. On my disheartened mien she groans. “I will give you this,” she says, and a large bag appears in her hands, like magic.
When she opens it, she displays its contents—heads of garlic, a silver cross, holy water, wooden and silver stakes, something similar to a crossbow with silver and wooden arrows, what I think is a flame thrower, some rope, a whip, and an array of sharp weapons like axes and knives of all sorts. Yikes.
“The road to the City of Emeralds is yellow brick, soaked in the blood of the victims of vampires. You cannot miss it. When you get to Oz do not fear him, for he detests that. Just tell your story and ask him to help you. That is the best I can do for you. Now I must go. I hope you enjoy the boots,” she says, finishing with a resentful grumble. “Goodbye, Dorothy of Kansas.”
The surrounding Munchkins bow low to her and wish her a pleasant journey, after which
they walk away, going back to their hiding places underground or in the blood-soaked trees. With a somewhat amicable little nod, Gayelette whirls around on her left heel three times and straightway disappears much to the surprise of little Toto who barks and growls after her. When her companions do the same, they poof away in a burst of billowing white smoke.
Alone and terrified in this vivid, radiant hellhole, this crazy place, Toto and I stand transfixed, uncertain of everything. Why am I here, in hell? I did nothing to hurt anyone. I did nothing at all, except my chores, my homework, everything asked of me, and I didn’t talk back either. Fine, so I was unhappy in Kansas and I complained, but only to Toto and he’s a dog. It’s not like I whined about it to a human. I was always grateful for a place to stay, a roof over my head, and grateful for Toto. So why was I sent here? Nothing I’ve ever done warrants this. What inadvertent action did I take to deserve this? Perhaps I’ll never know.
Self-pity pervades as I reflect on my situation, wondering if this is my personal hell, a torture created just for me as a punishment for something I did unwittingly or can’t remember. Or maybe the way I looked at everything was just plain wrong, and if I can figure out the reason I’m here, then I can return or go somewhere that’s monster free.
Until I can ascertain the reason the powers-that-be cast me into this nightmare, all I can do is follow Gayelette’s instruction and find the Vampire Free Zone, the City of Emeralds. I’ll go talk to this Wizard and see what I need to do to get out of here and get back to Kansas. Still, I’m not sure if I’m dead. No one has said anything of the sort so far. They all seem to think they’re alive.
Could I have traveled to another realm? Because that’s what they’re telling me. If that’s true, then maybe this is what death is—traveling to another realm of some sort—and I ended up here, in this world overrun by vampires and witches and zombies and werebeasts, with little people who call themselves Munchkins. And what’s a twinkle and a quadley? Bizarre. Who knows what else I’ll come across in this absurd place.
If there’s some force listening, some power in charge of all this afterlife stuff, I’m begging you, please, don’t let this vivid netherworld be my eternity.
Dorothy In the Land of Monsters Page 2
