STRANGER WORLD

by Jack Castle

  Wait. There was one person there he recognized. On the other side of the open grave.

  His wife. Tessa. And she was doing her very best to hold back her tears. He attempted to rush over to her side but his legs were rooted in place. He called out to her but his voice sounded as though it were underwater, and she did not hear him. In fact, no one seemed to be paying attention to him. This is what a ghost must feel like. I should’ve known that place wasn’t real. Maddie, the Fairies, Lady Wellington, all of it--it all makes sense now. I wasn’t dreaming. I hadn’t been transported to some magical place. I’m just dead.

  But if he was dead, why was the coffin sitting next to the grave so small?

  No, not possible. The gravestone… it didn’t belong to him… it belonged to…

  George involuntarily choked as he read the fresh marker:

  MADDIE STAPLETON

  4/15/2003 – 6/30/2012

  Why? Maddie never died. This isn’t a memory. The date is all wrong. Two weeks after he had flown that rescue mission. So this can’t be right. This all has to be some sort of stupid, stupid dream.

  Dad, we don’t say stupid, his daughter’s voice said in his head.

  Maddie’s dead? If that’s true, then… where am I? Why wouldn’t I be at my own daughter’s funeral?

  Then he saw the second grave marker. The carving in the headstone was as fresh as the first one… and equally disturbing.

  GEORGE STAPLETON

  1/10/1969 – 6/22/2012

  No. Oh no. If these dates were correct… Keep in mind, this is all just some sort of stupid dream; but why did it feel so real? …Maddie died two weeks after he did. What happened? Was it a car crash? Statistically speaking, that made the most sense, a car crash.

  No. I refuse to believe this is all real. “One… Two… Three.. wake up! One, two, three, wake up!” George pinched himself but it didn’t work.

  “Excuse me,” he said, pushing past the first set of black suits. Some of the attendees cried out in alarm, others complained. “Pardon me.” George pushed through a dozen more men dressed in suits. Just how many of these guys in suits are there?

  The rain was beating harder. His own black suit…when did I put that on? I thought I was wearing a trench coat…was soaked through, and he could feel his wet hair plastered to his forehead. When he reached Maddie’s coffin, several of the men--they were all faceless, George could see that now--tried to stop him. “Back off,” George raged, and Spartan kicked one in the chest. He threw another charging-faceless man past him, and struck a third three times in the face. He tossed the stunned third man into several more following behind him, knocking them all down.

  Knowing he only had seconds before they were on him again, George reached for the small coffin. He had to know if Maddie was inside. With some difficulty, he lifted the lid. What he expected was to find nothing inside. Wasn’t that how these dreams were supposed to go?

  But Maddie was inside. She looked as though she might be sleeping. Except there was no color in her cheeks and her tiny chest didn’t rise and fall.

  She was gone.

  Feeling the hand on his arm, he shook it loose. George then felt more hands on his back, shoulders, and biceps.

  “Let me go!” he growled, and shook two more off. Three others took their place.

  “I said… let… me… GO!”

  George elbowed the guy on his right in the face, only this time it wasn’t a faceless man in a suit. This time he found himself face-to-face with a masked-man--he assumed it was a man, but the reality was he really couldn’t see behind the mask. It was one of those funny burial masks with the long curved beaks, shaped like a bird. The beaked man--plague doctor, that’s what they were called--wore a velvet overcoat that stretched all the way down to his ankles, a wide-brimmed hat, and thick gloves.

  George stared hard into the mask’s eyes to see who was behind it, but he could only see reflections of himself in the glass-covered openings.

  The rain ceased and they stood that way for a moment while a brisk autumn wind tousled George’s hair and stung his cheeks. The plague doctor seemed unaffected by the brisk wind.

  Then…

  TWONG!

  As the world tumbled upside down, George glimpsed the blade of shovel held high in the air. As he plummeted down into the open grave it occurred to him that another one of those masked bastards had struck him from behind with a shovel. He didn’t have time to think on it for long because the bottom of the grave came up fast, and he soon found himself lying on his back in the open grave staring up at an ominous sky.

  Now dozens of beaked plague doctors leaned over the open grave staring down at him. Without any warning they began tossing the blackest of dirt onto his face. As he spat it from his mouth, or tried to, he heard more shoveling, and more black dirt began covering his body. He lifted his head, for that was all he could move at this point, and could see nearly his entire body covered in black earth. Another pile of soil struck him in the forehead, forcing him to lay all the way back down.

  Body immobilized, all he could do was stare up out of the open grave with one unobstructed eye. He heard a loud CLICKING sound emanating from one of the bird-doctors, and the burial detail suddenly ceased. The plague doctors stared down at him, as though studying him, their heads occasionally tilting to one side and then the other, giving them even more of that bird-like attendance.

  George screamed defiantly up at them.

  More CLICKING sounds ensued, only this time from the entire burial detail. Then they violently resumed their shoveling, and within seconds he couldn’t see anything but blackness.

  They had buried him alive.

  Chapter 24

  “Hitting the Pavement”

  Trembling slightly, George’s eyes fluttered open. For a moment, it was all he could do to breathe.

  He found himself lying on the pavement in the middle of the street. Someone had rolled up a red coat and put it under his head to serve as a pillow.

  Maddie!

  For the life of him he couldn’t remember how he came to be in the middle of the street and, as he regained more of his senses, he struggled to recall what had happened to Maddie. The only thing he did know for certain is that she was gone, and he had to find her, fast.

  “Maddie!”

  He climbed to his feet as quickly as his stinging body would allow, dusted himself off, and with little other options, began to scan his immediate surroundings.

  But that was just it, his body didn’t sting anymore. He only assumed it would. The reality was his cheek was no longer bruised, the wound in his thigh no longer throbbed, and even the soreness in his back and feet were gone. If anything, he felt refreshed, like after a long weekend of doing a whole lot of nothing. In fact, he felt better than he had in ages. His fingers gingerly probed his jeans for the wound in his thigh and he realized his leg was now completely healed. Someone had even gone to the trouble of mending his clothes. George couldn’t see where they had stitched the hole, and now that he thought about it, the clothes felt clean and pressed.

  Talk about full service, he mused--humor always was his coping mechanism.

  Of course that coward, Barnaby, was nowhere to be found. First sign of trouble and he ran off.

  George heard what sounded like a leaf crumpling underfoot, and when he looked down he saw a hastily written note that read:

  George,

  Don’t waste it.

  -L.M.

  George held the note in his hand and wondered, Don’t waste it? Don’t waste what? And who the heck is L.M.?

  He lifted his eyes to the heavens and shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand. The enormous hovering barge was gone.

  Which way to go? For the first time in his life he was frozen. He didn’t know which way to go. Every decision he had made up to this point seemed, in retrospect, the wrong one.

  George couldn’t move.

  And then, for some reason, at that exact moment, George recalled how he used to play t
hose old Dungeon and Dragon board games as a teenager. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. His family had been poor while he was growing up, and they could barely afford to put food on the table, let alone have the money to buy those expensive D&D pieces and game books. The only reason he ever got to play those games in the first place was one day a bunch of his idiot jock friends were beating up on this nerd behind the bleachers. When George arrived the letterman-jacketed bullies had already stripped the nerd down to his skivvies and were rifling through his satchel, (yes, he actually had a brown satchel in junior high, like he wanted to get beat up) and were splitting up the spoils. One had to keep in mind this was a time long ago, before bullies were shamed out of existence. Anyway, the three bullies were all one year older than George, and their leader, Derrick Garbo--a great name for a bully--was a lineman for the Junior High football team. He must’ve outweighed George by at least fifty pounds. And his two minions weren’t exactly small potatoes either. Now teenage George,who was actually still pretty skinny at the time, may not have had any money to buy toys and games, but one thing his drunken dirt-bag of a father did do for him was teach him how to fight.

  The three bullies didn’t have a chance. And before it was over Derrick Garbo’s nose was broken and the other two had run off. The nerd, James--yes, he actually went by James, and not Jim, or Jimbo--was so grateful that from then on he invited him over his house after school-- he lived in a mansion, by the way, and they ate like kings--and they would go on many quests together in the magical world of D&D.

  And just like the many choices he had to make in that fantasy world, it was time to choose wisely. Only instead of crossing over the bridge with the troll under it, or fighting the dragon chasing him or turning back, George had to decide whether or not he wanted to check the bunkhouse, gift shop, or river.

  As it turned out, the sound of tinkering from the gas station’s garage decided for him.

  George rounded the corner of the gas station. He found Barnaby with his back to him hunkered over the engine of the safari truck they had spied earlier.

  And by the looks of it Barnaby had been busy. George could see four old discarded flat tires in the overgrown grass and next to them was an old style jack. That must be how he pulled the truck into the mechanic’s bay. Meanwhile, the truck’s hood was propped up with an oversized wrench, and the truck looked like it had thrown up all its old components onto the pavement--battery, alternator and several frayed black rubber belts.

  “How long was I out?”

  Barnaby ceased ratcheting the battery terminals and froze. He slumped his shoulders and without turning back toward him finally said, “You’re back. I told you two to run. Why didn’t you listen to me?”

  “Where’s Maddie?”

  Still not turning to look at him, Barnaby resumed his ratcheting. “Where do you think? She’s gone. They took her.”

  So that part was true. The hovering barge was real, the strange lanky weirdos had abducted Maddie, and when he tried to stop them…that part was still a little fuzzy.

  “What happened to me?”

  “I dunno. I think you fell through the roof over there.” Barnaby pointed to the bamboo-framed pavilion with a recently-broken thatched roof. “I think the roof cushioned your fall. That, and you landed on a table underneath. When I found you, you were pretty broken up, coughing up blood--you sounded like you were barely breathing, drowning on your own fluids. I knew you didn’t have long. So I dragged you into the middle of the street and hoped for the best. You’re a lot heavier than you look by the way.”

  George found himself wondering why Barnaby would drag him into the middle of the street. That hardly seemed like the best place for his survival. He settled for asking, “What do you mean, hoped for the best?”

  Barnaby finished hooking up the battery terminals, grabbed a rag and wiped his hands of grease. “Yeah. They don’t always take people. And sometimes, when they do, they don’t always bring them back. I guess you’re one of the lucky ones.”

  “You keep saying, ‘they’. Who are they?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never actually seen them. No one does, but I’m pretty sure they live below ground.”

  George thought about the massive complex underground, with hundreds of floors below. He suddenly remembered the blond-haired woman with horn-rimmed glasses on the floating gurney. Didn’t she have an I.V. bag in her arm? They must have a hospital underground, too. Why wouldn’t they? They have everything else down there.

  “Did I die?”

  “Doesn’t matter if you did. They can fix you. They can pretty much fix anything.” He then mumbled to himself, “If they want to. Although they seem to do it a lot less these days.” He took a utility knife out of his pocket, cut the truck’s serpentine belt, and began pulling it out. “This is definitely gonna have to be changed,” and with that Barnaby discarded the broken belt onto the ground into the pile with the others.

  “How long was I…” George thought about how he was going to finish his question. How long was I dead? How long was I missing? He settled for, “How long was I gone?”

  Barnaby must not have heard him, for he said, “Ya know, when I was a kid, my grandpa and I rebuilt a truck just like this once. I didn’t appreciate it, or him, at the time, but that summer was probably the best time of my life.”

  “How long, Barnaby?”

  Barnaby stopped threading the new serpentine belt for a moment, thought about it for a second, and answered, “I dunno, all day yesterday, most of this morning.”

  Now the burning question. The one that mattered most. He was hesitant to ask it.

  “Maddie… is she… is she dead?”

  Barnaby dropped a wrench down into the engine and cursed. He finally turned around and looked back at him. “What?” His tone was of genuine surprise. “Is that what you think?” He shook his head. “No. No, she’s not dead. Despite what you think of Lady Wellington, she just doesn’t go around killing people.” He thought about this for a second, “Well, she does kill people, but that’s not her main goal.” He took a step toward him, wiping his greasy hands on the rag again like it was some sort of nervous tick. “Do you remember back at the Glen when Lady Wellington was about to let you guys go?” When George nodded he continued, “Well, I overheard her aide whisper something about your daughter, and how the High Queen requested an audience with her. There’s even a huge reward.”

  George was beginning to lose his patience. “Yeah, so?”

  Barnaby’s eyes went wide. “So?” he asked incredulously. “So? The last time Lady Wellington took out her royal barge was years ago. So the High Queen must want her pretty badly; it costs resources to run that floating city of hers.”

  “We have to go after her then.”

  George expected a coward like Barnaby to resist the idea of rescuing Maddie so it surprised him when Barnaby said, “Well, yeah. Of course we do.” Seeing George’s face he added, “Hey, don’t look so surprised. Your daughter is a great kid.” His face turned sour and he mumbled, “Not like my kids, bunch of doped up hippies, with all their drugs, free love, and devil music. You’d think ole’ tricky Dick would put a stop to it all.”

  George couldn’t help but smile at this. Hippies, free love, tricky Dick. George had to assume Barnaby was talking about Richard Nixon. Is this guy a throwback from the late sixties or what? How old is this guy? Certainly not old enough to have been an adult in the sixties.

  Barnaby must’ve realized he’d been rambling. “Alright, I changed the tires, spark plugs, gas, and oil. I put in a new carburetor, alternator and battery, and swapped out all the belts and wires that I could. Why don’t you get behind the wheel and see if she’ll crank?”

  George could only nod. He suspected he was still in shock over everything that had transpired, especially by the fact that Barnaby was not only willing to help him find Maddie, but he was actually being helpful. It never occurred to him that the obese, thinly-mustached accountant would be anything more than a cum
bersome burden.

  As soon as he slid behind the wheel Barnaby shouted, “Okay, try it.”

  George found the keys dangling in the ignition and was slightly amused by the stark white lucky rabbit’s foot dangling from the chain.

  Okay, Alice.

  Although he was forced to wonder how much luck a severed rabbit’s foot had to offer after getting chopped off from its owner.

  He turned the key halfway, and was pleasantly surprised when the needle of the fuel indicator rose to full and all the lights and noises came on. But when he turned the key there was only a loud CLACKING sound. He shuddered involuntarily. It was the same sound the plague doctors had made when they had buried him alive.

  “Hang on, hang on a second,” Barnaby yelled, snapping him out of his trace. There was a loud banging that sounded like a wrench, or some other heavy tool, striking the alternator under the hood. “Okay, that should do it. Try it again.”

  George turned the key the rest of the way and was rewarded with a gentle roar from the heavy duty V-8 engine as it sprang to life. George felt a smile spread across his face as the truck’s engine rumbled to life and idled steadily. Now they had transportation. For the first time George was filled with an emotion he had not felt since he got here.

  Hope.

  It had taken them over an hour to unload the back of the truck of all the non-useful junk and replace it with two barrels of fuel and foodstuffs they’d pilfered from the gift shop. As they worked George told Barnaby about his dream of being buried alive, seeing his daughter in a coffin, and everything else that happened since falling off the barge. In response, Barnaby had pretty much reiterated what he had already told him, which was how he woke up with a small group, the others had quickly died off, and then he was captured by Lady Wellington and forced into servitude. Over the years he had quietly watched from the shadows as others came and went. A few escaped but most of them died.