by Mark Howard
"Um, Hi," Jess replied, startled. "I'm looking for Terry. Ah, Kal at the Runaway sent me."
"Inside. Kitchen," he replied, with a voice like the loose gravel of the driveway. Raising one hand from his belly, he lifted his hat and dropped it back to his face — eyes still closed — in a parting gesture clearly optimized to require the minimum energy expenditure possible.
Opening another wooden screen door — they seemed ever-present here — and entering the house, she was reminded of a bed and breakfast. Antique furniture and knick-knacks were scattered throughout the living and dining rooms at the front of the house, and down the main hall beside a large ornate wooden staircase, a potbelly stove poked out of the doorway to what she presumed was the kitchen. Hearing some shuffling coming from that area, she headed back to investigate.
"Hello...I'm looking for Terry?" she queried, knocking on the rail of the staircase as she approached. A shock of white hair, perched on a bespectacled head, appeared in the kitchen doorway.
"Hi!" the head said joyfully, before disappearing again to take care of some kitchen business, then re-appearing, body in tow. The tall, thin man headed towards her, smiling as he wiped his hands on the large checkered apron he wore. Reaching her, he held out his hand and shook hers, but only smiled, and said no more.
"So...you're Terry?" Jess asked, trying to jumpstart the conversation.
"Oh, yes!" he replied, as if also remembering it himself, "Yes, of course. And you are?"
"Jess, Jess Armitage. Kal from the Runaway told me to ask for you."
"Kal! Yes, of course. Kal...wonderful soul. Well! Come on back, I'm fixin' up some granola."
Jess stifled a laugh as she followed him back; Of course he's making granola, she thought to herself. Standing in the small kitchen, she watched as he returned to mixing the contents of a large white ceramic bowl. She figured she would wait for him to say something this time, but after a few minutes, the silence became almost unbearable to her. Making a game of it, she decided to see how long she could go. She wondered if he was playing this game too, but had a hunch he wasn't.
"So! You're here now," he finally offered, after a few more long, painful minutes of conversation-less mixing had elapsed. She took that as an opening, but unsure how to respond, decided to play along.
"Yes, I'm here now. Just arrived from Chicago."
"Chicago! Wonderful place. I remember Second City, back in the day. Used to smoke the Ganja with John Denver. Oh, and the Old Town Ale House! Yes. And Del! How could I forget Del? Oh my. Wonderful. Wonderful." He seemed lost in reverie, and began absentmindedly stirring again, much too slow for any tangible effect on the ingredients.
"Got crabs from a girl there once..." he mused. This had the effect of utterly blowing through Jess' defenses, and she let out a long, hearty laugh while holding onto her mostly-healed ribs. He regarded her overreaction curiously, but then began giggling as well, as if agreeing with her that it was indeed funny.
"OK, you win," she said, relenting.
"Oh, no, no, no...there are no winners here. On the flip side, no losers either. So it's like a nice warm bath. But it's not Communism," he lectured sternly, while shaking an oats-and-brown-sugar-laden wooden spoon at her, dropping dollops onto the floor. "So don't even start up that alley Young Miss."
Holding her ribs tighter, she laughed aloud again. She couldn't tell if he was baiting her or not, but he did glance at her with a sideways smile this time, which gave away...something. Maybe. He either had a deviously dry sense of humor, or was a very, very confused man.
"Aaaaaand round two goes to you," she retorted, composing herself. "The challenger remains...the challenger. So anyway, I'd like to find out a little bit more about what goes on here."
"Well, you're in the right place for that, aren't you?" he replied, then balancing the bowl on his hip, turned and leaned toward her as if sharing a secret. "You have got to taste this when I get it out of the oven," he whispered. "Some people think it's better the next day, like meatloaf, but I like it nice and hot, and I need somebody else on my side in this." With a wink, he turned back to the counter and began to spread the mixture onto a baking pan.
"Not a problem," she replied. She was beginning to think she would never discover what this place was all about. "Um, do you mind if I have a look around?"
"Please do...and oh, if you have any bags just leave them at the foot of the stairs."
Well I guess I have lodging — at least for tonight, she thought as she returned to the front of the house.
~ 15 ~
On the other side of the central staircase was a formal dining room with a long oak table, neatly decorated for afternoon tea. There were peanut butter cookies, ladyfingers, and small slices of sandwiches, along with an array of liqueurs; but no one around to partake. She went out to her car, and after retrieving her paisley duffel bag from the trunk, lugged it up the path to the house. Reaching the porch, the gentleman in the rocker — now fully conscious — addressed her.
"Stayin' a spell, ah?"
"At least for tonight, yeah, maybe longer."
"Well if ya hear like a woman gettin' kilt tonight, don't let it bother ya none. S'jes the squatches a-hollerin back 'n forth."
"Oh, ah, ok...thanks?" she said. She waited a moment for him to introduce himself, but when he disappeared back under his hat, she walked back inside, shaking her head at his un-Southern hospitality.
As she set her bag at the foot of the stairs, the strains of a distant conversation wafted in through the open front door. Closing it, she peeked out the living room window and spied a group of four walking up the gravel drive from the direction of the yellow dome. A younger gal led two middle-aged women, one tall and large and the other simply tall, and one older man. All, except for the leader, were engaged in an animated discussion, which she couldn't quite make out until they neared the porch.
"...It didn't register that it was the farm until just now, it was like I couldn't recognize it from that perspective," said the larger of the two women.
"There was definitely the presence of something powerful — that I could feel," the other woman replied.
The man, lagging behind, didn't seem half as animated, and contributed little to the conversation. They quieted down as they passed the troll on the porch, and upon entering the house the leader of the group noticed Jess.
"Looks like we have a new guest, everyone!" she announced, extending her hand to Jess. "Hi, I'm Sophie, and you are?"
"Jessica, thanks...call me Jess," she replied, as Sophie reeled her in by the arm and embraced her in an arguably non-consensual hug.
"Oh, well, sure," was all Jess could muster, holding her arms above her new friend's back and gently patting her shoulders politely in return.
"Welcome!" Sophie reiterated, with a final, painful, squeeze. "This is Melody, Nancy, and Jan." Jan, referring to the older man, was pronounced Yahn, and they all shook her hand politely, in marked contrast to Sophie.
"I don't remember seeing a fourth on the registration this week," Sophie said with concern, "and unfortunately you're a few days late already. Was there a miscommunication somewhere?" This was clearly a polite way of asking Jess what her deal was.
"Well I guess you could say I'm a walk-in, I'm sorry, I don't really have a registration, and I don't want to intrude, but something brought me here, I don't know what exactly, but..." Jess realized she had said too much and cut herself off. This woman was clearly more with it than Terry, and now she worried that her confused blathering would cause her to be shown the door.
"Slow down Jess! Got plenty of time here, and don't worry one bit. You're not the first to be drawn here," she added, glancing at her other charges. "Let's get you working with Terry to see where you are, and then perhaps we can get you caught up in a day or two. Sound good?"
"That's perfect, thank you." I guess the freaks get stuck with Terry, she thought to herself with embarrassment.
"Well, looks like we have our tea ready, come on and
join us, Jess," she offered. As Sophie headed toward the dining room, she almost tripped over Jess' bag. "Oh, this must be yours, do you have a room yet?"
"Well not really, is there one open?" she asked meekly.
"Surely! Take the Tannenbaum, up top and to your right."
As Jess hefted her bag up the creaky stairs, she thought how strange it was that no paperwork was filled out, no credit card number taken — nothing. Was this southern hospitality, or just this place? she wondered. Entering her room, she was reminded again of a bed and breakfast: it contained a springy antique double bed with far too many decorative pillows arranged on top, a lovely little balcony facing towards the dome and mountains beyond, and, to her relief, an en-suite bathroom, with adorably tiny original porcelain fixtures.
After she had finished unpacking her things into the large wooden dresser, she headed downstairs to join the group for tea. She had little to contribute to the conversation, she felt, but that didn't seem to be a problem as Melody and Nancy kept it going all by themselves; apparently they had a "session" at the dome today, and were rehashing their progress.
There was talk of L2's, L3's and various states of consciousness, and the effects of these on their "spiritual progress". They both seemed totally self-absorbed, frequently talking over each other instead of having any meaningful conversation, and Jess tuned them out after a few minutes. As Jan didn't seem like much of a talker either, she finished her tea, grabbed a blueberry scone, and headed back into the kitchen.
~ 16 ~
Terry wasn't there, but he soon appeared from out back carrying a wicker basket full of freshly picked herbs and vegetables.
"Hey there, you! All settled in?"
"Yeah, all good. You prepping for dinner already?"
Terry set down the bushel and heaved a sigh. "I'm a little slow, so yes. Julian usually does the cooking and other kitchen stuff, but he went to town, so this is all they get. Why don't you help me chop some of this lettuce?" he said, offering her a large knife. As she held the scone in her mouth and settled into chopping, he suddenly caught her off guard.
"What can we do for you here, Jess?"
"Oh, yeah, that," she mumbled, removing the scone from her mouth. "Uh, well, I guess I've recently discovered I have this ability...that relates to what goes on here, so..."
"You leave your body," he offered, more a statement than a question.
"Yeah."
"Well then, you're at the right place. Can you verify?"
"Um, I don't know what you mean?" she asked, puzzled.
"Can you produce third-party testimony, conscious or un-?"
Jess raised her eyebrows and shook her head slowly back and forth in confusion. He stopped and turned to face her.
"Can other people see you."
"Oh, yes! Sorry, yes, my friend saw me while he was awake, he said I looked like smoke. And a doctor I had — I mean, who treated me — I'm pretty sure he saw me."
"Well good, that tells me something. Can you go full body if you wanted to?"
"Again, with the..." she said, raising her eyebrows once more.
"Full body is when you can manifest as a whole body, either solid or semi-transparent. Smoke is more of an unconscious manifestation, so if you were conscious, this tells me you haven't learned to fully control your energy yet. When did you say was the first time you left your body?"
"About six weeks ago, I think?"
"Six weeks, huh?" He paused, went back to his chopping, then paused again.
"Are you sure? Never had a high fever as a kid, and found yourself floating above your bed? No dreams of exiting your body? Nothing like that?"
"No, nothing like that."
"And you can do controlled exits at will? Or it just happens randomly."
"Well it started by accident, but I can make it happen now when I want to."
"Wonderful! Wonderful. Mind my asking what happened?"
"Ummm, huh?"
Terry stopped again to look at her.
"Ever try to pull two magnets apart? It's like they're of a piece, until you force them to separate. Well the subtle body is like that too, so unless you've had a lot of practice, it doesn't come out so easy. So something must have pushed it out, right?"
"Well, I died, so..."
"Yup, that'll do it. Probably just a scare though. Did you hear a loud pop?"
"Yeah, well, no: a bunch of little pops, like a ripping sound."
"That's the bodies separating. Means you didn't die," he explained. "When you die it slides up the ladder and goes out the crown into the cord, no popping." Taking the long knife in his hand, he tapped the top of his head with it, then flung it upwards. Smiling at Jess' obvious look of incredulity, he leaned in close again as if to share another secret. "Ask enough doctors over a drink or two," he whispered, "and you'll get one of 'em to admit that every once in awhile they've caught a glimpse of a tiny swirl of smoke rising from the head of one of their patients at the moment of death."
"But I did die, I saw my body, the police said I was dead."
"Nope. Uh-uh. Death is when the cord is severed; fact of your talking to me right now means your cord's just fine."
"OK, full stop. Define cord please?"
"Astral cord. Ties you to source. Comes down and condenses into the ladder."
Jess spun her hand as if reeling in a fish, but thought maybe she was the one being reeled in. "Okay...and ladder now?"
"Jacobs Ladder. Spinal cord. Your crown chakra — your brain," he said with mild disgust, "is simply an exit point for your cord, it actually goes all the way up into the ether. Honey you got a lot to learn!" he remarked with a hearty laugh, and went back to his chopping, stranding her.
Overwhelmed, Jess silently returned to her work as well. When they were both done, Terry once again broke the silence.
"Let's take a walk down to the chamber."
~ 17 ~
As the gravel crunched beneath their feet, Jess asked him about the man on the porch.
"Helen. Sure. He's our handyman, been with us going on twenty years now."
"Helen?"
"Well, Len for short. If you feel the need to satisfy your gender circuit, that is," he said curtly.
"Whatever. But he is a little odd, though. He mentioned not to be afraid of the screaming 'squatches' at night?"
"Now, durnit," Terry said, becoming visibly angry. "I've told him about that stuff before." Then, softening his tone: "He shouldn't have said that to you, I'm sorry about that."
In addition to the amusement at having this Zen hippie get his mellow harshed, Jess was intrigued as well — why would he be so apologetic about a weird joke? Not really wanting to know, she forged ahead anyway.
"So, is there screaming at night I should be concerned about? And if so, then...what the hell?"
A sheepish look crept over Terry's face. "Well they hardly ever wake anyone up, and we usually just say it's bobcats if they do."
"So...then...what are they now?"
"Well it's the squatches, like he said. But we try not to talk about it to the guests, takes away from the focus on their experience here, we've discovered."
"I'm going out on a limb here and assuming you mean Sasquatches, like Bigfoot?"
"Ayup."
"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, mostly to herself. She had tried to convince herself to keep an open mind through all of this, but now with Bigfoot on the table, her faith in this place — and her entire journey — was shaken again. By now they were getting closer to the dome, so she didn't push it, and he didn't continue, which was just as well to her.
"Now this is the Chamber, where the fun happens," Terry presented, with an immaculate Price-is-Right-model hand gesture.
In front of the large yellow dome looming above them stood a boxcar-sized addition constructed of grey cinderblock, with no windows and only a single door. A red lightbulb, currently unlit, hung upside-down in the doorway.
"Why yellow?" Jess asked, referring to the dome.
"Ha! Well, it was pretty funky a ways back, all covered with rainbows and galaxies and some such, we repainted it yellow in the late 80's when the original paint started to peel. Simpler, but still something positive and uplifting. Allow me," he said, holding the door for her.
The addition was a small but long room, and a desk with several small Sony monitors and a large microphone took up most of one side, giving it the appearance of a T.V. studio. Terry led her through a second inner door, which let out a whoosh upon opening.
Inside, the enormous main chamber was bathed in a bright, sourceless, pink-hued glow. Arrayed in a semicircle were six tiny wooden houses the size of backyard tool sheds. Bundles of wires emanated from each one and snaked their way around the perimeter, leading back towards the control room. The small houses seemed quaint in this featureless expanse; they reminded her of outdoor saunas.
"These are our Sec-U's — Seclusion Units. Each one is wired up to the hub so we can pipe in white noise — or chants, or music, or whatever is preferred — to provide an assist. We can also hear what is going on inside, in case an excursion has any issues which need intervention."
Jess was curious to know what kind of "issues" they ran into.
"Wanna give it a spin?"
Jess was taken aback. She had been at this place for less than two hours, and now she was going in a "Sec-U".
"Sure, I guess...I mean, it's safe?"
"Well, is sleeping safe? And like I said, I'll be listening in, so..."
He walked towards the closest unit and pushed the door open for her. Entering, she found a single cot, covered with a patterned quilt, taking up the bulk of the small space. A pair of large black headphones hung from a peg above it, and to the side stood an antique dresser. Along the wall were hooks with hangars, presumably for clothing, while a camera was mounted in the corner of the ceiling, pointed at the bed.
"Uh, I can keep my clothes on, right?" Jess asked with a nervous laugh.
