Stranger Things Have Happened Ch. 06

Something fat and heavy landed on my chest, jolting me from my deep slumber. My eyes flared wide and I sat up as quickly as I would have if I'd stuck a fork in a power point and given myself an electric shock.

"Fuck!" I screamed. Yes. I said the 'F' word, again. I had been corrupted.

My vision cleared slowly, I always had a hard time waking up.

Waking up…Oh God! Please let that have been a dream!

The heavy weight on my chest shifted and slid lazily off me when I sat up. It gave an indignant 'meow' in protest.

"Heathcliff! Oh thank GOD!" I gushed with great relief. I reached for my offended bundle of feline and hugged him gratefully to my chest. He looked like a fat fluffy rat, and at that point in time, I didn't think I had seen anything as beautiful in my entire life!

Looking around, I saw that I was in my bedroom. Nothing was out of place, it was as neat and tidy as it always was. It hadn't been lifted and thrown around in a Tornado and dumped in some other dimension where extremely gorgeous looking elves of thunder and lightning seduced the unwary and tricked their souls from them. Things like that didn't happen in Australia after all. They only happened in Kansas. And Kansas was on the other side of the world! Heh. I scratched Heathcliff under the chin and his eyes rolled back in his head.

"That's it." I mumbled into his golden fur, "I'm never going to meditate again. Madam Katrina is just going to have to find some other way to clear my spiritual blocks."

Heathcliff purred at me in agreement.

"I'm such a silly duffa! Yez I izzz!" I crooned happily.

Heathcliff purred a little louder and it sounded like it was in agreement but I chose to ignore the fact. I was too relieved that my little tryst in HELL had been a dream. It didn't even qualify as a figment of my imagination! My favourite weekend dress wasn't stretched and my granny undies were intact. So was my soul, if not my sanity. Smiling, happier than I can remember being for a very long time, I all but leapt from my double bed and sang my way into the kitchen…

…and stopped dead. At my quaint little round, distressed look table, sat 'the man'.

Fuck! I was getting good at swearing.

"Alan!" I cried. Well, I kind of mouthed the word actually. That is, my lips formed the word but the voice that squealed it was barely audible.

"Oh Missy, what have you done." Alan shook his head and looked at me with such dismay that I almost missed the fact that he was dressed like an Australian soldier from World War Two.

I swallowed hard. "What are you doing in my kitchen Alan?"

"I'm not Alan Missy, I'm Peter. You know? Your spirit guide?" Alan come Peter said, still dismayed, to my dismay.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Oh no…this isn't happening. I'm still bloody well dreaming."

"I wish you were."

"You know I am!" I insisted, my voice was laced with panic, "Peter doesn't look like a bronzed Aussie God, Alan looks like that! Peter looks like a little drunken brawler who spends Friday night at the pub ordering counter meals and putting raffle tickets in the thongs of topless barmaids!" I whined. Yes, I hate to admit it, but I did whine. I seemed to be making a habit out of that lately.

"Open your eyes Missy. I don't have much time." Said a voice far too sexy to belong to a yobo.

I opened one eye a crack. Why did everyone want me to open my eyes all the time, all of a sudden? Why couldn't I just be like an ostrich and bury my head in the sand? You know, ostriches have it made -- the female ones do anyway. They bonk the males, lay the eggs and then piss off to plunder the landscape, leaving the males to rear the fledglings. It sounded like a good arrangement to me…

"Missy, stop rambling. This is important." The enigma at the end of my table said.

I tried to pay attention. Peter's voice had a distinctly urgent edge, the kind of tone people use when they see something bad is about to happen. You know, like a massive huntsman spider about to jump off the ceiling as some unsuspecting person walks underneath it. I always think of huntsman spiders as the terrorists of the spider world, lying in wait, ready to pounce when you least expect them to. At least red backs have a web and they stay in the bloody thing, and don't hide in your linen cupboard waiting to leap out and scream 'surprise!'

"Missy! Shut up!" Peter said, exasperated.

I conceded that maybe this was my inner voice or spirit guide or whatever he was personified. Only one voice ever screamed at me to shut up like that.

"I had a bad dream…" The words fell out of my mouth of their own accord.

Peter shook his head sadly. "No Missy, you didn't. I wish you had."

"Why are you dressed like a digger from World War Two?" I asked from a thousand miles away.

"It takes a lot of energy to appear corporeally like this so I had to do away with the glamour. I don't have much time Missy, I was lucky to be able to get this much." Peter spoke urgently, sadly, still looked dismayed…

But ye gads he was hot! Fuck me dead! He was gorgeous! And his uniform looked completely authentic, too. He was actually wearing a real slouch hat. Amazing…the detail…what a fantastic reproduction. Historians would go nuts over that!

"Missy, it's real, it's not a reproduction. I'm Peter, and for a time a very short time, I'm real too. I soon won't be and soon, you won't be either if you don't shut the hell up and listen to me." Peter hissed.

"But I'm not saying anything." My voice sounded robotic, and that surprised me a little.

"Your mind, it never shuts up for the love of all that's holy, and it needs to now! Listen to me!" He stood up suddenly from the table and gripped my shoulders. His hands felt warm, real, and more than anything, that realisation startled my dazed mind to focus.

"I'm so sorry Missy. This is my fault. I just wanted to give you a bit of a treat." He rolled his eyes self-consciously, "You know, a bit of a tryst in the sand and all that…you are so lonely."

My eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm not lonely. I have lots of friends. I have Heathcliff, and why do you look like Alan?"

Peter shook his head. "There is no Alan. That was me."

"But I burned my thumb…" I frowned. This wasn't making any sense. Well, truly, it never had made any sense but I was only just starting to admit it.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I should have waited until you were safely meditating before I started mucking around with your head." Peter was too handsome to look so apologetic.

I tried to smile. "It's okay."

He shook his head and heaved a shuddering sigh. "Oh Missy, it's not, seriously, it's not okay and I mean…it just isn't…okay..."

That really wasn't what I wanted to hear so I chose to ignore it. You know, if you do that, sometimes the things that bother you go away. Kind of like when you get bullied at school and the teachers tell you not to fight back, but to ignore the bullies and they go away when they realise they aren't going to get any fun out of you. Although, that never worked for me when I was at school, it just made the bullies work harder to get a reaction.

"If you are Peter," I said slyly, changing the subject, "Then what was with the beer gut and bad hair?"

Peter gave me a lazy smile but it wasn't cheerful. "You mean no hair. I had to appear like that to you Missy or you would have been too scared of me if I appeared to you as I am. I wouldn't have been able to help you at all. But this is me. They gave me to you because I passed over during a battle on the Kokoda Trail and since it's your favourite topic, we had a natural affinity."

I pursed my lips to consider what he had said. "From your apology, I'm guessing you didn't end being much help after all…"

He groaned and dropped his head back on his neck, slapped his hand to his forehead. "Farrk…Missy. You didn't have a dream. That was real."

Dazed, I felt my way along the wall until I reached the table, and then I inched my bum around until I felt a seat beneath it. "Why did you change into freak boy from my worst nightmare? You should have stayed as you are. You know, you're pretty hot."

"He wasn't me. Missy, I'm so sorry. I suppose I got a bit cocky and the whole 'I'm a God behind the veil' went to my head but I messed up, bad, I didn't give you time to protect yourself…"

"You mean encasing me in white light?" I blinked slowly at him, "So that is for a reason? I thought it was just to make mediation and such a little more interesting and mystical and a little less boring."

My voice was so quiet I could barely hear it over the hammering of my heart. Part of me didn't believe any of this was happening. The other part knew it was. Yet another part was still burying its head in the sand. I had more parts than a person with schizophrenia, it seemed. Wait, maybe I was schizophrenic. I sighed with relief. I could be a genius like John Nash, the guy Russel Crowe played in 'A Beautiful Mind." He was a real person you know, John Nash, a Nobel Prize winner. He overcame such a serious condition with just the power of his mind. It's amazing when you think about it, how people develop coping strategies to deal with their problems once they realise they actually have a problem. Maybe it's the realising that is the hard part.

I swallowed hard. "So what do I do now?"

Peter grew serious. "You have to disappear."

"What?" I almost screamed the word.

Peter grabbed my shoulders again and shook me lightly. "Missy, listen to me. He found you on the astral plane; he doesn't know where your physical body was, not yet."

I shook my head. The little part of me that was doing an ostrich impersonation decided it was a good time to reassert its authority and deal out some heavy duty denial. I told it to piss off and quite firmly too. I had a deep feeling that I needed to pay attention and that wasn't going to happen if I let myself float away to Missy land. I had to think seriously about what was going on. I had to approach it logically, methodically, analytically! There had to be a solution, even if it was something as simple as my needing medication for hallucinations and a mental breakdown!

"Wait," I held up my hands, "Wait, who he is? Or better yet, what he is?"

"You've heard of the Trickster?" Peter inclined his face, trying to catch my eyes. He didn't have to chase hard. They flared wide at the name.

"Puck?" I breathed.

"Puck in Celtic mythology, Loki in Norse mythology, Juha in Arabian mythology, Raven, Cree, Coyote, the Fox in French mythology…"

"Gyddion." I murmured and my voice sounded as though it came from a thousand miles away.

Gyddion was one of the trickster's other names and I realised chillingly, that name had been with me, floating around in my head for as long as I could remember.

Peter narrowed his eyes and looked at me sharply. "No, Gwydion, Welsh Mythology."

I rolled my eyes. "So? I missed a 'w'."

"And a 'd'." Peter was still looking at me strangely.

I held up my hand to stop him and nodded erratically. "Okay, stop. Whatever, I think that considering the circumstances, it should be fairly understandable if my spelling is a little off. I get it. The Trickster."

I pinched the bridge of my nose between my forefinger and my thumb -- yet another use for the small motor movement that had turbo boosted man out of ape-dom. Squeezing the pressure point there sometimes helped relieve a headache and I had a freaking whopper coming on, too, but I couldn't afford it. I had to think. The headache would have to wait until later.

"Okay." I said with more conviction than I felt, "I have to disappear. Makes sense in an entirely nonsensical way. How will that stop him from finding me eventually? I mean, I gave him my bloody soul!" I stopped suddenly and looked hopefully at Peter, "Isn't there a cool down period on transactions like that?"

To my great and everlasting disappointment, he gave me a sad, wry smile. "No. Not enough people from the department of consumer affairs have passed over to make that happen yet. But I hear it's in the pipelines."

I snorted. "I know you are telling the truth, everything concerning the DCS is 'in the pipelines."

"To answer your question," Peter continued, "Disappearing won't stop him from finding you. What it will do is slow him down until I can find a way to get you out of the mess I've gotten you in. Oh Missy…can you forgive me?" Peter was so sincere and so bloody gorgeous too for that matter, how could I not?

I smiled gently. "Not a freaking chance. Get me out of this mess and I'll think about it."

He chuckled.

Suddenly, his eyes flared wide and he looked around as though panicked.

"Missy, Missy run!" Peter hissed frantically.

"Peter?" My voice trembled fearfully. I had a pretty good dose of panic and frantic happening myself. The man was fading before my very eyes. "Peter! Peter what's happening to you?"

His lips moved and his face was contorted with a frenzied urgency but he made no sound. I heard not a word he said.

My door bell rang. I looked at Peter fearfully but he shook his head 'no' and mouthed the words, "Don't answer it, Missy, run!"

The doorbell rang again, far more insistently this time and Peter had little more consistency than a funnel of steam pouring from my kettle but he was still visible enough for me to see him screaming 'RUN'.

I didn't have time to flap my hands indecisively as I normally would. I didn't have time to wheeze or get a headache or have an allergic reaction either, worse luck. At least I knew how to handle them. I grabbed my leopard skin handbag -- I never went anywhere without it -- and ran out of the back door.

Marge was hanging her washing on the clothesline in her backyard and she waved cheerily to me, as she always did. I must have looked a bit of a sight because she did a double take.

"Missy?" She narrowed her eyes slightly, "Everything alright?"

"No," I answered and ran to the fence. "Throw me your milk crate, Marge, quickly!"

I looked over my shoulder and scanned the back door to my home, and then I scanned the yard and the side fence. Thank God I had thought to get that sealed! I turned back to Marge, who was looking at me rather strangely, as though she thought I was strange. That was fine; I thought I was strange too.

"Marge, please!" I was so anxious that I raised my voice slightly. I never did that.

Marge moved as though I had lit a fire under her arse and she disappeared from my sight for a moment, reappearing again shortly after her milk crate flew over the fence. She had a pretty good arm for an elderly woman!

I scrambled for it and for once wished that I wasn't wearing my leopard skin, kitten heels. They were flat-ish, but they weren't designed for scaling six foot high fences. I took them off and threw them over the wooden palings, threw my handbag after them, looked frantically behind me once more to make sure some oversized elf with a God complex wasn't bursting through my back door, and then shimmied over the fence with an agility that surprised me. I suppose that all the adrenaline pumping through my veins from being so bloody terrified may have helped.

Marge blinked at me when I landed and fell hard on my bottom. She slid her hands under my arm to help me to my feet but I'd already done that myself. Maybe the constant workouts with Danita had gone some way toward increasing my strength and fitness. I scooped my handbag off the ground and picked up my shoes.

"Missy, are you in some kind of trouble?" Marge eyed me warily.

Uh…yeah…obviously, I don't go jumping back fences as part of my fitness routine. "Yes Marge, it would seem so." I said, slightly surprised at how calm I sounded when on the inside, I was screaming my head off, "Don't worry, it's nothing too serious and should be sorted out soon but I wonder if you could do me a favour? If a strange man with big ears asks where I am, say you don't know?"

Marge nodded and then she gave me a suspicious sideways glance. "The police? I'll not lie to the police for you Missy."

I shook my head. "No, no it's nothing like that Marge. It's just…I don't have time to explain um…old boyfriend trouble…"

Marge nodded enthusiastically. "Ah, well why didn't you say so? Don't worry lass; I'll deal with him if he gets the courage to knock on my door!"

I smiled gratefully. "Thanks Marge, you're a gem!"

"Here, I'll let you out the side gate. It leads straight into the alley and then straight to the cab rank." Marge smiled indulgingly. She really came into her own when she had a wild colonial boy to whip down to size. Suddenly she looked hard at my earrings. "They're pretty earrings dear; do you sell them in your shop?"

I lifted a hand and felt the long pewter and rose quartz earrings. In truth, I'd forgotten I was wearing them, even though they were my favourites. "Madam Katrina gave them to me."

"Such an unusual design and very beautiful!" Marge said in a queer voice. Then she shook herself as though coming out of a daze, and held her gate open for me to pass through. "Anyway, good luck my dear!"

"Thanks." I said a little warily, confused by her reaction to my earrings.

I didn't have time to indulge in any obsessive compulsive analysis of the situation though, remembering I still had a God with the eyes of a stoned snake chasing me. I ran under her hibiscus trees and slipped through the gate. As Marge had said there would be, there was a wide cement path come alley running between the houses. Strangely, I couldn't remember having seen it before but that wasn't unusual. I'd never been one for discovery unless it was on the Geographic channel. I didn't even know my own neighbourhood, obviously.

My bare feet stung from running along on the cold cement. My soles were soft from always wearing shoes. They never used to be like that. Like all Australian children, as soon as school was finished our shoes came off and we ran around bare foot. I would have been able to run on cement for ages, when I was in high school. Sadly, I wasn't in high school now, when things were so much simpler and all I had to do was dodge the girl's toilets if Dianne Cooper was in there.

I dropped my kitten heels on the ground and quickly slid them on. I was pleasantly surprised to find I could run in them. I burst out of the alley and onto the crowded main street of town, right next to the small cafe I always bought my morning coffee from. My shop was only a few blocks away and I realised I could have walked to work, all this time, had I known about the alley.

I looked around frantically, smiling apologetically to annoyed pedestrians when I realised I'd been holding up the flow of traffic on the footpath. Three yellow taxis were lined up in the cab rank just in front of me, exactly where Marge had said. I ran to the first one and leapt into the back seat, breathless.

The cabby raised a stern eyebrow and looked at me disapprovingly over his shoulder for making the cab bounce when I jumped in.

"Where to?" He asked in a gruff, no nonsense voice.

Where to? Good question.

I said the first thing that came to mind. "Number two, Oakland Avenue, please."

The driver nodded and eased the cab smoothly away from the curb. I sighed, settled back into the seat and put on the belt. After taking a few deep breaths, I had almost convinced myself that I'd just had a very bad neurotic episode of some kind. Surely, it was nothing some strong psychiatric medication couldn't fix! I smiled happily, and felt better instantly.