Category Archives: 0003

Resolution 02

“We are at Purden Center, Snowmanster. But where are Core and Alena?”

“Yeah, right, I forgot about that too,” Snowmanster acknowledges. “I’ll have to leave you once more, just for a moment.” He puts his hand on the wooden man’s shoulder. “Woody, you’ve been a fantastical friend down through the years for me. You’ve endured great hardships and still have managed to make a place for yourself in this world. I am here to help now. Wheeler and I. And the children who aren’t children, now rescued from being X-ed out. We’re all in this together. You can ask your questions.” On the spot, Snowmanster changes into Core-Alena.

“Kneel down, Woody,” Core-Alena requests. “So I can speak with you… fellow wooden being. Here, let me turn just a little to the right so you can see me better. And I, you.”

Woody kneels. “Snowmanster? Is that you in there?”

“Yes. This is a core being as well but more than myself. *All* of us. Everyone in the Snowlands. Rich and poor. Good and evil. Male and female. We are them. They are us. As Snowmanster, I just had to commit to being here. With you and the others.” Owlie the 3rd eyed owl sitting on one of their branches hoots in agreement.

“So is this… the end?”

“Yes,” states Core-Alena. “We will go forward, obviously, but in a different setting, a different light. Mid-Hazel and her entrapping X’s, etc., have been defeated. We are one.

Woody gets on the ground and stares directly into the male-female eyes. He asks the final question. “Am I in there too?”

“Woody,” Core-Alena playfully smirks. “You are the key!”


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Resolution 01

From a frozen pond in Virrat, Baker Bloch admires the vast expanse of Poorvoo’s North Pole. But he doesn’t have time right now to revisit that place. He must get to Woody’s before the toy avatar awakes and spring the surprise.


“Well?” he says while showing Woody the interior view. “What do you think?” He knew he’d be pleased.

“Fantastical,” Woody replies. “But who are you?”

“Oh, sorry. I forgot to change.”

“Snowmanster!” Woody cried. “So you have a secret identity.”

“Not secret,” admitted Baker Bloch/Snowmanster. “Core,” he explained. “That is (more) my real self.”

“What *is* you?”

“My father was a superhero and then a talk show host. My mother was, well… diffcult to explain.” He obviously thought of Wheeler’s recent appearances as Old Grey.

“Well I never,” exclaimed Woody. “Do *I* have a secret identity? A *core*?”

“Maybe,” says Snowmanster. “Why don’t we try to ask the *tree* this morning. I have a hunch they might be free to speak now.”

“Core-Alena?” asks Woody. He stares out the window toward the center of the woods.

“Of course.”

“But a spell was put on them.”

“I think Mid Hazel’s control is breaking down, Woody, thanks to Wheeler. She’s up next to Livigno now. She’s adopted two children who aren’t children at all but soon-to-be lovers. They will look into the room. They will free us.”

“Fantastical,” Woody repeats. “Let’s go see the tree.”

“Bert’s not invited.” Snowmanster and Woody share a laugh with that.


Walking toward Purden Center from Snowmanster’s new home next to Woody’s.

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The children rock inside while Uncle Jack approaches the window, telling them the deed is done. The fake Uncle Jack has been buried out in the backyard along with the fake children that showed up yesterday. Blue has switched with pink. No pink clad twins in this storyline! But perhaps their ghosts will haunt the oversized trailer later on.

After supper, the children sit on the porch while Uncle Jack stays back in the kitchen. He always seems to be cooking or cleaning there.

“I’ve seen inside their room,” says Buurb, sitting on the wooden flooring opposite Old Mabel.

She makes a shocked face. “But *how*? The door is always locked.”

“Remote viewing. You don’t know that trick yet?”

Old Mabel’s shoulders ease back a little. “Of course. But I don’t like to pry. What’s behind closed doors should stay behind closed doors.”

“Not how it works around here,” answers Buurb, who was naturally nosier than his counterpart. “Anyway, they’re dead now. What do they care if we peek around inside. I could even lay in their beds if I wished. You could too.”

“Don’t you *dare*,” reprimands Old Mabel. “This Livigno sim will serve us well as long as we obey the rules set up by Uncle Jack. Do I need to tell them again to you? There are only three.” Buurb was about protest that she doesn’t need to do this again when she stands up anyway and begins.


“…if the fake people show up, they will be killed and disposed of in the backyard.”


“… don’t leave the Livigno sim because all answers are here.”


“… *never* enter the Story Room.” She sits back down in the executive chair. “Any questions Buurb? Buuuuurb?” Old Mabel knew Buurb hated it when the double vowels in his name were stretched out like that.

“Um, yeah actually.” He puts his index finger to his chin smugly. “I’ve been thinking about this. If all the answers are here, in this sim (he points down), and Story Room is part of this sim — *if* it’s part; perhaps its beating heart as Jack once put it — then maybe the answers are in that room.”

Uncle Jack’s ears prick up in the kitchen. He thinks about the still bloodied axe against the wall around the corner.

“We can just march in and get them,” Buurb continues. “That’s the, er, paradox of all this, where the head eats the tail. We stay in the sim, but must never look into the *heart* of the sim? Ever thought about that Old Mabel?”

“This is not the Garden of Adam and Eve.”

“Isn’t it?”


At the same time and 100 yards to the northwest, Wheeler tries to teleport back into her adopted Ayas cabin after buying a stack of books, a Lisa Simpson cutout, and some ice cream down the hill at Inferialist, but instead finds herself in a hidden space underneath.

On the other side of the wall she discovers more.

Buurb was looking in the wrong place.

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Way Station?

“*Wilson*. Should’ve known. I received this landmark in my inventory tonight and used it to pop over here, and find you.”

“Hi Baker Bloch,” is all Wilson said. She changed positions on her bench from Pout to Puzzled. That way she could stare out into the landscape.

“Why are you me again?”

“Why not.”

“Where are we?”

“Change into Snowmanster,” she requested. “You’re not suppose to be Baker Bloch when you show up.”

“Oh, that may explain it. Hold on.”

“Well that didn’t work,” they said in one voice.


They finally sorted out their roles tonight. Wilson changed into Wheeler, switched places with Baker Bloch on the bench, who remained Snowmanster. Annnnd… Action!


“*Wheeler*, I knew I’d find you up here at this Way Station.”

“Well good. Anything else?” She checked the pink script under her bench. “And it may not be a way station, as defined as, quote unquote, ‘intermediate stopping point’. I might be staying here.”

Snowmanster thought he had his lines memorized better. “It could be a way station as in a station set between principal stations on a line of travel,” he said confidently. “Look around.” He waved his left arm to indicate the area. “Livigno. The up and happening plateau place where it all goes down.”

“Check your script, Snowmanster, if you have one. Because we’re in Ayas. Right on the edge of Livigno where, as you said, it all goes down. But just beyond.”

“Oh.” Snowmanster shuffled his feet. “Must be working from an earlier script. Is this the one where you set up The Table in the Firefly related building over there?” Both look southward.

“Jesus, you’re at least two colors behind,” reprimanded Wheeler, standing up. “Look inside.”

Snowmanster turns around. White Wolf the guard dog tilts his head at him innocently. “Nice mutt.”

“What did you say?” queries Wheeler behind him.

“I said, you have a nice dog.”

“Oh… right. Well go ahead. Look inside.”

To Snowmanster, a door stood between him and the inside of the cabin.

To Wheeler, the door didn’t exist.

“I can’t get the door open,” Snowmanster says back to Wheeler.


“Well, get out of here, then,” she said back. “Be gone. I just received the newest script in my inventory and you’re not even in this scene. Pink has switched with blue. See ya!”


Wheeler sits alone on the Way Station bench, thinking she could stay here for a spell. Table meeting tomorrow night at 7pm! Invitations already sent. This place is where it all goes down.



In his oversize Livigno trailer just to the west, Uncle Jack prepares breakfast for the children. Uncle Jack shows up.

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“You’ve gone a bit queer haven’t you Woody? Maybe you should lay off the smokes. Just until you stop doing things like talking to Bert over there. Your man mannekin, hehe.”

“I love him,” Woody states frankly. “My key loves him too.”

“Well that’s good Woody.” Snowmanster uncrosses his legs. “So tell me about *these* guys.”


It was always going to be this way, Wheeler realizes. This path…

… this village.

Not lacking for energy, she begins the steep ascent.


“This should work. Right Uncle Jack?”

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Bert the Semi-Nudist beat on the windows of Woody’s A-frame house next to the Purden Forest. “Wake up in there Woody,” he called. “Things a do’n out here this morning. Get up and see.” Groggilly, Woody rolled over on his cat mattress… and fell asleep again. Five minutes later, Bert was back beating. Woody’s actual cat Vampire Boy was now out of his kitty coffin and staring over at muscular man. “If you don’t get up now, Woody, you’ll miss it. Come on!”




“Bert, why don’t you put on some clothes for Santa’s sake before you rush over here,” beseeched Woody while moving to the coffee pot. He wasn’t going to go out there in the cold without some caffeine in hand. He told Bert the same through the window, then invited him in.




“Woody, you gotta get out here! You’ve got to come now! Now now now!”




“Oh my Santa, Bert. What *is* those?”

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In a dream, Old Grey was hobbling up Alpine Way just beyond the western border of Meribel, heading into the oh so white mountains again. “If I can just reach that bench over there I can rest again,” she says to herself. But it was a struggle, like walking uphill at a 60 degree angle.

Hummie the Hummingbird lept off her shoulder again, trying to encourage. “You can do it you can do it you can do it,” the bird twittered at a rapid fire pace in front of her…


…then sped to the bench to wait. Faintly, Old Grey could still hear it trilling the same encouragement at intervals.


“Halfway there maybe,” she said, panting.



“Jesus Christ.” Her whole body was sweating. “And (wheeze) this is still basically level ground.”



Another round of encouragement from Hummie. “You can do it you can do it you can do it.”



Old Grey died from heart failure just in front of the bench. Behind it, Pop-up Rock had come out of his hole to see what all the commotion was all about. “She couldn’t do it she couldn’t do it she couldn’t do it,” Hummie explained.




Old Mabel woke up.

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“So where are we now, Baker Bloch?” Wheeler asks. “Jerome T. Newton again?”

“Yes,” he said plainly. Snowmanster reappeared. “Inferialist is one of my favorite places in the Snowlands. I come here to rebalance myself. I too have aberrations.”


“Yeah I know.” Wheeler knew Snowmanster didn’t remember anything about Mid Hazel or her 3 day disappearance. So many bodies. Slowly, surely, Wheeler was beginning to change. She’d seen the midnight movements, the dusk to dawn watchings. She liked it up to a certain point. Then we have the torture. Why not just kill them and get it over with? A quick slash here, a quick stab there. Over. Not the burning. Or at least not the torture. She’d finally found her line.

“I’ve finally found my line,” she spoke her thoughts aloud.

“Yeah I know.”



Then he showed her the downstairs diatribe. Wheeler recalled that Mid Hazel had revealed something similar two days back, but with the wording cunningly rearranged. She now preferred this version. Snowmanster was attempting to turn her world upside down and plant a seed of yang within yin. It was working.



2 hours later, she returned. “Maybe this is the place I can finally purify myself,” she spoke to herself this time, staring out the frosted windows at what locals call simply The River. But she knew Mid Hazel could find her anywhere. So much red. Not gorgeous red as Mid Hazel put it, but certainly gorgy, as flowing “in a gorge.” This is why Baker Bloch/Snowmanster showed her this place of peace and rest. It was time for balance.


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Secret Santa

Old Kringle was perhaps not the worst of the Santas, but he also certainly did not represent their best. As mentioned, he had a fairly serious dark side. He was not a killer, a slayer of elves verbatim. But he did cast them out into the cold and wilderness at times to fend for themselves. Often they were ill equipped. Woody Woodmanson was his first living toy. Then came Woody2, 3, 4, 5, quickly renamed each time. Old Kringle let the elves choose the name of the second to boost sagging moral and empower them in some fractional manner (their choice: Tom1). When making this decision, he had started reading a book called “The Green and the Grey” by John Bennerson. It was a short-lived positive influence. He realized about a third of the way through that he simply couldn’t identify with the main character, a man named John like the author who opposed enslavement of Martians. Well, didn’t his elves have some Martian blood in them, since they derived from the same prime race? So he threw the book in the fire, which Mrs. Kringle retrieved and then read the unburnt 2/3rds afterwards. One year later they were divorced. Younger Kringle became Old Kringle without supporting, balancing soulmate. The rift was final. Although not directly responsible, Old Kringle found out about dumped elf bodies in Purden Gorge and said nothing about it. This wasn’t the work of Arosa’s unfortunately named Satan Santa either, who was a quite cuddly, effeminate character underneath all that zombie skin. Nor Butchie Santa down in Smithers Bluff. No, this was a different kind of reddie, as they called their clan. A rouge one.

Old Kringle keeping a watchful eye on his elves as they slave away in his Porvoo toy factory.


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Meribel 02

Some of the townspeople have gathered behind Leilani Lodge and Chalet for an improptu party.


Included in the picture below are economist Donald McClean, his wife Zelda, Rinnie the Elf (another North Pole refuge), and flag waving snowie Lawrence Love.


Stucky Park.


Jim Thorn’s home. He’s the local tailor and dentist. Jim’s wife Kiki doesn’t care much for snow so he bought these fall backdrops for her to mask the surrounding, white mountains.


Mid Hazel finally confronts Wheeler in the middle of the road at Meribel’s western border. Wheeler is so startled that she runs her bike off Alpine Way into a large log.


The next thing she remembers is waking up on Chuck’s couch, wondering what hit her. Mid Hazel stood nearby.


“I’ve sent the others away,” she said in a more normal voice than you’d imagine for a 500 year old witch. “It’s those darn kids. They’re inside the X.”

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