Category Archives: NWES Island

cheap at 1/2 the price

“Very funny, Baker Bloch,” responded Hucka Doobie after teleporting in.

“Thought you might like it.”

“What is this?” Hucka Doobie peered inside. “A psychiatrist’s office?”


“So let’s get down to brass tacks. Tell me about this compulsion to not wear clothes any more.”

“Well,” began Blue Berry Girl in earnest. “It started with the death of little demon Melvin at my hands. He was the one who was suppose to supply me with clothes (but he didn’t follow orders).”

“Hmm. Any way to bring him back to life?” queried Dr. Baumbeer, sipping on milk as usual. “I mean…”

“… since *I* was brought back to life?”

She stared at him with wide, mysterious eyes. “Well, ahem, let’s, er, dive into all that, then. Do you retain any memories of Cloe from that game your user was playing?”

“Not — sure.”

“Tell you what. Meditate on that aspect of this problem using the tv static we discussed before while I study my notes. Let’s get back together in, say (he checks his watch), 15 minutes?”


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back in NWES…

“Why are we still here, Alice?”

“Merry, please,” Merry Gouldbusk requested. “Merry Gouldbusk,” she asked in full.

“Sure, um, but, er, all the cameras have left. We’re all alone. Bob Waffleburg’s already started his next production. An adaptation of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s ‘Septimius Felton.'”

“Oh we’re still being filmed.” She looked all around at the camera-less vicinity.

“Yeah, so you’ve said before.” Actor Jack Toadswallow stared over at his co-star. *Former* co-star. But lover in this reality, not little sister. True, he was observing her all the time. *He* was filming her, in a way, in a manner. With his eyes.

Something appeared in the distance, beyond the missing piece of wall, perhaps beyond the skyscraper even. Alice pointed it out.

“Look, Ingo.” Jack had given up trying to get Alice to call him by his real name any more.

“Yes, what is it dear?” He still stared, he still photographed. What she saw excited her: dilated pupils. He turned as well.

“W-what is it?”

“Oh, I don’t know Alice, er, Merry,” replies the smaller in stature lover/brother. Looks like some kind of art from my angle.”

“*Floating* art?” she exclaimed.

“Um, yes. Not attached to ground. Attached to air instead. Sky art. Perhaps even skyscraper art,” he elaborated as it then began to float into same, swallowing green, blue/yellow, and red in sharp order.

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“What do you think, Hucka Doobie? It’s the Red Umbrella in NWES.”

“I see.” Hucka shuffles her feet. “I thought we were, er, done with this town. Splitsville and all.”

“Well… decided to give it one more try. The rent was so cheap. Thus (he indicates with his hands), voila.”

“Should we go inside, then?”

“Sure, we can do that Hucka Doobie. It’s all the art in the Red Umbrella in 7 Stones, though. You know all the works.”

“Have I interpreted them yet?” Hucka Doobie truly couldn’t remember.

“I — think so. Most of them anyhow.”

“Hmm. Let’s go inside anyway.”

“*Actually*, I wanted to show you something in particular. Jar your memory a bit, perhaps.”



“Before I forget, Baker Bloch, I wanted to tell you that ‘Humanvillians’ has returned to Fal Mouth Moon (in 7 Stones). Herbert Gold and April Mae Flowers’ story must be resolved; Uncle Joe and Aunt Zoe entrapped in a 2-dimensional realm once more.”

“Cool, Hucka Doobie. Good to know. I wonder if (we should allow) Danny to come back to the Fal Mouth Moon as janitor/receptionist, then?”

“Oh no,” replies the bee being firmly. “Tronesisia *specifically* said: that couldn’t happen. Besides, he’s pretty happy in his Metal castle in Dewey. Herbert Gold and April Mae are still there too. The Irish Village over in the Fi sim didn’t work as an alternative for them. Rent too high.” Hucka Doobie looks up at the Red Umbrella and its trademark sign. “Unlike here, it seems.”

“Very cheap,” Baker Bloch reinforces. “Especially for an urban area. I even bought the building online, thinking I could just move this whole new version of the Red Umbrella over to 7 Stones to replace the one there. Didn’t work out. Not yet.”

“Hmmm, sir, I say to that.”

“Hmmm,” Baker Bloch mimicked back, thinking Hucka Doobie knows something that he doesn’t know (once again). He stares into her dilated pupils. “We better get inside. The night progresses…”

“Sure. Thank you for the AO, by the way.” states an upright Hucka. They walk forward in their different ways.


“Here, Hucka Doobie. The very first piece (of the gallery). See the jigsaw pieces?” The male Baker points.

“I see. You’re say that…”

“… I’m saying that this is NWES, the city itself. N equals North and green…”

“Blue,” Hucka Doobie corrects quickly.”

“Blue, right. Then *W* equals West: green; E equals East, which is red; and then, lastly, S: South: yellow.”

“Tile, then.”

“Right. The city *has* a center. Just needs to be found still.”

“I doubt it, Baker Bloch,” opines Hucka Doobie, shaking her bee head. She then rubs her neck.

“Neck still bothering you, Hucka?” asks Baker Bloch, truly concerned about his friend’s health.

“Nah, I’m okay. As long as I don’t walk on cement or pavement much, or hard ground,” she adds. “Just leaves. Soft, cushiony leaves.”

“Well… don’t let your *head* break off from your body.” Baker Bloch immediately regretted the attempt at a joke. Hucka Doobie looked over with those eyes.


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“Feel the emptiness in the center,” the small snowman instructed his pupil Herbert Dune from the, well, center.

The first explosion happened, rocking this Northside building. The snow-being, named Hugh, feel off the puzzle table onto the cushiony, knitted rug, losing his bell. Then the second, smaller kaboom happened, making his head separate from his body. No more instructions tonight from the diminutive, white guru. No more instructions ever. The dream was over.

Actor Sandy Beech stood up, looked southward.

But too many buildings were in the way to see clearly. “That wasn’t in the script. That wasn’t in the script!” he repeated, a second outburst louder than the first (mirror). He turned around to find the director, the cameraman, the soundman, etc. No one here. Any evidence of Bob Waffleburg’s dystopian parody film had disappeared. Sandy Beech was on his own again.


Actor Alice Frame also suddenly found herself alone and without direction after the explosions, large and less large. The script she was reading for tomorrow’s shoot suddenly turned blank, nothing having ever formed or shaped out of these snow white pages.


We must reluctantly say goodbye to NWES, its four jigsaw like pieces unable to come together to form a story any longer. But there’s always the possibility for return within the larger arc of another tale. We must move, Grasshopper-like, forward…

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“I *knew* I’d find you here, Eighty-eight.”

“Yeah. You know I can only get so far from you, Apple of My Life.”

“How’s your flu going?” Sarcasm.

Eighty-eight didn’t answer, but instead looked to the door. The door to *her* night club. She was the Star. It all revolved around her. Like planets.

“You gonna stick around and hear me play?” she then asked, not seeing the person enter that she wanted to. Her voice was steady, unfaltering. She knew what she was doing and was in command. Not Tracy Austin Newtonia Kashkow. The latter wasn’t use to that and didn’t like it. Not one bite she didn’t.


She sat at the drum kit, calmly waiting while the singer and keyboardist remained frozen around her (like planets).

Her lover entered with the sphere.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Just afterwards his car parked outside burst into flames. Like the Sun.


“I think I get it,” exclaimed actress Alice Frame in her rented apartment next to Spunky’s while reading the latest script. “Ingo is controlled by the Sphere, the Sphere is controlled by…”



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hole 02

It just came up from one of those illogical cracks in the road. Broad daylight; scurried sideways toward the park to his right. Directly in front of him. In a hurry, as rats are wont to be, but not *too* much so, he also noted.

“I *hate* rats,” Herbert Dune managed after watching it disappear down another hole, thinking back to Spunky’s and Bob Waffleburg’s slip about a secret room the night before.

I don’t mind rats atall, thought Sandy Beech inside, actor countering character once more, as in a yin-yang relationship. Day and night. Guess that could be one reason they hired me for the part, he then realized.

“Just ignore the rats,” sweating Herbert Dune chanted while continuing forward over the crack. “Ignore rats.”

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They were watching “Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein” on the tellie tonight, a logical choice. At a predictable chase scene through a haunted castle, Merry Gouldbusk leans over and tells Herbert Dune that she got in contact with her brother about the banners. Herbert Dune arches his spiraling eyebrow a little higher, Spock style. “Welll?” he replied, thinking she needs to speak up for the microphones. But, overall, her acting was acceptable lately. She’d been taking lessons from one of the best. She’d learned a lot since Rosehaven. Except for the occasional name slippages she was fine. But just that: acceptable. Ordinary, even. Oh Alice Frame, Sandy Beech thought, how’d I get chained down with you. I am like a clipped Icarus.

“He said he had nothing to do with it,” answered Merry Gouldbusk, speaking up a bit at the encouragement of Bob Waffleburg off-camera.

“How,” stumbled Herbert Dune, then started again. “How is that *possible*?”

“*Daddy*,” Satan’s spawn Melvin complained from the pillow beside them, totally immersed in the castle shoot.

“Tell you what, young demon. You’ve stayed up too long past your bedtime already. Time to join your brethren upstairs. We’ll continue the movie tomorrow night.”

“Awww,” he exclaimed not too loud while obediently getting up and stretching and yawning. For a little demon, he was quite well behaved. They all were. Except Spunky of course.


“Annnd. ACTION!”

“So explain what you said before.”

“About the banners?”

“Of course.” Stop ad libbing, Sandy Beech thought bitterly inside. Stick to the script!


“Wellll?” Herbert Dune echoed back.

“He said he didn’t do it.”


Sandy Beech complained to director Bob Waffleburg afterwards. “Jeez, it’s right there on the banner. *INGO*. How could her slightly older brother, her *Big Brother* after all, not be head of the police state here and spy on her all the time? Answer me that genius director.” Before, Eraserhead Man and his disjointed plots. Now, Bob Waffleburg’s logic gaffes. And he’s not a surrealist. No excuse for him!

“We’re… working on it,” is all he could answer that moment. Later, while the two were drinking at Spunky’s on Southside (no relation to Spunky the little demon), he let slip a little more. “It involves rats. *hiccup* And a secret room. *BURRP*”

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