Tag Archives: Osborne Well

Joining

Baker Bloch waited for Little Tonshi Ashokan (i.e., Bettie) to manifest in Collagesity, but it never happened. He wanted to reassure her, along with Nancy and perhaps even Danny — maybe Rocky especially — that they had a place in Collagesity if they wished. Wheeler Wilson and Buster Damm obviously could come back. Same with Peter SoSo for that matter. Tronesisia. They all could have a home here.

But for now, Baker has decided he must join them in Olde Lapara Towne instead of visa versa. Create a more rational perspective on what’s going on there. He was especially disappointed that Wheeler hadn’t returned, admittedly. She’s part of the core family, he thinks to himself tonight. She belongs here.

But how about Duncan and The Musician and maybe others still roaming around the VHC City environs?

Who is really a native of what town, or is it all just transient and interchangeable? Karoz Blogger and Baker Blinker, for example, seem to remain in Chilbo, yet another berg directly linked to Collagesity. An older relationship, like VHC City I suppose. Olde Lapara Towne is a new coupling. And OLT remains the most important for at least the current work (“Collagesity 2017 Later”, or “Novel V”).

Baker waits a little more. Then enters.

I forgot to even mention Mary. Truth is, I think Baker Bloch has changed over the course of 2017, and may be as much vampire Pitch Darkly as his old self.

Osborne Well still reads “Floydodo” on the second floor of Darkly Manor, the one with the view into the forest. Fellow established Collagesity resident Woody Woodmanson joins him for a glass of milk. “He’ll come around soon enough,” the wooden man reassures his other vampire friend. “He’ll know who he really is.”

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“Seal”

They had to bring in Woody Woodmanson to translate. He slowly slid the “Necronomicon” upwards out of Osborne Well’s clutching hands and replaced it with “Floydodo.”

“Well?” Pitch Darkly demanded after a 1 minute wait. “Anything?”

“Shhh,” Woody said. “He’s still reading, still absorbing. Nothing like the ‘Necronomicon,’ you see. He’s having difficulty.”

2 more minutes passed by. “Well I’m going to get some milk out of the refrigerator. Anybody else want anything?”

“I’ll take a coke,” requested Wheeler. Mary gave her a dirty look and she changed it over to milk as well.

“Milk all around, then?” asked Pitch. “Everyone mumbled agreement. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

1/2 hour later: “This is getting ridiculous, Woody,” Pitch declares. “Maybe the moon is in the wrong phase or something.”

“No, I’m getting a, er, reading now. Something about black and white, up and down. Red all over.”

“Um, that’s a newspaper, Woody. What we have here is a book.” Pitch pauses. “Isn’t it?”

Woody suddenly locks into gear:

At 1pm, Bland spots a British patrol near Osborne Hill, and reports back to General Washington, “I have discovered the enemy on the heights just on the right of two Widow Davis’ who live close together on the Road called [can’t read that] about half a mile to the right of the Meeting House. There is a higher hill on their front.” Panicked by Bland’s report, Washington quickly orders Alexander Stirling and Adam Stephen to Birmingham Hill three miles north to defend the vulnerable Continental right flank.

Woody ends as abruptly as he began. Looks all around. “Osborne Hill?” Pitch exclaims. “Bermingham?”

What they then found on the next page sealed the deal.

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3 presents

Morris scolds Bendy for getting drunk in the corner of the room and missing Tronesisia pass through the portal outside into Bermingham.

Lou admonishes Tronesisia about being so proud of herself for figuring out the portal animal situation and forgetting to check the sealed Muff building indicated by Woody.

For Osborne Well, everything was going exactly as planned.

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Outlier

Seeing the front porch of Woody’s house appear to the right from behind some raised, pointed green terrain, The Musician decides to jump down from the blue path and head toward it. Keeping straight would quickly lead to the sky islands. He didn’t need to go there quite yet.

The front door of the house is open. Figures appear in the far corner of the single room floor, all gathered around a circular, white topped table. Seemingly not yet noticed, The Musician listens in on the conversation in progress.

“Well, Osborne, in the late 1970s McKay told John Conway, the inventor of the Game of Life, you know, that the coefficient of 196884 was precisely one more than the degree of the smallest faithful complex representation of the monster group. Conway replied that this was Jack Daniels style moonshine, in the sense of being totally wacko nuts.”

Woody stops speaking and turns toward the door. “Oh, howdy Musician! Welcome to physics night at Woody’s Outpost. I hope you like vertex operator algebra.”

“I’m not sure,” is all he could manage, then, looking to the left, added, “I like your tree,” to be more cordial.

“Thank you,” replies the wooden toy-man. “It was a house warming gift from a dear dear friend who still lives over in the quarantined section of Bennington. Sector R I believe they call it nowadays, don’t they Osborne?”

Osborne doesn’t answer, but just appears to keep reading his book with the queerly tentacled creature adorning the ancient cover. Another monster.

“Well, anyway, come on in,” Woody says. “Just pass through the twirly whirly Jaspery thing so we can check out your core being. Then you can join us here at the table. Just a simple test, you understand. We need to know who you really are, deep down. The area around The Table must remain sanctified, right Osborne?”

The Musician began to panic. Who *was* he deep down? He’d figured something out at LEA11 about his true self but then quickly forgot. What if he simply *vaporized* — had no inner core.

“Oh don’t fret,” Woody reassures, seeing the worry on his face. “Everyone has a core, Musician, whether they know it or not. Here, I’ll go first and show you. That’s only fair. Osborne just remains Osborne. Pretty boring.”

Woody gets up and moves into the center of the swirl. He quickly contracts into a sort of meatball, then reconstitutes. Woody’s core.

Then he contracts and expands again to return to his wooden toy self.

“See? Nothing to it. Now your turn.” Woody steps back toward The Table.

The Musician saw no way out. He entered the swirl.

“There,” comforts Woody. “That wasn’t so bad.” He turns to Osborne. “Look, Osborne. A ghost. The Musician is a tall ghost at the core. Cool, eh?” Osborne keeps reading. “Let’s check the name out. Ohh, a Jupiter, eh? I knew some Jupiters over in Farmington. You’re not related to Jeb and Stewart by chance?”

The Musician shakes his head. “How do I get back?” he asks. Would he have to stay this way *forever*?

“Takes a little longer for first timers,” Woody explains. “Just give it a moment. Try not to move too much.”

And then The Musician was back. Woody pulls a chair out at The Table and offers him a seat. “You can sit beside me. We have much to talk about. We need to get you reunited with Wheeler and heading to VHC City pronto. Bad juju going on there. We can use the key shop as a teleport device of course. I know you’re familiar with it.”

Ah, The Musician thought. So Wheeler was right all along.

—–


10:15PM: Heading back.

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Prerousing

“Do you not know me?” asked Mary/Chuckles to The Musician Sikul Himakt.

“No. I do not know you.”

“How about now?” Mary/Chuckles says beside the window behind him. He turns and examines.

“No. I still do not know who you are. I will probably never know who you are, no matter how many places you manifest or what clothes you wear.”

“Hmph,” she exhales. “Let’s see about this one.”

“Hi Osborne. What’s shak’n?”

Bingo, she thought.

—–

Sikul Himakt enters the village at the top of the steps. Hmph, I guess it hasn’t changed all *that* much, he thought. At least there’s the general store still, the hub of it all. He walks over to it and gets a surprise.

“Welcome to the first town meeting, Musician,” states Morris in a level voice. “You’re just in time.”

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there and here

“The sky looks like Mars,” Wheeler opined. “I think this is Mars.”

“No,” countered Morris, who had been explaining what his home was for about half an hour now. “This is truly the legendary Muff-Bermingham planet you’ve heard so much about. Muff-Bermingham may have been a *conduit* to Mars, I’ll admit. I don’t have your experience in that realm. I only showed up day before yesterday. I’m a newbie, as they say down here. Or up here.”

“What’s that was over there?” The Musician asked, indicating with a head tilt the projecting spires of a structure beyond the rimming brown rock cliffs of this habitat.

“That’s something in the works, let’s say. Things are a bit plasticine here still — melting plastic.” Morris took a deep, satisfying breath through his nostrils. Wheeler and The Musician had suspected nothing in that direction; just thought it was a different planet smell of some sort. “I have few land resources to work with,” he continued, staring into the fire. “Already, the SoSo gallery had to be stolen from Collagesity below us to create an effect I desired. *We* desired.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Wheeler asked.

“I think his name is Lou.” Morris paused, uncrossing his legs. “Or her. Anyway, we’re still working on that as well. I do know that one is red and one is green. Stop and go. Like Muff and Bermingham. I’m sorry Osborne Well couldn’t show up in person to greet you as well but… land resources again. Collagesity may have to make additional sacrifices. But at least your Spongeberg the Destroyer has been put to bay. Is that the expression I’m looking for?”

“If you mean that Spongeberg didn’t effect the destruction of Collagesity between (the two halves of this novel) you seem to be correct,” Wheeler offers. “Instead of VHC City we are here, in Collagesity but not in Collagesity. Like the legendary Moon and its own (Moon of) Moon.”

“Like Mars,” The Musician says to Wheeler. “You’ve told me quite a lot about it. Sounds fascinating.”

“I’m projecting you’ll learn to love Muff-Bermingham just as much,” Morris pipes up. “This is just a foothold, a start. In several hours spotless day will return into splochy night. I will leave you to your own devices now to explore, gather, prepare.”

With this he simply fades from view in front of them.

—–

Back in VHC City, Mary/Chuckles ungrasps Pitch’s cold white hand extended across the table and stares into the dark corner of the room behind him.

“Um, your Timmy Osborne Well is fading out again, my love,” she states with only mild surprise. “It’s as if he’s trying to reach somewhere else, maybe a place he can become lively again. Wonder where?”

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Conversion

“He is his own grandpa,” succinctly explains Mary/Chuckles.

“How did that come about?” asks a nonplussed Pitch Darkly. He’d seen and heard about everything in his extended life.

“A concert. A bat thrown onstage. He thought the bat was rubber. He bit its head off, finding out it was a real bat: his own (vampire) grandpa. Their blood comingled. He became his own grandpa.”

Pitch Darkly stared over at the figure in the corner. “Is he alive? I mean, you’re alive and…”

“… mere mesh figure?”

“Well…”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”

So Pitch talked to the figure. “Hellooo? Mr. Well? Hell–OOO??” He looked back at Mary/Chuckles. “No good.”

“No. He is mere representation. He can’t do what I’m about to do now.”

Pitch watched as Mary/Chuckles got up and stood beside the window, outfits instantly swapped out.

He turned back to the Osborne Well figure. “Is that his grandpa there he’s holding?”

Mary/Chuckles sat back down at the table with Pitch Darkly, green outfit returned. “No, it’s just a microphone shaped like a bat. He holds a bat just like you use to do. But we should move more into who he is beyond what he is.”

“Okay.”

“Can you guess?” asked Mary/Chuckles.

“Umm. Vampire from the etheric plane. Er, vampire from the Planet of Vampires. Or just a vampire from (an airplane).”

“All three, yes. Another great 3-n-1. Their plane or planet crashed or clashed over there.” Mary/Chuckles pointed behind her toward what Pitch understood as the Catsocks sinkhole he and Buster had visited just yesterday. “A deal was struck with Chelsea: Stay across the tracks from our hotel and attached developing city and we’ll let you do as you wish. Thus the killing shacks. Thus the creation of the multiple fishing holes. Like me, vampires, or at least this particular strain of vampires, love to fish.”

“*You’re* not a vampire?” Pitch Darkly logically asked. “But, no,” he then added more to himself. “I would obviously be able to tell my own kind.”

“Owen Grandpa,” Mary/Chuckles chipped in. “That was his vampire grandpa’s (ironic) name. But Osborne Well didn’t know his grandpa was a vampire until he bit his head off in bat form.”

“Interesting (developing) story. What happened to Osborne, Mary? I mean, since this figure really isn’t him.”

“As a living breathing dichotomy, Well soon became ill and died. So another ironic name, both grandson and grandpa. Other vampires moved in to fill the power void. I wasn’t around but I heard it from my grandma. I speak with her still sometimes.”

“Channeling?” guessed Pitch Darkly.

“No. Phone. She lives over in Farmington.”

A face began to form on top of the Osborne Well figure’s own, glasses intact for now. The facing Mary/Chuckles saw it and then asked Pitch to turn around. From his surprised expression she understood he saw the same. “The Protector,” she explained, face locked in. “Monsters all around.”

Well’s glasses faded as well, making Pitch Darkly revert back to Baker Bloch. “I know that face.”

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