As one might expect, the hit squad meant business: “Do you have a permit to access the Wayward-Stone network?”
“You know I fucking don’t!” Felix growled back at the interloper as they demanded blood.
As this curt exchange happened, I looked around for a way on how our foes had found us . . . and our foes, to be frank, since the group assembled before us were not the sort of people you saw everyday; before Felix and myself, were half-a-dozen intricately dressed zombies. Rotting flesh and everything, but in suits. Taking out a lingering pandemic-era facemask from my jacket pocket, I covered my mouth and nose, hoping to shield some of sickened sense from the stench. It failed. And now, I had to live with the horrible ick of literally decaying flesh as the zombies drew what looked to be handguns from holsters on their side.
“Felix . . . what is this, and what are you trying to do?!” I shouted at Felix, now no longer caring about whether he didn’t like me using his real name.
Slowly, the zombies, which had us on all sides, began to close the net. Step. Step. They were gradually closing the gaps, the ends of their handgun’s bayonets coming ever closer and whose tips literally quivered with some sick need for blood.
A seriously situation. Unfortunately, even this dismal sight wasn’t enough to move Felix into being honest. He simply said, “Some things are honorable even if you don’t understand them.”
None of what Felix said made any sense; sure, lots of things are honorable, even if you are not a master in them, but basic observation about honor didn’t erase the fact that I, a human, was seeing some messed up non-mortal shit. I wasn’t having any of it, and shouted back. “Mate . . . if you don’t tell me right-fucking-now what is happening, I am OUT! Seriously, I met you, like, hours ago. I have no issue with bailing now and trying to spend the next seventy years burying myself in denial about what happened tonight.”
Felix returned my glare. Step. Step. I glared back and refused to budge. Step.
“Alrighty, fine! You win, mortal.” Felix finally said, “Congrats on blackmailing by using your own suicidal ideation as the evidence; to live, I will talk on what is happening— I am being hunted because I am a guerilla fighter.”
“Guerilla fighter?” I asked, not even sure anymore whether I was talking out loud, by thought, or to myself.
Step. “Super short version: I have been visiting these Waystones, right? Once there, I tinker with them to alter ‘what-they-do,’ to better favor my own beliefs. These guys are with people that do not like that. Or me. But I do it anyway because I will not have my existence and the existence of my kind erased.”
Okay, see, that was an answer. Sort of. Lots of gaps and missing pieces of information, but it is at least the building block basics of what is happening. Even if I didn’t understand any of it in terms of what it means for the future. I now had the set-up.
But having the set-up also meant another truth— I now had to get the heck out of here with these dork-ass turd zombies on my tail: “So, let’s ditch these rotting bros, yeah?” I asked, the reality of the situation finally settling.
“If it would suit your royal majesty,” the cat-creature Felix said with aploomp and some movement on top of my head that I didn’t see.
Wait, majesty? Was I royalty, somehow, or was he speaking figuratively? At this point, I had no idea, and— I MEANT FIGURATIVELY, now haul ass and get out of here!
That was all that I needed and like a cockroach to trash, I dunked, slide to the left, and crouch-leaped out of the enclosing circle of zombies enforces. The zombies, however, were surprisingly quick and several tried to hack at me as my unexpected movements bought my life its temporary reprieve. Still, I felt a trickle of blood drip down my face. Bastards, it was ON!
~ ~ ~
And by “on,” I of course meant running for my life. Because, yeah, no way I could fight these monsters. You can’t fight them yet, but in time. Time. Sure, but how much of it did I have? No idea— take a left!
We ran for what seemed like hours. In actuality, it was probably just twenty-minutes. But still. I was exhausted. While on the run, I kept up a mental dialogue with Felix:
“Start explaining things, now!” I said, internally.
Mortal, where could I even begin?! It would take classes upon lessons upon books for you to know what is happening and the nature of the world. Besides, I don’t want to be a never-ending exposition text-box, like from one of your video games. So much, so much!
“How about you begin with who you and ‘your kind, as you put it, are. I want to know more about the strange creature that fucking wrecked my apartment and which will be the source of tensions with my landlord for at least the next year.”
Fine. I am of a species called—
But I interrupted: “No. Start with what these fucking monsters are— ghosts, zombies?— and then go on to you!”
I was going to do that, human, until you interrupted me. Now, can you shut up your shit-talking tongue and let me beat my own lingual meat?
I had to choke back a laugh at that one. I let him continue.
As I said, I am of a sub-species of paranormal entity— what you mortals would call paranormal— called ‘Cattus Andronicus.’ We are the Ur-Felines of the world. Original caretakers, if you will.
Ur? That word again— Felix used it to describe the Earth in the flower shop. What did it mean? And furthermore, why was some ignorant cat-creature using it instead of fully educated me?
Hey, mortal, keep your ADD in check and pay attention, will ya? Yeah, ‘Ur.’ It is a word. It means oldest. Original. Which is a good time for me to say this as well— just because I am some strange creature— to you— doesn’t mean I am not educated, so don’t go acting all superior to me just because you went to one of your human colleges. Seriously, I know words and languages and all that shit that you wouldn’t even imagine!
As Felix-the-Cat-Butterfly-Creature lectured, I was looking behind myself as I ran. It was all clear of the zombies. I had expected as much, with them being zombies and all muscle-decay and whatnot, but for all I knew, these were the fast sort of zombies. Seeing nothing in pursuit of us, though, I let myself slow down a tad and duck into an alley to catch my breath.
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“Okay, okay! Sorry!” I replied to the ur-feline curled up on my head.
ANYWAY, as I was saying . . . again, my kind are a sort of gardener to the garden that is the world. Except instead of plants and weeds and bountiful fruits and vegetables, there is people, assholes, buildings, and the world. In general, you know? Trains and shit. Well, as a caretaker-lite (and we will get to the ‘lite’ part in a moment, so don’t get your neurons in a bunch trying to figure it out), I cull the un-needed and water the needed. Now, I am just a part time caretaker, there is a whole other department which handles that shit full-time, hence the ‘-lite’ part; the thing about this other department is that they have strict rules and shit about how the world— at least the supernatural part of it, anyway— is cared for and organized. As I said back when we were surrounded by those zombie freaks, I am a rebel and do things my own way. Why? Buckle up.
I could not tell how to buckle myself up when I was sitting ass-first in a dirty puddle of smelly water behind an alley trash can, but I did the best I could as I huffed and puffed to catch my breath. Self? Buckled.
The world is divided. One half is the normal reality you see everyday. This is called the Upper-Reality. But then, there is another aspect to the world that you have been introduced to tonight and this is called the Under-Reality. This under-reality was born from the collective psychic energies of humanity over the ages. It contains the expanded ontological truth of upper-reality; and I will lecture you right now: ‘ontological’ means physical and bodily. Truth means what is real and actual; so I am literally saying, in other words, that the under-reality contains the physical elements of your reality that you cannot see. And you cannot see them because this reality, although born from you, is like a shedding your kind refuses to acknowledge. Why? Who knows. Not I at any rate. But since you mortals refuse to acknowledge it, it continues to grow, expand, and inside, it contains all of the desirous and fantastic elements which shed from your regular existence; once shed, this energy coalesces into a shape within the under-reality. This shape can take many forms, but the most typical form is something that I like to call a ‘super-normie.’
Felix was right. I needed to be buckled to hear this since it was fucking bonkers. So wild, in fact, that I only retained a fraction of what he told me, his words in my mind feeling . . . slippery; it went in one ear and out the other with a whole lot of confusion left in its slimy wake. Had it not been for college, even this residual gleamings I would not have been able to retain. But aside from all of that, I could have done without Felix’s condescending attitude, even if I had been off-putting to him, sort of.
“Okay, I shot back: super-normie. Did you get that from an online forum?” I asked, genuinly curious.
Well, the word ‘normie,’ yes . . . you mortals love your word generation. Super-normie language is never changing. But anyway, before I get off track— like some people I know— and I could feel the creature’s claws sink into my skin as if he were emphasizing his remarks— a super-normie is a sentient crystallization of that shed energy— energy that you mortals make without even realizing it. There are many forms a super-normie can take: all of which have specific names in the under-reality, but are known in your own as creatures like vampires, zombies, ghosts, and the rest. How super-normie are made, though, is another discussion; suffice to say, the shed energy plays a bit part.
Righting myself on my two feet, I ducked out of the alley as Felix talked and resumed my trek. Felix then resumed giving directions between his words as if he had never stopped being a backseat driver.
Now, I, as a part-time caretaker, cull and water the super-normies and the various other magical manifolds of the under-reality as its health demands. Technically, I am part of the full-time organization that attends to the body-physic, but I am on the fringes. I work in conjunction with them, however. Most of the time, this is fine. But sometimes, they want to undertake directions that are opposed to my own interests; and remember— I know it is hard for you— but my own kind are being attacked by the full-time organization and this puts me opposed to them at certain conjunctures on how to tend to the under-reality’s health. You following me?
“I think? Like, you have no choice but to work for the guys who hate you?” I said.
Uh . . . sort of, but it is more complicated than that. But, in a way, yes; so every now and again, I have to remind them that I will not let them erase me or my people. Well, tonight, I was at a bar and had an altercation with one of those donut-crawler freaks and resolved that I would not let the full-time organization’s new plans unfurled. So I am going to hoodwink the waystone for the city and put a stop to their scheme.
“You were at a bar? Drinking?”
Well, what else does one do at a bar?
“So . . . you’re drunk, now?”
No . . . not exactly. Alcohol has a different effect on me than it does on you mortals. I don’t want to get into it right now. Matter for another time.
I muffled something like an “ah huh,” and continued my trek into the night.
Silence prevailed for a long time. It was the early morning. The sun was starting to crest the horizon. And Felix’s whole discussion seemed like an eternity ago. Heaven knew that I remembered precious little and would need re-explaining. But I think I got the gist of things: under-reality; byproduct of unknowing mortals; monsters are somehow born of the same energy that makes the under-reality; and this under-reality must be tendered to and cared for. Simple enough. Felix’s long words were a bit over-the-top. But I guess a long-winded explanation is needed every once in a while.
Slowing down at the request of Felix, I was happy to take it easy, especially since I did not think many zombies, if any, were chasing us anymore. Listening to Felix, I turned right and entered a graveyard. Navigating the unusually complex rows of tombstones and the occasional mausoleum, it was only belatedly that I realized I must have inadvertently crossed into a shimmer, my head suddenly light and off-feeling.
Here it is, mortal. The waystone. Look!
~ ~ ~
And I looked. I feasted my eyes upon an ancient and withered boulder mocked over with graffiti.
“Devil’s rock?” I asked. Weird. Devil’s rock was an old town legend; supposedly a a path to THE FLAMES existed underneath the boulder. Obviously, the town’s delinquents believed otherwise.
Yes, this is the waystone. You just have to focus yourself and— you will see the truth. Waystones don’t have shimmers. They are their own shimmer for the truth of the matter.
What a weird way to phrase that waystones— whatever they were— are their own Shimmers. I approached the rock and tried to concentrate, but I only succeeded in making myself dizzy as I put on a face that a pooping infant might remember. But as I pulled away from the rock, my face that bunched up mess, I suddenly felt dizzy. When I regained my bearings I saw a mightily strange sight— an elongated rock that stretched off far into the distance, seemingly, and as far as I knew, forever.
“Oh, I think I am seeing the shimmer . . . wow, weird.” I announced to Felix.
It is unusual, isn’t it? All Waystones, believe it or not, have been here since nearly time immemorial. Even I cannot explain why this boulder is so shaped.
Felix talked but I was not listening. There was something about the boulder which called out to me. I felt as though I needed to walk on top of the boulder and simply journey on it. Walk. And Walk. And walk.
Calmly, it was then when I noticed that around Felix and I, were the zombies and donut men. How had they sneaked up on us?! I reached for my kitchen knife but found air. Crap. I must have lost it, somewhere in the night.
“How are we going to get out of this one, Felix?” I asked with actual worry breaking through my voice.
Like this! And Felix then jumped onto the rock, causing all of the assembled foes to charge.
I placed myself into a fighting stance and prepared myself for a blow from one of the donut creatures, but they ignored me; instead of fighting me in what I thought was going to be a full-on drag-out brawl, they rushed past me for Felix. What I saw was breathtaking— flames, sparkle-dust, and roars, all coming from Felix. He fought animalistically and used his claws and hidden defensive measures to incredible effectiveness.
Yet while this incredible battle was happening before my very eyes, and however glued I wanted to be toward it— like a small child watching a wrestling or boxing match, I couldn’t focus on the drama of it to save my life; sure, Felix was fighting to preserve himself and his kind but in my head a painful high-pitched ringing reverberated across every corner and bow.
Can . . . you . . . hear . . . me? Us?
And then I blacked out.