A Twist in the Mist, Chapter Seventeen

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"So when did you first know the chimera was still with you?"

They were sitting in Doc's office, a small examining room at the back of his house with a table, desk, three chairs and an attached lab. The walls held shelves of medical books, watercolors of sunrise and sunset over the wetlands and a large poster identifying common species of fish, shellfish and crustaceans living in the swamp. The lampshade was covered with fishing lures. It wasn't hard to tell what Doc's hobby was. He had checked TP's reflexes, taken his blood pressure, listened to his heart and lungs, peered into his eyes with a light and tapped several spots on his head. As he peered and poked, TP told him in depth all he'd experienced.

"For a long time after the attack I had nightmares and anxiety, but I thought it was residual effects that would eventually go away. Then about a month ago I started seeing red eyes every time I fell asleep. That's when I began to suspect. When the sleep-walking started, I knew for sure."

"Any dizziness? Confusion?"

"Yes, especially in the mornings."

"These creatures live in the nervous system and brain. I can see the darkness behind your eyes."

"So what's to be done?"

Doc rubbed his whiskered chin and moved from his stool to his desk chair, laying his stethoscope next to a vase of Hattie's sweet peas. Breeze from the open window carried their perfume across the room.

"I'd say two things have saved you thus far. Firstly, you transported the chimera to a different world, and it's taken a long time for the beast to adjust to the new surroundings. Chimera dragons are sensitive to geographical locations. They draw power from magnetic and electrical impulses deep inside the earth."

TP nodded. "We supposedly have similar entities in our world called doppelgangers.  I've read about them."

"Doppelgangers! Hah, I like that word," Doc said. "It has a nice ring to it."

TP told him all he knew on the subject, which wasn't much, and Doc listened with interest.

"Chimeras are doppelgangers run amok, I'm thinking. Doppelgangers aren't quite as powerful."

"Yet," TP said.

Doc went on. "The second thing that's maybe worked in your favor is your age and occupation. You're not young, and you're a scholar. You've had lots of years to store data in your brain. Chimeras love facts and data. My guess is this chimera is very interested in your knowledge and wants to use it in some way. But it can only do that if you let it take you over willingly, because it needs your cooperation to accomplish its goals."

"So is there any hope for me?" TP asked.

Doc hesitated, and TP could see the worry darkening his eyes. He braced himself for bad news.

"I won't lie to you, TP, it's a serious condition. I'm concerned that you're starting to have episodes during the day. But let's get down to basics. The first line of defense is knowledge." Doc smacked his hand on the desk for emphasis, causing a stack of papers to flutter. "Knowledge is power. You need to learn as much as you can about your enemy. I'll tell you what I know, from stories passed down and from history books, and afterwards we'll put our heads together and see where it leads us.

"A very long time ago Minglemist was ruled by a group of men who called themselves the Brotherhood. They came from a foreign land - no one knows where - and had strange, occult powers. People were afraid of them at first. But these men had the skills and knowledge to create such wonderful, magical devices, tools, implements and contraptions that people soon forgot their mistrust and delightedly started using all the new gadgets the Brotherhood offered them.

"For many years Minglemist enjoyed a life of pleasure and ease it had never known before. The Brotherhood were seen as heroes, almost god-like. But then the chimera dragons started appearing, and life soon became a nightmare. People were terrorized, sickened, their minds and bodies destroyed by the terrible beasts. And there was no stopping them.

"It seems that while everyone was enthralled by their new toys, the Brotherhood was busy behind the scenes using their devices and powers of black magic to create the chimera dragons for some dark purpose of their own.

"Eventually people figured out what was happening, and the Brotherhood was expelled from Minglemist, but not without consequence. Before they left, the men inactivated or destroyed all their devices, leaving behind the shadowy creatures they'd spawned. The chimeras, though soulless, were highly intelligent and wanted to experience life on the physical plane, but they didn't have bodies to do so. So they invaded human beings, influencing them to commit violent acts and reveling in the dark emotions they aroused. No matter if their poor victims soon died, they would simply invade another body."

TP blew out a breath. "What a conundrum."

"To this very day. So far, knowledge is our only weapon. The chimeras, intelligent and deadly as they are, do have blind spots. They can only experience emotions and feelings in an animalistic way. Love eludes them, because love, true love, contains an element of sacrifice they don't understand. They have no capacity for higher feelings. If you foster thoughts of love and devotion, it acts like a shield and keeps the beasts from growing stronger."

"But it doesn't get rid of them," TP said.

"No," Doc agreed. "We haven't yet found a way to destroy them. You can't very well blow them up, or burn them, or drown them, or poison them because they have no physical bodies. Although..." Doc paused, rubbed his chin, then chuckled. "There may be ways to drive them out of the body. I'm thinking of old Muster Cannon. Muster was attacked by a chimera while night fishing. He was in his early fifties at the time, I'd say, and he went downhill very quickly. Became completely mad and had to be locked up. His wife took care of him, and it wasn't an easy task. This went on for years and years, probably ten, at least. The wife had to spoon feed him, and it got to the point where all he wanted was garlic. Raw garlic. He ate it by the handful, just chewed it up and swallowed it down. You can imagine how he smelled! My God, your eyes would water just standing within ten feet of him. His wife tried to wean him off of it, but one night he escaped his room, went to the pantry and demolished a whole basket of garlic, one clove at a time. Shortly afterward he got very agitated and started rolling around on the floor, howling like a wild animal. His daughter fetched me, thinking Muster was dying. I tried to sedate him but nothing worked. Finally, after a terrible spasm, a great cloud of black smoke poured out of his mouth and flew out the window. The next morning he was perfectly sane, back to his old self. He lived another fifteen or twenty years and finally died peacefully in his sleep." 

They sat in silence a few moments, listening to the birds and insects outside the window. Finally TP said, "I was sure I had the answer, but stupidly I lost my chance."

He told Doc about the vegetable stone.

"I've heard of these stones! The Quinta Essentia, the fifth element, am I right? Made by separating and purifying the four elements, then joining them back together. Good grief, this is astounding!" Doc jumped up, his hair springing out from his head, his dark eyes sparking.

"What is?"

"Don't move. I'll be right back." The doctor disappeared into his lab and TP heard thumps, scrapes, clinks, rustles and clatters, accompanied by much muttering. Shortly afterward Doc returned with a gallon jar of amber-colored liquid which he placed on the desk.

"This was my grandfather's. He was a brilliant thinker, always full of ideas that made you marvel and wonder why you'd never thought of them. He had a fascination with the healing properties of honey. And this - " Doc held up the jar and shook it - "is the result of many years of research. Grandpa Stubblefield claimed it would be a vital remedy for dealing with chimera dragons, as well as other ailments. He called it the Quinta Essentia, made from honey, and left it to me when he died, along with instructions on how to use it."

TP peered into the jar. "So have you? Tried it, I mean?"

Doc's face fell as he shook his head. "The notebook of instructions was lost in a flood years ago. And the remedy was never even completed. There was something else that needed doing, but I don't remember what." Doc shook his head in frustration. "And to top it all off, the stuff is supposed to age for one hundred years. It still has twenty-three years to go." 

"I have a book of recipes for making vegetable stones," said TP. "I used herbs for mine, but one recipe does call for honey. Honey and nothing else. I didn't even consider it because of the hundred years needed for completion. I'll bring you the book. Maybe someone can complete it, though it won't finish aging in time to help me. I don't even think there's time for me to make another herbal stone. It takes over forty days, and my powers of concentration are growing weaker all the time."

Doc paced the room, pursing his lips and clenching his jaw as if struggling with thoughts that wanted to come out. Finally he dropped to his chair and gave TP a long look.

"What?" TP asked.

"It's a crazy thought. Absolutely insane. But there is one way twenty-three years could be compressed into a matter of hours. Do you know what I'm talking about, TP?"

A warm breeze blew in the window, a bee buzzed in the vase of flowers, and the clock on the wall ticked faintly as TP cocked his head, pondering Doc's words.

"The only thing that comes to mind," he said, "is...but no, it can't be that. Can it? Good God, Doc! Are you thinking of..."

Doc finished the sentence. "The mistangle." His voice fell to a low growl. "I told you it was insane, didn't I?"

"Definitely insane. Hah! Hah! So insane I could suspect you of being the one possessed by a chimera." TP shook his head vigorously, as if trying to dislodge his thoughts. But the wheels were turning, and he felt a wild surge of power course through him, as if he'd suddenly turned into a mighty warrior facing an impossible quest. He felt like Richard the Lionheart, heeding the call to battle. The mistangle! 

 

A Twist in the Mist, Chapter Sixteen

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He was in Minglemist. Even if his eyes were closed, he would know. The air smelled different - a peculiar greenish blend of ferns and leaves and whatever else inhabited this place. The path he was on wound through a dense patch of lollywon trees, their bent and crooked limbs draped with moss, looking like ancient hairy soldiers frozen in the midst of a battle no one remembered. To his left a spring branch bubbled over black stones worn smooth from the constant flow of water. He knew exactly where he was, though this was not the same spot he used to find himself in when coming through the hedge. He would recognize this scene even without the sign tacked to a tree five steps ahead where the path forked. Boggy Meadow it read. Beneath the letters was a crudely drawn frog painted green and black, wearing a gold crown. The frog prince was the emblem of Boggy Meadow, and it was proudly displayed everywhere. 

TP had traveled this foot path many times. It was a short-cut into Boggy Meadow from the main road running along the north side of the swamp. The right fork led to a wider, well-traveled thoroughfare at the base of high rock cliffs on the eastern edge of Boggy Meadow. Terraces had been cut into the rock, connected with stone steps or ladders or elevators worked by massive pulleys. The lowest terrace held the Great Lodge where the queen lived, a sprawling tangle of little, oddly-shaped buildings all connected by roofs and archways of different heights, and one soaring tower in the middle. The left fork joined a rough dirt road with cottages on either side, and farther down, a row of business buildings, all constructed from black stone chiseled out of the cliffs, with wooden, tin or thatched roofs. At the end of the road was the Wiggle Hop Roadhouse, and beyond that, the swampland stretched as far as one could see, dotted with tiny islands and docks along channels of deeper water where boats could be moored.

TP took the left path that followed the spring branch. Clouds of tiny midges swarmed over the water, dancing in patches of sunlight that filtered through the trees. A species from the Chironomidae family, he thought, commonly called muckleheads back home. Minnows darted through the stream, and little wriggling creatures waved at him from a shallow pool, making him itch for his microscope and magnifying glasses, but he mustn't get distracted. He was here for a purpose: to try and save his life, and every second counted. 

The air was muggy and still beneath the trees, the back of his shirt clammy. Beads of sweat trickled down his face, which he kept swiping with his sleeve. Something creaked and he looked up. Ah, the creepy old abandoned mill was still here, looming darkly over the water. Its splintered waterwheel listed to one side and the windows were gaping black holes with missing panes. Tall weeds smothered the walls, tangles of lollywon moss circled the caved-in roof. Not a place to linger, he thought, quickening his steps and suppressing a shiver in spite of the heat.

A few more minutes of walking brought him out of the woods and onto the dirt road leading into town, if one could call it that. A fresh breeze dried the sweat on his brow and brought with it the odors of the swamp, lifting his spirits. Strange how the smell of mud and muck and slime could excite him. It was life. It was growth and decay and renewal, primal and raw, and no fancy perfume enticed him more.

A horse-drawn cart approached and the driver eyed him curiously before nodding politely as he passed. TP loved that there were no automobiles in Minglemist. No gasoline engines of any kind, and no cell phone towers either. There was electricity generated from wind and water that often failed, and crude telephones that sometimes worked but usually didn't, but the air and water were clean. You could go fishing and actually eat the fish without ingesting toxic chemicals, and you didn't have to breathe noxious fumes or hear the roar of traffic from your bedroom window. Transportation was by steam train, ships and boats, carts and carriages pulled by high-stepping horses if you were rich, shaggy ponies or oxen if you weren't. There were bicycles and lots of walking trails. Being here was like stepping back in time to the late 1800's. Inconveniences were balanced by a slow and simple lifestyle that suited TP quite well.

But how bizarre to be back here! He thought he'd never see the place again. It'd been almost a year since the hole in the hedge closed up. Why had it opened now? Hopefully because something was guiding him towards a resolution to his terrible predicament. 

Doc Stubblefield's modest stone cottage sat on a lane behind the Roadhouse, where the road dead-ended at the swamp. A deep channel had been dug out along the water's edge and the banks built up to prevent the wetlands from encroaching on the town and to provide a harbor of sorts with a dock where boats could be moored.

The old stone roadhouse still had the same red-checked curtains framing the grimy windows, the same purple printed sign hanging beside the door: Barnicane Juice Sold Here, Pressed on Site, Bottles: 25 coppers, Gallons: 150 c, or 60 clams. Wooden benches and chairs were scattered across the front deck, and the sign over the door: Wiggle Hop Roadhouse still listed to the right. TP recognized several customers talking together and drinking bottles of purple juice as they sat in the shade out front.

He walked past them and turned west onto Crabtree Lane, halting at the picket fence in front of Doc's house. His wife, Hattie, was in the front yard, tending her flowers.

"Goodness me, TP, is that really you? We figured we'd never see you again. What brings you back?"

She pushed her sunhat back on her head and eyed him up and down, her wispy grey hair framing a round, weathered face with a snub nose and faded blue eyes. Her smile was just as bright as he remembered.

"Hello, Hattie. I know it's been a long time, but it seems my business here isn't finished. Is Doc around?"

Hattie thrust her chin eastward. "Over at the Wiggle Hop. He had a rough morning seeing three patients. I wish he'd retire for good, but you know Doc. He can't turn anyone away who needs help, and no one wants to take over his practice, so there you go. Take him fishing!" She waved and went back to her weeding.

Doc sat at one of the scarred wooden tables in the open dining room, nursing a drink. His mouth fell open when he saw TP, and he blinked several times.

"Good God, I'm seeing a ghost," he said in his deep, gravelly voice.

"Hello, Doc, it's been awhile." TP smiled and held out his hand, which Doc pumped vigorously.

"Not a ghost after all. Sit down! Oola, bring this man a drink." He motioned to the bartender, a dour woman as tall as TP but massively built, with arms that could lift a man off his feet and fling him across the room like a rag doll. Oola owned the Wiggle Hop and ran it with an iron hand, or fist when the occasion called for one. Nobody messed with Oola. Even the most hardened outlaws who dwelled in the swamp were afraid of her.

"What'll you have?" asked Doc.

As if there were any doubt. "I wouldn't say no to a bottle of juice." 

Barnicane juice was what TP always drank here. Squeezed from small purple fruits that grew in the swamp, it could be brewed into an alcoholic libation, but TP preferred the straight juice, finding the fruity, sour taste and fizzy tingle on the tongue a perfect pick-me-up.

Oola lumbered across the rough stone floor, wiping the dust off a bottle with her apron and popping the cap with her thumb. Plunking it down in front of TP, she said, "Hadn't seen you around lately. Come back to stay, is you?"

"Just visiting." 

She squinted at him, her small grey eyes nearly disappearing between the broad expanse of her red, rough-skinned cheeks and the bristly eyebrows above. A few coarse hairs sprouted from her chin. She jingled a bunch of keys hanging from a belt around her faded red dress and glanced at the staircase behind the bar. "Need a room, then?"

"Ah, no thanks, not right now." TP took a swallow of his drink, squirming a little under Oola's scrutiny. Finally she nodded and poked at her towering beehive of brown hair which stayed intact with no visible means of support, then took the coins Doc handed her and lumbered back to the bar, leaving behind the scent of sweat and stale grease. 

"So tell me, TP, why did you stay away so long and why are you back?" Doc settled back in his chair and crossed his legs expectantly. He was short, stocky and bow-legged, rather like a little gnome, TP always thought, with round, dark eyes and a halo of long white hair that stood up like a dandelion gone to seed. He wore scuffed boots, khaki pants, suspenders and a blue plaid bow tie over a pale green shirt. He and TP were close in age and shared a love of biology, medicine, philosophy and life in general. 

"The door in the hedge closed up."

"Huh. Strange, isn't it? Wonder why it opened again."

TP drew a deep breath. "Maybe because I'm in trouble and need help."

"Uh oh. Tell me what's going on."

"It seems the chimera dragon I encountered last summer is still with me."

Doc shot upright in his chair, gripping the edge of the table. "Lord," he said softly. "Lord, TP." 

He studied TP for a long moment in silence, then abruptly stood up and motioned TP to do the same.

"Let's go to my office. I want to examine you, then we need to plan our strategy."    

A Twist in the Mist, Chapter Fifteen

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The night was not what he'd expected. He'd been dreading the nightmares, the jolts of electricity that wreaked havoc on his nervous system, the pressure on his chest, the terrible sensations of falling. He did have to endure the soulless red eyes burning into him as he fell asleep, but then a gentle breeze lifted him upward, farther and farther and farther still, until he felt completely free and unfettered, detached from all worries and fears and pain. He looked down and watched huge vistas appear in blazing colors. Mountains rose up, rivers wound through green valleys, animals crawled or swam or flew out of oceans and spread over the land. Plants sprouted, grew and morphed into masses of vegetation, from tiny lichens to towering trees. Time lost all meaning. He watched whole civilizations rise and fall in the blink of an eye. Epochs followed one after another, each with new cultures, races, religions, achievements and discoveries. So much knowledge passed before him he was dazzled and overcome.

A barren field drew his attention. He floated towards it and found himself walking on fallow soil. He spread his hands and flowers shot out of his fingertips, each one unique and beautiful. They populated the empty field, their presence drawing insects, birds and other animals. He marveled at his creation, gazing in awe at the majestic sweep of color and movement. He had done all this with a wave of his hand! Now he could bestow names on every plant and animal, give them virtues or vices, habits and habitats, voices, odors, everything down to the tiniest detail. The thought gave him great joy. But some small part of him knew this was only a dream. Or had he died? Was this heaven?

A voice whispered in his head. "Scientist, remember the promise I gave you. You can have all this and much more. It's yours; take it!"

But he couldn't. He wasn't ready for such knowledge or power. This was illusion; like drug-induced euphoria that destroyed the will and left only an empty shell. If he gave himself to the beast he would lose what made him human: his will, his soul, maybe even his spirit. With great sorrow, he turned away and fell back into a dark but familiar place. 

TP woke in his bed, the dream's euphoria quickly fading to grim reality. He felt bereft, but he was still himself. He lay there awhile, pondering the cleverness of the creature inside him, how it had first showed him the hell he faced if he fought it, then the illusion of paradise if he gave in to its wishes. Thankfully he hadn't done so. The feelings inspired by the chimera were entirely different than the ones he'd experienced in the marsh long ago. That had felt real and solid, blissful but imbued with reverence and humility. The chimera's illusion had stroked his ego, making him the center of the picture. Maybe that was the chimera's weakness. It didn't understand reverence, or humility, or love of something higher than oneself.

Tired of thinking, he arose and started the day. Madeline and Harold were up, their voices floating down the hall. He doubted Gladys would make an appearance this morning. She'd seemed truly shattered with guilt and remorse yesterday. Glumly, he supposed he'd have to confront her. He decided to turn over a new leaf starting today: no more dodging difficult conversations. Character flaws must be overcome sooner or later, and the longer one waited, the harder it became to root them out.

In the kitchen, three faces looked at him, one worriedly, one expectantly, the third (Archie's) with its usual mournful hopefulness. He dared not disappoint. Mustering all his resolve, he gave them a dazzling smile. "This morning we're having Eggs a la TP and toast with strawberry crush."

He set Harold to work on crushing the strawberries with a potato masher. Madeline made toast and managed not to burn it while he fixed the eggs. After eating they discussed the day ahead. Evalda was coming around two, so Harold needed to get his gear packed and ready. His main concern was the dump truck, which had to be emptied of its final load and cleaned. He and Archie went to attend those duties while Madeline tidied the kitchen.

"I've got to go speak with Gladys," TP told her. Better do it now before he lost his resolve.

"Be firm with her, TP." she said. "Don't let her off the hook. I'd have strangled her by now, but that's me."

"I'll be resolute." 

He went to the garden and cut three heads of lettuce, snipped dill and parsley and pulled a bunch of green onions. Putting everything into a bag, he headed over to Gladys'. She must have seen him coming, because he hadn't even rung the bell when the door burst open and Gladys threw herself at him, sobbing into his shirt.

"Oh, Thad, I'm so, so sorry! Please, please forgive me if you can. I couldn't bear to think I'd ruined our friendship. It means so much to me."

He dropped his sack and patted her back awkwardly, then pried her hands loose from his collar and pushed her gently but firmly away. She stood there hiccupping and sniffling and wiping her eyes with her apron while he cringed inside, wishing himself a thousand miles away. He couldn't stand it when women cried.

"Gladys," he said, "If we're to renew our friendship, it has to be under certain terms. You're never to go into my lab, period. And you're never to enter my house unless I'm home and have invited you in. Do you understand?"

She nodded, her watery eyes round and contrite.

"It's not entirely your fault," he told her. "I should have expressed myself more clearly from the start. And I do appreciate your help in caring for Harold."

"I'd do anything for you, Thad. I admire you so much, and I've loved cooking for you and Harold. Has he left yet?"

"No, my sister's coming for him at two o'clock."

"Oh, then he'll be needing lunch. Could we still have a little party for him?"

She looked up at him tremulously, hopefully, her voice wobbling.

"I'm sure he'd like that."

"Wonderful!" 

He winced. The screechy voice was back full force. She drew a huge, shaky breath, clasping her hands together and beaming at him. "I'll fix something special and come over about 12:30. Oh, Thad, I can't tell you how happy I am that you've forgiven me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart."

He mumbled something, thrust the sack of produce at her and fled before she could launch herself at him again.

Harold was packed and ready by noon. TP had told him Gladys was bringing lunch, so he sat by the window watching for her.

"Here she comes!" he shouted. "She's got balloons and a giant picnic basket." He ran out to meet her.

Though she'd caused him more grief than she would ever know, TP had to laugh when he saw her lurching up the sidewalk with her load, a bunch of red helium balloons tied to one wrist and a cluster of party hats dangling from the other. She wore a ruffled blouse with a gold vest and an ankle length multi-colored skirt. On her head was a jaunty pink hat covered with silk flowers.

"The gypsies have arrived," Madeline said, standing beside TP.

Harold manfully grasped one handle of the basket which caused it to tip precariously, but they managed to deliver the goods unscathed. Gladys had to make one more trip next door, and Harold went along to help.

Good grief, how had she managed all this in a few short hours," TP wondered, watching as the kitchen was festooned with streamers and balloons, the table set with paper plates and party napkins. 

"I love napkins," Gladys said, doling them out beside the plates. "They add just the right touch to a party." 

She had brought a variety of delicacies from the gourmet deli she cooked for: tiny tea sandwiches, tartlets, vegetable roll-ups sliced to look like pinwheels, fig and feta canapes, crab cakes, and Harold's favorite - beggar's purses - chicken salad inside crisp wonton wraps gathered at the top and tied with a chive stem. For dessert there were mini lime cheesecakes and bird's nests made from drizzled chocolate, filled with chocolate mousse.

TP dutifully wore his party hat, feeling foolish as Madeline made him smile for the camera. He was hoping Gladys would leave before Evalda arrived, but at one forty-five the party was still going on and he couldn't very well shoo her out the door. She had gone to such efforts, even bringing Harold a present of building blocks wrapped up in a box with a bow. She and Madeline were being quite civil to each other, Gladys deigning to give Madeline pointers on cooking. But there was no telling what she might blurt out in Evalda's presence, and he didn't want his sister getting any ideas. She couldn't stand it that he was single and nagged him constantly, trying to hook him up with her acquaintances. He'd tried pointing out that she was single as well, her husband having died seven or eight years ago. Why didn't she date? But she had a life, and apparently he didn't. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy women's company. He dated occasionally, but only women of his choosing. Blind dates were almost always a disaster; he avoided them like the plague.

Ah, well, it was too late now. Evalda's car had pulled up to the curb. She breezed into the kitchen wearing a tailored grey suit with red pumps and matching scarf, a large black purse over one arm and a trail of L'air du Temps following her. She eyed the balloons and streamers, the party hats, the remnants of the feast, Gladys in her colorful costume. "It seems I'm interrupting something."

"We had a party," Harold told her. She greeted him with hugs and kisses, gave Madeline, whom she'd met before, a smile and a handshake, then turned her attention to Gladys. TP introduced them.

"I've been hearing about your cooking. It seems you're quite the gourmet."

Gladys waved a hand modestly. "It's what I enjoy. But sit down, Evalda. There's still plenty of food left. We gave Harold a little going-away party. Can I get you some coffee?"

"Never touch the stuff," said Evalda, perching on a chair and fending Archie off, who was delighted to see her. "Is there tea?"

Gladys bustled around heating water in the kettle and measuring tea leaves, and TP watched Evalda's eyes follow her every move, no doubt assessing her familiarity with the kitchen.

"So, Evalda, TP said, trying to distract her, "what brings you to Baltimore today, other than picking up Harold?"

"The OPAA is thinking of opening another shelter here. We have three in Philly, but the need is so great. People have been bringing animals in from all over, and a shelter here would help ease the pressure. I've been looking at possible buildings, but the most affordable ones are in bad neighborhoods. Safety is a priority, especially because I'm trying to get Marnie to run this one." She glanced at Harold, who was playing with his blocks, and lowered her voice. "My daughter needs to quit traveling so much and start being a proper mother. She could use her writing skills in better ways, like promoting the OPAA's cause. But don't get me started."

She sipped her tea and took a tiny nibble of cheesecake.

"If you do open a shelter in this area, I'd be happy to volunteer now and then," Madeline said.

"Wonderful!" Evalda took a business card out of her purse. "Here's our web address. Have a look, and I'll email you more information when you're ready. We can put your artistic talent to good use."  

"I'd like a card too," said Gladys. "And I have a suggestion. Thad and I are hosting a little get-together Saturday after next. We'd love to have you and Harold come, wouldn't we, Thad? You could meet some people and make some connections. One of our neighbors is in real estate."

Evalda raised an eyebrow. "That's very kind of you Gladys, and Thad." She smirked at him, knowing full well he hated his name. Thaddeus was pompous and pretentious, Thad was almost as bad as Todd.

"I'll check my schedule and let you know."

It happened in an instant. TP had almost forgotten about the chimera, sitting in the kitchen, eating and drinking and conversing like ordinary people do. So far the beast hadn't troubled him much in the daytime, and his guard was down. But suddenly his brain was on fire and a surge of rage swept through him. The people around him became enemies. He hated them; they were weak and despicable. He wanted them cowering and whimpering at his feet. He itched to smash the dishes, upend the table, roar and howl until they fled from him in terror. One small part of him knew this was all wrong. He lurched to his feet and strode from the room, running to the bathroom and slamming the door. He stuck his head under the faucet and let the cold water dampen the blaze. After a moment it all passed, leaving him shaken to the core. What would he tell them? He had to act normal. Evalda was sharp as a tack; she already suspected something was off with him. And Gladys! He could just picture her blabbing about his strange behavior to Marge, who thought he was using drugs. Quickly he toweled off his hair, ran a comb through it and went back to the kitchen.

They were talking about him.

"I hope it wasn't the food. It came on so suddenly."

"Believe me, Gladys, it wasn't the food. TP has a cast iron stomach. You wouldn't believe some of the things he eats. Though maybe you know, since you seem so familiar with his kitchen."

TP strode back into the room. "Sorry," he said, "I got something in my eye and had to get it out."

"I'm so glad you're not sick, Thad. I was worried."

"Everything's fine. Let's get your car packed up, Evalda, you've got a long drive ahead." 

She didn't believe him, but waited till they were outside to say anything. "When was your last physical, TP? Do you even have a doctor? I'll book an appointment for you with my physician. He's very good at diagnostics."

"Leave it alone, Evalda. I'll get a check up soon."

"Make sure you do. Gladys seems nice."

Here we go, he thought.

"She's not very intellectual, and I can't quite picture her tramping through the swamps with you, but you're sixty-two years old, for heaven's sake. You need some companionship for your golden years."

Luckily they were interrupted when Madeline and Harold came out. TP practically slung Archie into the back seat, gave Harold a hug, and waved them on their way.

Madeline looked at him closely, questions brimming in her bright blue eyes.

"I believe I'll go out to the hedge," he told her. 

"Wait," she said, running back to the house. She came back out with a party streamer. "If you get through, leave this tied to the shrubs, so I'll know where you are. And please be home by dark. I'll get rid of Gladys."

Seconds later he found a slim opening in the wax myrtles that hadn't been there yesterday. Winding the streamer around a twig, he plunged through the hole.

 

  

A Twist in the Mist, Chapter Fourteen

 (for previous chapters click on the chapter links on the left sidebar)

TP sat in his rocker in the living room, slowly rocking back and forth, staring down at the grey, black and red rug beneath his feet. The brass clock over the mantle read nine-twenty p.m. Madeline had made him a cup of tea which sat cooling on the end table. 

The colors in the rug matched his mood: black for desolation, grey for despair, with small flashes of red anger. Oddly, he wasn't angry at Gladys, nor at Madeline, who had accidently dropped the lab key in the hallway where Gladys had picked it up. He blamed only himself. Gladys was only being Gladys. He'd known from the start she was a nosy, prying busy-body. He should have told her in no uncertain terms that the lab was off limits. He should have hidden his house key in a new spot after she'd told him she knew where it was. But he'd said and done nothing. In Gladys' mind, saying nothing was a blatant invitation. And he'd known that. He'd always had trouble saying no to others. He always avoided confrontations by running the other way. And now he was paying the price. Possibly with his life.

He'd spent most of the day in his rocker, drifting in and out of a foggy no-man's-land, trying not to sink beneath the darkness pressing down on him. This morning, after Gladys left in tears, apologizing over and over in a wobbling voice, Madeline had cleaned up the mess in the lab, and then kept Harold entertained by showing him her portfolio of artwork. He showed her his drawings as well, and they'd set up an art studio on the kitchen table, painting with the new oil pastels.

TP had joined them for lunch. They ate on the back patio since the table was in use, throwing crumbs to the cardinals who were nesting in the wax myrtles. In the afternoon he'd stirred himself to walk with Harold and Archie along the nature trail while Madeline visited with Marge and Mel.

And earlier this evening he'd had a long talk with Harold after the boy was in bed.

"Uncle TP, are you very angry with Gladys for spilling your experiment?"

"I was very disappointed, Harold, but Gladys didn't do it on purpose."

"But she shouldn't have gone into your lab."

"That's right."

"Will you still be friends with her?"

"I imagine, after things cool down a bit."

"Good, because she makes good things to eat. Uncle TP, I wish we could go canoeing more times to look for mummichogs and periwinkle snails. Do you think you might take me again one day?"

"I certainly hope so," said TP. "There are lots of places we could explore."

"The marsh is my favorite place."

"Mine too, Harold."

Harold gathered Schubert the teddy bear, the octopus and the snake around him.

"Should I leave King Richard and the Duke with you to help fight off the dark thing?"

"No, I think you should take them with you."

"But how will you fight off the dark thing? Will it ever go away?"

"I'm working very hard to make it leave."

"You will. You're too big and strong for it. Almost as strong as King Richard." Harold took the poetry book from the nightstand and handed it over.

"Can you read the Quangle Wangle Quee?" 

Funny how the confidence of a child could bolster your own. TP felt a ray of light penetrate his dark mood.

But now, as he sat in his rocker, he couldn't help but dread the night ahead, and tomorrow, and the day after that.

Madeline appeared in a pair of drawstring pants and a tank top, smelling of lemon shampoo. She sat down on the couch, grabbing the embroidered pillow she'd made for him last Christmas and squeezing it ferociously.

"Don't blame yourself, Madeline."

"But it's all my fault." Her eyes burned with guilt and anger. "I had the key in my purse and then dropped it on the hall rug when I took out my driver's license. How could I have been so careless?"

"No, don't ever feel guilty, Madeline, because here's the thing." TP steepled his hands beneath his chin. "I'm thinking now it was meant to happen, all of it. Starting way back when I was a young man and had that experience in the marsh."

"When you saw the Lord of the Dance. TP, this is giving me chills."

"If there was a reason I had that flash of understanding, then surely I have a responsibility to use it. The vegetable stone seemed like an embodiment of all the wisdom and purity and power and truth of what I felt that day. I thought it was my mission to produce the stone, and in the process heal myself and maybe others too. Maybe it was my mission, and I've failed."

Madeline got up and went to the window, looking out into the darkness. A screech owl called eerily from the cypress tree.

"Will you try to make another stone?"

He shook his head. "No. I don't think I have enough time now." Dark thoughts of failure pressed in on him, but they must be put aside. Changing the subject, he asked, "What did you find out from Marge today?"

Madeline sat back down. "She's convinced she saw you the other night near the laundromat. I think she suspects you were on drugs because you looked glassy-eyed and didn't recognize her. She kept asking how your health was, and what sort of things you did in your lab.

"Great," TP muttered.

"But I questioned her about the Gogetamine, and she said she thinks the drug trial is going to be cancelled because patients are having a lot of side effects, so maybe the doctors will figure those people who saw Dr. Demento were just blitzing out on the Gogetamine."

"Not likely, Madeline. How could all of them have the same hallucination? And one of the victims didn't have the drug in her system."

"Yeah, there's that. But we're making sure Dr. Demento stays put, and after awhile people will forget about it."

"If I'm not arrested. Suppose one of the victims recognizes me on the street?"

"We could get you a pair of glasses and a fake nose."

"Ha ha," TP said forlornly. "I feel so guilty. Because it was me, after all, who terrorized those poor people."

"No, it wasn't you, TP. Only your body, which you weren't in control of." Madeline got up again and paced the floor restlessly, then sat back down and began kneading the pillow.

"What's on you mind, Madeline?"

The kneading stopped abruptly. "TP, you've got to go back to Minglemist."

He raised his brows. "And how am I supposed to get there, call a taxi?"

She gave him a long look, and a tingle shot up his spine.

When she spoke, her voice was hushed and low. "The last couple of times I walked past the spot in the hedge where the door used to be, I heard flute music." She paused, letting TP digest this, then said, "The first time I thought it must be Gladys' radio, but the second time... You can't mistake those flutes for anything else."

TP knew which flutes she meant. The wild, reedy ones played in Minglemist by a band of raggle-taggle musicians on summer evenings, their haunting melodies floating through the grassy field behind the old roadhouse in Boggy Meadow.

"But you didn't try to go through the hedge?"

She shook her head. "Harold was with me. And I couldn't bring myself to go back later, not till I'd talked to you."

Well, this was a lot to digest. Part of him dreaded the thought of returning to the place where his suffering had begun. But if the door opened again, wouldn't that be a sign? One he couldn't ignore? 

If he could just get through tonight, he thought, he'd find a path forward, wherever it might lead. 

A Twist in the Mist, Chapter Thirteen

 (for previous chapters click on the chapter links on the left sidebar)

Despite the sedative, he hardly slept. His nervous system was in overdrive, his thoughts were jumbled and confused. He awoke countless times to find himself pacing the floor or thrashing around on his bed, certain something was holding him down. He dreamed he was climbing mountains and falling off cliffs, his heart pounding, his breath coming in whistling gasps as he braced for an impact that never came. Only endless, terrifying free falls.

"Ah, God," he whimpered at one point, "please make it stop. Please, please."

Dawn had barely broken when he heard the click of the dead bolt. Madeline was up early. He hoped he hadn't disturbed her sleep, making noises. Was it safe for him to get up? He still felt surges of wild energy coursing through him. He injected himself again and lay still awhile, waiting for the sedative to kick in. Finally he stumbled to his bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror, afraid he'd see a monster. Thankfully his face was still recognizable, though his eyes were bloodshot with dark circles beneath them. He flattened his hair over the reddish bruise on his forehead, but it made him look like a moron, so he combed it to the side in its usual swirl, letting one lock drape down. The red mark would just have to show. It matched his bloodshot eyes.

In the hall he paused and sniffed. Something was burning. Alarmed, he checked the lab door, relieved to find it locked. The smell was coming from the kitchen, so he hurried to the entryway and turned right. Madeline stood at the sink, vigorously scraping something. She was bare-footed, dressed in khaki shorts and a green T shirt, her hair pulled back in its usual ponytail. Archie sat at attention nearby, watching her every move. She was scraping the bottoms of some cookies she'd just taken from the oven.

"I hope you don't expect me to eat those," TP said.

"Oh, good morning. No, they're for Mel and Marge."

"Are you trying to make enemies?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, they're just a tiny bit overdone.  A little scraping and they'll be perfect." She took a bite, chewed, made a face and spit into the sink. "Crap."

"Has Archie been out?"

"Yes, and I gave him his ration of kibbles, which he devoured in about three seconds."

"What has caused you to become domestic and neighborly all of a sudden?"

"I want to do some sleuthing. Marge works in the psych ward, you know, so I'm going to steer the conversation around to the people who were treated after being assaulted by Dr. Demento. And I want to know more about this drug, Gogetamine, that showed up in their systems. Something doesn't add up. Just following my nose, TP. You never know what you might sniff out."

"Hopefully something besides burnt sugar."

"The cookies were an excuse to go over there. Now I'll have to come up with something else, I guess." Disgustedly she dumped the burned lumps down the disposal.

"Take them some lettuce from the garden. Harold's not awake yet?"

"No, I got up super early to do my kitchen work before Gladys made her appearance. You should still be in bed, TP. You don't look so good."

He sat down at the table to hide his trembling legs. The sedative was making him dopey. Today he'd planned on starting the furnace to fire the vegetable stone. Somehow he'd have to find the strength, because as the days passed, he was only going to get weaker and more confused.

Harold appeared, still clad in his jungle pajamas. "Where's Gladys?"

TP glanced at the clock. Seven forty-five.

"She may not be coming," Madeline said. "She might be pouting because I scolded her yesterday."

"Don't count on it," TP said. "Gladys is not one to pout, believe me. She's as dogged and persistent as a hungry mosquito."

"But what will we have for breakfast?" Harold wanted to know.

Madeline looked at TP, then said, "Get dressed, Harold. We're going out to eat."

She knew a little out-of-the-way place that made seafood omelettes and other breakfast fare. It had an outdoor courtyard with picnic tables; very casual.

"I'll drive, TP. You just enjoy the ride. Some fresh air and good food might perk you up."

While Harold was dressing, TP's phone jingled. It was Evalda.

"TP, I have to come to Baltimore tomorrow and thought I may as well pick Harold up. It will save me a trip later in the week. And of course I know better than to ask you to bring him home."

Relief washed over him. He'd been dreading the call to Evalda; now he wouldn't have to endure her squawking when he asked her to come get the boy.

She prattled on a few minutes, complaining about something - TP hardly listened - then wanted to talk to Harold.

While they chatted TP took his trash can out to the curb and ran into Gladys, performing the same task.

"Oh, Thad! Fancy meeting you here!" She smoothed her shell-pink housedress and fluffed her curls. Her voice jangled his already frayed nerves. Of all the luck.

"I'm sorry I'm late with breakfast. I had an important phone call, but I can whip something up in a jiffy."

"That won't be necessary, Gladys. We're going out for breakfast."

"Oh. Oh, I see. Well, I guess I'm not needed."

"Harold's going back to his grandmother's tomorrow."

"Then I'll fix an extra special breakfast for him tomorrow morning. We'll have a going away party, won't that be fun? What did you do to your forehead, Thad? Did you fall?"

He waved his hand. "Just a slight accident. Thanks, Gladys, for all the cooking." He hurried back to the house.

Harold was telling his grandmother about collecting fossils. "They're from the Miocene era, when there were odd-toed ungulates, and we found petrified poop. Three pieces, and one's for you. OK, see you tomorrow. Bye."

Somehow TP got through breakfast at the cafe, listening to Harold and Madeline chatter, all the while going over and over what he needed to do in the lab. The hard work was done, he had only to fire up the furnace, or athanor as it was called in alchemy, combine the liquid and solid preparations and seal the final formula in a fire-proof mold. He had a good supply of wood pellets for heat which would keep the temperature steady a long while before needing to be stoked. The lab would become uncomfortably hot, but the athanor was in a well insulated alcove that could be closed off, and he could keep the windows open. He'd endure much more than heat to succeed in making the stone.

He ate, barely tasting the food, knowing he needed energy. Madeline kept giving him looks of concern which he tried to counter with smiles that felt more like grimaces. 

When they got home, a lawn service truck was parked in front of Gladys' drive, and a very loud mower roared behind the hedge. The front door was unlocked. Funny, TP could swear he'd locked it, but apparently not. Inside, he walked towards the lab and stopped short. The lab door stood open. A chill shot through him as he crept to the doorway and looked in. Gladys stood at his work table, holding the flask of thick, precious liquid destined for the furnace. She'd removed the lid and was sniffing the contents. His mouth opened to speak, but Madeline, who'd walked up behind him, beat him to it.

"What are you doing? Put that down!"

Time slowed to a crawl as Gladys turned, her eyes round with shock and guilt. She stepped backward sharply, her foot catching the leg of TP's swiveling stool. Off-balance, arms flailing, she lost her grip on the flask, which sailed aloft in a spinning, tumbling arc. For one glorious moment TP felt bathed in the aura of a holy presence, as familiar as his own beating heart. It hovered there amidst the sparkling droplets that contained all his hopeful, earnest striving, all the longing of his soul for health, and truth, and goodness, and then it was gone as the flask fell and shattered on the floor.

A Twist in the Mist, Chapter Twelve

 (for previous chapters click on the chapter links on the left sidebar)

They stayed up late again, talking, TP in his rocker and she on the couch. TP was in no hurry to retire. He'd been knocked out a good part of the day and wasn't sleepy. In fact, he felt wired up. And the longer he stayed awake the less time the beast had to haunt his dreams.

"I've been wondering, TP, if the chimera could influence you to destroy the vegetable stone in the lab."

TP frowned and put his palms together in front of his chin, something he often did when thinking. "That's a million dollar question, isn't it? I think not when I'm awake, possibly when I'm asleep, maybe if it drives me completely mad."

"And if you're knocked out, like you were today?"

"I don't know for sure, but it didn't happen, so maybe not."

"That's a lot of ifs and maybes, TP."

He nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the lab door key. "Here, take this and put it in a safe place. I'll ask you for it when I need it, and you can give it to me if you're going out."

"You don't think the chimera could pass from you into someone else, do you?"

TP shook his head. "Remember Doc Stubblefield I used to visit in Minglemist?"

"Of course. Lives in Boggy Meadow with his wife, Hattie."

"Right. He treated people who'd been infected with chimera dragons. According to him, once a dragon attaches itself to someone, it doesn't change hosts unless the person dies."

"Well, that's a comfortingly depressing thought." 

TP rubbed his hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in peaks. "I still know so little. But one thing is sure: I've got to call Evalda tomorrow morning. Harold needs to leave. This house is no place for a child right now. If I've angered the dragon, there's no telling what it's capable of."

"I agree," Madeline said. "What will you tell your sister?"

TP sighed. He'd have to come up with a believable excuse, else she'd roast him alive for being selfish, or unfeeling, or a hundred other horrible things.

"Maybe if I tell her I have parasites."

"It's true, isn't it? You do have one big, horrendous parasite. Would she believe you?"

"It may be the only thing she would believe," said TP wryly.

"TP, about Gladys... did you ask her to clean your house?"

"No. I'm paying her for the meals she makes. I could hardly let her keep feeding me for free."

"So she took it upon herself to bring her little dust mop over? It's just an excuse, you know, to go through all your cupboards and closets. People like her get a thrill out of knowing other peoples' private business. Talk about parasites! She's attached herself to you like a leech. You've got to give her firm boundaries or the next thing you know she'll be moving in."

Why, TP wondered, was it his lot in life to be surrounded by domineering women? There must be some karmic lesson to be learned, but darned if he knew what it was.

"I'll take care of it," he said. Another uncomfortable confrontation.

"Make sure you do, and soon. She's dying to get into your lab. We've got to keep it locked."

He changed the subject. "So, how are things with you and Todd?"

"He wants me to move in with him."

"Oh? And what do you want?"

"I'm not sure. We have a lot of fun together, but he's in a different place than me. He's already talking about where he'd like to live, and how many children he wants. I'm just not there yet."

"You haven't been together that long."

"Five months. You don't like him very much, do you?"

"I never said that! He seems nice - steady, dependable."

"But."

"But nothing."

"Come on, TP, you can't fool me. Spit it out."

Ah, he'd missed sparring with her. She was so intuitive and smart, and she knew him so well.  "It's just that I wonder if he's enough for you, for the long term. You have such a lively spirit."

Madeline freed her hair from its band and shook it loose, curling her long legs up under her on the couch. "Maybe I need steady and dependable instead of..."

A pensive look crossed her face, and he knew what she was thinking about. Or rather who. Sephyr. The young man she'd fallen in love with in Minglemist. Sephyr, the prince of Boggy Meadow. A dubious title, as Boggy Meadow wasn't much more than a giant swamp full of tiny islands, rickety shacks and houseboats, and a slew of nefarious characters paddling through the waters doing heaven-knows-what. None-the-less, Boggy Meadow had a queen, and Sephyr was her son. He was handsome and charming and exciting, cocky and unpredictable, all the things that attract young girls and make them fall in love. Madeline, so young and naive, had fallen hard. She'd been crazy about him. But then the door to Minglemist had closed, and that was the end of their relationship. She'd been so heartbroken TP had worried about her. But after moping around for several months, she'd picked herself up, started college, made new friends, and now seemed in a positive place.

"Would you go back, if you could?" he asked her.

"Sometimes I think I would, just to have closure. Not to stay. Because really, what kind of life would it be, attached to someone from a different world? I try to imagine Sephyr living here, and it's impossible. He belongs there. And I could never live in Minglemist, as much as I loved it. So that means I'd be running back and forth through the hedge, straddling two worlds, which would be exhausting."

"Sorry it was so hard on you."

She gave him a lopsided smile. "That's life."

Before he retired, TP went into the lab once more and looked through a cabinet where he kept delicate instruments and supplies. He found a pack of sterile syringes and a vial of an injectable herbal sedative made for him by a pharmacy last year when he'd returned from Minglemist and was still having nightmares from the experience with the chimera dragon. He'd thought the nightmares were just residual effects; now he knew different. 

"This is war," he muttered as he drew a small amount of liquid from the vial, swabbed his arm with alcohol and guided the needle into his skin. Then he went to bed, noting that King Richard and the Duke were still on guard beside his door. 

"Gird your loins, men. We're in for a battle."

     

A Twist in the Mist, Chapter Eleven

 (for previous chapters click on the chapter links on the left sidebar)

TP had to meditate before entering the lab to dispel the anxiety caused by Mel's words. He kept thinking about the people he'd injured, hoping they'd all fully recover. It was an impossible situation for him. If he went to the authorities and told the truth, they'd think he was mentally ill. They'd give him a psychiatric evaluation, then he'd either be committed to an asylum or tried and convicted. One of the women had had an expensive watch stolen. TP was almost certain he hadn't taken it, but he couldn't prove it, and theft of over $1,000 was a felony in Maryland, punishable by up to ten years in prison. Then there was the weird twist of the drug found in all but one of the victims' systems. Surely he was not responsible for that. So how did it get there? But he had to clear all the questions and anxiety away for now. He must focus on the job at hand: getting the formula for the vegetable stone completed and in the furnace for its 40 day firing. He would not think about how long 40 days was, and how he could survive that long.

"Breathe, focus, breathe."

It was hard to be calm with a crashing thunderstorm going on outside, but he couldn't waste this valuable time. He unlocked the lab, turned on the lights, donned his clean white lab coat, and began to work. He wasn't quite satisfied with the distillation of the final preparation. Hollandus hadn't specified how many distillations were required, only to distill until the residue was as white as snow. Was his? He scrutinized it carefully. The glass it was in altered the color a bit. He decided to distill one final time, as it wouldn't hurt anything, and might be helpful.

The lights flickered as a bolt of lightning struck nearby. Rain slashed against the windows. All he needed now was a power outage. Should he wait for the storm to pass? He thought a moment and decided to go ahead with work.

Meticulously he set up his still and began to heat the precious liquid, watching steam swirl into the tubing. Good grief, it was dark outside. An eerie green glow filled the lab and his neck began to prickle. The words in his manual danced on the page.

"Scientist."

His head shot up. The sound of that hissing voice inside his head sent an electric jolt through him. Slowly he turned around, peering into the corners of the room.

Something stirred behind the small furnace he used for firing. A dark shape appeared, lit up by two fiery red eyes. A head formed, dissipated, formed again.

"Scientist, surely you're not surprised to see me. We've been together a long while now, haven't we? I've spent the past months quietly learning the workings of your mind and body. You knew I was there, didn't you?"

"Not at first," TP whispered. "I thought you were gone."

"I had to overcome your own doppelganger, the one you were born with. Pah, a weak and puny thing! I had no trouble subduing it. But now I know all your secrets! I've sifted through all your thoughts and memories, lingering over the ones that intrigue me. I know what drives you, what brings you excitement, fear, desire. It's given me hours and hours of entertainment. Such a learned man! I've read through all the papers and articles you've published throughout your career. Very impressive. Very commendable."

TP sank onto his lab stool, his eyes following the billowing shapes forming and dissolving in the corner. 

"You want to know why I'm here, don't you. Why I'm communicating with you in this way. You still want to get rid of me, but once I reveal certain things to you, you may very well change your mind."

"What things?" TP asked.

The chimera laughed, a huffing, unpleasant sound. "Here's the thing," it said, coiling itself around the stove pipe. "I admire you so much I've decided to give you a choice. It will make matters more interesting. I mean to stay with you to the end of your days, either with your permission or not. If you rebuff me, I'll be forced to stay in your subconscious and you will go mad. But if you agree to let me abide with you consciously, willingly, you and I can benefit beyond measure."

"I'll never agree to that."

"Oh, but wait till you hear my offer! I know what you desire most in the world, Scientist, and I can give it to you. You're not a man who craves power or wealth. Those things don't attract you in the least. No, it's knowledge you crave, isn't it? Remember that day in the marsh when you saw the Lord of the Dance? Remember the feeling of bliss you experienced when your eyes were opened? I can give you that permanently. You'll know all the workings of spirit in nature; you'll have the wisdom of the old alchemists plus much more. The secrets of the sun and moon, the stars and planets, what energies pulse through the deepest layers of the earth and how to harness them. You'll know the workings of creation on this plane, you'll be able to command the elements to make any formulas, any medicines and elixirs you want. What do you think of that?"

 TP was mesmerized. He could actually picture it as the chimera spoke. His fingertips tingled, his heart swelled with joy. But a part of him resisted. He struggled to think clearly. 

"The choice is yours. I will have you either way. A mad man is better than no man at all. You have no idea the pleasure I get from the sensation of eating and drinking, of experiencing life in a physical body. Even a mad man has to eat, and he still feels fear, anger, lust, confusion. I can have great pleasure in orchestrating these things in him, and in the people he comes in contact with. But if you allow me to merge myself with you willingly, I can experience physical life in the deepest of ways. You and I will grow tremendously strong, tremendously wise! There are large groups of beings we can work with to bring about monumental changes to the earth!" 

TP sat silent a moment, digesting all this information. Then he spoke. "It seems to me I have a third choice."

"And what is that?" asked the chimera dragon.

"I can produce the vegetable stone, the Quinta Essentia, and drive you away with it."

Now the chimera was silent, save for emitting small puffs of sound - laughter or anger? When it spoke, it's voice in his head was low and raspy. "You're being stupid. I thought you were an intelligent man, Scientist. Do you really think you can produce a vegetable stone in your paltry little laboratory? You haven't the wisdom, nor the equipment, nor the intuition to do such work. You'll fail, and in your heart you know it."

TP felt the weight of those words pressing down on him like a mountain of iron. But he couldn't let it crush him. 

"We'll see, won't we?" he said. "We'll just see."

A big clap of thunder rattled the windows; the chimera rushed at him and he fell off his stool, crumpling to the floor and passing out.

When he awoke, he was lying facedown on the rubber mat he stood on when working. His forehead ached from the fall but there was no blood that he could see. He lay there awhile, drifting. It wasn't unduly uncomfortable, lying on the mat. The storm had passed; all was quiet except for a faint humming noise drifting through the wall. Up and down the humming went, expanding into a warble now and then. It sounded like an off-key rendition of My Darling Clementine. Could a strange bird have flown in during the storm? A Clementine bird. This struck TP as hilarious. He guffawed into the mat, wheezing and gasping, nearly suffocating until he turned his head to the side. A wave of dizziness followed and he closed his eyes, waiting for it to pass. More sounds followed. Thumps, voices. Harold and Madeline must have returned from the aquarium. He heard small footsteps running down the hall and Archie's excited woof of greeting.

Then Madeline's voice rang out from across the hall. She sounded angry.

"What are you doing in here?"

"Cleaning, obviously." Gladys. He realized she was the Clementine bird.

"You have no business being in this bathroom! Does TP even know you're here?"

"He's busy in the lab. And I have every right to be here. Thad and I have an arrangement."

"What sort of arrangement?"

"Well, I hardly think that's any of your business."

"Whatever your arrangement is, it stops in the kitchen. The guest rooms and bathroom are off limits, at least as long as I'm here, is that clear? Take your things and get out."

More thumps, and the sound of water sloshing. "We'll just see what Thad has to say about this. You're overstepping your bounds, young lady. Though you're hardly a lady."

TP thought he'd better intervene before they killed each other. Slowly he stood, using the table to pull himself up. Still a bit dizzy, and his head hurt but otherwise in one piece. 

The distillation was complete. He disengaged the tubing and capped the flask. Tomorrow he would mix in the purified white residue, seal it up in a flame proof mold and cast it into the furnace. Then, in forty days' time and by the grace of God, he'd have his Quinta Essentia, and salvation from the beast.

Madeline was across the hall in the library where she was temporarily sleeping, rummaging through her bags and boxes. Gladys had apparently left. The clock beside the couch read 4:10. He'd been knocked out a long time.

"Did you know she was here?" Madeline asked. "I swear, if she's been going through my things I'll - what happened to your forehead?"

"It's a long story," said TP, glancing at Harold, who stood beside the library door. "I'll tell you later. How was your trip, Harold? Did you have a good time?"

Harold treated him to a long tale about his new friends, Sadie and Pete, about the creatures he'd seen at the aquarium, where they'd eaten lunch, how they'd gotten caught in the storm and had to pull off the road.

After the story, Harold and TP took Archie for a walk, checking out the fallen leaves and branches from the storm. Harold tested the depth of the puddles with a stick, and Archie splashed through them happily.

Gladys didn't show up with supper that evening, so TP fixed towering, messy sandwiches that squirted out everywhere and had to be eaten with a fork. Afterwards they had strawberries and cream for dessert.

When Harold had gone to bed, Madeline wanted to hear what had happened in the lab. 

"What a nightmare," she said, her face strained and white after he'd told her everything. "Are you sure you're all right, other than that knot on your head?"

"I feel surprisingly well, actually, now that the dizziness has passed. And I have a feeling I got the dragon rattled by talking about the vegetable stone. Maybe I'm wrong, but I sensed agitation in its voice."

"Did it give you any indication of how long before...you know."

"Before I go mad? No. I'm doing everything I can to resist it, and to figure out how the dragon operates. If the beast can learn all my secrets, maybe I can learn its secrets too. Maybe it has an Achilles tendon, so to speak, a vulnerable spot."

Madeline smiled. "Now you're talking, TP."

  

 

A Twist in the Mist, Chapter Ten

 (for previous chapters click on the chapter links on the left sidebar)

Madeline took Harold and Archie for a drive around the neighborhood in the green beetle.

"It's got a lever that makes the back of the seat shoot up," Harold explained to TP when they returned. "I worked the lever and Archie rode in the back. Madeline, do you want to see my dump truck?"

They played in the yard until dusk, when TP called Harold in to take his bath.

"Make sure you scrub your legs good," he said. Harold's knees were dark brown from scooting his truck along the dirt road he'd constructed between the lettuce and tomato beds.

Madeline and TP stayed up late, talking. They had much to catch up on, and new things to discuss.

TP had to get one thing off his mind. "That remark you made to Gladys was totally uncalled for, Madeline. Really over the top. Especially since Harold was sitting right there. And don't give me that innocent look. You know perfectly well what remark I'm talking about."

"You weren't supposed to hear it," she said, and put her face in her hands. "I admit it was horrible. Sometimes when I get irritated I just blurt things out without thinking. But you know that."

They shared a smile.

"I'm sorry. Especially about Harold hearing."

"It's Gladys you should apologize to."

"Well, she owes me an apology as well. Implying that my presence is making you sick. Of all the nerve."

"Rise above it, Madeline. She doesn't know what she's talking about."

"Exactly, so she should keep her trap shut." She grimaced. "It would help if she didn't sound like a screeching parrot."

They both laughed.

"I called Todd," Madeline said. "We're taking his niece and nephew to the aquarium tomorrow, so Harold can come too. Todd's sister's kids are about Harold's age, five and seven. That way you can work in the lab without interruptions."

TP tried to give her money for the tickets, which weren't cheap, but she wouldn't let him. "Todd's sister's husband is a lawyer and makes scads of money. Sarah gave us a wad of money. She's thrilled to get the kids out of her hair for a day. What's that you're drinking?"

"A spagyric formula I've come up with. Chamomile, lemon balm, valerian, passionflower and catnip, with Chinese skullcap for the melatonin."

"Holy cow, that should knock you out cold. Is it bad, falling asleep?"

TP shrugged. "I've been managing. Be sure and lock the deadbolt, and don't open it till morning."

"Got it, TP. Hope you can sleep."

It was not a pleasant night. He jerked awake over and over again, once catching himself standing by the door, trying to open it. The chimera was not pleased.

"Scientist," it hissed in his ear. "Get up, get up, get up."

Bad dreams plagued him: twisted shapes, distorted landscapes, hideous faces.

In the morning, bleary-eyed and headachy, he heard the dead bolt click and dragged himself out of bed. After a long, hot-and-cold shower he shaved, dressed and wandered down the hall. Madeline and Gladys were already going at it. His footsteps slowed even more, listening to their bickering.

"So how long will you be here?"

"As long as I feel like staying."

"I guess free room and board is a big incentive. But shouldn't you be working?"

"I will be."

"Oh? Doing what?"

"None of your business. What's this?"

"Lemon blueberry three grain porridge with toasted pecans. But let's get one thing straight. I cook for Harold and Thad. You can take care of yourself."

"Suits me."

Harold's voice broke in. "You can have some of mine."

Madeline laughed. "That's ok, Harold. Eat up. We've got a big day planned."

Todd came by to pick them up. TP had met Todd several times and thought him a pleasant enough fellow. Not outstanding in any way. Medium height, about an inch or so taller than Madeline, who was five-eight-and-a-half. Medium brown hair and eyes, medium build, regular features. Friendly, easy going. He was a business major, just through his junior year. The tennis type. 

Was that what slightly irked him, TP wondered. Madeline was on a community rowing team, which somehow made tennis seem wimpy. Which was utterly ridiculous, of course. Look at Serena Williams. Every sport had its merits. Was he being snobbish, stereotyping someone because he played tennis? Was it the little white shorts and shoes, the knit shirts with monograms on the pockets? Todd just seemed so...civilized. Even his name was ho-hum. Todd Smith. What kind of name was Todd? It had no oomph to it. A person would need to have a sparkling personality to overcome being a Todd. Which Todd Smith did not. Or maybe subconsciously he was comparing Todd to Madeline's first love, whom she'd met in Minglemist. Well, whatever, it was no use going down that road. Madeline could make her own decisions. 

As they were leaving, TP handed Madeline a large black umbrella. "Take this," he said, "it looks like rain." 

He hoped for a good soaker. Then he wouldn't have to water the garden for awhile.

"So, what are your plans for the day, Thad?"

Gladys had lingered, fussing around the kitchen in a crisp white apron over a yellow dress smattered with daisies and twining greenery. The colors made an interesting contrast with her red hair shade, which TP was pretty sure came from a bottle. At least she hadn't dyed it platinum blond like so many older women did, presumably to hide their grey. Dyed platinum hair looked like melting cotton candy, he thought, dull and lifeless.

"Oh, I have some things to do," he said vaguely.

"You should take the day off and do something fun," Gladys said. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy! My niece gave me tickets to Six Flags; she works there. What do you say we make a day of it and go see the sights?"

She batted her big brown eyes at him hopefully.

He groaned inwardly. Could she possibly not know how irritating her endless cliches were? Six Flags was the last place on earth he would visit. "It's going to rain. And I really have things to do."

Her coral-tinted lips pouted. "I suppose you'll be working in your lab. I can't imagine what's so interesting in there that keeps you so busy. Remember, you promised me a tour." Another hopeful look.

He'd done nothing of the kind. Clearing his throat, he began sorting through some bills on the table, hoping she'd get the message.

"And I guess what's-her-name will be assisting you."

"Madeline. Yes."

A sigh. "Will you be traveling this summer, Thad, like you did last year?"

"Ah, no. I've got plenty to do around here right now."

"Well, you really need to take some time for socializing, and I mean to see that you do! The supper party will be a start. I've been thinking about dates - how does Saturday after next sound?"

"Fine," he said.

"All right then. We'll have to get together and do some planning. So long for now, Thad."

Finally. He wrote some checks, sealed and stamped envelopes and walked out to the mailbox. The wind was picking up, and he heard a rumble of thunder.

Mel was in his driveway, looking at the sky. "Looks like we're finally going to get rain." He pointed up at the dark clouds gathering.

"Looks that way," TP said.

"Hey, have you been hearing about Dr. Demento?"

TP froze. "Oh?" He cast a glance at Mel, certain his guilt must show. 

"Yeah, Dr. Demento, like that old radio show out of California, remember? Marge was on duty at the hospital when they brought some of those folks in. She said she's never seen people so freaked out. That one poor man had chest pains and everything. Can you imagine? I sure hope they catch that maniac." He shook his head and shuddered. "Gives me the creeps."

"Yeah," TP said, hoping Mel didn't notice the tremble in his voice.

"Well, I'm off to show some property. Don't go walking late at night."

A Twist in the Mist, Chapter Nine

 (for previous chapters click on the chapter links on the left sidebar)

He'd been pruning in his garden and had tripped and fallen through a hole in the wax myrtle hedge; a hole that hadn't been there the day before. As he fell he was fuming, thinking that Gladys had cut the hole so she could spy on him. But instead of landing in Gladys' back yard, he'd found himself on a shaded lane with unfamiliar trees overhead, their limbs draped with moss. A sign beside the lane read Welcome to Minglemist. Underneath those words were two arrows pointing in opposite directions, one towards Barleytown, the other towards Boggy Meadow. After standing there a long while, befuddled and bemused, he'd turned and gone back through the hedge into his own back yard. Several times he'd gone back and forth through the hedge, always with the same results. 

Over the coming days and weeks, he'd ventured further and further into Minglemist, growing more enchanted each time by the unusual plants and animals, the quaint towns, the intriguing people. 

Madeline had been working for him at the time, staying in his guest room, and he could hardly avoid telling her about his experiences, but at first he'd refused to let her come with him.

"It's too risky. I don't know the rules of the place: why it's there or how long it will remain. And some of the creatures are dangerous."

But another huge reason prevented him from taking her with him on his excursions, one he dared not mention. He thought it was quite possible he'd gone mad. If Madeline went through the hedge and didn't see anything, it would be proof he'd lost his marbles. 

But Madeline begged and pleaded and pouted and shouted and threatened until he gave in. They went through the hedge together, he going first and pulling her through, keeping hold of her hand and waiting with baited breath for her response.

"Good grief," she said, "is that a lizard with wings or a butterfly with a tail?"

She became just as enamored with Minglemist as he was. They were giddy with excitement, spending more and more time exploring the strange new land. At first they told no one, but eventually TP couldn't refrain from talking to a few former colleagues in the science department.

They thought he was nuts. He saw their pitying glances, their barely concealed ridicule, the subtle eye rolls and head shakes they gave one another. But that would change soon enough! He arranged an excursion, bursting with anticipation. He couldn't wait to see their faces when they first glimpsed a lollywon tree or a waspish stingle, or tasted barnicance juice. 

But TP was in for a terrible shock. None of his colleagues could see Minglemist. When they went through the wax myrtle hedge they were in Gladys' back yard. TP disappeared from their view, but they were convinced he was simply hiding.

Humiliated, confused, despondent, TP tried in vain to redeem himself, to make them see. He and Madeline tried taking pictures, but cameras and cell phones didn't work in Minglemist. He tried bringing specimens home, carefully collected in jars or nets, but once through the hedge, the containers were empty. It seemed Minglemist wanted no one but him and Madeline to cross its borders.

A week of the doldrums followed. TP felt like a deflated balloon. He moped around the house, brewing endless cups of tea which he didn't drink, staring sightlessly out the window or lying on the couch with his long legs draped over the end, his head thrown back and his eyes closed. Finally Madeline coaxed and prodded him into going through the hedge with her again, and once back in Minglemist, TP felt the fire of enthusiasm return.

He rented a cottage on a country lane near Barleytown and he and Madeline spent most of the summer there, studying the flora and fauna. He made copious notes and Madeline drew diagrams, pictures and maps. He told family and friends he and Madeline were traveling, collecting material for a possible book. After all, that was why he'd taken early retirement in the first place. His colleagues looked relieved, patting him heartily on the back and applauding him for taking some time "off". Off from what they didn't say, but TP would not let their disbelief stop him.

One day in late summer TP journeyed to a wild, hilly area of Minglemist he'd not seen before. He'd taken a steam train to a small town bordering the wilderness, then set out on foot to explore. Old mining caves riddled the hillsides and the ground was strewn with boulders and thorny vegetation. Not a picturesque spot, but TP was hoping for a glimpse of a rare reptile he'd heard about that lived in the caves.

Much to his embarrassment, he'd gotten lost, even though he had a map and a compass. When twilight came, he built a little fire and resigned himself to an uncomfortable night on the ground. He wasn't overly concerned; there was food and water in his backpack and he was certain he could find his way back to town in the morning.

But it seemed the reptiles he sought weren't the only creatures living in the old mines. TP was accosted by a chimera dragon, the most dangerous of all creatures in Minglemist. Chimeras had bodies of nothing more than black smoke with burning red eyes. They were highly intelligent and able to communicate telepathically, traveling by night, seeking human hosts so they could experience life on the physical plane. They fed on human beings' lower passions, influencing their hosts through the subconscious to spread terror, hatred and greed. If a chimera dragon became too deeply imbedded in its host, madness was the result.

TP had spent the most horrifying night of his life wrestling with the creature. Finally, exhausted and faint, he had passed out when the chimera pounced on him, engulfing him in thick, dark smoke. He was found the next day wandering along the road, nearly blind, hardly able to speak. Madeline had come to fetch him and taken him home. Slowly he'd regained his sight and his strength, and came to believe the chimera dragon had left him.

A short time later, for reasons unknown, the hole in the hedge had closed up. Minglemist was apparently finished with them. Or was it? 

"So what are we getting here," Madeline asked when they entered the hardware store.

"Deadbolt. The strongest they have. Madeline, could you stay for a bit?" He hated asking her.

"Of course," she said. "For as long as you need me to. I've been living with my friend Amy since school let out, but it's kind of awkward. I'd like to get my own place if I can afford it. And I need to look for a job."

"You could work for me."

"Doing what?"

"Locking me in my room at night." That one little action would be worth more to him than any amount of money. 

"Oh, geez," she said.

"Plus I could use some help in the lab. My notes need organizing and there are a lot of tinctures to bottle up."

"TP, you're already helping me with school expenses. If anything, I owe you."

"No! Believe me, I can use another hand."

He couldn't be alone, and there was no one else he could call on; no one else who would understand the situation. Evalda would have him in the psych ward in no time flat. And maybe that's where he'd end up, eventually. But not yet! As for money, he had enough. He'd made some good investments over the years, plus he had his pension, and soon he'd start drawing social security. He could afford to pay Madeline a decent salary. She would be doing him a tremendous service. Ah, he hated depending on her! She should be out enjoying life with her friends, not caretaking a demented old man. But he would do everything he could to help her, to pay her back. She had no family of her own, and in a way they had adopted each other.

"We'll figure it out later. I'll sleep in the library till Harold leaves."

TP's library was a renovated pantry behind the kitchen. He'd put in floor-to-ceiling shelves, a little table and chair and a comfortable couch along the back wall. The guest bathroom was between it and the room Harold was in, so he and Madeline could share.

They went by Amy's apartment and picked up Madeline's things. There wasn't much. Most of her meagre possessions were stored in the hall closet at TP's.

When they got home, Harold and Gladys were eating apple crumb pie topped with lemon mousse.

"Sit down, Thad. I've set you a place."

TP eyed the feast. Shrimp salad with cucumbers, tomatoes and croutons, a fluffy potato casserole, green beans.

Gladys looked at Madeline. "Oh, are you staying? I didn't set an extra place. I don't know if I made enough..."

"Actually, Madeline can have my place," TP said. "I have some things to do, and I'm not very hungry."

Gladys looked so crestfallen he added, "I'm a little under the weather this evening. But thanks for your efforts. It looks...magnificent."

"I'll save you a plate, Thad. Hope you're feeling better soon."

He waved and started down the hall, Gladys' shrill voice trailing along behind him.

"Funny," she was saying, presumably to Madeline. "Thad was feeling fine until you came."

"Yeah, I had to tell him I was pregnant with his child."

TP winced, then heard a gasp and the sound of a chair scraping on the floor, followed by Madeline's laughter. "Just kidding."

Gladys huffed loudly. "I'm not listening to any more of this filth."

Thumps and clashes followed, then the door slammed.

TP shook his head, trying to dispel Madeline's words. That girl! He'd have to have a talk with her. 

Back to the job at hand, he attached the dead bolt to the outside of his door. That should end his midnight sprees of terror.

"Is that big lock for keeping the dark thing away, Uncle TP?" 

TP looked down at Harold in shock. "What dark thing are you talking about?"

"The one that sits on the end of your bed at night."

Good Lord! He squatted down beside Harold.

"When did you see this thing?"

"Last night. I had to get up to pee, and I looked in your room."

Shaken to the core, TP asked, "Did it frighten you, Harold?"

"At first. I ran and got under the covers. But then the Duke blew the magic horn, and Richard the Lionheart defeated the enemy. He's a powerful warrior."

"Is that why you put Richard and the Duke outside my door?"

Harold nodded. "They'll protect you. The dark thing is no match for them. They'll smite it."

"Listen to me, Harold. I promise I won't let any dark things harm you. Do you understand?"

"And we won't let anything harm you either, Uncle TP. Me and Richard and the Duke and Archie." Harold threw his arms around his uncle, and TP gripped him tightly, awestruck by the boy's bravery.