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Maeve had left only taking with her the wrapping of the package and had been glad to leave Shawn Paul with its content, especially when she had seen what it was.

The mysterious thing was heavy, brown and looked a tad like a dry turd. It could hold in Shawn Paul’s hand and it seemed shaped to fit in his closed fist, but the young man hesitated to keep it too long because of the way it looked.
A note from his mother accompanied it. Who else could have sent a parcel this way? he thought, meaning not through the post office and delivered by a decrepit old man.
So the thing had been put on top of a pile of his latest scribblings, which was on top of his not so latest scribblings. Before putting it there, he almost saw the interest of a clean desktop or table, but it got lost in the immediacy of the moment and the tiredness caused by his recent fever.

“I’m sure you’re wondering what this marvellous object is.” the note started. Shawn Paul looked at the thing. It looked like a turd more than ever on all that white paper, so he made his yuck face. What he was wondering was rather why did she send me anything? She lives in an apartment on the upper floor. She could have brought it herself.

“I found it in a car boot sale,” she continued, her sharp and melodious voice chirping in her son’s head while he read the rest. “I met that old man, Patrick, who will deliver it to you. He’s a dear nice fellow never frugal with his words, and he told me it had been given to him by an Inuit shaman. It’s a fossil bone of the inner ear of a whale when they escaped Lemuria. Can you imagine that? Apparently it will help you develop your psychic abilities. You know how I’ve always known you had such a great potential in that area…”

Shawn Paul snorted and put down the paper. There was no use keeping up reading. His mother and her crazy ideas. He looked at the pile of papers.
It’ll do for a nice paperweight, he thought.

But Granola had not lost a crumble of what the mother had told in the rest of the note. She was lurking at the inner bone and she wondered if she could make herself heard if she merged with it.

Fox popped back into existence, blind, after what felt like a very long black out. He heard a thud on the ground as he let go of the ice flute. A strong smell of decay and cold ash rendered him dizzy. He fell on his knees, threw up and cursed when the pain caused by a little stone reached his brain. It hurt.
He rolled on the side and banged his head on a tree trunk. He cursed, grabbing his head in an attempt to contain the pain that threatened to make him faint.
Where is the hellishcopter? he thought, confused as his hands touched the sandy ground. He tried to control a wave of panic.
“Rukshan? Lhamom?”

Maybe I fell off the carpet during the transfer, Fox thought. But why am I blind?
“Olli?..” he tried. His voice broke off. _Where is everyone?”

He remained prostrated. He would have been glad to hear any noise other than his heartbeat and his quick breath.
After some time his sight came back. He would have preferred it did not. Everything was grey. The forest had burnt, and so had the cottage.
He looked around what remained of the kitchen. His heart sank when he saw what looked like a burnt body trying to escape. He went back out and found Gorrash, broken into pieces scattered near the pergola. The stones were covered in a thin layer of grey ash. Fox cried and sobbed. He couldn’t believe what had happened.
Where was everyone? Wasn’t he supposed to have the power of miracles? His heart ached.

A black silhouette slid between the burnt trees.
“Glynis! You’re aliv…” Fox’s voice trailed off. He could now see the dead trees through the burka. It was only a ghost.

She came and met him with a sad smile.
“You were not there,” she said more as a constatation than an accusation. Still Fox felt the guilt weigh on his shoulders. He wasn’t there for his friends. The people he had grown to love. The people he called family in his heart.

“What happened?”
“You were not there. The monster came right after the others came through the portal. I wasn’t prepared. They counted on you and the flute. But it was too quick. It escaped and went to the village where it merged with Leroway. Eleri tried to cast her stone spell but it bounced back and she met the same end as Gorrash.”
Fox looked at the scattered stones on the ground.
“Once it controlled Leroway, it went into a frenzy and burnt everything. Everything. Only ashes remain.”
Fox remained silent, unable to speak. It was his fault.

“You have to go back,” said Glynis’s shadow. “They count on you.”
“What?”
The breeze blew. The ghost flickered, a surprised expression on her face.
“Under the ashes in the kitchen, the last potion,” she said quickly. “It can turn back time. Bring the sh…” A cold breeze blew her off before she could finish.

The air was crisp and dry in the mountains. They had been walking for days under the guidance of their local guide Strumpjioku, whose name was simply pronounced Sok despite or because a very complicated writing system. It seemed to interest Rukshan a lot but Fox had had some brain freeze trying to understand their guide’s nebulous and proud explanations about it.
Of course, it might have been caused also by the lack of air. They were so high in the mountains, and at times Fox had even seen and heard things that should not have been there. Especially during the long nights when packs of wild dogs barked endlessly. Fox understood their language. They were hunting things. It wasn’t clear what, but Fox could sometimes sense a lingering smell carried by the otherwise empty air that he couldn’t identify.

They had established camp for the night and Sok was busy cooking for them. Fox growled miserably. He didn’t fancy too much the spicy food that seem the only thing they could get in those mountains. He missed the running hens of Margoritt’s cottage in the forest and her secret mushroom sauce that was to die for. He would even have eaten her ratatouille with only vegetables.

Rukshan was trying to cast a fae spell in order to contact their friend Lhamom who had left them for a special ceremony in a temple. She said it was for her friend Donny whose mother had passed away recently. Being in a hurry as they were, they didn’t insist to wait. Lhamom said she could catch up on them later. The spell failed again and Rukshan cursed.

Dogs started to bark loudly. Not too soon after the strange smell became stronger, and it made Fox nervous, especially hearing to the hunting dogs.

Fox approached Rukshan.
“The dogs are hunting something, he said.
“As long as they don’t hunt us, retorted Rukshan with a shrug. He seemed upset by his failed attempt and not too eager to talk.
Fox caught Sok looking at them, but the guide turned back to his cooking when he saw Fox looking at him.
“That won’t help me sleep”, mumbled Fox more grumpy than usual.

Eleri’s recovery lasted much longer than anyone expected. Nobody really believed the old wives tale that getting soaked in the rain caused flu, but this is what appeared to have happened. She’d been out of action for such a long time that she was considerably confused about what exactly had been going on prior to her collapse. Someone ~ who? she couldn’t remember their names ~ suggested she needed one of Glynnis’s special tonic juices to revive and restore her. Perhaps even one of her extra strong turmeric latte’s. Weakly, and with a wobbly smile, Eleri agreed. She didn’t have the strength to argue about the turmeric. Not only that, she couldn’t remember why she would want to argue about the turmeric anyway.

It is what it is, she told herself. She didn’t know what that meant really, but was too tired to think about it.

As the crow flies, Glenville is about 100 miles from the Forest of Enchantment.

“What a pretty town!” tourists to the area would exclaim, delighted by the tree lined streets and quaint houses with thatched roofs and brightly painted exteriors. They didn’t see the dark underside which rippled just below the surface of this exuberant facade. If they stayed for more than a few days, sure enough, they would begin to sense it. “Time to move on, perhaps,” they would say uneasily, although unsure exactly why and often putting it down to their own restless natures.

Glynis Cotfield was born in one of these houses. Number 4 Leafy Lane. Number 4 had a thatched roof and was painted a vibrant shade of yellow. There were purple trims around each window and a flower box either side of the front door containing orange flowers which each spring escaped their confines to sprawl triumphantly down the side of the house.

Her father, Kevin Cotfield, was a bespectacled clerk who worked in an office at the local council. He was responsible for building permits and making sure people adhered to very strict requirements to ‘protect the special and unique character of Glenville’.

And her mother, Annelie … well, her mother was a witch. Annelie Cotfield came from a long line of witches and she had 3 siblings, all of whom practised the magical arts in some form or other.

Uncle Brettwick could make fire leap from any part of his body. Once, he told Glynis she could put her hand in the fire and it wouldn’t hurt her. Tentatively she did. To her amazement the fire was cold; it felt like the air on a frosty winter’s day. She knew he could also make the fire burning hot, if he wanted. Some people were a little scared of her Uncle Brettwick and there were occasions—such as when Lucy Dickwit told everyone at school they should spit at Glynis because she came from an ‘evil witch family’—when she used this to her advantage.

“Yes, and I will tell my Uncle to come and burn down your stinking house if you don’t shut your stinking stupid mouth!” she said menacingly, sticking her face close to Lucy’s face. “And give me your bracelet,” she added as an after thought. It had worked. She got her peace and she got the bracelet.

Aunt Janelle could move objects with her mind. She set up a stall in the local market and visitors to the town would give her money to watch their trinkets move. “Lay it on the table”, she would command them imperiously. “See, I place my hands very far from your coin. I do not touch it. See?” Glynis would giggle because Aunt Janelle put on a funny accent and wore lots of garish makeup and would glare ferociously at the tourists.

But Aunt Bethell was Glynis’s favourite—she made magic with stories. “I am the Mistress of Illusions,” she would tell people proudly. When Glynis was little, Aunt Bethell would create whole stories for her entertainment. When Glynis tried to touch the story characters, her hand would go right through them. And Aunt Bethell didn’t even have to be in the same room as Glynis to send her a special magical story. Glynis adored Aunt Bethell.

Her mother, Annelie, called herself a healer but others called her a witch. She concocted powerful healing potions using recipes from her ’Big Book of Spells’, a book which had belonged to Annelie’s mother and her mother before her. On the first page of the book, in spindly gold writing it said: ‘May we never forget our LOVE of Nature and the Wisdom of Ages’. When Glynis asked what the ‘Wisdom of Ages’ meant, her mother said it was a special knowing that came from the heart and from our connection with All That Is. She said Glynis had the Wisdom of Ages too and then she would ask Glynis to gather herbs from the garden for her potions. Glynis didn’t think she had any particular wisdom and wondered if it was a ploy on her mother’s part to get free labour. She obeyed grudgingly but drew the line at learning any spells. And on this matter her father sided with her. “Don’t fill her mind with all that hocus pocus stuff,” he would say grumpily.

Despite this, the house was never empty; people came from all over to buy her mother’s potions and often to have their fortunes told as well. Mostly while her father was at work.

Glynis’s best friend when she was growing up was Tomas. Tomas lived at number 6 Leafy Lane. They both knew instinctively they shared a special bond because Tomas’s father also practised magic. He was a sorcerer. Glynis was a bit scared of Tomas’s Dad who had a funny crooked walk and never spoke directly to her. “Tell your friend you must come home now, Tomas,” he would call over the fence.

Being the son of a sorcerer, Tomas would also be a sorcerer. “It is my birthright,” he told her seriously one day. Glynis was impressed and wondered if Tomas had the Wisdom of Ages but it seemed a bit rude to ask in case he didn’t.

When Tomas was 13, his father took him away to begin his sorcery apprenticeship. Sometimes he would be gone for days at a time. Tomas never talked about where he went or what he did there. But he started to change: always a quiet boy, he became increasingly dark and brooding.

Glynis felt uneasy around this new Tomas and his growing possessiveness towards her. When Paul Ackleworthy asked her to the School Ball, Tomas was so jealous he broke Paul’s leg. Of course, nobody other than Glynis guessed it was Tomas who caused Paul’s bike to suddenly wobble so that he fell in the way of a passing car.

“You could have fucking killed him!” she had shouted at Tomas.

Tomas just shrugged. This was when she started to be afraid of him.

One day he told her he was going for his final initiation into the ‘Sorcerer Fraternity’.

“I have to go away for quite some time; I am not sure how long, but I want you to wait for me, Glynis.”

“Wait for you?”

He looked at her intensely. “It is destined for us to be together and you must promise you will be here for me when I get back.”

Glynis searched for her childhood friend in his eyes but she could no longer find him there.

“Look, Tomas, I don’t know,” she stuttered, wary of him, unwilling to tell the truth. “Maybe we shouldn’t make any arrangements like this … after all you might be away for a long time. You might meet someone else even …. some hot Sorceress,” she added, trying not to sound hopeful.

Suddenly, Glynis found herself flying. A gust of wind from nowhere lifted her from her feet, spun her round and then held her suspended, as though trying to decide what to do next, before letting her go. She landed heavily at Tomas’s feet.

“Ow!” she said angrily.

“Promise me.”

“Okay! I promise!” she said.

Her mother’s face went white when Glynis told her what Tomas had done.

That evening there was a gathering of Uncle Brettwick and the Aunts. There was much heated discussion which would cease abruptly when Glynis or her father entered the room. “Alright, dearie?” one of the Aunts would say, smiling way too brightly. And over the following days and weeks there was a flurry of magical activity at 4 Leafy Lane, all accompanied by fervent and hushed whisperings.

Glynis knew they were trying to help her, and was grateful, but after the initial fear, she became defiant. “Who the hell did he think he was, anyway?” She left Glenville to study architecture at the prestigious College of Mugglebury. It was there she met Conway, who worked in the cafe where she stopped for coffee each morning on her way to class. They fell in love and moved in together, deciding that as soon as Glynis had graduated they would marry. It had been 4 years since she had last seen Tomas and he was now no more than a faint anxious fluttering in her chest.

It was a Friday when she got the news that Conway had driven in the path of an oncoming truck and was killed instantly. She knew it was Friday because she was in the supermarket buying supplies for a party that weekend to celebrate her exams being over when she got the call. And it was the same day Tomas turned up at her house.

And it was then she knew.

“You murderer!” she had screamed through her tears. “Kill me too, if you want to. I will never love you.”

“You’ve broken my heart,” he said. “And for that you must pay the price. If I can’t have you then I will make sure no-one else wants you either.”

“You don’t have a heart to break,” she whispered.

Dragon face,” Tomas hissed as he left.

Glynis returned to Glenville just long enough to tell her family she was leaving again. “No, she didn’t know where,” she said, her heart feeling like stone. Her mother and her Aunts cried and begged her to reconsider. Her Uncle smouldered in silent fury and let off little puffs of smoke from his ears which he could not contain. Her father was simply bewildered and wanted to know what was all the fuss about and for crying out loud why was she wearing a burka?

The day she left her mother gave her the ‘Book of Spells”. Glynis knew how precious this book was to her mother but could only think how heavy it would be to lug around with her on her journey.

“Remember, Glynis,” her mother said as she hugged Glynis tightly to her, “the sorcerers have powerful magic but it is a mere drop in the ocean in comparison to the magic of All That Is. You have that great power within you and no sorcerer can take take that from you. You have the power to transform this into something beautiful.”

Someone had told him once : “Catastrophes are like meteor shower, they come in flocks.”

Jeremy looked with dread at the smoke coming out of his computer. He had been writing an important e-mail to his new boss at the bank and was about to click the send button when it happened. The tech had said there was a current surge affecting the whole building. Everyone was in deep shit at the moment, they had to close the building to angry customers, and someone in high place was certainly worrying about the intangible money the bank was manipulating daily.
Oh! and concerning all his data, considering the smoke coming out of the machine, it was certainly irremediably lost.

Jeremy sighed. His last relocation a few hours ago had made him a 36 year old salesman in a not so well known bank. His ID said he was called Duncan Minestrone, but he couldn’t let go of his old identity and kept on thinking of himself as Jeremy. And he didn’t feel that old.

His memory of his former life, before the relocation, was fading away. He didn’t remember well what he was doing and what were his passions. The only thing he was sure is that they had confiscated his cat, Max, when they gave him his first identity and he had been on the look for him ever since.

It wasn’t easy, especially since every other day he was receiving a new identity in his mailbox. At first he had found it odd and not so easy : as soon as he got accustomed to a new persona, he would have to change again. He feared he would soon lose track of who he really was. And he wasn’t sure about what all this was about.

The phone hanging on the wall rang. It was one of those old public phones. Jeremy had thought it was only for decoration. The tech was looking at him.

“Are you going to pick up ?” he asked.
“Me ?”
“Of course! The phone is in your office, isn’t it ?”

Jeremy hesitated but eventually got up from his desk. The phone was calling him, but he didn’t really want to take the call. What if it was more problems. They come in flocks.
It was one of those old ringing tone caused by a mechanical bell inside. The speaker was shaking furiously. Jeremy couldn’t help but notice the dust on the machine.

“You’d better take the call”, said the tech.

Jeremy picked up the apparatus which a greasy feeling in his hand.

“At last! Duncan, in my office! Now!”
It was the voice of his new boss, Ed, and he didn’t seem very happy.

Dispersee sat on a fallen tree trunk, lost in thought. A long walk in the woods had seemed just the ticket to release her from her turbulent thoughts, but alas, she had been unable to stop thinking about the ramifications of the new message from the popular ghost.

At first she had been delighted to see it. She had agreed with it. But then she wondered why. Because she already knew all this, and in fact, it was information that could so readily be gleaned by anyone at all simply by engaging ordinary common sense, and run of the mill human compassion. Nothing esoteric was needed. No enlightened messages from the great beyond. In fact, she had said the same as the ghost, and on many occasions. The truth of the matter was that one had to be dead these days to be heard. Nobody was interested in the wise words of the living anymore. It could almost be said that nobody was all that interested in living at all: everyone wanted to be in the future, or the past, or in some other dimension, or planet, or not even physically alive at all anywhere. The individuals in the ascension process were particularly infected with this strange disorder: many of the ordinary uninitiated public were already quite well aware of the contents of the message and were already actively engaged in the process. It was as if the interest in so called shifty matters was an obstacle, an ugly carbuncle over the heart.

Dispersee seriously wondered if the whole shift thing had been a good idea. She was beginning to doubt that it was. The alacrity with which people relied on messages from ghosts at the expense of exercising their own powers of deduction and intuition had caused the whole plan to do disastrously wrong. People didn’t even know how to behave like people anymore. Not only were they afraid of other people, afraid of their governments, afraid of their food, of the sun and the water and the very earth itself, they were afraid of their own human responses, or had forgotten them altogether.

Did it really need a ghost to advise people on media propaganda, and remind them to be compassionate to others who were on an incredible journey, an extraordinary movement during these times of change? And more to the point, did Dispersee need to be involved at all in this futile ascension malarkey?

Master John was infusing L.O.V.E. (Love Octarine Vortex Emotion) communications through e-Ther, the energy framework supporting physical reality and the emotional world around it. He was a 5thD master choosing to touch the masses and chosen individuals more specifically. He’s been participating in several source events as he’d learned to expand his awareness of time and space.

He was also observing the training of the FAMs (Future Ascended Masters) while learning himself to expand his awareness in other directions. He’s always been busy while on earth, when he was a prophet. He’d always loved to teach and guide, although he’d lost his head for that. Who would have thought that woman would be more interested by his red head rather than his other attributes. Truth as that he had beautiful blue eyes at the time. Unfortunately they lost their luster in death.

The e-Ther was rather sluggish over most of the continents of the Northern hemisphere, due to intense fear and agitation after the market went down once again. It’s been over crowded since the demographic explosion that began during phase three of the “Human Harvest” source event. Furthermore, ever since the invention of hypnotherapists, the emotional network wasn’t reliable anymore. Unable to receive H.O.L.Y. communications the usual way because they had forgotten how to listen, they had hacked the e-Ther to find their own answers. That has caused many interference and mistranslations of data that weren’t addressed to the hypnotherapist or their clients, taken out of context and of time framework.

They have been in dire need of new masters in order to catch those fast increasing RFA (Request For Answers) and correct the course of the current source event.

Mirabelle tapped Lisa’s arm. There was no response, and Lisa had been in a sort of trance for a full 22 minutes. “Lisa! Are we lost, or have you found some navigational information?”
The interruption caused a bit of interference in Lisa’s remote viewing, crossing her channels somewhat. She started to speak:

How do you calculate upon the unforeseen? It seems to be an art of recognizing the role of the unforeseen, of keeping your balance amid surprises, of collaborating with chance, of recognizing that there are some essential mysteries in the world and thereby a limit to calculation, to plan, to control.

“That doesn’t sound all that helpful, frankly” replied Mirabelle.

The ghost captain of the Santa Rosa was an old Peaslander, Peter Pugh, otherwise known as Petit Pois on account of his vast girth. He’d had a fascination with whales all his life, admiring their immensity and smooth shapelessness, and had devoted his life to increasing his own blubber ~ unfortunately to the point where his legs failed to carry him further and he died, alone and frozen, on a cold winter Peasland beach. A particularly wild storm with immense waves had sucked him out to sea, taking most of the beach with him, but his spirit lived on, piloting the galleon for his ghostly lover, Belen. It was a match made in heaven ~ in their ghostly forms, they were vast but weightless, able to occupy the galleon fully, filling every nook and mossy cranny with their energetic formless bulk (but without sinking the ship or flattening the foliage).
“Whale that!” he cried in response to Belen, excited to be teleporting to the balmy waters of the Pacific. The rough harsh climate of the Bay of Biscay reminded him of that cold winter in Peasland ~ he was looking forward to a tropical sojourn.
“To the Big Island!” he shouted, and did a merry jig which caused a tsunami a few hours later on the Galician coast.

“Godfrey, I can’t help but wonder if all this imagined mayhem in my house (Mari Fe’s house, not Ed’s although Ed did choose some of Mari Fe’s furniture, when they were lovers in the past, as you know of course you old peanut) caused the electricity blackout lasting several hours last night.” mused Elizabeth. “I feel sure there is a connection, especially as the ten dogs all appeared (or not, as the case may be) to be wearing invisibility cloaks in the dark.”

Yikesy, who had been quietly observing the assembled gathering, gave a whale-like shout. Fortunately, he had remembered to wear his voice-muter gadget, and for most of those gathered in the room his shout was nearly imperceptible.

Sanso, who had his voice-muter-deactivator turned up full volume, leapt up in alarm. In the process, poor Janet went flying, landing on Sir Ed, who had been starting to stagger unsteadily to his feet. The impact of Janet’s ample frame hitting him full-force caused Sir Ed to lose his footing and, in his descent, he knocked his head on a charming wooden replica of a Tahitian dancing girl. (This was actually the same one which had earlier been mistaken for a hippopotamus.)

“What is the matter, Yikesy?” asked Sanso, managing to keep a clear focus in the midst of the ensuing chaos.

Yikesy smiled smugly. “I knew there was something strange about this map, and I have cleverly worked it out: there are 257 place names and all of them, except 12, have 5 letters and start with the letter E.”

“Of course, I should have spotted that!” exclaimed Sanso. “Well done, Yikesy.”

“HE PUT A BLUBBIT DOWN MY KNICKERS!” sobbed Lilli, loudly.

Unfortunately Lilli too had inherited the Stoll family curse, and her voice raised to such a level caused poor Fwick to cover his ears in horror. Being no fool, and quickly realising that without a head this ear protecting action would do no good at all, he instead decided he must evict these raucous Peaslanders from his abode, poste haste.

“Yes, indeed, Mewrich Peamon is the man you want to see. A strange fellow, lacking sense some may say, but very good with birds notwithstanding. Now, please, don’t thank me again. I mean really, don’t …. “ he muttered, ushering the guests in the direction of where he hoped the door was.

There’s something, er, fishy, about this here dead cow, Sanso surmised. He was still a little fuzzy after his peregrinations in the Dense Dimension. Suddenly he slapped his forehead and exclaimed D’Oh! This dead cow is no accident! He shook his head, as if trying to shake the cobwebs loose. The effects of the brocolli hadn’t worn off completely yet. I can’t beleive I chose the Brocolli from the ‘You Fool’ Jar instead of the ‘Thank You’ Jar. I should have realized, Sanso was still shaking his head, what the ramifications would be of choosing discounting instead of appreciation. D’OH! he exclaimed again. Really, I had no idea how far reaching and all encompassing the effects would be of that Brocolli choice. I suppose it’s no accident the vegetable in question was brocolli, either, with all those probability branches and probable florets.

Right then Sanso, Old Bean, pull yourself together, he told himself firmly. This here dead cow is a sign. He approached the dead cow slowly, sniffing the ether, in a manner of speaking, for clues. He recalled the Dead Cow Cult
from another elsewhen, and their affiliation with the Arduino
Time Travelling Internet Server, and wondered if there might be a connection.

The Fool Fog of Discounting, caused by the brocolli Choice, in Sanso’s head was starting to clear, and he began to access information. The Cult of the Dead Cow had merged with the Arduino Enterprise at some point, creating an offshoot called the Pirates Association of Time Hackers, otherwise known as P.A.T.H. They had been recruiting members from many times and places, and as usual, had attracted large numbers of teenagers.

One teenager in particular appeared to stand out in Sanso’s mind, a peculiar young man who went by the alias “Holy Cow”.

Oh My God! Sanso slapped his forehead again. (I really must get these AHA moments under control, he said to himself, rubbing his bruised head) It can’t be! Yes, it is! It’s Yikesy!

Harvey cursed when he dropped the bed, which hit the floor with a loud crack.

Hopefully nobody had heard him! although it was rather unlikely. He particularly didn’t wish to alert the two ladies, his new employers Miss Sharon and Miss Gloria, to his interest in weightlifting. Harvey was working undercover for the World Association Requiring Prompt Eradication of Dreaming ( Dream Order: Newbie), otherwise known as W.A.R.P.E.D. The New Dream Order had spent considerable time and expense training robots to infiltrate bedrooms everywhere on the planet in a concerted effort to wipe out superfluous and unnecessary sleep, which had been the scourge of the planet for generations. The planet had reached crisis point with the abundance of sleep, mainly in the hysteria and confusion that had resulted when a fictional account of The Magical Nightmare, which had been published in the old Reality Times newpaper. It had caused widespread panic as the populace began trying to nap on everything in sight in a frantic attempt to control The Nightmare.

Harvey had been employed by the two ladies ostensibly as a butler. Conveniently for Harvey, the pair of old slappers had not had the luxury of staff in their hitherto adventurous, albeit common lives, and were blissfully unaware of Harvey’s many improprieties and errors. Whenever Harvey behaved oddly, the two ladies would remark “One simply can’t get the staff these days, my dear”, followed by a bit of thigh slapping and raucous laughter

Gustav cursed when he dropped the watermelon, which hit the potting shed floor with a loud crack.

Hopefully nobody had heard him. He particularly didn’t wish to alert the two ladies, his new employers Miss Sharon and Miss Gloria, to his interest in agriculture. Gustav Burgeon was working undercover for the World Association To Eradicate Redundant Material (Escarole Leaf Order: Newbie), otherwise known as W.A.T.E.R.M.E.L.O.N. The New Leaf Order had spent considerable time and expense training robots to infiltrate agricultural enterprises, cottage gardens, and allotments in a concerted effort to wipe out superfluous and unnecesary edible plant items, which had been the scourge of the planet for generations. The planet had reached crisis point with the abundance of foodstuff, mainly in the hysteria and confusion that had resulted when a fictional account of The Mythical Nutrients had been published in the old Reality Times newspaper. It had caused widespread panic as the populace began eating everything in sight in a frantic attempt to control The Nutrients.

Gustav had been employed by the two ladies ostensibly as a butler. Conveniently for Gustav, the pair of old slappers had not had the luxury of staff in their hitherto adventurous, albeit common lives, and were blissfully unaware of Gustav’s many improprieties and errors. Whenever Gustav behaved oddly, the two ladies would remark “One simply can’t get the staff these days, my dear”, followed by a bit of thigh slapping and raucous laughter.

Franiel dreamed of strange eggs being dropped from giant birdlike creatures in the sky. Some of the eggs exploded into flashes of light in the inky darkness of the night sky. He fell to the ground and hid his face in his arms and waited. He could hear the highpitched noise of the eggs falling, getting louder and louder as they approached the ground, and he knew his life was in the hands of the gods as to whether or not he was destroyed.

At last all became quiet. He raised himself cautiously and began to examine the earth to see what damage had been caused. The dog of Leonard accompanied him, yet all of a sudden it ran from him. All else was forgotten as Franiel followed the dog, fearing for it’s well being.

As if in pursuit of a hare, the dog ran and ran, eventually coming to a large mansion and running in through the open door. The walls and floors of the mansion were made of marble, ornate pillars and statues graced the wide entrance way. The mansion appeared to be deserted, yet Franiel had no thought for that, only of bringing the dog to safety.

The dog disappeared into one of the many rooms of the palatial hallway with Franiel in hot pursuit. The room was empty save for a large Bengal Tiger, a magnificent and regal creature, radiating a strange power from it’s shiny yellow eyes. The tiger was about to take the small dog in it’s mouth, and Franiel grabbed a branch from a tree which was lying on the ground (and within his dream he wondered how the branch came to be there) and fearlessly placed it in the mouth of the beast. The branch was woefully inadequate, a mere twig in the jaws of this powerful beast, yet it distracted the tiger sufficiently for the dog to run to safety.

Now Franiel faced the beast alone, perplexed, yet strangely unafraid.