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The wind was blowing strongly between the leaves, making ruffling sounds that were almost intelligible.
The leaves were talking, like a chatter in a room full of people. He could hear them talking, saying various things.
The smell of smoke of a nearby field, and the muffled sound made him long for a fresh beer at the local tavern.
He could hear the voices becoming stronger, and as he walked under the becoming shade of the evergreens, he was hearing words and even sentences.
That one was talking about her grandchild, this one about the rain and the poor weather this summer, another one about bohaha, whatever that was. Another flute-like voice was softer yet stronger than the others, as though it was directed at him. It said “… and all you have to do, truly, is to feel yourself into the dream, then you’ll know intimately what the next door is, and where it is leading you…”
For him, it was to the pub.

The Peasland Majorburgmester rubbed his hands with an evil glee.

Fwick was knee deep in kneading for what appeared to be a lunatic idea bound to failure, and more importantly, it’s been weeks that no one had heard back from the expedition to the Eighth Dimension… And frankly, anyone having spent more than a few days in the Eighth Dimension usually was never to be heard of again —or heard speak anything intelligible for that matter, which didn’t make much difference either.
In fact, there had been some reports of sightings of the poor souls’ dog, what was its name already, Gandfleur or something equally ridiculous. But a single dog was hardly a problem, and now he couldn’t see how Peasland would be able to avoid the unavoidable blubbits dominion over Peaslanders.
He’d made that surer than sure; he’d gone again no later than yesterday, concealed under a waterproof floak (a floating cloak for inundated part of the lands), deep into the heart of Peasland’s plains now ridden in burrows to feed the breading mother of all blubbits a healthy dose of blunips. It had cost him most Mungibs he thought he would ever allow to part with, but it was Mungibs well placed. Soon people would plead for a real game changer. And he knew well who would step forward, and it was nothing like those headless twats.

He was in such a jolly mood, he’d called for a party. Well not officially called that, of course —Peaslanders were such worryworts about their crops and the famine that may occur… But a little friendly gathering to celebrate their heroes gone to the Eighth for answers. What a masquerade.

He was indeed in such a jolly mood that he took the sinewy and allwardly beautiful Lady Fin Min Hoot by the waist, and invited her to a delirious dance —it was indeed a dandy day for dancing— and for a little after-hour in his carriage when they are done jiggling their bodyparts (at least in public).

That was then, all tied up in leather ribbons and pillows’ owl’s feathers, when he (and Lady Fin) heard the raucous voice calling.

Gnarfle !
Yes, that was it! that was the stupid name of the dog!…

How come they’d managed to come back?!

That silly Mayor’s idea suddenly found an unexpected and potentially interesting grace at the eye of Fwick the saucerer.

After all, without having to go as far as frying the poor thing in breadcrumbs, some backing powder and yeast would actually do a lot of good to boost the immune system of the little spider…

His thought felt almost disturbed by a squeaking sound followed by a muffled squeaghing, coming from the matchbox in his hands.

I ache all over… arrrrgghhhhhhhh Aspidistra was complaining on the phone all the while being intrigued by Harvey’s positively good mood.

“Oh you know,” Harvey began to tell her “the secret of the hyper-mel mode (a.k.a. “HMM”) is to be happy and screaaaaaming at the top of your lungs all your merriness no matter whut.”
“And of course,” he added, “punctuating it with occasional profuse weehooes (and some wheehoees now and then).”

“Woa… I will need more coffee for that” she said yawning while Harvey was continuing “and put your hands in the air, your fingers mimicking stars glitter! Wheeeha katcha twinkle twinkleepooh!”

“Oh, don’t mention hands, I dropped the milk twice this morning” Aspidistra was distraught again.

“Owlright, and have you rejoiced on having milk spilled all over the goddess body?! Mmhhh? YES! YES!”

“And I’ve got arthritis in my thumb!”

“Uh-oh, arthritis… even better! rhymes with Weehooohees! … or giant squid… architeuthis!”

“Achy tits, yeah…” she moaned plaintively. “And all that milk spilled with my poor thumbies…”

“You see, you get the hang of it,” Harvey was bouncing “got to go dearee, spread the good joy,… see you soon! Weeee…”

And off he was, hanging on Aspidistra while her ears where still full of the echoes of weehooees.

The poor Peaslanders were utterly disoriented by the blatant lack of sense in the Eighth Dimension. It was such a blessing they had for most of them already lost their head, kept safe by a dear member of the family.

Once in front of them, the glowing figure uttered ominously:

“opened everyone eye ball,
Worserversity nonsense portal deep
sheila Elizabeth bird gone surprise
come speak thread
face cat Godfrey later create”

And then the figure disappeared in a fit of oink oink’s.

“I think it’s her shoes that make the strange sucking sounds in the mud” aptly remarked little Pickel.
“How come you know it was a ‘her’, it could have been a cloud as far as I know…” retorted Autie Toot who never got a chance to get a good look, with her head upside down in her arms.

“Silence!” ordered Pee Stoll more raucously than he had wished to “We need to concentrate! This riddle may be the clue to the plague of blubbits, can’t you see?!”
“Well… It’s not that easy, you know” Auntie Looh objected sheepishly, while still struggling with her garments as well as with her head.

“I think it’s fairly simple” ventured S’illy (whom nobody ever listened to, probably owing to her tender age as well as her melodious voice) “We got to find the Worseversity, they probably have worked on a cure; our contacts there will be a sheila called Elizabeth… and a Godfrey will provide a cat to eat the bird and put us back to our dimension…”

“Darn riddle!” sweared Pee furiously who hadn’t paid any attention “It’s probably just another bunch of nonsense!”
“I guess we’ll just go anywhere then!” merrily suggested the Aunts each going in opposite directions while the bird rolled its eyes.

One tiny thing that Pee and his family wasn’t entirely aware of, as well as poor Bentworth Sadnick, was that the Old Portal was indeed… old.
An ancient generation’s which allowed only transfer of biological entities, whereas all things manufactured, such as the latest shiny head-fasteners, wouldn’t be passed through the portal.

This would have explained to the inquiring minds why there was an inordinate amount of plastic garbage in front of the rusty and Old Portal to the Eighth Dimension.

But no one thought of asking, forgetting for the most part that the elastics of their pants were made mostly of inorganic stuff…

Almost unperturbed by the sudden distraction coming from the remarkably head-in-the-clouds Doily, despite her seemingly headlessness-lessness, and applying instead his famous adage, Better stick to one’s own nonsense than follow another’s Mewrich thundered “Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll explain about the beard, so that we can all get back to our business, and you out to your quest (and off my home)”.

“Yes! Will you finally tell us about the bird, the notes, and all that buggery to get to that Eighth dimension and vanquish the darn blubbits invasion!” Pee Stoll almost cried out.

Carefully, Mewrich reached out for a tiny peacock in his aviary, a poor thing which was plucking its feathers after all that noise, that he may as well have chosen at random from the menagerie.
“Take this bird, and make it sing four notes, I said FOUR! not one more, not one less! in front of the great portal of Nibabuz and you should be able to get past the old Keeper… JUST DON’T try to interrupt me, by the coils of the great Snakipooh, you rude tart!” “You have to get past the Keeper, but he’s old and a bit arthritic, so all you’ve got to do is have him walk on his beard, and get past him.”

Dolores was about to add a little flourish, but all of them, the headless Stoll family, and Doily’s eccentric entourage where ushered out of the cave by the angered Saucerer. And every Peaslander knew you wouldn’t anger a Saucerer without having to deal with dreadful consequences. The green wig of Dolores being probably the remnant of one of these consequences.

#711

Who the bloody hell is Becky Huh? Well, the same I’ve been waiting for AGES well after her long absence. Poor thing seemed to think it was he, Sanso.

Search for Ted got the head of Becky.

Twilight in your mind. wig is just great Bekkie ; a variation of a variation of you look ; terrible!

Nurse insisted in more intimate moments of course.

“Sincerely Bodry,” Walter was saying to Bodry, Becky’s brother, a high-ranking member of the Sisterhood, “I think the issue is not really about Continuity, it’s more about Expansion.”
Bodry frowned as if perplexed beyond mesure by the words of the wise man.
“Don’t be ludicrous” he said “that would be tantamount to saying Lavender the cleaning lady would look divine even if sporting a mohawk, were it pink notwithstanding.”
“Actually, I daresay she would. But let us not sway off the subject. You see, by no manner is it an issue whether things are continuous or not —and I know it’s almost blasphemous to say that— but the crux of the matter lays in the measure with which things are expanded and linked together.”
“Mmm, I’m afraid an expansion of the Sisterhood of Continuous Universal Meditation on the world would not be such a bad thing, even if we would have probably to merge with the Sisterhood of Human Infinite Technology.”

Walter was in fact speaking of things far more metaphysical, and was hinting at the fact that the writer wasn’t taking good care enough of resolving some of the blatant or lingering contradiction by taking the time to properly express and connect to the world the writer was writing (some would say, but not the writer, babbling and raving) about.
All of these of course were once again lost to the poor soul he was talking to.

The newly deceased Shar and Gor…

“Shouldn’t he say something less grim you think?”
“I definitely agree my dear Shar”
“Something like in-ceased, or up-ceased… We’re ascended after all!”
“I’m not so sure it sounds better, but…”

Well, them being up-ceased, involved a new challenge for the writer(s) of this story, as the two blusterously boisterous ladies were in a desperate move to attempt sending communication to the objective world —officially to discover the extent of their influence. Their new-found access to the collective subconscious made them all the more a trouble for the writer(s).

Anyway, as we speak, Shar and Glor, were… or are actually trying to influence some characters and hence co-authors of this work of fiction to test their own ability to manipulate some of these individuals.

So far the extent of their experiments had fared tepid results.

“OK. Let’s try with these two. I’m beaming something down to them!”

To which, moments and some non-physical sweating on Glor’s brow later, one of the two subjects of this experiment (the blond one) blurted out without knowing from where it came: “Spiggot on the spike freak, Lingenburg Dash”

“What the hell was that Glor?”
“Good Lord, I don’t have any idea!”
“What was it supposed to be then!?”
“I just beamed them ‘Speaking now without mike – leap if you ain’t dead’!”
“Good grief… Those two might as well be hopeless…”

Of course, unbeknown to them, in other potential realities, what she really beamed to them was entirely different; something like ‘Speaking now – dead to the living – leap and bound if you catch’… Subsequently, Ann’s catch was in fact an indication of great disposition to tune into more than one probabilities at a time, the benefits of which were lost to the poor dabbling souls.

But this point notwithstanding, as they were speaking, another potential just appeared at the horizon. A woman named Yoland, with an improbable ability to express strings of thoughts inspired from above (anywhere that ‘above’ might be) without much distortion.

“Have to tread carefully with that one, Glor”
“Yes, I reckon dear…”
“We could even manage to fully channel her body, she seems a perfect candidate!” Sharon would have rubbed her hands with glee if she’d had hands still.
“Innit a bore though that she would ask for such grand truths…”
“Not to worry, we’ll invent them as we walk. I’ve even got an idea for session one with her: the great cluster of Mamarose of energy essential oils.”

“Believe it or not, it suddenly seems like the shifting symphony makes more sense than the ninth (and Beethoven doesn’t make you dumb), if you see my drift…”
“I could, if you’d stop talking in riddles” Lavender told Harvey with but the slightest hint of exasperation in her otherwise perfectly adorable soft and beautiful voice.

“I don’t even know what I’m talking about actually, it’s like I’m channeling some deranged poet”
“Yeah, that or being taken over by aliens …” 

“You know, I miss a sense of continuity… When I can’t follow the leaping frog in at least a pattern that makes sense, I gradually loose all interest. At least if I know the frog is going that way to look for tasty maggots, or that other way to lay a few eggs, or that other way to mate with psychotropic toads, I can hop or fly along… “
Lavender smiled a lovely smile.

“There it’s like a frog without purpose; it’s running in all directions, keep changing colours like a chameleon, and no matter how I try, I can’t figure the simplest pattern.”
“Maybe you should ask your super computer floogle ?”
“Yeah… it would tell me that figures without a pattern are called irrational or even transcendent… Not that it would help me in the least. Usually, when you can’t find a pattern, it’s because you don’t use the proper decomposition.”
“You want to dissect the poor frog?”
“No… Not even sure why I bother with the frog at all… It can do what it wants in the pond after all…”

“Now would you believe you were actually worried for her?” she told Georges, raising from the sand of the Kandulim where they were doing some people remote-gazing.
“Well, for a moment I was, and you know that Salome. Even if we have not followed the same path, ours have crossed a few times, and I’m grateful for what she taught me in the beginning.”
“I know, although I never really got that part of her… well other than from your experiences I mean.”
“She even starts to remember her parrot, that was quite unexpected.”
“ Do you believe she’ll be able to travel out of that other dimension easily?”
“I don’t know… After that bravado escape from the Baron’s submarine, and the rough sea, I supposed she would need more time to recover and bring herself together, but she seems to have taken care of that in an interesting manner.”
“Look! Ahahaha”
“What?”
“Did you notice she stole the poor guy’s cufflinks! She’s so mean ahahah, she never got past those magpie’s instincts”