BEEP!!! BEEP!!! BEEP!!! BEEP!!! BEEP!!! BEEP!!! BEEP!!! BEEP!!! BEEP!!! BEE-- Groping quickly, I finally latched onto the top switch of my digital alarm clock and shut off the screaming electronic tone. Sitting up in bed, I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and started getting ready. I had a busy day ahead of me.
In order to get my Master's in American History, I had to write a thesis. 50,000 words about some aspect of American history. Now, I knew better than to try the Boston Tea Party, or the Revolutionary War. Everyone did those at one time or another. No, I had to do something different, something to make me stand out from the others.
That's when I discovered Barken.
Now Barken, at first glance, looks just like any other town. Houses, stores, a few places to go ... but one thing distinguishes it from every other town in America.
Its history.
Barken had, in its long history (back to the previous century and then some) been razed by religious fanatics several times. The town as it stood was virtually brand new. So, that meant that each part of town had been rebuilt at least once. Probably more. As part of my research, it was my job to search out legends, personal accounts, old letters ... anything to make the old Barkens come to life on paper.
After five days, I was still looking. Oh, Barken had the usual legends and rumours. Indian burial grounds, ancient curses, the whole burrito. Problem was, it was too usual. Apparently, official records had been lost in the destruction’s of the town, and even private accounts had been fragmented and faded by the forces of time and fire. I knew, if I didn't come up with something soon, I'd be minus a thesis, and minus my doctorate. Maybe forever, unless I could afford to try again.
As I left my room, I noticed a clock on the wall.
I stared at the traitorous mechanism. My clock said 9 AM. This one said 3 .. PM.
Rushing down the stairs, I found the lady whose hotel this was. "Mrs. Brumfield!"
She appeared from around a corner, the laundry room I think. "Yes, dear?"
"Was there a power failure last night?"
"Why yes, I do believe there was. Why do you ask?"
I groaned. "My alarm clock is digital."
Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, my. And here I thought you were just sleeping in after all that hard work you did last night at the library. If I'd known ... "
I sighed. Mrs. Brumfield seems to take things rather personally. "Not your fault, Mrs. Brumfield. I should've checked the backup battery before the trip. Do you know if the local museum is still open?"
"I think so", she said with a frown. "Mind you, I don't know you'll find much there ... "
I grinned at her sheepishly. "Better than nothing. Besides", I called back as I hurried out the door, "I might get lucky!"
I didn't. After five hours of poring fruitlessly over the tiny collection of historical documents ... mostly almanac pages ... my eyes and back were both screaming for relief. Wincing as I straightened, I decided to take a walk to clear my head.
As I paced along the sidewalk’s, my mind kept
playing back the few paltry scraps of information I'd managed to glean
from the pre-reaoed field of the town archives.
Barken, TX:Founded 1856
Burnt 1863, Rebuilt 1870
Burnt 1875, Rebuilt 1890
Burnt 1900, Rebuilt 1910
Burnt 1915, Rebuilt 1925
Burnt 1930, Rebuilt 1940
Burnt 1949, Rebuilt 1955
Burnt 1959, Rebuilt 1960
Burnt 1962, Rebuilt 1965
After that, the records resumed. The mysteries
were incredibly tantalizing. Why had Barken been destroyed so many times,
eight in all? What had Barken been like during the Civil War, WWI, WWII?
And how could I find out more?
Impatiently, I ground my teeth. I knew I was being obsessive about it, but I had to finish my thesis. I'd tried the records in Cherry first thing, since they'd always been the bigger and more stable township. Unfortunately, factual information was in short supply there. For every boundary line, census or whatever, the records in Cherry contained 10 sermons, 15 prayers, and a record of someone being cast out (with bell, book and candle, yet)! Not to mention the constant railing about Barken. "Yon towne of ye hairy devills be hoam to al mannr of temtashun, from ye gize of woman's forme to ye brutich beests. Beewar all meet ye withinn this plase." And in another report: "Found some few Barkens about. Took arms and fired, Two devils shall not rise again this night."
And asking about the gaps certainly didn't endear me to the city fathers. The resulting meeting was brief and to the point: Get out or we throw you out ... one piece at a time.
Barken, on the other hand, was a much different story. Laid back, almost sleepy, with a good restaurant that had ice cream on the menu and huge hamburgers ... the kind that remind you of how your grandparents used to make them on the barbecue, served up with fried potatoes (none of those skinny little french fries) and a tall soda ...
I easily realized I was hungry.
Looking around, I couldn't see much that might be open at 9 except the video store ... and I didn't think Braveheart would be very filling. Finally, I spotted a light on at the gas station. Dashing in, I grabbed a Pay Day and a Coke. Then, moving off into the shadows, I sat down on the curb and put my candy bar wrapper in my mouth to pull it open.
Suddenly, I felt groggy, my head swimming. As I fell to one side, the candy bar dropping to the pavement, I managed to catch my balance with my left hand, even as my eyes blurred menacingly.
As my sight cleared, I shook my head tiredly and looked around for my candybar. Since it was right next to me, I reached out with my right hand to grasp it. Only to feel the impact as a hairy paw landed atop the wrapper.
I shook my head a few more times, and my shirt collar fell over my face. Backing up, I removed myself from the potential tangle on all fours. Okay, I said to myself. Now, the saying is, Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be true.
And it has absolutely nothing to do with this.
Hearing my stomach growl again, I decided to ignore the current situation until I had a better idea of what was going on. I was lucky with the candybar wrapper, which proved to have the consistency of cheap paper.
It made sense, really. The candy had the wrapper's missing stiffness, and then some. Finally, I chomped through the last of the caramel and peanuts, then turned to the soda.
Which I'd forgotten to open. I whimpered in aggravation ... and jumped.
Where'd that sound come from?
After a few exploratory noises, I had positively identified myself as the noisemaker.
I had also discovered I couldn't talk.
I sighed in frustration.
And headed back to the hotel. I noticed as I walked that I'd developed an odd stagger.
"Good evening", called Mrs. Brumfield as I walked in. "I see you're doing well."
I grunted non-committaly and went to my room, where she held the door open for me.
Then, gratefully, I went to bed and waited for sleep ... and an end to the hallucination.
The next morning, I rolled out of bed.
And bounced off the floor.
Ow!
Looking into the full-length (for someone five feet tall) mirror near the door, I saw I was imagining myself as a bulldog, crumpled-looking muzzle and all. No idea of color, naturally, since dogs are color-blind. But not a bad looking dog at that.
Just then, there was a knock at the door. "Mr. Crowder! Are you all right? I heard something fall!"
Hmmm, what to do? I knew if I tried to talk, my delusional mind would likely insist on barking. Then again, since I didn't recall any undressing beyond the hallucinatory, I was probably still decent. In the end, I decided to be silent and let her come in. So I got back on the bed and sat down.
Sure enough, she came in, carrying a bundle. "Oh, there you are, Mister Crowder. Are you all right?" My perfunctory nod seemed to reassure her. "Oh, good. Well, Ralph over at the station brought these over. He said your Coke got run over, though. But he'll give you a new one later." I grunted and nodded, pretty much the limits of my hallucinatory expression. "Well, I must say you make a very handsome bulldog."
My start went unnoticed as she rambled and put my clothes away in the closet. "Now, some people say a bulldog's not very handsome. I say, it's all in the insides. You just ... Mister Crowder? Mister Crowder, you okay?"
I whined. This didn't make sense any more. If it was a hallucination, she shouldn't be able to tell what's happened. But if it's not ...
But if it's not ...
Suddenly I feel a soft caress along the top of my flat, furry head. "It's all right, Mister Crowder, it's all right. Just be patient, and you'll figure out how to change back. Everyone does."
I whined questioningly. Somehow, she understood what I meant.
"Oh, you're not the first, Mister Crowder, far from it. Why, as far back as folks can remember, this’s happened around here. Why, the whole town's made up of dogs, really."
I was starting to feel a little weary. Probably shock, I think. But I needed to talk. To talk with her. To find out what was going on. I decided, finally, that if this was a hallucination, it was a complete one, and should follow its own rules. Concentrating, I tried to become human again ... just maybe, if I could do that, I could find out more.
Looking in the mirror, (mirrors in dreams mean self-knowledge, according to my Psych professor), I tried to focus on the me I was familiar with.
Slowly at first, but with increasing speed, my shape began to distort. First my front paws swelled, becoming hands for a moment, then receding again as my back paws tried to become human feet. Then they fell back as the fur began to recede from my face. Then my face returned to bulldog-normal, but my tail started to disappear. I was panting with the strain, but I kept trying. Faster and faster, more and more erratically I shifted, bringing each part of me close to success ... but failing in the end, collapsing on my furry side, panting as though I'd just run a 550m relay.
"Don't push so hard", Mrs. Brumfield said as I lay there swallowing air. "You'll get it with practice. Right now, just give yourself time to get used to the idea."
With my heart beating like a bass drum on a fast march, I could see the wisdom of her statement.
So now, I'm just sitting on my bed, letting my thoughts organize themselves as they will, looking for some way of looking at this that makes sense to me. Oh, and organizing my thoughts for my paper. This ... hm, I guess I'll call it a legend ... is going to make an interesting addition to my paper.
|
|
||
|
|
|
|