A Traveler's Journal

A Knife in My Chest: Best Vacation Ever

2011-06-13T19:17:00.000-07:00

I guess I've been gone a long time. (understatement of the year) Its not really my fault, I swear. As Pocketwatch told y'all, I was in a coma with a hole in reality shaped like a knife jammed into my chest.

Truth be told, I'm not entirely sure how it happened. I ward my room at home, and ever since this business with the Evil started up, my house too. I was pretty secure in my, well, security when I went to bed that night. You see, I was visiting home for the weekend and had intended to return to school the following day.

But I wouldn't be back for some time.

The next morning, I awoke to myself with blue hair. I haven't had blue hair in 3 years. Upon opening my door to greet the day, my dog ran in followed by my Siamese cat, rascal. Who died in my freshman year. As accustomed as I am to the unusual, this threw me for a loop. Opening my laptop (which melted down for the last time January of 2010), I saw the date.

December 25, 2007.

Oh. Bloody. Hell.

The spirits had done it all in one night it would appear. Three and a half years ago, I was plucked from the world as I knew it and landed smack in the middle of another place. There, music was the basic building block of reality. I had a grand adventure with some amazing composers. At the end of it all, they worked with the fae of that world to try to send me home. Unfortunately, it sent me to this world.

Magic doesn't exist where I'm from. It's the stuff of tales and legends. Here, everything is pregnant with the stuff, if people know how to draw it out. Of course, I do have ideological concerns about using it. For the past three years, I've been trying to get home. I've made it to a few other places, each with their own stories, but my own home seems to be blocked off from the rest. Until now.

Considering the lack of evidence to the otherwise, it was actually pretty easy to dismiss the whole thing as a dream. I actually lived out my next semester at school as a normal 18 year old. (after a hell of a lot of making sure magic didn't work and I was actually home).

As wonderful as the magical side of the world can be, it was kind of nice not having to worry about wards or the disturbing array of demons that seems to afflict my life. I didn't need to worry that I might be breaking some ancient law which binds my kind. Heck, I didn't even need to worry about the metallic contents of my rings! It was nice to be "normal" again. I won't say I didn't miss the dream world alittle bit, but I'll admit I got really caught up in the joys of no cosmic responsibility.

And then Friday the 13th of May happened.

I was lying in bed in my dorm room when I felt a wrenching pain in my chest like someone had stabbed me. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. And suddenly I was lying in my bed at home with Pocketwatch and my parents standing over me. A fourth creature, a delicate looking female faerie in iridescent surgical scrubs, held a black knife in forceps behind them.

Oddly enough, there wasn't any wound on me. No pain. I even felt like I had just gotten a good night's sleep! The sun was just going down outside. My parents and Pocketwatch spent into the wee hours of morning explaining what all I missed in my absence and listening to my tale of my return home.

The next day, they drove me back to my university to attend my graduation. The Faceless Lady also had some things to tell me. I'll get to that soon.

It's good to be back.

Where There's Smoke, There's... Dragons?!

2011-03-16T21:59:00.000-07:00

Anyone who's been paying attention to this blog for the past year would know that the Traveler occasionally runs into dragons. As fae, we accept it as a fact of existence, but he feels the need to analyze it. Something about fog banks and "here there be dragons" and the emotional state of the surrounding area and whatever. Well, I for one would like to know what in bloody hell caused this one.

Yesterday, I was returning to his dorm (or "residence hall" as the resident assistants keep insisting I call it). There appeared to be some fog rolling in as the sun set on campus. It had a distinct boundary at the western end of the grounds, thickest on the road which runs around them. I like fog so I went to revel in it.

It wasn't fog. Not in the least.

Smoke. Not normally a big deal. There's normally the scent of smoke to accompany the woodland controlled burns which happen in Arkansas this time of year, but this was centered on the road. And it didn't smell like wood smoke.

I was immediately aware of strange air currents which flowed through the smoky area. Regular down-blowing gusts. Never strong, but certainly an unusual direction. Visibility was such that I could see the sky through the pall of smoke. Nothing unusual that I could see.

Then the ground shook and there was a wall of shadow immediately in front of me. The gusts stopped abruptly. I took a few steps forward to investigate, which was probably stupid given the circumstances. What I encountered was a mass which resembled a cross between an elephant leg and a sequoia's trunk. With scales. Enough investigation for one day. I did a heel face turn and ran like hell.

It noticed me I think, 'cause there was a cacophonous noise like an army of screaming crack babies on autotuner and it took a few steps toward my direction but it faded out with the boundary of the smoke cloud. Let me tell you it was massive to the point that the bank was filled with it and I think that's only what could manifest given the bank's size. I hope that was an isolated incident.

Somehow I don't think it was.

Comatose Daydream, the Traveler's Absence

2011-03-08T21:38:00.000-08:00

The Traveler is comatose. He has been for some months, but it's taken some time to figure out his password. It started after New Year's. The Traveler disappeared some time ago in Mid-October. Shortly after the Solstice and what the humans call Christmas, there were rumors of his return. A post I found here seems to corroborate that. Two days after what was to be his return to school, the Voice which he has often referred to as a faceless lady crashed a very important masquerade ball. As you can imagine, having no face draws more attention in such a situation than the most garish mask. A la “Masque of the Red Death”, silence fell where she walked as she approached the Unseelie Queen and whispered something in her ear. The color drained from the ballroom and the music stopped. She hastily announced the ball was over and that there was to be court immediately.

Most of the fae disappeared into the shadows along with the ballroom and the Queen's throne materialized in the center. We all knelt as she set, but she uncharacteristically bade us all rise. This was serious. The Voice stepped onto the dais upon which the throne sat and addressed us.

“As you are all aware, the Traveler has not been seen for some time,” she began, “I know that many of you have no interest in the daydream, and even that some of you wish he had never been involved in the court to begin with.”

Silence greeted this, as though they were afraid to confirm or deny her statement.

“I am also aware that he has been invited to court on several occasions, some of which he has declined on account of obligations to the Boy Scouts and other human organizations.”

We didn't really know where she was going with this. The Voice turned to the Unseelie Queen.

“I trust that you are still indebted to the Traveler for the Creative Spark which he recovered for you.”

The Queen slowly nodded. In case you don't know, debts are serious business in the world of the fae. For the Voice to bring up her debt to another it had to be serious business. Any other circumstance would be so crass as to make it grounds for dueling. She turned back to us.

“Then, on the Daydream's behalf, I ask the repayment of this debt.”

There was a pregnant silence for a moment. Then, the Queen rose and said, “What must we do?”

“The Traveler lives with his family an hour away to the east when he isn't here,” the Voice replied, “He should have returned to school two days ago. I would know why he has not, but I am bound to this town until the longest night. I have his phone number, but his phone has been dead for nigh two weeks. My request is thus: that you send an agent to see to his well-being. That agent will then report to me and then in turn carry a message to the Traveler should I require it. Upon the completion of this task, your debt shall not be repaid, but the responsibility for it be transferred to me, leaving you without further obligation. Do you accept?”

“And what of our restrictions?” the Queen asked, “Our kind may not enter a dwelling without permission of one of the occupants.”

“There is one among you,” the Voice said, “Which has standing permission to come to the Traveler wherever he may be.”

They both turned their gazes (figuratively for the Voice) to me. Dammit if I didn't know this was coming from the moment she opened her... started speaking.

“I am willing, Your Majesty,” I sighed, “if that is your wish.”

“It is,” she replied turning back to the Voice, “Then I believe our business is settled?”

“Yes it is,” came the Voice's response, “I can see myself out.”

And she did just that. I met the gaze of the Queen.

“I suppose I'll see to her task, then, Your Majesty.”

“See that you do, Pocketwatch.”

I returned to the Traveler's dorm room to gather what few things I kept there as well as the materials for a flight glamor. (He keeps his stores of magical reagents well-stocked for someone who distrusts magic.) For the past five or so months, I have been living as him. Initially we used a fetch to mask his sudden disappearance, but fetches are strictly short-term. Replace the person, get sick, die, leave no trace. That wouldn't do for him if he was coming back. Using one was actually part of the repayment of that debt as he had asked that we mask any extended absences. The Traveler was gone so long, I (being the closest thing he has in the Unseelie Court to a friend, and he being the only living thing I actually trust) volunteered to wrap myself in a glamor of him and live as a changeling until hopefully his return.

The next evening, I wrapped myself in the form of an owl and flew the distance to his home. The front door opened for me in spite of being locked, which because of his request indicated that he was indeed there. I checked the rooms one by one. Living room, small kitchen, some kind of office, a bathroom, another kind of office, linen closet, some other kind of closet. A ha! Bedroom.

The first thing I saw was the Traveler on a bed by a window. He was on his back, asleep. Around the bed was a circle of white material. Knowing him, salt. I stepped forward to inspect the circle for breaks. And then I couldn't move my arms. With my higher eyes, I was suddenly aware of the flare of an aura. It was a strange gunmetal streaked with glowing oranges, luminous yellows, and the occasional verdant green. The air took on the scent of burning oil. A short (for a human) mostly bald man holding a book and an equally short red-headed woman stepped out of nothing, both staring at me intently.

“What are you doing here?” the man asked, “What do you want with our son?”

The kid has parents. Magical ones. Who knew?

“Just checking up on him,” I say casually, “It's a favor for a woman with no face.”

They shared a glance, then the woman, his mother, looked me in the eyes. Her expression was one of mixed motherly concern and nigh-excited curiosity.

"Has one of the Voices has taken an interest in him?” she inquired, “We weren't aware there were any about in Arkansas."

“As far as I know, yes. Now since you see I mean no harm, do you mind undoing the binding? My arms are getting sore.”

Her eyes flashed pink and I smelled a sweet, milky scent and my arms fell to my sides.

“What happened to him?”

“He was stabbed with a cursed blade,” his father replied, “He isn't dead, but neither of us know what the enchantment is or how to break it. Not yet, anyway”

I stepped around them over to the edge of the salt circle. From this close, I could see the guard of a small pocketknife protruding from his chest.. It was a matte black like it was sucking the light out of the air around it. I would assume the blade was the same. My higher eyes saw it as a knife-shaped hole in the air.

“You haven't even pulled it out?”

“Basic first aid,” his mother responded, “Never take something out if you don't know how to treat the wound. It might make it worse. He's still alive, and that's the most important thing for the moment.”

I couldn't argue with that logic.

The Traveler's parents bade me stay for supper before I departed and we took the opportunity to swap stories. Apparently his father has some kind of “mortal peril sensor” which allows him to scry on his kid when he's in the aforementioned mortal peril. The Traveler doesn't seem to have any idea what they are. His dad's descended of wizards. It's been dormant for a while, but the talent manifested in him. His mom's what my people call the “Victoriana”, commonly called flower faeries. The bane of our existence. They were born from the dreams of little girls in Victorian England and have persisted since. She seems pretty cool in spite of that. This explains the daydream thing. And the power.

Afterward, I left to report to rhe Voice. Her usual haunt is beneath the sign of a little taco joint just off the University's campus. Lo and behold, there she was, smoking her usual unusual turquoise-flame cigarettes.

“All right,” she said after I informed her of the Traveler's fate, “I'll need to speak with the other voices, but this has the Evil written all over it. I will have a message for his parents, but for the moment you're free. Thanks very much, Mr. Pocketwatch.”

And then she disappeared in that infuriatingly comedic way that Voices can do when they're feeling mischievous (which is pretty much all the time for some of them). She slowly faded out, leaving behind a grin which hadn't been there before, and eventually that too faded. And all that was left was me, having nothing left to do but wonder what the hell she meant and keep living my semi-stolen life.

Until she called me back, that was.

Snatchers, The Shadow City of Lacuna, Sympathy on the Highways, 12 Very Tiny Reindeer, the Jolly Old Immigrant, and a Fetch (Work In Progress

2010-12-31T17:56:00.000-08:00

I daresay it's been awhile. But I've got a good excuse, I swear!

It started Mid-October back in my little college town. It was Friday and I had just gotten out of my last class of the day. The day was warm and sunny, and as averse as I usually am to sunlight, even I was enjoying it. I headed back to my dorm to unwind. I opened the door, surveyed the mess, made a mental note to do my laundry, dropped my bag, and checked my wards.

I probably should have done that first.

Staring me right in the face, at the base of my door, the salt line was broken. No sooner did I make note of this than I was aware of a humanoid form across the threshold. It (he?) was dressed in black boots, jeans, a black leather jacket, and a ski mask. What skin that showed from behind the mask was pale and its eyes were milky while bloodshot.

A snatcher. Joy.

Snatchers are born of parents' fears of someone taking their precious babies. They're actually a kind of Nervosa (referenced here.) They grab kids, walk purposefully away and once they're out of sight, they just disappear to Xenu knows where. Anywhat, the kids aren't seen again. Nobody (that I know) is really sure what becomes of them.

Anyw-word, the snatcher stepped on through my door reaching out for me. Naturally, I backed away and tried to think of something that would get me out of this mess. Except then another one came out from under my bed and joined the first one. They backed me into a corner (which wasn't much of a feat, considering how small my dorm room is). Normally, I'm good under pressure, but I was at a loss for what to do. Long story short: they each grabbed an arm, I thrashed (it didn't help), nobody else was around, so they did their thing and we disappeared.

But wait! There's more! Post-In-Progress.

The Evil that Followed Me Home

2010-10-07T23:48:00.000-07:00

Normally I try to ignore C's ramblings, but it's hard to do so when they suddenly become relevant. (And by C, I mean the other author, not the completely awesome follower.) Late July, he mentioned Phantom Cars. Personally, I'd never encountered one. I don't really get angry that often. But tonight, one almost ran me over.

I was on foot. It was about midnight and I was walking home from Taco Bell. The street between the Hearth and campus was empty. I walked. I was to the third lane over from the school when something bowled me over from behind. I flew forward to the sound of a revving engine and the noxious scent of exhaust permeated the air. I was still in the road and clearly there were cars, so I scrambled to my feet. I was suddenly yanked backward by my collar to land on my butt. A car rushed past right in front of me, where I had only moments ago stood.

As it passed, I became aware of the Faceless Lady standing on the curb. It was the first one with the coat but sans the cigarette. She immediately rushed forward, grabbed my arm and hauled me forward and off the road as another car rushed through the lane in which I had been sitting. Once I was up on the curb, I turned to see what had almost hit me. It was a shiny black car, which quickly faded from sight (and I mean "shimmer, shimmer, not there anymore"). Immediately, it reappeared in the lane closest to me and sped through before fading out for the last time. It had but one yellow headlight, no driver, and left muddy hoofprints on the road as it passed.

C was telling the truth, it seems. But I wasn't angry, so why attack me?

"The Evil sent it after you," came a voice from behind me. It sounded like Bernardette Peters if she were a chain smoker and was accompanied by glossolalic whispers.

The Faceless Lady spoke.

I was incredulous. I stared at her blank face.

"It followed you home," her disembodied voice added, "You did not go to it across the River, so it crossed for you. Didn't Squeak warn you?"

And then she turned and walked away, leaving me to figure out just what was going on.

Side Note: The hitchhiker-type is still out by the entrance of my dorm when viewed through the Brittney Glasses. People walk right through him, but I'm still worried about going anywhere near him. Last time I made contact with anything like him, I was given visions and had nightmares for a week. Still don't know what that's about..

Shadow Offramps, The Town of Lacrima

2010-09-26T22:59:00.000-07:00

Quite a fun little weekend. I came home to see my family and pick up a few things. I spent most of that time quite ill. There was also an ill-fated episode in which the 'rents tried to give me a haircut but the clippers weren't cooperating. It all works out. I had hoped to be back at school by 4 PM at the latest, but I didn't even get on the road before 6. That was all well and good except that it meant I would still be on the highway after nightfall on the way back to school. I hate driving at night...

The shadow highways are still there, crossing and looping and whatnot alongside the normal interstate highway, but I don't worry about it much during the day. I try to stay off of it at night. Especially after what happened last time. But alas, as I was getting off at my exit, the lights in the distance went out and the name on the offramp changed to "Lacrima, Population: Unknown".

Not again.

Like it or not, I had wandered onto the shadow highways. Or rather, wandered off. I switched on my high beams and followed the road as it went on for a ways into empty plains (which if you know anything about Arkansas is totally uncharacteristic). Finally, I came across Lacrima proper. "Population: Unknown" my foot, the town was completely empty. What's more the buildings were mostly Hollywood facades. Sure they were shades of grays and blacks and the door frames looked like the maw of some horrific beast (which in spite of my flippant tone is sure to give me nightmares for a while), but their not-really-a-building-ness just seemed to rob them of the scary. I would have turned around right then, but the road was only wide enough to travel one way.

There was one building that was more substantial, however. A large manor house which might have served as a town welcome center or something similar where I come from. A bit creepy, but not the least bit scary, I got out of my car and walked up to the door. It too was sculpted to look like a hungry nightmare. Being an actual building, the manor was gaining fear-reaction points by the moment. I knocked. Nothing. I waited for a moment, suppressing rising discomfort. I knocked again. Still nothing.

I turned to go back to my car. There was a swish behind me. I turned around. A letter had been pushed under the door. There was no light inside and the door was windowless. I picked it up. The letter had my name on the outside. I opened it.

It read;
"I dreamed a dream of a land not far away,
Where no birds sang,
No steeples rang,
And teardrops fell like rain."

I was suddenly acutely aware that there was no sound in Lacrima. Unsettlingly so. And then I could feel something like bending, creaking, cracking wood where the door was behind me, but I couldn't hear it. Panic rose. I ran back to my car without looking back. As soon as the engine was started, I found in the rear view mirror that the road was suddenly two-laned. I didn't need a second hint. I was out of there and headed back toward the highway. As soon as I entered the onramp, I was suddenly back on the offramp to my little college town. It's probably better for my sanity that I never saw what it was that came from the door.

A few things once I got back to my dorm. First, I did a search on the lines from the letter (which seems to have disappeared when I left Lacrima). It's from a choral piece called "The Awakening". No idea what that was about. The other thing was that the hitchhiker type was still outside my dorm. He hadn't moved at all from last week. That probably isn't good. Anywhat...

No more interstate night driving. Never again.

Things Happen in Threes

2010-09-24T00:13:00.000-07:00

Some time ago, I mentioned a bracelet I had made which carried a curse or somesuch. Blah blah blah it concentrates negativity in people blah blah blah. I have now come to find myself in possession of two other objects which are likewise bedeviled.

The first, or rather second of the three, is my high school class ring. It seems to be given to roam. Two years ago, at the end of my freshman year of college, I put it in my jewelry box with my scouting medals and hadn't seen it since. Until two weeks ago. I bought my new (relatively speaking) backpack shortly before I returned to school last year. Two weeks ago, I found my class ring in one of its pockets. A bag which I had only had for one year and which had never been anywhere near my jewelry box (rather it was always at school or in my car's trunk for the Summer) suddenly contained a ring I hadn't seen much less touched in a little over two years.

Then it gets weirder.

I put it in my dorm room with the other unusual trinkets on my bookshelf. But then four days ago, it was there in the same pocket. Back to the bookshelf. Today, after my swimming class, the lifeguard approached me and asked if a certain class ring they had found the previous day by the pool was mine. And bloody hell if it wasn't. I wouldn't call it a true curse per se, but my class ring seems to have a very "One Ring" personality about it.

And then there's my "Brittney Glasses". They're a pair of rose-tinted frameless sunglasses which started at camp as a sort of in-joke (which I might share if I get around to it) with other staffers. I still wear them at school if I need a distinctive look or to get my creative juices flowing with an unusual view of the world. Today they started showing me things. In mirrored surfaces, I would get a reflection of creatures which were not there. Tonight, I've seen silhouettes of small animals move across campus only to take off my glasses and see nothing. I have excellent night vision and should have seen whatever they were without trouble with the glasses off. Just before I returned to my room, I saw a strange gentleman who reminded me of the Hitchiker I saw back in the early Spring standing outside my dorm. But only with the Brittney Glasses on. And THAT can't be a good omen. The problem is, I don't know if my glasses are showing me things that are there or are cursed to show things that aren't. I've had "the eyes to see" for a while and I don't really get why I wouldn't notice these things before, but there you have it.

~~Good~~ Strange things happen in threes.

I'm Back and Something's Broken

2010-09-18T22:27:00.000-07:00

Good morning, boys and girls and culturally-specific third genders. It's been a while indeed, but I'm back. There's a lot to tell, but that, as Scheherezade would have said, is another story. I have been to four states, worked two jobs (one of which was almost literally the job from Hell), and seen things even I once though were impossible. I've taught turtles to fly, walked on water, and witnessed forgotten Native American battles. And I will tell those stories. Tonight, however, I have something different to say.

Of late, I feel like the world is changing around me. And not in that cosmic sense that the elderly and increasingly the middle-aged are portrayed to feel in movies and TV shows. More of a literal "something happened which did not actually happen at the moment it should have happened" thing.

It started small. People saying they had said things to me which I had not witnessed only moments before. It's easy enough to dismiss something like that. Maybe I wasn't paying attention. Maybe they thought they had said it. Maybe a third thing which fits in this line of reasoning.

Then bigger things started changing. The colors of friends' cars. Which key opened what door. And then tonight.

Tonight I was playing in a poker tournament my RA organized. It was a whole lot of fun and I was winning until the cards changed. I had a nine and a seven in my hand, on suit. The flop was laid out as such that there were two nines and a seven. I went all in. A full house; there was no way I could lose! But then the cards went fuzzy. I blinked a few times. Then we showed our hands. I should have had a full house, but where the nines once stood, there lay a king and a jack! (off suit) I lost the hand and the game. It was just a dorm activity so nothing was lost, but still. The scale and frequency of these reality changes are increasing. And I'm sort of worried.

Either that or I'm going crazy.

Phantom Cars and Drivers...

2010-07-23T20:30:00.000-07:00

I regret not being able to post more, but this is the leprechaun's last tale. The fairy will be back soon, so here is my last tale...

Today's subject is phantom cars. I was driving down a main highway the other day when I saw one. Now I'd heard of these before, but I'd never actually seen one with my own eyes. That's why, when I saw someone drive through this car like it wasn't there I was sure of what it was.

A phantom car is really two spirits in one. A long time ago the horse use to be the main method of transportation if you wanted to get somewhere fast. When machines came along and automobiles were there to replace horses as the main transportation, some of them were angered by their lack of use. Nowadays horses exist for show or leisure and some of them don't appreciate this. When a horse dies without getting proper use they feel like their life was wasted. These feelings are sometimes so powerful that they hang on in this world. So when the spirit manifests outside of the body aftering dieing, the spirit takes on the form of what it hates most, the automobile.

Now for the second spirit, the spirit of a human that has a massive case of what other humans call "road rage." If someone gets easily angered while driving, this anger grows and grows until they become hateful drivers. This puts off a negative aura that the phantom horse cars love to feed off of. The phantom horse cars will usually try to get these road rage drivers into a car accident to kill them. The moment that human that suffered from road rage dies, the phantom horse car sucks their soul into the car and buckles it in with a seatbelt the driver can't escape from. At that point, the driver is doomed to drive the streets angrily inside this phantom horse car until that spirit is sucked dry of its energy, at which point it fades into nothing.

Phantom cars and their drivers usually don't come out into direct sunlight as it offers the least chance for a car accident, but on a dark night, or if its storming bad, you may see one. They usually ignore people who are peaceful while driving and prefer to seek out angry drivers to kill.

I experienced this the other day as I said I saw one, but I didn't pay any attention to the danger it presented. I'm not angry all the time, just at times when I'm driving. This almost cost me my life and very soul. You see, an angry soul from a mythical being such as myself provides even more energy and is more tasty than a normal human soul. That is why this phantom car and driver sought me out. I was frustrated with a semi driver in front of me that was driving side by side with another slow car and getting more angry by the second. I was already yelling angrily and flashing my brights motioning for one of them to pass the other, but they ignored me. This created a deeper and deeper anger until I felt my car being rammed from the left. The phantom car was trying to force me off the road!

Knowing exactly how much trouble I was in, I knew that I only had one chance to get rid of this rider. I reached into my CD rack and searched for the one CD that could change the outcome of this situation. I found my smooth jazz CD and popped it in just as the phantom car rammed me and put me into a tail spin. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply and exhaled as the jazz music worked its magic. I went off into a ditch, but when the phantom driver found me, I was in a state of calm and it couldn't sense any more anger to feed off of. Judging me as a worthless target, he sped off in a hurry. I got out of the ditch and headed for my destination as the jazz music continued to play. I had just narrowly avoided having my soul sucked into a driver's seat and spending the rest of my afterlife as an angry driver...

Let that be a lesson to you, don't fall into the temptation of road rage, the phantom horse car and driver will kill you for your anger.

Well that's all for the leprechaun, I'll see you around and be an inspiration to the fairy boy occasionally...

Movie Dust Bunnies~ The first Narrative from the Leprechaun Substitute

2010-05-31T14:51:00.000-07:00

So, I'm the replacement for the usual blogger here. He asked me to fill in, because I'm one of his few supernatural friends in this universe. Allow me to introduce myself. I am "C" and I am a leprechaun. I know that might seem hard to believe, but knowing what all gets posted in this blog, I'm sure it isn't too big of a stretch for y'all to understand. Now due to some blood contamination I don't carry all the characteristics of a regular leprechaun that the legends have told over the years.

My ears are only pointy during the full moon. I'm actually rather tall at all times, and I'm not really a trickster by any means. Finally, I bear the appearance of a normal southerner and even use words like "y'all," truly a curse indeed....

I have some pretty big shoes to fill with the fairy gone to a summer camp (I mean really, he's risking his life by going out in the middle of nature... he knows what happens when a supernatural being leaves human population). Nonetheless, I'll try my best to tell you of my supernatural tales.

Now I'm sure you've all heard of the fabled "dust bunny". These creatures are in fact real. They live in the illusion of "dust" which humans just perceive as something that needs to be cleaned. Normal folklore has dust bunnies being tiny creatures, but this is false. The average dust bunny is actually the size of the couch. They just do a good job at dispersing themselves all over the building they inhabit to stay hidden.

Dust bunnies are actually the cause of much of the sickness in the world believe it or not. Think about all the bacteria they carry around with them in their dust piles, and if any of this dust gets inside of us, we're likely to become sick. Well unfortunately for mythical creatures, the dust from a dust bunny can be as lethal as a ring of salt, and last night, I almost bit the dust... literally.

Now with all the technology that humans have invented over the years, us mythological creatures have had to adapt. Dust bunnies are no different. With the invention of the moving pictures we like to call movies, they have found a new way to hide. The dust particles mix with the light particles as they are projected onto the movie screen. Then, they wait to jump out at unsuspecting mythological beings like myself.

Last night I was at the movies watching "The Prince of Persia" and already weakened from the extra salt the Burger King employee unwittingly put on my french fries, I was an easy target for these dust bunnies. It was dark, and I was too focused on the movie to put up any sort of defense against the dust bunnies that made their way inside my body.

I was sick the remainder of the night and nearly bit the dust until I found my bottle of purified spring water from the pools of Ireland. I slowly sipped this the rest of the night until I slowly cleansed the dust bunnies from my system. I was lucky, and that was all that saved my life... luck. Luck enough to have had the right cure for the right disease.

So let this be a lesson to you mythical beings and regular humans when you go to the movie theater. Watch out for dust bunnies.

Heck, you don't even have to be at the movies, next time you see dust hovering in the light from a nearby window, surround yourself with a ring of salt until the dust disperses and leaves to find a new victim. Until next time my readers, stay safe. The universe has plenty of beauties, each more deadly than the last.

As for myself, it's time to hit the old dusty trail until I can find a new story to share with y'all.

Medical Stealth

2010-05-20T23:14:00.000-07:00

I know I said I wasn't posting any more until after I got back, but I don't leave 'til tomorrow and this was worth note.

I got my camp physical today. It's always fun going to the doctor. They always ask if you have any allergies when you check in and I always think: "Hmm... Iron burns, salt repels me, I'm compelled to count fallen rice grains, sunlight sensitive is an understatement, and ringing bells cause me a lot of pain.."

And then I respond: "Nickel gives me a rash on contact."

These aren't normal human allergies. I mean, they're certainly signs of synesthesia, contact allergies, obsessive-compulsion, and light sensitivity, but this particular combination? I'd sound like a hypochondriac!

On a related note, something occurred to me when I listed those banes in my head. Only certain things display such weaknesses.

This narrows the field considerably.

It's Been a While. And It Will Be Yet.

2010-05-15T22:29:00.000-07:00

Things have been pretty quiet in my little college town for the past little while. The Seelie Court took over in full at Beltaine (about May 1). They don't like to deal with outsiders as much as the Unseelie so I imagine it will be a while yet before I get invited to meet with them. (And the next transitional period doesn't start until Lughnasadh (sometime thereabout August 1)). A pity, really. I had been hoping to get to know them more than my one weeklong dancing spree.

The end of the school year sort of snuck up on me. Thankfully, nothing decided to rear its ugly head in that time. Still, I had four monologues to learn, countless sculptures to make, and three legitimate written finals to study for. It wasn't difficult, but things were complicated somewhat when I got sick and missed one, the merciful rescheduling of which extended my tests another day and a half. And in this time, I got subpoena'd to testify against my old kiddie-perving demon roommate. No sooner did I get served, than the prosecutor's office called to tell me it's been rescheduled to July. So at least that didn't mess with my tests, like it originally would have (take place on the last day of them). On the bright side, I got 5 A's and 1 B. My cumulative GPA is now exceptionally high (over 3.7).

Moving out wasn't too easy. I got everything out all right, but my RA took forever to check me out and he always found more dirt where there wasn't any (which he attested to himself) before. I'm not gonna call that supernatural, but it was certainly annoying. Then I had to wait almost an hour outside the building where the Theatrical Art classroom is located to collect my supplies. It didn't take long to get them, but the waiting and having to inconvenience my professor didn't help my mood. Plus I had to transport the cursed bracelet which probably didn't help my day. Incidentally, I found a way to uncurse it and will do so by running it under moving springwater this summer, but I'll get to that in a minute. Then I had to go and sell my books back. For wholesale. But seeing how they're the only game in town, I was railroaded. I went back to my car to get a form to turn into the registrar and a seat full of stuff fell out. A lot of things broke and/or spilled. By this point, I was very, very annoyed and started throwing things in. Then something awesome happened. Objects started flinging themselves back into the car! Apparently I have telekinetic tendencies (but I haven't tried again since I calmed down, so maybe it's an emotional thing). It didn't improve my mood then (especially with all the other bad things that crossed my path shortly after), but it was pretty darn cool.

On a completely unrelated note to anything, one of my bestest friends in the Universe saw the first Faceless Lady. She was walking away from my friend and she heard glossolalic whispers coming from behind her. So now others have seen her and maybe we can get to know more about her.

I'm home now and like I said before, I'm not too involved in local fortean happenings. So things have been pretty quiet thus far. Next week on Friday, I'm going to BSA National Camping School and then on to work at Camp Orr until July 3. There's a lot of weird stuff out there and I hope to tell all about it on this blog when I get back. Until then, I've got a friend who's going to hijack this thing and tell a bit of his own goings on. You'll love it. I swear.

See you in July!

Faceless Humor

2010-04-20T23:45:00.000-07:00

4/20 today. That means two things: 1) Marijuana smokers around the world have yet another reason to get baked. 2) It's Adolf Hitler's birthday. (or as I prefer to call it, "Holy Crap! It's Hitler! Day".) Neither are really any cause for celebration for me, but as anyone who knows be can tell you, all I need is an excuse to paint my face. And I must say that I make the "Egyptian Death Mask" look look good. There was something else that simultaneously tickled my funny bone and made me gasp in surprise.

It was the first Faceless Lady, the one who's always smoking the strange cigarettes. I saw her while coming back from a late-night jaunt to the store to get windshield wiper blades. She was under the taco joint's sign like normal. She wasn't smoking anything this time. In fact, I think she was just looking at me as I passed. It didn't register at first but then it occurred to me: She was wearing a Hitler mustache! No lie. It was on her not-a-face just below where her nose should have been. And, of all the things she could have done, she waved as I passed.

I do believe she's got a hilariously twisted sense of humor.

I Made a Cursed Bracelet (On Accident)

2010-04-14T22:00:00.000-07:00

Magic is everywhere in our world. It exists in almost-nauseating amounts. It bleeds from everything humans have made contact with. Doubly so for things we consider important. One might consider it the inherent potential of anything once so imbued by the human spirit. For better or worse.

During the episode with my last roommate, I almost mechanically churned out little polymer clay charms. Mostly for practice. Sort of to while away the time until the police took action. Anything to stay out of my room when the cops showed. The waiting was killing me. A few of them were of my signature piece: a strawberry. I finally made something of a color-inverted strawberry charm on a chain bracelet last week. And it has been nothing but trouble.

As with anyone else, my negative feelings tainted my work.

Lo and behold! The bracelet is cursed.

Since I made it, myself and two others have worn it. Our moods have been endlessly dragged down and nothing but bad luck has followed the wearer. It's currently warded away in a jar of dried rosemary but I don't know how I'm going to get rid of it, or at least divest it of its curse. Or for that matter, what I should do with the other charms I made around then.

So much wasted clay.

A Disconcerting Procession of Demons

2010-04-11T01:15:00.000-07:00

I mentioned some time ago, that I knew someone I thought might be an incubus. He's no worry now since he's now in Turkey to study bears. I also mentioned near the middle of last December that I literally had a roommate from Hell. It turns out that demonic roommates have been somewhat of a trend since I got to college.

My first roommate was human. A bit of a redneck, but not an idiot (which is nothing to bemoan, speaking as an Arkansas native). About two weeks in to the first semester of freshman year, he made a friend and wanted to switch rooms. The Housing office at our school screwed me over and, despite my protests, I was stuck with the other guy's roommate.

He was a nice guy. He was also one of those people who seems to smell funny (and sort of unpleasant to me) all the time. Which doesn't make sense since he was an almost painfully clean individual. Now I'm not going to call him a demon, per se, but he struck me like a river spirit with junk in the trunk (if you'll pardon the Miyazaki pun). He displayed a metanormal nature in that he seems to amplify the tendency of things to equalize. Things neither failed nor resoundingly succeeded in his presence. We got on amicably for a the rest of the year.

I didn't have such luck after that.

The next year, I ended up with a self-avowed bipolar redneck who liked to show me his "skinnin' knives". Not a bad guy, but something struck me as wrong about him. A little testing and research and I found out what it was. It seems that my third roommate was a lower-level demonic entity attached to the slaughter of animals. I doesn't do to ward against your roommate, so I changed rooms at semester.

The fourth guy was a ghost. Figuratively. I never met him, so I can't vouch for his nature. The fifth I have already detailed in a previous post and have no desire to relive that experience now. That brings me to the latest and (not-so-)greatest.

He claimed to be 34, living in the dorms. It didn't take long for me to have suspicions, but longer for me to act on them. It turns out he, like the one I met last semester, is an incubus. And he liked little girls. I finally acted on it when I walked in on him accessing certain content on the Glorious Series of Tubes. The Police were notified and they got working pretty quickly on the matter. Still, there was the matter that he was a demon to deal with. It took some work, but some silver chains (silver screws with just about everything but the Fae (which begs the question of what I am again)) and a strange Hebrew incantation later, he was arrestable (and will continue to be so until the designated authorities (in this case, the Police) release him from custody). I hate working proper magic, but a seal-and-binding was necessary to prevent loss of human life.

Back to topic (or tl;dr, as it were): all my roommates are demons!

I'm SO getting single next year.

An Analysis of the Visions

2010-04-03T22:20:00.000-07:00

I've done some thinking about the visions the hitchhiker forced on me yesterday.

The starry sky. Night obviously. No clouds. The stars were bright against the black sky. The Milky Way was clearly visible so the view was a way from bright lights, probably away from the city.

The room full of sleeping people. They were dressed as normal people. Just adults. There were aisles of things so I assume it was a market of some kind.

The first Faceless Lady atop a car. She's standing up and it looked like she was looking around for something (or so I assume being unable to follow her lack of eyes). She was dressed as she always is, a windbreaker with its hood up and jeans. Something about her suggests she's expecting something to happen. Uncharacteristically, she isn't smoking. Against her stood a backdrop of a few indistinguishable trees and the same starry sky. The car was white but otherwise nondescript. I don't know (or care) anything about car models so I don't really know anything else about it.

The image of a gentleman and then myself, arms raised, against a storm. That's a curious one, indeed. I once knew a guy (who sort of reminded me of my brother) who could direct the weather by singing or playing a bass guitar, but that was about a year before I arrived here. And he was very much from another Place. (That story will have to be told eventually) The storm was, well, stormy and dark (sans the lightning) so I assume that it, too, was at night. As for the bit about myself against the storm, no idea.

A pack of small dogs surrounding a skeletal figure. The dogs were mostly chihuahuas, but all pretty much all toy breeds. Their hackles were raised and it looked as though they were planning to pounce en masse. As to the figure itself, it was humanoid and genuinely looked like a charred skeleton cowering against them all. It had no face that I could see so much as a skull-like visage which bore the traditional rictus grin. They were on pavement which looked somewhat damp. A pool of light surrounded the figure and the dog, but outside it was dark. Another night scene.

The hitchhiker's words. "You are armed for the night ahead." No idea what that means, but all of the visions were of apparent night scenes (excepting the sleeping people). So I have no real idea what connects all these scenes, except perhaps the referenced night itself. And I don't even know if it means a literal or metaphorical night at that. Strange things, though. Sleepers out of place. A man, myself, and a storm (and I don't really get along with those). The first Faceless Lady out and about. Dogs and a skeleton.

Something is on its way. And I think I'm scared.

Time Dilation, a Shadow Hitchhiker, and Vagrant Prophecy (I think...)

2010-04-02T22:59:00.000-07:00

Strange happenings today.

First, I lost an hour in a 3 minute walk. I had woken up about 8 and my first class was at 9. Slow going, but I was out of bed by 8:20 and ready with about 7 minutes to spare. No worries. Just a quick jaunt across campus. So I gathered my books and set off. And three minutes later, I strolled a bit late into my class.

Except it wasn't my class. I came in to unfamiliar students and an unfamiliar instructor. Awkward silence followed as all eyes turned to me. A hasty apology later, I was out in the hall checking my watch.

10:06 A.M.

I left my room about 9, so that meant I had lost about an hour in the three minutes the walk took. And I have no idea how.

The second strange phenomenon I witnessed was on the Interstate. I was on my way home for Easter. I was going a bit slower that perhaps necessary, but the clouds (and the forecast) just screamed rain and before today, I hadn't ever driven on the Interstate in the rain. Paranoia guided my hands. It seemed like there was a hitchhiker standing at each exit I passed. At first it struck me as odd since I hadn't seen a hitchhiker ever before in my life before March this year. It took a while before I realized what was really so unusual about it: they were all the same person!

The rain finally hit and forced me off the road in a small town. While waiting for the rain to subside, I heard a tap on the passenger side window. I looked over from my book to find the hitchhiker standing outside the car. There wasn't any apparent menace (unlike that last Faceless Lady) so I rolled the window down just a crack.

"Can I help you?"

"There isn't time."

Then he reached through the solid safety glass as though it were water and touched a fingertip to my forehead.

A starry sky. A room full of sleeping people. The first faceless lady standing atop a car. A gentleman with arms raised against a backdrop of a raging storm. Myself in the same position. A pack of small dogs surrounding a skeletal figure, mostly chihuahuas. The hitchhiker's voice echoed "You are armed for the night ahead."

When I came to, the storm had subsided (for a while at least) and the hitchhiker was gone. I pondered (I love that word) the vision on the short drive home. I still don't know what they mean.

An analysis must follow.

You Can Fly, You Can Fly, You Can Fly!

2010-02-20T21:37:00.000-08:00

I did it! I managed to do it again! Four times, in fact. I just have to clear my mind and the wings fade into existence. It's awesome!

But I still don't know what I am.

Eh, it was appropriate.

A Third Faceless Lady and the Secret of Flight

2010-02-15T00:40:00.000-08:00

I still have no idea what happened this time. I was at a friend's apartment just off campus. It was our annual Valentine's "Make food and watch cult movies" night. I was walking through the parking lot when I saw her. She was standing there, wearing a parka and wind pants. The hood was up so I couldn't see her hair. And she didn't have a face.

It was another faceless lady, but this one was different from the other two. For the first time, her attention was focused on me. I couldn't tell by eye contact or anything like that for obvious reasons, but I could just tell her focus was on me. It was a little strange, but nothing felt like I was in danger.

Wrong.

Without warning, she darted behind one of the cars. I was a bit confused until she leaped out from behind another and straight at me. Her aura had become visible as a set of glowing purple claws at the end of each gloved finger. Don't ask me how I managed, but she sailed over my head just as I moved to duck. She hit the car to my left (and it wasn't pretty). Suffice it to say that I ran. I ran at speeds I didn't know were possible to my legs. I ran around buildings and through parking lots and across streets, the Faceless Lady closely pursuing me every step of the way. Finally, she had me cornered at a dropoff at the end of a gravel parking lot. About fifteen feet below was a small creek. A creek filled with very pointy rocks. Not pleasant. Still, the alternative was glowing purple evisceration at the hands of a Faceless Lady. So I closed my eyes and stepped off the edge...

And I didn't hit the ground.

It took a few seconds before I realized that fact. But I think I noticed when I heard a sigh behind me that Gravity had relinquished its grip. I looked over my shoulder. The Faceless Lady was staring(?) at me. Cue the iconic "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly" staredown music. Then, out of nowhere, she blew away like dust in the wind. Think "staked Buffy vampire".

So there I was, hanging in midair. I looked down and caught my reflection in the low creekwater. Extending from my back was a pair of shining prismatic wings. They were pretty long and appeared to be made of disconnected tribal tattoo designs. Really quite breathtaking.

The point is, though, I was flying! Really flying! The feeling was indescribable! Utter and complete freedom. I just had to image where I wanted to go and I would fly in that direction. It was absolutely amazing. I flew about for the better part of the hour before I remembered I had class the next day. Quite a Mary Poppins moment: the thought literally dragged me down. So, I reluctantly flew back toward school and landed a little off campus. Can't afford to be seen by the normals and all. I hope I don't see that particular Lady again.

I wonder if I'll be able to fly again.

The Snow Tinks Strike Again

2010-02-09T21:14:00.000-08:00

A bit of a short, un-eloquent update this time. The Snow Tinks struck again. Sunday night, we got more snow. It froze the roads and froze again a second time so we got two snow days total. All the while the Snow Tinks were out in force. Still nobody noticed them. Especially during the snowball fight we had last night at midnight. They were flitting about the warring masses, tossing snow this way and that. Everyone thought they were losing that fight. It was fun to watch, but I'm sure anyone watching me thought I was throwing snowballs at empty space.

But it's strange: why all the Snow Tinks all of a sudden?

Super Bowl Voodoo

2010-02-07T23:16:00.000-08:00

I watched the Superbowl with friends tonight. I don't get or like American football in the least, but I went anyway for the social interaction. Blah blah blah. The Saints win. I almost go deaf from all of the people thinking that if they yell loudly enough that they'll be heard all the way in Florida. For the fourth year running, I accurately pick the winning team and predict the winning score. Of course, the game was only half the action taking place on the field.

Someone in New Orleans wanted the Saints to win their first Superbowl. Anyone with the eyes to see would have seen Papa Legba, one of the best known of the Loa (which are as I have mentioned before the vodou gods), and Ogoun, loa of war, whispering into the coach's ear. La Sirene, wife of Agwe the loa of the seas, would lay hands on injured Saints players. Baron Samedi, the mischievous loa of death, and several of his Ghede redirected the ball in midair and knocked it out of players' hands on several occasions, most notably on an "intercepted" pass which led to a Saints touchdown. Even Erzulie Freda, loa of beauty and romantic love, got involved in helping whip the crowd into a frenzy.

This isn't to say that the Colts didn't have help. What appeared to be two djinni and an ifrit were present and working in their favor in the first quarter. Damballa Wedo, the eldest loa (who prefers a snake form), quickly froze the djinni and trapped the ifrit in a violet sphere.

It got pretty one-sided after that.

Snow Tinks and Dragons

2010-01-31T23:53:00.000-08:00

Had two days of ice this past week. I'm sure anyone reading was aware of the Kansas+-sized winter storm that swept across the US last week. My part of Arkansas got hit pretty hard as far as the state's usual winter weather goes. Sleet the first day. Snow the second. I actually got snowed in at a friend's apartment on the second night. It didn't occur to me until tonight that it was anything other than ordinary. Tonight I saw the Snow Tinks.

It was foggy this evening as slightly-above-freezing temperatures caused the snow and ice to melt and the humidity was so high that it became visible in the night air. As I've said before, strange things come out of the mists. And tonight was no exception. I was walking the path around the outside of my dorm (looking for some headphones I had dropped), when it came out. It was large, in the European style of dragons, and looked to be made of paper and books. Not really surprising, it being a Sunday evening with so much unfinished homework about.

Like most dragons, it quickly zeroed in on me. And I, foolishly not having considered the fog, was unarmed. Fortunately for me, that was when the Snow Tinks arrived. All at once these little snow- white imps seemed to appear from all around and latch on to the dragon. The air tinkled with a sweet childish laughter. Within moments, the dragon was an ice sculpture of itself and the little creatures hopped off and went about their business, which now that I noticed them could see that it was a huge snowball fight. One of those snowballs went for me and I took it as an invitation to join in. I can't say that I won, but I haven't had quite so much fun in the snow in quite some time.

Now as to the Snow Tinks themselves. They're somewhat of a rare breed. Almost unheard of in North America. They're actually the strange crossbreed of a gnome and pixie (something about a "free love" movement in the 1700's from what I've heard) and they tend to bring snow and other wintry weather wherever they go. The name Snow Tink is actually a more recent development derived from their striking similarities to a snow white variation of J.M. Barrie's Tinkerbelle. The species' numbers have grown significantly since the race was born, but they mostly stay in Europe. One has to wonder what they're doing all the way over here across the pond.

But I'm not about to look a gift mouth in the horse.

Highway to Hell

2010-01-20T22:27:00.000-08:00

I was driving back to school last night from my hometown. The doctor's appointment ran long and as I had worried, I wasn't going to get back before dark. I was sort of worried. I hadn't ever driven on the interstate at night before and to tell the truth I'm not a very good driver to begin with. To my surprise, things went surprisingly well. That is, until the point which I found myself on the Shadow Highway.

I'm not sure when it happened, but suddenly I was acutely aware that I wasn't on any stretch of the Interstate that I recognized. At first, I passed it off as never having seen it at night before. An understandable conclusion. Except then I passed my first exit. A town called "Cruciatus". Incidentally, there is no such place in Arkansas. And then came the deer-things.

They appeared against the myriad trees which edged the road on both this and the normal highway. Any time of year, it's not unlikely one will see a deer streaking across this particular stretch of highway at nice. I first noticed their emaciated frames, the ribs that stuck out against patchily-furred skin, their spindly legs which ended in threatening points... But that wasn't the scariest thing. No. It was their heads. The portion near the neck was deer-like enough. But the closer you got the the nose, the more they resembled the head of a female dobsonfly. And I don't want to think of why, but there were blood-colored stains all over the mandibles. The worst part, though, were the eyes. They would watch me as I passed, gleaming with strange alien intelligence behind them.

It was all I could do to not pull over and mentally break down. I kept driving and eventually reached a stretch of highway where the deer stopped appearing. So did the disturbing signs. I thought that maybe I had somehow made my way back to the highway I knew and was still completely terrified of for understandable reasons. No such luck. I hadn't occurred to me that there weren't any other vehicles on the highway with me. Ironically, the second I realized it, I was immediately aware of lights of two semis filling both the lanes behind me. They were coming upon me really quickly and when they looked to be overtaking me, probably just to spite me, they burst into flames. Clearly I've survived or I wouldn't be writing this, but I spent the next two hours pushing 100 MPH passing exit signs, each with a more horrifying name than the last. Finally, as the needle dipped just below 1/4 tank of gas, a miracle happened. I saw my exit. I pulled off with reflexes I hitherto hadn't been aware I had had before then. The semis barreled past where I had just been and I almost hit someone on the offramp but dammit I was safe.

And THEN I pulled over and psychologically broke down.

Dragons in the Mists and Shadow Highways

2010-01-19T15:08:00.000-08:00

It was foggy out this morning. The entire campus was shrouded in thick fog. It was kind of nice but I was a bit worried that I would run into a dragon on my way to class.

Dragons are imaginary. They weren't always. The naturally-occurring variation was wiped out in the dark ages by glory-seeking knights. But they are now (and that's another story, as Scheherazade would say). Regardless of what the old ones were like, the imaginary sort are generally intelligent but vicious and greedy. And they live in fog banks.

I dunno why. I guess it's something about the fog bank's "mysterious aura" and the concept still ingrained into our collective consciousness that "here there be dragons". They're weird, too. They seem to take whatever form of the most powerful emotions and thoughts around them. To that point, I've encountered dragons formed apparently of test anxiety, the color purple (but not the play), and Hello Kitty. They've all got weaknesses and things they can't do, too. Most notably, I was able to slay a large sulphur-breathing one on the Arkansas River two years ago by scratching it with a plastic fork (again, Scheherazade's excuse).

Mercifully, I wasn't attacked. But that leaves me the other thing I intended to bring up in this post. I sit now at the doctor's office in my home town. It's a surgery followup, but I'm sure I'm fine. Anywhat, my home is some 80 miles from my university. It's a bit of a drive. And though I've become more comfortable driving on the interstate, I'm still a pretty paranoid driver when I'm on it. That self-induced heightened awareness paid off today when I noticed something running alongside my own stretch of highway. It was another set of roads I hadn't ever noticed before. It wasn't the opposite direction's lanes, because that's always been to my left. This path was on the right. Before I knew it, the second highway was running off the ground without any support, sometimes parallel to me, sometimes perpendicular to my own, sometimes running the other way entirely. Oddly enough, I didn't see any vehicles or on ramps and off ramps. And LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE, nobody seemed to notice.

This warrants further study.

Haiti and a Friendly Reminder/Warning

2010-01-15T20:44:00.000-08:00

The sound of the facetious slow clap fills the air as I write this. As I'm sure you readers know, an insanely powerful earthquake has struck Haiti in the past few days. Anywhere from 30,000 to 100,000 people have been shuffled from this mortal coil and many more are hurt, mentally, emotionally, or physically. Many are still missing. I'm not saying for sure, but I can't help but think something else seriously bad went down.

I've been consulting some of my not-quite-human contacts and they say that at the time of the quake, something similar swept across the spiritual overlay of the southeastern US. Their guess is that someone tried to summon something they couldn't control. Something big. Something powerful. Whatever was called was probably vodoun considering the region (and that it doesn't work that way in Santeria). The likely culprit? Gran Bois. Loa of The Sacred Forest (of the Island Below the Waters (a.k.a. Guinee)).

Normally, he's pretty nice and generous if you pay the proper respect and tribute. He's also pretty proud of his unusually large, constantly erect penis. Just worth noting there. Like all loa, though, he can be "great and terrible" if things aren't done properly or he isn't paid proper respect. And a lot of loa also have alternate forms, usually "La Flambeau" (the fiery aspect) or "Ge-Rouge" (literally "Red Eye"), which are quite violent and dangerous variations. My guess is that something along those lines led to the massive earthquake and the only earth-aligned being I can think of that powerful is Gran Bois. I really feel sorry for all the other Haitians who are suffering or lost their lives for the folly of one or several summoners who didn't do their homework. There is no excuse for this. This kind of disaster can't ever be spun in a positive light. No matter what they stood to gain.

Great job genius! You almost sank the island!

This kind of crap is why Atlantis fell, according to some of the supposed survivors' accounts. "We're powerful magicians!" they said, "We don't need to seal things in a summoning circle!" And then they called something big which proceeded to eat them all and sink the continent.

Third Law of Magic: Never summon anything bigger than your head.

Gran Bois' veve.
You can do whatever you feel like to help the relief efforts here. Please do. They need it.

Surgery, Psychoses, a Cuban, and a little Cosmic Skin Shedding (But nothing really THAT exciting)

2010-01-14T20:23:00.000-08:00

The surgery went well. It was a reasonably minor outpatient procedure. Blah blah blah benign polyp in the sinus. I woke up with a sore throat from the "standard procedure" breathing tube, nauseous from all the blood I swallowed, and the-inability-to-keep-my-eyes-open-in-spite-of-the-fact-that-I-was-mentally-all-there-almost-immediately-upon-waking. Apparently I'm more resistant to anesthesia than I thought. I'm probably an expensive drunk, too.

Normally I hate hospitals, but this one was unusually empty. Of imaginary things, that is. Imaginaries take many forms. Most are shaped by human expectation. Pixies, gnomes, the immortal menace that is the Loch Ness Monster to name a few (eat that cryptozoologists!). Some are more primal, formed unconsciously of feeling rather than legend. Hospitals are usually just crawling with such beasties. People have fears and worries and hopes among other more complex feelings which make strange creatures. Negative emotions make nightmarish things come to life and the more positive end of the spectrum brings forth what is best described as cute and cuddly. Of course the former often eat the latter, especially when hope is weak, and they're not too common to begin with in such places. One of my imaginary associates calls the negative ones Nervosa. (I assume it's a nod to psychological disorder names.) They're generally not fun to deal with. Sometimes they become strong enough that they can directly affect the ones who helped form them. On one occasion, I had to help get rid of a particularly nasty one who stalked the wards of a childrens' hospital not too far from my university. The Nervosa in question took the form of a doctor ripped from the collective dreamscapes of King, Barker, and Lovecraft. He was made of and fed off of the fears of mostly surgery patients. But that is another story (though it is a thrilling one.)

Anywhat, this hospital was strangely free of Nervosa. I noticed three relatively minor ones in the waiting room and none beyond. It was rather pleasant. The hospital has a good track record, so maybe its reputation has other benefits. The way she was looking around, I think my mom noticed the fact too. But my dad didn't. Strange, since he noticed the gremlins back at Thanksgiving. (Side note: Are they both something other?) So yeah, blessedly free of scary things.

Recovery was reasonably smooth and the ability to breathe through my nose for the first time in a year was quite pleasant. That wasn't the best thing I got for Christmas, though. My family gave me some books (glorious books!) and I had the pleasure of giving them each a handmade gift blessed with a minor protection charm. My best gift, however, came on Christmas Eve night. Ever since my first encounter with the Jolly Old Immigrant I've been making sure to leave milk and cookies (and to make sure they're the good stuff) out. We've had a few random encounters outside the Season of Giving and have a friendly acquaintanceship going. Incidentally, it turns out Santa Claus does a whole lot more for the world than we give him credit for. Him and a mysterious gentleman with a strange thorny circlet. (Again, another time.) Anyway, he shows up, we enjoy a brief chat over the snacks, I give him a thank you gift and go to bed, he leaves presents, Christmas morning, rinse, (maim), repeat. This year, when I gave him his present (after all, a little gratitude is never a bad idea) he handed me one of his own. I kind of felt bad. I had given him a little handmade snowglobe which depicted the first time we met, but he gave me something way more awesome. It was a crystal tree topper actually made out of a star! I mean, he had actually gone through the trouble of plucking a shooting star out of the sky and refining it for me! I put it on top of our tree immediately (our old star had been retired this year). He also included a little bottle of starlight. "A little light," he said, "Is never out of place. Plus it doesn't run out of batteries." With that, we parted ways and went to go fulfill our Christmas Eve duties. For what it's worth, my family wasn't all that surprised about the new star (though they did think it was pretty), so I have to wonder if they saw it for what it really was. (But again, what are they descended of?)

The last major happening was something that occurs every year: New Years. Every year, people use the start of a new year to make resolutions and forge a new path for themselves. "Out with the old! In with the New!" as they say. Anyone with the eyes to see can see at the stroke of midnight wherever they are a sort of Cosmic Skin Shedding. The imaginary objects and markings people collect over the course of the year simply slough off, if only for a little while. Sometimes the ephemera dissolves into nothing an sometimes it soon enough reattaches itself. More than that, though, the collective resolution to change and become better, sincere or otherwise, actually makes the world around us shed much of the emotional and imaginary imprint we drop on it like litter over the year. Sometimes only for a while before things return to normal, sometimes permanently.

There's not really much else interesting. You see, with the exception of the odd gremlin or other critter, I'm not particularly involved in the preternatural going-on of my hometown. I arrived in time to go off to school and get involved there. It's kind of nice though. Christmas break is like a vacation.

Summer can be like solitary.

Another Faceless Lady and Surgery

2009-12-16T20:05:00.000-08:00

The semester ended the other night. I stayed an extra day, so I could change rooms. Anything to escape my horrible roommate. Seriously, he's almost literally the Roommate from Hell. Some nights he comes in smelling of alcohol and brimstone and he leaves singed footprints on the tile of our dorm room (and those take forever to wash out of the floor). That aside, the night was rather quiet as I was one of the seven students remaining on a campus which normally houses 5000+. It was really lonely, too. So, as usual, I sought refuge from the loneliness at my favored hearth, Taco Bell.

I was making my usual round about the outside of the building (it helps prevent anyone unwanted from following you) when I saw her by the drive-thru order mic. She was wearing a red dress reminiscent of the one Marilyn Monroe wore, except of course that it was red and ended just above her knees. Her days-long legs ended in a pair of red pumps Long flowing blonde hair fell about the sides of her head and she was leaning over to the passenger side as though whispering something in the window. She was rather shapely and quite easy on the eyes, except that she didn't have a face.

I don't know where she comes from or what she is, but I'm starting to wonder if it's more than a coincidence. They don't act like noppera-bo so I'm kind of at a loss as to what they are, but I can't help but wonder if they're showing themselves to me for a reason. They kind of remind me of dream-things which some dream-psychologists refer to as "supernumeraries". They're like the extras that your brain doesn't flesh out in dreams. They're far too detailed to be those.

Also, I'll be gone for a few days. I've got some surgery tomorrow and I won't be coherent for a few days. My wards at home are strong. I'll probably be okay.

Let's hope.

Lost Time and The Unseelie Court

2009-12-14T20:42:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning and, per routine, checked my phone. This can't be right, I thought. It said 6:30 AM December 14, 2009 and then immediately ran out of juice. After putting it back on the charger, I set called a gentleman I had gone to see the night before. His preferred moniker is "Mr. Pocketwatch". After a brief conversation and some words I won't repeat here, I learned that I've been gone for just under a week. If I had gone to the meeting last Tuesday and I came back today, which is next Monday, then it's been nearly a week.

Crap. Finals Week.

"But it's okay!" he replied, "We left a fetch for you! He took your tests for you and we made sure he got good grades."

So missing the point, Pocketwatch. But perhaps I should explain what I was doing "last night."

It's taken a while, but I finally managed to shmooze my way into the local Fae's confidence and last night they took me to be properly presented at the Unseelie Court, which is in power this time of year. About 4:45 PM, near sunset, I left campus to meet my contact, the aforementioned Mr. Pocketwatch. He led me through a twisting series of streets I didn't think such a small town was capable of until somehow, we found ourselves standing in front of a palatial manor with so many floors there's no way I wouldn't have noticed it in town before. He flashed a plastic card to two men who appeared to be carved from living granite and they let us into the house.

As large as it was on the outside, the inside was literally infinitely bigger. Upon entry, the first thing I noticed (kind of impossible not to notice, really) was what looked like the unobstructed brilliant night sky surrounding on all sides save for a small door through which we had entered. The ground underneath was an endless grassy meadow stretching off into the infinite distance. Shortly ahead of us was a large gathering of Fae, neatly arranged with most of them on the ground and several low seats surrounding a throne. I can't remember exactly but it looked to be made of clear plastic (or something clear, anyway) and rigid Autumn leaves. Lots of other adornment, too. Some strange slinky Fae were dancing with scarves that looked like they were woven from Van Gogh's "Starry Night" in the midst of the gathering. Mr. Pocketwatch stepped into the circle and I followed.

Things get a little fuzzy after that. I remember bowing courteously to the really thin lady in the throne (I do remember that her crown was made of golden wheat). Then there was a blur of eating and dancing and as some point I remember Pocketwatch announcing my name with something that sounded like triumph. And then applause and shouting. And then I woke up this morning with legs sorer than I've ever had them and a mild disorientation. Don't get me wrong, having a fetch to deal with my tests and my horrible roommate is quite a(n unsettling) benefit. It's just annoying that the meeting took a week.

A little warning would have been nice.

What's a Daydream?

2009-12-08T15:19:00.000-08:00

It has occurred to me (finally) the that the title of this blog may be a bit confusing. The latter portion, "The Life and Times of a College-Aged Daydream," in particular. The explanation is twofold

First, it needs to be stated that the Buddhist concept that "reality is what comes out of the eyes rather that into them" is not far off. Our expectations shape reality. When people believe in the existence of something so fervently and for so long, it simply starts to be. Technically these things are imaginary, but just because it's imaginary doesn't mean it isn't real. This also doesn't mean that the things they believed in didn't already exist. There are many kinds of Fae creatures, some of which are imaginary and some which have always been real.

Second, many of these so-called impossible creatures were also thought to intermingle their own blood with that of men and women. Dhampir and Cambions are two examples which come from real creatures. The Daydream is another matter. They are a catch-all term for the blood descendants of the imaginary things. Most of the time, this doesn't manifest in any significant way. Usually they may be a bit more lucky that the average person or display certain aptitudes or personality quirks often displayed by their progenitor. Sometimes, though, they'll be significantly like whatever they descended from.

I am of the latter sort although I don't know what I come from or what sort of strangeness that entails. Except that I see through whatever illusion keeps the rest of mankind blissfully ignorant. My guess is that it comes from my dad considering the incident with the Gremlins on Thanksgiving. I should really ask when I go home for Christmas. Wow this sounds like some creepy otherkin self-explanation. Relax, I'm not some delusional "dragon with gold eyes who breathes rainbows trapped in a human body."

As far as I know.

Drunken Revels and Swan Maidens (again)

2009-12-06T19:09:00.000-08:00

One of my friends had his birthday over the weekend. When asked what he wanted, he replied "capture the flag!" So they held a campout in which to play. I couldn't go since I had to finish a paper for finals. Anyway, it turns out that their party was a lot less "capture the flag!" and a lot more "get drunk and see how big we can make our fire". It's pretty standard when you know my friends, so yeah...

The really interesting thing is that one of my friends this morning told me about two "really bitchy girls" who showed up about 2 AM in their campsite. He also remembered that they were really, really attractive and somehow the line of group reasoning turned shortly to a "birthday present" for our birthday friend. In the morning, they were gone and nobody remembered a thing about what happened, but his sleeping bag was covered with white down feathers. Which gets me thinking...

Swan Maidens. We've already been here once. I get the feeling I know what went on. Might as well call them werewhores. The thing I want to know is, why do they keep finding my group of friends and what they want (apart from the obvious)? Side note: Why do people not notice or remember the preternatural things going on about them? Is there something in normal people that just shades it from their minds?

Time to put on my detective pants.

Glens and Hearths

2009-12-04T21:29:00.000-08:00

There are strange places, overlooked by many, that don't seem encumbered by the outside world. Where the atmosphere can simply be described as "positive" and any internal negativity flows away quickly. Seemingly mundane locations unencumbered by the sometimes crushing banality of the outside world. Hot or cold, they're never intolerable. The light is bright but never glaring. Or sometimes dim, but not dark. Some of these places don't actually exist in this world, rather extending into an "Otherworld" or taking space in the conceptual. Some of these are very real and some especially unexpected.

They used to be called Glens. They were wild places thought to be the meeting ground of the Fae. They were right, to a degree. The imaginary variation (and just because it's imaginary doesn't mean it isn't real, more on that another day) would hold great revels in these places because the disbelief of the outside world was less powerful there. As time pass and more lands were settled and developed, the Glens were built upon. Many became Hearths, pubs and restaurants which displayed the same nature. Inevitably, these places would attract a clientele which simply liked "the vibe". Imaginary things still enjoyed these places, albeit in a more location appropriate way (often drunken parties).

I've got a Hearth I like to frequent. It's a Taco Bell.

Auric Phenomena

2009-12-03T22:18:00.000-08:00

After auditions for our spring show the night before last, a couple of my friends and I went out for dinner. We hit a little mexican place a few blocks from campus. What we ordered or talked about is immaterial (though it was a rather enjoyable evening). When we walked in, I noticed a couple having a hushed conversation in the corner. Their eyes were locked and he reached over to take her hand. I like to think he was talking about their future together or something sweet like that. Anyway, once they touched their silverware rose a few inches off the table. Their forks and spoons actually floated upward a bit. It wasn't particularly noticeable if you aren't normally looking for the unusual, but that's kind of what I do. As soon as he pulled back so they could get up and pay their bill the silver fell but they just dismissed it as one of them bumping the table while rising. I love how people do that.

It was an auric reaction. Don't get me wrong. I don't buy all the new-agey aura of divine energy crap. But it's actually reasonably well established that most if not all living creatures have some kind of electromagnetic field or "aura" surrounding them. Normally they're not visible though their effects can be seen; like the reaction between the lovers' auras in the restaurant. Most people ignore them. We can photograph them now, using Kirlian photography. Under normal circumstances, they're not visible.

Under metanormal circumstances on the other hand, they are. In particular, when someone us actively using magic their aura becomes a luminescent nimbus around their body. The color is individual to each person though different people can have different or even same-colored auras. Auras also include an olfactory component. This is individual, often requiring a rarified sense of smell to distinguish. They're even perceptible when the aura isn't visible as the person's "natural scent". For instance, my aura manifests as a deep forest green accompanied by the scent of woodsmoke. If one knows how to distinguish however, they'll find it smells like burning cedar.

So y'know that really smelly guy in you pass by every day? Just be glad he isn't a magic user.

Desperate Incubi

2009-12-02T20:55:00.000-08:00

There's a gentleman in his thirties who has integrated himself into my social group. He's a graduate student and shows up at most of the parties held by theatre people. And come 3 AM (the Witching Hour, incidentally), whether he's drunk or not, he tries to get into someone's pants. Including mine (and I'm just not interested in men). In fact, he's been going about it while sober lately, too.

The funny thing is that he also reacts to religious symbols with a perceptible aversion, not even acknowledging the bearer. Not only that, but he appears to sustain contact burns from silver and can't cross a line of salt (as was evidenced by my paranoid actions at a friend's house party). The likely cause: He's an Incubus. While I shy from calling him a demon per se, Incubus is as good a title as any. He likes sex. A lot. And he responds to supernatural stimuli like the namesake. So he's either one or a supernaturally resonant nymphomaniac.

And if he's hitting on me, he must be pretty desperate.

Machine Elves and a Thought About Zombies

2009-12-01T21:09:00.000-08:00

First, thankfully the Machine Elves have stopped screaming. They quit about 2 AM this morning. I really hope there wasn't too much damage.

The other thing. I was just wondering why people assume that if zombies appear or (heaven forbid) there is a "zombie apocalypse", it will be some kind of disease. I'm not a biology major, but I was kind of working under the assumption that when a disease kills its host, it dies too. So how would a disease reanimate a formerly (debatably) intelligent creature into a rabid cannibalistic undead monster? I can see brain damage reducing them to that state, but the reanimation itself is just too far fetched. Heck, if the blood isn't flowing they shouldn't even be able to move! It's called "rigor". Human+Virus+Death=Alive because Screw you biology!

Now necromancy, that I know of. I have seen on more than one occasion corpses raised to do the bidding of necromancers. They prove delightfully vulnerable to fire and that is indeed the only way to actually kill them. Of course since they're just puppets, you also don't have to deal with that "I'm rabid and I hunger for the flesh of the living" thing. With magic it's possible.

So, regarding this rant anyway, "Magic good, biology bad."

Cyber Monday

2009-11-30T10:32:00.000-08:00

Today's Cyber Monday, the busiest shopping day of the year for online retailers in the US. Traffic is heavy today. Really, really heavy. People are trying to take advantage of deals they couldn't get ahold of on Black Friday. And the Machine Elves are screaming.

It's kind of hard to explain just what a Machine Elf is. They're like a consciousness that exists inside machines. I don't normally have much dealing with them, myself, so the best description can be found here on Wikipedia. All this traffic must be like having an interstate highway coming through your bedroom. And some of them are probably getting hit. I wish I could do something for them. The screams hurt to hear.

I just really hope there isn't too much damage when today's over.

Fairy Tales

2009-11-29T11:36:00.000-08:00

I was going through some of my old storybooks this morning while packing up to head back to school. I found lots of old stories with surprisingly harrowing events. (My parents had good taste in picking books of legends and fairy tales.) I know the Victorian Age and later Disney really sanitized the way we look at these things, but really they're incredibly dark. And they taught us valuable lessons. If you go looking for fear, it'll find you. (The Boy Who Found Fear At Last) Don't trust strangers and don't get in bed with strange people. They'll eat you. (Little Red Riding Hood) I suppose that darkness makes sense, though. These stories were meant to protect us. And not just in mundane ways as I said in an earlier rant.

I don't want a fairytale wedding.

Black Friday

2009-11-27T21:14:00.000-08:00

Went out with my mom today to take advantage of some of the Black Friday deals. We managed to get out at about 6 AM and really didn't have too deal badly with crowds. We actually found most of the stuff on her list. (I'm ultrabroke, so my list is moot.) Still, I had a bit of fun with the other shoppers. Sprinkle discrete lines of salt at the edges of aisles. Hide little bits of iron under objects. It's really amusing to see supernatural beings (who are passing for humans) and metanormal people suddenly unable to go further or compelled out of nowhere to go another direction. I really had the urge to set up a rube goldberg of people, though I never had the time at any one place.

Thanksgiving and Gremlins

2009-11-26T20:31:00.000-08:00

Just once, can't I have a normal holiday?

I went home yesterday to spend Thanksgiving with my family. My own car is still in the shop after catastrophic failure of the transmission, so my Dad came and picked me up. The resultant conversation on the way home quickly reminded me of why I love coming home. But that's neither here nor there.

This year, we spent Thanksgiving at my aunt's. There aren't many of us since one of my brothers spent it with his in-laws and the extended relatives don't seem to know who we are anymore. Besides, my aunt's husband is a wonderful cook!

Anywhat, we were milling about their kitchen when I noticed two things that happened almost at the same time. First, the refrigerator shudders and stops humming. Then, the the oven's (which still contains the turkey) digital temperature display skyrockets to 750 degrees and stays there for a few minutes before shooting down to 200 degrees and finally settles back on 350. As soon as that's over, the fridge lurches back to life and nobody seems to have noticed a thing. About half an hour later, as we're setting out the food for a buffet, I hear scratching from the oven, followed by almost inaudible laughter (and none of that sanitized Victorian "tinkling of bells" crap). Again nobody noticed. Finally, we decide to serve dessert. I open the refrigerator to get my mom's eclair cake (which is surprisingly good for sugar-free) and catch a glimpse of a brown foot dodging behind the milk. I nonchalantly turn to put the dessert on the counter and immediately turn back to see the little foot dodging for the milk again. Reaching back behind the jug, I meet scratches and bite on a very tiny scale. I close my hand on it and pull it out.

Gremlin. A kind of fae creature dating from World War II. They lived to torment servicemen, pilots in particular, by sabotaging aircraft and other machines. They hit everyone without regard for side or affiliation so nobody ever thought to discourage them. After that war, there was less air combat and therefore less opportunities for their fun. So, they moved onto other targets when the pilots arrived home.

So I pull this little annoyance out and all the while he's spouting quiet profanities from his tiny mouth. I close the door and back up and step back. My dad is standing there with an amused smile on his face. Here I am with an offensive little person in my hand and he's not acting the least bit surprised.

"Looks like you found the third one," he chuckles, gesturing at a mason jar in his left hand. It contains two others, "I found these buggers in the oven. Gremlins. Pain in the butt, huh?"

He takes the last critter from me and put it in the jar. All the while I'm thinking Wait, when did my dad start noticing these things? And almost like he's reading my mind he replies, "What? You thought you were the only one who saw things? I'm gonna go hide this with our coats." And then he left, leaving me in a dumbfounded silence.

Some days I love being part of my family.

Gremlins. Not this cute, twice this destructive.

On the Nature of Santa Claus

2009-11-24T23:33:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving's coming up this week and I'm heading home tomorrow to spend it with my family. On campus, though, I'm already seeing trees and lights and other trappings of that second most wonderful of holidays that is Christmas. It seems a lovely time to share a bit of exposition on the nature of the Jolly Old Elf himself, Santa Claus.

I had the pleasure of meeting the (currently not so) Big Guy two years ago shortly after I found myself where I hang my hat today. It was the standard "You're asleep and dreaming. Ignore me and go back to bed." situation at first. Unfortunately for him, I had already learned the first two rules of life such as it is for me: 1) Rarely is anything as it seems. and 2) SALT, SALT, SALT!.) What can I say? By the age of 18, most of us have been fed the grand truth (read: DAMN LIE! (Thank you, Mr. Twain)) that there is no such thing as Santa Claus. To me, he just looked like an opportunistic burglar.

Several impossibly large packages and a circle of salt later, we reached an impasse. I had thought he was mundane until I saw the bag work and then I guess my paranoia kicked in. Blah blah blah, "State your name and business." To his credit, he was very polite and patient with me.

Santa told me that he had been born Nicolas López Fernández in a small town in Cuba and was currently 32 years old. Contrary to the commonly told stories, he actually lived in the southern Florida Keys most of the year. "You see," he told me, "The mantle of the one you call 'Santa Claus' is actually passed down every two hundred years or so. I haven't been on the job for more than a few years."

The story begins long after the death of the historical St. Nicholas, instead with the life of an unknown Frenchman, Jacques de Sène in the 1200s. While he was rather poor, he actively spent what little free time performing what services he could for others without being asked or asking recompense. By the tradition of those holding the mantle, he was apparently visited by a manifestation of the original St. Nicholas who gifted with the ability to do good for others in all places. Jacques was a meek man in spite of his desire to help all peoples. He didn't want the attention. Therefore it was chosen that the night of Christmas would be his night to perform this service as it would be welcomed among the festivities held by many cultures around the Solstice. He would take on a new persona to indulge his meekness. The persona that would eventually become whom we understand to be Santa Claus.

After some time, the mantle was passed on to a well-to-do slavic gentleman who built the legend of Grandfather Frost (known in the US simply as Father Frost), who did his work with his grandaughter, Snow Maiden. Apparently, he had adopted the image of an old slavic god (the existence of which is as of yet unknown) and reverse the image from a cruel, child-stealing sorcerer to that of a kind gift-giver. After some time, he passed the mantle to a rarely benevolent east Russian vampire dream-eater (a strange variation of the vampiric curse that enables the creature to subsist on the dreams of children, much like the semitic breath-drinkers). He started the tradition of using enchanted reindeer perpetuated by Western storytellers. After a time, he passed it to a British gentleman who wasn't particularly good at doing the unseen do-gooder thing. His various sightings led to the common Western image of Santa Claus and provided the inspiration for the poem commonly referred to as "The Night Before Christmas". When his time was up in the early 1900's, he bestowed the title on an Alaskan dogsledder. He delivered gifts in the form of ice carvings which became the real thing, sparking more than one story. He eventually fell in love with a girl whom he had watched grow up and was granted release from his duties by passing them on to the current one.

The one whom I currently had trapped in a circle of salt in my family's living room and delayed for several hours telling me the tale of his order.

Crap.

After profuse apology on my part, he simply smiled and laughed the deep, jolly laugh so commonly attributed to his namesake and told me it was okay. Apparently the one thing all the logical arguments "disproving" the existence of Santa Claus were forgetting was the fact that the man is MAGIC. In all of this, no time had passed. In fact, it never does while he doesn't mean for it to. He laid his index finger against the side of his nose and I found myself standing next to him on the roof of my family's house. Attached to his large blue and green sledge were 12 particularly tiny key deer. (I really have to question the ethical concerns of enchanting and using for this purpose 12 of a threatened species...) With a chuckle he mounted the sleigh and took the reins, calling, "On Sunshine! On Rain! On Love! On Joy! On Pink! On Green! On Cindy and Bobby and Jan and Peter and Marcia and Greg! Now haul some ass!" And with that, they took a running start and took off from my roof for their next destination.

It didn't occur to me until after his departure that I had forgotten to ask about the elves.

A Faceless Woman

2009-11-23T10:39:00.000-08:00

Some nights, I'm walking back to campus from wherever I was and I'll be passing this taco place across from the school. Normally, it's just as empty and dead as everything else in this small town at midnight. Sometimes, though, I'll see a woman. She's normal looking enough. Except for the fact that she doesn't have a face.

I've seen her a total of five times, the latest being last night when I was walking home after dropping off a friend's movie in the Red Box by McDonald's. She was sitting there under the taco joint's sign, smoking a cigarette. That she has no face could easily be dismissed as a trick of the shadow, but she also has one other stranger characteristic about her. She's always smoking when I see her but the cigarettes' flames are always blue or green. No combustible plant material that I know of (that wouldn't kill the smoker) burns those colors. Something otherworldly is afoot. (Like that's never happened to me before...)

Honestly, my money's on noppera-bo or mujina, traditional faceless spirits from Japanese and Hawaiian myth respectively. That or some kind of fae being. They have, like, a million forms and even more numerous illusions of such. I really should go talk to her next time I see her.

Note to self: find a four-leaf clover between now and then.

Drunk People are Fun, Shapeshifters Aren't

2009-11-21T23:51:00.000-08:00

I went to a friend's birthday party last night. Pajama theme. A lot of fun. Most of the guests were over 21 so there was quite a bit of drinking. Nothing wrong with that, but it's a lot of fun to be a prude in the middle of a bunch of drunk people. The party progresses. We dance. People get drunker and drunker. Clothing is shucked. It's really kind of funny to just sit back and watch it all.

Come 3 AM. The DJ is winding down, those who drank are entering incoherence, and I'm about to be asked to be some drunk person's last resort. Time to go. Lo and behold, two attractive young ladies stroll in. They're dressed in gauzy little numbers and for a few minutes I seriously consider staying. Then a large white pair of wings unfurls from one of their backs and I change my mind. Damn it.

Swan Maidens. You hear a lot of legends about them. In spite of the stories, they really enjoy "dalliances" with normal men. They don't ever do anything with lasting consequences, so I usually leave them alone when they show up. The non-predator therianthropes aren't usually a problem. The partygoers were too inebriated to remember them, anyway. (And the ones who weren't won't believe their own memories. Nobody ever does.)

On the bright side, I managed to swipe a canister of salt from the kitchen on the way out. (Stealing is wrong, but I'm too paranoid to care right now.) So at least my room wards are back up.

Incidentally, here is a common representation of a swan maiden. They're impressive, but not this impressive.

Caer Ibormeith The Swan Maiden by ~Quicksilverfury on deviant ART

Alternate Warding

2009-11-20T10:51:00.000-08:00

It's not easy to sleep when the room keeps telling you to get out. My wards held for the night, but they as well have not for all the sleep I got. Maybe I'm just paranoid. Or maybe something's out to get me. And thus I do what all of my generation do when presented with such a problem. I turn to the internet. If I'm lucky, I might find another technique that won't keep me out too. Hopefully.

Salt

2009-11-19T17:21:00.000-08:00

I was renewing the wards today. Everything seemed to be in order. Then I realized I had run out of salt. (It must have been from performing an abjuration on a cursed book last week.) No worry, I'll just walk to the store, I thought.

Except they were out.

In fact, I went to the three grocery stores within walking distance only to find that they were all out of salt. All the while, my dorm room whas completely unguarded. There's more than a few things out there that would absolutely love to pay me a visit while I sleep. And while it's more than possible the proximity of Thanksgiving is causing a lot a compulsive cookers to buy up a lot of salt, I can't help but feel like this was planned.

I've made do with a few iron crosses, but they repel me almost as much as everything else I mean to keep out so they're not a long-term solution. Such a pain in the butt, too, 'cause I'm going to have to clean the space again. I know I'm being paranoid, but I should probably prepare for some kind of attack. I think something's up to something.

Stephanie Meyer just made my list.

2009-11-18T12:26:00.000-08:00

If I have to save one more fourteen-year-old girl from a four hundred-year-old vampire I think I'm going to have to do something terrible to the woman. I mean, it's always been bad. Ever since Interview With a Vampire, this cultural image of vampires as sex gods has become worse and worse.

People used to be afraid of the bloodsucking freaks. Then they thought, "Well, they're monsters, but they're less scary when they're channeling their inner beast into being sensual and passionate." (Damn you Anne Rice!) That was something that could be dealt with. People still knew they were monsters. Now the popular image is something along the lines of a "sparkly twenty-something cute vegetarian boy with pale skin". Oh yeah, and statutory rape laws don't apply to them.

Our old legends and stories existed to protect the people who had never met one face-to-face. Now they're just saying "It's okay to play with fire. It can't burn you; it just wants to sexually pleasure you!"

And people believe it.