THE LAND OF POPPIES

Once upon a time, in the Land of Poppies, a gas serviceman fell through a hole in the ground that he, obviously, had not seen. He fell, flailing and cursing, down through the deepening darkening depths--for what seemed like forever--until he finally landed, clumsily, at the foot of a moat surrounding a beautiful castle. He picked himself up and absently dusted his posterior as he gazed with wide wondah at the shimmering facade before him.

His boots clacked and clunked as he crossed the wooden bridge. From beneath the bridge a gravelly voice intoned: "He whoever should cross this bridge, Shall cast away hope and all will to live." The gasman nervously eyed the sparkling blue water and noticed an innocuous turtle on a rock. The.turtle.blinked.slowly.and.withdrew.its.head. The gasman shrugged and continued across the bridge, not noticing the turtle transform into a silently gibbering demon. When the gasman set his second boot on the dry grass surrounding the castle, the bridge behind him ceased to exist, as did the demon. The gasman spun around and his previous wonder became a festering sense of dread. But, no way back, time to go forward.

The gasman walked through the fields of poppies and a short trip became surprisingly long. Finally, after a fortnight, he reached the castle's doors. He was exhausted and terribly hungry and as dehydrated as a grain of sand. He managed enough strength to feebly bump the clapper on the huge wooden doors.

They immediately opened and a brilliant light radiated from within. The gasman shielded his eyes and spoke to the light: "Could you, uh, help me, please? I'm lost and I'm thristy, and I haven't eaten in about two weeks."

"Come," said a voice from the light. A beautiful female voice, tinkling with bells and warming energies.

The gasman felt invigorated. He came.

As he crossed the threshold, he noticed a brilliant white orb inexorably floating down and around the spiral staircase. As it grew nearer, he saw features begin to form. A beautiful princess emerged from the light.

"Are...are you God?" he asked.

A tinkle of bells. "No, silly. I am not God. Come, though," she breathed into his ear.

The gasman felt even more invigorated. He came.

"I am Kassandra," the beautiful princess breathed. "You are welcome to all that we have to offer. We will get you back to your home and to your loved ones. But there is one condition."

The gasman waited, entranced by her beauty.

When she knew that she had hie rapt "attention," the princess continued. "You are welcome to all we have to offer but you must not, under any circumstances, descend the stairs to the basement. Do you understand, dear gasman?"

The gasman nodded his assent, mouth agape, hypnotized by her beauty. A thin strand of spittle hung from his lower lip and an unseen gnarled hand flashed from the shadows and snatched it from his lip. The sound of a struggle and obscene smacking noises went unheeded by the transfixed gasman.

"I will show you to your room," spoke the princess.

The next (how long? who knows?) passed in a pleasurable blur for the gasman. Extravagent meals were served by scantily-clad nymphos and there was a seemingly-endless supply of mead.

The gasman grew fat with both desire and sloth.

One night, he jerked awake from a nightmare, his body slick with sweat and a scream trapped behind his teeth. His body shivered with fear.

In the dream, he had seen himself, running through taffy fields of poppies, casting anguished glances over his shoulder. Behind him, tracking him, hunting him, had been scores of goblins and monsters and unspeakables. The beings were put together wrong; that's all his dreaming mind would allow the gasman to understand. The beings were put together wrong. As they gained, he tore himself from his dreaming mind and gasped breath to the cathedral ceiling.

You must not, under any circumstances, descend the stairs to the basement, echoed the princess's voice.

The gasman rose unsteadily to his feet and, as if drawn by a powerful magnet, started towards the basement stairs. Though the way to the basement stairs was fraught with many uneven cobblestones and his knees ached in response, the gasman felt that he was being drawn gently, floating, in fact, to the forbidden zone. In three blinks of an eye, he was at the yawning precipice of the forbidden stairwell.

***to be continued***

("Sit Ubu, sit. Good dog.")