At The Sign of The Screaming Monkey's Head
Episode 3 - Wake State - Or...
What has gone before
At The Sign of the Screaming Monkey’s Head, Fred was offered a place to sleep. Unnerved, wondering what was happening, he fell asleep in mid-wonderment and dreamt. Meanwhile, Kindly Bob and Sylk discussed Fred briefly while waiting for the night to end. After the tavern closed Sylk requested Fred be awakened if he was dreaming, left to return to sleep if he recalled no dream. Kindly Bob wakes Fred mid dream.
A chain saw? His companions were dismayed. First the violent aerial explosion and now this. None present had ever heard such a sound. But, Barney had. He remembered that day in East Texas...
It was the first weekend in December. Firewood was needed to ward off the chill night air. There was to be much merry making, as well as roast pig. Some of the men were out sourcing wood. Others dug the six foot by eight foot pit for the epic fire. Others prepared a haydite block oven for the pig.
There was plenty of fallen wood to use for the fire, but most was pine, an unworthy pansy wood. Oak was needed for a proper fire. It's hard to get magnesium to ignite with the low temperature of burning pine. But Oak, or even better Mesquite...
Everyone knew not to cut standing timber. Everyone but Sparky…
"Fred, wake up Fred!" Kindly Bob was patting his hand softly on the thin pillow next to Fred’s ear. Fred sat up with a start, and looked about wildly. "The tree..." he started. He stopped and squinted at Kindly Bob, silhouetted in the light from the door.
"Dreaming?" asked Kindly Bob.
"Yeah."
"Come on. Someone needs to talk to you."
Fred was led back to the tavern proper, but hesitated when he saw Sylk.
"It's OK Fred. He won't hurt you." Kindly Bob said vacantly. "Not at the moment anyway."
If he intended to soothe Fred, he failed. Fred came forward warily and sat a couple of barstools down from Sylk.
Sylk stood and came toward Fred. Reaching inside his cloak, he brought out a flat oblate object and laid it on the bar in front of Fred. "Look at it" he commanded. Fred flinched, but looked at it. He could not tell what it was made of, but he thought possibly some stone of some sort. Then he noticed the etching.
"I can't really see it," he said.
"LUMENS!" cried Sylk. Kindly Bob brought a lamp from under the bar and switched it on. Fred squinted and let his eyes adjust, then looked intently at the object's etching.
It had some sort of shape, pointed on the left, and appearing to be between two lines. There was some sort of lettering as if it were a diagram. Fred felt a distant hint of familiarity.
"What isssss it?" hissed Sylk.
Fred shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know?"
"You've seen this before." It was a statement. ‘Have I?’ thought Fred. A gauzy impression floating just beyond his subconscious filtered in then out. He shuddered.
“Have I?,” he waited. No response. “Maybe - I don't know, and I don't know what it is."
Kindly Bob came forward with some coffee. "Here, drink this." Fred took the heavy mug and stared at the black brew steaming in the mug. “What is it?” “It will warm and waken you.” Fred took a sip, then another. The hot dark concoction went down easy bringing a warmth that was more than temperature. Kindly Bob set down a piece of parchment and bade Fred, "Open it."
Fred sat still. 'What the hell is going on... I walked in here, from somewhere - he realized he did not know where or when. I don't remember what I was doing before I got here, this giant next to me is scary, and this barkeep is acting like we are part of some secret ...'
Fred looked at Kindly Bob for a long moment. Graying hair, odd blue eyes, completely unreadable face. Bland and happy he looked. Almost the vacant look of someone mentally incompetent. Or, someone without a care in the world. Fred considered that for a moment. Only an idiot hasn't a care in the world. And this, he was certain, was no idiot. His eyes blurred for a moment, and the features of Kindly Bob's face swirled or melted.
"Here now," said the bartender. "Look at this. It's important."
Fred blinked his eyes, and normal vision returned. Looking down at the parchment, he hesitated, then reached for it and started to carefully unfold it. It smelled musty, like a dank closet or some forgotten cave. It was familiar, but that familiarity faded and he wondered if it had happened.
He looked at the writing inside. It was blurred, maybe water damaged:
"It's an equation," Fred said with a confidence he could not place. "Something about laminar flame propagation. It's an Arrhenius expression of some sort. You can see it there," he said, pointing at the line with the numbers and brackets. He stopped. “How do I know that?” he murmured aloud.
The symbols danced and swirled in front of his eyes, and he teetered on his bar stool. Sylk reached out, steadied him, and whispered, "Your dream. Tell us." Fred gazed slackly at the mug before him and almost wondered what was in it. “My dream…”, and he went there right on the stool and began narrating his dream quasi-consciously.
The chain saw had sputtered out, and one of the Europeans was urgently gesturing at their guide. Barney could not quite make out what was being said. It sounded like English, but somehow not.
The native was clearly unconcerned about the sound. In fact, Barney now realized the native had barely flinched at the explosion preceding the chain saw. They got into their canoes which were suddenly and always there, and continued down the Blue Muddy which had just become a new feature in the dream.
At some fringe location of his consciousness Barney became aware that he was having a directed dream; he knew he was dreaming, and he was exercising some control over the events. He'd read somewhere that people could do that. He hadn't realized that he could.
He wondered if he would remember when he woke up. And he wondered, if this were a directed dream, and he was exercising some control over the events, that implied he knew what he was supposed to be dreaming toward. And if he knew already, why dream?
"To ease it into the conscious mind with less chance for psychic shock," his paddle gurgled. "Hmmmmm," he hmmmmmed.
He focused on a flock of large birds majestically cruising overhead, their powerful grace soothing him, their wing beats carrying him on, when, rounding a bend, their sun-silhouetted destination became slowly manifest, shrouded in mist. Was he supposed to see it? No, abort.
Fred started awake. He looked at the other two, his eyes darting back and forth, his pulse pounding in his ears. “What are you doing to me? Why am I having a directed dream?”
Sylk’s eyes widened and then his face went impassive, telling Fred more than Sylk intended. Kindly Bob smiled blandly and asked, “Can you continue your dream? Methinks you can, even if not dreaming. Tell us a story.”
Fred began, “So Sparky decided to cut down this oak tree. You’re not supposed to cut standing timber in a forest preserve, but you can use any fallen timber you want. Well, Sparky wanted oak, so he went after it with his chain saw. As it started to fall, he backed away to what he thought was a safe distance. The tree fell, pivoted on one of its larger branches and the trunk swung around, slammed Sparky in the chest knocking him down. A jagged section of the trunk tore his blue jeans from crotch to just below his knees yet somehow missed his body. He was lucky, if he’d been laid open he would have bled out before we could do anything. However, when he fell, the trunk landed on him and snapped his right leg. We had heard the tree fall, and then the screams. Seven of us were there almost immediately. We tried to lift the tree but could not. Dave had his Husqvarna with oversized chain guide and attacked the tree…”
“Wrong dream,” interrupted Sylk.
Fred stopped, internal alarms going off. He stared at Sylk and then past him at the entrance to the tavern, gauging distance.
“You won’t make it,” said Kindly Bob amiably.
Fred looked at him and said, “I’m not supposed…” not supposed to what?! He stopped.
“Things have changed,” said Kindly Bob.
“Our need is great, “ Sylk said darkly, dangerously. Kindly Bob handed Fred the mug and said, “We can help. Drink this.”
“Help me with what? What is happening to me?”
Sylk stood, “The question is ‘what happened to you’, and we all need to know.” Kindly Bob said with those bland blue impassive eyes, “Drink. We will help.”
Fred stared at each in turn and then said in slow measured tones, “What is happening to me.” Kindly Bob tapped the mug and said, “Let’s find out.” Giving up, Fred drained the mug, sat still for a long moment, then slumped over. Kindly Bob caught his head before it slammed into the bar.
“Let’s get this started,” said Sylk.