vovat | Entries tagged with writing

This is something I wrote last year, partially to wrap up some loose ends surrounding Clocker and Kadj the Conjurer from Ruth Plumly Thompson's Pirates in Oz. As is my wont, I also worked in a few references to some post-canonical Oz works. It feels unfinished, though, like it needs to go somewhere else. Any suggestions are welcome.

ROBOTS OF OZ
By Nathan M. DeHoff

“And what can we do for you, sir?” inquired the Frogman, who stood at the entrance to Ozma’s throne room, where the Royal Ruler was holding court.
“I have reason to suspect you have several items that used to belong to me, as well as an old prisoner of mine,” answered the tall man in faded robes.
“Prisoner? Are you, then, a jailor?”
“Not by choice, certainly, but I was the only one willing to take this particular fellow after he fell out of favor with the people of Menankypoo.”
“Menankypoo? Isn’t that in Ev?”
“Not politically, but geographically, it essentially is. It’s where I live.”
“Then how did you get here to Oz?”
“That’s my secret.”
“All right, but you should know that magic is forbidden here in—”
“I’m well aware of that, and I haven’t practiced any magic since coming to this fine country. Well, unless you count this walking stick.”
“It’s magical?”
“To an extent. It saves up energy and transfers it to me, to keep me moving more efficiently.”
“I would imagine that’s acceptable, but you probably should check with the Ruler. One of my closest friends has a Magic Dishpan that she inherited from her ancestors, and she’s allowed to keep it.”
As soon as Ozma had finished speaking with a farmer who wanted to keep locusts off his fields, the Frogman announced Kadj from Menankypoo. The man approached the throne, where Ozma sat with the Cowardly Lion and Hungry Tiger on either side of her, and Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz just behind the seat.
“Menankypoo? That place out in Ev where people talk in flashing lights?” asked Dorothy.
“Yes, although I am not a native, and hence am incapable of communicating in that fashion. I have come here because I think you might have some of my magic in this palace.”
“I don’t see any reason why we would have taken any of your magic from Menankypoo,” said Ozma. “The only interaction we’ve had with them was to restore them after they’d been thrown in the sea by pirates.”
“I doubt being underwater affected them much. But anyway, I don’t know that you necessarily took my magic on purpose, but it does appear to have ended up here. The Standing Stick and Hardy-Hood invented by my daughter Cinderbutton, and a man with a cuckoo clock head by the name of Clocker.”
“Yes, I remember them!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Old Ruggedo brought them here the last time he invaded, and we didn’t know where they came from in the first place.”
“I’d almost forgotten about Clocker,” mused the Wizard. “I was trying to replace his bad works with good, but haven’t been particularly successful. He’s still in a closet now.”
“That seems rather cruel to a living thing,” observed Ozma.
“I do not know that he is a liv-ing thing,” objected Tik-Tok, the mechanical man made of copper, who stood near the throne. “He works on clock-work, as I do.”
“You’re both right, in a way,” said Kadj. “He’s a combination of biological and mechanical components. He was supposed to serve as a wise man for the King of Menankypoo, but his subjects didn’t much like the ideas Clocker put into his head.”
“Can you really expect much when he has a cuckoo for a brain?” asked Scraps, the Patchwork Girl.
“I’m afraid that was one of Mooj’s ideas. I don’t think he turned out too well either, although perhaps you’d know better than I do.”
“The same Mooj who turned me into an alarm clock?” shuddered the Cowardly Lion.
“Perhaps. He was a master clockmaker who worked for Smith and Tinker, who if I’m not mistaken were also the creators of your copper man.”
“You mean Jomo?” asked Dorothy.
“Jomo? Oh, yes, the coppersmith. He came to work at the firm around the same time as Mooj, actually.”
“I thought Jomo WAS Smith and Tinker,” said Scraps.
“He was a vital part of the organization, but of course he worked for Mr. Smith and Mr. Tinker themselves, before they disappeared.”
“So there WERE a real Smith and Tinker?” inquired the Wizard. “I’ll admit I’ve been confused on that point.”
“Why, of COURSE there’s an actual Mr. Tinker! His first name’s Ezra, and I met him in Kansas!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Why had I forgotten about that?”
“I’m afraid there may have been some magic at work there,” replied Kadj.
“But Jomo doesn’t USE magic!” demanded Jellia Jamb, the head of the palace staff.
“No, he didn’t, but I did. So many people were asking for Smith and Tinker after they disappeared that I had Jomo drink some of my Identi-Tea, so he and those around him would think he WAS them. After that trouble with the Nomes, though, he left for Oz, as Mr. Wainwright had done before him.”
“Did you work for Smith and Tinker, too?” asked Dorothy.
“Occasionally, although I was never an official part of the firm. I occasionally provided magical assistance.”
“I did not think Mis-ter Smith and Mis-ter Tin-ker used ma-gic,” stated Tik-Tok.
“No, which is why they needed my help. Of course, in a magical land, even those who don’t practice magic still make use of it sometimes. I mean, if you look at Tik-Tok, it takes much less energy to wind him than he has after being wound. It takes a bit of manipulation of the laws of thermodynamics to accomplish that.”
“I’ve always thought the same about people not dying here in Oz,” added the Wizard.
“Even the most non-magical of inventors occasionally needs a conjurer.”
“But I thought conjurers just did tricks, like the Wizard used to before Glinda taught him real magic,” said Betsy Bobbin, causing the court magician to blush.
“That’s one meaning of the term, as in a conjuring trick. It can also mean someone who calls demons.”
“A demon? But aren’t they evil?” asked Trot.
“That’s a common misconception. Some are, like the ones who live in the caves near the Laughing Valley, but there’s nothing inherently bad about the term. It comes from the Greek, meaning a tutelary spirit.”
“Mr. Baum did write a book about the Demon of Electricity,” said Dorothy.
“Yes, I’ve met him. In my particular case, however, while I have worked with demons, the title ‘Conjurer’ refers largely to my having studied under the Wizard Conjo.”
“I don’t believe I’ve heard of him,” said the Wizard of Oz.
“He’s very reclusive, but he also can’t help showing off.”
“Then you knew that old clock-face Mooj?” asked the Patchwork Girl.
“Yes, he worked for Smith and Tinker. He had some kind of accident while working on a clockwork project, and he somehow managed to augment his own head with clock parts. After that, he seems to have grown increasingly…odd. He became obsessed with finding a device that could regulate time itself, said to be hidden somewhere in a place called Seebania.”
“Maybe that’s why he took over the kingdom,” said the Wizard.
“I wouldn’t be surprised. He seemed to have rather…loose morals, especially after the accident. There might be some kind of inherent difficulty in mixing organic brains with mechanical ones, which could explain how Clocker became so sinister.”
“My friend, the Tin Woodman, had flesh parts replaced with metal ones, and he’s not sinister at all!” objected the Scarecrow.
“Yes, but the Emperor isn’t really mechanical, is he?” mused the Frogman. “He’s just formed of metal parts. Meddling with brains, however, could be considerably trickier.”
“My brains work just fine.”
“But they’re the only brains you’ve ever had. Remember what happened to the Glass Cat when the Wizard tried to replace her pink brains with transparent ones?”
“Yes, that was a mistake,” sighed the Wizard, “although I still think it could have worked if I’d done it gradually instead of all at once.”
“I wouldn’t try it.”
“I’m not going to, since she prevented Ozma from being kidnapped and all. I’m just not sure changing brains is a lost cause.”
“I’m not sure about that, but I do know that neither Mooj nor Clocker turned out well,” declared Kadj. “What happened to Mooj, anyway?”
“Ozma turned him into a drop of water,” explained the Wizard.
“Well, if he was continuing down the same path he had been, there might not have been a better choice.”
“He threatened Ojo, who gave me most of MY brains,” announced Scraps, “and pushed his father off a cliff.”
“Well, maybe I’d better take a look at Clocker,” declared Kadj. “Do you still have the Standing Stick and the Hardy-Hood?”
“The Stick, yes,” answered Ozma. “We gave the Hardy-Hood to Roger, the Read Bird from the Octagon Isle.”
“I suppose I don’t necessarily need it back, but it’s rather frustrating to come home from vacation and find that your cave has been burgled.”
“Speaking of mechanical people,” said the Frogman, “our next case is that of Ozwoz the Wonderful, who has 2000 magically controlled wooden soldiers.”
“What an odd coincidence.”
“That’s how things sometimes are in Oz,” confirmed the Wizard.
A man in sharp Gillikin clothes, with a broad-brimmed feathered cap, a long cape, and a rakish mustache, entered the room, where he was shown by the Soldier with Green Whiskers to a seat facing Ozma’s throne.
“Salutations, my fair young Queen!” said Ozwoz politely, doffing his cap to his monarch. “I understand you called me here to discuss some matters with my army.”
“Yes, from the information we’ve gathered,” began Professor Wogglebug, as he walked back and forth before the Gillikin’s chair, “you have been practicing illegal magic, and having hostile intentions toward travelers, as per your attempts to have your army of wooden soldiers fire upon the Princes of Pumperdink and Regalia, and the Red Jinn of Ev.”
“Oh, yes, but we got on quite well afterwards. We even traded, and I find my never-empty cookie jar to be quite useful when I’m working and don’t have time to get a meal.”
“But only because they had magical protection to keep themselves from being shot full of holes! Not everyone who comes by your home has that, I’m sure.”
“To be fair, not many people come there at all, and those who do leave promptly without my soldiers firing a single shot.”
“Is it really necessary to have your own personal army?” asked the Scarecrow.
“Perhaps not necessary, but well within my rights, and a useful precaution in case of thieves or invaders. Many countries in Oz have their own standing armies, and I have heard nothing of your trying to disband them.”
“But those are countries with their own populations, not just one person!” objected the Wogglebug.
“It is still my own inherited territory, and the population is not strictly relevant. Consider it my own personal country, Ozwozia, if you wish. Besides, if you consider the army itself, the population is 2000.”
“2001, counting you, right?” questioned the Scarecrow.
“No, as I gave my vanguard soldier, Johnwan, to Prince Randy. Perhaps I shall make another, to keep the number round, but so far I have not felt the need.”
“I prefer square numbers, myself,” put in the Woozy, who had just awakened from a nap.
“By my cal-cu-la-tions, that would re-quire Oz-woz to ei-ther give a-way a-noth-er six-ty-three sol-diers, or make an add-i-tion-al twen-ty-six,” said Tik-Tok.
“I don’t know that your wooden soldiers really count as a pop’lation,” stated Dorothy.
“Do you consider your own mechanical man to be a citizen?” questioned Ozwoz.
“Well, yes, but he thinks and talks and acts. If your soldiers are all like Johnwan, they only do what they’re ordered to.”
“I am on-ly a ma-chine, and do what I am wound up to do,” said Tik-Tok, “but I app-re-ci-ate your ac-cep-tance of me as part of Oz-ma’s court.”
“You’re not only a machine. You’re our friend!” exclaimed Betsy, giving the copper man a hug.
“And you can’t appreciate anything unless you have feelings,” added the Shaggy Man.
“Mere-ly a fig-ure of speech, I as-sure you.”
“I think he’s embarrassed,” remarked Trot.
“Even if your army can be legally excused, there’s still the matter of your practicing illegal magic,” continued the educated insect.
“I am, as I have explained before, a Wozard, and there are no laws against wozardry in the Land of Oz.”
“That’s the sort of legal loophole that’s common in the Outside World, but we try to avoid such things here,” said the Wizard. “The practice of magic is illegal without a license, regardless of what it’s called. Besides, what IS a Wozard?”
“Why, the practice of wozardry, a sort of thaumaturgical art that specializes in the manipulation of matter and energy for the purposes of maintaining control over…er, the nature of reality and the safety of…humanity?”
“You just made it up, didn’t you?” asked the Patchwork Girl, pointing at the Wozard.
“Not entirely. I found the term in a book, referring to the Prince Ozmonga, whom I believe to be a relative of mine.”
“And you’re sure that wasn’t just a mistake?” asked the Wogglebug.
“A bug, if you will,” said the Scarecrow, earning him a frown from the Professor.
“I examined it with a spelling spell, and it said it was a real word,” said Ozwoz.
“Which means you WERE practicing magic,” said the Scarecrow.
“A perfectly acceptable bit of wozardry.”
“Which you still haven’t really defined,” said the Wizard.
“And you just decided you were a wizard, didn’t you?”
“I, ahem, suppose that’s true, as I was using the term before I knew any actual magic. Once I learned it, the title stuck.”
“And what makes your wizardry different from, say, your mentor Glinda’s sorcery?”
“It’s a bit of a gray area. I have learned that many who consider themselves wizards specialize in scientific magic and the use of tools and machines, but that’s not always the case.”
“Then you can be a wizard without knowing exactly what one is, but I can’t do the same as a Wozard?”
“Then wozardry is only different from wizardry because you SAY it is?” asked Jack Pumpkinhead. “Then couldn’t anyone practice magic if they came up with their own name for it?”
“If it comes to that, other places in Oz have magical properties and practitioners. Randy’s Kingdom of Regalia has a prophetic amethyst ball, and a sage practiced in scrying. Blankenburg has its water of invisibility. The Kingdom of Patch has its Spool of Succession.”
Scraps groaned at the mention of this item, but let Ozwoz continue. “The King of Bear Center has both a magic wand and a magically powered pink bear.”
Trot began saying, “He did get the wand from the fairies, which is—"
“And the Yips have a magic dishpan.”
“That DOES happen to be a family heirloom,” said the Frogman.
“I have magical heirlooms as well. And I feel that, as the ruler of Ozwozia, I have the right to my own magical possessions and my standing army. My experiments have harmed no one.”
“But the bullets could,” said Betsy.
“They are for self-defense. I’ve never tried to invade another country, unlike, say, the Queen of Oogaboo.”
“You seem rather well informed for a recluse,” stated the Cowardly Lion.
“Oh, I keep up with the news, as best I can.”
As this had about wrapped up the testimony, Ozma began deliberating with some of her courtiers, while the Wizard asked Ozwoz, “By the way, do you have any knowledge of clockwork?”
“My soldiers operate in a different manner, but I have studied it somewhat. Why do you ask?”
“Assistance with altering the mechanical man made partially by Kadj here.”
The Conjurer and the Wozard followed the Wizard into his laboratory, where he opened the closet holding the now motionless Clocker, a man about twelve feet tall with a wooden head and clock face. As he had a fleshy outside dressed in fancy clothing, opening him was a task the magic-workers were a bit squeamish about, but Kadj was able to do so with a switch on his back. Once the three of them began looking around at the Clock Man’s inner works, they all competed with each other to find things they could improve. The Conjurer removed a few extra screws he found in the shoulders, thinking they might be making the man screwy. The Wizard tightened a few bolts and replaced the rusting mainspring, although Kadj had to help in shaping it properly. Ozwoz used some of his All-Purpose Polish on both Clocker’s head and as much of his insides he could. He also insisted on making a remote control device, in case an emergency shutdown was required. As they worked, the Wizard wondered aloud how many more mechanical people there were around.
“Smith and Tinker built another partially organic person, smaller than Clocker here, although I don’t remember what happened to him. There’s also the Giant with the Hammer that the Nome King bought. I’ve heard tell of a cast-iron giant made by King Scowleyow, but I have no idea how it ran. I’ve also heard tell of a whole tribe of mechanical people in the Deadly Desert.”
“Well, what do we do with the cuckoo?” inquired Ozwoz. “Give it something to eat?”
“What do cuckoos eat?” asked Kadj.
“Chocolate cereal?”
“I don’t think a mechanical bird would eat anything,” pondered the Wizard. “Still, it couldn’t hurt to give it some of my special nectar, good for curing throat maladies and sour voices.”
The magicians wound up the Clock Man and closed up his body, and then waited as the minutes ticked by until it was three-fifteen. The cuckoo popped out of Clocker’s forehead and handed a slip of yellow paper to the Conjurer, which read, “I am completely operational, and all my works are functioning perfectly.”
“Hmm, looks a bit sinister to me,” observed Kadj.
“What, being polite and formal is sinister now?” objected Ozwoz.
Ozma, who had finished deliberating, told the Wozard that, thanks partially to his service in helping to repair Clocker, she would not punish him for his past use of magic, and that he would be allowed to keep his soldiers, provided she never use them to attack anyone without proper cause. He would, however, be forbidden to practice any magic, no matter what he called it, at any time in the future without proper express permission. Ozwoz figured it was the best he could hope for, and returned to his Gillikin home. Kadj wrapped a cloak around himself and Clocker and leapt into the nearest fireplace, making them both disappear in a puff of smoke.

THE END

Current Mood: rushed
Current Music: Allan Sherman: Kiss of Myer

I had originally intended on posting this a few days ago, but I haven't been able to for various reasons, so I'm adding some other things we've done.

On the weekend before last, Vicki Lawrence did a show near where Beth's mom and uncle live in South Jersey, so we went down and saw it with him. Her uncle is the one who introduced her to Mama's Family, and I mostly know about him from Beth. She talked about her start in show business and first meeting Carol Burnett, whom people thought she looked like. Her current husband did makeup for the show, and she and her former husband used to go on dates with them. He's the one who wrote "The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia," which she sang at the show, as well as the Mama's Family theme, which she wrote, but they didn't use the lyrics. She mentioned that the Carol Burnett "The Family" sketches that led to the later show were done in a Southern accent to be like "Tennessee Williams on acid." She then did about half the show in character as Thelma Harper, with her observations on modern society and current events, including doing a rap. Then she came back as herself for a tribute to people she'd worked with who are gone now.

Earlier that day, we went to eat at Lucille's Luncheonette, a mostly breakfast place that closes early, and has a statue of the Jersey Devil in the front.

We'd brought Nellie down to South Jersey, as she'd lived there for a while before, and doesn't seem to mind the car ride. Felix is nervous even here, so we were afraid he'd be even worse in a strange place, and left him up here. It seemed to work out all right, except when she came back, he hissed at her. Apparently there's a thing where, if a cat picks up weird smells while away, even other cats who know them don't always recognize them at first. I think they're getting along again now, although she can play pretty rough.

Our last two cats never wanted to sit in this pumpkin.

They sat up here pretty often, though.

On Thursday, we saw Ben Folds in Tarrytown, of Headless Horseman fame. Ben was messed up on medication for bronchitis, and seemed to forget parts of songs sometimes. He cut "Annie Waits" short, then explained his condition and started playing something else. He talked a bit about "Still Fighting It," saying that when his son was born, it looked like he was having a really bad time. It's kind of weird to hear that song now, as it mentions something potentially happening "in twenty years or so," and it's been more than that since then. I get the impression that having kids makes you more aware of the passage of time. There were three Ben Folds Five songs in the setlist, "Eddie Walker," Don't Change Your Plans," and "Kate." We ate at a nearby burger place before the show, and there was a yarn store next door to the venue with this colorful sheep outside.

This past Sunday, we visited the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Since we're members, we usually go on member-only weeknights, but both today and last Tuesday were closed for private events. A week ago, we went to Green-Wood Cemetery instead.

On Sunday, it was pretty crowded. The cherry blossoms were in bloom, and a lot of people were gathered in that area.

There were also magnolias and a lot of different kinds of tulips near the conservatory building.

Yesterday, we saw John Waters at the City Winery in Manhattan, and it was his seventy-eighth birthday. He covered some of the same topics he did when we've seen him speak in the past, but had plenty of new stuff as well. I don't have any pictures of that, because they weren't allowed. I did get some pictures of the place right near the venue, which is called Tiny Island, and has a big hill with a good view and, for some reason, a lot of hypnotic spirals.

I've had a cold for a while now, which isn't that common for me, or at least it hasn't been in the past. I've been taking medicine, and for the most part it's not an especially big deal, but my head has been feeling congested. I'm not sure what the best way to deal with that is. I haven't much felt like writing recently, except for these posts, but I do have some stuff that I've finished at least in draft form, and I'm wondering if I should share some of it. It's pretty much all Oz stuff.

Current Mood: sick
Current Music: Noel: Dancing Is Dangerous

We're getting another cat! We were supposed to bring Nellie to meet another cat or two at a shelter, but they had a sickness going around, so that happened today instead. The cat we met today, Felix, was shy but affectionate, really leaning in when we pet him. Nellie was nervous, but didn't appear to have any real objection to him, no hissing or anything. We could have brought him home today, but he's getting another vaccination tomorrow, so the new plan is to pick him up on Friday. Nellie still seems out of sorts; she hid under the bed for a while when we got back home.

In other news, Beth and I have now been married for sixteen years. And since we got married on Leap Day, you could say we've had four actual anniversaries, if you wanted to be weirdly technical. It's a most ingenious paradox. We didn't actually celebrate on the day, though, aside from going out to eat. Instead, we took the day off on Friday, 1 March, and went on a tour of the catacombs at Old St. Patrick's Cathedral.

This isn't the same as the St. Patrick's near Rockefeller Center, although they're related; that one was built as sort of a replacement, although the old one is still open. It's on Mulberry Street in Nolita, and it's where they filmed the baptism scene from The Godfather.

John Hughes, the Archbishop of New York, was the one who proposed the building of the new cathedral, and also founded Fordham University. He was nicknamed Dagger John due to his aggressiveness.

The catacombs weren't as expansive as I might have figured. That's not to say they were small; I think they were about the same size as the church. It's just that, when I hear "catacombs," I kind of think of an underground labyrinth.

We were considering going somewhere else afterwards, maybe a museum or something, but it was already evening when we had finished with the tour. So instead we went to a few record stores and had dinner at a place called Bastard Burgers, mostly because Beth liked the name. It was one of those places where they smash the beef patties, and while I'm not entirely sure how that affects the taste, I did like it.

Last Saturday, we went to the Monster-Mania Convention in Cherry Hill, as we generally do twice a year. This one was Number 58, but that's counting some in other locations. Still, we've been to a lot of them. As usual, we mostly just attended the celebrity panels, although we did take a look at the dealer rooms. The first panel we saw was a cast reunion for Starship Troopers, which I did see in college, but don't remember particularly well. While I think I realized it was satirical, it was still too much of a war movie to really hold my interest. The room was already packed by the time we got there, so I didn't get any pictures of this one. Next was Michael Gross, whom I knew as the dad from Family Ties, but he was also in the Tremors films, which neither of us have seen.

Among other things, he talked about Tom Hanks playing his alcoholic brother-in-law. Then came actors from the 2013 version of The Evil Dead, another one neither of us have watched as of yet.

The first panel in the larger room was with Brad and Fiona Dourif, and I'm not sure we'd seen any other father and daughter sessions, although maybe I'm forgetting something. Somebody in the audience had him do the Chucky voice, even though he didn't want to, which I feel wasn't fair to him.

And the reunion for Children of the Corn, which we just saw, had John Franklin, Courtney Gains, and John Philbin.

After the convention, we ate at Friendly's. They brought back the mini mozzarella sticks, but they're even smaller now.

I hate that there are a few stories I have largely planned out, but trying to actually do the writing just feels tedious. But then, I've also pretty much finished with a few things and haven't done anything with them yet. I guess I haven't been particularly motivated, but I also feel there are ideas I want to get out and haven't figured out how to do so in an interesting way. Does anyone else know how that is? There's stuff I thought of when I was a kid that I think might be usable, but maybe I'm flattering myself.

Current Mood: tired
Current Music: Fastbacks: My Letters

It's the end of a long weekend, and I feel I haven't accomplished anything. Not that I really have to, but I always feel that extra days off will mean time to do stuff I've been putting off, but I'm pretty much always too tired. I often find that writing is something I either feel like doing or don't, and that's not something I could get away with if I did it professionally, but I'm not. My bigger concern is that I have so many partially planned stories and such, and they're not of much use to anyone unless I can work them into a readable form. I also have a lot of cleaning up to do around the apartment, but at least writing is usually fun. Long weekends also tend to make me even more stressed about having to go back to work, although it's not usually that bad when I get there. It's just having things hanging over my head that makes me uncomfortable. Last month, I saw some comments from members of Congress about how they didn't want to make Juneteenth a federal holiday because we had too many already. It's certainly possible that this was just a way to imply they were racist without actually saying it, but it's ridiculous anyway because I figure we have way too few. With Juneteenth specifically, I can see it not being fair to give white people the day off, but at my workplace, it wasn't a holiday for anyone. A lot of people don't get many of these days off at all anyway. Federal holidays are so weirdly spaced, too. We have Christmas and New Year's a week apart, but nothing at all in August?

We had other plans for this weekend that didn't work out either. We went to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden after work on Friday, and were intending to go to Playland on Sunday, but Beth didn't feel up to it. I'm okay staying home most of the time, but I also think there are things we should do before the summer ends, and it's already July. We're considering trips to Knoebels, Dorney Park, and Kennywood as well. We did go to the crowded boardwalk on Coney Island to see the fireworks, though. I noticed a difference from when I used to see fireworks back where I grew up in that those usually started out slowly, just one at a time, and then they'd shoot off all the leftover ones at the end. The Coney Island ones were pretty fast from the beginning. Of course, they do generally have fireworks every weekend in the summer, so it's not as special an occasion, I suppose. And I did beat the Fire Vellumental in Paper Mario: The Origami King and reached Venus' world in Final Fantasy Legend II, so I guess those are accomplishments, right? I realize they're really not in the grand scheme of things, but they kind of feel like it at the time, and very little in real life does.

Current Mood: lethargic
Current Music: They Might Be Giants: I Lost Thursday

This is something I wrote maybe five years ago, and posted it on Jared Davis' now-defunct Oz fan-fiction forum. 'Tis the season, so I'm sharing it again. It combines some elements of L. Frank Baum's The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus and Ruth Plumly Thompson's The Curious Cruise of Captain Santa, and also tried my best to fit Krampus into Ozian mythology. The Bell-Snickle from John R. Neill's The Scalawagons of Oz also seemed appropriate, considering his name. Let me know what you think.

SAVING JACK FROST: AN OZ ADVENTURE
By Nathan M. DeHoff

“Is that a polar bear, Dorothy?” asked Toto, surprising his little mistress because he rarely spoke, especially when it was just the two of them together.
“It sure looks like one, Toto, but I didn’t know there were any polar bears in Oz,” replied Dorothy.
The girl and her dog approached the ursine creature that was just emerging from a small red Quadling wood. It turned out that the bear had a young winged man with long hair on his back, who waved cheerfully to Dorothy and Toto.
“Why, hello, Ozites!” exclaimed the man.
“Hello!” said Dorothy.
“Yes, I know I’m in the wrong sort of habitat, but there’s a reason for that,” stated the polar bear.
“Right! We’re on a mission from Santa Claus.”
“Oh, I think I’ve seen you before! You’re one of Santa’s fairy helpers, aren’t you?”
“Wisk, at your service!” responded the fairy, removing his little green hat. “And this is Huggerumbo.”
“Why, what an adorable name!”
“That’s what I say, but he won’t have it,” said the fairy, as the bear frowned a little. “Am I right, old Grumpy Bear?”
“Oh, I know people find me cute, but they don’t have to point it out every time. We polar bears can be ferocious animals. When I was a cub, I dreamed of dressing in armor and fighting in a gladiatorial arena.”
“An armored polar bear?” put in Toto. “What a bizarre idea!”
“Yes, well, instead, I ended up working for Santa Claus.”
“And it’s well worth it, isn’t it?” asked Wisk. “You’re making a lot more people happy this way.”
“Yes, I suppose I can’t deny that.”
“I should introduce you to Grumpy, the Patchwork Girl’s friend from the Kingdom of Patch,” said Dorothy. “He’s also cranky on the outside, but very soft-hearted.”
“Please don’t say that out loud. I may be soft-hearted, but it would ruin my reputation. Anyway, we’re busy right now.”
“Busy with what?”
“We’re looking for Jack Frost,” replied Wisk.
“Jack Frost! I’ve met him before. He wanted to marry me, in fact.”
“Aren’t you a little young for marriage?” inquired Huggerumbo.
“Well, yes, although I’ve actually lived more than a hundred years. Here in Oz, we stay young as long as we want to.”
“Yes, it’s the same way in the Christmas Country. I can’t imagine young Jim getting married, either.”
“But you know there’s no way to convince Jack otherwise when he wants something,” put in Wisk. “We think that might be why he’s in trouble now.”
“Then Jack’s in trouble?”
“Well, we don’t know for sure. The only thing we do know is that we can’t find him,” stated the bear.
“We could go to the Emerald City, and look in Ozma’s Magic Picture.”
“No, I don’t think that would help. Claus has one of the best surveillance systems in the world, and he hasn’t found out anything other than that Jack is somewhere in Oz.”
“Oh, right. He sees you when you’re sleeping, and knows when you’re awake.”
“Right, although he doesn’t actually watch people sleep,” said Wisk. “That would be creepy, and he has better things to do. But you’re right that he has the power to do that if he wanted to, so it’s strange that he can’t find one missing person.”
“So, you’re from the Emerald City, are you?” asked Huggerumbo politely.
“Why, yes. Ozma’s my best friend, and she made me a princess.”
“I thought you looked familiar! Walloping walruses, you’re Princess Dorothy!”
“Yes, but you can just call me Dorothy. And this is Toto, my dog.”
“Of course we’ve heard of Toto!” said Wisk, jumping down from the polar bear’s back to pet the little black terrier.
“So where were you headed?” inquired Huggerumbo.
“Oh, we were just on a short walk into the Quadling Country. We were planning on going back to the city by nightfall. Where were you planning on looking for Mr. Frost?”
“That’s part of the problem. We don’t know where he would have gone. Some of our compatriots are searching other parts of the land, though, so we were headed toward the Munchkin Country.”
“There’s a Snow Mountain there, but I don’t know if Mr. Frost would want to go to another snowy place. Oh, and the Wind Satchel Man at Valley Mountain keeps the North Wind when he’s not busy elsewhere.”
“I don’t know that Jack would want to go somewhere it’s already cold, but I suppose that’s as good a place to start as any.”
The girl and her dog joined up with the bear and the fairy, and the two of them continued across the gentle red hills to the east. Red flowers grew all over, and they occasionally passed an apple or cherry tree. At one point, they stopped to eat lunch from a magic basket provided by the Wizard of Oz. Even Huggerumbo was satisfied by ten salmon sandwiches, while Wisk hardly ate anything at all. Just as the party was sharing a small strawberry shortcake, Dorothy was suddenly assailed with a spray of water.
“What? Where did that come from? Is the basket not working?” inquired Dorothy.
“No, it came from that hill over there,” observed Toto.
“Well, I’m always up for a water fight,” said Wisk, “but you should at least announce your intentions first.” He pointed his wand in the direction from which the spray had come, producing his own shower of cold water. This was followed by a severe drenching for all four party members.
“At least it’s cold,” stated Huggerumbo. “The warm water around here has been difficult for me to take.”
“All right, all right, we give up!” conceded Wisk, waving a white handkerchief above his head.
“Give up what?” asked a somewhat dense voice. The owner of the voice was a strange rubbery creature, red in color, with a long snout with a nozzle at the end. It was accompanied by two other animals like it, one of which was sagging somewhat. A hydrant promptly ran up behind them and refilled the sagging one.
“What are they?” asked the polar bear. “Some sort of elephants?”
“No, I think they’re hose beasts,” answered Dorothy. “They usually work for the fire department.”
“Right, but what fun is that?” said one of the beasts. “That’s why we’ve gone rogue, and we’re headed for the ocean, where we need never be empty.”
“The ocean? How are you going to get there?”
“We believe there’s some outlet in Lake Quad,” replied another beast, who had a more erudite tone to his voice. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Why, I’m a Princess of Oz, so it’s my business.”
“A princess? We don’t go in for authority!” shouted the second beast. “Kidde, extinguish them!”
The largest of the hose beasts, who was also the one with the classier voice, promptly sprayed a foamy liquid toward Dorothy. Huggerumbo promptly grabbed her in his mouth and ran off with her down a nearby road, while Wisk took Toto in his arms and flew away. The animals pursued them, ejecting water and foam all the way, but they managed to avoid the majority of the onslaught. Without noticing it, however, the polar bear ran right off the edge of a cliff.
“Huggerumbo! Dorothy! I didn’t even see that!” exclaimed Wisk, as he flew down to see whether the bear and the girl were safe. As it turned out, they bounced off a rubber surface, and landed in a nearby ozberry bush.
“It’s a good thing I was here!” shouted the rubber object in a nasal tone. “Those rogue hose beasts are really getting to be a problem. You’d think we’d get along, all being made of rubber and all.”
With that, the rubber being flattened itself out and stood up on two legs, revealing itself to be a disc-shaped bluish-green creature with a hooked nose. “Why, Princess Dorothy! What are you doing in these parts?”
“Well, we WERE having a picnic, until they came along,” complained the girl.
“I’ve been doing my best to stop them, being Royal Rubber Stopper and all, but I might just have to report them to a higher authority.” The creature shook itself as it said this, causing the bells on its ears to jingle. “Something also needs to be done about that road. At least there haven’t been road hogs around here. They eat roads, you know.”
“Why, you look familiar!” exclaimed Wisk, as he settled down on the ground.
“This is the Bell-Snickle, who works as Ozma’s Royal Rubber Stopper,” declared Dorothy. “Snickle, these are Wisk and Huggerumbo. They work for Santa Claus.”
The Bell-Snickle looked nervous at the mention of the gift-giving saint, and Wisk shouted, “THAT’S where I know him! He was an experimental toy that Neclaus made, sort of a combination whoopee cushion and noisemaker, intended for parties. When it came time to name him, one of the Sound Imps suggested Bell-Snickle, after one of Claus’s German companions. The Elves deemed it impractical to make any more, since this one was so reckless. I’m not sure how he ended up in Oz.”
“Well, I’M not going to tell you,” announced the rubber creature. “You’ve given away too much information already. I pride myself on being a Mystery.”
“Oh, we won’t tell anyone, Mr. Snickle,” assured Dorothy.
“So what work does a Royal Rubber Stopper do?” asked Wisk.
“Tries to stop things that shouldn’t be happening,” replied the Bell-Snickle. “Like the hose beasts and the road hogs that bother innocent travelers. Or safety hazards, like that dead-end road. I even sometimes investigate unfair laws in the stupid little countries.”
“I don’t know that you should call a whole country stupid.”
“Oh, you’d disagree if you went to some of these places. There’s a town nearby where all activity totally stops when they see red lights. And one in the Winkie Country nobody is allowed to move at more than a quarter mile per hour. In Blankenburg in the Gillikin Country, no one is allowed to show their face. Marginalia has laws against toe tapping, nose nipping, mouth breathing, and finger snapping. And in Ditchville, you’re not allowed to give money away.”
“I thought they didn’t use money in Oz,” observed Huggerumbo.
“Oh, it’s definitely much less common, but not unheard of. The inhabitants of Bunbury, out in the woods to the west, use sesame seeds as currency. And I hear Quick City uses rolls of quicksilver, which is strange as I thought that was a liquid at normal temperatures. I’ve been meaning to check that out, as I don’t like there to be other mysteries besides me.”
“The real mystery is how these places managed to survive for so long,” said Wisk. “But then, that’s the thing with fairylands. My people don’t always make a lot of sense. I always got along with Queen Lurline, you know.”
“Well, Mr. Snickle, would you like to join us in looking for Jack Frost?” asked Dorothy.
“Jack Frost! The very personification of the chill of winter? What would he be doing in these parts?”
“We don’t know that he’s in these parts, just somewhere in Oz,” observed the polar bear.
“I might as well. I’m sure there will be plenty of things to rub out on the way.”
With that, the Bell-Snickle joined the others, and they continued to the east. There were a few farmhouses, with fertile fields and orchards, in the area, but no towns. After about two hours of travel, Wisk sighted a tall blue wall on the horizon. Upon coming closer to it, Dorothy gave a cry of recognition. “It’s the town of the Cuttenclips!”
“Oh, I’m no longer allowed there,” stated the Bell-Snickle. “They say I’m too clumsy.”
“I’m not surprised. First time we visited, the Shaggy Man toppled a whole lot of them with a sneeze.”
“Who are the Cuttenclips?” inquired Huggerumbo.
“Oh, they’re living paper dolls. Very pretty, but very fragile as well.”
“Well, I’d like to see them,” put in Wisk. “Toy towns remind me of home.”
So the Bell-Snickle, Huggerumbo, and Toto waited outside while Dorothy and Wisk went to visit Miss Cuttenclip, the only flesh-and-blood inhabitant of the village, who lived in a wooden house in the center of town. The Princess of Oz asked her about Jack Frost, but she said she had seen no sign of him. Upon learning that Wisk worked for Santa Claus, she relayed her request for some spangles and a new pair of scissors for Christmas. The fairy was fascinated to learn about how Glinda had provided Miss Cuttenclip with living paper, and enchanted the town so that storms and other bad weather could not affect it.
“They’re the only live paper dolls in the world, as far as I know,” stated Miss Cuttenclip. “Not the only live toys by any means, though. I visited Merryland once, and they have a whole society of dolls.”
“Yes, Claus was involved in setting that up, if I recall correctly,” said Wisk.
The girl and the fairy were anxious to continue on their journey, so after a few refreshments, they rejoined their companions outside the town. Huggerumbo had been eating berries and apples from nearby trees, and was pretty full.
“You know, Ozma’s cousin, the Guardian of Oz, lives near here,” said Dorothy. “I wonder if we should check in with her.”
So the small group turned toward the south and the road to Story-Blossom Mountain, while Wisk sang “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” When he had reached the part about figgy pudding, Huggerumbo grumbled, “Do you think you could sing another song? Just the thought of figgy pudding makes me sick to my stomach.”
“You shouldn’t have eaten so much back there,” admonished Wisk. Still, she acceded to the bear’s request and began singing, “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose. Yuletide carols—“
“Another song about food?” grumbled the polar bear.
“Only parts of it.”
“Wait, where else did I hear about nose-nipping today?” asked Dorothy.
“Oh, that was me,” answered the Bell-Snickle. “It’s illegal in Marginalia.”
“And is it something Mr. Frost does often?”
“Of course! Why else do you think it would be in a song?” observed Wisk.
“A lot of songs aren’t entirely true,” said the Bell-Snickle.
“And that song wishes a merry Christmas to anyone from one to ninety-two, and I think we’re all older than that. Still, Jack is quite fond of nipping noses and pinching fingers. He and Claus are old friends, but he thinks Jack goes overboard sometimes, especially with the children.”
“Then maybe it would be worth looking in Marginalia,” suggested Dorothy. “If Santa isn’t able to locate Mr. Frost, the Guardian might well not be either.”
“So where is this place?” questioned Huggerumbo.
“I don’t know, but the Wogglebug might. He’s in charge of updating the maps of Oz, and his college isn’t far away.”
So the party instead turned to the north, and had soon crossed the border into the Munchkin Country. By this time, the sun was setting. The educated insect greeted Dorothy and her friends, and checked his latest map sketches to see if he could find such a place as Marginalia.
“It’s not on the main map, but it does sound familiar,” said the Wogglebug. “Ah, here we are! Marginalia, out in the outskirts of the Munchkin Country. Its location hasn’t been properly surveyed, but it’s in the eastern part of the country, south of the White Mountains.”
The group spent the night at the college, and set out in the morning, using the insect’s sketch to determine where they were going. Dorothy deemed the Yellow Brick Road to be the fastest way to get to that area, so they took the route from the college to the famous highway. This was the road Dorothy had taken to reach the Emerald City on her first visit to Oz many years back, but it was better traveled and safer by this point. Bridges had been built over the Munchkin River and the chasm in the Great Blue Munchkin Forest, and the Cowardly Lion and Hungry Tiger had successfully driven the Kalidahs away from the road. It took a few days to traverse the route, but there were several small inns along the way. Dorothy pointed out where the Scarecrow had gotten stuck on a pole in the river and the cabin where the Tin Woodman had lived for a while, now preserved as a national historical site. When they dropped in on Boq, the aristocratic Munchkin who had let Dorothy stay at his house on her very first night in the fairyland, he told them what little he knew of Marginalia.
“I hear it’s a very strict place, and it’s located in the middle of nowhere,” said the Munchkin. “I don’t know anyone who’s ever been there.”
After crossing another branch of the Munchkin River beyond Dorothy’s old farmhouse, the party turned south. This part of the country was not maintained all that well, not being particularly good land for farming. It was mostly overgrown with tall grass, and at one point crabgrass with claws attempted to pinch the travelers. Some growling from Huggerumbo was enough to put a stop to that, as well as to the moving skunk cabbages that came out at night. The only house they saw along the way belonged to a man who farmed knives of all shapes and sizes. He told them that Marginalia was just to the south. Eventually, the group came across a road leading right up to a large town surrounded by a metal wall. At the gate, a man in a booth asked, “What is your business in Marginalia?”
“We’re searching for a friend of ours, Jack Frost,” stated Wisk.
“Do you have identification?” asked the man.
Dorothy pulled a letter of introduction from her pocket and showed it to the gatekeeper. Upon glancing at it, he said, “This hasn’t even been properly notarized, nor does it have any photographic representation of you.”
“Photographs? A lot of Oz doesn’t even have cameras,” stated Dorothy.
“Well, if they’re not going to become properly civilized, that’s no skin off our backs. So you say you’re Dorothy?”
“Yes, I’m a Princess of Oz, and that letter has Ozma’s royal seal.”
“Oh, like such things can’t be forged.”
“Look, just let us in or I’ll bite you,” said Toto.
“Oh, my word! That dog isn’t on a leash!”
“A leash? This is the Land of Oz! I have my rights!”
“Maybe so, but dogs are noisy and messy, so there’s no admittance for them without leashes. And your companion there is out in bear skin!”
“Since when is that illegal?” questioned Huggerumbo.
“It’s illegal here because it’s indecent. I have heard it suggested that this was a misspelling in the law books, but it can’t be changed now.”
“Can’t you just let us in?” asked Dorothy.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Look, I don’t like doing this, but I’m a Princess of Oz, and I demand you let us in immediately!” shouted the girl, who stamped her foot in anger.
“Foot-stamping is illegal in this town. I’m afraid I’ll have to have you arrested.”
“Arrested? But we’re diplomatic envoys from Santa Claus!” griped Huggerumbo.
“Yes, and I’m the Easter Bunny’s secretary.” While saying this, the gatekeeper pressed a button and a tall woman with blue hair and a dark blue uniform emerged from a nearby guardhouse. “Officer Bleu, arrest them.”
“Wait, what did I do?” asked Wisk.
“You and the gasbag are accomplices,” said the officer sternly. “Now follow me.”
Not wanting to cause any trouble, the party followed Officer Bleu through the streets of the town. It was a pretty sort of place, with neatly arranged houses and metal sculptures set on nicely trimmed lawns. The people, however, looked rather terrified, and rushed through the streets quietly with their heads down like they preferred not to be seen. Finally, the group reached the jail, which the officer forced the visitors to enter, locking the door behind them.
“Your trial should take place in six to eight weeks,” said Officer Bleu. “Until then, please refrain from any more illegal activity, or it will only increase your sentence.” Noticing the bear scratching his nose, she added, “What did I just tell you?”
“Look, with laws like yours, there’s no way anyone can obey all of them,” objected Dorothy.
“Tell it to the judge. Or don’t, as arguing with the judge is also against the law.”
With that, the officer left the jail. Toto soon noticed a man sitting hunched down in the corner of the cell, and approached him. Wisk followed him, saying, “Why, it’s Jack Frost himself!”
“Wisk!” exclaimed the man, as he looked up. “Did you come to get me out of here?”
“Yes, but it looks like we’ve been captured ourselves. No problem, though. I still have my magic.”
“No, I don’t think you do. These cells have been magic-proofed. Otherwise, don’t you think I would have escaped by now?”
“Isn’t magic-proofing illegal without a permit?” asked Dorothy.
“I tried telling them that, and they wouldn’t have it. The police said that the authorities were allowed to ignore the rules when it came to making sure everyone else follows them.”
“That doesn’t sound right. Everyone has to be bound by some laws. Even Ozma can’t do anything she wants, and she’s an absolute monarch.”
Wisk tested his magic to make sure it did not work, and it proved to be ineffective. The Bell-Snickle, however, did state that he could probably squeeze out through the bars. Upon hearing this, Wisk gave him a switch, telling him to use it when he reached a place where magic worked.
“You mean you want to call HIM?” questioned Huggerumbo. “I thought that was a last resort.”
“What other choice do we have?” asked the fairy.
“I suppose you’re right, but he really scares me.”
Without bothering to ask what the bear and the fairy were talking about, the Bell-Snickle flattened himself as much as possible and walked out between the bars of the cell. Leaving the building, he promptly struck the switch on the ground. In a puff of choking black smoke, a tall, hairy man with pointed ears, horns and a beard like a goat, and a long tail appeared in front of the rubber creature. In a rough and booming voice, he said, “Who dares to summon the mighty Krampus?”
“Um…me, Mr. Krampus,” said the Snickle. “Wisk told me to call you to help us get out of jail.”
“Wisk? Oh, right, one of the master’s intolerable assistants. Why can’t he get out himself?”
“The cells have been magic-proofed.”
“Oh, I should have figured it was something like that. Fortunately, I have training in law as well. Take me to the local authorities.”
The Bell-Snickle was not sure where the authorities were headquartered, but a quick look at a sign told them the way to the Mayor’s Mansion. This was a very large building, blue and dome-shaped like most Munchkin dwellings, with an imposing look to it. With Krampus on the streets, the people were even more terrified than they were before. The Snickle knocked on the door, and a butler answered it.
“We’ve come to see the Mayor,” said Krampus.
“I’m sorry, but his honor is busy just now,” said the butler.
“Oh, he’ll see me.” With that, the monster held a whip toward the servant, who rushed off to get the mayor. This turned out to be a small man in blue silk pajamas, who said, “What’s so important that you had to draw me away from my nap?”
“I am the Krampus, a being of unspeakable horror.”
“And I’m the Bell-Snickle, Royal Rubber Stopper to the Queen of Oz,” added the rubber creature, who did not want to be left out.
“We demand the release of several prisoners who are now in your jail.”
“Oh, we never release prisoners until after their trials, and usually not even then. The police aren’t likely to make mistakes.”
“Everyone makes mistakes, and some mistakes can be deadly. If you fail to release them, you may start an international incident. One of them, Jack Frost, is the son of the powerful Frost King, who can bury your town in ice and snow.”
“Ice and snow? Ha! Let him try! My town is weather-proofed.”
“Another is a Princess of Oz. Would you want to incur the wrath of Queen Ozma?”
“We’re a law-abiding town. Ozma can’t do anything to us! High Queen or not, she has to learn that her friends can’t just ignore the rules when they feel like it.”
“Well, what about MY master, Santa Claus? He has magic powers beyond your puny comprehension.”
“Oh, magic is no threat if you have the right equipment. Besides, do you really think I’m afraid of an old man on a sled? What’s he going to do, cut off our allowance of Christmas presents? My officers will shoot his reindeer right out of the sky!”
“What?” exclaimed another voice, and a girl who was a head taller than the man rushed to the doorway. “Daddy, I’m behind your desire for law and order, but are you really thinking of declaring war against Santa Claus?”
“Why not? Those immortal nuisances have to learn that they’re not above the law.”
“But aren’t YOU going above the law by challenging sovereigns of other nations? If you go to war with Santa, the children of this town are going to revolt. Need I remind you that the equipment you use to monitor this town and keep up the protection against magic and weather are from a kit I received for Christmas?”
“Look, Amarra, I won’t do it. I stand firm on my principles.”
“Then I’ll release them,” said the girl. With a remote control device in her hand, she ran out into the town, ignoring her father’s threats to send her to bed without dinner. When she reached the jail, with Krampus and the Snickle behind her, she pressed a button that opened the cell door. The prisoners walked out and greeted their liberators, although Huggerumbo, Wisk, and Jack made sure to keep their distance from the demon. When the citizens heard that their mayor was planning on defying both Ozma and Santa Claus, they promptly demanded he step down, appointing his daughter Amarra to the position. They wanted to run him out of town on a rail as well, but Amarra granted her father a pardon, saying that he was trying to do what was best for his citizens. The new mayor agreed to journey to the Emerald City for a meeting with Ozma to try to determine how best to alter the town’s draconic laws. Krampus disappeared in some more thick smoke, after extracting a promise from everyone to behave or he would return.
“Who was he, anyway?” questioned Dorothy.
“Oh, he was a demon who used to punish everyone he thought was naughty,” explained Wisk. “Claus eventually tamed him, as much as you can tame someone like that, and gave him a job. Contrary to what a lot of people think, it isn’t in Claus’s interest to judge and punish, so instead he let Krampus serve as his lawyer. A necessary evil, I suppose you could say.”
“He still gives me the creeps, though,” stated Huggerumbo.
“Sure, but it’s not like polar bears don’t also have a bad reputation in much of the world.”
“By the way, Dorothy, I’m sorry about sending that blizzard to Oz,” said Jack Frost. “Even immortals do strange things when they have crushes. I have a steady girlfriend now, Arctica, daughter of the Golden Goblin.”
“Well, anyone who’s sorry has to be forgiven. Just don’t do it again,” returned Dorothy.
Jack soon used his own magic to return himself to his home in the frozen north, taking the bear and the fairy with him. Dorothy, Toto, the Bell-Snickle, and Amarra made a leisurely trip to the Emerald City, stopping at many places along the way. At her old farmhouse, many tourists wanted to meet her and her dog. When Christmas came and Santa made his typical visit to Ozma’s palace for the day, he brought along Wisk and Huggerumbo, as well as some of his other helpers. Even Krampus made a brief appearance, and Button-Bright swears that he caught the demon playing games with some of the younger children. The newspapers refused to print this, however, as they were afraid it would damage his reputation as a creature of sheer terror.

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Current Mood: slightly festive

I wrote this story for an Oz fiction contest. The instructions were to write a flash fiction of 600 or more words, and the term made me think of the character Flash who appears briefly in The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus. This didn't win the contest, but I think it's good enough to share.

FLASH AND TWILIGHT IN OZ
By Nathan M. DeHoff

“Where in the luminous spectrum am I?” asked the Light Elf.
“You’re in my castle,” said the woman with the high peaked hat, stiff pigtails, and a patch over one eye. “I’ve summoned you here for an important purpose.”
“And why should I do you a favor? You didn’t even ask before calling me here, and I can easily escape with my blinding flashes.”
“That’s why I’ve insulated the summoning circle with rubber, so your lightning won’t work,” said the woman, as she grabbed the lightning bolt and barrel of gunpowder that the Elf held in his hands.
“Well, what is it you want?”
“I need you to make my castle bright all the time. I lose valuable time with all the darkness at night.”
“You want me to light up a castle? Seems like the Demon of Electricity would have been a better choice for that.”
“Look, I don’t have access to the Master Key, all right? I know you’re Flash, Prince of the Light Elves, and what I ask is well within your power. If you refuse, I’ll never return your accessories here.”
“And what’s wrong with using candles?”
“The servants are far too slow at relighting them when they go out. I’ve tried to throw all the stragglers in the dungeon, but then the ones that are left just work slower. Besides, my candle supplier is indisposed right now,” explained the woman, not mentioning that she had recently transformed him into an inanimate shape.
The woman, who was none other than the infamous Wicked Witch of the West, forced Flash to set up a perpetual lighting system for her castle, with some help from a Winkie smith named Crombert who did the necessary wiring. Soon, the castle was always lit, which was irritating to the servants who needed to sleep. A family of bats, who had thought a witch’s castle was an appropriate place to live, left in disgust when they realized the time when they were generally awake never seemed to arrive. This continued for some time, only to change when a brown bird who had flown into the castle upon seeing all the lights at night spotted the Elf in his prison.
“Are you the one who’s causing this castle to light up so much? It’s very distracting,” said the bird.
“Yes, but not by choice. A wicked witch imprisoned me here. If only my brother knew, he’d be in to rescue me in a jiffy. I suppose you don’t want to sing when it’s this bright around?”
“While I am a nightingale, only the males of my species sing.”
“And what’s your name? Florence?”
“No, it’s Luscinia. Why Florence?”
“Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t get the reference, living in an isolated land as you do.”
“I don’t always live here in Oz, you know. I’ve spent time in Ev and Mo. But anyway, where does your brother live?”
“In the Palace of Light, but I don’t know how to get there from here. Maybe another fairy or elemental would know.”
Based on this information, Luscinia flew to the home of the first elemental fairy she could think of, the Nome King. Known as Roquat of the Rocks, he put on a charming act with strangers, but was known to have a terrible temper. Once she had explained that she was a female bird, Roquat, fearing that she might lay eggs, immediately showed her a mining tunnel that led to an island in a shimmering sea, where the Palace of Light stood. Successfully flying past several winged snakes with rays emitting from their mouths, even knocking one out of the sky with her beak, she entered a window that led into a surprisingly dark room. An Elf who looked a lot like Flash, but had a darker complexion and wore a black cloak, was playing a cello.
“Why, hello, nightingale. Did you want to sing a duet?” asked the Elf.
“I don’t sing,” explained Luscinia. “Are you Flash’s brother?”
“Yes, I’m Prince Twilight. What trouble has my brother gotten into this time?”
The nightingale explained the situation, and Twilight promptly blinked out, holding the bird on his hand. He had soon appeared at the yellow castle of the Wicked Witch, where he faced its despicable owner without fear.
“Let my brother go, or I’ll shroud your castle in perpetual darkness,” threatened the Prince.
“No! Not that! Here, take your bright brother. I’ll figure out something else.”
The Witch freed Flash, and the two Elves agreed that Luscinia had shown great bravery in her recent deeds, and promptly made her a Knightingale in the service of the Kingdom of Light Elves. And Crombert, who managed to escape from the castle during the chaos, went on to use his knowledge to establish an electrical system in the palace of the Wizard of Oz in the Emerald City.

THE END

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Don't Let's Start podcast

I haven't written on this particular blog in a few weeks. For that matter, I've only written sporadically on my WordPress. There have been several events in that time I feel are worth mentioning. My dad and his girlfriend were up in the city a few weeks ago, and we went with them to Burger Bistro and to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. My dad was interested in seeing our place, but it's still not really in an appropriate condition for guests. When the scope of something is overwhelming, it's difficult for me to even start. I mentioned before that, for Easter, Beth and I had dinner at her mom's house. I've finished drafts of a few new Oz stories. I feel I always have to specify "drafts," even though I sometimes don't do anything else with them, because I don't want to discount the editing process. If anyone wants to read them, let me know. One of them is a Super Mario Bros. crossover, an idea I had way back when there were only three main series Mario games. I like the idea of crossovers, but it can be really difficult to get two different fictional worlds to interact in a way that makes sense. More often, I tend to just sneak in brief references to other works I like, without really explaining them. I have ideas for a few more tales, but I don't know how long those will take me. And I made macaroni and cheese, which turned out to not have as much flavor as I'd hoped. I used cheddar and mozzarella cheeses. I guess I'm a bit of a cheese snob, in that I grew up on sharp cheddar, and stuff like American cheese and Velveeta just seem dull to me.

Yesterday, our friends Tavie and Sean got married, and had their reception at a place called Le Petit Café in Carroll Gardens. It's a nice place, but we were all packed in pretty tightly. There was no room to dance or kids to run around, which are things that often happen at wedding receptions. Beth wore a new dress, but while I did get a few pictures, none of them came out that well. You can see one of them on Facebook if you're interested. It's weird, because I always wonder why people don't want pictures of themselves on social media without screening them first. Then, when that happens to me, I'm like, "Okay, I get it now." For me, it's mostly because my hair doesn't behave. Speaking of marriage, Beth and I just recently saw a stand-up set by another guy we've known for a while, Matt, who is now a Daily Show writer, and he's also married now. We don't see him that much, but we have friends in common, so you'd think we would have known about that before. In my experience, marriage doesn't change much in the dynamic between couples. I mean, it's really just a bureaucratic thing, when you get down to it. But I think it totally affects how other people view you, "wife" or "husband" just sounding so much more serious than "girlfriend" or "boyfriend."

At one point, Tavie was talking about how her cat Neelix likes Sean better, and I mentioned how our Wally prefers Beth and Reagan prefers me. I've heard it was similar with my grandparents and their male and female cats. It's strange, but I don't think there's really anything to it on a grand scale. And when I lived with Beth's cousins Patti and Dorothea, they had a cat named Cracker whom they said preferred men. I know I got along well with him. I walked by a cat café earlier on Friday, and I've never been to one of those. I'm kind of afraid I'd want to adopt another cat, when we already have two who are on pricey medication.

Current Music: Don't Let's Start: A Podcast About They Might Be Giants, Episode 14

On Thursday, Beth and I went to the Imperial Theatre to see Ruben Studdard and Clay Aiken's Christmas show. It was fifteen years ago when they were finalists on American Idol, and we used to watch that together back then. It was kind of more fun when the people involved with the show weren't yet totally sure what they were doing. Anyway, the show was pretty cheesy, as you might expect; but still fun, and the two of them are still great singers. Much of it was in the style of a variety show, with jokes and skits between (and sometimes during) songs. In addition to the two of them, the cast was made up of five backing singers and dancers. It did get a little more serious in the second act, with recorded segments of Clay and Ruben getting sentimental about past Christmases. I didn't realize Ruben's brother had died; I remember him showing up quite a bit on set during Idol.

We'd been to the Night of Lights at Creamy Acres Dairy Farm with Beth's mom and uncle for the past two years, and we went again on Saturday night, even though it was raining a bit and the ground was muddy. It's pretty impressive what they can do with some of the displays, including many that switch on and off to create the illusion of movement. Some particularly notable ones were Santa Claus going fishing, riding a dinosaur, and shooting pretzels out of a cannon.

I really have to wonder where the idea for that last one came from. One minor complaint I have is that there was a tour guide on the wagon, but it was often difficult to hear her. She really should have had a microphone. The employees wore green elf outfits with peppermint buttons, and we saw some just like that at Target afterwards, so maybe that's where they got them.

One thing I forgot to mention in my last entry here that I probably should have was that I won an Alamo Drafthouse gift card at the Kevin Geeks Out show because I was the last person standing in the game determining if there were pictures online of various celebrities in Santa suits. I'm really surprised, actually, considering that I was eliminated from the same game on, like, the second person last year. I also wanted to say a little more about Tumblr, specifically that I wonder if there's going to be a mass exodus from there with the new guidelines. It's generally my medium of choice to post random interesting pictures I find online, but is it worth doing so if no one will see them? Well, it's not like it could hurt, I guess. I'm really more concerned about people seeing things I do myself. I know my Oz stories are going to have limited appeal, but sometimes I post about a new one on several different apps, and even people who might be interested don't see it. I'm working on a new Christmas-related Oz story, but there's a good chance I won't finish it before Christmas. Maybe I'll post it anyway, though; I'm always in a hurry to get feedback soon after finishing my first draft. Or should I just ask if anyone wants to see it, instead of making it a blog entry?

Current Mood: busy

We attended two events at the Alamo Drafthouse last week. On Thursday, we saw something from VCR Party, with Joe Pickett and Nick Prueher of the Found Footage Festival.

It was basically a collection of weird stuff found on old video tapes. There was sort of a Halloween theme, as with some discussions of Satanic panic, but there were unrelated bits as well. One home movie had a family singing songs from Phantom of the Opera, then footage of a house being demolished while someone yelled at the cameraman for no reason, apparently a common occurrence in Queens. A cheap but funny edit of a whelping video focused on how often they said "bitch," then they ran with that idea for one about horses and carriages (the repeated word there was "shaft"), and another about Dutch ovens. Another video was made by a guy who, by his own admission, stole a camera and microphone from a local CBS affiliate to tape a heavy metal concert. Then there were selections from really dull videos of a business meeting and training for church lectors.

On Friday, it was the latest Kevin Geeks Out, this time about shock rock, which is I guess is sort of a Halloween-related topic. One argued that Screamin' Jay Hawkins, the guy who originally sang "I Put a Spell on You," was the first shock rocker. He was a talented musician who came to embrace a witch doctor image. It was something white performers couldn't really imitate without coming across as really racist, but eventually they came up with the idea of spooky theatricality without the African tribal associations. And we saw footage of Hawkins meeting Emo Philips on Arsenio Hall. Tenebrous Kate, who had discussed a ridiculously noisy Japanese punk band at an earlier show, this time talked about the death rock band Radio Werewolf, who mixed Nazi imagery with other tasteless subjects. Another presentation focused on the band Impaler, whose lead singer had sort of an ongoing feud with some preachers of the "music is corrupting the youth" ilk. He pointed out how hypocritical they were, and as if to prove it, they paid him to appear in a promotional picture for one of their sermons or something. There was a bit of a chat with the guy who wrote the Scooby-Doo/KISS crossover; and a cut-down version of Turbulence 3: Heavy Metal, a movie about a fictional Marilyn Manson rip-off called Slade Craven who had to land a plane. The edits concentrated on how many times people in the film said Craven's name. I'm still not sure what we're doing on Halloween itself, although Beth is considering going to see the new Halloween movie. We've watched a few sorta-horror movies recently, and I should be writing some reviews soon.

I enjoyed Nadia Oxford's look back at a Super Mario Bros. 3 fanfic she wrote when she was ten. I think I'm in much the same boat (Doomship?) in being heavily influenced by the Mario cartoons. They were not, strictly speaking, good; but they contributed to how I thought and still do think about the workings of the Mushroom World. I'm still pretty intent on Mario and Luigi coming from Brooklyn, even if it's canon that they were at least born in the Mushroom Kingdom. I've never written a complete Mario fanfic, although I remember starting one when I was in junior high, and I've had a Mario/Oz crossover in the works since about that time as well. I'm not really sure the Mario universe lends itself that well to prose, though. Speaking of which, I've been checking out the work of Nintendrawer on DeviantArt, who's been doing Mario fanart for over a decade. She's done a comic retelling of the original SMB (which hasn't been completed), a story with the Marios' and Princess Daisy's parents, and some stuff with Mario and Luigi's own kids. And yes, there are some references to the cartoons and other spin-off media.

My last temp job ended at the end of September, and while I had plenty of warning, it had been extended so many times before that I'm kind of surprised it wasn't again. It was actually pretty good timing, as I was focused on moving around then. Today, I started doing essentially the same job in Brooklyn instead of Manhattan. I worked with one of those computers with two monitors for the first time, since I was copying information from one application into another.

Current Music: The Chronicles of Oz, Season 2, Episode 3

In honor of the ninetieth anniversary of Ruth Plumly Thompson's The Giant Horse of Oz, I started working on a story about Benny, the living statue. His back story was very rushed, so I wanted to expand upon it a bit, and hopefully make it somewhat more logical, if still rather convoluted. I'd also written about the warring Zurgors and Gurzors in an earlier story, and decided to use them again here. My original goal was to have this tale ready in time for this year's OzCon, but instead I ended up submitting one I'd started years ago but only just finished recently, "The Giant Weasel of Oz." It ended up winning second place in the fiction contest. I'm wondering if I should post that one as well, but for now here's the Benny story. Any feedback is welcome.

THE PUBLIC BENEFACTOR OF OZ

By Nathan M. DeHoff

“I’ll admit, Benny, I’m still a little confused by how you came to life,” said Dorothy. She was currently sitting at a table in the Scarecrow’s corn-shaped mansion, accompanied by the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, and a living statue named Benny. The last of these had mysteriously arrived in Oz from Boston some years previously, and claimed to be the statue of a great public benefactor.

“I’ve told you all I know,” stated the statue. “A man brought me to life with something he read from a book, but he didn’t seem to know that’s what would happen, as he ran away. Then I fell into a hole and ended up outside the Emerald City.”

“I’d sure like to read what was in that book. I mean, if it could bring you to life without any powder or anything, it must have been really powerful.”

“And probably dangerous,” added the Scarecrow. “I wonder if it would still be in Boston.”

“I have no way of knowing,” admitted Benny. “The man threw it into some bushes when he ran off.”

“It’s very curious. I mean, Nick was a meat person before he had his parts replaced with tin, and the Scarecrow had sort of a transferred spirit,” said Dorothy.

“Dr. Pipt did think he recognized traces of the Powder of Life on my body, but he wasn’t quite sure,” said the straw man.

“Scraps, the Glass Cat, Jack Pumpkinhead, the Sawhorse, and the Gump were all brought to life with the powder. Prob’ly some others I can’t remember now, too.”

“That phonograph, Victor Columbia Edison.”

“Right.”

“And Glinda and the Wizard think there was some powder involved in bringing the houses in the Emerald City to life,” put in Nick Chopper.

“Oh, yes. They’re mostly quiet now, though. Leon the Neon and Flicker were meat people first, too. And I brought Humpy to life with sand from the Wish Way.”

“Then could wishing sand be used to bring anything to life?”

“Don’t ask me! I’ve only ever been there by accident. Even when Ozma and I tried going back to where I remembered it being before, it wasn’t there. Of course, there are a lot of communities around Oz where we still don’t know how they’re alive. I know Bunbury and the Cuttenclips were Glinda’s work.”

“The Loons looked to be made of rubber, and I don’t know how they came to life,” said the Scarecrow.

“Yes, and so was the Rubber Band, and those rubber dolls who live in the Gillikin Country. Squee Gees, I think they’re called? And that bear who lives with John Dough. And he was brought to life by an Arabian elixir, right?”

“And the last of it, if I recall correctly.”

“Wasn’t there another living statue in Oz?” inquired Benny.

“The giant one who tried to turn the Cowardly Lion to stone. That was also the Powder of Life, or something a lot like it.”

“What about the Lavender Bear?” asked the Tin Woodman.

“I think he and his subjects were created by fairies. I guess that could be true of other places, too. Benny, the man who read that book wasn’t a fairy, was he?”

“I’d never heard of fairies when it happened, but from the ones I’ve met after that, I can’t say he looked like one,” answered the statue.

The Scarecrow was about to say something, when a loud clanking noise came from outside. The four friends ran out of the building to see a metal device come to a landing.

“It’s an airship, but not an Ozoplane,” said Dorothy.

“It looks quite rickety,” observed the Tin Woodman. “Fairly sleek design, but in bad repair.”

A hatch opened, and three men emerged. They were tall, with gray skin, and wore gray jackets and pants with thick boots. When they saw Benny, one of them exclaimed, “It’s you!”, and all three began bowing to the statue.

“Well, I’m certainly myself, but I’m not sure who you think I am,” stated Benny.

“Why, the great General who led our forces to victory!”

“I’m pretty sure I never did that. Nick here led an army before. Maybe you’re looking for him?”

“You DO appear to have a different body. Rather harder material, it looks like,” said one of the other men.

“The prophecy said he’d come back in a different but recognizable form, you know,” declared the third man, who had a long beard.

“Well, THIS sounds familiar,” muttered Nick to the Scarecrow.

“Believe me, Benny, you don’t want to get mixed up with past lives,” stated the straw man. “I didn’t much care for being Emperor of the Silver Island.”

“Benny? Is that any way to address the General Benvolio?” asked the first stranger.

“I didn’t know I HAD another name,” stated Benny. “I got my name because I’m the statue of a great public benefactor in Boston.”

“That’s in the Outside World, in the United States,” explained Dorothy.

“Never heard of it,” said the second stranger.

“You see, he can’t be your General, because he’s from Boston.”

“I see no contradiction,” declared the third gray man. “When the General disappeared, he must have somehow arrived in this Boston place, and been turned into a statue.”

“Wouldn’t I remember having been human before?” questioned Benny. “Nick does.”

“But I don’t,” said the Scarecrow. “So it’s possible, but I don’t know why anyone would want to be a general in…where did you say you were from again?”

“The nation of…Zurgoria,” said the second man, with a groan. “Gurzoria by rights, but the Zurgors are in charge now.”

“You were the one destined to conquer the Zurgors and take back our rightful place as rulers of the country,” put in the third man.

“But I don’t know how to be a military leader,” objected Benny.

“Oh, it will come back to you eventually,” declared the second gray man. “You were one of our finest guerilla leaders.”

“Are you saying Benny was an APE?” questioned Dorothy.

“No, I think he means someone who keeps his troops hidden in battle, so as to take the enemy by surprise,” explained the Scarecrow.

“But isn’t the whole point of an army to look impressive?” asked Nick, obviously confused.

“Look, enough of this!” shouted the first man. “Let’s get him into the plane and back home!” And with that, the three men grabbed the statue, who immediately swung his arm and knocked them over. As they were getting up, a claw emerged from the airplane and grabbed Benny, who unsuccessfully struggled to get away. The three men crawled on board as well, and the craft took off with no runway, flying straight up.

“I wonder what it runs on,” said the Tin Woodman. “There isn’t any balloon, like with the Ozoplanes.”

“No time for that now!” shouted the Scarecrow, running back into his home. He emerged with a small rug with a Persian-style design of yellow, blue, green, purple, and red; and called to Dorothy and Nick to get on. He then yelled, “Follow that airship!”, and the carpet soared into the air and toward the west.

“Where did you get a flying carpet?” asked Dorothy.

“Ozma gave it to me. It used to belong to her great-grandfather, back in ancient times.”

The rug pursued the plane over the Winkie Country, then the Deadly Desert, the Land of Ev, and the great Nonestic Ocean. “I figured they were from outside Oz,” said the Scarecrow, “but not off the continent entirely.”

“I must say that plane can fly quite fast for being so rickety,” observed Nick. “I suppose it’s some sort of jet.”

“Benny and the jet, eh?”

After flying across the ocean for about an hour, the airplane and the carpet finally reached land, which the Scarecrow said, “Doesn’t look like Ot’samaland, does it?”

“I think Ozma said there was another cont’nent to the west, but I don’t know much about it,” admitted Dorothy. “I think it’s where Handy Mandy’s sister comes from.”

The land where the Ozites now found themselves was largely forested, with patches of tall grass in between. As the plane began to descend, the Tin Woodman called out, “We’re under attack!”

Sure enough, a cannon was aimed straight at the carpet. In order to avoid the cannonball, the Scarecrow steered the rug toward a nearby stone castle with high turrets. They came in for a landing in the courtyard, where a group of gray-skinned people with spears rushed out and surrounded them. They were followed by a tall woman, who exclaimed, “You’re not Gurzors!”

“Why would you even think we were?” asked Dorothy.

“Because those lowlifes are always attacking the castle. Well, if you’re not Gurzors, then you might as well swear your undying loyalty to Roz, Great Leader of the Zurgors and the Nation of Zurgoria.”

“We can’t do that. We already have a ruler.”

“I’m an Emperor,” declared Nick proudly, “and Dorothy here is a Princess. We’re loyal subjects of Ozma of Oz.”

“Wait, this Ozma of Oz is more powerful than an Emperor?” inquired one of the guards.

“We’re a bit loose with the titles in Oz,” admitted the Scarecrow, “but all of us respect the rule of Ozma.”

“Have you ever heard of this Oz?” questioned the tall woman.

“It’s one of the countries on the east side of the ocean,” declared a small man in a tall hat, who emerged from behind a door. “An enchanted fairyland, if I recall correctly.”

“Oh, one of THOSE places. All lollipop trees and eternal sunshine and lions and lambs living together in harmony.”

“Oh, we don’t have eternal sunshine,” returned the Tin Woodman. “It still rains, much to my chagrin. Of course, if it weren’t for the rain, none of our beautiful flowers would grow. Or the lollipop trees, for that matter.”

“Wait, there really ARE lollipop trees?”

“They have them in the Candy Country in the Gillikin Country,” answered Dorothy. “And lions and lambs don’t always get along, but some of them are friends. The Cowardly Lion gets on with Lambert. ‘Course, he IS ‘ceptionally gentle for a lion.”

“So is this a non-magical country?” inquired the Scarecrow.

“Oh, we have magic, but only for practical purposes,” stated the short man.

“Lollipop trees aren’t practical?” objected Nick.

“I suppose there might be situations when they would be. Too sweet for my taste, though. Now, a mutton tree might be nice.”

“Why? The Gurzors would just burn it down,” said one of the guards.

“So what are we going to do with these strangers?” asked the woman.

Before anyone could answer, a man in armor came running into the courtyard, yelling, “The Gurzors are attacking!”

A group of other gray man came marching toward the castle, holding pitchforks and torches. They began surrounding the building.

“Pitchforks and torches? Aren’t those a little primitive?” questioned Nick.

“Speak for yourself!” shuddered the Scarecrow. “Those torches could reduce me to a pile of ash!”

“Not from in here, though,” said Dorothy.

Just then, however, the invading army waved their pitchforks, firing beams of light, while the torches threw flame toward the narrow windows. The inhabitants backed away and began preparing to retaliate. When the Tin Woodman noticed a few men placing a ladder against a wall, he alerted the Leader to this fact, and Roz commanded, “Prepare the boiling oil!”

“But oil is no good when it’s too hot!” objected Nick.

“It is for repelling invaders,” explained another one of the Zurgors. “You don’t seem to have much military experience.”

“I DID lead the Army of Oz in the mission to rescue the Royal Family of Ev!”

“Yes, but—” began the Scarecrow, before the Tin Man raised a finger to his mouth.

A loud thumping at the door indicated that some of the Gurzors were using a battering ram. They succeeded on smashing it in, and one soldier shot some fire toward the Scarecrow, but the Tin Woodman promptly stepped in front of it. He then used his axe to chop up the weapons of the nearby invaders, causing them to retreat. Although he was hit with a few light beams, they did nothing to slow him down.

“Wow! Fireproof AND laser-proof! We might have to sign him up as a mercenary,” advised a Zurgor officer.

“Well, technically, but they really did a number on my finish,” said Nick, as he examined his body. Still, he and the Scarecrow both agreed to sign up as mercenaries, swearing to a large, hairy man who did not have gray skin to pledge allegiance to “the Gurzors…um, I mean the Zurgors,” as long as there was money in it.

“They’re coming back!” exclaimed Dorothy.

“Come with me and man the cannons!” shouted an officer.

“I hope we’re getting paid extra for this,” said the mercenary commander.

The Ozites joined several of the Zurgors and mercenaries in climbing the steps of a tower, where a cannon was situated. After the cannon was aimed and the fuse lit, it fired out some artillery shells, which landed on a few of the Gurzors and trapped them inside what appeared to be giant seashells.

“They’re not going to die, are they?” questioned Nick Chopper.

“No, more’s the pity,” replied the officer.

“Well, that’s good.”

“Who invented these weapons, anyway?” asked the Scarecrow.

“They’re sold to us by the Ristillians,” stated the officer.

“And what about the Gurzors’ pitchforks and torches?”

“Probably also the Ristillians. There aren’t a whole lot of other military suppliers in the area.”

“So the Ristillians are the only ones profiting from this war?”

“We don’t need profit! We fight for glory and honor!” shouted the officer, as he stormed off in a huff. One of the mercenaries, however, winked and quietly said, “That’s pretty much the all of it. I’m Ristillian myself, y’know, and we’re always looking for opportunities for profit.”

“So how do they have the money to pay for all of this?”

“I wish I knew! They seem to have a lot of mineral wealth, but you never see anyone mining it.”

*******************************************************************************************

The rattle of the plane had prevented Benny from talking to his captors, and when they had landed, a group of people surrounded him and began asking questions before he could. “Is this really him?” “It certainly LOOKS like Benvolio!” “He even has the mark in the right place.” “How did you find him?”

“So who do you think I am?” questioned Benny, as soon as the commotion had died down.

“Benovolio, the guerilla leader of the Gurzor Resistance,” explained one man.

“But how can that be, when I’m the statue of a public benefactor?”

“Look, I don’t know much about magic, but the wizard we hired said he’d bring you back in some form, and you look exactly like Benvolio.”

“And what’s this about the mark on my face?”

“You mean he doesn’t know?” asked one of the bystanders.

“Why would he? He’s obviously lost his memory,” said the man who was answering Benny’s questions. “You see, all Gurzors have a mole on the left sides of their noses, and all Zurgors on the right side. In this case, the right side is not the correct one.”

“What if they have a wart on their nose and a cleaver in their neck?” asked Benny, who was thinking of a resident of the Isle of Phreex he had heard of. The man was confused by this, and simply replied, “Then he’d be dead, wouldn’t he?”

“I always wondered if the mole was just a mistake by my sculptor.”

“No, and they even gave you the right color skin.”

“Yes, but that’s just the color of granite, isn’t it? Are you Nomes?”

“No, we’re Gurzors, but we DO have an affinity for minerals, so maybe we’re distantly related. I am Maz, Prince of the Gurzors, at your service.”

“So why have you brought me here?”

“To fight the Zurgors, the fiends who have taken over this land!”

“And why can’t you just share it?”

“SHARE? Share with those right-moled monsters?” There was a muttering in the crowd after this. “If you hadn’t lost your memory, that could be considered blasphemy.”

“How do you know I’ve lost my memory? I was carved to be the statue of a person, a great public benefactor in the city of Boston. Are you sure he’s not the one you’re looking for?”

“Oh, he probably was, but his spirit has entered into you. Something like that, anyway. As I said, I’m not an expert on magic.”

Not knowing what else to do, the statue joined the Gurzors on their march to the Zurgors’ castle. On the way, his companions filled him in on his past exploits, the general history of the country, and the weapons they had purchased from the Ristillians. You have already read about the attack, which ended up not going so well. After the Gurzors were forced to retreat, one of them said, “Well, Ben, YOU’RE the great guerilla leader, so maybe YOU have some ideas?”

“Look, don’t be too hard on him,” said another. “He’ll come to his senses eventually.”

“I certainly hope not,” muttered Benny. Then, out loud, he said, “What if I go into the Zurgors’ castle to investigate it?

“And how do you plan to get in? Some transportation magic from the magical land of Ozton?”

“No, Oz and Boston are two different places. Very different, in fact. But the Zurgors don’t know I’m alive. If I just pose as an ordinary statue, a gift from a surrendering enemy, I should be able to get in.”

“I don’t know,” said another Gurzor. “They’ll probably be wary of Gurzors bearing gifts. Still, it’s worth a try.”

So Benny stood perfectly still, holding a white flag and with a note attached to his chest that read, “Please take this statue as a token of our surrender.” The Zurgors were indeed suspicious, but when Roz said, “It’s not like they could fit their army inside of one statue,” they brought him in and placed him in a supply room. As Nick Chopper noticed this, he quickly brought Dorothy and the Scarecrow into the room.

“Benny!” whispered the Scarecrow. “How did you get in here?”

“Oh, I just used a trick from that story about the giant wooden horse.”

“There’s a bigger version of the Sawhorse?” asked the Tin Woodman.

“No, this was in Troy, back in the age of myth,” explained Dorothy.

“Anyway, the Gurzors think I’m their leader in a new body, and this was the only way I could think of to get away with them. I wondered if the Zurgors would be able to see reason.”

“From what we’ve seen of them, not at all,” said Nick sadly. “I’ve tried to reach out to them, but they insist on fighting.”

“If only we could get to the carpet, at least we could get out of here,” observed the Scarecrow. “But they’ve locked it up in a vault.”

“Maybe if you could convince them it’s vital to the war effort?” suggested Benny.

*******************************************************************************************

In the Emerald City, the Wizard of Oz ran into Betsy Bobbin, Trot, and the Patchwork Girl, who were playing ozball outside the palace. When they noticed him, Betsy asked, “Wizard, wasn’t Dorothy supposed to be back today?”

“And the Scarecrow, too!” added Scraps. “You need more players to really get a good ozball game going.”

“I think they were, at that,” replied the Wizard. “Maybe we should check on them in the Magic Picture.”

The three girls followed the magician inside the palace and to Ozma’s sitting room, where the Picture, set in a greenwood frame, hung on a wall between a curtain. A command to this magical device to show Dorothy revealed that she, along with the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, and several gray-skinned men were inside a castle that appeared to be under siege.

“Looks dangerous,” observed Scraps. “Where is that, anyway?”

“It doesn’t look like anywhere in Oz,” said Trot.

“You know, those people look a lot like statues, but don’t move like them,” stated Betsy.

“Yes, sort of like Benny, except they all seem to have the mole on the other side of their noses.”

When the Wizard ordered the Picture to show the outside of the castle, Trot suddenly cried out, “Wait, that one IS Benny!”

“Are you sure? I don’t think any of them are really statues.”

“That one is! Just look at how stiffly he moves.”

“I believe this calls for more investigation,” stated the Wizard, who then rushed across the hall to his laboratory and into the elevator to his tower room, closely followed by the girls. Scraps flopped down on the floor, while the human girls sat in chairs that walked up to them. After a bit of fussing around with his Tattlescope, Searchlight, and Question Box, the magician said, “It looks like they’re in Zurgoria, a country on the other side of the Nonestic Ocean. The Box also says that Benny has come home, but it’s often cryptic.”

“Come home? I thought he was from Boston, not Zurg-whatever,” wondered Trot aloud. “He’s the statue of a public benefactor who was brought to life from a spell in a book, or something.”

“I’ve always wondered about that. It’s difficult to bring life with nothing but words, except possibly for a fairy.”

“There wasn’t any Powder of Life involved?” questioned Scraps.

“I don’t think so. There are other ways to bring things to life, but they generally all involve some sort of physical property. Let me see.” Taking a volume from a nearby bookshelf, the Wizard paged through it and said, “According to the Royal History, this Irishman who owned a second-hand shop just read from a small leather book, and the statue came to life. Even if it was just the words that did it, what are the chances he would have opened it to the right page?”

“Maybe the book turned there itself,” suggested Betsy.

“That’s not impossible, but it would still be an amazing coincidence. I have to wonder where the Royal Historians got their information.”

“Wasn’t it from Shaggy’s radio telegraph?”

“Some of it, yes, but they sometimes seem to have access to information that even Ozma and Glinda don’t.”

“Or they just make it up,” suggested the Patchwork Girl.

“That’s possible, but they’ve been known to show uncanny knowledge of things none of us knew before.”

“Like how you were a tyrannical dictator and the Wicked Witch of the West your daughter?”

“I know what you’re talking about, but that wasn’t by a royally sanctioned historian. I hear they made it into a musical, by the way. That might be interesting to see, as long as no one in the audience knows the villain was loosely based on me.”

“So where was the book from?” inquired Betsy.

“I haven’t seen anything about that.” The Wizard continued to read, and observed, “The Historian really doesn’t seem to think much of this Irishman, Danny. I’m mostly Irish, you know. Ah, here we are. ‘The owner of Danny’s dress suit must have been a powerful magician to bring this cold statue to life.’ She apparently didn’t have an actual source on that, though. It just looks like an assumption. Earlier he’s called…er, let me see…’a dusky gentleman in Grant Street.’ From Africa, perhaps? Or India?”

“No, dusky because he’s one of the Wizards of Dusk,” said a mysterious, deep voice from the other side of the room. Looking over there, the Ozites noticed a man whose skin really was dusk-colored, and who wore a gray sweatshirt and pants. “Ah, it’s good to be back in an uncivilized land again! That transportation takes a lot out of you.” And with that, the stranger collapsed on a table and immediately fell asleep. The table promptly shook the man off, and he woke as he landed on the floor. “I’m sorry. It was rude of me to use your furniture in that way.”

“I don’t really mind, but I don’t think the table likes it. So who are you, and how did you get into my tower?”

“Teleportation, naturally. Or unnaturally, as the case may be. My name is Twilor, and I’m one of the Wizards of Dusk from the west coast of the continent of Boomdeeay, not far from the estuary of the River Dee.”

“So you’re wizards of the coast?” inquired Scraps.

“I suppose so, but so are the Wizards of Dawn on the east side of the continent. There’s a bit of a rivalry between us.”

“Like the Sunrise and Sunset Tribes on Sky Island,” said Trot.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been to Sky Island, as far as I can remember.”

“So why teleport here?” inquired Betsy.

“It wasn’t really by choice. I can never be totally sure where I end up, although it’s often in some concentration of magical power. Not too many of them in the United States, mind you.”

“The United States! That’s where we’re from!” exclaimed Trot. “Well, not Scraps, of course.”

“Yes, I’ve been there for some time, transporting myself from one place to another, but none of them were fairylands.”

“How did you end up there in the first place?” questioned the Wizard of Oz.

“That was the result of a commission by the Gurzor leader Maz.”

“Gurzor? Isn’t that where Benny is?” asked Betsy.

“Zurgoria, I think,” corrected the Wizard.

“They’re from the same country,” explained Twilor. “The Zurgors and Gurzors have been at war for centuries, and the Zurgors currently have the upper hand.”

“What are they fighting about?” asked Trot.

“Nobody really knows anymore.”

“So they’re like you and the Wizards of Dawn?” questioned Scraps.

“There was a time when our tribes were at war, but now it’s more of a friendly rivalry. Not so with the Zurgors and Gurzors. Anyway, one of the Dawn Wizards had been paid by the Zurgors to get rid of one of the Gurzors’ top generals.”

“To kill him?” asked Trot.

“No, our magic isn’t used for killing. It turns out he was transported right out of the known world, into your United States. So I went there to bring him back. It turns out he’d had a lot of precious minerals from Zurgoria when he left, so he was able to become a public benefactor in the land of Massachusetts. But I didn’t find that out until much later, due to how many teleportations it took me to get there.”

“Maybe your magic is local instead of express,” suggested the Wizard.

“That could be. But anyway, by the time I got to this Boston place, the general had died. Fortunately, I have skill in necromancy.”

“So you brought him back to life?” asked Trot. “Was he a walking rotten corpse?”

“Oh, no, it doesn’t work that way. Instead, I was able to return the spirit to a likeness of the person. Since there was a statue made of the general, I thought it would be simple. But after I got there, I needed some money to get food, so I sold my suit. And it turns out my book of spells was still in there.”

“Then the statue must have been Benny!”

“Yes, his name was Benvolio, if I recall correctly. I had even come up with a way to transport him back to fairyland. I found the book in the bushes, but the statue had disappeared, and so had my transportation. I suppose the salesman I sold the suit to must have done the spell without knowing.”

“And then he ended up here in Oz.”

“Oh, so this is Oz? I’ve been here before, but that must have been years ago. Someone named Klestro wanted me to bring back the king.”

“Klestro? I knew him back in Morrow!” exclaimed the Wizard.

“Yes, Morrow. Definitely sounds like a place more fit for a Dawn Wizard than a Dusk one, but it’s where I ended up. I was able to make a stuffed figure of the king, but there was fairy magic mixed up in it, so my spell wouldn’t work. I’m not sure where it ended up, but I think the magic formula was written on it.”

“That must have been Pastoria, Ozma’s father!” said Betsy. “He’s actually living here in the Emerald City now, and so is the dummy. They have a tailor shop together.”

“Wait, the dummy came to life separately? I suppose that’s what happens when the fairies get involved.”

“Well, if Benny’s in Zurgoria, we have to get him back,” said Trot.

“Not to mention Dorothy, the Scarecrow, and Nick,” added Scraps.

“I’d do it, but I’m low on power right now,” stated Twilor.

“We can be there in a flash with my Ambassa-Door,” said the Wizard. With that, he led the way to a door that he opened, transporting everyone in the room into Roz’s castle. People were hurrying past, and one of them turned out to be the Scarecrow, who lost his balance and fell over upon seeing his friends, dropping a carpet in the process.

“Scarecrow!” called Scraps.

“Scraps? And Betsy, Trot, and the Wizard!” exclaimed the straw man.

“We’ve come to get you out of here. Where are Nick, Benny, and Dorothy?”

“They’re placating bombs.”

“What do you mean, placating bombs?” asked Betsy.

As if in answer to her question, the Tin Woodman walked into the hall holding a small, red, furry creature with sharp teeth. “This is one of the Gurzors’ bombs. They can be quite dangerous, but will calm down when shown affection.”

“The only problem is, with the aerial bombardment, we can’t get our carpet in the air,” added the Scarecrow.

“Well, we can leave with the Ambassa-Door,” stated the Wizard. “Let’s just get the others and go.” Searching a few halls found Dorothy surrounded by bomb-animals, many of which had rolled over and exposed their bellies. Meanwhile, Nick and Twilor made their way to the storeroom where Benny was still waiting. As the Ozites were rushing back to the Ambassa-Door, they suddenly ran right into Roz.

“Oh, so you’re still here, unlike those other cowards?” asked the Leader. “It’s time we took this fight to the Gurzors.”

“Now, look here, Mr. Roz,” said Dorothy. “We’ve helped you to defend your castle, but we don’t approve of your killing anybody. Besides, you should be able to share this land with the Gurzors, and end this fighting.”

“End the fighting? But it’s what we’ve been doing my whole life! I don’t know if I can even handle a peaceful life! Besides, the Gurzors will never go for it.”

“You have that right, which is about the only thing you ever have other than that ugly mole!” shouted another man, who rushed over to the Leader. It turned out to be Maz, Prince of the Gurzors.

“How did you get into my castle, Your Leftness?” demanded Roz.

“Through the air,” answered Maz, showing his parachute. “I don’t intend to stay, but you have our General Benvolio as a prisoner here!”

“What? The only thing we have from you is a statue.”

“That’s him! Don’t play dumb with me.”

“Who’s playing?” asked Roz. Upon realizing what he said, he corrected himself with, “If your general is in here, it’s no doing of mine.”

“It’s all right,” said Benny, as he turned a corner accompanied by Nick and Twilor. “I’m about to leave with my friends.”

“So you HAVE remembered us?” inquired Maz.

“No, I mean my friends from Oz. I’ve had enough of this warfare, and think you should learn to get along.”

“I see your transformation has made you soft.”

“If there’s one thing I’m not, it’s soft,” said Benny, clapping a stone hand onto his chest. “I have learned compassion, though, and you two both seem to be lacking in that respect.”

“There must be something we can do to stop them from fighting,” advised Trot.

“Maybe you should switch their moles to the other sides of their faces,” suggested Scraps.

“It’s been tried before,” said Twilor sadly. “They just ended up fighting both each other AND themselves.”

So the Ozites just left the two leaders arguing and worked their way to the Ambassa-Door, through which they entered the Wizard’s workshop. Upon arrival, the Scarecrow asked, “Can’t the Gurzors just track Benny down again?”

“Yes, but I doubt they’ll want to. I wasn’t much of a guerilla leader.”

“Probably not even a chimpanzee leader!” teased the Patchwork Girl.

“I have a spell that should make it more difficult for them,” said Twilor. “You may be the reincarnation of a Gurzor general, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be your own person.”

“That’s something I came to realize during my visit to the Silver Island,” observed the Scarecrow.

“Oh, were you also reincarnated? That might be worth examining. I can’t say I’ve ever been to the Silver Island, but maybe they have access to similar magic.”

After a bit of discussion of the Scarecrow’s past, Trot said, “We can’t just let the Zurgors and Gurzors keep fighting, can we?”

“There’s little we can do, since they don’t live in Oz, but we can certainly try to help them negotiate. I’ll talk it over with Ozma, and perhaps she can send an ambassador.”

“Like the one we traveled through?” asked Twilor.

“No, with only one O.”

“Well, I’m just glad to be back in Oz, where things are peaceful.”

“Not the Hoppers and Horners,” said Scraps, as she turned a somersault.

“Yes, but even they rarely hurt each other,” said the Scarecrow. “I don’t know that any place is totally free from conflict, but I’ve seen some other countries, and Oz is relatively quite peaceful.”

“There were always wars back in the Outside World,” said Trot.

“It may be the lot of humanity,” observed Benny.

“In that case,” said the Patchwork Girl, “it’s a good thing you and I aren’t really human.”

“Not anymore, at least,” put in the Tin Woodman.

THE END

Current Mood: hungry

Here's a Halloween-themed Oz story I wrote, largely inspired by Joe Bongiorno mentioning that he didn't like the Scares from Jack Pumpkinhead of Oz. I tried to give them a little more of a background and motivation, but you'll have to see whether I actually succeeded.

THE SCARES OF OZ

By Nathan M. DeHoff

The creature crouched in the woods, being careful not to step on any of the fallen leaves. He flexed the claws on his hands and took a look at the small group in front of him. It looked to be two stuffed people riding on a donkey, one male in form and stuffed with straw, and the other appearing to be a large rag doll with yarn hair. He pounced out at this group, howling and shrieking the whole time.

“Oh, my stars! You startled me there, young man. Be more careful next time,” scowled the donkey. The two stuffed people seemed totally unfazed.

“Young man? You don’t think I’m a perfect fright, then?” asked the creature.

“You’re a little scary, I suppose, but mostly kind of cute,” stated the rag doll. This being was mostly human in form, except with a hairy body partially covered by clothes with eyes on them, and claws on his hands and bare feet. He had three eyes, set in a circle, with what appeared to be bird beaks between them. The hair on the top of his head was slicked into a point. He had two ears similar to those of a cat, only bigger.

“Yes, I get that a lot,” sighed the monster. “It’s difficult to inspire fear when you’re cute, even if you are a Scare.”

“A Scare?”

“Yes, from Scare City.”

“Oh, yes,” said the straw man. “My friend Jack Pumpkinhead was there once. I understand you kept the Iffin prisoner.”

“If so, that was before my time, back in the days of plentiful fear, before the scarcity.”

“You mean it wasn’t called Scare City then?” questioned the rag doll.

“No, I mean scarcity, all one word. We live on fear.”

“You live on fear? With or without salt?” asked the donkey sarcastically.

“I can’t say I find eating fear any stranger than stuffing yourself with hay, as you do, Mr. Hank,” said the woman.

“I’m stuffed with hay. Well, straw, actually. There’s a distinct difference, but people call it hay anyway,” explained the man. “I don’t need it for energy, though, just to keep myself in shape.”

“Well, we live on fear, and it used to be easy to get. Whenever anyone wandered into the city, they’d either be scared stiff or turned into Fraid Cats. Then they’d remain and we’d feed on their fear. Then, the stories say, after a boy and a pumpkin man, maybe the friend you mentioned, arrived in town and swallowed everyone into a bag. We were released and sent back, but without any of our statues or Fraid Cats. We were able to gather up some more, and that’s when I grew up. Not that I was very good at scaring, but there was enough to go around.”

“Scaring and sharing, eh?”

“Yes. But eventually, we lost our power to transform people, and it was too easy for them to just leave again.”

“I’m sure that was Ozma’s doing. After all, we can’t have you being bad neighbors.”

“But that means we’ve all been going hungry. Many of us have had to leave town entirely and seek fear elsewhere. And there really isn’t a whole lot of it around. I occasionally manage to obtain some from students who have tests the next day or animals being chased, but it’s not as high quality. I even tried Flutterbudget Center, but that’s very cheap and empty fear.”

“I can see that would be a problem,” said the straw man, scratching his head as needles protruded from it.

“So are you friends of the Ruler of Oz?”

“Yes, I’m the Scarecrow, Her Majesty’s Chief Counselor. This is my good friend, Miss Scraps Patches. And the mule here is Hank.”

“Mule? I thought he was a donkey.”

“A mule is half horse and half donkey,” explained the animal. “I’m from the United States originally. When I first came here, I was the only mule, at least as far as I know. There have been some born since then, though.”

“We’re out here to find a present for our friend Betsy Bobbin, whose birthday is on the thirty-first,” said Scraps.

“That’s my dad’s birthday, too! He’s very proud of it, seeing as how it’s Halloween and all.”

“Yes, we’ve had some Halloween-themed parties for Betsy,” stated the Scarecrow. “We had a few masquerade balls.”

“Like the one where Scraps here managed to mix up everybody’s minds,” said the mule.

“Now, now, Hank! We’ve all made mistakes occasionally. And remember that year Betsy found her old doll and her parents?”

“And was almost trapped in a volcano with a giant silkworm, I hear.”

“Maybe we can find something for your pop, too,” suggested Scraps.

“We don’t really talk much anymore,” admitted the Scare. “It has to be embarrassing to be Chief Scarer and have a son who isn’t even scary. But I suppose you wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

“I know something about it,” said the Scarecrow. “I was made to scare crows, and was never able to.”

“Which is why he had the motivation to leave his plantation, take a change of occupation, and become ruler of the nation!” shouted the Patchwork Girl, leaping over Hank’s back as he did so.

“If there’s anyone scary here, it’s you, with your failure to sit still,” complained Hank.

“Did you really rule a country, Mr. Scarecrow?” asked the boy.

“Oh, yes. When the Wizard left for the first time, I was Ruler of Oz for a few years, before Ozma came back.”

“Don’t forget that you were also Emperor of the Silver Island and King of the Munchkins,” put in Scraps.

“And YOU were Queen of Patch, if I recall,” said Hank.

“Yes, but the less said about that, the better. For such a beautiful country, they sure don’t know how to treat a lady.”

“So what’s your name?” asked the Scarecrow.

“Nerverax, but you can just call me Rax,” answered the monster boy.

Rax joined the others in walking through the forest, which was showing autumn foliage. The Land of Oz has a very even climate where it never really gets cold, except in certain spots on high mountains or affected by localized magic. The trees still tend to lose their leaves, though, out of habit and because children like to play in them. After about an hour, the group came across a battalion of spoons marching through the forest, all carrying tiny guns.

“Halt in the name of the King of Utensia!” shouted the leader.

The travelers halted, and the Scarecrow said, “Why, if it isn’t Captain Dipp!”

“Oh, you’re Queen Ozma’s friends, aren’t you? What are you doing out here?”

“We’re looking for a gift for Betsy’s birthday,” explained the mule.

“I can’t say I know much about gifts. I suppose Betsy wouldn’t want any silver polish, would she?”

“I don’t think she’d have any use for it,” answered the Scarecrow.

“By the way, Dipp, why does your kingdom use spoons as soldiers instead of knives?” inquired Scraps.

“We did use knives once, but they quickly lost their edge.”

With that, the small party continued through the woods, eventually coming across a line of yellow tape marked, “CAUTION.”

“I think I see a house behind it,” stated Rax.

“Then I suppose someone named Caution must live there,” suggested Hank.

“No, this is the sort of tape the police put up when there’s been a crime,” said the Scarecrow.

“Well, we don’t want any criminals to bother us, do we?” asked Scraps.

“No, but the whole place is quiet. If there were actually an investigation going on, wouldn’t it much noisier?”

“Let’s just go through,” said Hank. “What could really happen to us regardless?”

The Patchwork Girl bent over backwards and performed a limbo move under the tape, while the others just ducked walked under it. The house was a fairly small one, rectangular in shape rather than the more common dome found throughout Oz. It was made of a dark brown substance that Scraps thought must be gingerbread, but Hank took a bite of it and declared it sour. Rax also took a bite, declaring it to be pumpernickel bread.

“Like the place in the Gillikin Country where Kabumpo lives?” asked the Patchwork Girl.

“No, it’s a variety of rye bread,” said Rax. “I’m not sure why anyone would build a house out of it, though.”

Hank banged his hoof on the door, which had a look of cracker about it, but received no answer. Scraps turned the knob and found that the door was unlocked, so the travelers walked inside, where they found a woman sitting at a chair. She wore a long red dress with a white gown and a peaked hat covering gray hair tied up in a bun. The woman was not moving, but simply staring straight ahead. Noticing a cauldron in the fireplace and jars of herbs on mantle shelves, Scraps called out, “She must be a witch!”

“What? What was that?” asked the woman, coming to her senses.

“Oh, so she’s alive after all!”

“Yes, I must have just been lost in thought. You wouldn’t happen to have seen my husband, have you?”

“Not that we know of, Miss Caution,” said Hank.

“Caution? No, my name is Bleakie.”

“Bleakie? That’s a lot like the name of a witch I encountered in Jinxland,” said the Scarecrow.

“You mean Blinkie? Yes, she’s my sister, although I haven’t been part of her coven in years. How many, I couldn’t say. My trance states can last for years sometimes. Anyway, my husband is the magician Jakgar. I haven’t seen him since he said he was going to the Gillikin Country to take care of Old Mombi.”

“Mombi? Why, that must have been ages ago!” observed Scraps.

“Not necessarily. She’s come back a few times since Sir Hokus and I melted her,” said the Scarecrow. “Once was as a painting that Jack Pumpkinhead made, and the other time was when the troll Tekrouri brought her back with a careless wish.”

“I haven’t heard of either of those, or of her being melted. I didn’t even think she was the sort of witch who could be,” said Bleakie. “She turned one of our friends into a copper-plated lobster, and Jakgar was insistent on stopping her once and for all.”

“Did he say where he was going?” asked Hank.

“To where she lived, presumably, but I don’t know where that was.”

“She’s lived in a few different places, as I recall,” stated the Scarecrow. “There was the farm where she brought up Ozma, but before that she lived in the hut that Tattypoo, I mean Orin, drove her out from. And after leaving the farm, she worked as a cook in Kimbaloo.”

“There was also the time when she was hit with Youthing Powder, and lived with the people with the giant flea,” put in Scraps.

“Yes, the Clambakes. I suppose we’d need to know around when this was.”

“I’ve never been much for keeping track of time,” said Bleakie, “but I know it was when the Wizard was ruling in the Emerald City.”

“Then that probably narrows it down to either the farm or Orin’s old hut.”

“I’ve tried to find him through a trance, but while I do know he’s still alive, I have no idea where.”

“Her old farm isn’t too far from here. It might be worth checking out.”

“Then I’ll come with you. I haven’t eaten in a long time, though, so I’d better have something before we go. Would any of you like anything?”

“Scraps and I don’t eat, and I think Nerverax lives on an intangible concept.”

“I’d like some oats if you have them, though,” said Hank.

Bleakie did have a box of oats, which fortunately had not gone bad, as it was affected by the same magic used to preserve the house itself. She then took pulled some bread from the wall, made a sandwich with salami from a window curtain, and spread on some mustard from a plant in the window.

“I know it’s more common for witches to have gingerbread houses, but I’ve never really liked sweets that much,” explained Bleakie.

“So you are a witch?” asked the Scarecrow.

“Yes, but it’s been a long time since I’ve practiced.”

When the witch and the mule had finished eating, the party left the house. On the way out, Nerverax remarked, “I think I’d like to make a model of your house, Mrs. Bleakie.”

“Oh? Do you make models?” asked Scraps.

“I used to. I’ve sort of fallen out of practice, but maybe I should start again.”

The party journeyed out of the woods and to the Yellow Brick Road. Scraps asked if they should stop by the Emerald City, but Hank advised not doing so, as they did not want Betsy to find out about their search for her present. So instead, they cut around the green territory toward the west, passing near to Jack Pumpkinhead’s house, which was abandoned at the time. No one was totally sure of the correct route to Mombi’s farm, but the Scarecrow remembered the general direction, leading the others over the plains of the Winkie Country and the overgrown fields near the Gillikin border, then skirting the forest where the Loons live. Once they had come back into more cultivated land, the straw man noticed a building with a sign reading, “CAT CAFÉ.”

“Even if I ate meat, I don’t think I’d want to eat cats,” said Nerverax.

“They used to eat them on the Silver Island,” stated the Scarecrow, in a disgusted tone.

“Are we sure that’s what it means?” asked Scraps. “In my experience, cats are more likely to be predators than prey.”

When the party checked out the building, they found that it was not a café where cats were eaten, but rather one where they were the staff and customers. Cats of all shapes and sizes milled around inside, some resting in the light from the windows, others scratching old furniture, and still others being scratched by posts with arms and hands. Bleakie immediately started petting the cats who would come up to her. A few cats were chasing mice that turned out to be made of yarn, but not alive like Scraps, just animated to a limited degree. When Scraps knelt down to get a closer look, some kittens began grabbing at her hair.

“Have I lived this long to become a cat toy?” inquired the Patchwork Girl.

“My apologies,” stated an old tabby cat. “They’re not used to living beings made of yarn. Am I correct in assuming that you’re the famous Patchwork Girl?”

“Right on the nose, kitty.”

“I’d still prefer real mice to these yarn ones,” said a white cat with purple patches.

“You know we can’t do that, Violetta,” said the tabby. “The mice have a powerful organization, after all. The mice allied themselves with the Queen before she even took the throne. The first cat to gain any significance during her reign was accused of eating one of her pets, hardly an auspicious start to things.”

“Well, she DID want to eat Ozma’s piglet,” said the Scarecrow.

“Yes, not an intelligent move, certainly, but instinct can be quite powerful, even when there are meat plants available. We cats are wired to hunt, after all.”

“I thought it was the mice that were wired,” said one of the kittens.

“It’s a metaphor, young Belissima. So, what brings you here?”

“We were looking for my husband Jakgar,” explained Bleakie. “He went off years ago to find Mombi, and never came back.”

“What did Jakgar look like?” asked a scrawny black cat who was eating from a plate of tuna fish.

“He was tall and thin, with short red hair, and stooped a bit when he walked.”

“Oh, I think I saw him before! I don’t know what happened to him, though. He came to the house and talked to Mombi, who shooed me away.”

“Did you live with Mombi, then?” asked Hank.

“Not all the time. There were a lot of strays who went to her house. At least, they did until she starting sending us away because she was stockpiling mice, and didn’t want us to bother them.”

“Was this her house at the farm?” inquired the Scarecrow.

“No, it was the other one, on the other side of the Mauve Mountains. She abandoned it after it exploded.”

“I’m not sure I’ve heard of that one. Do you remember the way there?”

“Oh, yes! The only problem would be getting over the mountains. There are a lot of monsters lurking there.”

“Lurking? They can’t even skulk like respectable monsters?” asked Rax.

“I believe there’s a new route through the mountains, Daniel,” said the old tabby.

“Very well, then. Come with me, and I’ll lead you to Mombi’s old house,” declared the black cat.

The mule, the Scarecrow, the Patchwork Girl, the witch, and the Scare followed the cat, who was a bit unsteady on his feet, but still moved rather quickly. The Scarecrow asked the feline, “So your name is Daniel, then?”

“It’s not my ineffable, effable name, but it’s what I go by. I lived in a lions’ den, you see.”

When they had reached the base of the nearby Mauve Mountains, Scraps asked, “So where’s this route through these mountains?”

“Are we sure there really is one?” inquired Hank.

“I don’t think Lord Leviticus would steer us wrong,” said Daniel.

“Oh, so you want to cross the mountains, do you?” laughed a booming, hearty voice. Around the corner stepped a giant with a bushy purple beard and three-cornered hat, dressed in a large kilt and belt with several pouches attached to it. “You’d be well advised to try my new bullet train.”

“Well, I suppose so,” said the Scarecrow, who was a little nervous, if not as much as you might think when faced with a giant. He had seen many in his time, and few of them ate straw anyway.

The giant pointed to a train near a dark tunnel through the side of a mountain, and directed the others to enter it. They did, all sitting in the seats, with Hank taking up two of them. The giant then lifted the train and placed it inside an enormous pistol he drew from a pouch, and fired it right through the tunnel. It moved along at an incredible speed, through a passage that was pretty much entirely dark except for the occasional glimpse of glowing pink slime or flaming eyes. Finally, it began to slow down and exited the other side, hitting a giant cloth target and knocking the passengers around. When Rax, Bleakie, and Hank had recovered, everyone left the train.

“When he said a bullet train, I didn’t know it would be so literal,” said the witch, whose head was still spinning from the trip.

“Well, it does appear that we’re close by Mombi’s old house,” observed the cat, sniffing the air and the ground.

This side of the mountains was heavily forested and dark, but Daniel somewhat nervously led the way, past trees on which eyeballs appeared to be growing. In a nearby clearing, the cat entered a maze of corn, which the Scarecrow said made him feel at home. He felt less so when a giant crow flew down and grabbed him, but the bird was quickly scared away when Daniel let out a roar like a lion.

“Thank you, but how did you manage that?” asked the Scarecrow, as he picked himself up and dusted himself off.

“I told you I lived in a lions’ den,” explained the cat. “Sometimes nurture can be just as good as nature.”

“I don’t think the Cowardly Lion could have done any better, Danny Boy,” said the Patchwork Girl.

When the group had reached the end of the maze, Bleakie screamed when she saw a purple tentacle emerge from the ground. She muttered something that sounded like “soul eater” and began to run. Other tentacles grabbed the feet of the Scarecrow and Patchwork Girl. Since the Scarecrow was, to the best of his knowledge, animated by the spirit of the late Emperor of the Silver Island, he wondered if this would be the end of his life. As it turned out, though, the tentacle only sucked up the bottoms of his boots with some little mouths, then went underground again.

“Oh, curses! They got me!” exclaimed the witch, as the tentacles ate the bottoms of her boots as well.

“So this monster only ate part of our shoes?” asked Scraps.

“Yes, they’re Sole Eaters. It’s too bad, too, as I don’t know that they even make shoes like these anymore.”

“It reminds me of when the Heelers attacked the Emerald City,” said the Scarecrow.

“The Heelers ate shoes?”

“Well, technically, they ate votes. It’s just that we were using shoes to vote.”

As the Scarecrow had nothing between his straw and boots, he rode on Hank’s back, along with the Patchwork Girl. Bleakie made her way as best she could in her stocking feet. As Rax and Daniel did not wear shoes, and Hank’s shoes did not have soles as such, they were unmolested by the creature. The party came out of the spooky woods into a field of tall grass, where a pumpkin-shaped cottage with no roof stood.

“That would be Mombi’s old house,” declared Daniel.

“Looks a lot like Jack Pumpkinhead’s,” said Scraps.

“Yes, but it doesn’t look to be made from an actual pumpkin,” stated the Scarecrow.

“Please be quiet for a second,” said Nerverax, as he sniffed the air. “I think there’s a large deposit of fear around here. Underground, perhaps?”

“Maybe the well has something to do with it,” suggested Bleakie, as she walked over to a nearby well and tried to draw up the bucket. It was very heavy, however. Daniel jumped up to the edge of the well and looked in, making sure not to fall in.

“There’s a man down there,” said the cat. “And I think it’s the same one you told me about earlier.”

“Jakgar? Jakgar is in the well?” And with that, the witch recklessly jumped in, landing right on top of her prostrate husband. The Patchwork Girl began running around frantically, and the Scarecrow sat down to think of a solution, but the witch and the magician floated out of the well.

“How long have I been asleep for?” asked Jakgar, whose hair was quite disheveled. “I had terrible nightmares down there. I think it must connect with some sort of fear stream.”

“So what happened to you?” inquired Bleakie.

“I tried to cast a spell on Mombi to put her to sleep, like Glinda did with the Wicked Witch of the South. It backfired somehow, though, and I put myself to sleep instead. She must have thrown me in the well after that.”

“Do you know if there’s any way to access the fear stream?” inquired Rax.

“I would imagine it’s possible, if we set up some kind of system. Why?”

“We Scares live on fear, and we’re not getting enough these days. Maybe this stream could solve our problems.”

“I don’t see why not. It might take a little doing, though. Would we have to reroute the stream?”

“Couldn’t you put it in bottles?” suggested Scraps.

“Interesting possibility. I’m not sure where we’d get the bottles, though.”

“You need bottles?” squawked a voice. And, as the Scarecrow ran into the roofless cottage, leaving wisps of straw behind, a giant crow descended from the sky. “There’s a bottlefield not far from here with a whole lot of them.”

“That would be very helpful, birdie, but why did you try to take the Scarecrow?” asked Scraps.

“You mean the great symbol of the oppression of our kind?”

“Oh, he hasn’t tried to scare a crow in years, and even when he did, it was just his job. He’s never had anything against crows in general.”

“Well, then I apologize. He can’t help being what he is any more than the rest of us.”

With that, the crow flew away again, soon returning with some others of his kind, all carrying bottles. Jakgar and Bleakie combined their powers to bring the fear out of the well and into the bottles, finally amassing quite a significant amount of them. Nerverax tried one and found it quite satisfying. At the magician’s request, the crows agreed to take everyone to Scare City. The Scarecrow had emerged from the house from this time, wearing another pair of boots without intact soles over his regular ones, and quickly made peace with the leader of the birds.

“So, did you really have a lion along?” asked the crow leader.

“No, that was me,” said Daniel, who was held in the talon of this crow, with the Scarecrow in the other.

“You have quite an impressive voice for such a small animal. It’s good for us there aren’t any giant cats.”

“There are in Catty Corners, but they’re nowhere near your size. Lord Leviticus thinks they might have gotten that way from magical catnip, although there’s also talk of giant cats living in Merryland.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever heard of catnip that causes growth, but I HAVE been asleep for a long time,” stated Jakgar. “I did once use magic to enlarge a tribe of Reddies. I wonder what happened to them.”

“My friend the Frogman ate some magic skosh that made him grow large,” said the Scarecrow, “but I believe it only grows on one mountain in the Winkie Country. And there are the magic muffins in the Hidden Valley, but they only work for a limited time.”

“Are any of you crows the one that frightened Tweedledum and Tweedledee?” questioned the Patchwork Girl.

“Not one of us, but perhaps one of our tribe,” answered the leader.

Taking a route as the crow flies (because they were), the birds soon alighted outside Scare City, a place of smoky air and cliffs lit by hundreds of goblin head lanterns. At the gate stood a six-foot-tall man with noses, eyes, and mouths all around his face.

“Nerverax? Is that you?” questioned the man, speaking with all of his mouths at once.

“Yes, Father,” responded the boy. “I have returned with a cure for our lack of fear.”

Jakgar handed the man a bottle, which he drank with his front mouth, while Scraps commented that Nerverax had his father’s eyes. When he had finished, the gatekeeper said, “This is the best early birthday present a Scare could ask for! Do you have any more of this?”

“Yes,” replied Bleakie, holding up several bottles, “and there’s plenty more where that came from.”

“Come with me to see the King!”

The group, not including the giant crows who remained outside, followed the Chief Scarer through the eerie, rocky city. When they had reached a courtyard, he blew a red whistle, and the King stepped out on top of a flat stone. This monarch had a human-shaped body, but with the eyes of a pig, the ears of a donkey, the beard of a goat, the mane of a lion, and a horn for a nose.

“Your Majesty,” said the Scarer, “my son and his friends have solved our hunger problem!”

“Oh, they have, have they?” asked the King, honking through his nose as he spoke. “Do they volunteer to serve as sacrifices?”

“Even better,” stated Rax. “The substance in these bottles is pure fear, and there’s enough to go around.”

“Fear from a bottle? What in monsternation is this? Is this why we were given our wonderfully horrendous forms and powers by the Witch Queen?”

“But we’ve lost much of that power,” argued the Chief Scarer, “and people aren’t all that scared of us anymore either.”

“Never!”

“Well, it sounds like a good idea to me,” said a woman with four clawed hands and white hair with black streaks in it. Soon, other Scares had gathered, forming two distinct groups, one for and one against the new means of obtaining sustenance. At a few blasts from the King’s nose, the two sides began battling, with the visitors helping out on the Chief Scarer’s side. Hank kicked a few of the opposing Scares, and the Patchwork Girl let loose with her fists, although they did not have much force behind them. The Scares, however, were much more used to frightening others and not to fighting, let alone doing so to each other. When most of the horrors had collapsed on the ground in exhaustion, Bleakie waved her arms and shouted five magic words. The King and the other Scares on his side promptly vanished.

“What did you do to them?” asked Nerverax.

“I sent them back to my old place in the forest,” explained the witch.

“What, that one house?”

“No, there’s plenty of room there for them, and it’s spooky enough for them. Jakgar and I talked it over, and we’re going to start living in Mombi’s old pumpkin house.”

“Without a roof?” inquired the Scarecrow.

“That won’t be a problem. If there’s one thing my magic is good at, it’s restoring things to previous states.”

“Like Oklahoma?” asked the mule.

“No, like a previous condition.”

The arrangements were soon made for Jakgar and Bleakie to stay at Mombi’s old cottage bottling fear, which the crows distributed to Scare City. The crows had become friendly with the Scarecrow, and asked him and the others to join them in a crow-kay game sometime. Not too much longer after that, King Harum Scarum sent a two-headed raven as a messenger to ask if his followers could also have some of the bottled fear, as they were tired of starving and ready to negotiate, and the magicians were glad to oblige. Some of the Scares who had been sent to the forest returned to the city; but others, including the ruler himself, liked the atmosphere and remained there.

“There’s nothing like a job well done,” remarked the Scarecrow, as he and Scraps rode on the mule’s back toward the Emerald City.

“Job well done? What do you mean? We never even found a present for Betsy,” declared Hank.

“Oh, right! Wasn’t that stupid of us?” asked the Patchwork Girl.

“Wait!” called Rax, running toward the mule and the stuffed people. “As a reward for saving Scare City, my father wanted you to have this.”

The boy handed the Scarecrow a small globe with a carving of Scare City inside. When shaken like a snow globe, the city lit up, and tiny Scares emerged from behind buildings.

“Who made this?” asked Scraps.

“I did, actually, years ago. My dad told me it was excellent work, but there was no real use for in the city itself, so he would give it to someone who did a great service for our community. I don’t know of anyone more deserving than you. The only problem is that it fell from a shelf and broke during one of our scaring sessions. So I had Jakgar restore it for you.”

“Well, I think this would make an excellent present for Betsy.”

“Then I suppose all’s well that ends well,” admitted Hank.

“And this one really did end with a well.”

THE END

REFERENCES

Donald Abbott’s How the Wizard Saved Oz for Mombi’s old pumpkin-shaped house and the Mauve Mountains. This book is difficult to fit into a larger sense of Ozian history due to a take on the situation with Mombi, Pastoria, the Wizard, and Ozma that does not square with the canon; but I still liked it, and perhaps some version of its events took place even if some parts have to be disregarded.

L. Frank Baum’s Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz for the trial of Dorothy’s kitten

Dot and Tot of Merryland for giant cats living in Merryland

Emerald City for Utensia and the Spoon Brigade

Lost Princess for the introduction of the Frogman and the magic skosh

Scarecrow for the Scarecrow’s meeting with Blinkie

Bill Campbell and Irwin Terry’s Masquerade for establishing Betsy’s birthday. It’s also the story where Scraps accidentally mixes up everyone’s minds during a masquerade.

Rachel Cosgrove’s Hidden Valley for the magic muffins

Chris Dulabone’s Dagmar for Mombi living with the Clambakes and their giant flea

Greg Gick et al’s Bucketheads for Tekrouri Troll bringing Mombi back.

Greg Hunter’s “Betsy Bobbin” tells how Betsy found her old doll and her parents.

Philip John Lewin’s Witch Queen for the story of the titular character and her creations

John R. Neill’s Lucky Bucky for Jack Pumpkinhead’s painting of Mombi coming to life and giant crows playing crow-kay

Wonder City for Heelers eating shoes and the Scarecrow as King of the Munchkins

Susan Saunders’ Dorothy and the Magic Belt for Mombi being youthened

Jack Snow’s Who’s Who for establishing the Chief Scarer’s birthday as Halloween

Ruth Plumly Thompson’s Giant Horse for the story of Tattypoo driving Mombi out of her old house

Gnome King for Scraps as Queen of Patch

Jack Pumpkinhead for the introduction of Scare City, as well as the Reddies Jakgar mentioned. Their story is told in my “Reddy and Willing.”

Lost King for Kimbaloo and Catty Corners. It’s also where the Scarecrow and Sir Hokus melt Mombi, or at least they think they do. See David Tai’s “Executive Decisions” for another possibility.

Royal Book for the Scarecrow as Emperor of the Silver Island

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Kim Boekbinder: The Forest

I haven't been able to come up with any post topics as of late, so instead I'm just doing a general overview of my recent life. I have watched a few movies that I'm sure I'll review at some point, but since my last WordPress post was a movie review, I've been holding off on that a bit. I'm in the process of reading a few different books, the sort of thing that bothers Beth, as she's the sort who just sticks to one book until she's finished. I did some editing to an Oz story I wrote twenty or so years ago, trying to bring it more in line with other stuff. I don't know that too many other writers care about that sort of thing, but I do. It sucks that some Oz material I'm aware of is pretty much impossible to find. I'm still doing my temporary administrative job, and I had jury duty but wasn't selected. I believe I've been called five times, once for each county I've lived in since after college, and never once been selected. Usually I'm not even questioned. I'm not even sure I'd terribly mind serving on a jury, although it's probably pretty boring, and when I'm on a temp assignment I'd obviously be missing out on money. But I remember learning about the court system back when I was a kid, and being rather fascinated by it. I don't think I realized at the time how slowly everything moves.

This past weekend, Beth and I went to visit her mom and uncle in New Jersey, and we took the cheaper but much more annoying bus that runs from Chinatown in Manhattan to the one in Philadelphia. We had tickets for 6, and by the time we got there the bus was full, and we had to wait for the next one. A Yelp review said that their tickets don't expire, so I guess they're not breaking any laws by overbooking, but it's still pretty shady. There have been a LOT of complaints about the company, and it's apparently been shut down and reopened several times. You get what you pay for, I guess, as Greyhound costs considerably more on weekends. I spent much of my time in South Jersey sleeping, but we also all went to a Christmas hayride in Mullica Hill. Basically, we rode in a wagon and looked at light displays, with a woman in an elf costume serving as the tour guide.

It was very cold that night, and yet the temperature went up to fifty degrees or so (Fahrenheit, that is) today. I think it was a polar vortex, or as Charlie Sheen would call it, a WINNING vortex. Remember that? Actually, I think Trump kind of stole his schtick of saying "winning" a lot, and now Sheen is probably going to be deported. Really, though it's such a bizarre mentality of regarding everything as a contest. But anyway, I drove back up to Brooklyn, and I keep forgetting to call E-ZPass about my non-working tag, so that meant paying cash for tolls. It also meant finding a parking space, which is practically impossible in our neighborhood. It's kind of cruel, really; I see what I think is a space, then it turns out to be next to a fire hydrant or somebody's driveway. I'm going to have to move it tomorrow night anyway, as they sweep the street where I parked it on Wednesday mornings. It's easier to find parking during the day, but, well, I'll be at work then.

I find that Christmas is kind of disappointing as an adult. The thing is, I don't even think I did all that much for the holiday as a kid, but I still look back at it nostalgically. There are childhood feelings you can never truly recapture as an adult, or at least I can't. I'm probably actually happier overall now than I was as a child, but holidays are kind of the exception. I still enjoy the season leading up to it, though. It can be frustrating, but everything is just so bright and festive. We're constantly told that it's the most wonderful time of the year, but I think there's kind of a paradox there. It's because it's a rather lousy time of year, at least here in the Northern Hemisphere, that we need a holiday season. Ultimately, many of the holidays held around the solstice are about a light in the darkness, hope when things kind of suck. Too bad it will be closely followed by an extinguishing of hope when Trump takes office.

Which reminds me of how bizarre it is when people who quite closely echo the beliefs of pre-haunted Ebenezer Scrooge now claim to love Christmas. Of course, they want to change it from a time of peace and joy to one of telling other people what to do. If you're going to get mad at anyone who doesn't use the exact holiday greeting you were hoping for, then I DON'T want you to be merry.

Current Mood: pessimistic
Current Music: The Puppini Sisters - Step Into Christmas | Powered by Last.fm

The temp job I've been doing since the beginning of March ends this week. I'm not sure what I'll be doing after that, although I do have plans to do some volunteer/internship work and can hopefully go back to the freelance data entry stuff. The job is eight hours plus an hour lunch, and I have to commute to Manhattan and back, so I'm sure it will be nice to save that time. Still, money is also important. I have to admit I feel rather incompetent for being thirty-eight and never really having worked full-time.

I've been playing The Sims 4 recently, since it was on sale and I can't get Sims 3 to load anymore. The newest installment runs much more smoothly, but that's partially because it doesn't have the open world that the previous game did. I wrote a little about how it differs from earlier versions, and mentioned how I like to make Sims of characters I've made up but haven't really done much of anything with. I have drafts of Oz stories that involve a dimensional traveler named Xornom and a witch named Myrena (daughter of Medea from Greek mythology), and while I have details of their backgrounds planned out, I haven't actually written them yet. It seems to be a thing on the Internet for people to come up with their own characters, even if there isn't actually a story for them yet. I was just thinking that it's kind of weird, because interactions between characters are often my favorite parts of a story to write, but I'm a socially awkward shut-in who has no idea how real people generally interact. In fact, I suspect quite a few writers are. So does it come across as phony, or is it one of those cases where nobody expects fiction to be totally realistic? Maybe I'm just writing versions of myself, although I don't buy that because I'd never do most of what characters in my stories do. L. Frank Baum allegedly once complained that his characters wouldn't do what he wanted them to, but I can't recall ever feeling that way. That said, I DO sometimes have trouble figuring out how a character would ever get into a certain situation, but that's not to say they really take control.

I've been working a bit on a follow-up to "Prince Pompadore in Oz," which was published in the most recent issue of Oziana. I already had the main idea, about Evered's father Asha (who is mentioned in passing in The Hungry Tiger of Oz as having retired from ruling Rash to study radio) returning to his homeland and finding his missing wife, but I've expanded it a bit and introduced other plotlines. It's probably going to be pretty short overall, but much longer than my original take. I'm also probably going to take another crack at The Giant Rabbit of Oz soon, but while there's a lot I like about that one, I really can't work out an ending that makes sense to me. I also tend to disappoint myself because I'm always coming up with ideas when I'm in a situation where writing them down is pretty much impossible, then when I actually do have the ability to write I'm too tired or just not in the mood. And how many people read Oz stories, anyway? I also have a bunch of Web browser tabs open that I have to look at, and some games that I want to try out. It's sad when you feel like you have to force yourself into doing something that's only for fun anyway.

Speaking of Oz, the convention in Portland, Oregon is coming up soon, and I might be participating in a panel. I haven't been to one of these in sixteen years, so I'm pretty excited, although I haven't been thinking that much about it because there's so much else going on. I've participated in costume contests at earlier conventions, but didn't have any ideas for this one, or at least none that seemed realistic. I'm not going to have time to do anything else in the area while I'm there, which is kind of a shame, as I wouldn't mind visiting Powell's Books again. I bought a pretty cheap paperback of Grampa in Oz when I was there before.

Today, Beth and I went to the Pride March in Manhattan, and stayed about an hour and fifteen minutes before she started feeling crappy from the heat and lack of sleep, and had to go sit down. What we saw included commemoration of the Orlando shooting, but also some fun costumes.

I'd never seen so many rainbow socks in my life. Honestly, I don't think I knew what I was missing.

And while I don't like being in a crowd, I'm glad it draws a lot of people. After leaving, we ate lunch at the Heartland Brewery at the Empire State Building, then stopped by Nintendo World.

We didn't buy anything, but there were stuffed Boom-Booms that I thought were cool. His female counterpart Pom-Pom was also there, and while I'm not really familiar with the game she was in (Super Mario 3D Land, I believe), I like the idea.

Current Mood: overwhelmed
Current Music: The Bonzo Dog Band - Jazz, Delicious Hot, Disgusting Cold | Powered by Last.fm

So, here's another Christmas-related Oz story I just finished writing. Part of my desire here was to tie together some different Santa-related traditions. L. Frank Baum wrote The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus, which was later tied into the Oz series. Ruth Plumly Thompson's The Curious Cruise of Captain Santa is not specifically tied in with Oz, but it has much the same feel. These two takes on the character don't totally match up, but I prefer to think they're both more or less historical as far as Oz is concerned. My earlier "Jinnicky Saves Christmas" used both Baum's Peter Knook and Thompson's Jim the Chimney-Sweep, and here I'm using Baum's Wisk and Thompson's Huggerumbo. The Bell-Snickle is a character from John R. Neill's The Scalawagons of Oz whose name refers to a companion of St. Nicholas in some European countries, but the reason for this is never explained. Well, he DOES prefer to remain a mystery, but I gave him a bit of an origin story here. I'd also been wanting to include Krampus in an Oz story simply for the challenge of incorporating such a dark, disturbing part of Santa lore into Baum's kindly, non-judgmental portrayal of the saint. You can judge for yourself how well I did. There are other holiday concepts that I'd like to work into Oz at some point, like the Befana and what Baum tells us about Santa in "Little Bun Rabbit," but I figure there's enough in this story already.

SAVING JACK FROST: AN OZ ADVENTURE
By Nathan M. DeHoff

“Is that a polar bear, Dorothy?” asked Toto, surprising his little mistress because he rarely spoke, especially when it was just the two of them together.
“It sure looks like one, Toto, but I didn’t know there were any polar bears in Oz,” replied Dorothy.
The girl and her dog approached the ursine creature that was just emerging from a small red Quadling wood. It turned out that the bear had a young winged man with long hair on his back, who waved cheerfully to Dorothy and Toto.
“Why, hello, Ozites!” exclaimed the man.
“Hello!” said Dorothy.
“Yes, I know I’m in the wrong sort of habitat, but there’s a reason for that,” stated the polar bear.
“Right! We’re on a mission from Santa Claus.”
“Oh, I think I’ve seen you before! You’re one of Santa’s fairy helpers, aren’t you?”
“Wisk, at your service!” responded the fairy, removing his little green hat. “And this is Huggerumbo.”
“Why, what an adorable name!”
“That’s what I say, but he won’t have it,” said the fairy, as the bear frowned a little. “Am I right, old Grumpy Bear?”
“Oh, I know people find me cute, but they don’t have to point it out every time. We polar bears can be ferocious animals. When I was a cub, I dreamed of dressing in armor and fighting in a gladiatorial arena.”
“An armored polar bear?” put in Toto. “What a bizarre idea!”
“Yes, well, instead, I ended up working for Santa Claus.”
“And it’s well worth it, isn’t it?” asked Wisk. “You’re making a lot more people happy this way.”
“Yes, I suppose I can’t deny that.”
“I should introduce you to Grumpy, the Patchwork Girl’s friend from the Kingdom of Patch,” said Dorothy. “He’s also cranky on the outside, but very soft-hearted.”
“Please don’t say that out loud. I may be soft-hearted, but it would ruin my reputation. Anyway, we’re busy right now.”
“Busy with what?”
“We’re looking for Jack Frost,” replied Wisk.
“Jack Frost! I’ve met him before. He wanted to marry me, in fact.”
“Aren’t you a little young for marriage?” inquired Huggerumbo.
“Well, yes, although I’ve actually lived more than a hundred years. Here in Oz, we stay young as long as we want to.”
“Yes, it’s the same way in the Christmas Country. I can’t imagine young Jim getting married, either.”
“But you know there’s no way to convince Jack otherwise when he wants something,” put in Wisk. “We think that might be why he’s in trouble now.”
“So Jack’s in trouble?”
“Well, we don’t know for sure. The only thing we do know is that we can’t find him,” stated the bear.
“We could go to the Emerald City, and look in Ozma’s Magic Picture.”
“No, I don’t think that would help. Claus has one of the best surveillance systems in the world, and he hasn’t found out anything other than that Jack is somewhere in Oz.”
“Oh, right. He sees you when you’re sleeping, and knows when you’re awake.”
“Right, although he doesn’t actually watch people sleep,” said Wisk. “That would be creepy, and he has better things to do. But you’re right that he has the power to do that if he wanted to, so it’s strange that he can’t find one missing person.”
“So, you’re from the Emerald City, are you?” asked Huggerumbo politely.
“Why, yes. Ozma’s my best friend, and she made me a princess.”
“I thought you looked familiar! Walloping walruses, you’re Princess Dorothy!”
“Yes, but you can just call me Dorothy. And this is Toto, my dog.”
“Of course we’ve heard of Toto!” said Wisk, jumping down from the polar bear’s back to pet the little black terrier.
“So where were you headed?” inquired Huggerumbo.
“Oh, we were just on a short walk into the Quadling Country. We were planning on going back to the city by nightfall. Where were you planning on looking for Mr. Frost?”
“That’s part of the problem. We don’t know where he would have gone. Some of our compatriots are searching other parts of the land, though, so we were headed toward the Munchkin Country.”
“There’s a Snow Mountain there, but I don’t know if Mr. Frost would want to go to another snowy place. Oh, and the Wind Satchel Man at Valley Mountain keeps the North Wind when he’s not busy elsewhere.”
“I don’t know that Jack would want to go somewhere it’s already cold, but I suppose that’s as good a place to start as any.”
The girl and her dog joined up with the bear and the fairy, and the two of them continued across the gentle red hills to the east. Red flowers grew all over, and they occasionally passed an apple or cherry tree. At one point, they stopped to eat lunch from a magic basket provided by the Wizard of Oz. Even Huggerumbo was satisfied by ten salmon sandwiches, while Wisk hardly ate anything at all. Just as the party was sharing a small strawberry shortcake, Dorothy was suddenly assailed with a spray of water.
“What? Where did that come from? Is the basket not working?” inquired Dorothy.
“No, it came from that hill over there,” observed Toto.
“Well, I’m always up for a water fight,” said Wisk, “but you should at least announce your intentions first.” He pointed his wand in the direction from which the spray had come, producing his own shower of cold water. This was followed by a severe drenching for all four party members.
“At least it’s cold,” stated Huggerumbo. “The warm water around here has been difficult for me to take.”
“All right, all right, we give up!” conceded Wisk, waving a white handkerchief above his head.
“Give up what?” asked a somewhat dense voice. The owner of the voice was a strange rubbery creature, red in color, with a long snout with a nozzle at the end. It was accompanied by two other animals like it, one of which was sagging somewhat. A hydrant promptly ran up behind them and refilled the sagging one.
“What are they?” asked the polar bear. “Some sort of elephants?”
“No, I think they’re hose beasts,” answered Dorothy. “They usually work for the fire department.”
“Right, but what fun is that?” said one of the beasts. “That’s why we’ve gone rogue, and we’re headed for the ocean, where we need never be empty.”
“The ocean? How are you going to get there?”
“We believe there’s some outlet in Lake Quad,” replied another beast, who had a more erudite tone to his voice. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Why, I’m a Princess of Oz, so it’s my business.”
“A princess? We don’t go in for authority!” shouted the second beast. “Kidde, extinguish them!”
The largest of the hose beasts, who was also the one with the classier voice, promptly sprayed a foamy liquid toward Dorothy. Huggerumbo promptly grabbed her in his mouth and ran off with her down a nearby road, while Wisk took Toto in his arms and flew away. The animals pursued them, ejecting water and foam all the way, but they managed to avoid the majority of the onslaught. Without noticing it, however, the polar bear ran right off the edge of a cliff.
“Huggerumbo! Dorothy! I didn’t even see that!” exclaimed Wisk, as he flew down to see whether the bear and the girl were safe. As it turned out, they bounced off a rubber surface, and landed in a nearby ozberry bush.
“It’s a good thing I was here!” shouted the rubber object in a nasal tone. “Those rogue hose beasts are really getting to be a problem. You’d think we’d get along, all being made of rubber and all.”
With that, the rubber being flattened itself out and stood up on two legs, revealing itself to be a disc-shaped bluish-green creature with a hooked nose. “Why, Princess Dorothy! What are you doing in these parts?”
“Well, we WERE having a picnic, until they came along,” complained the girl.
“I’ve been doing my best to stop them, being Royal Rubber Stopper and all, but I might just have to report them to a higher authority.” The creature shook itself as it said this, causing the bells on its ears to jingle. “Something also needs to be done about that road. At least there haven’t been road hogs around here. They eat roads, you know.”
“Why, you look familiar!” exclaimed Wisk, as he settled down on the ground.
“This is the Bell-Snickle, who works as Ozma’s Royal Rubber Stopper,” declared Dorothy. “Snickle, these are Wisk and Huggerumbo. They work for Santa Claus.”
The Bell-Snickle looked nervous at the mention of the gift-giving saint, and Wisk shouted, “THAT’S where I know him! He was an experimental toy that Neclaus made, sort of a combination whoopee cushion and noisemaker, intended for parties. When it came time to name him, one of the Sound Imps suggested Bell-Snickle, after one of Claus’s German companions. The Elves deemed it impractical to make any more, since this one was so reckless. I’m not sure how he ended up in Oz.”
“Well, I’M not going to tell you,” announced the rubber creature. “You’ve given away too much information already. I pride myself on being a Mystery.”
“Oh, we won’t tell anyone, Mr. Snickle,” assured Dorothy.
“So what work does a Royal Rubber Stopper do?” asked Wisk.
“Tries to stop things that shouldn’t be happening,” replied the Bell-Snickle. “Like the hose beasts and the road hogs that bother innocent travelers. Or safety hazards, like that dead-end road. I even sometimes investigate unfair laws in the stupid little countries.”
“I don’t know that you should call a whole country stupid.”
“Oh, you’d disagree if you went to some of these places. There’s a town nearby where all activity totally stops when they see red lights. And one in the Winkie Country nobody is allowed to move at more than a quarter mile per hour. In Blankenburg in the Gillikin Country, no one is allowed to show their face. Marginalia has laws against toe tapping, nose nipping, mouth breathing, and finger snapping. And in Ditchville, you’re not allowed to give money away.”
“I thought they didn’t use money in Oz,” observed Huggerumbo.
“Oh, it’s definitely much less common, but not unheard of. The inhabitants of Bunbury, out in the woods to the west, use sesame seeds as currency. And I hear Quick City uses rolls of quicksilver, which is strange as I thought that was a liquid at normal temperatures. I’ve been meaning to check that out, as I don’t like there to be other mysteries besides me.”
“The real mystery is how these places managed to survive for so long,” said Wisk. “But then, that’s the thing with fairylands. My people don’t always make a lot of sense. I always got along with Queen Lurline, you know.”
“Well, Mr. Snickle, would you like to join us in looking for Jack Frost?” asked Dorothy.
“Jack Frost! The very personification of the chill of winter? What would he be doing in these parts?”
“We don’t know that he’s in these parts, just somewhere in Oz,” observed the polar bear.
“I might as well. I’m sure there will be plenty of things to rub out on the way.”
With that, the Bell-Snickle joined the others, and they continued to the east. There were a few farmhouses, with fertile fields and orchards, in the area, but no towns. After about two hours of travel, Wisk sighted at a tall blue wall on the horizon. Upon coming closer to it, Dorothy gave a cry of recognition. “It’s the town of the Cuttenclips!”
“Oh, I’m no longer allowed there,” stated the Bell-Snickle. “They say I’m too clumsy.”
“I’m not surprised. First time we visited, the Shaggy Man toppled a whole lot of them with a sneeze.”
“Who are the Cuttenclips?” inquired Huggerumbo.
“Oh, they’re living paper dolls. Very pretty, but very fragile as well.”
“Well, I’d like to see them,” put in Wisk. “Toy towns remind me of home.”
So the Bell-Snickle, Huggerumbo, and Toto waited outside while Dorothy and Wisk went to visit Miss Cuttenclip, the only flesh-and-blood inhabitant of the village, who lived in a wooden house in the center of town. The Princess of Oz asked her about Jack Frost, but she said she had seen no sign of him. Upon learning that Wisk worked for Santa Claus, she relayed her request for some spangles and a new pair of scissors for Christmas. The fairy was fascinated to learn about how Glinda had provided Miss Cuttenclip with living paper, and enchanted the town so that storms and other bad weather could not affect it.
“They’re the only live paper dolls in the world, as far as I know,” stated Miss Cuttenclip. “Not the only live toys by any means, though. I visited Merryland once, and they have a whole society of dolls.”
“Yes, Claus was involved in setting that up, if I recall correctly,” said Wisk.
The girl and the fairy were anxious to continue on their journey, so after a few refreshments, they rejoined their companions outside the town. Huggerumbo had been eating berries and apples from nearby trees, and was pretty full.
“You know, Ozma’s cousin, the Guardian of Oz, lives near here,” said Dorothy. “I wonder if we should check in with her.”
So the small group turned toward the south and the road to Story-Blossom Mountain, while Wisk sang “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” When he had reached the part about figgy pudding, Huggerumbo grumbled, “Do you think you could sing another song? Just the thought of figgy pudding makes me sick to my stomach.”
“You shouldn’t have eaten so much back there,” admonished Wisk. Still, she acceded to the bear’s request and began singing, “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose. Yuletide carols—“
“Another song about food?” grumbled the polar bear.
“Only parts of it.”
“Wait, where else did I hear about nose-nipping today?” asked Dorothy.
“Oh, that was me,” answered the Bell-Snickle. “It’s illegal in Marginalia.”
“And is it something Mr. Frost does often?”
“Of course! Why else do you think it would be in a song?” observed Wisk.
“A lot of songs aren’t entirely true,” said the Bell-Snickle.
“And that song wishes a merry Christmas to anyone from one to ninety-two, and I think we’re all older than that. Still, Jack is quite fond of nipping noses and pinching fingers. He and Claus are old friends, but he thinks Jack goes overboard sometimes, especially with the children.”
“Then maybe it would be worth looking in Marginalia,” suggested Dorothy. “If Santa isn’t able to locate Mr. Frost, the Guardian might well not be either.”
“So where is this place?” questioned Huggerumbo.
“I don’t know, but the Wogglebug might. He’s in charge of updating the maps of Oz, and his college isn’t far away.”
So the party instead turned to the north, and had soon crossed the border into the Munchkin Country. By this time, the sun was setting. The educated insect greeted Dorothy and her friends, and checked his latest map sketches to see if he could find such a place as Marginalia.
“It’s not on the main map, but it does sound familiar,” said the Wogglebug. “Ah, here we are! Marginalia, out in the outskirts of the Munchkin Country. Its location hasn’t been properly surveyed, but it’s in the eastern part of the country, south of the White Mountains.”
The group spent the night at the college, and set out in the morning, using the insect’s sketch to determine where they were going. Dorothy deemed the Yellow Brick Road to be the fastest way to get to that area, so they took the route from the college to the famous highway. This was the road Dorothy had taken to reach the Emerald City on her first visit to Oz many years back, but it was better traveled and safer by this point. Bridges had been built over the Munchkin River and the chasm in the Great Blue Munchkin Forest, and the Cowardly Lion and Hungry Tiger had successfully driven the Kalidahs away from the road. It took a few days to traverse the route, but there were several small inns along the way. Dorothy pointed out where the Scarecrow had gotten stuck on a pole in the river and the cabin where the Tin Woodman had lived for a while, now preserved as a national historical site. When they dropped in on Boq, the aristocratic Munchkin who had let Dorothy stay at his house on her very first night in the fairyland, he told them what little he knew of Marginalia.
“I hear it’s a very strict place, and it’s located in the middle of nowhere,” said the Munchkin. “I don’t know anyone who’s ever been there.”
After crossing another branch of the Munchkin River beyond Dorothy’s old farmhouse, the party turned south. This part of the country was not maintained all that well, not being particularly good land for farming. It was mostly overgrown with tall grass, and at one point crabgrass with claws attempted to pinch the travelers. Some growling from Huggerumbo was enough to put a stop to that, as well as to the moving skunk cabbages that came out at night. The only house they saw along the way belonged to a man who farmed knives of all shapes and sizes. He told them that Marginalia was just to the south. Eventually, the group came across a road leading right up to a large town surrounded by a metal wall. At the gate, a man in a booth asked, “What is your business in Marginalia?”
“We’re searching for a friend of ours, Jack Frost,” stated Wisk.
“Do you have identification?” asked the man.
Dorothy pulled a letter of introduction from her pocket and showed it to the gatekeeper. Upon glancing at it, he said, “This hasn’t even been properly notarized, nor does it have any photographic representation of you.”
“Photographs? A lot of Oz doesn’t even have cameras,” stated Dorothy.
“Well, if they’re not going to become properly civilized, that’s no skin off our backs. So you say you’re Dorothy?”
“Yes, I’m a Princess of Oz, and that letter has Ozma’s royal seal.”
“Oh, like such things can’t be forged.”
“Look, just let us in or I’ll bite you,” said Toto.
“Oh, my word! That dog isn’t on a leash!”
“A leash? This is the Land of Oz! I have my rights!”
“Maybe so, but dogs are noisy and messy, so there’s no admittance for them without leashes. And your companion there is out in bear skin!”
“Since when is that illegal?” questioned Huggerumbo.
“It’s illegal here because it’s indecent. I have heard it suggested that this was a misspelling in the law books, but it can’t be changed now.”
“Can’t you just let us in?” asked Dorothy.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Look, I don’t like doing this, but I’m a Princess of Oz, and I demand you let us in immediately!” shouted the girl, who stamped her foot in anger.
“Foot-stamping is illegal in this town. I’m afraid I’ll have to have you arrested.”
“Arrested? But we’re diplomatic envoys from Santa Claus!” griped Huggerumbo.
“Yes, and I’m the Easter Bunny’s secretary.” While saying this, the gatekeeper pressed a button and a tall woman with blue hair and a dark blue uniform emerged from a nearby guardhouse. “Officer Bleu, arrest them.”
“Wait, what did I do?” asked Wisk.
“You and the gasbag are accomplices,” said the officer sternly. “Now follow me.”
Not wanting to cause any trouble, the party followed Officer Bleu through the streets of the town. It was a pretty sort of place, with neatly arranged houses and metal sculptures set on nicely trimmed lawns. The people, however, looked rather terrified, and rushed through the streets quietly with their heads down like they preferred not to be seen. Finally, the group reached the jail, which the officer forced the visitors to enter, locking the door behind them.
“Your trial should take place in six to eight weeks,” said Officer Bleu. “Until then, please refrain from any more illegal activity, or it will only increase your sentence.” Noticing the bear scratching his nose, she added, “What did I just tell you?”
“Look, with laws like yours, there’s no way anyone can obey all of them,” objected Dorothy.
“Tell it to the judge. Or don’t, as arguing with the judge is also against the law.”
With that, the officer left the jail. Toto soon noticed a man sitting hunched down in the corner of the cell, and approached him. Wisk followed him, saying, “Why, it’s Jack Frost himself!”
“Wisk!” exclaimed the man, as he looked up. “Did you come to get me out of here?”
“Yes, but it looks like we’ve been captured ourselves. No problem, though. I still have my magic.”
“No, I don’t think you do. These cells have been magic-proofed. Otherwise, don’t you think I would have escaped by now?”
“Isn’t magic-proofing illegal without a permit?” asked Dorothy.
“I tried telling them that, and they wouldn’t have it. The police said that the authorities were allowed to ignore the rules when it came to making sure everyone else follows them.”
“That doesn’t sound right. Everyone has to be bound by some laws. Even Ozma can’t do anything she wants, and she’s an absolute monarch.”
Wisk tested his magic to make sure it did not work, and it proved to be ineffective. The Bell-Snickle, however, did state that he could probably squeeze out through the bars. Upon hearing this, Wisk gave him a switch, telling him to use it when he reached a place where magic worked.
“You mean you want to call HIM?” questioned Huggerumbo. “I thought that was a last resort.”
“What other choice do we have?” asked the fairy.
“I suppose you’re right, but he really scares me.”
Without bothering to ask what the bear and the fairy were talking about, the Bell-Snickle flattened himself as much as possible and walked out between the bars of the cell. Leaving the building, he promptly struck the switch on the ground. In a puff of choking black smoke, a tall, hairy man with pointed ears, horns and a beard like a goat, and a long tail appeared in front of the rubber creature. In a rough and booming voice, he said, “Who dares to summon the mighty Krampus?”
“Um…me, Mr. Krampus,” said the Snickle. “Wisk told me to call you to help us get out of jail.”
“Wisk? Oh, right, one of the master’s intolerable assistants. Why can’t he get out himself?”
“The cells have been magic-proofed.”
“Oh, I should have figured it was something like that. Fortunately, I have training in law as well. Take me to the local authorities.”
The Bell-Snickle was not sure where the authorities were headquartered, but a quick look at a sign told them the way to the Mayor’s Mansion. This was a very large building, blue and dome-shaped like most Munchkin dwellings, with an imposing look to it. With Krampus on the streets, the people were even more terrified than they were before. The Snickle knocked on the door, and a butler answered it.
“We’ve come to see the Mayor,” said Krampus.
“I’m sorry, but his honor is busy just now,” said the butler.
“Oh, he’ll see me.” With that, the monster held a whip toward the servant, who rushed off to get the mayor. This turned out to be a small man in blue silk pajamas, who said, “What’s so important that you had to draw me away from my nap?”
“I am the Krampus, a being of unspeakable horror.”
“And I’m the Bell-Snickle, Royal Rubber Stopper to the Queen of Oz,” added the rubber creature, who did not want to be left out.
“We demand the release of several prisoners who are now in your jail.”
“Oh, we never release prisoners until after their trials, and usually not even then. The police aren’t likely to make mistakes.”
“Everyone makes mistakes, and some mistakes can be deadly. If you fail to release them, you may start an international incident. One of them, Jack Frost, is the son of the powerful Frost King, who can bury your town in ice and snow.”
“Ice and snow? Ha! Let him try! My town is weather-proofed.”
“Another is a Princess of Oz. Would you want to incur the wrath of Queen Ozma?”
“We’re a law-abiding town. Ozma can’t do anything to us! High Queen or not, she has to learn that her friends can’t just ignore the rules when they feel like it.”
“Well, what about MY master, Santa Claus? He has magic powers beyond your puny comprehension.”
“Oh, magic is no threat if you have the right equipment. Besides, do you really think I’m afraid of an old man on a sled? What’s he going to do, cut off our allowance of Christmas presents? My officers will shoot his reindeer right out of the sky!”
“What?” exclaimed another voice, and a girl who was a head taller than the man rushed to the doorway. “Daddy, I’m behind your desire for law and order, but are you really thinking of declaring war against Santa Claus?”
“Why not? Those immortal nuisances have to learn that they’re not above the law.”
“But aren’t YOU going above the law by challenging sovereigns of other nations? If you go to war with Santa, the children of this town are going to revolt. Need a remind you that the equipment you use to monitor this town and keep up the protection against magic and weather are from a kit I received for Christmas?”
“Look, Amarra, I won’t do it. I stand firm on my principles.”
“Then I’ll release them,” said the girl. With a remote control device in her hand, she ran out into the town, ignoring her father’s threats to send her to bed without dinner. When she reached the jail, with Krampus and the Snickle behind her, she pressed a button that opened the cell door. The prisoners walked out and greeted their liberators, although Huggerumbo, Wisk, and Jack made sure to keep their distance from the demon. When the citizens heard that their mayor was planning on defying both Ozma and Santa Claus, they promptly demanded he step down, appointing his daughter Amarra to the position. They wanted to run him out of town on a rail as well, but Amarra granted her father a pardon, saying that he was trying to do what was best for his citizens. The new mayor agreed to journey to the Emerald City for a meeting with Ozma to try to determine how best to alter the town’s draconic laws. Krampus disappeared in some more thick smoke, after extracting a promise from everyone to behave or he would return.
“Who was he, anyway?” questioned Dorothy.
“Oh, he was a demon who used to punish everyone he thought was naughty,” explained Wisk. “Claus eventually tamed him, as much as you can tame someone like that, and gave him a job. Contrary to what a lot of people think, it isn’t in Claus’s interest to judge and punish, so instead he let Krampus serve as his lawyer. A necessary evil, I suppose you could say.”
“He still gives me the creeps, though,” stated Huggerumbo.
“Sure, but it’s not like polar bears don’t also have a bad reputation in much of the world.”
Jack soon used his own magic to return himself to his home in the frozen north, taking the bear and the fairy with him. Dorothy, Toto, the Bell-Snickle, and Amarra made a leisurely trip to the Emerald City, stopping at many places along the way. At her old farmhouse, many tourists wanted to meet her and her dog. When Christmas came and Santa made his typical visit to Ozma’s palace for the day, he brought along Wisk and Huggerumbo, as well as some of his other helpers. Even Krampus made a brief appearance, and Button-Bright swears that he caught the demon playing games with some of the younger children. The newspapers refused to print this, however, as they were afraid it would damage his reputation as a creature of sheer terror.

THE END
HAPPY HOZLIDAYS!

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Location: Marginalia, Munchkin Country, Oz
Current Music: Kinks: Australia

I can't believe it's almost the end of November. I mean, I can literally believe it, but this year has gone by really quickly. I have started Christmas shopping, but I'm not very good at it. I guess I need to ask people if there's anything they want, but most of them won't answer. It would be easier if everyone liked what I like. And I don't even mean specifically; it would be nice if I knew, say, books I could get for everybody. Of course, not everybody reads recreationally. I also have to ask my dad if I should switch my insurance plan.

Beth and I had Thanksgiving dinner at her mom's house, and we ate at Applebee's the day before and Friendly's the day after, so we were successful in the food department. Speaking of which, I need to go to the grocery store sometime soon. The Pathmark, which was the biggest in the area, just recently closed down; and even before that it had a dwindling inventory. There are a few other small places around here, though. Right now, we mostly need soda. I'm relieved that I didn't have to work on Black Friday this year. It kind of seems like, with all the stuff you can get cheaper online, frenzied shopping in physical stores wouldn't even be a thing anymore. It apparently is, though, albeit probably not quite as bad as it was a few years back. And am I the only one who's tired of the word "doorbusters"? I mean, it's funny to replace the lyrics to the Ghostbusters theme ("I ain't afraid of no doors!"), but the term is really kind of disturbing. The stores don't actually WANT people breaking their doors down, do they?

Yesterday, Beth's plan was to go to three different museums in the same area (the Museum Mile on Fifth Avenue adjacent to Central Park) and pick up memberships through the NYC ID program. The first was the Museum of the City of New York, a pretty small place with exhibits that apparently change pretty often. Ones there now focus on the artwork of Chris "Daze" Ellis, affordable housing (how affordable, they don't say), a photographer and writer who brought attention to the city slums, activism, and the revival of folk music.

The second museum we hit was the Jewish Museum, which turned out not to be part of the ID program. The Museum of Jewish Heritage is, but that's down in Battery Park. The Jewish Museum is free on Saturdays, so we did look around, but didn't spend a whole lot of time there. I did like the creatures on the top of this Ark of the Torah.

Finally, we went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where I've been twice before, once with Beth and once without. That place is so big and confusing that just going in can be exhausting, but we did check out a few things while we were there.

Would this be considered culturally offensive?
You can see pictures here, here, and here.

I'm thinking of maybe writing another Oz story for Thanksgiving, as I have at least part of a plot involving Santa Claus and Jack Frost in mind. We'll see if that pans out.

Current Mood: drained
Current Music: They Might Be Giants: Or So I Have Read

So, I'd been kicking around the idea of a story where Jack Pumpkinhead and some other Oz characters visit a Halloween-themed island at least partially inhabited by minotaurs for maybe twenty years now, and never got around to writing it. I did start it, but I've long since lost the file. I remember most of what I'd written, however; it wasn't that much. I finally decided to go ahead and finish it this month. Let me know what you think. It's not very spooky, but there are ghosts and monsters in it. There are probably some elements that could use some fleshing out (which would make more food for the ghouls). When I can actually think of an ending, I'm often in a hurry to get there. I have considered the question as to how there could be a lot of minotaurs when the one in Greek mythology had a unique and thoroughly disgusting origin story, but I ultimately decided not to answer it here. Let's just say a wizard did it. Or maybe multiple wizards, working on some sort of monster breeding program. There's a spell in Melody Grandy's Zim Greenleaf of Oz that can combine multiple beings into one, which could enable the creation of more minotaurs without the need for mechanical bovine sex. And a minotaur did show up in Marin Xiques and Chris Dulabone's Brewster Bunny and the Case of the Purloined Pachyderm of Oz. She even provides a somewhat toned-down retelling of the original myth, although she doesn't explain where she came from.

HALLOWEEN ISLAND

By Nathan M. DeHoff

Out in the middle of the great Nonestic Ocean that surrounds the fairy continent on which the Land of Oz is located, Trot, the Wizard of Oz, Jack Pumpkinhead, and the Scarecrow were guests aboard the Crescent Moon, the ship of the Royal Explorer of Oz. The Explorer was a man named Samuel Salt, a former pirate who now served Ozma of Oz. Also on board was his friend Ato, accomplished sea cook and King of the Octagon Isle besides; and his faithful companion Roger the Read Bird. As many of the ship’s functions were automated and enchanted, there was no need for a large crew, despite the size of the vessel.

“We should be comin’ up on the new island in a day or two,” announced the Captain. “Uninhabited, as far as we could tell, but you can’t always tell.”

“I’ll say,” agreed Roger. “Remember that island with the man-eating grass?”

“Ho, DO I?” roared Captain Salt.

“That reminds me of when Cap’n Bill and I were trapped on that island with the Magic Flower,” said Trot. “It was slowly absorbing our bodies.”

“The flower?”

“No, the island itself. Oh, be careful, Jack!”

The girl was right to say this, as Jack was leaning over the side of the boat, engrossed in a nearby school of orange and black fish. Sure enough, the pumpkin that served as his head fell into the water. His wooden body, having no common sense without the pumpkin seed brains in its head, immediately followed suit.

“Man overboard!” shouted Roger, causing everyone to run to see where Jack had fallen.

“Do we need a life preserver?” questioned King Ato.

“I wouldn’t think so,” stated the Wizard. “Jack is made of wood, and can float. I might be able to manage a quick levitation spell to bring him back, if I can find him.”

Despite the fact that very little time had passed since Jack’s fall, the crew could see no sign of him. So the Wizard used his Searchlight, a handheld device that that can track people and objects, and used it to follow Jack’s body.

************************************************************************************

Jack’s head had been dragged by the fish to an island, where they promptly deposited it on a beach of orange sand. A man with a bull’s head was sitting nearby, reading a novel. When he noticed the pumpkin, he picked it up and began to rush away toward the center of the island.

“What an excellent specimen of a pumpkin!” exclaimed the bull-man. “This will work perfectly for the festivities tonight.”

“Festivities? What festivities are you talking about?” asked the pumpkin head.

“What? You can talk? What sorcery is this?”

“It was the Powder of Life that did it. Of course, my heads do die eventually, but this one was still quite good.”

“Well, a talking pumpkin is good enough. By Hades, it might actually be better.”

“Better for what?”

“You’ll see. Oh, by the way, my name is Ferdinand.”

“I’m Jack. Is everyone here a bull-man like you?”

“Minotaur, if you please. And no, there are several different sorts on this island, but we minotaurs are the most civilized. The ghouls are always just shambling around, and the Rodentians spend all their time gnawing. We have a society based on that of ancient Greece.”

“Sounds fattening.”

The two did not talk after that, with Ferdinand bringing the pumpkin through a maze to a wide-open area that served as a marketplace and grounds for public activities. Minotaurs were busy setting up decorations, and many of them were holding pumpkins.

“Ah, Ferdinand!” called a man in a wig. “That’s a nice pumpkin you have there. Where did you find it? They rarely grow that big around here.”

“I found it on the beach. And not only is it large, but it talks.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Jack. “Is there any way you can help look for my body? We really can’t bear to be separated.”

“You have a body?”

“Yes, it’s made of wood. My father made it for me.”

“Oh, well, you’ll have no need of it after the festivities.”

“You’re not going to eat me, are you?” inquired Jack, who himself often prepared pumpkin pies from pumpkins not fit to be new heads.

“Oh, no. We’re just going to smash you.”

**********************************************************************************

“Land ho, Captain!” shouted the Read Bird, after about half an hour of sailing.

“Land? I haven’t heard of any land ‘round here. Did it pop up out of nowhere?”

“Sometimes I suspect that kind of thing happens in Fairyland,” observed the Scarecrow. “How else would we still be discovering new lands within Oz, when we’ve had years to explore, and it only takes a few days to walk across?”

Regardless, the Captain continued sailing the ship toward the newly found island, which was fairly large in extent. Beyond the orange sands of the shore could be seen some rather gnarly, foreboding trees.

“I’m sure glad we aren’t here at night,” observed Trot.

“My Searchlight is pointing in two different directions, probably for Jack’s body and head,” stated the Wizard. “It’s likely that they’re both here, though.”

After dropping anchor, the small crew used a boat to reach the island. The Searchlight led them through the grim forest, where strange toadstools grew at the bases of the trees, and bats napped in their branches. Eventually, they came out into a clearing, and to some high marble walls.

“What’s this?” asked Roger. “It looks like some kind of maze.”

“Aye, a labyrinth of sorts,” agreed Captain Salt.

The entrance was nearby, and the Captain hurried in, quickly followed by Trot and King Ato, with Roger flying overhead. The Wizard was about to enter, when the Scarecrow called his attention to something happening nearby. A man on a large black horse had found what appeared to be a collection of wood on the ground. On closer inspection, it turned out to be a wooden body without a head. The horseman, who himself had no visible head, grabbed the body and galloped off. The Wizard and the Scarecrow chased after him, eventually seeing the horse enter the mouth of a cave. The magician and the straw man pursued the horseman down a dark tunnel into a large cavern lit by red torches set in the walls. Slouched people with grey or blue skin and tattered clothes wandered here and there through the cavern, some of them carrying various items. At a nearby table sat a rather strange crew of people. At the head was a woman with green skin, a long nose, and black hair, dressed in the traditional garb of a witch. On one side of her was a kindly-looking woman wearing many items of jewelry, and on the other a rather large and ungainly man with a flat-topped head and bolts in his neck. A tall skeleton in a high silk hat like the Wizard’s and a goat-like devil were seated in other chairs.

“Ah, greetings, Mr. Dullahan,” said the witch. “What is it you have found?”

The horseman replied in sign language, with the horse translating. “It’s a wooden body. It has no head, but I can tell it’s alive, much like myself.”

“Interesting. I wonder if it ever had one.”

“Yes, it did!” exclaimed the Scarecrow, as he rushed toward the table. “It’s my friend Jack Pumpkinhead, and his head was a pumpkin.”

“Sounds like he’d fit in well,” chuckled the skeleton.

“Yes, and so would you, if you didn’t have such a friendly face,” added the witch. “You’re a scarecrow, aren’t you?”

“I am, but I was never much good at scaring crows. It’s why I was made, but I soon gave up on it, obtained my excellent brains, and went into politics, which I’ve been told is a good career for a stuffed man.”

“You’re from Oz, aren’t you?” inquired the woman with the jewelry.

“I see my reputation precedes me. I am the Chief Counselor to Her Majesty, Ozma of Oz. And here you see the Great Wizard of Oz, otherwise known as Oscar Diggs.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said the witch. “My name is Emjiem, and I’m sort of the unofficial leader down here. This is Zinaro, a gypsy…oh, I’m sorry, do you prefer Romany?”

“I’m not too particular,” said the woman. “I hail from neither Egypt nor Romania, after all.”

“Very true. This is Adam, the famous creation of Dr. Frankenstein.”

“Actually, he never received his doctorate,” corrected the monster, in a surprisingly erudite voice.

“Frankenstein? I’ve read that story!” said the Wizard. “Didn’t you die in the Arctic after hunting down your creator?”

“Yes, that part was true, but someone who’s been brought back to life once can be again. Unfortunately, the magician who rescued me and brought me here dropped my head in the process, which is why it’s flat on top and he had to bolt it back on.”

“If Frankenstein is here, what about Dracula?”

“That sanguine-sucking snob Vlad?” said the devil incredulously. “He’d never show his princely face in a place like this. How often do you think royalty visits us?”

“Well, the Wizard and I were both rulers of Oz,” declared the Scarecrow.

“Then you’re a lot more personable than the Transylvanian,” said the witch. “This is Tom Bones, our living skeleton. I’ll wager you’ve never seen one of them before.”

“Actually, I’ve met a live dinosaur skeleton before,” said the Scarecrow.

“Well, la-de-dah,” said Tom, in a dry tone. “We can’t all of us be prehistoric monsters, you know.”

“Oh, no offense intended, Mr. Bones.”

“A dinosaur skeleton sounds like it would be a good addition to our society,” mused Emjiem. “Do you think it would want to relocate here?”

“He seemed quite happy where he was.”

“Oh, well. The gentleman with the tail is Arbarax, and the man on the horse is Abraham Dullahan. We’re all of us symbols of terror here.”

“Unfairly, I should say,” stated Arbarax. “Why would red skin and the features of a goat automatically make people flee in terror? They’re not actually scared of goats, are they?”

“Well, maybe when they’re charging,” said the Wizard.

“Cash or charge, it’s all the same to me. Poor Adam here was disowned by his creator based on how he looked. Everyone said he was an unnatural abomination.”

“I’m sure there are people who would say that about a living scarecrow,” said the straw man.

“So, would you people from Oz like to join us for dinner?” questioned Emjiem. “We were having pigs in blankets.”

“Those are sausages in blankets, not actual pigs,” added Arbarax.

“Well, I don’t eat, but I’d be glad to stay if we weren’t looking for our friend’s head.”

“Hmmm,” said Zinaro, closing her eyes and pressing her fingers to her temples. “The head you seek has been taken by the minotaurs who live above ground.”

“Minotaurs? Like part man, part bull?” questioned the Wizard. “But I thought there was only one of them, who was slain by the hero Theseus.”

“When’s the last time you ever saw just one of anything?” questioned Tom.

“My friend the Woozy is one of a kind, at least as far as we know,” replied the Scarecrow. “And I don’t know of any other live scarecrows.”

“What about your friend Jack?” asked Adam.

“While there are indeed scarecrows made of wood instead of stuffed with straw, I would hesitate to place Jack in that category. He wasn’t made to scare crows, whether successfully or not, but rather to scare a witch.”

“There are witches who would be scared of wooden men?” inquired Emjiem.

“Well, I never said he succeeded. Mombi ended up using him to test her Powder of Life.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of Mombi. She was very successful for a witch who mostly only dealt in transformations.”

“So, anyway, how do we get to the surface?” asked the Wizard, who did not like to be reminded of his own dealings with Mombi.

“We have an elevator, but it’s on the fritz, so I’ll just take us there.” With that, Emjiem stood up, spun around a few times while holding her nose with her left hand, and promptly disappeared in a puff of green smoke smelling of sulfur. The Wizard, the Scarecrow, Zinaro, and Jack’s body promptly followed suit, promptly emerging in the clearing where the minotaurs were debating over the fate of Jack’s head.

“Why are we even trying to get through this maze?” asked Ato. “We don’t even know what’s on the other side.”

“They wouldn’t have put it here if there weren’t some purpose to it. Besides, the Wizard said part of our friend Jack was in this direction,” replied Captain Salt.

“There’s a sign over on this wall. Does anyone know what “ayopa” means?”

“It’s Greek to me,” said Trot.

“You know, it COULD be Greek,” mused the Captain. “Roger, do you know Greek?”

“I was planning on learning it, but Ato said it wouldn’t be appropriate for an official of the Octagon Isle to know NINE languages,” said Roger in an irritated tone. “He said I’d have to either forget one of the languages I already know or relocate to Nonagon Island.”

“Look, Roger, I have an image to maintain,” stated the King. “I’d never actually send you to Nonagon Island, though.”

“There’s a Nonagon Island?” inquired Trot.

“Aye, ‘tis a small, barren place due north of Ev, inhabited only by nine fishermen,” explained Captain Salt.

“Hey, that’s one more fisherman than we have on our island,” said Roger.

“I think we’re coming to something,” observed the girl. “It looks like a marketplace. Oh, of course! That sign meant ‘agora,’ which I think is some kind of old Greek market.”

“It looks to be full of upright bovines, a fascinating new species,” said Samuel.

“I think they might have been in Greek mythology, too.”

“Well, for an Outside World country, the Greeks seem to have been rather familiar with unusual species. From what I’ve heard, they knew about the Pegasus, the Chimera, the Hydra, and the Centaur. I understand that you call centaurs something else in Oz, however.”

“Equinots. That’s their name for themselves, anyway.”

The visitors proceeded to explore the agora, nodding politely to the minotaurs they passed, many of whom were engaged in putting up decorations in autumn colors. There were also tubs set up for apple bobbing. The minotaurs did not seem to find anything all that strange about humans being in their public space, and mostly ignored them.

“They must be getting ready for some sort of celebration,” said Ato.

“Yes, esteemed visitors, the Spirit Festival is tonight,” stated a nearby minotaur, who was carrying a box of noisemakers. “I figured that’s why you would have come here.”

“What day is today?” asked Trot.

“October the thirty-first,” answered the Captain, checking his log book.

“That must mean the Spirit Festival is their version of Halloween. It’s also Betsy’s birthday. Too bad I’m missing it.”

Roger promptly noticed a puff of green smoke near the center of the agora, and led the others toward it. It turned out that the Wizard and the Scarecrow had just appeared there, in the company of a green lady and a gypsy.

Ferdinand had brought Jack’s head to a minotaur in a white wig, who congratulated him on finding such a fine specimen of a pumpkin. When Jack objected to being smashed, the wigged bull-man checked a tablet, and claimed that there was no exception to the rule for talking pumpkins. In fact, he agreed with Ferdinand that a shouting pumpkin would be much better at making noise.

“Why are you so intent on making noise, anyway?” questioned Jack.

“Why, to scare away the ghosts, of course!” replied the minotaur in the wig.

Before Jack could ask what ghosts these were, the Wizard and his companions promptly appeared in a puff of smoke, and Captain Salt and his friends came hurrying over from a different direction. The head called out, “Am I glad to see you! These crazy cows want to smash me on the ground to scare some ghosts!”

“That doesn’t sound all that likely,” said Trot. “I’m sure it takes more than a broken pumpkin to scare a ghost.”

“It’s not JUST the pumpkins,” explained the minotaur in the wig. “We fill the space with all kinds of noise and chaos. Otherwise, who knows what they’ll do? Destroy our crops? Steal our calves? Turn our togas inside out?”

“Have they ever actually done any of these things?” questioned Roger.

“Well, no, but that’s because we always scare them first. They usually only show up at this time of year. I’ve heard stories about them being seen at other times, but no conclusive evidence.”

“The borders between the worlds of the living and the dead ARE weaker during the last days of autumn,” confirmed Emjiem.

“Has anyone tried talking to them?” asked Jack.

“We can’t, even if we wanted to,” answered the minotaur. “They only seem to speak Greek.”

“Wasn’t that sign in your labyrinth Greek, mate?” inquired Captain Salt.

“Our ancestors spoke it, but now we just speak Ozish.”

“I might be able to get around that,” stated the Wizard, rummaging through his black bag. “And if all else fails, I’ve exorcised ghosts before.”

“They all seem to be in pretty good shape,” said Ferdinand.

“No, I mean I banished them. So, is there any way to call them?”

“I should be able to do that,” declared Zinaro. First, the Wizard took a few language pills from his bag, and gave one to the gypsy and one to the minotaur judge. After the three of them swallowed the pills, Zinaro directed everyone present to hold hands in a circle. Soon, the wispy form of a man in bronze battle armor and holding a sword appeared in the center.

“Well, what is it YOU want?” asked the ghost.

“I can understand you now!” exclaimed the judge.

“Yes, it’s the result of the language pill,” explained the Wizard. “Its effects only last a little while, unfortunately. So, are you one of the ghosts haunting this island?”

“We prefer ‘shades’ to ‘ghosts,’ and I wouldn’t say we’re haunting it. We’re stuck here, and we’d much rather not be. The minotaurs are just so noisy and rambunctious. We can only materialize at this time of year, but we have to listen to them all year ‘round.”

“But how did ghosts come to be stranded here?”

“To tell you the truth, it’s a punishment. We were monster hunters a few thousand years ago, just after the Trojan War. We’d thought Theseus, the King of Athens, killed the only minotaur in the world, but then we started seeing others. They weren’t really doing much of anything, except for occasionally knocking things over, but we thought we could achieve glory by hunting them down and slaying them. They all ended up leaving, though.”

“According to our history,” began the judge, “our ancestors requested help from the god Poseidon, who brought us to this island.”

“Well, Poseidon must have told his brother Hades, because our shades were forced to live here among the beasts we once hunted. We all learned our lesson, but that was centuries ago. Why are we still here?”

“The will of the gods is not something we have the power to explain. We’re not even sure they still exist, but we still pay tribute to Poseidon.”

“I wonder if there’s something else we can do,” suggested the Wizard. He explained the dilemma to his friends, who had been unable to understand them when they were conversing in Greek. After a bit of thinking, Jack suddenly remarked, “If the noise is their biggest problem, why not just put them somewhere where they can’t hear?”

“That won’t do much good if they’re stranded here,” objected Ferdinand.

“What about a sound-proof building?”

“Jack, I don’t know how they did it, but your pumpkin seed brains might have devised the solution. I’ve been experimenting with sound-proof materials, and I believe we could accomplish such a thing.”

With some help from minotaur carpenters, ghouls, and the monsters from the cave, the Wizard had soon constructed a wooden shelter large enough for the shades, from which they were unable to hear the noise outside. It was a crude dwelling at first, but the minotaurs and shades were soon making plans to construct a full-size haunted house, which would draw in tourists. When Trot mentioned that the day celebrated on the thirty-first of October in other parts of the world was called Halloween, Jack suggested that for the name of the island, having remembered hearing that Easter Island was discovered on Easter Sunday.

“I’d say that’s your right as discoverer,” said Captain Salt.

“Don’t forget that we were living here for a long time before you discovered us,” put in the judge. “Still, I like the sound of the name. What do you think, Emjiem?”

Since everyone was agreeable, that became the official name of the island, which was promptly recorded on the captain’s charts and log book, giving Jack Pumpkinhead credit for being the first Ozite to set foot, as well as head, there. The islanders presented the visitors with several gifts, including a small golden carving of a minotaur that Trot would give to Betsy Bobbin for the birthday she missed. And Halloween Island remains a popular attraction to the inhabitants of the Nonestic region.

Current Mood: tired
Current Music: Paul Simon: Thelma

We have new cell phones now, LG G3 models. We were considering switching to a different carrier, but staying with Verizon sounded like the best deal. Fed Ex was supposed to deliver them on Monday, but our apartment is in the back, and people seem not to realize this even when we specifically tell them. It's happened multiple times with people delivering food, and it happened with Fed Ex as well. Beth called them after they reported a failed delivery attempt and gave specific directions, but on Tuesday they just came to the front of the building again. I don't know if they would have done that a third time, but I waited out on the front steps on Wednesday to make sure I could intercept the delivery guy. I actually saw three Fed Ex trucks within the space of less than an hour. I've always kind of thought Fed Ex was a crappy version of UPS, and I guess I don't know how UPS would have handled this, but for some reason I still have a more positive opinion of them.

bethje made sure to get phones with removable batteries, as we both know what it's like to be out for a long time and have the battery go dead. It's not so much a problem with a new phone, but we're going to have these for two more years. Non-removable batteries seem to be the trend these days, which kind of sucks. It's probably a ploy to try to get you to buy a new phone once your battery starts dying. This is the first phone I've had in a while that didn't have a slide-out keyboard, another feature that's gone out of fashion, but I think I can do without it. It's also annoying that unlimited data plans are so rare now. When I'm home all day I hardly use the data plan anyway, but that might change if I get a job.

Today, we visited

therealtavie (yes, I am persisting on using people's LiveJournal handles even when they haven't used them in years) and watched a special on the building of Walt Disney World. We still have stuff from Netflix that we need to watch, but I haven't been in the mood recently. I do want to see Avengers: Age of Ultron while it's still in theaters. Beth said she looked at the listings for next Wednesday (for some reason tickets are cheaper for Wednesday matinees, at least online; we'll have to see if it's the same when buying them at the door), and that it will still be playing then.

It looks like one of my longer Oz stories, Prince Pompadore in Oz, will be published in Oziana. I thought it might be too long for that, but maybe it's shorter than I thought. Besides, Oziana has had some pretty long stories in it before.

I've apparently gotten my last.fm scrobbler working again, but I don't know why it stopped working in the first place. It looks like it hasn't updated since January. Does anyone else still use last.fm?

Current Mood: okay
Current Location: United States, New York, Brooklyn
Current Music: Dukes of Stratosphear: What in the World??

Okay, despite my mood status, I can't say I've accomplished all that much. I did watch the last disc of Season Two of The Muppet Show with

bethje, who insists on watching all of the episodes even though she doesn't enjoy them. How did I end up with a woman who doesn't like puns and absurdism? We went to our first appointment with a doctor in Brooklyn on Wednesday, and I like him so far. He actually listened to my concerns, which is more than I can say for the last practice I went to. I now have appointments with a podiatrist and an ophthamologist, and I'm supposed to go to Vocational Rehabilitation orientation on Tuesday. We went to the Department of Motor Vehicles on Tuesday as well, and I have my temporary license. In New Jersey, you get your new license right away. Get with the times, New York! It's not like I'll be driving for a while, though. Hopefully they'll take the temporary card as proof of residency for the library. We also learned that Applebee's in Brooklyn are pretty cheap (in terms of style, not cost), only giving you six mozzarella sticks for the appetizer instead of eight or nine. And I beat the Orochi in Dragon Quest III, which is totally worth mentioning.

That guy is a pain.

I also completed an Oz story I'd been thinking of writing for a while. See, in both The Purple Prince of Oz and The Silver Princess in Oz, when Kabumpo needs to cross the Deadly Desert, a rainstorm comes up to help him out. You'd think the edge of the desert would be about the last place rain would show up, and I have to wonder if Ruth Plumly Thompson was straining for ideas. To be fair, she apparently wasn't as desperate as John R. Neill, who would later use the exact same means for desert crossing in Lucky Bucky as in Purple Prince. This story, which takes place soon after Giant Horse, attempts to explain why the Elegant Elephant was particularly favored by the Rain King.

WHO STOPPED THE RAIN?
By Nathan M. DeHoff

“Kerumph!” said Kabumpo, the Elegant Elephant. “If the High King is going to live all the way up there, he really needs to install an elevator or something.”
“He wouldn’t be the High King if he didn’t live up high, would he?” joked Woot the Wanderer, who was riding the elephant. The two of them had just attended the ceremony celebrating Joe King’s ascension to Ruler of the Gillikins, to replace the Good Witch of the North who had retired to family life with her husband King Cheeriobed of the Munchkins. Ozma, Royal Ruler of Oz, thought it might be a conflict of interest for Orin to have a hand in ruling both countries, and her father King Gil of Gilkenny had served as a figurehead but was not prepared to perform all the duties of a high king. So the crown went to Joe, a jolly and charismatic monarch who lived in UpTown, a community located above the clouds on the highest of the Gillikin Mountains. Many Gillikin rulers and delegates had met in the mountaintop town, with Kabumpo representing the Kingdom of Pumperdink, where King Pompus had recently declared him an honorary prince. Woot was not royalty, but as a loyal Gillikin who had heard about the celebration, he came to the reception as well. As Woot had never visited Pumperdink, Kabumpo offered to take him there after the meeting.
“Harumph! Everyone knows I appreciate a good pun, but Joe King? What were his parents thinking?”
“Didn’t your king name his only son after a hairstyle?”
“Well, it was more an homage to his own name, but I take your point.”
“That Giant Horse was certainly something, wasn’t he?”
“Oh, he was SOMETHING, all right,” returned the elephant, who was used to being the biggest animal present at such functions. The horse’s body was smaller than his, to be sure, but he could extend his legs to amazing heights. “Wait, what’s that in the sky?”
“It looks like a bird, but it’s awfully noisy. I’ve never known a bird to be that loud.”
“Yes, it sounds like thunder, doesn’t it?”
The bird descended to the hilly ground on which Kabumpo was currently walking, and revealed itself to be a grayish animal with glowing eyes and enormous wings, that indeed produced a thunder-like sound when it flapped them. On its back sat a beautiful girl who was quite the opposite of the bird’s drab color, with a gown displaying every conceivable color of the visible spectrum. Her long blonde hair flowed down her back, and she wore a skullcap on top.
“Polychrome!” exclaimed Woot.
“Hello, Woot,” said the girl. “It’s so nice to see you again. And who’s your friend?”
“This is Kabumpo, Elegant Elephant of Oz and Prince of Pumperdink. Kabumpo, this is Polychrome, Daughter of the Rainbow.”
“Oh, yes, I think I remember reading somewhere that the Rainbow had daughters. Hank the Mule might have mentioned you as well. I must say it is lovely to meet such a charming young lady,” stated Kabumpo, as he held out his trunk for Polychrome to shake.
“When I went with the Emperor of the Winkies to find his old fiancée, we rescued Polly from the giantess Mrs. Yoop. So what brings you back down to Earth?”
“I’m afraid it has to do with Tony here. As you may have guessed, he’s a thunderbird. They’re very popular mounts in the sky, where I live. We have lots of fun with them, at least until Daddy takes them away. Anyway, Tony was playing with my uncle’s Rain Stick, and lost it somewhere around here.”
“A Rain Stick? What’s that?”
“It’s sort of my uncle’s scepter. Without it, it’s difficult for him to control the rain. Tony, who did you say took it?”
“A man in a purple turban with a brown jewel,” replied the bird, in a booming but still somewhat shy voice.
“Brown jewel? That sounds like the typical headwear of the Ho-Taro nomads,” pondered Woot.
“Nomads? They aren’t anything like Nomes, are they?” questioned Polychrome.
“Oh, you’ve had problems with Nomes, too?” asked Kabumpo. “The first time I visited the Emerald City, the old Nome King had grown to a giant and taken the palace with him to Ev.”
“You mean Ruggedo? He wasn’t a giant when I met him, but he was pretty dangerous nonetheless. He actually proposed marriage to me. I thought it was just a bluff at the time, but maybe he was genuinely lonely. I don’t think things worked out with his first wife.”
“Considering how he treated our Princess, I wouldn’t blame her.”
“It’s not like a sky fairy could be happy underground, anyway. So, Woot, what’s a nomad?”
“They’re people who live in the desert and don’t have a home. Wanderers, like me, really.”
“Well, it’s as good a hint as any,” said the elephant. “So where’s Ho-Taro?”
“It’s not too far from where I come from,” said Woot, as he examined a map of Oz. “It’s to the west of Zamagoochie, near the Kingdom of Kapurta.”
“Oh, yes. That’s on the other side of the West Mountains from Pumperdink. I’ve never been up that way myself, but I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”
The four companions walked through the hills, catching up on old times and exchanging stories of their recent adventures. Polychrome had not yet heard about the forgotten life of the Good Witch of the North, whom she had once met at a party in Ozma’s palace. Kabumpo told of the time he had helped to find Ozma’s father Pastoria, trying his best to gloss over the part where he had thought the motion picture dummy from the United States was the lost king. By evening, they had made it to the Forest of Gugu, which takes up much of the western part of the Gillikin Country. Fortunately, with Tony able to fly above the trees and see what was ahead, they navigated it fairly easily. The flapping of the thunderbird’s wings also kept away most of the animals that might have posed a threat. The party slept in a grove of blanket trees at the northern end of the forest, with Kabumpo and Tony using multiple blankets. The part of the country in which they found themselves was rather sparsely populated, and the air became dryer and dryer as they approached the gray desert in the far north.
“Well, this must be the desert,” stated Kabumpo, as he stepped onto the sands, “but I don’t know how we’ll find this one particular man.”
“Yes, it is rather like looking for a needle in a haystack,” observed Woot.
“I wish I had a haystack,” returned the elephant, as he began walking across the desert.
It was difficult to navigate the Desert of Ho-Taro, even with help from Tony. Sand was constantly blowing from one place to another, and the climate was very hot and dry. The company had to rest every half hour or so to drink some water that Kabumpo had with him in a jug. They asked every person and animal they saw, and while none of them had heard of a Rain Stick, an armadillo did mention that there was a major encampment of nomadic people just to the north. They arrived here to find a sheik sitting in a tent, where he was being fed grapes by two women.
“Bah! These grapes are so tiny! Couldn’t you do better?”
“It’s not our job to pick them, just to feed them to you,” objected one of the women. “If you don’t like them, we’ll eat them ourselves.”
“No, no, it’s fine. Oh, wait, we have visitors. Prince Kabumpo of Pumperdink, Woot the Wanderer, Polychrome, and Tony the Thunderbird, if I’m not mistaken.”
“How did you know who we were, Your Highness?” inquired Woot.
“These jewels in our turbans are not just decoration. They provide basic information on people and things around us. Sometimes far TOO basic, mind you.”
“We were wondering if you’d seen such a thing as a Rain Stick,” said the Rainbow’s Daughter. “It was about—“
“Oh, yes, I’ve seen it. A worthless piece of garbage, if you ask me.”
“Worthless garbage? Why, my uncle needs it to control the world’s weather!”
“It’s worthless without instructions, anyway. You see, my lovely varicolored lady, I was on my way to the reception for the new High King of the Gillikins when your uncle’s scepter fell from the sky. My jewel told me what it was, so I brought it back here, hoping to bring some rain to what must be the driest part of all Oz. I couldn’t get it to work, and neither could any of my shamans, so I broke it in half and threw it outside.”
“What? Oh, I can’t believe anyone would be so careless!”
“It might still be out there, if you’d care to look. Then again, perhaps a packrat took it. Regardless, be sure to tell your uncle we could do with more precipitation here.”
“I wouldn’t tell him after what you did, you horrid monad!”
“That’s nomad,” corrected Woot, “and you wouldn’t want to punish all of the desert dwellers because of what one of them did wrong, would you?”
“No, I suppose not.” With that, the four companions left the tent and began digging in the sand nearby. It turned out to be a rather pointless task, as new sand would blow in just as soon as someone had dug a hole. They continued this way until they heard a voice saying, “It looks like you could use a little help.”
Looking up, the party noticed a sleek black jackal who had just come up to them. He introduced himself as Imhotep, an expert tracker. When Polychrome told him what they were looking for, he sniffed at the ground and eventually dug a hole, retrieving part of a silver scepter decorated with clouds and raindrops.
“Is this what you’re looking for, ma’am?” asked Imhotep, as he dropped the object at the sky fairy’s feet.
“Oh, yes! Thank you! What about the other half, though?” inquired Polychrome.
“Look, even though I live in the desert, I know the smell of rain, and I can’t detect any more of it around here. Don’t worry, though. I can track it down, as sure as crocodiles are crocodiles.”
“Oh, would you? That would be so helpful!”
“Anything for a pretty lady like you.” With that, Imhotep again began sniffing the sand, finally catching a whiff of what he wanted and walking off toward the east. The others followed him as quickly as they could, and by late afternoon had arrived at a rock where a large gray lizard with purple spots was sunning itself. Next to the animal was a bottle of lemonade, a book, and a box with knobs on it. The lizard was wearing sunglasses, so the group was unable to tell if he was awake or asleep. Kabumpo coughed to get the reptile’s attention, and the creature promptly looked up and jumped back behind its rock.
“Oh, my anoles and iguanas!” exclaimed the lizard in a panic. “Is this the end of the Lackadaisical Lizard of Oz?”
“Why would you think we mean you harm?” asked Polychrome.
“Yes, calm down, won’t you?” advised Imhotep.
“Oh, I always try to stay calm, but I can’t around that bird. They EAT creatures like me.” While most carnivorous animals in Oz behaved themselves and stuck to dining on meat plants that grew wild around the country, it was difficult to lose those instincts.
“Me?” said the thunderbird timidly. “I’m on a strict diet of cloud buns and thunder muffins. A lizard would be harmful to my constitution.”
“Oh, so eating me would be unconstitutional? Good to hear it,” said the lizard, as he climbed back on the rock and sipped his lemonade. “So, can I help you? You DID interrupt me during naptime, you know. If I fall behind, my schedule gets all disorganized. I won’t be ready for dinnertime at seven, or my after-dinner nap at seven-thirty.”
“Did you find anything like this?” asked the Daughter of the Rainbow, showing the lizard the part of the Rain Stick she had.
“Sort of, only much narrower.”
“That would be it. The top part is narrower than the bottom.”
“Yes, I bought it from a packrat earlier today, because I thought I could get better radio reception with it. It just makes everything sound like rain, though. I’ll give it to you if you want it.”
“Where did you get a radio?” inquired Kabumpo. While they were not totally unheard of in Oz, they were quite rare.
“The same packrat. Don’t ask me where HE got it. Just thinking of treasure hunting before dinner is too much exertion for me.” The lizard walked over to a hollow log, rummaged through it a bit, and brought out the thinner part of the Rain Stick.
“Thank you very much—what IS your name?” asked Polly.
“Leroy, the Lackadaisical Lizard of Oz. Look me up if you’re ever in the area again. We can split a lunch of crickets.”
Politely declining to mention that such a meal would not appeal to any of them, the group bade farewell to Leroy, and trudged a bit into the desert before more closely examining the two parts of the scepter.
“Now how are we going to put this back together?” asked Kabumpo. “Kerumph! I don’t think ordinary glue would do it.”
“No, it probably requires magic, but I don’t know what kind,” stated Polychrome. “Tony, would you mind flying back to my uncle and asking him how it can be fixed?”
While the thunderbird returned to the sky with the two pieces, the others remained where they were and had a snack from a nearby date palm. Imhotep went off to hunt his own food, and came back with some spoiled meat that had fallen from a tree. “We jackals are scavengers, after all,” explained the dog.
When Tony returned, he was noticeably flustered, having been severely scolded by the Rain King. He had, however, learned that water from Lake Stormin was required to repair the Rain Stick. Woot had been to the lake before, so he flew ahead on Tony’s back and led Kabumpo, who carried Polychrome on his back. Imhotep decided to remain behind in the desert. The lake was located to the west, on the other side of the Hills of Humber. Surrounded by a ring of mountains, it was a cloudy body of water with waves breaking on the shore. As the pachyderm approached it, a gruff voice called out, “No swimming after six!”
“We weren’t going to swim,” explained Polychrome. “We just needed some water.”
“Water? You can get water anywhere! This is magical water here. It needs to be preserved for emergencies.”
“But this IS an emergency! My uncle’s Rain Stick needs to be repaired!”
“Rain Stick? That doesn’t sound very important.”
Presently, Tony swooped down to the lake, with Woot holding a bottle he intended to fill. The bird retreated as soon as a wolf’s head snapped at him, however. It turned out that this head was attached to a body much like Kabumpo’s, with the tail of an alligator at the end. The creature had another head as well, that of an owl, which was fast asleep.
“There’s no getting past me, so I wouldn’t bother trying,” yawned the wolf’s head.
Tony flew down to Kabumpo, and the two of them backed up somewhat and discussed how they could overcome this strange guardian. As they talked, a tall, thin woman with white hair and brown eyes approached the group.
“Oh, hello!” said the elephant, upon seeing the woman. “I remember you from the High King’s reception. One of the Three Adepts, right?”
“Yes, you’re Audah, right?” questioned Woot. “Or is it Aurah?”
“Aujah, actually,” laughed the Adept. “I was the third one born, and ended up with the hardest name to pronounce. My sisters and I were on our way back from UpTown, and I stopped here to retrieve some water. I heard some rumors about there being a guardian here now, though.”
“Yes, you can see him yourself,” stated Kabumpo, as he waved his trunk toward the two-headed monster. “We need water too, and it won’t let us near it.”
“Maybe it will listen to me.” With that, Aujah walked up to the lake and addressed the creature. “Oh guardian, I am Aujah, one of the Three Adepts of Flathead Mountain. May I retrieve some of the water of this lake?”
“I don’t care if you’re Emperor of the Winkies!” replied the monster. “No one takes this water without my permission, and I don’t give my permission to anyone. This is giving me a headache. I wish my other head would wake up.”
Tony and Woot once again tried flying over to take some water, but the creature was too fast for them. Kabumpo, however, managed to put his trunk in the lake and inhale a large amount of its contents before the monster could see him. With Woot’s help, he emptied his trunk into a jar, and the party promptly moved outside the ring of mountains. The two-headed beast tried to pursue them, but it was apparently unable to step outside the vicinity of the lake.
With the water, Aujah and Polychrome were able to repair the Rain Stick, and the Rain King showed up in person to reclaim it. He gave medals to the elephant, the wanderer, and the Adept for their assistance in finding his scepter. While the King deemed more frequent rainfall in the Ho-Taro Desert to be out of the question due to concerns with the balance of nature, Aujah and her sisters did assist the Sheik in creating an improved irrigation system. They also found out that the guardian creature had been placed there by a wizard named Purpurbart, who had caused some trouble in Pumperdink a few years previously. The wizard had intended to use the water in his own spells, but since he had disappeared, the monster was no longer under his geas and was free to roam the country. He later teamed up with a man named Terp, but that is a tale that has already been told. While Kabumpo did not meet the Rain King again for years, it is quite likely that the fairy ruler kept some watch over the elephant, which would explain why rain came up to help him over the desert on at least two occasions.

THE END

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Location: United States, New York, Brooklyn
Current Music: New Pornographers: Wide Eyes

There have been several Oz stories featuring Santa Claus, but as far as I know the Easter Bunny has only been a bit player in Merry Go Round in Oz. As such, I thought he deserved his own story, so I wrote one. It's pretty short, and there are some ideas I sort of wanted to incorporate that I really couldn't fit in. Part of the inspiration for the story is that Tim Hollis' "Santa Claus in Oz," which was published in the 1986 Oziana, ends with the Easter Bunny asking if he can set up shop in the Emerald City, as Santa Claus did during the events of the tale. Other ideas came from word association, like the visit to Easter Island and the villain being the Wester Bunny. I believe the words "east" and "Easter" really do share a common root, both being associated with dawn. If Wester is the opposite of Easter, I'm not sure whether it would be associated with the last full moon before the autumnal equinox, the first full moon after the equinox, or what. Before Teutonic Christians co-opted the term, Easter Month was basically equivalent to April. I've also read that there was a tradition that Jesus died on 25 March, quite possibly to tie it in with the vernal equinox. If the Gospels are correct, we know Jesus died around Passover, but we don't know the year. Many neopagans celebrate Ostara at the vernal equinox and Mabon at the autumnal, but the latter has no actual historical basis as far as I can tell. Fall holidays are generally linked with the harvest, and in the United States both Halloween and Thanksgiving derive in part from harvest festivals, but they're both later in the year. Any suggestions for what a Wester celebration might entail are welcome; I'll admit to being a bit stumped when it came to that part of the story. Also, the Easter Bunny says that his given name is Paschal, which is what Easter is called in many non-Germanic languages. I'm wondering if this works, or if it would work better for his name to be Peter, as in "Here Comes Peter Cottontail." Any suggestions are welcome, but these are a few points on which I'm particularly unsure. Anyway, here's the story:

THE EASTER BUNNY OF OZ

By Nathan M. DeHoff

When the Easter Bunny sought to have his underground kingdom in the Munchkin Country of Oz flood-proofed, he brought his retinue of workers to the Emerald City. Once there, Ozma was assisted by Wag, a rabbit who had been enlarged by magic, in setting up his headquarters in a vast cavern below the palace. There, they set to their work of dyeing eggs, making candy, weaving baskets, and growing Easter grass. Everything went well for about a week, until one night when a gang of weasels sneaked into the city. They were able to escape with a good many of the eggs that the rabbits had painstakingly collected and colored before being noticed by Jack Pumpkinhead, who was out on a walk with the Scarecrow and the Patchwork Girl.

“Is weasels taking the eggs part of a traditional Easter celebration?” asked Jack.

“Why do you ask, Jack?” questioned the Scarecrow.

“Because I see some right down the alley.”

When Scraps heard this, she ran into the nearby alley, and was able to grab one of the escaping weasels. The animal promptly dropped its egg and began yelling, “Put me down, ya overgrown rag doll!”

“That’s one of the Easter Bunny’s eggs,” said Scraps, noticing it was dyed red. “Would you mind telling us what you were doing with it?”

“Bringing it back to the North Pole for repairs, of course!”

“That makes sense to me,” observed Jack, nodding his pumpkin head.

“No, Jack, we discussed this,” stated the Scarecrow. “It’s Santa Claus who works at the North Pole. The Easter Bunny is not an Arctic hare.”

“Is he the one who makes the menorahs?”

“I think your friend could use a new head,” observed the weasel.

“It’s difficult to get pumpkins at this time of year, even in Oz. Not like the time when everybody carves pumpkins to celebrate St. Valentine slaying the dragon.”

“No, that’s St. George who—“ began the Scarecrow.

“You can set Jack straight later on, dear,” said the Patchwork Girl. “For now, we have to find out why this weasel has been stealing eggs.”

“Stealin’ eggs is what weasels do!”

“Yes,” said the Scarecrow, “but in Oz most weasels have taken to eating eggs from egg plants. Besides, isn’t there an enchantment that stops predators from getting at the eggs here in the city?”

“There is for Billina’s family, but perhaps that doesn’t extend to the Easter Bunny’s operations,” put in Scraps. “Now, Mr. Weasel, who sent you here?”

“I’m not tellin’, you yarn-haired freak!” The weasel attempted to bite Scraps’s finger, but as she was incapable of feeling pain, this just made her annoyed. He then bit harder, ripping her fabric and scurrying away as soon as he had hit the ground.

“I knew I should have held tighter.”

“Scraps dear, you’re stuffed with cotton. Even your tightest isn’t that tight,” replied the Scarecrow. “We had better tell Ozma about this, though.”

Half an hour later, both Ozma and the Easter Bunny had been awakened, as had several other prominent Ozites. At an impromptu meeting in the council chamber, the Bunny expressed his consternation. “Those eggs were a significant part of our output,” he said, adjusting his monocle. “We can probably make up for it before Easter, but not if more thieves arrive.”

“Who do you think sent the weasels?” inquired Dorothy.

“I don’t know, Princess, but they are clearly in violation of the accord I signed with the Weasel King.”

“Then let’s bring the King here, and have him answer for his crimes!” shouted Scraps.

The Weasel King lived in the jungle of Africa, having migrated there many years earlier, but Ozma was able to contact him and transport him to the palace with her Magic Belt. When he arrived, with a cigar in his mouth that filled the room with smoke, he looked around the room and pointed at the Wogglebug. “You I remember. You paid a visit to my kingdom years ago. Nice to see you again, Sullivanthauros.”

“If I recall correctly, the last time we met, you tried to have me killed,” said the bug.

“Merely a formality, I assure you. It’s all water under the bridge now. Hey, do you have anything to eat here?”

“There will be time for refreshments later,” said the Easter Bunny. “The question is, why did your subjects invade the city and steal my eggs?”

“They certainly weren’t acting on my orders. We can’t police all the weasels in the world, you know.”

“If only I had the protective spell that we had cast on my own kingdom.”

“Whoever it was who sent the weasels must have known you were going to be out of your own country,” observed the Scarecrow.

“Yes. I had thought the enchantment on Billina’s family would also apply to us, but apparently not.”

“Could we cast the spell here?” questioned the Wizard of Oz.

“I suppose we could, but we’d need another egg from the Guarda Bird, and I do believe they’re now extinct. We had another one preserved, but it was stolen years ago.”

“If the eggs have protective powers, how could anyone steal ‘em?” asked Scraps.

“All protective magic has its weak spots,” answered the Wizard.

“Like how the Magic Belt has protective powers, but it can still be taken off the wearer, like Dorothy did to the Nome King,” said the Scarecrow.

“So who stole the egg?” asked Dorothy.

“It wasn’t me!” said the Weasel King, even though no one was looking at him.

“No, no, it was my counterpart,” explained the Bunny.

“Your counterpart? What do you mean?” inquired the Scarecrow.

“My opposite, the Wester Bunny.”

“I remember asking my governess if there was a Wester Bunny,” put in Button-Bright. “She told me not to ask foolish questions.”

“He’s not very well known at this point, but he caused a lot of trouble back in the day. He really started the tradition of the Easter egg hunt, you know. He stole a lot of eggs with magical properties and hid them. My grandfather, who was the Easter Bunny then, recruited some children to help find them, and they enjoyed the search so much that it became an annual event.”

“How long ago was this?” asked the Wizard. “Back at the beginning of Easter?”

“Oh, no. Easter is a very old holiday, predating even the Christian associations that it has today. The egg theft only occurred around four hundred years ago.”

“And you never found all the eggs?” questioned Button-Bright.

“My grandfather says they found most of them. All but one, in fact, which the Wester Bunny told us was in a place that was obvious from his name.”

“What was your grandfather’s name?” asked Ozma.

“Paschal. It’s my name, too. Everyone just called him the Easter Bunny, though.”

“Could it be in Bunnybury?” suggested Button-Bright.

“Is there an East Bunnybury?” added Dorothy.

“What about Easter Island?” said Jack Pumpkinhead.

“Is that a real place?” asked Scraps doubtfully.

“Oh, yes, I’ve been there,” stated Cap’n Bill. “It’s off the coast o’ South Americky, and known for its giant stone heads. ‘Course, it’s only been called that for two hundred year or so. Had another name before that.”

“I believe the generally accepted name is Rapa Nui,” said the Wogglebug.

“Aye, that’s it. When I was there, I thought one o’ the stone heads was a-talkin’ to me, but I put it down to a hallucernation. Now that I’ve seen talkin’ scarecrows and giant bugs, though, I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Do you remember what it said?” asked Trot.

“Somethin’ about the egg bein’ in…Moto-new?”

“Back in the days before European settlement, there was a tradition of retrieving a tern egg from the nearby island of Motu Nui,” said the Bunny. “I learned about this from my father, along with the method of calculating when Easter falls.”

“How DO you calculate when Easter falls?” asked the Scarecrow. “My brains have always been unclear on that.”

“I can’t always remember myself. The first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox, I believe. It’s different in Russia, though, which means I usually have to make a later trip there. Fortunately, I have a calendar that has the dates clearly indicated for the next million years. Anyway, I’d say we might as well try Easter Island.”

“I’d go,” said Dorothy, “but the last time I returned to the Outside World, I grew to the age I would’ve been if I’d never come to Oz. If I tried it now, I’d prob’ly be in my nineties.”

“I’ll go, but how are we going to get there?” inquired the Wogglebug.

“My Bunny Trail should be able to get us there.”

“I might as well go too,” volunteered the Weasel King. “I have a sense for finding eggs.”

The Bunny, the Professor, and the weasel made a few preparations, and then the rabbit unrolled an object he had in his vest pocket. It expanded into a road, which the two followed until the palace suddenly changed into an island. The enormous stone heads for which Rapa Nui is famous towered over the visitors.

“So where do we look for the egg?” inquired the Professor.

“Well, Motu Nui is to the south, across the water,” answered the Bunny.

“I wish we had transported directly there. Wogglebugs cannot swim, you know. I once had to lie at the bottom of a river for three days before a fisherman rescued me.”

“The Bunny Trail isn’t that specific in following directions. Anyway, can YOU swim, Your Majesty?”

“Don’t call me that! There’s nothing majestic about me. But yes, I can swim. Just hope the water doesn’t put out my cigar.”

“It’s a silver egg, not very big, but you should hear it humming.”

The king swam out to Motu Nui, and how he found the protective egg, buried under years of mud, is beyond my knowledge. He did, however, and managed to swim back to Rapa Nui, all with his cigar still above water. He was about to hand the egg to the Easter Bunny when they heard a gruff voice behind them yell out, “Hand over the egg, you pitiful polecat!”

“While I appreciate the lack of respect, I am not, technically speaking, a polecat,” said the weasel, as all three visitors turned around to face the gruff-voiced individual. It turned out to be another rabbit, about the same height as the Easter Bunny, but with mangy gray fur. His ears were different lengths and one hung down over his face. He had a patch over one eye, and held a pair of pistols out toward the Easter Bunny and his companions.

“The Wester Bunny!” exclaimed the white rabbit.

“Yes. I’d introduce myself to your friends, but I don’t have the time just now. Hand over the egg, or I’ll use my patented wither-guns. They’ll make you wither away like the flowers in autumn, my favorite season.”

While the two bunnies were talking, the Wogglebug quickly drew the two extra limbs he usually kept hidden out from his coat and grabbed the guns. When the Wester Bunny noticed, he tried to scratch the insect, only for the bug to remove his high hat, revealing another white rabbit. This lagomorph promptly jumped on the gray rabbit and pinned him to the ground.

“How did you do that?” asked the Wester Bunny, as he struggled to get back to his feet.

“It’s one of the tricks of the Wizard of Oz,” explained the Wogglebug. “Surely you’ve seen a rabbit pulled out of a hat before?”

“But how did it fit? This rabbit is huge!” Which was accurate, as the Easter and Wester Bunnies were both about four feet tall, while the other was fully six. It was, in fact, Wag.

“A good magician never reveals his secrets.”

“Now, come ashort. We’re going back to the Semerald Itty,” said Wag, in his typical mixed-up fashion. The others helped Wag to drag the Wester Bunny back along the Bunny Trail and into Ozma’s council chamber.

After the rabbits, the bug, and the weasel explained what had happened, Ozma asked the Wester Bunny why he wanted to steal the egg. “I just wanted to ruin this bunny’s holiday like his ancestors ruined mine,” was the reply.

“How did his ancestors ruin your holiday?” asked the Ruler of Oz.

“When the scribes were copying the official list of holidays, his ancestor chewed up the page that described Wester!”

“I apologize, but our race was not as civilized back then,” admitted the Easter Bunny. “Bunnies like to chew things. I’m sure it was nothing personal.”

“But we needed it for balance! Now there are no holidays around the autumnal equinox!”

“Prob’ly ‘cause that’s when school starts again, and nobody much feels like celebratin’,” suggested Trot.

“Ozma, why can’t we just start celebrating Wester here in Oz?” inquired Dorothy. “We’re always looking for more reasons to have parties.”

“I believe we will, and the Wester Bunny can remain here as well, as long as he apologizes for his actions.”

The Bunny agreed to this, but still wanted to know how the Ozites had managed to find the egg so easily. “Was it that talking Moai?”

“You know ‘bout that?” asked Cap’n Bill.

“Yes, it was the work of that rascally Ryl Tango-Monkey.”

“You must mean Tanko-Mankie,” said the Easter Bunny. “We had a run-in with him before, when he made our jellybean vines grow nothing but the black kind.”

“But those are the best ones!” exclaimed Betsy Bobbin.

That was how Wester, celebrated in early autumn, became an official holiday in the Land of Oz. The backwards dance around the Septemberpole grew to be a popular tradition, as were the snacks of apples and nuts, and a game involving picking seeds from pomegranates. Easter also went off quite well, with the Easter Bunny himself presiding over the annual egg hunt on Ozma’s palace grounds. There was also a parade, in which Dorothy made quite a hit in her Easter bonnet with all the frills upon it. And Professor Wogglebug is still trying to puzzle out how the Wester Bunny would have known to identify Rapa Nui as Easter Island before it received that name in 1772.

THE END

Current Mood: exhausted
Current Location: Wester Island
Current Music: Simon and Garfunkel: Benedictus

Hey, I've finally written another short story! I don't know why, but my writing often seems to come in short bursts. I'll be totally unmotivated for months, then suddenly sit down and crank out a draft in just a few sittings. I'll get to the actual piece in a little bit, but first some background information.

One topic I find myself frequently coming back to is that of fiction and mythology set on the Moon, particularly that predating mankind actually making the giant leap to there in 1969. Earlier this year, I examined the short film A Trip to the Moon, as well as the alleged visits by Lucian of Samosata and Baron Munchausen. And about four years ago, I gave a brief overview of lunar folklore from around the world, including the Man in the Moon and other supposed inhabitants of the place. One element that interested me was that, while many cultures see a man when they look at the Moon, it's common in China and Japan to see a rabbit instead. Then there's the fact that the Man in the Moon makes appearances as a rather eccentric character in a few works by L. Frank Baum. He's the protagonist of a story in Mother Goose in Prose, puts in a brief cameo in Queen Zixi of Ix, and is depicted in one of John R. Neill's illustrations for Ozma of Oz. Chris Dulabone's recent Three-Headed Elvis Clone Found in Flying Saucer Over Oz uses the character as well. And there's a brief mention in Ruth Plumly Thompson's The Enchanted Island of Oz of King Rupert of Kapurta "looking thoughtfully up at the moon," which I've seen interpreted (although I forget just where) as an indication that he might want to visit there. So I decided to take an idea I'd had for some time and tie it all together, resulting in a story that's both a sequel to Enchanted Island and a mixture of Moon mythology. Enchanted Island was published in 1976, but since it's based on a manuscript Thompson wrote in the fifites, Joe Bongiorno's Royal Timeline of Oz places it in 1953. This date means that I could have Thompson's characters visiting the Moon some time before the Apollo 11 mission (or ANY space missions, for that matter), but unfortunately also meant I couldn't tie in Yankee's lunar orbit from Yankee in Oz. The idea of the Man in the Moon's wife being a giantess actually comes from a Thompson short story, "The Giant Who Did Not Believe in People," which appears in her Wonder Book. Anyway, without further delay, here's the story:
( Read more... )

So, what do you think? Too loony for you, perhaps?

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Location: still on Earth
Current Music: Frank Black: (Do What You Want) Gyaneshwar

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