CHAPTER NINE

HOW THE WORLD DANCES

Inside the doorless house, the previously non-doorless, John stands at the entrance. The house is common. Not what one would expect from someone who dresses to stand out; but in all honesty, John did not know the man in the checkered suit, he could only judge him based on the way he looks. It is usually not a good idea to judge a person based on his or her looks; for example, if one would judge John based on his looks one could discern that John is financially broke, has a weak sense of hygiene, and is a person that has given up on life. Here, one would be correct based on this superficial judgment, but it would still not be it right; in other words, one should talk to John. get to know the man and then conclude that John is financially broke, has a weak of hygiene, and is the person that has given up on life. Here, the latter would be correct even though it would be, exactly, the same. After all, there are certain ways to function in society; we have to keep a proper civilized demeanor or at least pretend to keep it. This is the way the world works.

Walking through the house he sees old dusty furniture; he notices something unusual- there is no television! What sort of person does not waste his time watching pointless tv shows and movies in his free time? What sort of inhuman monster is this? Someone with vile goals, John concludes. He rummages through every nook and cranny. Cabinets, shelves, he even looks below the sofa and rug for whatever reason; there is nothing. Suddenly, something kicks in, something weird and unusual, something trippy- something mushroomy.

Vivid colors swirl everywhere in sight. Dancing and flashing in lively brightness. His balance falters as he slightly stumbles a bit left, a bit right. The mushroom takes it merciless toil. Suddenly, the alcohol kicks on top of it. It takes its toll as John slightly stumbles a bit right, a bit left. The two clashing forces fuse, creating- balance. He stumbles nevermore as the famous raven.

He walks, leaning to one side of the room. The more he walks, the more he leans until he slams at the wall, full-force. Well, down the drain goes the previous talk of balance. At least it was good until it lasted, even though it was for a brief time.

Bumping into the wall in all his greatness and embarrassment, John notices something out of the ordinary here; a hollow sound. John looks back, which is the wrong way to look, but then again he is a drunk who just ate an unknown mushroom. He turns his gaze back and starts slowly knocking on the wall, and with his mushroom-powered-super-hearing he slowly inspects the echoing sounds.

Knocking at the wall; nothing. He knocks again, but still, there is nothing. John wonders where did the sound come from as the fact he is wasted beyond a reasonable doubt does not occur to him and truth be told it should not since John’s experience is vast and mighty; he prides himself on saying if drinking alcohol was an Olympic sport, he would be the champion. Not a thing one should take pride in, but there are all sorts out there.

Standing near the wall he continues to ponder, but still, nothing comes to mind other than how his grandfather ate salt and talked to cats in his free time. So much salt that it is surprising how he lived for as long as he did but this is not the time to think about eating salt or talk to cats for there is no salt or cats in sight. This is a time for action and superb detective work... well, superb-ish detective work.

He takes a step back as hears that sound again. The same sound he heard before. The sound came from underneath him.

“That is it!” John yells, in an unnecessary high pitched voice but since there was no one around there was no reason to feel embarrassment. He coughs as he composes himself.

Underneath him, he removes a small carpet as it reveals a secret door.

He opens it and proceeds downstairs on small wooden screechy steps. With a bit of luck and the power of the mysterious mushroom, he does not bump into anything- not this time.

The light from the house shines down at the dark hidden room just enough to illuminate a switch.

“Let there be light,” John says as he turns on the switch and there is light. Dim smokey light, but light still.

The room downstairs is much cleaner, and full compared to the upstairs.

There is good furniture all around and some nice paintings of landscapes hung on the walls, but still- no television. Truly a mark of a villain, John concludes.

A well-polished cabinet near a table stands out like a sore thumb; John walks to it as he opens it. Inside there are files and, hopefully, they will give answers to much-needed questions, answers about where is the checkered man, what is he up to, and his connection to the late Mark Aubrie. This is the time to find out the hard-sought answers; John takes out a couple of pieces of paper as he is finally getting closer to the truth he has been seeking for so long.

John reads them, but the letters jumble upon each other as they dance and form shapes. Is this document magical, perhaps? The answer is a hard no but the mushroom he consumed was and it was its time to shine.

“Perhaps that decision, like many others I made, was bad,” John says as he tries reading the paper one more time. As one would imagine, reading letters that dance around a piece of paper is difficult; he puts them in his coat.

“I believe it is time to go home and take a nice nap,” John says.

“Don’t you agree with me, Mr. Frog?” John asks a giant purple frog in front of him.

“Quack,” the frog hallucination answers as John proceeds upstairs.

“Wait a minute, something is not right here,” John says, thinking hard.

“Of course, I forgot to turn off the lights,” John says as he turns the switch off.

Leaving the house, his vision deteriorates. Shapes shift and dance as they wiggle lifelike with great joy and enthusiasm. He continues to walk through this chaos as he can’t help but to smile at everything that is going on. Different colored misshaped animals of all sizes keep appearing near him as they beckon him to dance.

“I’m sorry, but this John does not dance,” John says to a red cow.

A blue duck manifests in front of him, smoking a cigar.

“Duck’s truly known what it means to enjoy life, perhaps in another life, I will be reborn as a duck myself. Then I can be happy,” John says as he nods.

Different colored mice fly as they swirl in a kaleidoscopic whirlwind. John awkwardly grins at this joyful scene.

“What are you doing here? The Seahorse must be so lonely without you,” John adds, talking to the hallucinations as he walks through the dark streets.

A yellow dragon appears; it points to a direction: John as quickly as he can follow it... there isn’t any actual reason for the decision, but he does it never-the-less.

As he takes a turn on the corner, he stumbles upon a family walking through the street.

“Excuse me Sir, Madam, Madam-Sir, and little Sir-Madam, might I inquire if you have seen a yellow dragon passing here?” John asks them with dilated pupils and crimson red eyes.

“Mommy, it is the weird man from before,” the child says.

John looks at them as he remembers.

“Good things come in threes, but to do it a fourth time is just lazy. If this was a book or a movie, I would have things to say to the person who is responsible,” John says as he disapprovingly shakes his head.

The family freaks out even more than this is not a pleasant experience. Not at all pleasant.

“What is wrong with you?” the woman yells.

“Many things but the most pressing matter is the loss of the yellow dragon,” John says as he looks up and sees the yellow dragon pointing again.

“Never mind, I just found it,” John adds as he continues the chase.

The family behind is left struck with shock as they watch the mushroom-infused man walk away.

He is close. The dragon just out of reach; he extends his hand, bit further. Just as he is about to grab the dragon... a clap. With this clap, the world turns darker again. John falls to the ground as two shadowy figures appear from nowhere.

“Are you friend of the dragon? I am also its friend,” John says as the world gets darker until it leaves nothing except a clear pitch black.