Friday, July 22, 2011

Part 1 of 3 of a Post Dedicated to Simon, Which is What I've Named the Little Brown Mouse Living in My Bathtub

Well, I'm back. I had a wonderful time, but it really is a relief to be back home where my race car bed and all of my toys are. I had to go six days without my furby, because my mom made me leave it at home. First there was a lot of screaming and crying, and then there was just silence. I think the silence was the worst.

I bet you guys didn't even miss me. Don't try to deny it--I know you all hate me. I know you had a huge party together that I wasn't invited to. You probably talked about me too. Behind my back. I've heard you whispering. Plotting to steal something. Plotting to kill me in my sleep. DON'T TRY TO DENY IT!!!

I really did have a strange last few days. A day after I wrote the last post, I was driving around in the mountains of North Carolina in my maroon 1975 chevy camaro when all of a sudden the roads were starting to get very icy. The snow started to come down REALLY heavy so that I could hardly see. This was strange considering it was the middle of July, but these are the kinds of things that happen when you take as much acid as I do.

At one point I reached down for my stash of chocolate cigars, which I only dip into when I'm feeling really stressed out, and then before I know what's happening, the car is sliding off the road and then down is up and up is down and there's excruciating pain erupting all over my legs and I'm screaming but I can't even hear myself scream and then there's just darkness.

Absolute. Darkness.

I can't tell if minutes or hours or days or weeks past, but I drifted in and out of consciousness for what seemed like an eternity. I never came out of the darkness, and I couldn't remember who I was or where I was.

When I did wake up, the first thing I noticed was the pain. My head rang with sharp pain, my arms were sore and stung terribly, I felt as if I had rocks sitting in the bottom of my stomach, and worst of all was the pain in my legs. Without even looking at them, I could tell that they were broken in numerous places. It was torturous. I looked down and saw that I was lying down in a single bed with a heavy quilt coming all the way up to my chin. I was in a small, modest bedroom with a single window and a single door.

The second thing that struck me was that the room was filled with hundreds pictures of ME. Posters, newspaper clippings, framed photographs. It shocked me so much that I wondered if I wasn't still dreaming, but the pain was real enough to convince me otherwise. There the pictures were, though, clear as day. Staring back at me.

Just before I was going to shout and find out what the hell was going on, the door opened and a woman bustled in, maybe in her late thirties, holding a tray with a bowl of soup and an apple. She was squat, with short brown hair and a square, plump face. She couldn't me any taller than 5'3, and she was almost as wide as she was tall. She was wearing a plain brown skirt and a white cardigan sweater. As she set eyes on me, her face instantly brightened and she offered me a big smile.

"Oh, you're awake! Well, it's about time. I was worried that I'd gone and let you reach the point of No Return, if you know what I mean. Here Christopher Kennedy, author of The Nerd Archives, literary genius, ends up on my very own driveway, sent by the Lord Almighty Himself, and I go on and let him die. And that couldn't happen, Christopher. It couldn't, because I'm your number-one fan."

I stared at her in confusion. "Where am I?" I croaked, surprised at how weak my voice was.

She smiled at me again. It was an unnerving, strange smile. "Why, you're in the very home of Anabelle Walker out in Cashiers, North Carolina."

I still didn't understand. "What happened?" I asked. "Why am I here?"

"What? You don't remember?" she said, setting down the tray on the bedside table and putting her hands on her hips. "Well, the roads were pretty icy, and you got in this big oogie car wreck. Thanks to God, I happened to be passing through, and I just happened to see you. Of course, I couldn't believe that Christopher Kennedy was on my street--I'm such a huge fan of your work--but I got you in my old Cherokee and to the house and got you warmed up and now you're just fine, aren't you?"

I squirmed by legs a little bit in answer, and pain shot through them like bolts. No, I was not fine. I was gonna fucking die, for God's sake, if I didn't get help soon. Also, a re-run of Dancing With the Stars was on that night, which I still hadn't recorded. I shivered as I thought about what would happen if I missed that episode.

"Anabelle, I need to get to a hospital very soon," I said desperately.

Her face darkened immediately. Her eyes went out of focus and it was if she was a walking zombie. There was a terrifying, dark emptiness behind her eyes that seriously scared me.

"No hospitals," she said absently but firmly. Then she brightened a bit and her eyes slid back into focus. "Besides! I'm a registered nurse. I'm taking great care of you. You get to eat a little something five times a day, and I've been giving you two of these pills every four hours to make all the pain go away."

She reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out a little canister with a sticky-note stuck on that read, "Anabelle's Happy Pillz." I could see even through the opaque, yellow plastic that it was filled with not pill capsules but small round pebbles. Which would have explained the pain in my stomach.

"Anabelle? Have you been giving those to me? Those aren't pills. Those are rocks!" I exclaimed.

"No, these are pills," she said. "See? Look at the label."

I decided not to argue. This bitch was clearly seriously crazy. I didn't want to mess with her. The consequences might be disastrous. Besides, I had just noticed something else I thought I might bring up.

"Anabelle, where are my clothes?" I asked, suddenly aware of my nakedness below the sheets.

"Healthy people wear clothes," she said mildly. "Sick people get to wear their birthday suits. Like little babies. Hear that, Christopher? You're my little baby."

As she leaned down to spoon-feed me the soup, I noticed by chance the thin white band sticking out of her plaid skirt. It was Calvin Klein.

"Anabelle," I asked slowly. "Are you wearing my underwear?"

She turned beet-red and straightened. She got the blank look in her eyes again.

"Healthy people wear clothes," she repeated absently. "Sick people wear their birthday suits."

She brightened again and smiled a little, bending down once more to feed me a mouthful of soup. (It was chicken noodle, and actually quite delicious.) "Have I mentioned I'm your biggest fan? I've read all of your material. Sometimes I stay up all night just reading and re-reading your posts. I just love them, Christopher."

"Yeah, I see the posters," I said delicately.

"Oh, you noticed them?" she said, as if there weren't half a million of them staring at me from every spot in the room. "I hope you like them. I never dreamed you were ever get to see them."

As she fed me my third spoonful of soup, my legs twinged painfully and my stomach wrenched horribly. Out of desperation, I whispered urgently, "Anabelle, I really need to go to a hospital."

Her face did not darken this time. She just smiled, sat down on the bed, and stroked my hair. "You're not going to go to a hospital. You're miles from even the nearest house. You're just going to stay here with me, my darling. Just you and me. Forever."

I stared at her face in terror as she leaned in and kissed my cheek.

"I love you," she said, and then left the room, leaving me alone with my stunned silence.

I laid there for minutes in horror and panic and dread, and then I pulled out a crossword puzzle, figuring that if I was going to be stuck, crippled, in the house of a total maniac for the next few months, I might as well keep my brain healthy.


That Blond Guy

23 people secretly have a crush on me:

thinkellen said...

Wow! I look forward to the next installments. You had me going at the beginning for a while - couldn't determine whether it was fact or fiction. Great writing!

Anna said...

Oh my god, I don't know why, but this post really creeped me out. Maybe it's because its 1 AM and I'm so sensitive :P
Great story though, really gave me chills!

Oh, and I loved the fact that you included yourself in your poll. It was entertaining :D

Boyd said... I'm glad I never got around to reading that book, because I think you'll do it up better/sexier!!

RainboRevolver said...

OMG FURBY!! imissmyfurby :(
I love this epic tale you've begun here, it's very Misery meets Mommy Dearest.

Have a nice day

Katie said...

I'm glad you woke up from your comma. I don't know what we'd to without you.

ha. Now you get to figure out whether the above statement was sarcasm or truth.

Seriously though, thanks for the comment on my blog. It made me smile.

L. said...

Furbys freak the living HELL out of me. I had one as a child, and I'm pretty sure it is the reason I'm so messed up now. It woke me up in the middle of the night more than once, saying in a voice more Satanic than Satan himself "PLAY WITH ME!" If that doesn't mess you up for life, I don't know what will. Oh, and in response to your comment on my blog, the message before the leave a comment thing is Hebrew. So good call. It means 'your mother's vagina, son of a bitch'. I'm so classy. I got the idea of saying profanity before well-meaning comments from someone. Who it was has slipped my mind...Have any ideas as to who it was? :]

Lemons Don't Make Lemonade said...

HILARIOUS, as usual. And your latest comment on my blog cracked me up. You sweet and sexy boy, you.

Looking forward to the next part. Oh, and THANKS SO MUCH for making my blog the special blog of the fortnight. I'm touched and always very flattered by your declarations of love for mine.

Also, I mentioned you in my latest post! <3

dirtycowgirl said...

She did indeed (Lemons that is) and so here I am, having followed her link.
And now I'm going to stalk you too.

Vice Versa said...

you have a race car bed? :O
i have always wanted one! i am so jealous.

that car crash sounded like it hurt. i actually winced.

where can i get a poster with your face on it? i want one too!

oh my god, i need to know what happened to you. you didn't die, did you? please don't have died!

Mischief Managed said...

This post was much too long to read because I'm lazy (I actually one the Lazy Awards of 2010, in all categories. Crazy!), but the title was nice. And we did have that party, but I sent you an invite! Did you not get it? Might've been the wrong address- I kinda just guessed at it.

Cosette said...

I suggest sudoku.

Anonymous said...

Sounds like Misery with Kathy Bates.

LoneIslander said...

Looking forward to the next part.

That Blond Guy said...

thinkellen: I wish I had the luxury of wondering whether or not this was fact or fiction. I'm still trying to forget it, but a part of me knows I'll never be able to.

Anna: It creeped me out too. Believe me. And why is it so amusing that I included myself in the poll?!?!? Are you saying I'm not a likely candidate? Well let's just see how it turns out, huh!

Boyd: I'm going to sexy it up so much that Rod Stewart will read it, put his shirt back on, and retreat in shame to the corner of the room.

RainboRevolver: YOU miss YOUR furby? Ha. Ha ha ha. That makes me laugh. Ha ha ha. YOU miss YOUR furby?!?!?!?!?!?

You have no idea what I've been through.

And it's no tale. It's the bitter truth, honey.

P.S. Did that sound weird when I called you "honey" just a second ago? I thought it sounded a bit weird. At first I thought I could pull it off, but I think it was mostly just weird.

Katie: I don't know what I'D do without me.

And you're welcome. I love your blog!

L: I think the reason I, personally, am so messed up is a combination of the furby, watching the TV show Courage the Cowardly Dog as a child, and maybe all of the glue I ate in Kindergarden.

Your comment made me laugh. Out loud. Then I choked on my tongue and almost died. So thanks a lot. THANKS A BUNCH!!!!!!! Just kidding. I love you.

No, I have no ideas as to who that might have been. Christopher Lloyd, maybe?

Lemons Don't Make Lemonade: Awww, gee. Thanks a bunch.

And thanks EVEN MORE for linking to me again. You're such too good to me, you know. I've gotten like fifteen followers since you linked to me. I WUV U!!!

dirtycowgirl: I feel uncomfortable responding to someone with this username, but I'll do it anyway. Thanks for following the link. And please do continue to stalk me. I won't let you down!

Vice Versa: A race car bed? Try FIFTEEN!!!

It did hurt. Pretty badly. You buy Christopher Kennedy merchandise on Amazon. It's pretty expensive, though, because I'm in such high demand.

I don't want to spoil the end of the story, silly!!!

Mischief Managed: Thanks a lot, Olivia. You're just a doll, aren't you?

Cosette: They are pretty blindingly glorious, aren't they? Kind of like you.


ed said...

would of been cool if you woke up and then zombies!!

That Bastard From Bellingham said...

Found ya through Lemon (she mentioned you in her recent blog), and I gotta say I like what I see here!

Followin' ya, dunno if I'm quite up to that blog homework though. I'm not much for anonymous bloggan and I type like I have vocal tourettes as is...

Shiiiiit dawg, fuck that - I'll do it just for the smiles it'll bring!

Carrymel said...

So like a bunch of the people above me I found your link on "Lemons don't make lemonade" and you now have a new follower! Go you ;D

Can't wait to read the next part of this!

Nicole Linette said...

I just found your blog off of Natalie's at A Natalie Moment, and you're nuts!
But hey, if you're going to post your thoughts on the internet, why not make them that way? No one likes a boring post.

I'll be sure to come around.


p.s. Je parle le francais aussi; va te faire foutre dans ton cul. (Je rigole)

Magixx said...

keep it up, followed!

DB said...

You're rather odd. I like your writing style!

Max Silver said...

Fantastic! I'm really looking forward to reading more :D

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