THE STRANGEST OF HAPPENINGS BOOK I: INTO THE TOWN OF ELCREST- CHAPTER 5: CHURBLES

Tears continue to stream down my face, and I can’t stop them flowing down my cheeks and splashing on the ground. But then, I really don’t want to since it feels as good as it does bad. I can feel all of my emotions swirl within me, creating a tempest that shows no signs of stopping, leaving me a blubbering mess.

I clasp my hands against my chest as though I am trying to keep the storm that brews inside me from seeping out of the cracks that are my identity. I hold this position for the briefest of moments as the next, my hands are taken by another. This other person presses their warm body against mine, giving me someone to hold on to and a shoulder to cry upon.

I don’t know who it is showing me this affection, but I really don’t care. To quote the Beatles, 'I just want someone to love'. But a warm embrace is not all they offer. They rock me back and forth, while humming low near to my ear and pats my back gently in rhythm to the music they create.

I feel so warm, so safe, so happy. All I want is to be lost in the embrace forever. But more than that, I want to shrink down and regress to the body of a baby. I want their arms to enfold me and bring me even closer to their heart, allowing me to meld with them and become one. But all good things…

Slowly, the storm within me settles and subsides, I no longer require a shoulder as I dry my eyes and wipe the ooze dripping from my face. Yeah, I'm an ugly crier, so sue me. I lift my head and gaze upon the woman who had offered me so much support. She smiles at me and I smile back.

It’s time to go, but I don’t want to leave. Honestly, I want the woman to adopt me and take me home with her. I want to find a potion or spell, or whatever, that would turn me into a child and make her my mother. But such is not to be. And I watch the woman, along with the rest, leave the cliff and head back to town.

I let the rest of the viewers leave since I need some time to be alone. Everything that I experienced so far just feels so heavy and I need some way to balance it, a way to come to grips with such a miracle and the emptiness I feel now that it's over. To this end, I step toward the edge of the cliff and hold myself there.

Through the glare of the bright moon shining from above I am able to perceive the waves crashing against the rocks fifty or so feet below from where I stand. I can hear as well as feel, the rhythmic ocean as it batters the rocks taking little bits away with it before depositing it elsewhere no matter its protests.

It’s exactly how I’ve felt since I first entered this town, a span of time that feels so long despite how short that length really is. I was taken in by the pretty exterior and enthralled by its hidden dark side. Sweet was the honey that oozed through the cracks in their society and true to form I gorged on it and made myself sick.

My first encounter, Yugo the Thief, felt so surreal that at every given moment I expected someone to yell, “Cut!”. This would spur an army of assistants to start removing the stage, piece by piece, and the costumes removed as the threads are laid bare and the zippers revealed. But even this existential nightmare was not enough.

The second one, the Doll Collector, felt more like a dream that turned into a nightmare. I can still feel its eyes upon me no matter where I go. I'm even in the habit of checking my windows before I sleep, like a child checking for monsters under the bed. It fills me with such shame, but I must admit a little glee knowing that I'm that much more in tune with my inner child.

The third felt very real, as though reality molded itself to make it so. There my ambition took a turn for the deadly as I was nearly buried alive. Which makes me wonder, just how long was that old man following and when exactly did he choose to step in? Further, I'd better reach out to Doug and see how he's doing.

And as for the last, well, I'm still recovering. But the rock that I am, strong, stoic, able to take on anything, is being eroded by the insanity that is the commonplace activities of this town. And I, the fool that I am, have put myself permanently within the sea that will eventually wear me down. And in this moment, it’s just too much.

I’m standing on the edge of the precipice, ready to take that next step as I feel the weight push me forward and almost tease me about not having the nerve to commit. I take a deep breath, let it out slow and angle my leg over the drop. I close my eyes and a loud sound breaks through the stillness. It’s my stomach. I’m hungry.

I start to giggle. I don’t know why it’s so funny, perhaps it’s how shattering the sound is to my intent. My suicide pact needs silence and stillness. It’s as though I am standing at the altar, ready to marry my misery, and my stomach interjects when the preacher asks if there is anyone that has any objections.

By the time the thought has properly registered with me I’m rolling in the grass, with my mouth wide open and the most obnoxious laugh booming from my throat. I continue to roll until the laughter ceases. I sit up with tears running from my eyes and a sore belly from laughing so long and so hard.

I collect myself as best I can while I stand up. I dust myself off, wipe the tears tracks and in general straighten myself so I look presentable. I give one last look to the edge and say goodbye. After which, I rise to my feet and walk back to town. I enjoy the cool breeze blowing upon me as well as the isolation from being one of the few people out and about at this hour.

I make my way to the hotel with steps that are of the appropriate speed for my weary body that feels so drained since I’ve let so much of myself out all at once. I find my way to bed despite feeling like giving up several times and I drop down into it. I don’t even bother pulling off my boots or changing my clothes. I just shut my eyes and go to sleep. But I do not stay asleep for long.

I wake up at exactly three in the morning, according to my alarm clock on the bedside table, and I instantly know that I won’t be getting any more sleep. So, I lift myself out of bed, straighten myself again so it doesn’t look like I just slept in my clothes and head to the hotel bar, which is the only bar inside the town that I know of. I’m well acquainted with the streets, not so much the buildings.

There’s one other patron sitting at the bar and a lone bartender busily cleaning and polishing. A slow night it seems, though I can't imagine it sees much traffic. So, I decide to sit down near him, not so close that I violate his personal space, but just near enough to start a conversation, which is my intent.

“How’s it going?” I ask the man after I order a drink.

He turns his head. “Oh it’s you!” he exclaims as a sparkle of recognition shimmers in his eye.

“Yes,” I confirm and give a nod with a smile. “It’s me.” I gaze upon the individual whom I had first tried to interview right after the encounter with Yugo. “How have you been?”

“Me?” he responds and picks up his cup. “I’m just living life.” He emphasizes his point by lifting his glass which I clink with my own.

“Happy to hear it,” I carry on and take a drink. “Listen, ever since our first meeting I’ve been dying to ask, what do you know about Yugo?”

“Not much, I...” he starts in, before realizing what he’s saying. “Hey, I can talk to you! That means you signed a contract!”

I nod. “I did,” I affirm his assumption and set my glass down. “And now we can talk like normal. Which, by the way, why don’t the people of this town talk? I mean, I know you can’t talk about what goes on in town, but you can say normal things, right?”

“True,” he agrees with me and wipes a stray trickle from his chin. “But what would it look like if you were in the midst of conversation and the other person just stops talking?”

“I see your point,” I concede and turn my body just a little closer to his. “It would be more than embarrassing, especially if you couldn’t explain your behavior. Okay, now that we’ve gotten that little tidbit out of the way, what can you tell me about Yugo?”

“Well, what I meant to say is that I don’t know much,” he resumes his previous point and scoots a little closer on his bar stool. “But there is a local legend about a boy who stole the last few pennies of an old widow woman who lived on the outskirts of town. The story goes, the widow died that very night and her spirit flew to her coins and cursed their bearer, which happened to be the boy who had yet to spend them. After that he’s forced to wander the world picking up every coin he finds.”

“That makes sense,” I speak as I nod. “But the parade seemed like a celebration. So what exactly are you celebrating?”

“Oh, that’s quite simple,” he assures me and brushes off his sleeve. “Tradition.”

“It’s tradition to throw coins at a man forced to pick up every one of them?” I query as I try to wrap my mind around the idea.

“Exactly,” he returns and taps two fingers on the bar to indicate that he wants more to drink. “Why, don’t you have such traditions where you come from?”

“Not like that we don’t,” I start in somewhat offended, then my mind kicks in and I have to laugh. “No, we just put out cookies for a jolly fat man who breaks into our homes and leaves gifts or coal for nice and naughty children. Or we hide colored eggs for children to find and this somehow is supposed to tie into the resurrection of Jesus Christ.”

“Those sound a lot more complicated than just throwing coins on a street and issuing chants,” he observes while watching his glass get filled.

“I suppose it does, but I’m so used to it, I guess it just doesn’t seem like much,” I further the point, before changing the subject and softening my gaze. “So, that’s all there is to the Yugo legend?”

“It is,” he responds and takes a sip. “Why did you expect there to be more?”

“I guess not,” I admit as I swallow down the rest of my drink. “What about the Doll Collector?”

“The Doll, who?” he counters and fixes me with a strange eye.

“The Doll Collector,” I repeat and set my glass down. “You know the giant that changes children into dolls.”

“Oh,” he responds in a manner that indicates he understands. “You must mean the Toy Man.”

“Toy Man?” I return incredulously and tilt my head to the side. “Who named it that?”

The man shrugs. “I honestly don’t know,” he informs me and takes another sip. “It’s just always been called that.”

I take a moment to mull over the information, when my internal clock reminds me that I’m tired. “Well,” I start in as I give myself a good stretch. “It was nice talking with you, but I think I’d better get some rest.”

“Yeah,” he remarks as he stands and finishes his beverage. “I’d better get back to the family.”

We both give each other a nod and that’s the end of it as we go our separate ways. I to my bed and he, well, I hope back home, but I'm not judging. I had enough drink to give me a good buzz while still allowing me enough brain cells to navigate any obstacle in my path, including the stairs. I open my door, for me there is only wonderful sack time.

I wake late in the afternoon, feeling alive and refreshed, ready to take on any new challenges that present themselves. That is once I fill my empty stomach. Now, what am I going to eat? I think on the matter and pat my belly, as I do my mind gravitates toward the sweet pastries from the cafe.

It may be because I’m practically starving, but every step I take towards my goal makes me want those sweet little dumplings all the more, driving me near to the point of madness. Just goes to show how hungry I am, and I simply can’t wait to get my hands on them. It takes five whole minutes, but it’s all worth it. Once I see that steaming plate headed in my direction, I know Nirvana awaits. My mouth waters as the plate descends upon my table.

I bring the delectable little morsels directly beneath my nose and I breathe in the savory aroma, before taking a bite. It’s better than I remember and the wonderful taste explodes and envelops my taste-buds. I don’t know what they put in these delicacies, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was liquid happiness.

“Ahh, I love those little guys,” a voice speaks from across the floor. It’s Arthur, he invites himself to sit at my table.

I don’t mind, all I see is a fellow appreciator of these little slices of heaven and I offer him my second one.

He waves it off. “Thank you, but I can’t,” Arthur explains and taps his belly. “My diabetes would kill me. Too much fine dining in other countries. Anyway, I’m here to talk to you about Churbles.”

I’m silent, but not by choice.

“That’s okay,” Arthur assures me and taps his cane. “I know you can’t respond, so just listen. Churbles are little fuzzy creatures roughly two feet tall. They’re relatively harmless, so long as you give them something to dismantle which we will take care of. Otherwise, well, let’s just leave it at that. They’ll be here in three days, so you have that long to prepare yourself. He stands to go. “Well, I have to be off, plenty more people to inform.” He waves as he leaves and I return the gesture.

After which, I stand and prepare to go, leaving my single surviving delectable to itself. Oh, who am I kidding?! I snatch it up and eat it along the way.

The next three days I observe many of the inhabitants scattering all manner of strange, metallic constructs that make the center most street of the town look like a kind of failed invention graveyard. But I have other things to worry about, namely a construct that will both protect and allow me to have a mostly unobstructed view of the incoming creatures.

It takes the town’s metalworkers two days to build and install my order and I’m happy with the result. It kind of looks like a metal igloo with a much larger door that could only be opened from the inside and once it is closed has no exposed hinge or gap for fingers to take hold. At the top is a kind of cap suspended by four metal struts creating a wide enough viewing station for me to stick my camera through.

The evening of the encounter rolls around and I set myself up inside my little bunker. I check my camera and telescopic lens, both are in proper working condition. I sit for several hours keeping my eyes on the street, until the time at last arrives just as the sun is dipping to its lowest point in the sky.

At first there’s only one of them. I see it scramble around one of the metal constructs as it seems to be surveying the curious object with both its hands and eyes. Satisfied, it gives off a shrill whistle, which is answered by a whole horde of little fuzzies pouring from out of the darkness as if someone had tipped a large container of them.

They surround their target and immediately set to taking it apart. Bits of metal fly every which way as they voraciously dismantle every loose piece they can get their hands around. They work in perfect harmony not touching the same piece twice unless it offers more resistance. It isn't long before there's little left of the construct which is no more than a husk littering the street.

From my vantage I have a perfect view of the entire affair and I snap several pictures while the Churbles, still in a frenzy, fly about the place, but I’m still able to get a good focus. Their bodies are just a big ball of fluff, with no perceivable face. All they have are four scaly limbs protruding from the fur, each of which seem to be capable of acting as either hand or foot, given their activities.

I continue to watch the marauding miscreants from the safety of my metal shell. I continue my unobstructed observations and I can’t help but feel my heart going out to them. These tiny, industrious creatures look so cute, with their tiny limbs and hands taking apart big chunks of metal. I smile, but it doesn’t last.

Little by little, they get closer as they continue to tear the decoys to pieces. What they couldn’t pull, they rip. What they couldn’t twist, they rip. What they couldn’t, yeah, they really like ripping metal. Bits and pieces are strewn all over the street and more than a few of them are thrown and bounce off my shield.

Then comes my turn and I’m completely unprepared for what's heading my way. To make sure I get the best view I put my fortification in direct line with the rest of the metal hulls. A decision I’m starting to regret as the clawed hands direct their minuscule fury upon me once they've taken notice of my flashing camera.

Any sense of cuteness I had felt toward them is instantly dashed when I see the claws reaching into my viewing port. They scrape and scratch at the metal exterior, causing terrible noises that make it seem as though the whole world is coming apart at the seams. I'm forced to huddle inside and cover my ears.

When clawing and reaching inside doesn’t work, they take to hammering on the hull. Every blow is followed by a series of more blows, which are worming their way into my head, driving me crazy. All I can do is hug myself tight as I possibly can and squeeze my ears even tighter. But even then, I can still hear and feel the violence being enacted all around me.

I do what I can to hold on to my sanity as the world around me becomes more and more volatile while I wait for some miracle to save me. I start by reciting every little children’s nursery rhyme that I can remember, which is a lot of them. But there is one that I gravitate toward more than the others, “The Itsy Bitsy Spider.”

I keep on saying it over and over, and wouldn’t you know it, the fists that rain down upon me are all dried up by the rising of the sun. But I’m not going to climb out until I’m certain they are all gone. Extremely difficult since my viewing port is all but crushed in. I can just see the light shining in.

I'm more than a little scared and a cold sweat has broken out all over my body giving me a sickly sticky feeling. I put my hand to my heart and will it to return to normal while I breathe steadily. But these things are not the worst of my problems, that particular honor belongs to when I try to open the door and find that I can’t.