The Moon in the Attic, Part 3

Today, for your reading pleasure, the conclusion of a short story written by yours truly. (Part 1, here; Part 2, here.) Enjoy!

<<<>>>

“Goodbye?” I cry. “You’re leaving the sky?”

The moon replies, I’m seriously considering it.

“But, the night!” I protest.

Can get along without me. There are still the stars, after all.

“But, the tides!”

I’ll find a replacement satellite. Your planet’s waters won’t know the difference.

“But… but…!” I’m running low on arguments. “What about me?”

The moon’s song turns sad. I know it will be hard…

“Not hard,” I say. “Impossible. Some days, you’re my only light in the darkness. Some days, yours is the only beauty that can reach me. Without that… without you…” Tears ambush my eyes. “How can I last the night?

“Look. I get it. Burnout is a thing – even lunar burnout, apparently. Maybe the rhythm of the heavens is no better than the human rat race. Maybe you need a vacation. And you’re welcome to it! Hideout for a cycle or two. Make my attic your rehab retreat. But it can’t be forever. Please.”

Bawling seems a little more dramatic than I’d planned, but here we are. Blame it on the lateness of the hour. Everything’s awful at two a.m.

The moon’s soft light is like a stroking hand, attempting to soothe. Its music is all shushes and coos.

Suppose, it says at last, we can reach a compromise?

Compromise. Noun. That thing where nobody wins.

Suppose I leave the sky, it muses on, but not your sight?

I sniffle back another sob. “How would that even work?”

Open your eyes.

I do, and move to swipe the tears away, but the moon’s light stops me. It’s brighter than ever. Insistently so. More tears well up against the glare, but never get a chance to fall. The light is pushing back. Pushing… in.

“Personal spaaace!” I wail. “What are you doing?!”

I don’t get an answer. I rub at my eyes, and the huge glowing crescent is gone. Yet, the nighttime attic around me hasn’t dimmed.

A whisper inside says, Look in the window.

Not out the window. In.

There in the glass, my ghostly reflection. And there in my eyes…

Moonlight.

Part 3’s inspiration, as seen on the “Sun’s Rival”-inspired #ISeeYou Pinterest board – https://www.pinterest.com/pin/383931936965233854/

To carry with you, says the whisper, through the dark. I will not leave you, my child.

“Wow,” I say, because wow. “But… what about finding that replacement satellite?”

The whisper sounds like some extraterrestrial cuss. Maybe it’s not too late to get a message to Pluto and Charon. Up on the roof, love, and blink exactly as I tell you…

For the end of the story, this seems an awful lot like an incredible beginning.

<<<>>>

Enjoyed what I wrote? There’s loads more where that came from! Browse the DEShipley catalogue, why dontcha – including my latest release, “The Marriage of Allyn-a-Dale (The Outlaws of Avalon, Book 2)”. Already read it? I’d greatly appreciate your review!

The Moon in the Attic, Part 2

Today, for your reading pleasure, the continuation of a short story written by yours truly. (Part 1, here; Part 3, coming later this week.) Enjoy!

<<<>>>

“Why on Earth is the moon in my attic?”

I don’t expect an answer, given that I don’t expect the moon can talk.

But it can. And does. Not in English, or even in words, but in… well, I guess it would be best described as music.

It says something like hello, and sorry to have disturbed you. I gather that it hadn’t intended to introduce itself until morning.

“Oh, that’s all right,” I say, because polite, inoffensive lies are my conversational default. One day I’ll slip up and tell someone what I really think, and then the world will end.

Truth is, I’m not terribly upset to find the moon in my house. Is this in any way logical? No. Can the ramifications of this event be anything short of disastrous? Likely not. Should I be contacting somebody about this? I don’t know who, but probably yeah.

But the moon knows me. I hear my name in its song.

And I know the moon. Sort of.

In one sense, it’s like a favorite celebrity. I know the moon’s stats. I can list its achievements. I recognize its face every time it shows up in pictures.

In another sense, it’s like an old friend. The sight or thought of the moon warms my heart. I feel the love in its light. It’s just always been there, the way family is.

The shining crescent says, Because family is what we are.

Part 2’s inspiration, as seen on the “Sun’s Rival”-inspired #ISeeYou Pinterest board – https://www.pinterest.com/pin/383931936962803207/

Confusion contorts my face. “Biological?”

It laughs. Nothing so Earthly as that. But you hold a part of me. And so you are my child.

I’m somewhere between touched and giddy. “That’s… special. But why are you here?”

The moon’s music sighs. I am old and tired and thin.

“Like a hobbit spread over too much bread?” I’m pretty sure that’s not quite the quote, but I’m tired, too, if not so old. My head’s too full of missing my pillow to bother with first-rate Tolkien references.

Like a moon, it says, with too many phases behind it. Wax and wane, wax and wane… I haven’t the will to grow full again.

So I’ve come down to tell you goodbye.

<<<>>>

Enjoyed what I wrote? There’s loads more where that came from! Browse the DEShipley catalogue, why dontcha – including my latest release, “The Marriage of Allyn-a-Dale (The Outlaws of Avalon, Book 2)”. Already read it? I’d greatly appreciate your review!

The Moon in the Attic, Part 1

Today, for your reading pleasure, the first part of a short story written by yours truly. (Parts 2 and 3 to come later this week.) Enjoy!

<<<>>>

It’s times like these I wish I had a husband.

I’ve told myself I’m not the marrying kind. That my need for solitude and personal space far outweighs my sometimes-desire for romance. That I’d have no hope of a good night’s sleep if I had to share a bed, particularly if my bedmate were known to snore. Or even breathe loudly. Or touch me.

On the other hand, unexplained rustles and thumps in the attic don’t do much toward a restful night, either.

It’s probably burglars. Murdering ones. Or raccoons. Zombie ones. Or a spider of unearthly proportions.

I’m going to die tonight.

Had I a husband, I’d send him up with a broom or a BB gun to take care of whatever unholy pest has come to plague our home. Instead, it’s single, sleepless little me up those stairs. Clutched in my hands, a sizeable stick. Jammed on my head, my Adventure Hat. (Or, for tonight’s purposes, my Guard My Hair From Cobwebs ‘n’ Such Hat.) Tingling in my veins, a potent form of chronic anxiety that can morph into berserker rage at need. …Or anytime I’m harassed by a housefly.

Every dusty step creaks beneath me. Every breath contains a whispered whimper. Have I lived my best life? Have I any regrets? It’s not actually too late to go back downstairs and just burn the house to the ground…

I reach the trapdoor to the uppermost story, and heaven above, there’s a weird glow shining through the cracks. Bright white light, bordering on blue. Not zombie raccoons at all, then. Mutant raccoons. From space.

Therefore, not a spider! That’s some comfort, at least. Feeling slightly less terrified, I push open the door, and…

That is the moon.

That is the moon.

The moon.

Is in.

My attic.

The story’s inspiration.

<<<>>>

Enjoyed what I wrote? There’s loads more where that came from! Browse the DEShipley catalogue, why dontcha – including my latest release, “The Marriage of Allyn-a-Dale (The Outlaws of Avalon, Book 2)”. Already read it? I’d greatly appreciate your review!

Behind the Talette: The Soul Shepherdess (Part 1)

It’s the last Monday of the month, meaning my Channillo series has grown by one Wilderhark Talette. ^o^

Maybe you couldn’t tell from the opening poem, title tale, and closing chapter of “The Sky-Child and Other Stories”, or the recent post centered around my emerging bond with Rosie, but the minstrel point of view is a favorite of mine. And like “The Sky-Child”, the next four installments of my Wilderhark Talettes will be all about how the Wilderhark world gained a special songster – one you’ve not met before, though the name does make a cameo appearance in Book 6.5

“Gant-o’-the-Lute,” he returned the greeting. “So, that’s you, is it? Wasted no time getting started with an instrument of your own, I see. Who did you find to apprentice you, then? Barden-a-Tor? Balladry Sol?”

– Ioan-o’-the-North in “The Sky-Child”

Balladry Sol. The answer to a question that once did I wonder: Are any Wilderhark minstrels girls?

Not often, it turns out. Hardly any at all. Or at least, such was the case before Lute’s time. But in “The Soul Shepherdess” – Part 1 shared on Channillo today – we meet an exception: An out-of-the-ordinary little girl with a musical destiny.

And as we all know by now, you can’t have a Wilderhark minstrel story without music. Each chapter of “The Soul Shepherdess” will include at least one original song – which are well enough to read about, but better yet to hear. So for today’s “Behind the Talette” treat, I’ve recorded a video of me and my lute performing the very first composition of she who’ll become Ballady Sol. Ladies, gentlemen, and whoever else, I present to you, “Glass-Light Goodnight” (as shared on my “Ballad of Allyn-a-Dale” Facebook page).

For the touching tale of how this song came to be, make sure you’re subscribed to the Wilderhark Talettes on Channillo, and this story and more shall be yours, all yours!

Jack and the Genre-nauts, Finale: I Saw Three Wishes Sailing In

“Welcome, one and all,” says Will Scarlet, with a broad smile and a bow, “to Will & Allyn’s Interactive Theatre!”

“Every second Friday,” says Allyn-a-Dale, “Will and I and our friends from the story world of ‘The Outlaws of Avalon ’ trilogy—”

“Coming one of these days to a book retailer near you!”

“—Will take at random two of the suggestions gleaned from you, our gentle audience, and incorporate them into… well, the sort of tomfoolery Will calls entertainment.”

“So make yourselves comfortable,” says Will, “as we now present to you the long awaited/despaired-of-ever-happening ‘Jack and the Genre-nauts’ finale: ‘I Saw Three Wishes Sailing In’!”

<<<>>>

[The curtain rises on a forest of Christmas trees before an icy background, faux snow glittering on the floor. Annabelle Gray and Sir Wilbur Lamb from INSPIRED stand over the dejectedly-kneeling Gant-o’-the-Lute as Loki. Will Scarlet as Jack Snow in the Mad Hatter’s body also stands by, while Hatter’s grinning Shadow dances over the backdrop.]

Sir Wilbur: Well, Annabelle? What do you propose we do with our vanquished Trickster?

Annabelle: That depends. Do we have a way to make sure the Shadow does as we wish instead of running mad?

Will [voiceover]/Shadow [turning somersaults, laughing like a loon ]: Madness-made is what I am! Control the likes of me? Why, you’d just as easy turn back time itself!

Will/Jack: Spoken like a Wonderland riddle. And this body I’m in has a Wonderland mind. A reflective surface, someone – quickly!

Annabelle: Something like this?

[From behind her back, she hefts the mirror taken from the Sheriff’s castle in Steampunk Nottingham.]

Lute/Loki [his crestfallen scowl gone baffled  ]: Where have you been carrying that thing, all this time?

Annabelle: In my back pocket. It’s important to dress comfortably when traveling between imaginary realms; my go-to is jeans made of stretch-credulity denim. But is a mirror really the best plan, Jack? If the Shadow catches sight of his reflection, he’ll return to his host, and there may not be room inside Hatter’s body for his spirit and yours.

Will/Jack [straightening from having sketched a sundial in the snow beneath the Shadow ]: Aim not for the Shadow, but downward. What there do you see?

Sir Wilbur: The shadow of a shadow, circling clockwise.

Will/Jack [triumphant ]: And in the mirror, counterclockwise! A widdershins shadow is time turned backward. Shadow of Hatter, you’re now in our power.

Will [voiceover]/Shadow: Well, tweedle-dee-dee, you’re too clever for me. How would you command me, masters?

Annabelle: Gone genie on us, have you? Excellent. Wish one: Bind Loki to my mind, making me his author, and him my character.

Will [voiceover]/Shadow [giggling ]: Granted!

Lute/Loki [shooting to his feet ]: WHAT! How dare you?! I am a god!

Sir Wilbur: And as fictional gods go, you wouldn’t be her first. We’ll introduce you to the abishan, sometime.

Lute/Loki [teeth grinding ]: Why would you do this to me? After all else of which you’ve robbed me, why my freedom, too?

Annabelle: Oh, hush, it’s not as bad as all that. My characters get plenty long leashes, believe me. But keeping you tethered to a proper story, as opposed to this nonsense we’ve been living for twenty-some acts, will guard against your mischief taking down too many worlds. You want Ragnarok? Fine. But contained in a book. [smiling kindly ] I’ll even be sure to work in Fenrir. You’ll get your son, and he’ll get his story, just like I promised him.

Lute/Loki [anger cooling ]: Well. If I am to be your prisoner, I suppose it could be under worse conditions. Very well, author. I am yours. [smirking ] Good luck to your plots, having to keep pace with me.

Will/Jack [stage-muttering ]: If Danielle could handle Austeryn in “Surrogate Sea”, I’m sure Annabelle will get by. [“aloud” ] Now, Shadow, for a second wish: Return to us my rightful body, and set my spirit within it.

Will [voiceover]/Shadow: Granted!

[The Shadow spins in a cyclone of smoke, and when the obscuring darkness clears, Will Scarlet has fallen to the floor, but there stands Allyn-a-Dale.]

Sir Wilbur: Jack! You’re really back!

Allyn/Jack: That I am, and of it glad! A body’s a body, more or less, but how I’ve missed my mind. I don’t know how Hatter lives with himself.

Annabelle: That’s the wonder of a man of Wonderland. Speaking of, time for wish number three. [holds mirror higher ] Hey, Shadow! Look here!

[With a squeal of delight at the sight of its own self, the Shadow flies right into the glass. No sooner has it disappeared and Annabelle set it down, propped up against a tree, than Will Scarlet jumps up from the floor.]

Will/Hatter: End of the line!

Everyone else: Huh??

Will/Hatter [arms spread wide ]: We’re here, Jack: The Fairytale Forest’s North Pole. I told you I’d get you back home!

Allyn/Jack: Why… so you did. And so you have. Not the route I’d have taken, but nevertheless. Thank you, Artifice Cheshirecott.

Will/Hatter [bowing with a sweep of the hat ]: More than welcome, Jack Snow. Now, I’m bound for Wonderland, a big bowl of homemade ice cream, and a nice long nap. All very fun to play the travel guide, but real talk: Keeping you kids entertained on the road is exhausting. So long, everyone! Watch out for rabbit holes!

[With that and a wink, he steps through the looking glass and is gone.]

[The curtain falls.]

<<<>>>

“Aaaand SCENE!” says Will.

“Thank you to audience members Miranda McNeff and Tirzah Duncan,” says Allyn, “for providing us with the inspiration ‘homemade ice cream’ and ‘widdershins’.”

“If you enjoyed yourselves,” Will says, “(or if you didn’t, but you totally did, right?), don’t forget to leave suggestions for future productions in the comments! Words or phrases we’ve got to include, a prop to use, a prompt to run with… anything goes! ‘Til next time, friends: Will and Allyn out!”

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like World’s End (Jack and the Genre-nauts Act 23)

“Welcome, one and all,” says Will Scarlet, with a broad smile and a bow, “to Will & Allyn’s Interactive Theatre!”

“Every second Friday,” says Allyn-a-Dale, “Will and I and our friends from the story world of ‘The Outlaws of Avalon ’ trilogy—”

“Coming one of these days to a book retailer near you!”

“—Will take at random two of the suggestions gleaned from you, our gentle audience, and incorporate them into… well, the sort of tomfoolery Will calls entertainment.”

“So make yourselves comfortable,” says Will, “as we now present to you: ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like World’s End’!”

<<<>>>

[The curtain rises on a backdrop of fields of ice. A sign atop a candy-cane-striped post reads “North Pole, 0.5 miles”, pointing toward the copse of Christmas trees on the stage’s opposite side. Entering from the wings are Gant-o’-the-Lute as Loki and Allyn-a-Dale as Fenrir, the Antichristmas Wolf in Jack Snow’s body.]

Lute/Loki [voice forbidding, smile stretched wide ]: Now’s the day, an’ now’s the hour;

See the Antichristmas lour,

And the Trickster’s rise to power:

Ragnarok unleashed!

Allyn/Fenrir: A stirring preamble, Father.

Lute/Loki: Like it? Modeled it after some poem or another by that Scot fellow, Burns.

Allyn/Fenrir [lips curled back in a wolfish grin ]: Fitting, that. For presently, this frozen world will blaze.

[Meanwhile, among the Christmas trees, out peek Annabelle Gray and Sir Wilbur Lamb from INSPIRED, along with Will Scarlet as Jack Snow in the Mad Hatter’s body.]

Annabelle [stage whispering ]: This is it. The final boss battle. Sonic vs. Robotnik. Link vs. Demon Lord Ganon. Jack Snow vs. Antichristmas Beast/Wolf/son of Loki.

Will/Jack [turning to Annabelle in aggravation ]: What are you on about?

Annabelle [mumbling ]: Video game stuff. Sorry, I saw parallels.

Sir Wilbur: Never mind it, Jack. What’s the plan?

Will/Jack: Plan? I fear that’s a bit beyond me, at the moment. I’m Jack Snow in spirit, but Hatter in the head. What does his mad mind know of battle strategy?

Annabelle: Does this mean we’re screwed?

Sir Wilbur: It’s beginning to look like it. See there!

[The other side of the stage, Allyn has raised his arms high. Head thrown back, he speaks in a howling chant.]

Allyn/Fenrir: In the name of all evil things anti-Christmas,

I summon the fire of sky!

Flaming color, rain down ruin!

Raze and blaze, yon Northern Lights!

[A flickering green glow appears above, glowing redder the lower it descends. Lute’s cruel laugh has scarcely begun gaining momentum when Will plunges out of the trees, hand thrust up toward the lights.]

Will/Jack [rapidly, but with authority ]: Light of North’s nocturnal noon,

Ruin you shall not rain.

Heatless fire, arctic blaze,

In the sky remain.

[The reddening lights halt, then rise again, their harmless green hue returning.]

Allyn/Fenrir [with a snarling sneer ]: Counter rhymes, is it? That’s a game we could be at all day, Santa Claus. Unless you mean to sing my doom with carols as you did before?

Will/Jack: That depends. Would it work?

Lute/Loki [wagging a finger ]: Not so easy as that. Children of the Trickster were never fated to die the same way twice. It will take more than the power contained in a song to kill him. More than the power of Christmas itself!

Will/Jack [thoughtful, sober ]: Possibly so. But what of the power behind Christmas?

Allyn/Fenrir [eyes narrow ]: What do you mean?

Will/Jack [advancing ]: The first and greatest Christmas gift. A baby born to die. A saving sacrifice. This do I wield against you, Antichristmas: The sacrifice, made in the truest Christmas spirit, of Artifice Cheshirecott – a mad hatter who so loved his lost friend that he gave up his body to put an end to your wickedness one more time.

Allyn/Fenrir [ashen and wide-eyed ]: No… [clutches throat, choking and gagging ] Nooo…!

Lute/Loki: Fenrir! Son!

[But it’s too late. Allyn crumples to the ground, a thick haze of steam rising up around him. When the vapor clears, his body is gone. Dropping to his knees, Lute lets loose a shriek of anguish.]

Lute/Loki: A thousand curses upon you, Jack Snow! All I wanted for Christmas was vengeance! To destroy the legacy of the one who killed my son!

Will/Jack: Unfortunately, Loki, you’ve been a very naughty god this year. For that, you get the Shadow, black as coal. [arm raised skyward again, he calls out ]

Shadow of the hatter mad,

Fly to finish to Fenrir’s dad!

[A formless darkness with manic, cat-like eyes and a wide, crescent moon grin flits over the white backdrop.]

Will [voiceover]/Shadow: Ah, looky – it’s Loki! My own match in mischief! Now, what’s to be done about you?

Annabelle [stepping out of the trees with a noisy “ahem” ]: If it’s all the same to everyone else, I may have a solution.

<<<>>>

“Aaaand SCENE!” says Will.

“Thank you to audience members Kelton de la Cruz and Tirzah Duncan,” says Allyn, “for providing us with the inspiration ‘Demon Lord Ganon’ and lyrics from “Scots Wha Hae’ by Robert Burns.”

“If you enjoyed yourselves,” Will says, “(or if you didn’t, but you totally did, right?), don’t forget to leave suggestions for future productions in the comments! Words or phrases we’ve got to include, a prop to use, a prompt to run with… anything goes! ‘Til next time, friends: Will and Allyn out!”

From Bad to Norse (Jack and the Genre-nauts, Act 20)

“Welcome, one and all,” says Will Scarlet, with a broad smile and a bow, “to Will & Allyn’s Interactive Theatre!”

“Every second Friday,” says Allyn-a-Dale, “Will and I and our friends from the story world of ‘The Outlaws of Avalon ’ trilogy—”

“Coming one of these days to a book retailer near you!”

“—Will take at random two of the suggestions gleaned from you, our gentle audience, and incorporate them into… well, the sort of tomfoolery Will calls entertainment.”

“So make yourselves comfortable,” says Will, “as we now present to you: ‘From Bad to Norse’!”

<<<>>>

[The curtain rises on the top of the mountain set, where stands Gant-o’-the-Lute as Loki, masses of clouds heaped like haystacks around him, his shoulders casually bearing the weighted curtain of the sky.]

Lute/Loki: La-di-dum. Ten minutes more of waiting, and my replacement shall arrive.

[At that moment, with a noise like a straining mechanical elephant – or however the Doctor Who fans in the house would describe it – one of the cloud stacks spins around, revealing the blue police box shape of the time/space-traveling TARDIS. Out the door step Will Scarlet as the Mad Hatter in his Doctor getup, author Annabelle Gray from INSPIRED in the body of her character, Sir Wilbur Lamb, and Sir Wilbur in the body of Annabelle.]

Lute/Loki [brows raised ]: You’re early.

Will/Hatter Doctor: A Time Lord is never early, Loki, nor is he late. He arrives precisely when he means to. More or less. Depends how well he input the coordinates, and the TARDIS’s level of cooperation, phases of the universe’s various moons…

Lute/Loki: “Loki”, is it? Not “Atlas”? So, you’re from the future. [unperturbed grin ] Just how far ahead have you seen?

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: We stepped back in time about when we realized Jack Snow’s spirit is in some realm of the dead, with his body bearing the Antichristmas Beast toward the probable ruination of Christmas.

Lute/Loki [grin widening ]: My, oh, my. And what brings you back here?

Annabelle/Sir Wilbur: We need someone to go the point just before the Antichristmas Beast shoots Hatter and forestall its happening, thereby preventing the release of Hatter’s Shadow and the body-switching disaster it caused.

Lute/Loki: And you come in the hope that this needed someone is me? That I shall abandon all to play fairy godmother by setting right your wrongs? Why in the world would I do that?

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: Well, you helped us before. …or, erm, will help us later.

Lute/Loki [amused ]: Help you? By shooting down the Antichristmas’s airship before he can kill you? Or do you refer to when I release Hatter from his entrapment under the sky? Odd that you should call that help, when it all leads to the very event you wish me to counteract.

Annabelle/Sir Wilbur [frowning ]: Are we then to understand that you wished for this to happen?

Lute/Loki: Mortals understand the ways of a god? I’ve no expectation of that. But yes, this is all of my deliberate doing.

Will/Hatter Doctor [expression pained ]: But why? Why would you kill Jack?

Lute/Loki: You killed Jack, Wonderlander, because you are mad. And I wielded that madness because we had need of it.

Annabelle/Sir Wilbur: “We”?

Lute/Loki [casting the sky from his shoulders ]: The revolutionaries! The ushers of the end times! The great Antichristmas Wolf and I!

Will/Hatter Doctor: Wait – Antichristmas Wolf? Look who’s talking madness now. What kind of wolf has horns?

Lute/Loki [smiling terribly ]: The kind that’s the child of a god.

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle [with a gasp ]: The wolf son of Loki. That would make the Antichristmas Beast—

Lute/Loki [exultant ]: The mighty Fenrir. And together, we shall bring Ragnarok to the North Pole.

Awwwww, snap… (Depiction of Fenrir shared via Hallowing on deviantART)

<<<>>>

“Aaaand SCENE!” says Will.

“Thank you to audience members Miranda McNeff and Kelton de la Cruz,” says Allyn, “for providing us with the inspiration ‘fairy godmother’ and ‘revolutionaries’.”

“If you enjoyed yourselves,” Will says, “(or if you didn’t, but you totally did, right?), don’t forget to leave suggestions for future productions in the comments! Words or phrases we’ve got to include, a prop to use, a prompt to run with… anything goes! ‘Til next time, friends: Will and Allyn out!”

Doctor Wha—? (Jack and the Genre-nauts, Act 19)

“Welcome, one and all,” says Will Scarlet, with a broad smile and a bow, “to Will & Allyn’s Interactive Theatre!”

“Every second Friday,” says Allyn-a-Dale, “Will and I and our friends from the story world of ‘The Outlaws of Avalon ’ trilogy—”

“Coming one of these days to a book retailer near you!”

“—Will take at random two of the suggestions gleaned from you, our gentle audience, and incorporate them into… well, the sort of tomfoolery Will calls entertainment.”

“So make yourselves comfortable,” says Will, “as we now present to you: ‘Doctor Wha—?’!”

<<<>>>

[The curtain rises on a single spotlight on the stage’s far end. Inside the spot, built atop a platform (currently stationary, but with rotation capabilities), is a tricked-out, sci-fantastic console built around a sort of pillar of light hung with cables, immediately recognizable (to Doctor Who fans, anyway) as a low-budget attempt at the interior of the TARDIS. Piloting this selfsame time/space machine is Will Scarlet as the Mad Hatter, sporting a dark leather jacket lined with brilliant red, high-top canvas sneakers, and a fez with Hatter-chic embellishments including a broad ribbon, a feather, hat pins, and a sonic screwdriver. Looking on as the Hatter Doctor’s companions are Annabelle Gray and Sir Wilbur Lamb from INSPIRED, each of whom has swapped bodies with the other.]

Annabelle/Sir Wilbur: Is this really simpler than raising Jack Snow from the dead?

Will/Hatter Doctor [flipping thingamajigs and spinning doohickeys]: Oh, no comparison! That kind of resurrection would involve sending me into a full mind-and-body crisis, letting my Shadow loose on the underworld, and locating a body suitable to house a Christmas spirit without melting into goop. All that and we’d still have to catch up to the Antichristmas Beast in Jack’s body before he wreaks havoc on the North Pole. With the head start he’s got, time wouldn’t be on our side. Fortunately, it is on a Time Lord’s!

Doo-weeeeeee-ooooo!

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: I hadn’t been aware you were a Time Lord.

Will/Hatter Doctor [grinning ]: I wear many hats. Next stop: The past!

[The spotlight brightens and dims, brightens and dims, as the platform spins a one-eighty. When the spot darkens for the last time, the other stage lights shine onto the rocky wall of a mountain set. Now facing the audience on the platform is the door to a big, blue police public call box, out of which step our players.]

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: You brought us back to Mount Atlas?

Will/Hatter Doctor: Look again, Annabelle. We’re not in mythological Greece. This is Middle Earth! And that – [pointing ] – is the Lonely Mountain. Jack and I passed by here on the way to our first meeting with you.

Annabelle/Sir Wilbur: Goodness, that was acts and acts ago! You might have aimed for a point in time and space a little nearer to the moment of your Shadow’s release in Steampunk Sherwood.

Will/Hatter Doctor: First things first, your knightliness. Since you and I can’t cross our timelines without making the universe explode into a mess of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey madness, we need someone who wasn’t anywhere near that point to remake history. And I know just the dragon.

Annabelle and Wilbur [in unison ]: Dragon!?

[Will steps up to the mountain to rap a fist against the wall, calling, “Doo-weeeeeee-ooooo! Wakey, wakey, dragon!” A hidden door swings open, and out slips the massive chocolate-scaled puppet head of S’more the candy dragon, blinking glowing eyes, tendrils of smoke curling from its nostrils.]

S’more: “Wakey, wakey”?

Will/Hatter Doctor: Perhaps you’d prefer “rise and shine”? “Up and at ‘em”? “Allons-y”?

S’more [eyes narrowing ]: I would prefer to be allowed an uninterrupted rest. Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup.

Will/Hatter Doctor [backing away slowly ]: Soooo, that’s a “no” to the offer of becoming the candy dragon that saves Christmas. Quite all right. Have it your own way. No need to snack on anybody. [cups hand to ear; raises voice to some distant somewhere ] What’s that, Bunbury? Hold on, I’ll be right there!

[Will flees to the police box door, Annabelle and Sir Wilbur right behind him. The lights go up and down once more, the platform rotating until the spotlight’s back on the TARDIS interior.]

Will/Hatter Doctor: Welp, so much for my unlikely Plan A.

Annabelle/Sir Wilbur: Who was that you were calling out to, just before we left?

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: Pretty sure that was just some classic Bunburying, a la what’s-his-name in The Importance of Being Ernest.

Will/Hatter Doctor: Actually, no – “Bunbury” is what I’ve nicknamed the TARDIS.

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: What happened to “Sexy”?

Will/Hatter Doctor [shrugging]: I might bring it back. Any ideas for where we should look for a hero next?

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: How about—

Will/Hatter Doctor: FanTAStic idea!

Annabelle/Sir Wilbur: She didn’t say anything.

Will/Hatter Doctor: She did earlier. And now we’re setting course for later! [flips a switch on the console, sending the lights all a-flicker once again ] Geronimo-o-o-o-o!

<<<>>>

“Aaaand SCENE!” says Will.

“Thank you to audience members Miranda McNeff and Chelsea de la Cruz,” says Allyn, “for providing us with the inspiration ‘Bunburying’ and ‘Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup’.”

“If you enjoyed yourselves,” Will says, “(or if you didn’t, but you totally did, right?), don’t forget to leave suggestions for future productions in the comments! Words or phrases we’ve got to include, a prop to use, a prompt to run with… anything goes! ‘Til next time, friends: Will and Allyn out!”

Out of Body, Out of Mind (Jack and the Genre-Nauts, Act 18)

“Welcome, one and all,” says Will Scarlet, with a broad smile and a bow, “to Will & Allyn’s Interactive Theatre!”

“Every second Friday,” says Allyn-a-Dale, “Will and I and our friends from the story world of ‘The Outlaws of Avalon ’ trilogy—”

“Coming one of these days to a book retailer near you!”

“—Will take at random two of the suggestions gleaned from you, our gentle audience, and incorporate them into… well, the sort of tomfoolery Will calls entertainment.”

“So make yourselves comfortable,” says Will, “as we now present to you: ‘Out of Body, Out of Mind’!”

<<<>>>

[The curtain rises on the woodland set of Steampunk Sherwood, dimly lit and fog-machined. Having been shot back in Act 15,Will Scarlet as the Mad Hatter lies on the floor, while his shadow – one that looks like little more than cat-like eyes and a massively wide grin, bright as a crescent moon – dances around on the smokescreen. Also on the ground is a furry cloak crumpled over a puddle of goo – all that remains of the Antichristmas Beast – and Annabelle Gray from INSPIRED as Sir Wilbur Lamb in her body. Sir Wilbur as Annabelle arrives from offstage, hefting a fair-sized mirror.]

Will/Shadow: So, you’ve made it back! But no sign of Jack. Oh, where did dear little Snow go? The Shadow knows! [demented laughter ]

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle [to Sir Wilbur in Annabelle’s body ]: I expect he’s been this creepy the whole time?

Annabelle/Sir Wilbur: Essentially, yes. As he mentions it, though, where is Jack?

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: We parted ways at the castle. He was in a hurry to get back to the North Pole and recommence his duties as the chosen Santa Claus. Fortunately, he felt he could spare a minute to tell me how to get the Shadow back in Hatter’s body before he took off. Yoo-hoo, Shadow! [holds up the mirror ] You’re still Hatter enough to want to ogle your own face, right?

Will/Shadow: Oooh, mirror, mirror in your hand – who’s the shadiest in the land? Let me see, let me see!

[The Shadow zips closer to the mirror, then – whoopsie-daisy – disappears right into the glass. The stage’s fog clears, the lights brighten back to normal, and Will Scarlet sits up with a gasp.]

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: Hooray, you’re alive! How’s the gunshot wound?

Will/Hatter [surprised ]: What, was I shot??

Annabelle/Sir Wilbur: I’m afraid so. By him. [gestures to puddle of goo ]

Will/Hatter [rising to his feet ]: So, let me see if I’ve got this straight. [points to self ] I got shot. [points Sir Wilbur and Annabelle ] You two switched voices. [points to body on the ground ] And the guy who shot me just melted down dead?

Annabelle/Sir Wilbur: Yes, yes, and yes, though as far as the third item goes, we don’t know why.

Will/Hatter: I should think it was obvious. It’s the Antichristmas we’re talking about. Nothing can take him down but a concentrated dose of Christmas spirit.

Annabelle/Sir Wilbur: Christmas spirit? But how— Wait. [turns to Annabelle in Sir Wilbur’s body ] When you were last with Jack, did you notice anything at all amiss about his behavior?

This pic is only here to illustrate how crept out you need to be.

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: As a matter of fact… [face pales ] Oh, heck, tell me you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting. That is not even Hatter’s-Shadow-level creepy. That is, like, Vashta-Nerada-level creepy!

Will/Hatter [offended ]: What’s so creepy about my shadow?

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle [voice going shrill ]: I’ll tell you what’s creepy about it! Your freaking Shadow switched everyone’s bodies! Now I’m Wilbur, Wilbur’s me, Jack Snow’s spirit melted the body around him, and the real Antichristmas Beast is riding Jack’s body all the way back to the North Pole where he will doubtless contrive to destroy Christmas forever!

Will/Hatter [face slack with shock ]: Jack’s… dead?

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: Yes, you jerk! Wilbur, rip off his arm or something!

Will/Hatter: Whoa, now! Violence is never the answer! Maiming me won’t bring Jack back any more than would flying by opening up your jacket, though at least the latter option would be more fun. Have you brought your jacket?

Annabelle/Sir Wilbur: Believe it or not, Annabelle is making a lot more sense than you are right now. You don’t seem aware of what you become when your body goes into crisis mode. That gunshot brought out your Shadow, as did your entrapment beneath the sky. And your Shadow is powerful, Hatter. Powerful enough to have brought a body back to life once. That’s why the Beast in Jack’s body was so keen to lock your Shadow away again: On the loose, it could bring the real Jack back!

Will/Hatter: What point in bringing back Jack’s spirit in a body that can’t hold it without melting? What Jack needs – what all of you need – is a way to completely reverse whatever it is you say my Shadow’s done. …Or, simpler still, to prevent it from having ever happened to begin with.

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: How is that simpler?

Will/Hatter [grinning ]: With a TARDIS.

<<<>>>

“Aaaand SCENE!” says Will.

“Thank you to audience members Kelton de la Cruz and Tirzah Duncan,” says Allyn, “for providing us with the inspiration ‘Vashta Nerada’ and ‘flying by opening up your jacket’.”

“If you enjoyed yourselves,” Will says, “(or if you didn’t, but you totally did, right?), don’t forget to leave suggestions for future productions in the comments! Words or phrases we’ve got to include, a prop to use, a prompt to run with… anything goes! ‘Til next time, friends: Will and Allyn out!”

A Parting Glass (Jack and the Genre-nauts, Act 17)

“Welcome, one and all,” says Will Scarlet, with a broad smile and a bow, “to Will & Allyn’s Interactive Theatre!”

“Every second Friday,” says Allyn-a-Dale, “Will and I and our friends from the story world of ‘The Outlaws of Avalon ’ trilogy—”

“Coming one of these days to a book retailer near you!”

“—Will take at random two of the suggestions gleaned from you, our gentle audience, and incorporate them into… well, the sort of tomfoolery Will calls entertainment.”

“So make yourselves comfortable,” says Will, “as we now present to you: ‘A Parting Glass’!”

<<<>>>

[The curtain rises on Allyn-a-Dale as Jack Snow and Sir Wilbur Lamb from INSPIRED as his author Annabelle Gray, the pair entering a castle set all bedecked in medieval tapestries and steampunk swag.]

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: This is it – what would have been home sweet home for Sheriff Antichristmas Beast of Nottingham, rest his monstrous soul. I still don’t get why he just keeled over and melted!

Allyn/Jack: The work of Hatter’s Shadow, no doubt. It is clearly a spirit as powerful as it is raving mad. The sooner it’s back inside Hatter’s body, the better off we’ll be.

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: And a method of achieving that end is somewhere in this castle?

Image via http://www.homeartblog.com

Allyn/Jack [nodding]: There is but one sure way to send a Wonderland spirit back to its host. [crosses to one of the castle walls and removes from it a hanging mirror ] A looking glass.

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: Hatter told you that?

Allyn/Jack [corner of his mouth drawn up in a smirk ]: If the madman had, what sense in believing him? No, I’ve had some experience with mirror magic. The Antichristmas utilized it a great deal during his life in Fairytale Forest. [places mirror in Sir Wilbur’s hands ] All you need do is show the Shadow his reflection, and he’ll return to his rightful place. You know the way back to where we left him, your body, and your knight inside it, I trust?

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: Well, sure, but aren’t you coming?

Allyn/Jack [shakes his head ]: No, not I. It’s past time to put this nonsense behind me. [begins speaking in a subtle singsong, eyes agleam ] Under cloud, beneath the stars, over snow one winter’s morn, I turn at last to paths that lead home. My destiny awaits at the North Pole.

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: Wait, though. What happens when the Shadow’s back inside Hatter? Do Wilbur and I automatically switch back to our rightful bodies, or are we stuck as we are? ‘Cause, I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love being Wilbur, but what about when our whole history together flashes before his eyes like a cheesy OTP video on YouTube and he realizes we’re meant to be? He’ll want to kiss me, which means I’d be essentially kissing myself, which would be whack, because I’m just not that into me.

Allyn/Jack [stares flatly for some moments before speaking ]: Not one part of that was any of my concern. You deal with your own mess. I have the small matter of Christmas to attend to.

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle [grumpy ]: You know, you’re a lot less jolly than the traditional depictions of Santa Claus would lead one to believe. Go on, then. Safe travels home. I’ll give Hatter your regards – assuming he hasn’t bled to death, yet. Sheesh, this story’s gone out of all control.

[Sir Wilbur exits the stage, Allyn smiling chillingly after him.]

Allyn/Jack: You have no idea.

<<<>>>

“Aaaand SCENE!” says Will.

“Thank you to audience members Miranda McNeff and Chelsea de la Cruz,” says Allyn, “for providing us with the inspiration ‘cheesy OTP videos on YouTube’ and lyrics from Billy Boyd’s ‘The Last Goodbye’.”

“If you enjoyed yourselves,” Will says, “(or if you didn’t, but you totally did, right?), don’t forget to leave suggestions for future productions in the comments! Words or phrases we’ve got to include, a prop to use, a prompt to run with… anything goes! ‘Til next time, friends: Will and Allyn out!”