Chapter 1- The Gypsy
It began as just another typical day for the Monkees. The only difference was that they all looked like a bunch of carnies, all for a payment of five-hundred dollars. Clad in their barbershop quartet attire, they trudged through the carnival, looking for somewhere to relax till their tenth performance that day. Each Monkee had their stripe jackets slung over their shoulders and their button down shirt sleeves rolled up. Mike had shoved his green wool hat in his jacket pocket for safekeeping. It was too hot to wear it today. Davy's bowtie was untied and dangling around his neck. Micky, Peter, and Davy all wore their straw hats on their heads, hoping it would provide more comfort.
"How come they let you wear that?" Micky complained, pointing at Mike's wool hat.
"Do you think I wanted to wear it, today? I've been dying in it! Besides, you were there when they told me I had to," Mike grumbled.
"Oh yeah, I forgot," Micky apologized, tripping over a rock, but regaining his balance before he could fall face first in the dry dirt.
They continued in silence for a little while, wandering. They had no money to buy food, the owner of the carnival did not offer them free food for their services and refused to pay them till the end. All they could do was wander helplessly in the heat. There was no ideal shady spot on the entire lot that could quench their desire for relief.
"I'm going to die out here," Micky complained, wiping a sea of sweat off his forehead.
"I can't believe they're making us wear these ridiculous outfits! Can't they see it's an oven out here! Their employees can wears shorts and a t-shirt, but NO! The musicians have to die playing the part. Why did we sign up for this job, anyway?" Davy shouted.
"Five-hundred dollars and Mr. Babbitt's constant complaining that we are behind on rent," Mike answered, wiping sweat from his brow as well.
"How can this day get any worse?" Peter moaned. "This might just be the last gig we ever play."
"I agree," Micky moaned. "We need to stop somewhere, anywhere, and cool off."
"What about the gypsy tent?" Davy suggested, pointing to a mysterious and untrusting tent not too far ahead of them.
"The gypsy tent?" Micky asked, shaking his head. All four men shivered at the memory of their last encounter with gypsies, an encounter that almost lost them not only Peter, but their lives as well. After that ordeal, they all promised not to get into any other deals with gypsies again. If they walked into that tent, there would be no doubt that something comical or cincial would happen to them.
"You did say anywhere, Micky." Davy sighed. "I don't like the idea as much as you guys, but there really isn't anywhere else with proper shade to rest."
"Without getting in trouble by our bosses, you mean?" Mike added on.
"Exactly. So it's the tent or we die out here." The four Monkees silently considered the proposition. As if in agreement, they all headed towards the tent. Each Monkee had their feeling of unease as they stepped inside the tent, but they were suddenly refreshed by the sudden coolness that overcame them. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
"Welcome musicians," An oddly young gypsy woman said, gesturing towards the pillows that sat in front of a small table. The tent was dim, the only form of light coming from the candles and where the ground met the tent. The gypsy herself was illuminated by the candles. She looked like a typical gypsy, her fiery red hair accesorised by threads, bandanas, and beads. She wore a colorful dress with rags hanging off. She had golden eyes that complimented an almost perfect face. If the tent's attire didn't scare the Monkees, her attire did.
"Isn't it a little dangerous to have candles lit in a tent?" Peter asked. None of the Monkees sat down.
"Not here," The gypsy said. "Never in here. Please, sit. We have a lot to talk about."
The four Monkees looked at each other, very nervous and confused. "What is there to talk about?" Mike asked, folding his arms. "We just came in here to cool down."
"Please, I beg you," The gypsy said, gesturing the pillows once more. "I'm aware of your long and vigorous journey, you must be tired."
"You mean the journey from the stage to this tent?" Micky asked, moving a finger from the direction of the stage to the ground he stood on.
"You're funny," The gypsy laughed. "If you would like to play with the idea, then sure. I refer to your journey from the stage to my tent." She said this with a hit of playful sarcasm. None of the Monkees moved.
The woman gave another gesture towards the pillows, her eyes begging for cooperation. Reluctantly, they all sat down. When each man was settled, she smiled. "There, now that wasn't so hard, was it?"
"Actually," Micky began, rubbing his hip. "My hip hurts a little bit."
"Does it?" The gypsy asked, concerned. "You must be the first to wake, then."
"Actually Mike's the first up in the mornings," Micky argued.
"Have you had any hip injuries in your past?" The gypsy asked, as if trying to confirm her own suspicions.
"Not that I'm aware of. However I do have bruises that show up all over my body every now and then."
"That happens to everyone, Mick," Davy interrupted.
The gypsy waved it off. "Right, your future. Do you wish to hear it? The information I need to give you will be very beneficial to you if you wish to survive. Of course, the choice to hear it is optional."
"Well, you got us to sit down, so why not?" Mike concluded, obviously bored.
The gypsy smiled. She laid her hands flat on the table and looked at each Monkee in turn.
"Aren't you going to use a crystal ball or something?" Davy asked.
The gypsy shook her head. "I know the future of you four Monkees well and clear, but I can only go so far. The four of you must endure three trials."
"Trials?" Peter asked, concerned.
"One trial in the past, one trial in the present, and one trial in the future," The gypsy continued, ignoring Peter's outburst. "Not exactly in that order, though. In the future, you must return the book to where it belongs."
"And where does it belong?" Micky asked.
"With it's owner, duh." The gypsy rolled her eyes, silently hoping these boys would be able to solve each trial.
"And what book?" Mike asked, slightly annoyed at the vague challenges.
"You'll discover soon enough, Michael." The gypsy smiled at Mike's surprise that she knew his name.
"And the other two trials?" Davy asked.
"In the present, you must be the change." She paused to let that settle in, waiting for them to question the statement. When there was no objection, she continued. "In the past, you must make a terrible decision. Whatever choice you choose will determine the rest of your lives."
This time Mike scoffed. "What terrible decision? The only terrible decision I see here is the one we made walking into this tent!" Mike stood. "What's so important about these trials, huh? Why does it matter to us? You're just a fortune teller, nothing more. You're a scam to get people to give you money."
"And I'm doing this for free," The gypsy said calmly. In that moment all four Monkees realized that the gypsy did not ask them for any money when they walked in. "It matters to you because these trails are unavoidable, Michael. You cannot escape them. No matter how much you try. These trials will help you escape."
"Escape what?" Micky asked, now skeptical as well.
"I'm outta here," Mike stated, turning and leaving the tent.
"Michael!" Peter yelped, jumping to his feet and running after him.
The gypsy shook her head. "What a shame. At least he's a fighter. What about you two, then? Do you believe me?"
"I'm… I'm not sure," Micky frowned. "You're being awfully vague about all of this."
"I cannot be any more specific, I'm sorry." The gypsy apologized. "This is a journey the four of you must make on your own, and I can only prepare you for so much of it."
"Can't you at least tell us why we're taking these trials?" Davy asked.
"I did," The gypsy sighed. "You're escaping."
"Yes, but escaping what, exactly?" Micky asked.
"Alas, I cannot tell you." The gypsy frowned. "That is certainly the rough part of my job. I wish I could help you more."
"It doesn't make sense, though," Davy frowned. "You said these trials happen in the past, present, and future. Does that mean we've already endured the first trial? If so, what was it?"
"Maybe it was walking into this tent, like Mike said." Micky suggested.
"No, no." The gypsy shook her head. "That trial has yet to come. I did say the trials are not necessarily in chronological order."
"How can they not be in chronological order?" Micky said. "What happens in the past becomes the past, whatever happens now is the present, and whatever is in the future is the future!"
"Micky, I do not mean it in that sense," The gypsy insisted, beginning to become irritated at the amount of doubt the Monkees had in her. "You will see for yourself what I mean."
Micky rolled his eyes. "Come on Davy, let's go." Micky stood and left the tent. Davy stood as well, but the gypsy quickly grabbed his wrist, pulling him back to the floor.
"Take this, Davy Jones," The gypsy said, sliding a book towards him with her free hand. "You are going to need it." The book looked brand new. It had a rough, leather cover with a golden border. It looked heavy.
Davy looked at the book, still in shock from the gypsy's sudden actions. "What is it for?"
"It will record everything about the trials for you." The gypsy said. "All you have to do is touch it." With this, the gypsy lifted the hand she held and placed it gently on the book. Davy felt a sudden poke and jumped.
"Ow!" He yelped, bringing his hand back to his chest. He looked at it to see there was no blood coming from his hand. "What was that for?"
"The book needed a sample of blood to record your memories." The gypsy explained as if it were obvious. "There is no blood on your hand because the book heals the wound it makes for you. Now look, our entire conversation, as well as the past five years, has been recorded in this book." She opened the book and began to read. "The first thing I can clearly remember from my adventure is the day I met the princess of Harmonica. Her name was Bettina. She had beautiful white hair, the most elegant of all faces, and she was absolutely perfect. I was on the beach outside of my home, enjoying the peace and serenity of the ocean. However-"
Davy interrupted her. "You must be joking!" She handed him the book and he read it for himself. His jaw dropped at the accuracy in detail regarding the adventure he had with his friends and Princess Bettina. He flipped through a few pages and found the story of when he and his mates almost became members of an Arabian embassy, he himself to become a prince. Another chapter contained the story of their adventure in Mexico, when Davy was kidnapped by bandits. In the very back of the book Davy found his encounter with the gypsy.
"This is crazy." Davy muttered. "How is this possible?"
The gypsy winked. "You'll find out in due time, Davy Jones. Now go, your friends need you."
Not sure whether he trusted the gypsy, Davy took the book and backed out of the tent, watching her. When the flap to the tent settled in front of him, he turned around to find himself surrounded by darkness.