Disclaimer: I don't own The Rocky Horror Picture Show

A/N: I'm back! I haven't been able to think of good fanfics to write, though I love RHPS too much to write nothing for my fellow fans. Hopefully this story is good. It's based on something I wrote almost exactly a year ago that was very long, very strange, and read only by one person. This is going to be a lot more coherent than that other story since now I'm writing for an actual audience.

The first jump happened that afternoon. It was a Thursday in mid-November. One second I stood on the porch and watched my dog run 'round the yard. The next I stood in the middle of a street. A car - old, rusty - was making its way toward me. I screamed...

But I was okay. The car stopped before it could slam into me. Quickly, a man opened

"Why are you in the road?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. My heads a bit fuzzy currently," I told him.

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't look like you're from around here..."

"I'm from the DC suburbs," I explained, still in a peculiar state of shock.

"That's five hours away," the man replied.

"Really?"

"Indeed. I just drove from JFK airport. What's your name?"

"Tricia MacMillan," I lied. It was a good alias... and I wasn't really sure if using my actual name was safe.

"Delightful to meet you, Miss MacMillan. My name is Robert Majors," he replied.

"Any relation to Brad?" I asked, jokingly.

"Uncle. I've just arrived from England, you see, and haven't seen my nephew in years. Not since his father - my younger brother Stephen - brought the whole family to my London flat. What a summer!"

I liked the man, for he was very talkative. It was at this point that I began to realize that if somehow gotten sent away into another world. Something similar had happened when I was in mourning for the great but late Sir Terry Pratchett. I'd written this epic of a thing to cope with that. For a while I'd been so caught in it that I began to believe impossible things were happening, such as the fellowship's hobbits and I eating dinner together.

As I got into the car - by then ignoring what Robert was saying - I began to wonder if I'd finally gone 'round the bend. Oh well.

"Where are we going?" I asked, as we drove.

"To my brother's house. Hasn't I said so?"

"Perhaps."

On we drove. It seemed I'd appeared just on the outskirts of one Denton USA. I began to wonder which Denton USA as we passed the many pretty houses and family-owned five and dimes. Probably Denton Ohio, I'd decided. That's the one I'd always thought it to be. I didn't like the idea of Texas, which

At one point I spotted a high school. It was smaller than my own and made me wonder whether or not unexpected time travel was an excuse for missing math homework. My teacher happened to be very kind so it's likely I would be excused. Though I'd have to bring home something to price my trip had been one induced by unknown powers rather than unknown ingredients in bake sale brownies.

Eventually we arrived at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Majors. They had a nice little sign on the door that confirmed this as their residence. There was also an attractive door knocker in the middle of a fine, blue-painted door. TARDIS blue. Symbolism, I thought, how nice.

My middle aged Brit of a host knocked on the door. Very soon it was answered by a pretty thing of about 25 with curly blonde hair pinned just right. She had wide blue eyes and didn't look anything like Susan Sarandon, yet Mr. Robert still said:

"Ah, you must be Janet!"

"That's right," she replied sweetly.

"I'm Brad's uncle, Robert. This here is a girl named Tricia I found standing in the middle of the road on my way here."

"What we're you doing there?" she asked.

"I can't recall," I replied.

After a brief impression of a perplexed fish Janet ushered us into the house. The first room we entered was a cosy living room decorated with variety of those wretched knick knacks the elderly collect. Like little dolls and such. My granny has a most frightening collection of those funny ones

"Hello, Robert!" someone shouted.

I turned around to see a woman not much younger than Robert. There was a motherly air to her, with those warm brown eyes, and slightly chubby figure. A bit like a suburban American Molly Weasley. She smiled widely at Mr. Robert.

"That's Tricia," he said. "I found her in the road and decided to bring her along."

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Majors," I said with a funny little curtsy.

Before anything else could be said Janet - who'd disappeared at some point - entered the room with a young man who I decided must've been Brad. He looked like Brad, rather than Barry Bostwick. I'm not sure why... I think.

"Uncle Robby! It's been forever," Brad said, firmly shaking his uncle's hand.

"Yes. Where's your father?"

"Mowing the lawn. Who's the young lady?"

Mrs. Majors sighed. "Tricia. He found her in the road."

"He did..." I muttered.

"What will be done with her now?" Mrs. Majors asked. "I would invite her to stay for dinner if we had space. Even if you weren't here

At that point a man who looked strikingly like Brad entered the room.

"Robert! You're here!" he said loudly, more quietly adding: "who's the girl?"

"This is Tricia MacMillan. I found her in the road and plan to use her as a date while in town. I've heard this place isn't so very keen on the idea of, er, a Lifelong Bachelor..."

It we sort of bothersome that I had no real choices in the matter of who I was to be. Though before I could protest Stephen spoke.

"Lifelong bachelor," he repeated.

Suddenly, a great nervousness overtook the room. Something about that phrase and the cold way Stephen had said it made everything seem wrong.

Before more weird things could happen I left. All too soon I ended up on my backporch. According to the clock just inside the door about fifty minutes had gone by. That's about how long I'd been in that other world... or so it seemed. My adventure had been oddly unlike a dream. For dreams - at least mine - fade greatly the moment one is truly awake. We may remember a glimpse of something or a slight whisper of sound... yet these are only. My adventure was true in every way and as tangible as the clock ticking nearby, or my dog and his bark. This dream, I tell you, was not a dream. I was transported somewhere else... and later I returned, as Dorothy did to Oz.

The nature of my adventure was a mystery, though one so far unsolvable. Like the origin of the baby prop from Eraserhead...

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