Disclaimer: The weird island and everybody on it are the creation of Sherwood Schwartz, may he live forever.

Author's Ramblings: You will notice that once again there are some characters here with unfamiliar last names. That is because all of the characters in this story are fictional. Yup. I made 'em up, right out of my weird imagination.

More Ramblings: Dedicated to Jean Lorrah and Ruth Berman, who started the whole "Weird Planet" sub-genre, and to everyone who asked for a sequel to Visit to a Weird Island. Hold onto your hats!

Visit to a Weird Island Revisited

The red-shirted figure broke the surface of the lagoon. "Skippererer!" he shouted, thrashing about, as thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. He began to plunge desperately towards shore.

"Gilligan! What's the matter?" shouted the Professor from where he stood on the shore with Mary Ann.

"Oh, no! D-do you think something's got him?" cried the petite farm girl, clutching his arm.

"I'll go find out. You stay here, Mary Ann!" The Professor dashed into the lagoon, but Gilligan came charging out so fast that by the time they met, the water was only thigh-deep. The Professor caught the panicking young sailor's flailing arms and tried to keep him still. "Gilligan, what's the matter? Are you hurt?"

"Professor, they're here! Run for your life!"

"Who's here?"

"The headhunters!" Gilligan fairly screamed. "Didn't you hear them?"

The Professor shook his head. "Gilligan, you're mistaken. Mary Ann and I haven't heard a thing! Have we, Mary Ann?"

"He's right, Gilligan!" she answered. "We haven't seen or heard anyone!"

Gilligan blinked, pulling up his goggles with trembling fingers. "Are you sure?"

"Of course we are, Gilligan." The Professor knew how high-strung the seemingly carefree first mate actually was; he kept his voice at its most soothing as he led Gilligan out of the water. "What made you think the headhunters were here? And how could you possibly hear them underwater?"

"I heard their drums! I would have stayed under but I had to come out and warn you!"

The Professor patted Gilligan on the back. "Well, that was very noble of you, but what you heard wasn't drums; it was thunder. One of those swift summer storms is passing the island. We probably won't even see it!"

"Oh." Gilligan gave a slight sigh of relief but still scanned the jungle with wide, nervous blue eyes. "But the Skipper told us that he found that campfire and that arrowhead. There are headhunters on the island somewhere! Isn't that right, Skip--" He suddenly focused on the pair before him. "Hey! What happened to the Skipper? He was with you the last time I dove in!"

"He said he couldn't wait, Gilligan," Mary Ann explained. "He wanted to get back and start making weapons to defend the camp!"

"Huh? And who's gonna defend us? Professor, maybe we better go back too! If there are headhunters around, the Skipper is the best defense!"

The Professor shook his head. "But we still haven't found the third amulet, Gilligan!"

Gilligan's shoulders slumped. "Professor, I've swum around that lagoon five times already! I'm telling you, it's not there!"

"But these two were!" The Professor reached into his shirt and pulled out the gleaming golden disk that hung from a gold chain 'round his neck. A similar pendant hung over Mary Ann's halter top. "And the ancient Mayan legend says that all three amulets must be together in order for their powers to be activated!"

Gilligan folded his arms. "I thought you didn't believe in that stuff, Professor. You're always telling the Skipper and me that it's just primitive superstition!"

"There was nothing primitive or superstitious about the Mayans, Gilligan. They were one of the most brilliant civilizations the world has ever known: scientific pioneers who may even have had contact with extra-terrestrials!"

The two younger castaways stared blankly. "With what, Professor?" asked Mary Ann.

"With beings from outer space."

"What?" Gilligan shot a terrified glance at the sky. "It was bad enough when we had headhunters! Now we're gonna be invaded by men from Mars!" The sudden flicker of far-off lightning and subsequent boom nearly made him jump out of his sneakers.

"No, no! That wasn't what I meant, Gilligan!" The Professor held up a calming hand, trying to explain. "I simply meant that the power of the Mayans had nothing to do with magic. It was science: a science far more sophisticated than our modern world has ever produced. And the Mayans claimed that these amulets gave them the power to travel great distances in the blink of an eye!"

"But—" Gilligan began.

"And if that recent earthquake pushed these two amulets out of the mud at the bottom of the lagoon, it stands to reason that the third one is down there as well. But if we don't find them now, this approaching storm may silt up the water of the lagoon so badly that we won't be able to try again for days!"

"Oh, Gilligan, please give it another try!" cried Mary Ann. "We could be all be off the island and safe from the headhunters once and for all!"

Gilligan gave a defeated sigh. "Well…if it can save us all, okay. You win. Once more." He turned and splashed back into the water as another roll of thunder reverberated through the heavy air.

As Gilligan vanished beneath the surface, the Professor shielded his eyes and looked up at the sky. Mary Ann followed his example. "I've seen far worse skies than that in Kansas, Professor. Still looks like the storm might pass over us."

"I hope so," murmured the Professor. "I don't know how long it'll take Gilligan to find that amulet, and I certainly don't want him under water if that lightning gets any closer."

Mary Ann's brown eyes flew wide with alarm. "But what if it does?"

The Professor looked out at the lagoon as the rising wind stirred the water in an ominous dance. "I'm going in to get him."

Deep in the mysterious, misty depths of the lagoon, Gilligan glided through ballets of brightly coloured fish and waving tresses of seaweed. Wary crabs scuttled across pockmarked mounds of coral, sending up trails of silt and bubbles. Gilligan looked up ahead, where the bed of the lagoon dropped off suddenly into a deep depression that hid the ruins of a sunken yacht. He paused, stirring the water gently with his hands and feet, not keen to go on and explore the area near that eerie, haunted hulk. He cast one last, desperate look at the lagoon bed beneath him, and blew a stream of surprised bubbles from his nose as he spotted the gleam of metal moving in the twilight.

One of the crabs had a golden chain tangled 'round its front claw. Gilligan reached down and gently lifted the chain free. The crustacean scurried away as Gilligan lifted the gleaming amulet, his eyes dancing in the half-light.

With an exultant kick he propelled himself to the surface and shot from the water, the amulet held high. "Professor! Is this it?"

"Gilligan!" He heard Mary Ann shout as he pulled the goggles up again and shook the water from his hair. "Thank God you're alive!"

"Gilligan, get out of that water now!" thundered the Professor. "That last bolt of lightning was huge! It could have cooked you!"

"What?"

"Oh, blast!" This from an unfamiliar British voice that sounded like it came from the shore. "Airplanes roaring overhead, the spot-light bursts like one of your fourth-of-July fireworks, and now the three of you decide to improvise your own script! We'll never shoot this scene at this rate!"

Gilligan blinked. He felt his feet suddenly hit bottom, a solid bottom, where before the water had been far over his head. The water and the air had turned quite chilly. But he hardly noticed either strange phenomenon as he stared at the scene before him.

The Professor and Mary Ann were still on the shore, clutching one another as if in fear. But they weren't looking at Gilligan. Instead, they were looking behind themselves at the source of the voice both they and Gilligan had heard. When Gilligan saw the speaker and his companions, he stared, wide-eyed. "Professor! If those are head-hunters, they're the best dressed ones I've ever seen!"

They were the palest as well. Their leader was a forty-ish looking blond man in jodhpurs, elegant shirt and beret, who stood impatiently tapping a riding crop against his high-booted leg. Behind him, fanned out along the edge of the jungle, was an impressive collection of cameras, boom mikes and tall spotlights, all trailing long, black, cords and all manned by a polo and jean clad crew. A man stood off to the side with a black slate clapboard, hastily rubbing out a number six.

"Wh-who are you?" the Professor finally managed to stammer.

But the man in jodhpurs wasn't listening; he was too busy giving orders. He looked at one of his men as he pointed to a tall spotlight fringed with jagged shards of glass. "See about replacing that light, Sam, and get all this sand swept away. Don't want our darlings cutting themselves, and when the Rams do their stint tomorrow morning they'll be in bare feet. Hop to it, men." He turned, suddenly realizing he'd been spoken to. "I'm so sorry. What did you say?"

"I said, 'Who are you?" said the Professor, staring in absolute astonishment.

"And who are they?" gasped Mary Ann, pointing a trembling finger at the crew.

"And what is all that?" called Gilligan.

"And where on earth did you come from?" finished the Professor.

The blond man looked annoyed. "From Surrey, dear boy, if you must know!" He shook his head and tisked. "I should think you lot could choose a better time to practice your improvisations. I don't know about the three of you, but we've got a television program to shoot." He strode over to where the man was writing on the clapboard. "Good Lord. Take 7? Is that what we're on? We've got to get this scene in the can by Friday!"

He looked out to where Gilligan was still shivering. "Well, you might as well come in, Bob old fellow. Your winters here in Los Angeles may not be as nippy as England, but if you stay out there any longer, you're bound to catch pneumonia."

"L-Los Angeles?" Mary Ann gasped. "D-did you say, Los Angeles?"

"Of course I did," replied the Britisher. "Ain't that how it's pronounced? Damn name's foreign anyhow."

The Professor looked as though the witch doctor had turned him back into a zombie. "Los Angeles, California?" he croaked. "California?"

The Englishman made a face. "Dash it all, Russell, I don't need a lesson in pronunciation."

Gilligan was standing stock still in the middle of the lagoon, hardly daring to believe his ears. "P-professor…did I hear what I think I heard? Did we--"

"Yes! The amulets worked! We're saved! We're saved!"

Gilligan remained still for about half a second. Then he exploded through the water with a wild shout of joy as Mary Ann and the Professor grabbed each other and swung round in a euphoric dance. "We're saved! We're saved! Hooray!"

The man called Sam looked at the Englishman. "This a wrap for the day, Mr. Godwins?"

"Absolutely," snorted Mr. Godwins. "Bally crackers, all of them!"

The whirling threesome were still shouting and singing when the Professor suddenly pulled them to a halt so fast that they nearly knocked into one another. "Wait a minute," he cried. "If this is Los Angeles, why are we still at the lagoon?"

Mary Ann stared at the familiar landscape. "You're right, Professor. It is our lagoon! There's the waterfall, and the big tree stump, and the trail that leads to our camp!"

"But there sure weren't any office buildings behind our lagoon the last time I looked," said Gilligan, peering at the horizon. "Look over there!"

The Professor shaded his eyes. "You're right, Gilligan. I can just make them out! And I can hear cars – surely there's a freeway back there!"

"Tough luck, Mr. Godwins," said the man called Sam. "We lost the take, but the rush hour traffic's started. We'd have lost the sound anyway."

"Oh, why on earth did I become a director?" moaned the Englishman. "Why didn't I read Law, like Pater wanted? Sometimes I think I'd prefer to film a television series about seven stranded castaways on a real deserted island!"

The real castaways stared. At last they began taking in the cameras, lights and equipment. "Seven stranded castaways? Good heavens," gasped the Professor. "This is a film set! You're filming a tv program!"

The director rolled his eyes. "Very droll, Russell, I'm sure. What did you suppose Gilligan's Island was? Grand opera?"

"Gilligan's Island?" echoed Mary Ann. "Do you mean it's a TV show – about us?"

"And it's named after me?" exclaimed Gilligan, absolutely delighted.

"Oh, give it a rest, do," sighed the director.

"And yet no one's come to rescue us?" The Professor was horrified. "Good Lord, man, is this some sort of joke? We've been stranded on that island for nearly three years!"

"And how'd you find out about us?" demanded Gilligan. "Nobody ever tells people where we are. Not Eva Grubb, not George Barkley, not Tongo—"

Godwins shook his head. "Look here, Bob, Dawn, Russell: I'll recommend you all for the Emmy Award for sheer overacting! Now do please stop all this nonsense and let us clear the set!" He strode off, swinging his crop. "Ruddy Americans!"

The Professor pulled his friends close in a football huddle. "Listen, you two: I'm beginning to realize why this poor man's so confused."

"He's confused?" said Gilligan. "What's that make us?"

"Please, Gilligan, bear with me. I should have realized that this Mr. Godwins doesn't know about the amulets. He has no way of knowing we just materialized here from the island. He must think we're the actors in his tv series!"

"Is that why he keeps calling us by the wrong names?" said Mary Ann.

"I'm sure you're right. And since he can't tell us apart, it would appear that these actors are our doppelgangers!"

"You mean they're German?" said Gilligan.

"No, no, Gilligan. Doppelganger means double. It means they look exactly like us!"

"Oh. You mean just like this lagoon looks exactly like our lagoon!"

"Yes, Gilligan." The Professor looked around uneasily. "Eerily like our lagoon, in fact."

Gilligan was catching his uneasiness. "Then if we're here, where are the actors? Where'd they go?"

"There's only one place they could have gone, I suppose. Our island! The amulets somehow caused us to switch places!"

"Boy, are they in for a surprise," said Gilligan. "And so are the others!"

"Well, at least we're here and can tell the authorities about them now," said Mary Ann. "But I still don't understand it. These actors – they've been playing us? Someone's done a show about our being shipwrecked? But how? Why?"

The Professor chewed his lip in worry as he stared at the phantom lagoon. "I don't know, Mary Ann. But there are two things I want the pair of you to do for now."

"Sure, Professor," they chorused, anxious for direction.

"Don't tell anyone who you really are for the moment. Just play along with pretending to be actors for the time being, until I can figure out how to explain to these people about what's happened with the amulets."

"But we don't even know--" began Mary Ann.

"Speak as little as possible, for now. I'll take the lead. The second thing I want you to do will be even harder: don't call the authorities yet. And don't call your families."

"But Professor!"

"I know, I know. You're both understandably anxious to speak to everyone back home, but I still don't know exactly what's happened to us, and I want to try to understand it better before we reveal ourselves to anyone. Agreed?"

Mary Ann and Gilligan nodded with downcast faces. "Agreed."

Suddenly a booming voice greeted them. "Ha, ha ha! I hear you three are up to your old tricks! What are the three of you jokers doing?"

"Just remember," the Professor whispered desperately. "He's not the Skipper! No matter what he looks like or sounds like, he's not the Skipper!" But his warning could not stop all three of them from gasping when they turned and saw the man.

"Wow!" Gilligan whispered, and his shivering had nothing to do with the cold. "He's a doublebanger, all right!"

The big man could have been the Skipper's twin brother. He was even wearing the Skipper's blue polo shirt and captain's cap. There were the same twinkling blue eyes, the same broad smile. "Our unit finished early, folks. I was hoping I'd catch you still here - my car's in the shop and I'd like to hitch a ride to where Trinkett's going to pick me up in hers."

Bewildered, Mary Ann couldn't help herself. "Car? Trinkett?"

The man in the captain's hat turned his blue eyes to her. "Oh come on, Dawn. I mean, some men wouldn't trust their wife with a car, but I trust mine. Trinkett's a great little driver."

Just then the Englishman approached, draping a blanket around the shivering first mate's shoulders. "Alan, would you take poor Bob up to his dressing trailer and see that he gets a hot shower and some dry clothes, won't you? I'm afraid he'll catch his death."

"Huh?" Gilligan gasped.

Godwins sighed. "Just an English expression, dear boy. Means you'll catch cold."

"Oh."

The man the director had called Alan put his arm around Gilligan's skinny shoulders. "I think you're right, Leslie! Come on, Bob. You can't get sick. We can't very well do Gilligan's Island without you!"

"Yeah, I…guess not!" Gilligan pulled the blanket closer around himself as the chill in the air finally seemed to register.

The Professor, seeing his friends' uneasiness, gently disengaged Gilligan from the actor's grip and passed him over to Mary Ann. At Alan's look of surprise the Professor explained, "Ah, I think Bob's all right to walk with Dawn now. I want to talk to you," and he tried to say the unfamiliar name casually, "Alan. Let's head for the trailers, shall we?"

Gilligan and Mary Ann looked at each other as they fell in behind. "What's the Professor doing?" whispered Mary Ann.

"I don't know," Gilligan whispered back. "Just play along!"

The foursome moved off down the trail out of what was all too obviously a fake jungle. Subtly the Professor held back so that Alan ended up leading the way. After a few minutes they emerged from the "jungle" into a miniature city of roadways and large, white buildings like airplane hangers. Mary Ann and Gilligan stared all about them in awe.

"That lagoon! It was ours, but it was a fake! No wonder it was so shallow!" whispered Gilligan.

"We really are in a studio!" whispered Mary Ann. "Like Ginger worked in. My gosh, we're in Hollywood!"

They had frozen in place, and the Professor gently waved them along as Alan stared back at them. Roy Hinkley marshaled his troubled thoughts. Plucking Alan by the sleeve, he asked quietly, "So…Alan. How is Gilligan's Island doing?"

Alan chuckled. "Don't you read the trade papers, Russ? Same as ever. The critics hate us. 'Most inane nonsense ever seen on television.' And the public loves us. 'Funniest sitcom ever made.'"

"I see." He glanced behind himself, saw the nervous Mary Ann and Gilligan still staring around at their surroundings, and lowered his voice. "Quiet – I don't want to upset them."

Alan looked back again. "Oh, okay," he murmured. "They are acting a bit funny."

The Professor continued. "How are our…uh…costars taking the news of our critical reception?"

"Just the same. Natalie and Jim don't care. They're old pros. They know this business. Poor little Dawn back there was pretty upset for awhile, but after old Jim explained that it's the ratings that count, she was okay."

"Mmmm. And other than that?"

"Other than that?" Alan paused for a moment, as though he were about to make a confession. Then he straightened and quickly put on a happy face. "Oh, things are great! Just great. Sherwood even told me we've been picked up for a fourth season."

"Oh." Wondering who on earth Sherwood was, the Professor feigned a look of happy surprise. "Sherwood must be very pleased."

"Is he ever. I'll bet he's already got all next year's scripts outlined all ready." Alan pushed his captain's hat back with a sigh of wonder. "I'm telling you, that guy just never quits. I mean, he's in his late forties and creates a hit show, and a real original to boot. Everybody else is doing westerns and family comedies and he comes up with the idea of castaways on a deserted island!"

The Professor raised an eyebrow. "A somewhat unusual choice for a comedy, I'd agree. I mean, the original story had such a tragic ending, at least as far as all the world knew."

"It did?" Alan looked puzzled. "Sherwood told me he got the idea from Robinson Crusoe. Didn't he get rescued in the end? Him and Man Friday?"

"Oh, yes!" The Professor was really floundering now. "But as for the Minnow…"

"Heh, heh. You know, Russell, Sherwood told me the funniest story. He said there was this coastguard cutter, this real ship, and the officer on it got a telegram from somebody saying, "Why don't we save those poor people on that island!" And a junior officer came up and said, "Sir, it's a TV show! I mean, can you believe somebody actually thought the Minnow and the shipwreck and the castaways were real? Who did they think was filming them every week?"

"Extraordinary!" said the Professor, feigning a chuckle as his stomach felt momentarily queasy.

"And the more out in left field this show gets, I'm amazed anybody believes it! Look at this week's script! Mayan amulets and traveling through the space-time continuum and parallel dimensions! This is a sitcom?? Sometimes I think the writers are trying to turn us pure sci-fi. Next thing you know, the Professor'll build a rocketship out of bamboo and we'll end up shipwrecked on another planet or something!"

"Ha, ha." The Professor laughed a mirthless laugh. "Let's hope they don't try it, Alan!"

They had reached a line of long, metal trailers. "Well, here we are," said Alan. "Come on, Bobby. Out of those wet clothes." He reached out to twitch the blanket off, but Gilligan jerked out of reach.

"Nothing doing! Not in front of a lady!"

Alan rolled his eyes very much in the same way the Skipper would have. "In your trailer, knucklehead. Where your shower is! You always leave some extra clothes in there just in case they toss you in the lagoon, don't you?"

"S-sure," said Gilligan, his bright blue eyes still watching Alan with a troubled air. At last the first mate started hesitantly towards the trailer Alan was pointing at: the one with the name "Bob Colorado" on the nameplate. To the young sailor's surprise, the door was unlocked, and he pulled it open like an inexperienced burglar. With one last look of apprehension, he disappeared inside.

The Professor took Mary Ann's elbow and led her towards the trailer marked "Dawn Bells." "Why don't you get changed as well, dear? But be sure not to lose your necklace. It's awfully valuable, you know."

Mary Ann stared at him, but they had all learned to trust the Professor long before this. "All right. If you say so." She cautiously stepped inside, and they saw the light go on.

"They're too much, those two." Alan pulled a box of Belvederes from his pocket. "Trinkett doesn't like me to smoke in the car. Want one?"

"Mmmm?" The Professor blinked at the sight of the cigarettes. "Oh, no. No thank you." The mention of Alan's wife suddenly put the Professor on to a very uncomfortable possibility. "But…but I wonder if you'd do me a favour."

"Be glad to. And maybe you could give me a ride? I've always wanted a spin in that snazzy red convertible of yours."

"Oh! Certainly, certainly! Uh…whereabouts did you want to go?"

"There's a little gas station on Santa Monica Boulevard by the turnoff to San Diego Freeway. Trinkett's going to meet me there."

The Professor screwed up his eyes for a moment, trying to remember his Los Angeles geography from his days at UCLA. "Is there a landmark nearby?"

"Sure. It's right beside the main branch of the Los Angeles Public Library."

"Eureka!" the Professor exploded like Sam's spotlight. "That's the very place – uh, the place where I'm heading. I can certainly drop you off there."

"Great!"

The sound of a shower hissing from one of the trailers reminded the scholar of his uncomfortable suspicion. "But about that favour: it's about Bob and Dawn."

Alan looked at the trailers and shook his head. "They sure are acting strange. What's the matter with them, anyway?"

"I'm not sure, but I would like to keep an eye on them overnight. I'll get us a hotel."

"Really?" The big man glanced worriedly at the trailers. "They in some kind of trouble or something?"

"No, no, not at all."

"But…what'll Bob's wife and Dawn's husband say when they don't come home tonight?"

So the uncomfortable possibility was a reality. The Professor tried to sound much more nonchalant than he felt. "Ah, could you phone their families, Alan? Just so they won't worry?"

"Well, if you say so. But what'll I say?" Alan scratched his blond head for a moment. "Hey, wait a minute. I've got it: early shoot tomorrow, might as well stay at a hotel nearby?"

"Excellent idea."

"What about your wife? You going to phone her?"

"Uh…" The Professor decided not to take the chance. "Could you, please? I'm afraid to let those two out of my sight that long."

Alan looked alarmed. "Wow. That's really out of this world! But I'll sure do it if you say so – as a matter of fact, why don't I do it now while I run and get my things? Then I'll meet you back here."

"That sounds fine. I think I'll take the opportunity to change as well."

"All right. See you soon."

"See you, Alan." As the big man turned and glided off, the Professor looked around, shading his eyes at the smoggy grey sky. "Out of this world indeed," he murmured, as he stepped into the trailer marked "Russell Tomson."

About ten minutes later, the Professor emerged from the now empty trailer of Dawn Bells with a large canvas bag. He looked up to see Gilligan and Mary Ann turning from where they had been studying a huge map of the studio mounted on a large sign. The first mate was now dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, while Mary Ann was quite mod in a blue and white polka dot mini skirt, sweater set and jaunty cap. "Well, Professor? How do we look?" said Mary Ann as they approached.

"Fashion plates, the two of you. Very smart."

"Now can you please tell us what's going on?" asked Gilligan. "That guy looked so much like the Skipper even the Skipper couldn't tell them apart! And he didn't blink twice at us! I never did like lookalikes, Professor. There's something really weird about all this!"

The Professor held up a calming hand. "I promise, I'll explain everything in due time. Now, in a few minutes that man who looks like the Skipper is going to meet us here, and I want you to call him Alan, and answer when he calls you Dawn and Bob. All right?"

"All right, Professor."

"When Alan gets here, we're going to go with him to the parking lot and look for my car. It's a red convertible."

Gilligan was impressed. "You've got a car? How'd you get a car here, Professor?" He looked at Mary Ann. "Wow! He can do anything!"

"It's my actor's car, not mine. Just promise to let me do the talking. Is that understood?"

Gilligan stood to attention. "Whatever you say, Professor! You can count on us!"

"So, where are we going?" asked Mary Ann.

"Downtown Los Angeles."

"Downtown Los Angeles?" they chorused, breathless. It was as though, for both of them, the dream had suddenly turned real.

"Wow!" whispered Gilligan. "This is it. We're finally home!"