The Banshee Queen

by Mona Caliente and Jerry McCracken

Chapter 1: What Goes Up

If you've ever been to New York, you might know something about the subway there. In particular, during rush hour. You might remember how fire codes go out the window with the throngs of people smushed inside the tiny cars, gasping for breath and pressed up against the windows like unfortunate Garfield car ornaments. You might be familiar with how ill-tempered crowds can become when stuck in situations like that.

Imagine a smaller space than a New York subway car. Imagine that space hurtling through the universe at a million miles per hour, and imagine one of the ill-tempered occupants of that space is Donald Duck. That will give you some idea of the situation at the start of our story.

The Gummi Ship felt even smaller than usual. Even Jiminy had forgotten just how long everyone had been living in close quarters. Four passengers sharing a tiny fridge and a single, totally inadequate bathroom area tend to grate on each others' nerves, and not the fact that the ship's dashboard CD player had an Air Supply album jammed up inside it could ease the discomfort felt by all of the travelers.

"I'm all out of love! I'm so lost without you!" Goofy attempted to sing.

The proper word for describing Donald's reaction had to be smite. The squawking accompanying the blow from his magic rod could be somewhat approximated by shut up, you big palooka with spaghetti for brains. Sora had to snatch Donald's weapon from him before he could short out the ship's controls with an errant lightning spell.

Again.

"Think happy thoughts, Donald," said Sora. "Happy thoughts. That's the only way this bucket of bolts is going to be able to keep flying. No frowning."

"I am thinking happy thoughts!" Donald insisted. "I'm thinking of Goofy with duct tape over his mouth!"

"Gawrsh, Donald, don't you like this song?"

"We've been listening to the same album for the past week. On endless repeat. And you broke the volume control when you tripped over the salami sandwich you carelessly left on the floor of the bridge."

"But it's so pretty, Donald. The music, I mean."

"Stop singing!"

"Both of you, calm down," interrupted Sora.

"You shut up!" Donald's face had turned a lovely shade of lavender. Or blood red, or something. Sora was not good enough with color names to tell the difference.

Surprisingly, Jiminy was the one who broke up the fight. This was surprising primarily because the sheer annoyance factor of his companions (having reached 8.2 out of 10 on the Gilbert Gottfried scale) had driven the poor bug to wearing earplugs, allowing him to make an effort to ignore everyone else. For the first time in a while, however, he had a reason to grab their attention.

"Hey, guys, cool it! We're approaching a new planet."

Donald froze in mid strangle. The other two breathed deeply as the grip on each of their necks eased.

"What's that, Jiminy?" said Sora. "A new planet?"

"Yep, Sora, it's a new planet. A new world. It probably has a keyhole and everything."

The atmosphere relaxed about like a balloon relaxes when poked with a sewing needle. The earlier comparison to the plush Garfields became more apropos as the entire party pressed against the front windshield to catch a glimpse of their new destination.

"Do you think King Mickey is down there?" Goofy reverted to being single-minded (at the most).

"Maybe," said Jiminy. "We'll have to go and see."

"I don't like it," was Donald's opinion. "There wasn't supposed to be anything between here and Traverse Town. Isn't there something fishy going on?"

"Fishing? Do we have time for that?"
"Shut up, Goofy."

"Donald, you have to admit you're a little hard to understand," Sora interjected.

"Am not."

"Just remember what we taught you."

Donald grumbled.

"Say it, Donald."

Donald grumbled twice as loudly.

"Say it, Donald."

"All right, already. 'The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.'"

"Good for you!"

"I hate you."

"So we're going fishing if it's not raining, or what?"

"No!" Donald snarled. "Why in Walt's name didn't we see this planet when we've been on this route so many times before?"

Sora replied, "To be fair, Donald, we've been kind of on edge for the past week or so." His hand brushed against graffiti Donald had scrawled on a fuse box in the corner: 'No mute button, no CD changer and too much Air Supply make Donald go crazy.' "What's to say it hasn't been there all along and we've just missed it?"

Donald shook his head. "Not likely. Not even Goofy would miss something that big. So, are we gonna land or what?"

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Jiminy said to no one in particular.

Goofy yawned. "Well, I got a sleepy feeling."

"Me too." Donald followed suit.

Sora drifted off to sleep before he could say anything.

"Wake up! Wake up! I think we crash landed!" Goofy shook Sora's shoulders violently.

Sora's reply: "Thanks, mother. I'll take two, with extra butter."

"This is serious, Sora. Wake up."

"Huh?" Sora's eyes were crusty enough to warrant him rubbing them a few times before they allowed themselves to adjust to the light.

"We crashed," said Jiminy. "I don't know what happened. One minute, we were all up there, talking about the new planet, and the next, we went to sleep. When I woke up, we were on the ground."

"You call this ground?" Donald was already up. "This is spongecake!"

"We crashed in a swamp, see," said Jiminy. "That's why the ship didn't break up on impact. I think we were able to glide pretty far before we hit. It's a miracle we didn't smash into anything."

"Now we're soggy, and all our stuff is ruined." Donald's glass was half empty.

"At least we're all okay," said Sora.

His tune changed when he noticed a spot on his arm that had, for reasons beyond what his island education allowed him to grasp, turned a dark shade of purple.

"Ouch," he said, quickly learning the first rule of dealing with bruises: When tempted to poke one with a nearby sharp stick, resist. "Donald!"

Donald waved his staff. "A little cure magic, and you'll be right as rain. Abracadabra!"

Nothing happened.

"Alacazam! Bippity boppity boo! Hocus pocus!" Still nothing. The duck waved the staff over the bruise. "Out, out, dumb spot!" The lack of results clearly irritated Donald.

"Whatever it is, it's not going away," observed Sora.

"Why won't my cure magic work?" Donald stomped up and down.

Goofy was dragging out one of the spare tents. "Looks like we're stuck here for a while."

Donald perked up. "I'll light the campfire! Sora, get some firewood!"

Sora's options were either expend time and energy protesting or let Donald boss him around and silently plot how to get him back later. He chose the latter, then spent the next few minutes scouring the muck for a twig. He found one and bent down to pick it up, but it promptly disappeared.

"Help! I think I've gone blind!" Sora found his face covered in a mass of course, unruly fur. "I think it's a bear, or a marmoset, or a three-toed sloth, or something."Sora thrust his hand against his assailant and managed to remove it from his field of vision.

"Uh, Sora, I think that's just your hair."

"My hair?" Sora trudged over to the plate glass window to see what his reflection could tell him. Gone were the spikes that had been his second more salient characteristic (after the amazingly impractical clown shoes he wore for no apparent reason). His entire mane had fallen flat. Flattish. Or maybe more like a tangled mess. Or a jungle. The important thing was that it had fallen over his eyes, rendering it (barely) the most impractical thing about his current appearance.

"I swear it's never done this before," Sora insisted. No one else could offer any evidence to the contrary.

"Sora, young man, I think we'd best be getting you to a barber."

Sora looked quizzical. "A what?"

"A barber. He's the one who takes out his pair of scissors and trims your hair down so it's nice and neat, like a good little boy's should."

"A what?"

"A barber!" Donald and Goofy chimed in this time.

"I've never heard of one. And scissors? I know my dad used to just use a machete."
"Didn't your mom put a stop to that when he sliced up her ear?" Donald had, against his will, heard lots of Destiny Island stories when Sora talked in his sleep. "It doesn't look like you've had your hair cut in many, many years."

"Fine, we'll get one of these barbers. It won't hurt, will it?"

"It hurts me more to see you looked like a younger, scrawnier version of Leon."

Goofy added, "With itty bitty little legs."

"What's that supposed to mean?" The visible part of Sora's face went red.

"Enough, you guys," chirped Jiminy. "We need to build us a fire. While you were busy squabbling, I got us some firewood. Donald, you do the honors."

"Indeed I shall," said Donald, pointing his staff where Jiminy indicated and chanting his usual arcane incantation. "Fire in the hole!"

This was usually the cue for everyone to leap out of the way or risk coming out of the ordeal with a blackened and charred face, but for some reason, Donald's magic still appeared to be out to lunch. Sora was suddenly demoted to "Second Most Angry Person in the Area."

"Waaaak!"

"Gawrsh, what's wrong with Donald's magic? First his cure spell didn't work, and now this!"

Jiminy pondered the question for a moment. "I really don't know, but I'll wager it has something to do with the strange world we've landed in."

"You mean there's no magic here?"
"Right. I think that's also why Sora's hair is a mess. Without magic, his Wonderlocks Magic Hair Gel can't function, can it?"

"Hey!" Sora looked offended. "At least I didn't forget to apply it this week."

"Sora," said Jiminy, "I think we all remember the awful time we had when Cloud stole your hair gel supply. Let's try not to bring that up again, shall we?"

"Sorry," Sora said, hanging his head in shame and then suddenly jerking it back up so he could see again.

"Okay, then." Jiminy seemed to have the coolest head of the bunch. "If we don't have a fire, we should head out and start exploring the area. Sticking around here sure won't do us any good."

"Oh, gawrsh, I think we should get us a traveling song, if we're going to be moving out." Goofy looked hopeful.

"No singing!" Donald did not look hopeful.

"Not even Air Supply? I was just getting good at their music."

"Especially not Air Supply!"
"I'm all out of—"

Thwack!

Goofy massaged the lump on his head as the group marched toward a sign, which read:

Pepperland, California

Population:

20,000 humans

200 dirty hippies

5 grizzly bears

1 snake

uncountably many spiders

End of Chapter 1