Ugh. I want to start banging my head against the wall and keep going until either it breaks or I do. Unfortunately, I think it'll be the wall first.

Stupid plywood town...

I take that back. Fizz—that's the little gremlin's name, I think, because he pointed to himself and said it over and over until I stared calling him that—said that this town is a lot sturdier than it looks.

That's a bit misleading, I suppose.

When I say he said that...what happened was I was walking across his kitchen when the floorboards went all creaky and I freaked out.

He's getting used to my panic attacks. And we're getting pretty decent with the whole nonverbal communication thing.

Anyway, I made what I think he considers to be my trademark, terrified squeak and he wandered in from his room in the back, a single eyebrow raised. So I went over and made the floorboards creak again and then jumped away, not wanting to fall into the ocean below. There are like giant, angry fish in the water here. That will eat you. Seriously. This is not like my terror that the gremlins would eat me, this one is legit.

This wasn't a typical creak, mind you. I could hear the wood straining and cracking. But Fizz just walked over, hopped on the boards a couple times and then shrugged his shoulders.

So...I assume that meant not to worry.

I still don't know how to tell Fizz or the others here why I'm here. Or that I'm from another world. I tried. Fizz had some old school parchment and ink and I got him to let me see it and drew some stick figure drawings of the Burning Legion destroying my world. My felguards aren't that great and I really wish I had printed out that email. That picture would've probably summed stuff up so much better.

It doesn't help that I couldn't get the hang of the ink on the quill so it would go from super thick, blotchy lines to scratchy, thin ones. I even punched a whole or two in the paper while I was getting the hang of it.

I think I have to pay him back for that stuff, too. But, I have been working off my debt. I've been accompanying him around town, carrying his stuff, and doing household chores.

A few people have tried talking to me, but so far, no dice. I'm getting people's names though. There's Fizz, obviously, and then Sprig over at the market place and Drizzle hangs out near the motel, inn thing. I think Fizz wanted me to stay there instead of his place, but I didn't want to be around so many strangers, so I gave him pitiful, teary eyes until he took my hand and brought me home.

I know it isn't really home, but...

I think he wanted to get rid of me because of his lady friend. She's come by once or twice, but she won't talk to me. In fact, she looks through me.

The first time she did it, I thought I might be fading out or phasing or something, back into that in-between world, and I panicked. I grabbed Fizz's shoulder to keep from going back to that non-world. That just made her angry. Which made Fizz angry. He banished me to my room and wouldn't talk/sign to me for the rest of the night. He even glared every time I poked my head out into the hall to see if he was still pissed off.

I think Fizz has tried to get me to wander around a bit on my own, too, but I don't really want to.

I know what you're thinking. Why not? Maybe someone else here somehow speaks English, and if I looked for them, I'll find them and get back on track to saving the world. But...it's not just gremlins in this town. There are all sorts of things here, most of which I don't have names for. And word of the mysterious human who doesn't speak anyone's language has gotten around, so when I point at them, they just tell me their names, not what they are.

Oh. I did find a few humans here, though none of them speak English. And they all look kind of...unkempt. And one of the guys was watching me with this, "I'd totally tap that." expression, so I really don't want to find myself alone in an alley with him.

I mean, maybe he's just a super nice guy who's never heard of a shower. But...everyone here—who's not a gremlin...and even some of them fell into this category—seem kind of pirate-y. Maybe it's different in this world, but I still kind of expect them to go around raping and pillaging. And they do get pretty rowdy at the inn. Fizz lives half-way across town and we can hear them. Every night. It doesn't seem to bother Fizz much.

Sometimes I think, maybe I'll get used to it. And then I remember that I can't. I have to get help. So I started pointing at things, trying to get Fizz to say their names. I mean, I seriously needed to speed that bridging the language gap up.

I thought Fizz caught my drift. I made a bunch of desperate hand motions and flailed my stick figure drawings for emphasis when he seemed bored with mumbling his word for spoon or bowl. However, instead of resuming our lesson, he scuttled off and holed himself up in his room.

I caught a glimpse in there once or twice. He's got a hammock—though it's piled with stuff—and stacks and stacks of papers and books. And his walls are covered with notes and pictures of random creatures and magic-y looking stuff. I think he's a scholar of some kind. I'm not allowed in there, but I noticed that he didn't seem to have a bed or anything, so I think I might have taken his. I was kind of worried that he didn't have a place to sleep, but he hasn't said anything about it. Not that I would understand if he did.

I felt bad about that, but that's why I figured that I ought to learn the language, right? Then I could get my help and be out of Fizz's hair.

But...ugh. It is so hard to focus on what I'm trying to do here, sometimes.

There is a constant drum of voices in the background at all times. It's the most nerve wracking part of being here. It's like, there are always a million people awake at any given hour and they all have to talk and shout and it drives me crazy. I hardly get any sleep.

I was so tired that at times I'd think that I could make out what they were saying, but then when I'd listen in, it would just be gibberish.

Fizz spends more and more time in his room—I've been here almost two weeks at this point—but every time he comes out, he points at me and recites something. It's always almost the same, with a word or two changed each time. After he says his little chant, he looks at me like I was supposed to understand him.

Then he grumbles and heads into town, with me, his human pack mule, in tow.

I like having a routine, it's calming, but I'm having a harder and harder time sleeping with each night. I keep seeing those police men getting torn apart or imagine the same thing happening to my friends, my family, because I couldn't move fast enough. I keep thinking that if Greg was here, he'd already have mobilized an army.

In my dreams, Greg's always the last to die. And he always looks at me and says how disappointed he is in me. That I failed him.

Fizz doesn't know what was going on with me and I don't know the hand motions that would explain it to him. But he holds my hand and pats my shoulder whenever I start to cry.

It's weird, but he doesn't scare me at all anymore. I've even started to find comfort in those little, red eyes of his.

I wish I could tell him about my dad and mom. And Greg. A lot of the gremlins work with little mechanical things and I think they'd like stories from my world. Of iPhones and computers. Maybe it's just that I'm homesick.

And afraid that I don't have a home left.

Like I said, I've been pretty frustrated and I still sort of am, though it's getting better. Much better.

Tonight, just a few hours ago, everything changed. I was doing dishes—carefully; I didn't wanted to break anything else—when Fizz came out of his room like he always did. I was just drying my hands when he recited his usual chant.

However, this time, it was like something—a brick or...a brick house—smacked me upside the head. I dropped to the floor, seeing stars.

But even as I was trying to grasp what had happened—even with that immense pressure, my head didn't hurt—the familiar drum of voices outside overwhelmed me.

"—once! Goin' twice! Sold—"

"—n den Ah told dat fool dat he ain't got a clue what de loa be tinkin' about him 'n his—"

"Aye, lads. This be a real lager. Not like that mess they sell in—"

So many voices; so many conversations. It was so...just when I thought I was going crazy, or that I should just find something to plug my ears, I heard a voice much closer clear his throat.

"Ya okay, kid?"

It was like something straight out of Jersey Shore. I looked up, for a second expecting to see a TV or someone from my world. Instead, Fizz met my gaze, a single eyebrow quirked. I couldn't believe it. I had understood him, hadn't I?

I'd understood everyone. And still could. Still can.

As I blinked through my shock, Fizz's face fell, disappointment overtaking his earlier hope. "I was sure I had it that time..." he mumbled.

"Had what?" I asked, instinctively, realizing afterward that my throat had felt weird, like it didn't recognize the words it was forming, even though I'd understood them.

His face went all blank for a second and then he broke out into this huge grin. "Translation spell." He reached out and tussled my hair. "Ya got one hell of a magic resistance, ya know that?"

I don't know much about magic or spells, but with those words, all the hope that had been draining out of me with every day, every nightmare, came bounding back. I can finally recruit an army to save my world.

Maybe I can even get Fizz to come along.