Monkeewood part one
"I can't believe this!" Mike
Nesmith groaned and slammed his fist down on the steering wheel of the
Monkeemobile. "The damn thing ran out of gas. I should've paid more attention."
"We're never gonna make it
to my aunt's house, are we?" Davy Jones pouted annoyingly.
"Apparently not, unless you
have a magic wand that'll suddenly produce a case of gasoline."
"Well, I *do* have a magic
wand-" Peter Tork's eyes lit up as he rummaged through his bag. "It's here
somewhere…"
"I was *joking*, Pete." Mike
scowled.
"Oh. Yeah."
"Listen, why don't we just
walk over to the nearest town…the sign back aways said Collinsport or
something." Micky Dolenz suggested smartly. The three other heads bobbed up and
down in agreement and they left the car to find the nearest gas station.
Mike, Peter, Davy and Micky
had driven cross-country to visit Davy's aunt in Bangor, Maine. Well, not
*specifically* to see her, they just went on their trip for the hell of it, but
she was rich and had promised Davy a handsome amount of cash for their trip
back to California (which they desperately needed, as always) so they agreed to
visit her. Until now they hadn't had any problems with the car or anything,
they were trying to reach Aunt Mabel's house that night so they wouldn't have
to spend more money on a motel room. It was already two in the morning and Mike
was dead tired from driving the whole trip, so it was understandable that he
wouldn't be as attentive to the amount of gas in his tank as he would be under
normal circumstances.
So they trudged on for a
half-a-mile before they reached the small town of Collinsport. First thing they
saw was a huge, forbidding mansion on top of a hill.
"Whoa," Micky whistled.
"They must have a lot of dough."
"Yeah, and plenty of rooms
to spare for the night. C'mon." Mike headed towards the door of the place.
"I'll bet no one's awake
though." Davy whispered as they drew closer.
"I've got a bad feeling
about this place," Peter said in a hushed voice, and as if on cue a lightning
bolt flashed, followed by the loud boom of thunder.
"Funny, the sky is clear."
Mike noted, looking up at the bright full moon. He shrugged and knocked on the
big door.
"Hello?" An older woman with
dark brown hair and a grouchy expression answered the door-fully clothed as if
being awake at two AM was a normal thing for her.
"Uh, hello, ma'am. Our car
ran out of gas, and we were wondering if you could put us up for the night."
Mike asked nervously. The woman gave each of them a reproachful look but let
them in anyway.
"Well, come in, then. I'm
Elizabeth Collins Stoddard. Let us gather into the drawing room." The boys
followed Mrs. Stoddard into a big room right across from the entrance hall. To
their surprise there were other people also dressed in daytime clothing
hovering around casually. Mrs. Stoddard cleared her throat and they all looked
at her expectantly. "These young boys are stranded, they'll be staying here for
the night." She announced with an air of authority. One of the men with light
hair and a snobby expression curled his lip in disgust.
"But look at them, Liz.
They're wearing *casual* clothing." He stated arrogantly. The boys
looked down at their button down shirts and dark pants; Mike removed his green
wool hat self-consciously.
"Roger, please." Liz gave
him a Look and the arrogant man made a haughty noise and walked out and up the
stairs. The guys drew their attention to the other man in the room. He was
young, late twenties, and was drinking sherry standing by the window. He shot
them an amused look and strutted over.
"Quentin Collins, at your
service." He smiled charmingly at them and shook each of their hands.
"I'm, uh, Mike Nesmith-"
"From the South, are you?"
"Yes, sir."
"West Virginia?"
Mike looked at him
strangely. "Um, no, Texas."
"Never mind, then." He drew
his attention to the others.
"I'm Davy Jones."
"From England, then?"
"Yes."
"You don't, by any chance,
know Barnabas Collins? He's from the English branch of the family." Mrs.
Stoddard broke in.
"No. I'm from Manchester."
"Oh, well." She turned back
to her tea.
"I'm Peter Tork!" Peter
shook Quentin's hand enthusiastically.
"Er, yes, pleased to meet
you, Mr. Tork."
"Really? I mean, I'm not
from West Virginia or anything, I just come from ol' Connecticut-though my cousin
Henrietta does know a woman who once, I mean I *think*-"
"Have you met our caretaker,
Willie Loomis, by any chance?" Quentin asked the over-excited man wryly.
"Nope." He smiled brightly.
Quentin raised his eyebrows at him and then shook hands with Micky.
"Micky Dolenz, co-lead
singer and percussionist of the Monkees, aspiring werewolf-" He smiled goofily
at the other boys but there was a collective gasp from the rich people in the
room.
"Werewolf, are you?" Quentin
asked sharply.
"Er, no-I was joking. Heh
heh." He gulped nervously.
"Are-you-sure-about that,
Mr. Dolenz?" A woman with short red hair approached them, narrowing her eyes
and gasping every few seconds.
"Well, last time I checked-"
"It's alright, Julia. It's a
full moon tonight and he hasn't transformed. Unless…no, but that's ridiculous."
Quentin broke in, swishing his sherry about.
"Petofi? Are-you-thinking?"
"Geez, you guys really take
your jokes seriously here, huh?" Micky broke in with exasperation. Mrs.
Stoddard, Quentin, and Julia each glared at him for a few seconds.
"We don't *joke* in
Collinwood." Mrs. Stoddard said coldly.
"Well, what do you do for
fun, then?" Mike asked.
"We-don't-have fun-in
Collinwood." Julia gasped out with as much emotion as a dead fish.
"What, then, do you do
here?"
"We investigate sudden
mysterious murders, hold séances and fight a lot." Quentin grinned cockily.
"Oh." All four of the boys
nodded nervously. Then, suddenly a loud howl was heard from outside. The boys
jumped, startled. Quentin and Julia exchanged looks.
"She walks in beauty, like
the night-" Quentin looked out at the wall and stated mysteriously.
"Who are you talking to?"
Davy asked.
"What?" Quentin wrenched his
gaze from the wall and looked at the short Englishman.
"You were talking out to the
wall, mate. It was weird. As if-" The Collinwoodians all turned to glare at
him.
"Davy, never mind. These
people are crackers." Mike whispered.
"All right, boys. I'll have
Mrs. Johnson show you to your rooms." Mrs. Stoddard left the room. Someone
knocked at the door, and Quentin went to answer it.
"Barnabas, come in." He led
in a tall, dark-haired man with gray streaks into the room. "Barnabas, this is
Mr. Nesmith, Mr. Tork, Mr. Tork and Mr. Tork."
"How do you do?" The tall
man shook hands with each of them.
"Um, actually we aren't all
Torks. I'm a Dolenz." Micky looked strangely at both of the men.
"Yeah, and I'm a Jones."
Davy said irritably.
"Oh, forgive me. Most of the
people in Collinsport have the same last name, I guess we just get used to
assuming everyone is related to each other somehow."
"Oh." Mike answered shortly.
Mrs. Stoddard returned a few
minutes later. "If you boys just go up the stairs, Mrs. Johnson will show you
to your rooms."
"Okay, thank you. Good
night." Mike and the rest of the boys said, and scrambled upstairs.
"Well? Where is this Mrs.
Johnson?" Davy asked. Indeed there was no one to be found.
"These people are off their
rockers, guys." Micky raised his eyebrows.
"Hello? Who are you?" A
young woman with blonde hair approached them.
"Mrs. Johnson?" Peter asked.
"No…I'm Carolyn Stoddard."
"Have you seen Mrs.
Johnson?"
"Actually, no, not for a
long time…she's supposed to be around here somewhere …well, who *are* you?"
She stopped babbling and looked at the boys with an annoyed expression on her
face.
"I'm Mike Nesmith, my
friends and I are stuck here for the night. Our car ran out of gas."
"Oh." Understanding dawned
on Carolyn's face.
"Now we're waiting for Mrs.
Johnson to show us to our rooms." Davy explained. He strutted over to the young
blonde woman and kissed her hand. "I'm Davy Jones, Miss Stoddard. It's an honor
to meet you."
"Er, yes…" She looked at the
others. "Well, I'll show you around until we find Mrs. Johnson." She smiled
charmingly and began giving the boys a tour of the upstairs. "-This is the room
where Vicki used to live…gosh, I haven't thought about her in awhile…this is
the West Wing, it's blocked off…"
"Why is it blocked off?"
Asked Peter.
"Well, you see, I…I don't
know. You could ask Barnabas, though. He knows everything there is to know
about the Collins' history. He's always walking around with that family book."
All of a sudden there was
the sound of music coming from the direction in which Carolyn was motioning
too.
"What's that noise?" Davy
asked curiously.
"Oh, that happens all the
time." She smiled and headed off in the other direction.
"They're all wackos." Micky
scratched his head.
"Here's the East Wing. No
one really stays up here, it just seems to be part of the house that goes to
waste." Carolyn whisked on, and the others followed her…except Mike got tugged
aside by an unknown identity.
"Hell!" Mike gasped and
turned to face the person who had grabbed him. He recognized the man as being
Barnabas from downstairs.
"Here, here, there's a room
where another time and universe is being played out…really, I swear. Come see!"
The older man pulled open the doors excitedly, but as far as Mike could tell,
no one was there; it was just another empty room.
"Huh. Listen, Mr. Collins,
but Just Say No to drugs, okay? They screw with your mind." He turned away to
catch up with the others, but Barnabas pulled him back again.
"No! I'll try again." He
pulled open the doors, and once again nothing happened. "Damn! Okay, I'll try
it once more…"
"I'll just be going…" Mike
was starting to get nervous.
"NO! You must SEE!"
"For the love of god, let me
be!" Mike cried hysterically, but stopped as magically, the area that had just
a second ago been a drab storage place had transformed into a beautiful room
with light curtains and lit candles.
"See? Told ya so." Barnabas
smiled triumphantly.
"How'd you *do* that?"