When I got off the train, I was in Lewiston, Maine. I searched one of those tourist maps for a hospital. The map, unfortunately, wasn't up to date, as the hospital mentioned was gone. The kingdom probably couldn't manage it well enough (okay, that's a bad joke, I only said that because the hospital was called Kingdom Hospital). So I had to search for other ones, and I found one, albeit that this one's too crowded (which can happen with one hospital less). I don't really mind, as I need some time to write all this down. I only hope that when I finish writing all this, and therefor continue reading "Tracer Bullet", that I wouldn't finish reading it before it's my turn.
I've stopped feeling much, if any, pain, plus I had to wait in that hospital for two hours. So I decided to leave and get back on my way to Bangor. I should arrive there shortly. The exposition, however, is still a day away. Also, in the aforementioned two hours, I had enough time to finish "Tracer Bullet". So when I arrive in Bangor, I should take my time to mail this book back home, and find another one. Haven't exactly made up my mind about what to pick, but I'm sure I'll find something.
Saturday, July 12th 2008
If I told you I'm in Ontario, Canada right now, you might believe that. What you wouldn't believe is how I got there. Nor would you probably believe me if I told you I got here when looking for a book.
When I arrived in Bangor, I immediately mailed my "Tracer Bullet" novel back home, after which I searched for a new book. My search led me to a smaller community, called Derry. Judging from the name, I thought this town was a milk-town (as Derry and dairy sound the same). The town turned out to be a little weirder. I saw how a group of punks were bullying one kid, but everyone near them ignored them. That's when I decided to step in. The bullies left the kid alone, but the kid in question ran away as well. Usually, when you do something for someone, that someone says "thank you" or something to that effect, but not this child. In fact, he appeared as though he was afraid of me. Was it my accent? Was it that I stood up for people he couldn't stand up to all by himself? What made him afraid of me? But that was only the beginning of all the weirdness.
I entered a book store, where the owner did nothing else but to stare out. Pretty much like anyone around here. I was even beginning to wonder whether these people were alive or not.
So anyway, I found a book called "Ten Nights in Ten Haunted Houses", by a guy named Mike Enslin. It appeared promising enough. Then I also spotted a book called "Attic Room" by Bill Denbrough, a novelisation of a movie of which Denbrough wrote the screenplay himself. On it's own, that would have been nothing, if it weren't for the fact that it was especially promoted here, only because this Denbrough lived around here. I've seen the movie, so I was a little curious about the book. Upon picking it off the shelve, however, it all collapsed. In surprise, I dropped Denbrough's book, so I only held Enslin's novel. I don't know what it was that I did, if it was anything I did, but I was afraid that the owner wouldn't believe me. So I sank down my knees, at which point my eyes were on this one book, which had opened itself when everything fell apart. It looked like one of those fairy-tale books, with pictures of all types of fantasy characters. None that I've heard of, I might add.
Next thing I know... well, I don't know exactly. One second I was in a book-store, the next I was falling in a dark area, where everything still had it's color despite the darkness. Wherever I was, the rules of physics did not apply here. I was falling down from a height I couldn't possibly survive, but I did. There was a door where I landed, which I entered, only to end up in a more enlightened, and different area. I didn't go inside a house or anything, it was more like I exited this area to enter another. I can't explain how or what happened. What I can say is that in that other area I came across many strange creatures. Some of them wore red robes and white masks, and were quite hostile. When these guys lost their masks, they crawl away in shame. These were some very shy guys. All I had to do was knock there masks off by pulling some kind of plant out of the ground and throw it at them. Strangely, plants weren't the only thing I could pull from the ground, but also something that looked like one of those bottles they use in chemistry. If I dropped these bottles, a door would appear that lead me to a darker version of the area I was in, where I could find hearts that would disappear when touched. These hearts, however, were doing something that no hospital could ever do, as they healed my bullet-wound. It didn't even leave a scar. Unfortunately, that didn't help me get away from where I am, so I continued to search for a way out.
The deeper I went, the more I realized I've seen these creatures before. That's when I remembered, they were those fantasy creatures I saw in that fairy-tale book. As strange as it may sound, but I was convinced that I must have somehow tumbled into this book. If so, then the only thing I have to do is walk through to the end of the book, finish the story, then I'd get out.
It felt like I was in this book for days, if not weeks. But then, I didn't dare to write down in my journal because... well, while an entire year may pass by in a book, in reality only a few hours have passed, depending on how long it takes you to read it. That's why I wasn't sure I should keep up how long I've been in here. And I was right, because when somebody opened the book, allowing me to get out, only a day has passed since I got in the book. The book in question (which was called "Dream Factory" if you must know) was purchased by another tourist in Derry, who came from Ontario and was to return the very same day, and needed to read something when on the plane. This one didn't appear much surprised to see me come out of the book, though. His explanation? He, along with four of his friends, and some teacher he used to know, have been through weirder things. With this, he felt he could contact this particular teacher and ask to bring me back into the States. I could ask them to take me back to Maine, but by the time I'd get there, the exposition would be over, so I told them to take me as far as they could.
So that's where I am now, being driven to Detroit, Michigan, as it's the easiest for this teacher to get to and back again. Detroit isn't on my list of places to see, but I suppose it's a good enough place to make a pit-stop, from which I'll have to find a way to get into Chicago, Illinois. Hopefully, I won't come across any more books that suck you in.
On a side-note, as I was still holding Enslin's novel, it got into that book with me, so I still have it. "Tracer Bullet" was quite alright, so now let's see how "Ten Nights in Ten Haunted Houses" fares.