Around the corner that breaks into the alley between the Mayberry Hotel and Foley's Groceries, Opie sped on his bike, streaking into the shadows, vigorously pumping the pedals. He broke out of the other side and was suddenly stopped, almost hurling over the handle bars. Two hands had gripped the handlebars from the other side and instantly halted his bike. Opie plopped back onto the seat and followed the hands and arms, up, up, to Helen Crump's face. Her hair was frizzy, dried by the sun and breeze, and the dress she wore was a bit loose fit. Her eyes were on him, cold and uncaring, and Opie opened his mouth to a giant smile, "Hey Miss Crump!" He was still breathing hard, "Gee, I sure am surprised to see you."

Her cold eyes did not warm to him, instead she observed him as if he were a strange mushroom she had never seen before. Opie asked, "Is somthing wrong Miss Crump?"

"No," she answered, "nothing is wrong." She frowned, "I think I know you."

"Oh gosh, Miss Crump. It's me, Opie. Don't you remember me? Have you forgotten me already?"

"O-pie."

"That's right, Opie Taylor."

"Opie... Taylor. Taylor." She raised her head a bit, "Like Andy Taylor."

"Paw? You mean paw?"

"Paw... father. Andy Taylor is your father. You are his son, Opie."

Opie drew back, "Miss Crump, did you bump your head too? My paw did, and boy is he in bad shape. He hasn't woke up yet." Opie shook his head to deny what he knew, "And Aunt Bea says he might never wake up. He might just be sleeping forever."

"Andy is sleeping?"

"Yeah, he's hurt awful bad. He's in the hospital."

"The hospital. Andy is in the hospital sleeping. Andy may never wake up, he is hurt."

Helen released the bike and turned away from Opie, "Where you going Miss Crump?"

"Andy is hurt," she said again.

Opie watched her walk away and shrugged, "Grownups are just plain weird." He kicked up on his pedals and sped away, forgetting his encounter with Helen Crump.

Seated behind the reception desk of the Mayberry General Hospital was Betsie Clud, a very gentle young woman, speaking on the phone, "Yes Miss Fester, your appointment with Doctor Hooper is on Tuesday the ninth at ten in the morning. That's right Miss Fester," Betsie Clud was wriggling in her seat, as if it was a great discomfort to be seated there, "Uh huh. That's right Miss Fester. Yes. I'm so sorry to hear about that." Her wriggling was now worse, "Oh, that's something you will have to discuss with the Doctor on Tuesday. Uh huh. Yes, that's right. Okay then Miss Fester, we'll see you on Tuesday. Bye now." Betsie clacked the phone onto the hook and jumped up with legs crossed, "Oh dear heavens I have got to go pee!" She clutched her lower abdomen and bent slightly, "Ooooh!" She waited a moment with her eyes squeezed shut, then dashed down the hallway, "I'm about to pop," she declared.

No sooner than she was out of sight, Helen Crump entered the hospital and walked up to the desk. Helen looked around, "Hello?" Seeing no one, she peered downward and found a chart. Helen seemed to understand charts, just as easily as she had understood taking a shower. Her index finger traced down the chart. Reading was also something she just knew how to do. "Andy Taylor, room three nineteen."

Helen entered Andy's room and saw him laying there unconcious. She stood over him and swept his hair back from his forehead to reveal a nasty bump and bruise. "Andy is hurt. He may never wake up again." Bending down, she placed her shoulder against his abdomen and with no effort at all, hoisted him up on her shoulder. She stopped at the doorway, there were voices coming from down the hall. Quickly, she opened the large single paned window and stepped up onto the sill. She jumped out, three stories down, and landed easily; and with Andy still over her shoulder she ran from sight.

Outside Andy's empty hospital room the voices grew louder. "I don't know why they want him moved. Same type of room..." an African American orderly stepped through the doorway, still speaking, his attention directed to a clipboard in his hand. "... same distance to the nurse's room, really." A second orderly, this one white, thinner, almost gaunt, stepped in behind his darker co-worker. The darker man's attention was still absorbed with the clipboard and he continued to talk, "I guess they just want to give us busy work to do."

The thin white man had already noticed that Andy was not in the room; he gently tapped the other on the shoulder, but the other was still busy scanning the clipboard, "Head honchos around here don't have anything better to do with their time than to give us more to do," the thin one pesisted with his tapping. The black gentleman was now irritated with it, "Larry, what the fuck do you want?"

Larry, the white man, silently pointed at the empty bed. Harold, the black orderly, looked at the bed and froze. "What the hell?" he looked over at Larry, "Where's Sheriff Taylor?"

Larry shrugged.

Harold let the clipboard fall to his side, "Ain't this a bitch." A smell, a most pungent smell, attacked Harold's senses. He sniffed and then turned his head away, "What the fuck is that smell?"

Larry tapped Harold on the shoulder again, "WHAT LARRY?" This time, Larry was pointing directly at the open window. Harold asked, "He couldn't have jumped, we three stories up. He wouldn't do that when he could just walk out, right?" Harold now had the collar of his shirt pulled up over his nose.

Larry shrugged again.

Harold investigated the gap between the wall and bed, the gap they could not see from the doorway. On the floor was a pile of deficate that was pulsing a sickly green glow. Harold jumped back, "Gawddamn!" He stepped over to the open window and glared back at Larry, "This some strange ass shit."

Andy did not so much as flinch as Helen patted the his cheek, "Andy," she whispered. "Wake up Andy." He sat with his head slumped over, his hands tied behind his back, this torso tied to one of Helen's kitchen chairs. His hospital gown only reached his lower calfs while seated. Helen rubbed the bump on his head, "My poor Andy. He has such a nasty bruise." Her left hand reached behind and up her dress and when she retrieved it, there was a thick layer of her feces on it. It was glowing, pulsing a green glow. She rubbed Andy's bruise with the fowl material; the bump began to fade away. Andy muttered through flubbering lips and Helen returned to patting his cheek, softly calling to him. Suddenly, she slapped his face with abrupt force, his face spun to the side and he screached. He slowly turned his head towards Helen, rolling his stinging jaw.

When he saw Helen he shrieked louder than before, digging his heels into the carpet and trying to push away. His eyes were open as wide as they could possibly do and his mouth held a silent scream. It became apparent to him that he was tied to the chair, ,therefore he shook his shoulders, squirmed in the ropes, wrung his wrists together, all in an effort to free himself, "Who are you? What do you want?"

The woman kneeling on the carpet in front of him had eyes that sagged, the red flesh behind the bottom eye lids visible. Here cheeks swung down, much like a Bassit Hound, and her hair receded too far over her forehead. She asked him, "Andy, what's wrong? It's me, Helen."

"You're crazy lady. You're not Helen."

She perfected her posture, dumbfounded. How could he not recognize her? She stood and found the hallway mirror and witnessed her deteriation. She laughed, "Is this all? Don't worry love. I will go freshen up." The sink inside her powder room was filled with the awful glowing feces. She took took two handfulls and began to rub it all over herself. Her entire body glowed and she moaned; it was the sound someone makes when they are starving and take a bite of freshly baked bread.

She started the shower water. She liked showering now more than almost anything else. Andy could hear the shower water running. He wiggled and rocked, violently trying to loosen his bonds, but this only landed him on his side, his chair falling over from the motion, and he whispered, "Shit."

It was some time before Helen returned to the den. She was clean, youthful, beautiful. Her hair had not one strand out of place, and she wore a revealing black gown. Andy could not believe his eyes, "Helen?"

She giggled when she saw him toppled over, "You silly boy, what have you done?"

"Is that really you Helen?"

"Of course it's me. I begin to wither a bit when I have exerted myself, but I can fix it." She grabbed the side of the chairback.

Andy's eyes almost buldged from the sockets, "Helen, this iis... you're supposed to be dead."

She sat him upright, "Supposed to be," she touched the tip of his nose with her index finger, "but not even close."

"This is impossible. This can't be happening."

Her face was close to his, and her breath reaped of the ghastly material she was made of. Andy wrinkled his nose and tried to turn away. She gently took his face by the chin and turned him to her, "It is possible. And as far as what is happening..." Andy had not noticed that one of her arms had been behind her back the entire time. She slowly moved it before her, a large knife in hand, and swiftly stabbed Andy in the thigh. His face screamed with no sound. Helen said with pleasantry, "As far as what is happening, well... let's just say we are going to talk about old times."