Still . . . very still . . . silent and motionless . . . barely breathing . . . watching and listening, always watching and listening . . . learning . . . evaluating . . . waiting . . . planning . . . using all the skills I have learned as a bounty hunter.
My fellow accident victims – flesh-and-blood, sentient creatures who, like myself, supposedly fell out of the pages of a manuscript into an alien world – they have developed an unnatural attachment to and affection for the witch who is responsible for this accident, the one known as The Writer.
At this moment, my fellow expatriates and I are on an illusory trip. It was at the suggestion of Dragon, who felt the witch . . . excuse me, Mistress Writer as the others insist on addressing her . . . who felt Mistress Writer and her spouse needed some time away from our company.
For more than a fortnight, we have been in the large room Mistress Writer calls the conference room. Of course, with her limited powers and minimal intellect, the witch is unaware of our presence. Dragon has cast a spell of concealment upon us.
While the others of my company are enjoying the diversion and amusement afforded by our illusory travels, I am barely aware of our unreal surroundings. I watch my companions and I listen to their conversations. I observe each one of them, trying to determine their allegiance and the motivation behind it.
Why would Dragon care if the witch . . . Mistress Writer . . . and her spouse need some time away from us? Why would Cleric worry that we have been an imposition? Why would the Old Dwarf care that the witch and her man are alone and vulnerable?
This witch is the creature who caused us to be ripped from our world, our lives, our purpose. This witch is the creature who caused us to be exiled in an alien world, never to return to the familiar. Why do my companions care about her and her spouse?
I watch and listen, too, to the witch. Many times now since our departure for this illusory trip, the witch has entered the conference room, looking for us. She appears worried. She has lamented our departure to her spouse, expressing concern over our extended absence and reflecting on the possibility of us not returning at all.
Why would she care? If we really hold any meaning for her, if we really hold a place in her heart, why did she not leave us where we were, in our own world, pursuing our own aspirations and goals? Why did she bring us here? For what purpose does she need us?
I will find out. I will uncover her motives and lay them bare for my fellow expatriates to see. And I will determine who among my companions share my feelings, upon whom among them I can depend to aid in my quest to return home.
Still . . . very still . . . silent and motionless . . . barely breathing . . . watching and listening, always watching and listening . . . learning . . . evaluating . . . waiting . . . planning.
* * *
I hesitated at the top of the stairs, fear holding me tightly in its grip. I had not been to my office since seeing a giant pair of eyes staring at me from my computer monitor. https://margecutter.wordpress.com/2020/01/12/the-eyes-of-the-something-are-upon-me/
Miles walked up behind me and put his arm around my shoulder. “Honey, you need to do some writing. You wanted to complete that article you’ve been researching and send it to the magazine while it’s still timely.”
I nodded and swallowed hard. “I know.”
“I’ll go with you and sit in your office while you work, if you think that will help.” He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
I shrugged. “Thanks. I really appreciate the offer, but I don’t know if it’ll help. It hasn’t helped at night. Even with you right there next to me, I haven’t slept well in the past two weeks, ever since I saw those eyes watching me from the bedroom ceiling.” https://margecutter.wordpress.com/2020/01/05/7507/
Miles sighed. “I never thought I would say this, but I wish your characters were here. I think you’d feel better with Dragon and your Old Dwarf and the others here to protect you and to investigate whatever is behind these incidents.”
I raked my hand through my hair. “Unless they’re the ones behind the incidents.”
Miles furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
I sighed. “Well, what if they’re the ones watching me? It started after they left for their illusory trip. First, it was just the feeling of someone watching me. Then I would catch movement out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, nothing was there. Then the eyes started appearing, first on the bedroom ceiling, then on my computer monitor.”
Miles scoffed. “Why would they be watching you? They’re probably having so much fun on their illusory trip, they haven’t even thought about either one of us since they left.”
I chewed on my lower lip, realizing the truth of what Miles said. Suddenly, another thought occurred to me. I grabbed my husband’s hands. “You don’t think they’re in trouble, do you? They might be trying to reach me for help!”
Miles tilted his head and rubbed his jaw. “I suppose that might be the case, but I don’t know what you could do for them if they did need help. If a fire-breathing dragon and a bunch of magic users can’t keep the group safe, how could you help?”
I sighed again. “I suppose you’re right.”
Miles stroked his chin and furrowed his brow. “You know, both times you’ve seen the eyes watching you, you’ve pretty much freaked out. If you see them again, maybe you could try to stay calm and ask whoever or whatever it is what they want.”
I smiled. “My calm, rational husband.” I gave him a quick peck on his cheek. “I’ll try, but you have no idea how frightening a huge pair of eyes can appear!”
Miles chuckled. “Well, that’s true, I don’t. Still, if I had seen the eyes, I don’t think I would have been as terrified as you were.”
“Honey?”
“What?”
“Now would be a good time to test your courage.”
Miles frowned. “What do you mean?”
I pointed at something behind him, and he turned around. There, on the opposite side of the living room, a disembodied pair of eyes was peering through the French doors at us.
What is going on? Who is watching us and why? Be sure to join us again next week as we try to deal with this disconcerting situation. We’ll leave the porch light on for you.
Ever since my characters had begun falling out of my manuscript to live in the real world with Miles and me, food had become a very large part of our budget – Miles often complained that we were headed for the poor house – and shopping for meals had become a very large part of our weekly schedules.
I continued gaping at the freezer. “I guess not.” I raked my hand through my hair and frowned. “My characters are still on their illusory trip, so they evidently haven’t been eating here this week.”
Miles turned to me, the emotions flickering across his face clearly showing concern warring with hope. “They’ve been gone a long time now. Are you sure they’re coming back? Maybe they found their way back into the manuscript. Or maybe they like wherever they went on their trip better than they liked living here with us.”
I sighed and chewed on my lower lip. I knew Miles would be happy if my characters disappeared and left us to enjoy a normal life, but they had given me no reason to believe they were leaving forever.
Miles nodded. “Well, if we don’t have to go grocery shopping today, maybe I can get the garage cleaned out. I’ve been trying to get that done for a while now, but there always seems to be other things that interrupt our schedule.”
“Yeah, there always seems to be something going on. With my characters gone, maybe I’ll be able get some writing done today.”
On my way to my office I glanced into the conference room and stopped dead in my tracks. It stood empty now, as it had when I had looked there for my characters just a few days ago, but I noticed something new. On the floor under the window was a large, black feather.
My mouth went dry, and my mind conjured the image of a large, milky-eyed grackle, the familiar of the most dangerous wizard any world had ever known. 
But that’s impossible! I told myself. We eliminated the threat of Morcant years ago. I shook my head and crept cautiously over to examine the feather. I laughed. It wasn’t a feather at all, just a shadow on the floor.
Ever since my characters had departed for their illusory trip, I had been jumping at all sorts of shadows. I felt as if I was being watched, even thinking I caught movement out of the corner of my eye several times. Then, a few nights ago, I thought I had seen a huge pair of eyes watching me from the ceiling of my bedroom. 
I told myself to snap out of it, that it was all my imagination. I went to my office and sat down at my desk. I turned on the computer, and waited for the old machine to boot up, a process that seemed to take longer every day. I started daydreaming.
I tried to picture my characters on their illusory trip. Where would they have gone? The mountains? The beach? Some fantasy world of their own design? Or perhaps Miles was right, and they were not on an illusory trip at all. Perhaps they had found their way back into the manuscript.
They would be so happy back home. My Foreman and the lads would be back on the horse farm belonging to my Young Hero’s father, with its miles of white-washed fencing enclosing emerald green pastures. Sorceress would be back on the lush tropical island where her people lived in relative isolation. Dragon would be back in her beloved desert, basking in the vast, scorching sea of sand dunes with the jackals and scorpions, never needing to warm herself by her illusory fireplace. And the others? Where would the others be? And would any of them miss Miles and me? Would they even remember us?
It makes me most anxious to see what the coming year will bring. 
I have been in this horrible place for nigh on four years now, reckoning by the measure of time used in this place. I first arrived in their month of March in their year 2016. Upon my arrival, I met others from my world. They explained to me that we were here through a mysterious accident. It seems we fell out of the pages of a manuscript. Yes, you heard me correctly. We – flesh-and-blood, sentient creatures – fell out of a manuscript. We slid off some parchment that had been inked with words and symbols, and landed here. Preposterous, I say!
I have been here for nigh on four years. When I arrived, I was a pint-sized man of indeterminate age. I was leathery-skinned and bald as a billiard ball. 
Do I look small or bald to you? No, I thought not. I – like my fellow accident victims – have changed since arriving in this land. Dragon has changed color. Sorceress has changed species. The Old Dwarf is now a loyal, noble, principled being, hardly recognizable as the amoral, ego-centric, cunning creature he was in our world. I could continue, detailing the changes in each of my fellow expatriates, but I think I have made my point.
I do not know if having to live in, and adapt ourselves to, this world with its strange magic system known as technology has caused us to change, or if the changes have been the whim of The Writer, who continues to chronicle our lives, both in this world and in our own.
What I do know is I am the Bounty Hunter. My last memories of my life in my own world are of pursuing my prey. When I arrived here, I thought perhaps I had come of my own will, following my quarry, even though I had no memory of doing so. Alas, no. I am, like the others, here by accident. And The Writer has informed me in no uncertain words that in this world, I am not to pursue my objective.
I practice my stealth. Many are the conversations I have overheard, completely unnoticed by The Writer or any of my companions. Many are the times I have followed one of my associates throughout an entire day without once being seen, either by my subject or by anyone else.
I practice my subterfuge on many levels. Frequently, when in conversation, my companions know not that I am lying. Often, when challenging an opponent to a knife-throwing game, I intentionally lose, thus concealing my true weapons proficiency from them. I strive – with great difficulty and frequent failure – to comport myself in a mild manner, speaking softly and assuming a non-threatening stance. And no one suspects my true feelings toward my bosom buddy, the pretentious elf – not even the loathsome creature himself.
I practice my patience. I continue to do my best to fit into this world. I listen without rancor to the prattling of my companions. I carry out the orders of The Writer and her spouse. I remain close to the elf and do his bidding. I do all this while biding my time.
All morning long, I had had the feeling of being watched. It was unnerving. I kept looking up from my computer, expecting to see one of my characters at the door, ready to barge in and disturb me at my work. Each time I looked, there was no one at the door, although several times I swore I saw a quickly retreating shadow.
Miles frowned. “I don’t like the sounds of that. Do you think it could be someone from another world who has a grudge against you, like that evil wizard, what’s-his-name?”
I spent the rest of the afternoon in my office, trying to work, researching some facts for an article I was planning to write. I ended up jumping at shadows so often, I finally gave up and went back upstairs.
By the time we returned later that evening, I had forgotten all about my earlier discomfort. Then, in the middle of the night, a noise awakened me. I opened my eyes and thought I saw a shadow rushing out the door, which closed slowly behind the unsubstantial image. I jumped up, scrambled into my robe, and bolted into the hallway, but the corridor was completely empty. I made a quick search of the rest of the house but found nothing.
“The year in review?” Dragon opened one sleepy eye. She raised her head and gave me a curious look. “What is that?”
My Arrogant One shuddered. “Who in their right mind would want to dwell on the events of this year past?”
“Not everyone had good times. This year did not start out well for some of us.” The elf’s usual smug, superior look was replaced by a pensive expression. “Do you not remember? At the end of the previous year, I had developed a problem controlling my power. At the start of this year, Dragon and I returned to the land of the Wish Listeners to search for the cause and – mayhap – a remedy for my affliction.”
My Old Dwarf walked over to Dragon and caressed her scaly face. “But thet you-nee-corn been tookin’ me ta tha udder world ta be savin’ ye, beastie. An’ tha elfie been doin’ right by ye in tha end, when it really been countin’ fer summat.”
My Bounty Hunter cleared his throat and nodded. “It was a long and frightening eight weeks. Those of us who remained here had no way of knowing where you were, what was happening, or if we would ever see you again.”
Sorceress entered the room as Dragon was speaking. She placed a tray of eggnog and Christmas cookies on the table, then turned to Dragon and nodded. “That was a frightening predicament for all of us. The child’s inexplicable ability may have revealed our existence to the inhabitants of this world beyond Mistress Writer and Master Miles.”
“Marisol and her mother, Bastina, were not the only new acquaintances this past year.” Miles helped himself to a glass of eggnog and a few cookies as he turned to me. “You and Dragon met that repairman who came out to fix the heat element in our rain gutters when we had a problem with the formation of ice dams. You remember him and his alleged griffin, don’t you?”
I nodded. “Yes, I had almost forgotten about meeting Crawford. He and his friend, Griff, proved themselves to be allies and valuable resources. After the meeting of the writers’ group Lost in the Words, Crawford directed us to Christine and Talia, the owners of the Chris-Tal Clear Metaphysical Store. He said they might be able to help us determine just what Marisol is and whence she gets her power.”
“We made another new friend this year as well.” My Foreman raised an eyebrow as he settled into the recliner with a glass of eggnog in his hand. “And a new enemy, mayhap?”
“But not everything that happened this past year was bad or sad or frightening,” my Young Hero reminded us. “Because of your strong bond with Mystery, and your ability to communicate with animals, Cleric, we attended the auction and found Blue for Colton.”
My Gypsy agreed. “We helped them both deal with their depression over losing their closest friend – Colton had lost his pony, Peaches, and Blue had lost his owner, Casey. Later, after Colton and Blue were working well together, we got to enjoy a wonderful trail ride with them and Colton’s mom. Colton and I had another outstanding competition identifying birds. That blind boy can identify birds by sound better than most sighted people can identify them by visual observation! And then we had a delicious barbecue after the ride.”
“The trail ride was not the only fun any of us had this past year.” My Bounty Hunter rejoined the conversation. “Do you not all remember the debate over magic versus technology? We all went on a nature hike and were afforded the opportunity to use Mistress Writer’s magic box that she calls a camera. The wildlife pictures taken by the magic users were no better than those taken by those of us unskilled in the arcane arts.”
My Old Dwarf scoffed. “Aye, lad, but I already been ‘splainin thet ta all o’ ye. It do na be becausin’ anythin’ thet tha lass be callin’ tech-nol-o-gee. Tha magic box really be magic, but tha magic be in tha object, liken me old ring o takin’ me places.”
Cleric stepped into the conference room, stopped dead, and gasped. Books, scrolls, parchments, and all manner of magical reference works were strewn about the large chamber. It looked as if a small tornado had torn through the area.
The two companions jumped as Dragon’s reptilian head suddenly popped into view from behind a bookshelf, along with her leathery wings and scythe-like claws.
“If you had not been so eager to show off again, this never would have happened.” My Gypsy scowled at the other figure.
“Work wot ye canna be doin’ iffins ye do na be havin’ the spell. Be ye findin’ it yet, beastie?” My Old Dwarf entered the room, munching on a sandwich, bits of food flying out of his mouth and lodging in his beard as he spoke.
Dragon blinked. “Of course! Where else would I have placed it for safe-keeping?” The beast rushed toward her podium, shrinking as she ran. When she reached the podium, she squeezed herself into a small, hidden cubbyhole. When she emerged and returned to her previous height, she had a wooden puzzle box in her hand. Once she had manipulated the various pieces and opened the box, she extracted an ancient and fragile parchment. Scanning the piece, she smiled and nodded. “Yes, this is it.”
Dragon turned to the other magic users. “First, we must make certain we are alone, that no other entity is among us. We must also ensure that no spell has been cast by any magician that would compromise, change, or block our efforts here today. Once we have made those determinations, I will ward the room against entry and against eavesdropping, both mechanical and magical. Then and only then can we begin to weave this spell. It will take all of us, cooperating and sharing our abilities, to create this enchantment.” She glared at my Arrogant One. “Are you able to do this, to put aside your ego and ambition and cooperate with your fellow magic wielders?”
Miles passed some diagrams to the others. “See? This year will be different from past years. This year, I plan to keep the entire village confined to one half of the downstairs room but spread out over various levels.”
It was three days later when Miles and I felt well enough to get out of bed. Cleric had been attending us through our sudden bout of illness, bringing us tea and broth at regular intervals, and wiping the sweat from our feverish brows.
“Freeze, elf!”
“Be ye wantin’ me ta be fetchin’ tha elfie back fer ye, lass?” My Old Dwarf narrowed his eyes and slapped the flat of his axe into his open palm. His grizzled, unkempt beard could not quite hide his smirk.
“Yes, talk.” Dragon had walked to the French doors and looked through the glass. Her bemused expression told me I had not imagined the crater at the front of the next property. “I daresay we would all be interested in hearing the explanation behind this.”
Miles joined us, handing me my bowl of soup while balancing his own bowl and a plate of bread and butter for the two of us. “I noticed it yesterday. Rather, I noticed yesterday that the house was gone. Since no one was running around the neighborhood screaming, and there were no police cars or fire engines out front, I figured the owners must have just moved the house. They have been talking for quite some time now about buying some land in the country. I thought they were going to build a brand-new house, but then, when their house here went missing, I just figured they changed their mind.”
A commotion at the front door drew everyone’s attention. Most of my characters tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to stifle their laughter as my Old Dwarf hauled my Arrogant One up the stairs by the scruff of his neck. The dwarf unceremoniously dumped the elf at my feet. “Here he be, lass. I be toldin’ ye I be fetchin’ ’em back fer ye right quick-like.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Suppose you tell me exactly what happened to our neighbors’ house.”
Dragon tittered. “I can understand that.” She turned to me. “I will go, Mistress.”
“And the bad news?” I raised an eyebrow in quizzical fashion.
“It was none of us, Mistress.” Dragon twisted her mouth in a show of distaste. “If I am correct, our friend, Arthur, is involved.”
“I do not know, Mistress, but first thing tomorrow, my companions and I will start weaving a new spell of protection, one that will prevent any magic user, save the five of us, from casting any spells on your property, or from adding their magic to any spells we cast elsewhere.”
“Mistress, look at this!”
Cleric nodded in agreement. “Didi mentioned Peaches, Colton’s first therapy pony, whom we knew as Mystery. She touched on how Peaches had been prepared as a therapy horse, and how Colton and Peaches had been trained to work together. Then she explained briefly how, after Peaches passed away, Anna attended an auction and found a new pony for her son. She also gave a quick overview of Blue’s history, with just a brief mention of both Andrew and Casey.”
Dragon took up the story. “There are two . . . er . . . what I believe I have heard you refer to as sidebars. The first one highlights the benefits of equine therapy for the handicapped. The other is a short but glowing profile of the facility that trained both Peaches and Blue. The bulk of the main article, however, concentrates on the relationship between Colton and Blue, how they have bonded, and how Blue has given Colton freedom he would not otherwise have been afforded. Didi included several paragraphs detailing Colton’s ability to take Blue out on the trails without supervision. The article is augmented by a number of photos of the two of them, both in the arena and on the trails.”
I frowned. “I know Didi was planning on writing several additional articles, more in-depth pieces, for various larger publications. I hope those articles reflect the same level of integrity.”
“None of your affair!” My Arrogant One snapped at me as he continued glaring at his companion.
As he filled my bowl, Miles asked me, “Marge, did our next-door neighbors mention anything to you about moving their house?”
I immediately put down my soup bowl and walked back into the living room. I looked through the glass of the French doors and did a double take. I opened the doors and stepped out onto the deck for a better look. Sure enough! Where just this morning there had been a lovely, tan, two-story house with contrasting aqua trim, there now stood a gaping hole in the ground.
