REMEMBER THIS IS THE FOURTH PART OF THE STORY-START AT THE FIRST POST ON THIS PAGE AT THE BOTTOM AND MOVE UP TO READ THE WHOLE STORY PLEASE! Now lets take a look at the second half of the word, wrimo. According to Steve this is a bit more of a challenge to gather information on. The word is a prefix for the term wrimonology which when looked up on line yield absolutely no information, but is listed in several sixteenth century alchemical texts as being a sister science to alchemy. It is particularly mentioned in The Secret Book of Artephius as the practice of using the written word as a way to gather and harness certain Universal energies and powers, and how to control these energies in order to create life and matter. According to the ancient texts, words could be crafted and put together in such a way as to produce vast amounts of ethereal energy and if the practitioner of wrimonology was adept enough, he or she could actually write the energy into existence and bind these energies into solid reality. The masters could create entire realities and it is told that our reality was written into existence in just this way. This is where really gets fascinating. Stephen was wide eyed and crazy active by this time, waving his hand everywhere and practically climbing over the table as he explained all this to me. Crazy thing was, Steve had been right, even with all his obvious excitement and adulation, no one in Rosies was taking even the slightest bit of notice. Not one of his whoops or cackles was receiving even the slightest bit of attention from even the couple sitting directly beside us. When a piece of stray scrambled came flying off my friends fork and landed in the womans coffee, I thought for sure something would be said, but still, it was if we werent even there. Combine the two practices and you get a full view of why Nanowrimo was created, as well as a good view of the kind of power they have in the world today. My head was spinning and I was desperately trying to make heads and tails of what I was hearing, but Ill tell ya, Steve is a much clearer writer than he is a conversationalist and the way he was bouncing around everywhere was just making me crazy. Slow down a bit Steve. I said, wiping a tad bit of syrup from the corner of my lips. I know my fair share about conspiracy theories and am more than fairly acquainted with groups like the Illuminati, but I have no idea what they have to do with the National Novel Writing Month and their yearly writers challenge to write fifty thousand words in thirty days during the month of November each year. I had only personally known Mr. King for several months, but that was more than long enough for me to feel like my life was a non-stop ride on the Teacups at the fair, and I needed to get off for a while, if not for just a couple of hours to clear my head. Thanks for breakfast Steve, I am gonna go back home for a bit now and air out all this information youve given me. When I see you again, I want you to have formulated the story a bit more coherently and I want you to tell me everything from beginning to end. If I am one of the characters at the root of this story, as well as one of the major Writers of a New and Better Ending like you say I am, then I need all the information and back story that you can give me so I dont crap out on my part of this whole thing like you did with the end of Needful Things!...I knew the minute it was leaving my mouth that I had made a slight faux pas and that maybe the last statement was true, but not necessarily something you go blurting out to the guy who wrote the thing. I couldnt even look him in the eye I was so mortified with myself. Yeah, I know he said, as a shitty little grin crossed his face with a little bit of devilishness mixed with embarrassment and apology. I copped out there big time didnt I? I was just getting so damn tired of working on the thing cause I was itching to get started on Geralds Game and Deloris Claiborne. They just seemed like more interesting stories. It wasnt really an apology, you could tell that he thought of it as just one small pinpoint in an entire map of books he had written and he was certain that if he could get over it himself, then the fans should be able to as well. you know how it is,...Dont ya? Now run along and relax, I will call you tomorrow and we can meet here for breakfast again. Remember, Rosies is a safe place Phill, if you ever have to have an important talk with me or just need a place to lay low, this is the place you run to, OK Phill? More is Explained, Still Nothing is Clear We had agreed to meet the next day at around noon for lunch instead of breakfast. Steve was a big fan of their steak and cheese sub and it has always been one of my favorite types of sandwich as well. Come twelve thirty I was sitting at the same back table as the day before with Stephen King, both of us in shaved steak heaven about to hear about my own major involvement in an event that had been prophesied since the beginning of recorded history, in every major culture on this world and many many more! For me, it all began with HP Lovecraft. It was a story that Steve had told plenty of times to fans and in interviews, but always from the point of view of how he started with his career in writing. This time he was talking about how he had started his interest in the occult and secret societies. I was young and I was looking for something to grasp on to, something I could feel a part of. The words of Lovecraft flew off the page at me, never had I felt and experienced the written word so definitively in my mind, my heart and yes,..in my soul. He sipped his ice cold Coca-Cola through the straw, sat back in his chair and gave off the slightest of sighs. He was about to let out one hell of a story and he was getting comfortable and hunkering down for the long haul. It was gonna be a very long day, but I had already planned on that and had made sure to get plenty of sleep the night before. He recalled for me that fateful day he had found an old book of his fathers, it was Lovecraft, and he started reading. The book had opened up his mind to new ideas as well as new possibilities. He recalled reading about the Necronomicon, an ancient book of the Dark Arts that had the power to render its reader insane. Something told him there was truth to those stories and truth in the legends that Lovecraft told of the ancient tome. It was then that Steve decided that if words could truly hold that kind of power that he would learn to master them like the author of the Necronomicon. Later on, King said he would come to believe that the Necronomicon was based on an actual document. I have spent the majority of my life searching for it Phill. To this day, I have not found what I seek, but the gold at the end of this rainbow is that I have come across many other interesting documents in the process. It was through this search and research that Steve became familiar with groups like the Illuminati, The Order of the Masons and Rosicrucians, as well as other fringe organizations such as The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, The church of the subgenius and Malaclypse the Youngers Principia Discordia. As his knowledge grew, so did his talent for writing. Steve got in the habit of sprinkling his novels with little bits of the knowledge he was taking in and according to him, it was around the time of The Drawing of the Three, his second Dark Tower Novel that people started to take notice. I was lucky that it was Chris Baty who was the first to contact me. I could have just as easily become a dupe for the Illuminati and gone the way of Jim Morrison, Amy Whinehouse and Michael Jackson. Steve leaned closer to make certain I heard what he was about to say and as I looked up I could see that there was a tear in his eye. I was one lucky shit that it was that guy that took me under his wing. That makes no sense though. I was a little confused. Chris Baty was the creator of what the world knows as todays Nanowrimo, which would make sense that he would be the one to contact Steve, Especially if they are really as embroiled in all this stuff as he says they are. Something just doesnt add up with the dates. It was true, or at least it seemed true. According to the dates, Chris Baty was born in nineteen seventy three and as far as current documents are concerned he started Nanowrimo in nineteen ninety nine (Nine hundred and ninety nine...Right?) at the age of twenty six. (Two times six is twelve, add the one and the two together and you get three. Three times itself is, once again nine....coincidence?) This means he would have had to have been only fourteen when he recruited you for the organization. This was the first,..and the last time I ever doubted anything the king said and this was also the last time that I ever took anything at face value without looking into things just a little bit deeper. You underestimate the power of the written word and you dont yet understand that Chris Baty is not only a master in the Arts of Wrimonology, he is THE master in the Arts of Wrimonology. He was also probably the greatest example of what can be done with the energy created from the written word. It was is writing and the power he harnesses from it that allows him to continually, write himself a new face, a new body and most of all a new and forever optimism that everything in the world will turn out right. A new belief that the world would keep revolving in the right direction, and the powers of good would always outshine the minions of darkness in the end. I was still a bit confused, but this time it had less to do with Stephens explanations and more to do with the preposterousness of what he was saying. Are you trying to tell me that Mr. Baty is a bit older than he looks because he has mastered this the Art of the written word to the point that he can generate an energy that has the power to keep him young? no, I am telling you he is a lot bit older and he is the master and originator of the Art of the written word and can generate enough energy, just by writing to keep himself young! How old is old? Steve shook his head back and forth, letting loose a bit of a chuckle before giving his answer. He wore a look that said he was about to tell me, but he really wasnt expecting me to believe him because even he had a bit of a problem swallowing the answer. If the stories can be believed, he is over two thousand years old. It wasnt what I was prepared to hear, but it sure as hell did fill in one mighty big section of the puzzle. I was still a little hazy on how every piece came together and wasnt at all sure what any of this had to do with a yearly writing challenge, but at this point I was reeled in like a trout on the line. I figured I was in a true win/win situation either way. Either, everything Steve was saying was true, in which case, I am a prophesied chosen one and it has been foretold that I will be a major participant in moving the world on to its next phase, or I am being bullshited. And if that is the case, I am being bullshited by Stephen freakin King for whatever reason, and I am being propelled into the midst of one of the most Amazing stories I have heard in a long time. I would have to say thats better than a silly autograph any day of the week. Then it hit me. Stopped me in my tracks as the gravity of what he had just told me, bashed me right in the forehead. Steve was talking about a great and powerful man who was just over two thousand years old, was able to harness and utilize great forces of energy and could use these powers to perform amazing miracles. He was also a good man and had spent every one of his two thousand plus years, combating the powers of evil that work in our world and championing the good. The was Stephen was painting the picture, you would have thought the guy was the messiah. But,...that would be Impossible. It didnt matter that just about everything he had heard during this mind blowing steak and cheese luncheon was impossible, This new idea was almost unentertainable.... ...Is he Jesus? I asked. I was holding my breath in anticipation and I could tasted the positiveness of Steves answer before it even left his lips... ...Time stood so still and I could hear everything and nothing at all. This was just about as heavy as it got. I was on one hell of a trip, and I could sense that I was about to be blown right open. It felt like the sectrets of life the Universe and everything was about to leave his mouth and jettison to my ears and like a hot injection of the purest heroin, sent me into a euphoric state of pure illumination!... ...Dont be ludicrous! he cackled Jesus was a politician, our man Chris is a writer. He is probably much more important in the scheme of things, but no where near as famous. Maybe that is why he has been so much more effective at molding the shape of things. Something can surely be said for staying behind the scenes and it seemed to me that the head of this whole Writing challenge had been behind the scenes for a very long time. I also knew that for some reason he was gathering writers, more in number each passing year, to help with some sort of ritual that had some bearing on the workings of good and evil in the world. When I pressed Mr. King for more details on how all this information fit together he glanced at his watch, told me he had to get back to working on the new novel and explained to me that he wanted to give me the information in small increments so that I would have the proper time to ponder each piece before placing it in the puzzle. Besides, he said. we have been all out of steak and cheese for over an hour and I am sure this pretty lady motioning to the nearby waitress, wants us to make way for the next round of local lunch goers. It seemed like I would have to wait till the next time we met to get more concrete answers. I was itching to hear more about the prophecies and my role in the situation, but Steve had a point about us overstaying our welcome. Instead, we made plans to meet at his house on beautiful Kezar lake the following evening for coffee, conversation and fancy deserts. The King has Left the Building Turns out, things dont always turn out the way you plan. That stands twice as true when dealing with Shadow groups. I arrived at Mr. Kings home to find the front door open and debris from inside scattered a bit around the front yard. Stepping through the door, I followed the debris to what I assumed was Kings main study. I had never been to the home before, but I was fairly certain that what I was seeing wasnt really how the house keeper, Steve nor his wife Tabitha liked to keep the house. The place had been obviously ransacked. Books, papers, nick knacks and the like were strewn all over the place and it gave the appearance that someone had been searching for something. Had they found what they were looking for? Did it implicate me in any way? Did they have Stephen King? These were all questions that ran through my mind as I wandered through Stephen Kings trashed house on beautiful Kezar Lake in Picturesque Lovell Maine. Not really the postcard picture you expect to see in Vacationland. I was a bit panicked. According to Steve I was a lead player in something big that was gonna go down and now hes gone missing leaving me with only bits and pieces of the information I felt I needed. I didnt feel safe and I needed someone I could trust that I could turn to. I couldnt turn to my usual rock, my wife, because she had no idea what was going on all together and I really didnt want to worry her needlessly over nothing, if this all turned out to be nothing more serious than a robbery and Steve had gone off to the police department to file his claim. Something just seemed hinky in the timing. I figured my best bet would be to head to Rosies and lay low for a while. At least I could call the police from there to report a possible break in at the King residence and have a bite to eat while I consider my next move. I really didnt hold many cards at all and was a tad bit worried that I would have to forfeit my turn for lack of having any move at all. It wasnt long at all before I was pulling back down that long, back, country road that had led me up to Steves house. Looking in the rear view mirror, I nearly froze. A very sleek and modern black sedan of sort was not far behind me. But where did it come from? It wasnt in Stephens driveway while I was there and I hadnt passed it on the road or driveway, coming up or coming back, but yet, there it was. Much like the demon car in Christine, appearing out of the fog intent on wickedness. Ill be damned if it didnt follow me all the way down the road, and out onto route five. I couldnt pull into the restaurant with this guy on my tail, so I pulled into my house instead. It seemed to do the trick. I am sure whoever was behind me wanted to keep just as low a profile as I did and so it just kept going past, as if never really following me in the first place. I never went in, I just waited about fifteen minutes in the car, then pulled out again. when I pulled into Steves favorite restaurant and safe house. Rosie met me at he door and quickly ushered me inside. I started to speak, to tell her that Steve was missing and that his house was a wreck. The wait in my driveway calmed me a little, but I was still full of adrenaline and more than a bit shaken inside. Rosie silenced me with a finger pressed to her lips and told me that she knew everything and that Stephen was ok. The effect was immediate. Her calm became my calm. I could feel the tension in my muscles start to slip off and I began to relax and as this roller coaster started to slowly crawl to a gradual stop, I felt light as a feather with a head both clearer than crystal, and at the same time heightened and tranquil as well. I could tell that I hadnt been drugged, Ive had enough experience to know, but that is another story for another day. No, I wasnt drugged, what was happening was coming from inside, coming from a center...or rather, two centers, one emanating from my mind, and one emanating from my heart. Not that I had long to ponder this new state of consciousness. First thing I noticed was that Rosies was completely empty with the exception of Rosie and me and this was rather odd during Normal business hours. It was about six oclock and by this time the diner seating was usually pretty full of regulars having dinner and talking over the quiet doings of their day. Second thing I noticed was the sign in the door that I hadnt noticed on my way in. Closed for function. Then it occurred to me that I was met at the door...I was expected. Before I could turn to run, Rosie had me by the arm. Looking at her, I would never had imagined her grip could be so strong, so forceful. She was a small woman, kinda reminiscent of Hollywood icon Charlotte Rae. You got a sense of country strength from this woman, she was definitely fit and able, but I had not expected the force with which she ushered me toward the walk in freezer. Its entrance door was of to the back left of the very small formal dining area and it was quite evident that it was where I was being ushered. Be quiet and dont fight she whispered in my ear as she pushed me forward with her knee in my back. Just relax, like I said and walk with me to the freezer. Even a safe house may not be as safe as you might hope it would be. I had no choice but to submit. Short of beating up an middle aged lady, there was nothing I could do to get out of her grip, and something told me I had nothing to worry about. Her attitude, like her grip, felt firm, strong and forceful, but something about it still felt friendly. Somehow things here at Rosies still felt safe. I let myself be taken to the freezer door. I was on full alert, and would assess the situation step by step at this point. I was ready to make a move in an instant, but calm and letting things unroll naturally so I could see where all of this was heading. Stepping into the walk-in cooler I was ready to spin on a dime if she let up her grip to push me in, but I was relieved to see that she was following me in and closing the door behind us. I figured as long as she was with me, she was not intent on locking me in. Leading me to the back recesses of the cooler, Rosie reached up and behind a large case of stored milk and cream for the store. Step back, friend. she said, pulling me back a bit to make room for a rather large floor panel to settle down a few inches below ground level and move back revealing a set of stairs leading down. What the? I asked, mostly rhetorical for I knew I would find out more real soon. The stairwell ended into a small corridor that lead us to a plane gray industrial door with a bronze plaque adhered top center. On the plague was written one word. That word was KING. Opening the door brought us into another corridor, a longer hallway with a much different look about it than the last one. At the end of this corridor could be seen another stair case, this one leading up. Judging from the distance it seemed logical that the stairway should open up into the abandoned old Victorian next to the store. Something strange was going on, and I didnt just mean the situation. That awakened, surreal feeling was increasing in me. Something about the intenseness of the situation oscillated with the counter calm produced by Rosies reassuring nudge forward. I was like a current moving between the two opposite poles. Positive..Negative..Positive..Negative...alternating faster and faster forming a bubble of energy around me as I walked forward down the hall. The hallway it self wasnt helping the craziness of the situation. While the other corridor and door way had been rather dull and industrial in look, this hallway would have looked right at home in a Stephen King museum. the walls were adorned with just about every piece of frameable memorabilia that one could imagine. Book covers, movie posters, news paper clippings, you name it and somewhere on these walls you would find it. It was strange enough that this was all down here underneath Lovell and that Rosies walk in cooler was the way to access it. What was even more strange to me was that it wasnt open to the public. What a boon to business this could be for Rosie. When I say this collection of King ephemera was close to complete, I am not exaggerating. As I walked towards the far door I lost track of all else, except for the dizzying splendor of the hallway shrine on either sides of me. This place felt somewhat holy, and I almost didnt want to reach the door on the other side, The collection was fascinating! Everything I was being put through reeked of ritual. The stage seemed set, the actors prepped and my initiation seemed to be lurking near. Slowly I climbed the stairs, Rosies calm and forceful grip leading me on. I felt dizzy and elated as I reached for the knob, I could feel the blood pump and vibrate through my temple, I could almost hear the workings of the world. I could hear drums, beating out an ancient and powerful beat but was not sure if they were real or just in my head. I could feel my fingers reaching and securing themselves around the door knobs solid form and for a moment it seemed like the only solid and real thing in my world. I took a deep breath and turned my hand and the door came open. Rosie and I were met with complete contrast. The craziness of the hallway and the eclectic clutter filling up every available piece of wall real estate were replaced with a clean, simple and comfortable room, simply but nicely furnished filling me with an even greater sense of safety and well being than I had always had back at the restaurant. All of this very quickly became overwhelming and the last thing I saw as I blacked out was Steve himself getting up from a plush, white couch and coming towards me.
Posted on: Mon, 18 Nov 2013 00:35:59 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015