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Summary: It's just a dream, right? Well, Jemima doesn't think so...
Authors note: This is based on a real Victoria Grove in West London, near to Hyde Park and Kensington gardens (I love the A-Z). If TSE had a real place in mind, I guess this would be it. Unfortunately it's not a bit of my home town that I visit very often, so the rest is just my imagination. ---Solstice
Moonlight is a funny thing. it can make white fur seem iridescent, but yet, black still blends like ink in the darkness. It calls for madness and magic, yet is placid and calm in itself. It was on this that Mistoffles mused as he lay, curled in an abandoned pipe on the edge of the junkyard. London rain, thick and frequent, beat a drummers tattoo on the metal roof. He was glad of the abandoned blankets he had dragged here, scavenged from the scrap heaps of the city, for just this purpose, as comfort when, for whatever reason, he could not reach the warmth of his home. Tonight he had come for the usual purpose, to meet his friends and to go about his business as a Jellicle cat, but rain had driven most of them to shelter, or prevented them from arriving at all. Tiredness, and a fear of discovery by his human masters had kept him from teleporting, so here he lay, immersed in the raggedy mix of wool and nylon. Somewhere in the junkyard, he knew most of his friends lay. Munkustrap and Demeter, curled nose to tail in the abandoned oven they called their home, the Rum Tum Tugger, chased from his usual drainpipe, probably in pipe like himself, Bombalurina one of many keeping him company. Mungojerry and Rumpleteaser, probably still at home in Victoria grove, keeping warm together in the basket they shared. Many others, with mates or friends, curled in the numerous hiding places offered by the junkyard. And me, Misstoffles thought, looking to the other end of the pipe, where Alonzo and Pounceival, had leapt into the first shelter, and now slept, immersed in feline dreams. "Not my preferred company" Misstoffles muttered, but he kneaded the blanket, and lay down to sleep.
The promise of morning came as stained as normal, and for the cats, most of whom crawled from cramped shelter to stretch their legs on the puddle strewn ground, the overcast sky brought little joy. Munkustrap stretched, muscles moving beneath taut skin. He lifted his nose to the sky, and took a sniff of the putrid London air. 'More rain to come' he thought. he looked behind him to find his mate, Demeter still curled at the ovens entrance. "If you think I'm going out there," she began, Munkustrap nodded, knowing how stubborn she could be. "I ought to call us all together," he said. "Looks like worse storms on the way." Demeter glanced at her mate, her eyes worried. "Not more," she said "I don't see how we can cope with this." "We're British cats," Munkustrap said with a hint of irony in his voice, "we should be bred for this." "Speak for yourself." A third voice entered the conversation. Victoria walked over, her usually pristine coat splattered faintly with mud, looking shaken, and still decidedly wet. "Vici, where on earth have you been?" Demeter asked, shock mixing with amusement. "Well some of us went home, didn't we" she replied, "and some of us we're not expecting large vans around Hyde Park corner." She smiled slightly, "or even larger puddles." Demeter had to almost cover her mouth with her paw to keep from laughing, instead a small giggle escaped her lips and she looked at the ground. "Oh dear" Demeter said schooling the amusement out of her voice. Victoria looked at her, her eyes sparking with faint annoyance, and a little amusement of her own. She signalled her departure to the pair, and then stretched elegantly. Time for some socialising she thought, then she looked ruefully at her own coat. And high time we fixed this.
The early morning was waning by the time Misstoffles awoke. Later than usual, he mused, but without sleeping in his owners house he had not had the early morning call of the clamouring children to rouse him. Another day, he thought, a faint wish for what he wanted fighting with the gratitude for what he had, streetcat to housepet was not an easy journey, and he knew better than not to think of himself as lucky. A more immediate need than philosophy is what moved to peer outside however, and with an effort he hefted himself out of the pipe. He briefly thought of waking Alonzo and Pouncival, but he quickly decided against it. Let sleeping beauties lie, he thought, I have no wish to kiss them. Climbing away, he surveyed the surroundings of the junkyard, out of nearly every nook and cranny a Jellicle crawled, many friends, who hunted for food in the dustbins and mouseholes. 'Lucky' he reminded himself. He smiled as he caught sight of Victoria on the other side of the clearing, she looked-browner - than usual, but still beautiful, and whilst no one was looking at him, he decided to engage in a little Vici watching, one of his favourite pastimes. She leapt elegantly up to the drainpipe, and then disappeared behind a pile of loose paper and wood. Misto narrowed his eyes in annoyance as his quarry walked away, but any thoughts of following her were quickly quelled, by he ear-splitting shriek that cut the air over the junkyard.
Jemima could neither see it, nor hear it, but she knew it was there. The sickly cloying presence of it enveloped her like a suffocating blanket, trying desperately to suck her in. She uttered a single scream, her pure voice rising high over the concophony of the junkyard. Cats turned, frightened by her apparent distress, watching bemusedly as she fought tooth and claw with an enemy that they could not see. Jemima flailed, scoring no hits on an adversity that only she saw. In the periphery of her vision she saw others running towards her, a faint streak of white that she knew so well caught her eye. "Vici!" she cried and threw herself into her friends arms. Victoria almost missed, but her feline reactions caught the smaller cat in time. "Oh Vici," Jemima breathed, the presence began to dissipate, like lifting fog, it's parting gift a sharp sting on Jemima's wrist. By now, other cats were also heading towards her. Misstoffles stopped a little short, and turned his intense blue eyes on her. "What happened?" He asked."I don...don't know." Jemima looked puzzled, scrunching up her features in concentration as she tried to catch the already fleeing memories that were already fleeing. "It was...something," she said looking around the array of faces, hoping for a glimpse of understanding, instead she only found bemusement and concern. Her mother, Jennyanydots, bustled into the circle, keen to comfort her daughter, fussing over her as if she we're still a kitten. "You're so pale my love," she said, passing a paw over her forehead "not hot though." Jemima's view of her mother was obscured by the dark circles that had settled in front her eyes. "I'm tired Momma" was all she managed before she slipped into blissful unconsciousness.
The deep velvet of nightfall had already enveloped the junkyard by the time Jemima woke up. She found herself on a cushion in her mothers home, although she didn't appear to be around. Stretching her muscles, she was just about to leave in search of food when a white face appeared in the doorway. "I wouldn't if I we're you, your on full mothering until we're sure you're ok." Jemima groaned, then smiled at her friend. "I love her dearly, but I'm not sure I can cope with her in full protection mode." Victoria smiled back, thinking of her own mother. "It's a miracle that she didn't strap you to the cushion!" Jemima grinned at her friend then with a wicked smile unsheathed her claws."Leathers not that tough." Victoria laughed, and stepped into the pipe. Jemima stepped back and sat on her cushion. Victoria's posture relaxed and she settled on an old blanket. "How are you doing?' Victoria asked, concern for her friend welling in her eyes. "It was weird Vici" Jemima's tone became serious, "One minute everything was normal, the next I hit something that seemed to flip my mind. I can't explain it, but it was real." Victoria looked at her sympathetically, but Jemima caught the barest glimpse of doubt in her eyes. " I know it was real, Vici, look." Jemima held out her paw to her friend, turning it over Victoria spotted the mark on her wrist, a burned scar, in a perfect crescent moon. End Part 1
Chrysalis: Part 2
Authors note: Thanx a million to Jeminus, who basically helped to
inspire this story, everyone who has sent me feedback/confidence
boosters/threats of violence etc. and to Lizzie my best friend who
listens to me moan and never complains when I use her as a sounding
board. You are all the wind beneath my wings.
There was no moon that night. Dark clouds obscured the stars, and a
chill wind whistled through the junkyard. Victoria had left long ago, no
explanation except a murmur of a clandestine meeting. Once again Jemima
stood at the edge of the pipe, enjoying the rush of wind past her
sensitive whiskers, glad that her mother was delayed by a birth on the
other side of the yard. She stretched her limbs, and gently stepped out
of the pipe. Immediately, the cold air chilled her bones and she
shivered involuntarily, drawing a little further into herself, and her
warm winter coat. An indefinable feline sense told her of the snow in
the air and she looked up to the blanketing clouds, tinged faintly
orange by the streetlights of the city. ‘an absent companion’ she mused
to herself. She had known, as she always did, that there was no moon
tonight, even behind that mask of cloud. She missed the energising glow
of moonshine, the more it shone the more she felt alive somehow. Jemima
shook herself to clear her mind, ‘back to work’ she thought, and headed
away from the security of her mothers home. ‘Peace’ she told herself,
but the spirits she somehow knew inhabited the shadows were almost
palpable. Jemima sighed, the peace she had hoped the evening would
afford her had not come and she knew in her heart of hearts, that to
gain any rest she must return to the place where it had all begun.
Wearily, she retraced her steps, finding the exact spot where the
presence had first touched her. Cool wind brushed past her, but she felt
no stranger, in fact she felt nothing at all, no presences seemed to
inhabit this place. ‘Maybe it was just a dream’ Jemima thought, trying
hard to half believe that. Still she found that, contented for now she
could walk away. §§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§
It takes a few days for a new moon to rise. Every Jellicle knows that,
just as every Jellicle knows that a lot can happen in a few days. Misto
hummed happily to himself as he wandered across the great plains of
junk. Vici had agreed that he, Him! The scrawny Tom with the conjuring
tricks, could dance with her. He was practically her mate! Well OK, not
that far, but a step closer to her, and, the jealous mind so
characteristic of those in love supplied, closer than anyone else. His
mind floated with the butterflies, arranging his future in an ordered
tapestry of wants and needs. As his mind’s eye painted a vivid picture,
his normal two lost sight of the ground and he walked, as high as a
kite, into Jemima. *Thump,* Jemima’s lightening reflexes caught her in
time, but Misto’s airy thoughts hit the ground a few seconds after his
body did.
“Ouch” he complained, dusting off his coat. Jemima gazed at him without
a trace of sympathy.
“It does help to use your eyes to steer” she said, smiling at him.
Lifting a paw, she dusted a few stray pieces of grime from his shoulder.
“So what’s got you floating two feet above the pavement?” She asked.
‘As if you can’t guess’ a mischievous part of her mind replied, but
mentally she shushed it. Misto debated internally for a second, would
Vici mind if he told her? She’s her best friend idiot, his brain
replied, she’s probably already told her herself.
“Well,” he began cautiously, “you see I asked Vici if she would dance
with me, and...” ‘See! Jemima’s mind crowed, she fought the urge not to giggle.
“She said yes?” Jemima asked sweetly, Misto glared at her for a second,
his moment of glory stolen, but the memory of her accepting quickly
supassed his annoyance, and his eyes glazed again.
“She said yes.” He said dreamily. Jemima stepped around him smiling to
herself. She was glad that he and Vici were happy, but more than that,
that uniquely indefinable instinct of hers told her something good was
to come of it, something for which she should be grateful.
Shaking her head vigorously, she cleared her thoughts and continued on
her way.
Cool wind slipped past her, and she shivered ever so slightly, odd she
thought, sensations strange and vaguely familiar past through her, and
seconds race by as a sensation now terrifyingly familiar engulfed her.
“Not again” she cried, and struggled with the mist surrounding her. It
was infinitely deeper this time, her senses told her, and she gave up
hopelessly flailing. The mist seemed to swallow her whole, no senses
working except one that told her of presences in the mist, a million
million souls, everything, she thought, that could have ever lived. The
mist was suddenly illuminated, and white shone through, hurting
Jemima’s sensitive eyes. Tiredness engulfed her and her eyelids dropped,
‘somebody help me’ was her last thought, the rest were lost in oblivion.
Mistoffles turned, his reverie broken, and he gazed at the cat in front
of him. Jemima’s image seemed fuzzy somehow, blurred at the edges like
an image through water. Reds, yellows and whites mixed together, and a
pale mist engulfed her tiny frame.
“Jem?” He called, but she either ignored him or did not hear. Slowly
the mists began to dissipate, but to his horror Jemima went with it, her
slim body slowly melting away into the receding cloud. Misto watched.
mute and horrified, until Jemima’s body had faded away. Unbelieving, he
shook himself and ran to the spot where she had been. No fur lay on
ground, and not a whiff of her fragile scent was left in the air.
“JEMIMA!” Mistoffle’s voice screamed, tinged with fear and rage, all
that he heard was his own echo, repeating hopelessly on the fields of junk.
“JEMIMA!” §§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§
Dreamer, do not waken here,
Pass peacefully this broken sphere,
For these things lie with certainty,
That they can never more now be.
‘Timeless things’ Sols. 1998
The floor, or whatever passed for it, was cold and hard. Jemima’s head hurt, and it was not helped by the blinding light that engulfed her.
Around her everything was dark, inky blackness not penetrated by any light. ‘Where am I” she thought, and by habit and experience, she looked up. The moon was the blinding light around her, but there were no constellations to help with her position. In fact, there were no stars at all.
‘How strange, Jemima thought, standing on shaky legs. Carefully she walked out of the circle of light, and out into the blackness surrounding her. Even her feline eyes could not see, for there is no point searching for light when there can be none. Her whiskers to felt strangely muffled, as if she could only feel from inside a paper bag. She would have been frightened, she should have been frightened by her lack of sensation, but another sense overrode her fear. She could feel, almost see in this darkness, her mind contained almost a mental map, yet she did not know where it came from. With sure steps she walked among what she knew to be piles, though she could not see what they were made of. The place was peaceful, Jemima felt more at home here than she had anywhere else.
Except... something tickled the back of Jemima’s mind, and she stepped back, raising her eyes to the sky. ‘There was a new moon today’ she thought. Her brain almost refused to except what she saw, by even more stubbornly, the full moon shone a bright beam onto Jemima’s upturned face.End part 2!© Solstice 1999
Chrysalis part 3
Hopefully this will be the finish line, (fingers cross, circulation cut
off, fingers fall off, type with nose) . So here they come, final thanx.
Dyce & Missiemeow, who give encouragement with cheerful phrases (kickass
poem?) Everybody who ever bothered to read this, and whoever invented
inflatable eggcups. Sorry about this part, when we passed the sign
saying sanity, I was looking at my watch.
P.S All the pubs mentioned are real, although I’ve been a bit ‘liberal’
about their locations, in real life, most are in London and a valuable
navigation tool.
P.P.S I’m beginning to notice distinctly Alice in Wonderland tones
arising here, sorry guys, it just kinda came out this way.
The calls quickly brought others running, Misto stood alone in a circle,
a look of pure pain contorting his features.
“What is it?” Munkustrap asked, trying not to startle the already
distraught Jellicle.
“Jemima, she just kind of disappeared. It swallowed her, oh sweet
heaviside, it swallowed her!”
“What swallowed her?” Munkustrap did not like the way this was going,
from the corner of his eye he could see Jennyanydots being restrained,
obviously ready to come and shake the young tom into telling her what
happened to her daughter.
“The mist, it came to her, she tried to fight it, but it swallowed her!”
“The mist, like the thing Jemima was fighting before? When we found
her?” Misto merely nodded mutely, tears making fast tracks from his
eyes. Behind Munkustrap, the crowd swiftly parted, allowing Victoria
through. She made a beeline for Misto, gathering the young tom to her.
“Where is she?” Jennyanydot’s asked, her own voice strangled.
“If only we knew” Munkustrap replied sadly, shaking his head. “If only
we knew.” §§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§
Nobody knew where Jemima was, including her. She had quickly tired of
walking into things in the pitch blackness, so she had returned to the
solitary shaft of moonlight that illuminated the ground like a
spotlight. She was frustrated, there was no way for her to search this
place, her senses, acute as they were, could begin to cope with a total
lack of sound, of smell and of light. Even her whiskers seemed muffled,
as if they were wrapped in a thick duvet. The only sense that seemed to
be working was her unique sense of time, that indeed seemed stronger
than ever. ‘Lot of use it is’ Jemima thought bitterly, ‘knowing the hour
is really going to help me get back home.’ She smiled sadly, ‘Mum must
be going frantic by now’ she thought, ‘she’s probably shaken poor Misto
to death!’ Absurdly, the thought made her smile, and the image of her
parent and her friend comforted her somewhat. Without really thinking
about what she was doing, she sat down. Feeling suddenly strangely
fatigued. Unconsciously she curled up, her tail just tickling her chin,
and her eyelids drooped lower. ‘It’s all so strange....as if....’ The
thought never got finished, the pull on her eyelids drew them closed,
and whatever image she had seen turned inwards.
The tingling woke her while it was still dark, a sensation ran up her
front leg, for all the world like a million beetle legs. ‘Ugh’ Jemima
thought, quickly standing, she examined her leg and found nothing. ‘What
the...?’ Jemima thought, she was about to put it down to cramp when
suddenly the leg began to burn, a million hot needles penetrating her
skin. Automatically Jemima mewed with pain, and turned her paw over. The
mark, that she had almost forgotten about, burned brightly, the charred
flesh seeming to glow with a white light all it’s own. Pain threatened
to engulf all of Jemima’s senses, but with supreme willpower, she turned
them outwards, feeling for something, anything, that could explain her
agony. That is when she felt it. No particular sense told her they were
there, the information simply arrived in her brain, and she processed it
before she wondered at it’s origin.’ They’re here’ she thought, quite
who they were she had no idea, but nonetheless, the sensation of their
presence was both familiar, and terrifying.
“Stay away” she hissed, wondering at the venom in her own voice. A
shadow seemed to move, but before it could touch the light, it hissed as
if it had been burned, and stepped back into the darkness. ‘They’re
afraid of light’ Jemima realised and at the same time a much more
puzzling revelation ‘what is power for me, is death to them.’ Even in
mortal danger, she took a second. ‘Where did that come from?’ she wondered.
She sat again, ‘at least I am safe here’ she thought, and as she sat,
she watched the shadows move in the darkness.
When something that Jemima thought must equate with dawn finally broke,
the shadows quickly dissipated. She had had little asleep, afraid to
drop back again, even if she was in what seemed to be a safe haven.
Sighing she stood, lamenting her aching joints. At least her arm had
stopped hurting, although it had burned more, and the crescent had been
replaced with what could only be described as a half moon shaped burn.
The place that she looked at now, was nothing like it had been at night.
If she hadn’t known better Jemima would have said she had been moved.
She was now at the end of what seemed to be an alley, leading out to a
maze of seedy backstreets. Nothing was familiar here, but at least
Jemima found all of her senses working. Indeed among several more
unsavoury smells, Jemima found something uniquely recognisable, the
smell of that great human favourite, Liquor. Jemima had been around many
pubs in her time, be it with Uncle Skimble, whilst he ‘borrowed’ a
bottle of scotch, or at the knee of Great uncle Gus, as he told
enthralling stories of his theatre life. One thing Jemima knew for
certain, where there was beer, there were people, and possibly a chance
of getting home, or at least finding out where she was. Nose leading the
way, she walked towards the source of the intoxicating scent. The
streets curled and seemed to almost double back on each other, but with
implicit trust, Jemima followed her nose, sure soon enough it would lead
her to the source of the smell. Her trust was not misplaced, as she
rounded a corner, she found a grimy building, set back slightly from the
street, it’s door wide open. A rusty sign above the door proclaimed,
The Victoria.
Slipping inside was easy, and Jemima wove her way in between the legs
that covered the floor, trying to find a safe place to sit and listen.
Eventually she settled underneath a beer soaked table. At first, as she
listened, she thought the people must be speaking a different language,
but soon she realised that they were simply talking very fast, in a
garbled tongue. As Jemima slowly began to decipher what they were
saying, she heard many cries of “where is she?” and “Why can’t he just
make her re-appear?” The people seemed to be arguing, for from the other
side of the tables, Jemima could hear other people saying “it’s not his
fault, don’t let him think that” and “He can’t find her anymore than we
can.” Jemima listened intently to the arguments, there seemed to be
different conflicts at every table, but no clues as to where she was.
She watched as routinely, as if of their own accord, a few would swap
tables, a second later and the arguments would begin again. She heard a
door from somewhere be pushed open. Three children all dressed
identically tumbled out, their ecstatic joy a sharp contrast to the
prevailing atmosphere. The women serving quickly walked up to them.
“Not yet” she said sharply. The children looked up, and then obeying
the command, returned through the door. Jemima watched the pantomime
with fascination, unable to know what to Make of the bizarre scene.
‘It’s still not helping me though’ she thought, pulling herself up. She
began to walk towards the door, when she bumped straight into a man.
walking down the centre of the pub. Jemima looked up, panicked, but the
man did not even look down, he just ignored her, as if nothing had
happened. Relieved and slightly shaken, Jemima carried on towards the
door. She was startled by the sound of scraping chairs behind her,
whirling, she saw five of the patrons get up, they began to walk, in
perfect formation towards the door. Jemima quickly pulled herself out of
the way, The five walked through the door, the rest of the pub following
them with intent gazes. Everything stopped, and Jemima found out what
deafening silence meant. For an infinite second everyone stood still,
nothing moved, nothing breathed. Then suddenly as if by some silent
command had been spoken, everything began again. Jemima quickly noticed
that the chairs had been re-arranged as if by magic, and now the members
absence was not even detectable. Even more shaken, Jemima headed towards
the door. Thinking to follow the men, she sniffed the air outside. She
was amazed, not a breath of the men’s scent remained on the wind.
§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§
The days passed strangely in the junkyard. In the fourteen days since
Jemima’s disappearance so little and so much had changed. Jenny barely
ever smiled anymore, and sometimes her eyes would fix on the dawn, as if
she hoped her daughter would reappear out of it. Misto worried about
her, feeling somehow responsible for what had happened, even though he
knew there was nothing he could have done. He missed her terribly, an
aching longing like an open wound. Not only for himself but for Vici,
who had grown quieter, thinner and had lost the indefinable sparkle she
had always had. ‘it’s like part of her is missing’ Misto thought, and he
knew exactly what it was. ‘Come back soon Jem, come back’ he thought,
all of his own searching, his meditations and his hope had so far found
nothing of her. Munkustrap had talked in vague terms of needing a new
time keep, but he was too afraid too even broach the subject openly,
afraid of what admitting she was gone might do. Only Demeter knew of his
private thoughts, and almost by instinct, when one had gone missing the
rest of the cats had retreated further into their pairs and their
families, the idea of losing someone suddenly a raw reality to them.
Misto sighed sadly and walked over to Vici, nuzzling her comfortingly.
She smiled at him gently and liked his face, he felt her rasping tongue
scratch his skin, but he didn’t mind, instead he lay next to her,
curling his tail about her, and gently grooming her head. She let out a
half hearted purr, and then without warning, spoke.
“I don’t see her anymore.” She said. Misto turned sharply to face her.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I used to see her every night, I’d dream about her, but she’s gone,
what if, what if I’m starting to forget? I don’t want to forget.”
“You’re not forgetting my love, you just have to have different dreams.
Don’t worry, no one will forget.” Victoria sighed slightly.
“You sound as if you think she’s already gone.” Misto looked at her,
and hoped his eyes ran true to his words. “I still have hope.”
§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§
Darkness was something Jemima was quickly coming to regard as her worst
enemy. The nights here were thick and strange, Jemima knew from the
first night that against all her instincts, the safety came in the
light, not the shadows. Even the moonlight here unnerved her, it never
wavered, a bright full moon every night, the same single beam cast onto
the pavement. ‘I have to escape’ Jemima thought, yet she still had no
inkling as to how. This place seemed to be made up of an endless circle
of backstreets, populated by and ever changing stream of pubs. She had
never found the Victoria again. She went back again the next day, but
the pub had disappeared from the corner. She had still found others
though, The Railway Bell, where the patrons drank Scotch and sat in
ordered rows. The Red Lion, where the conversations were a whirligig of
mostly superficial emotions. The Swan and Pyramids, where everyone
remained aloof, and yet somehow the words would flow with a mystical
charm. The Griffin, where everyone was always so threatening and argued
with a fury. The Cat and Lantern, where they spoke of a hope still
there, and even the decoration was black, and sparkled with a light of
it’s own. Jemima counted as best she could, but there had been many more
than she could name. It was becoming a pointless task, for no one seemed
to have any inclination to talk of the location. Instead there
conversations seemed to assume some prior knowledge that Jemima did not
have, making them unintelligible to her. She sighed, and wished she
could see the sun set again. She wondered if it ever rose here, if it
did it was so deeply hidden by cloud that she never saw it. Light just
seemed to steal in on this place, and darkness would steal back again
even quicker, bringing what Jemima could only describe as a whole new
landscape, piles of something she could not define. Not that she could
much explore, the shadows kept her back in her shaft of moonlight, and
the pain in her arm made movement all the more difficult. A half moon
had grown to a three-quarters, and Jemima wondered, with trepidation,
what the completing of the circle, and the casting of the full moon,
would bring. She sighed again, soon the shadows would come and the pain
would start, she was resigned to being unable to stop it.
§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§
Weeks were passing where time still took the lead. Jemima’s
disappearance was still a raw wound, and Munkustrap did not know what to
do about it. Demeter came out of there shelter, and gently nuzzled his
chest as he remained unmoving, staring at the Jellicle moon. He didn’t
want to give up hope of finding her anymore than anyone else, and yet
with her missing for six weeks, there was little left to be hopeful for.
In a way Munkustrap wished she had just been taken by Macavity or his
cronies. That he could have dealt with. It was the fact that she had
just disappeared without a trace that disturbed him most, it was the
realm of the mystic, Mistoffles realm, yet neither of them could do
anything to help her. She was not dead, of that Munkustrap had to be
sure. But they would need a new timekeeper if she did not reappear, and
if Munkustrap did appoint someone new, would he be sending a mother into
despair, and her friends into grief? Munkustrap sighed, feeling the
internal tug of war that had been taking place for several days. Then
there was a tug of a more concrete type on his shoulder, and he looked
down to see his mate staring worriedly y up at him, her face a picture
of concern. Sighing Munkustrap returned back to his home, wondering how
he could ever resolve what he should do next.
When the eighth week of Jemima’s disappearance began, Vici felt the
change. She could not explain the sensation, the cloying closeness of
it, yet she could feel the world seeming to close in. She sighed, the
ironic wit her mind seemed intent on developing kicking in, ‘Great,
loneliness and lunacy, what a combination.’ She knew that she was not
really lonely, Misto was there whenever she needed him, and somehow, the
way she tried to be there for him just seemed inadequate in comparison.
‘He is a fine mate’ she thought and then stopped short, a mental double
take to check that last thought. When had Misto stopped being her friend
and become her mate? She could not say, yet the more she thought about
it, the more sense it made. ‘Right fine, Misto is my mate, should I tell
him?’ ‘ Don’t worry, ‘ the rest of her mind supplied, ‘he’ll figure it
out.’ Victoria sighed again, in any other circumstance, she might have
smiled. She stepped out of the drainpipe, when had she stopped going
home? She could not remember. It had only been a few weeks ago that she
had chatted to Jemima at this door, they had been so happy. She could
almost see her now standing by the abandoned car, that had got buried in
that pile in a night no Jellicle would ever forget. She could just
imagine her sitting there, looking bemused as if she had just stepped
out of a dream. No wait, Vici could see her, faint and fuzzy around the
edges, like an old photograph, she seemed to be totally unaware of her
surroundings. Vici, could not believe it and she made the fatal mistake,
she blinked in astonishment. Jemima’s image blinked out of existence
with her, and Vici was lift staring vacantly at a blank spot. Had she
imagined it? Possibly, but if it were true, was it a glimmer of hope?
What could she do? She decided to find Misto, he was so much better at
these things. She bounded across the junkyard, for the first time in
weeks with a purpose, she went to find the magician she called her own.
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The feeling of connection passed almost as soon as it had come, and
Jemima continued to walk, shaken by the experience. The light was grey
and musty, not the light of day that Jemima so longed to see. Yet for a
second she had felt the sun warm her back, and thought she could the
presence of her friends, her relatives. The connection had scared her,
yet it had been like a one way mirror, she could only see herself, yet
she felt if she stood in front of the glass, someone else could see her.
This was not the first feeling she had had this light time, yet this was
the first time she had actually felt the connection with such intensity.
she sat down, and glanced at her wrist, as she had expected, the full
moon had formed, and her hand still glowed slightly. She felt as if it
were a power she could not master, like the mark was a symbol in a
language she did not yet understand. Yet she was so sure she was on the
brink. habit drove her to walk the streets, and she found herself
outside a pub once again. she was surprised, this one was somehow
different, and taking a step back, she saw it. It was so much planer
than the others, and was pained a deep red, that which was not already
London clay brick work. She stepped up, and read the sign on the door.
This two was in red, light on dark and proclaimed, ‘The Outside Inn’.
Intrigued, Jemima entered the pub. The interior was different too, there
were no tables, and the patrons gathered around the bar, and to Jemima’s
immense relief talked much slower than in the other pubs she had been in.
“It’s sad” One was saying “that they should be able to see her here,
yet she doesn’t know it.” At the mention of ‘here’ Jemima’s ears pricked
up, perhaps at last a mention of where she was? the man conned. “And so
young as well, it’s no wonder she’s so confused.”
“It’s her birthright,” a woman piped up, “she has to come to learn, she
has to know exactly what she is.”
“But so young?” A younger man replied, “think of how it effects those
on our side.”
“Better now than when she is a mother herself, she has the time, she
must learn how to use it.” The argument continued, but Jemima tuned it
out. What did they men, her? Could it actually be her? and if so, what
was her birthright, what was the ‘time’ and why must she learn to use it?
“All I want is to go home” Jemima wailed quietly, knowing that the
patrons of the pub could not hear her. That was why she was all the more
surprised when they turned around, and intent gazes nailed her to the wall.
“Soon.” was all the man said, but with a sudden overload of
information, her brain tripped a safety fuse and Jemima bolted for the door.
Cool air greeted her as she got outside, and after a moment in the
refreshing breeze, Jemima gathered her wits enough to carry on.
Questions buzzed around her head like angry insects, ‘how had they seen
her, and they were human, so how had they known what she had said? Why
had they been talking about, and why had I been so important she found
out her to use whatever gift she had? The man said she would be home
soon, but how soon? Should she hope, or just wait?’ Jemima half wished
she could go back, but knew that she could not face walking in again.
‘Maybe I’ll find somewhere else’ she thought and continued down the
road. The next pub was not long in coming, and was as plainly decorated
as the first, although in golds and yellows. ‘The moon under water’ the
sign said, and with a hope for more clues, Jemima went in. The pub was
quiet, serene. The people, Jemima noticed, talked very quietly, as if
afraid to disturb the underlying atmosphere. Aware that these people may
be able to see and hear her, she crept very quietly towards one table.
“We can do nothing but wait now.” A woman said, the others nodded in
agreement. “She has had the last of it, she is marked.” a man replied.
“They drew her in, we marked her and now it is up to her.” The rest of
the table nodded, one however looked nervous.
“What if she is not ready?” He asked.
“She is ready,” an older man replied, “and if she is not, then do not
worry about consequences, we won’t be here to see them.” The young man
did not looked comforted.
“She will win.” The woman said confidently, “they cannot stand up to
her, she is strong.” Jemima backed away from the table, her pule racing.
what must she do, who must she stand up to? She just wanted to go home,
not to fight some great battle. She was little more than a kitten for
goddness’ sakes. It seemed that these pubs brought anything except good
news, but at the same time, Jemima knew that she had to know what was
going to happen. The conversation in the pub had died to a low hum, and
with more than a little trepidation for what she would find outside,
Jemima headed for the door.
to her surprise, it was still light outside. This day had lasted longer
than any other Jemima had experienced here. It was as if the daylight
were waiting for something to happen, before it allowed the night to
take over. Turning a corner, Jemima found another building. Like the
other two, this one was plain, a whitewashed front on which there were
sharply contrasting letters. ‘The world’s end.’ Jemima shivered
involuntarily, but on a quest for information, she headed inside. It was
white here too, but the first thing Jemima noticed was that there were
no people. Nothing moved, and heavy silence had fallen over the pubs
atmosphere like a coat of dust. Jemima looked around, there was
something else odd to. She could not quite put her finger on it, but
when she looked at the walls it hit like a thunderbolt. There were no
shadows. The tables did not cast a shadow on the walls, nothing did. As
Jemima looked the last pieces of the puzzle fell into place. She was to
use some talent to fight the shadows that she knew stalked this place at
night. The realisation brought something almost like calm into Jemima’s
world, before she realised what the realisation meant. ‘They said I was
ready’ he reminded herself. ‘They said I had power.’ The last piece
suddenly clicked and Jemima looked upwards, her eyes a picture of hope
and fear, struggling for dominance. ‘When I do this, I can go home.’
This settled it, and Jemima headed for the door. When she reached it
however, she took a step back. The switch had been pulled, and darkness
had enveloped the rest of this world.
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Misto looked up into the evening sky. The darkness was gathering
quickly, and the air was thick with tension. His sensitive whiskers
picked up minute changes in pressure. ‘A storm’ he thought, ‘there’s a
big storm on the way.’ He looked around him, knowing others had noticed
it too. He ran to the drainpipe, relieved beyond reason to still find
Victoria curled up there. he had been increasingly more worried about
her since the beginning of the week, when she had told him that she had
seen Jemima. He did not know what had happened, but he knew it had been
a shock to her. He curled his body tightly around hers and nervously
watched huge dark clouds gather on the horizon.
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Jemima watched huge dark shadows gather on the horizon. The pit of her
stomach felt like a moth hatchery, and all earlier assertions of her
readiness were quickly forgotten when she saw the threat. Half of her
wanted nothing more than to crawl back into the shaft of moonlight, yet
she knew this was her only hope of ever returning. Defying her
instincts, she looked up, straight into what would have been the eyes of
the oncoming shadow. She watched as it rose up, and swirled until it
filled her field of vision, she felt it’s soft velvet folds close around
her cocooning her inside it’s being. Jemima lashed out, her sharp claws
making contact with nothing as the form melted in front of her
onslaught. The more she struggled, the stronger the beings hold became
like a boa constrictor, squeezing life from a struggling prey. Jemima
stopped, her fight was useless, so instead she relaxed and searched her
mind for some hidden knowledge to help her. As she stopped struggling,
the creatures hold lessened but it still kept her cocoooned. She felt a
faint, tingling sensation and looked down, her legs seemed to be slowly
moulding into the creature. ‘It’s trying to transform me’ she realised.
Her mind search became more frantic, afraid it would already be too late
before she found the knowledge to help her. She lifted her head, stared
at the creature, and hissed. To her immense surprise the creature
stepped back, releasing her. ‘What?’ Jemima thought, but as she stared
past the creature she saw something even more incredible, light was
forming behind the creature, blinding and growing. ‘Not light’ some even
older instinct in Jemima’s being told her, ‘time’. Following her feeling
Jemima concentrated on the light, it slowly began to grow, filling more
and more of the horizon. Concentrating hard, she did not even notice the
creature until it was almost on top of her. Snarling, she hissed again,
the creature retreated back towards the light. Jemima smiled and
advanced on the creature, hissing again. The creature stepped backwards,
going further and further until it was on the brink of the breech.
Jemima sighed, and hissed one more time, the creature teetered, and fell
back, it’s shadow closing the breech with it. Jemima turned, a familiar
dizzy sensation filling her head. She knew that these shadows she saw
were good, and she gratefully fell into them, as they carried her
towards unconsciousness. §§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§
When Jemima awoke, her scenery had changed. She felt almost incapable of
lifting her head. She purred as she felt warm sun on her back. She
rolled from her side to her back, noticing the ground was wet but not
caring, because above her the sky was clear blue, full with the blush of
an electric London spring.
As the shock wore off, Jemima noticed she was not alone, cats were
gathered around her, familiar faces and familiar names, though placing
them was difficult.
“Jemi? Jemi is that you?” That voice was familiar, and Jemima rolled on
her side again, turning to meet her eyes.
“I made it Momma, I’m home.” Jenny smiled and gathered her daughters in
her arms. The cats turned to each other, shock and wonder and happiness
colouring their tones as they spoke. Among Victoria lent on Misto’s
shoulder, smiling with pure joy. “I told you” she said, “She’s come back.”
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Several months later, Victoria’s kittens had just been born. Three, near
identical kits, a perfect mixture of their father and mother. Jemima
smiled, her memories of her time in ‘the other place’ were not very
clear, but she could not say that it had been a complete surprise. She
looked out across the junkyard, summer was just beginning to fade into
autumn, and the first few leaves had fallen to the ground, fascinating
playthings for the new kittens in the tribe. Jemima smiled, and turned
towards the rising moon. They were born on a full moon Jemima noticed, a
good omen if ever there was one. She watched the blood red orb as it
rose slowly over the trees of the distant Hyde park. The timing of a
full moon was special she knew, and the reason why four days to her was
eight weeks to those who were left here. She still could not quite get
her head around that, but she knew better than to second guess time. Her
eyes returned to the rising moon, it’s colour fading to pale white as it
joined it’s shining cousins in the night sky. Jemima smiled, once gain,
she thanked the moon, before she laid her head down to rest.The end.