Chapter 3: Welcome to Sunny Springs

The Sunny Springs Inn was a clean, well-kept place that had probably not seen a new paint job since Nixon and Kennedy debated on live television.  Despite the flakes in the paint, and the old sun-faded wallpaper, the place had a comfortable, old-fashioned warmth, like a baking apple pie on a windowsill.
     In room 40, Annabel Lee was examining herself in the mirror obsessively brushing her shoulder length red hair into a job interview acceptable shape. 

“Come on, it’s only an interview for a professorship at a small time college.  I mean, I bet I’ll be one of the few with a doctorate who even applied here.”

As she verbalized these thoughts to herself in the mirror she suddenly stopped brushing her hair, “But what if they want to see a sample lesson plan!?  I didn’t plan for that!” 

The hairbrush was now clasped tightly against her chest,  “What if they want to see me interact with students first?  What if they don’t like my suit jacket!?” 

            “Don’t worry, you already have the job, I guarantee it.”  Annabel jumped and whirled around to see who had answered her nervous verbal musings.  Seeing no one she inched back towards the dresser, her eyes wide, “N-no, I must’ve just imagined that, silly nerves.”

            “I’m sure you have a vivid imagination my dear, but you did not imagine it.”

She dropped her hairbrush and peered around looking for the source of the voice as she quickly wrapped her fingers around a very large copy of The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe. 

“Umm… I’m over here, to your left.” 

Annabel spun around, the book in hand, and felt it connect with something rather bony.  She watched in horror as the cat she had hit flew off of the dresser and smacked into the wall. 

“Oh my word!” 

Annabel, book still in hand, quickly flew to the other side of the bed where she found a very dazed grey and black striped cat, “Oh, I’m sorry kitty, you startled me, I didn’t mean to hit you! Please, be ok! I’m sorry!” 

The cat’s eyes opened and it looked up at her, “Miss, if you would please refrai-“  Annabel gave a startled yelp and hit the cat with the book again. 

“Ow!  MISS, STOP HITTING ME!  Yes I am a talking cat, but it is not likely that I’m going overpower you, especially while you wield such a dangerous tome.”

Annabel rocked back off of her heels and onto her butt, quickly scooting towards the wall, still clutching the book, her eyes wide.  The cat righted himself and brought a paw up to its head, sighing a little, “Well that stung a bit. I guess no one will ever best you in battle if they catch you in a library.” 

There was silence, as the cat blinked at Annabel.  After a minute the cat raised a paw, “Hello miss, we don’t have all day for you to learn how to act like your species again.”

Annabel heard a voice, her voice, high and shrill, reply, but she couldn’t recall actually commanding her vocal chords to work, “I-I’m sorry, I just don’t normally run into talking cats.” 

“Obviously, now if you will please set down your weaponized book we have a lot to get done.”

“Excuse me?  Umm… What?  A-and who, or what, are you?” 

“My name is the Cheshire Cat,” he gave a little bow, “and I am here to take you to where all will be explained to you, Ms. Annabel Lee.”

“Ok, that made no sense, or did it?  How do you know my name!?  Wait, I’m talking to a cat, who claims to be the Cheshire Cat! I know what this is, I’m having another panic attack, aren’t I!?  This is me being nervous, if I just sit down on the bed and breath deeply you will go away, or at least stop talking...” 

Annabel jumped up, dropping the book with a “thud,” and perched on the edge of the bed, and began to breath deeply with her eyes closed.  After a couple of minutes of deep breathing Annabel opened her eyes and looked at Cheshire, “See, now you are just a normal cat who somehow managed to get into my room.  Aren’t you such a nice sweet… erm… e-ear pierced kitty…”

“Yes, well, if telling yourself that I am a normal feline helps you, then please go ahead and believe it, but really, we must be going.”

Annabel froze, her whole body tensing.  Cheshire let out a low annoyed growl, “My dear, I can guarantee you your job, and your sanity, well most of it anyways.  Now come along.”  Annabel did not budge from her spot on the edge of the bed, nor did she release her death grip on the edge of the mattress. 

Cheshire shook his head and muttered, “Bloody outsiders,” before turning back to Annabel.  

“Alright, you have two choices, either you follow the strange talking cat, or the strange talking cat will get some very large men to escort you downstairs and into the waiting car.  I’m also feeling a hairball coming on and I will leave it on your pillow if we are not out of here in a few short seconds.” 

Looking out the window, Annabel could see three very burly men standing around a dark sedan, gulped and grabbed her bag.

Annabel stepped out into the daylight eyeing the car with its black tinted windows, “I-is this some kind of mafia or government thing? Have I been being tested with some experimental hallucinogen?” 

Cheshire let out a deep breath, “Well, we are a tad paranoid, now aren’t we? No, no drugs I promise.  Though maybe a little bourbon would do you some good.”

Looking at the car, and motioning to it with his paw he purred out, “I realize it is cliché form of transportation, but I guarantee the ride will not be an elongated one.” 

The ride was not long, of course driving all the way through Sunny Springs took no more than twenty minutes, so this was no great shock.  The short trip was a positive thing though, due to the fact that Annabel was wedged between two very large silent suited men. 

Annabel could see, through tinted glass, the edge of a picture perfect campus.  She recognized a couple of the buildings as belonging to Sunny Springs Community College from the brochures she had stared at as she had applied for her job here. Never had she imagined that she would be getting her first glimpse of the campus by peering over a suited gorilla’s chest.

That incandescent ball of gas in the sky lit upon quaint looking buildings, surrounded by trim green lawns, dotted with students reading, playing Frisbee and an adorable couple taking a nap together in the sunshine.  Despite being squeezed uncomfortably between two, broad shouldered, unmoving men, Annabel felt the cool edge of confusion and terror begin to melt a little as she saw the familiar signs of academia spread out around her. 

The car rolled to a stop, and the chill returned in full force to Annabel’s spine.  The building they pulled up in front of was Spartan to say the least.  It was a concrete bunker on the edge of the campus, tucked away behind the storage sheds, beyond some out buildings. 

“I really don’t trust this, I mean, this looks like some kind of World War II bunker.” 

One of the men stepped out of the car and held the door for her, waving her towards the foreboding looking building.

“Just come in please, I promise there is a semi-reasonable explanation for this.” 

Annabel looked into the purple eyes of the cat, “I-I just don’t know.” 

Cheshire grinned, the juxtaposing sunlight glinting off of his sharp fangs, “You will be curious until the day you die if you don’t follow me, come now Alice, down the rabbit hole we must go.” 

Annabel peered down at the cat, still not moving.

“Humf, well if curiosity is not enough to move you, then perhaps… Burt, is it?” 

One of the husky men barked out, “Bob.”

“Yes, well, perhaps Bob will assist you indoors.” 

Annabel craned her neck to meet the eyes set inside a square skull atop a neck thick enough to pass for a great pine’s trunk.  With a little shiver, she began moving towards the doors.

As Annabel approached the entrance to the bunker the door creaked open and the cat ran in ahead of her.  She thought about kicking off her heels and running for a split second, but realized that one of the two men on either side of her would probably lift her off the ground and throw her over their shoulder like some kind of medieval ogre before she could make it to the trees.

Annabel took another deep breath, steadied herself and began her descent. She climbed down a very long set of stairs that led to another door which stood open, mentally kicking herself for not having called the police the first second she had started talking to a cat. Then she realized how that would have sounded over the phone line, and gave herself a teensy bit of grace. 

Annabel paused at the foot of the stairs, and tried to mentally prepare herself for whatever dungeon she was about to face.

“Come along then, you couldn’t have gotten lost just on the staircase,” the cat’s voice seemed to reverberate all around her.  Annabel tentatively stepped through the doorway. 

She suddenly found herself in a surprisingly spacious room.  The heels she had worn for the interview began to sink into the carpet, and Annabel, already unsteady with her extra two inches of height, began to feel more than a little unbalanced. She half walked, half wobbled towards one of the many high back chairs and leaned against it to better inspect her surroundings.

The room was wall-to-wall mahogany with the kind of rich embellishments that one might expect in an old Victorian Mansion.  Large classically painted portraits hung on the walls and the space had a nice crisp clean smell to it.  The furniture looked expensive, the kind that might be found in a hotel where even mice might need a reservation. 

As she surveyed the room she noticed one other person, a woman lying down on one of the sofas who appeared to be completely asleep. 

The woman on the couch looked to be in her early twenties; an extremely pale girl, a fact that was accentuated by dark jeans and a black t-shirt.  Her blonde hair was tied back in a long braid that, when she was standing probably, reached her lower back.  Annabel, a couple yards away did not get much time to examine her fellow “captive” as the woman rolled over and groaned slightly. 

The sleeping girl’s eyelids flickered a little, then her eyes slowly opened and she peered around obviously trying to get her bearings.  She turned her head and let out a couple dry coughs, and then her green eyes focused on Annabel. 

Moving with all the speed she could muster, the woman pulled a knife out of her left boot and, slightly shakily, rolled off of the couch and came towards Annabel, “Where in hell did you have your flunkies take me!?  What is this!?”

She coughed a couple more times, swallowed and turned her focus back towards Annabel, “You think just because I’m new to town you can pull this shit with me!?!” 

Annabel began to back away unsteadily, “I-I…”

She wanted to explain to the crazy-lady holding the knife that she had no idea why either of them was there, she wanted to say that she had followed a talking cat to this place, she wanted to say that some burly men had escorted her from the car into the building, anything that might stop the crazy lady from stabbing her, but her vocal chords failed her utterly. 

The girl shook her head, an act that nearly took her off of her feet.  Despite this she held onto the knife like a small child’s security blanket, “You had me tranqued like some kind of animal, you psycho!”

            Annabel was about to turn tail and run when a voice sounded out, “Ms. Masters, put the knife away, no one here wants to hurt you, and she most certainly did not bring you here.  Do you think she looks conniving enough to use tranquilizers on anyone?” 

Both women turned to see a shrunken little old man leaning on a walker, complete with fluorescent tennis balls attached to the metal contraption’s feet. 

“Please, ladies, sit down, sit down. Ms. Masters, there will be no need for violence. Ms. Lee, please sit down before you fall down.” 

Annabel trembled up to a chair and in utter fear plopped herself into it.  The other woman sat down in one opposite her, still holding her knife. 

The old man smiled at both of them, “Let me introduce myself, I am Grand Council Overseer William Wendyl Wesley.  You are Ms. Annabel Lee, most recently of Seattle, Washington where you attended school and earned your doctoral degree in English Literature, and you are Ms. Lily Masters, most recently of… well where aren’t you from? And, you have some sort of bachelor’s degree, in something not really relevant to this field.”

Annabel’s eyes flicked over to the girl with the knife, she did not look like someone who got along with academia well.

“Yes, well now that we are all acquainted,” Wesley began to lower himself into a chair, “we can get down to business.”

            There was a pause as the old man finished settling himself into a high back chair.  “You are both most likely wondering why you are here by now.” 

            “Damn skippy we are, well I can’t speak for the stuttering pixie, but I most certainly am,” the voice was in a mid-range almost growling tone.

            “You both were brought here, by one method or another, because you are both very important to the safety of the world at large.  If you haven’t noticed already, this town has some, shall we say, strange facets to it?

            “Y-you mean like the fact that the animals talk?”  Annabel suddenly seemed very attentive.

            “That is a part of it, yes, and I am sorry about sending Cheshire to get both of you.  In retrospect, I can imagine that he would be quite a shock for anyone not from around these parts,” he didn’t seem particularly sorry, more just bemused that anyone would be shocked by a talking cat’s presence. 

            The girl that Wesley had called Lily was seeming a bit more lucid, “How about the fact that you tranqued me!?  Do you normally do that to new people in town?”

            “No, that was a regrettable measure that we were forced to take by your reluctance to come here.  I hear that it took two tranquilizers to knock you out though, most impressive for a person who only stands a hair over five feet tall.” 

Lily began to twirl the knife she was holding around her index finger, “Get to the point grandpa, otherwise I am walking out of here.”

            “Yes, well, I would be very interested to see you try. But that would be a waste of everyone’s time. Anyways, you see this town is not like most towns.  Sunny Springs was a normal town until around 80 years ago when an aspiring author wrote a novel here.  We are not sure what was so special about his novel, but it changed this area permanently.” 

“You see, words, written words, have always had some influence in the world.  We all know that works such as The Torah, The Bible, even the plays of William Shakespeare have influenced the very world in which we live through inspiration.  Here, they have more than inspirational influence, they have literal application.  Things read or written here have a chance of becoming something more than thoughts or ideas, they have the chance of becoming an actual physical reality.”

            The man paused for a second and Lily jumped in, “So wait, what your saying is that things in books can just come out of them?”

            “To some extent, yes. If the correct text is read.” 

Annabel, who had been sitting with her legs crossed and had been staring at the floor with an intense desire to sink into it spoke up, “So if someone in this town reads Dracula…”

            “Then it is very possible that a rendition of the Count will be released from the book along with any other number of characters.  It does not matter what book, every piece of literature, every anthology, every trashy novel all have a chance to release something on this world.”

Wesley paused a moment to let out some dry hacking coughs into a monogrammed handkerchief before continuing, “Of course what is released rather depends on the book or writing itself.  The closer to the original work the book is, the more true to the writing the character will be that can be released from the pages.  For instance, take Cheshire here,” at his words the cat materialized on the back of his chair, his purple eyes shining down on them both, “he is from a sixth edition copy of Alice in Wonderland.  Twenty years ago someone read that copy and he came out of it.  He retains many of the same qualities as the character was supposed to in the book, but he has some definite changes.” 

The cat let out a low growl, “Not too many.” 

The old man ignored him, “The farther away from the original manuscript the less like the character is from their original intended abilities and personalities.  Of course, this means that original manuscripts are very volatile things to have around here.  What is even worse is when someone in this town writes something, there is nothing more dangerous than a first draft of a manuscript.” 

Annabel’s eyes went wide, “I think I need to sit down.”

            “You are sitting down.”

            “Oh, good job me.”

            Lily sat back in her seat, driving the blade of the knife into the arm of the chair as she did so. She was now sitting black shirt clad arms folded over her chest, her weapon within easy grabbing distance, “So, not that I’m really buying this mumbo jumbo yet, but exactly what does all this books coming to life crap have to do with us?” 

            The cat smiled down at her, “I’m sorry that a talking cat isn’t enough proof of the ‘mumbo jumbo’ for you yet. Perhaps I can find you a troll or something as equally nasty to change your mind.”

            Wesley ignored Cheshire again, “Well, you see, this town is a unique portal to the written word, most of the time it is harmless.  We have rules to protect the citizens of this town that just sound like odd ordinances to them. For instance we strictly police any books being shipped in or out of this town and take any we have to special reading rooms where trained readers can go through them and dispel anything dangerous. We explain this away by claiming that some silly group that everyone is currently terrified of is trying to either bomb them or poison them via their books. In the 1940’s it was Nazis slipping explosive devices into the American public, in the 1950’s it was Commies smuggling information… you get the idea.”

“Wait, and people actually buy that garbage?”

“Ms. Masters, people are always afraid of some group of “others,” all we have to do is play off of that fear a little and most people are willing to accept anything.”

Annabel suddenly chimed in, “So what threat are you holding over the public now?”

Wesley smiled, “Terrorists, smuggling biological weapons, such as anthrax, in between the pages of their books.  Of course, we can’t catch everything.  That is where we, the council, the author and both of you come in.  The council is a group, which monitors the activities of things that come out of books or peoples’ writings.  Long ago we realized, however, that a group of ordinary men and women who were trying to simultaneously live their lives and keep the town in order were not a competent enough force to deal with forces of fiction.  That is when the tradition of the authors came to be.  An author is a person who is selected to write us a hero, a person who can come combat whatever pops out of the books that might be more malicious than fanciful.  These are always people, real non-fiction people.  The author writes what they desire in a hero and how they come to town, then the nearest person who fits that description is inexplicably drawn here.”

            “Wait, wait, what you’re saying is that one of us is the summoned “hero” here?”

            “No, you both are.  See once a hero has been vanquished it is customary to find a new author who tries to come up with a better-written recipe for an undefeatable human hero.  Our newest author had the idea of splitting the requisite skills needed into two people, so you are both written heroes.  Ms. Annabel Lee here, she has a vast knowledge of literature, and therefore can find out the way to defeat whatever is released.  You, Ms. Lily Masters, have the muscle and the cunning to use the knowledge she gains to your advantage and incapacitate whatever needs incapacitating.  By dividing the hero into two people, we get the requisite skills and knowledge, without having to worry about having a single person who is not as competent on one end or the other.”

            “W-what about the author?  If he, well, you know, wrote us in, does that mean he controls us?”

            “No, the only power the author has over you is bringing you here, keeping you here or banishing you from here.  He is however not useless to you, he can write things into existence to help you, or change the weather, or even the landscape to help you defeat whatever you face.”

            “So what makes this one author different than the average guy with a pen?”

            “Well first of all he was chosen by the council.”

Lily rolled her eyes. Wesley, who seemed to have ignoring people down to a science, continued, “Second, he has proven that he can write with enough detail to actually summon things.  You see, a person can write about fictional events in this town, but if they are too vague, random people here will end up playing out the parts of the characters.  Greater detail is necessary to actually pull something out of the book.  It takes an even higher amount of skill to summon someone from out of town, which our author was obviously able to do.”

            “What if we don’t want to do this?”

            “Well, unfortunately you really don’t have a choice, without the consent of the council you can’t leave, and I’m not sure that you’ll want to.  We tend to treat our heroes very well here.  Your accommodations have been arranged, you will both be given jobs, and you will have a small team to aid you in your work.”

            “A team?”

            “Why yes, you have already met one member,” Wesley said gesturing to the cat above his head who now appeared to be flitting in and out of physical existence, except for his mouth and eyes which glowingly remained, “You will meet the rest when we go to inspect your headquarters.”

            “Wait old man, you can’t keep us here, it’s against the law, hell this is kidnapping.” 

            “And I’m sure if the United States government could remember for more than a second that this place existed they would care, but one of the handy things about being in a town that is powered by the written word is that we can write ourselves out of any sticky governmental situations by simply writing ourselves off the map when we need.  Now if you will please follow me I want to show you where you will be living and working.”