A twistree comes in many certain styles, inevitable colors and happening combinations. Why, in any given forest, there exists swirly twistrees and twirly twistrees and whirly twistrees. Once-a-while there grows the very rare swirly twirly whirly twistree but the poachers usually take them down pretty quick.
And please do not be fooled by the dreaded twistytrees, which are a blight on the natural beauty of this habitat. Twistytrees will, thankfully, burn easy enough which happens to be the only way to tell the two apart.
In the middle of one particular twistree forest is a small roaring campfire. Three sit silently. The THIN MAN observes his newly found companions, a boy and a girl whose names are BOY and GIRL.
The Thin Man sees barely an outline encompassing the pair of them as they're not quite fully present, simply made up of an emptiness that punctuates absolutely nothing.
He's all here, since the moment he was born, without no arms and with hair like lines, a little like the lines that surround these kids. He is wearing swim trunks and shiny, black flippers; he squints constantly and has hollow bones.
Remember when we met? Was that --
He enunciates the next word.
Yes-stir-day?
He flatly smiles.
I remember it, I surely do --
Girl opens a door and cautiously comes into a large hallway. She is still trying to get the hang of this strange and foreign place. She hasn't seen a thing since her arrival, which couldn't have been more than a few hours ago.
She opens and checks her timepiece. It's here. She isn't.
Suddenly, across the hall, another door, of so many doors, opens up and Boy stumbles right on through.
Where am I? Who are you?
Girl tries to look startled except fails minus the face and from around the corner strolls the Thin Man, stunned and won over by honest-to-goodness guests. He stops, stands still and introduces himself, dropping a couple of his aches.
'ello. Thin Man's the name. 'armless
I am.
And these whereabouts? This house?
Where are all the windows?
The what knows?
Windows. To the outside world?
What's outside?
You know! Real skies and seas and
clouds and trees! Haven't you ever
gone outside?
The Thin Man shakes his head with a-no-motion.
the 'all.
He points with a flip of his leg from where he came.
And now I'm off the other way.
He pivots on his heel and gracefully spins, same as a weather vane battling a light breeze.
May we join you? My name is Boy!
The Thin Man smiles a great grin and nods.
Sure's a silly name.
Is not! What's your name? Girl?
The young lady pauses ever so eloquently.
As a matter of fact, yes, that's
exactly my name.
Is not! You're making fun of me.
The Thin Man has plopped his bottom on a nearby beach ball. Sand is scattered about the hardwood hall floor and the wallpaper behind him paints a picture with watery waves, airy skies and the occasional puff of a pillowed cloud. A corner of it, towards the ceiling, peels forward and curls over revealing a very normal wooden wall. This scenic beach theme is almost everything the Thin Man has seen as far back as he cares to recall. The monotony only broken up by the odd bit of graffiti, sometimes expertly, even masterfully mixed into the scene and, of course, the rooms could be surprisingly different, although scarcely.
And now this!
'ello Thin. We must be off then.
She doesn't hesitate as she takes the lead and walks the way they should be going which is, coincidentally, the same direction that the Thin Man was heading.
Pleasure to make your acquaintances
and 'ow do you do?
The Thin Man extends his upper body, like one would an arm, as an after-you-gesture to the boy.
Much better, thanks.
And so the three begin their journey together in the halls of the House on Infinite Lane.
They have been traveling for hours. Girl hasn't said a word.
So you grew up here, by yourself,
in these parts, your entire life?
How do you know how far to go
when you need to be somewhere?
Distance is measured in doors.
Girl stops.
Who taught you that?
The Thin Man appears to be thinking.
No one.
How many doors have we gone? In
the two hours we've been walking.
What's an 'our? What's two of 'em?
Are two 'ours better than one?
You know! Hours are like minutes
and like days!
What's a day?
The Thin Man hops up on curved flippers, bending his knees and bobbing slightly.
A minute is something you 'old on to,
I think, I heard --
How many doors?
Well, we met near those waters
infested with those sharks.
Which was true.
Before he met his guests the Thin Man was admiring an amazing and magnificent mural, which he had named the Sharking Sea, many trips ago. This was just after his jaunt through the Missing Doors passage. Waves and blue sky as far as the eye can see.
We're a thousand doors shy of the
Bedroom Room. We could rest up,
if you'd like.
He bobs about.
Five hundred doors.
Is he right?
Yes. Do you know what this is?
Girl pulls out her timepiece and pops it open to show the Thin Man the face and hands of a clock. He stops bobbing.
'oly 'ell. Put that away, child.
I've seen a few clocks in my paces.
Wait. What's wrong with it? Why
ain't it moving?
It clicks away, tick by tick.
It's moving just fine.
No, Boy, I mean really moving. Over
in the coastal city of Coaster by the
Corner Cove, I watched a swarm of them
things trying to devour one another.
Destroyed twelve rooms in the process.
Every single clock in the House is different. There are similarities between some as there are whole clock tribes and even families. Grandfathers and mothers and little baby pocket watches. And they have their own language and speak in ticks and tocks. They sing with bells and whistles; they can dance and they can love and hate.
And they war. They war with their own kind, these clocks. In the House on Infinite Lane, a clock can be the most dangerous thing in the area. The most terrifying thing.
The three make it safely, unburdened by incident, to a common door equal parts common neighbor, common stranger and common enemy. The Thin Man effortlessly flicks his flipper, kicks the knob and the door opens inwardly.
A gallant light spills onto the hallway. The three enter unannounced and are greeted to a bedlam of beds and accessories.
How comforting.
Boy yanks at the bottom drawer on a neatly made dresser and he finds a miniature bed tucked inside, filling all four corners. The largest bunk of the bunch rests at the far end of the room and above it hangs a big oil painting, the subject matter dear to any bedding man.
Thin-&-bones sits on a cot that has been forced into the form of a chair. Boy discovers the diary of a hammock specialist. Girl vainly attempts to leer at herself mirror-wise. She struggles with her silly strings of hair and finally gives up.
Her attention turns to the painting, a portrait of an unkempt bed, the very same bed that lays below it.
Identical frame, posts, sheets and
pillows. They all differ --
She looks all around.
Except here, in this case.
Girl inspects the unsigned canvas further.
There, stuck between, in the painting,
there's something stuffed under the
mattress.
She draws up the crafted blankets draped over the side and reveals, then plucks, an object hidden in painted sight.
This irregular item resembles a regular mug. The handle is snipped near the middle and a glass lens fills past the brim. She twists her wrists and the bottom unexpectedly falls out.
It's a telescope!
Girl stares through the spyglass and the lack of distortion astonishes her; crystal clear as she zooms in on different items in the room.
A subtle-yet-quiet snap, originating from nowhere, thinly streaks across the milieu and Girl tries to capture it with a few shaky turns of her head. She lowers the scope.
Did you see that?
The Thin Man and Boy shake their heads so Girl fixes the place with a suspicious stare. She decides to raise her scope to the painting and examines it again, in detail.
The mirror? In the reflection --
Girl points to the large standing bedside mirror.
Look into the painted mirror and tell
me what you see.
Boy swipes the scope from Girl's hands.
Just more beds.
In the back, the very back of the room,
past the --
I spot a door!
They all rush to the very back and find an upstanding bed attached to the narrow wall. A thick wool blanket the color of a shepherd's staff tightly hugs the entire thing and wraps around a bump near the bottom approximately the size of a pillow or two. Girl breaks out her pocket knife and slashes down the side of the sheet. Boy helps to tug out the mattress and there in the box-spring is embedded a long and now found door.
Boy kicks a beach ball off the wallpaper as he walks down the hall.
So you've never been here before?
I 'eard rumors, about another 'allway.
Fancy fables told by bored brothers or
silly sisters.
He quietly sneezes and dryly bobs.
The truth is certainly more stale.
A desert of dust covers every conceivable surface.
