NEW Occult Classic intro (rough draft)

1. The Skyway

It all began with a five-headed cat.

It was balanced at the edge of a railed overlook in a high level with lavender colored shag carpeting. I was coming down the staircase that extended from the overlook. Looking up, I could see the statue. The eyes of the heads had no pupils or irises, and each head faced a different direction.

Below me, I could see a desk and a lady there reading a magazine. Everything was completely silent and there was a scent that seemed to come through the carpet. I’d describe it as pineapple like. 

Then suddenly I was in a different location. I was walking on a white carpet (this one smelled like French vanilla). There were door-less rooms and ferns everywhere, like an art gallery with no art. No one was around that I could see or hear.

As I kept walking, completely lost, I came to a purple curtain with a gold cord. I tried to pull it back, but there was nothing behind it except a wall.

Further on, there was a long glass sliding door with a long, empty room behind it. Black leather couches and jeweled black fans really stood out against the carpet and ceiling. I tried to open the door but it was locked.

Also, I was looking at a blurry booklet of paper. It was printed terribly in water-damaged, running out ink. “Are you seriously kidding me,” I muttered at the booklet.

I went up and down stairs, through more doorless rooms with ferns. I came to a black curtain with a purple cord. I tried to pull it back, but there was nothing behind it except a wall. Sound familiar?

So I took out my cell phone and dialed someone. The phone rang and rang. I yelled and waved at the building in general.

“Hello? I’m lost here!”

I sat down with my head in my hands and probably dozed off.

Too much lavender incense...

I found myself staring through the bowling-pinlike rungs of a very low railing at a backdrop of air. 

The railing was just above my head, but only because I was lying down. And I felt like I was  riding a flying carpet.

I was in a galley. Only feet away, the floor was raised. There the miniature rail was displayed atop a higher base as polished as a new violin. Across the air, I could  see the outline of the opposite galley. There the rungs must have evolved. Here, they were just bowling pins; there, Grecian urns. I wondered if everything on the other side was bigger.

To answer at least one question, there was an  orange neon sign sparkling down many floors to the pool:

Welcome to the Skyway Hotel.


“There you are, my little dumpling!”

I couldn’t tell where the thunderous voice was coming from, but I had found luggage that was recognizable as mine. 

There was a huge mirror at an odd angle in the ceiling corner. In it was reflected a man with two icicles seeming growing from his bald head. I felt a vague sense of both recognition and nausea.

“Well, look lively, the sun will be up in half an hour! You need to get to Props, go, go, go!” roared the figure, laughing in a way like gargling salt water.

“And how do I fucking get there, thanks?” I automatically retorted, my cheeks burning.

“My, my, temper temper. I thought we were Miss Organized. Well, tata!”

The figure with the icicle horns seemingly disappeared into nowhere. I went through the opening in the wall nearest to where I thought he’d been. There were some stairs down, but then they came back up, and I was lost in more hall and doorway mazes. Still no numbers anywhere, no stairs that just seemed to go down, nothing that looked like elevators.

“Hello?” I yelled in general. “Hello, how do I get down?”

At the end of another hallway, that seemed to be a dead end, I saw another ceiling-corner mirror. My phone suddenly got service back...and the caller was identified as “Dad”.

“Hi, Dad, hello?”

There was some static, a familiar mumble, then something like “hospital, help”.

“What? What are you ok? Dad!”

The phone went static and lost signal.

I began running aimlessly. Trying to find a point of reference like the opening where I looked down before. To at least find out how many floors there were. To get down.

“Hello? Hello?”

A red light began flashing for some reason. I turned every doorknob I could. Pounded on doors and walls. I ran down steps, but was still running back up.

I might as well have been running through an Escher piece.


A caustic  alarm began to blast. The red light kept flashing. I kept running, til I hit a wall.

Fade to black Sorna Toxierre, also known as Ace Badone...

“It’s just that dream,” I assured myself as I woke up in my cabin bed, on a mountainside far from the offbeat hotel known as the Skyway.

In the mirror facing me, I didn’t exist and bugs were crawling all over my sheets. I began yelling, then realized I wasn’t fully awake.

“Wake up, wake up, Sorna aka Ace…”

Now I appeared in the mirror. Those heavily lidded bird of prey eyes, wide smug jaw, out of control peppermint striped hair. The ram skull saucily peeking from under my boy-beater tanktop. Shedded hair all over like I was an animal coming out of a fight…

My alarm was blasting and blazing. I slammed it off.

“Really need a nicer alarm. Just that dream…”

The problem: Lie. Actually a flashback.

Sometimes I have it during the day. But enough about whatever that was…

Welcome to my lives, want a beer?

2. Black Hole Blues

Things get lost.  This ever happen to you? Things get lost: socks, change, minds…what do they have in common? They’re not here anymore.

People get lost. Your mother, your boyfriend, your friends. Or maybe this hasn’t happened to you.

It starts slowly. For me, it’s usually socks. Then my memories. Then me--but sometimes that’s fine…

Sometimes when things get lost, you find something. The other day I lost Left Orange Stripey to the Sock Gremlins of the laundry dimension. The universe felt bad later and sent me a live rabbit.

Okay, I like bunnies. Get over it. This one was lop-eared. It was on the doorstep of my cabin, blinking at me with bright eyes and wiggling its spotty mouth. 

“Do you know where my other sock is, bun bun?” I asked.

It cocked its head leftwards. And I swear it winked.

“It makes as much sense to ask an animal as anyone,” I added. “Well, what are you doing here? There’s nothing growing to eat.”

It just stood with its furry head cocked. Then it jumped into the bushes, leaving no trace...but guess what I found in the bushes? You won’t, so I’ll tell you.

I’m usually good with keeping track of mail, but the wind must have taken this packet somehow. It was a token of my acting life, whatever that is anymore…

There were nice posters from my last silly project. Things looked all fancy. CONFLICTED….featuring TOXIERRE and VELVADO.

There was me, arm wrestling my co-star. I had clearly pinned down her skinny arm without a fight, but she was holding a book that I was staring at in genuine distress. Her tear-drop shaped eyes were expressionless, however. Krystallina did not get into the industry for her acting talent...she got in by a combination of connections and natural princess-hair.

“What a pretty mirage,” I said aloud. “Almost makes you wish there was substance to it...”

There was also a packet of typed materials. Apparently another season of Conflicted featuring me and K’ was in demand. 

“Hell no, I don’t care how much you pay me,” I commented, and tucked the contents back into the manila envelope.

I thought of the hilarious contrast of me with unbrushed hair wearing dirty camo, fresh from a sulk on the mountain, looking at these visual records of my life in the polished hell known as the entertainment industry. Then I sighed and did something I frequently do by default.

I set the items on fire and went off to drink.

To be honest, I usually get drunk BEFORE lighting things on fire. If you knew me, which you don’t because you are clever, you would realize how out of character this is...


I had just finished my third shot of Lonely Mule whisky when the cell phone rang. I jumped--there is rarely cell service in the cabin. The caller was identified as Crazy Soh--that’s my “normal” job boss-majig.

“Ace Badone here*,” I answered for formality. (*Abbreviation of my legal name, which I can’t stand.) “Yes, I sent them an hour ago. Have you checked your spam folder?...Whew. No, that was not me the cops were after. I don’t have a motorcycle anymore….”

As I said this, there was a horrible tearing up of pavement around the curves that caused me to wince in pain.

“Yes, I’m still free for the next month, send them on over. Say, how do you manage to call me here,’ve hacked the dead zone spirits...Oh no, do you need someone to go with you to the vet? Ok, well good luck. Yes, you too, goodbye.”

I began boxing practice on the dummy torso on my front porch. During this, my dad showed up to randomly look for something. He didn’t seem to see me.

“Oh, hi, daddy. What do you need?” I asked.

“Vacuum…?” he asked vaguely, straightening his crooked glasses.

“Shed, directly right of door. It’s possessed, though--actually possessed--”

He got it and went to the car.

“Geez, you’re welcome!” I shouted. “Do you want to stay for dinner? I’m making--”

He went off.

“something on the grill,” I finished.

I don’t blame him for not being remotely interested in joining my grill-out. I am nothing special as a cook. I can only fire up a kitchen literally, thus my love of grills. In the ideal world, I will marry a chef, and he will take care of the food thing.

Well, at least the neighborhood stray dog was interested in my evening plans. It had showed up by the grill, wagging its scraggly tail. It’s rather a wolfish beast, with shadows like a mask around its eyes, but I think it’s adorable. 

“Hi, cutie pie,” I cooed, and hunted out the raw steaks from the shed freezer. 

This is my off-screen home. I have specifically put the punching dummy on the porch to look unwelcoming, but I promise the inside is better...

So, black hole blues. I’ve got them.

But enough about whatever that was. I’m thinking I’ll add “Black Hole Blues” to the  soundtrack of my musical about ADHD. How can I make “socks” rhyme with “blues”?

I’m only into scary things if they’re interesting.

Speaking of scary things that are interesting, you’re going to hear about them. My bad. Want to hear something tame, read a chick flick instead. Hell if I care…

So I mentioned the black holemajig. Do you ever wonder if there’s some dark invisible sucking thing or non-thing around? It would explain a lot to me. Where are my socks? I lose more socks than the average person. I bet you $5 I lose one before you do.

Speaking of dark sucking things, have you ever had a possessed vacuum cleaner? Would you like one?

Anyway, this whatever force or non-forces might be added to my Nemesis List soon. It wasn’t there before only because I didn’t realize it existed. Of course, it might be nothing. Literally. Can nothing exist?

But really, my vacuum is possessed.

I mean, do normal vacuums light up in the middle of the night making funny sounds? And do they occasionally spit up things that make no sense?

Like strange tools. The machine is always coming up with strange tools. Not only are they not identifiable, I don’t see what they’d be doing here. You also think I’d hear them go in.

Also, fancy keys. Obviously just as useful.

I don’t like clutter, especially if it’s not usable. My dad loves collecting inconvenient things, so I give him these findings now. He loves them. Actually he made a swinging mobile from them.

The possessed vacuumed cleaner came from a so-called establishment known as The Dressing Room. It was marked down to $5.

0 Kudos


Displaying 0 of 0 comments ( View all | Add Comment )