CHAPTER I

A beautiful peaceful sky snuck its way over the woods and meadows of the big hill. After being stranded in his small wooden abode the last few suns, Sadge Filkins awoke to the ear pleasing sound of three small song birds situated in a young maple located just outside Sadge's east bedroom window. Sadge felt good and he knew it as he climbed out of his cot and habitually strolled to the cleansing arena to rinse his wrinkled body. Sadge had many ideas this morning, and he stood mesmerised under the spray of warm water for almost half an hour. He dressed with his favourite blue cloak and grey hood. He put on his old leather foot jackets and grabbed his slender but solid walking stick. After a quick breakfast of berries and figs, he drew a tic-tac-toe board on his ivory statue of Ben Franklin and proceeded to the front door.

The warm rays of the sun caused Mr. Filkins to pick up a blade of grass and start flossing. His hygienic action produced a shell of popcorn kernel that he remembered eating a few nights before. Relieved, he threw the piece of grass over his left shoulder and nibbled on the corn treat with his front teeth. The blade of grass landed four centimetres away from a northward travelling ant, which was undisturbed by the botanical projectile.

Sadge walked for about forty-five minutes through grass and weed filled fields, densely patched forest, and sandy lots. A final climb up a medium-sized cliff brought him to the secluded entrance of Nipmuck Trail. He paused and sighed, thinking of the large distance he had travelled already, not to mention the immense journey that now awaited him. Before commencing his trek into the dark and twisting road, he sat down on a large rock to rest. Within a few minutes, old Sadge began to sink back into morning dreamtime.

Sadge Filkins was a rather peculiar individual. He had lived on the big hill for over eleven years now, and he hasn't even missed his old apartment in the city. He used to be a baker at a breadshop in New London. He worked there for about six years until he was fired for farting on the job. The owner of the bakery understood that Sadge couldn't help it, but farts that sound like human voices were too much to accept. Sadge took the termination well and decided to move north. He bought a large piece of land in the midst of a huge Vermontian forest, built a small home and lived contently ever since.

A fluttering wren woke Sadge from a disturbing dream about invisible sponges. He quickly jumped to his feet and prepared to enter the trail. After tightening the last belt of his gear, he trotted onwards and inwards. The ground was very dusty at the start of the trail and Sadge could smell fresh pine in the air. He walked peacefully for about thirty minutes until he met up with a spectacled youngster wearing crow feathers in his left ear. Sadge greeted the boy and stopped to chat.

"Do you visit the trail often?" was one of the many questions that seeped from the lips of the inquisitve tyke.

"No, this is only my second time," replied Mr. Filkins, who at this time pulled a piece of sweet smelling torte from his knapsack. "Want some?" Sadge politely asked.

"Thank you, yes. I'm very hungry."

The boy took the cake and put a considerable piece within the realm of his vocal cavity. His jaw began to work immediately; he chewed slowly and gently, allowing quite a few crumbs to fall on his shoes. After a gulp the boy asked Sadge another question.

"Is the moon made of cheese?"

"Of course not!"

"My parents have a moon that's made out of honey, but I never saw it."

"They do?" replied Sadge, putting a doubtful accent on the second locution.

"Yea, my Mom said they rode it to Niagra Falls when they got married."

Sadge chuckled a bit, but then frowned disgustedly and began to run away without looking back. He proceeded down the trail for about two miles. A rock bridge across a swiftly flowing stream reduced his jog to a cautious walk. He avoided the loose rocks and stepped on the moist ground on the west side of the water.

The path grew much narrower now, though Sadge kept up his pace and delved into the deep woods. The trees around him were mostly oak and elm, with a few pines interspersed. The sun was declining, but its heat remained in this windless section of Nipmuck. The path soon brought Sadge to the beginnings of Blaque Hille, a dark foreboding elevation that housed myriads of ravens, crows and other black fowl. Before entering, Mr. Filkins climbed onto a lithophytic rock to eat.

He ate millet and parsley, washed down with a swig of mead. Soon, he returned to his quest and began his ascent. The rock-filled path took him up the Hille to a spot that scanned the horizon in many directions. Sadge could see Pisgott River, Holy Stones Cemetery, as well as the outskirts of Marrisonville. He was pleased with the sight, but a banshie-like wail caused him to hurry onwards. Around a large group of redwoods, the path turned to the right and downwards. At the bottom, Sadge could make out a figure standing on a large stump while frantically playing a violin. He jogged down to greet the strange musician.

As he approached, he perceived a very old woman with long white hair. She wore nothing but a ripped pair of black sweat pants and a sloppily painted papier-mache' bra. Sadge shook his leg at the woman, who in reply, let out a long overdue burp. The opening of her mouth revealed several pomegranate seeds doused with pink saliva.

"Greetings hiker! I am sweet Sampertin, queen of the Hille. Won't you visit my splendid castle?"

Sadge couldn't believe his serendipity. He wanted earnestly to go with the woman, but he couldn't disrupt his journey. Or could he?

"Yes! I will. Please show me the way."

CHAPTER II

The delighted woman thanked Mr. Filkins and as a token of friendship, she handed him her bridge, which was made of pure gold. She then tossed the now defunct instrument into a nearby bush. Sadge held the gift with delight as Sampertin guided him through rocks and trees and pricker bushes. Finally they reached her place.

Far from a castle, this one room log cabin stood in the midst of several tall elms. Sadge laughed to himself, although his curiosity brought him inside. A warm orange fire burned brightly in the fireplace, which matched perfectly with the grey dugget, covering much of the wooden floor. The only other thing in the room was a large piano equipped with red and torquoise keys. The woman sat down and began to play.

After hours of hearing the novitiate poke the same twelve-note tune over and over, Sadge irritably headed for the door. Much to his amazement and fright, the door was locked from the outside! He struggled violently with the door knob and screamed for mercy. The old woman turned and laughed a hideous laugh and then slammed on the highest keys. Just then, a trap door opened beneath Sadge and the poor man quickly dropped into darkness.

He fell and continued to fall through the musty air that reeked of rotten carrots. He writhed in his flight until finally, he plunged into a large vat filled generously with raw rat milk and starved wood ticks. The tick soup was over his head and burned his bruised feet. He cried aloud, but that only allowed more ticks to join in the tongue-sucking party going on inside Sadge's mouth. He groped among the parasites and finally found a ladder reaching out of the vat.

He jumped off the top rung and landed a few feet beside the nightmarish tub of torture. His tick-scaled body shook hard and fast as he rolled over and over and screamed and cried. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a 1907 British farthing that he carried for good luck. As milk and blood dripped into his eyes, he stuffed the coin into his mouth and swallowed hard.

Immediately he found himself in the back seat of a bus travelling to Seattle, Washington. He heard the Get Smart theme song emanating from a nearby radio as he peered over his unharmed and bizarrely normal body. Sadge sat back and cried himself to sleep.

Within an hour he woke to the halting screech of the bus's brakes. He watched many people exit the bus and scamper into the mainstream of downtown Seattle. Sadge farted, to which a white woman responded: "No, thank you." Sadge was the last to leave the bus, and he walked towards a newsstand. He glanced at the headlines of the local paper and read: "Sororicidal Pugilist Gets the Chair." He sighed, bought a beckoning candy bar, and then began an aimless wander among fellow pedestrians.

After about thirty-one minutes, Sadge Filkins saw that he was no longer in a busy section of the city. He also noticed, with his right hand in pocket, that the chocolate bar was now mushy under the wrapper. He took it out and opened it, getting brown smears all over his hands. He shoved the sweet glob in his mouth and started sucking on each individual finger--one at a time. After finishing his left thumb, he walked over to a trash receptacle to dispose of the blue plastic.

As he tossed the waste, he noticed a yellow sheet of paper, uncrumpled and lying near the rim of the metal meshed basket. He lifted the object and began to peruse. As a result, he gained knowledge of the existence of a bizarre, underground museum located on Butler Street. He desired earnestly to check it out, although he had no idea how to get there. He continued walking and pondered about the museum.

When he came to an intersection, he felt a sudden pain coming from his hand. The flyer Sadge had been caressing had produced a mild paper cut on his right thumb. He kissed the sliced digit and then crumpled the paper in anger. He threw the deformed mass into the gutter and then crossed the street in a hurry. In a trice, the paper ball was picked up by an oriental bum, who wore a calculator underneath his cap. The bum read the sheet, smiled, and began to follow Mr. Filkins.

Because of a perpetually injured ankle, Jabesh Ying did not reach Sadge until they were only one block away from the sought after museum. After being tapped on the back of his neck with a long, neglected fingernail, Sadge quickly spun around.

"You go to museum?" the hideous sight uttered. Sadge was loss for words as he beheld a smiling Soochow native with tomato sauce red cheeks. The man possessed choppy black hair and wore a long, grey gown. His teeth were crooked and yellow and his filthy feet polluted the ground with every step. Sadge stuttered his reply.

"I-I-Where is it?"

"Right ovah dare!" Jabesh pointed with one arm and attempted to guide Sadge to join him with the other. Sadge however, skilfully avoided the limb, although he did start to walk with his new acquaintance.

The pair soon came to a freshly painted black door, guarded by a tall half-mustached man carrying a white pocketbook. Mr. Ying handed over his calculator, causing the guard to let them through the door. Sadge and Jabesh descended a flight and soon entered a dimly lit, musty brick cellar. A hazy green smoke filled the air near a brass, antique lamp. The lamp was situated on a small wooden table marked 'Refreshments'.

A gory, lucious, strawberry-filled, powdered donut display was adjacent to a warm butter-topped loaf of stoneground, whole wheat bread. Jabesh satisfied his intense hunger by biting into a boring slice of bread. Conversely, Sadge lifted up an oval donut and took a bite. A smile formed on his face as he chew. The midday snack was soon interrupted by a high-pitched, elven voice, echoing within the chamber.

"Greetings, and welcome to the Skullsdale Museum!"

CHAPTER III

Jabesh and Sadge turned abruptly in unison and beheld a short, caped figure, reaching only four feet from the dusty floor. The man had straight black hair, combed to one side and very miniature ears. His pale, sticky face was covered with old dandelion fur, and he smelt like a freshly brewed cup of herbal tea. There was also a very noticeable freckle planted on his upper lip.

"My name is Amos. I will be your guide this afternoon. Please follow me."

The smiling midget turned and started walking towards a doorless doorway. The two visitors followed with great curiosity. Soon they were in a long, narrow, dark hallway, filled with various paintings; all of which featured strange purple figures imposed on a pitch black canvas.

"These were all done by me. Last night."

At the end of the hall, the trio stopped and Amos discussed his works. Jabesh, leaning against the wall, soon felt a piercing prick on his supporting hand. He let out a cry of pain, but could not discern what caused it. Amos glanced at him for a second, and then continued to talk with Sadge. Jabesh was getting bored and scared. He interrupted by asking for the time.

"It's 5:19," Amos said. "Let's proceed!"

The next part of the museum was a vast room containing crude sculptures and several glass cases filled with dirt and small bugs. The cases were resting atop cubical coal stones. Jabesh was feeling a sculpture of a shovel when Sadge mentioned a rest room.

"Over in the corner," said Amos, who now walked over to Jabesh to explain the wonderful artwork.

Sadge walked into a very small, well-lit room containing only a sink and a toilet without a seat. Inside the toilet, under the yellowish water, were a few pieces of soaked Tinkertoy. While Sadge further yellowified the liquid, he heard Amos choking on some dusty bread mold. After a few last drops exited his body, Sadge ran out and stopped in fright. Jabesh was not to be seen and Amos lay on the ground unconscious. He bent down to see if he was breathing and gasped at the sight of a roach squeezing out of Amos' left ear. He suddenly heard a hideous laugh echoing throughout the chamber. Sadge got up and ran to a closed door marked 'Exit'.

Outside was a large grassy field under a clear sunny sky. In the distance Sadge saw several women playing horseshoes with toilet seats. As Sadge approached them, they stopped and stared at him for a second, and then quickly darted into the woods like wild deer. Sadge ran after them, but they got away after Sadge tripped over a vine and landed face first into a muddy stream.

He was tired, wet and confused now; not to mention horrified by the recent goings-on. He sat on a log and thought of his little home far away. How he wished he could just go back and live as usual. He cried himself into a long, well-deserved sleep.

The moon was directly overhead when Mr. Filkins woke up, and the night was forever around him. Bright stars and tiny stars dotted the sky between the branches and leaves of the taller trees. Sadge was all alone in the dark, but he got up and started to walk. He continued to walk for hours and hours, but he was still in deep woods and it was still very much nighttime. Suddenly he heard an owl hooting in the east and then another equidistant in the west. He walked to the nearest tree and started climbing. Up he went, pulling and shimmying. When he was several fathoms above the ground he could see a mass of smoke billowing in the distance. He climbed down and landed on a long metal string after jumping from the lowest branch. He picked it up and started jogging towards the smoke site.

When he was close enough to smell the essence of burning peanut shells, he stopped and wiped his damp forehead. Dawn was approaching and he wanted to reach the smoke before sunrise.

He arrived in a few minutes and soon was completely surrounded by smoke. He felt dizzy and sick and fell down beside an angry-looking pricker bush. He soon drifted into unconsciousness.

He woke up to a clear, brisk air and a smile formed on his face as he got up and looked around. He was in the front yard of his own home! He sighed and laughed to himself and strolled to the front door. But his delight quickly turned to fright as he saw out of the corner of his eye, a big black bear racing towards him with a salivating mouth. His stroll quickly became a sprint as he heard the voice of Sampertin shout "Get him, bear!"

He reached the front door in time, but it was locked from the inside. He banged on the door with both fists and shouted "Wilma!". But it was too late. The bear carved him up clean and with the remains, sweet Sampertin finally enjoyed her annual Sagacious Casserole.