Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

“Skull Forest.”

“That’s the human name for it. What do the gobs call it?”

“Yepena Rec, which translates as Forest of Skulls.”

“Hmph. I bet the elves have a better name for it.”

“They know it as Gaidos Paviwv meaning–you guessed it–Skull Forest.”

“I’ll bite. Why the grim names in so many languages?”

“It’s one of the last places that ogres could be found while they were being wiped out. After the great battle on the moors, when the king’s men caught the ogrish women and children in the open and cut them to ribbons, the ogre warriors came to this forest, sat down, and starved to death. You can still see their skulls and skeletons if you know where to look, since ogrebone doesn’t disarticulate or rot. And of course a good idea is a good idea, so even after the ogres were extinct, all sorts of other folks came to the forest to do the same, to end their lives with what they thought was a little dignity.”

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We, however, preferred to huddle in the dark carnival caves, surrounding ourselves with the sights and sounds of a world that was both familiar and terrifying, inviting and cold. Dark grays and bright reds, somber oranges and shining whites. The shade of pancake makeup, of false noses, of painted-on lips, or too-big shoes. Inwardly turned, outwardly focused, and all set to a calliope that only we could hear.

Some called us mad, but in time we found other like minds and the dark carnival caves have never been more populated, more alive.

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“Bin yank am bell zoo bathe wrath, Actor,” Stephens said. “Be bide bit bills big, bunk be bag wax ad bat.”

Dr. Cherry looked at the others, shrugging helplessly. “You see what I mean?”

“Ant fort of jeweled pastry,” Stephens continued, becoming visibly more animated, “there is a tiny ant fort!”

“If he saw who killed who Suzette, he’s not capable of communicating who it is,” Dr. Cherry said. “At least not right now.”

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“I want to go back to the forest of feather trees and shimmer lights,” Maddie said.

“The Cambrian diorama again?” Nic said. “Were were just there.”

“I wanna see the feather trees. I wanna see the shimmer lights. I wanna see the funny bugs.”

Nic looked to Shanika, helplessly.

“Okay, sweetie,” her mother said. “We’ll go to the funny bugs one more time, but then we want to see something else, okay? Like maybe some live animals, or cool skeletons?”

“Feather trees.” Maddie said, grumpily folding her arms. “Funny bugs.”

Her parents obligingly turned the stroller around and wheeled it back into the Cambrian Hall. There, they were surrounded by fiberglass replicas of bizarre, alien life from half a billion years ago, fancifully lit.

“Hello, hello, hello!” Maddie said, waving to the various creatures. “Hello, feather tree. Hello funny bug.”

“What does she see in all this, Nika?” Nic muttered.

“When I was her age, I made my parents take me to the New York Public Libraries rare book room,” Shanika said. “Kids are weird. At least she’ll probably be smart?”

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“Welcome to your EnviroPod Hospitality Space™,” the chipper, synthesized voice said, the trademark symbol after the term all but pronounced openly. “We here at EnviroPod LLC GmbH strive to fulfill your every need.”

“I’d like to go outside,” Dominic said.

“Are you sure?” The voice of the Pod was still very upbeat. “The EnviroPod Hospitality Space™ is the most comfortable, state-of-the-art six meter by four meter modular space on the market today.”

“Is there a balcony I’m not seeing?” Dominic asked. “Or a window?”

“Only on the deluxe EnviroPod Hospitality Space™ Pro model, or as a free upgrade for subscribers to EnviroPod Hospitality Space™ Plus.”

“Then I’d like to go outside,” Dominic said.

“Apologies,” said the Pod. “The door is not currently operational. Maintenance has been notified.”

Dominic ran his hand over the smooth wall near the bathroom, where a door might have been on a comparably sized hotel room. “Are you sure the door is currently installed?” he said.

“Maintenance has been notified.”

“All right then.” Dominic tapped the flat screen mounted across from the bed. “Put on a live feed of the outside.”

“Apologies,” said the Pod. “Camera feed is not currently operational. Maintenance has been notified.”

“Put on a nature show, then.”

“Apologies,” the Pod said again. “The entertainment system is not currently operational. Maintenance has been notified.”

“What is operational, then?” Dominic snapped.

“Delicious EnviroPod Rehydrated Meals are available from the delivery chute. EnviroPod Laundry is working at full capacity; simply place your garments in the laundry chute and they will be returned cleaned and pressed.”

“How about a maid? Turndown service?”

A pause. “Apologies. The maid system is not currently operational. Maintenance has been notified.”

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Needles of obsidian and frozen squalls
The pain of cold amid these frozen halls
Lay down your warmth and go to sleep
Forever our frozen plaything to keep
The cruel light bleaches, rots and thaws
Scattered bodies in a scavenger’s jaws
Lay down your life here in the snow
Eternal oblivion is yours to know
Preserved forever, ’til the planet fails
No time for sorrow, no room for wails

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“The whole…village constructed like the game Mousetrap,” the note said. “Or maybe Mantrap, like the one around my leg just now…I see the blood. I don’t have long.”

“It seemed like such an inviting place, so friendly and welcoming, but it’s a trap. Once you’re here, they never want you to leave, and they have the traps to make sure it happens.”

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And I found then, that wandering the halls of my own memory was like unto an expedition into caverns of glass. Every facet a memory, and by placing a hand thereupon I could relive it in all the detail that the fading of time had left to me. From the brutal pain of having the wind knocked out of me as a child, to the inimitable boredom of a long bus ride, it was all there.

I had only just begun my search when my hand grazed, unintentionally, over my first heartbreak. Even after the assuage of decades, the hurt was so intense that I could only fall to the floor with a choked sob.

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After he was shot, Swingin’ Joe reportedly whispered to an onlooker “it’s all in the last song” before dying of blood loss. The lead singer of the popular 60s band The Water Waves, Swingin’ Joe had recently been hard at work on a solo album, using studio musicians instead of his usual The Water Waves bandmates. And, upon his death, those same bandmates as well as the record company were shocked to find that Swingin’ Joe had hidden most of his assets, including millions of dollars in gold, in an undisclosed location.

“The last song” is thought by many to be the enigmatic final ballad of Swingin’ Joe’s posthumous record, which was completed and released by The Water Waves as their ninth and final studio album. Ostensibly this was done in their slain frontman’s memory, but in reality it was an injection of much-needed cash. The final song consists of vocals by Swingin’ Joe, singing lyrics he wrote, accompanied by studio musicians on piano and tambourine with The Water Waves adding in bass, rhythm guitar, and percussion in post.

Small rocky islands floating in a sky of lemons
Pinch me now because I think I’m in heaven
Golden circles showering down upon the earth
If you have to ask me then you know what it is worth

This final refrain, repeated three times while faded out via an echoplex, is often cited as a treasure map of sorts. With its description of yellow circles, rocky islands, and lemon sky, it has led many treasure seekers to search and illegally dig in Thailand’s Phang Nga Bay and Palau, where the rock star owned island homes.

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I look at a forest of not-trees
A wistful sigh on my lips
I wish that I could tread those not-paths
And soft not-beds upon which to sleep
But those not-flowers are forever beyond me
The not-water in babbling brooks
I can almost breathe the not-air
But it all remains trapped in a book

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