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To Mr. Thomas Melton:
This is a letter I shall never send. The strange events in my life that have occurred over the course of the last few months have taken root inside of my head. I must tell my stories to someone, somehow, or I feel I shall go mad if I am not already. I only address this to you, old friend, because we were partners in childhood with our imaginative games; and if anyone could fully understand the proceeding letter, it would be you. Please understand that you will never recieve this letter. This is the form of therapy that I have chosen for myself, and it will be neatly tucked away once it is completed.
I have always considered myself a respectable man. It is sad to say; but my life has been rather void of the type of adventure I imagined myself having as a child. That is not to say, however, that I have not lived a happy life. Marrying my true love and raising our children has placed inside of me a happiness that I am truly blessed to have. When my daily life becomes a bit too lethargic or mundane, I continue my old habit from boyhood of indulging myself in works of epic fantasy.
This is where my problem may have started, if sensibility is correct. I am hesitant to consider the resulting truths if it is not.
Books may be our windows to other worlds, but they are something else as well. The stories we read from books flow through our mind like a river, and like a river; they leave bits and pieces behind. They round out the jagged edges, and make the impossible seem possible. Flotsam and jetsam may wedge into some secluded nook of our brain, only to be discovered some time after the fact. It is, in truth, a wholly sensitizing process. What I fear is that my mind has taken too much shaping at the hands of my books; that good sense and clear thinking have been washed away along with my boredom.
I have often heard of cases of that frightening, creeping insanity: of men's minds corrupted slowly by their escapist fantasies. In my worst fears, I am in the latter stages before utter madness. My mind functions as it normally would, except for these…visions…I've been having of late.
Though it is not apparent to you, Thomas, it has been some time between the writing of this sentence and the previous. Finally admitting that I am seeing these things sent a shock through me that I was not prepared for. I nearly destroyed this letter to prevent it from being read by someone other than myself. I don't want to be mad, Thomas, I don't. The normality of everyday life seems bright as the sun to me right now; I long to reach out and touch it. I wish I could be the sane and boring man I once was. Ah…wishing. Another fantasy. Isn't that what started this in the first place? Let me tell you of my "fantasy".
The first thing that ever appeared to me was a tiny fairy. I happened to be breakfasting alone one morning, when I ran out of orange juice. I went to the refrigerator to get more, and when I turned around, there she stood; a magical bit of nothing, just like in the storybooks, balancing perfectly on the end of my fork. For a moment I was shocked to speechlessness. The orange juice dropped out of my hand and splashed all over the floor and my pants leg. I could not decide whether to flee or approach the thing. It seems silly now, to think that a mere fairy could be frightening, but I assure you it was at the time. Finally, the curiosity instilled in my by too many books took over and forced my feet forward. Once I reached the edge of the table, I could see her well enough to realize she stood in a very welcoming position. Her hands were clasped behind her back and she leaned forward ever so slightly. Beneath her short golden hair and brilliant blue eyes, her mouth formed the greatest of smiles.
Quizzically, I kneeled down, till my face was level with the tabletop. Taking this as a gesture of friendship from me, the fay daintily hopped from the fork and walked over next to me. With her tiny lips she kissed my big cheek and whispered one word.
"Welcome."
"What…?" I turned to look at her. She was gone. If she was ever there.
That day I hurried to work and forced myself into familiar patterns to numb my mind. I left the orange juice in the floor, I left the dishes on the table. I merely grabbed my wallet and keys and left. Driving, I shook my head harshly every time I thought about the incident, as if trying to shake it free from my mind. By the time I returned home that evening, I had nearly succeeded in convincing myself that the event had not occurred. The orange juice had been mopped from the floor and the dishes had been removed from the table. My wife did not mention my slobbery, and neither did I.
It is important to note that nearly two weeks had passed since the first vision of the fairy before I encountered my second mythical being. During that time, I had refused to read my books. I avoided them as if the mere touch of one would bring pain. I worked myself to submission, and had nearly smoothed the incident over in my mind with some excuse or the other. I assumed that I would never again be bothered by the visions. I was, of course, wrong.
The night before my next encounter, I picked up the book I had previously been reading and skimmed through a few pages. It was nothing heavy, and meant only to finally assure myself that that cursed morning had not happened at all.
I awoke the following morning ready to work and renew an unhindered life. I drove to work with the windows rolled down and the radio on. Quite unlike me.
Working peacefully until some time nearing lunch, I was startled to hear rather heavy footsteps in the hall outside my office. The door was open, so I ceased what I was doing to look who was making such a racket. A troll (actually, it could have been an ogre or hobgoblin or any other of those largish fantasy brutes matching the description) stomped into view, scantly clad in furs and balancing a club over his shoulder. He stopped his walk to cast a glance at me and snarl, and continued on.
I bolted for the door and threw myself out to the hall. The troll was just turning a corner at the far end of the hall and I gave chase. As I rounded the corner at top speed, I nearly bumped into a fellow employee, who looked aghast at me for a moment, then continued on his way.
I could not see the troll. It too had vanished as the fairy had.
Thomas, it was at that point that I simply left the building. I did not return to close up my office, I did not tell anyone I would be leaving. I simply left.
I flung myself into my car and drove out of the city. I pulled off as soon as I thought I was clear of earshot, got out and screamed at the top of my lungs. I flung profanities at everything I held holy. I asked and I cried to the heavens to free me of whatever they had inflicted upon me.
I heard only my echo in response.
After I had mentally exhausted myself, I slumped back toward the car, only in time to see that same fairy flutter off from the roof of my car where it had been watching. I fell on the hood and cried.
Yes, Thomas, I cried. A grown man, bawling his eyes out like a child. I am not ashamed, I believe now that anyone would have reacted similarly if put in my situation. At the time, even in my saddest hour of defeat, I still felt a twinge of guilt for laying myself so raw before the world.
Thinking back, I suppose the fairy's first appearance was supposed to have served me some sort of bellwether to what lay ahead. It was a warning that I did not heed, and was much the worse for not having done so. For after that day, the appearances became much more frequent and intense.
Now that truly does sound like the words of a mad man, doesn't it? Believing that one's own insanity would warn them of further mental instability down the road? It's a preposterous thought, and I almost wish I had not said it.
My life since became first a struggle to ignore these things which I saw. Driving home from the country, I saw an elven hunting party slipping across a field. I went past without slowing.
From large to small, I see them all. The fairies and pixies are by far the most annoying. They chatter incessantly and tend to be underfoot just when you don't want them to be. They are very prying and nosy and refuse to leave you alone. The only way I've found to get them to leave is to become extremely angry with them. This belies their whimsical nature, and results in hurt feelings on their part, which they leave to nurse for a while.
There are all numbers of medium sized creatures that I encounter during my regular days. Elves and dwarves, trolls and gnomes, they all come wandering by at one point or another. The friendly ones wave and smile at me, no one else. I've come to believe that they can see only me from this world, much as I can only see them from their world. In my madder moments, I allow myself to think that perhaps there are others of this world that have this curse; that can see beyond reality. After all, there is more than one fantasy creature that I see, so shouldn't they see more than me? I catch myself glancing around as they pass, hoping to see if someone else reacts oddly to them. So far, no one has.
My most terrific of encounters, however, have been with the great dragons. No written word can ever do justice to their terrible wonder. Humongous they stand, like gods watching all they survey. Their scales glitter in the sunlight and dimly glow in the dark. Their wings are not ugly and utility like those of bats, but were obviously designed with beauty in mind. They sweep back from just beyond the base of the neck and are slightly longer than the dragon's main body. When they are not used, the dragons generally seem to fold them over one another across their back.
The first time I encountered a dragon, I had already been seeing the lesser creatures for a week or more. I was nearly used to their presence at that time (if still questioning my sanity) yet, when I saw the great emerald dragon, it was like seeing that first fairy all over again. I was strolling in the park with my family about twilight, when I looked up to see him. A streetlight illuminated part of his neck and head, which was rising up above some far trees to peer off into the night. The rest of his body illuminated a small portion of land around him, casting a magical hue into the night.
I stopped walking, which confused my family slightly. For a time, even amidst my wife's questioning, I stood transfixed by the beauty of this monster. It sat perfectly still for what could have been hours, then, with no warning or wasted movement, it was in the air, gliding toward the horizon. I watched until it was but a tiny shadow in the distance.
Since then, it has been my utter pleasure each time a dragon graces me with its appearance. Seeing them, I can almost forgive the madness that allows me to stand in their magnificence. It is an awe-inspiring sight that I would recommend to anyone if it did not involve becoming insane.
Thomas, words are beginning to fail me at this point. I've said what I meant to say and probably a bit more. The visions continue to this day and show no signs of stopping. In truth, there has been a small band of fairies eying me intently from my desk hutch the entire time I have been writing this letter. They seem to find some game in tormenting me. I would swat them away if I did not know they would merely flutter out of reach giggling for a moment then resettle in the exact position they were in before.
The madness is surely creeping up on me, and any day now I fear I shall be lost to this world. Though until then, I continue to work and love and live my life as I want to. Thank you for the ear, old friend, even if you shall never receive this letter. May your days be blessed and happy.
Your Friend in Fantasy,
Gregory K. Sands