Hurlyburly - The Continuing Tragic Saga - Chapter 11

Brice Luther sighed as he stared up at the African sky. It was going to be a gorgeous night. That was a good thing,since he dared not return to his teepee on the outskirts of the village of Bobtercock. The villagers were in a fury after what had happened earlier in the afternoon, so he was forced to camp out on the Serengeti. At first, they had been in awe of his actions. He had begun to believe that they would turn against Fructusfornicology. But, within hours, the priestess, Mini-Clit, had poisoned their minds against him. Brice knew that he had the power to kill them all, if he so wished, but he was conflicted about using his powers for mass murder. It went against everything he was taught. Brice knew that he had gone too far this afternoon when Father Ed's chest cavity had exploded, showering his followers with his internal organs. He had been shocked, and then a bit appalled by the result of his incantation. He picked up a stick and poked at the campfire he had lit.

He was a long way from Vancouver. Just six short months ago, Brice worked for Canada Post, as a mailman. He liked his job fine, but he felt as if there was a spiritual void in his heart. One day, he was delivering a package to one of the houses on his route when he ran into a very important man who had been a great influence on his life: his Social Studies teacher, Michel Nault. M. Nault was retired now, and he was greatly pleased to see Brice. He invited Brice out for an evening of kareoke, and they struck up a friendship. They would get together for drinks at Sidebar, or for long walks around Stanley Park. Sometimes, they would just sit on the beach and meditate. They also went into business together, performing magic tricks at birthday parties.

One day, they were sitting on a park bench on Granville Island, feeding the rats, when M. Nault decided to share a secret with him. M. Nault was no ordinary junior high school teacher: he was a shaman. But, he was getting too old to travel the world practising his wizardry. He wanted to pass his knowledge on to Brice. At first, Brice was a little skeptical. He knew very well that M. Nault often told bizarre stories about himself to teach lessons to his students. But, he chose to believe him. Naulty was his best friend and Brice figured that it could be kind of fun to learn a new hobby.

He had to undergo a number of rites before he could be called a true shaman, the most disturbing of which was the ingestion of all bodily fluids, including saliva, snot, urine, feces and semen. He learned how to make and use a magic wand, brew potions and developed his extra-sensory abilities. M. Nault was pleased with how quickly Brice had mastered various shamanic techniques. Finally, he blessed Brice with the name Rasta-Dawg and sent him to Bobtercock about a month ago to put a stop to Fructusfornicology. M. Nault had had a vision that if this so-called religion was allowed to flourish, it would bring on Armageddon. It was to be Brice's first true test as a shaman. At first, Brice wasn't sure how much stock he could put into M. Nault's premonition. Now that he had arrived in Bobtercock, he could see how much sway the leaders of Fructusfornicology held over the townspeople. He wasn't sure exactly how they were doing it, but everyone seemed to obey their every whim, without question.

Brice shook his head and aded some sepecial herbs and spices to a potion he was brewing in a cauldron over the fire. He was hoping to induce a vision of M.Nault, so he could ask for guidance. He scooped some of the potion into a wooden goblet he had carved himself and drank it. He felt dizzy and all went black.

Brice opened his eyes. He was in a lush green meadow full of beautiful flowers. The sun was shining, and the birds were singing. Leprechauns danced around his feet, throwing gold coins into the air. The air was fresh and clean and he breathed deeply.

"Bonjour, Brice," a deep masculine voice starled him. Brice whirled around. It was M. Nault. "You must be vigilant. Things are not what they seem. An important person in your life has turned to the dark side. You must beware. This person will attempt to turn you to the dark side too. You must resist."

"What? Who are you talking about?" Brice was alarmed to see that dark clouds had gathered overhead.

"Whoa, mon etudiant! All I can say is that you have to beware...the end is near. If you are not vigilant, it will be chop-chop!" M. Nault made a swift chopping motion with his left hand, and turned away.

Brice ran up to Naulty and grabbed his shoulder. To his surprise, it wasn't M.Nault at all. It was his father, Brian Luther. "Brian! What are you doing here?"

"Come on, Brice. We have to put an end to all this silliness." Brian clutched Brice's arm. "You've always been the sane one. Your sisters and their friends are running amock! I've been having to put up with their shenanigans for almost 30 years! Do you know what that's done to me? I can't take it anymore! You have to help me! Together, with your powers and my master's superior intellect, we can make everything nice, calm and normal..."

Brice was seriously frightened. He didn't think he had ever seen his father quite so agitated. "Hey, Dad, simmer down. It's all just harmless. At least they make life somewhat interesting. Yes, it's a little disturbing, but it's not like they're mass murderers or something."

Brian let out a piercing screech and pushed Brice away. "They've gotten to you, too! This is psycopathy!!!!!" Brian pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a drink. "You have been a very, very foolish young man. You are one of them. You've been one of them all along. How could you????" Brian screeched again, and disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.

"Dad!!! Wait!!!" Brice screamed. Suddenly, he was no longer in the field. He back on the Serengeti, sitting beside his campfire.

"I'm not your pappy," a gruff voice growled at him, from the other side of the fire. "You Rasta-Dawg?"

Brice rubbed his forehead. He was somewhat disoriented. Was this another part of the vision? "Uh, yeah." he mumbled, sickeningly. "Who are you?"

The man walked right through the fire, and shook Brice's hand. "Name's Bilby. I'm here to get a magic wand from you." He was dressed what looked like a purple and green wetsuit, bright red snow boots and a canary yellow fedora.

"Right. This is a really bad time. I have to get to Vancouver. I think my sister might be in trouble."

"Heck! That's where I'm headed after I get that wand from you. I can give you a lift! Who's your sister?"

"Uh...you probably won't know her. Her name's Emily Luther."

"Emily! 'Course I know Emily! She's friends with my woman! Likes to dress unsuspecting young men up in towels and lipstick!"

Brice rolled his eyes. "Of sourse, you would know her. Look, I can make a wand for you anytime you want. But, I really have to get back to Canada."

Bilby shrugged. "It's ok by me. The sooner I get home to my Andrea, the better."

Brice gathered up his stuff and together, the two men began the long hike to the Bobtercock airport. Brice hoped that his vision didn't mean anything, but Naulty had taught him better than that. He was scared. Very very very scared.