Channeling Neil Gaiman

There’s a place at London Tower that’s quite difficult to get to. Above Sr. Walter Raleigh’s room there is a lovely little walkway, with a very pleasant view of the rest of the tower – which isn’t really a tower at all, actually, merely a collection of tiny towers all enclosed by one wall. This walkway above Raleigh’s rooms is at the top of a very steep narrow curved set of steps.

Only one person across could climb them, placing their feet upon precarious, slippery stone steps, not even wide enough for the entire foot. So many a visitor simply passed the attraction up, decided that perhaps visiting the crown jewels would be more to their liking.

Not so Katie Moore and Amy Allotora, two college students visiting London for the first time.

"What a view," Amy sighed, adjusting her camera to take pictures in the suddenly bright sky from which only a minute ago almost – rain had fallen.

"Uh huh," Katie answered back.

Amy looked up to see where her friend gazed only to find Katie standing upon the ledge, arms outspread and face lifted towards the sky. "What are you doing?" She asked bewildered, but not surprised. This was not to be the last time that Katie did something strange.

"Channeling Neil Gaiman," Katie replied, attempting to ignore her best friend as she closed her eyes ever more tightly, exhilarating in the feel of the gentle wind upon her face.

Amy looked out into the cloud-covered sky, then back at her friend, "Ok, now THAT you’re going to have to explain."

"What’s there to explain? The great Neil Gaiman, writer of the acclaimed Sandman graphic novels was born and bred in England." Katie snapped, quickly stepping out of her reverie.

"Oh, that explains it," Amy threw up her arms in frustration. "Look, I’ll meet you downstairs with the others."

Katie turned back to the sky, watching the sun emerge just for a peek from behind some decidedly angry looking clouds. "She doesn’t understand. She’s never read it. She doesn’t know what it’s like," she told the empty walkway. With a grin, she clutched the ankh she work always around her neck, well, always wore after she read the last of the Death graphic novels. Another great Gaiman creation. She thought happily to herself, squinting against the sudden sun. "I wish," she breathed, with a quick glance toward the sun, which was after all just another star, "I wish I was as good a writer as Neil Gaiman. I wish I knew what goes on in his head, when he writes…"

*

"C’mon Katie! We still have to visit Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s Cathedral, and then Carol can go to the bathroom!" Lily lectured as Katie finally made her way down from the tower.

Katie grinned at her four friends, each had come to England with some sort of dream, something to see or do. She had a feeling that she would be getting what she wanted very soon. "Ok, Lil, but can’t Care use the ladies room here?"

"No time! We are on a very strict schedule." Lily drew her map from the deep inside pockets of her raincoat. "Let’s go."

Katie trailed behind the four, letting them pair up as usual, Lily and Carol, Amy and Jaime. She turned back to take one last look at the tower and it’s inhabitants.

"And then, ladies and gentlmen, King Henry turned to Anne Bolyn and said, ‘my dear, I shall love you for the rest of your life.’" Chuckles surrounded the crimson clad tour guide.

"Here, Gwen, is real history. Why right on this spot, seven of the most interesting characters of history were executed. Thomas Moore, Anne Bolyn…"

"Hon, you’re a bit morbid."

Katie laughed at the couple arguing at the scaffold. Something about them seemed familiar somehow, but before she could recall it she found herself being shoved out of the way by a tiny old woman.

"That’s it, just barrel me down," she lectured Katie, "No respect for the elders! I should know, I’ve been around for…"

The woman lumbered away before Katie could hear the rest of what she was saying.

That’s when she realized she had lost her friends. A quick scan around showed them already at the exit, "Hey, wait up!" she chased after them.

"I just had the most, like, surreal experience. It was like I was in a comic," Katie began.

Amy rolled her eyes, "If I here you say, ‘Neil Gaiman, author of the acclaimed Sandman series,’ one more time, I will slug you,"

"Oh, that’s nice." Katie snapped, "I’m just trying to let you know how good it is! If you would even try to read a bit of it, maybe you wouldn’t be such a spoil sport!"

Amy sighed, "Look, every single one of my birthday’s and for the past 3 Christmas’s, you’ve given me some stupid book that you absolutely love, and you don’t even care that I don’t like that stuff! Give me a break."

Carol had come to the back of the group to see what they were arguing about. "Oh, that comic again?"

"It’s not just a comic, it’s a graphic novel," Katie insisted.

"Oh," Carol frowned, "So, what’s the difference?"

"It’s literature! Told in graphic form! Sequential art!" Katie cried, waving her arms about frantically.

"See what I had to deal with on the plane. Next time you’re sitting with her," Amy quipped, walking towards the front of the group.

"Well, Katie, why don’t you tell me about this graphic novel, or whatever you’re talking about," Carol said politely.

A few moments later, she regretted being so polite and understanding. For the entire walk to the Abbey and then to the Cathedral, Katie outlined the plot and main characters of the Sandman, punctuating her tale every so often with a quote she had memorized. "So, then she tells him ‘You’re obviously not very bright, but I shouldn’t let it bother you!’" Katie started laughing loudly at the joke, pounding on a nearby wall in her mirth.

Carol looked around cautiously; hoping that no one was looking at them. "Um, that sounds great, um, very interesting, here why don’t you talk to Jaime?" She then stepped away, leaving Katie giggling as she leaned upon the wall.

*

After the full day of sightseeing the girls returned to their hostel, a slim, austere building hidden between several large establishments in the middle of a crowded block. They dodged the individuals selling leaflets for the homeless and stepped over someone sleeping in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Great area of London, Care," Amy stage whispered as they made their way, exhausted, up to the room.

Katie sat on her bed, the bunk under Amy’s and stared out the window, placing her head upon her hands. "Sometimes I wonder what it must be like to actually be Neil Gaiman. I mean, even everyone at DC recognizes his greatness. But what does he think of it? What goes on in his head? How wonderful must it feel to have all those ideas bubbling in his brain," Katie mused. After hearing nothing from her roommates after her little speech, she turned to face her friends, "And, this is the part where you say something ominous like ‘wonderful or terrible?’"

"Life is not a comic book. Go to sleep Katie," Amy threw her pillow down, which Katie dodged.

She curled up in her bed, staring at the shadows that fell across the floor. One looked almost like the figure of a man, a man who reached out with one, long, trembling hand…

*

They whispered at her. "Exit." The voices said. "Enter." She rolled over, trying to shoe them away as if a swatting a mosquito. "Grain of…"

"…sand…" the voice came again.

That caught her attention. She sat up, the word upon her lips. Katie realized that she no longer lay in her comfortable, well, semi-comfortable hostel bed. She sat upon a grass and dirt mound. She stood shakily, following the sounds of rushing wind. "What the?" she exclaimed as she gazed at the entry way to the New Jersey Turnpike.

She began to walk, placing one foot in front of the other as if her life depended on it. The noisy cars faded to the back of her mind as a large building came into view. Unlike her hostel, this Inn seemed more welcoming, sitting comfortably at the top of a hill. Simple brick walls, and a thatched roof decorated the place, as did an out of place neon sign. Several letters were burned out and in the darkness Katie could only make out the letters "T, …R…UST."

"Hmm, then trust it I shall." Already, she felt like a heroine, her blood boiling for action.

Actually, she was quite cold and found herself inside the Trust Inn before she even knew it. She sat at the bar, noting with interest the comforting presence of a roaring fire along one wall.

"Good thing you came so quick lass, you’ve taken our last room," the innkeeper told her, handing her a large glass of beer.

"Oh, I don’t drink…" she began.

He gazed at her oddly, "Child, every mortal being needs to drink."

"That’s not what I meant," she sipped at the liquid, hoping to be polite, only to find herself drinking a minty fruit juice. A bit embarrassed, she turned to look at the rest of the lodgers, who sat around various tables, drinking, eating, or even playing a simple game of cards.

Katie felt compelled to speak, odd, though she was naturally shy and inhibited, that she should feel the desire to speak now, surrounded by strangers in a strange place.

"Here me, my fellow Jersyans," she began, climbing to the top of her barstool. "I have come to tell you of the great Gaiman, he who is."

At first no one wanted to listen, denying her words with a vehemence that surprised her. But then, they began to see the light, they all do, eventually, she thought confidently. "Gaiman is the way." She intoned, "The only way to write."

The evening seemed to fly by, her tales entrancing the crowd. Before she knew it the great grandfather clock chimed midnight. She turned and watched as a tiny door opened above the clock face and an object came out. Creeping closer, she noted with fascination that it was an eyeball. The pupil glowed a friendly lavender. Smiling she turned to her new followers. "I must go to my rest, but you, all, spread the word! Make all humanity see!"

"Gaiman is the way!" they chanted back at her.

She dragged herself along the hallway, noting how the bright green tiles along the wall reminded her of her high school. An alcove in the wall hid a payphone. Eagerly, she lifted it up and called Amy. When a groggy voice answered, she spoke excitedly into the received. "Amy! I’ve got it! I’ve found the way!"

"Katie, this isn’t one of those Christian things, is it?"

"Huh? Um no, Amy, you’ve got to listen! Neil Gaiman!"

"I don’t want to hear that name."

Click.

Very much saddened, Katie continued down the hallway of her high school. She found herself at the entrance to the gym. Strange, why were there so many people here? Then, she remembered, today the sci-fi convention had come to Clark High School! Giddy in her grey and maroon uniform, she scampered into the room, noting how loud her loafers sounded against the shy, bright green gym floor.

Today, He would be here.

She barely noticed the band playing loudly, the stand with the advertisement for ‘never never land’ or the booth in the corner selling swords. There He stood, chatting amiably with her principle, a cup of white wine in one hand, a piece of cheese in the other.

As she came closer, she realized the floor was obsidian marble, and the lights had dimmed due to the lowering of the chandeliers. It seemed as if he and she were the only two people in the room. He looked down at her, dark eyes gleaming in the half-light. The wine and cheese were gone, now he hid his hands in the pockets of his black trench coat.

"You’re him!" she cried. "It’s you!"

"I am me, yes," he replied.

Even his voice sounded just as she had dreamed it.

"I can’t believe it! I have always dreamed of meeting you!" she gasped.

He frowned, furrowing his brown slightly, "Who do you say I am?"

"You’re Neil Gaiman! Yours is the way! The truth!"

"Pardon? I do believe you have me confused with someone else."

"No! Never! Listen, I can quote any scene from Sandman! Pick an issue! Any issue! Never mind! I’ll just do an impression of Death telling Dream off at the end of Preludes and Nocturnes. Ah-hem, ‘You are utterly the stupidest, most self-centered, appallingest excuse for an anthropomorphic personification…’ you know, I had to look that up. Anthropomorphic. Know what it means?"

"If I am who you think I am, then I would, wouldn’t I?" he replied dryly.

"Oh, yeah, I guess so. But look, here." She dug into the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out a crumpled sheet of paper. "It’s a story I wrote. Based on myths and full of literary allusion, just like you write! Cool huh?"

"Child, I think you should sit down for a moment…"

"But! I understand now! There is but one Way to write! I have preached your Way to any who would listen! Follow the legends! I said, the myths! Your dreams! They will lead you as they did Gaiman!"

"Young Lady," he said, "I think you have a very mistaken sentiment."

"Excuse me?"

"Writers are not Gods."

"But aren’t they? Are you not god when you control a characters actions, or deem that one should live or die or even fall in love?"

"But Gods die," he said with a sad smile and walked away into the crowd.

She looked around to find herself alone, yet surrounded by hundreds of people. She wanted to find him again, to ask him her questions. But when she looked she found that every single person in the ballroom was dressed in long black cloaks. In fact, they all seemed to look just like him.

The background noise that was the band began to play louder in her ears. Where had she heard this song before?

"Hush little baby, don’t say a word.

Her heart began to thump loudly in her throat. She was lost! Lost in a dream and she didn’t know how to get home! This wasn’t anyplace familiar! It was dark and scary, and filled her with such horror sweat poured from every inch of her body. What creeped in the shadows? Did a man just cross her path or a spider?"

The music began to come louder. She clamped her hands over her ears to shut out the noise, only the find that the music existed in her own mind, without any way for her to shut it off, save pulling out her own brain.

"It’s just the beasts under your bead,

She reached back, pulling her hair over her head, along with her scalp, revealing the rippled, gory mass of gray matter. Soon, soon the monsters would be out of her brain…

*

Stars gleamed behind her eyes, reminding her of the pain of pulling out her own brain. A single silver orb sparkled brighter than the rest, winking at her.

And then she woke up, staring into the faces of her friends, in the rented hostel bed with the pillow that was much too flat and was somehow attached to her sheets.

"What?" she asked.

"You must have had one funky dream. You were saying all sorts of weird stuff."

"I…yeah, I think I’ve been reading way too many comic books." Katie sighed, scratching her head.

"Comic books? Not graphic novels, eh? Well, what have I been telling you since we got on the plane!" Amy lectured, her head upside down, as she was peering from her position on top bunk.

"Ok, I get it," Katie sighed, "Sorry, you can all get back to sleep now." She pulled the covers over her once more, after searching for her stuffed white tiger. Sweat still covered her body and her heart still raced, she turned and faced the window, a smile upon her face.

After all, she had gotten what she had wished for.

END

Authors Notes:

I hope you have enjoyed Channeling Neil Gaiman: Version 2.0. Version 1.0 will probably never be seen by anyone living ever again.

To answer your question: Is it symbolic? The answer is always yes.

When I originally wrote this story, I had the Sandman make a guest appearance in it. I decided against that. That would bring this into the realm of fan fiction, which is where I definitely did not want to go. In fact, that was sort of the point of the entire story. I definitely had being John Malkovich on the brain when I wrote this.

I’d like to credit the quotes used in the story.

"You’re obviously not very bright, but I shouldn’t let it bother you." Was said by Unity Kincaid in "A Doll’s House" which is the second vol of the Sandman series.

Katie’s little rant comes from the last issue in "Preludes and Nocturnes."

How do you do a bibliography for a comic? Has MLA put out a source for this? Anyway, I’ll acknowledge any element in this story that is not mine. Do writers acknowledge Shakespeare if a character quotes him? (Am I equating Gaiman with Shakespeare? Go read the story again!) Please, please, go and buy the Sandman library for yourself. It is definitely worth it (oh, my is that Katie talking?)

The song, if you haven’t guessed, is "Enter the Sandman" by Metallica. I thought that someone should have made the association by now…

But, lastly I’ll answer the question. What is this story about? What does Katie really learn at the end? Writers are not Gods, but what are they? They are immortal…almost endless, wouldn’t you say?

The entire work is kind of a joke against myself. I’ve been so obsessed with Gaiman recently and his style of writing that I lost my own somewhere along the way. This was my attempt to find my way out of it, and write my own stories, not try to be like someone else. The biggest irony here is that this story is written like someone else’s. I love irony. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

With that, signing off,

Sailor Oa

Epeeblade@juno.com