by Night, H. T.
I looked at the three men lying center court. I wiped myself off and thought, Roger Federer would be proud. I transitioned into the eagle and flew off, making my way back to the West End.
I flew back and there was no sign of the black stretch limousine. West End was really crowded and I decided to take the subway back and try to appear as normal as possible.
When I got back to my hotel, part of me was expecting Helen to already be there, but no luck.
I went through the entrance and made my way up the elevator to my room.
The room was on the top floor and I realized once I got to the door that I was never issued a room key.
I took the elevator back down and walked up to the hotel concierge. He was a short, feminine black man.
“Hello,” I said.
He looked me over and was not impressed. My tuxedo was ripped and torn and I had grass stains everywhere, “Yes, may I help you?”
“I was never issued a room key,” I said.
“That is impossible, sir. Have you been to your room?”
“Yes, but the bell boy let me in.”
“What was his name?”
“Maxwell.”
The concierge smiled. “We don’t have anyone named Maxwell that works here.”
“Sure you do. He’s about yay high.” I put my hand a little above my head. “He’s 220-230. Has a big fat head!”
“Well, you just fit the description of half our staff, but I can assure you that no Maxwell works in this establishment.”
The concierge went to his computer. “Okay, sir. Let’s take a different approach. What is your name?”
“My name is Josiah, but I wasn’t the one who got the room.”
“Then what is the name of the person who got your room.”
“Helen, the Duchess of Windsor.”
The concierge smiled. “Sir, if you’re going to play games with me, please don’t. I’m a busy man.”
“I’m serious. The Duchess and I met on a plane and she got me the room.”
“Helen? The Duchess of Windsor?” The concierge stepped away from his computer. “Sir, you can leave on your own accord, or I can have security help you out.”
“I’m being completely real with you. She got me the room about four hours ago!”
“That would be some feat if she did,” the concierge said. “Considering she’s in Australia!”
“Huh?”
He then showed me a British tabloid paper that had today’s date on it. It read, “Duchess in Sydney!” And right there on the front cover was the Duchess. I was expecting to see a medium-height, attractive blonde. Nope, Helen, the Duchess of Windsor was a tall brunette.
I was played from the word ‘go.’
I walked slowly backwards out of the hotel and played back in my head everything that had happened in my head. I never got a key card. I didn’t come through the front door and I left from the car garage. The whole thing was a set up. I was completely duped. There was no dinner, no Paul McCartney, no nothing.
Chapter Six
Now I was stuck in London for the night. Who the heck was that woman? How could she have known that I wouldn’t know who she was? How did she reserve all those seats on the plane? I wish to God I could control my visions. My mind was a complete blank.
I still had four hundred dollars in cash, and hopefully that could get me to Romania. If not, I’d have to use Hector’s credit card. I didn’t want to do that unless I exhausted all other options.
I transitioned into the eagle and flew to Heathrow Airport. I transitioned back when I landed and headed through the double door entrance. I went to the front counter and told them I missed my connecting flight because I had diarrhea. Not sick. Diarrhea. I found out early in life, you can get just about anything you want if you play the ‘I had diarrhea card’ as an excuse. So that’s exactly what I did, I blamed my missing the flight on something that no person could control, diarrhea. No one wants to talk about it, and just saying the word out loud makes the person uncomfortable and they would rather just move you along.
Once again, the diarrhea excuse worked. I had a flight to Romania at 8:30 in the morning. That was in about seven hours. So, I decided to find a corner in Heathrow airport that was window-free and crash on the floor. I bought a blanket and pillow at one of the airport stores and then I laid my blanket and pillow out on the cold, hard airport floor and I slept on it like a homeless person. If my friends could see me now; I was at one of the most famous airports in the world…sleeping on the ground.
I was awakened by a little girl picking my nose. I looked up and a little girl had her finger in my nostril.
“Excuse me,” I said.
“Marybeth!” a man yelled, from across the terminal. “Leave that hobo alone!”
Yeah, that’s right I’ve been reduced to a hobo. No better than a drifter or gypsy. I, Josiah Reign, was an American hobo in London.
I got up off the floor with my pillow and blanket and sat on one of the chairs in the terminal. I was starving. I decided to go for a little walk and find a continental breakfast in one of the airport diners before my flight. As I walked through the airport, I thought about what had happened the night before. How did Helen know me? How did she know I was on that flight? Why did she care? What was she gaining?
I found a café and sat down. I had a croissant with a glass of orange juice. It was nice after spending the night on a hard floor. I glanced up and noticed a clock, it read 8:02. It was time for me to board the plane. I strolled over and went to the boarding area for my flight. I was, once again, the last to get on the airplane, but this time the plane was full. No rows of empty seats, and definitely no Helen, or whatever her name was. It was a three-hour flight to Romania and I needed to not worry about that right now.
I sat on the plane and I immediately asked for a blanket. I put the blanket over my head. Everyone around me probably thought I was up to something. But I didn’t physically fit a profile for them to worry about and hopefully they just remembered that I was the weird guy sleeping on the floor.
I continued to replay the entire evening and meeting from the day and night before in my head. None of it made sense to me. I needed to chill. I was about to embark on one of the most unusual journeys of my life, or anyone else’s, for that matter. I was traveling to Dracula’s castle, to find a blue gnome, from a vision I had in a dream. It was just a typical, normal day for an American vampire in London.
I landed at Henri Coandă International Airport in Bucharest, Romania. Bucharest was about 100 miles south of Transylvania. It was the nearest airport to the city.
In the airport terminal, there was a little store that had a map of tourist attractions in Romania. As you would think, Dracula’s Castle was high on the list of hot spots. They were also famous for their beautiful women, wooden shoes, and wineries. It must have been a real haven for Dracula, with lovely, inebriated women who couldn’t run away too fast in their wooden clogs. Most people didn’t realize that Dracula was a real man who died hundreds of years ago. And it wouldn’t surprise me at all if he really was a vampire. How did I know this? I didn’t. But if a kid from the Inland Empire could become a vampire, then probably the most notorious vampire in history was probably a real one, even if the books written on him were accepted as fiction. I had seen too many unbelievable things these past couple of months to not consider that most myths might have truth in them, even if it’s just a little bit of truth.
I had struggled with the sunlight on the plane even with the blanket over my head. I had spent most of my time in the bathroom as the great white eagle. I just sat on the toilet in my eagle form and would wait for someone to knock. Then I would transition back and leave so they could take their turn and then jump back into the bathroom when they left and do it all over again. Everyone on that flight must have thought I had the worst case of diarrhea they had ever seen. I guess it validated my story that I gave the airline.
Once I got outside, I needed to fly north fo
r about 100 miles. I wasn’t going to take a bus and, frankly, I could use some fresh air after being cooped up in a stinky bathroom for three hours. That blue water in the airplane toilet did nothing to disguise what nature expelled. Even vampires had to go. What a world.
As I exited through the airport I was having a hard time with the sun. I needed to get outside fast and transition quickly. I decided to sprint through the terminal once I hit the area where sunlight was blasting in through the windows. The problem with running through an airport is that it draws attention to the runner. There would be no way to quickly transition, once I hit outside. I needed to duck behind a large object, Superman style.
I hustled through the doors and the sun blazed down on my skin like a spitball of fire. My skin stung as if I was under a magnifying glass, burning all of the flesh on my body that was exposed. I’d said it before. Vampires are to the sun like donuts are to deep fryers. Once again, I was a daylight donut, sizzling away in agony.
My face, hands and arms felt extreme amounts of excruciating, horrible pain. I tried to find a place to hide as I ran through the wide open parking lot. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of Is this what Hell feels like? Hell? I hope I never had to get used to this kind of pain!
I saw a giant camper to my left and I dropped behind it and rolled on the ground. Damn, even the ground was blazing hot. I looked backwards and forwards. No sign of anyone! I transitioned as quickly as I could. It had never felt so amazing to be the great white eagle. Becoming the eagle felt like I was being baptized into a clean sheet of ice.
I extended my wings and flew up into the sky. I flew high enough to be out of sight. I try to never take my gift of flight for granted, but as I flew across the Bucharest sky, I was highly aware of the magnificent gift I had been given. I have been cursed and blessed, and, sometimes I need to remind myself of my blessings. Giant white wings were a blessing.
I flew across the Romanian sky. I passed cities and mountains and, from the sky, Romania didn’t look much different than the U.S. It appeared to be more brown, was all.
I eventually made my way to Transylvania and as I flew into the city you would have thought Dracula himself would have been horrified to see what a sideshow his name and image had become. Everywhere you went there was attention to Dracula in a way that reminded me of a traveling carnival. What did I really expect? Everybody needed to make a buck, or in this case, the Romanian leu, worth about 30 cents to our dollar, when I checked before I left California.
As I expected, the low value of the leu to the dollar had caused a big influx of American tourism. Hell, even America celebrates its dead celebrities more than their live ones. But this, getting to see THE Dracula’s Castle, the residence of the legendary creature of terror who started it all—it was now reduced to a cheap Travelocity destination by the recession, which had cut a wide swatch across Eastern Europe and left in its wake, a ridiculously cheap way to go on vacation. Apparently, a bottle of wine could be had for about $1.50 US, and gasoline—petrol—was about 45 cents a liter. I was floored. I might not have to use the credit cards at all if I was careful.
As I approached Dracula’s Castle, with its whitewashed walls and turrets, I could see two tour buses parked in front of the amazing structure.
How was I going to find this gnome? There were tourists everywhere, I needed to come back at night when they weren’t all crowding the gift shop, looking for Dracula swag to buy and take home to Kansas. God, I hope Dracula was real and I wasn’t just having a bad recurring dream. To see the legend reduced to a fake plastic fangs on key chains and humorous bumper stickers must have had him rolling over in his grave, if that’s where he hid out when he wasn’t getting fried like a donut, too.
I flew around until it got dark—yay, eagle wings! If not for eagle wings, I would never see daylight. I made my way to one the nicest hotels in town, the Casa Luxemburg, a hotel with a medieval look to it and the Expedia price of $98 for two nights, including tax. Sweet.
I transitioned back to my Mani form and landed. I was still wearing my ripped tuxedo from the night before. My wallet was still in my front pocket. How the hell did my clothes return to my body? I decided to buy some simple clothes at the gift shop in the lobby. I grabbed a couple pair of shorts and a couple of t-shirts. I got one that read ‘I survived Dracula’s castle, and all I got was a bite on my neck and this lousy T-shirt’.
I got a room on the top floor, so I could just fly in and out of the window. I know this flying thing has made me lazy in some respects.
I went into my room and laid down on my bed in the spacious clean room that faced the square full of pretty Romanian girls selling little wooden shoes bottle openers. I was exhausted from flying all day and decided I could use a nap before going back to Dracula’s castle.
I turned on the cooling fan and just stared at it, willing it to feel like air conditioning. It paid no attention to my superpowers. Within moments, I had fallen asleep. I had fully expected to have a vision, but I didn’t. Instead I slept pretty soundly. I opened my eyes and looked outside. I had been asleep for about two hours.
I opened the window and felt the cold breeze on my face. I raised the window to its fullest level and then transitioned into the eagle. I flew out of the window and made my way to Dracula’s Castle.
I transitioned to my Mani form midflight. Maybe I did it for dramatics; but how many times does one come to a notorious castle such as this one? I wanted to fly in and witness it as a man, not as a bird. I circled the castle and from the night sky it was a sight to behold in person. The accuracy from my vision astounded me. I lowered my flight and I could see the beautiful courtyard that was dead center of the castle. There was a large open space in which some light has made its way through.
I looked closely, and there he was, the blue gnome! I saw a man no larger than four feet tall sitting in some kind of cross-legged, yoga, relaxed position. He had a bald blue head to go along with his blue body. He was a shirtless, wearing black denim shorts and brown hiking boots. He looked like he was a painted up to audition for a mini-me Blue Man Group tribute band.
Trying to sneak up on him, I eased into the courtyard, but I didn’t time it well enough, and I hit the ground with a force that really should have broken both my legs. I fell to the ground about two feet in front of the creature. Not to mention, I said “Oooff!” when I fell.
He looked down on me with his squinty yellow eyes. “You made it, Josiah. Not exactly the most graceful of entrances, but you’re here.” He seemed genuinely happy to see me.
“Hey ,there,” I stood up and was tad embarrassed, but I was eager to see what this meeting entailed. “You obviously know who I am,” I said. “What is your name?”
He smiled and stood on his feet. “I am Goshi,” and he bowed with his hands clasped together like a Kung Fu Master.
“Goshi,” I repeated his name back at him. “Nice. I like.”
“Have you come a long way?” he asked.
“I came halfway across the world to meet you and hear what you have to say. You didn’t exactly give me your email address in the visions. That might have been helpful.”
“You are from the States?” he asked. I was surprised he didn’t know where I came from. I assumed whomever or whatever told him to meet me here would have given him more of a heads’ up.
“Yes, California,” I answered.
He looked like he was trying to think of something to say nice about California. After a moment he said, “I hear you have good fish tacos. We don’t have those here.”
I chuckled. I was enjoying our little meet and greet, but I had some questions that needed to be answered ASAP.
“Who are you?” I asked simply to the little blue man. “And who has sent you to speak to me?”
“Who has sent me?” he looked at me puzzled.
“How come our paths have crossed?” I clarified.
“The world is a unpredictable place and what was belief has become skepticism. What was once fantasy i
s now reality.”
“I appreciate the Yoda double talk, but seriously, who are you?”
“I told you, I am Goshi,” he said calmly.
“Okay, Goshi, you mentioned in one of my dreams that I needed to come see you to be trained like some kind of vampire Jedi. So, let’s start with that. Why would a Mani man need to be trained by a tro—” I caught myself because I didn’t want to insult him.
“A troll?” he asked. “Is that what you meant to say?”
“Is that what you are?” I asked, honestly.
“This is the form that was given to me so I could remain discreet,” he said, plainly.
“Why the blue?”
“Why not? It is the color of sky, sapphires, and most of all, blood in the veins.”
“Okay. You just said the magic word. Blood. Has the Triat sent you to me?”
“You ask too many questions. It’s time for your first lesson. Let’s discuss fighting.”
“Fighting? You are going to teach me how to fight?”
“Why does that perplex you?”
I shook my head and decided I’d better start showing some humility, or this was not going to be the greatest of experiences.
“Okay, what do I need to learn?” I asked.
“Let’s see.” The troll got into a fighter position.
“You want to fight me?” I asked, surprised.
“I need to know your weaknesses.”
Was this guy for real? I had killed one of the most notorious vampires of all time, not to mention a mammoth werewolf to. Fighting was the last thing I needed help with.
“Attack me,” he said.
I stood still.
“Attack me!” he repeated.
“It’s not right. You don’t have my reach, my weight, my MMA training.”
“Do it, Josiah!” he demanded.
Everything in my core did not want to attack this tiny man, but dammit! I needed to get this show on the road.
I lunged forward and threw a nonchalant right cross at about half strength, handicapping myself in a foolish sense of fairness. He ducked and then kicked me right in the balls. As I began to go down in slo-mo, I recognized the maneuver from a tiny opponent as one of the dastardly moves in one of the Austin Powers movies. Yes, the balls. I’m not sugar coating it. This little blue shit kicked me as hard as he could in my testicles. Not cool! I fell backwards, holding my manhood, my package. I was hurt and angry.