The Trip

 After days away from home, some weird homing instinct has suddenly brought Jonathan back to the house for a change of clothes. It’s three in the morning. As he approaches the big silent white mausoleum, he pictures Doris and Len sleeping inside like a pair of mummies in an ancient tomb. Tripping his eyes out on Orange Sunshine, he tiptoes up to the back door, trying to be as quiet as the ants on the outside wall of the house. But the ants aren’t quiet at all! He can hear their tiny footsteps pounding in his brain, like troops marching off to war. He inserts his key into the lock ever so carefully and tiptoes silently across the darkened kitchen. Stealthy as a cat, he slowly cracks open the door to the hallway. As he slinks up the stairs towards his room, suddenly he hears a noise from the living room. He freezes. He can hear the blood rushing in his veins like Niagara Falls. His heart pounds like a giant bass drum! He closes his eyes and sees swirling patterns of the most incredible colors racing madly all around his inner vision. He feels he will be sucked off into outer space if he keeps his eyes closed a second longer. As he pries open his eyelids, he can hear his own eyelashes fluttering noisily like a pair of big beach umbrellas unfolding.
 
          “Jono?” his mother’s voice calls out from the living room. “Jono? Dah-ling? Is that you?”
 
           Silence. He is afraid to speak. Afraid his voice will crack a hole in the world and he will fall in.
 
          “Jono, dah-ling… ?”
 
           Busted! Hesitantly, he creeps down to the wide living room door and stops. Through the swirling patterns, he sees an image of his mother forming. She is sitting on the big white sofa all alone. He stares at her, dumbfounded. She is dressed in a flowing white nightgown, quietly reading a book. She seems to be sober.
 
           “Hi…” he ventures shyly, keeping his eyes down. His voice sounds weirdly amplified, like he’s speaking on a megaphone. He clamps his mouth shut and keeps his eyes averted. He knows if Doris sees his eyes, she will be able to read his mind. His mother will look right into the depths of his soul and see all the colors swirling around madly, and then the jig will be up.
 
          “Hello, dah-ling,” Doris says sweetly. “How was your evening?”
 
           “Uh, fine,” he says in an awkward whispering croak.
 
            “That’s nice, dear…”
 
           She begins to speak to him now, making light conversation, telling him about the book she’s been reading. His mother seems to be making a special effort to sound all casual and calm. Something is wrong. Her words are too… normal. But he can’t seem to focus on her words anyway. He can barely distinguish the strange language she is speaking at all anymore, and even if he could, he realizes, the words would be drowned out by the rushing flames that spit forth from her mouth as she shape-shifts into a horrible hissing reptilian dragon.
 
            “You seem a bit pale, dah-ling,” the dragon spits. “Come over here and let me feel your forehead. You look like you may have a bit of a fever…”
 
            Oh God! He stands still as a pillar in the doorway, frozen in terror as the dragon lifts a long, spindly claw and beckons to him. Oh God, no! It’s the fucking Jabberwock! Shit! No! his brain shouts in a thousand tiny voices of terror. I am gonna die if that fucking thing gets up and comes over here! This isn’t happening! It’s just the acid! Just maintain! Jonathan urges himself. But he knows that the horrible creature sitting there hissing in the corner can read his thoughts now. Stay cool and maintain! Just make it up to your room and everything will be cool! Don’t let it see your eyes!
 
           “I’m just a little tired, Doris,” he manages to croak somehow as the dragon settles back on the sofa and picks up the book his mother was reading. “I’ll see ya in the morning,” he mumbles as he heads up to his room, taking the stairs two at a time.

Updated- Chapter 70. A Night With Bukowski » « La Luz De Jesus: 25