Sometimes, days are just plain sailing. Up early(ish), breakfasted, dressed, and out and on with the rest of the day, and in what seems like a flash the day is coming to an end once again.
Most days, it could be said, are generally like that.
Some days, however, are so far removed from the truth, they are, well, unbelievable.
The other day started like almost every other. I was about to set out for the day, and, as I was about to open the door, a rapping came from the other side of it.
A strong, vibrant rap… not a simple tap or genteel knock, but a hefty rapping of the knuckles.
As I had to open the door to go out, I had a look to see who was on the other side.
To my surprise, it was a complete stranger. A tall man, possibly aged between thirty and sixty (I’m not very good with ages). And he was wearing a huge hat. Huge!
Before I could utter a word, he spoke.
“Howdy! I’m Walpole E. Epstein. E with a period. I’m from Ayfumuss. Here’s my card.” And he thrust a business card into my hand – I almost dropped my door key receiving the card from him.
On the card were the initials A.I.F.M.S, Walpole’s name (with the period) and a number that was clearly an American telephone number.
“Hi” Walpole smiled, and I cautiously smiled back. “I’m here because I need your help.”
Walpole had a very ‘strong’ American accent. I’m not sure where it was actually from, but I remembered thinking that if anyone had the same accent as him, they too would think he had a strong accent… it was very pronounced.
(I’m not very good at writing in accents, so you’ll have to take my word for it).
“Actually,” Walpole continued, “I can help you as well, Tom.”
I nearly fell through the floor. A complete stranger knowing me wasn’t something I was expecting first thing in the morning.
“I know you wanna know more…” Walpole looked as though he knew something but was hiding it, “But all in good time. First, a bit about li’l ol’ me.” I looked at my wrist and realised that I didn’t own a watch. I sighed inwardly. “I’m not actually here” he said, subdued.
I thought about closing the door and going back into the Mansion and ignoring him, but I would have had to walk passed him eventually as I had the feeling that he wasn’t going anywhere, so I looked interested instead.
“You’re not here?” I asked, pointedly looking at him – and the business card in my hand.
“Oh, I’m here now alright,” Walpole laughed boisterously, “Only not in body.” He put his hand through one of the stones in the wall around the door.
I was taken aback (and slightly puzzled as to how he rapped on the door so loudly if he could go through things). However, he knew what I was thinking. Typical.
“Your housemate, Dot, was speaking to me the other day and told me the best time to catch you, which is why I’m here now.”
Dot is my friendly ghost who appears every now and then to play with my electrical equipment. She hasn’t appeared to me for a while, so why would she speak to a random stranger?
“Dot hasn’t told me all about you…” Walpole laughed again. “No, I’ve gotten the information I need from your blog, and the blogs you visit.”
Obviously, he had done his homework very well, but unfortunately, not well enough. I had to correct him after almost every blog he quoted incorrectly.
“To prove I know all about you, I know that you visit the Incidental Catchie Mama…”
”Accidental Cootchie Mama”, I corrected.
”Kate Wednesday”
”Shrewsday”
”Lone Adventures”
”Lame”
”Excuse me? Ah, never mind. Susan Shuden Nuden”
”Susan Sheldon Nolen”
”Sue Sleepwalker”
”Dreamwalker”
I was starting to get a little tired of correcting him, but still he went on. (And I must apologise to my fellow bloggers who have been so incorrectly named here. Links to all of their blogs are available throughout this site)
“The Hot European Wolf”
”Europa. And Ice Wolf”
”The Laughing Dormouse”
”Housewife!”
”And all of the other pirates, artists, poets, astrologers, writers, thinkers, dreamers, cooks and storytellers. I could go on… fascinating, the lot of them…”
“Yes, I know” I said, “but what does that have to do with me?”
“Well, nothing really.” Walpole was starting to open a briefcase that I had just realised he was holding. I sighed.
“Nothing,” he went on, “apart from the fact that your mansion may help me to get from this strange zone that I’m trapped in, and back home. I’ve been stuck here for six months now, and desperately need to get back.”
So, he needed help from the Mansion. I know this Mansion is a magical place, but I’m not sure about dragging someone from another dimension.
Walpole had retrieved a handheld computer and was holding it in his left hand. In his right hand was a microphone, and as soon as he switched the computer on it started to squeak and squawk like nobody’s business. In the next instant, he barged passed me and ran up the stairway to the landing. He was heading for the bathroom.
The computer was screeching wildly by the time I’d caught up with him.
“This room” Walpole was very excited, “Is the hub. The central gateway between the many realms. It is my way to freedom.”
A wind suddenly blew by, into the bathroom, and in the centre something appeared. A swirling black and purple mass or something. I knew instantly that it was a black hole.
Walpole E. Epstein had opened a black hole in my bathroom. And it started to draw things into it.
Well, I can now see that these events are going to exceed what should fit into a blog post, especially on this blog, so I think this would be a good place for those immortal words ‘To Be Continued…’ to appear…
I really do wonder what could happen next…
The Mansionic Perspective 
Would you like to leave a comment?