Summary

In the enchanted Wild Forests of the Adirondacks, Melony Noon is held captive by the mad psychiatrist, Dr. Zorba Kildeere, at his Rookery, where he keeps her addicted with nasal sprays of the hormone oxytocin that he siphons from enchattled dogs while he schemes for world domination aided by phantoms of the Tarot Arcana. Edward Storie receives a postcard that draws him into the world of Kildeere’s intrigues. He helps Noon when she manages a temporary escape. When Noon learns that Storie has a talking dog, Skipper, she flees from his protection. During her odyssey, Noon is viciously attacked by a rabid and monstrous beast. She is rescued by Beefeater the sasquatch, who carries her away and deposits her unconscious body at a parsonage, where she is later recaptured by Kildeere. Charmed and enamored, Storie pursues Noon. He is joined by a team of cryptids who are his dog’s familiars: the raccoon changeling, Aponi the Azeban; the tree swinging Art the Agropelter, and Pete L’Elfe d’Massif, a magical elf from the French Pyrenees. Joined by Beefeater, they seek Noon’s rescue and Kildeere’s defeat. In the ultimate battle, Storie and his companions defeat Kildeere and his phantoms on the fields of the Rookery. The enchantments of the Wild Forest triumph, and Storie and Noon embrace on the shore of Lake Champlain.

Genre: Fantasy/Other

Author: EddieStorie

Status: Complete

Chapters: 42

Rating: n/a

Age Rating: 13+

PREFACE

THE FIRST BEGINNING

My name is Edward Storie. I am a reporter working at an Upstate New York weekly newspaper. I am about six feet two inches tall, and I weigh roughly one hundred ninety pounds. My hair is sandy, and my eyes are brown. I am a recent graduate from SUNY Adirondack where I was a collegiate wrestler. I want to be a writer.

This is the story of how I rescued a girl that they called Holly Golightly because she looked like Audrey Hepburn.

The story begins with a postcard of the Adirondacks, a panorama of the High Peaks and of the Wild Forests in a patchwork of autumn colors, as seen from the mountain that they call Whiteface, in the town of Wilmington, New York. The card was unsigned, and the word “Come” was written in cursive on the back.

It was early morning...dawn. I had just risen and made a pot of coffee. I set the postcard on its edge, resting inclined against my first cup. The cup was plain and white. The coffee was black, and I had not yet had a sip. The sun was rising in the kitchen window behind me. The horizon was golden. I stared at the postcard drowsy-eyed, and I breathed slowly, only half awake.

Soon, my stare focused meditatively, and my breathing ritually deepened. My eyes searchingly swept the expanse of the Wild Forests. My ears heard the voices of the autumn trees—and the voices from within them. My nose smelled their lost verdancy, and my tongue tasted their fallen fruit. I reached to touch the rugged High Peaks and, as I did, I experienced a heightened sense of consciousness, a sixth sense.

A hypnotic, disembodied voice whispered to me, “Come,” and I entered the postcard.

This is fiction. Come.

Edward Storie