Otis in Spilopia

One

Stuck in another bad commercial, flickering in-between the static haze of thirty hours of continuous television, Otis blinked his eyes. And suddenly he saw something on the television, something important enough to keep his attention for more than three seconds. It was the face of a man.

Thirty-something, smiling, smoking a pipe, smiling quite broadly. This face was familiar, but he had never seen it before. He wondered what was going on in his television (or his head, for that matter) and moved closer to the edge of his seat. The sofa moved out from under him too quickly, though, and before he knew it his ass was quickly introduced to the none-too-soft floor.

Dazed, he slowly propped himself back up onto the couch with his elbows, then his hands. The face on the television remained still, superimposed over a white background. Oddly enough, when it started talking to him he couldn't tell if its lips were moving or not.

"Hey there, Otis. You are the lucky winner of this contest."

"What contest?"

"Have you heard of the schizophrenic dyslexic?"

"What?"

"Alright then, because that was the question you needed to answer to determine whether or not you win our grander prize. (by the way, the correct answer was 'French you, mustard' - don't forget to buy French’s brand mustard, sponsor of the schizophrenic dyslexic contest.)"

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You’re talking in parenthesis! I don't understand..."

"I would laugh at you, but I’d rather fill your room up with smoke."

Two

By now Otis was getting rather worried. he wasn't sure if the television should be talking to him, much less whether or not he should have eaten those pizza slices he'd found in the back of the fridge. Something wasn't quite on the level here. Before he could further question what was going on, smoke began to emanate from the back of the television.

"Ack..!" Otis exclaimed with a futile attempt to shove the smoke out of his face with his hands, "stop that!"

"You asked for it. Why don't you stop asking for it?"

Otis was temporarily baffled.

"hum... well... uhm... wait a second... I don't think that smells like normal smoke..."

"Come now, Otis. Don’t be so naive. This isn't normal smoke. This is pipe tobacco, and its cherry flavored."

By now the air was permeated with the smell of whatever it was the television man was smoking.

"Gay ass mother-..." Otis said, attempting to curse the face out of existence.

"No, thank you. Why don't you just unplug me, buddy? heh..."

Otis coughed, then jumped off of the sofa and began fumbling in the dark behind the television. The plug was back there somewhere... he located it.

"Put this in your pipe and smoke it!"

"That won't be necess-"

The television suddenly died, and when he took a step back and looked at it, the face was gone. Made sense, he supposed. Not much else he could do with supernatural phenomena in the basement at three am on a Thursday morning.

He was just about to walk upstairs to the kitchen to make a bologna sandwich with extra mayonnaise when he heard a crackling noise. He turned, half expecting to see that face again on the television.

Three

Instead, he saw a strange blue light coming from behind the television. He feared a fire might ensue. Cautiously investigating, he saw only the electrical socket and the unplugged cord. The blue light was gone; the only light was that of the bare bulb hanging from the basement stairwell. There was that feeling that things were not quite on the level...

Then he suddenly realized that the smoke was about to make him pass out. "Just as well," he thought, "I haven't slept in a few days..."

When he woke up he was very small. He was lying down next to a massive black plastic monolith, which he soon realized was the power cable of his television set. "Oh," he thought, "a dream. Hell, why not?"

He used some previously-inert telepathic power to summon the giant cable beast, which was now at his command. "Take me to the power outlet!" he said, testing his command of the slithery creature.

Slowly the cable began to stir until it was lashing back and forth at the end. Before too long the plug itself, what seemed to be the head of the thing, was staring him in the eye from a position far above his head.

Unable to contain his awe, he stood locked in a trance with an eyeless servant awaiting his command.

"Take me to the outlet!"

And the electrical cord obeyed, allowing him to climb on to the plug and stand, incredulous of the vivid nature of this dream, looking into the electrical outlet. He stepped back a few paces, then ran and made a flying leap into the darkness of the socket.

Four

At first he felt cold, numb, and entirely unable to move. His body was surrounded by slimy, cold feelings. Worried, he struggled to open his eyes. He realized it was paralysis-it was numbness with feeling and no motion. His mind seemed to be equally paralyzed by the situation, for he could not stop a stampede of panicked thoughts coming from every corner of his mind.

"Well, that's it, Otis." (it was the face again, huge, and he was staring directly at its nose. smoke swirled up from the pipe and he could make out dimples and bright blue eyes with his peripheral vision. how had the face become so huge? ah... right. he only saw it in his mind.)

"Otis, you have left the mundane dystopia that you called home. You are en route to a new direction, you are traveling to a location you have never been to before, and no one you know has ever seen this place."

"Where?" he thought with all his strength, realizing that it would do no good to try sending the message to the muscles that would have moved his mouth.

"There really isn't a word for it, in your world. In this place we refer to it as 'Spilopia', because there really isn't a word for it in our vocabulary, either..."

Otis gasped.

"...you will be very happy here, as you will soon see, simply because if you are not happy I’ll have to make sure you are very unhappy. Is that much understood?"

Five

Otis couldn't speak, or think.

"Well, I’ll let you figure it out. In fact, I’ll do something better than that... I will let you figure it out with the help of your new imaginary friend."

At this point in time the face became unfathomably distant and tiny. A dark form began to visualize before his eyes. He eagerly stared, sure of the fact that this was still a dream.

But then his eyes opened, suddenly, and he reflexively twitched as though to brace himself for a fall. He immediately felt his surroundings-back on the couch. Before he could figure out what to make of his dream, he saw a shabbily dressed man standing in the corner of the room, by the television.

"How did you get in here?" Otis blurted out, worried.

"It’s alright. I’m not real."

The shadowy man approached the couch. Otis could not stand, so tense were his muscles. Moments ago he had been asleep, relaxed, but now there was a disheveled man standing over him, grinning from behind a thick and scraggly goatee.

"My name is Jack martini, and I’ll be your guide here in Spilopia."

Otis was speechless.

"Put 'er there..." Jack said, holding out a grubby-looking hand. Otis was so shocked that his reflexive reactions took over, and he extended his own hand like a dog taught to 'shake'. Jack’s hands were not worn and callused, as he would have expected, but, rather, were clean but lacked a firm grip.

"and you're Otis, of course. No need for introduction. Here in Spilopia you're rather infamous. It’s not often that someone wins the contest, even if they're not the grander prize winner. Yes, news travels fast. The television should be announcing your fame again any second now..."

Six

With that, Otis slowly moved his eyes off of the stranger and to the television set. To his surprise, it now had a huge 36" screen. He was even further baffled, looking back at Jack. Jack slightly coughed, as if to cue the television set, and then the room lit up with a blue glow.

"Extra, extra! Read all about it! Otis wins trip to Spilopia!" said a young boy, holding a bundle of newspapers. A busy street filled the background, with people walking to and fro in what seemed to be the attire of the 1950's. Sure enough, Otis saw a shiny red Cadillac drive down the street behind the boy.

Otis was beginning to wonder what exactly this program was about, but he figured it must be some kind of informational program. The boy on the television then pulled a paper out of the bundle and shoved it up to the camera. Newsprint was large on the screen, and Otis recognized a picture of himself under the headline 'grand prize winner of the contest' and another, smaller picture of himself with the caption 'he may have fathered twin alligator babies'. Looking closer, he saw that the picture was his seventh grade yearbook photo. His braces were gleaming at him in black and white from his television set.

"I don't know what the hell is going on, but..." Otis started, but couldn't think of anything to add. Everything was simply too odd.

Seven

"That’s okay, Otis. I’ll help you figure this place out. I’m sure all your questions will be answered in no time." at this Jack martini reached into an upper pocket on his leisure suit and brandished a pack of cigarettes. He adeptly pulled a cigarette out of the pack, brandished a lighter, and lit the cigarette in one motion.

"Wanna smoke?"

"Oh, what the hell," Otis said, taking a cigarette from the pack and sucking on it as Jack lit it for him. Now that he was getting to know Jack, the guy seemed alright.

"So, where do you want to go first, Otis?" Jack said, walking over to one of the basement's unfinished walls and leaning up against an exposed 2x4.

"Uhm... I don't quite understand where I am, even..." Otis began. Time spent, sitting on his once-familiar couch, was convincing him that he wasn't in Kansas anymore. Of course, he had never been to Kansas, but maybe he wasn't in Illinois anymore, if he had actually come to Spilopia.

"Oh, right. Well, we've got lots of great places to go, here in Spilopia. Let me see... maybe you'd like to go by the Ozymandias monument?"

Otis sat and thought about it, finishing his cigarette. Jack seemed to be trustworthy enough, despite the fact that he looked like a washed-up lounge act.

"Okay."

"Here, let me get that for you," Jack said, pulling an ashtray out of a pants pocket. Otis extinguished his own cigarette, Jack did the same, and then the ashtray quickly found its way back into Jack's pocket. Otis was so confused that he didn't bother asking what the point of all that was.

Eight

Otis walked up the stairs to the kitchen with Jack trailing a few steps behind. Otis' mother was putting together a sandwich for lunch, which was odd because she rarely had anything for lunch other than a diet shake.

"Otis, you've been smoking again!" was her first comment. At this point Otis realized that there was ash falling out of his nose, slowly wafting to the floor. He just shrugged his shoulders and his mother made an angry face, and then took a large bite out of her sandwich.

Jack finished climbing the stairs and stood next to Otis in the kitchen. Otis' mom smiled at Jack while chomping on her sandwich.

The kitchen seemed rather odd, as it was perfectly clean and decorated in 1920's art deco. The only appliances on the counter were a mixing bowl and a fuchsia clock-radio that was softly playing Hawaiian music.

Otis' mom was different, too. She was wearing a smart brown pantsuit, as opposed to her usual polka dot-spangled blouse and spandex pants. Otis didn't make any mention of it, though, for he was anxious to see what Jack had referred to as the 'Ozymandias monument'.

"Uh... I’m going to go hang out with Jack," Otis began, close to stuttering, "I’ll be home before dinner."

"That’s fine, honey." his mother replied. "But who is this Jack fellow you'll be with?"

"He’s right here..." Otis said, gesturing toward Jack (who by now had propped himself up against the door frame at the top of the stairs).

Otis' mother put her sandwich down. "Come on now, that's not funny. You’ll have to bring Jack over sometime so I can meet him."

Otis was baffled, but started towards the door anyway. He swung the kitchen door open as Jack followed.

Nine

"See you later, Mrs. Thompson." Jack said, walking out the door as Otis stood, further confused, watching his mother wave 'goodbye' to Jack. Otis mumbled something under his breath and exited the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

The sky was filled with soft, white clouds and sunshine as Otis briefly jogged to catch up with Jack. The entire neighborhood seemed the same as before, only with prim picket fences and neatly trimmed green lawns. It was as though some omnipotent being had seen fit to restore Otis' neighborhood to various stages of picturesque Americana.

Jack kept up a swift pace, walking down the perfectly even concrete of the sidewalk.

"So this Spilopia place is like... what..? Heaven?" Otis said, on the verge of panting while trying to keep up with Jack.

"You might say that, Otis. Just think of it as the place where every cliché is a way of life, and you are free to be as much more than you are as you wish to be."

"Hrm... okay, then." said Otis, not sure of exactly what Jack meant. "So, what's this Ozymandias monument all about?"

"Well," began Jack, "Ozymandias was probably the first president of Spilopia. We can't be really sure, as there is no written record from his time. all we have left to remember Ozymandias is this monolith, that was probably built in tribute to him, and a pile of 5.25" floppy disks with monochrome hieroglyphs on them."

"Ah... okay..." Otis said. Jack took a sharp turn to the right, into the yard of a Victorian-looking house. It seemed like a shortcut, and Otis followed closely.

Ten

"How far away is it?"

Jack stopped in the backyard, turned, and pointed to a sandbox. "Here it is."

Sticking up from a knee-high pile of sand were the heads and torsos of several action figures. Otis recognized several of them from cartoons he had seen as a child, but could not see any significance to their arrangement in the sand.

"I had really expected something more... majestic..." he said, looking down on the pile of sand and plastic.

"Oh." was the reply. "Well, we could always light it on fire."

Otis was entirely unprepared to stop Jack as the polyester-clad man stooped down and pulled out a can of aerosol hairspray and his lighter.

"You know, from up close you can really tell that Ozymandias ruled with a sneer of cold command..." Jack said. Before Otis could take a closer look at the action figures, Jack had ignited the whole sandbox with a continuous spray of fire from the aerosol can.

Otis was just about to reprimand Jack for his gratuitous vandalism when he heard a sound coming from the porch of the house.

"Mommy, mommy, someone's burning the sandbox!" said a young boy, about six years of age. Tears were welling up in his eyes; a quiver began to take over his lip.

"Uh-oh..." Jack said, grinning. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

Jack took off running, and Otis soon followed. A burly man in a stained white t-shirt and a frantic-looking woman had already stepped out onto the back porch, and it looked as though there would be trouble.

Eleven

Jack tore through the backyards and quiet residential streets of Otis' neighborhood until Otis, lagging far behind, called out for him to stop. They had run several blocks, and it didn't seem as though anyone were in pursuit.

"Well... what now?" Otis blurted, trying to rattle the insipid grin Jack wore.

"I see my car over there," Jack replied, "so let's go down to a local fast food establishment and purchase some edibles."

Otis shrugged, following Jack as he walked over to a classic green mustang and fumbled with the door.

"It must be broken or something..." said Jack. “ah, here we go."

The door finally opened and Jack jumped in, unlocked the passenger's side for Otis, and revved the engine. Soon they were happily speeding through a veritable panorama of nostalgic storefronts and parks that had somehow taken over the sickly grey buildings of the downtown.

Jack pulled the car into the drive-thru of a classy white building with a sign that read "BOB'S DINER" next to a picture of the mysterious pipe-smoking man Otis only vaguely remembered from an hour or so prior. Jack parked the car, turned to Otis, and managed, "Let's go get our grub." through his grin.

Otis got out of the car and walked into the diner. He hadn't remembered any diners in town, but it seemed obvious that the diner was an essential part of Spilopian culture. The place was packed with people, all dressed in outlandish clothing, happily conversing in booths or at the counter while a large 'Wurlitizer' jukebox cranked out some new wave pop. Jack took a seat in a booth adjacent to one which held a man dressed in surgical scrubs and a rather unhappy-looking clown engaged in a lively debate of existential metaphysics.

Twelve

Sitting down across from Jack, Otis turned to see a waitress approach.

"So, what'll you guys be having today?" she said in a curt, almost obnoxious tone.

"I'll take a burger and fries, and Otis'll have the same." Jack said, swiping at a tuft of hair that had fallen into his face.

"Ooooh... so you're the grand prize winner..." the waitress said, chewing on a wad of bright pink bubblegum while deftly jotting down their order.

"… Yeah. That's me." said Otis.

"Well, lucky you. Want some drinks with that?"

"We'll have two fizzy-fizz sodas, thanks." said Jack. "Oh, and just put this one on my chum’s tab."

"Will do." she replied, walking back to the counter.

Otis was beginning to feel at home in this strange place, as it seemed obvious he wouldn't be getting back to his own world any time soon.

"So, how long am I here, in Spilopia, for?" Otis asked. Jack started to reply, but was left with only a quizzical look on his face.

"I don't know, Otis. I guess we'll just have to wait to find out..."

Jack started a brief round of small-talk before the burgers arrived. The steaming meat and cheese looked particularly palatable to Otis, and he dug in without hesitation. Before long, however, Jack stood up and motioned to Otis to do the same.

"It's about time we get going," said Jack. "This place is starting to get boring..."

As he said this, Jack gave a quick glance out the window. Otis did the same and noticed two police cars coming to a halt in the diner's parking lot.

Thirteen

"Is there a back way out of here..?" Jack asked the waitress.

"Just go through the kitchen, hun."

Otis began to feel tense, walking after Jack behind the counter and into the busy kitchen. Grills sizzled and the clack of metal spatulas interrupted Otis' question. He tried again as Jack walked through a half-open door into the back parking lot.

"Are they-the cops-are they following us?" Otis begged, incredulously.

"Well... they might want to know what happened to the Ozymandias monument..." said Jack, "...but I think for now we'll just avoid them. They can be really annoying."

Nodding tensely in assent, Otis continued through the back parking lot. A large dumpster and a wooden fence blocked his view of the street they were coming to, but as soon as he saw Jack stop mid-stride, Otis knew they were cornered.

A white and blue cop car pulled up, blocking their exit. Jack kept walking, however, and managed to get to the sidewalk. Otis was close behind him when the police officer got out of his car.

"Guys! Wait up!" he shouted, trotting after them.

"Just try to keep cool and do what he says, okay Otis?" Jack muttered.

"Alright."

The police officer came within a few steps behind them when Jack turned around and swiftly punched the cop squarely in the jaw.

Fourteen

"Awww... what was that for?" said the cop, smiling with a bloody lip.

"That was for being a GD dumbass, Officer Holloway." Jack said, reading the cop's name from the patch on his uniform, the word “dumbass” from what appeared to be scrawled on his forehead, and then tossing in a little expletive of his own for good measure.

"Well, okay then. I guess I'll have to stop being a GD dumbass." Holloway said. "Say, you two boys wouldn't know what happened to the Ozymandias monument, would you?"

"Of course we do, Holloway. We lit it on fire to enjoy its true – and unfortunately ephemeral – splendor." Jack sneered. His antipathy for the police was more than evident; Otis wondered how the hell he was getting away with it.

"Oh, well... okay then." said Officer Holloway. "… and you boys wouldn't know anything about a stolen car, would you?"

"Let me see... I think you stole it. A dumbass like you can’t help himself - am I wrong?" said Jack, now looking rather pleased with himself. He was grinning in his turquoise leisure suit, hands in his pockets, slouching noticeably.

"There just might be some truth to that," said the cop. "let me just write myself up..."

The police officer took a black leather notepad from his back pocket and began jotting down something. He then turned to Otis.

"Well, it looks like you're going to have to arrest me. Would one of you gentlemen mind applying the cuffs and giving me a quick ‘frisk, please?"

Fifteen

It was clear that he expected Otis to do it. He eagerly held out a pair of handcuffs. Otis reluctantly took the cuffs and put them on the officer's wrists, behind his back.

"Alright now. Pat me down... er... wait... on second thought, why don't you do a full search-body cavities and everything..." Holloway said, looking back over his shoulder at Otis.

Otis turned to Jack, distraught. "Well, if you think I'm gonna do it, you've got another thing coming." said Jack, quickly scanning for more cops.

"Just do like he says. All the cops here in Spilopia are pretty damned masochistic, but it's best to just humor them and forget about it."

"No... I don't want to..." Otis said, catching his first full whiff of Officer Holloway’s excessive, gleeful perspiration.

"I won't do it."

"Okay... well... uhm... this is a bit out of the ordinary – I must be resisting, so you can just shoot me, then." said Officer Holloway, pointing awkwardly with both cuffed hands at the gun holstered at his side. Otis gave an astounded glance toward Jack, to which Jack shrugged. "It's best just to do as he says – keep waiting and it could get worse. I once had to whip fifteen of these pigs just to get out of their station…"

The gun was slowly pulled from the holster. Otis stared down at it, wondering how this could be. He was definitely not about to shoot the officer. What was going on here? How could Spilopia be so enticing, yet so twisted?

"… worst part is, I went in to steal a couple packs of smokes and not one of ‘em had any that I could find…. At any rate, don't keep the man waiting here."

Sixteen

Timidly putting the gun to Officer Holloway's right buttock, Otis closed his eyes. This was some terrible, illucid dream. He couldn't control it, couldn't stop it from reaching the predestined conclusion.

Otis closed his eyes as tightly as possible, feeling the pistol in contact with the back of the man's posterior. His sweaty finger slipped on the trigger, but it wouldn't give.

The handcuffed, excited policeman spoke up. "Oh, right. The safety must be on. Just flip that little switch up by the..."

"It's alright, I've got it." said Jack, turning off the safety. The gun almost dropped from Otis' hand as Jack flicked the mechanism.

It was almost an accident that Otis gripped the gun tighter, pulling the trigger and putting a bullet through Holloway's right ass-cheek.

Otis opened his eyes but saw only what he had wished he wouldn't. The police officer was lying on the ground, fingers and legs still twitching with a perverse residual energy. The gun fell out of his hand, he looked around.

He was there, standing on the sidewalk of a street adjacent a thoroughfare, with Jack nowhere in sight. He realized that he had been granted only a part of his wish: he was no longer in Spilopia, but he had not been dreaming. The buildings around him had all returned to their dreary remembered state.

No, it had been a kind of dream; but Spilopia had abandoned him, an enraged, handcuffed police officer was eyeing him and cursing through clenched teeth - he had a royal mess on his hands.