Chapter 16

A Story with a Happy Ending

This book is dedicated to

Graham Dunn

Whose love and enthusiasm for all things Oz is a true inspiration.

CHAPTER ONE:

THE ABDUCTION

The boy was doing his homework. His parents had taken his little brother

to see _Return to Oz_ at the movie theater. He had seen it when it first

came out and, although he enjoyed it at the time, he felt he was getting

too old for that sort of stuff. Besides, he had too much work to do. It

seemed to him that each teacher allocated enough work to practically

take up a fellow's entire evening--as if their class was the only one.

So Graham, for that was his name, knew he would have to work for several

more hours if he was to complete all the assignments.

Graham began to work on his math problems, but he could not concentrate.

His mind drifted off to the original L. Frank Baum story: _The Wonderful

Wizard of Oz_. He was thinking about the characters in it and what a

terrific imagination Mr. Baum must have had, when suddenly, out of the

stillness of the house, came a weird screeching sound. The sound was

like nothing he had ever heard before. It seemed to have come from

behind him; from the vicinity of the fireplace. Graham shivered. He did

not believe in ghosts, and at twelve years old (almost thirteen) he

should not be afraid to be home alone. But he was scared right now--no

question about it. However, when no other sound was forthcoming, he

began to rationalize that it had all been his imagination, perhaps just

the wind whistling down the chimney. Then it happened! The awful sound

of breaking glass. "Oh no," he thought. "Someone is breaking in!" He

looked over to the window--then to the French doors. Nothing! Yet the

sound had seemed very close. He glanced at the mirror above the

fireplace only to see that all the glass had gone, leaving an empty

frame. Now he was really frightened. He wondered what had caused the

glass to shatter. Then, to his amazement, all the pieces of slivered

glass suddenly flew up from the fireplace and reconstructed themselves

in the frame.

"I must be going crazy!" thought the poor lad. "All this school work is

getting to be too much for me. I must have cracked completely!" Then all

the lights in the house went out, leaving him in pitch blackness. At

that moment there was a strange crackling sound, and the mirror became

illuminated with a purple glow. A grotesquely human face began to form

into the image of an evil Witch. A loud, screechy cackle emanated from

her throat. It was the same sound he had heard earlier. By now Graham

was absolutely frozen with fear.

The Witch's evil eyes glared at him as she screamed, "So, my little man.

We meet at last. You have hated me ever since you first read about me,

haven't you? HAVEN'T YOU?" she shouted. "ANSWER ME, YOU LITTLE BRAT!"

She reached her arms out of the mirror, grabbed him, and shook him hard.

She shook and shook until he thought he was going to be sick. Then she

lifted him right up off the floor and into the mirror. By now Graham was

absolutely terrified. He kicked and screamed and tried to escape, but to

no avail. The Witch was much too strong for him. He found himself

dragged to the other side of the mirror and out into a room in the

Witch's castle, whereupon the Witch immediately released her grip, for

she knew that the boy had nowhere to run.

"Well, what say you now, squirt? Do you still hate me?" cackled the

Witch, breaking into fits of hideous laughter.

"Oh, no. Not anymore," replied Graham, his voice trembling. "I think

you're pretty nice, um, all things considered."

"Oh, come now!" replied the Witch. "Let's be reasonable. You don't

really think that. You're just afraid of what I might do to you. Look at

you. You're shaking in your boots!"

"I'm afraid, yes," said Graham. "Really afraid. But I don't think you'll

harm me after you hear what I have to say."

"Oh," replied the Witch. "Really? And what might that be?"

Graham knew he had piqued her interest and was now desperately trying to

think of a plausible story that would keep her occupied while he tried

to figure out a way to escape. He had managed to see out of one of her

windows and knew he was, without a doubt, in the Land of Oz.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER TWO:

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

Now, in the event that this book may have fallen into the hands of

someone who is unfamiliar with the marvelous Land of Oz, it seems

fitting that an explanation be inserted right about here. Oz is an

oblong-shaped country that is surrounded on all sides by a vast Deadly

Desert that is supposed to keep visitors out. Even so, it has been

visited by any number of American children prior to Graham's visit. Some

came by way of invitation, but mostly they arrived by accident. The most

famous of these visitors, of course, was little Dorothy Gale. Dorothy

traveled to Oz via a powerful cyclone which carried her house and

herself over the massive desert and plopped her on top of a particularly

evil Witch. With the help of a live Scarecrow, a man made out of tin,

and a Cowardly Lion, she was able to find her way back to her home in

America. She returned a short time later and had a wonderful new series

of adventures in which she met Princess Saari, Gayelette, and even some

Fuzzy Yellow Wogglebugs. It was but a few years after that when little

Dorothy finally consented to become a citizen of Oz and live there

happily--or reasonably so--for many years thereafter. In fact, even

after nearly eighty-five years, she remains an honorary princess of that

lovely country. Because no one has to ever grow old or die in this

singular land, Dorothy remains as young and innocent as on the day she

first arrived. At one point, Dorothy was joined by a fine young boy

named Button-Bright, who was about as bright as a cloth-covered button.

Trot Griffiths, Betsy Bobbin, and several others have also agreed to

live the rest of their days in Oz rather than returning home to the

mortal lands, where illness and death and aging are common.

Because Oz citizens only age when they wish to do so, on one's birthday

all one is required to do is to wish to stay the same age for another

year, and it will be so. This would certainly please most of the people

in our mortal lands, but it would hardly be practical here due to the

ever-increasing overpopulation problem.

[Illustration]

The Land of Oz is divided into five sections. To the North is the

Gillikin territory. The Gillikins favor the color purple above all

others and are known to paint their homes, barns, and silos in this

color. To the South lies the land of the Quadlings. Here, the revered

color is red. The area is governed by a powerful but Good Witch named

Glinda, and Glinda is considered an enemy to all of the evil Witches.

The very center is the Emerald City. It has been called the most

glorious place on the face of the earth (or even the moon or Mars), and

rightly so. It is so lovely, in fact, that it defies description. And it

is from here that the overall ruler is able to reign above all five

regions.

In the West can be found the yellow Winkie Country. The Emperor of this

region is none other than Nick Chopper, the tin man who had befriended

Dorothy on her first visit to Oz. To the East is the blue Munchkin

Country. Here, all of the things that the Gillikins paint purple are

painted blue. This is the region where little Dorothy's house had fallen

down atop the Wicked Witch of the East. And it was this incident that

had caused the Wicked Witch of the West to take notice of the little

girl. So wicked was this Witch, in fact, that she sent a host of plagues

in the hope that they would destroy poor Dorothy and her companions. She

lashed out with her flesh-eating gray wolves, her sinister crows, and

her horrific stinging bees. But it was not until she called upon her

Marvelous Flying Monkeys that she was able to succeed in her goal. The

monkeys, enslaved by the powers of a magical hat, destroyed the

Scarecrow and tin man and enslaved Dorothy and the Lion.

Oz history would have been dismal, indeed, had Dorothy not splashed a

bucket of water over the Wicked Witch, wetting her from head to foot. As

Witches and water do not mix very well, the evil woman was reduced to

nothing more than a puddle of ugly liquid. With the help of some kindly

Winkie tinsmiths and seamstresses, Dorothy was able to retrieve her

friends and bring happiness back to Oz. Had she desired to live there

then, she would have had a welcoming home with any or all of the

citizens of Oz, even the Scarecrow, who was made ruler over all the

land. The Scarecrow was a good and honest king--a thing that rarely

happens in the mortal lands--but was not to stay long in that position.

Instead, he had gladly handed over his crown to the rightful ruler of

Oz, Princess Ozma. Even though she is but a child, Ozma has become the

most well-loved ruler in all the earth. Citizens of Oz love her like a

sister, while children of other countries who read Oz books yearn to

leave their homes to go to that wonderful country to be near to her.

[Illustration]

Of course, Oz is a very big place. But if all of us who wished to go

there were suddenly whisked away on a cyclone of our own, it would

surely become decidedly too crowded. So it is good for Oz that we are

made to stay here except on the rare occasion when Ozma may call upon

one of us, or one of us may find Oz by accident.

CHAPTER THREE:

PRELUDE TO THE PARADE

Dorothy and Ozma have become fast friends over the many ageless years.

Only on rare occasions is the incident with the Wicked Witch discussed

any more. Once a year, on the day of the anniversary, there is a parade

and a feast, but the reason for these festivities is not generally

acknowledged. The very fact that dear little Dorothy is present is

considered reason enough to celebrate. Oz people, it should be told,

will accept any excuse to have a celebration. And the celebration might

well have continued as it always had, except that something most

peculiar had happened this year. Sir Simon the Shrew, who had come to

live in the Emerald City after Princess Ozma had magically enlarged him

to human-size, had become very good friends with Dorothy. He was of the

opinion that the annual festival should better commemorate the event on

which it was founded. He determined that the most elaborate float in the

parade should be one which depicted Dorothy dousing the Wicked Witch

with water.

Because he was now as large as a human child, Simon was able to gather

together the materials he needed in record time. Although he was hardly

W.W. Denslow or Frank Kramer, Simon's artistic abilities were far

superior to those of Dirk. Borrowing the Red Wagon, he created a large

platform on which he could build his float. He arranged with Kabumpo,

the Elegant Elephant, to draw the float through the streets, as he

thought it would be too heavy for the Sawhorse. Kabumpo agreed to this

only because he respected Dorothy and because he enjoyed parades. He was

still a tad disgruntled about being used as a work-horse, but he allowed

this feeling to be repressed in favor of the pomp and circumstance of

the parade. He was, after all, a bit of a show-off when he could get

away with it. And that is a real understatement!

Sir Simon the Shrew was able to construct upon the Red Wagon a

magnificent papier maché image that kind of resembled Dorothy. She wore

one shoe, which Simon coated with glue and sprinkled with silver

glitter. He deftly colored her dress blue and white and gave her

two braids in her ribbon hair. He stood back and admired his

masterpiece. "Wow!" said Simon. "This will get a lot of attention!"

But he still had to make the Wicked Witch. This was a harder

prospect, as Simon did not like to create anything that was ugly. To be

sure, there are very few people or things that are uglier than the

Wicked Witch of the West.

[Illustration]

After some time and not less than three failed attempts to construct a

figure of the old Witch, Sir Simon sighed. It was hard to make her look

right. Because of his kind and gentle nature, Simon's images always

wound up looking too friendly. This was not the right image for the

Wicked Witch at all. She had to look mean and hateful. She had to look

like the kind of person who would happily have the Tin Woodman and the

Scarecrow destroyed, or take an innocent little girl as her slave

without remorse. At last, he decided he had to do it with his eyes

closed. This way, he would not be as repulsed by the Witch's cruelty.

Shutting his rodentine eyes, Sir Simon painted the most horrible

face he could. After he opened his eyes to look at his handiwork, he

found himself feeling quite queasy. He had to turn away to avoid being

sick. "Perfect," he muttered. "It looks just like her."

[Illustration]

He then set up the float and hinged the arms of the Dorothy figure in

such a way that she could dump a bucket over the Witch's head. Giving

three cheers for creativity, he had constructed the Witch out of

balloons and covered them with brown sugar. He had then pushed a pin

into the figure to produce a hollow sugar figure that would dissolve

instantly when touched by the water. This would be the highlight of the

whole parade! Simon was very proud of himself. He pushed his magnificent

float into a large storage locker behind the palace. The room was dusty

and cobwebby enough to assure him that it was not used very often and

that his surprise would not be discovered before the day of the parade.

"Now I'll need to find a bucket and fill it with water," he said.

Looking around the room, he noticed an oak bucket that was already full

and which was just the right size for his sculpture. He quickly secured

it in place in the papier maché Dorothy's hands. "If this doesn't get a

lot of loud cheers from the crowd, nothing will!" He rubbed his paws

with glee.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER FOUR:

AN UNFORTUNATE OUTCOME

The day of the big parade came swiftly. Sir Simon and Kabumpo were

vastly proud of the surprise they were about to spring on the people of

the Emerald City. Indeed, it was a delightful parade. The Fuzzy Yellow

Wogglebugs had put together a choral group that sang a bouncing tune as

they marched at the head of the parade. Mr. Tinker followed them with an

electronic float that tossed candy canes out of its windows to the

people below. Princess Saari came next, riding atop a magnificent float

that seemed to radiate all the colors of the rainbow. She was followed

by Pegina the Pegasus, who flew just above the heads of two mighty

dragons. Button-Bright, Trot, and Betsy Bobbin had put together a kazoo

band and played "Ease on Down the Road" as they marched along behind the

dragons. The Elves of Elfland followed, having constructed a float that

resembled Egor's fantastic Funhouse out of hundreds of carnations. A

gray spotlight shot out of the windows at certain intervals to circle

around the Funhouse and resemble a cyclone. No one knew how the Elves

had managed to make the light do this trick, but it was an Elven secret,

so no one asked.

Many other quaint and delightful spectacles were there to be seen and

enjoyed. But it was the marvelous Dorothy and Wicked Witch sculpture

that caught the attention of everyone. It reminded all of the reason for

the annual celebration, and all were happy to recall the way they had

been freed from the heartless whims of the cruel-hearted old woman.

At the end of the parade, all eyes were fixed on the image, and Simon

signaled to Kabumpo to let go of the spring. The Dorothy statue splashed

the sugary Witch right on her head. Unfortunately, the bucket had not

been filled with water, as Simon had assumed. It was actually filled

with some fermented sucopinesz juice that a family of wombats had hidden

there for consumption after the parade. The Witch image began to shrink

and fall away. The crowd roared and laughed at the sight. But, of

course, we all know that sucopinesz juice and sugar do not mix well. A

series of tiny explosions began to appear above the melted Witch.

Kabumpo was so startled that he did not see how close he was

getting to the Hungry Tiger. Feeling a heavy elephant's foot

on his striped tail, the Tiger jumped eight hundred yards ahead.

He landed on Princess Saari, breaking a hole in the top of

her float, into which they both fell. From this hole emanated a radiant

green light. The light ricocheted off of the Glass Cat's tail and struck

the gray light that had been circling the Elfland float. Now, it is

commonly known among Oz scholars that a cyclone is created when hot and

cold air meet in one place. It was the same way when the two magical

types of light collided. The dizzying green light splashed at the

other-worldly gray light, and a funnel cloud emerged. It whirled about

until it surrounded the popping mass of sugared juice. When the twister

had subsided, thanks to the magic of Glinda and the Wizard, there stood

a hideous green-faced woman in a black outfit. On her head she wore a

black pointed hat. In her hand was a broomstick.

[Illustration]

"Who's sh-she?" stuttered Dorothy.

"I don't know," replied Ozma. "She looks like a Witch! But not like any

of the Witches I've ever known about!"

"I am the Wicked Witch of the West!" shouted the woman in a maniacal

voice.

"She doesn't look like the one I remember," said the Scarecrow. "This

one has two eyes and green skin. She must be an impostor."

"I am not an impostor!" bellowed the woman.

"But," said an elderly Winkie who remembered the original Witch, "Witch

Allidap had a patch over one eye and did not dress in pure black. This

is not her at all."

"I am too me! I just feel a little different today, that's all. I will

prove to you that I am Allidap!"

[Illustration]

CHAPTER FIVE:

THE BEST LAID PLANS

It should be understood that, although the creature was really little

more than an unstable life-form produced by a one-of-a-kind series of

accidents, she believed that she was indeed the Wicked Witch of the

West. And as long as she suffered under this delusion, she was dangerous

to all of the Witch's enemies. Especially Dorothy, as her primary memory

was based upon the scene on the float, rather than any history before or

after the event depicted thereon. She was angry and afraid, these being

the emotions that were depicted in the sculpture. And these emotions, as

we all know, can lead one to do things that are not particularly

wholesome. Now, it was not too many seconds before the false Witch

hopped onto her broomstick and zoomed away from the jeering crowd. She

was a creature of resentment and hate, so she did not feel safe in that

environment. Instead, she determined to find a way to reach her goals

elsewhere. Knowing about the castle where the real Witch had lived, she

hid herself there to get her bearings. Because she was not really Witch

Allidap, she did not know much magic. But, because of the magic in the

colored lights, she knew just enough to keep her from realizing the

truth about her identity. Her appearance was quite different from that

of the real Allidap. There was a reason for this, however. It seems

that, at the very millisecond of her being brought to life, someone who

believed in her had thought about her. And that someone had had a

different impression of her. It was a silly impression created not so

much by the book as by a movie musical that was televised annually. So

that was the way the thinker imagined her to look. Because of this, he

had projected his impression onto the false Witch. It also created a

number of Allidap's memories in the mind of the sugar-creature. And it

also caused her to remember the thinker--a little boy named Graham. He

had been thinking about the original book but visualized the Witch as

she had looked in the movie. And because he had an inordinate amount of

homework to do, he was also feeling quite resentful. Little did he dream

that this combination of negative emotions and vivid imagination would

bring into manifestation a very unpleasant creature! One that no decent

young person should ever have to encounter. But now Graham found himself

face to face with the Wicked Witch!

[Illustration]

She was in his home, and she was hardly filled with joy. She dragged him

to her castle and laughed at his utter helplessness. "You're just afraid

of what I might do to you," she said. "Look at you. You're shaking in

your boots!"

"I am afraid, yes," said Graham. "Really afraid. But I don't think

you'll harm me after you hear what I have to say."

"Oh," replied the Witch. "Really? And what might that be?"

"Listen carefully," said Graham. "I know where there is a book of magic

spells that can make mincemeat out of Dorothy and the Scarecrow and

those guys."

"You do?" the Witch said, skeptically. "And what is a book?"

"Why, it is a bunch of pieces of paper stuck together at one side and

that has words printed inside of it."

"Oh, yes," said the Witch. "I know what words are. I had some words of

warning printed on some signposts to keep away strangers. And I once

wrote 'SURRENDER DOROTHY' in the sky. But my memory doesn't include a

book. Where is it?"

"Only I can get it," said Graham, realizing that he now had a perfect

way out of the dilemma. "It is back at my home in America." (He was sure

that he could break away from her once he was back home.) But not to be

outsmarted, clutching the boy by the hand, the Witch immediately pulled

him back through the mirror without letting him free from her vise-like

grasp. "Where is this book?" she said angrily. Then, seeing Graham's

math book on the table, she felt a tinge of recognition. There had been

some of these on a table in her castle when she had demanded that

Dorothy give her those magic shoes. So these were called books! "Is this

the one?" she asked, picking up his math book with her free hand. "What

are these words on it?"

"What's wrong?" asked Graham. "Can't you see? Don't your eyes work?"

"I do not know these words," said the Witch. "My memory has become

clouded on some things. I know the words 'SURRENDER DOROTHY' and the

ones I had on my signposts, but these are unfamiliar. What do they say?"

"It says," Graham lied, "_The Best and Most Complete Book of Witchcraft

Ever Written_. It has every spell ever invented in it! Would you like to

have it? If you go away, I'll give it to you."

"I'll take it, but I'll need a reader to read it to me. That shall be

you, my little FOOL!" So saying, she took him back through the mirror,

sealing off the opening behind them forever.

CHAPTER SIX:

SPELLBOUND!

Once back on the other side of the mirror and in her own domain, the

Witch could not wait to get started on the first spell. After all, who

could resist experimenting with spells from a book with a title like

_The Best and Most Complete Book of Witchcraft Ever Written_?

"Okay, you little squirt," she snapped. "Read me the first spell."

Graham knew he would have to think off the top of his head and think

fast if he was to come up with something plausible. The minute she found

out that the book was a fake, he would be dead meat, that was for sure.

"Okay. Well.... Let's see.... The first spiel--I mean, spell--is 'How to

Turn an Obnoxious Dial (or Socially Disadvantaged Countenance) into a

Reflection of Infinite Beauty.'"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you just said," snapped the Witch with

obvious annoyance. "Read it to me again. Wait. That won't do any good.

What do you think it means?"

Graham knew he had her hooked. "It is obviously a spell that will

transform you into the most beautiful creature to ever walk the face of

the earth."

"Oh, my," said the Witch-clone with obvious delight. "Well, let's get

started! What are you waiting for?"

Graham cleared his throat and began to "read" from the book:

"_Find a slimy little pickle.

Rub it with a shiny nickel.

Drop it in a Witch's hat.

Add seventeen eggs on top of that.

Top that off with a bowl of Jell-O

and spittle from a little fellow.

Add some sour cream and chives

and honey directly from the hives._

[Illustration]

_Now add one pint of strawberry jam

(preferably bought from Knott's Berry Farm).

Then bend thy head towards thy legs

and press said hat upon thy head.

Now stand and then induce a friend to pull it down

below thy crown.

Wait at least a half-an-hour.

Take off the hat and dust with flour.

Now look in the mirror and thou shalt see

none more lovelier than thee."_

"Oh, that does sound absolutely divine!" cried the Witch. "Quick! Help

me gather the materials together so we can start immediately."

Graham could hardly contain himself with the thought of the true results

of this experiment. And although he was going to use this opportunity to

escape, he almost wished he could stay to see the whole thing through.

He congratulated himself on his ability to create such an

authentic-sounding spell and for having the presence of mind to suggest

the half-hour lead time he would need in order to escape from the

castle. When everything was ready, Graham followed the spell to the

letter. And since he was the only little fellow around, he was the

obvious choice to provide the spittle for the concoction--which he did

with great delight.

As soon as he got to the part where he had to pull the Witch's hat down

over her head, he said, "I'll keep my eye on the clock and let you know

when the half hour is up." With that, he jammed the hat down over her

eyes and down to her shoulders and then made a beeline for the window.

CHAPTER SEVEN:

AN ALIEN PRESENCE

After Graham had escaped from the castle, he thought about the Witch

standing there for a full half-hour and thinking how beautiful she was

going to be when she took the hat off and looked at herself in her

mirror. He laughed out loud as he imagined how she would really look

with that gooey mess all over her hair and face and clothes. But he knew

that once the reality dawned on her that the spell was a fake, that she

was just as ugly as ever, and that he had escaped, she would be

absolutely beside herself with rage. The boy's elation began to change

to fear as he considered the possible repercussions of his actions. Here

he was in a strange yellow land with no idea of where he was going or

where to hide.

He had been traveling through a wooded area which, for now, offered some

measure of security, since he would be hidden from aerial surveillance,

when he came upon a clearing. Actually, it was more than just a

clearing; it was a perfectly round grassy clearing about fifty feet in

diameter, and dome-shaped. As he studied the dome, it began to slowly

rise, exposing a round house with windows and doors and a grass-covered

roof. Graham stood perfectly still, waiting to see if anyone came out.

When it was obvious that no one was coming, he cautiously walked toward

the house to see if he could see through the window. Suddenly, a loud,

mechanical-sounding voice filled the air. "WARNING! YOU ARE APPROACHING

TOO CLOSE TO THE VEHICLE. PLEASE STEP BACK."

At this point, Graham was more than a little confused. He knew that this

sort of proximity alarm system was favored by some motor vehicle owners

back home. But the device seemed very out of place in Oz. Not to mention

the fact that the sound was emanating from a house, not a car. At that

moment, the round roof slowly started to spin and rose about four feet

above the house and hovered there. The outside walls receded back into

the ground to reveal a bright, shiny spaceship shimmering in the

sunlight. A ramp unfolded to reveal two equally shimmering space beings.

They descended (or rather, floated) down the ramp and stopped less than

three feet from the boy. They were not very tall--about four feet in

height--and they were dressed in metallic-looking one-piece spacesuits

that closely followed the contour of their slender bodies. They had

quite large heads, which were somewhat out of proportion to their

overall physique. Their eyes were large and doe-shaped and were the

blackest of black with no pupils visible. He sensed an intelligence

emanating from their eyes that was far in excess of ordinary people.

Their skin was of a dull grayish hue; no color at all.

[Illustration]

Graham waited for them to speak (for some reason he was totally

unafraid). One of them raised his right hand in greeting. He spoke

without moving his lips. At least, Graham heard the words clearly inside

his head but could sense no outside sound.

"Greetings, young friend. You stumbled upon our location, but it is of

no consequence. We know that you bear us no ill will."

"Indeed not," replied Graham. "In fact, I am honored to make your

acquaintance. I've always wanted to meet a space person."

"Well," replied the other being, "you are a space person, too."

"I am?" said Graham incredulously. "I'm afraid you're mistaken ... I am

from earth."

"And where, my little friend, do you think earth is? Is it not suspended

in space like all of the other planets? And does it not make a complete

rotation upon its axis every twenty-three hours, fifty-six minutes and

four point zero-nine seconds, and at a speed of a thousand miles per

hour? And does it not orbit your sun every three hundred and sixty-five

days and six hours and nine minutes and nine point five seconds, and at

a speed of about twenty miles per second? And does it not revolve along

with the moon, around a common center of gravity, and move with the

entire solar system through your local star system at thirteen miles per

second? And does not your local star system move within the Milky Way at

the rate of two hundred miles per second, and does not the Milky Way

drift with respect to the remote external galaxies at the rate of one

hundred miles per second and in all different directions, and does not

your galaxy itself make a complete rotation about an axis every two

hundred million years? And does it not travel through space with over a

hundred billion other suns of its galactic family, not to mention an

untold number of other planets?"

Graham nodded meekly. "I knew our planet was in space. I just didn't

know all the details."

"Well," continued the being, "even if you mortals could travel at the

speed of light, it would still take you a hundred thousand years to

cross your galaxy from edge to edge."

The spaceman motioned toward the craft. "However, our ship could visit

the Andromeda galaxy, which is about two million one hundred thousand

light years from earth, and return before you could say _Stephen

Hawking_. I'd say that is a little bit faster than the speed of light.

We could not afford to waste two million years--actually, over four

million years round trip! We'd never get anything done."

"Now, wait just a minute," said Graham. "You can't go faster than the

speed of light. They told us in school that would be against the laws of

physics!"

"We learned long ago," replied the spaceman, "that the laws of physics

kept us very tightly bound until we found we could gain dominion over

those laws. You see, we earned that right over a long period of time.

Dominion over physical law requires a certain knowledge of science

beyond the physical as well as a working knowledge of the spiritual

laws. The two must work hand in hand. For example, your scientists are

working strictly from a physical perspective. They are totally unaware

that the atoms--the building blocks of matter--have a counterpart of a

higher frequency: one that falls outside of the realm of what you would

term physical. In any event, without that counterpart the physical world

as you know it could not exist.

"Now, I want to demonstrate to you the practical aspects of our

knowledge. Our spaceship is vibrating at the atomic rate of the

collective atoms that comprise the material makeup of said ship. Now, as

we observe the ship, I am going to concentrate on this counterpart of

the atom that your scientists might refer to as antimatter or

antiparticle. These antiparticles are what we would call the pure state

of the atom. You might say they are the inner core of the atom. You

might even say that they are the very soul of the atom, since they

furnish the power that maintains the motion of the atom. In any event,

this is the medium we work with. Incidentally, if you could observe the

motion of this counterpart to the atom, you would see that it is in

constant motion as it conveys its power to the atom. It turns

incessantly upon its own axis, spinning like a top. It is constantly

pulsating, gyrating, and, I might even say, dancing in a most beautiful

manner.... I might tell you at this point that the name we give to this

wonderful animating force, is, quite naturally, the anim. Now I am going

to concentrate on the atomic structure of our ship. I am going to raise

the rate of vibration, or frequency, of the individual atoms to the

higher rate of the anim state. As I do so, the ship will no longer be

detected by your eye-to-brain circuits. To your limited senses it will

be completely invisible to you. It is this little trick that plays havoc

with the minds of your fellow mortals that occasionally catch a glimpse

of our ships in your skies, only to see them disappear in an instant.

Now, as I continue to concentrate, I am projecting the ship to a certain

coordinate: namely, a specific planetary member of the galaxy Andromeda.

This is done at the speed of thought, which is instantaneous. There...."

The starship vanished in less than a blink. "Now it's back again!" the

spaceman announced. And, indeed, it truly was! "Well, what do you

think?"

Of course, Graham was beside himself. He could not speak. "Wow!" he said

eventually. "Wow!"

"Naturally," continued the spaceman, "I had to lower the vibrations

again to re-manifest it into your reality. But it is this manner of

transportation that enables us to come and go as we please and, in doing

so, somewhat confuse your scientists and governmental authorities."

Graham smiled.

[Illustration]

"Speaking of your scientists," added the other alien, "they would

probably be very interested to know that, long before the countless

solar systems were brought into manifestation--in reference to the many

planets, stars, gaseous bodies, and so forth--space was null and void of

all that is now in existence. The theater of infinite space was empty.

The actors had not yet made their appearance. Everything, every solitary

atom (and that includes the atoms that presently constitute your body

and mine), were back in that great Core of Life. The Oneness. The Source

of All. Some like to call this presence God. It is, however, a presence

that is very real, even to scientists who call themselves agnostics. If

it were possible to become attuned to this presence, this Core of Life,

you would be aware of pulsating with it. You would realize that you are

receiving a great force which enables you to move about in your physical

body. This force is constantly nourishing every atom that is out there

in space, every atom within the earth. It is the great unifying force

that your scientists suspect must exist but have never quite been able

to get a handle on. However, they are getting closer to it with the

discovery of so-called dark matter. But to continue: the Core of Life

may be pictured as a great sun, and yet this would not describe it, for

it is larger than any sun could ever possibly be. And if we were to try

to measure it--and there would be no way to do this--we would find that

it would encircle not only one solar system, but many other solar

systems beyond. However, I am digressing from my story of the creation

of the universe. Gradually or suddenly, depending on your viewpoint in

the great consciousness of time, the animatical forces from the Core of

Life caused the great expansion from the etheric state of matter,

causing gross material to manifest through friction and be slushed off

and begin to solidify. And when it did, the planets began to form. First

one began to form over here, and then another one began to form over

there, and these in turn were followed by still others until gradually,

within the great power that is concentrated at the point where the

planets were revolving, a great solar system came into manifestation.

Then, after their birth, the planets were dormant for what may have been

many millions of years while they were going through the cooling

process. Then, gradually, over perhaps many million more years, the

germinal kingdom brought forth the different forms of matter, bacteria,

et cetera. These in turn brought forth the various bodies, the

animalistic kingdom, and other forms of life that would be needed to

help build and prepare the way and become an assisting force in

eventually bringing forth the human expression. So you see, it was all

carefully orchestrated by that driving presence I mentioned. We are now

living in the seventh group of planets. Yes, the universe as you know it

existed in six previous manifestations, returning each time to its

original state. This seventh manifestation is the last. The time will come

when there will be no physical planets, no physical remnants of this

present universe. But not to worry, my little friend. You and I and,

indeed, all expressions of what you might refer to as life will continue

on, for life is eternal. It has always existed, and it always will exist.

The physical expression is only a temporary condition. By the way, in our

haste we forgot to introduce ourselves. My name is Agasha, and my

brother here is Araskus. Your world will, no doubt, be reading more

about us. As a matter of fact, as we speak, I am receiving a telepathic

message from a William Eisen who now resides in Oz. He reminds me that

while in America he brought forth some of my philosophy in written

documents entitled _Agasha: Master of Wisdom_ and _The Agashan

Discourses_. These works were written for adults, but older children who

have an advanced understanding may appreciate them, too. Mr. Eisen was a

personal friend of Mr. Evans, who at this moment is recording these very

events as they occur."

[Illustration]

The two beings then shook hands with the boy and bid him farewell as

they returned to their ship. Moments later, the craft arose and tilted

in salute as it spun away beyond the horizon. Graham stood for the

longest time, staring at the spot where the spaceship had disappeared

from sight. There were so many more questions he wanted to ask, and he

wondered if he would ever again have the opportunity. One question he

meant to ask was that if it took two million, three hundred thousand

some years for light to reach Earth from the Andromeda galaxy, would

that mean that we would be observing it as it existed two point three

million years ago? And that if it suddenly disappeared at this moment in

our time, would we not know it for another two point three million

years? That seemed like a very good question to ask, for it would mean

that when we look out into space, we are really looking back into time.

Now that he thought of it, his science teacher had said that it takes

eight minutes for light to reach us from the sun, so, if the sun

disappeared three minutes ago, we would not know it for another five

minutes. What a thought! Graham realized that not a solitary soul back

home would ever believe one word of his communication with the space

people, assuming, that is, that he would ever be foolish enough to try

to tell anyone. But the first thing he would try to do would be to find

the books Agasha had mentioned. He would do this the minute he got

home...

HOME! OH MY GOSH! HOW LONG HAD HE BEEN GONE? AND HOW WAS HE GOING TO GET

BACK? WHY, OH WHY HAD HE NOT TRIED TO HITCH A RIDE WITH THE SPACE

PEOPLE?

CHAPTER EIGHT:

A STRANGE ENCOUNTER

Graham mentally kicked himself for not thinking of asking the UFO people

for a ride back to America. He had felt so much in awe of the

magnificent spaceship and its unique occupants, though, that it had

never entered his mind to ask a selfish favor of them. He now regretted

that feeling. After all, the two aliens had made it obvious that they

meant to serve him and help him to learn. Surely they would never have

considered it a selfish request on Graham's part had he simply asked

that they drop him off in America on their way to wherever they might

have been headed. But it was, alas, a little bit too late to cry over

spilled milk. Instead, Graham had far more important matters to attend

to. He had, after all, come into a very strange land where the physical

laws he was used to no longer seemed to apply. Not only that, but his

presence would be missed before too long, and he did not want to cause

undue worry back home. But even more immediate: he had a powerful and

very wicked Witch to deal with who would soon catch on to his lies, and

she was not going to be at all happy with him. Had Graham been a lesser

boy, he might have broken down and cried. But Graham decided instead to

make the most of the grave situation. He continued to walk past the area

where the UFOlanders had been. His main concern now was to get as far

away as possible from the awful old Witch's castle. He was wondering in

which specific direction to go when he heard a noise in the trees. At

first he could not identify the sound, although it was a familiar sound.

Because it was so far out of place in Oz, it did not register at first.

But, yes! Now he was certain. It was the sound of a television set. That

is to say, the sound of human voices that could only be coming from a

radio or TV. It is a sound you simply cannot mistake. Now the sound was

getting louder. It was coming toward him. _What on earth could a

television set be doing here_? Graham thought. And how could it be

moving toward him? The answer immediately became known when out from a

clump of trees walked a robotic looking creature. He had triangular

shaped legs and arms and body. In place of a face he had a portable

television set. Not only that, but the channels kept changing. First

Channel Two with the evening news. Then Channel Four with a basketball

game. Then Channel Seven with _Jeopardy_! Then Channel Eleven with a

program about UFOs. Then Channel Thirteen with a commercial for Head and

Shoulders anti-dandruff shampoo. And so on, and so on. Well, this was

the strangest sight to behold. A walking television set. It walked right

up to Graham and stopped right up against his face. Then the screen went

blank for a moment and a face appeared. That is to say, not a human face

exactly, but sort of a cartoon type of face with large, bushy eyebrows;

big, expressive eyes; a prominent nose; and a mouth in the shape of a

big grin. "Howdy doody," said the mouth as the thing's hand shot out and

grabbed Graham's hand in a vigorous handshake.

"How--How--How--" stammered Graham.

[Illustration]

"HowHowHow?" inquired the voice. "That's a funny word. I never heard it

before."

"Ah ... eh ..." said Graham, his voice still a bit shaky. "I was

actually trying to say, 'How do you do?'"

"Oh, I see," replied the being, "but how do I do what?"

"No. I mean I'm trying to say, er ... 'howdy doody' to you."

"Oh. Now I understand. I'm sorry for being so dumb. But you see, my

entire vocabulary comes from TV shows. I never actually went to school,

so some things I do not know. I beg of you, forgive me!" he shouted as

he bent down on one knee and held Graham's hand.

"There's no need to be so dramatic," said Graham. "I forgive you."

"Oh, thanks a bunch," the creature said. "Is there anything you'd like

to watch? You can watch any television show that's ever been recorded in

television history. Just say the word."

"Well, nothing right now," Graham answered. "But I'm really curious as

to how you came into being."

"HOW! I! CAME! INTO! BEING? Hmmmmm. Oh, you mean how I was manufactured.

Well, originally a tinsmith made me. But then I lost my head over a

girl. Then one day an electrical genius from Mars came to Oz to discuss

a contract to build satellite dishes. They wanted to bounce signals from

Mars to earth in order to relay Martian soap operas in exchange for some

earth programming to Mars. Their favorite earth programs are reruns of

_Mork and Mindy_ and _Star Trek_. They're even more popular than their

prime-time blockbuster, _My Favorite Earthling._ Anyway ... as I was

saying ... Let's see ... I had lost my head, and--"

"Now, wait a minute!" Graham interrupted. "There are no people on Mars.

Besides, the environment there is too hostile to support life."

"Oh. You mean that they have too many harsh TV critics?"

"No. I mean that--For one thing, the temperature would be too harsh.

It's way too cold on Mars to support life. Not to mention the

atmosphere, which is mostly carbon dioxide."

"Oh, my dear boy," smiled the face. "You don't know anything, do you?

Oh, you know your scientific facts all right but, according to my memory

banks, there is life all over the universe that your scientists' crude

observation methods cannot even detect."

"You're beginning to sound like the UFO people I talked to," Graham

answered with a tone of disapproval in his voice.

"Well, nevertheless, life exists simultaneously on many different

frequency levels that are undetectable from one to the other--an analogy

would be the many TV channels that are in the air simultaneously, but

you can only tune in to the one frequency that your tuning device is

locked into."

"Well, I've heard that before," answered Graham.

"Yes. And people are tuning devices in themselves. That's why some

people are sensitive to the vibrations from Oz and can see what is going

on there. Mr. Baum was the first person in America who was able to tune

into Oz, and he wrote many history books on this land. Well, that is to

say, they were recordings of current events at the time he wrote them,

but they are now history. And as much as he wrote, he was only able to

record a tiny fraction of our history. Since then, many people have

contributed. Some more than others."

"I wonder why no one in America was able to tune into Oz before L. Frank

Baum," Graham said.

"Because there are millions of frequencies, but he happened to hit the

right one one day when he was telling stories to the children. He was

very lucky to hit it because of the tremendous odds against him. But

once he did, it was easy after that. And it was easy for other people to

follow him because they knew it could be done and kept persevering until

they were able to tune in themselves. The secret is not to give up if

you are truly interested, because once you lock into it, you become

better attuned as time goes by. I heard a good example of this sort of

thing on my sports channel just the other day. They were discussing

Roger Bannister and how he broke the four minute mile in 1954 and that

no one in earth's history up until that time believed it could be done,

so no one did it. But once Mr. Bannister ran the mile in three minutes

and fifty-nine point four seconds, other people broke the record because

now they knew it was possible after all. They had never really tried

hard enough before that, because they simply did not believe. This just

shows that you can do anything you set your mind to do as long as you

believe it's possible. Let me recite a poem I heard once on my Public

Television channel. This poem, if my memory banks serve me right, is by

a gentleman by the name of C.W. Longenecker:

_The Victor_

_If you think you are beaten, you are.

If you like to win but think you can't,

Its almost a cinch you won't

If you think you'll lose, you're lost.

For out in the world we find

Success begins with a fellow's will.

It's all in the state of wind.

If you think you are outclassed, you are.

You've got to think high to rise.

You can ever win a prize.

Life's battles don't always go

To the stronger or faster man.

But sooner or later, the man who wins.

Is the one who thinks he can._"

[Illustration]

"That's very inspirational," said Graham. "I must remember that. But

doesn't it apply equally to girls?"

"Oh, of course!" the TV responded. "But the poem was written a long time

ago, before non-specific gender language was in vogue."

"You seem rather wise for a manufactured person," said Graham. "Where

did your brain come from?"

"Oh, I haven't really got a brain in the traditional sense of the word.

My brain is largely electronic and preprogrammed from a lot of things

I've seen and heard on TV. There are lessons to be learned, even from

the poorest of shows."

"Do you have a name?" asked Graham.

"Well, most of my friends call me Telle. My full name is Telle

Visionary. But you can just call me Telly."

[Illustration]

CHAPTER NINE:

CAPTURED AGAIN!

"Well, Telly, you are a most fascinating person. Would you like to

accompany me on my mission? You see, I am a stranger in a strange land,

and I'd feel a lot better with someone like yourself who is familiar

with the way things work here. Also, I haven't the slightest idea where

I am or where I'm going. Not only that, but I escaped from a Wicked

Witch and she's probably mad as heck right now and looking for me."

"I'd be delighted to accompany you, my little friend. Although I must

tell you, I don't know how much protection I could give you from the

Wicked Witch because, if it's the one I think it is, she's bullied me

from time to time. Whenever she sees me, she zooms right in and makes me

run all the soap operas she's missed. Sometimes I have to sit for hours

and hours while she catches up. By the way, what is the mission you

mentioned?"

"Oh, my mission is to get home to America," Graham answered quickly. "My

parents must be worried sick about me. Have you any ideas how I could

get back before that Witch captures me again?"

"Well, let's see! Hmmm, dum de dum de dum, Hmmm, um, let me think..."

There was a long pause. "No!" he finally said. "I can't think of a

single way you could get back to America. In fact, I really don't think

it's even possible for a human being to get back once he's here. The

only person I know of who ever did that was Dorothy Gale of Kansas. And

the reason I know that is that I run the movie every year and the end is

always the same. Dorothy clicks her heels together three times and says,

'There's no place like home, there's no place like home, et cetera,' and

she wakes up in her bed back in Kansas. Now, there's an idea! How about

we go and see Dorothy? She'll know how to get you back. Why didn't I

think of that first?"

"Wonderful!" the boy exclaimed. "I'm beginning to feel a lot better.

What is Dorothy doing now? Is she--" Graham's question was cut short by

a big, extremely loud popping sound and a cloud of smoke. When the smoke

cleared, who should be there but the Wicked Witch, grinning from ear to

ear and prancing up and down with excitement!

"Well, my little friend. Found you at last, haven't I? Loved your spell!

Oh, it was terrific! See how beautiful I look? DO YOU? DO YOU?" she

screamed, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck. "Look at me. Look, I

say!" she yelled as she jerked his face to hers. "Do I look more

beautiful to you? Let's see. What was the last line of that spell ...

Oh, now I remember: Look in the mirror and you shall see, none more

beautiful than thee! You little liar. LIAR! Did you hear me?"

"How could I not?" asked Graham. "The way you're carrying on, I assume

there are people in Kansas who can hear you." But he cowered behind

Telly as he said so.

"Hello, my good woman," said Telly, holding out one of his peculiar

triangle-shaped arms. His handshake was not accepted by the wicked

woman. "Allow me to say that you are more exquisitely beautiful than any

of the television stars I've ever seen or heard of!" said the robotic

man. "And believe you me, I have run more Miss America beauty pageants

than you can shake a stick at. You are lovelier than any of those girls.

You are more innocently ravishing than Ginger Grant on Gilligan's

Island! You are the epitome of human grace and style! You make all other

women pale beside you!"

"Huh?" said the Witch, dropping Graham like a sack of potatoes. He

caught his breath and tried to stand up, but the Witch had put one of

her big, long feet on his chest to hold him down. "What are you talking

about, Tube-face?" the Witch asked of the television-person.

"I am just admiring your gorgeousness!" said Telly in a musical tone of

voice. "Are you the next TV heart-throb? The next Susan Lucci? Are you

going to take the couch potatoes of the world by storm and make all of

them yearn to be you? You could, you know. You surely are already the

envy of everyone who has ever laid eyes upon you!"

The Witch looked at her prisoner. "What is this machine up to, boy? And

you'd best not lie to me again!"

"Oh, no!" replied Graham. "I have learned my lesson, to be sure. I

wouldn't think of telling another lie."

"Then what is this clinking, clanking, clattering collection of

caliginous junk babbling about?" she sneered.

"I'm truly relishing your magnificent beauty!" repeated Telly.

"My friend is simply admiring your beauty, like he said," answered

Graham, not sure why Telly was acting this way, but deciding it would be

best to play along. "I think he is quite smitten with you!"

"Really?" said the Witch. "Tell me more."

"You are truly a vision of loveliness!" charmed Telly in a most dramatic

manner. "My heartstrings are all going ZING!"

"They are?" the Witch said, somewhat perplexed. "Maybe the spell worked

after all. I guess it was a delayed reaction. Give me a mirror! I want

to see how I look!"

"Er... You don't want to do that," said Graham. "You... er... You are so

gorgeous that no mirror could possibly capture your true image."

"That's altogether silly and utterly foolish, young man! Now that I am

pretty, I want to look upon myself." The Witch took her foot off his

chest and let him stand up. "Now fetch me a mirror, or I will turn

mean!"

"Such beauty could never do harm to anyone," said Telly. "You are only

meant to be worshipped!"

"Thank you," the Witch said. Then, realizing that she had actually said

something polite, she added, "You bizarre jumble of soup cans and

gigabytes."

She saw that Graham had made no move to obtain a mirror, so she pushed

him over again. "Okay, slime-twirp. I'll get my own mirror!" She

switched off Telly's picture in order to catch her reflection in the

blank screen. Telly, thinking quickly, distracted her for a moment

and switched the screen back on while at the same time calling up

an image of Eva Gabor from his archives.

[Illustration]

When Graham saw what had happened, he held his teeth tightly together

and clenched his fists in anxiety. How would the crone react?

"My ... My ... My goodness!" she said. "I really am something, aren't

I?" She smiled a hideous grin. "Just looky there! I am beautiful!"

Graham's anxiety quickly subsided. Telly's clever ploy had worked. "You

are a vision of loveliness," said the boy.

"I am, aren't I? I'm gorgeous!" She then began to dance and flitted

around like a young girl as she broke into a rendering of a song from

the musical play _West Side Story_:

"_I feel pretty ... Oh so pretty

I feel pretty and witty and gay

And I pity

Any girl who isn't me today

I feel charming

Oh so charming

It's alarming how charming I feel

And so pretty

That I hardly can believe I'm real!_"

After she finished the song, she closed her eyes in sheer ecstasy and

heaved a long, contented sigh. She stood there like that for the longest

time. Graham and Telly quickly seized the moment and tiptoed behind a

hedgerow and, as soon as they were out of earshot, they ran like the

wind as far as they could go. As soon as they felt they were safe, they

collapsed in a heap in uncontrollable laughter.

CHAPTER TEN:

A MYSTICAL EXPERIENCE

It had been quite some time since escaping from the Witch again, and the

two friends walked along the road lost in thought. Well, that is to say,

Graham was lost in thought, whereas Telly was absent-mindedly playing an

old commercial:

_Double your pleasure, double your fun,

Get double ev'rything rolled into one,

Oh, double your pleasure, double your fun,

with double good, double good,

Double-mint gum_.

Suddenly, the pair came across a sign at the side of the road which

read:

_OZ INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT DEPARTURES UPPER LEVEL ARRIVALS LOWER LEVEL

FOLLOW THE BLUE SIGNS FOR THE UPPER LEVEL FOLLOW THE RED SIGNS FOR THE

LOWER LEVEL_

"Telly!" cried Graham. "Telly! I can't believe it! An airport in Oz? Why

didn't you tell me? Now I can go home. All I have to do is buy a ticket.

They can call my dad and get his credit card number."

"Now wait a minute!" Telly exclaimed. "Not so fast, my young friend.

There is no airport in Oz. Never was, and never will be. It's just not

possible for airplanes to fly here from anywhere. Queen Ozma herself saw

to that after a certain incident with a little girl and a pet monkey.

No, this cannot be for real. Must be some kind of trick."

Graham was crestfallen. He was just not prepared to accept such a dismal

opinion. "Oh, no! I'm sure you're mistaken. They wouldn't have a sign

like that if there was no airport there."

"Well, I hate to say I told you so. But you'll see when we get there

that there's nothing there," Telly said emphatically. "At least, not an

airport ..." He suddenly stopped in his tracks. "I can't believe what

I'm seeing!" he shouted incredulously as the sight of a huge airport

(the size of L.A. International) loomed up ahead.

"SEE! I told you so!" shouted Graham with obvious delight as he ran

forward. "Home sweet home, here I come!"

"Not so fast!" warned Telly. "Not so fast! It has to be a trick. Maybe

the Wicked Witch has created an illusion and ... and it's really her

castle...."

But Graham was already out of earshot. Before him loomed a giant 747

glistening in the sun, its huge jet engines screaming with impatience

for full power to be applied, and the passenger door was open at the top

of the stairs with a smiling flight attendant beckoning Graham aboard.

"Hurry up!" she called. "We're ready to take off, and you're running

late."

Graham scurried up the stairs as fast as his little legs would carry

him.... The flight attendant checked his name off a list, and the door

closed quickly, leaving Graham with no time to say goodbye to Telly, who

was at that moment looking up at the plane forlornly as it taxied

forward toward the runway. Meanwhile, Graham was being bundled into his

seat and buckled into his seatbelt by the pretty flight attendant. It

was only then that he remembered that he had not purchased a ticket, nor

had he had a chance to say goodbye to Telly. He was seated alone by the

window and quickly looked out to see if he could catch a glimpse of his

friend. But it was too late; the plane was already at the end of the

runway and several feet into the air with the countryside whizzing past

and getting smaller and smaller as the plane quickly ascended.

The captain's voice came over the intercom loud and clear. "Good

morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is your captain speaking. We have

departed Oz International Airport and will be cruising at twenty

thousand feet. We should be arriving at our destination in about three

hours. You may remove your seatbelts and make yourselves comfortable.

Refreshments will be served shortly, and you may watch our in-flight

movie if you wish."

Graham looked around to see who else was sharing his flight. He was

astonished to see that there were no other passengers at all. Now he

began to get frightened. Why would a great big airplane take off with no

passengers except himself? And who was that captain addressing when he

said "ladies and gentlemen"? He was beginning to feel that he had been

caught up in an episode of Telly's _Twilight Zone_. Just then, he caught

a glimpse of a portly gentleman approaching him from the front of the

plane. He assumed there was another passenger after all, one who must

have been sitting in the front seat, and too low for his head to be

visible. However, as the gentleman approached closer to where Graham was

seated, the boy became even more perplexed. The gentleman in question

was none other than William Shakespeare! Oh, there was no mistaking such

an historical figure. Graham had seen paintings and drawings of him many

times. And his clothes and features were an exact replica of those

portrayals. Not only that, but he was carrying a great big book entitled

_The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_. Suddenly Graham flushed

with embarrassment. How could he think for one moment that this was

William Shakespeare? The fellow was obviously an actor, perhaps on his

way home from making a movie and so late for his flight that he did not

have time to change his clothes or remove his makeup. At that moment the

gentleman spoke ... "Good day, my dear fellow. My name is William

Shakespeare. Do you mind if I sit here? The plane's rather crowded and I

see that you have the whole aisle to yourself."

[Illustration]

"Okay! That's it," thought Graham. "The guy's a definite nut case. Must

have escaped from the looney bin and somehow got to Oz. The plane's

crowded indeed! He and I are the only passengers! Every single seat is

empty." However, "Mr. Shakespeare" seated himself next to Graham without

waiting for a reply. "I know that you don't believe I'm who I say I am,"

he said. "But I can assure you, I am he who is often referred to as The

Bard of Avon. All I'd like you to do is to tell earth's disbelievers who

don't accept that I wrote my works that I did indeed write them."

Without waiting for Graham to respond, he then proceeded to break into

verse in a gentle, melodic voice:

"_I am he who wrote my verse,

My dramas, sonnets, quibbles, rhyme,

I'm Shakespeare still--dear England's Bard--

And shall ever be, throughout time.

I wrote, 'tis true, some sonnets, plays,

To make a living, pass the time

In merriment or jest and glee--

I turned out many a ribaled rhyme.

To set the world right,

And make snivelers agree

As to who wrote Shakespeare,

If 'twere BACON or He,

Or Marlowe or Pitt,

Or scribes ages old,

I say to them all--

The truth is now told.

When a man among kings (I was knighted by one)

Where a handle or wheel makes a favorite son

Distinguished through time for something he's done,

For a knight in his day must his laurels have won.

With a band of king's players by Bill Shakespeare led,

I played many roles, e'en recalled the dead

To piece out my plot or to string out my rhyme,

Nor considered it theft, more an honor that time,

To borrow a plot for a queen or a king,

And watch their amuse as my poor muse would sing.

So each time I needed a plot or a play

I searched o'er the tomes where musty plots lay

Bulging out with ideas from craniums dust,

Whose shades may have helped as I now know and trust.

But that any one man made a plot or a play,

Or was such singled out as a ruse for my pay,

I deny in _fac toto_ in spirit this day.

Should any man's play be found in my work,

Which was not by me writ, 'tis a publisher's quirk;

Which one day I'll acclaim; for I mean to read all

As signed with my name_."

Young Graham was beyond words at this outpouring of verse. The mode of

language was not something he could identify with in his everyday world,

and it was quite beyond his level of comprehension. But he sensed this

was no ordinary man in his presence. "Are you really William

Shakespeare?" he ventured forth timidly. "And if you truly are, how

could you still be alive hundreds of years after you were born?"

"Well, young one," smiled the Bard kindly, "that is a long

story...Suffice to say I am here with you having this conversation. And

look around you--many of the other passengers are people from your

history books. We are en route to our home beyond the outer fringes of

Oz. We are graduates of the University of Higher Consciousness, and we

are on our way to Historicalfigureland. So much hatred exists in the

world you come from, and where there is not exactly hatred per se, there

is often indifference or even total apathy for the plight of others. And

as if your world were not bad enough with the constant warring between

nations, many individuals in so-called civilized lands feel the need to

declare war on their neighbors. I am speaking of your young people

killing each other for no other reason than that it has become the thing

to do. What is so sad is that they totally lack remorse for their

victims' pain and suffering and give not the slightest thought to the

victims' families left behind in utter and complete desolation and

sadness at their terrible loss. Our goal is to find a way to encourage

people to reach out to one another--to care for one another. That is why

we wrote our books and plays, to teach people what life be truly about."

_Okay. That's it_, thought Graham. _There's no doubt about the truth of

what the old guy is saying regarding earth conditions. But the queer old

boy is definitely off his rocker. First, there's definitely no other

passengers on the plane, and_ ... "Good grief!" he exclaimed as the

outlines of human forms began to appear in the other passenger seats.

Gradually these forms became more solid until he realized that indeed

the plane was filled with passengers, many of which were historical

figures in the modes of dress of their particular times in history.

First he saw Napoleon in the aisle to his immediate left. Then, next to

him, Marie Antoinette. Then Mary, Queen-of-Scots, Henry the Eighth, and

Alexander the Great. In the next aisle: Caesar Augustus, Mark Anthony,

Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, Aristotle, and Plato. It seemed that every

historical figure of note was present aboard the plane, not to mention a

sprinkling of people from various walks of life, such as Marcus

Aurelius, Jane Merrick, Kenneth Gage Baum, Fred Stone, Judy Garland, and

Ray Powell. Of course, Graham did not know who everyone was by name, but

many faces looked familiar to him.

"I'm terribly sorry," apologized Shakespeare. "I didn't realize that

your eyes had not yet become sensitized to the higher vibrations of my

friends. What must you have thought of me?" "Oh, nothing at all," cried

Graham. "I mean, I hadn't really noticed all these people. I was so

engrossed in what you were saying."

"Really?" replied the Bard with a twinkle in his eye. "I quite

understand. People are always totally captivated by my words. Anyway, as

I was saying, or rather, as I was about to say..."

At that moment, a head bent over the Bard's shoulder to say hello to

Graham. It was none other than Mark Twain, whom Graham instantly

recognized. And with him was a gentleman who introduced himself as

Charles Dickens. He gave Graham a wink and shook his hand. "You're a

fine young fellow. I predict that you will go far in life." Of course,

Graham was speechless. It suddenly hit him that he was in the company of

some of the world's greatest human beings. If he ever got back home and

tried to tell people, they would be sure to lock him up and throw away

the key. Mark Twain asked how things were going and assured him that,

while the plane would not be able to transport him home, he felt certain

that, when the time came, a way would be found which would enable him to

return. "If not," Mark Twain said, "not to worry. There'd never be a

dull moment in Oz!"

_Oh, that's just great!_ thought Graham. Now there was a chance that he

would not get back. But did not Shakespeare say that he wanted him to

inform the world that he had written his own stuff? He would not have

said that if he did not think that the boy would get home to tell the

tale. _What am I saying?_ thought Graham. _None of this is really

happening. I'm just having the most gigantic, craziest dream anyone has

ever had_.

"By the way," said Mark Twain, interrupting Graham's thoughts. "Here are

a couple of letters I forgot to mail to my poet friend, Bayard Taylor.

They should probably be in some collection somewhere so, if you'd take

them back with you, I'd appreciate it. I said in one letter that I'd

probably forget to stamp it, and I did." Twain handed Graham the letters

and indicated that he did not mind the boy's reading them if he wanted

to.

_There I go again_, thought Graham, _believing in my own dream._ In any

event, he settled back in the seat and began to read the letters.

However, before he could really get started, Charles Dickens interrupted

him.

"As usual, this Twain fellow takes over and hogs the conversation. In

the very near future, young Graham, you and I will get together, and

I'll tell you some very interesting stories of my childhood. In the

meantime," he said, scribbling on a piece of paper that had some kind of

drawing on it, "I have autographed a sketch of Boz to take back with

you. Boz was the name I used when I first embarked on my literary

adventures. In case you are wondering if there is a cryptic connection

between Boz and Baum and Oz, you'll have to keep wondering about that. I

was born at Portsea, Portsmouth, a few minutes before midnight on the

seventh of February, 1812, forty-four years before Mr. Baum was born. I

came to Oz in 1870, when Mr. Baum was only fourteen years old. He was

not destined to write about Oz until some thirty years later. Now, when

you come back, I'll tell you some more about my early days, and I'll

make sure that our friend Twain doesn't bask in his self-perceived

limelight while we're having our important discussions."

[Illustration]

"Now, you listen up, Mr. Dickens, sir," said Mark Twain with

mock anger, for they were actually the best of friends. "I resent that,

and I won't have you filling the boy's head with a lot of imaginary

adventures and strange connections between words. Next you'll be telling

him there's a link between the Land of Ev and Robert Evans--or even more

ludicrous--that Frank Oz and Michael Ovitz of Hollywood have a mystical

link to Oz because they have Oz in their names, or even more ludicrous,

that you and Chris Dulabone have a connection because you both have the

initials C.D. I mean, how far can you go with this stuff? I'm telling

the boy about real things and about real life..."

Dickens just shook his head slowly and turned to Graham. "I really don't

pay much attention to his rambling. Go ahead and read his boring letters

before he has a kitten. I won't forget my promise to you, and we'll have

a delightfully interesting time together, you'll see. And I promise you,

my stories will not be imaginary. Oh, by the way, here's some of my

correspondence you might wish to take back with you. One is a letter and

note I sent to my American friend, Mr. Fields of Boston, and also some

beverage recipes I sent to Mrs. Fields. Also an announcement of two

plays I produced, one of which I acted in and--"

"You're not the only actor around here, Mr. Dickens, sir!" interrupted

Twain. "I've acted in plays, too. For example, I was in _Loan of a

Lover_ in 1876. Your Mrs. Fields, by the way, said I was wonderful in

it. And as long as you're producing letters you wrote to Mr. Fields,

I'll give young Graham a copy of a letter that I wrote to Mr. Fields. So

what do you think about that?"

Graham was astounded to hear these two world-famous personages fighting

like children and competing for his attention. What would his history

teacher and his fellow classmates think? He accepted the additional

material, then settled down to begin reading as the two men continued to

argue all the way back to their seats. He started with Mark Twain's

letters. There were actually four letters, one of them completely in

German, which Twain probably had not meant to hand him. But the boy read

it anyway, no matter that he did not understand a word. It did not dawn

on him that, if this was a dream, where did the German words come from

if they were not in his consciousness to begin with? Below is a copy of

the letters for the record, although it is suggested that the reader

skim over them for now, as they are not relevant except as historical

interest:

_Schloss-Hotel Heidelberg May 7, 1878 H. Albert

Lieber Herr Taylor:

Wir werden hier blieben viellicht für drie Monate, zum Schloss Hotel.

--Dies hotel steht about fünf und siebenzig Fuss Höhler als das Schloss,

und commandirt ein Aussicht welcher ohne Ahnlichkeit in der Welt hat.

(Sie mussen excuse auskratchens, interlineations.)

Ich habe heute gecalled on der Herr Professor Ihne, qui est die

Professor von Englishen Zunge im University, to get him to recommend ein

Deutchen Lehrer Für mich, welcher he did. Er sprach um mehrerer

Americanischer authors, und meist güngstiger & vernügungsvoll von Ihrer;

dass er knew you and Ihrer so wohl durch Ihrer geschereibungen; und wann

Ich habe gesagt Ich sollen Ihr schreiben heute Nacht gewesen if nothing

happened, er bitte mich Opfer sein compliments, und hoffe Ihnen will ihm

besuchen wenn du Kommst an Heidelberg. Er war ein vortrefflicher and

liebwürdiger & every way delightful alte gentleman. Man sagt Ich muss

ein Pass (in der English, Passport,) haben to decken accidents. Däfur

gefelligt Ihnen furnish me one. Meine Beschreibung ist vollenden: Geborn

1835; 5 Fuss 8 ein wenig unter, sometimes ein wenig oben; dunkel braun

Haar und rhotes Moustache, full Gesicht, mit sehr hohe Oren and leicht

grau practvolles strahlenden Augen und ein Verdammtes gut moral

character. Handlungkeit, Author von Bücher. Ich habe das Deutche sprache

gelernt und bin ein glücklicher Kind, you bet. With warmest regards &

kindness remembrances from all our party to you & your wife and

daughter.

Yrs sincerely, S. L. Clemens

The Königstuhl, June 10 [1878] Lieber Herrn Taylor:

(Don't know whether it ought to be Herr or Herrn). Am much obliged for

the letter--it was from friend whom I have been trying to ferret out.

Yes, we still live at the Schloss-Hotel, & shall doubtless continue to

do so until the neighborhood of August--but I only eat and sleep there;

my work-den is the second story of a little Wirthschaft which stands at

the base of the tower on the summit of the Konigsstuhl. I walk up there

every morning at 10, write until 3, talk the most hopeless and

unimprovable German with the family 'til 5, then tramp down to the Hotel

for the night. It is a schones Aussicht up there as you may remember.

The exercise of climbing up there is invigorating but devilish. I have

just written regrets to the Paris Literary Convention. I did hate to

have to miss that entertainment, but I knew that if I went there & spent

a fortnight it would take me another fortnight to get settled down into

the harness again--couldn't afford that.

The Emperor is a splendid old hero! That he could survive such wounds

never entered my head--yet by the news I judge he is actually

recovering. It is worth something to be a Lincoln or a Kaiser Wilhelm--&

it gives a man a better opinion of the world to show appreciation for

such men--& what is better, love of them.--I have not seen anything of

this outburst of affectionate indignation since Mr. Lincoln's

assassination gave the common globe a sense of personal injury. Ich habe

der Consul Smith gesehen ein Paar Wochen ago, & told him about that

Pass, und er hat mir gesagt das er wurde be absent from this

gegen--(something) zwei oder drei Wochen, aber wann er sollte hier

wieder nachkommen, wollte er der pass geschlagen worden & snake it off

to Berlin. Vielleicht hat er noch nicht zu Mannheim zuruck-kehrt.

Now as to the grammar of this language; I haven't conquered the

Accusative Case yet (I began with that) & there are three more. It

begins to seem to me that I have got to try to get along with the

Accusative alone & leave the rest of this grammar to be tackled in the

future life.

With our kindest remembrances to you & yours

Yrs sincerely, S. L. Clemens

Hotel de l'Ecu de Geneve Sept. 8/78

My dear Mr. Taylor:

I have learned the German language & forgotten it again; so I resume

English once more. I have just returned from a walking trip to Mont

Blanc--which I was intending to ascend, but was obliged to give up the

idea, as I had gone too early & there was still snow on it. I find your

letter here; if you will be so kind as to forward Slote's letter to the

above address I think it will be in time to catch me--& in any case I

will make arrangements to have it follow me. (I am going to try to

enclose the necessary stamps in this, but if I forget it--however, I

won't)

We have been poking around slowly through Switzerland for a month; a

week hence we go to Venice--to Rome & other places later; & we are

booked for Munich Nov. 10 (for the winter.) One of these days I am going

to whet up my German again & take a run to Berlin, & have a talk with

you in that fine old tongue.

Yrs Ever

S. L. Clemens

No. 1a Karlstrasse,

(2e stock) Munich, Dec. 14 [1878]

My Dear Mr. Taylor:

When we were poking around Italy 3 or 4 weeks ago, I was told that you

were ill, but straightway saw it contradicted in a newspaper. Now comes

this paragraph in Galignani which not only shows that the contradiction

was erroneous, but shows how ignorant one may be in this country about

what is happening only a few hundred miles away; especially when one is

buried in work & neither talks with people or often looks in the paper.

We three folks are heartily glad to hear that you are coming happily out

of it; & we are venturing to hope that by this time you are wholly

restored.

We are located for the winter,--I suppose. But the children are having

such a run of coughs & diptheria [sic], that I can't tell at what moment

Mrs. Clemens may take fright & flee to some kindlier climate. However, I

stick hard at work & make what literary hay I can while we tarry. Our

little children talk German as glibly as they do English, now, but the

rest of us are mighty poor German scholars, I can tell you. Rev.

Twitchell (who was over here with me a while,) conceived a pretty

correct average of my German. When I was talking, (in my native tongue,)

about some rather private matters in the hearing of some Germans one

day, Twitchel said, "Speak in German, Mark,--some of these people may

understand English."

Many a time when teachers & dictionaries fail to unravel knotty

paragraphs, we wish we could fly to you for succor; we even go so far as

to believe you can read a German newspaper & understand it; & in moments

of deep irritation I have been provoked into expressing the opinion that

you are the only foreigner except God who can do that thing. I would not

rob you of your food or clothes or your umbrella, but if I caught your

German out I would take it. But I don't study any more,--I have given it

up.

I & mine join in the kindest remembrances & best wishes to you & your

family.

Sincerely Yours

Saml. L. Clemens

We are going to try to run over to Berlin in the spring_.

As Graham finished Mark Twain's last letter--the one to Mr. Fields,

dated 1874--he noticed that the next letter from Dickens to Mr. Fields

was dated 1867--seven years prior. He wondered if the two famous writers

had actually crossed paths or had just known the Fields independent of

one another. Either way, it was interesting to note that they were

contemporaries. He had always imagined that Dickens had lived in a much

earlier era than Twain. Well, to continue:

_Westminster Hotel, New York Sunday, Twenty-ninth December, 1867

My Dear Fields:

When I come to Boston for the two readings of the 6th and 7th, I shall

be alone, as the Dolby must be selling elsewhere. If you and Mrs. Fields

should have no other visitor, I shall be very glad indeed on that

occasion to come to you. It is very likely that you may have some one

come with you. Of course you will tell me so if you have, and I will

then re'mbellish the Parker House.

Since I left Boston last, I have been so miserable that I have been

obliged to call in a Dr.--Dr. Fordyce Barker, a very agreeable fellow.

He was strongly inclined to stop the Readings altogether for some few

days, but I pointed out to him how we stood committed, and how I must go

on if it could be done. My great terror was yesterday's Matinee, but it

went off splendidly. (A very heavy cold indeed, an irritated condition

of the uvula, and a restlessly low state of the nervous system, were

your friends maladies. If I had not avoided visiting, I think I should

have been disabled for a week or so.)

I hear from London that the general question in society is, what will be

blown up next year by the Fenians.

With love to Mrs. Fields, believe me,

Ever Affectionately yours, And hers, CHARLES DICKENS_

Following this letter to Mr. Fields was the note dated 1869 and the

recipes for the brewing of pleasant beverages. Last was the program for

the two plays at the Tavistock House Theatre. Graham was really looking

forward to bringing all these things back with him.

As Graham got to the last line of the last letter, his eyes began to

feel heavy. The whirlwind of activity since his abduction had caught up

with him. Just as he was falling asleep, the sound of the captain's

voice on the intercom jerked him awake. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are

approaching Historicalfigureland International Airport. We hope you had

an enjoyable flight and hope to see you again on Oz Airlines. Oh, and to

our young guest from America, you are welcome to visit your friends here

any time. But I'm sure you want to continue with your mission, and you

will be glad to hear that we will be making an immediate turnaround

after the disembarkation of our other passengers. I believe you were

brought on board for the sole purpose of delivering some important

documents back to America, but you are certainly welcome to stay as long

as you wish."

At that, the plane landed with a slight bump and soon taxied to the

terminal. The doors opened and everyone began to file out--many,

anticipating that Graham would soon be returning, didn't engage him in

conversation, but shook his hand warmly and wished him well. Mark Twain

gave him a hug and said how much he had enjoyed his company. He said

that Graham reminded him a lot of Tom Sawyer who, he said, currently

lived down the street from him. Seeing Graham's puzzled expression, he

quickly explained that any imaginary character an author dreams up is

actually a person that the author has tuned into. And that an author

rarely has an original thought in his head but is really very good at

catching glimpses of activities (present, past or future) somewhere in

creation.

As Mark Twain turned to the exit, Graham suddenly remembered a question

that he had wanted to ask. "Oh, Mr. Twain," he called. "I wanted to ask

how you came to use the name Mark Twain. I know your real name is Samuel

Clemens...."

"Well," responded Twain, "no one has ever asked me that question

before--Just kidding," he added quickly, seeing Graham's expression.

"Yes, I am asked it all the time. The name was first used by an old

Mississippi river pilot named Isaiah Sellers, who used to write items

for the _New Orleans Picayune_, in which he told of his adventures. He

signed them Mark Twain, which in the parlance of pilots is a leadsman

call meaning two fathoms, or twelve feet. When I was a cub pilot, I

wrote a burlesque on Captain Seller's articles and published it in a

rival paper under the signature of Sargeant Fathom. Unfortunately, the

captain was so hurt by the burlesque that he never wrote another

article. I still feel badly about it to this day, for I would never have

intentionally hurt the old gentleman's feelings. Anyway, in 1863, when I

was working for the _Enterprise_ in Virginia City, Nevada, I wanted a

good pen name and, while I was trying to think of one, I received the

news of the death of the good captain. This brought to mind the name

Mark Twain, and so I adopted the name in his honor. I signed it first in

a letter from Carson City to the _Enterprise_ on February second, 1863.

So now you know, my young friend," said Twain as he handed him an

autographed photo of himself. "Something to keep for yourself, in

remembrance of your visit here." He hugged Graham again and waved

goodbye to the boy as he descended from the plane.

Several distinguished-looking gentlemen stopped to introduce themselves

to Graham. One said his name was Ralph Waldo Emerson and another,

Nathaniel Hawthorne. Yet another, Isaac Newton, who said Graham would

probably become a scientist.

"Undoubtedly a physicist," said Albert Einstein.

"Oh, no," interjected Eugene O'Neill. "There's no question that he will

be a writer." This last remark was overheard by Charles Lindbergh, who

insisted that Graham would be a flyer. Then two deep resonant voices

spoke in unison: "It is obvious that the boy is a born actor." The

speakers were Lionel Barrymore and John Gilbert. But Senator Charles

Sumner had the final word: "Whether he becomes an actor or not is

immaterial: I can assure you that this young man's ultimate destiny is

in the political arena."

After the distinguished group finished arguing about Graham's future

vocation, they said that, since he seemed to be starting an autograph

collection, they would be glad to add theirs to the list. Even John

Dickens, father of Charles Dickens, signed the sheet. Then Emerson also

handed him a note that he had written to--of all people--Mrs. Fields!

"Don't mention this to Dickens or Twain," he said. "They'll just be

jealous."

Turning to make sure Emerson had disembarked, Nathaniel Hawthorne winked

at Graham and whispered, "Here's a little note that I, too, wrote to

Mrs. Fields. Not a word now to Emmy, Dickybird, or Marky-Mark." Graham

laughed out loud at the nicknames being given to Emerson, Dickens, and

Twain, as well as the schoolboy-like antics being displayed by these

great men. Then Edward Lear, who wrote _The Owl and the Pussycat_, also

handed him a handwritten note to Mrs. Fields. Graham could not help but

think what a popular lady this Mrs. Fields must have been in her day. He

wished he could have known her.