Coffee House World

[Unpublished]

"You're a writer? So what do you write then?" asked the dark-haired man smoking the cigar.
"Words," Jason replied without hesitating, a nervous response despite the obvious humour. He was as jittery as hell, glancing around the place for things that he might recognise. The dark-haired man spoke again, a mad grimace splayed across his face accompanied by a throaty chuckle. Jason hardly noticed; instead he just carried on wondering where in God's name he could possibly be.
Vehicles passed by, each of them a dull grey in colour. It was a warm afternoon -- at least, Jason assumed that it was afternoon. The table was white, and he placed his quivering hand upon its coldness, wondering what kind of strange material it had been made from. A waiter floated into view, tepid smile on his face, and boredom etched upon his features. Jason requested a coffee, and watched the youth scuttle off through the open French windows.
"So tell me really," the dark-haired man persisted, "what do you write?"
"Fiction," Jason said. "Short stories mainly, nothing special."
"What kind?"
Jason looked into the man's eyes through a haze of cigar smoke. This was the first time he had actually concentrated on his companion. Up to now he had been concerned with why, how and where -- why he was suddenly in this place, how he had got there, and where exactly this place was.
"Anything that comes into my head," he told the cigar-smoking man, not wishing to enter into a debate on pigeon-holing fiction.
The dark-haired man seemed content with this answer, and after stubbing out the butt of his cigar in a glass ashtray he took up a mug of coffee and started to slurp the liquid into his mouth.
Jason was glad of the opportunity to survey his immediate surroundings. They were outside, occupying this table that was perched amidst a collection of similar tables, flanked by other patrons indulging in coffee and chattering. More grey-coloured vehicles whizzed past noisily as he observed the street, searching for something familiar. He recognised none of the shops, and when he turned to discover the name of the establishment he found that this was not known to him either. The Coffee House -- hardly original, he thought.
"Have you had anything published?" asked the dark-haired man. "I was just wondering if I might have read something of yours. What's your name, by the way?"
Jason told him, thinking he had no reason not to. And then he thought that the roles ought to be reversed; maybe he ought to be asking his companion all the questions and not vice versa. After the dark-haired man introduced himself as Martin, Jason decided to respond to his enquiries.
"I've had stories appear in a few anthologies. It's no big deal really. Free copies, a share of royalties. I'm not a big name, like Stephen King or someone like that."
"Stephen King?" queried Martin, his eyebrows creased down into his eyes; and Jason fancied that he wasn't jesting.
The waiter fetched Jason's coffee, thrusting a till slip across the table. Martin snatched it immediately, plunging his hand into his trouser pocket for change.
"I'll get this," he said with a wink in Jason's direction. "My treat."
He paid the waiter, who dashed off without even a thank you, and as Jason observed he was puzzled as to why he didn't recognise any of the coins that Martin gave to him.
Martin took another cigar out of the top pocket of his jacket and struck up, taking a deep drag and exhaling a thick wad of smoke. Jason didn't wish to discuss his writing any more; he had some questions of his own to ask.
"You might think this a strange question, but... where is this place?"
Martin let out a chuckle that Jason decided was disturbingly facetious. "Uh-huh, here we go."
"What do you mean?" Jason demanded, displaying an expression of bafflement mixed with slight annoyance.
"Uh, sorry, Jason," said Martin with apologetic eyes, "it didn't mean to come out that way. It's just that, well I guessed you might be one of them."
"One of them?"
Martin suddenly started to laugh loudly, as if someone had blurted out some stupendous joke. He took in some more smoke before answering.
"I'm saying all the wrong things today," he explained. "Let's start again, shall we?"
Jason wasn't sure how to respond to this. He lifted his coffee mug and began to drink, taking in small mouthfuls as he studied Martin once more. His hair was buzzed short all over, and had a shiny glint that suggested some type of gel or grease. His eyes were dark and handsome, as blue as the ocean and just as dreamy, and his mouth was full, with deep, red lips.
"Do you want to take a walk with me?" Martin asked suddenly.
Jason was taken aback by the suggestion. He just didn't know what to make of this new companion, but was thoroughly intrigued by him and his bizarre statements. He realised that if he wanted to learn more about how he had arrived in this place he ought to stick with Martin for a while. So he nodded, and finished his coffee, before the two of them got up and departed along the street.
"I asked you before," said Jason as they strolled slowly along the pavement. "Where are we?"
Martin looked into his eyes, and stopped, before sweeping his arm in the direction of the coffee house.
"The Coffee House!" he declared, and began to chortle loudly again, inviting the attention of everyone around. He then placed his arm around Jason's shoulder and escorted him on to a dirt-path that led off from the main road.
Jason could see trees in the distance, lots of them. They appeared to be heading away from the shops, which for some reason disturbed him a little. After all, he knew practically nothing about Martin. As they ventured further into the array of trees it became more peaceful and
silent. Occasionally he heard the roar of the grey vehicles speeding, but these noises got more faint as they lengthened the distance between them and the streets, until this particular sound could not be heard at all.
"So what do you remember?" asked Martin as they approached a dense cluster of trees. "Just before you came to the coffee house, what do you remember?"
Jason cast his mind back to the time in question, but his memory was so muddled he found it difficult to recall events in perfect clarity. Everything was flashing and blurring inside his brain, refusing to form into any lasting image. One thing kept appearing though, kept coming back into his inner vision -- the sight of a computer monitor and the steady appearance of words upon this screen.
"I don't remember at all," he confessed. "It's all so crazy..." He looked at Martin as they stepped over soft grass. "What can you tell me? When did you first notice me at the coffee house?"
"You just came into view," said Martin, "as if out of nowhere. You stepped out of thin air, spotted me at the table, and came over. You asked if anyone was sitting there, and I said no, and you sat down. And that's it."
"That's it?"
"Yeah. I detected some kind of signal though. Yeah, there was definitely a signal. I mean, why did you choose to come to my table?"
Jason thought about it, still bewildered. "I don't know. What kind of signal?"
Martin gave out a small laugh which lasted only a couple of seconds. "What kind of signal? Perhaps this will tell you..."
Suddenly he pushed Jason up against a tree and poked his tongue into his mouth. It swirled around inside like a dizzy snake, and Jason could taste a mixture of spittle and cigar smoke. His mind was in a daze, but he didn't push Martin away. Instead he found himself responding, placing his hands around his smooth waist, drawing him in closer.
Martin was rubbing his crotch, stirring up some life, and then he withdrew his tongue and started to lick at his hair-shadowed neck, planting occasional sucking bites as he did so. He then stopped this, as he unbuckled Jason's belt and unzipped him, delving inside for something warm and tasty. Jason reached out with his lips pursed, and saw Martin open his mouth to receive him; but then Jason stopped. He stood mesmerised, gazing at Martin's tongue. It was the most incredible thing he had ever seen.
At the outermost tip was a tiny mouth; small lips open and showing miniature teeth, all white and chattering. It was as if a minute beast had taken over his tongue, although there were no eyes, and no face, and not even a tiny tongue. Just the mouth and the teeth, moving quickly as his tongue itself curled around inside his open mouth.
Jason could see that Martin had spotted him staring at this, although the moment lasted for a mere couple of seconds. Martin then ducked on to his knees, and there followed several minutes of pure joy for both men. His legs still trembling, Jason watched as Martin got to his feet. His pants were already undone, his girth in his hand, and he pushed Jason down on to the grass, although he didn't require such encouragement.
He listened to Martin's cries of ecstacy as he returned the favour. There were no thoughts of the strange world he had entered into, and only slight memories of the white clacking teeth at the end of Martin's tongue. Minutes later Martin climaxed, the rush coming unexpectedly to Jason. Yet the taste was unfamiliar; instead of the usual stale, salty tang, it was strangely sweet, like a weird concoction of several fruit juices.
He arose, filled with a mad excitement, and watched as Martin fastened his belt and tidied himself. There was a contented glow upon his face, and he guessed that he too possessed a similar gleam. Silently they walked away from the area, as though words were no longer necessary, their actions sufficient in such circumstances.
As Jason recalled the event in his mind, he couldn't help recollecting the feel of those chittering teeth as they scraped and stabbed across his foreskin.
"How did you know I was gay?" Jason asked presently.
"Gay?" said Martin in a puzzled manner.
"Yes... what I mean is, how did you know that I like men and not girls?"
"Girls? What are girls?"
Jesus, thought Jason -- what kind of place is this? He remained silent for a while, as Martin lit up another cigar and belched out a hefty cloud of smoke into the trees. And then, incredibly, he felt a sudden lurch arrive to his chest, a stabbing sensation that spelt alarm bells. He recalled the scene at the coffe house, in particular all the people, at the surrounding tables and in the streets. He managed to pinpoint it, to reach the absurd realisation that at no time had he noticed any female of any kind at any time.
"It's the first time I've been with an alien," Martin murmured as they wandered past the trees.
"Alien? So I'm an alien, am I?" Jason blurted, in an apparent fluster. "What is this place, Martin? How did I get here? How do I get back?"
Martin appeared disturbed by his outburst, and didn't reply for a few seconds. "I don't know where you come from," he said finally, "and I don't know how you get back. All I know is, you're not one of us. That's all I know."
Jason believed him. As they progressed through the trees, surrounded by the coolness of the shade, he tried hard to concentrate, to recall exactly what he'd been doing before 'appearing' at the coffee house. But it was useless; no such memory would come to him. And yet, one memory that did keep coming back to his thoughts was a more recent one; what had happened up against the tree with Martin, and in particular the clicking teeth and the odd fruity taste of his ejaculate.
"So," he said suddenly, another idea having occurred to him, "if there are only men here, how do you reproduce? Where do the babies come from?"
Martin seemed lost in a plume of cigar smoke, his face having adopted the innocence of someone much younger. He appeared sheepish and bashful, vastly unlike the masterful lover he had demonstrated earlier.
"Babies?" he mumbled. "You want to know about babies? Oh, my God..."
"What? What is it?"
"Nothing. I really don't want to tell you."
"Why not?"
"I can't."
"But I insist."
"You insist?"
"Yes, I do."
"Oh, my God..."
"Just tell me, for God's sake!"
Jason was surprised at his own angry outbreak, and looked at Martin with some sympathy, for he appeared unsettled by his demanding words. Still he pufffed at the cigar, and blew smoke all around as he glanced in all directions, as if searching for something. After some seconds he returned his gaze to Jason, a lost look in his eyes.
"Come with me," he said, and set off away from the trees.
"Where are we going?"
Martin halted, and turned to face him. "You wanted to know about babies. Come with me and I'll show you."
Jason matched his stride as they marched off across an expanse of grass, in the direction of the sunset, it seemed to him. He wondered if he really did want to know about babies in this place; the question was presented out of pure curiosity. Yet he had been distressed by Martin's response, his initial decision not to tell him. It was as though he was deliberately concealing something, some profound and important factor that maybe adhered to himself. And although his first desire was to return to his own environment, he found himself accompanying Martin and anxious to discover this apparent secret.
Light was fading as they left the trees and stepped on to a gravel pathway that stretched adjacent to a long, winding river. The water itself was tranquil, strangely quiet in the approaching darkness. Jason noticed that they had not encountered a single person since leaving the coffee house, and reckoned that Martin was up to no good in leading him here. He chose to be extra alert, in case his new 'friend' had an alterior motive for bringing him to this place.
Then Martin stopped abruptly, and raised his finger to his mouth so that Jason would not make a sound. He was listening out, and so was Jason, his ears pricking up in order to identify any noises that might be occurring. He heard nothing; but Martin obviously did.
Quietly Martin sneaked into the density of some bushes, stepping close to the edge of the river. Jason observed, and almost cried out in alarm upon seeing the distinctive figure of a young male spread out on the bank, actually submerged beneath the dirty, shallow water. He was on his back, and was moaning and breathing in an irregular fashion. The look upon his face was that of hideous suffering.
"I sometimes find one down here," explained Martin in a whisper, "they need the water, you see. They can't give birth without the water."
Jason watched the youth, simultaneously thinking how odd it was that a male was giving birth. The male started to twitch around, splashing water in the process, and his mouth opened, revealing a thick, red tongue, and, much to Jason's dread, a set of tiny white teeth which were similar to Martin's. The youth was in so much torment that he appeared to be choking. Indeed, this proved to be true, for the tongue was blocking his throat, growing absurdly huge in size as the process developed.
"Can't we do something?" he urged Martin; but all he got in return was a look of helplessness.
"There's nothing we can do for him."
The youth was now wriggling and jerking in the shallow water, and his face was quickly turning blue. As these spasms occurred, Jason noticed the tongue coming out of his mouth, squeezing itself free like toothpaste from a tube. Presently it plopped on to his chest, and at once its hind section unfolded into an obscene layer of skin and bone, which had obviously been concealed inside the mouth. Jason was amazed at how swiftly the thing developed. As if out of nowhere, a human mouth formed to surround it; teeth and gums and lips. And then a head came up, and a torso, and limbs. In no time at all it was adult size, a complete male, seemingly formed from the tongue alone. It lay naked by the bank, blinking and glancing around, clasping and unclasping its hands and looking rather bewildered. Then the tongue spurted out like a lizard's, and Jason shrank back on spotting those heinous tiny teeth.
"Come on," said Martin, "let's go. There's nothing we can do."
"But what about the one in the water?" said Jason, pointing at the unfortunate youth still lying motionless.
"He's dead," said Martin, pulling Jason away from the bushes and on to the gravel track.
"Dead?"
"Yes. This is the way it is. One is born and one dies. It's perfectly natural. Isn't this your way too?"
"No, it isn't," fumed Jason, struggling free and setting off along the side of the river and into the path of the setting sun.
He sensed Martin walking some feet behind him, and sniffed up to discover the familiar smell of cigar smoke. He was shaking in confusion and horror at witnessing the 'birth' at the riverbank. He wondered what kind of strange world this was, and more to the point, he just wished to escape from it and return to his own surroundings.
The strange incident with the 'pregnant' male seemed to be just the type of thing he might create as fiction, casting his mind back to his 'former' life in his familiar world. Again he strained his mind, attempting to remember how exactly he had ended up here, but once more the odd flashes and zips of colour snapped away inside his brain.
He realised that Martin had been purely cooling his heels and waiting for him to calm down a little, for barely a minute later he quickened his pace to join him at his side.
"Are you alright now, Jason?" he enquired.
Jason just snorted and continued along the riverbank.
"So where are you going now?" asked Martin.
"I don't know. I'm just confused, this is all too much for me. That guy back there, it was all so weird. I don't know what to do."
"Come back to my place. Relax for a while. We'll figure something out."
Jason glanced at his companion as they walked together. He was grateful to him for taking him in hand, even though he guessed that his motives could have been entirely sexual. What had taken place amongst the trees had been an enjoyable episode, he couldn't deny this, and he admitted to himself that he felt attracted to Martin and wanted to spend time with him. Yet at the same time he wished dearly to get back to his own apartment, to return to the life he was accustomed to. The strangeness of this place was much too peculiar for his tastes.
So he agreed to go with Martin to his home. He required a secure place, somewhere he could think straight and try to recall the things he had lost in his memory. Martin promised it wasn't far, and as darkness swept over the land they walked through the streets until they reached a massive tower block.
"Home," said Martin with a smile, and lit up another cigar as they entered the lift.

Jason felt it inevitable that they would end up in bed together. It was an opportunity that was too enticing to resist. They made love slowly this time, exploring each other to the full, wallowing in the excitement of being with a new lover. Afterwards Martin made coffee, but when he returned to the bedroom Jason had fallen asleep, the events of the afternoon proving too much for his weary mind.
He awoke in a daze, momentarily forgetting about what had happened and where he was. He adjusted his eyes to the dark, but was unable to recognise the bedroom, and for a second he believed that this was most likely the morning after a flirtatious pick-up. But then it all came back to him, and when he remembered the incident at the riverbank it made him feel quite sick.
What had happened earlier in the day could have been the plot of one of his works of fiction. As a writer, he understood that his imagination was perhaps more fertile than that of most people, and so this alternative place should have appeared more credible to him. But it didn't. It was a crazy world; a man only world, each of them with strange tongues, and an extraordinary reproductive system. He lay thinking for some minutes, contemplating his next move. Outside it was inconceivably quiet; no sounds at all were evident, no screeching of grey vehicles, no chattering voices, not even the obligatory barking dog in the distance. It was as if he had indeed arrived in some bizarre dream-place, a world that could only exist inside some peculiar story-book.
After a while, when the uncanny silence got too much for his nerves, he slid out of bed, wondering where Martin had got to. After slipping on his pants he ventured out of the room, attempting to familiarise himself with the layout of the flat. He noticed a light coming from a room along the lobby, and cautiously approached this glow. He turned his head to look into the room, and spotted Martin sitting before a computer console.
The flashes blitzed inside his head; a memory began to materialise, yet as much as he strove to picture it in its entirety, it stubbornly remained an indistinct blur, shimmering like water in his mind.
"Jason!" said Martin upon seeing him. "Come in, sleepyhead. Did you have a good sleep then?"
Jason regained his senses before shuffling his bare feet across the carpet. He pulled a chair closer to Martin and inquisitively eyed the monitor. Martin reached for a cigar and lit up. Looking over, Jason noticed that he had acquired a new pack of them.
"What are you doing?" asked Jason.
"Checking for e-mails."
Jason watched the screen, and spotted the message that popped up, telling Martin that he had no e-mails this time. Martin let out a large sigh, which Jason guessed was exaggerated.
"Not exactly popular, am I?" quipped Martin with a snigger, and plugged his mouth with the fatness of the cigar.
Jason smiled. He considered this new friend to be incredibly handsome, and if he had existed in his own normal world -- the world he had left 'back home' -- he surely would have wanted their relationship to develop into something more substantial. As things were, he couldn't consider a future in this alternate nether-place.
He took his mind back to the intimacy they had shared, the erotic experience in that big bed. No matter how many times he thought of this, he couldn't help recalling the feel of Martin's extra teeth leaping out from the tip of his tongue, and nibbling at certain parts of his anatomy, softly biting at his skin. These had not been hurtful; they were more like very mild bee stings, a pricking sensation rather than a painful stab. And then he recalled the white teeth he had seen on the tongue of the youth at the riverside. A deep shudder ran through him.
"Do you have an e-mail address?" Martin asked suddenly, interrupting Jason's private memory.
"Why do you ask?"
Martin chuckled. "You never know, I might want to get in touch with you."
Jason observed him, and it was only after some seconds that he realised this was a joke. The Net was indeed a wide expanse, but to make contact through different worlds or dimensions seemed quite impossible. He gave his e-mail address to Martin, accompanied by his own laughter.
"So how am I going to get home?" he then said.
Martin's face turned glum. He took another puff of the cigar, his eyes gazing directly at Jason. "This could be your home," he said, sending out a grey cloud of smoke.
"We only met this afternoon."
"So? This could just be the beginning."
Jason looked away, gathered his response, then looked back. "I like you, Martin. But I have a life somewhere else. I have a job, family and friends. I need to go back. I just need to find a way."
Martin appeared more dejected at hearing this. "I understand," he said wearily.
But Jason wasn't listening. His eyes were focused on the monitor, his whole attention centred upon what was taking place there. The screensaver had clicked on; a tree, with many branches, flying all over a black background. And hanging from the tip of each branch an eyeball, dark pupils rolling around and around in each, as if in constant search of something. As if these branches were seeking a way home to another existence.
"The Eyeball Tree," he murmured, as if in a trance, "you have The Eyeball Tree."
"The Eyeball Tree? Yeah. You have it too?"
Jason's concentration was elsewhere though. He was transfixed, thoughts waltzing around in his head, memories crying out for shape and substance, yet not quite achieving this goal. He experienced a terrible shuddering sensation, as one of these pictures finally came back to him. An item of memory... from his existence in his own place and time.
"I remember!" he yelled, his eyes wild and staring. "I remember what I was doing. Just before I got to the coffee house."
He felt dizzy, and clutched the arm of the chair to steady himself. Closing his eyes, he pictured a monitor -- his very own monitor back home -- and all the words that filled the screen, words that had erupted from inside his active imagination in the form of fictional text. They all came back to him, one after the other, until finally he had assembled the basic idea of the work he had been creating.
"I was at my computer," he said, his eyes now open and gazing at the roving eyeballs, "I was writing something, a story. And then I stopped. I had writer's block, and I stopped to think."
"What was it about, this story?" asked Martin.
Jason remained transfixed upon the screen, almost trance-like. "A coffee house," he said in a dull tone, "two guys meet at a coffee house. That's all I got up to."
"Jesus!" Martin cried.
Jason didn't know what to say. The image was so distinct inside his head -- a mental picture of the coffee house that matched exactly the establishment he had visited and where he had met Martin. It was as though he had entered into his own imagination, ended up living the work he was creating. He couldn't come up with a complete storyline, so he decided to make one of his own by experiencing it. But surely, he thought, this is the stuff of dreams -- this is the stuff of fiction itself?
"It's just too fantastic to believe," he said after explaining his notions to Martin.
"But do you believe it?"
"I don't know. It seems irrelevant though. It doesn't tell me how I can get back to my own existence."
Martin silently took a final drag of his cigar before stubbing it out in the stinking ash-tray. "You could be wrong, Jason. It might be telling you exactly how to go back."
"What do you mean?"
Martin nodded at the monitor. "Write something. Create some fiction that involves you being back home. Perhaps you might end up back there."
The idea was so crazy it just might work, thought Jason. He was trembling like a nervous school-kid. It was the kind of thing that only occurred in fiction, and not a real-time event, definitely not. He recalled all the stories he had read over the years, all the works of dark fantasy that involved travel between dimensions, between worlds, between moments in time. But they had all been simply too wonderful to be true -- this type of idea was simply that -- an idea. Surely?
"Move over," he said, getting to his feet, "I'll try anything, I'm so desperate."
Martin remained steadfast in the chair, not attempting to move. He looked up at Jason, a sly grimace forming. Rubbing Jason's crotch, he muttered, "Before you go -- just one more time?"
Despite his apparent edginess, Jason snickered at the request. "Why not?" he said.

So they did it, just one more time, in that huge bed of Martin's. And the whole time Jason was aware of Martin's second teeth all over his flesh, sliding over it and chattering at his skin. And then the image of the youth down by the river came back to his brain, and in particular his lifeless body lying cold in the shallow water, and the lost look upon his face. To give birth meant to lose a life; and he considered this as the two of them lay post-coitally beneath the covers, still and contented.
"Martin?" he asked hesitantly. "You -- your kind -- how do you actually become impregnated?"
He sensed his partner begin to stare at him in the dark.
"We have sex," Martin said finally.
"Yes, but... how does it work? The impregnation?"
So Martin told him. He explained it all, and during this revelation Jason cowered under the sheets, his bones rattling in fear and anxiety... as Martin told him that this happened orally... that the sperm captured in the mouth served to cause pregnancy. And it was the tongue... this was the key. The tongue and its tiny teeth was the catalyst for this new life.
And Jason's mind went numb when he remembered tasting the sweetness of Martin's ejaculate.
"I'm going to miss you," whispered Martin, tenderly kissing Jason's quivering lips.
But Jason wasn't really listening.

He tapped away at the keys, hitting them blind, creating words on the screen, words that melted from his vision as soon as they left his brain. Words -- this was how it all started. But Jason was thinking of other things, puzzles swarming around inside his skull. He was afraid that he might end up a quivering, jerking wreck like the poor guy down by the river. Yet how could he? He didn't have the extra teeth. Everything was okay with him, there was nothing to fear. But still it was on his mind, this strange death-birth. Martin could be affected though. Or could he? No, it wasn't possible. Jason's sperm could never cause this, it was totally different, unlike the sweet stuff that Martin produced. And how could Martin ever live in such a way? Every time he had sex there was the fear that it might be the last time -- the last time he did anything. How could he exist with this fear hanging over his head?
"How can you live like that?" he cried out at last, his fingers leaving the keys, aching and bleeding at the tips.
But Martin wasn't there. It was a familiar place to Jason. It had worked. He was back in his own flat. Home.
Without even checking the nature of what was on the screen, he deleted the file quickly. No turning back, he thought -- just do it.
Coffee houses -- who needs them?
Shaking, he got up and went into the bathroom, and immediately threw up in the bowl. It was like ridding his system of everything that had occurred in that weird otherworld, although the memory remained inside his head. Martin's dark looks and the feel of his body.
He ran a bath and climbed in, soaking himself in the hot suds. He lay there for ages, just thinking. Where had he ended up? Where was that coffee house? Was Martin real or a figment of his own imagination?
After taking the bath he sat by the bedroom window, slowly drinking Bells and allowing his recent memories to roll around inside his mind. Then he got dressed and packed a holdall before setting off for the railway station. He had to get away, or go insane. Yet all he could think of was the twitching youth by the riverbank.

He spent a week at his aunt's in the southern coastal town of Theaking. A couple of nights he awoke in the middle of the night screaming. It just wouldn't go away. He yearned for Martin to be there, to hold him close. He wanted him to exist in the real world, his world, and not some macabre Twilight Zone place filled with males and tongue-teeth and a birth for a life. He just wanted him.
In the daytime he wandered along the beach, lost in thought. He had no desire to write, a severe example of writers block. He walked until darkness arrived. And then, whenever he came across a coffee house or something similar, he choked up inside, and dashed off quickly to avoid the place. He got back to his aunt's in the early hours, and after seven days he left her a long note before packing his bag and heading back home. Back to the memories again.
The train passed the canal in the dawn hours as he got back to his home town. He imagined a collection of spasming, wild-eyed young men with grotesque tongues that came out of their mouths and splashed around in the shallow water. He was afraid of such a world -- but he couldn't get this out of his head.
His flat was cold when he got in. He threw his bag down and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. It was very still and as quiet as death. He checked his mail as he waited for the water to boil. Nothing interesting there, so he checked for e-mails, clicking on the computer. He shivered upon eyeing that monitor after so long. He entered the kitchen and came back with a coffee. Then he found out he had two e-mails.
One was about a manuscript he had submitted to some publisher. The other was from Martin.
Martin?
But Martin wasn't real. Not in this world anyway. Was he? Quickly he tapped the message on to the screen, his mind in a quandary. As nervous as hell, he read the words that came up before him.
Jason. I'm impregnated. But I'm pleased we met. I wish you were here now. I feel weak, it's almost time. I have to go.
Jason just felt numb. An e-mail between dimensions? Could cyberspace really be so infinite? Could it be a prank? But he had given Martin his e-mail address. What the hell was going on?
As he re-read the words on screen he felt his guts churning up, and was forced to rush into the bathroom again. None of this was making sense to him. Unreality seemed to be infiltrating the real world, edging closer and overlapping, creating small pockets of netherspace which were neither real nor unreal. Was this where he had met Martin? Was that coffee house situated in one of these places? And how many of these places were in existence?
After running the water tap he happened to catch his reflection in the mirror above the sink. He looked extremely gaunt and frightful, a terrible sight. He took some water into his mouth, then spat it into the bowl. Something clicked inside his mouth.
He opened his jaws and looked in the mirror. Somehow he wasn't shocked to see a set of brilliant white teeth chittering at the tip of his tongue. And for some reason completely unknown to him, he felt compelled to grab his coat and set off into the dawn, to head for the cool, damp banks of the canal, all the while feeling the tiny bones cracking into place at the back of his tongue.