The Adventure Continues...

I found myself at home again, back at my apartment, back on my doorstep. An amalgam of memories tugged at my mind... something about a desert and a cave, something about a jungle and an ocean. Was this some sort of waking dream I had? Some sort of unprovoked hallucination? It seemed it had ended, but I felt a bit woozy and wondered whether I should return to bed.

Then I heard the clop-clop-clopping of a horse and buggy. And, sure enough, there it was: an honest-to-goodness horse and buggy pulling right up to the curb before me. A gloved hand appeared in the carriage's window, swept the curtain aside, pointed to me, and beckoned. A bright, English voice began calling: "Come on, come on! Get in, get in! It's time, it's time! It's happened!"

After a twinkling's hesitation (which to this very day I loathe to recall) I stepped up to the carriage (it was painted in a plethora of chaotic, clashing colors that were eminently unlike what I would have ever expected in such an antiquity), and I peered inside.

Before I could perceive anything, the carriage door swung open, an arm reached out, a hand grabbed my wrist, and I found myself whisked within, onto a plush, purply-cushioned seat. The door closed, the driver barked a "hup!," the horse whinnied a "heigh!," and we were off and galloping. And then, at that moment, I knew. This was bizarre, this was crazy, this was impossible, and yet this was no dream.

"A compendium of kudos to you, Curious One," said my host, now revealed as a ttweed-suited Victorian gentleman, clean-shaven, with circular eyes, firmly-set lips, and a handsome, angular, tallow-hued face. "You've made the right choice, joining me here." He polished a monocle with a clean, white handkerchief. He looked very familiar.

"Well, you did pull me..." I began.

"Ah--!" he protested, finger poised. "Only to expedite! You were about to knock, hence enter, and you know it!" His pupils, I noticed then, were a rainbow of changing colors, sparkling and undulating wildly.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"That's hard to say," he replied. "You may call me ‘Jazparovsky'."

"‘Jazparovsky?'"

"Or just Jazpar, if you feel friendly."

I extended my arm. "My name is Johnny--"

He laughed at me. "I know who you are, you fool!" He shook my hand vigorously. "Besides, we've met." He gestured, indicating a top-hat on the seat beside him.

I examined the hat. It reminded me of something recent. "Where are you taking me, Jazparovsky?"