Saving Sleptz By Conception

Roaming mystic hills surrounded the river town and greenery mixed with buildings built decades before embodied the streets.  Locals twitched around waiting for subtle havoc to descend and destroy, while the university students who outnumbered them went about drunk or prowling. Town or city, this place called Sleptz, was up to interpretation, but I had one year of my life situated in that dwelling, and consider town the suitable term.  From the first day there I felt, heard, saw, and met an undercurrent of spiritual tenseness that my fellow students did not perceive.   About eleven months after I left Sleptz and two days ago I saw a acquaintance in an urban city that told me what happened within my absence, that the university shut down for a semester with rumors of strange occurrences, and the return of students the next semester. I responded with the proper look and tone of shock to this acquaintance, trying not to convey my knowledge. Two months prior to this encounter I felt the outcome of Sleptz, when wine tasted like wine again which signified that the mission was completed, the death of The Her, and the hope that I would receive contact from The One.

      Let me tell you about my first day and unforgettable night in the university town of Sleptz. My goals involved speeding up my attainment of a grad degree, and looking for part-time work that would help employment pursuits after I graduated. Sounds ambitious, but natural periphery goals lived in my mindset, which included self indulgence and experiencing the insides of a woman. Needless to say, this turning point in my life gave me a sense of optimism, because my goals were plausible and highly possible.  No more day-dreaming about greatness in a room in my parents’ house or yearning for monetary greatness when operating a cash register.  Both became routine and in all honesty could have rotted my existence to delusional aspirations without fulfillment.  So I wanted to embrace Sleptz, the experience, and the hopes of a worthwhile future for myself.

      On the three hour U-haul journey from home to Sleptz during the moving day my thoughts went adrift. Despite my optimism nervousness swept over me. From flatland to the hills I pondered negative and positive possibilities.  The environment looked greener than a month prior when I chose my apartment. We parked the Uhaul and cars when we arrived at my destination. By three the furniture was moved into a place I could call my own. We returned the Uhaul, got coffee and talked an awkward goodbye about what the future held.  A headache started churning within me with the detachment of my parents, my best friends.

      We hugged and they left, giving me a feeling of aloneness.  In the apartment boxes awaited and I started to unpack my books filling up a solitary small bookcase. I thought that some day I’ll read the books I own, and someday people will put my books on their bookcase with intentions to read. Soon the books were on the shelf and the delusion faded as I scanned the room.  Somehow the other materials looked like a chore, so with a fumbling of keys and a non-acclimated locking of the door, I departed to check out Sleptz.

      Sleptz, at four o’ clock in the afternoon, on a pleasant day in early June, appeared vacant. Not much activity occurred as I crossed the road bridge to town.  A small dam engaged water in a continually pleasant sound that contributed to the feeling of non-awakeness. So I stopped and looked down at the site. Not the look of healthy water, brown with seemingly bile, and at the foot of the damn a splash foamed abnormally long. The water foam, reminded me suds, but with too much filthy dirt to be clean. This river was entitled The Enlightenment River. This name stems from the settlers folklore or history that the condition of the river could predict the future. Clean and unpolluted led to prosperity, good crops, and happiness. A filthy polluted river meant disparity, death, and devilryment. Quickly, that night in fact, I knew the validity of that craziness, that apparent myth. But the professors and students who discussed local issues debated throughout my year there, always in the end giving explanations for the variations of the water’s state.  These scholars blamed a new industry up stream, more rain, derelicts, a month long garbage strike, and other plausible faults. But for most at the university the river was about a quarter of a mile from campus, from classroom or office windows trees blocked the view, so they did not care. The townies of Sleptz took the state of the river as an omen, because they knew the history of the land, and of The Her. That first time looking at that river I got a harsh headache and felt a mystery, a type of creepiness. I don’t know how long I looked at that filthy damned dam, but once I got out of that trance I almost bolted to the other side of the bridge without knowing why.

      Main Street, Sleptz, looked old with shops, bars, and trees on both sides. While I viewed the street the thought process had to occur that would lead to a decision: walk on this street or walk past to the University. Go to see what my education environment entailed or meander for a nibble and guzzle of sustenance. When someone moves to a new place stepping out of the living quarters into the world creates an unsure decision.  This decision proved monumental to the path my soul would follow in the course of my life, I changed permanently as I decided to look for a coffee on Main Street in Sleptz.

      Sun beat down on Main Street, other than random parked cars I walked by my lonesome, and the trees along the road were quiet even with the gentle breeze. Some visual details eluded me, but the sun picturesque on the town I remember.  I glanced at bars, many in a row. I strolled along and saw several economical restaurants. Thoughts crossed my mind about a nighttime playground for the university.  I planned on hitting it that night but at the moment I craved a sugared coffee, a comfortable chair, and a good edible treat.  Years prior to this experience I enjoyed coffee once in a while, when no other endeavor of greatness was to be had, but this yearning in the town of Sleptz took on an unnatural magnitude.  So I passed the bars and in a short while the businesses spread out, instead of side by side roads and parking lots lived between them.  A tanning salon gave me the forum to see the first college coed babe, who maneuvered out of the parking lot with a screech.. I kept walking.  After that establishment I passed some houses and saw with my very own eyes a house turned business.  On the porch on the awning a sign read The Enlightenment Coffee House. This appeared to suit my needs and I stepped on the porch and opened the door into the realm of knowledge.

      Walking into a retro café I wondered to myself that diners are retro and not cafes.  A bright orange counter took up a large space in the old style small room with three vintage sofas, trinkets galore, and a small table that had a checkers/chess board.  No sound accompanied my entrance and silence prevailed. Normally my tolerance to wait does not exist, but a quick glance over the handwritten menu confirmed my strange urge to stay.  Particularly I wanted the peppermint chocolate crumble coffee, and the peanut butter fudge drippling pie. I felt at peace so I sat on the sofa chair contemplating my greatness, my part in the scheme of this rotating earth.

      “Hello”

      Startled, because no auditory warnings signaled to me that someone else accompanied me I turned to my side in the direction of the communication. I saw a woman in a long shiny black dress, straight black hair cut at the shoulders, thin cheek bones, and crystal clear vibrant blue eyes that contrasted my eyes of emerald fire quite well. My guess at her age was about five years younger than me, mid twenties. Over the years perhaps starting from high school or college my sexual craving leaned toward a superficial physical prototype that most people try to claim they don’t have. On that day in that coffee shop my vision of perfect beauty stood before me. She even wore semi goth-black clothes that included a choke collar. This woman definitely demanded attention with a presence of an unworldly force.  If seen in public you’d stare longer than acceptable, ponder excessively about her features, and focus on her beauty, completely forgetting your surroundings.  My response to her hello was delayed and I finally vocally articulated “Hi.”

      With unexpected warmth she stated this: “welcome to the Enlightenment Coffee House. I’m glad you came.  I gander you want cake.  I just put our delightful german chocolate caramel triple layer cake in the oven and it’ll be ready in an hour.  It’s much better than the peanut butter fudge drippling pie you thought you desired. And I only make them for special occasions.  Welcome.”

      “What’s the occasion?” I muttered after hearing the most soothing low key yet earnest voice in my life.

      “Your arrival, so let me make you some coffee. Call me Showmane. Thank you for coming here Smithey.”

      Weird, creepy, yet enthralling to hear a stranger say my name, and not even question the time frame to get a piece of cake.  She smiled, turned, and very silently walked out of the room to the kitchen where I learned later that The Her resided.  My mind went a whorl thinking of this Showmane, very intriguing but somehow different.  I looked down at the checker board of old wood, the spaces altered from darkly stained brown to light almond mahogany.  How many people played on this thing over how many years? Another question is how many people frequent this coffee shop? The more I pondered the more questions flitted through my mind. I appeared to be in a home from the bygone era. Soon my questioning day-dreaming was interrupted.

      “Here’s your peppermint chocolate crumble coffee. Try it.” I grabbed the large cup from her hand and mumbled a thank you greeting. The coffee appeared too hot so I raised the cup to my lips blowing on it like a child.  I decided to wait putting the cup on the table looking at her.  She stared at me intently, expectantly, and repeated, “Try it.” Again childlike I did not voice my opinion for my concern that it may burn my lips or whatever scalding liquid form can burn on an attempted sip. Did this woman want me blisters on my lips, to harm me?  My thought process concluded she needed something. For some reason she needed me to carry out her splendor, her good, or something positive and not negative.  With that reasoning the cup was a test to show her my trust.  My green eyes stared at her blue eyes with passion as I picked up the cup taking a long slow swig that went down smooth and captured in her gaze I took four huge gulps finishing the coffee. “Good?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Let me get you another one. I’ll be right back.”

      Waiting yet alert from strong coffee I felt invigorated, like my calling had come.  My watch recorded I’d been in the coffee house for roughly twenty minutes, and the entrance door did not jar for that duration. “Take your time with this one.” Showmane again with no warning of entering sat down opposite of me placing my cup and a cup of her own on the table within arms’ reach.  “Welcome to Sleptz.”

      “Thank you; it’s my first day here.” With my utterance she nodded and smiled a smile of goodness while reading me visually.

      “So when you saw our place, what did you see?” She questioned.

      “I saw what looked like a house, but with a sign of a coffee shop.”

      “And you craved coffee?”

      “Yes.”

      Her friendly smile turned into a grin that in a regular person would appear mischievous, but already I knew better. “Smithey, not everyone can see that sign.”

      “But it’s right there.” I retorted for the sake of argument. Pieces were starting to be put together without knowing the context of the situation, but with an obvious element of me be chosen for some form of greatness.

      “Those pesky University students, no offense to your perceived purpose for coming to Sleptz, walk by on a daily basis while some townies help without drawing attention to this address. So basically you’re the only person who has come in here because of that sign, no one can see it except myself, The Her, and you. It is a calling.”

      “The Her?”

      “I’ll explain everything tonight. The shortened version would be that this town, and eventually the whole region rests on her being alive, which will not be much longer. After The Her’s beautiful soul departs the essence of saving humanity around these parts will be my burden. She is my great grandmother, and our family line has a history of saving this haunted wasteland.  You saw our river today, the professors’ and talking heads will try to put science and modern logic to the disparity of its state. But The Her’s power is losing its force and protection that her birth instilled to this disorderly turn of the century town. Her parents’ holy unification mixed sins and saints to equalize Sleptz to normality. There is so much to tell you.”

      She stopped and sipped coffee. I sipped mine which tasted wonderful, and I felt at peace, the stressful anxiety of moving vacated my mindset. Reminiscing back on this conversation of less than two years ago, I realize how quickly I jumped on board.  Some would call Showmane’s talk as a ramble, a fiction, and simply crazy, but that night I never questioned the logic. She did not talk fragmented or paranoid, but she told the story with compassion, conviction, and of a truthfulness of the town’s history and future. Quickly in Showmane’s company an utter calmness drove through my body and I sensed the same with herself.  So we sipped coffee contemplating each other with our eyes until I gandered to say. “What do I have to do in this scheme of Sleptz.”

      “We’ll discuss that over cake and wine.”

      “Okay.” I continued to sip my coffee in relaxation, with a nostalgic feeling about something I never experienced. Like that conversation took place before perhaps circling through dreams or other sub-conscious stimuli. Everything Showmane (who also goes by the name The One, but never refers to herself with that entitlement) said I accepted and became passionate about.

      “The cake should be ready. I need to put frosting and some finishing touches. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

      “Okay.”

      “I’m going to ask a lot from you, think about making a difference, you making a difference to humanity and the good of future souls, at least for decades or our entire lifetime.” To her statement I nodded and she left the room.  I looked about the room, I noticed a bookshelf but somehow decided to sit and sip the coffee. I’m sure the book selection met my standards and I felt comfortable.  Showmane told me to think about doing good and that good would create a positive impact for everyone. On frequent occasions I contemplate borderline delusions of grandeur. In my childhood the comics I chose were Richie Rich or Uncle Scrooge, characters with unreal amounts of money. I wanted toys, candy, popularity, and status. Later I wanted toys, women, fame, and everything under the sun. Yes, my delusions of grandeur are of the self indulgent classification, all about me and me being happy. Here Showmane suggested a greatness revolving around charity, or playing a part in saving future souls as she put it. Sitting on that chair in that enchanted house I felt a stupidity for being so self possessed in my delusions slash day dreaming. Maybe I could make a difference, if not on the grand stage than in every day life. But as far as being helpful to humanity I decided I am not, nothing beyond opening doors for the elderly and other polite necessities.

      But how much impact can one make? They tell the individual consumer to recycle when most retail, corporations, and government do not even though they out number the individual in waste.  Maybe my delusions of self gratification are more pragmatic because changing your own lifestyle may be easier than changing the masses way of being.  However, help humanity Showmane beckons of me, and for her I decided in that chair at the Enlightenment Coffee House I would. For Showmane I would.

      She came back to the room with a tray that had two large pieces of cake, two large wine glasses, and a large bottle of wine pronouncing; “Our best cake and our best wine.” And she placed the contents of the tray onto the checker board table. Showmane gripped the wine bottle with her left hand and stabbed the cork with the corkscrew in a straight motion. Then with ease she pulled the cork out of the bottle, this trick I still can’t comprehend, just another magical impossibility. She poured two full glasses and I presumed no taste test and I tried to cook up my brain to make a toast. Yet again she interrupted my thought process with “Try it.”

      “The wine?”

      “Yes.”

      “Here’s to Sleptz.”

      “And you and I.” With a clink of our glasses we took healthy sips.. After I swallowed I tried to sense a taste. Being more partial to beer and hard liquor I rarely gave wine much of a try, but I knew the taste of red wine. Showmane hovered over me anticipating a response. So I sipped again perplexed by my recognition.

      “From the tastes, I’d say you gave me water.”

      “No.”

      “What is it?”

      “Wine.” She smiled, “drink it too fast and you’ll get puke drunk.” And a laugh, the first honest display of hilarity that Showmane gave me. “Want to try?”

      “Sure, but why does it taste like water?”

      “Because you’re chosen, and your taste buds have been changed as a type of indicator.”

      “Will it be like this forever?”

      “When the task is completed and everyone safe, wine will taste like wine to you. Now try the cake.”

      Over the next couple of hours we drank three bottles of wine, ate two pieces of magnificent cake while she told the history and future of Sleptz. I sat back and got drunk off of the water wine, captivated by her way of telling the story with conviction.  Normally when people speak to me I only remember phrases, the jest of their meaning, and what I deem important. But on this early evening monologue I remember the words, and tones of voice that varied from sweet dramatics to divine passion. Also her eye contact with me, simmers of smiles, a little downcast nod on her pauses, and subtle hand movements when trying to find words to convey her message. I felt purity while observing and listening to her. Now I will try to recite that purity.

      On her second glass of wine she started with no warning and elegantly not allowing any interruptions. “Sleptz history includes a lot of uncertainties, and what you would call supernatural issues.

      “Settlers’ came in the late eighteenth century and plotted on a riverbed that no one ever seemed to occupy.  Around this land they had clean water, wildlife, and nearby trade roots. They believed the land possessed the qualities for a go between town for their game.  These people, mostly men had characteristics of land pirates, who cheated for their prizes. For some of them used Sleptz as a hide out to plan undisturbed their next big score. We have sketches of that time period, hastily made log cabins and people working the land. The water’s quality was good and for that first thirty years people who situated themselves there felt safe from the outside world. Settlers’ came in droves and by the turn of that century about 7,000 inhabitants called Sleptz home, large for non-established cities of that time period.

      “Sleptz was named after one of the original settlers named Morzore, when he stated, ‘after ten days on the wagon trail I slepts twelve hours by the river.’  His companions even though uneducated laughed at his pronunciation and gave him more whiskey. Morzore became popular so they named it after that scenario, spelling Sleptz with a z because of the unique letter in his name. These settlers lived, started families, got fat, all until that fateful year of 1816.

      “1816 started what we call the fifty year curse. About ten years ago an anthropology grad student did a dig here and found multiple mass graves varying in size within a one mile radius. The student spent a year analyzing the bones, and found average intervals of fifty years with some gaps, with the last grave being from 1866. Before the Settlers came two graves were found from 1666 and 1716, and on a reservation about a hundred miles north from here a legend still circulates about an exodus, not forced by settlers but by nature. I’m not sure of the validity of the fifty year rule, but I’m trying to portray how engrained this curse is on the minds of the people who know. This grad student did not receive her doctorate, but I have a copy of her dissertation the University refused to believe.

      “In late 1815, the water became filthy. One journal on New Year’s Day 1816 stated they celebrated the eve optimistic, but woke up with people acting crazy. Reading these journals you can visualize the trauma.  Over the time a man named Wilbe had his wife die in her sleep, and his two sons kill each other with knifes before the journal entrees stopped.

      “Strange things took place, people pillaging neighbors, rapes of anyone vulnerable.  The settlers possessed, and havoc ensued. In this hostile environment, they drank water that would burn their skin, and give an irritation that inflamed their throat once consumed. One traveler wanted a place to stay but did not get off his horse while he galloped through the town and then a great distance from the area until he passed out on his horse. This went on for three months, our data shows about half, 4,500 people, died from murder and freak surreal natural occurrences during that period.

      “On April 1, 1816 on an unseasonable hot early spring day, the possession stopped. The journal entrees changed from paranoid ramblings to clear accounts of the day, and reflections on the town’s condition with questions of what happened.  Two days later when most of the town’s men were digging mass graves the sweet sound of a lullaby hymn came from the wooded area near their worksite. Intrigued, three of them abandoned their post and walked toward the clear sound. The sound of song got louder as they crept nearer. In journals these men described the woman who vocalized these hymns as the most beautiful woman they ever saw, something out of a fairy tale, long feathered dirty blonde hair with a dress that fit her well. When they found her she was cradling a new born infant looking like the happiest woman alive. This woman, Stelka, when asked when she birthed the child responded, ‘after nine months of walking she was born two days ago.’ They congratulated her, offered her a place to stay, in one of the cabins no longer inhabited. She replied, “My work is done here, after a few days rest I’ll return to my town and husband. Your town will be safe for years to come.’ To that these enchanted yet perplexed men asked her if she needed anything.  To that she answered, ‘no, just give me some peace and quiet with my new daughter, my first.’ Reluctantly the men went back to their grave dig, a project that took five hard labor weeks to complete. This Stelka played an important role in the history of Sleptz.

      “For one thing she knew that her baring a child there saved our town in some way.  As everyone became more and more clear from their possessed fogs they tried to piece everything together, and thought of the why, why to our town, our people.  The river became crystal clear. Many explanations were brewed up, talked about, and scrutinized. Honestly today, we still debate the reasons and never satisfactorily.  Personally, I believe it has to do with the lands rejection of humanity, the river, the rolling hills do not like humans or animals, living organisms muck everything up. But I do know that this monstrosity will happen again to this town. I’m chosen and the vibrations tell me this one will be the most horrific of them all, that’s why timing is essential.

      “Anyway, for the next fifty years from 1816 to 1865, the town again prospered. It became more of a go between east and west as more settlements popped up to the west. More than rif-raf came to the town.  Old residents of Sleptz told of the horrors in the recent past, but the new people considered it local folklore only noticing the fertilized scenic land, a perfect environment for a town. By the 1830’s the townies even had a class scheme with large farmland owners and laborers. The laborers typical day included working fourteen hours, drinking for six, and sleeping for four eating somewhere in between. Nonetheless the town was on the rise, and the river contained a clear purity.

      “Sleptz experienced few deaths, and the population grew to about 14,000 by 1845, and they felt lucky. Lucky when 65 men of age went to the Mexican war unscathed, even the civil war did not hit the town as hard as the rest of the county. But the soldiers who returned in late spring of 1865 gave a looming depression to Sleptz, bringing the world’s uncertainty to their steps.

      “One soldier, Eckle Sling, who is very much a part of our history came back physically intact but with a hopeless sadness to his disposition. The town remembered him four years prior, as the goofy teenager that would partake in any endeavor to impress his friends and the ladies. Stuff like trying to break a beer bottle over his own head with the result of knocking himself unconscious. Everyone knows that type and his parents hoped his character would remain. But he returned gloomy, untalkative, vacant, and irritable.  Within a week of his return he became a regular at O’malls tavern and brothel. The girls after two nights of trying left him alone to his drink in the corner. Eckle’s solitary drinking went on for months, but the barkeeper let him be because he was an easy customer.  The waitresses simply put four cigars on the table at his arrival and delivered a pint every twenty minutes or so. He paid and attained a type of invisibility at O’malls.

      “O’malls patrons’ forgot that Eckle Sling was among them until one fateful day in late June. Eckle sat in his usual unobtrusive post in the bar when two female strangers to the town walked in. Journals recovered from this period show a storm of words about this pair. One was Stelka, still magnificent at seventy with an air of importance, a divine lady if you will. Next to Stelka stood a stunning young woman whose image by today’s standards the media makes too common place. Ramula, the young woman’s name, attracted the gaze of all the male clientele, and the female staff creating an irksome silence. After a slight pause she walked followed by Stelka to the far corner of the bar and they sat down at Eckle Sling’s table as if they did that exact act on a regular basis.

      “As they sat down an observer noted that Eckle Sling looked alive for the first time since his return, as if lifted out of his transient stupor by these two apparent angels. Ramula spoke first with a simple statement, ‘he, Eckle, is the one.’

      “ ‘It’s a pleasure mam,’ he smiled a shit eating but well intended smile, and started talking in rapidity unseen in him until Stelka stopped him.

      “Observers paid attention, only hearing glimpses of an intense monologue by Stelka. The jest of her story was of her visit fifty years prior, the birth of her daughter Ebra, and what that process involved. Stelka knew before the conception that she had to get pregnant, travel roughly 500 miles west and birth a child in the correct geographic place. She knew and had visions come to her of a man in a neighboring town. Through dreams, daydreams, and flashes Stelka created so much detail about this man that she knew his name, physical features, where he worked, and when they would meet.  She at first questioned her sanity, but believed quickly of her duty. After three long days of waiting for the correct time she quit her job as a loomer, and took a carriage to her future husband’s town.

      “Even with all our research that I, The Her, and others have done over the recent years we have never come across where Stelka originated from, or her husband. We only know the distance and direction, but many roads lead roughly east.

      “When Stelka got to this town that recurred in her thoughts, she went to a bank, and walked out with a male bank clerk. Their wedding took place the next day, on a Friday in August. On the following Sunday, Stelka sat down with her newlywed, told him she would return in a years time. He agreed quickly and she left with a seed planted in her womb. After eleven months she returned to her husband with the baby and sense of fulfillment to her life. Her marriage was wonderful until the death of her husband thirty-five years later. Stelka’s only surviving granddaughter, Ramula, confided in her the same visions of birthing a child in an exact western geographic location. Stelka believed instantly with the memory of spending the duration of her pregnancy on the road, and the birth in the woods overwhelmed her as she looked at her granddaughter.

      “Two days after Ramula’s confession, she went again to the Grandmother, stating they must leave to a town called Sleptz and go to a bar called O’malls. They got on a train and headed west.

      “After Stelka finished her monologue, observers noted a gleam of happiness about Eckle’s face, and Ramula spoke next, in a to-the-point fashion, ‘Eckle, will you marry me.’ He concurred quickly, they got up from their table, and left the bar followed by about half the patrons. At the nearby parish they were married within an hour. Eckle’s parents’ saw their son’s happiness and went into debt buying the newlyweds a house.  Soon Ramula became pregnant.”

      Showmane took a long pause from her story of Sleptz and looked at me warmly with a stare sharing the ending of this epic adventure.  Maybe it was the water wine into the second bottle, but I had a fever of excitement boiling inside of me, flowing throughout my body, an extreme arousal. She took a long slow sip of wine herself, and continued her account. I did not speak being deep in my enthrallment.

      “Eckle and Ramula became the awe of the town, people helped them in all ways they could. From food to household necesitees, the town beamed in fairy tale type happiness not recognizing the horrible state of the river; until New Year’s Day 1866.  Sleptz deceprecated overnight and the townies went around with a demonic craving. Only Eckle and Ramula stayed sane but took the brunt of the town’s hostility and wrath. At one point someone tried to torch their house but it did not go aflame. Two months later it stopped on the new month of March. The door to the much hated house opened and Eckle, Ramula, and a new born baby girl stepped out.  A couple with a baby, and the town was saved again.

      “In the town’s two week long clean up people talked and talked, listened to the old timers tell their tales of a similar occurrence. Now they listened instead of discarding. They assimilated that it involved a birth of a child chosen by some force to swipe the insanity away from the town.  Both happened on New Year’s Day with about a fifty year difference. Everyone one in Sleptz made a pact to emphasize this information to the young so that in fifty years from that time, they would hinder the evil by timing the correct birth for exactly New Year’s Day, so havoc would not descend.

      “About forty-nine years later, the townies worried about the future of their dwelling. Their calculations gave them the conclusion that these saving conceptions were somehow bond to a maternal family line. However, Ramula’s and Eckle only surviving granddaughter was not a savory spirit. This woman owned the establishment Cloudy Times. Cloudy Times, a whorehouse slash opium den, was credited with ruining many lives and families in the area. People came from all around as well, in that time that brewed up prohibition, not many of those places existed. One future literary great noted in a letter ‘the place was like a vacuum, enticing you, making you feel part god, and would take its time spitting you out, back to modern times.’  Year’s later, one regular, bragged how the hostess Recklie claimed she could not get pregnant until the time come to save the cesspool of the town called Sleptz.

      “By winter 1915, people knew her time was coming but avoided the subject, for she resided at Cloudy Times, and no one really knew of her dealings. One day in mid February a traveling minister came to Sleptz, passing through town to town making sinners change their haggard ways for their own good or make spectacles of them for others. One can’t be sure. Anyway he set up camp, and within a couple of days learned of Cloudy Times. This minister quickly went for a confrontation. A group followed him, noting his ferocious verbal attacks on the infidels that run sinning for money businesses and their boundment to hell. Creatures like these must be squashed he yelled loudly on the walk. They turned a corner making the house that Ramula and Eckle lived in and that we sit in now visible. On the porch they saw a fine woman in black garb. The minister slowed his steps but steadily hovered closer and closer until he stepped in front of her speechless. The crowd remained silent, some noting how beautiful Recklie became, they haven’t seen her in years and the thought of a general decay of her, with the life style she led if rumors were correct.  But she seemed like a person out of a Victorian novel going to a funeral. At last it was she, Recklie, who broke the silence, “Reverend Howl I presume, come in. I’ve been expecting you.’ With a grin he went in the open door and she closed it behind her, leaving the spectators in awe. In about half an hour the spectators noticed over twenty people leave Cloudy Times, looking like degenerate vampires. That night they filled the jail, but the Reverend and Recklie stayed in the once again residential house.

      “Weeks turned into months and they stay put while the river yet again showed signs of deterioration. Talk in Sleptz revolved around the possibility that she was pregnant with the child, but no sign from them if that was indeed the case. Summer was spent with exciting talk and by fall actual worry set in, but most for some reason had a faith in the unlikely paring of minister and whore-keeper. In the middle of the night you could see folks carrying care baskets to their doors that were received mysteriously. On New Year’s Eve 1916, no celebration was planned in Sleptz. People locked their doors and hid knifes from their children, and their bullets from themselves. Shortly after midnight a female and male duo New Year’s Eve song came from the street. People looked out their windows seeing Recklie, the Reverend, and the new born. Everyone came out and celebrated. The Pubs flowed free brew, and a joyous moment was held by all of Sleptz. This was the birth of The Her, my great grandmother, and yes the water was clear and refreshing that very day. Our river stayed this way until recently, because of this woman. Now the weight of Sleptz health is on my hands, and you, Mister Smithey, are my facilitator. Marriage is optional, but you must impregnate me.” She paused looking at me with a stern yet friendly smile. “Now let’s go meet The Her”

      Showmane’s proposition gave me a sense of accomplishment in my life, so in my day-dream haze I followed my future lover to the kitchen to meet The Her. An old style kitchen I walked into carrying smells of freshly baked stuff, a lime green counter with a cooling rack displaying the rest of cake. I felt drunk, tipsy, and in an ethereal state sipping my wine when Showmane interrupted my staring at the cake. “Smithey” And I looked in the direction of her voice from the opposite side of the kitchen to meet The Her for the first and last time. Her appearance enchanted, long white hair flowing past her shoulders, few wrinkles, and noticeable clear eyes. This lady of ninety, my quick math told me.

      “I’m Smithey, good to meet you.”

      “I’m Shureal, did The One tell you everything?” And she glimpsed her eyes toward Showmane. I said mostly but asked the question of what happened during the time of 1916 and now, of basically the year 1966 in consideration of the fifty year cycle. Her demeanor went from happiness to a tinge of sadness that she only had grandsons and no one eligible to pass the responsibility of Sleptz onto.  Looking at this woman in that kitchen, she seemed pained by the memory. Then she explained to me that in 1965 she got severe migraines and visions started to come. The proclamations of these visions, these dreams, told her she solely controlled the health of Sleptz. During that time she meditated and reclused. Making her grown up son, who had school age boys, call to inquire all the more frequently, thinking she was eccentric at best not believing the folklore. Around that December she started chanting to herself alone in the house, not understanding what she said, but the water stayed pure and new years passed. After that she realized she would live a long time, that Sleptz would by okay with her alive, but eventually the torch would have to passed on to someone else. In the late 60’s she started having visions of The One, and her great-granddaughter grew up too match that vision.  The Her said that shortly after The One was born in 1983, the family started to die in strange freak ways. And that she raised her in that house from the age of four. That girl had to carry on the torch, because no one else in the family was alive.

      With this Showmane spoke, “Growing up I knew, but truly believed when I had visions about today, about you, Smithey, coming here. I’ve known this date for about two years now.”

      Looking at Shureal, I didn’t know what to say. This aged woman looked deep at me with trusting eyes and said, “Don’t worry, I’m complete now. The migraines will soon be gone forever.” After a few minutes of surprisingly small talk, we goofed about the wine, Showmane and I went back to the café room. She told me to keep quiet about the process, and not to come back until the time for conception. The Her expected to live another sixteen months, and she must die before the child is born. If for some reason The Her is alive, Showmane will die just like the rest of the family, and Sleptz will be destroyed quickly. To this shocking segment I asked her how she knew. Showmane just nodded her head that it was true. And I considered it true.  The power of The Her held the town together, so the two of them figured that the timing of birth did not revolve around New Year’s anymore.

      Showmane gave me a nice slow kiss, and told me to only come back to that house when I saw that same sign that drew me there in the first place. “Until then,” and she opened the door.

      I stepped out, turned around, looked at her beauty responding the same, “until then,” and walked into the night. Feeling giddy drunk I went back to my new apartment, clumsily opened the door, locked it from the inside, lay on the floor, stared at the ceiling for a couple of apparent hours, and passed out.

      Thoughts of Sleptz past and future and more thoughts of Showmane dominated my mindset as I worked toward my degree. I met great friends, frequented the bars more than I went to campus, but throughout that ‘time of my life’ so to speak, I felt a constant waiting. At nights after the bar crawls, I walked down the same road to that historic house. Every time I walked past not able to differentiate it from the others. I replayed Showmane's narration over and over, especially when I walked over the bridge and looked down on the grim that did not resemble water. Showmane’s face and voice I thought I’d remember forever by my first and seemingly only impression. I kept my eye out for her whenever I saw a certain height, hair length, and build.  These resemblances led to disappointment. Not Showmane smoking a cigarette on the student union steps, not Showmane gathered in a group at a bar, not Showmane walking to the Physics building, and so on. Basically this became an obsession that resulted in some cold stares from the potential Showmanes. I began to question my sanity if the whole scenario was a dream or what.

      Spring semester, my last semester all the sudden had one month left, and school seemed overwhelming. I took more classes that semester to clear my mind and finish.  After writing a paper late in the night, I decided to walk that old route, the route I didn’t walk for a month prior. The end of school was in sight, the credits almost done, and my resume sent out to numerous places. I did not plan to stay anywhere near Sleptz, but wanted to see Showmane again, but thought of the whole thing as a trick, even though I couldn’t explain the taste of wine.

      On that late Monday night in early April I saw the lighted sign say Enlightenment Coffee House. Showmane opened the door to a candle lit house which I entered and did not leave until after the sun came up. We did not verbally communicate during my time in the house, but I knew when I left that I would not see her until after the birth of the baby.  And I would only see Showmane if she lived through the birthing. I also knew that Showmane would seek me out when the time was right, and I should not try to find her.

      During my last month in Sleptz that coffee house sign did not appear in front of my eyes. My dreams consisted of me, Showmane, and a baby sitting at a table eating cheese with wine we could taste.  About nine months after I graduated I decided to get a large cheap bottle of wine from the corner store of my new busy street. I opened it with a cork the normal way and took a huge chug from the bottle, and had to spit it out from the bitter taste. I jumped up and down like a kid, because I knew Showmane and the baby were safe.  That acquaintance I saw two days ago confirmed that Sleptz had trauma, which meant the death of The Her, and the birth of the next generation of regional guardian. So Showmane’s plan worked.

      Today, two months after that successful wine test, I still wait for Showmane and the baby, but I’m sure they’ll be here soon.