Pixieland - Concept

Niels had once been a famous Shakespearean actor, but now he was just another loon with no hope of ever being released. With nothing better to do, he would recite long speeches from Macbeth, Henry V, Richard III, Titus Andronicus, and Hamlet. Even playing multiple parts by simply turning his head and changing the pitch of his voice. “I never did care much for Hamlet,” he would say in a off hand manner as he fastidiously brushed a wisp of lint from his shabby robe, “and Richard did a much better job of it than I ever could.” Though amusing to watch, Niels’ real impact on Bixby was a result of their private conversations. 1

With a crooked finger, he drew Bixby in close one day. “When mankind was quite young,” he began, “before the early civilizations of China, Egypt, Indus, and even Sumer, the walls between our world and the fae were quite thin. Quite thin, indeed,” he mused, as if remembering a personal experience. “Hidden holes and doors allowed them to enter our lands, as we could enter theirs. Places of power, both light and dark, were scattered among the forests and fields. In some cases, two worlds were actually one and the same. Among us humans, people skilled in the arts of magic could commune with these otherworldly folk.2

“Even as the early societies learned to till the soil, our worlds remained intermingled. The first villages and towns had local gods who came from a variety of worlds and offered protection to those who simply believed in their existence. But prosperity and independence can weaken one’s faith just as easily as famine and superstition. Slowly, the priests became more important than the gods they claimed to serve, and organized religion consumed the power that had once energized their masters, for a god’s power is only as great as its followers’ faith, and when priests lose their’s …” 3

Niels leaned back in his chair, staring at the circle formed by his fingers and thumbs as if gazing through a window into another world. Bixby began to lean back himself, his motion drawing Niels’ attention. Glancing up, his eyes twinkled with an inner light. “I will tell you a truth of crystalline certainty, my lad. Everything that can exist, actually does exist somewhere, somewhen. Writers are like reporters, even if they are unaware of this truth. Even now, a writer in some far flung world may be telling our tale, just as another may be telling his. So, for instance, Tolkien did not simply tell a tale of imaginary elves and dwarves. Now, whether he knew this to be true or not ...” he shrugged and his voice grew low as an orderly passed nearby, “who can know such things?” 4

His glare followed the orderly’s receding back. “You know, lad, you really should simply play their game and leave this place.”5

“Why don’t you?”6

“Because, unlike myself, you haven’t actually gone mad. But you will if you stay here too long.”7

Bixby took the advice to heart and within three months had left the asylum, firmly believing that he would never see Niels again. 8