Alternate Reality

Would she ever finish a story? It was a question always left unanswered. Nora could never stay with her story ideas long enough. Her characters were stuck in the pages of her notebook screaming to have their stories told, but she could never commit. Maybe tonight would be different. For now, though, she took comfort in her usual routine. After a light dinner on the patio, she spent a little time with her favorite websites. One gave her daily help to cope with her anxiety, and another was full of articles shared by her favorite writer. Then, once she caught up on the daily news, it was time to put pen to the page.

After an hour of repeatedly typing a few words then hitting delete, she knew it was a lost cause and gave up once again. Heading to the kitchen, her mind kept wandering over several ideas for the next plot point, but she could not make any of them stick. In the mood for something sweet, she opened the freezer for ice cream. Nothing. She remembered finishing it off the last time she was stuck, which sadly, was not long ago. Glancing at the clock, she decided there was just enough time to replenish her stock of Cherry Bordeaux before the Smitty’s grocery store closed for the night.

Mr. Jones, the night clerk, smiled as she came through his line ten minutes later. “Made it just in time. And I ordered a few extra pints this week since this flavor is so popular,” he gave her a wink as he smiled.

“Thank you,” she laughed. “It's a great cure for the sweet tooth.” She took the small paper bag from him and walked toward the exit. Outside the door, the bulletin board on the wall held lots of notices. She made a habit of glancing over them each time she was here; she liked to stay informed about community events. A new announcement on bright yellow paper was posted front and center. The questions printed in bold capital letters stopped her in her tracks. IS YOUR STORY STUCK? CAN’T GIVE YOUR CHARACTERS A PROPER FINISH? DO YOU NEED INSPIRATION? Nora stepped closer to read the smaller print. It was an invite for a writer’s group, and the next meeting was scheduled for the next evening in a church across town. Nora couldn't believe it. She was just thinking those same thoughts. It's like someone was reading her mind. She decided it must be fate. She should go. Maybe she would get the inspiration she needed to finally finish a story.

The next evening, working up her courage, Nora drove through town to the meeting. The address was in a residential area, and the houses along the street were modest with clean and tidy yards. The church was set back from the road with a parking area in front. It was gothic in design with four spires as columns and a peaked entryway portico. The exterior brick was grey and in the dim light of dusk, gave her a cold eerie feeling. Nora shivered involuntarily. Brushing it off, she parked her car and walked up the front steps. A small note pinned to the wall next to the heavy oak door directed her to come on in and proceed down the stairs. As she reached the bottom step, a tall figure stepped from the shadows to her left, startling her. “Good evening miss. Please, come right in.” His calm face and gentle voice put her at ease.

Entering the doorway to her right, several voices greeted her at once. “Hello,” “come on in,” “welcome.” The group was diverse; three men of varying ages and five women, three of whom were much older than the rest. They all nodded and glanced at each other as if giving their approval of her. Nora took the one remaining seat next to the small plaid couch where the elderly ladies were sitting. The room was paneled in tongue-and-groove knotty pine, and a plush burgundy carpet covered most of the floor. Several occasional chairs and sofas were arranged in a U shape and at the head of the room, a table was set up with various books, writing pads, pens, and pencils. Nora brought her own supplies, so when one of the ladies offered a notepad, she politely declined.

The gentleman who greeted her in the hall came into the room. “Welcome miss, we're glad you joined us this evening.”

“Thank you. I'm N-” she tried to say her name, but he cleared his throat loudly before she could finish.

“We don't worry about names here,” one of the men to her left smiled at her. “It's enough to know we are all writers who just need a little help to finish the stories that need to be told.”

Nora smiled in return. No pressure. She liked that.

The man who welcomed her into the room began to speak again. “I believe our prompt for tonight is ‘woman attacked by wolf in small town dies from infection’. We want to write about the details of the small town. Take us there. Then, tell us about the woman. What was she doing to encounter a wolf? What provoked the attack and where did the wolf bite her? We will take thirty minutes to write, then have a short break to discuss character development, then write again.”

Nora sat still while the others rustled notebooks, writing pads, and pens or pencils. No one said a word. As they were busily writing, Nora continued to feel paralyzed by the blank page. In only fifteen minutes, time was called.

“It seems our new friend may be having some trouble starting. How can we help?” Mr. Welcome asked. She didn't know what else to call him since there were no names.

“I’m not sure what to write,” Nora said quietly.

“It's okay,” one of the younger women picked up her writing pad and held it up for Nora to see. “It can be whatever you want it to be. For me, I started with the name of the town, which in my mind is like the small town I grew up in, so I named it West Haven. I am describing the streets and small shops to give a sense of the town’s architecture. Next, I will focus on one shop where the woman works. I think she is a sandwich person, and the smell of the meats and cheeses draws the wolf to her door late one evening. See how I have the basic storyline, but it's up to me to provide my own details? We have the finish. We just need to fill in what would make this story our own.”

“How is this going to help me to get unstuck?” Nora asked.

“We practice. We get to use our imagination to develop details and make the story come alive. This will help when you sit down to finish your own story.”

“Let's try again everyone. Thirty more minutes.”

Nora focused on the details and finished her story. She felt somewhat accomplished that night even if it was someone else's idea.

The next morning the news was full of horror. A young girl in Havenhurst, a town in the next county, had been brutally attacked by a bear while on her way home from the theater. Nora was out jogging when she heard, and she stumbled falling into a small embankment along her favorite park trail. Filled with shock and disbelief, she sat there thinking of that poor girl. She was so young, and Havenhurst wasn't a remote small town. It was just a few miles away, and Nora wondered if they caught the bear. She made her way home saddened to think of that life cut short. She wondered if that was where the young woman in the writer’s group was from. The name was so like the one the woman chose.

Over the next week, Nora’s writing took on new energy. She was able to finish several chapters in her novel and began to look forward to the next writer’s meeting. On Friday, as she parked in front of the church, she thought it must be nice to live so close as the others must. They probably walked to the church as there were no other cars in the parking lot. She remembered there weren't any the first night either.

Once again, Mr. Welcome greeted her as she came down the stairs and into the basement. “We are glad you returned.” He led her into the room where the others were already seated, waiting. They all nodded and smiled.

Nora took her same seat and got her notebook and pencil ready. She thought there might be talk of the bear attack, as that was all she heard from the customers at the café where she worked, but no one said a word.

Mr. Welcome started the session.

“Tonight, I believe our prompt is ‘thief successful in robbing jewelry store that boasted impenetrable security’. Tell us about the store; the jewelry; what was the security like? Who is this master thief? We will break in forty-five minutes to discuss setting.”

Again, Nora sat still while the others prepared to write. Mystery was her genre. She didn’t care much for crime stories. They seemed too real. Still, the exercise seemed to have helped this past week, so she began to write. The time flew by and soon she had several pages of descriptive story. She felt accomplished once again. She thought it strange that no one talked or shared their ideas, but because this was her first experience, she had no others to compare it to. Maybe this was normal.

On Sunday, she heard that a bank in Glenbrook had been robbed despite the new cameras and a new alarm system the corporate office had installed. Nora felt a sense of déjà vu. She brushed it away. She couldn't remember any banks that had been robbed in the area, so she wasn't certain why it felt like she had heard this before.

Over the next several weeks, Nora continued to attend the writers group. She knew it was helping her writing. She had so many new ideas and new energy in her descriptions and storylines. Each week the prompts continued to focus on crime. Nora wasn't comfortable with them, but when she questioned whether they could write in a different genre, she was told when her story was chosen, she could give the next prompt. She was surprised. No one had told her this was a competition. She hadn't turned her stories in. She asked how she was supposed to win if no one knew what she was writing.

“You'll know dear. You will know when it is your time,” one of the elderly ladies gave her a meaningful look as she nodded her head.

That night the prompt was about a house fire that took the lives of a prominent family. Mr. Welcome’s instructions were to focus on the flames: how bright they were, the colors, the heat. Then, the smell of burning wood, the size of the structure, and the chaos to get it contained.

And this time, when the sense of déjà vu came, Nora was in her car driving to the library. The news reporter was choked up telling of the loss of the District Attorney in the early morning hours. She and her family were all asleep when the house caught fire. The flames were so intense and there was no way to save them once the car caught fire in the garage. When the fuel tank exploded, the structure collapsed trapping them inside.

Nora couldn't breathe. She pulled hard to the curb, then slammed the gear shift into park as she struggled to control her hyperventilating. She pounded the wheel with her fists. No! No! This cannot be. She felt sick inside. This was last night’s story. This was her story! She wrote about the DA. She wrote about the car exploding, the flames, the structure collapsing. How could this be? What did this mean? She thought back to the other prompts, remembering, knowing now why certain news stories seemed familiar. The wolf became the bear, the woman, a young girl. The jewelry store became a bank. Others since then had been just as disturbing. A jogger assaulted in the park became a young college student brutally beaten on campus. A driver asleep at the wheel of a semi crashing into a bridge became a drunk driver who crashed into the police station. All those stories so close to the original… How did this happen? Was this writing group involved? Was this some kind of fantasy becomes reality? Was she, Nora, a criminal now?

Nora drove to the church. It wasn’t their meeting day, but she needed to find Mr. Welcome. He had some explaining to do. She turned down the street where the church was located. She looked for its familiar front spires. Did she take a wrong turn? Was she that distraught? No. She recognized the other houses along the street. The church was not there. In its place stood a gothic-style house. Smaller than the church, it was white stucco instead of brick. The windows were boarded up, and there were bars across the frames preventing any unauthorized entry. A bar was also in place across the front door. A closed sign was hanging from the bar gently swaying in the breeze. Nora looked around and noticed what looked like a business sign lying on the ground to the left of the front steps. She got out of the car and walked toward the sign. She was confused. What was she seeing? Where was the church? She knew she was stressed these past few months, but she wasn't that stressed. This is where she had been coming for weeks now.

She lifted the sign and read- Advanced Center for Hypnotherapy, and under that in smaller print- All Are Welcome.

Rocking back on her heels, Nora felt herself getting anxious and knew the hyperventilating would come next. Taking in big gulps of air to try to calm herself, she could feel the darkness closing in. Soon, she would pass out. She sat down in the grass to keep from falling.

“Excuse me,” she heard him behind her. Turning, she saw a tall man in a jogging suit holding the leash of a golden retriever dog. “Are you okay? My dog, Lexi, is trained to alert when someone is in distress, and she must think you need some help because she pulled me to you from across the street.”

As he talked, Nora once again felt a sense of déjà vu. He seemed familiar. His voice was gentle. She didn't think she knew him. “I'm sorry. I was feeling a little dizzy. I'm also a little confused. I thought there was a church here.” she said

“A church? No, never been a church here. Always been this house, though it's been many things over the years. Once it was a lawyer's office, then a dental office, even had a women's clinic here, and for a brief time some young guys who looked for ghosts were here. That last group though, that was the strangest one. The man who ran it was arrested for trying to make people believe in an alternate reality.

“Really?” Nora felt sick.

“Claimed his hypnosis could help solve crimes. Turns out he was the one committing the crimes,” he shook his head.

“I don't understand.”

“Seems he would hypnotize them, then get them to confess their fears or confess their ideas about the perfect crime. He would then commit the crime but make them believe they were to blame. He was writing a book about it and detailed every crime.”

“That’s horrible! How did they find out it was him?” Nora’s voice cracked, and the dog moved a little closer to her.

“Well, it seems someone wrote a mystery story and submitted it to the local paper. There were enough clues to lead the detective here to this place,” he turned to look at the house. “Just a matter of time before they discovered there was more to his therapy than hypnosis,” he gave her an odd look. “Funny, now that you mentioned it, this old house does kind of look like a church.”

Nora felt her hand shake a little as she raised it to pet the dog.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you this while you are obviously upset. Is there anything we can do for you? Do you need some water? Can I call someone?”

She laughed nervously, “no, I think I will just go home and rest.

He shook his head, then turned toward the dog. “Well, if you are okay, I’m going to take Lexi home and find some lunch.”

“Yes, thank you.” She watched him walk down the street. His stride was familiar but still, she couldn’t place him.

Driving back to her apartment, Nora went over the past few weeks in her mind. She didn’t remember being hypnotized, but that must be why she was writing so well.