Cigar Smoke version 9.8.1 (part 3a)

What keys I wondered? I still didn't quite believe what was happening to be true, but I was starting to become anxious. I could feel my heart a bit more acutely in my chest, my senses heightened, on alert. I had no idea what these keys looked like, where they could be, are they even real keys or is this some Lord of the Rings fantasy bullshit where the key is really symbolic to something else? Hoping they weren't some sort of Tolkien-ish nightmare as symbols have never been a strong skillset for me, I started searching for my old backpack. A voice in the back of my head that I hoped was my own, was warning me things were about to get crazy so it didn't hurt to have a "get the fuck out of Dodge" pack with me at all times. I grabbed the mandatory items such as socks, underwear, shirts, pants and one extra pair of shoes, I headed to the kitchen. Searching drawers, I find a compass, Swiss Army Knife, book of North American maps (pre War of Ages), and a flashlight. I get dressed in layers, and grab the first aid kit and my journal and lastly, my one book I never leave behind, Atlas Shrugged.

I put my earphones in and slip into the night, signs of dawn are slight in the far eastern view, the ocean roars angrily, the cries of grievances held for what we have done, how mankind destroyed earth, everywhere you turn, you see signs of destruction, signs of anger from within the animal kingdom. It almost makes glad we don't share the gift of language with the animals, I don't know if I could bear to hear their stories, their ancestor's history, their pain. I keep walking, the boardwalk missing planks every few yards or so, the salt eating away at the mostly neglected beach and boardwalk.

What could these keys mean? Why 9? Where would they be? How the hell do I find keys when I don't know what keys I am looking for?

All of a sudden, there was a roar, it was far away but travelling fast and fast towards me I might add. The roaring was becoming deafening, and I realized it was the ocean and the wind and that somehow in the last 30 seconds, a serious storm was brewed. There hasn't been a storm like this since the Age of Wars I thought, what the hell caused this one? Before I had time to contemplate the answer, I was being pelted with rain, and then slowly I realized, hail was starting to form, getting larger as the minutes went on. I knew my apartment was too far to get to, I had to find shelter elsewhere. I darted straight to the street to what looked like it was still standing and as luck has it, it looked like it was a pub, best shot of a fun time waiting out the storm. I broke in and shut the door, no signs of liquor but then there was always a closet of the shit hidden away somewhere. Looting through the bar, I notice a floorboard with a small crevice, and pull it, the door loosens and underneath a small cellar.

Taking out my flashlight, I jump down the 3 feet and look around, bottles and bottles of liquor. I can taste the sweet whiskey on my tongue, warm after a cold and dreary day. I grab a bottle and climb back up behind the bar. Grabbing a stool, I take out my notepad and take a sip of Crown Royal. Suddenly behind me I hear a soft whisper, almost a cackle, I turn around and the voice is in front of me, turning forward again, the voice again jumps.

"This isn't funny, just come out, I'll share my whiskey, come on, we can both hide out the storm here." No one answers me.

Maybe I am losing my mind I think, it's been a long day.

"Heh, hiding out from the storm, you think you are safe because you are partially underground?? You have no idea!" The voice cackles in the background, but still I see no one, the voice evading my sight completely.

"Who are you? This isn't funny! Come on out!" I feel my shoulders tense up and I begin to wonder what this is, that this spider has gotten me into.

"Well, well. It seems you do have some brains in y'eh! It seems to be me, you just caught on a wee bit with that last bit about the spider."

'Well yeah but I don't know if ….. waait a minute?! I didn't say that out loud, did I? No, no I KNOW I didn't. What the hell was that??" I stammered and all of a sudden I can hear my heart beating louder than the sound of the storm raging outside the pub.

"Ach, you'll get used to er, this is still new I know. Take a minute and then we'll talk."     

With that, out of the far corner of the pub, appears an old man, dressed in old Londoner garb from the 1940's. A full breasted suit, black with very thing white pinstripes so faint, you barely notice them. He had on a white dress shirt stiff with cornstarch. A sharp purple tie adorned his neck, fitting in nice with the jacket and shirt and finally a black fedora with a matching purple ribbon around the base of the hat. He had the most delicious smelling cigar hanging from his mouth, old spice wafted through the air. This man reminded me of a kindly old school mobster, and yes I do believe mobsters can still be kindly, hell the world as we knew it is gone, so what the hell, I figured why not drop the stereotypes.

The man took the stool beside me, grabbed a scotch glass and filled it one-quarter full.

He spoke, "So you are the keyseeker, never would have imagined the likes of you but you look like you'll learn quickly and that'll do, that'll do."

I shook my head and stuttered, "I'm the, the … keeyseek, uhm the keyseek, eeker"

The old man laughed, "Oh, hah hah hah, yeah oh I do like these virgin questers, hah hah."

"I don't get it. How can I be the keyseeker, what the hell is that? Oh wait, wait!! Is this about those 9 keys? You know what this all about???!!" I shook my head, the fog of surprise lifting; I begin to think that maybe this spider thing has some merit? When did I turn psychic oddball?? Maybe some of that nuclear warfare did get to me?

"Let me go with you, we must leave right away, I can explain the 9 keys on the way." The old man spoke breaking my reverie.

"I uhm but I don't know you, can't we talk about this fir .."

"There is NO time, we must depart now and quickly I might add." The old man interrupted.

Deciding I had no other options, I shoved the glass bottle of that very familiar friend, my dear Crown Royal into my backpack, strapped it on and said "Let's go."

With that, the old man started towards the back of the pub, "There's a backdoor this way, leads to the alley, more sheltered from the storm."

…. To be continued