“Whoa, it’s like, mondo dark in here!”

            Sparki’s utterly superfluous (look it up, kids) comment hung in the dead silence that followed like a mangled holiday sweater on a Macy’s sale rack at 11:57 p.m. on Christmas Eve. Tasha’s eyes began to water with the portent (look that up too) of that imagery.

            “I w-want to go sh-shopping!” she wailed suddenly, startling Jack out of his maximally stressed wits. Craig leapt gallantly towards the sound of her mall-deprived snuffles, and crashed into something very solid and unforgiving in the darkness.

            “OW!” bawled the Something; “I’m not going to forgive that!”

            The slightly concussed fiddler whimpered. “Sae sorry,” he apologized in the general direction of the Something. “I canna see verra weel in th’ pitch black.”

            “Then maybe you shouldn’t go jumping around in it!” snapped the Something testily. “I think you’ve bruised my rump roast. Rump roast, get it? Ha! I kill me!”

            Sparki inched towards the voice, arms outstretched. “Like, who are you?” she asked, just as her hands met something furry and warm. “Like, what are you?”

            “Could you scratch a little to your left?” the Something suggested. “Ahh, that hits the spot.”

            Jack too was groping towards the voice (or at least some portion of Tasha’s anatomy) but his hands met something smooth and cold. “It feels like PVC. I’m guessing it’s a refugee from the Kinkopolis Fetish Fashion Show.”

            “Nae,” piped Craig from the floor, “`tis more like rubber.”

            “So I’m still guessing it’s a refugee from the Kinkopolis Fetish Fashion Show,” said Jack.

            “You’re ALL wrong!” exclaimed Tasha, feeling somewhat brighter, “it’s CASHMERE!”

            There was a click followed by a blinding light. As everyone’s eyes adjusted, their unusual situation became very clear: Jack was clutching a raincoat, Craig was holding a pair of galoshes, Tasha was fondling a perky little sweater (in a darling shade of blue) and Sparki was scratching the nose of a sentient, neon-green cow.

            “There’s something vaguely Freudian about all this,” muttered Jack, “but we’re not going to think about that right now.”

            “So, the cow began, “what the heck are all you people doing in here?”

            As the four friends looked about, they realized that they were in a very cramped little room, lit by a single dangling bulb and stuffed with old coats, shoes and winter clothes.

Sparki fished a mothball out of her sock and eagerly began, “We’ve totally got to intro first! I’m, like, Sparki, and the mall-babe is Tasha, and the raincoat guy is Jack, and the most righteous fiddler on the floor is Craig!”

The cow blinked in a markedly unimpressed fashion. “You can call me Elsie because you will anyway. And let me guess. You found some shiny-put-in-mouth little rings that zapped you here, right?”

“Aye,” said Craig slowly. “`’Tis another dimension?”

“Dimension schmension,” Elsie grunted, “you’re in the freakin’ downstairs closet!”

“OK, I’ve just got to ask: What is a neon green cow doing in the downstairs closet?” Jack inquired, as he fumbled for the door handle.

“Writing my thesis on stupid people who put weird jewelry in their mouths while they’re wandering around spooky castles, what else?”

“I can, like, utterly taste the bovine sarcasm in this room,” Sparki interjected.

“I think that statement is way too close to being a god-awful pun,” Jack opined. “So, to save us all from certain aural embarrassment, I’m going to get us out of here.” He turned the knob.

(“Aural embarrassment? Isn’t that what happened to President Clinton?” Tasha perked unexpectedly.)

“Don’t touch that doorknob you moron!” bawled Elsie, “It’s a—“

It wasn’t the exit, let’s put it that way. The knob clicked and the huge trap door that was concealed in the floor opened. In a fearsome knot of fur, fiddle and Freudian innuendo, everyone plunged into the depths of the castle for several mind-boggling half-seconds. They all landed, of course, some of them just more comfortably than others.

“I landed on a pile of 100% wool blend turtlenecks!” exclaimed Tasha.

“I, like, landed on an awesome tie-dye beanbag futon!” exclaimed Sparki.

“I landed on a stack of Nerfä cannonballs!” exclaimed Jack.

“Gi’ the f**kin’ coo off my haid!” gasped Craig.

“You saw that coming, didn’t you?” Elsie asked no one in particular (so it could be you), as she struggled to her hoofs. “Now you’ve done it. We’re in the Closet-Cleaning-Oubliette! We’re stuck!”

“Oh c’mon,” Jack huffed, scanning the walls for a door, “there’s got to be a way out of here.”

“The only way out is UP!” Elsie whispered to Sparki.

“I landed on a leap o’ lathes,” Craig grumbled.

“Anybody got a diet Cokeä?” asked Tasha.

“Maybe somedude’ll, like, take us out tonight?” Sparki said hopefully.

“Whoa, whoa, one Broadway reference at a time, people,” Jack protested. “We don’t want to use ‘em all up. We might be here for a long time…”

Sparki began pawing through the huge mound of discarded objects below them. “Jack, dude, don’t have a c—“

“Don’t start with me,” Elise warned. “I am a cow on the edge.”

“Like, sorry, my most bodaciously bovine bud. Anyhoo, there’s no reason for widespread dismay.”

“I’ll say!” Tasha piped up. “I just found the most darling crocheted quasi yak fur purse! And the Harrod’s tag is still on it!”

Silence, two, three, four…

“Like, yeah. Well-a-mundo, all the stuff here that we totally need to get us out of this most heinous oubliette is right under our tennies.” Sparki ignored the flurry of rainbow Slinkiesä Craig tossed in the general direction of her head, and dragged out her choice items.

“I see a rowboat shaped like a Viking longboat, a handful of paper fans from a revival meeting, two toy wagon wheels, a broomstick, an overpriced Mexican blanket and a ball of twine,” said Jack,” said Jack bleakly. “Hey, wait a minute! That’s it! If we tie ourselves together with the twine…”

“Then what?” asked Craig suspiciously.

“That’s all. Isn’t that enough?”

“JACK!!!”

“What? WhAT?!”

“You people are sick,” Elsie pronounced with quadruped authority.

“If I get that in writing, am I eligible for disability?” Jack asked innocently.

While she didn’t commonly believe in rewarding bad behavior, Sparki actually considered leaving him tied up and gagged in a corner…just for a minute… Luckily, she recovered enough to settle for shoving an XXL slipper sock over his head. Her socio-political ire thus satiated, Sparki began to describe her plan to the others. To avoid verbose Val-speak, the gist was that she intended to—

“BUILD A FLYING MACHINE???!!” cried the others.

“Totally!” Sparki enthused, sticking the revival fans into the wagon wheels. It’s really most bogusly simple.”

“This chick is making me nervous,” Elsie whispered to Craig. Then she looked at Tasha, who was busy tugging on tufts of her new purse to make certain it didn’t shed. “Not as nervous as that one, though. So, Flashback Girl, are you serious about this?”

“Most absolutely, my bovine comrade.”

“Well, that’s the plan then. Shape up, people, and start using those opposable thumbs you’re so proud of!”

“Let’s get started,” said Craig good-naturedly, pulling the sock off Jack’s head. “You heard the coo.”

“Of course I've heard of… (two, three, four). No, I’m not going to say it,” replied Jack. “You can’t make me. Now Sparki over there, she could probably make me… OW!”

*** 45 MIUTES AND TEN RABBIT PUNCHES LATER ***

The machine was truly impressive. The paddle wheels would turn the majestic craft. The blanket stretched over the broomstick made a splendid sail for catching the breezes. The diminutive longboat was just large enough to hold everyone, including the cow and excluding all of Tasha’s newly acquired luggage. The only thing it could possibly use was—

“A MEANS OF VERTICAL LIFT?” everyone except Sparki chorused in perfect unison. (Wow, these guys have timING!)

“Do not stress to excess, guys, gals and cow-dude. All we need is a ballon-type-thingie.”

“Cool! Isn’t this the part where all the women take off their underwear?” hummed Jack.

“Nae, that’s Baron Mun…munch…how… ach, ye try that name wi’ this accent!” Craig snapped testily.

“Baron Munchausen? Naa, I just thought it was as good a time as any for the women to take off their underwear.” B-dum chshhhhh.

“Where did that rim shot come from?” hissed Elsie. No one confessed. “OK, that’s it. Cow in the house. Fiddle boy, grab that U.S. Government surplus weather balloon behind the Nerfä balls. Rim Shot, tie the balloon to the boat over the sail. Gucci, for the last time, get those 75 little black dresses out of here! Flashback, we need some kind of hot air – and don’t even look at me like that.”

“I’ve TOTALLY got it!” Sparki cried triumphantly, and pawed through her backpack. She emerged with a small tin can.

“What the—?”

“This is the most heinous hot air source known to the universe: `The Retelling of the Complete and Unabridged History of the Long Bow as Inspirited by Mr. Mybug, A Famous Writer, Loudly Interpreted with Extensive Annotations by Mr. DeForrest, An Infamous Orator, Recorded and Canned for Your Insomniac Listening Pleasure by Lieberman Enterprises, Letmetellyouallaboutit, New Jersey’,” Sparki read exhaustively from the label. “`Packed in spring water. Warning: contents under pressure. No animal testing’.”

“Good thing!” grimaced Elsie. “Well if that doesn’t get us off the ground, nothing will.”

Craig nimbly took the can and lashed it to the top of the mast with some omnipresent duct tape he’d found in a corner. All the others piled into the miniature longboat, and Tasha only wept a little at leaving her designer bounty behind. The fiddler pulled the ring top off the can and held the balloon over the opening. It immediately began to rise and swell with all manner of ostentatious utterances. Luckily, the balloon muffled the interminable speech to a tee.

A scant three minutes later, the boat began to rise up the oubliette shaft, buoyed by bombastic assertions. Sparki and Jack worked the cranks on the paddle wheels to keep them from bumping into walls. Tasha flapped her new marabou mittens in the air and Craig fiddled an uplifting reel. Elsie tapped a hoof in time and wondered absently what that bright red button on the left wall did as they slowly rose past it.

“Hey, what do you think that button does?” asked Jack, almost exactly as the point of Craig’s bow struck the button on a particularly energetic upswing. “Oh geez I hate it when I do that…”

“I bet you knew there were outtakes at the end of `A Bug’s Life’ too, didn’t you?” Elsie said accusingly, as the entire passage began to shake and something VERY large rumbled directly over their heads. “I hope you’re happy.”

Unfortunately the balloon blocked everyone’s overhead view. The rumbling stopped and the flying machine continued its ascent in silence. In fact, it began to pick up speed.

“Here comes the doorknob!” said Tasha excitedly.

“There goes the doorknob!” said Tasha excitedly as the balloon zipped past before anyone had a chance to grab hold of anything. Anything inanimate. Sparki went back to turning the paddle and Jack limped back to his side of the boat. The walls continued to rush past at an alarming rate, and the air began to chill.

“Um, like, what happened to the most solid and formerly present ceiling of our ex-closet?” asked Sparki.

"I think its absence has something to do with a certain red button…” Elsie began.

“Wha’ are we goin’ tae do?” cried Craig.

“Did anyone bring an anchor?” suggested the cow.

“`There’s no earthly way of knowing which direction we are going…not a speck of light is showing, so the danger must be growing…still the rowers keep on rowing…and they’re certainly not showing any sign that they are slowing…” (1)

“SHUT UP, JACK!!!” bawled the assembled company. At that instant, with a whoosh and a foosh and oh, what a roosh, the wondrous flying machine popped out of the top of the castle and everyone stared in amazement at the cold wintry night, and the snowy forest spread far below.

“Like, awesome,” breathed Sparki and the others quite agreed. As lovely as the spectacle was, however, the balloon continued to climb, and that was a baaaad thing. Or so  Elsie would have pointed out, if it wouldn’t have tread on the hoofs of the Ovine Actors Guild’s cross-species portrayal restrictions.

“What’s that?” Tasha squeaked, pointing at something above them.

“Nae tae worry aboot that, lass,” Craig sighed in partial relief. “`Tis only a bit o’ fog we’re risin’ intae.”

“What if we get nailed by a plane?!” Jack protested.

“Cow in the boat. No problem,” said Elsie. She drew in a very deep breath and held it. Immediately her neon green body began to glow brightly. Sparki, for one, was highly impressed.

“Whoa, mondo cooooool. Hokay, Jack dude, see if you can get that bogus can off the mast so we can totally get back to terra firma. I’ll keep us in a most circular holding pattern so we don’t like, drift. Tasha, keep looking righteous. Fiddle dude, how about `Funky Town’?”

Their parts assigned, the crew of the flying machine went straight to their tasks as the balloon lifted them higher into the fog.

A few miles away in an unmarked car sat a very bored young woman and her preoccupied male companion. She drummed fingers in the steering wheel while he adjusted their high-powered, government-issue binoculars one more time.

“Sculder,” the woman groaned, “it’s time to go. I’m tired of casing this castle. There’s nothing going on up there!”

“Just a sec, Mully,” he replied, “I think I fixed it…” He pointed the binoculars at the sky just in time to see the longboat rise through a break in the fog. After a moment’s pause and a deep sigh, he lowered the binoculars and returned to his companion.

Back up at the balloon, Jack reached the top of the mast and ripped the can away. The longboat hovered half a second and immediately began a gentle descent.

Mully picked up the binoculars thoughtfully and took a quick peek, just in time to see the weather balloon (with USA stamped across it in big, bold letters) sinking through the fog. Sculder opened the car door again and sat down. Mully fired up the engine.

“Let’s go home, she suggested gently. “Now that you have a bedroom, you might as well use it…”

The flying machine continued to drift back down towards the castle, and Craig paused in his spirited, Celtified interpretation of `Disco Inferno’ just long enough to look over the rail. He spotted a huge, circular skylight that appeared to be opening! He quickly motioned for the others to have a look. Sparki nodded, maneuvered the longboat into position over the entrance and they descended once again into the castle. With great fanfare, the ship set down in a gigantic anteroom that was blazing with light. The skylight slid shut above them and the fearless crew gladly disembarked into the warmth.

To their amazement, not twenty yards away, in a sumptuous conversation pit, in front of a cheery fireplace, with a formidable feast set out on tables all around, sat Mollie, Hamish and Denara, along with a lovely red-haired girl and a jovial-looking old gentleman with busy white whiskers.

“YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED TO US!” everyone cried in unison. (Yes, timING.)

Mollie leapt onto a table. “Look!” she bawled over the general hysteria, “ we can talk about it all later! What’s important right now is…THIS!” She brandished a modest paperback book under Sparki’s nose.

“Like, what are you totally talking about, Mol Chick?” Sparki sighed, baffled.

“Remember how we’ve been looking for the Secrets of the Universe? Well HERE THEY ARE!! We’ve FOUND them!!! Eureka!!!”

Jack snatched the book from Mollie’s enthusiastic grasp and read the cover aloud. “`All I Ever Needed to Know, I Learned From the Warrior Princess’…?”