We could get used to a place like this...
Monkeewood, Part One
“I can’t believe this!” Mike Nesmith groaned and slammed his fist down on the steering wheel of the Monkeemobile. “The damn thing ran out of gas. I should’ve paid more attention.”
“We’re never gonna make it to my aunt’s house, are we?” Davy Jones pouted his infamous pout.
“Apparently not, unless you have a magic wand that’ll suddenly produce a case of gasoline.”
“Well, I do have a magic wand-“ Peter Tork’s eyes lit up as he rummaged through his bag. “It’s here somewhere…”
“I was joking, Pete.” Mike scowled.
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Listen, why don’t we just walk over to the nearest town…the sign back said it was Collinsport or something.” Micky Dolenz suggested smartly. The three other heads bobbed up and down in agreement and they left the car to find the nearest gas station.
Mike, Peter, Davy and Micky had driven cross-country to visit Davy’s aunt in Bangor, Maine. Well, not specifically to see her, they just went on their trip for the hell of it, but she was rich and had promised Davy a handsome amount of cash for their trip back to California (which they desperately needed, as always) so they agreed to visit her. Until now they hadn’t had any problems, they were trying to reach Aunt Mabel’s house that night so they wouldn’t have to spend more money on a motel room. It was already two in the morning and Mike was dead tired from driving the whole trip, so it was understandable that he wouldn’t be as attentive to the amount of gas in his tank as he would be under normal circumstances.
They trudged on for a half-a-mile before they reached the small town of Collinsport. First thing they saw was a huge, forbidding mansion on top of a hill.
“Whoa,” Micky whistled. “They must have a lot of dough.”
“Yeah, and plenty of rooms to spare for the night. C’mon.” Mike headed towards the door of the place.
“I’ll bet no one’s awake though.” Davy whispered as they drew closer.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this place,” Peter said in a hushed voice, and as if on cue a lightning bolt flashed, followed by the loud boom of thunder.
“Funny, the sky is clear.” Mike noted, looking up at the bright full moon. He shrugged and knocked on the big door.
“Hello?” An older woman with dark brown hair and a grouchy expression answered the door-fully clothed as if being awake at two AM was just a normal thing for her.
“Uh, hello, ma’am. Our car ran out of gas, and we were wondering if you could put us up for the night.” Mike asked nervously. The woman gave each of them a reproachful look but let them in anyway.
“Well, come in, then. I’m Elizabeth Collins Stoddard. Let us gather into the drawing room.” The boys followed Mrs. Stoddard into a big room right across from the entrance hall. To their surprise there were other people, also dressed in daytime clothing, hovering around casually. Mrs. Stoddard cleared her throat and they all looked at her expectantly. “These young boys are stranded, they’ll be staying here for the night.” She announced with an air of authority. One of the men with light hair and a snobby expression curled his lip in disgust.
“But look at them, Liz. They’re wearing casual clothing.” He stated arrogantly. The boys looked down at their button down shirts and dark pants; Mike removed his green wool hat self-consciously.
“Roger, please.” Liz gave him a Look and the arrogant man made a haughty noise and walked out and up the stairs. The guys drew their attention to the other man in the room. He was young, late twenties, and was drinking sherry standing by the window. He gave them an amused look and strutted over.
“Quentin Collins, at your service.” He smiled charmingly at them and shook each of their hands.
“I’m, uh, Mike Nesmith-“
“From the South, are you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“West Virginia?”
Mike looked at him strangely. “Um, no, Texas.”
“Never mind, then.” He drew his attention to the others.
“I’m Davy Jones.”
“From England, then?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t, by any chance, know Barnabas Collins? He’s from the English branch of the family.” Mrs. Stoddard broke in.
“Uh, no. I’m from Manchester.”
“Oh, well.” She turned back to her tea.
“I’m Peter Tork!” Peter shook Quentin’s hand enthusiastically.
“Er, yes, pleased to meet you, Mr. Tork.”
“Really? I mean, I’m not from West Virginia or anything, I just come from ol’ California-though my cousin Henrietta does know a woman who once, I mean I think-“
“Have you met our caretaker, Willie Loomis, by any chance?” Quentin asked the over-excited man wryly.
“Nope.” He smiled brightly. Quentin raised his eyebrows at him and then shook hands with Micky.
“Micky Dolenz, co-lead singer and percussionist of the Monkees, aspiring werewolf-“ He smiled goofily at the other boys but there was a collective gasp from the rich people in the room.
“Werewolf, are you?” Quentin asked sharply.
“Er, no-I was joking. Heh heh.” He gulped nervously.
“Are-you-sure-about that, Mr. Dolenz?” A woman with short red hair approached them, narrowing her eyes and gasping every few seconds.
“Well, last time I checked-“
“It’s alright, Julia. It’s a full moon tonight and he hasn’t transformed. Unless…no, but that’s ridiculous.” Quentin broke in, swishing his sherry about.
“Petofi? Are-you-thinking?”
“Geez, you guys really take your jokes seriously here, huh?” Micky broke in with exasperation. Mrs. Stoddard, Quentin, and Julia each glared at him for a few seconds.
“We don’t joke in Collinwood.” Mrs. Stoddard said coldly.
“Well, what do you do for fun, then?” Mike asked.
“We-don’t-have fun-in Collinwood.” Julia gasped out with as much emotion as a dead fish.
“What do you do here, then?”
“We investigate sudden mysterious murders, hold séances and fight a lot.” Quentin grinned cockily.
“Oh.” All four of the boys nodded nervously. Then, suddenly a loud howl was heard from outside. The boys jumped, startled. Quentin and Julia exchanged looks.
“She walks in beauty, like the night-“ Quentin looked out at the wall and stated mysteriously.
“Er, who are you talking to?” Davy asked.
“What?” Quentin wrenched his gaze from the wall and looked at the short Englishman.
“You were talking out to the wall, mate. It was weird. As if-“ The Collinwoodians all turned to glare at him.
“Davy, never mind. These people are crackers.” Mike whispered.
“All right, boys. I’ll have Mrs. Johnson show you to your rooms.” Mrs. Stoddard left the room. Someone knocked at the door, and Quentin went to answer it.
“Barnabas, come in.” He led in a tall, dark-haired man with gray streaks into the room. “Barnabas, this is Mr. Nesmith, Mr. Tork, Mr. Tork and Mr. Tork.”
“How do you do?” The tall man shook hands with each of them.
“Um, actually we aren’t all Torks. I’m a Dolenz.” Micky looked strangely at both of the men.
“Yeah, and I’m a Jones.” Davy said irritably.
“Oh, forgive me. Most of the people in Collinsport have the same last name, I guess we just get used to assuming everyone is related to each other somehow.”
“Oh.” Mike answered shortly.
Mrs. Stoddard returned a few minutes later. “If you boys just go up the stairs, Mrs. Johnson will show you to your rooms.”
“Okay, thank you. Good night.” Mike and the rest of the boys said, and scrambled upstairs.
“Well? Where is this Mrs. Johnson?” Davy asked. Indeed there was no one to be found.
“These people are off their rockers, guys.” Micky raised his eyebrows.
“Hello? Who are you?” A young woman with blonde hair approached them.
“Mrs. Johnson?” Peter asked.
“Um, no. I’m Carolyn Stoddard.”
“Have you seen Mrs. Johnson?”
“Actually, no, not for a long time…not since that whole Quentin as a ghost thing…well, who are you?” She stopped babbling and looked at the boys with an annoyed expression on her face.
“I’m Mike Nesmith, my friends and I are stuck here for the night. Our car ran out of gas.”
“Oh.” Understanding dawned on Carolyn’s face.
“Now we’re waiting for Mrs. Johnson to show us to our rooms.” Davy explained. He strutted over to the young blonde woman and kissed her hand. “I’m Davy Jones, Miss Stoddard. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Er, yes…” She looked at the others. “Well, I’ll show you around until we find Mrs. Johnson.” She smiled charmingly and began giving the boys a tour of the upstairs. “-This is the room where Vicki used to live…gosh, I haven’t thought about her in awhile…this is the West Wing, it’s blocked off…”
“Why is it blocked off?” Asked Peter.
“Well, you see, I…I don’t know. You could ask Barnabas, though. He knows everything there is to know about the Collins’ history. He’s always walking around with that family book.”
All of a sudden there was the sound of music coming from the direction in which Carolyn was motioning too.
“What’s that?” Davy asked curiously.
“Oh, that happens all the time.” She smiled and headed off in the other direction. “They all are wackos.” Micky scratched his head.
“Here’s the East Wing. No one really stays up here, it just seems to be part of the house that goes to waste.” Carolyn whisked on, and the others followed him…except Mike got tugged aside by an unknown identity.
“Hell!” Mike gasped and turned to face the person who had grabbed him. He recognized the man as being Barnabas from downstairs.
“Here, here, there’s a room where another time and universe is being played out…really, I swear. Come see!” The older man pulled open the doors excitedly, but as far as Mike could tell, no one was there; it was just another empty room.
“Huh. Listen, Mr. Collins, but Just Say No to drugs, okay? They screw with your mind.” He turned away to catch up with the others, but Barnabas pulled him back again.
“No! I’ll try again.” He pulled open the doors, and once again nothing happened. “Damn! Okay, I’ll try it once more…”
“I’ll just be going…” Mike was starting to get nervous.
“NO! You must SEE!”
“For the love of god, let me be!” Mike cried hysterically, but stopped as magically, the room that had just a second ago been a drab storage place, had transformed into a beautiful room with light curtains and lit candles.
“See? Told ya so.” Barnabas smiled triumphantly.
“How’d you do that?”