Tiny Tim Background
From Changeling Venue
The walls of the tunnel closed in around him, damn this god forsaken country, damn the draft, he hated tunnel duty, but he was the only one small enough to fit into many of the Vietcong entrances. He crawled dutifully through the mud and filth the rain had left behind, as he did so he listened to the sounds around him, the rule on Tunnel patrol was maintain radio silence, the Vietcong would sit quietly in the rooms at the end of these tunnels and listen for the soldiers coming down. You could only send one person down a tunnel at a time, so here he crawled through the mud and the filth, with nothing more than a pistol and a boot knife. He knew the dangers he faced, he allowed his mind to wander a little bit back to college....a happy time for him, as a literature major he quite enjoyed telling and reading stories.
He figured when he got out of here he could write a book about his adventures in Vietnam, he knew that the American people didn't quite agree with the war but as someone that saw the patriotism in fighting for his country and freeing these people he had lied about his age to get into the draft at the age of 16 here he was fighting a war that had no way to win, but in hindsight not regretting a moment.
He crawled a little further through the tunnel and came across and opening that he could see light through, bright light, unlike any light he had seen in one of these tunnels before. He whispered into the radio, "Found the nest moving forward...." He crawled to the opening and was floored by what he saw in front of him, it looked like the Vietcong had planted huge amounts of thorn bushes in the tunnel, as if this room was nothing more than a garden for strange fruits he saw growing on those brambles. He whispered again, "Sarge....your not going to believe this...." that was the last thing he remembered saying before being drug from the tunnel entrance. The hands that reached through and grabbed him were so large they actually tore the tunnel mouth as they came through. He was grabbed by the head and pulled violently through the hole he remembered only seconds of the ordeal as he was then tossed into the air, looking down he saw three "Men" absolutely massive in stature as he arched high in the air and was caught by a leg, briefly examined before being slammed into the ground and fading from consciousness.
Meanwhile back in the real world something that looked allot like him crawled back out of the tunnel and reported there was nothing of interest....
Memories are a funny thing after a head trauma, but he remembered waking up covered with tiny scratches and not real sure who or where he was, was this amnesia he thought to himself, no it can't be amnesia, he remembered what amnesia was. The world around him was a savage one, the terrain unforgiving mountainous passes pock marked with fissures that spewed an awful red colored smoke, he could not identify. He could hear talking around him, loud boisterous talking, and so loud it hurt his ears to listen to it. He stood up and walked about what he thought was open land till he came to the edge about 10 minutes later to find he was in a massive cage, around him people slept, they did not look healthy or well fed. The damn VC must have come across some new method of narcotic torture unknown to the rest of the world. He sat down and started to think about all the training he had undergone and how it would aid him in this time of need.
“You…come to cage now. “A voice bellowed, he wasn’t sure who it was talking to with near hundreds of people locked in this hellish nightmare. He watched and waited for someone to get up, when no one did a feeling of dread washed over him, as a large hand reached down through the cage and lifted him out. “Puny one, will wash dishes for the high lord of the giants. No dirt on dishes, dirt on dishes means no food for Tiny.”
He spent the next however long working in the galley’s of the giants kitchen scrubbing away the debris of those slaves that did not manage to do the work to the expectations of his captors, at first the concept of scrubbing away human remains disgusted him and often times he found himself throwing up, but as time passed he learned to live with it, as he ate the strange foods and drank the strange drinks, he even at times found himself sneaking a taste of the strange debris. The sounds of the voices no longer bothered his ears, he learned not to get close to any of the servants that had been “recruited” as often times he would find himself scrubbing away a part of their flesh recently cooked for the giants next meal. The realities that struck him were serious as he learned his true fate.
It was one night that changed his destiny….after working in the kitchen he was escorted back to the cage by Grom a large giant who had won many of the giants gladiatorial fights and was known for his cruelty which was only out weighed by Groms vanity. He knew that he belonged to Grom as he was the one that always seemed to show up to escort him back to the cage. Grom was a simple giant, not kindly but not as brutal as the rest of his ilk. He knew that Grom would watch him and the others he owned intently almost infatuated with the strange little creatures, even if over time they ceased to be anywhere near as little as they were when they first got here. Grom would sit on a large rock and watch them…just staring as if there was wonderment about them.
As they returned to the cage Grom watched with interested as he took a sheet of paper out and started writing down his name rank and serial number over and over again, reality was this helped him get through the nights while he waited for the next rude wake up that would signal the breakfast harvest, and secretly he would wish he was part of it. But as he wrote he felt the watchful eyes of Grom upon him, it wasn’t long till the massive giant spoke to him, “You can write sounds?” He was stunned to hear the giant speak, but he knew that to not answer meant another rock or worse, he responded, “Words? Yes I can write down words, would you like me to teach you Grom.”
Grom laughed, and the ground shook as the giant stomped his feet in his amusement, “No Grom is no egg head working on words, but you could write out Grom’s conquests could you not?”
He thought for a moment and allowed himself just a little smile, “Yes Grom, but I would need a better place to work and some paper and pencils to write with.”
Grom looked at him for a moment you could almost hear the wheels in the massive giants head turning, then he smiled as well, “Grom can do this…you write groms story, no more cage for Tiny Tim.”
Great he thought the big one thought he was being funny, but this was better than most problems that he had, soon he was moved to almost livable quarters and was fed and kept well daily, his new duties were to follow Grom around and write down everything he was asked to. At first it was tedious trying to remember every little thing the Giant did, but one night his diet was suddenly changed, over the next few weeks it became almost impossible for him to forget anything no matter how much he wanted to block something out he could not. The blessing and the curse he thought, but his plan was starting to unfold, it was there that he put his literary mind to the test and started working on his first novel, there in the middle of this cruel heartless hell that was the lands of Faerie he started writing “Behind the Brambles” he almost added “A survival guide” to the title but realized if it was ever found it would almost make him a certain meal.
He wrote and he wrote, during the day writing down the ever boring exploits of Grom the Mighty and at night he wrote the tales of Timothy Thomas a human trapped in an inhuman land of nightmares. As he wrote he learned, taking it upon himself to learn all the ways of Grom’s people, taking it upon himself to speak with the other servants under the guise of collecting Grom’s exploits. Then after 10 years of writing and collecting, he had enough to fill 3 full novels of work in the human worlds, and enough knowledge and power that he felt it was time to actually finish what he started…
“Grom” he spoke to his handler that night, “Perhaps I should go on the next hunt with you, that way I can write down how you capture many slaves and are the mightiest of the mighty hunters, it will never be forgotten if I write it down for you.”
This was a ploy he had used many times before with Grom to appeal to his egotistical side, and it never failed, the next month he was taken with Grom on the hunt into the hedge, Grom explained to him that Slaves were not allowed on the hunts because they would attempt to run, but Grom felt he had treated him so well that he would not run on him but rather embrace the fact that he was as free as a slave could be. Tim went along quietly and watched in terror as the giants started to round up humans, gazing longingly at the world that lay mere feet beyond him, yet he knew that to run when it was not the exact precise time would be folly. The first hunt didn’t give him that opportunity, but after they returned he found himself almost unable to avoid the desire to consume the meats that were gathered on the hunt, his body had changed to such a degree he was starting to have Giant like tendencies. This was not good, yet it was still something he could deal with. Grom watched him eat pleased with himself.
On the third hunt that Grom took him on, something went terribly wrong, they grabbed a mortal as they always did, but this time the mortal was quick enough to pull out a fire arm and begin shooting at the large giants, in the chaos he was knocked from his usual place upon Grom’s back. With the doorway back to mortal earth sitting mere feet from him, Tim knew he had to act fast, and he started to run, if he could get through the doorway and into the mortal world he just might be able to escape them in the confusion before the Giants realized what was going on. Grom saw him first, letting out an angry bellow as a bullet slammed into Grom’s shoulder, it ricochet off and tore through Tim’s right side causing incredible pain which almost caused him to pass out and doom him to a quick and painful fate in the belly of the beast that had treated him almost civilly. Grom launched a large hand trying to grab him, but Tim dodged and ran for the opening back to the mortal world, he barely made it out, before passing out in the middle of the busy downtown street.
He knew he was safe when he heard the squeals of the ambulance, the dirty and disgusting uniform he still wore almost deliberately giving him away to the mortal public that something was wrong. The ambulance driver stopped and he was loaded into the back of the ambulance and rushed to the local VA hospital where he underwent multiple surgeries but final was free of the bullet, this was when he met her. A profit by nature a healer by choice she aided him in healing himself, and in showing him that yes they could in fact help those that had escaped the hedge, she also tutored him in the ways of the Autumn court, and he learned quickly, Clara was an excellent teacher, and secretly Tiny Tim found himself caring for her as if she was his own dear mother.
He learned some important facts about himself over the next year or so, first it was 1999 which was odd since he had disappeared in early 1965 but yet he knew time must have passed for him, he learned the ways of the modern world, but most importantly he learned that the hunger that had gripped him in Farae had not subsided, but rather grown worse with time. Passing his time between his writing and his learning with Clara he soon took the role of her protector when she would venture into the hedge, his life finding itself torn between the civilized world as a writer where he would have to place himself in the public eye on a regular basis and the uncivilized role as physical protector. In time he started to blur the lines, as Autumn would approach each year he would find his spirits raise, soon the movie theatres would be showing the years newest horror movies and he would again be able to work his magic’s on the mortals that had seen them. Fear. A wonderful possessor, actually it was this same fear that lead him to the pivotal moment in his life. Actually two of them would progress at the same time tearing him asunder in the most wonderful way.
It began at the start of Autumn the leaves had changed and the world had started to fall into wondrous slumber that had started it, he was at home reading a copy of the newest interview with Clive Barker and thinking to himself how great it would be to be Clive Barker and understand his ways and ideas. To sit with one of the true masters of macabre would be a wonderful thing for him, it was about this time he heard a strange noise outside his front door. Tim rose from his chair to see what the noise was, this was not a wholly unusual occurrence around him for being a member of the Autumn court he often had strange and unusual visitors, however this time he opened the door to find a Jack-o-Lantern carved with the most unusual markings, it appeared that words had been carved on the pumpkin.
“St Hill Cemetery, Plot 14 Row 62.”
Were illuminated by a strange eerie green glowing candle. Tim shuddered slightly knowing that his Fetch was buried there, killed in action during the Vietnam conflict Tim took himself to the place marked on the pumpkin, the drive was long at this hour of night, but he knew that messages like this often times had dual meanings. Part way there he saw a man on the side of the road, dressed in a black jacket with Black pants, his face was…oh my god his face was a reflection of Tim’s own Rotting like a corpse. Tim’s car veered off the road and into a tree, as his head made impact with the windshield it was everything he could do not to pass out, he could feel the red blood running down his face. Tim found himself gripped with fear and didn’t even bothering waiting by his car, he jumped from the vehicle and limped his way back to the point in the road he had seen the man standing. Nothing. There was nothing there, of course in the 3 minutes he had been removed the man could have left, but Tim felt this was all tied to the unusual message he had received earlier. He continued on foot towards the cemetery arriving just over an hour later, Tim was exhausted and the events of the evening had his hair standing on end, he knew this was the witching months however he also knew that his controls of fear should protect him from the terror that now gripped him, only once before had he ever experienced such fear, and he was sure that Grom was not around, surely he would have seen him over the tree tops wouldn’t he?
Tim was sure of it, he looked around and noticed no mortals staring his direction, he knew it would be covered but he wanted to be sure, even though he thrived on their fear, he didn’t’ feel that right now was the best time to do so. He concentrated and soon Tiny Tim was standing an impressive 20 feet tall and towering over many of the tree’s he stared in the direction he knew his fetch’s grave to be only to see nothing towering around it, he felt very confident that Grom was not present. He shrunk back down enduring the agonizing pain that accompanied this act and walked slowly towards the gravesite. As he approached he noticed that the usual ground marked gravestone had been replaced with what appeared to be a very very new head stone, grand and marked on the top with a strange looking Sycle and Jack-O-Lantern symbol, he had not seen before, Tim walked cautiously toward it gripped once more by that irrational fear that had been with him since the accident. Tim didn’t knowtice the slight rustling of the leaves around him, September 21rst was all he could think, all he could focus on. As he approached he saw the words on the tombstone, words that would haunt him for the month to come…
“Tiny Tim, A Giant Amongst Ants, Born 1957 Died October 31rst, 1999.”
Tim blinked as he read the words again, his eyes focusing on them, as he approached and touched the tombstone, the world around him exploded with laughter a dark evil laughter that chilled him to the core, as he turned around, he saw them….5 of them in total, all dressed similarity to the man he saw before, and all with his face, torn apart in various ways, 1 with a bullet wound where the left eye should be, another with the axe splitting his head, another chewed by a wild animal and so on. Tim recoiled in fear at the sight of them, he backed up against the tombstone, and a hand reached out from behind it gripping his shoulder,
“40 days to make your choice….40 days to chose one of us…..40 days left. Tick tock tick tock.”
Tim turned and saw his own face smeared with blood staring back at him, a dark face with the arm of a giant clock buried in the top of his skull, Tim screamed like a child and ran from the graveyard. He didn’t’ stop running till he was back at the house…the phone rang….Tim froze…..
That voice, he would never be able to forget it…spoke to him through the receiver…he didn’t’ even remember answering it. “40 days….tick tock tick tock.”
Tim slammed the receiver down and absent mindedly called Clara.
“Help me…they’re…oh my god…their…coming 40 days, I must find a way out, 40 days.”
Clara spoke to him softly and calmed him slightly convincing him to come and visit her, he left the next morning, his car mysteriously in the driveway, not showing signs of damage, Tim was confused, he got into the car and turned off his cell phone, he drove to the cemetery and again walked to the place where the grave was, and as he approached he noticed that the tombstone was gone, all that was left was the unimpressive marker where he fetch now lay dormant, killed in action he remembered.
“A dream, just a nightmare.” Tim sighed a bi product of dealing with fear all the time and having the memory he did were very vivid nightmares. Tim had grown used to them but never before had any nightmare ever been so real. He got back into his car and drove to Clara’s as he turned off the freeway Tim turned his phone on, 120 new voice mail. Unusual. But not really his call probably really upset Clara he can see her calling him a great deal. He decided to call her first, it was then that he realized that he had been driving the past several hours in silence, he turned on the radio…
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
He swerved off the road for the second time in as many nights, running from the still running car, he ran directly into the woods off the right, he ran for a few moments then hugged a tree, as if it was his only friend, as he hugged it he realized how small the tree really seemed, he had grown without thinking without conscious decision. He knew the power of fear but this time he knew that fear had gripped him to a very strange degree, as he looked out over the forest towards his car, he noticed moving through the tree below him 6 figures all dressed in black, and could hear their drone…
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
He shrunk back down to his normal size and started to run back towards the car, fighting to escape them as they came towards him, he could hear them stomping through the woods, as he approached his car he noticed a large black sedan parked on the shoulder several hundred feet away, but paid it no mind. He got into the car and drove, he drove on and only a few miles later did he realize that the sounds of Gimme Three Steps by Lynard Skynard was blaring out the radio the haunting sounds of the clock had left. Tim calmed slightly, but still held in the fear he had developed in the past 24 hours, a touch of paranoia taking over him. As he turned the radio off he heard a noise from the back seat…
Tick Tock Tick Tock.
Time panicked and threw the clock from the car, he drove directly to Clara’s where he would later check his voicemail, and here that voice 100 times..
Tick Tock Tick Tock.
Tim seemed free of the horror for a few days while he stayed with Clara, he would watch out the windows, and soon she sent him to meet a friend of hers, Gaea, a summer court fairest that she had asked him to show that there was no great fear of Ogre’s. Tim approached and entered the coffee shop, he and Gaea had sat only a few moments until he heard it faint at first, very quiet but building and growing louder in his mind…
Tick Tock Tick Tock
Tim stood up and backed away from her, his mind almost seeming to shatter, why had Clara sent him here was she behind the strange occurrences…he screamed and blamed Gaea for the occurrences and ran from the coffee shop. Their first meeting did not go as well as he would have liked.
After he left Gaea at the coffee shop he drove non stop to his home, when he arrived home tired and weary he slowly opened the door the sound of 100 clocks all ticking hit him in the ears. He screamed and fell on the ground shaking in fear. Never before had anything affected him like this, he almost begged for the massive Grom again, to be back in Fairie, to be safe from this horrible nightmare that had descended upon him. He lay there for hours, not moving not wanting to just listening to the sounds of the clocks around him, finally when he felt safe that the 6 figures would not appear again he removed all the clocks from his home. Not only the ones that mysteriously appeared but also the ones he owned previous. The next 30 days were literally more of the same, every night he would be tormented to the point of collapsing he slowly felt his sanity slipping from him.
On October 30th, he barricaded his home, he called his agent for writing and told him that he would not be able to attend any meetings for the next few days, and contacted the changelings he would normally invite to the annual Halloween party at his home and cancelled everything, he sat before his computer and wrote out a last will and testament. And finally he came across a card in his pocket containing Gaea’s number, could he beg her to forget everything could this campaign of terror end, could he be released from whatever wrong he had done to her.
He called her and she sounded a little more than surprised to hear from him, she was not much of a talker, she was more of a listener, and as he started to beg her forgiveness she asked him what he was talking about. He was stunned, he had been so wrong about them, he caved and explained to her everything that he had been through in the past 40 days finally breaking down to tears. She offered for him to come and stay with her for the night, but he refused if they were going to come for him this was his fight not hers, he could not involve this woman he had so wrongly accused of being responsible for this. Finally Tim called Clara and said his goodbyes. Clara was her usual strange self and was very cryptic with him, but Tim knew she felt something was wrong, he made her promise to stay away from him for the next week.
The night was a long one, no ticking no clocks, no terror tactics, Tim waited dressed in his best red suit and orange shirt, and he waited for the sweet release from his own insanity. He hoped the barricades would hold but at exactly midnight he learned how wrong he truly was.
The lack of sleep had caught up to him about 11:30, and he had nodded off in the high backed lounge chair in his front room, at 12:01 he was shaken awake by the sounds of 6 clocks ticking around him, the figures had found their way into the house. Tim woke with a start and started almost sobbing as intense fears gripped him, the 6 figures from the graveyard stood around him looking just like they had 40 days prior, Tim was gripped part of his recognized the Contracts of the Autumn court being used on him, but it only last a few moments until Tim finally passed out in earnest from the fear that essentially shut down his brain.
Tim awoke later in a dark clearing in the hedge, his mind gripped with fear, of course this whole thing was orchestrated by Grom, this entire thing had been a way to get even with him, he looked around and saw their outlines as he watched them move, knowing that at any moment the massive giant would come lumbering through the thorns, Tim also saw the tombstone he had seen, the clocks that had been placed in his house, no longer terrified at them he found the ticking only brought out an insane amount of anger within him. Tim sat quietly but then one of them walked to him, the man with the clock arm through his strange visage, looked in his face, and smiled a grim smile.
“The time has come to chose young Tim, the time has come to decide to walk amongst us as brethren or to perish in the ways that you have seen, not by our hand but by the hands of time and fate. This is the way of the Scarecrows.”
Tim stopped dead in his tracks he had heard rumors of them, the Ministry of Scarecrows, he had heard rumors of their campaigns of terror against mortals to scare them away from locations where Keys to the Hedge might be activated. But they were just stories, meant to scare young Changelings fresh from the hedge. Or were they?
Tim’s eyes must have given way to his mix of confusion, anger, and revelation. For the man spoke again.
“The reality is to spread the level of terror we have chosen you to carry one must first delve into their own darkest most fears, you have walked the edge of immortal terror and emerged in tact. The offer stands for this night only…then we will be gone if you wish it so. But do not call on us if you chose to ignore us…do not call on the ministry for it will not answer.”
Tim asked many questions of them into the wee hours of the night, the sun coming up over the edge of the thorns, how had they accomplished the things they had. Why do they operate in secret…so many questions, and all answers given made sense to his tired mind. These changelings were doing what he was trying with his books, they did it nightly, and these changelings were where Tim belonged.
He accepted their offer and for the next several weeks he learned their ways, returning to the Hedge every chance he got, they showed him the masks they wore, offering him one when his initial training was completed but Tim decided he would rather find his own. This was the reality of the Ministry, he found the mask he wished for and then he began his work.
Interspersed with weekly visits to Gaea who he had formed a fast friendship with, he soon took on the persona of Indred Cold the Mothman of Urban Myth to aid in his works for the ministry. The problem was each campaign he went on he would lose himself to the character, finding his way back to Gaea, and each time she would take the time to put him back together ,the two of them sharing in their mutual fears and ideals as close to a sister he had ever had. Soon he would lean on Clara at times when Gaea was too busy for him, it was the way his life had taken. But in reality it was a far more satisfying life than he had had before the ministry had become part of it. His shattered psyche would never let him forget the ticking of the clocks and to this day Tim will not have anything but Digital Clocks around him, tending to walk out on conversations with those wearing dial faced watches.
It was around this time that his first book was published a story based on an Ogre he had met in an alley, Darius, he ran into Darius one night during a full moon, he had seen him before he knew but could never place where. Darius was engaged in combat with a large group of mortals, he was fighting very hard against them, to the point that he had expanded his size to defend himself, Tim, immediately jumped in to aid the Gargantuan, the two struck up a close friendship and spend a great deal of time talking and finally Tim used Darius in his first novel, Behind the Brambles as the main character.
Tim’s novel started to sell quite well as the mortals took it for both a fantasy novel and a horror novel. Tim’s new found popularity was a little overwhelming to him with his duties to the Scarecrow Ministry he started to become a recluse amongst the mortals. Tim’s publisher saw this as an excellent opportunity to perpetuate a myth, and convinced Tim to move his home to rumored haunted manor in the Cincinnati area, Tim moved there within a month, purchasing himself a small private aircraft for travelling back and forth to see Gaea. The house was enough of a nightmare that Tim became known amongst the construction community. Tim found his ogre hungers starting to take over. It started simple with animal flesh and then when that wouldn’t satiate him Tim had his publisher register him for mortuary science courses, the publisher loved the idea and used the fact that Tim was going to be a mortician to further his rumors about him. Tim graduated top of his class in 1999, after testing out of many of the required courses, the first person in the school ever to complete the course in less than a year.
He took a job at the local Morgue and continued publishing his books in the year 2000, two more books rapidly rose to the best sellers list, such fantastical tales of horror always sold. His titles always tipping off the Changelings as to the nature of the Into the Briar Patch, and Horror in the Hedge were the second two novels in the series. It is rumored that Tim wrote a romance novel that was turned down by his publisher but Tim will deny its existence the novel entitled, “Mother Earth in summer” remains locked away in his private safe to this day.
Time progressed and often times he would find himself having to deal with things in a more physical manner, each trip back to the hedge could bring him face to face with the massive grom, who this time he was sure would kill him if he located him. He would aid in hunts to find mortals lost in the hedge as well as aiding those that would try to escape and were perused by the true bloods. This was the new role Tim was to play, and it was a role he didn’t mind playing at all.
