From now until the con, Heavy Horse has agreed to share a story he has specifically written for Morphicon. The plan is to add a chapter to the story every month with the final being read at the con. We, at Morphicon, are deeply honoured by the gesture and are excited to share his story with you.

None of this story, in whole or in part, may be used without the express permission of Alan Loewen (Heavy Horse).

Yew Manor

by Alan Loewen

Chapter Two

Synopsis: Having been notified that he inherited a mansion outside of Columbus, Ohio, Robert DeMolay and his best friend, David Sanders, take a road trip to examine the property. While exploring the study of Robert’s late great-uncle, David discovers a picture of the former resident standing with a creature who is definitely not human. Hearing a voice behind them affirming that the picture is not faked, they turn to discover that a creature resembling the one in the picture, now stands before them.

Robert and I spun about on our heels, and stared with our mouths agape at the creature now standing in the doorway. A cold wave of shock washed over me.

She, as what stood before us was clearly female, stood about 5 feet tall, with a face that portrayed a delicate balance of human female and—how strange it is to write this—rabbit.

Clothed in a loose sundress of forest green, she looked at us intently with emerald eyes. Her gray fur contrasted with the long, loosely curled white hair that hung about her shoulders and cascaded down her back. Long ears, similar to those of a lop-eared rabbit and colored the same as her fur, hung down the front of her chest.

Robert, as if in a trance, dropped his uncle’s letter back on the desk top. Slowly, he walked toward our visitor; his mouth hung open in mute surprise. He stretched out his hand, and before I could choke out a warning, Robert lightly stroked the muzzle of the creature with his fingertips.

"You…," he said in a whisper, "you are real! And… and you're a rabbit."

A look of annoyance came into the creature’s eyes "I will say this only once," she said sternly. "I am no more a rabbit than you are an ape. Also… though I may be your secretary, that does not give you the right to touch me."

Robert jerked his hand back as if he had been burned and took a cautious step away. "I'm sorry if I have caused any offense," he said. "I have never seen your like. It appears you have me and my friend at a disadvantage."

"Understood," she said entering the room. She walked to a large globe of the world and spun it open to reveal a small bar. "I do believe that brandy is the universal cure-all for shock?"

With graceful motions, she poured the golden liquid into two shot glasses and handed one to each of us. As I took the proffered drink, my fingers brushed the furred fingers of our hostess. The surprise of the contact, affirming her reality, made me jump. She ignored my reaction.

"My name is Ilea," she said, turning to Robert, "and following in my mother's footsteps I will be your secretary as long as you are Steward of Yew Manor.”

Robert put his untouched drink on the desk. "Too much is happening too quickly. I have not agreed to be Steward of anything, and with all due respect, your presence does not bring me much comfort."

Ilea nodded at the letter from Robert's great uncle that lay on the desk top where it had dropped. "You will find the answers there," she said. "However, I believe I can give a quick synopsis if you so wish."

Robert nodded, and Ilea motioned for us to take our seats on the small couch, while she struck a pose reminiscent of a lecturer. "Yew Manor,” she began, “is the present incarnation of the Gateway of the Worlds. Over the years it has been a garden, a tree that would dwarf most redwoods, a cavern, a poor man's hovel, and many things more. It is the purpose of humanity to watch over the Gateway, to steward it on behalf of the Creator.

"However, thousands of years ago humans gave it over to an enemy. This Fall of Man, as you call it, put the Gateway into hostile hands, but 2000 years ago, the enemy was defeated, and stewardship of the Gateway was properly restored.

"This stewardship has mostly been along family lines, though there have been a number of exceptions. Your late uncle died without having children, and you are the last remaining individual in his bloodline. That would make you the new Gateway Steward. It is quite an honor for you, just as the position of Secretary is for me."

Robert chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "Your explanation only creates more questions."

Ilea nodded. “I would encourage you to read your uncle's letter. Then, if there are any questions left, as your secretary I will be more than pleased to answer them."

Ilea turned and walked to the door. "You must be hungry after your long trip,” she said to us over her shoulder, “and I will have dinner ready for you in 45 minutes." With another nod she shut the door behind her.

"In the name of the Almighty," I said, "what have we gotten ourselves into?"

"Trouble, my friend," Robert replied. "Let me read this letter and see how much trouble we are in."

Trembling from a subjective chill, I studied the bookshelf before me and marveled at its eclectic collection. I took random books down from the shelf and skimmed them to keep my mind occupied with something other than screaming panic.

Sometime later, I heard Robert put the letter down. The leather chair creaked as he leaned back to rub his eyes. He sighed, looking older than his 29 years.

"Amazing," he said. "If this is true, the story of humanity is odder than any fantasy writer could ever venture."

He stood up, walked over to the window and stared out at the deepening twilight. "It seems there actually was a Fall of Man. And that's just the beginning."

There came a light tap on the door, and after a long pause it opened. Our hostess looked at Robert disapprovingly. “When I knock on the door of your private office, I cannot enter until you give me permission. In the future, please say something to the effect of ‘come in.’ It will make our business relationship move more smoothly.”

Robert blushed. “Sorry. I have a lot to learn.”

Ilea nodded at the book shelf. “You can discover much from the books here in the study. Your great-uncle was an avid researcher.”

“Excuse me,” I interrupted, “but you’ll have to show us which ones. A number of fiction books are on the shelves.”

Ilea shook her head. “I do not know much about the previous Steward, but I do know he did not care for fiction.”

“Sorry,” I said, “but you may have misunderstood.” I turned and took down a well thumbed hardback. “This is A Whisper of Wings by one Paul Kidd. Also, most of this row contains the works of an M. C. A. Hogarth. These are clearly fiction like several others I’ve found.”

Again, Ilea shook her head. “No. I assure you they are all based on reality.”

Robert chuckled with amusement. “Are you going to tell me that Alice in Wonderland is nonfiction as well?”

Ilea cocked her head and pointed up near the top of the book shelf. “Top row, second book in,” she said, “but if you will excuse me, we can discuss all this later. Dinner is served.”

She opened the door behind her. “However,” she said, “before we retire to the dining room, if you approve, Steward, I would like to introduce you to the rest of the staff.”

“Certainly,” Robert said. “Are any of them human?”

Ilea shook her head. “No. You two are the only representatives of the Adamic Race in Yew Manor.”

Beckoning us to follow, she turned on her heels and walked out into the hall.