Author's Note

I know this is going to seem to start off a little slow. But aren't most prologues like that?

By the way, before I forget, here's my character tag.

"I think I'm gonna, SNAP!"

"Ugh, finally."

James had just finished re-cleaning all the dishes. It was a pretty big load too, considering he lived by himself in his own house. Of course he wouldn’t use that many dishes without letting them stack too much. But he was obsessive-compulsive, and he was not going to have a near death experience because he neglected the residue that gradually accumulated on the dishrack.

Not to mention those dumbass flies who got in while he was taking out the trash. Fortunately he had his beloved tennis racquet, Oregon, to take care of the job. No insect who had made acquaintance with said racquet ever lived to bug another day... or anything that came inside his house, for that matter.

Ants? They knew better. Hadn’t seen one in his house since... sh*t, at least nine-and-a-half years ago. Centipedes? F*ck that. Rodents? ...Viewers’ discretion advised. James took good care of his place, so for years, it never came to that point anymore.

James looked around the kitchen. The dried dishes were on their shelves. The dishes (mostly plates) were next to the sink, airing out, soon to follow with the other dried dishes. Three ladles were lined up on the wall next to the stove, which was wiped down thoroughly. Same could said about the counter. James didn’t mop unless it was spot cleaning, but he did sweep every time he cleaned the kitchen, which was daily. All in all, the kitchen looked nice.

James nodded in satisfaction before making way upstairs. On the way, he went through the dining room. The wall to his front-right had shelves occupied with delectable decor, from a white, exquisite-looking vase to a black set of candles.
Looming above him as he passed by was a white, well-kept chandelier, the chairs at the dining table matching it’s bright shine. Even the stand part of the table which supported the glass of it had matched the intensity of the dangling masterpiece.

Blending away from the dining room was James’ living room. Closest to the path he was walking, was a little white stool. Slightly further from James was a white china stand. Next to it was a white chair, and next to it a table with a short white lamp on top. In between the table and the chair sat a taller black lamp. Adjacent to the table was a black, cushiony couch, each of the three sections with a soft pillow. On the opposite side of the couch was a very tall, white vase, which held a young tree inside. Behind the vase was a black changing wall (It remains beyond James why anyone would build one in the living room of all places, but it had come in handy). In front of the vase was a chair similar to the one on the opposite end, between the vase and the chair a taller, white lamp. On the wall behind the couch were three framed grayscale pictures. All of the above centered around a white square rug. And on that rug were two black, identical tables. This room was James’ favorite to do activities in. That included fighting.

James walked up the stairs, passing by the bathroom, and finally entering his room. At opposite ends of the wall to his right, sat two identical black dressers with an identical white lamp on top of each. Sandwiched in between the dressers was his bed, a white sheeting with a black rectangle on it, along with a black blanket folded at the foot of the bed, and complete by a black pillow with his nickname's first initial on it. By the foot of the bed was a relaxation chair that his father had got him for his birthday a several months ago. Above the bed, the wall was adorned with a sun-shaped mirror. Although, James prefered to say it was shaped like a snowflake, due to how the color scheme suited it.

And finally, hanging from the ceiling was his bedroom light accented with it’s black and white shade that covered it. That, and the other thing that was on the ceiling.

He’d handled this room first, dusted the living and dining room. Next he went at the bathroom, bleaching the sh*t out of everything before wiping it down. Of course he would have had a hard time due to the bleach’s strong and toxic fumes, but he was prepared with a metal box he got from Super Mario 64. Finally, he’d taken care of the kitchen, and everything in it. That only left one thing. James let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, as he looked at the latch that opened out from the ceiling. The attic.

James truthfully had no idea what gave him the motive to even go up here in the first place! It sounded like a better idea to him when he suggested it to himself a few hours earlier. Maybe he just wasn’t expecting what he should’ve expected.

James took a second glance around the attic.

Bare hardwood floors, walls, and ceiling? Check. Boxed stuff that doesn’t belong to me, and is probably never going to be used again? Check. Spiders?

He shuddered.
No. Thank goodness.

He continued to look around.
Lightbulb? Hm. I might be able to use that. Phonautograph? Aw, that’s kickass! I always wanted one of these! Here’s a cooler. Okay, don’t want that. Plastic bin full of clothes, case full of ragtime record albums, a framed pic-- wait, what!?

James stared in awe at the dusty cover of a sh*tload worth of songs that practically no other being of his generation would even think about listening to.

“...I’m dreaming, right?” James questioned quietly to himself.

He couldn’t have been! He did all that damn work around the house for numerous hours on end, for nothing? Plus, he didn’t wake up before finishing all that? Bullsh*t. Absolute bullsh*t. James concluded that he was awake. His point was further proved by the fact that he still had the aftertaste of breakfast in his mouth.

“This is real.... This is actually f***ing happening!”

He couldn’t believe it. He’d came up in the attic against his better judgement, and stumbled across one of the greatest styles of music to ever be created. James was glad he decided to come up here. It was a plus that he found the phonautograph only a few moments ago. He was set.

James put the case on top of the phonautograph, which he proceeded to pick up and take to his living room. Then he could jam to some ragtime while he cleaned up the house next time. Better yet, he cou--

James heard a clinking sound as he felt himself kick something across the floor. James looked down and saw a key. It was one of those stereotypical two-pin keys. It was bronze, but it was rather shiny for something to be left in the attic for so long. James picked up the key. Now that he thought about it, the key looked familiar. Especially...

“Whose f***ing cruel idea was it to put horns on this damn thing?”

Wait a minute...

James had a feeling he knew where he saw something like this from. James closed his eyes in deep thought. The horns were a dead giveaway, it was obviously made from somewhere around where Mario lives.

And that’s in Italy, right? Or at least Europe.

James shook his head slightly. Just because Mario was Italian didn’t mean he lived there.

Hell, he could probably be in Wisconsin like me.
So what games did I pwn that involved keys with horns...?

It wasn’t Super Mario Bros. 2. It sure as hell wasn’t Super Mario Bros. 3. He was certain it wasn’t Mario & Luigi: Bowser’s Inside Story. Then he remembered.

Oh yeah, Super Mario 64!

James viciously facepalmed for letting something thought of frequently that day slip his mind. The impact of his hand to his face was so loud, that his friends and brothers would ask if it hurt, or how it didn’t hurt. He always answered to the first question that it didn’t hurt. He would respond to the second question that he was used to it, and he’d been hit way harder than that in the past. Not to mention shot. Or burned. Or electrocuted. Or frozen (he wasn’t cold, he just couldn’t move). Then there was the occasional lethal cutting he got from fights. He was crushed before too. Of course, it would hurt, but James had a lot of stamina from it happening all the time. Long story short, it was gonna take a more than a powerful facepalm to do him any damage.

But how? I know this isn’t the same key. But I doubt it was just kept for the heck of it. I bet this key unlocks something in this very attic! If it’s a Mario-type key used for the lock, it must be something extraordinary! It’ll be worth it, I just kno--

James’ stomach started to cuss him out.

“What the hell’s goin’ on up there, damn it!? I’m telling you, you don’t pay me enough to carry your crazy ass around all the time!
Don’t ignore me like I’m not here, becau--!”

James obliged by socking all the air out of himself.

He gained his wind back before glaring at his stomach and saying “Was was that? You didn’t finish.”

“Can you please get something to eat?” his stomach growled, “I’m dying down here.”

James mocked an intense thinking face as he looked up for a second.

“Hmm... well, you said ‘please,’ so I think we can gather up some much needed-nourishment. I was getting to it anyway.”

James heard his stomach sigh in relief.

“Just let me bring this phonautograph and records downstairs.”

James proceeded to pick up said instruments, after putting the mysterious key in his pocket, of course. He went through way longer time periods without eating. Not because he was trying to maintain his shape, he was too active for any fat to accumulate. Not because he lacked resource or wealth. He had plenty of that. He could probably buy an entire supermarket with all the coins he knocked out of his opponents when fighting.

No, it was simply because he always had something to do to occupy his time. Whether it be a significant cause or just to entertain himself, he was very good at not not having anything to do. Worse part is, James could practically spend an eternity doing one or two things, but he would always have to make sure to tend to other needs as well as ones that have a deadline. Life was f*cked up like that. James passed through his bedroom once more, through the hall, past the bathroom, down the stairs, and back into the living room. He looked around.

Now... where should I put this...?

He intended to put it somewhere where it wouldn’t throw off the balance of the room too much, if at all. His eyes eventually fell on the table.

...Meh, I guess that could work.

James set the phonautograph on the table to his right. He turned it so that the mouth of the speaker faced the window to his left. Then he stepped back to see how it looked. It wasn’t a bad addition. No, not at all. It blended rather well with the rest of the living room, especially since it was also black.

Nice. Alright then, let’s get some lunch.

James sat immobily in the chair, practically unable to move without his body protesting. He had eaten three slices of homemade pizza, a grilled cheese sandwich, some mozzarella sticks, a bowl of parmesan noodles, a bowl of pork and beans, and a ham and cheese omelette. And he probably had a cup full of milk in between every course. He loved him his milk.
He couldn’t get enough of it.

“*Burp* Hooh! I could just keel over right now. Feelin’ better?” James smirked evilly at his stomach.

“...Can’t... move... without... hurting...” his stomach replied in a strained voice.

“You’re welcome!” James said cheerfully, pretending to be oblivious at his stomach’s obvious discomfort.

James decided to find something to do while he let his food settle. It would be about five to ten or so minutes. Getting up to move once more for the time being, James headed to the living room. Upon getting there he sat on the couch. Sure he could sit in the chair, but he wanted to lean to the side a little bit against the arm, and a chair didn’t allow much lean. Reaching in front of himself, James grabbed the case of albums from the table.

I bet there’s an artist that I haven’t heard of in here. Sh*t, maybe there’s a whole lot I don’t know!

James had a Studio XPS, a laptop his father passed down to him. And he loved it. Kids from school back then in his class would often talk negatively about the fact that he got a hand-me-down from his parents. But those ass***es could kick rocks for all he cared, because he was proud of it anyway. Especially because it worked so efficiently, even for such a non-recent model. The only problem? The idiot who made put the ventilation that lets the laptop keep cool on the bottom, making it prone to overheat if not cautious, or used in hot temperatures. Fortunately, he bought a fan to put under it so it always was at a manageable temperature. James named it “Studiox PS.”

And with Studiox PS, James was able to go to YouTube. There, he was able to listen to the music of countless ragtime artists he’d never heard of in his life. Not to mention the famous ones (at least in their time) that he knew already, like Scott Joplin, James Scott, or Joseph Lamb. Ever since he decided to listen to someone other than the Big Three, his diversity of ragtime music had expanded exponentially.

James opened the case inside, as he expected, were several different albums each artist with their own record. Some really good artists (*cough* Scott Joplin *cough*) had more than one album. He was not surprised. He couldn’t help but not expect less from the King of Ragtime Composers.

He skimmed through some of the artists to see where he’d start.

Charles L. Johnson, Claude Debussy, George L. Cobb, George Botsford, George Gershwin, Charles Hunter, Tom Turpin, ooh! he’s a pretty good one... Here’s Luckey Roberts, Charlotte Blake, May Aufderheide, Brun Campbell, Joe Jordan...

James had actually heard of all the past names he’d looked at. But he didn’t lose hope, he was nowhere near half of the albums.

William Krell, Theodore H. Northrup, Arthur Pryor, Ted Snyder... ah! Here’s one I haven’t heard of yet!

James stopped on the artist named “Garnett Lee.” And yet, he was still nowhere near half the albums.

James looked on the back of the album, to see the list of songs by the artist... and stopped immediately when he saw a certain song.

“Jamestown Rag?” he questioned out loud. James remembered learning about Jamestown when he was in middle school, probably even elementary. The only reason he liked the place was because it had his name in it. He was sure flattered when he learned about it in school.

“Alright, Garnett, show me what you’ve got,” he challenged as he put the record on the phonautograph.

James was rather disappointed as the song came to an end. It sounded like he just listened to a combination of "The Entertainer's Rag," "Yankee Doodle," and "O Christmas Tree!" And this damn sound of O Christmas Tree couldn’t even hold the wax of a candle to Charlie Brown’s version. Sh*t.

“Well, that was a waste of time.”

James was going to listen to another of Lee’s songs to see if any of those sounded any better, but thought against it.

Meh, I’ll listen to something familiar for now.

He decided he’d listen to more of Garnett Lee and whatever else when he started do something productive. So he went to Joseph Lamb’s album, and found a song he felt in the mood for today, which happened to be the Nightingale Rag.

James sighed in content bliss as the song finished. It was a very calming song. Not to mention it was one of Joseph's songs that weren’t “depressingly good,” as James called it. Songs (or anything else for that matter) that James considered depressingly good were so good, that it would often leave James in lower spirits rather than raise them. Why? Because he was James.

He once again became aware of something pressed against the side of his thigh. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key he found from the attic earlier. Then James sighed. It was almost beyond him how a small course of thought or events could throw him off track so quickly. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to see what the key unlocked.

James pulled out his pocket watch from his shirt (which happened to look like those temporary time-stopping clocks from Super Mario Bros. 2) to look at the time. What color was it? Why, black, of course! And it read 11:00. James’ expression shifted to one of surprise.
Damn! I’ve been doing all this work around the house, made a big ass meal, ate it, and listened to some music, and it’s only eleven? When did I wake up!?

Well, it figured. Looking back to earlier that day, he did happen to notice the sun wasn’t up yet. If James was truthful to himself, he really shouldn’t have been surprised with himself.

However, thinking back to how he had done so much by such an early time caused him to lose his train of thought. Thus, James dozed off.

James wasn’t sure if he was a special case (as far as sleep went, he already knew he was a special case as a person). But when ever he passed out unintentionally something in the back of his mind would act, be it a sudden spark of consciousness, or an involuntary twitch. But either way, he ended up waking himself up. His eye’s widened as he realized he’d passed out.

Aw, come on! I had so many things I would've wanted to do today for once, and then I f*cking pass out. That is unfair!

James snuck a glance at his pocket watch.

I bet it’s f*cking already passed two-squa--

He paused. His pocket watch read 11:22. James closed his eyes for a second and smiled to himself.

“...I’m awesome.”

James got up to get a cup of milk, when he felt something fall out of his hand. He looked back at where he was previously sitting to find the key he was holding.

Oh, yeah, he remembered as he picked the key up.

“Alright, just one cup. Then I’ll see where this key goes,” James said to himself.

He made the small trip through the dining room, into the kitchen, and to the refrigerator. Then he pulled out a cup (from who knows where) and opened the gallon of milk that he bought yesterday.

James opened his eyes groggily as he sat up. He looked forward as his vision finally cleared, to see... the phonautograph? James looked around and confirmed that he was back in his living room.

“Oh, you’re awake. Wanna tell me why I found you at the fridge?”

James turned around to see where the voice was coming from. Upon seeing who was talking to him, he rolled his eyes.

Sitting in the opposite chair from him was a man wearing some white overalls, a black shirt, brown shoes, and a black hat with the letter “J.” The exact same things James was wearing now (and practically all the time). He had the same mustache as James, same eyes, and the same nose. The only difference? This person was slightly transparent, as in see-through.

James replied sarcastically “What do you think people do when they go to the fridge, Conscience?”

Conscience was James’... well, conscience, in a literal sense. A spiritually physical form of himself. Ever since that fateful day, they became best friends (and best rivals) ever since. But that's another story for another time.

“Well, from how you looked earlier, I sure as hell wouldn’t say eating.”

“Well, I was drinking,” James droned.

His mind awake once again, James searched it to remember what happened.

Okay, I went from the living room to the kitchen. I opened the fridge. I pulled out a cup, and then reached for-- sh*t.

James got up and made his way to the kitchen.

“You’re not gonna pass out on me again, are you?” he heard Conscience call.

“No, when has that ever happened?” he answered.

This wasn’t the first time he passed out. But it wasn’t a consistent occurrence either. At the most, this was probably the second time he’d done it in the last nine months.

James reached the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, looking for any sign of milk. Except for a bowl of oatmeal he forgot to eat that morning, the fridge was empty (not to mention clean). James sighed and went to look in the trash already knowing what he was going to find. Sure enough, sitting on the top of everything else (which was not saying much, he didn’t throw much away), was an empty carton where a gallon of milk used to be inside.

James cursed inwardly to himself for blacking out and drinking all the milk. Again.

James went back to the living room to see Conscience looking through the ragtime albums. Conscience looked up when James entered the living room.

“That’s a lot of artists,” he said, sounding impressed.

Yeah, I thought that, too, James thought.

“Yeah, found it in the attic. Had some pretty decent stuff up there. I also found this,” he pulled out the key.

Conscience looked at it, then his eyebrows furrowed.

“Why the f*** does it have horns on the top?”

“I know, right!?” James exclaimed, “Who the f*** does that?

“Meh, well, let’s hurry up and find out. We have nothing to lose, right?”

James deadpanned.

“...Okay, but still!”

“Yeah, Conscience, I know what you mean. But we’ll have to do this tomorrow. I probably wasted half the day already while dozing off.

Conscience looked at James in confusion, “What are you talking about? I just got back here about five or so minutes ago. And even then, it was like, eleven and a half.”

James looked at his pocket watch for the third time in a row that day. Sure enough, the time read 11:36.

He nodded, “Okay then... let’s go check it out.”

James and Conscience finished walking up the attic stairs, and looked around. At a quick glance, they didn’t find any leads.

“We’re going to have to look harder,” said James.

They split up and looked in two opposite parts of the attic. James looked where all the clothes in the plastic tubs were. Conscience was looking everywhere in the area of the dresser. They looked for what was at least five minutes.

“Find anything yet?” Conscience asked, looking up from the cluster of outdoor-related items.

“*sigh* Nope,” was the reply from behind the bundle of clothes.

Conscience threw his arm down in frustration, “Damn it-- Sssssssssssssh--!”

He froze as his elbow struck something hard, giving nearly his whole arm a numb, tingly feeling for several seconds.

“What happened?” James popped up from behind the clothes, his voice edging with concern.

Conscience winced while holding his elbow, “Nothing, just hit this stupid dresser.”

His arm throbbed with pain again, which pissed him off even more.

“DAMN IT!” he furiously kicked the dresser, causing the side he attacked to rotate a few yards away from the wall.

James walked next to Conscience and glared at the dresser, “I f***ing hate it when that happens...”

He paused as he looked behind the dresser and saw what looked like a door, but made of the same material as the rest of the interior, as if to blend in. He happened to look further up the door, to see it actually reached to the ceiling.

“...But, for once, I think we can say we actually got something out of this.”

Conscience looked over to where James was looking, his eyebrow raised.

“How the f*** did I miss that?”

James shrugged. Then his face brightened when he saw noticed a hole under the door knob... but crunched up when he realized the size of it.

“What, the f*** is that!?” Conscience pointed at the hole, catch-phrasing James’ exact thoughts.

James scoffed and catch-phrased back, "I don't, know!"

“Wait, hold on...,” Conscience peered closer at the hole. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that it sort of looked like...

“Let me see that key real quick.”

James obliged. Conscience took the key and held it next to the hole, confirming his theory. The key and hole where the exact same shape and size.

“So I guess you’re supposed to place it inside the hole,” James stated.

Conscience did just that. Apparently, he didn’t have to worry about accidentally pushing the key through the hole and out the other side, since there seemed to be something on the door that prevented it. He couldn’t tell what it was, though.

He stood back and waited. After about ten seconds passed, James nudged him.

“Um... I think you’re supposed to open it, genius.”

Conscience glared at him, “I was trying to see if something was supposed to happen, smart-ass!”

James tried to open it, but it refused to budge.

“I think, that there’s something we’re supposed to do something to activate it, maybe?” he asked.

He noticed a latch right on top of the hole. He lightly touched it, and to his delight, it moved. He moved it down all the way where it covered about half of the top of the keyhole, until he heard an audible click.

He stood back and waited. After about three seconds passed, Conscience spoke up, “So maybe we can open it no--”

Conscience was cut off as the door suddenly began to glow with a bright, blinding light.

They both shielded their eyes as the door’s light somehow continued to brighten. After what seemed like about a minute, the light finally dissipated. The only difference about the door, was that it now was a golden color, and appeared to look more like... well, a door.

James and Conscience stared at the door in silence. Eventually, it was Conscience who broke it.

“Alright, maybe we should merge for this.”

“Why?”

“Just in case something goes on.”

“...Meh, fine by me.”

James stepped back where Conscience was standing. Conscience quickly dissipated until he was no longer visible. All that was left (in a physical sense) was James. He pulled out his watch to look at the time once more.

“11:53. Time is really on my side today,” he said before moving forward.

James was wondering what he would find. A secret music room? A super old gaming system? A bowling alley? Sh*t, that last one especially sounded nice. He wouldn’t even be mad if it was just a shed-like room full of unused tools, or something. He loved fighting with those thi-

James’ eyes widened as his next step found no surface, and he began falling.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa--!!”

Shortly after screaming, his eyes were greeted with something other than darkness...

Is that... the moon?

Sure enough, he was looking at a shrinking white orb, it’s white, sandy surface as clear as day to him. Craters covered the surface and everything. He also noticed the craters were close as hell to each other, so close, that they made a shape that looked like something familiar. But he couldn’t put his finger on it. At least, not before he realized he was falling. So that’s why the moon was shrinking.

Maybe James was too mesmerized to notice, but it was too late by the time he realized that falling wasn’t exactly the best time to space out.

CRASH!! James had finally reached ground level.

I need to make it a habit to not land head first when falling, James thought as he groaned and held a hand to his forehead. As his slight and sudden headache began to recede, the rest of his senses had become sharp again. Thus, he noticed the surface he was laying on felt rather... smooth. And cold.

With the dust from crashing already cleared for a short while now, James at last took in his surroundings. It looked like a ballroom or something. There was a long, red carpet going down the center, which he noticed he happened to be on top of. James didn’t even have to actually look at the walls to know that the windows were stained glass. Then he acknowledged the statues that lined both sides of the red carpet. They were all statues of... equines?

And apparently they weren’t ordinary ones either. They all seemed to have a very proud posture, as if they had done some memorable accomplishment. Perhaps that had been the case. Either that or someone was rather very obsessed with equine creatures. Either way, these were some pretty immaculate statues. Whoever the sculptor was, they sure didn’t f*ck around. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say they were made of marble. That sh*t was expensive. He should know, that was the material his vases in his dining room were made of.

His eyes drew down to the end of the room, and saw the carpet start to go up in a zig-zag pattern.

Huh, they have a small staircase. Let me guess, it leads to a majestic chair... yep.

James was going to consider calling out to see if anyone was around. But he nearly did a double take as he looked back at the chair, his mind having caught up with him. Someone was sitting in the chair.

Someone who had hooves instead of hands, and a muzzle in place of where a mouth would be. Someone with white fur, and a colorful mane... and tail for that matter. Someone with a horn on their head, and wings- James almost didn’t notice them- on her back. Someone with a tiara on top of her head. Not to mention it looked like she was wearing shoes... or something. Someone who had slightly dark-violet eyes. Eyes that were mirroring his blank stare of shock.

His body was stock still, but his mind was still going: Okay... now I know I’m dreaming.