The Coffeehouse Christmas Clock

It was twenty-four hours and ten minutes until Christmas, and in the main foyer, a large digital clock began to appear, bending and stretching out of the very ceiling material. The digital numbers were formed by holly leaves, the colons between the hours, minutes, and seconds were red holly berries. It began counting down from ten minutes by the seconds.

There was a knock on the door, then it opened. Rennod walked in, his dark brown fleece jacket and goatee shedding snow. He shook himself off as he wiped his boots off at the doorway. "Yeesh!" he said, adjusting his ubiquitous black hat and shades, "it's starting to really come down out there."

He looked around, puzzled to find nobody around, unaware of the struggles and battles that raged around. "Sorry I'm late, anybody here? Hello?"

He began searching high and low for the others he had been assured in his invitation would be here, fearing it was some kind of initiation prank. He carefully regarded the discarded mail and Christmas cards on the floor, from authors and characters who could not be present for the party, and the destroyed fragments of blue icicle lights. "These seem familiar somehow," he remarked.

Then he looked at the clock, still counting down the seconds to zero. "That, however, doesn't. Now I know for a fact," he said, "they wouldn't invite me here just to blow the place up around me. I'm an author (at least of some form,) and if I'm blown up here, I'll just wake up on the keyboard again and have to try to scrub the letters off my face while my wife makes fun of me some more. Good thing those new keyboards are drool-proof. So what's going on and where is everybody?"

"I guess I'll find out soon enough," he said as the countdown approached zero. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three…."

* * * * * * * * *

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and time and space and storylines began to slow in and around the Coffeehouse, twisting and coalescing into a moebial helix shape and spiraling together before the center began expanding outwards in a spherical wave of shimmering pure white light, the sheer energy bending and warping the altered reality of the Rangerphile universe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * * * * * * * *

And then the Coffeehouse was back, the entrance foyer stretched and expanded to immense proportions, the clock still predominating the ceiling space over the door, showing 48 hours and beginning to count down with an immense bonging chime sounding like an enormous bell. Then Christmas music began being piped in from somewhere over a Muzak system. As everyone slowly looked around, they noticed every single Rangerphile, every author, every character, even the deceased ones, every fanfic character ever, all were present. Some were even still locked in their struggles and battles, yet oddly frozen in place, glancing around nervously with their eyes, trying to take in what had happened. Others were milling around trying to make sense of where they were. Injuries were miraculously healed, bindings mysteriously broken.

"Now THAT's what I call a WARP!!" The J.A.M. said.
"Ok, that was . . . unusual," said Kevin Sharbaugh. "Anybody know who wrote *this* weird twist in?"
"Don't look at me," said Matt Plotetcher.
"Or me," said Julie Bihn.
"Maybe it was them 'Munk boys!" Schroeder said.
"That's a dadburn lie!" Nelson answered.
"What's going on here?" Chip demanded. "We've still got problems to take care of!"
"I don't think so, Chip," 8-Bit Star said. "Nobody's moving."
"He's right, Chip," Gadget said.
Chip sat quietly, fiercely observing the scene for a few moments, then called Dale over.
"Dale," Chip said. "Listen very carefully. This is important. I want you to say something intensely well thought out and intelligent."
"Okay, Chip," Dale said, thought for a minute, then said, "You know, maybe Disney should cancel our show again. Then, since they'd be canceling a cancelled series, we'd be back on the air!"
"Awright, that's it, Dale!!" Chip cried in anger, a vicious scowl on his face, as he wound up his left fist for a thoroughly righteous bonk on the head. His fist flew - - - -
. . . only to come to a halt inches from Dale's cowering noggin. Chip struggled, but couldn't connect. "Aha!" the fedora-clad chipmunk exclaimed. "Just as I thought!"
"What?" Dale asked.
"We can't act in violence, not even slapstick!"
"What?" several others asked.
Most of those present understood, and found as soon as they ceased their struggles, they could move again normally.
"You know, I think this may be my fault," Rennod admitted.
"You did this?!" several authors incredulously cried.
"Yeah, I'll admit, it's kinda sappy," Rennod added. "Maybe even corny. But I hoped it'd get at least an 'Awww….' from the readers." (did I?)
"So what's the deal?" Indy asked.
"Look at the clock," Rennod replied. "48 hours. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Nothing but peace and good cheer together, even between Fat Cat and the Rescue Rangers."
"Never!" Fat Cat screamed, and bolted for the front door. "Never in a million years!!"
But the doorknob wouldn't engage the latch, no matter how much the rotund feline twisted. "I wouldn't bet on it, Fat Cat," Rennod chided. "We're all stuck with it, for better or for worse, in or out of character. We're not doing anything else and won't BE doing anything else, we might as well enjoy the fact that for at least 48 hours, nothing bad can happen."
"You know this is a horrible story idea, right?" Kevin Sharbaugh whispered to Rennod as he finished.
"Yeah, but I figured it was worth a shot," Rennod whispered back.
"This is intolerable!" Dr. Wily exclaimed. "I'm supposed to be an evil genius taking over the universe! I can't be stopped by something as banal as Holiday Cheer! I put too much work into this to just let my plan be ruined!"
"Who says it's ruined?" Rennod told him. "You know as soon as the clock runs out, the time and space warp is gonna put everybody back where they were, right?"
"Um…. Didn't think of that just yet." Dr. Wily admitted.
"Hey, not even evil geniuses are perfect," Rennod told him. "Even I had to take the test twice just to apprentice."
"Amateur!" Dr. Wily countered.
"Oh, have some eggnog!" Rennod finished, shoving a glass of the thick, non-alcoholic holiday beverage into Dr. Wily's hands.
Dr. Wily tried to toss it in Rennod's face, but the cup wouldn't move. Rennod's eyebrows did a little dance above his shades as he turned away and went over to chat with Chip and Gadget, pulling a can of soda out of his pocket and opening it on the way. Defeated, at least for the next two days, Dr. Wily sighed dejectedly and trod over to a couch, sitting down beside Ivana M. Killjoy and Rat Capone.
"So, how's evil tricks these days?" the evil doctor asked Rat Capone.

Things got off to a rocky start, but soon everyone accepted their new situation and made the best they could of it. Monty was even able to play Santa for the little kiddies, able to hide and swap clothes easily in the crowded room. Cards and gifts were exchanged, carols sung, different traditions of all faiths observed, and much more than most thought could be done in two days. Maybe the clock was slow, or maybe everyone just enjoyed the events so much. None would ever be able to tell, but eventually, the clock did run low. Saying some last words of cheer, and taking last swigs of non-alcoholic eggnog, all the inhabitants of the Coffeehouse prepared themselves for the return event. In a grand impersonation of the Countdown to New Year's, everybody was gathered in front of the clock, counting down the seconds:
"Five!"
"Four!"
"Three!"
"Two!"
"One!"
" . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

Rennod silently mouthed the word, "zero," and looked around. The Coffeehouse was empty again, deadly silent. Crushed paper cups, party streamers, and Christmas decorations littered the foyer. Spilled eggnog was starting to curdle and dry on several tables. Rennod sighed. "Well, maybe it was appreciated, maybe it wasn't," Rennod said to himself. "Nobody really said anything. Oh well. Maybe next year."
"Nobody get up," Rennod called to the empty room. "I'll just let myself out."
With that, he opened the door to leave, and faced the empty room again. "See you soon."
As he turned to leave, his foot stepped on a gnawed-off electrical plug, which rolled beneath his foot, causing him to pitch forward out the door. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!" Rennod yelled as he fell to the bottom of the tree with a loud THUMP!
" . . . . ooooh, that's gonna hurt for a while," drifted up from inside the snowbank atop the gnarled roots of the tree. The plug rolled out the doorway as the door closed itself. A few seconds later, if anyone would have been present to hear, Rennod yelped "Owch! … ooooohh, that's gonna leave a mark….."

The clock stretched and bent, folding itself back into the ceiling, leaving no trace until one year hence . . . . .


[ Any of our resident authors are invited to improve or add to this, for this year or the next…. ]

-- Rennod

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nick: Karl (Registered User)
Subject: You OK? A stranger asked:

Rennod looked up from his undigified position in the snow. "Have we met?" he asked the extraordinarily ordinary-looking man, of average height, average weight, and average appearance.
"Yes, in a manner of speaking. Here, let me help you up."
Once standing, brushing the snow off, Rennod said "There is something sort of familiar about you, or at least the way you write."
"The name's Karl. I didn't mean to be all mysterious there, but I've been lurking around the Coffeehouse for a few days waiting for the foolishness to give way to silliness. It looks like you've given us all a nice break from the usual "I'm going to destroy the Coffeehouse" Mary-Sue foolishness, anyway. Putting the Coffeehouse in a tree was a refreshing bit of silliness, too."
"But..?"
"Yes?"
"Isn't it supposed to be in a tree?"
"If you want it there. We, Boz especially, had it on the ground near a landing pad on the Dragon Planet, equipped with defensive technology superior to any known or hypothesized form, when we first set it up, but in a tree is also perfectly wonderful."
"So, why were you lurking around?"
"I like the Coffeehouse. I even helped in a small way to create the original concept. A place for our fanfic characters to hang out while we weren't using them in a story elsewhere. A "Callahan's Crosstime Saloon for 'toons", was my concept, but it grew from that simple idea as the others added much better ideas and characters." Karl sighed, "I even got to dance with Emmy, the lovely squirrel lady who co-hosted the Platos here. She's since forgiven me for driving her insane briefly, since that was before we actually met."
Hearing a 46 year old man reminisce got old pretty quickly, but before excusing himself Rennod asked one last question: "How did you get here, anyway?"
"Oh, I held onto a few trinkets from past adventures." He pointed. "Look over here, for instance."
Walking a few steps to see around the tree, Rennod saw a shiny yellow schoolbus with fins and bulb-like engines.
"The Magic Schoolbus. It gets great fuel milage, and I've finally got the last of the neckties and mayonaise cleaned up. The Pinto still drops by to visit at times, too, though Napoleon seems occupied elsewhere."

This page and all works referenced from this page are ©2000, 2001, 2002 to Rennod, unless otherwise noted. I do NOT grant Microsoft, MSN, Yahoo, or GeoCities any rights to do anything with these works except store or retain them in my account and back them up normally as any other account would be handled. The Rescue Rangers and their principal characters are copyright, trademark, and the like to Disney and/or their licensees, and are currently being used without permission, but with respect and without profit of any kind to the author.