Welcome to Happyland by Henry L. Wellsprings

Author:Henry L. Wellsprings
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Babelcube Inc.
Published: 2015-07-13T04:00:00+00:00

Did I know Helen?

I didn't want to go on my own, so I arranged to meet Helen to visit the cliff again. She had become very sad the previous afternoon, when she learned that Sharon had, as we'd imagined, mysteriously disappeared. But fortunately, that morning she was in a better mood.

"She seemed to be voluntarily going to submerge herself in those clouds," she whispered, while driving her car.

"So it looked like..."

"I don't understand it!"

I hesitated for a few seconds, but then I decided to tell her what I knew about Pat's disappearance; I thought that would ease her desperation.

"We found a note from another person that has vanished, a certain Pat. In that note she, more or less, said that we shouldn't fret about her, that she'd understood the secret Happyland hides and that now it was her time to depart forever."

"The secret Happyland hides?" asked Helen, perplexed.

"Yes, it's all very mysterious."

"It makes no sense."

"I know..."

We parked the car near the fence, which was again entirely covered by a dense layer of mist. I now looked at that whitish mass with slight apprehension, I knew that somewhere beyond it there was a high cliff.

"The solution to this confusion must be here," said Helen, going over the fence with nerves of steel.

"That's what Sherlock and I thought, but we must be careful."

"Are you scared?"

"Just a little bit..."

Helen took my hand and pulled me, following an imaginary path that run parallel to the wooden fence. My heart was again jumping like mad at the warm touch of her skin against mine. But at the time, fear was stronger than the budding love growing inside me.

"Don't be such a wuss. Follow me."

"Where are we going?"

"The clouds get denser the further we go, haven't you noticed?"

"You're right!" I exclaimed, not sure whether that was good or bad news.

We had only walked a few hundred yards, with increasing caution, when we literally run into a little man who, like us, was on the dangerous side of the fence.

"George? Is that you?" asked Helen, surprised.

"Helen? Yes, it's me. I can hardly see you, but I recognised your voice. What are you doing here?"

"That's what I was going to ask you."

"Well..."

"We're investigating. I'm helping Doctor here, have you met him?"

"No, I've never met him, or at least, I don't think so, I can't see very well with this mist."

"Doctor is new in the city. He's helping Sherlock, the detective."

"Oh I see."

"Who is he?" I asked, trying to make something out of the conversation, and also trying not to be left out of it.

"George, the artist. A genius."

"Thank you"

"An artist. I love paintings," I lied, just making conversation.

"Great, some day we can go and see your picture," Helen proposed, enthusiastically.

"Your picture?" I asked, rather puzzled.

"Yes, what's wrong?"

"I don't know, I thought you were an artist..."

"So am I."

"But are you new to art?"

"No... I've been into it for... I don't even know, decades!"

"And in all this time, you've only painted one picture?"

"Obviously!" guffawed the artist.

"He's really good," Helen added, scolding me.

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