A Rough Version of Moe's Journals
As I stepped off the Greyhound bus at 3 am in Banff, the eerie silence enveloped me like a shroud, heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth. The dimly lit station, once a bustling hub, now stood deserted and closed, its shady reputation seemingly a myth on this chilly April morning. I stretched my feline body, arching my back and extending my claws, feeling the familiar thrill of adventure coursing through my veins.
The only other passengers, two Australian backpackers, had vanished into the night, leaving me with my suitcase, wet fur, and backpack. I was grateful for the quiet moment to gather my thoughts. With no phone in sight, I sharpened my claws and trudged to the nearby Chevron, searching for change and a way to call for help.
As I pushed open the creaky door, a bell above it jingled in protest, and I stepped into the warm glow of the store. The cashier, a gruff but kind-hearted man with a thick beard and a battered truckers' hat, looked up from behind the counter, his eyes narrowing as he took in my bedraggled appearance.
"You okay, buddy?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly. "I see you are wandering around by yourself. It's early to be out. The sun is about to come up."
I nodded, trying to shake off the chill of the night air. "Just looking for some change and a way to call someone," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
The cashier nodded sympathetically, his expression softening. "Well, I can give you some change, but be careful out there, okay? The bears around here ain't no joke."
I smiled, knowing the drill. As an experienced hiker familiar with the woods of Oregon and California, I knew the risks of venturing into bear country. But I also knew that the chances of running into a grizzly in the dead of night were slim to none.
"I think I can handle it," I said, studying the town map spread out on the counter. "It's only four miles to the resort. I can walk there easily."
The cashier warned me again, his expression dead serious. "Don't go near the forest, buddy. They can get you at the edge. Don't go in the forest. They'll strip your fur off and then some."
I chuckled, a low, throaty sound. I'd spent countless hours in national parks and forests along the West Coast, and I knew the drill. Curious, I decided to spend more time in the forest. Who knows what was there, as a chilly haze of mist hung low over the lodgepole pines?
As I walked back to the resort, cars whizzed by, and cyclists pedaled past, but I was not deterred. Just as I was about to give up, a kind stranger stopped his car and offered me a ride to the resort. Uncertain of what to do, I hesitantly accepted his offer after I first refused it.
"I'm not going to make it," I admitted, grateful for the reprieve. "Maybe I should reconsider and accept your offer. Not that many cars have gone by."
The side door opened and I slid in. He loaded my items into the trunk and restarted the engine. The car took off from the side of the road, did a U-turn, and headed back up the mountain. The stranger smiled and introduced himself as Jack, a local who had lived in Banff all his life. We chatted about the town, and he shared some stories about the forest and its secrets.
As we pulled up to the Douglas Fir Resort, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. Jack dropped me off at the lobby, and I thanked him for the ride. He smiled and nodded, clearly not wanting anything in return. I was grateful for such kindness, which was rare to see.
"Lots of people come and go here. Hope you enjoy your stay. I'm glad I could help," he said with a smile. "You take care now, and watch out for those bears!"
I grinned, feeling a sense of belonging in this new town. As I settled into the lobby, waiting for the housekeeping manager to arrive, I reflected on my journey and the kind stranger who had given me a ride. I sat in a leather chair and counted away the minutes, sometimes sleeping, other times reading.
The cashier's warnings echoed in my mind, but I was relieved to have made it to the resort safely. I spent the next five hours waiting, reflecting on my journey and the kind people I had met. Time crept by slowly until finally, it was eight o'clock.
Eventually, the housekeeping manager arrived, and I was thrilled to have found a new adventure in this beautiful mountain town. We discussed my position and housing. She had too many people now. The supervisor had overhired. A suggestion was made that I work a combined set of other roles, helping out only occasionally in the laundry. I was fine with this. I was up here for a few months of respite and research. The job was not the most important aspect of my adventure.
As I settled into my new role as a sales representative, greeting customers and posing in the gift shop window, I couldn't help but think about the time machine back on Mars. Had I secured it properly? Would the thick layers of tarp, tape, and bubble wrap protect it? I was very concerned and tried not to think about it as I wrote in my journal in the evenings.
Online, I learned that some lyrics I had reinterpreted in the vein of sixties pop music had won a literary award. I was happy, but it was a sign of progress, unrelated to my true literary ambitions. Coming to Banff was an attempt to find some quiet, some meaning in the chaos around me.
As I looked over my journal entries, I wondered how I would describe my incursion into Mars and the time machine. I was still figuring out human life and existence. Reports were due back every two weeks. My journey had been funded in exchange for some spy reports. It was a chance of a lifetime. I secretly hoped to settle on Earth, or at least extend my mission, before returning to the Sagittarius constellation, where the WOW signal came from years before. I wanted to know them, not have them know us.
It was all in secret. I closed my journal, stared at the typewriter, and thought of my report. I outlined it on paper and put it aside. I would file it tonight, and send an email to my contacts in code. They were impossible to reach. I could not find a payphone and was banned from owning a cell phone. I wondered if I could get away with a disposable prepaid phone from one of those Best Buy kiosks at the train station. Who knew...
_________
I headed out in the morning, and the fighting sky caught my attention. Winter seemed to creep into summer, a peculiar juxtaposition that left me uncertain about the season. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. I had no shift today, as I was on my two days off from my advertising position at the store. It was part-time modeling, and I loved the freedom that came with it.
As I descended Tunnel Mountain Road towards the Banff townsite, I watched the bus go by without stopping. I didn't mind; I preferred walking anyway. The exercise would do me good, and I could take in the breathtaking views of the surrounding hills and stairs. I thought about a hike that would take me to the top of Tunnel Mountain, where I could gaze out at the stunning vistas.
Or I'll indulge in some shopping instead. Banff Avenue was always bustling with tourists and locals alike, and I loved browsing through the eclectic mix of shops and cafes. I could grab a coffee at Mel's, or browse through the racks at the local thrift store. The choices were endless, and I felt a sense of excitement wash over me as I pondered the possibilities.
As I strolled through the townsite, I noticed a group of locals gathered outside the old Canada Pacific Railway station. They were chatting and laughing, and I wondered what was going on. Was it some sort of event or festival? My curiosity got the better of me, and I wandered over to join the crowd.
"Hey, what's happening?" I asked one of the locals, a guff-looking man with a bushy beard. "Are you headed up to the campsite?"
"I got to go to work somewhere else. Can't stay at the hostel anymore. Just waiting for the Rocky Mountaineer to arrive," he replied, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "It's a special edition train, and we're expecting some VIPs on board."
We chatted for a few minutes, and I headed on the way. I decided on a light hike to check out the dying blossoms, and snow on top of the distant hills. I took a few parabolic shots for my scrapbook, curious where I would be a black-and-white production artist of quality for my photos. They were too nice to send to Wal-Mart.
I watched as the train chugged into the station, spewing out passengers in designer coats and crisp suits. The stranger disappeared. I didn't see where he went. They looked out of place in this rugged mountain town, but I was intrigued nonetheless. Who were these VIPs, and what brought them to Banff? I was uncertain. The next day, through General Post, an invitation to the Banff Center for the Arts Gala had arrived.
_______________
As I continued down Tunnel Mountain Road, the wind picked up. The air was refreshing and slapped my face. I looked down Tunnel Mountain Road. The air ran through my hair and was fresh, crisp, and cold. I continued down Tunnel Mountain Road, the distant rumble of the departing bus fading into the background.
I savored the solitude, the rhythmic thud of my boots against the pavement a comforting counterpoint to the silence. The exercise invigorated me, each step a reminder of the strength I was cultivating within myself. I wondered what happened to him, not that I was concerned. Banff struck as the kind of town woven with lies into a mysterious tapestry of creation without design. Strange people seemed to come and go here, perhaps, including myself. My motivations were sacrosanct, I determined. I was a spy, not an instigator. The others worried me.
Then, I saw him. A lone figure, hunched against the wind, perched on a weathered rock overlooking the valley. Curiosity piqued, I approached, a friendly greeting on my lips. I had seen him before; he felt familiar to me. I thought of outstretching a paw but hesitated. So I raised my voice and nodded to him.
"Hello," I called out, my voice echoing slightly in the stillness. "Nice to see you again. Where did you go? Did you board the train?".
He startled, his head snapping up. "Oh, hello," he replied, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "Didn't see you there. No, I was just getting a parcel."
I wondered about the parcel. He now carried a big bag. Maybe he put the parcel in there, I wondered. Something was off about him like he was carrying around a dark secret. Curiosity got the better of me and we talked for a while.
After we exchanged a few pleasantries, the conversation was brief and awkward. He spoke of the breathtaking views, of the peace he found in the mountains. I nodded, sharing my appreciation for the natural beauty that surrounded us.
Then, as abruptly as he appeared, he was gone. I blinked, momentarily confused. He had vanished, seemingly swallowed by the dense forest that skirted the mountainside. A shiver ran down my spine. Had I imagined him? Had he simply been a figment of my overactive imagination?
Intrigued by the mysterious stranger, I decided to embark on a short hike, the trail leading deeper into the woods. The forest canopy offered a welcome respite from the wind, the air thick with the scent of pine needles and damp earth. I wondered about the man, his sudden disappearance adding a layer of intrigue to the already enchanting scenery.
As I navigated the winding trail, a peculiar sense of unease began to settle over me. It wasn't fear, exactly, but a strange disquiet, a feeling of being watched. I glanced around but saw nothing. The forest remained eerily silent.
Then, some created let out a jolt. I was startled for a few minutes. I headed back home to rest and have a glass of water. I thought of the letter and card on the counter. I had not been here long and wasn't known to too many people. It was an arrangement? An unexpected invitation arrived. A sleek, black envelope lay nestled amongst the fallen leaves, addressed to me in elegant script. Inside, a single sheet of thick, ivory paper detailed an invitation to a party at the Banff Center. Perhaps I was supposed to attend for research purposes.
Bewildered, I stared at the invitation. I had never been to a party at the Bank Center, nor had I ever received an invitation from anyone associated with it. Who had sent it? And why me? I thought I should go down in the evening and put in a phone call at the pay phone. Oddly, it was on the side of a hiking hill in the middle of nowhere. None of the four gas stations in town had pay phones on their premises.
The questions swirled in my mind, a perplexing puzzle with no immediate answers. The encounter with the stranger, the unsettling feeling of being watched, and now this bizarre invitation – the day was taking on a decidedly surreal turn. Boring as it was, I savored this little mystery.
At home, I fell asleep with the television on for several hours. I should have been writing or doing research. I needed core samples from the forest to send off. As I stood there, staring at the invitation, my mind racing with questions, I couldn't shake off the feeling that the stranger and this mysterious party were connected. I decided to do some digging, starting with the pay phone on the hiking hill.
Later on, I went out about the phone call. I made my way to the phone, the wind whipping my hair into a frenzy as I climbed the hill. The phone booth was old and worn, but it looked like it still worked. I dialed the number on the invitation, and after a few rings, a smooth, male voice answered.
"Good evening. You're responding to the invitation, I presume?" he said. "I am so glad you called. Your authority gave me the chance to speak to you. It is a secured line."
"Oh, I was not told about that. I will have to ask about that. That is fine, I guess. Let's keep it short. Yes, I am the cat, who is this?" I asked, trying to sound casual despite my curiosity.
"My name is not important. What's important is that you're interested in attending the party. You'll need to come alone, and dress...appropriately," the voice said. "I prefer black and white. Show up on Tuesday at 9 pm, outside the tavern."
"That is interesting. I was curious about this party. Now I know why. What do you mean by appropriately?" I pressed, but the line had already gone dead.
I hung up the phone, feeling a shiver run down my spine. This was getting weirder by the minute. But I couldn't resist the urge to uncover more about this mysterious party and the stranger who seemed to be connected to it. That Tuesday evening, I dressed in my best attire and made my way to the Banff Center after a mysterious cab pickup at nine outside the tavern. The building loomed before me, its grandeur and beauty almost intimidating. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The party was in full swing, with people mingling and laughing as they sipped their drinks. I scanned the room, searching for the stranger, but he was nowhere to be found. Instead, I saw a figure waiting for me by the bar – a woman with piercing green eyes and raven-black hair.
"You must be our guest of honor," she said, her voice husky and confident. "I'm Sophia. Welcome to our little gathering."
As she handed me a drink, I felt a sense of unease. Something wasn't right here. But I played along, trying to gather more information about the party and its attendees. As the night wore on, I found myself drawn into a web of secrets and lies, where nothing was as it seemed. The stranger reappeared, his eyes locking onto mine as he whispered, "You shouldn't have come here."
And with that, the lights flickered, and the room fell silent. I was left standing there, surrounded by strangers, with more questions than answers. In the mirror, I took a look at myself. I nearly dissociated from the drink as the Fleetwood Mac album played on. Everything felt swirling. I could barely move. I focused on my reflection for a minute.
Staring back at me, the cat, impeccably groomed in his black and white suit, sipped his drink. The air in the elegant hall buzzed with conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. I scanned the room, my gaze lingering on the stranger who stood by the window, a solitary figure against the vibrant backdrop of the mountain scenery.
I strove to understand the importance of his arrival but could not. I had the pieces of the puzzle, but not the picture of what I was supposed to see. Somehow, I suspected, I was supposed to figure it out without guidance. The system here was offering clues. I had heard about moles being put in place back as far as fifty years prior, but that was a rumor never substantiated back on Esmos.
The stranger, in his own impeccably tailored attire, seemed to be observing the scene with a detached amusement. Our eyes met briefly, a spark of recognition passing between them. I cat felt a shiver crawl down my spine. This wasn't a chance encounter. I was aware of the ground shifting beneath me, but what for? I worried a little about my book and my spy project. I felt the softness of my suit and meowed softly to myself. It was like silk.
I took another sip of his drink, the icy liquid doing little to quell the rising unease within me. The drink was cold and refreshing. It was a pretty pink and tasted like a Cosmopolitan. I felt sophisticated and out of place. Putting my feelings aside, I wondered about the stranger.
Why was he here? What did the stranger want? And most importantly, what was the meaning behind the "secret phone call" that had been hinted at? I wondered as he spoke in hieroglyphics to me. With the noise, I could barely make him out. Eventually, I saw no point and moved to another part of the room. I thought I should leave early before finding out what the Guest of Honor meant. Perhaps it was more than a ceremonial title.
The music swelled, drawing the people into the swirling vortex of the party. The stranger moved through the crowd, his senses alert, his mind racing. I needed to find out more. I needed to understand the game that was being played. Internally, I felt a struggle and wondered what was happening. I couldn't read the energy of the room. In desperation, I wanted to leave. My curiosity fought against reason. This was not a safe place to be, and it was far from the townsite. I would have to request a cab unless I wanted to take my chances on the side of a dirt road hitching a ride at night in the darkness.
As the night deepened, I felt a sense of dread creeping over him. The stranger remained a constant presence, a silent observer in the shadows. The "secret phone call" never came, but I knew it was imminent. I was a pawn in a game I didn't understand, and the stakes, I realized with a growing sense of fear, were higher than I ever could have imagined. The stranger came up to me and nodded. He suggested I follow him. I went out on the deck. Then I saw an escape.
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