Paul Norton

...and the Christmas Gateway to Paradise

I. The Message

Paul Norton sat in his dimly-lit room somewhere in the suburbs of Boston. He looked outside
and saw a blizzard pounding the neighborhood. White-skinned and with blond hair, Paul
suffered from an overactive intelligence which compelled him to notice things that other
people did not. He disliked authority’s instructions, and frequently called people names which
they would not otherwise deserve. Fortunately, those same people had been understanding as
Paul learned to keep his true view of the world hidden.

“Intelligent people adjust” he muttered to himself sometimes. “I can beat this system if I want
to. I can use it to my advantage. I can balance my questions with pragmatism.”

Alone inside the mansion most of the time, Christmas was a particularly difficult time for
him.

The economy being the way that it was, Paul’s parents were not always able to give him what
he asked for.

A family dialog around that time of the year sounded something like this:

“Mom, please stay?” Paul asked politely, “Maybe daddy can stay too?”

Paul's mother leaned toward him and usually said, apologetically, “I'm sorry Paul, but we
really have to go to Europe for Christmas. It's not easy for us anymore, things have really
gotten tough. You're a smart kid: I'm sure you'll understand. You've got it great here. Quid pro
quo.”
“Something for something,” muttered Paul and quickly added, “But mom, I don't want this
lady around me anymore...she wants to control my every move!”

“Paul,” the mother affirmed. “We can't leave you alone. You know that. Your grandparents
are far away and I'm not going to subject them to all those airport screenings. Especially your
grandfather, he'd probably be arrested after five minutes!”

“Bu...”

“Sorry, Paul” his mother raised her right hand slightly. “Just be nice to the lady, alright? She's
here to help.”

“Alright...” sighed Paul while shuffling his feet on the way to his room.

Words like susurration or apophasis were probably not that widespread in academic circles,
never mind part of vocabulary used by middle-aged ladies of average intelligence. And Paul
just loved that confused expression on the woman's face.

“Santa Claus,” Paul thought to himself as he was perusing through the news on a CNN
website. Paul's analytical mind targeted another symbol so many children around the world
took for granted.

"Why do people believe in Santa? He is a cheap Christmas commodity, just like the rest of
the gifts from him. Everyone knows that he isn’t real, and yet the story keeps getting told!”

II. The Spell

Paul was fast asleep in his bed when he heard something downstairs.

What do I do!? WHAT DO I DO!?”

He grabbed the laptop.

“This will be a perfect weapon of choice” he declared “Hopefully, you're a strong piece of
technology and you'll survive a close encounter with someone's head.”

Not knowing why, he looks down on the floor.

“What the...” He frowned, “A...stick?”

Bursting with curiosity, Paul picks up the stick only to have a short message play through his
mind. An elderly gentleman, speaking with a thick English accent, delivered a message:

“If you want to know the truth, you can at least make yourself useful. Malakia. You can call
what you just received magic; or, you can call it understanding of the universe.”

“Malakia?” Paul scratched his head “Time to use Google.”

He read, “In ancient Greek society, cowardice was an especially condemned character trait,
and malakia (Greek: ἀνανδρία – anandria; μαλακία – malakia; Latin: mollites) was a
particular kind of spinelessness, softness, lack of perseverance, and moral weakness which
was associated with effeminacy in men.”

“...and?” he thought out loud. “What's going on?”

As if activated by this sentence, another message plays through Paul’s mind, the images
taking him to a place he had never seen before.

“I am the Black Prince, the greatest knight that has ever lived!”

A knight boasts in front of a large audience filled with admiring damsels in mediaeval
clothing. He is sitting astride an enormous white mount, obviously a thoroughbred.

“Is there any that dare challenge me? Show yourself! I will defeat you! I shall take from you
all that you hold dear!” The knight hoists his lance triumphantly into the sky. His horse rears
magnificently. But all that Paul sees is the arrogant nature of the man.

“What a pompous ass!” Paul exclaimed.

Three seconds of silence. Finally, Paul clicked his fingers, nodded vigorously and said:
“They seriously need a lesson in humility”

The message was followed by a word:

“GIRL.”

“Girl?” Paul repeated the word. “You've gotta be kidding me, right? Don't tell me you
actually want me to...”

Five seconds passed. Noise could be heard downstairs in the living room. Paul assumed it
must have been that crystalline chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

“She's gone, and I turned on all that security stuff?” he reasoned and cautiously proceeded
downstairs, making sure 911 was ready to be dialled. Five seconds passed. The noises
downstairs became more frantic. Paul could hear the chandelier clinking.

Paul rushed down the staircase and stopped dead at the bottom. “What the...?”

The Black Knight from the message was seated on his warhorse, assuming the position of
righteous indignation. His perception of the world had been severely shaken, but now he was
in control and haughtily demanding an explanation. And expecting it, just as he expected his
enemies to be defeated. His enemies, whom he had trampled under the hooves of his horse
time and time again. His enemies, upon which he had inflicted punishments of the vilest sort.
So...

...how shocking, how embarrassing, how humiliating it had to be for this - in eyes of many -
omnipotent ruler to be turned into a...

“GIRL” Paul uttered a word and smiled at the knight, whose face had been obscured by a
visor.

“Explain the meaning of this!” the knight raised his sword. “Explain what's happening to
me!”

“You'll see” Paul calmly answered.

Before the knight could do anything, a little yellow dress appeared in place of the knight’s
armor. The knight just did not know what to do! Paul, on the other hand, was no longer afraid.
He instinctively knew what had happened.

“WHAT!?” the knight exclaimed. ''What is the meaning of this!?''

Finally, the spell attacked the knight himself. Paul could almost see that powerful voice, used
for cowing enemies, change into a much higher register – a characteristic of any woman. A
few seconds later, curly blonde hair could be seen crawling out of the knight’s head...

Yellow heels appear on the - now female - knight’s feet.

“Tall...and slender” Paul smiled. ''You sound nice, too. Southern drawl? I'm surprised it's not
Middle English, but you, being from an alternate reality and all, well, we can let it slide.

“Don't worry,” the boy continued. “Everything's going to be just fine...''

The knight was catatonic; anger, humiliation, shock, every single emotion permeates her
entire being.

“Be careful in those heels,” Paul pointed at the floor. “Rather slippery around here.”

“I'm not a GIRL!” the knight exclaimed in a state of obvious denial. “You'll PAY FOR
THIS!”

“Ah!” the boy clapped his hands. “I just love it when you say girl in that Southern drawl of
yours!'' the young man then smiled mischievously and slowly pointed the wand at the black
prince. “Pay attention, knightie. I can really do anything I want here...this is my domain. And,
you see, my imagination is limitless so I would stick to being a good little girl if I were you.
There are things far worse than that. You see, I could erase your memory, but then it wouldn't
be so much fun, would it? I want you to listen to me, like a girl should and I can
GUARANTEE you - a day will come when you WILL curtsy when I tell you to!”

''WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!?'' the knight exclaimed.

''You didn't even notice your mount had disappeared!'' Paul clapped his hands. ''Not that I
blame you, though! Don't worry, he'll come back! And what do I want? I just told you!''
''You know why'' Paul interjects aggressively. ''You wanted to ask me that, right? That
unimaginable anger, humiliation and dread you must be feeling right now...that perfect storm
of emotional instability must be killing you...''

“Don't fall on your back!” Paul added five seconds later to stop the silence. “It's slippery here,
and your heels may lead to...problems. I'll be back in about five minutes! I've got to go to the
kitchen!”

Paul left the living room.

III. The ''Chicken''

“I'll call you Alice” the protagonist snapped his fingers. “I've been watching you, you know?
You haven't moved a single inch!”

The transmogrified knight kept visualizing his mount appearing out of the blue and trampling
Paul to death.

“Don't worry!” Paul asserted. “I gave you girlish skills. You'll prance around in those heels in
no time! You should really thank me, you know? Otherwise you'd have fallen flat on
your...well, you know what I mean.''

“You see,” the boy continued, “I always liked this dance, or art, how do you call
it...burlesque? I want you to perform something special for me. It's called a chicken. I'll
explain all the details. You'll love it.”

''I will feast on your guts...'' a hissing remark was heard.

“Hey!” Norton adopted an authoritative stance as a multitude of thoughts kept crossing his
mind. Suddenly, he affirmed that, “Girls don't talk like that - so be careful or I'll thrust your
girlie ass to a fluffy room filled with dolls! And then I'll conjure up little girl companions
straight from a Barbie shop in Argentina - and they will surround you and you'll have to
undergo manicures and pedicures! Or I could bring back your horse, turn it into a pony and
tell you to show off your knightly prowess by crouching on that saddle in your heels and little
dress, perhaps add some white feathers around the hem? You know, there's that saying to
show the white feather when someone displays cowardice? And that shield of yours, which
people in the know call an escutcheon? How about I turn that proud rampant lion into
something more...suitable? That would be one blot to your escutcheon, wouldn't it? And how
about I give you a nice streamer? I'm sure your ponytail would match the horse's ponytail
nicely! I could do it all right here, right now and in a few days from now you'd be more than
happy to be a good little girl! But I'm not that cruel...yet. Testing my patience...you really do
NOT want to do that, Alice! I may be fifteen and you may be twenty-five, but I still control
your every move...and yeah, I like tall blondes, so that's why I keep you that way.''

Paul entered the living room and looks at the once proud knight, who is standing in the middle
of the living room, keeping her head down. The young man looked at the tall blonde in her
mid-twenties.

''I know the only thing on your mind right now is chopping my head off'' Paul paused for two
seconds. ''But hey, you could argue I chopped off your manly pride!''

The protagonist disappeared, leaving the knight even more bewildered than before. For some
reason, that damsel-in-distress-to-be knew something far worse was about to happen.