The Adventures of Thomas the Momas

I present to you, dear reader, The Adventures of Thomas the Momas. The tale of the spiritual journey of an enigmatic young man who lived in an enigmatic old house.



There once was man who lived in a house filled with doors to other places. Not closets, bathrooms, kitchens or bedrooms but other worlds and dimensions. Everyday he awoke and began making his way through his house, going from floor to floor hearing each door call to him, urging him to walk through. Some doors, more excited than others shook hard, almost coming off their hinges. But he was a patient man, examining each door carefully as to be sure to make the right choice of door for today. “Which one shall it be today?” he said aloud, the doors hummed in anticipation. “Shall it be a big door?” He continued standing in front of massive double-door made of heavy oak. “Shall it be a small door?” He turned and knelt to examine the waist high door behind him. “Will it be a green door, an orange door…?” He continued down the hall, hearing the doors cry out in his mind. He made his way to the basement, ten floors down, once there he made his way through a long winding hallway lit by torches and lined with mirrors. In the mirrors of this house there lived something ominous, a spectre, a phantom, an evil of some kind. He feared it, and welcomed it all at once for he knew that in this life it was bound to him. It did not speak up like the doors, only whispered in a sinister voice, hushed evil things in his mind. He ran down the hall way, for though the mirros were scary, the prize to be found was too irresistible. At the end of the hallway, two doors made of cast iron stood towering seemingly to no end, the torches lighting it on either side found their light swallowed by the deep darkness a few feet higher leaving no account of any kind of ceiling. Indeed the basement was a dark and frightening place. He stood in front of the large doors, speechless, examining the texture with his eyes, than his hands, then feeling the metal’s frost with his cheek. He had never past this gate before, but everyday he came to look upon it. He could not say why, but something in compelled him to, as if he needed to be reassured it was still there. He thought perhaps this door hid away untold treasures, or maybe untold horrors, all he could say for sure was that he wanted above all else to walk through them. Yet he could not bring himself to do so, every time he set his hands on the iron rings with which he could pull the doors open a murmur emanating from the mirrors could be heard. As he began to pull the massive doors open the murmur grew to ghostly whispers of an ill intent. An ominous feeling would then creep up his spine causing a shudder, as the doors would begin to part a bright light would burst from the slight opening blinding him, forcing him to turn his eyes away and with the light came wind but not from the inside. The hall of mirrors in protest of his efforts conjured a strange wind that pulled him from behind with enough force to convince him to release his grip. And the moment he would the doors would slam shut of their own accord and once again he would be left in the dark, short of breath, sweating and exhausted. The mass of the doors themselves was cause enough for such physical exertion. However, the mystical energies working in tandem to thwart his attempts at crossing would nearly suck the life out of him. Light and wind, his ennemies at this hour, every single day, for years he could no longer count. But, he would return tomorrow, compelled by some dogged determination even he could not understand. For he was very mild in character in regard to all other things, never did he apply force where there was too much resistance, but this door and its mystery had awoken something in him that could not rest until satisfied.

After he had taken a long hot shower, he began to wander the halls again this time in search of an enchanting place to have breakfast. As always the morning’s episode always left him famished and happily so, for he delighted in food like no other. “Where O where to satiate my great hunger?” He said nearly in song, jubilating at the mere thought of the feast to come. He made his way from floor to floor, unable to choose, torturing himself as his hunger grew to the point of intolerability, which also delighted him. He began to feel faint and decided to sit a spell, on the stairs between the 4th and 5th floors. He thought perhaps if he made up his mind about where to go in one place he would have more luck in choosing. He thought long and hard, trying as best not to be distracted by the constant grumbling of his stomach, he thought and thought but to no avail. Suddenly, his salvation came in the form of a faint aroma, one sweet and delicious. Bewitched by the sweet odour he was drawn to his feet and followed his nose down to the fourth. Now the sent was growing stronger and more sweet and with each step he fell deeper and deeper under its spell until his feet left the ground and he began to float. He floated until the end of the hallway and arrived in front a wonderful coloured door, looking like a rainbow swirl and smelling of pancakes, waffles, marmelade and sweet berries. He pulled it open and was carried inside by a wonderfully sented cloud onto a chair at a table where a mountain of all the things he smelled and more stood before him. “Well my dear, looks like you’ve alost done it this time.” The words came from the high pitched yet lovable voice of Mrs. Muffin-Top, a small and full figure of a middle aged-woman with a face as sweet as her baked treats. “You’ve almost gone and done it this time, nearly starving yourself to death!” Our hero looked around but could not see her, she actually remained hidden and the other end of the table concealed by the stacks of food. Knowing he was probably looking around for her, she poked her head out on the side and gave him a sweet smile, the sweetest smile. She was of a playful nature and he very much liked that.
“Yes I know Mrs. Muffin-Top, it’s just so hard to choose at times.”
“Well you know dear, I always tell you when in doubt come to the Muffin-Tops’, but do you ever listen?” Her cheery voice sounded a little more reproachful, but not too much so.
“Yes, I know, I know, It’ll be the end of me…Say, where’s Lord Muffin-Top this morning.”
“The Lord is out hunting, don’t think he’ll be in for breakfast though.” No sooner had she finished her words did Mr., or rather Lord Muffin-Top come bursting through the front door huffing and puffing in discontent.

From the Adventures of Thomas the Momas Copyright 2008