Jack leapt through The Second Big O.

And through and out and into nothing.

And down and down and down.

And Jack tumbled down.

And Eddie, too.

And down and down and down.

And, “Oooh!” cried Eddie.

And, “Ouch!” cried Jack.

And, “Ooooh!” and, “Ouch!” and, “Ow!”

And then all finally became still and silent and Jack lay upon grass, and so did Eddie, and moonlight fell down on them both.

“Are we still alive?” Eddie asked. “And this time I do mean us.”

“So it would seem.” Jack patted at his limbs. None, it appeared, were broken.

Eddie did flexings at his seams, and none, it seemed, were torn.

“And where are we?” And Eddie looked all about himself.

“We went through The Second Big O.”

“Oh no!”

“But we’re still alive, don’t knock it.”

“And we are …” Eddie felt at the ground. “We’re on grass, on a hillside.”

“Because we’re on the other side of the hill,” said Jack. “Which means that you had nothing to fear. I’d like to say, ‘I told you so,’ but as I didn’t it wouldn’t help much.”

“On grass,” said Eddie. “On grass.”

“On grass,” Jack said. “Just on the other side of the hill.”

“Well,” said Eddie, and Eddie rose, “I don’t know what you were making all the fuss about.”

“Me?” said Jack. “I was making all that fuss? Sorry?”

“I forgive you,” said Eddie.

“What?” said Jack.

“It doesn’t matter, forget it.”

Jack now climbed to his feet. He dusted down his trenchcoat, sniffed at his fingers and said, “Yuk!”

“You’ll want to get that trenchcoat cleaned,” said Eddie. “I know a good dry-cleaners. Although I’ve never understood how dry-cleaning works – do you know how it does?”

“Don’t change the subject, Eddie.”

“What subject would that be?”

Jack smiled down upon Eddie. “It doesn’t matter, Mister Bear. We’re both safe and that’s all that matters.”

“You certainly taught those space chickens something,” said Eddie. “Don’t mess with my bestest friend Jack. That’s what you taught them. Well done you.”

“It was a big explosion,” said Jack. “Actually, I’m quite surprised that a lot of flaming spaceship didn’t rain down upon us. Pretty lucky, eh?”

“Pretty damn lucky,” said Eddie. And looked all around and about. “And so this is it?” he said. “This is what I spent my whole life dreading? The land Beyond The Second Big O. And all it is is another hillside – not much of a big deal, eh, Jack?”

Jack didn’t answer Eddie. Jack was gazing back up the hillside. Up in the direction from which he and Eddie had tumbled down and down.

“Not much, eh, Jack?” said Eddie once again. “Eh, Jack?”

But Jack didn’t answer.

“Jack, are you listening to me?” asked Eddie.

And Jack stirred from his staring. “Eddie,” said Jack, “tell me this.”

“Tell you what?”

“Well, we plunged through The Second Big O, didn’t we?”

“We did.”

“The Second Big O in the remaining few letters of what once spelled out ‘TOYTOWNLAND’ and now just spell ‘TO TO LA’.”

“That we did,” said the bear.

“So, looking back,” said Jack, “at those big letters, we should see the reverse of ‘TO TO LA’. ‘AJ OT OT’, in fact.”

“Indeed,” said Eddie, “but I don’t know how you were able to pronounce that.”

“But that’s not what I’m seeing,” said Jack. “Those big letters on the hillside, they’re not spelling out ‘AJ OT OT’.”

“They’re not?” said Eddie.

“They’re not.”

“So what are they spelling?”

And Jack pointed upwards and Eddie looked up upwards and then Eddie said, “What does that mean?”

And Jack said slowly, “I don’t know what it means, but those letters spell out ‘HOLLYWOOD’.”

14

“Hollywood?” said Eddie Bear. “What does Hollywood mean?”

“Place name, I suppose,” said Jack, a-dusting at his trenchcoat. “This coat is going to need some serious cleaning.”

“Forget the coat!” And Eddie raised his paws. “We are in another world, Jack. This isn’t just the other side of the hill.”

“Seems so.” Jack stretched his shoulders and Jack also yawned, tiredness catching up with him. “But it looks pretty much like the world we just came from – there’s nothing scary here.”

Eddie Bear shuddered and shook his head. “There is something scary, I know it.”

“You don’t know it, Eddie. You’re just disorientated.” Jack sniffed at the air and Jack took off his trenchcoat. “It’s warmer here at least, which is nice.”

Eddie now also sniffed the air and with these sniffs he stiffened. “No, Jack,” he said. “Not nice, not nice at all.”

“You’ve picked up the scent again?”

“Not the scent, Jack. Not the scent.”

“Then what?”

Eddie gave the air another sniffing. “Meatheads, Jack,” he said, and there was fear in his growly voice.

“Men?” said Jack. “Nearby? Where?”

“Everywhere,” said Eddie Bear. “We’re in the world of the meatheads.”

Jack looked back at the Hollywood sign. “The world of the meatheads,” he said.

Now, for those who have an interest in such things as these, it is to be noted that …[20]

For those who do not have an interest in such things, it probably doesn’t matter.

“So what do you think we should do now?” Jack asked.

“Go back,” said Eddie. “Climb through The Second Big O up there and hope it leads back to our own world.”

“Perhaps I put it poorly,” said Jack. “What I meant to say was, now that we are here, to stay, until the job is done, what should we do next?”

Eddie yawned mightily. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” he said, “that there is a vast city down the hill, all lit up in the night. How about us finding somewhere safe and taking a bit of a sleep?”

Jack did further yawnings, too. “Good plan, Mister Bear,” said he.

As going forward was fearsome for Eddie, they tramped back to the Hollywood sign. And from there Jack looked out at the lights of the big city that lay below. And it was (and is) an impressive sight. And Jack was suitably impressed. And behind the sign they located the little hut where the bulb-man who had tended to the lights way back in the nineteen-thirties had spent his illuminating existence.

The door was padlocked, but Jack soon had the padlock picked. The two exhausted detectives crept into the little hut, pulled shut the door and settled down in the darkness upon ancient light-bulb boxes. And in less time than it takes to interpret a Forgotheum conundrum, using as your baseline the Magwich/Holliston Principle, they were both quite fast asleep.

A big smiley sun rose over the Hollywood Hills. It didn’t have a big smiley face like the one that rose over Toy City, but it got the job done and its rays slipped in through the dusty panes of the little old hut and touched upon sleeping faces.

Jack awoke with a yawn and a shudder, blinked and sniffed and clicked his jaw. Hopes that the doings of the previous night had been naught but dreamstuff ebbed all away as Jack surveyed his surroundings.

Man-sized shed with a man-sized door. Man-sized tools hanging on a rack. A pile of what looked to be newspapers tied up with string. “A world of men,” said Jack to himself. “Hardly a nightmare scenario. I grew up in a town inhabited by men and women; Toy City has to be the only city inhabited by toys. Probably everywhere else, no matter on which world, is inhabited by men.” Jack paused for a moment then, before adding, “Except those inhabited by an advanced race of chickens, that would be.” A further pause. “But looking on the bright side, Eddie didn’t smell chickens last night, only men.”