This week’s task per courtesy of Phylor:

You wake up in a strange environment, not the one you went to sleep in.

Weave a tale about the experience.

Where are you? How did you get there?

It was the most exquisite dream. I was in a room surrounded by the smallest of people providing me with cups of tea.

I could smell the delightful aroma of the brew they were pouring into the tiniest of cups.

As I rolled over in my bed I heard a distinct voice say:

‘Hold on!’

‘Steady!’

‘Watch it!’

‘Opps……now you’ve done it!’

‘Oh my goodness, such a mess.’

‘You’ve made one big kafuffle haven’t you?’

I was half awake thinking to myself what a dream this was when I felt it.

The seeping sensation of a wetness oozing through my pyjamas.

I was glad I’d put some on that night. No telling what disaster might have occurred.

Suddenly I was awake. I sat up.

Around me there was an air of chaos and mayhem was close behind.

Bodies were scurrying all over the place.

‘We are so sorry.’

‘We do beg your pardon.’

‘Do you have tea insurance?’ asked a quietly spoken voice beside my ear.

‘What?’ I stammered. This was no dream but a nightmare.

‘No its no nightmare,’ said another voice ‘They usually come much later after the cake I believe.’

‘What is happening?’ I called. My own common sense told me that this was a dream. After all who ever heard of tea insurance.

‘Oh you should have tea insurance,’ said the voice again. ‘It does come in handy at times like this.’

‘A most unfortunate occurrence,’ said another voice very concerned.

‘Do you intend to sue us?’ asked the first voice.

All this time my eyes were blurry, my head swimming with the voices none of which seemed to be making a scrap of sense to me.

I shook my head to clear away the confusion happening inside it. I rubbed my eyes and opened them to see the row of small men standing on the end of my bed.

I stared at them and they stared back.

All this time the wet was now finding its way into places I didn’t want it to go. I leapt from my bed sending the small men off the end of my bed. There were sounds of indignation and surprise:

‘Well I never.’

‘What the…’

‘Hush don’t alarm him.’

‘Now straighten your tie you look like something the cat dragged in.’

Deciding there and then I was insane I dropped my pyjamas and reached for my dress gown and headed for the shower. It was in the shower that I knew would clear my head and remove any vestiges of what I had just witnessed.

Outside my door was a forest. One I’d never seen before. Where was I?

I went back inside to find my bed made, the sheets clean, the corners hospital tucked. The little row of men stood once again on the end of the bed. In front of them was a set of clean dry pyjamas.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

‘You’ve come to visit and we are being hospitable.’

‘Tea?’ Asked one man with a pink polka dot tie. He handed me a cup of tea that in my hand assumed a normal size cup.

‘Jonathon Smith,’ said the man on the end. ‘Musical director of the band, they are ready when you are to play the fanfare to announce your entry.’

‘We like fanfares,’ said another man with a small bowler on his head.

‘Hieronymus Pratchett Mayor and blacksmith,’ said the man in the middle. He extended a hand towards me which I took suddenly realising the strength he did have in his fingers. ‘We are honoured to have you as our guest today.’

‘Why am I your guest?’

‘Oh we need you to open the parade, just a small gesture on your part. Nothing too arduous I am sure.’

‘Like what?’

There was a shuffling of feet as the Mayor adjusted his robes and looked about at his followers.

‘We need you to give us a drop of your blood.’

In the seconds that followed I remember backing away only to find myself tied to the floor and the mayor was making his way towards me with what looked like a large knife, large enough to suggest more than a drop might be given.

I struggled left and right not looking anticipating the knife to cut into me at any moment and then I hit the floor.

I was in my room. The morning sun was just spreading its light through the window. There was no one around. No music playing. No knife. No small men with sinister intentions.

But my pants were wet.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/07/30/tale-weaver-24-good-night-mrs-calabash-wherever-you-are/