And the Sun Smiled Down On Me

A John Constantine: Hellblazer Crossover with... but that would be telling

(c) 1999 by Ken Cockrel, Jr.

John Constantine and all related characters are owned by Vertigo/DC Comics.
The other major characters, who will reveal themselves shortly, are also not
owned by me.  This story has been published purely for the purpose of
exercising my twisted sense of humor.  So please don't sue.  It'd be a waste
of your time, since I don't have any money.

Part 1

It started with a woman.  But then so many stories often do.

I mean in my lifetime I've seen my fair share of strange shit, the sort of
bad craziness that would leave lesser men paralyzed with pants-shitting fear
or send them screaming into the night.  But nothing I've ever encountered
before had prepared me for the vile horror I would encounter this time.

Ahhh, shite.  I'm getting ahead of myself a bit, aren't I?  Let me start at
the beginning.

So I'd just stopped down the pub for a pint or nine.  My mate Chas was
initially supposed to meet me but had wound up having to pull a double
shift.

So it was just me and my Silk Cuts, savoring my lager and chuckling at a
couple of soused punters a few barstools down who debated the future of the
Spice Girls like the fate of the free world depended on it.

"I'm tellin' ya, mate, it's just not the same since Ginger left," Punter #1
drawled.

"Fuck Ginger.  That pathetic overweight cow was jes holdin' 'em back I tell
ya," Punter #2 replied.

They went on like that for awhile as I tried not to shoot beer from my
nostrils choking back my laughter.   They were really getting heated up
when I sensed someone approaching me from my left.

"John... John Constantine?" a female voice asked breathily.

I took another drag on my cigarette and slowly turned to face the newcomer.
"Whatever it is, I didn't do it," had already left my lips before my noggin
finished its rotation.  When it did, I felt both my eyebrows and my todger
rising.

She was beautiful.  Blonde, perfect little heart-shaped lips, perky tits, the
outline of which I could just make out straining beautifully against the
fabric of the sweater she wore beneath an oversize leather jacket.  My eyes
shot downward to take in a nice pair of legs sheathed in skin-tight sky blue
denims.

My eyes rose to meet her own deep, baby blues.  It was then that I knew this
bird had me.

"That's me, luv.  John Constantine," I replied.  "What can I do to... for
you?"

"My name's Janine Garrett.  I... I'm Scott Adams girlfriend."

My eyebrows and my todger drooped a bit, as I thought, Scott Adams? Who the
hell is Scott Adams?

Then I remembered.  Scott "Scotty" Adams was one of Chas' mates.   A no-
account, layabout sort who'd been drinking with the two of us a couple of
times and who had a habit of nicking out just before the tab had to be
settled.  And this was his girlfriend, I marveled.

Christ, where was the justice in the world if the sodding, unproductive
bastards always got the lookers.  I began to feel a sinking feeling in my
stomach.   Deadpan, I replied, "Yeah, I know Scott."

"Is it true what they say about you?" she asked.

I started to say, "You mean that I've got a 13-inch cock?  Absolutely," but
I didn't.  Because the sinking feeling had quickly evolved into a crashing and
burning feeling.  I knew where this conversation was headed and I didn't want
to go down that path.   Not at all.   It didn't matter how attractive this
lass was.  Hell, it wouldn't have mattered if she looked like Catherine
Zeta-Jones.

I reached in my pocket and pulled forth a handful of crumpled bills as I
shouted to the bartender, "Here, mate.  I'm done here.

"Sorry, lass," I turned away.  "I've got to be moving on.  Things to see.
People to do.  That sort of thing."

I gathered up my cigarettes and my trenchcoat and headed for the door.

"Please," I heard her from behind me.  "I need to know if it's true... that
you're some sort of psychic detective... that you can do things."

Within seconds I was out the door and throwing on my trench.  I needed a
cigarette badly but I knew if I stopped to light one Janine would be on me
like stink on shite.  As it turned out I was already too late as she'd
scrambled out the door behind me.

"Mr. Constantine," she pleaded from behind me.  "You're the only one I could
think to go to... they took him you, understand?  They took him and I don't
know who else to turn to."

I started walking even though something in her voice went through me like a
cold wind.  I knew if I turned and looked in those eyes I might not be able
to walk away.  So I faced front and kept walking.

I was passing an appliance store when she ran in front of me.  A bank of
televisions were on display in the store window and were all turned to the
same channel, one showing some toothpaste advert.  I turned my head to watch
the screens rather than look at her.

"Please," she cried.   "There's no one else for me to go to."

I couldn't take it any more.  I faced her, placed both of my hands on her
shoulders, and looked her squarely in those tear-filled eyes.  "Look luv,
there's nothing I can do.  I'm not a psychic detective.  I'm not Inspector
Morse or Dr. bleedin' Who.  I'm just a bloke who wants to go home and sleep
it off."

Something on the tellies caught her attention.  Her eyes widened and she
began trembling uncontrollably.

"Oh, God," she whispered in a low voice as she tried to pull away from me.
"It's them."

"What?  Who?" I asked.

"Them...  don't you see," she said, her voice rising.  "They're the ones.  The
ones who took him."

I turned to watch the tellys.  They now showed another advert depicting four
pudgy, brightly colored forms.  The four creatures were frolicking in a field
of green grass against the backdrop of an impossibly bright, blue sky.

I brought my hand to my mouth to stifle a laugh.  It was all I could do to
keep from cracking up right then and there.

"They're evil," Janine screamed, loud enough to draw the stares of passersby
in the street.  "Evil."

"You mean to tell me," I asked,  "that your boyfriend was kidnapped by the
Teletubbies?"

Part 2

After Janine dropped that little bombshell, I just had to at least hear the
lass out.   We wound up back inside the bar while she recounted the tale of
Scotty's untimely disappearance.

Seems, the silly bastard had been indulging in what I'd heard had become a
favorite pastime among those with too much drugs and time on their hands:
Watching the Teletubbies and dropping Ecstasy.  I'd never actually met anyone
who did it nor, for that matter, had I ever met anyone over the age of five
who watched Teletubbies.

Scott, however, was a bit of a fan.  He even had several episodes of the show
on video which is what he supposedly had been watching when he, in Janine's
words, "just vanished."

The punter had also used, as a chaser for the E, a couple shots of Jack
Daniels.  Janine claimed she'd been in the kitchen cooking while Scotty,
who'd been sprawled on their bed, went on his little "Tubby-trip."  The next
thing she knows the goof is screaming his ass off and she's running into the
bedroom.

"And then...," she explained, the tears beginning to come again.  "Something
just told me to look at the telly.  And when I did... when I did, oh Jesus,
God they had him.  They had him right there in the telly."

I took a drag on my cigarette.  It helped keep my lips from curling into too
obvious a grin.  "And you're sure that you weren't just seeing things?  And
that Scott didn't just slip out past you?"

"No," she said, shaking her head vigorously.  "I would've seen him from the
kitchen because of how our apartment's laid out."

"Could he have gone out another way?  Through the window and down a fire
escape perhaps."

"Our apartment is eight floors up and there's no fire escape.  If he'd left
by the window he'd be..."

"Street pizza," I finished for her.

She began to cry uncontrollably.  Slowly, I slid around and across the seat,
putting my arm around her.  "There, there luv.  I didn't mean to upset you.
It's just that... well, it's a bit hard to believe, innit?  The Teletubbies.
I mean, for God's sake, they're practically like Princess Di or something, 
a national bloody institution."

"I know, I know," she sobbed.  "But that's because no one knows the truth.
If the millions of kids and their mummies and daddies only knew..."

"Knew what?" I asked.

"That they're evil.  Unholy."

Again, I tried not to laugh.  It must have shown on my face because she
asked:  "Why is it so hard to believe?  Surely others have seen.  Why, just 
a few months ago I remember hearing about an American preacher who called the
Teletubbies evil.  Maybe he knew something."

"Yeah, I heard about that," I replied.  "Jerry Falwell that Moral Majority
dick-head.  Except I think what he actually said was that Tinky Winky was a
homosexual because he carries a purse even though he's supposedly a guy...
which is pretty fuckin' suspect when you think about it."

She shook her head.  "Bloody hell.  What does it matter?  All I know is that
they took him.   They took him and there's nothing I can do about it."

"There, there now, luv,"  I said in as soothing a voice as I could muster
while rubbing her shoulder.  "Listen, I don't know what I can accomplish
but... I'll see what I can do for you, okay?"

At that something in her eyes brightened and for the first time since our
encounter began, her lips curled into a close approximation of a smile.
"Really?" she asked.  "You will?"

"You have my word on it," I replied.

Janine hugged me fiercely and with such strength that I nearly dropped my
cigarette.

I know what you're thinking at this point.  You're probably asking, John,
what the fuck are you doing? You're a bastard for God's sake.  Why go out on
a limb for some nutty bird who's obviously a few lagers short of a sixpack.

But if the truth be told, something in her story, no matter how ludicrous it
sounded, touched me. As crazy as the story sounded, I felt obligated to at
least check it out. And I simply couldn't turn away from a woman in such dire
straits.  Not with the knowledge that I alone might have the power to put
things right for her.

Now you probably think that's a load of shite.  And you know what?

It is.

To be honest, the real reason I decided to help was because she had really
magnificent tits.

Part 3

The next day I showered, shaved and headed over to Janine's apartment.

The way I saw it, Scotty had obviously ran out on her.  The stuff about the
Teletubbies was utter crap.   Janine may have believed it but most likely, ol'
Scott had just managed to slip past her, out the door, and out of her life.

But if Janine wanted to believe her lad had somehow been sucked into
Teletubbyland by Tinky Winky and Co., that was fine with me.   I'd arrive at
her place, give it the once over, pretend to do all I could to "bring him
back to our dimension," and then "reluctantly" profess failure.  At that
point, if all went according to plan Janine would collapse weeping into my
arms and I'd... well... comfort her.  Heh.  Heh.

I lit a cigarette as I rounded the corner opposite Janine's apartment
building.  As the shadow of the high-rise fell over me, I stopped short.
Something, almost like a wave of invisible energy seemed to slam through 
me and my stomach roiled.  I steadied myself by leaning against a nearby
street-light, waiting for the feeling to pass.

Something that I ate, I guess, I thought and walked on toward the apartment.

***

Everything up to that point had gone according to plan.  Shortly thereafter
it all went to hell.

I found myself, as planned, seated in Scotty and Janine's bedroom with two
tabs of E in one hand and a bottle of Jack Daniels in the other.   I had no
intention of taking either.  This was just to make Janine believe I was
trying to recreate the circumstances of Scotty's disappearance.

I watched the telly, trying hard to ignore banal theme song that piped from
its speaker while the pudgy little bastards frolicked onscreen. "Tinky-Winky... 
Dipsy... Laa-Laa... Po..."  I uttered a low chuckle and said to myself, 
"Brilliant fucking tune that.  Bet the bloke that wrote it was up all
night writing the lyrics."

It was then that my eyes were drawn to that soddin' spinning windmill.  
I don't know what it was but something about it, something about that image
just drew me in and took me over.

It was then that I realized that something was wrong. But by then it was too
late.

What happened next was like an out-of-body experience.  I saw my hand
reaching for the E, even as I willed myself not to.  I saw my fingers bring
the tabs of the stuff closer to my face until they were lost from view.  
I felt them on my tongue and then I gulped them down, chasing them with a shot
of the whiskey.

My eyes turned back to the windmill.  It seemed to be growing larger, larger,
its glistening pixie dust, or whatever you called that crap, seemingly
spinning right out of the telly into the confines of the cramped room
itself.  My eyes closed heavily, the lids feeling weighted down.  I felt 
myself sinking into the couch and into oblivion.

The last thing I remember hearing were the words, "Eh-Oh."

***

I think it was the smell that woke me up.  It was an overwhelmingly sweet,
unnatural smell.  Not the pleasant, organic sweetness of real flowers but a
jarringly powerful aroma.  It was like being locked in a room with a million
of those little automobile air fresheners.

I staggered to my feet, coughing in disgust.  I'd been laying on a rolling
field of grass punctuated by bright flowers and assorted other plants.  A
rabbit sniffed the heel of my left shoe.  I fought and barely won against the
urge to boot it like a sodding soccer ball.

I rubbed my bleary eyes and stared out at the horizon.  The field stretched
for as far as the eye could see.  I looked upward into a sky so blue it
couldn't possibly be real.  My gaze moved further upward, toward the sun.

And the sun smiled down on me.  Its baby face cooing a delighted giggle as
it registered my shock.

"Oh, no," I screamed,  "bloody fucking hell, no.  It can't be."

I looked down and away from it, vowing not to look at it again.  Because I
knew if I did I'd have lost it right then and there.  As my heart slowed to
something resembling a normal pace I looked around a bit more.

I hadn't noticed it at first but a few yards behind me lay a large dome-like
structure that was partially submerged in the field.  I'd seen enough
Teletubbies adverts to know that the dome was their home.

I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.  The smoke felt good in my lungs.  The
sheer foulness of it calmed me a bit.  I needed some counter-balance to the
saccharine sweetness all around me while I walked toward the dome.
Teletubbyland was real.   That meant the Teletubbies themselves were real.
I thought about what Janine had said about them being evil and wondered how
I'd handle them when I met them.  Demons were one thing but this was uncharted
territory.

I nearly dropped my Silk Cut when something huge and purple jumped out of the
ground in front of me.  A purse hung from its right shoulder.

"Hello," it said cheerfully.

"Christ," I shrieked, then I recognized it.   "You're Tinky Winky, right?"

"Tinky-Winky," he replied in the same tone.

"Right then... I'm John Constantine."

"Tinky-Winky."

"Er... yeah, got it.  Look, mate.  How the bloody hell do I get back to
London.  I don't 'spose there's a tube station round here?"

He cocked his head to one side and eyed me curiously, almost like a dog
might.  "Tinky-Winky," he said finally.

It occurred to me then that Tinky-Winky was one simple-minded bastard.  That
of course could explain the whole purse thing.  "Fuck," I said under my
breath.

The teletubby suddenly extended his right hand.  "Friend," he said.

I didn't know quite how to take that at first.  Then I shook his hand.  It
felt strange and definitely organic.  This was not a guy in a suit but a
living, breathing organic being unlike anything I'd encountered before.  
I was also struck by how strong his grip was.

I realized that Tinky-Winky was a hell of a lot bigger in real life than he
looked on telly.  In fact, he was nearly as tall as me.  And purse or not,
the punter could probably kick my arse with one of those purple mits tied
behind his back.

"Mates then, yeah," I said hesitantly while trying not to exhale cigarette
smoke into that huge moon face of his.  The sun gurgled above us.

***

"I can't tell you how happy I am to see you here, Constantine," Scott Adams,
said gleefully while passing me another slice of Tubby Toast.   We sat at a
circular table around which the entire Fab Four, Tinky Winky, Dipsy, Laa-Laa,
and Po were also assembled.  Scott had obviously fit right in immediately.

"I mean, it's not that I don't love my new mates," he gestured expansively.
But... well their conversational skills do leave a bit to be desired, eh?"

He picked up a large, brightly-colored Poloroid-style camera and began taking
pictures.  "Smile, Constantine."

"Yeah, right," I said through gritted teeth.   The grinning toast cooled on
the plate before me.  "Look mate, speaking of friends, Janine..."

"Janine!" Scott yelped in between pictures.  "I do love her so...  Why didn't
she come with you?"

"Well, that's the thing, Scott.  She..."

"She would've loved it here," Scott said, resting a hand on Po's shoulder.
"Look what they can do."

All four Teletubbies stood suddenly, thrusting their rotund bellies outward.
The screen in Po's stomach shimmered and shifted for a few seconds.  Then a
picture of a man appeared.

It was none other than my mate, Chas.  He leaned against the roof of his 
cab and looked outward as if to an invisible audience.  "Hello" he said
repeatedly, almost as if retarded.

 "My name's Chas," he said then, big stupid grin plastered across his face.
"Come watch me drive me taxi cab."

The scene shifted to various shots of Chas motoring throughout the streets
of London picking up various fares while he narrated the action.  "I like
driving a cab," Chas droned.  "I meet all sorts of fun people and I take
them where they want to go."

As ridiculous as this scene was, it paled before what came next.  The scene
shifted yet again to a night-time shot of Chas pulling up near the front of
a familiar-looking apartment building.  Amidst the surreal chaos of what was
happening it took me a few seconds to key into why that building looked so
familiar.  It was my own.

And then, lo and behold, Po's tummy showed me strolling out the front door,
lighting a cigarette.  "Sometimes," Chas' narration continued, "I have to
pick up my mate, John.  John is a good bloke.  Even though he's a right cheeky
bastard and he never pays his fare."

"All right, you sodding little twit," I yelled then.   "I don't know what
your game is but  I don't take that kinda crap from anyone, least of all the
likes of you.

The little teletubby stared at me and then began sobbing and shivering
uncontrollably.  The others quickly rallied around it, to lend comfort while
Scott glared at me.

"Christ, Constantine.  Do you have to be such a bleedin' bastard.  Now look
what you've done."

"Awww," I began.

"Apologize you bastard," he said, patting Po's shoulder.

"But..."

"Apologize!"

"I'm sorry, little girl... er fella or whatever it is you are exactly.  I
didn't mean it.  Can we be friends again?"

"See Po," Scott said frantically patting the little teletubby's hand.
"John's not a bastard.  He's a good bloke.  See..."

He looked to me.  "For Christ's sake, Constantine wipe that bloody scowl of
your face.  You're scaring them."

With some effort, I managed a smile.  That seemed to calm them down a bit.
One of them started to laugh, a titter that seemed run through each of them
like a pebble being dropped in a still pond.  And then they were chuckling
and giggling in that horrendously cheery way of theirs.

Then it came.  The moment I'd been dreading since I awoke in this
candy-colored hell.  Someone shouted the words, "Big hug" and a chill ran
shot up my spine like someone had buggered me with a icicle.

"Wait... please..." I said in vain.  Within a heartbeat they were on me like
flies on shit, all puffy hands and arms and moon-sized faces.

"Come on, Constantine," Scott quipped.  "Share the magic!"

I have never in my life so desperately wanted to punch the shite out of
somone as I wanted to do so to Scott at that moment.  The Teletubbies were
bad enough but the thought of this fool babbling inanities straight of a
deodorant advert only added insult to injury.

"Look, Scott," I said.  "I know you love it here but you can't stay, mate.
Don't you have responsibilities back at home?"

"You mean like a job?"

"Er... yeah."

"Nope.  I'm on the dole."

"Well, what about your, mates?"

"Ummm... no close mates.   Not really."

"Well, Christ what about Janine?  You've got a beautiful woman waiting for
you at home with a terrific set of... eyes.  Surely you wanna see her again."

"What can a bloke like me offer Janine?" Scott said looking away, face
clouded.  "I got nothing.  She's better off without me."

"You dumb bastard," I snapped at him.  "Why the bloody hell do you think I'm
here?  You don't think I've got better things to do than chase stupid gits
like you into childrens telly programs?  She sent me here to find you and
bring you back.   That's how much she misses you, believe it or not."

Scott turned back to me, eyes wide with disbelief.  "Really?" he asked.
"She sent you here."

"Yes," I replied, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.  "And the sooner we get
back the better."

"Tinky Winky gently placed a puffy hand on Scott's shoulder.

"Friend," the Teletubby said.  "Friend go home."

Scott looked at him and nodded before turning back to me.

I stood up."Right,  But before we go, where's your loo?" I asked the gathered
teletubbies.  "I really have to piss."

***

"So you say all we have to do is look at the windmill again?" Scott asked me.

"That should do it," I replied, wishing I was as sure as I sounded.

We both lay in the sweet smelling grass of a sloping hill.  A few feet away
stood the windmill, beginning to whirl.  Around us the Teletubbies stood
waving and jumping.

"Bye-bye, bye-bye, bye-bye," they said frantically.  Far above, the grinning
baby-faced sun giggled and gurgled.

"It's not working," Scott said.

"Close your eyes then," I said.  "Close your eyes and think of London."

I decided to take my own advice.  As I did so, the warmth of the air began
to chill.  It's smells changed, from those flowers and fresh cut grass to car
exhaust, dried piss, and cigarette smoke.

For the first time since my arrival in this hell, I smiled.  I was going
home.

As I felt myself falling, weightless into unconsciousness, I heard voices.

"How long do you think it'll be before he goes over?" one voice asked.

"Not a minute too soon if you ask me.  Arrogant prick," another replied.
"Hey pass me another cigarette."

I wondered to myself who those voices belonged to before oblivion claimed me
completely.

Epilogue

In the end, me and Scotty made it back, and to no one's surprise Janine was
there to greet him with warm and waiting arms.  Last I heard they're still
together though I've made it a point to avoid them both.  My major focus has
been on trying to put the whole bloody episode behind me.

With time and the help of more than a few pints of lager, I almost managed to
convince myself that it never happened, that the whole incident was just the
result of an alcohol-induced bad dream.

Then it happened.  One day I was fishing for my lighter in the inside pocket
of my trenchcoat when I found a crumpled poloroid-style photo.  It showed
the Teletubbies, huddled around a circular table.   A large bottle of Jack
Daniels sat in the center of the table which was also strewn with playing
cards, lager cans, ash trays, and what looked like empty Chinese takeaway
boxes.

Lit cigarettes dangled from the mouths of Tinky Winky and Dipsy.  Po's hand
was extended toward the camera, middle finger extended in defiance.  It was
flippin' the bloody bird.

At the bottom of the picture, was a hand-written note:  "To John, Our new
best mate.  Be good.  Or else.  You cheeky bastard.  Love, T.W., D., L.L.
and P.

P.S.  Send us some Silk Cut."

At the sight of the photo my mind reeled and thought back to what Janine had
told me before the nightmare began.  Teletubbies.   Evil.

Abso-sodding-lutely.  No doubt about it now.

So I guess my final warning to you, dear reader is this.  The next time you
find yourself planted on your sofa, remote in hand as you absently surf
through the 100 or so channels of utter shite that pass for televised
entertainment at the twilight of the millenium, be careful.  Because you
might just find yourself watching the Teletubbies.  And if you do, change
the channel.  Change it before its too late.

On the other hand, I suppose there are worse things one could watch.

Like Barney.

-30-

There you have it.  Hope you enjoyed this twisted little tale.  In case,
anyone's wondering, this story was inspired by media reports earlier this
year of former Moral Majority Leader Jerry Falwell claiming that Tinky Winky
was gay.   I thought this was so hilarious and ridiculous, that I got this
idea of doing a story on what would happen if the Teletubbies met John
Constantine.

The Teletubbies are owned by the Ragdoll Productions UK.

Comments, criticisms, praise may be directed to me at Kcockrel@AOL.COM.