AFTER holding an all-night conversation with the ghost of a literary icon, an Abergavenny man has made the vague claim that “nothing is what it seems.”

“I’d never heard of F. Scott Fitzgerald before I met him in the Plaza Hotel in New York,” explained semi-professional paranormal investigator Johnny Turnip. “But he was pretty together for a dead guy. Apparently, he wrote that Great Gatsby film starring Leonard DiCaprio and was something of a name in the book world back in the 1920s, but we weren’t really interested in all that.

“What me and he boys wanted to know was how deep his connections with the fair folk ran and if he could help us get our hands on Potato Creek Johnny’s pot of gold.

“Turns out he knew a thing or two about a thing or two and was more than happy to spill the beans.”

Turnip told the Chronicle that after ‘the Fitz,’ as they fondly refer to the legendary writer, manifested himself out of nowhere in their hotel room, it, “Was a bit shocking at first, because he looked a bit weird, like something from one of those old black and white movies, but once we realised he liked a drink and didn’t have any airs or graces, we believed everything he said without reservation.”

Turnip explained that Fitz had told them that during his youth, an obsessive fondness for daydreaming and a tendency to hitch a ride on any passing flight of imagination led him to frequent forays into the far-flung lands and the home of the Tylwyth Teg.

Turnip said, “The Fitz was basically away with the fairies from a very young age. He credits them in part for all the books he wrote. He calls them modern-day fairytales. But the interesting thing was when he got onto the subject of the pot of fairy gold.

“He’d just downed his fifth Gin Rickey and he said in that strange voice of his, ‘Gentlemen, I am well aware of the gold which you seek. But be warned, upon acquiring it, it did not make me a rich man in terms of materialistic wealth. On the contrary, my financial situation, which had once been quite formidable, fell to rot and ruin. But here’s the peculiar thing. My work had never been richer. The words flowed like honey, and the stories never seemed sweeter. Gatsby was written during this golden period, and the boundary between thought and expression was seemingly non-existent.’”

Turnip said, at this point the Fitz let out a mournful sigh, took a big hit off gin and added, “Yet I lost the pot in the same way I had won it, and for a long time its absence left me creatively bankrupt.’

“Sensing that he was about to fall into a melancholic or alcoholic stupor, I quickly said to the Fitz, ’Yeah! Yeah! This trip down memory lane is all fine and dandy, but how did you get your hands on the pot in the first place.’

“‘I won it from some old cowboy during a game of Texas hold’ em.” Said the Fitz. ‘The guy was some crazy frontier type straight out of Dakota, drunk on mountain moonshine and looking for some action in the big city. I met him at a speakeasy. He kept muttering something about how if he couldn’t spend the gold, he could at least gamble the cursed stuff away.’

“‘Wait a minute?’ I roared. ‘What was this cowboy’s name?’

“Pondering this for a second or two, the Fitz said, ‘It was a weird one. Something like Big Gun Johnny or Cripple Creek Joe. Wait! That’s it. I’ve got it! It was Potato Creek Johnny!’”

Turnip told the Chronicle, “Upon hearing my ancestor had given away the sacred fairy gold he was meant to bequeath to me so I could go down in history as the Turnip who saved the world, was a bit disheartening. I felt betrayed to be honest.

“Particularly as, during a quantum turn of events, I had already met Potato Creek Johnny in the Far Flung lands and told him what the gold was to be used for.

“I asked the Fitz, ‘When he was gambling with this pot of gold, did Potato Creek Johnny tell you what it was?’

“Fitz replied, ‘He told me it was fairy gold. Now, most people think that’s either fool’s gold or just plain nonsense. But I grew up around fairies and know their ways and am well-versed in their customs. I know it’s not gold like the world thinks of gold but it’s the gold of the soul. It’s the gold that sunsets, rainbows, and a tree in Autumn are made of. It’s the gold that magics the mist on the mountain into being and invites the moonlight to sleep on the sea. It’s the gold that makes us dare to dream and reach for the impossible. Just to be in its presence can enhance and enchant reality. It paints everything in a different and wondrous light.”

“’Sounds peachy!’ Said Puerto Rico, Paul. ‘But I’ll take half-a-mill of used dollars in a suitcase any day of the week. Dreams don’t pay the bills!’

“‘But they can change the world!’ Said Fitz, all big-eyed and earnest.

“‘Enough!’ Bellowed Big Tony suddenly, who always gets a bit of a head on when he’s guzzling gin. ‘Where is the gold now?’

“’California!’ Said the Fitz. ‘I was invited to this big stakes card game by some high rollers from Hollywood. Somehow, they had heard about the pot and were willing to stake a couple of million dollars against it. I didn’t know their first names, but they called themselves the Warner brothers.

“‘Anyhow. I was very much in my cups at the time and had one foot in this reality and the other in the cosmos. I didn’t know if I was coming or going, and I wasn’t using the pot wisely. The visions were getting out of hand, and at the same time, the money was running out. And like your friend said, truth may be beauty and beauty may be truth, but when your shoe leather is wearing thin, your stomach is empty, and you haven’t got a roof over your head, then cash is very much king and I was pretty desperate for some royal favours.

“‘Like a fool, I bet it all on a game of chase the ace and lost everything. The brothers took the pot back to Hollywood, and I was left to wander in the wilderness of creative frustration and financial woe. My greed was my undoing, and the fair folk had abandoned me for letting their pot fall into the hands of the fake folk.’

“’Interesting story I said. But where in California can we find the pot?’

“‘No idea!’ Said the Fitz. ‘It’s a big place!’ But there is one in this city who might know. He’s a ghost like me, so you might have a hard time finding him.’

“‘Name this spirit!’ I announced solemnly. ‘I am a semi-professional paranormal investigator and am well versed in the myriad ways to summon the dead and bind them to my will.’”

Turnip explained, “The Fitz just looked at me sceptically and said, ‘As you wish. He often goes by the nickname of ‘the walrus,’ but his real name is John!’”

The Manifest Trials And Tribulations Of Johnny Turnip is now available on Amazon.