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ELMO’S SOJOURN, CHAPTER 6
ELMO’S SOJOURN
CHAPTER 6
REVELATIONS FROM VALMID
Valmid invited Elmo to walk with him and discover the beauty of Roth. As they opened the door, the dingo plants were pulling back their last extended strands of nighttime growth. The sky, colored the deepest lavender Elmo had ever seen, was dotted with fluffy clouds of lemon yellow. This world was so different yet so beautiful. Elmo sniffed the air and detected the salty tang of the ocean. Valmid nodded yes. “We are near the sea.”
A path from the house led to a slight rise. As they set out Valmid shortened his stride, enabling Elmo to stay by his side. Zytex followed them, his roving eye taking in the sights of the home he had almost lost. They passed other Rothians along their climb up the rise. Valmid greeted them with his whining turbine voice and nodded to Elmo, appearing to tell the other aliens something of him. As soon as Valmid finished, Elmo noticed relief in the faces of the others. Once they had climbed to the top of the rise, the beauty of the seascape below struck Elmo with peaceful thoughts of home. An expanse of ocean, deep blue, stretched into infinity, the water turning shades of turquoise and green close to shore. “At least,” Elmo thought, “the ocean looks like home.”
A few solitary islands broke the horizon and alien pleasure craft dotted the surface, accompanied by an occasional sail billowing in the wind. The beach was the darkest black Elmo had ever seen. He thought there might be black sand on Earth, but he had never seen a beach this color. The scene was beautiful, with sights both familiar and entirely new, enhanced by aliens from another world enjoying a peaceful day by the ocean.
Elmo’s day was spent observing what life was like on planet Roth. The streets were mostly deserted except for the occasional Rothian car zipping by and the high-pitched whine of the Rothians greeting one another. Would he ever grow accustomed to that sound? Elmo spent a pleasant day with Valmid, walking and discussing Earth and Roth, the similarities and differences between the two planets. Zytex was never far behind, although he would sometimes stray. Valmid would then shout to him and grin as Zytex’s eye looked skyward and his small arms shot up as if to say, “Who me?”
As they walked the streets, Elmo noticed that a few structures similar to Valmid’s home seemed deserted. Just as on Earth, when a caring hand does not tend the property, it shows.
Valmid’s mind blanked as they passed these abandoned dwellings, as if there was something about the properties he wished to conceal. Elmo enjoyed being with Valmid, felt he could trust him, but at the same time felt there was something Valmid was hiding. But there was so much for Elmo to learn and experience in such a short period of time that the thought of some secret being kept drifted to the back of his mind.
The day went by rapidly for Elmo on this new world. The clouds took on a hint of emerald as the two followed by Zytex, headed home. Approaching the house, Valmid screeched a greeting to Cal standing in the doorway.
Elmo sat down to another Rothian meal of unfamiliar but tasty food. He wondered what type of animal and plant life he was consuming – there was still so much he wanted to learn of this planet. While Valmid and Elmo were gone, Cal had programmed the computer to display various scenes of Roth on the wall mounting, and as each scene was displayed either Valmid or Cal provided a narration. Elmo saw vast canyons and spectacular mountain ranges. He considered the differences between the inhabitants of Earth and Roth but acknowledged that the biology was basically the same. Now he realized that along with the biology, the geology of Roth must also roughly correspond to that of Earth.
The three talked late into the night, the only real sound the occasional report of the dingo plants as some small critter trespassed near the house. The fullness of the day and the quantity of information Elmo had absorbed took its toll and he began nodding off. He bid his friends goodnight and bounced up stairs that made him feel as if he were a toddler. Upon entering the bedroom, he was pleased to see the bed turned down and his pajamas laid out. Soon he was under the covers and fast asleep. But his rest did not last long. Howling and screeching pierced the night accompanied by the shrill voices of Valmid and Cal. Another sound accompanied all this turmoil, a metallic noise that rang throughout the house. Elmo soon discovered the source of the clanking as thick sheets of metal slid over his windows, leaving him sitting in total darkness, unable to imagine what was happening.
Elmo stumbled from his room into the hallway, only to encounter Valmid and Cal in an extreme state of distress. He noticed perspiration on Valmid’s brow. Since Elmo arrived on Roth Valmid had exhibited such a serene, calming countenance that to see him upset made Elmo’s uneasiness grow even deeper. He followed Valmid and Cal downstairs, and shortly they were all sitting around the kitchen table with mugs of a warm beverage resembling tea before them.
Valmid gazed at Elmo. “There is something I have been keeping from you my friend,” he said. “Something that threatens this planet and might once again threaten Earth. What you heard tonight was the alarm sounded by the dingo plants to an invasion by the inhabitants of the planet Gylex, a distant planet revolving around a star in much the same way Roth and Earth do. The inhabitants of Gylex have also discovered the secret of time-space travel, but their intentions are most nefarious.”
“You see,” he continued, “our homes are not surrounded by dingo plants to prevent crime – there is little crime on Roth. Rather, these plants surround our homes to sound the alarm if invaders from Gylex are nearby. We do not fully understand the relationship between the dingo plants and these beings, but when a Gylexan is in the vicinity of a dingo plant, the plants emit a piercing scream. We propagate these plants to warn us of invasion. We have cameras mounted outside the house to record these intrusions. Let us see if they recorded anything tonight.”
They all went into the living room and sat facing one of the wall hangings. Valmid pushed buttons on a remote and the pleasant scenes of the planet Roth were replaced by the view from the house. While doing this, he told Elmo, “In the short time you have been with us, I feel I have gotten to know you. You have experienced so much since you arrived. I was going to wait until tomorrow to tell you how you could be of benefit to my planet. Now I will show you.”
ELMO’S SOJOURN, CHAPTER 1
ELMO’S SOJOURN
CHAPTER 1
CELLAR SCIENCE
“I have a problem! I have a big problem!” Elmo shouted from his cellar laboratory. Mildred shook her head, wiped her hands on her apron and headed for the basement door. After fifty years of marriage, Elmo never ceased to amaze her at the trouble he could get into.
“Could he garden like other men his age? Oh no, he has to do physics experiments,” Mildred muttered as she walked down the cellar stairs.
* * *
They had moved into this rural house in Upstate New York ten years ago, right after Elmo had retired from his job at Los Alamo Laboratory. He was a physicist at the laboratory, part of a think-tank that planned experiments. But Elmo enjoyed the lab work too. He had accumulated a lot of ideas and discarded equipment. Mildred gazed out the window of her country home. Nearby, tall electrical towers obstructed some of the bucolic scenery, but Mildred liked the house just fine. Elmo brought along the junk he had accumulated over the years, mostly discarded apparatus from failed experiments, equipment useless to everyone except Elmo. The items included large magnets and four six-foot-tall Tesla coils, specialized high voltage transformers three feet in diameter and wrapped with miles of thin copper wire. They resembled giant candles, coming to a point with electrical connections at the apex. Elmo transported all this equipment into the basement and fiddled with it for years. He then had a large Plexiglas chamber built, which set them back a bundle. He stood the Tesla coils in each corner, then mounted the magnets in the floor.
The next step in the construction of Elmo’s experiment Mildred found most undesirable. Elmo told Mildred, “I’ll need a great deal of power for my research. Soon I’ll need your help making the electrical connections for the project I’ve been working on.”
A few days ago, a truck had delivered a huge spool of heavy insulated wire, another great expense, and now Mildred was getting a bad feeling. Once it was dark, Elmo emerged from the basement wearing rubber boots and heavy rubber gloves. “Get your coat Mildred, we’re going out.” The spool of wire was in the bed of Elmo’s pickup. They drove to the base of the nearest electrical tower and parked.
“What are you going to do Elmo?” Mildred asked in a voice full of apprehension and a touch of impatience.
“I’m going to climb the tower and connect this wire which you’re going to feed out,” came his reply. Mildred shook her head and wished Elmo would act his age.
After that illegal task was accomplished, Elmo spent most of his time in the basement tinkering with his invention. He called it his Time – Space Chamber, and when Mildred asked just what he was doing Elmo explained, “I’ve always thought that if I could create an electrical field, then move those electrons in a magnetic field to approach the speed of light, I could create a wormhole to a distant time and place. I could aim at the wormhole and transport matter. The secret is the size of the magnetic field. It must be small, not like the giant cyclotrons they construct in the desert.
All Mildred could say was, “If it makes you happy dear.” It kept Elmo out of her hair for years.
ELMO’S INVENTION, CHAPTER 13
ELMO’S INVENTION
CHAPTER 13
THE FUTURE OF ELMO’S TIME MACHINE
Kingsley walked home with today’s paper from tomorrow. He was deep in thought and anxious to organize them. As soon as he got home he retrieved a pad and pencil, opened the paper, and while reading took copious notes. His expression grew grave as he worked and highlighted the articles and sections he thought were important. Once this was accomplished he prepared for bed knowing he would get little sleep. The next morning, he awoke from the restless night he had spent with anticipation of his meeting with Elmo. After a meager breakfast he placed a call to his friend.
Elmo answered the phone, and Kingsley could hear the anticipation in his voice. This did not do much for Kingsley’s spirit. “Elmo, this is Kingsley. I thought we might get together and have a discussion about your machine. Would six tonight be okay?”
“Sure,” Elmo responded. “I can’t wait to talk to you about it. It’s all I can think about.”
Mildred was listening and instantly knew the subject of the conversation. She tried to hide her growing apprehension thinking about the last time her husband’s invention was made public with its possibility.
Kingsley arrived at precisely 6:00PM to Mildred waiting with a steaming mug of tea. She said, “Elmo is so excited to talk to you.” She looked at Kingsley’s expression and could detect his uneasiness. She said no more, and Kingsley walked down the stairs to the cellar.
“Kingsley, my friend, I’m so glad you came. I can’t wait to talk to you about the prospects of patenting my machine.”
Kingsley was known for his directness, and Elmo expected that now, but to say he was less than enthusiastic about what he heard would be a stretch.
Holding the paper obtained during his time travel, Kingsley referred to his pad of notes although he knew exactly what he needed to say. “Elmo, I’ve highlighted some sections and articles in this paper. Areas where your time machine would have an impact. First of all, let’s consider the future of your time machine. Once its existence was known, companies would clammer for the rights to mass produce the device. And if you did not agree to release the patent, we know how the world works. Details of the patent would be leaked. With details of your machine and slight changes, companies would begin production. Countries which are known not to observe patents, namely China and Russia, would also begin to mass produce time machines with little or no thought to the consequences.
“Elmo, use of your time machine would destroy society as we know it.”
It was then Elmo noticed that the entire sports section was marked. It seemed the entire newspaper was highlighted with copious notes in the margins. He looked up at his friend.
“First of all, your machine could spell the end of sports betting both legal and illegal. Actually, it would spell doom for all sports. If just one person knew the future and the outcome of any sporting event and sold that information, well you can see what would happen.”
As Elmo continued to study the paper Kingsley went on. “Keep in mind that one person selling information scenario. What would happen if the future of the stock market was known? Think of the effect that would have on the economy of the entire world. What would happen if the future value of all the monies of the world was known?”
ELMO’S INVENTION, CHAPTER 7
ELMO’S INVENTION
CHAPTER 7
THE TIME MACHINE REVEALED
Mildred watched as the members of the Tinkerer’s Club ascended the stairs from the cellar and prepared to depart. Harold Kinter, William Dupree and James Forsyth bid her goodbye. Much to her surprise, Kingsley Dasher took her hand and said, “Elmo has a marvelous intellect, and his invention could someday garner you a great deal of money. Only time will tell.” With that he walked out the door and was gone.
Elmo was the last to depart the cellar and Mildred could immediately tell that things had not gone as well as he had anticipated. She was puzzled by Elmo’s downtrodden appearance and Kingsley’s departing comment. Wanting to question her husband, she asked, “Elmo, why don’t I pour us some coffee and we have some dessert?”
Elmo, distracted by his thoughts, after a moment, replied, “That’s fine with me, my dear. I have a great deal on my mind, and perhaps talking would help. Things did not go as I had hoped during the meeting, and I need to gather my thoughts. I am confused about the future of my invention. Nothing is going as I had planned.”
Mildred set the kitchen table with two steaming mugs and plates of Elmo’s favorite dessert, spice cake. She watched Elmo sip his coffee and then push the dessert away. Now she knew something was definitely wrong. Elmo never refused spice cake. “What happened in the cellar?” Mildred asked.
Elmo hesitated, and then began, “I demonstrated my time machine using the kitten and the results were as I expected. To everyone’s surprise, Kingsley made a comment after the experiment. As he began to speak, I expected him to give insight into why the machine was not working, but to my surprise he said that it was working. Only it was working in a manner not that I appreciated. He said that I had invented the perfect prison and that my machine had the potential to change society.”
Mildred sat deep in thought remembering what Kingsley had said before departing. Suddenly her face lit up, “He’s right. I never would have made the connection. The man’s a genius. I’m so proud of you, Elmo. Your invention will change our society.”
This did not serve to heal Elmo’s fragile ego, instead, Mildred’s comment only served to increase its fragility.
Elmo had invested a great deal of effort in planning and then building his machine. Now, not only did it not work, but someone else had discovered its use.
Mildred could see that her husband was deeply upset. She extended her hand across the table and said, “Come to bed, my dear. Perhaps there is something I can do to improve your mood.” Mildred was successful, but it wasn’t long before matters took a drastic turn. Once again it was something that Kingsley had hinted might happen, but even he could not predict the extent of the turmoil Elmo’s machine would cause.
* * *
To this day Elmo doesn’t know how it happened or who was the one to break the secrecy surrounding the meeting of the Tinkerer’s Club. For a moment he thought maybe Mildred, but no, she would never break his confidence. He was sure it wasn’t Kingsley. Kingsley had trouble communicating with the members of the club. Elmo could not picture him going to the press or even breaking the club’s confidence with a friend. Elmo doubted he had few friends outside the club. That left James Forsyth, William Dupree and Harold Kinter as the culprit. He questioned them all and everyone denied that they talked about the machine. Elmo knew one of them was lying. His money was on either James Forsyth or William Dupree.
James was a people person and loved being the center of attention. He also enjoyed talking about his work and Elmo could just picture him letting slip the nature of the Tinkerer’s meeting. James’ tongue was often ahead of his brain when he really got going in a conversation.
William was also a suspect. Being short, and as most short people, he feared being ignored, feared being lost in a crowd – literally. So how better to avoid being lost than becoming its center. Elmo could picture him trying to impress people. Telling them of a great new device that would do away with prisons and save society billions of dollars. And after explaining all this, whispering, “Now promise that you won’t tell a soul.”
The more he thought about who the culprit might be, the more Elmo became sure that William was the guilty party, but William, as well as the rest of the members present that night, emphatically denied speaking about the machine to anyone.
The manner in which Elmo discovered that the secrecy of the Tinkerer’s Club meeting had been broken was a phone call he received from a local newspaper. Published only once a week, The Los Alamos Herald was primarily concerned with community events, births, weddings and funerals. Most of what was news in the town of Los Alamos was Top Secret so there really wasn’t much to report. When word of Elmo’s invention began to spread through the tight-knit community, the paper was all over it.
One evening, while Elmo and Mildred were enjoying their supper, the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” said Elmo as he rose to answer. This was long before the age of telemarketers, and for that matter, answering machines. When the phone rang you knew it was something important. Elmo answered, “Hello.”
A voice on the other end said, “Hello, this is Nate Bush calling from The Los Alamos Herald. I’d like to speak to Dr. Elmo Baker.”
Mildred watched Elmo and saw his expression range between puzzlement and fear.
Elmo said, “Elmo here. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been told you’ve invented a rather unique machine, a machine that may do away with prisons. Could you comment on this device?”
Elmo did not know how he should answer. He thought the events of the meeting would remain confidential. He now felt anger and frustration and did not know where to direct it. He had to respond. He couldn’t lie for he would soon be filing a patent for his machine. “I have built a device that can age the occupant to a predetermined age.”
“How long does this process take?”
Elmo responded, “Oh, just a matter of minutes.”
“How exactly does it work?”
Elmo was not about to admit that he really didn’t know that it was intended to be a time machine and that something went wrong, so he answered, “I’d rather wait until I patent the device before I divulge its workings. Also, I’d appreciate it if you would postpone writing any article until I receive the patent.”
Nate was disappointed at this request but felt he had to respect Elmo’s wishes. He responded, “I’ll write-up the article and wait until I hear that your patent has been granted.”
Elmo, somewhat relieved, said, “I would appreciate that a great deal. I’ll give you a call when the patent is approved.”
After hanging up the phone, Elmo said to Mildred, “Someone broke their word. That was The Los Alamos Herald, and they want to know about my invention. I can’t believe all this is happening about something I truly do not understand.”
* * *
Later that day George Holkum walked over to Nate’s desk. The paper was losing money and George, the managing editor, needed to turn that around.
He asked Nate, “How did that prison thing interview go? Are we dealing with a nutcase or what?”
Nate began to perspire. He knew that the paper was in trouble and needed sales. He also knew he had a fantastic story, but he had given his word. Nate said, “I think it’s the real thing. The man is a scientist, and he wants to keep things quiet until he gets a patent.”
George said, “Publish the story. Maybe it will increase our circulation. We’re not in a position to not publish something important. We have a responsibility to the stockholders.”
Nate responded, “But boss, I gave my word.”
“Your word won’t sell papers. Publish your story!”
MY NEED TO FLY, FINAL PART
MY NEED TO FLY, FINAL PART
The thoughts behind the birth of this piece is that my love for aircraft still remains and I read extensively about the subject. My reading includes a great deal of reading about World War II. I had been reading articles about German pilots during that war and could not believe how they could fly for that monster, Hitler. How could they do that? Then I realized they were flying because of their love for flying, not for Hitler. I came to this conclusion upon studying my own experience with flying.
I was learning to fly during the Viet Nam War. And never once considered the merits of that war. A war which many, back then, thought to be unjust. And how history has proved them to be right. But I wanted to learn to fly, and that desire clouded my thoughts about the situation the country was involved in during that period. So, in reality, I came to realize that there is little difference between me and those German pilots. The desire to fly was primary.
THE LEGEND OF FRENCH CREEK, PART VII
The Legend
of
French Creek
The blackness of the forest became full of a milk-white vapor, although above, the sky was full of stars. There was no wind, yet the mist came rapidly from different directions and formed a shell of white around the concrete slab. Soon the vapor took the form of a house, becoming a solid structure. Windows, now present, glowed bright red and I could see figures dancing within. The door of the house opened and there appeared a group of naked men and women horribly burned, their bodies smoking. I wanted to look away but could not. Their obscene presence came toward me. They lunged at me. Their hideous laughter screamed in my ears. Now the horrors surrounded me. My mind could not take any more. I lost consciousness and dreamed of daemons and devils surrounding me in an attempt to capture my soul.
I awoke the next morning with a feeling of dread, not wanting to open my eyes. The ruin was the same as it appeared the night before, although the debris on the forest floor leading to my campsite appeared disturbed. I looked down, and to my horror, my sleeping bag bore handprints burnt into the fabric.
I packed up my gear and headed down the trail to meet my wife and return to the comfort of my home, never wanting to return to French Creek Park again.
* * *
I tried to make the horror of that night clear of my mind, but it wouldn’t happen. I felt I had brought something back from that gruesome night and could not escape its presence. Damned if I could figure out what it was. So, I switched gears and embraced the event. After some research on the Druids, I worked my experience and new-found background into a few stories that I managed to sell.
Nearly a year had passed since that dreadful night, when Joan announced, “I think we need to get away. How about a short four-day vacation?”
“Sounds great, but it better be cheap,” I said. “You know money is tight.”
“Camping is not expensive,” she answered. I’ve reserved a site from June 19 to June 22.” She saw my face grow deathly pale, and then quickly added, “A site at Rickett’s Glen.”
“I thought you were talking about French Creek. I’m never going back there again.”
I tried to make the horror of that night clear of my mind, but it wouldn’t happen. I felt I had brought something back from that gruesome night and could not escape its presence. Damned if I could figure out what it was. So, I switched gears and embraced the event. After some research on the Druids, I worked my experience and new-found background into a few stories that I managed to sell.
Nearly a year had passed since that dreadful night, when Joan announced, “I think we need to get away. How about a short four-day vacation?”
“Sounds great, but it better be cheap,” I said. “You know money is tight.”
“Camping is not expensive,” she answered. I’ve reserved a site from June 19 to June 22.” She saw my face grow deathly pale, and then quickly added, “A site at Ricketts Glen.”
“I thought you were talking about French Creek. I’m never going back there again.”
THE LEGEND OF FRENCH CREEK, PART VI
The Legend
of
French Creek
I formulated a plan. I would have Joan drop me off the evening of the summer solstice, which would be a Tuesday night. Joan was hesitant but gave in after I told her it would help me with a story I was working on. She knew I was going through a dry period. An hour before dusk, I would set out on the Orange Trail with a pack containing a sleeping bag and whatever I might need for the night. Appearing to be just another hiker, I would make camp near the ruins and see for myself if there was anything to The Legend of French Creek.
The night of the summer solstice was rapidly approaching, and my feelings ranged from that of stupidity with this pursuit to fear of spending the night alone deep in the woods.
The morning of June 21st I found myself packing my gear. I would not build a fire, so I included a can of beans, bread and a can of SPAM©. My wife entered the bedroom and wrinkled her nose as she saw the SPAM© going into my backpack. She does not appreciate this brick of pork-flavored heaven as much as I do.
“So, you’re really going through with this crazy plan,” she said. Joan had been trying to humor me but at the same time talks me out of going for some time now. Her arguments only strengthened my determination to see it through, but also added to my occasional thoughts of what a stupid idea this was.
At seven o’clock that night we set out on the forty-five-minute drive to the park. Along the way, Joan would continually ask, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
I responded, “Yes,” although it was not as firm a ‘yes’ as I intended.
We entered the park and stopped along the circular road near our former campsite. I got out, shouldered my backpack, and said, “I guess I’m ready.”
Joan replied, “I know you won’t reconsider. Please be careful. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at noon.” We kissed, and she drove off. My writer’s mind was already on hyper drive. And this was the last time he saw my wife, I thought.
I walked the Orange Trail toward the ruin. The smell of campfire smoke filled the air. Alone on the trail, with thoughts full of horror and mayhem, I pressed on. As I approached the site of the burned structure, the sun was a giant orange ball peeking through trees racing toward the horizon. An open space across the trail from my quarry caught my attention. It was there I would make my camp.
The forest was darkening now and becoming chilly. I climbed into my sleeping bag and leaned against a boulder to begin my vigil. Cutting the SPAM© into slices, I made two sandwiches and opened the beans. Saving some SPAM© for my morning meal, I consumed my dinner.
The forest was dark now, but I dare not light a light. I concentrated on the ruin taking note of the sounds and the feelings of dread I encouraged my mind to pursue. I tried to remain awake, but the warmth of my sleeping bag and a full stomach made me drowsy, and I soon fell asleep.
What happened next I wanted to credit to a dream, but I know it was real.
THE LEGEND OF FRENCH CREEK, PART V
The Legend
of
French Creek
Two weeks later, we were packing for our camping trip. Our dog, Millie, appeared to be as excited as we were, seeing her food and toys packed up and taken out to the van.
We set out on the afternoon of Halloween full of anticipation in leaving our daily lives and spending a weekend in the wilderness with our pup. After finding our campsite, we quickly set up camp and Millie, attached to a long lead, sniffed the forest floor. That night, seated by a roaring campfire with Joan, my imagination ran wild. I pictured Druids descending on our campsite, with us captured for their human sacrifices. Of course, nothing happened. The entire night passed, uneventful. My imagination can be a weird place.
The next morning, we planned our first hike with Millie. The Orange Trail passed behind our tent. It was an easy trail, ideal for Millie, my wife and me. After packing lunch, we set out in late morning with Millie taking the lead, full of excitement. We walked the trail for a little more than two miles when it meandered toward the perimeter of the park. After another half mile, Millie’s excitement on this adventure changed dramatically. Our pup began to growl and pull away from the direction we were going, not wanting to continue. We pulled her along and her growl became a whimper of fear, something we’d never seen her exhibit. Another fifty feet and there it was. I was sure it was the site of the minister’s house described by the old man in the store.
As Millie pulled back on her leash, we approached the destroyed structure. There was a concrete slab about thirty by twenty feet off the trail with charred posts sticking out from points in the foundation. A rusted bedspring was the only sign of furniture. A few decaying pipes punctured the concrete slab. What was unusual was the lack of vegetation surrounding the slab. No trees had invaded the immediate area. Only weeds and forest litter marred the land.
We stood there, with Millie pulling away. Joan said, “What a curious place out here in the middle of nowhere. And why is Millie acting so strange?”
I had yet to relate to Joan the story the old man told me. As we continued on our hike, I told her about the old man’s story. We both noticed that the farther we walked along the trail, the more Millie returned to her pleasant disposition.
I knew I had to return to these ruins on the summer solstice to investigate.
THE LEGEND OF FRENCH CREEK, PART II
The Legend
of
French Creek
The store was the sort that existed before the supermarket came into existence. To my right was an ancient refrigerator case holding cold cuts and cheese. I walked the two rows of shelves. There was soup, canned vegetables and a host of other products. But where a modern grocery store might have ten brands of the same product and a vast quantity of each, there was only one brand with four or five samples available. As a guy, I thought this made shopping a lot easier. The shelves to the far left held products for the local sportsman. Ammo and freshwater tackle lined the shelves. After drinking in the atmosphere of the store, I wandered up to the counter. I really wanted to talk to this old fella and get more of the feel for this area to perhaps use in a story.
On the counter was a cardboard display of beef jerky. I took out a sleeve and laid it down.
“That’ll be seventy-five cents,” said the old man. “You from these parts?”
“No, just driving around,” I answered.
“Must be on vacation driving around in early afternoon.”
“No, not on vacation,” I said.
“Young fella like you out in the middle of the day must be unemployed.”
“No sir, I’m a writer. I’m always working, maybe not making much money, but always working.”
“What’ cha write?”
“I write horror stories. This area of the county is full of ghost stories and legends. When I’m between stories, I ride around looking for atmosphere and leads I can use.”
“What’s your name?”
“Will Trizma,” I replied.
“Ain’t never heard of you. I do enjoy a good ghost story, but never heard of you.”
“That’s one of my problems,” I answered. “Not enough people have heard of me, but I’m working on that. Right now, I’m looking for inspiration for a new story.”
“What’s your new story about?”
“That’s the problem; I’m stuck. I’ve found plenty of atmosphere, but no story line.”
The old man leaned forward, “You want a story?” He looked over his shoulder, although we were the only ones in the store. “I first heard this story from my grandpa. Scared the ‘you know what’ out of me.”
“Sure,” I said full of anticipation. “I enjoy hearing the local lore and set my stories in locales that really exist.”
The old man’s voice grew soft, “This is a story, or maybe not. I don’t know and never had the nerve to check it out. It’s called The Legend of French Creek, although it comes from way before the state park existed
CAT’S EYES, PART VIII
CAT’S EYES, PART VIII
Joe slowly raised his eyes to Dr. Glassy’s face. He saw the doctor smiling. But movement toward the ceiling caught his attention. At first he had trouble comprehending what he was seeing. Then, in horror, he realized he was privy to a host of worlds, one atop another. Realms and dimensions overlapping into what seemed infinity, inhabited by beasts never before seen by man. Joe’s brain was taken on a wild ride. In an instant he knew that cats could see what humans couldn’t. A series of other worlds, which a cat’s brain could not process so with what they were observing, they showed no fear. However, his brain revealed the terror his eyes observed.
Revealed was a multitude of dimensions never imagined by man. Occupied by beings of unspeakable character. The closest dimension was inhabited by beings with human form, but any other resemblance to man stopped there for their arms were replaced by tentacles. Others had arms issuing from their chests, ending in horrible appendages for unknown purposes. A multitude of creatures with horrible appearances were revealed to Joe’s now cat’s eyes. Misshapen heads and misaligned features dominated their features. On occasion some of these creatures, detecting Joe’s observance would venture into Joe’s dimension. But when they crossed the film between dimensions they became ghostly white with no mass. Accompanying the grotesque creatures already observed were winged insects covered with chitin-like armor bristling with deadly spikes. One of these beasts realized it was being watched and turned its many-faceted eyes toward Joe then the ghostly image flew at a dazzling pace to the unwelcomed observer.
With his mind finally able to absorb the horror his cat’s eyes revealed Joe screamed as a man possessed.
He went to tear at his eyes, then stopped. Joe’s thoughts shifted from terror to the realization that this was the outcome he was hoping for after acquiring the cat’s eyes. He also became aware that no matter how horrible the creatures in these other dimensions were, once crossing into his, they were powerless. Right before his eyes was an untold number of potential stories.
Now that he had his emotions under control he turned to Dr. Glassy and asked, “Could I have a pencil and paper?”
The End
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