Posts tagged ‘family’
UNHOLY GROUND, A HORROR SHORT STORY, CHAPTER VI
UNHOLY GROUND
Chris Walters, fourteen, was a recent arrival to the rural town of Pinebrook. His dad, Bob, and mom, Rachel, were originally from the area. Shortly after they were married, they decided to move to Philadelphia and start a new life. They created a new life; his name was Chris. In the meantime, their dreams of life in the city were in shambles. They both had high school degrees but found their education lacking and the city unforgiving. Bob stumbled from one job to another. And being the most recent hire, whenever there was a layoff, he was the first to go.
Rachel found work as a secretary, until Chris came along, then the cost of daycare was more than she earned, so she quit her job and became a stay-at-home mom.
Then Bob’s father died unexpectedly.
After Bob received the news, he sat with Rachel in their tiny kitchen and discussed their future. “You know, Rach,” Bob said as he put down his coffee cup, “we’re not living the life I thought we would. I’ve got to be honest. We’re not making it here.”
Rachel responded, “You are your dad’s only living relative. His farm will go to you. With the money we should get for it, we could build that better life.”
“Rachel, the money won’t last long. Then we’d be back to where we are now. I don’t want to sell the farm. I want to work on. The land is good, and I helped my dad enough years that I could manage it and make it pay.”
There were many more discussions about their future, and gradually Rachel weakened. In reality, she was not all that fond of Philadelphia. And Bob was right. The money would not mean much of a change to their long-term future in the city. The more they talked, the more she discovered how much she missed her family and friends. One night, as they lay next to each other, Rachel said, “It’s hard to admit defeat, but maybe we should move back to Pinebrook. I think the move would do us good and it would be good for Chris too. He’s been spending time with some bad company lately and I don’t like the direction he’s heading.”
Bob smiled at his wife and then caressed her. “We’ll tell Chris in the morning,” Bob said.
They made love as a full moon illuminated the bedroom.
UNWELCOMED GUESTS: A GHOST STORY
Unwelcomed Guests was accepted for publication by Necrology Shorts in February 2010.
UNWELCOMED GUESTS
Will Trizma was a writer of ghost stories and mined the local countryside for legends and their settings. The area abounded in both. His wife, Joan, acted as his editor and sounding board for his ideas. At times, the only comment she would make is, “You’re sick.”
Not only did he write ghost stories, but he also dreamt of them. One night he conjured a most vivid story; a story from the future. But unlike most of his dreams, he could not remember this tale. The only recollection he had was that it was horrifying.
* * *
It was the evening of August 15, 1949. The time was slightly before ten as a train made its way toward West Chester. There were fifteen souls aboard, counting the crew and passengers on this quiet summer night. The steam locomotive was pushing a caboose and two passenger cars. The weather had been stormy for days and up ahead the foundation of the bridge spanning Ship Road had been undermined by runoff. Jim Purvis, making his last run in a fully loaded fuel truck, slowly crossed the bridge. As he reached the span’s center, it collapsed leaving the truck astraddle the tracks. Jim could not believe he was still alive considering the load he was carrying. Although injured, he managed to climb out of the ravine and go seeking help.
As the train slowly made its way into a depressed section of track, the conductor, Ben Elliot, sat on the caboose’s platform and began filling his pipe thinking about sharing a late dinner with his wife. He looked down to light the pipe, and once achieving a satisfactory burn, he puffed contently and then looked up. The sight before him made his scream, “Holy sh…! He never finished the expletive.
The caboose rammed the truck, followed by the cars. The locomotive cut through the wreck until it reached the truck exploding the gas tank and turning the wreck into a funeral pyre.
* * *
Writing is a lonely profession, and years ago Will sought out a local writer’s group for support and editorial advice. During a Christmas dinner attended by all the writers, Will and Joan suggested a summer party and volunteered to hold it at their house. As the day of the party approached, one spouse or two became sick and others were called away unexpectedly on business.
Will and his wife greeted their guests, their thirteen guests.
Their dog, Millie, a lab mix was her usual excited self with the arrival of every new visitor. Once everyone was there, she settled down and dozed in the sun.
The conversation was lively with all the creative minds present, and as dusk approached, Will was called upon to tell a ghost story. “Not dark enough yet,” he answered.
Dessert was served, and when there was no longer a hint of sunlight, and with the patio bathed in twilight, Will deemed the time right for his tale and went into the house. He returned with candles, one for each table, after extinguishing all the inside lights. “Now we have the right atmosphere,” he said. Will began his story and even Millie appeared interested, her eyes reflecting the candlelight.
The weather had been rainy the last few days, and at ten as he began to read, Will noticed a mist had begun coming out of the gull bordering one side of his property. A few guests had asked him earlier about the gully and he answered that it had once harbored a railroad track.
The mist became denser and soon overtook the yard along with the guests. One by one they all fell asleep, including Millie. As the wall of fog enveloped all present, fifteen human shapes began to form. The specters slowly made their way to the dozing, and one by one, entered their bodies.
The next morning, they awoke from their deep sleep and knowingly smiled at one another. Ben Elliot looked around, and Will’s eyes filled with tears. “We’ve waited sixty years for this moment.”
Millie awoke and growled. She knew there was something terribly wrong with her master.
THE END
ELMO’S SOJOURN, CHAPTER 4
ELMO’S SOJOURN
CHAPTER 4
ELMO MEETS CAL
“Yes, my wife has breasts,” Valmid communicated. Elmo had momentarily forgotten that his mind was an open book. The thoughts he had as he gazed at the female walking towards his new youthful body were not meant for a husband to know. As Valmid’s wife approached, Elmo could not help but be aroused by the voluptuous figure, barely concealed under a tight red jumpsuit. Eight feet tall with a gray skinned hairless head or not, the body beneath the jumpsuit could easily be featured in any planet’s version of Playboy.
By now Valmid knew Elmo’s name, so he communicated, “Elmo, this is my wife Cal. Cal, this is Elmo.” As Cal stood next to Valmid, Elmo realized he had underestimated her height. She was well over eight feet tall.
Sensing Elmo’s mind about going into overdrive again, and not wanting to experience discomfort once more, Valmid began a lengthy discussion designed to answer some of Elmo’s questions.
“I know of your planet Elmo,” he said, “I’ve been there twice. I know that your society, although primitive, is rapidly progressing. Your species produce rare individuals that jump ahead of the pack when it comes to science. You are one of those individuals. I know the theory you developed about other planets – how they might harbor life if their stars and suns had the same traits as yours. We are the third planet from our sun, just as your planet is. There are basic similarities between us. Yet there are many differences, although they are mostly cosmetic. While our appearances vary strikingly, if you were to compare scans of our internal organs, your best medical personnel could not tell them apart. Another difference in our appearance, other than the obvious dissimilarities of skin color and hair, is that our females tend to be taller than the males.
“We have mastered the art of thought transference to enable us to communicate with beings from other planets. We do not, however, use such communication with each other. We are able to shield our thoughts so that they are hidden from our own species. If you are to stay here for any length of time, we will also teach you this ability.”
Elmo reflected on Valmid’s offer, but had no idea how long his stay would be.
Elmo’s mind revealed his confusion. As Valmid finished speaking, Cal desired to address Elmo. “Elmo,” she communicated, “you must wonder how we knew of your arrival. It was the dingo plants you tread upon that alerted us. Your planet uses burglar alarms to protect their properties and loved ones. We use dingo plants. We plant them around our house, and when disturbed, they cry out. They also produce flowers every morning that emit a rich soothing scent.
“With these plants around our house for protection, we feel totally safe. If you had arrived after dark, we still would have been aware of your presence even if you had not trodden upon the plants directly. For as night comes, the plants produce filaments, crossing the walkways and climbing up the walls and covering the roof of the house. If you come in contact with these filaments, the plants emit the cries you already heard, alerting the residents within. Through genetic engineering, we have produced a strain of dingo plants with the longest filaments, long enough to protect the roofs of our tallest structures, the most vulnerable part of our buildings.”
As Cal completed this last statement, Valmid gave her a stare that said, “Enough, more than enough,” and Cal’s mind abruptly ceased communication, leaving Elmo puzzling at the information he just heard.
“Why would you use such a seemingly primitive method of protecting your homes when you have such an advanced technology?” thought Elmo.
The sky had darkened further, with only a thin rim of emerald, green on the horizon. Both Valmid and Cal looked to the sky as Valmid suggested, “Let us go to our home and let the dingo plants do their nighttime work.” They walked the path to the house, and Elmo observed the plant’s filaments crossing the path behind them. His companions seemed relieved to enter the threshold of their home. Elmo entered the house, and was amazed how everything looked the same, yet different from the houses on earth. The chairs, of course, were too large for Elmo’s five-foot ten-inch frame. While Valmid and Cal reclined, Elmo felt like a small child climbing up onto an adult chair. He finally sat down with his feet dangling. The walls of the house, made of a composite that Elmo could not identify, glowed a soft bluish white light. Elmo’s attention was drawn to frames mounted on the walls as images within the frames continued to change from paintings to photos of aliens.
Valmid observed Elmo’s interest and told him, “You seem to be taken with our pictures. The frames contain very thin video screens and a wireless connection to our computer; practically the whole house is a computer. Stored pictures are beamed to the screen. We simply choose a series of pictures and the cycle time, then enjoy the display.”
Despite the modern technology of the house, Elmo noticed that the floors and stairs leading to the second floor were constructed of highly polished wood. The stairs, of course, he would need to take one at a time. Zytex squatted near Elmo’s chair as Elmo studied the first floor of the dwelling more closely. The kitchen was adjacent to the living room, with cupboards and a futuristic device resembling a stove.
It was night as Elmo sat with his new friends. With sunset the light emitted from the walls intensified, maintaining a steady level of illumination. All was quiet as the trio communicated; the only sound was the occasional scream of the dingo plants.
A ST. PATRICK’S DAY MEMORY
Here is a memory I rekindle this time every year.
DOWN NECK ST. PATRICK’S DAY PARADE
A NEWARK EVENT
During my youth I lived in a section of Newark, New Jersey referred to as the ‘DownNeck’ Section of Newark. The area was also known as the Ironbound Section due to the many factories in the area. The title ‘DownNeck’ was acquired, which I once read, due to the shape of the Passaic River running past the area. And on the Sunday afternoon, nearest to St. Patrick’s Day, the residents of this area and my street, Christie Street, were treated to what had to have been one of the shortest St. Patrick’s Day parades in existence.
The local Catholic Church sponsored the parade, whose steeple I could see from my parlor window. Across the street from my house was the parking lot for the Balentine Brewery’s trucks. Weekdays were filled with the rumble of Balentine Brewery trucks set on the mission to quench the thirst of a parched city. Sunday was a day of rest for the trucks, making the parade possible.
Magically, sometime before the parade, a green line appeared down the center of our street, harbinger of the gala event. I never witnessed this line’s creation, but every year it materialized. At approximately 1:30 in the afternoon the residents began to gather on the sidewalk. Since the brewery and Catholic Church’s school took up one side of the street, the number of residents was few. Of course, there were always the annoying boys riding their bikes down the center of the blocked off street before the parade began. I was proud to be one of their number.
The parade began around the far corner from my house, on Market Street. With a band, not a school band, but one made up of adult men most of which had almost mastered the instrument they were assigned. Before the band came a few ruddy-faced Irish men, decked out in their top hats, waving to the minuscule crowd. At the front of this procession were the parish priests. The parade was half a block long and took thirty seconds to pass. The procession turned the corner onto Ferry Street, melting into the Down neck neighborhood, ready to continue the tradition next year.
ELMO’S INVENTION, CHAPTER 11
ELMO’S INVENTION
CHAPTER 11
ELMO’S TIME MACHINE
One day after work Elmo stopped, once again, at Brooker’s farm for fertilized eggs.
“How you doing, Elmo?” he shouted seeing Elmo as Brooker one of his coops.
“Not bad,” Elmo responded. “Not bad.”
Brooker said, “I guess you come for more eggs. Got to tell you, son, this deal is saving me money on feed and such. Hope we can keep it going for a long time.”
Elmo thought about all the effort he put into constructing his machine, and all the grief he endured trying to explore some purpose for it. And it all came down to raising chickens. He tried to mask his feelings and said, “We’ve got a pretty good deal going, Brooker. A pretty good deal.”
Elmo accepted six fertilized eggs and made his way home, his heart full of failure wondering what went wrong. He arrived home, still in a funk, and Mildred met him at the door. She was all smiles. “Elmo, it looks like we’ll be getting another free chicken soon.”
Elmo gave his wife a wistful smile and went downstairs to his cellar lab. He loaded the eggs into his machine, set the length of time of aging to one year and the duration for one minute, and then pushed the button that would start the process. He stepped back, expecting the chamber to fill with mist and eventually see mature chickens, but nothing happened.
“Now what?” Elmo shouted in disbelief.
Not only had his time machine been reduced to raising chickens, now it wouldn’t work at all. Must be a disconnected wire, he thought. He removed the eggs and went to get his wiring diagrams. Unscrewing a steel plate to gain access to the workings of the machine, he carefully began to probe searching for a fault.
After a short period of time he muttered, “Aha.” He had found a disconnected wire and immediately knew that must be the problem.
Elmo referred to his wiring diagram, and then back to the wire. He saw where the connection should be made, but to his surprise, that connection had never been completed. The wire had been soldered to a place it should not have been. He also found some burned-out resistors. That was why the device failed to operate. His mind raced. Could this be why the invention did not fulfill its purpose? Elmo made the repair, reattached the panel and retrieved the eggs.
Elmo’s thoughts went wild as he placed the eggs in the chamber, resetting the length of time to one year and the duration to one minute.
He pushed the start button.
The chamber filled with mist, and then quickly dissipated. The eggs were gone. A short time later they reappeared with no apparent change in age. Elmo reasoned, “The eggs must have traveled into the future and didn’t age.
Elmo jumped for joy, shouting, “It works! It works!”
He next shouted, “Mildred, come quick!”
Mildred heard his initial exclamation. After Elmo beckoned her, she started for the cellar with great apprehension. Sometimes things went terribly wrong down there. She flashed back to her mother’s teacup, wondering where it was now and even if it still existed. She never knew what to expect at all when she was summoned down to Elmo’s lab. But she loved Elmo and wanted to give him all the support she could – within reason.
Upon entering the cellar, Mildred found Elmo peering into his iron lung device. He turned and said to her, “Mil, it works, I think. It finally, really works.”
It was the ‘I think’ that bothered Mildred.
“Watch”, he said to Mildred and repeated the experiment. Once again the eggs disappeared in a cloud and then reappeared in another white haze.
Milder muttered, “At least the eggs returned, unlike my teacup.”
Elmo then related to his wife about the loose wire, his reference to the wiring diagram and his mistake in constructing his machine.
Mildred asked, “Is that the end of our free chickens?” She had her priorities.
The question caused Elmo to chuckle realizing his wife’s priorities were so much different from his own.
“I’m afraid so, my dear. But this is more important than chickens.
“Your teacup was part of a different experiment. The reason I called you down is to see that my invention really worked, to see that the eggs actually traveled in time. Now I must run the ultimate test to see if it worked.”
“Well, Elmo, how are you going to do that?”
After removing the eggs from the chamber, Elmo pushed a small stepstool in front of the iron lung.
Mildred said, “You’re not going to do what I think you’re going to do.”
“There is only one way, Mil, that I can think of to know if it really works. A person must be transported into the future and return and report on the experience.
“I need your help. All the parameters are set. All you need to do is push this button to initiate the process.”
Mildred knew there would be no living with Elmo if she didn’t help, and if she didn’t help, he would just get someone else. She mumbled, “All right, Elmo, but it’s the return part I’m worried about.” She added, “Remember the teacup. What happens if you don’t come back?”
Elmo disregarded that possibility.
Before he closed the lid to the chamber, Elmo said, “That was a totally different type of experiment. But remember that every experiment has an element of uncertainty. That’s why they are called experiments.
“I have to know if my machine works, and I’m almost positive that it does. I need to do this experiment to confirm that it does.”
With that Elmo closed the lid and indicated to Mildred to push the button. The chamber filled with a heavy white mist, and when it cleared Elmo was gone. After five minutes it once again filled with the blanketing mist. Once the chambered cleared, and much to Mildred’s delight, there lay Elmo with a huge grin on his face. He pushed open the lid and shouted, “It works! It works!” After all the hard work, disappointment and failure, his time machine finally worked.
“Mildred, I was talking to you fifteen minutes into the future down here in the cellar.”
“How can you know it was in the future, Elmo?”
“Well, for one thing, you don’t remember me talking to you since I entered the chamber.”
“You’re talking to me now, Elmo.”
“Well yes, but something happened while we were talking that will confirm my knowledge of the future.” Elmo waited another few moments and said, “Your roast is going to burn.”
Minutes later the first odors of burning roast filtered down to the cellar.
“Elmo, why didn’t you tell me earlier? I could have saved the roast.”
“And I would have changed the future.”
Mildred hurried upstairs in a huff. Seconds later there came a crash from the kitchen.
He said quietly, “And you’re going to burn your fingers and drop the roast. I forgot to mention that part.”
Elmo was anxious to share the fact that his time machine finally worked with someone in the scientific community. He immediately thought of notifying the Tinkerer’s Club, but that idea did not last long. The last time he consulted the club it ended in a disaster when someone leaked the events of the meeting. The only Tinkerer he trusted was Kingsley Dasher, and that’s whom he would contact.
ELMO’S INVENTION, CHAPTER 8
ELMO’S INVENTION
CHAPTER 8
TIME MACHINE, BIG NEWS
The following Wednesday Elmo went to work and immediately became aware that something was not quite right. Everyone stared at him as if he had two heads. His usually friendly coworkers were avoiding making eye-contact with him, were uncomfortable to be in the same room as him. Someone finally handed Elmo the latest edition of the Los Alamos Herald, published that morning.
Elmo was shocked at the headline, shouting in huge bold print, Scientist, Elmo Baker Has Invented a Prison that will Change Humanity. He couldn’t believe it. He kept muttering to himself, “They promised not to publish.” He read on and found to his dismay all the details he shared with Nate Bush. How would this change his life? He was sure it would not be for the better; trouble was surely down the road, and he had a feeling the road would not be a long one.
After sitting in his cubicle, he immediately phoned Nate. “You promised not to publish anything about my invention. I trusted you.”
Elmo could hear the guilt in Nate’s voice as he answered, “I wanted to honor my promise, but the managing editor insisted I publish the article. Circulation is down and he wanted something that would catch the readership’s interest. All we ever get to report is the local news, and with the gossip in this town, most people know what we publish before we publish it. This story is big.
“But I trusted you. People at work look at me as if I’m some kind of freak. What are the rest of the people in Los Alamos going to think?”
“Take it easy, Elmo. I’m sure this will blow over in no time at all and everything will return to normal.”
The next day Elmo’s life would change in a big way.
* * *
The Los Alamos rag was read by the locals for local news. Because interest in the paper’s stories appealed to former Los Alamos residents, stories were posted with a wire service. That’s how Elmo’s problems reached a new level.
The Friday morning after the story appeared in The Los Alamos Herald, Elmo and Mildred were sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast. Mildred asked, “Things calmed down in work, Elmo?”
“Things are better now. I explained, to anyone interested, that I discovered the ‘prison’ by mistake, that I’m not really sure that it has any practical purpose and that’s the truth. I can’t picture the thing being used, and Kingsley Dasher hinted that there may be problems down the road even though he was the one who first envisioned the device as a prison. I sure didn’t tell anyone that it was a time machine that I really wanted to invent. I can just imagine the response I would get from that bit of information.”
Elmo was about to continue when the ringing phone interrupted him.
Mildred said, “I’ll get that. Hold your thought.”
Elmo watched as she answered the phone. At first she had a puzzled look on her face, and then her eyebrows knit, and her forehead wrinkled with shock and confusion. She said to the caller, “Yes, Mr. Slattery, this is the residence of Elmo Baker. He’s right here.”
Elmo was puzzled. He didn’t know a Mr. Slatterly.
Mildred held her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, “He’s a reporter from The New York Times.”
A film of sweat broke out on Elmo’s forehead. He knew this was going to be trouble. He slowly took the phone from Mildred. “Hello, this is Elmo Baker. How can I help you?”
“Dr. Baker, this is Joe Slatterly from The New York Times, the paper is extremely interested in the wire story published by The Los Alamos Herald. I’d like to come to New Mexico and interview you and take some pictures of your machine. It could change the penal system as we know it. We feel that the public needs to know about your invention.”
Elmo thought about the reaction that the locals had when they read about his invention. He could not imagine what it would be like if the entire country, no wait, the entire world knew about his invention.
Elmo said, “I don’t think I’d be comfortable letting the world know about my invention. The reaction locally was not the best. I’d rather forget about the whole thing.”
“But Elmo. Can I call you Elmo?”
“Sure, Elmo’s fine.”
“You could change society for the better. The convicted could fulfill their debt to society and not experience the degradation and dangers of prison life. There would be less recidivism. Prisoners could get on with their lives without the scars of prison life.”
Elmo began to weaken. “I suppose my machine could serve a benefit to society.”
“I’m sure it would. Have you thought much about patenting and selling it?”
“I do plan to patent it, but after that, I don’t know. I’m just now getting over the shock of how the news was taken around here.”
Slatterly talked fast. He didn’t want to lose Elmo. “Well, an article in The New York Times would certainly provide a great deal of publicity. It might cause some rough spots for you, but it would definitely make the public aware of your device, especially potential customers. And you know what they say. ‘There’s no such thing as bad publicity.’”
Mildred listened to Elmo’s end of the conversation and could tell he was wavering and began to think he would do what the reporter wanted him to do. The gleam in his eyes was beginning to frighten her. See had seen that look too many times before.
After a few more minutes Elmo finished his conversation by saying, “That would be fine, Mr. Slatterly. I’m looking forward to seeing you the day after tomorrow.”
After Elmo hung up Mildred immediately asked, “Elmo, what are you doing? Are you going to talk to that reporter even after how our neighbors and friends reacted after they found out about your machine? How could you?”
Doubt passed over Elmo’s face, but he quickly recovered. “Mil, I could help society, free-up money for uses more important than prisons, like education and medical research.”
“Oh, I see, Elmo. You are going to save the world while we become lepers in our own community.”
“That’s a little harsh, Mil.”
“We’ll see,” Mildred said as she stormed out of the room.
* * *
Two days later The New York Times reporter, along with his photographer, appeared at Elmo’s front door. They called ahead from the airport before they left New York to let Elmo know when he should be expecting them. When the doorbell rang Elmo wanted to get to the front door before Mildred, who had been moody ever since the reporter’s call.
Elmo opened the door and extended his hand to the young smartly dressed man before him. “You must be Joe Slatterly from The New York Times.”
“That’s right, sir. And this is my photographer, Larry Hitchcock. I’ve been looking forward to this interview and seeing your machine.”
Elmo began, “First, call me Elmo. Let’s go down to the cellar. I’ve been planning a demonstration for you.” Elmo led the way to the cellar door and found Mildred standing close to it. She was civil to the two men from The New York Times, Elmo knew she would be. What he feared was how she would react and what she would say after they left.
As the group descended the stairs to Elmo’s laboratory, Elmo said, over his shoulder, “I’ve arranged a little demonstration to show you how my device works.”
Once in the cellar, Larry said, “Look, Joe, an old iron lung. I haven’t seen one of those in years. Elmo, do you collect old medical equipment too?”
Slatterly was in a hurry. He wanted to see the demonstration, talk to Elmo and get out of Hicksville as soon as possible. “So,” Slatterly asked, “where is your machine?”
Elmo pointed to the iron lung, “That’s it, gentlemen. I needed a chamber that would fit a human. Although it may not look like much, what makes this iron lung unique is the electronics I’ve incorporated. Let me show you how it works.”
Walking to a cage at a far wall, Elmo extracted a rat, which he had recently obtained, and returned to the iron lung. He put the rat in the chamber and motioned for Larry to approach. “Larry, you might want to take a ‘before’ photo of the rat.”
“Sure, Elmo.”
Once the photo was taken Elmo said, “I will conduct this experiment in two stages. This rat is about four months old. The lifespan of a rat is about three years. I will first set the time dial to two years and the length of the experiment to one minute.” Elmo pushed the initiate button and said to the men, “Please observe.”
They stepped closer to the chamber and saw that a white mist had enveloped the rat, and then quickly disappeared. The rodent appeared to be slightly bigger than before.
Elmo said, “As you can see, the rat has increased in size. Now I shall set the time dial to twenty years.”
Once again Elmo initiated the sequence and once again the chamber filled with a white mist. As the mist began to clear, Nate and Larry could see the rat shrivel. It became no more than a husk and then collapsed into a mound of dust and bones. Elmo told Larry, “You can take the ‘after’ picture now.”
Joe and Larry were speechless. Both expected this claim, for a device which could serve as a prison, to be the fantasy of some demented scientist, but here was the proof before their eyes. They were truly amazed at what they had witnessed. Larry took the picture but still couldn’t believe what he had seen.
Joe, still mystified at what he had witnessed, asked, “How did you do that, Elmo?”
“Well,” Elmo began, “the science is rather complicated. Let’s just say that the theory and principles behind this device are based, for the most part, on Einstein’s work.” Elmo could not reveal, in reality, that he did not truly understand how it worked and that it was meant to be a time machine.
Joe asked, “So this thing will kill the occupant?”
Elmo was shocked and quickly answered, “Oh no, no. As you witnessed, the first run only aged the rat. I wanted the rat to expire in order to demonstrate that time, in the chamber, had truly advanced. I wasn’t sure if you would believe, with the first experiment, that the rat had aged.
“If a human had been in the chamber he would have aged twenty years in a matter of minutes. His debt to society, paid.”
After a few more questions for Elmo, Joe said, “I guess we’re finished, Elmo. This will make a great story, and the pictures should really open the eyes of the public.”
Elmo felt apprehension with the last comment.
Joe asked, “Elmo, could we get a photo of you standing in front of your machine?”
Elmo hesitated, but finally said, “I guess it would be all right.”
Larry took the picture, and the trio then walked up the stairs out of the cellar. Joe and Larry said their goodbyes and drove away.
As Elmo closed the door he could hear Mildred walk into the room behind him. This was the moment he dreaded.
“Well, Elmo, were those fellas impressed by your machine? Did they get the story they wanted?”
“Yes, dear, I think things went rather well. I demonstrated the device, and they were most impressed.”
Mildred turned and, as she left the room, said with coldness in her voice, “We’ll see what happens when the story comes out. I hope I’m wrong about bad things to come and soon the entire matter just fades away.”
Elmo began to think that this was going better than he had hoped, but that thought was short lived.
ELMO’S INVENTION, CHAPTER 2
ELMO’S INVENTION
CHAPTER 2
THE BEGINNING OF THE TIME MACHINE
One day after visiting the supermarket, although in those days they weren’t very super, Mildred was pulling her two-wheeled shopping cart down the street and was amazed to see a pickup parked in her driveway. It was three in the afternoon and four burly men stood behind the truck. They looked relieved when they saw her approach. In the bed of the truck was a huge piece of equipment. Mildred recognized it immediately. It was an iron lung.
Just recently, the newly developed polio vaccine began distribution on sugar cubes. Gradually iron lungs were no longer needed. However, Mildred had lived with the fear of polio, knew people who had contracted the disease. Some still depended on the device for their lives to continue. “Where do you want this, lady?” asked the man obviously in charge.
“I don’t want it anywhere,” answered Mildred. She had no idea why they had brought this to her home. Then her mind had a flash, Elmo.
“Does an Elmo Baker live here?” the man asked.
There it was. Her husband had bought an iron lung. Shaking her head, Mildred said, “I’m sure it belongs in the cellar. I’ll show you the way.”
After many grunts and groans, the machine rested on its wheels in the cellar.
“What could Elmo want with this thing?” pondered Mildred out loud.
Hearing Mildred one of the men said, “I don’t know nothing, lady. We just deliver.”
The crew went back upstairs and climbed into their truck and left. And Elmo had some explaining to do when he came home from work.
CAT’S EYES, PART II
CAT’S EYES, PART II
Joe thought constantly about what his friend had told him about the chance for a transplant and of his condition. Macular degeneration was a slow process, for some not so slow, but the endpoint was certain.
Joe was writing in his study Sammy walked in. Sammy was short for Samantha, and she was hell on wheels, or rather, paws. His older cat, Sally’s life was drastically disrupted by this new member of the family. When Sammy wasn’t running around like a maniac or sleeping, she was stalking Sally. Poor meek Sally was leading a tormented life. As Sammy entered the study, she was her usual hyperactive self. She paused to be petted, then ran about madly bouncing off the piles of books scattered around the house. In the middle of her insane race, she did something that Joe had seen both Sammy and Sally do. She stopped in her tracks, sat down, and gazed at the ceiling. She was watching something, something that Joe could not see, yet it took up her full attention. Sammy turned her head from side to side as if following a vision. After a few moments she returned to her manic activity.
What is she seeing? Joe thought. His writer’s mind began to work in overdrive. Among other genres, he wrote horror. Maybe she’s seeing ghosts, he thought. Imagine if I could see what she is seeing. Joe anticipated his next drinking session with Howard.
THE HORROR AT LAKE HARMONY: HORROR SHORT STORY, PARTVI
This story was published by Necrology Shorts in January 2010.
THE HORROR AT LAKE HARMONY
I carefully closed the book and felt a shiver as I recalled some newspaper accounts of horrible occurrences that happened at Lake Harmony remembering that they took place at four year intervals.
* * *
The latest incident occurred on June 12, 1998. A group of four friends came to the campsite where we enjoyed camping. Pitching their tent, they settled in for a few days of hiking and fishing. It was reported that they were to leave the morning of June 13. The morning of June 13 arrived and the surrounding campsites awoke to find that site 35 was empty. The men were gone, along with their belongings. They were never seen again. They had disappeared with no word to their family or friends. I remembered in the article about the fishermen, an earlier incident was mentioned of a horrifying occurrence that had never been solved.
It was June 12, 1994. A family of four, a mom, dad and two young sons were camping at site 34. On the morning of their departure, no one stirred. Finally, the time to vacate the site arrived and their tent was still standing with all their gear spread around the campsite. A ranger stopped at the campsite and called out, “Time to pack-up and leave”. There was no response. He shouted that he was opening the tent and did so. The poor fellow lost his mind with the sight that greeted him. The mother and boys were there, murdered and horribly mutilated. The father was gone and suspected of the crimes. He was never found.
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART IX
PLUMBING PROBLEMS IX
“Hang on,” she said, “I’ll try his cell phone.” She came back on the line and said her call to Dave could not be completed; something was wrong with his cell phone. I wasn’t prepared for her next response.
She half shouted and half cried, “That bastard!”
There was more to come.
“He’s with his slut, that son of a bitch. That’s the only place he can be.” Debbie continued with an explanation that I really didn’t need to hear. “We had just been married a year, and I knew I wasn’t his first girlfriend, but I figured I’d be the last. Dave had accepted a job from a woman new to the area and I found out he was servicing more than just her plumbing. No that’s wrong, he was servicing her plumbing.” Debbie wailed, “That’s the only place he could be, and if that’s where he is he can go to hell!”
As fast as I could, I offered to let her know if Dave returned, said good-bye and hung up. I needed to have my plumbing fixed and not to be in the middle of a marital dispute.
I searched around the house and walked the fields again but there was no sign of Dave. By now night was approaching. With reluctance I called the police. I related to the officer Dave’s disappearance and also about my conversation with his wife.
“Sounds like a sticky situation,” came the officer’s reply. He continued, “I’ll phone the wife. She’s the one that has to file a missing person report. After I talk to her I’ll take a run out to your place and see if I can figure out what is going on.”
I said I’d be watching for him, hung up and looked into having the mess upstairs cleaned up. A few hours later a police car pulled up behind Dave’s truck. By now it was quite dark, so I put on the outside lights and saw a policeman walking towards the front door. He introduced himself as Officer Marks and I asked him in.
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