Posts tagged ‘short story’
UNHOLY GROUND, A HORROR SHORT STORY, CHAPTER II
UNHOLY GROUND, CHAPTER II
Zeke, his wife Martha, and two sons – Jake age eight and Thomas age twelve – cleared the land. Martha, five years younger than Zeke, had a rugged beauty. Her sons were the image of their father. As they worked the homestead they did, in fact, hear strange sounds. In the depths of the woods there were sounds of unknown origin magnified by the quiet. Sounds that would set the hair on the back of your neck standing, but of course the noise had to be natural, and the source someday discovered.
But Zeke had also seen strange apparitions in the woods. He chose not to tell his family of the ghostly figures he caught glimpses of at night amongst the trees. Once, just before retiring, he left the tent the Youngs were now calling home and set out [DJR3] to ensure that all was secured for the night. In the distance he saw one of the ghostly figures wandering among the trees. Suddenly, the figure jumped into the air and ascended toward the canopy of the forest. As he made his way back to the tent, Zeke found he was bathed in a cold sweat. John Taylor’s warning echoed in his brain.
While constructing his barn, another ominous sign brought to the surface Zeke’s realization that all was not right with this land.
Zeke marked out the placement of the barn. Before the barn was built, he would dig the root cellar. Most mornings found Zeke digging, but one day he changed his routine. It was after supper when he told his wife, “Martha, the root cellar is almost done. I’m going to finish it tonight and then tomorrow I’ll start getting help to build the barn.”
The forest was strangely quiet as Zeke approached the area where the barn would stand. He climbed into the hole that was to be the root cellar and began to dig. As the shadows of the trees lengthened and the sun dipped below the hills, Zeke became unusually anxious. With darkness came a heavy fog shrouding the forest with a ghostly haze. His fears grew until he could no longer work. He gathered up his tools and began walking back to the tent when he happened to glance back to the root cellar pit. An eerie red glow filtered through the trees from the hole and something moved within the misty crimson light.
Men from the area helped Zeke raise his barn. The Young family now lived in it while a house was constructed. With the barn in place the family could now work to establish a farm in this hostile environment. Food would be grown and their future more secure. The barn was a two-story structure with a loft to store hay and three stalls on each side of the main level. The root cellar was under the rear of the barn. It provided storage and a hiding place in case of an Indian attack. But John Taylor was right; Indians steered clear of Zeke’s land. Jake and Thomas made their bed in the rear of the barn while Zeke and Martha slept near the stalls up front.
It was mid-summer when Zeke made a major purchase in establishing his farm. He called out as he approached his property, “Martha, boys, come see the new member of our family. Zeke led a roan mare toward the barn. The boys were excited at the prospect of a horse to ride, until Zeke said, “This mare will make the farm more productive and release the boys to do more chores. Hopefully, she will also fill some of these empty stalls with her foals.”
As Zeke approached the entrance to the barn the horse reared, a wild look in her eyes replaced the calm demeanor she had exhibited up until then. He tried for all his worth but could not get the horse to enter the structure. In frustration he tied the frightened animal to a tree and let her graze.
That night Martha told Zeke, “At times I feel a strange presence in the barn, like I’m being watched.”
“Nonsense,” said Zeke, “now get to sleep.” The confidence in his voice belied the growing fear in his heart.
* * *
Months later, John Taylor saw Zeke working in his fields preparing for fall planting. He decided to stop and see how his neighbor was doing. “How’s it going, Zeke?”
The sight of Taylor caused Zeke to recall the man’s warning which he had to admit was constantly on his mind. Zeke did not want to reveal the strange occurrences on his land. He pulled his horse to a stop and laid down his plow. “Going well enough, John. The only problem is this damn horse. She won’t go into the barn. I’ve tried everything but she stays outside, even in the rain. I figure when the weather turns cold, she’ll smarten up.”
Taylor asked, “Notice anything strange on your property?”
“Can’t say I have,” answered Zeke, already thinking that he had said too much. “Sure, there’s the occasional strange sound but when you’re deep in the woods and all’s quiet, lots of normal sounds seem strange.” Zeke kept his sinister observations to himself. He feared the ridicule and scorn his fears might provoke.
Taylor nodded in agreement. “You’re right there, Zeke. Spent some time camping in the deep woods myself. Heard some weird things.
“That sure is a fine-looking barn you got, Zeke. Going to start the house soon?”
“The farm’s keeping me pretty busy right now. Reckon I’ll start the house after fall harvest.”
The two men said their good-byes.
John Taylor never saw Zeke Young again.
UNHOLY GROUND, A HORROR SHORT STORY, CHAPTER I
This story was accepted for publication by Books To Go Now in 2011
UNHOLY GROUND
Zeke Young
Shaking his head, John Taylor said to newcomer Zeke Young, “I wouldn’t build on this land if I was you.”
Zeke was a lean man, his face weathered from years of working someone else’s property. Now he would have a farm of his own. The year was 1754, early spring, and the men were standing deep in the western Pennsylvania woods. Zeke was not a man to be easily dissuaded. He fixed John Taylor with a hard stare, and asked, “Why would you say that?”
“Heard tell of strange things happening here on this land at night. People have seen a kind of glow in the trees, a moving glow. Them that seen the glow heard ungodly sounds too. Like a kind of moaning. People say this place is damned.
“Even the savages that live in these parts avoid this ground. They say it’s cursed, always has been. They speak of the Ancients, a tribe of demons that live here underground. These devils come to the surface to take those that violate their land. The Indians avoid this area like the plague. I would steer clear of it too if I was you.”
Zeke Young responded, “Sounds like just the place I’m looking for. Snooping neighbors and Indian raiding parties will pass me by. I recon, in the wilderness, a man needs help to survive, but I like my privacy. I’ll offer help when asked, but I’ll not pass the time of day in idle talk. Indians, I can do without.”
John Taylor warned again, “Don’t take it so lightly, Zeke. I tell you the Indians say there are devils living in this here ground. They say that sometimes if you put your ear to the ground, you can hear the devil’s moan. I wouldn’t settle my family in this place.”
“You might not,” Zeke said, “but I sure as hell will.”
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER III
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER III
It was weeks before Nijo had time to search out the Mejocuthru master. The workload was unusually heavy, and her kids were sick so when she wasn’t caring for her patients she was nursing her children.
One sunny cold Saturday afternoon she asked Jim to watch the girls. “I’ve got some errands to run. Would you mind staying home with the kids?”
Jim looked up from the college football game he was watching and said, “No problem. On your way home, why don’t you pick up a pizza for dinner?” He returned to the game as his wife closed the front door.
She made her way to the address Robbie supplied. It was in the Chinese section of town. She consulted a city map and had no trouble locating the home of the Mejocuthru master. She pulled up in front of the building and was momentarily confused, “This can’t be the right address,” she said to herself. The building housed a Chinese restaurant. In the window of the grimy building was a row of cured ducks hung by their necks, suspended over oriental fruit and vegetables. Above were apartments, but the doorway leading upstairs displayed a different number.
Nijo went into the restaurant and was immediately approached by a waiter who asked in a heavy accent, “Can I seat you?” The room smelled of exotic sauces and spices. Clouds had darkened the afternoon sky, and the room appeared not to absorb what little light that filtered through the dirty front window. The few customers present were seated in the darkness muttering in Asian dialects.
Nijo said, “I was given this address by a friend. I’ve come to see the Mejocuthru master.”
The waiter’s expression changed from neutral to one of malice. “That is not possible,” he said. “Who sent you here?”
She gave him Robbie’s name. A brief look of recognition passed over his face.
“Sit here,” he growled, pointing to the area reserved for take-out customers and disappeared through a beaded curtain leading to the kitchen. Sometime later he reemerged, perspiring heavily. He had the same countenance of anger, but now he also bore a hint of uncertainty.
In a gruff voice, he said, “Follow me.”
The waiter led Nijo through the beaded curtain and into the kitchen where a host of Chinese cooks shouted to one another in their sing-song language. Here the exotic smell of the food was overpowering. Hurriedly, Nijo was shown to the rear of the room to a flight of stairs leading to the basement. The steps leading into the darkness were wooden and well-worn. In the faint light from an occasional bare bulb, Nijo found herself walking through a maze of tiny storerooms containing shelves of cans displaying Asian characters and jar upon jar of spices. One room was reserved for nothing but tea; another for huge bags of rice. He led Nijo to the darkest recesses of the cellar and a rust-stained metal door. He unlocked a heavy bolt and motioned Nijo inside. Immediately after she entered, the door was locked behind her. Her nostrils were attacked by the heavy smell of incense. Behind a single wavering candle flame appeared to be a pile of rags. Then the rags began to move, becoming a solitary figure surrounded by cushions. Even after her eyes had adjusted, Nijo could only make out a shadowy figure.
In perfect English, without the hint of an accent, the specter motioned to the pile of cushions and said, “Come here, child, and sit.”
The voice was that of a woman and was gentle but with an undertone of despair. Now seated, Nijo could begin to discern the woman’s features. Her face was a mass of wrinkles with deep-set slanted eyes, a flat nose and small mouth.
“My name is Maggie Wu,” said the woman. “I have been a prisoner in this room for many years. It is a painful, lonely existence, one I wish I could end, but I am powerless to do so.”
Nijo asked, “Why are you held prisoner? Are these people holding you hostage?”
The old woman answered, “I do not know why I am here. They say I did terrible things, but I don’t recall. I have had visitors, but they were either curious or vengeful. This has been my existence for more years than I can remember. “What brings you here, my child?”
Nijo answered, “A friend of mine and I have been practicing Reiki to help our patients. We are hospice nurses and have had some success in relieving some of their pain, but nothing consistent. I asked my friend, Robbie, if there was some stronger discipline we could use with more power and more certainty. Reluctantly, she told me about Mejocuthru and how to find you. She said there were risks but I would risk anything to help my patients.”
“Would you, my dear? I recall your friend. You must have been very persuasive, for not only did I deter her from using Mejocuthru but made her swear not to tell anyone of my existence.”
Nijo said, “I was rather relentless in my questioning. Do not be mad at Robbie. Please agree to teach me.”
The old woman reached out her gnarled hands to Nijo. “Give me your hands,” she ordered.
Nijo extended her hands and felt a strange tingle when they were held by the woman.
The woman said, “You have a deep desire to heal. I have never experienced this power in another. Perhaps you could control the power of Mejocuthru. I will tell you my history; then we will see.
“I was a healer taught by healers from the old country. They said I had many natural abilities and revealed to me powers and cures unknown in this country. I did much good for the Chinese community, but I felt I wasn’t doing enough, that there was a further step I could take.”
“I have the same feelings,” said Nijo, “that there is something beyond the Reiki I use.”
The old woman shook her head in disgust. “Reiki is for amateurs, a weak discipline practiced by weak people. Mejocuthru is where the real power lies. With Mejocuthru you can perform miracles. The old masters warned me of dangers, of doing well but of also doing evil. But I accepted the power. I raised the dead. It was only then I realized the power I possessed.
“The old masters said I would perform unspeakable acts if I used this knowledge. After I began to cure using Mejocuthru, the only problem I encountered was the loss of memory after healing. Soon after I raised a young woman from death I was imprisoned and have been here ever since. I long to be free. No one will explain why I am here, but I know I did some good and that is what is important. Those thoughts are what keep me alive.”
Nijo said, “I do not understand how such a great healing tool can do evil. I want to learn. I want to possess this power.”
The old woman smiled and said, “I will teach you. There is a chant you must learn. One that will release the powers of Mejocuthru into the people you touch to heal the disease that sickens them.
“Come, child. Lean forward and I will whisper the chant so that you may heal the sick.”
Nijo leaned close to the ancient healer. The old woman spoke the chant into Nijo’s ear. When the lesson was finished, the old woman told Nijo, “You are now a Mejocuthru healer. Go and help the sick; the power is yours.”
As soon as she said these words, the old woman’s images appeared to waive; then slowly fade. Before Nijo’s disbelieving eyes, there appeared a boiling black cloud where the woman had been. Rather than dissipating, the cloud began to fall into itself. It became constantly smaller until all that remained was a solitary black dot hovering above the candle. Then it was gone.
Nijo shuddered and rose from the cushions. She had no idea what she had just witnessed, however, she felt a new sense of power that was pleasurable, that needed to be shared. She pounded on the door to be released. The door was opened by the waiter who had led her to the room. Nijo said, “I am finished here,” and walked past the man. After a minute or so, his eyes began to adjust to the darkened room. The chamber was empty. He searched the small room in disbelief and horror.
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER I
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER I
Balance was published by Necrology Shorts in 2010.
There is no free ride in life.
Balance
Nijo London pounded on the door of her small cell – her world now for over a year – until her fists bled. “Let me out!” she screamed although she knew her plea would go unanswered. She stepped back and studied the door covered with dark brown outlines of her fists from past attempts to summon help. She was not sure why she was being held captive, but there were times she was not sure she wanted to know.
Nijo was thirty-five of medium height and slender, with close-cropped black hair and startling blue eyes. She was slender now because of her imprisonment, but she once drifted up and down in her weight. After each of her two pregnancies, the pounds tended to remain more than being shed.
It had been a year since she last saw the sun. No one would speak to her, let alone answer her questions. But she heard occasional conversations through her door. There was hushed talk of brutal murders. One time she thought she heard the mention of cannibalism, but she couldn’t be sure.
Surely these conversations could not be connected to Nijo; she was a nurse and devoted her life to caring for the sick. But she had vague memories that she didn’t understand; flashes of perception that were more than disturbing. They were horrifying. There was also some connection with these horrors to ancient rituals of healing she had tried to incorporate into her practice. Nijo also recalled the most unsettling consequence of using these ancient rights: the complete loss of memory after she used the power.
THE LAST MAN: A STUDY OF THE IMAGINATION
THE LAST MAN: A STUDY OF THE IMAGINATION
The less said, the more room for interpretation.
I think this is the benefit of a short piece of fiction. A short piece telling a compelling story allows the reader to fill in the blanks. And depending on the reader’s imagination their could be nothing needed to add, or the opportunity to let the imagination run wild and create a memorable story. In fact, creating a story of greater appreciation which the writer did not consider I feel the following short piece goes a great deal towards serving that purpose.
Here are some details, depending on your imagination, that could provide greater enjoyment of this shorter short story.
What event lead to the circumstances of this story?
What would opening the door reveal?
Who is the man in the story and how did he find himself in this situation?
I hope these thoughts and questions have stimulated your interest in reading this short story.
I heard this story sometime ago and do not know who to credit for its creation.
He was the last man on Earth.
There was a knock at the door.
Note: In this day and age man would be replaced by person.7
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 12
ELMO’S SOJOURN
CHAPTER 12
ELMO HAS HIS HOMECOMING
The four stayed up late into the night. Rolack described how she was made pregnant three times, felt the joy of motherhood as a new life stirred within her body and was filled with revulsion at the sight of the tiny, winged monster she delivered. She never met any of the women from Earth but had heard talk of them. They had not she learned, survived for very long on Gylex. Because they were physically so much smaller than the women of Roth and Gylex, they often died during pregnancies in which they carried fetuses much larger than an Earth child. Labor and delivery killed the few that survived to term. All that was left were stories and bones scattered among the trash of the prison.
Valmid and Cal could not take their eyes from their daughter, couldn’t believe she was back, and that the planet was safe from more women suffering her fate. Valmid explained to Rolack how Elmo had traveled to Roth and how his visit led to her freedom and that of her companions.
After a while, Valmid and Elmo decided to take a walk and let Cal and Rolack have some of the mother-daughter time they both desperately needed. Valmid sensed also that something troubled Elmo and thought perhaps a stroll in the early morning air would ease his mind and loosen his thoughts.
They walked for a while, enjoying the peaceful countryside. Then Elmo began, “Valmid, before I arrived on your planet, I was a retired scientist just puttering around in my cellar. Then I hit on the concept that brought me here. Back on earth, I have a wife with whom I have spent most of my life. But that life is over, and I can’t return to it. Now, I’m a young man. I have a future again. I cannot go back to Earth and resume my retirement. There is so much I want to learn from you, from your planet. I want Mildred to journey here. She is my life; we share a history. I need her to share my future on Roth. If I cannot convince Mildred to come here, I don’t know what I will do.”
They walked on a while more before Valmid shared his thoughts. “Elmo, your knowledge has already proved indispensable to Roth. Who knows in what ways my planet could benefit from the knowledge you have of Earth? And if there were a problem on Roth that can only be solved by making a trip to Earth, I would find it difficult to blend into the population. I have discussed all this with the elders of the planet, and we all reached the same conclusion: We want you to stay.”
They continued their walk in silence until Elmo asked the question that he had been nagging him whenever he thought of making Roth his home. “Valmid, if Mildred agrees to come here, could she travel through the wormhole that I first used? If she could, we would both be starting a new life on a new planet.”
Valmid considered this, “If she agrees to come here, I see no problem in granting your request. I think we should return to Earth and try to convince Mildred to spend time on Roth.”
ELMO’S SOJOURN, CHAPTER 9
ELMO’S SOJOURN
CHAPTER 9
ELMO RETURNS HOME
Suddenly, Elmo found himself back in his cellar, standing next to Valmid and near his time-space machine. Valmid made a sound that could only be described as a chuckle as he examined Elmo’s machine.
Upstairs, Elmo could hear Mildred in the kitchen. Even though it had only been a few days’ journey, with all he had learned and seen, Elmo felt he had been gone for a very long time. The two travelers slowly made their way up the stairs.
In the kitchen, Mildred was just cleaning up after dinner, washing a cast-iron skillet when she heard someone coming up the cellar stairs. “Elmo’s back,” she said to herself. She couldn’t wait to hear about his adventures and what it was like to travel in space and time. Then she thought, “Wait a minute. I had to control the machine in order for him to return.” With that thought, she clutched the handle of the skillet with two hands ready to battle whoever had broken into the cellar.
As she watched, the door leading to the cellar slowly swung open. Out stepped a young man she did not recognize. She screamed, “Who are you? If you don’t leave right now, this skillet will make a lasting impression on you. Now get!”
The young man just stood there and said, “Mildred, it’s me, Elmo.”
“Who are you trying to kid?” answered Mildred, now studying the stranger more closely. This young man was younger than Elmo had been when she first met him, yet he was starting to look vaguely familiar.
The stranger then said, “It’s me, Doll.” Elmo was the only one who ever called her that. After nearly forty years of marriage, he still called her Doll when they were alone.
After the stranger uttered her nickname, Mildred studied his face more closely as the skillet slipped from her hand and crashed to the floor. “Elmo, it is you. What on earth happened to you?” As she was finishing her question, Valmid appeared, ducking his head through the doorway behind Elmo. That’s when Mildred crashed to the floor.
* * *
When Mildred came to, she was lying on the couch and the new Elmo was dabbing her face with a wet cloth. He explained how he arrived on planet Roth and found that the creature he had transported to Earth was a pet of one of the inhabitants of the planet. He went on to tell her about Valmid and how she would be able to communicate with her new guest. Next, he explained the complexity of time-space travel and the fact that he survives his trip through the wormhole was just dumb luck. Finally, Elmo described the increasing invasions the planet Gylex was mounting on Roth and the information Valmid required to repel the invaders.
“Now prepare yourself, Mildred, while I properly introduce you to Valmid,” he told her. As Elmo said this, Valmid entered the room. He seemed to be studying Mildred and communicated to Elmo, “Your wife is still very disturbed by my presence. Perhaps we should do some research on your computer and gain the knowledge of chlorofluorocarbons and give her time to digest your youthful appearance – and my countenance.”
Elmo gave Mildred’s hand a pat and told her that they were going to his study. He then led Valmid up the stairs. Soon Elmo was punching away at of his keyboard while Valmid shook his head at how such an archaic device held information that might save his planet.
Locating a web site giving the history of chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs), Elmo began to read. Discovered in 1928, CFCs, a group of chemicals including Freon, had many uses in both industry and the home. The gases were considered harmless. In fact, their inventor, Thomas Midgley, once took in a lungful of one of them to demonstrate its safety and then blew on a candle to show it was nonflammable. After many years of use, CFCs were linked to the destruction of the ozone layer. Their manufacture declined and other gases replaced Freon. Elmo explored further and located the chemical composition of Freon, including the formulation and conditions necessary to produce it.
Valmid was greatly pleased and was sure that the chemists of Roth could manufacture Freon with little trouble, and since he had never had any ill effects before or now from breathing the air, he felt Freon would not harm the inhabitants of Roth. He had accomplished his mission and was anxious to return to his planet and start planning the deterrence of the demons from Gylex. He had other plans to consider, but for now, the welfare of his planet was his prime concern.
Valmid turned to Elmo, and Elmo sensed what he was about to ask, “Now Elmo, what are your plans?” Valmid knew the confusion Elmo was experiencing, torn between his new taste for adventurous space travel and his love for Mildred and the life they had shared for so many years.
Valmid suggested, “Perhaps you and Mildred should spend some time together. I’ll stay here and amuse myself with your computer.”
Elmo made his way down the stairs and found Mildred sitting at the kitchen table. He sat opposite her and extended his hands. They sat there holding hands for a few moments before Mildred spoke. “So many changes, Elmo. I’ve learned to expect the unexpected during my life with you, but never anything like this. You could be my son; you’re so young. And there’s a gray seven-foot alien upstairs waiting to return to his planet. It’s too much to comprehend all at once. Elmo, what are we to do?”
Elmo had given the possibilities a great deal of thought and had formulated a plan. “Dear,” he told her, “I must return with Valmid to see if my theory for repelling the Gylexians is correct. If it is not, he will need my help to investigate the history of Earth and what could generate the mysterious substances needed to return Roth to its former tranquility. The safety of Earth is also at stake. And there is still so much I want to learn about Roth. I may want to stay there for some time. Mildred, once the planet is safe, I want you to travel to Roth with me. For wherever you are, that is where my home is.”
Mildred did not know what to say to this proposition. Elmo seemed so certain, so confident, and her mind was full of so many doubts. They talked for hours, sitting and holding hands at the kitchen table. “Mildred, I left here an old, retired scientist, I returned a young adventurer involved with a planet that needs my help.” Then he told all he knew about Roth. How, even though it was an alien planet, biology and geology were very similar to that of Earth. He struggled to voice his emotions.
“The inhabitants of Roth are different on the outside, but inside they share the same hopes and fears as we, the same love and dreams for the future. Roth is not safe now, but when it is, I’ll be back, and I hope you will return with me to share my adventure.”
“I just don’t know Elmo; I just don’t know.”
Elmo stood, “Think about all I said Mildred. My future is with you, and we can have a future neither one of us had ever dreamed of.”
They could hear Valmid making his way down the stairs. Elmo stood, kissed Mildred, and made his way to the cellar door. Valmid appeared in the kitchen, bowed to Mildred, then made his way down the stairs with Elmo. A few minutes later a blinding flash emanated from the cellar below. Mildred knew she was once again alone.
ELMO’S SOJOURN, CHAPTER 5
ELMO’S SOJOURN
CHAPTER 5
A LESSON IN SPACE AND TIME TRAVEL
Valmid and Cal led Elmo up the stairs to the guest bedroom. His bed for the night was enormous but welcoming. It had been a long, eventful day.
Cal found some pajamas and other clothes from their child’s younger days that fit Elmo perfectly. Elmo bid Cal and Valmid good night, slipped beneath the covers, and was soon asleep. His dreams were filled with screaming plants and foreign lands and Mildred. When he awoke, his first thought was of Mildred, and he was filled with sorrow and longing. It had been many years since he had awoken without her next to him.
Elmo was learning to cope with the oversized house and furniture. The weaker gravity of Roth enabled him to jump greater distances than he could on Earth. He found he could hop up and down the stairs and jump into bed with little effort. After dropping down from the bed, Elmo entered the bathroom, took a shower, then carefully made his way down the stairs. Valmid and Cal were already eating breakfast and invited Elmo to join them.
Valmid detected Elmo’s reluctance to eat their food, so he reassured him, “Elmo, although we’re very different on the outside, on the inside we are the same. Not only are our organs identical but the biochemistry that governs them is also similar. What is edible for us is also edible for you. The food may appear different, our plants and animals may not resemble the plants and animals you are fond of consuming, but our food will fulfill your requirements.” During breakfast, Elmo experienced new flavors and textures, both good and not so good, and hoped Valmid was right.
With breakfast finished, Valmid commented, “Your species discovered the existence of worm holes, but only you, Elmo, uncovered the secret of time-space travel. I can only imagine how crude the device was that you contrived, being the first of its kind on your planet. I was playing with Zytex when he suddenly vanished, transported by your machine. You came very close to transporting me, instead of my faithful pet. Our two planets are not the only ones that have made the discovery. There are other civilizations on other planets that have developed this method of travel.”
Valmid sat back and began to explain the more intricate principles and mechanisms of time-space travel to Elmo. “Elmo, you’ve shown great insight in discovering the use of wormholes for travel, and you were lucky to survive your first attempt. First, let me explain the change in how old you were when you left Earth to your age now on Roth. You know that nothing can exceed the speed of light, and you know the whole universe is in motion. Whole galaxies are propelled with untold speed, some towards and some away from each other. Therefore, if you are on a planet hurtling toward another planet you wish to visit and their combined relative closing speed is greater than the speed of light, the differences in speed results in a change in your age. Luckily for you, Roth is moving toward Earth. If the planets had been moving apart at the same speeds, you would have arrived a very old man.”
Valmid continued, “You are lucky in another sense in relation to time-space travel. You see, my friend, space is crisscrossed with an infinite number of wormholes. There are, in fact, many that connect Earth and Roth, but they differ in the direction of their routes. You happened to select one whose path was not the most direct. If you had, the outcome would have been quite disastrous. You see your age would have decreased by more years than you have been alive. So somewhere along your journey, you would have ceased to exist.”
As Elmo listened to Valmid he realized just how lucky he had been in choosing Roth as a destination. At the same time, he was intrigued by the complexity of time-space travel. He thought a wormhole was a wormhole was a wormhole. He was also pleased with the fact that life exists on other planets which circle other stars under conditions similar to those of Earth and its sun, thereby verifying a theory he had considered for many years but was careful not to discuss with his colleagues at Los Alamos. Elmo was afraid he would have found himself conducting research at Roswell if his theories had been known.
“Another item I must discuss with you,” Valmid continued, “is our method of communication. You know that I can read all your thoughts, but you are only reading those thoughts of mine that I want you to know. We all need privacy, and when we have a visitor from another planet we like to give him the ability to think without being intruded upon. You remember when we first met how I could not communicate with you because your thoughts were coming fast and overlapped with one another. What I’m about to teach you may be difficult at first, but I’m sure you will be able to do it quite easily. Try humming in your mind.”
Elmo hummed a tune he particularly enjoyed.
“Now try to hum and have a thought simultaneously.”
Elmo did this with some difficulty.
“I have no idea what you just thought. You see Elmo; the humming sets up white noise through which your thoughts cannot be discerned. With a little practice, you will be able to have some privacy during your stay with us.”
With great sadness, Elmo wondered how long that stay would be. He missed Mildred a great deal and felt so alone on Roth. He had planned a brief visit – not an extended journey. At the same time, he found the whole experience fantastic.
Valmid sensed Elmo’s sadness but knew he would not let his friend return to Earth until he had helped solve a problem that was decimating Roth and profoundly altered Valmid’s life. Elmo would not be leaving until the dilemma was solved, no matter how long it took.
ANOTHER STORY ACCEPTED
ANOTHER STORY ACCEPTED
I recently learned that The Corner Bar has accepted one of my stories to be published in their next issue. I will provide a link when the issue appears. This is my 25th short story to be published.
And publishers out there looking to publish a book of short stories?
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