The False Mountain

 

He started walking and soon realized that he was never alone. Every street, every house, every store and every park was filled with people. Having learned the plastic smile and the friendly wave, he greeted more people than he could even count. But the death and emptiness that filled his chest always remained, a constant reminder, a constant ache that filled his every waking moment. Distractions only worked for a time, until the distraction played itself out and he again sat in his silence trying to ignore the hollowness.

He walked to the edge of the city and looked out across the plain. It was literally flat and empty. There were no mountains, there were no trees, but only emptiness and barrenness. A small group of guards walked past him as he mused on the bizarre contradiction of empty loneliness while being trapped in a crowd.

“Is everything alright, sir?” one of them asked.

“Yes, yes, it’s all fine,” he lied. “Just getting away from the city for a few moments.”

“Well, don’t be out here too long,” he said. “There is safety in the city and there’s wild animals out here.”

Watching the guards walk away, he couldn’t help but feel that he had a small connection, a real one, with real people. With a sense of sadness, he turned away and walked back into the city. Avoiding eye contact with all those that passed, he stopped in the center of the main town square and looked up at the numerous flashing billboards. So many lights, so many words, and so much noise, he began to wonder if he was going insane. He looked at one billboard and tried to listen to the message the man was speaking. Dr. Odin MacLafee was giving an explanation of why his school of thought and linguistic was vastly superior to anything else being promoted by others.

Turning to the opposite square, he focused on the billboard there and though he could hear the words, the staccato delivery and the huge number of technical terms rendered the man’s message basically incoherent. Shaking his head and looking down at his shoes, he continued on his way and only felt worse than he did upon leaving the city’s edge.

Buying a newspaper at the small kiosk in front of his apartment building, he turned through seven pages before he found an article he could read. In a moment of frustration, he dropped the paper in the lap of a nearby homeless person and then jogged up the stairs to his second floor apartment. Stopping at his door, he paused, knowing what lay in wait for him behind his door. “A whole lot of nothing,” he thought. Taking the elevator to the forty-eighth floor, he stepped out onto the roof and walked to the edge.

High above the city he stood, looking down on nearly every other building, save one. At the far east end of the city stood the mountain, at least that is what everyone called it. It certainly was nothing like any mountain he had ever seen. More like the pyramid in Giza but smaller at the base with much taller steps to each level. The massive, odd building stood out from everything in the city, an eyesore, in his opinion, that never should have been started. But the tech party of the current government system insisted on building the thing.

He never understood the obsession with reaching the stars. The whole prospect seemed ridiculous, for the stars were clearly far beyond the reach of any building. He had heard whispers of ulterior motives for the building, but they were only rumors and hearsay. Though none of the rumors could be substantiated, he knew that a great number of highly influential men claimed to be in contact with transdimensional beings. These beings, it was said, offered immortality and limitless wisdom. All that needed to be achieved was the construction of this building to reach the stars.

Sitting on the edge of the small ledge around the top of the building, he looked out across at all of the busyness, all of the chaos and all of the noise. The sick feeling in his chest only got worse as he looked. Sure, the air was cleaner and fresher this high up, but that which oppressed him was something far different than mere physical ills. Returning to the elevator, his head hanging low and his hands shoved into his pockets, he could only return to his apartment and distract himself with something that didn’t burden his heart.

Waking up the next morning, he realized that he had no recollection of what happened once he returned to his apartment the night before. There was an odd smell in his living room and a horrible taste in his mouth and he was only wearing his socks. Sitting on the edge of his couch, he struggled to make sense of these seemingly disconnected details but was at a complete loss.

Taking a shower and eating breakfast, he was on his way out the door within thirty minutes. Walking into the main lobby, he could see people running past the main entrance. At first he assumed it was just a few people jogging but as the stream of runners continued, he began to believe that something was wrong. Behind him, the elevator chimed and Mrs. Novum stepped out.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said, with a friendly smile, at least he hoped it was friendly.

The old woman merely looked at him and responded with a string of sounds that he assumed were words but were words that made absolutely no sense. With a small laugh and a wave, he stepped out of the main entrance onto the sidewalk. Though the city was typically chaotic on any given day, this particular day was particularly bad. Within the first block, he witnessed three fist fights and four arguments.

The volume and the words were so extreme, he began to wonder if he had hit his head or taken some medicine that was generating this overwhelming sense of confusion on his part. Catching sight of Paulo, his co-worker, he waved to get his attention. “Hey Paulo, hey, over here,” he shouted.

Paulo waved back and jogged over. “Man, am I glad to see you,” he said. “Can you believe what is going on today? This is crazy.”

“Uh, no… I mean… yes, what is going on?” he asked. “It seems like everyone is angry with everyone else. Did something happen?”

“Oh man, you must’ve just gotten up,” he said. “Did you not turn on the news this morning?”

“No, no news,” he answered. “I woke up late and was feeling odd so I hurried out after shower and a breakfast. What did I miss?”

“I hate to admit it,” he answered. “But all of that stuff that you’ve been saying for all these years about the way people talk and the weird shift in focus upon the stars, not to mention all of this stuff about transdimensional beings. I think you were right. It’s almost like all of the political parties have finally lost any ability to communicate with one another. If you just stand here for a few minutes and listen to the conversations going on, people are, literally, talking different languages.”

Sitting down on a nearby bench, he focused his attention on the small groups of people scattered around the sidewalks and storefronts. After a few minutes, he shook his head, bought a coffee from a street vendor and began walking toward his office. “I think you’re right,” he said. “None of this makes any sense. I guess I did see it coming but I never actually expected it to come to this. This is crazy.”

As the clock flipped to noon, he and Paulo met in the cafeteria and sat together, eating their lunch. A loud whistle pierced the random chatter throughout the room. The CEO of the company had stepped up on a table near the front of the room. “Attention everyone,” he shouted after whistling. “The President has an announcement to make. It will be on display up front here. I’ve been told that this is a very important message that will change everything we are doing here as a unified people. Listen up.”

“If you can understand what I’m saying,” the talking head on the screen said, “then you need to report to the west end of the city for further instruction.” As he finished, a second man replaced him on the screen and began speaking, but his words made no sense to him or Paulo. And finally a third man replaced the second and his words were as unintelligible as the second. This sequence repeated itself four more times and the gravity of the situation became clear to him.

“What the heck is going on here?” he said. “How did it get this bad? I guess we’re going to the west end of the city. I feel bad for those people with little kids and stuff. I wonder what this is all about.”

As he approached the train station, he bought a ticket for the west end and arrived with a mass of others. He did notice that everyone there was speaking intelligibly and calmly, which made perfect sense as they would be only those who understood the President’s message. The number of military personnel made him quite nervous as he watched them loading everyone onto transports. Watching one vehicle after another ascend to flight height and depart to the west, he tried to understand what was actually taking place.

Finally stepping into a transport himself, he looked back across the city as they ascended to begin their own flight away. As he looked as he saw scores of other vehicles on all sides of the city flying off in different directions. “Hey Paulo, are you seeing this?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah, pretty weird, huh?” he answered. “I was just talking to one of the guards and it seems that the President and the council have made the executive decision to split up and abandon the city. I guess no one can communicate any longer and they figure that dividing up is the only answer.”

“But there’s nothing out there, anywhere,” he answered. “What are we supposed to do? I have no idea how to survive in the wilderness. This is messed up.”

“I seem to think that a bunch of small villages that can communicate are better than a single massive city where we are only fighting,” Paulo said. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

Mother Earth Inc.

 

Wilberforce had been scrubbing his hands for nearly an hour. The dirt, though mostly a dense red clay, refused to retract its hold on the space beneath his nails. Even though he was the president and CEO of Mother Earth Inc. he still took his turn digging soil in extraction point number thirty-one. The work was not easy, but he needed to show his unfailing support for the project to move mankind beneath the surface of the earth. “We came from the earth, and we should show our respect for her by finding our life in her,” was the company mantra and though the number of surface dwellers exceeded one million, the goal was to create enough space in the belly of Gaia to make room for them all.

Turning off the water and dropping nail scraper on the edge of the sink, he returned to his family, now sitting around the dining room table, awaiting his presence before starting their meal. Joining hands with his wife and two children, he offered the traditional thanksgiving before eating. “We thank you Gaia for this food that you have provided for us. All life comes from you, and we too will one day soon be in your bosom. Amen.”

Finishing their meal, consisting of vegetable matter solely grown from the soil, they retired to the living room for their evening update. “So how much longer, father, until we can move into Gaia?” the boy asked.

“It seems that every extraction point is one schedule,” he answered, so we are still on track for the end of the month. Are you all ready?”

“Yes sir,” they all answered in unison. “We will soon be free of the curse of the sun, the moon and the sky.”

“Very good,” he answered. “We must be packed and ready for the big day. It will come quicker than we can even imagine. The foolish land dwellers may laugh at us now but soon they will see but their understanding will come too late. They will all perish while we will live in the loving embrace of Gaia.”

Rising from his bed in the darkness of their windowless home, Wilberforce checked his email and read over his instructions for the coming week. Returning to his bedroom, he woke his wife. “Dana, wake up,” he said. “It seems that I will be traveling this week to visit some of the other extraction points. The board wants an official update on everyone’s progress. I need to leave by eight this morning.”

Arriving at extraction point fifteen on the far east coast, he approached the main gate and pressed the buzzer. After a moment, a crackling voice answered. Providing his identity, the gate crept open, and he pulled up in front of the business trailer. Climbing the steps, he punched in his employment ID and let himself in.

“Ah, Wilberforce, you’re here already,” the secretary said as he entered the room. “We weren’t expecting you for a couple more hours. I hope your trip was good.”

“Hello, Nancy,” he answered. “Yes, my trip was smooth and uneventful. When will the site manager be available?”

“He was planning on surfacing at noon, but I’ll call down to him now. The ascension takes about ten minutes. I just put a fresh pot of coffee on if you’re in the mood.”

“Coffee, yes, that sounds good,” he answered. “I’ll be in the conference room while I wait.”

Leaving the trailer after a brief update from the site manager, Wilberforce proceeded to repeat this process later that day and then twice a day for the rest of the week. Pulling up into his own driveway well past midnight, he half-slept walked into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed.

“Oh, Wilberforce,” his wife said as he jostled the bed. “I didn’t expect you until morning. Did everything go okay?”

“Yeah, everything is on schedule like everyone had reported,” he answered. “I was so close to home after seeing extraction point 30 that I figured I would just drive straight home and sleep in my own bed. Sorry to wake you.”

“No, no, that’s fine, I’m glad to see you,” she said. “And the kids will be excited to hear about the progress. But I’ll let you get to sleep. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

Sitting at the kitchen counter the next morning before anyone else had gotten up, Wilberforce sat drinking his tea and watching the news.

“Though private and nearly reclusive, the Mother Earth Inc. foundation has released an official statement regarding their progress. They are reporting that the projected thirty-one subterranean living spaces will be complete within the month and their entire following will be descending into their new homes,” the reporter said. “Today, we have with us Dr. Philbus Cunningham from Johns Hopkins Hospital to explain the extremely dangerous nature of this undertaking. Dr. Cunningham, thank you for joining us.”

“Yes, Paul, I’m glad to be here,” he said. “Because we aren’t talking about a simple scientific project but what is really a borderline cult, there is no reasoning with the leaders of this group. All of the science points toward the physical and psychological devastation that will, and I mean will, overtake these people. Man was not meant to live in the darkness and stagnation of holes in the earth. If they go ahead with their plans, this will not end well.”

“Thank you, doctor,” the reporter said. “If anyone is interested in further details about the danger this group is placing themselves under, please go to the website address that is scrolling across the bottom of your screen.”

Turning off the screen, Wilberforce could only mutter under his breath. Finishing his coffee, he turned to see his family join him in the kitchen. “Good morning, everyone,” he said, embracing each in a warm hug. My trip went very, very well and all of the extraction points are on schedule to be complete as projected. This is very exciting.”

Standing in front of their now empty home, Wilberforce and his family watched their shipping container filled with all of their earthly belongings load onto the flat bed semi. Following their truck to extraction point thirty-one, they joined a long line of cars and semis all waiting to descend into their new home, nearly 7000 feet below the surface of the earth.

Leaving their car behind and finding their seats on the platform as it descended with their possessions, they all looked up as the circle of blue sky slowly disappeared, sinking into the ground at a forty-five-degree angle. The dull glow of a red tinted light filled the vast chamber that would now be their home. Following the container as it jostled toward their new living quarters, the kids hurried inside to choose their bedrooms.

As Wilberforce and his family walked through their new home, three brief chirps sounded, alerting them to gather in the main conference hall. Standing among tens of thousands of people, a number of elderly men ascended a small stage in front. “The day has finally arrived,” one of them said. “I have been informed that the last container has been loaded and the surface level hatch will be closed. If you all listen carefully, you will hear the cover as it is locked and sealed. Welcome to your new home.”

The crowd, in rapturous delight, broke into cheers and applause. Raising his hands as the crowd erupted in their excitement, he motioned for silence. Within moments of the crowd going silent, a large boom sounded followed by several metallic clicks. The sound echoed through the hall and once again the crowd broke into a raucous cheer.

As everyone returned to their new homes, Wilberforce plugged in the family television and found the news. “The final reports are in,” the reporter said. “All thirty-one extraction points across the country have been sealed. In an interesting change of mind, the leaders of Mother Earth Inc. have agreed to maintain occasional contact with their state governments. We will keep you posted as things develop.”

Albrecht Jones sat on his front porch watching the news on his phone. “Hey Edna,” he yelled into the house. “Looks like the news has an update on those weirdos underground.”

Turning up the volume, an image of the sealed entrance to extraction point thirty-one came across the screen. “We have received regular correspondence from the leaders of Mother Earth Inc. every two weeks since they first made their descent,” the reporter said. “But the last six weeks have been silent. State and federal officials have been in discussion about possible next steps. There is concern that something has gone wrong.”

“Ha, told ya,” Albrecht said. “Anybody with half a brain could’ve seen that this whole thing was weird and not right. They’re probably all dead.”

“Oh, don’t be so morbid, Albrecht,” Edna said. “They are still people after all. It would be terrible if they all died, especially the kids.”

The next morning, Albrecht turned on the news as he ate his breakfast. “Hey, it’s another report about the Mother Earth people,” he said. “Come here, Edna.”

“State and federal officials have made the decision to break open the extraction point seals at each location overnight,” the reporter said. “And reports are coming in that there are no survivors. The thousands of people in each location appear to have succumbed to some sort of toxin in their ventilation system. We have invited Dr. Pomplius DeGaard to explain exactly what took place. Dr. DeGaard, thank you for joining us.”

“Of course,” he answered. “From our preliminary findings, almost every detail of Mother Earth Inc.’s plan was based on faulty science and faulty logic. It was merely a matter of time. If this unexpected toxin had not killed them all, then something else, one of many possibilities, would have.”

“Thank you, doctor,” the reporter said. “In light of this current tragedy, the federal government has set aside the third Monday of this month as a special day to remember this terrible loss. May we all learn from their mistakes.”

Neo-Toxin

 

Waking up, he had no recollection of how he got to this place. As he opened his left eye, he realized that he stared at the aluminum leg of a dining room chair. The linoleum was cold, and the only sound was the ticking of a clock from another room. Shaking his head, as if trying to wake himself, he started to sit up only to realize that he had been chained to the floor.

              Socks and underwear were the limit of his clothing, and he was really cold. Pulling a bit on the chains that held him, he was able to get himself into a sitting position, his back against the cupboards. “Hello?” he called out, but he received no response.

              Looking around the room, it all seemed like a typical kitchen and one that felt very familiar. But then he saw the large mirror on the opposite wall. “A mirror in a kitchen?” he thought. “That’s weird.” Laying back down, he stretched his leg out toward the refrigerator to try to pull the door open. But as he was wearing socks, he had zero grip and not enough toe strength. Sitting back up again, he could only listen to his stomach growl.

              “What’s he doing now?” the little girl behind the mirror asked. A dozen sets of eyes looked upon the man on the opposite side of the mirror and tried to understand him. He couldn’t stand up, for the chains kept him nearly at floor level and he couldn’t eat anything, for it was all out of reach. So he sat in silence and merely looked around the room.

              “Couldn’t we go out and help him?” the little girl asked.

              “No, honey, it wouldn’t do any good,” her mother answered. “He wouldn’t see or hear us even if we tried. We are like ghosts to him.”

              “Well, this just doesn’t seem right,” she said. “I’m going to try and do something.” Pushing past everyone in the room, she walked into the kitchen and stood by him, looking at his sad face. The sudden burst of a growling stomach startled her, and she pulled a banana from the counter, lying it on the floor near him. But, as her mother had surmised, he simply didn’t see it or the little girl.

              Returning to the room behind the mirror, they stood in silence and grief, watching him struggle on the floor, pulling against his restraints. “He’s just being lazy,” one of them said. “He just needs to try harder. Why is he being like that?”

              “I’m sorry, I just don’t have any answers,” the mother said. “There is nothing we can do.”

              “But do we need to sit here and watch him?” another said. “We could at least go do something fun.”

              The large group of people turned away for the last time and left the house. A wave of grief swept over her as she looked back upon him one last time. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You kids wait here,” she said, pointing toward the sidewalk. “I’ll be just a minute.” Stepping into the garage, she searched around and found the can of gasoline in the corner. Returning to the kitchen, she tipped it over onto the floor and dropped a lit match, closing the door behind her and hurrying away.

              Walking toward the park, a lump formed in her throat, and she fought hard not to cry. In the distance she could hear sirens approaching and then race past them. Turning into a nearby park, she distracted them all with rides on the swings and the merry-go-round.

              “Things will be better now,” she assured them. “You don’t have to worry about anything.”

              Darkness began to settle on the playground and the mother gathered the children together. “Come on everyone,” she said. “We can go home now.” Walking together in the semi-darkness and the strange silence, they finally reached their home, the police and fire department now absent. Black scorch marks could be seen at the tops of the doors and windows.

              They all stood in the kitchen and found exactly what they expected. An empty house, moderate smoke and fire damage but still inhabitable. It was close to a year before the mess was cleaned up, though the smell of smoke still hung in the air and emanated from the carpets and draperies.

              “Can we get pizza tonight?” one of the children asked.

              “Yes, honey, I think that would be a good idea,” the mother answered. “Someone can order it online and we’ll all go pick it up.”

              Sitting in a circle on the living room floor, the three boxes of pizza spread out before them, the mother kept the conversation going with inanities and silly stories. She could see the pain and confusion in their eyes but did her best to distract them from the reality that was now theirs.

              “Now what?” the youngest asked.

              “Well…” the mother said, “we’ll finish our pizza and then we can all watch a movie together.”

              “That’s not what I meant,” the little girl said. “You know… now what?”

              “There’s lots we can do,” one of the older children said. “We’ll just find some way to move on and everything will be better.”

              One of the older children walked into the kitchen and stared at the silver eye hooks that had been fastened into the floor. Retrieving a set of pliers from the junk door by the refrigerator, he slowly turned each hook from its place in the linoleum. Dropping them into the garbage can, he took the stairs into the basement and closed his bedroom door behind him.

              One by one the children disappeared from the living room until the mother sat alone and looked at the blackened marks like charred tongues upon the walls.

The Creation of Shadows

 

“Good night, Jonathan,” his mother said from the doorway. “Remember to sleep on your side.”

              “Yes, mom,” he answered, “like always. You tell me that every night. I know.”

              “It’s just super important,” she answered. “As you get older, you’ll come to see why.”

              Every night at bedtime it was the same comment from his mother until Jonathan grew up and moved out to his own apartment. Lying down for bed each night, even though his mother was not there, he still heard her admonition. But it was one particular evening when his girlfriend spent the night that he laid on his back and she was curled up on him. Her head on his chest, one leg bent on top of his and her arm across his stomach. He initially felt odd lying there looking up at the ceiling, but the bliss of her warm embrace overruled everything else.

              When he woke the next morning, he was still on his back and his girlfriend could be heard in the kitchen, preparing him breakfast, he assumed. Sitting up, the sheet was stuck to his back and came up with him. Reaching behind him, he peeled the sheet away and turned to see a large black spot in the dead center of where he had been laying.

              Hurrying into the bathroom, he angled the mirror and looked to find a small open orifice directly between his shoulder blades crusted with a black substance. “Oh man, that is not good,” he thought. Pulling the sheets from the bed, he started a load of laundry and then took a shower.

              Hearing the bathroom door open, he heard his name called. “John, are you in the shower already?” his girlfriend asked. “I would have joined you. Anyway, breakfast is ready.”

              Kissing her as she left for the day. He sat at his laptop and tried to find something on the internet about what had happened to him the night before. Calling in sick for the day, he spent the next several hours researching but came up with nothing.

              Sleeping alone the next night, he slept on his side, as usual but experienced nothing like he had the night before. The next night, he slept alone again but flat on his back to again find the same orifice and black secretion. “This is crazy,” he thought. “Something is seriously wrong, and I cannot be doing laundry every day.”

              As Saturday approached, he had an idea. Staying up extra late that Friday night, when Saturday afternoon approached, he spread an old sheet on the bed and laid down for a nap. Setting up his cellphone to video record himself sleeping, he tossed and turned for a while but eventually fell asleep. Waking up two hours later, he felt the black stickiness on his back again and saved the video recording to his online account. Pulling it up on his laptop, he skimmed through the video as he watched himself struggle to fall asleep. Finally reaching his point of sleep, he watched each second for the next two hours and made a strange discovery.

              As he drifted into sleep and finally into REM, he could see small wisps of darkness swirl around him like smoke, coming from all directions and sink into his chest. Recording himself that evening, as he deliberately slept on his side, he watched the video the next morning but saw no darkness.

              Repeating the video process multiple times, he saw the same thing each night that he slept on his back. Sitting on the bus the next day, he overheard two older women speaking of chakras and the color of auras. Immediately struck by the familiarity of it all, he spent the next evening studying what they had spoken about.

              Making an appointment the next day with a local natural healer, he scheduled an aura reading with her. “I have to admit, Jonathan,” she said after the reading. “I have never seen colors like yours before. It’s as if your normal colors are polluted by threads of darkness, blacks and browns. I don’t know what to make of it.”

              “Well, that doesn’t sound good,” he answered.

              “I don’t know what it means,” she said, “but I would like you to try something for a week and then come back in for another reading.”

              That evening, as he prepared for bed, he laid on the tile floor in the kitchen and watched a cycle of colors play across his laptop screen from the kitchen counter. As he drifted toward sleep, he held onto the semi-sleep state and changed his thoughts to only of darkness and gathering it like fireflies in a swarm around him. Envisioning himself standing on the sidewalk in the midday sun, he poured the darkness out into the shadow that lay behind him.

              This was a process he repeated each night for the rest of the week. Walking that next Monday to the bus stop for his appointment, he looked at the shadows of those around him and comparatively speaking, his own was far, far darker than all others.

              Relaying his experiences to the healer, including the shadow observation at the bus stop, she suggested that try creating a second shadow that was independent of his natural one. Eventually succeeding in his shadow work, he began to notice that people began avoiding him on the sidewalk and in stores. He noticed strange looks and greater than normal distances between himself and others.

              Spending more time at home and more time sleeping, he noticed that the more he focused his darkness into shadows around him, the better he slept, but at the same time, the further people moved away from him.

              “Something is different about you, Jonathan,” they would say. The further they moved away, the more he saw the need to deal with his darkness. Soon his girlfriend left him, his co-workers stopped talking to him and the neighbors became strangers. Immersed in his introspection and self-work, he could feel a new sort of reality swirling around him.

              The last time he left his house, his shadow, once an elongated version of himself, became a yawning void that completely surrounded him. Like walking into the mouth of a cave, he alone could see the colors but everyone else only saw darkness. His sleep became sweet, and his personal observations became true but he came to realize that he was completely alone and surrounded by darkness. He had become himself, but he had lost everything and everyone.

A Trinity of Unequals

 

It came as a great surprise when the Smith family gave birth to triplets. Mrs. Smith, of course, was tickled pink at the prospect of having three babies. “The more babies, the better,” she said upon waking up from the delivery. Mr. Smith, on the other hand, could only see his grocery bill doubling or even tripling in size. Overwhelmed with the sheer volume of work that lay ahead of them, he knew that he would be bottle feeding one of the little tykes while his wife fed the other two.

              Be that as it may, twenty years later, Mr. Smith knew that his earlier plans of handing over the farm to his son, now needed to be changed. “Too many chiefs and not enough Indians,” he could hear in the back of his mind. “Boys, I had fully intended to hand over the farm to my son but as there are now three of you, I’m going to have to divide up the land into equal parts and help you as much as I can with establishing two additional farms. But I’m convinced that you all will do just fine.”

              Plans were made, product and building materials were ordered and the idea of Smith and Son farms had shifted into Smith Brothers Farms. The community had gathered and over the course of three weekends, barns were built for each farm and trees were cleared to make room for crops.

              Boris, the first born, though only by seconds, called for first use of the team and the plow. “I’ve got crops I need to get into the ground as soon as possible,” he said. “I’ll work as quick as I can and then y’all can do what you need to do after that.”

              Stan, the next born, again only by seconds, assured his brother that the timing would be fine as his crops would be perfectly fine going in a few days later than Boris’. “Just let me know when you’re done, brother,” he said. “I’ll come over and get the team at your word.”

              Merle, the last born and clearly the least motivated, merely said, “Meh, whatever. I’ll get to it when I get to it.”

              The first inklings of summer arrived, and Boris stood at the edge of his field, thrilled at the phenomenal growth his crops had made. Standing with a great smile and his wife under his arm, he pointed out each crop and called them by name. “The corn is doing really well, so is the wheat, the beans and the potatoes. Darlin, we have a big summer ahead of us with all this food on the way. Our pantry will be stuffed to the brim by autumn. This is really good news.”

              “Let’s walk over to Stan’s place,” his wife said. “From what he’s been saying, it sounds like their crops are doing really well too.”

              “Let me grab my rifle,” he said, “and we’ll cut through the woods. That’ll be a lot quicker than following the road around.”

              Walking through a lush, green pasture, they stepped up onto Stan’s porch and knocked on the door. Almost immediately the door opened. “Hey, Boris, what brings you over?” Stan asked, motioning for them to come inside.

              “Oh, not too much,” Boris said. “We were out marveling at how great our crops are doing and thought we’d come by and see what’s happening over here.”

              “All right, sounds good,” he said. “Come on, we can walk around the property, and I’ll show you what we’ve got.” Slipping on his boots, he led his brother and wife around the back of his property. “This here are our succulents,” he said. “I’ve had a pretty big learning curve with these beauties. You’ve got to be really careful not to water them too much. And over here are the roses and tulips. I put these two together because one requires a lot of attention and the other is much easier. They kind of balance each other out. And finally, here is our field of wildflowers. These, of course, are super easy. Rainfall handles most of their watering needs but, if you remember a couple weeks back when it didn’t rain, I did have to supplement a bit.”

              “Oh Stan, this is so beautiful,” Boris’ wife said. “You have done a wonderful job.”

              “So, Stan,” Boris said. “This does look really nice and all but what are you gonna eat during the winter? I mean, I can’t imagine tulips and roses taste that good.”

              “No, no brother, you’ve got it all wrong,” he answered. “We don’t eat the flowers; I have a contract with a distribution company. They buy the flowers from me and then I go buy the food I need. It’s a win-win for me. I get to see all the beauty of these fields and I get a lot of money when I sell them off.”

              “Ah, oh, hmm,” Boris said. “I guess that makes sense.”

              “Hey, what say we walk over to Merle’s place and see how his crops are doing,” Stan said.

              Walking back around the front of the house, they passed by the barn, but Boris suddenly stopped at the main entrance. “Hey Stan, is that the plow and the team in your barn?” he asked.

              “What the…” he answered. “Yeah, I wonder… that’s weird. Merle was supposed to pick those up weeks ago.”

              Following the road around to Merle’s farm, they could see from the driveway that little to nothing had been done. Approaching the front porch, they found Merle sound asleep in a hammock and an empty bottle of vodka across his chest. “Damn, that ain’t good,” Boris said.

              “Merle, hey Merle,” Stan called out. “Wake up.”

              Startled at the sudden calling of his name, he sat up and nearly fell out of the hammock.

              “Oh, hey guys,” he said. “What’s up?”

              “Actually, we were going to ask you the same thing,” Boris said. “I was just over at Stan’s and the team and plow are still in his barn. Didn’t you borrow them several weeks back?”

              “Oh, ha, yeah about that,” he said. “I thought about it but then it occurred to me that so much stuff grows naturally and on its own, that I thought, why even bother planting crops. I’ll just harvest whatever happens to come up.”

              “Oh man,” Boris said. “That is not a good idea, Merle. Have you even looked in your fields? There ain’t nothin’ but weeds out there. And a lot of them at that. You’re gonna be eating weird, if at all this winter.”

              “Pfft, I’m not worried about it,” he said. “Something always works out.”

              “Uh… well… okay,” Boris said. “I guess we’ll be going now. Just let us know if you need anything.”

              Leaving the porch, the two brothers walked to the end of the driveway and stopped to look out across the weed scattered field. “Man, Boris,” Stan said. “This is not going to end well. I just hope he asks for help if he needs it.”

              “Yeah, we’ll see, I guess,” he answered. “Winter is only a couple of months away.”

              Standing in his pantry as the first flakes of winter snow fell, Boris couldn’t but help feel a sense of pride. The planting, harvesting and preparation had been hard work but doing so had provided well for his family. Looking at the rows and rows of canned goods, he could only see his youngest brother in his hammock holding an empty vodka bottle. “Well, I guess he figured something out,” he thought.

              The snow piled deep for the next month and finally with a break in the snowfall, Boris put on his winter clothes and snowshoes and went for a walk. Looking across the field, he could see bright lights and a plume of smoke coming from Stan’s house. Continuing on, he reached Merle’s house, strangely dark and lacking any sign of activity, including smoke.

              Removing his snowshoes, he stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door. Listening for anything, he heard nothing. Knocking again, he waited a few minutes and then knocked again. Putting his shoulder into the door, the slim wooden shim snapped under his weight and the door swung open. The house was dark and cold, just as cold as outside and it seemed that no one had done anything inside for quite some time.

              “Merle? Are you here?” he called out. But again, he heard nothing. Walking from room to room, he lastly stepped into the bedroom and could see the shape of his brother under the covers. “Hey, Merle, there you are,” he said. “Everyone has been worried about you. What’s going on?”

              The figure in the bed, oddly small, remained motionless. Reaching over and shaking his shoulder, his brother rolled to his back to reveal sunken eyes in a gaunt and dried out face. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Boris shouted, backing up. “Damn, oh man, this is so bad.” It was then that he noticed that Merle’s body was unusually short and thin. Pulling back the covers, he realized that the body that once was Merle had no legs and only one arm.

              Running from the room, he leaned against the counter in the kitchen and looking into the sink, saw a collection of bones, the meat scraped clean from them. “Well, I guess he had something to eat, at least for a while,” he said.

              “Oh my god, what kind of bones are these?” Picking up a pile of small narrow bones, he laid them out and realized that these perfectly matched up to the bones in his hand, and then it was femur bones he saw next. Sliding to the floor, he held his head in his hands. “Merle, what did you do?”

              Standing up and slowly walking around the room, he found a long hunting knife, a bone saw and several pools of dried blood on the kitchen floor. Swooning, he held onto the back of the couch and tried not to pass out. Walking outside, he made the long walk to Stan’s house.

Curly and Alfie

 

The weather could not have been any better as Alfie lay on the porch in a perfect square of golden sunshine. The golden sun, the blue sky and the gentle breeze all contributed to his casual in and out nap for the last two hours. Rolling to his side, all four legs stretched out into a glorious and stirring motivation. Looking out across the lawn, he swore that he could hear the grass calling him. “Alfie,” it called, “Alfie, come run and play on me. I’m here for you.”

              Standing up and stretching again, he let out a wide mouthed yawn and a vigorous shake. Sprinting down the steps, he ran the perimeter of the yard at full speed, circling the vast, grassy expanse at least four times. Flopping to his side, he breathed heavily for a moment but then caught the scent of the most glorious smell.

              “Oh, oh… what is that?” he thought. Sniffing around the grass, he finally found the spot and dropped onto his back, directly on top of it. “Oh yeah, oh yeah,” he thought, “this is awesome.” Twisting from side to side, he finally stopped and sitting up caught sight of the orange tennis ball. “Oh hey, there it is,” he thought. “I haven’t seen that ball in like forever.” Grabbing it and trying not to drool too much, he returned to the porch and placed his front paws on the screen door.

              Attempting a small bark with the ball still in his mouth, he waited a moment and then barked again.

              “Hey boy, did you find your ball?” the young woman said from inside the house. Pushing the screen door open, she took the ball and tossed it across the yard. Like a shot, Alfie bolted across the grass, retrieved the ball and dropped it at her feet. “That’s a good boy, that’s a good boy,” she said, scratching him behind the ears.

              “You’re pathetic,” he heard from the opposite side of the porch. Curly, the older and certainly far more grumpy other dog, looked at him with contempt. “Get a spine, you simpleton,” he said. “All they are trying to do is tire you out. You need to show them who’s boss.”

              “I don’t know why you’re so grumpy,” Alfie said. “Master and lady are nice people, and they take care of us. You shouldn’t be like that.”

              “Here, watch this,” he said. Slowly standing up, Curly picked up the tennis ball and held it out to lady.

              “Oh, really? Curly?” she said. “Do you want me to throw the ball for you?”

              Tossing the ball across the grass, Curly waited until it bounced into the back flowerbed. Slowly trotting to it, he walked past it and proceeded to dig up the bulb on one of the tulips that linked the back fence.

              “Curly, Curly, Curly, no, no, no,” she yelled. “Not the flowers. Bring me the ball.”

              Pulling the bulb from the dirt, he trotted back across the grass and dropped it at her feet.

              “Bad dog, bad dog,” she said, swatting his backside with her flip-flop. Picking up the bulb, she went back into the house.

              “Now why did you do that?” Alfie said. “That was just mean. You know that she loves to look at those flowers. That ruins them when you dig them up.”

              “Pfft, don’t be such a pansy,” Curly said. “You need to think for yourself and do whatever you want. “What makes them think that they are the boss? Why should we do what they want?”

              “Well, duh,” he answered. “They own everything. They pay for everything, and they take care of us. That’s why.” Turning his back, he returned to his side of the porch and lay down, facing the opposite direction.

              Alfie’s ears perked up as he heard the distinct beeping of lady’s phone coming through the open window. “Hey honey,” he heard lady say. “He did it again. Yep, the bulbs. I don’t know what he’s thinking. It’s like he deliberately is being naughty. Plus he’s just mean and grumpy most of the time anyway. Ok, we can talk when you get home.”

              Looking over his shoulder, he could see Curly sleeping on his side of the porch, completely oblivious to the conversation that just took place. “Well, I’m not saying anything to him,” Alfie thought. “He brought this on himself. I wonder what Master and lady are going to do?”

              Later that evening, as the sky just began to grow dark, Alfie woke up to the sound of the screen door creaking open. Cracking open one eye, he saw Master walk out onto the porch and grab Curly by the collar. Dragging him across the grass, he attached his collar to the short chain attached to the doghouse. “Oh, wow,” he thought. “Curly is not going to like that. That chain is really short.”

              “You’ve been bad, Curly, bad dog, bad dog,” Master said, as he walked back into the house.

              Watching Curly slink into the doghouse, Alfie in some sense felt bad for him. “I just don’t get it,” he thought. “Everything is so good here. Why is he like that? The rules are very simple.”

              Several hours after dinner, Alfie went into the grass, found the tennis ball, and played catch with himself.

              “What are you doing?” Curly said from inside the doghouse.

              “I’m playing catch,” he answered. “That seems pretty obvious.”

              “Well, come here for a minute,” Curly said. “I want to show you something really obvious.”

              Dropping the ball, Alfie trotted across the grass to the doghouse. “Yeah, what is it?” he asked.

              “Here, stick your head inside,” he answered. “You have to be in here to see it.”

              “Uh, okay, I suppose,” he said. Walking to the opening, he looked inside and immediately felt a set of very powerful jaws dig into his throat. The strike was so fast and so strong that he didn’t even have time to respond. His body fell limp and he lay, motionless, partway in the opening.

              Dragging the now dead Alfie into the doghouse, Curly rubbed his neck and collar area on the bloody pool that had collected in the opening. Stepping over his now dead partner, he pulled backwards as hard as he could, nearly choking himself. Finally, the collar popped off, made slippery by the blood. Glancing toward the house, he saw and heard nothing from inside.

              Running to the side yard, he found the broken fence slat and slid through the small opening out into the neighbor’s yard, unhindered by any sort of fence. Trotting to the sidewalk, he began heading east. “I think I’ll go to Noddingham,” he thought. “Who needs people anyway?”

The Crane Family: A Fairy Tale

 

The Crane family had been longtime residents of the Black Valley, with a history going back at least one thousand years. Their land was robust and varied, producing many crops and creating many useful products. Just as with any family, they had seen their good years and bad years. On good terms with their neighbors, they enjoyed the yearly holiday celebrations and frequently exchanged gifts on the holiest of days.

              There was one year in particular, immediately following a very difficult time for their family, that surrounding neighbors began behaving in an odd way. Though known as a particularly godly family and had been for centuries, the neighbors seemed to forget this and viral, young men began paying more attention to the Crane household.

              Feats of strength and ability began to be displayed with invitations to celebrations heretofore uncelebrated by the Cranes. The matriarch began to take notice of the viral, young men and her attention began to drift. The family traditions and faithfulness that had been a part of the household for so long seemed to become rather drab and boring. Sending and receiving the occasional flirtatious note, the matriarch began spending more and more time away from home and in the parties of her surrounding neighbors.

              Whispers and furtive glances started to become the norm and the young women, normally under the matriarch's tutelage soon became concerned. More fighting and arguments began to be heard, something foreign to the typically peaceful household until finally one of the neighboring young men became more and more a regular part of the household until one day, the matriarch drove the father away.

              “He’s just a grumpy old man,” she would say, typically in whispers to the younger women. “Something new and better needed to be done and I’ve finally done it.” The young girls, confused and concerned, had no answer or comment to make in return. It was at that point that the Crane household began to change. More and more egregious comments about the father began to be made, slight twisting of the stories and little white lies were spoken until many in the home became lost in the maelstrom of narrative and deception.

              Two of the older sons in the household, Donald and Lawrence, sat in the east garden drinking tea, when they both started talking at the same time. “Something needs to be done,” said Donald, and, at the same time, “Something is very, very wrong with our home,” said Lawrence. After pausing, Donald finally spoke again.

              “I know that our house has been here for a very long time, but this business with mother’s new boyfriend and father’s absence cannot go unresponded. If we are going to save what is left of our family, we need to break away from it all. The direction they are leading the family is destructive.”

              “I agree,” said Lawrence. “We should declare our intention, sad as it is, and create our own new family lines. I hate to say it but we have been driven to this by the depravity of our neighbors. Maybe we can get some support from the Sarov family to the north of us. They have always been good friends and have helped us every time we needed help.”

              “Agreed,” Donald said. “Let’s send them a note immediately. I do not think we should hesitate in this. We need to act before any more damage is done.”

              Drafting their letter, they called for a carrier to deliver the note. Spending less and less time with the other members of the family, the two brothers could feel the animosity building. First it was the occasional unkind word or rude gesture until finally a fist fight broke out between Donald and his mother’s boyfriend. Receiving a black eye and blow to the kidneys, which resulted in the peeing of blood, Donald had enough. “I’m moving out,” he declared to Lawrence in the darkness of the back patio that evening. “I think I need to sever my household from all of this and cut myself off from this sacrilege. Will you join me?”

              “Brother, this is difficult,” he answered. “I saw what the boyfriend did to you. I will join you if we can agree on inviting any of the other siblings to join us. We cannot simply leave without saying something.”

              “Agreed,” Donald said. “I’m certain Curtis is in agreement with us. We should talk to him first.”

              The conversation was had and Curtis, fully in agreement with his brothers, hesitated at the idea of breaking off and being on his own. “I’m thinking,” he said, “that instead of solitude, I would join the Sarov family. Let me talk to my family about this and I’ll let you know tomorrow. It really is just a formality, for I know they are in near perfect agreement with us.”

              Sitting at the dinner that Donald knew would be the last for the entire Crane family, a heated argument started on the south end of the table. Curtis and the boyfriend had started yelling and soon blows were exchanged. Horrible words were thrown about and the two brothers hurried their children from the room, to avoid exposure to the hatred and profanity. Rushing out through the front door, Curtis disappeared into the darkness of the night.

              “Where do you think he is going,” Lawrence asked Donald.

“I would suspect that he is rallying support from the Sarov’s,” he answered. “I really hope this doesn’t turn into an actual war. I just wish people would talk more and be a little more understanding. Everyone seems to have forgotten just who the Crane family is.”

Later that evening, after all the others had gone to bed, Lawrence and Donald sat around a campfire discussing the events of the evening dinner. “I think this is the last straw, Lawrence,” Donald said. “We need to act now. Things have only been getting worse and worse. I know every family has its issues and troubles come and go as the generations pass but this is a completely different story. Our mother has taken it too far. We need to cut off ties with them. I just wish more of the family would join us.”

“Okay, then,” Lawrence answered. “I guess our hand has been forced. Though I am not suggesting that we merge with the Sarov’s, we can reach out to them for help in case this defection becomes ugly.”

And become ugly, it did. Soon, weapons from the new boyfriend's family began pouring into the Crane household and despite all objections to the contrary, they all seemed to be pointed toward Donald and Lawrence’s property. Fences were built and hostilities increased. “Just leave us alone and everything will be fine,” they argued. But the Crane family would have nothing to do with.

“You can’t just leave like that,” they argued. “What about family? What about growth and maturation? Why are you so insistent on holding onto the past? Let’s move forward and become a better family.”

“There’s no longer even any point in talking to them,” Donald said. “They seem to have forgotten everything that we once were. We need to force this thing through but I don’t think we can do it alone. All of these weapons pointed in our direction are extremely unsettling. I’m sure the Sarov’s would be more than happy to send some help our way. We need to act on this right away.”

A brief note was delivered to Donald’s home that evening from the Sarov’s to the north. “Yes, brothers, we are more than happy to help you in this. We have been watching with heavy hearts as the Crane household has descended into what we would consider madness. Aid will begin arriving tomorrow.”

Letting out a long breath, Lawrence sat down with his head in his hands. “I hope we’re doing the right thing,” he said. “I really don’t want trouble but, I know, I know, we need to do something to save our families.”

As the light of the next day arrived, so did four brothers, heavily armed, from the Sarov family. Exchanging greetings and hugs, a map was laid out on the table and lines of demarcation were drawn. “I’m so sorry that it had to come to this,” said one of the brothers. “We’ve been watching the Crane family descend into chaos and it has grieved us deeply. We all believe that you are doing the right thing. We are more than happy to help and in fact, would be happy if you joined our family, as your brother Curtis has done. There is strength and peace in unity. But just know that we’ll be there for you.”

As news of the Crane household divisions spread, so too did the deception and animosity. Soon many of the other neighbors became involved with the sale of more weapons and threats of rejection and relational severance. Communication increased between the brothers' households and the Sarov family. Soon more brothers began to arrive from the north and the aggression increased.

“This is not what is supposed to be happening,” Lawrence said. “Why won’t they just leave us alone or at least just talk this out.” 

“We’ve tried talking, Lawrence,” Donald said, “but they just aren’t interested in being reasonable. We have to take a stand for all that is good and holy. Sometimes the majority is not right. Just because it’s legal and approved by many does not mean that it's true. It amazes me at how quickly they have all forgotten who the Crane family is and what we have stood for all of these generations.”

Book of Days

 

The three boys had been playing in the woods all afternoon. Enough sun had filtered through the canopy overhead that allowed their game of hide and seek to be challenging but not too difficult. The home of one of the boys backed up to the national forest and they would often roam through the trees, occasionally dipping into the forest behind.

              As the late afternoon sun moved nearer to the horizon, Paul remembered that his mom had told him to be in before dark. “It’s too easy to get lost back there,” she said.

              Calling out to his friends, he heard no response. “Jack… hey Jack,” he yelled. “It’s getting dark. We need to go in.” Walking a path that allowed him to keep his house in view, he watched and listened but still couldn’t hear his friends. “Aaron… hey guys, come on. We need to go in,” he yelled again.

              Hanging his sweatshirt over a nearby tree branch as a marker for finding his way home, he walked a straight line deeper into the national forest. The forest floor was getting darker, and he still had no idea where they had gone. The ground had started sloping downward when he saw something that he had never seen before. A very old and very run-down cabin, long ago neglected, stood covered in moss, a tree growing out of the front window.

              “Wow, look at that,” he said.

              “Hey, Paul, there you are,” Aaron said as he walked out of the cabin. “We found this just a minute ago. This is so cool. Come in here and check it out.”

              Glancing over his shoulder and still able to see his sweatshirt, he followed his friends into the mostly rotten enclosure. “Man, this is like totally old school,” Jack said. “There’s no lights or appliances or anything. I’m sure there is no electricity out here.”

              “Man, this place smells bad,” Aaron said. “Who knows what animals are living in here. Let’s see if we can find anything.”

              Digging through cupboards and shelves, the boys were repeatedly disappointed to find nothing of interest or value. Pushing the bed aside with his foot, Paul uncovered a wooden box. “Hey, check this out,” he said. Kneeling down, he pulled the lid open and found an old book. “Hey, a book. Man, this thing is really cool looking. Take a look at this.”

              The three boys gathered around as Paul stood up, carefully opening the cover and turning the pages. “It sure does seem to be in good shape for being out in a place like this,” Aaron said. “I guess maybe the box protected it?”

              “I’m gonna keep it,” Paul said. “It looks like a boring history book, but the cover is so cool. I want to show my dad.”

              “No, no, don’t tell your parents,” Jack said. “We’re not supposed to be out here. I don’t want to get in trouble. Who knows who this place belongs to?”

              Slipping the book into his backpack, Paul led the boys out of the cabin and back to his bright red sweatshirt, a beacon in a forest of green and brown. Jogging across his lawn as the other two boys ran for the driveway, Paul slipped through his patio doors into the dining room. “Hey Mom, I’m home,” he yelled.

              “I’m right here Paul,” she answered, “in the kitchen. I saw you come across the yard. Did you have fun today?”

              “Yeah, we did,” he answered. “It’s always a blast out in the woods. Is dinner ready soon? I’m starving.”

              Sitting in his room later that evening, Paul thumbed through the strange, old book he had found in the cabin. “Boring… boring… boring,” he repeated as he flipped through each page. “Why would someone keep an old history book under their bed?” he thought.

              “Hey boy, it’s late,” his dad said, poking his head into his room. “You’ve got school tomorrow. You better get to bed.”

              “Ok,” he answered. Tossing the book into his closet, he turned out his light and went to sleep.

              The next five years passed quickly, and Paul finally got his driver's license. “Hey mom,” he called down the stairs, “have you seen my swimsuit? A bunch of us are going swimming at the lake.”

              “No honey,” she answered. “I have no idea. Did you check your closet?”

              Opening his closet door, he marveled at the massive pile of stuff on the floor. “Man, someone really needs to clean this closet,” he said. “Oh, I guess that would be me, heh.” Digging through the heap, he found just about every other piece of clothing in addition to a thick, red leather-bound book with a really cool cover. “Oh man, look at that. I forgot about that book. Huh, cool.”

              Leaning against the foot of his bed, he began to thumb through it again. “Yep, still boring history,” he thought. “It’s bigger than I remember. Well, that was quite a few years ago. I guess I just forgot.” Sliding it under his bed, he eventually found his swim trunks and wrapping them in a towel, jumped into his car to pick up his two friends and a few girls.

              Graduating from high school and subsequently graduating from college, he returned home one last time to pack up his stuff and move into his own apartment. Greeted by a smiling mother at the front door, they exchanged hugs. “I’m so proud of you Paul,” she said. “You’ve done so well but I’m going to miss having you around here. I hope you don’t mind that I packed up a bunch of your stuff for you. I wanted to be helpful.”

              “Ah, you didn’t have to do that,” he said. “I could’ve done it. I don’t have that much.”

              Jogging up the stairs, he found that she had packed up most of his stuff and even cleaned the room. “Wow, mom, you did more than a bit, thanks,” he yelled down the stairs.

              “I left the books for you to do though,” she answered. “Except for that one leather book that was under your bed.”

              “Leather book?” he thought. “Hmm…. oh, yeah, that book. Wow, somehow, I keep forgetting about that. I’ll have to dig that out when I get settled in the apartment.”

              Loading the last of his things into the back of the truck, he took the six-hour drive to the next town over. Pulling up in front of the building, he immediately recognized his girlfriend’s car parked in front. “Yes, cool, she’s here,” he thought.

              Parking the truck, he ran around to the side door and knocked on the glass. Within seconds, a pretty face peeked through the miniblinds and smiled at him. “There you are,” she said. “I’ve been here quite a while, cleaning, you’re very welcome. Are your buddies coming over to help you move the big stuff?”

              “Yeah, Aaron said he would be here at some point,” he answered. “I don’t think Jack will be able to make it though. Two of us will be enough, I’m sure.”

              Sitting in the darkness of his own living room, he pulled the ever-mysterious leather book from the last box. Poking his head into the bedroom, he realized that his girl had already gone to sleep, so he returned to the living room. Holding the book at arm’s length, he studied over the cover. “I know this thing is bigger,” he said. “There is no way this huge book was in that box in that old cabin. Hmm.”

              Skimming through several hundred pages, he nearly reached the end when he realized that the book, while a history book, covered the events in Russia in the past two years. “Umm, what? That doesn’t make any sense.”

              Turning back a few chapters, he realized that every major event for the past hundred years, almost to the day, was covered. Setting the book on the coffee table, he stepped back and looked at it. “That ain’t right, something isn’t right.”

              Pacing the living room, he was now wide awake and incredibly confused. The striking of midnight came as a warning that he ought to get to bed, as his new job was starting that next morning.

              Returning home for the day, he walked in to find his girlfriend flipping through the old history book. “Hey babe, what’s with this old book?” she asked.

              “Yeah, it’s a weird old book,” he said. “I found it years ago, when I was about eleven, I think. Jack, Aaron and I were playing in the woods, and we found it in an old abandoned cabin in the National Forest. So, I took it. It seemed cool at the time.” As he spoke, he really hoped that she hadn’t figured out that the book seemed to be writing itself as time passed.

              “Huh, that’s cool,” she said. “It’s got a really neat cover though.” Flipping it shut, she greeted him with a kiss. “What do you want for dinner? I’ll cook tonight.”

              The book sat on the coffee table for a few nights until Paul moved it into his office. The months passed and while trying to find his tax paperwork, he uncovered the book again. Flipping to the last page, he realized that the book had taken an even stranger turn. The last entry was of events with a date of one year past the present day. “Okay, hold on,” he thought. “Now what?”

              Flipping back a few pages, he found that a hurricane was set to strike the east coast that following weekend. “Well, there’s a little test, I guess. This ought to be interesting.”

              “Hey babe, come look at this,” his girlfriend called from the living room. “The news is saying that a major hurricane is coming next weekend. I guess they’re urging people to get out of town if they can. Should we go to your parents?”

              Suddenly not feeling well, he shoved the book back under the pile of paperwork and went into the living room. “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he said. “I’ll let work know that I’ll be working remote next week. That only makes sense.”