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.”

Sizzle

 

            Jamal lay on his bed reading. Fully engaged with ‘War of the Worlds’, the world around him could’ve disappeared in a conflagration and he would not have noticed. Finishing a chapter, he sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. It was still the middle of the day, so the sun was hanging in the sky, shining in full force. Somewhat sticky from the heat and high humidity, he could hear his friends outside throwing a football. But it was that moment that a sizzling sound, like that of bacon, caught his attention. Standing up, he followed the sound to his parents living room to find two very average white guys.

              “Uh, who are you and why are you in my living room?” he asked.

              “Hello Jamal,” one of them said. “Sorry for the intrusion. I hope our visit isn’t too alarming. But focus on your reading, it is very important. We’ll go now. Again sorry.”

              “Wait a minute,” he said. “How did you know my name and what is that smell?”

              “You ask a lot of questions,” the other answered. “We know your name because where we are from, everyone knows your name. And that smell is the result of our transition portal.”

              Edging toward the front door, the two quickly exited and left Jamal standing alone and more than a little confused. Following behind them, he looked into the hallway of the apartment building but had lost track of them. Taking the stairs to the main floor, he stepped over the ever-present homeless man that slept in the foyer and went outside.

              “Hey Jamal,” one of his friends shouted, “Catch!”

              Catching the ball, he shouted back. “Did y’all see a couple of white guys come out of the building?” he asked.

              “White guys? Around here?” one answered. “No, I didn’t see anyone. Come on, join us. We need one more player.”

              Throwing the ball back, he declined. “Sorry guys, I’ve got something I’ve got to do. Maybe later.”

              Camilla had just finished milking the cow. Releasing back to pasture, she picked up the nearly full bucket and took it into the house. Sitting it on the table, she closed her eyes and relished the silence of the house. Home alone that morning, as usual, she had a raft of chores to finish before her father came in from the fields for lunch. Glancing through her bedroom door at the sketchpad on her bed, the urge to draw out her ideas was almost overwhelming.

              Retrieving some glass bottles from the pantry, she carefully poured the milk into each one, filling four. Placing them in the icebox, she turned as she heard a sizzling sound, accompanied by the smell of rotten vegetables.

              “Oh my,” she thought, “did I miss some food last night from dinner?”

              Looking toward the kitchen, she saw two very oddly dressed young men looking at her.

              “Hello Camilla,” one of them said. “Sorry for just showing up like this. But we cannot urge you strong enough to continue your work in your sketchbook. Go and get those ideas written down. We’ll take care of your chores.”

              “Pardon?” she said. “Who are you and how do you know my name?”

              “Where we’re from, everyone knows your name,” the other said. “But please, it is very important for you to focus on your sketchbook. Please go and don’t worry about the chores.”

              Nahal stood at the top of the ridge and looked down upon the herd of wildebeests less than one hundred feet below him. It had taken him an hour to reach this spot. It was the only place that this once particular flower grew, and he needed its flowers at this particular time in spring.  Plucking as many of the deep red petals as he could, he placed them in his satchel and followed the narrow path back down to his home in the caves.

              “Out picking flowers again?” his brother sneered at him. “What are you, some sort of sissy or something?”

              “Shut up, Gleb,” he answered. “You’ll see someday how important this is.”

              With a grunt the older and much larger brother shoved past him and left the cave.  “But then again, maybe not,” he said under his breath. “All you know is hunting and killing.” Stepping to his corner of the cave, he removed the large number of items from his bag and organized them on his shelf.

              Standing up from his kneeling position, he was startled to see two very pale and strangely dressed young men standing at the entrance of the cave. “Whoa, hey, who are you?” he asked.

              “Hello Nahal,” one of them said. “We are here to encourage you to keep working on your agricultural studies.”

              “Agri… what?” he asked.

              “Uh, sorry, I guess you don’t know that word yet,” the other answered. “Keep doing what you’re doing with the flowers and berries and other things. It is very important.”

              “Um… who are you?” he asked.

              “Who we are doesn’t matter,” the first answered. “What does matter is the work you are doing. While no one will ever actually know your name, they will know your work. So, keep it up. Don’t let Gleb distract you.” Stepping back into the sunshine, the two moved out of sight.

              Rushing out after them, Nahal searched but found no one. Seeing Gleb approach, he called out to him. “Hey Gleb,” he said. “Did you see anyone?”

              “What? No, I didn’t see anyone,” he answered. “All the men are our hunting, and the women are gathering food. No one is anywhere near.”

              “Oh, okay,” he said. “I thought… ah, never mind.”

              Slipping back into the cave and retrieving his flint, his satchel and a torch, he hurried part way back up the mountain and found his secret cave. Lighting the torch, he made his way deep into the darkness and placed the torch in a crevice behind him. On the wall in front of him, he looked with great satisfaction upon the painted scenes. Looking from one to the next, he found the last scene, painted just the day before and he set to work on adding the scenario that just took place.

              Drawn from his vantage point, the two men stood with the bright glow of the sunlight behind them. Doing his best to replicate their pale skin and odd coverings, he worked for nearly an hour before he finished. Stepping back, he realized that he had made their heads a little too big and their skin color far too light. But it would have to do. It would be a story he could tell his children and grandchildren and this would be a reminder for generations to come.

              “Mike, Gabe, how did the visitations go?” the old man asked.

              “It went well sir,” Gabe answered. “We’ll confirm our success or not by looking at the timeline.”

              “Well, I’m sure you did fine,” he said. “You always deliver my messages so well. Let me know if anything else needs to be done.”

Falling

 

Bernie woke up on the floor with no recollection of how he got there. Completely exhausted, he didn’t even have the strength to move. From his vantage point, he could see a golden square of sun shimmering on the carpet next to him. The bedroom window, far above and to the left, didn't have the courtesy or the common sense to block the light, so the light slowly crept along the floor towards him. It was only a matter of time before the burning rays would be upon him and his prostrate naked body.

Straining to the right, he could see the opposite side of the room. “Damn, the doors open,” he thought. “That’s not good.”

And, as he feared, Otis came through the door, sniffing at the carpet. Pausing as he reached Bernie, the dog grabbed him by one leg and carried him through the open door, down the hallway and into the living room. Unceremoniously dropped on the cold linoleum by the front door, which someone had left open, Bernie was getting chilled further, exacerbated by the drool from the dog.

He had never felt so alone. Literally by himself, in a room he was not supposed to be in, naked and in front of an open door in the middle of winter. “How long will I lay here before someone sees me and shuts this door,” he thought. Though the sun was shining, it was still bitterly cold, and Bernie started to shiver. Completely helpless, he had no idea of how to remedy his situation. He would’ve called out for help, but the words escaped him. He could see no one, he could hear no one and apparently no one could see him either.

In a moment of desperation, he put all of his strength into one arm, a panicked last-ditch effort to accomplish something. Maybe someone would hear him or see his attempt at flailing. But his present position left that possibility highly unlikely.

As he lay in his compromised position, completely helpless, he thought back to earlier days, when those around him seemed to notice him, to interact, even to speak with him. But now it seemed that those days were gone. It was the eerie silence that troubled him the most. Was he the only one here? Was he actually all alone?

In the chilling and painful silence, he remembered the books he had read, the stories he had been told, the supposedly heartwarming tales of human interaction, love and care. But he wondered where all of that was now. The sound of heavy breathing jarred him from his introspection and the hot breath of the dog pumped down upon him. Again, scooped up by the sharp teeth and foul breath, the dog jumped up and pushed the screen door open, trotting into the snow. Throwing Bernie into the air, he became the sole focus of fetch.

Though he had no wings and never had the predisposition to flight, still Bernie flew through the air, rising and falling, all at the whim of the furred creature. Landing with a gentle thud one last time, Bernie landed deep in a snowbank. Hearing a whistle, he feared the worst. The dog had been called back inside and Bernie lay in the snow, slowly going numb. Soon he could feel nothing, he could see nothing, and he could say nothing, for he lay, face down at the bottom of the snowbank.

Eventually giving up hope, Bernie went to sleep and dreamed of warm, tropical places. Sandy beaches, clear water and fruity drinks brought by wrinkled old men on brass trays. He could feel the sun on his face and the occasional gentle breeze. Swiping his fingers through the sand, he eventually forgot all about the snow, the dog, and the fact that no one remembered him. Rising occasionally and walking in the gently crashing waves, he no longer felt cold, he no longer felt empty and alone. The beauty of this place took it all away.

With a sudden jerk, he was pulled into the air and again was flying. But this time the flight would be his last as he caught sight of an overweight middle-aged man standing next to a lawnmower, his hand extended out, having just tossed Bernie in the bin by the street. The lid closed and there was only darkness.