Ichabod Ebenezer's Blog, page 6

Her Remains

Image by Susanne Jutzeler, suju-foto from Pixabay



Mark was still having trouble understanding

how someone so vibrant, so beautiful, and so brilliant, could die so young.

Lydia had a will as well, which came as a second surprise,
but all she left him was a brass urn containing her remains, and instructions
to scatter them at the precise spot where they’d picnicked once near a
mountain lake.

Mark remembered that day as one of the best, and hiked up
there that very afternoon. He even found a stone shaped like a duck he’d used
to hold down the blanket.

He opened the urn, finding no ashes inside. Instead was a
bubble-wrapped package containing a key on a short hemp string, a note, and a USB
stick marked, ‘remains.’

“What the hell is this?”

The key seemed to vibrate in his hand.

The note, written in Lydia’s hand, said there was a crevice
beneath the ducky stone, that he should insert the key there, and that she
loved him. He found the crevice and inserted the key.

The rocks around him slid and folded outward. The inside of
them was glass and glowing blue lines. When they finished moving, he was inside
a high-tech cube perhaps three meters in each direction.

A chime caught his attention. In wonder, he walked to a
blinking red circle on one wall with a slot at its center, just big enough for
the USB stick.

Mark inserted the USB drive. Somewhere beneath Mark,
machinery started up. Instinctively, he backed away, but there was no exit,
nowhere to go.

“Hey, handsome,” said Lydia’s voice behind him. He turned.
Her image flickered, but she was there, smiling that smile that melted him every
time. “We’ve got some time while the machine prints out my new body.” She sat
down cross-legged. “Go ahead. Ask me anything.”

~~~~~
Hey, valued reader. This was actually a short version of the story so that it would fit within the 300 word limit. If you are curious what the full 750ish word version looks like, you can find it here.

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Lydia’s Remains

Image by Susanne Jutzeler, suju-foto from Pixabay



The machines around Lydia beeped.

The numbers fluctuated, but the doctors all told Mark he should make peace. Mark, on the other hand, just felt lost. Lydia was so young. Nothing the doctors said made sense.

“Promise me, my love,” Lydia said. He looked up through his
tears. Her hand squeezed his weakly. It was one of her infrequent lucid periods
and Mark hadn’t heard what she said. She smiled at him, seeing it in his eyes. “I
don’t have much time left, and this is important. Do you remember the lake I
took you up to when we first met? That little pile of rocks, do you remember
what I said?”

“You said, ‘No matter how bad the world gets, you can always
come back here to remember how wonderful it is.’”

“That’s right. Can you find that spot, that exact spot
where we picnicked?”

“I remember it perfectly. Let’s get you better, and we’ll go
back there.”

Lydia put her oxygen mask back on, taking several breaths
before she responded. “I’m not getting better, Mark. But I do want to go back
one more time. They’re going to give you my ashes—”

“Don’t say that—”

“They’re going to give you my ashes,” she insisted. “I want
you to scatter them at that exact spot. Promise me.”

She started a coughing fit, and alarms went off on all the
machines. Nurses rushed in swarming her. Someone yelled something about a crash
cart. Mark jumped up, pushing through the crowd. “I promise! Lydia! I promise!”

Two weeks later, Mark stood on that exact spot near the mountain
lake, holding a brass urn the lawyer had given him. He even spotted a little
stone he remembered saying looked like a rubber duck.

He opened the urn. but there were no ashes inside. Instead, a
bubble-wrapped package contained a key on a short hemp string, a handwritten
note, and a USB stick marked ‘remains.’ “What the hell is this?” The key buzzed
in his hand as if electrified.

Mark opened the note, tearing up unexpectedly at recognizing
Lydia’s handwriting.

“Beloved Mark,

Don’t blame the lawyer; he didn’t know. This urn contains my remains—just not of my body. Instead, what is important about me remains here. If you are where you should be, find your ducky stone. There’s a crack in the rock beneath, that widens for just a bit. Insert the key into that crack before reading on.”

Put the key into a crack in the rock? How could that make
sense? But it was Lydia’s last wish, so Mark pushed the ducky stone aside and
inserted the key. To his surprise, it clicked magnetically. He went back to the
note.

“Now, prepare yourself for a surprise. The rocks around you are disguising a machine, and it’s pretty advanced. Go ahead and turn it. And always remember, I love you.

   -Lydia.”

She had a great sense of humor, but she never played jokes,
so Mark turned the key.

The rocks around him slid and folded outward. The inside of them was glass and glowing blue lines. When they were done moving, he was inside a high-tech cube perhaps three meters in each direction.

A chime caught his attention. In wonder, he walked to a blinking red circle on one wall with a tiny slot at its center, just big enough for the USB stick.

He didn’t want to do the obvious right away. He watched
symbols shoot across the four walls, like some sort of pictogram language, but
none he’d ever seen. Some symbols reminded him of Korean, and others Mayan, but
neither was an exact comparison. Mark touched the wall, and a little white
swirl swept around his finger, followed by a different chime.

Finally, he inserted the USB drive. Somewhere beneath Mark,
machinery started up. Instinctively, he backed away, but there was no exit,
nowhere to go.

“Hey, handsome,” said a voice behind him. He turned,
recognizing Lydia’s voice, and she was there, smiling that smile that melted
him every time.

Rushing to hold her again, his arms passed through empty
air. “Just a hologram, I’m afraid,” Lydia said. “Looks like I’m done touching
things, but this is my life now.”

Mark opened his mouth, but she stopped him. “Before you say
anything. I just want to say how proud I am of you. I know my death was hard on
you, and it’s going to take a while for the machine to print out a new body for
me, so we’ve got some time.” She sat down cross-legged. “Go ahead. Ask me
anything.”

~~~~~~~~~~
No, it’s not déjà vu, I really did write two versions of this story. This one, at just over 750 words, was way too long for the 300 word prompt, but I liked it enough to keep it. I’m curious what you think. Was the shorter version better? Check it out here, and let me know!

~~~~~~~~~~
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The Probe

Image by JCK5D from Pixabay



The wind howled incessantly through the valley

from the moment they entered atmo. According to the ship’s instruments, just before the crash, the crosswinds were on the order of 210 kph, but that wasn’t the worst part. The temperature was a constant 38 Kelvin.

“Our viro-suits will only last two hours at this temperature!”
Raynard yelled above the wind.

Lieutenant Schiffer was the highest-ranking survivor. She
wasn’t used to decisions bigger than duty assignments and requisition orders, but
her path was clear on this one. The probe went off because it found active
technology. The ship was too damaged to repair; their only hope was that the probe
found something that could rescue them. “We press on!”

They crested the ridge, coming down in the valley with the
probe. The white beacon of the probe lit their way across the flatland. An
alien pedestal stood just beyond, the technology that set it off.

The squad gathered around, mindful of the time left in their
viro-suits. In the center of the pedestal was a recessed irregular shape. It
looked like a palm print, but of some alien hand with three thumbs of varying
length and seven fingers.

“What do I do?” Schiffer asked, standing in front of it.

“What else can you do?” Raynard said.

Schiffer placed her hand in the print. The pedestal lit up,
and a wave pulsed out in every direction. The ice evaporated and trees shot up
out of the ground. Birdsong filled the air and butterflies flitted everywhere.

Schiffer took off her helmet. Breathable air, a pleasant twenty-one
Celsius. “Simulation?”

Raynard read his instrument. “No. Terraformation. The pedestal
recreates the ideal environment for whatever places it’s palm here.”

Schiffer looked around as the others removed their helmets. “What
kind of creature put its hand here last?”

~~~~~~~~~~
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Guillermo’s Masterpiece

Image by Comfreak from Pixabay



Guillermo’s sculpture of Cher gave the impression

it would walk victoriously offstage if he’d chosen to finish the legs. Visitors claimed they heard her voice every time they looked away.

 ‘Mares of Diomedes’
was equally impressive, touring the world and drawing audiences as impressed by
the pose and anatomy of the horses as they were disturbed by the ravenous looks
in their eyes.

His impressive list of sculptures, realistic and abstract, drew
from pop culture, mythology, and “the collective unconscious.”

Lately though, he has been obsessed with a project he has
kept secret, but at the same time remarkably public. He first challenged quarry
masters around the world to present him with the largest pristine piece of
stone they could transport, offering ten million to the one he would select.

He set up web cameras at twelve different angles, inspected
each, and rejected them in turn until a three-story block of Himalayan marble
won the prize.

He spent the next eight months chipping away at the block,
armed with a wooden ladder, a chisel and a mallet. Barriers were set up around
his outdoor workstation, and visitors could watch him work, often yelling out
their guesses.

Guillermo never responded. With the world watching via
webcam or in person, he worked, sometimes fourteen hours a day, and the sculpture
slowly took shape, until one child yelled out, “Is it an egg?”

The artist smiled, pausing in his work to turn and wink.

Critics were aghast. Why would Guillermo spend so long
crafting a simple ovoid? It was beneath his talent.

This morning, Guillermo climbed down his ladder and stepped
back, proclaiming it done.

“Silence!” he yelled. A crack split the air and the stone.
Massive wings unfurled from inside, and a column of fire shot upward, as
Guillermo’s masterpiece was born.

~~~~~~~~~~
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Operation Pendulum

Image by My pictures are CC0. When doing composings: from Pixabay



Everybody remembers where they were

when the time-stop experiment, Operation Pendulum, was run. I’ve heard stories from people who were hang gliding, and others in the middle of a gun fight when it hit. But me and Zig had an experience I wouldn’t believe if I hadn’t been there.

You are too young, of course. To you, it’s just a moment in history,
but what young people don’t get is that DARPA didn’t tell anyone they were
going to do it. Maybe they thought they were going to contain it in some room
somewhere, or maybe they just didn’t care. In the end, it doesn’t really
matter.

Zig’s cousin had a boat, just a little wind-powered thing
not good for anything but getting your kicks. So, one evening, just before
sunset, Zig says to me, “I wanna take it and just go.”

“Go where?” I said.

“Anywhere. Wanna come?” And, yeah. I did. So, we just rode
out until we couldn’t see land anymore, and Zig trimmed sails until they just
sort of flapped peacefully.

The wind died to nothing, and the water went still as glass.
The sun was down, but there was still some light, you know?

That’s when it happened. The air grew thick, like it didn’t want to move, and
Zig jumped into the water, only he slid across the surface. It looked like
memory foam, the way it held his impression and slowly filled in. You could
walk on it, but standing still, you’d sink.

You see, time didn’t stop entirely, it just slowed to almost
nothing. And sentient beings were unaffected. Scientists theorize it’s because
we carry our own time reference, but who knows?

Here’s the thing no one else knows: The fish were all
frozen, but the dolphins still swam.

~~~~~~~~~~
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Silvi in the Snow

Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay



Silvi shivered as she waded through the snow.

The path she knew so well was invisible beneath the snowdrifts.

“There’s a storm coming,” Mother had said, pulling Silvi’s
coat over her shoulders. “I would go myself, but I have to harvest more apples
before the frost.” She placed the coins for Grandmother’s rent into Silvi’s
pocket. “I want you to hurry to Grandma’s. You may have to stay the night.”

But the day was bright and beautiful, and when she saw that
Vadim had tied a rope to a high branch and all the kids were taking turns
swinging out over the vale, she thought a few minutes with her friends wouldn’t
hurt.

Hours later, the wind came up and clouds covered the sun,
and she remembered her mother’s words and her important task.

And now she stood in the shadow of a tree, the cold ripping
bitterly through her coat, saying to herself, “Why, oh why didn’t I listen to
Mama?”

She pressed on, but soon had to stop again. The snow was up
to her waist and still falling. She was exhausted, and so cold that her teeth
had stopped chattering. She slid down against the trunk of a tree, thinking, “I
will just rest a moment, and then I can continue.”

The goddess Khione found Silvi sleeping, and saw how her
fist inside her pocket still grasped Grandma’s coins, even in sleep. She took
pity on the girl and turned her hourglass over. The winds changed direction,
and the snow lifted. The air warmed, and Silvi woke to see a beautiful woman
holding an hourglass. “Hurry, child. A storm approaches.”

Silvi spotted the path, and ran all the way to Grandma’s
house.

As she lay freezing beneath the tree, Silvi dreamed of the
warmth of Grandma’s fire.

~~~~~~~~~~
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A Familiar Path

Image by DarkWorkX from Pixabay



For a moment, I couldn’t remember where I was.

Like waking from a dream—I had a feeling of doing something important, the sense of adrenaline, and of driving a car. But here I was in the park and my daydream faded from memory.

Still, I couldn’t remember going there.

But the sun shone through the trees, carrying the scent of
fresh cut grass, and I could think of nowhere I’d rather be. I walked along a
familiar path that ran alongside a playground. I smiled, thinking of time spent
there in childhood, bobbing back and forth on the spring-loaded biplane or begging
my father to push me higher on the swings.

I continued along the path, passing the field where I’d
played soccer, then the stream where I’d caught crawfish with my buddies. There
were stones in the stream where you could hop across, and a grove of trees on
the far end where I’d first kissed a girl.

But that’s not where I was going today. Something drew me farther
along the path, and I wanted to see what I’d find there.

The path ended at the top of a hill, overlooking the canyon
and the Lethe river at its base. At the very top was a bench, perfect for
taking in the view. My hand went to my shirt pocket. This is why I was here.

I pulled out the box and looked at the ring with its modest
diamond. How could I forget this?

Then the air swirled in front of me, a vortex leading to an impossibly bright light. And I remembered. I was looking at the ring instead of the road and then a truck loomed close in my peripheral. I turned toward the vortex and continued my journey.

~~~~~~~~~~
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Touchdown on Selos

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

The ship had landed on the dawn side of the planet, but according
to my readout, five hours later, the exploration team hadn’t left yet. I packed
my medical kit and climbed down to the bridge to see what was going on.

The rest of the senior officers were gathered there, half of
them in exosuits. The room went silent at my arrival, but by the expression of
Dean’s face, I’d just missed the yelling.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Good! I for one would like Doc’s opinion on this before we
go,” Captain Zjeli said.

“Great!” Dean said, throwing up his hands. “Perhaps we can
talk about it for another hour. Daylight is burning up out there, and we’re
only approved for a three-day touchdown!” He was the team archeologist, a man normally
known for his patience. What could get him so upset?

“I still think we should just take off. That’s too weird,” Security
Chief Ryley said.

“What do you know about this planet, Doc?” Captain Zjeli asked.

“I read the report… A little higher oxygen than we’re used
to, a little more gravity as well. Eleven hour days. The big problem is the red
dwarf star spewing out radiation, but that’s nothing our suits can’t handle.
Why?”

“Have there been expeditions to this planet yet?”

“Nobody’s been out this far. We’re the first.”

“Are you sure?” the captain asked. He flipped on the
monitor. Mist rose from the ground in the late afternoon sun. No plants grew
anywhere, but statues of people—of actual humans—dotted the landscape. Children
jumping rope, elderly women carrying groceries, neighbors chatting.

“That’s not possible,” I said, but I caught myself. “But it’s
perfectly benign. why not explore? Solve this mystery?”

“Thank you!” Dean said, reaching for the helmet to his
exosuit.

“Because of this,” Chief Ryley said. He switched to another
scene. Another of the statues, this one wailing with grief. A human skull lay
half-buried in front of her.

“The skull? It’s another statue. Isn’t it?”

“That’s why I wanted your opinion. The other statues are all
gray the skull is more… ivory.”

I peered at it, but couldn’t make out any details that would
tell me one way or another. “Can you pull in closer?”

“Just a reminder,” Dean said, “it’s twenty minutes until
sunset. Can I please get out there and look at them?”

“I’m not letting anyone out unless I believe it is safe,”
the captain said.

The security chief handed me the camera control stick, and I
ran the camera over every exposed centimeter of the skull. “If this was
sculpted, the artist had an amazing attention to detail. The metopic and
coronal sutures aren’t fully closed, and here, you can see the third molar hasn’t
erupted. Oh, and that’s amazing. The Lacrimal bone shows signs of having been
broken in the past, but there’s new growth.”

“What does that mean, Doc?”

I stood up and faced the crew. Sometimes I forget not
everyone got the same education. “He’s broken his nose in the past. That’s a
teenage boy, and no, I don’t think it’s a sculpture. Too much meaningless
attention to detail.”

Everyone was silent, even Dean.

I looked from face to face. “Does that change things?
Someone managed to put all those statues here before even our ship got this
far. That same person placed a skull with them. Why is that any different?”

“That’s one possibility,” Chief Ryley said. “Here’s another
one. People were placing those statues all over, and maybe stopped paying
attention to the clock. The sun went down, and something that comes out at
night killed everyone. If we’d landed in a different spot, maybe we’d find a
lot more bones.”

“Alright,” the captain said. “We’re staying inside the ship
tonight. Everybody get some rest, we’ve got a little over five hours to
daybreak, and I want you all fresh. Cameras will run all night, and Chief Ryley
will go over the report during breakfast. We leave at dawn.”

#

Oola’s skin cooled and moistened as the sun disappeared
beyond the horizon. Another day had passed in the blink of an eye. But Torin
lay dead. She looked up at the monstrosity that had killed him, dropping from
the sky and spitting fire just before dawn. The tears flowed again.

He had been so curious, a light in the sky, he’d said. It
got brighter and larger. He was convinced it was going to land. But she hadn’t
paid attention to him until it was too late.

Oola ran when she saw it, but she was moments too late. The
sun crested the horizon and she felt herself stiffening, the calcite that
protected her from the sun’s rays during the day prevented her from reaching
her son in time.

And if that monstrosity had landed a few moments later,
Torin would have been protected too, but she was forced to watch as his skin
burned away, then his bones were buried by the blowing sand until only his
skull remained.

Her wailing brought others as she dug up his bones and
clutched them to her breast.

They stood around the monstrosity, having no words for the
grieving mother. “Bring the wise woman. She’ll know what to do,” someone said.
Whatever Gila said, it would not bring back Oola’s son.

She knew not how much time passed before Gila arrived, but
she felt the woman’s arthritic fingers on her shoulders. “This is not the first
ship to land here. This is what the Arc Chamber is for.”

Oola stood, holding her son’s skull, a determined look on
her face. Torin would be there when they opened the Chamber. When they focused
and directed the sun’s most harmful rays at the ‘ship.’

The people dispersed toward the cave entrances around them. Tomorrow would be spent below ground. They had a scant five hours to prepare the world’s machinery to wipe the monstrosity off the face of Selos.

~~~~~~~~~~
Thank you so much for reading, and thanks to those who purchased A Gentleman’s Wager. It got up to #9 on Amazon’s “30-Minute Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Short Reads” category. If you haven’t read it, please give it a look at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08GYXWG7N
And if you have, please consider reviewing it.

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A Gentleman’s Wager

A Gentleman’s Wager, now available for pre-order!



Just wanted to let you know that I published a short cozy mystery.

It’s called A Gentleman’s Wager, and it’s available for 99 cents American at all the major booksellers, and soon, in your local (electronic) library.

St. Drogo’s Gentlemen’s Club has always been a leisurely place for pensioners to spend their days. When a much beloved member is murdered in the club, the men turn to their resident puzzle expert, and make a wager over whether he can figure out who the murderer is before the police do.

I’m including a short excerpt below; part of an exchange between the narrator and the Police Inspector sent to investigate. If this floats your boat, why not give it a read? And if you like it, I would greatly appreciate a review. Links follow the excerpt.

~~~~~~~~~~

The inspector was a bespectacled man of around forty years,

with hair and mustache just beginning to go grey. He looked both official and officious in his smartly pressed uniform. “Thank you sir. Inspector Riley Chesterton. And your name is?” the inspector asked as I got there.

“Jacobs, sir. Roland Jacobs.”

The inspector had a notebook in hand. He leafed back several sheets, and read through his notes before proceeding to write something on a new sheet.

“I regret to inform you, Mr. Jacobs, that your fellow club member, Mr. Arthur Perkins —”

“Has been murdered,” I finished. “Yes. I only just heard.”

The inspector lowered his notebook and pushed his bifocals up the bridge of his nose to study me the better. “Pity, that. I should have liked to see your reaction to hearing the news.”

“I can tell you my reaction, sir. I’m dumbfounded. I can’t imagine anyone wanting him dead. And the idea of a murderer in our little town is preposterous. Are you certain it’s murder?”

“Quite so. Unless you can explain how Mr. Perkins drove the knife into his own back?”
I was aghast, and my countenance must have conveyed as much. “Ah, that’s the reaction I was looking for.” The inspector made some further notes in his book. “Now, I’ve been told, Mr. Jacobs, that you were among the last to see Mr. Perkins alive. Is that correct?”

“We did share a round of billiards yesterday evening, but having no idea when or where he died, I couldn’t say whether I was the last to see him.”

“And what was the outcome of this game?”

“Well, it wasn’t my night. He beat me soundly.”

“Turns out it wasn’t his night either, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Jacobs? Now, was there a wager on the result of the match? Do be honest, please. I will find out.”

~~~~~~~~~~
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Into the Dreamscape

Image by Lars_Nissen from Pixabay



“Alright, I’ve signed your wavers and non-disclosures. Would you please tell me why I’m here? And at 11:00 PM?”

“Dr. Cavner, at Dreamscape Psychological Institute, we’re perfecting
an experimental procedure to deepen the connection between doctor and patient,
and we’ve had some promising results, particularly in the case of non-standard subjects,”
the director of the institute said.

“Non-standard?”

“Severely autistic, or otherwise non-responsive,” said
another staff member.

“I’m still not sure why I’m—”

“The family requested you. And they’re paying handsomely,”
said a third.

“Half of the non-disclosures were from the family’s lawyers.
No one must know who we’re treating,” the director continued. “Our methods have
the only chance of reaching this young man, but the family wants you to conduct
the interview. They are willing to pay triple your normal fee.”

“And the patient is…?”

“Catatonic. He has been for several months now. No one knows
why—they simply found him unresponsive in his bed one morning,” the second doctor
said.

Dr. Cavner scratched her head. “But if he’s catatonic, how
would I speak with him?”

The director spoke again. “You will enter his dreamscape
with our technology, interfacing directly with his subconscious. This will not
be like other interviews, but we will help guide you through it.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Dr. Phillips, can you bring up the previous session?”

On the monitor appeared a mud puddle extending into
infinity. In the center was a cluster of soap bubbles, each containing a single
item. A young girl in photonegative, a young man, head bowed in a depressive
pose, a bare tree seen in silhouette. Bubbles exploded in monochrome shards as she
watched.

“And this boy is the patient?”

“We believe the tree actually represents his current state.”

Dr. Cavner stood. “Alright. Show me how I go in.”

~~~~~~~~~~
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