Jamie Greening's Blog, page 15

Frozen Fondue

Today’s story is my continuing saga about the Cold War between Santa Claus and Jack Frost. To read the first installment which I wrote last year for Fondue Christmas, CLICK HERE.

We are nearing the end of our Yule run of stories. We plan to bring you some more delicious freebies in the winter and spring. These are all at no cost to you. However, many of us here at he Fondue Writer’s Club have books, audiobooks, and short stories that have been published through the last two decades, including our collaboration The Covid Quarantine Cantina which reached number one in audiobooks (in a subcategory for about a week and a half). We all have day jobs, so it is not like we’re feeding our family here, but if you are partial to anything you’ve by read any writer — cruise on over to the Amazon and search for us: Joseph Courtemanche, Joe Shaw, Robert Cely, Kathy Kexel, Paul Bennett, Derek Elkins, and Greenbean himself. We would certainly appreciate it. Or, contact these wonderful people and they probably have a closet full of books they’re happy to autograph and send to you.

Now, without any further delay, here is my story. I hope you enjoy it.

Saturn’s Eye

Jamie Greening

For the Fondue Writer’s Club

            ‘Santa is the one who broke the truce, you know that, right?’

            Rudolph could not answer the question. His head was shoved into a tight muzzle. The luminous nose that made him an icon of outsiders and misfits was flaming red, not just from his unusual gift, but from the beating Jack Frost’s henchmen had given when they pulled him from bed in his off-season bungalow in Cabo. The famous little reindeer was in a pickle for sure. They’d hung him from the ceiling, shoulders secured by a hook which ran under his front legs and around his neck. His back legs were chained to the floor while various electrical wires ran from a control panel on the wall to various sensitive organs on his body. 

            Rudolph felt his shoulders slowly dislocating as the bones slid out of joint.

            Frost continued the one-sided interrogation. ‘I don’t know why he took it, but we need it back. Santa doesn’t understand what can go wrong here. It’s all fun and games until people start bumping into themselves going to the bathroom in the middle of the night.’

            Baby New Year pulled his thumb out of his mouth. ‘We know he didn’t hide it at the North Pole because our people would have told us. Where did he hide it?’ Baby New Year seemed like he was about to cry, and then he did cry and scream, ‘Why? Why? Why did he take it? Why would he do this to us?’

            Rudolph’s eyes filled with panic. So, this is what it was about? He’d warned Santa not to take Saturn’s Eye, but the old man ignored the advice of all his friends and counselors. The Jolly Old Elf had become increasingly belligerent since the Zombie War. Reclusive. Paranoid. Quiet. 

            ‘Hit him with some juice,’ Baby New Year shouted with his hands raised high. ‘It’s time for the deer to dirty his diaper.’ 

            Jack Frost looked at Baby New Year and said, ‘He’s not wearing a diaper. You’re the only one who wears a diaper.’ 

            ‘It’s a metaphor, Frost.’ Baby New Year emphasized the point by sticking his thumb back into his mouth.

            A dim-witted ice spirit turned a knob. Immediately, the reindeer began to twitch. He turned the knob further. The twitches became spasms. 

            ‘Enough,’ Jack Frost said. ‘That’s enough. Take off his muzzle. We need him to answer some questions. He’s no good to us dead. Besides, I don’t like burnt venison.’ 

            Rudolph was barely conscious, but his eyes were steely upon Baby New Year. It is a well- known fact reindeer are brutally vengeful. The terrible little tyke’s time would come, Rudolph would make certain of it. 

            ‘You’ve seen how far we are willing to go,’ Jack Frost said. ‘We don’t want to do this, but it is important we get Saturn’s Eye back. Santa’s domain is in human relations, whereas Baby and I are seasonal workers. We are time-bound. We must get it back. We can’t properly do our work without it.’ The frozen blue goblin paced around his lair, then turned to face Rudolph, ‘He’s messing with power he can’t possibly understand.’

            Rudolph stared back at him. 

            ‘If you don’t talk,’ Baby New Year said, ‘we increase the pain. This is level one stuff right here. Level two is even worse – we make you watch every Lacey Chabert Hallmark Christmas movie on infinite loop. Level three is the Fruitcake. Level four is the point of no return. Yeah, that is what happened to Randy Quaid.’

            Jack Frost stroked Rudolph’s cheek. ‘We don’t want to, but we will, and we will get the information eventually. You might as well tell us before you get really hurt.’ 

            ‘I met Randy Quaid once,’ Rudolph coughed up blood, then swallowed hard. ‘I met Randy Quaid once. I always wondered what made him like that.’ The deer sighed. ‘I’ll tell you what happened, if for no other reason to restore peace between the North and South Poles. Santa took Saturn’s Eye, that much is true.’

            Baby New Year yelled, ‘But why? Why did the fat man do it? Has he lost his mind? Did Tim Burton finally get to him?’

            Rudolph answered, ‘It came down to math. The number of people in the world is growing exponentially. There are over nine billion people in the world right now. Twenty years ago, that number was six billion. Fifty years ago, it was only about three. Nine billion people are too many to keep track of. He needed more time. Only Saturn’s Eye could give him that. No one knows this, but Santa Claus hasn’t actually made all the deliveries of toys in at least three years, which has led to the conspiracy theory many elves hold to of why there is so much hate on social media. People keep getting disappointed at Christmastime and it is making them all stop being nice because it wasn’t doing them any good anyway.’

            Jack Frost sat on his throne. ‘So, Santa was in a pickle, and he thought by taking Saturn’s Eye he could buy more time to do his work.’

            ‘That is the way I understood it.’ Rudolph felt dirty, like he’d betrayed a great trust. He knew Santa would never again let him guide the sleigh, foggy Christmas Eve or not. 

            ‘One more question, glowstick.’ Baby New Year took one more suck on his bottle. ‘Where is it?’

            Rudolph knew there was no going back on his betrayal now. The die had been cast. He took a deep breath, ‘Texas. He hid it in Texas.’  

***

            Saturn’s Eye is older than Jack Frost or Santa Claus. 

            Its origins are as mysterious as the depths of the sea or the stars in the heavens. The elven community has long-known of its existence, but it has only been in the six millennia since the Diluvian Accords that a universally accepted protocol has governed its use. The elves and goblins who come in with the seasons form the Council of Saturn. These include Jack Frost, Baby New Year, The Groundhog, The Easter Bunny, Freyr, The Great Pumpkin, and Tom Turkey. Jack, being the oldest and most powerful, serves as president of the council. The rest really do nothing and defer to him.

            Only Baby New Year hangs around because he is too immature to have friends or a real life. The Groundhog is very industrious and busy preparing for the coming bad days. The Easter Bunny has a lot of mouths to feed because, rabbits. The Easter Bunny is not Peter Cottontail. The Easter Bunny is female, and Peter Cottontail was a usurper who tried to overthrow the Kingdom of Unfound Eggs. Freyr is Norse so no one really likes him. The Great Pumpkin never shows up and Tom Turkey is always hiding.

            Saturn’s Eye is stored at the South Pole with Jack. The stone it is made of is not from Earth. There are markings on it that look like circles within circles and then a line drawn through the midst of them. Letters from a long-lost alphabet are written on it in an amber color that glows on equinox and solstice days. No one knows what the letters mean or why they glow.

            The stone is a magic talisman. Any person or creature who holds it needs only to imagine time going backwards or forwards. Their position remains the same, but time and everyone else moves. Thus, the holder of Saturn’s Eye can move through time unawares freely through time.

            Four years were lost in the ninth century because Freyr was angry at the Franks. 

            That is the power of Saturn’s Eye.

            It is also why it is the perfect tool to help Santa overcome the population problem he faces. 

***

            Santa’s feet were propped up in his recliner and he sipped a tall glass of peach iced-tea in his Hawaiian bungalow, as he normally did every January. He and the current Mrs. Claus had gone snorkeling that morning and the knots in his back were finally beginning to work themselves out. The sun, sea water, and Spam always made him feel right as rain. Happy thoughts of a well-deserved off-season were swirling around his mind when a giant block of ice fell through the roof. Mrs. Claus gasped and fainted in fright. Santa instantly knew who it was from. Frost had used the same delivery method in 1972 on Andy Warhol, who, to everyone’s surprise, turned out to be Frost’s illegitimate love child with Suzy Snowflake.   

            Santa waved his finger; the ice melted. Inside a wet, cold, and badly beaten Rudolph shivered and sobbed. 

            ‘Rudolph!’ Santa gasped. ‘What have they done to you?’ 

            ‘I’m sorry,’ he cried. ‘He knows. He knows Saturn’s Eye is in Texas. He told me to tell you if you don’t return it before February, he will take action.’

            ‘You know I can’t do that,’ Santa said. ‘I need it.’

            ‘I know,’ the reindeer said. ‘So does he, and that is something he will use against you.’

***

            ‘I say we zap Texas back to the stone age,’ Baby New Year said. ‘I mean, after all, they are in the central time zone, so no one really cares about them. Everyone knows the only New Year’s Eve celebrations that matter are on the East Coast.’

            ‘Don’t be a baby,’ Frost said. ‘And don’t underestimate the Texas Rangers.’ Frost rubbed his left shoulder, his body remembering the bullet he took in Amarillo in 1922 in a skirmish with Texas Rangers over a barrel of prohibition bourbon. He’d been lucky to get out of Texas alive, and swore never to return. It looked like he’d have to go back on that promise.

            ‘We will freeze Texas if Santa doesn’t deliver Saturn’s Eye to us.’ 

***

            The first cold front hit Texas on February 10. Most people expected a little bad weather, but that first front was followed by another even colder front that covered almost every square inch of the Lone Star State in ice and snow. Snow men were built, teenagers who’d spent their whole lives without ever seeing accumulated snow marveled at how pretty it was. Hats, gloves, and coats not used for decades came out of the closet. Fireplaces roared and hot cocoa was poured from the Rio Grande to the Red River, El Paso to Texarkana. 

            Then the strongest front came and temperatures plunged below zero for several days. By St. Valentine’s Day, the crippling effects of cold upon a state that hadn’t been visited by Jack Frost in a hundred years began to show. Power plants which produced electricity began to shut down. Dallas, Houston, and San Antonio, three of the largest cities in America, went dark. Most of the state was on intermittent power at best, and often nothing for days. Most homes had no other means of heating. 

            People frozen to death.

            Some asphyxiated as they brought their charcoal grills indoors.  

            Older people died from the inability to get medicine or emergency care.

            Already overwhelmed hospitals went into deep crisis.

            Then the water turned off. Lack of electricity forced water systems around the state to go offline. The wealthy, bold, and incredibly arrogant state of Texas had been turned into a third-world nation without electricity or clean drinking water in a matter of days, all courtesy of Jack Frost’s wrath. 

            Santa thought he could hold out, but the suffering and pain was too great for even Kris Kringle to endure. On February 20 he sent an envoy to Jack Frost telling him to meet him at the tiny town of Lone Star, Texas.

***

            ‘We’re here,’ Frost told Santa. 

            The two faeries stood about twenty feet from each other in a pine forest. The ground covered in crunchy ice. 

            ‘Now, tell me where it is so we can end this and I can let the good people of Texas get back to their lives.’ 

            ‘I need the extra time, Frost. I can’t keep up.’

            ‘I know,’ Jack Frost said. ‘But this agreement has been in effect for thousands of years. It is unbelievable you’d go this far. The last time someone took Saturn’s Eye was after they finished Stonehenge. Remember? Remember how that turned out for all those half-naked Druids who so messed up the timeline that they met themselves coming and going until they went mad?’

            Santa screamed into the cold wind, ‘Of course I remember, I was there. You were there. We were all there. It took all of us and all our magic to put it back together again, and even at that we still couldn’t make it all fit.’

            Frost chuckled, ‘Good times. The British still don’t know why they have such bad teeth, but we know.’ 

            Santa giggled, too.

            ‘Why didn’t you just ask for help?’ Frost said.

            ‘Because I knew the Big Baby would never go for it. He’s always been jealous of me.’ He wagged his finger at Frost, ‘the number of people doesn’t bother him at all, or even you. But it is a real problem for me. The elves and I can’t keep up. Soon there will be over ten billion people on this planet, and they will all want iPhones, new tires, Rolex watches, and a Lexus. It is just more than this old elf can do.’

            ‘If you trust me,’ Frost said, ‘I think we can find a solution.’

            ‘Why should I trust you? You’ve laid Texas to waste.’

            ‘They will bounce back. They still have oil, barbeque, and Matthew McConaughey. And, I did return your little pet reindeer back to you alive.’

            ‘He’ll never be the same, though.’ 

            ‘Sure, he will. Give him some peppermint schnapps and he’ll be fine. Now, are you gonna trust me and give me Saturn’s Eye before you accidentally cause a collapse of reality, or must I drop the temperature in Texas another ten degrees and add a blizzard? I can destroy every living thing here and then it will not be hard to find Saturn’s Eye at all.’

            Santa took his index finger and wiggled his nose. To his right a giant pine tree split down the middle as if an invisible saw had torn it asunder. The aroma of sap and wood filled the air. At the bottom of the tree sat the ancient rune. 

            Baby New Year, who had been hiding behind an unused deer blind, leaped out and grabbed it before anyone could say a word. He took his place beside Jack Frost.

            ‘Now,’ Santa said. ‘Did you really mean it about the help, or was it a lie?’

            ‘I am cold hearted, but I am not a liar. Actually, it wasn’t my idea. It was his.’

            Frost pointed to his left and a humming sound grew louder and louder. An ATV painted in camouflage carefully drove through the forest and came to a stop between Santa Claus and Jack Frost. The driver was unrecognizable – heavily bundled in a thick parka, big snow goggles, and huge mittens. But when she stepped out of the ATV her identity was obvious. She pulled back the hood of her coat and those giant floppy ears bounced up and down. 

            ‘Easter Bunny,’ Santa said, ‘What are you doing here?’ His head shook and he blinked several times as if he didn’t believe his eyes. ‘I don’t think we’ve seen each other since Vatican II? It is really good to see you, but, this isn’t your squab—.’

            The Easter Bunny held up a paw to stop him. ‘Oh, it is all of ours. I feel your pain, man. Everyone, even pagans, want Easter eggs and Easter presents and Easter clothes these days. And I don’t have any elves to help me. So, I’ve had to think outside the box, and so do you.’

            ‘What do you mean?’ Santa said.

            ‘Amazon.’ The Easter Bunny said. ‘A to Z. If we combine our assets, we can buy out bozo Bezos and put the system to work for us. It is a win-win.’

            Santa’s eyes twinkled. ‘I know a guy who owes me a favor in Seattle. I think we can make this happen.’ He rubbed his hands together and said, ‘This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’

***

            Truce had once again been made between Santa and Jack Frost. It seemed like the mythical forces in the world would unite around a common cause and the armistice might stick. This could indeed be the beginning of a new age of cooperation between the North and the South Poles. Peace in our time. 

            But as the four of them talked, Jack Frost, Baby New Year, The Easter Bunny, and Santa Claus an unseen force was at work. 

            Rudolph viewed the scene through his long-distance scope. He laid flat on the roof of a tin smokehouse with ham curing inside. The rifle’s trigger, adapted for his hoof, itched to be pulled and paint the white snow with Baby New Year’s brains.

            Revenge is a dish best served cold.

            He focused on his breathing and squeezed. 

            Yukon Cornelius, who had been afraid of this very scenario, lunged at Rudolph to prevent the outbreak of another shooting war with the South Pole. But he was only partially successful, as the bullet struck Baby New Year in his diaper, which was full at the time. New Year poop, as everyone knows, is formidable and it stopped ballistic. Nevertheless, it splattered on everyone.

            But Jack, holding Saturn’s Eye, immediately moved backwards in time and pushed himself away, leaving the other three desecrated by defecation.  

Alien Amish Fondue

Kathy Kexel writes a sequel for today’s Fondue Writer’s Club Christmas story to her science fiction story about aliens fleeing the religious oppression of the Imperium and find a home on Earth amongst, of all people, the Amish of Wisconsin. To read the first installment of this series, which is Thanksgiving themed, CLICK HERE.

Click on the Amish beard to read her story, ‘An Other Christmas.’

The Queasy Fondue

I am not certain what genre of story Derek Elkins has written for us. This installment of the Fondue Writer’s Club Christmas Stories 2022 may indeed be a genre unto itself, a sort of sui generis in which the key literary technique is mismatched simile.

You’ll have to read it to understand.

Click on the thumb to read ‘Santa Who’.

Fondue Behind Bars

Sometimes, it is the thing that doesn’t happen.

And that is all I will say about the sad predicament of Freddy Simpson. A man who, through no fault of his own, or at least that is how he would tell it, ended up in jail on Christmas Eve. What we will all find out soon, is just how important it was for him to go to jail.

You can blame Jenna if you want to, but reasonable people will suspect that Freddy Simpson has just been tapped for a one way trip to the Fondue Zone.

Click on the ‘N’ on the sign below to read Rob Cely’s ‘The Worst Christmas Miracle Ever’ for the Fondue Writer’s Club.

Fondue Fudge

Hey everyone — you know what time it is? It is time for some Christmas stories. Free stories at that, all courtesy of The Fondue Writer’s Club. Our narrative journey to the nativity of our Lord begins today with Joe Shaw, who reminds us that anything can happen in live theater, even live theater at church.

Click on the nuttiest piece of fudge to read his delightful story “The Best Christmas Ever.” Rob Cely is on deck Wednesday and we will keep at it until Christmas Eve. Greenbean’s assigned day is December 22.

Enjoy!

Pie Fondue

The Fondue Writer’s Club finishes our offering of Thanksgiving stories today with Kathy Kexel’s “Pie Wars.” Again, I want you to note the sweetness going on in this tale. Literally — all those sweet pies. But one particular phrase caught my attention and that was her description of ‘substantial sandwiches.’

I want one of those.

Click on the picture of the mincemeat pie to read her story and be looking for Christmas stories soon.

YUM

Space Fondue

Today is Greenbean’s turn for the Thanksgiving 2021 edition of the Fondue Writer’s Club. I went science fictiony. Of course I did.

If you read this, and want to read my decidedly non-science fictiony Thanksgiving story from last year, CLICK HERE.

Thanks for reading, and tomorrow Kathy Kexel finishes us up with the last story until we launch our Christmas tales.

The Second ThanksgivingJamie D. Greening

            ‘It’s not a turkey,’ Mary Beth said. The words slid out of her nose more than her mouth. Her lips barely moved, although her nose turned upward just so.   

            ‘Like I told you last week when we planned Thanksgiving, there are no turkeys on Ravenna Gamma.’ Mary Beth’s father, Harold, puffed a snort from his nostrils, and finished the thought. ‘That is a part of the adventure of settling on a new planet. Everyone on Earth right now is bored of their cloned turkey and seaweed gravy solvent. I promise you that. But here, on Ravenna Gamma, we have the adventure of enjoying real wild game. They haven’t had wild game on earth in over six generations. We are truly blessed.’

            ‘Blessed,’ Suzanna shouted. Harold could not decipher if his wife was asking a question or making a statement. It was hard to read her sometimes. It wasn’t long before Harold’s uncertainty was laid to rest. 

            Suzanna said it again, ‘Blessed? This thing doesn’t even look like a turkey. I understand there are no turkeys on this planet, but isn’t there something that might pass for a turkey? Something with wings and a drumstick? Maybe a goose, hen, or even a small quail? A chicken? Is it too much to ask for a chicken on Thanksgiving Day?’

            ‘We all sat through the same orientation before we left the Earth Orbital Zone. Ravenna Gamma is devoid of poultry or flying beasts. My friend Jean-Paul says R-Gee is devoid of predators. The animals are herbivores. There was, and is still, no reason for anything to learn to fly.’

            ‘But what is it?’ Their youngest son, Theo, asked. ‘It looks like an ugly cat. I don’t think we’re supposed to eat cat. I mean, is that legal.’

            ‘I’m not eating a tabby,’ Mary Beth poked the roasted animal with a fork. 

            ‘It’s not a tabby. It is close to an opossum on earth. I ate some last week at one of the first settler’s homes. It is good. Its diet is mostly a kind of berry, so I had the chefbot prepare it with a glaze of berries gathered from the forest edge. It should be very tasty.’

            This was the tone of the first Thanksgiving on Ravenna Gamma, or R-Gee as they sometimes called it, for the Strenge family. It was the second one any human had ever observed on the planet. Of the first one hundred families that settled there, only fifteen were left. The others went back to earth after the first batches of lithium were extracted from the top of a mountain. It was lithium, and the promise of quick money, which brought the Strenge family here. Harold signed a three-year contract. The money they made would set them for life and create generational wealth for his children. On this particular afternoon, he wondered if the money was worth it. 

            ‘I’ve chewed on this forever,’ Mary Beth said. ‘It just will not give. Why can’t we just eat the regular food like everyone else.’

            ‘Because it is Thanksgiving,’ Harold said. ‘We can’t always eat the regular food, because it comes in shipments from Earth. We must supplement it with indigenous meals from time to time to make it last. The food you’re accustomed to must be stretched. The corporate leadership team decided everyone would do this on Thanksgiving, so everyone else is eating something like our little opossum friend here today.’

            ‘Did it have a family?’ Theo asked.

            ‘A family?’ Harold chewed on his bit of leg. ‘What do you mean?’

            ‘Did you kill it and rob it from its family? Did you think it might have wanted to live?’

            Mary Beth caught the scent of her brother’s disdain and pounced. ‘If everything else on this godforsaken planet is herbivore, maybe we should be too. Perhaps we should eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead of feasting on the life-forms here.’

            Suzanna gasped. ‘See what you’ve done, Harold. You’ve turned our children into vegetarians. Next thing you know, they’ll want to drop out of their careers and go to college and question everything about life. Good job.’

            Harold defended himself with history, his favorite tool. ‘If it is any consolation, they didn’t have turkey at the first Thanksgiving either. It really wasn’t until the twentieth century in North America that turkeys became the tradition, and now a thousand years later here we are, in the very privileged position of reenacting a more authentic holiday. We are pilgrims, like Miles Standish.’

His appeal was met with six eyes that rolled at him. The rest of the meal was silent chewing until they all became too tired to chew.

            The meal came to an end with a pie made from a kind of nut which came from short trees with blue bark. Suzanna retired to the game room where she played backgammon remotely with her sister who lived on one of the nicer orbital platforms over Earth. They both complained about their husband. Mary Beth went to her room and Theo went to the cinema with a couple of friends he’d made. Harold helped the housebot clean-up, because he didn’t know what else to do.

            Two of the three suns were still in the sky when he messaged his family he was going for a walk and would be back before moonrise. No one responded. 

            Walking was harder on this alien planet than it was on Earth because gravity was stronger, which is why the trees were shorter and the animals smaller. He walked through the village center, an assembly of the cargo containers from the spaceships that brought supplies and people. Each time a new shipment arrived, a new store or entertainment opportunity came with it. Rumor had it the next shipment, due just before Christmas, was destined to be transformed into an ice cream parlor.

            Soon he was at the clearing’s edge and entered the forest. He’d been in the forest several times, but never alone. He knew the trees were similar to elm and pine. They had not been given names by the settlers. The blue barked trees the pie was made from were on the other side of town on the hillside. Harold walked toward the river, which he knew would take him to the waterfall. He’d never gone that far, but he knew that was where the river went because he’d seen it on a map in one of the unending briefings and meetings he’d been forced to attend by the Settler’s Board.  

            He met the river while still in the forest. Its water was red, reflecting the light crimson daytime skies of Ravenna Gamma. He followed the river until it came to a field of wildflowers which swayed in the wind. He thought they looked like poppies. Every color the eye could behold flashed on their petals such that it seemed a rainbow had exploded in the heavens and painted the landscape. Particles floated in the air around him and he breathed in their floral scent.

            A euphoria overcame him so much so that he forgot about his family, and work, and even where he was. He was cognizant enough to realize there was hallucinogenic material inside the flowers, and that he should turn back, but he didn’t. The field was beautiful. The air was nice. A peaceful, easy feeling engulfed him. Why would he turn back?

            Soon he was at the waterfall. Gravity forced water down the cliff toward the roiling pool below. Harold judged the distance to be nearly seventy-five meters. Rocks jutted out. The water’s red hue combined with the bubbles and foam of the spray looked to Harold like a boiling pot of blood. The cataract’s roar hummed inside of him. He worked hard to focus, to not fall, but he kept moving closer and closer to the edge. 

            The music in his mind pulsated ever more colors until he could no longer withstand the attraction of the water’s lure. 

            ‘Just here at the edge,’ he told himself. ‘Just here, no further. I am safe here. Here I can feel it and love it and enjoy it.’ He edged out a little further. ‘Just here. That is enough.’ 

            Whether it was a slip of his foot on wet grass or an impulse from his subconscious no one will ever know, but Harold lost his footing and tipped over the edge of the cliff and tumbled, slowly at first, and then gravity did her work and slammed him hard into the shallows below. The last thing he remembered was the water tasted like the bubble gum ice cream his mother used to give him whenever he was sick. After that last thought, the colors vanished, and blackness took him.

            Harold’s head throbbed like a hyperspace transmission about to throw an asbestos piston. He was cold but felt a blanket over him. His clothes were missing but there was a fire beside him. He felt a presence nearby. 

            ‘Did you jump?’ 

            ‘No. I don’t know. Maybe.’

            ‘It was the flowers. I was worried they might affect your people.’ 

            ‘Your people?’ Harold, who had been lying on his back sat up and huddled near the fire. ‘What do you mean your people?’

            ‘They are not my people. They are your people. People from the corporations that have come to take the rock from the hills.’

            ‘Lithium. You mean the lithium. We need it to power the things back home.’

            ‘This is home,’ the man said to Harold.

            Harold squinted in the fire’s yellow light and beheld the man sitting opposite from him. His hair was black and his forehead broad. His cheekbones high, and his skin dark, but not dark like brown, dark like orange. 

            ‘I know almost everyone on this planet,’ Harold said. ‘I do not know you.’

            The man said to him, ‘You know almost no one on this planet. We have been here for seven thousand generations and are innumerable. We live on nine of the eleven continents.’

            Harold’s head hurt even more. He remembered the feeling of joy from the field of flowers. He wondered if he were dead, and this was a last momentary spasm of his mind processing the end of life as he neared oblivion. It could also be a drug-induced hallucination.  

            ‘I saved you from dying,’ the man said. ‘You hit the water hard, like an egg onto stone. I thought the fall broke your neck, but you began to flail and then I knew you could be saved.’

            ‘Thank you,’ Harold said.

            ‘I should have let you die.’

            ‘Excuse me,’ Harold’s body jolted upright. ‘Did you say you should have let me die?’

            ‘Yes, I should have. Your people are only here to take our rock. You will take and take and take and give nothing back. You are ungrateful, greedy, and selfish.’

            ‘If I am so bad, then why did you pull me from the water and keep me from drowning?’

            ‘Because our people have decided that even though you are evil, we are not. We will not interfere with you. But I do have a message.’

            ‘A message? For me?’

            ‘Yes, for you and all your people. You may have the rock you call lithium. Our Elders have determined its removal will not harm the land, even though once it is gone it cannot be replaced, and we will be diminished because of its absence. But you are human as we are human, and therefore you have the same right to it as we do, since we too came to this planet from your home.’

            Harold’s brain worked through the headache and the fog of trauma to piece together what he heard. This man was part of a society that lived throughout the planet, but they are humans who came from Earth a long time ago. ‘How did you get here from earth? Interplanetary space travel for humans is a recent development?’

            ‘No,’ the man said. ‘That is inaccurate. Again, your facts are wrong. However, you must listen to the message. You may have the rock, but you must not build more cities here. You may live on our Turtle Shell with us peacefully, but you cannot bring your corrupting ways with you. Our scrolls teach us how your ancestors allowed evil into the world in the ancient garden. We will not allow that to take a foothold here. We obey the rules of the garden.’

            ‘What are you talking about?’

            ‘The Elders told us you would not understand. You are uncivilized and do not know the true ways of life, nor The Life Giver.’

            Harold’s spine stiffened at the realization of insult. ‘We know about nature and the origins of life. I don’t know why you would think we are uncivilized. We know how the universe works, that is how we found Ravenna Gamma.’ 

            ‘Nature is not The Life Giver. Only a heathen would think everything in the created world created itself. As if a story could tell itself or a painting could paint itself. We have been studying your ways and investigating your beliefs. Fools. You are fools. Your laws and beliefs are centered upon selfishness, as if human beings were the center of existence.’

            ‘Human beings are the pinnacle of creation. There is nothing greater in the universe than the human spirit.’

            The man stood up, ‘If that is your creed, then you are indeed a fool. It does not matter, though. What matters is that you understand the message I have given you and you will take it back to your Elders, or as you call them, The Corporation.’ 

            ‘What happens,’ Harold asked, ‘if we ignore your warning and bring many more people and build large cities and cultivate this planet for our own benefit. That is what we did on four of the planets in the ZBerg system and three of them in the Smiley system. Now that we know humans are already on this planet, it will make the transition faster.’

            The man shook his head in disbelief. ‘If you ignore us, Turtle Shell itself will fight you, just as it did today with the waterfall and the flowers. You will not survive here without our help, and we will not help if you ignore us, our ways, and our requests. You cannot live without us, but we will live far better without you.’

            The man walked out of the radiant light and into the darkness.       

Sweet Fondue

Derek Elkins begins Turkey Week proper with a heartwarming account of a grumpy old man and a persistent young woman. This is a departure for Elkins, because he is our resident, “If a t-shirt cannon is good, then a hot dog cannon awesomeness.” Elkins knows how to make a person smile with a twist toward the preposterous.

Not today, though. Today he brings the feels with Thanksgiving. And, if I may (and I can because this is my blog) let me point out I am seeing a trend with the Fondue Writer’s Club Thanksgiving stories — they are all sweet and kind. Even Shaw. I mean, EVEN SHAW! Okay, Cely’s was a little depressive, but in a reflective kind of way.

Click on the number eight (8) on the rotary phone to read Elkin’s story, “The Best Thanksgiving”. Greenbean’s story is coming at you on Wednesday and then on the big day is the one and only Kathy Kexel.

Don’ click on the number six or your turkey will burn

Fondue Hearts

I’ve said it many times, and I will now reaffirm it: The Hallmark Channel should sign Paul Bennett to a contract right now without delay. Our third Thanksgiving story is a heart touching encounter between a young woman and her grandfather that will remind you of all the good things in life. This story almost has a “The Waltons: Next Generation” feel to it.

Click on the fattest of the cedar shavings to read “What Remains Unseen” from Paul Bennett — resident nostalgia expert of the Fondue Writer’s Club.

Bitter Flavored Fondue

Be warned: When Rob Cely goes for the jugular he does so with turkey and gravy dripping from both hands.

Today’s Fondue Writer’s Club Thanksgiving story is about a woman named Sheila, and Sheila, well, Sheila wants you to come to Thanksgiving dinner at her house and see and experience the perfect holiday. If you need pointers on how to behave or act, she can do that for you too.

Click on the word ‘lost’ on the Scrabble board to read ‘The Feast of None’ by Rob Cely.