by submission | Apr 12, 2022 | Story |
Author: James Eustace
The lights had been flickering in the study for quite some time, but it wasn’t until the room itself seemed to switch off that Greg was concerned enough to call the power company. “Don’t worry,” the lady on the phone reassured him, “we’ll send someone round.”
Within a few minutes there was a knock at the door and Greg opened it to see a helmeted man dressed in high-vis gear. “We’ve had reports of reality problems here,” the man said, flashing his ID.
Greg was confused. “Reality problems?”
“Oh yes, sir,” the man replied, walking past him into the house, “it happens from time to time. Which room is the issue?”
“Where did you say you were from again?” Greg asked, following him down the hall, “The power company?”
“Never mind,” the man said, ignoring his questions and instead brandishing a small handheld device that was all bleeps and whirrs, “my machine’s picking it up anyway.” He marched on through the house into the study, which had by this point reappeared.
When he got there he sucked his teeth as he studied the device’s monitor. “You’ve got a big problem here,” he said.
“I do?” Greg asked, worried.
“Definitely,” the man confirmed, “you’re being removed from our plane of existence.”
Greg looked at him blankly, as the room vanished again. “I’m what?”
“You can’t think it’s normal for your study to keep disappearing, right?” The man added, as the hallway room joined it, wherever it was.
“I don’t, but I thought it was just a power cut,” Greg protested feebly, “the person at the power company…”
“Your house is made of electricity is it?” the man asked.
“No,” Greg replied, feeling stupid.
“Listen,” the man said kindly, “I know this will probably come as a bit of a surprise for you, but our universe’s existence relies on a trans-dimensional energy field.”
“A field?” Greg looked at him blankly.
The man sighed. “Some people call it a ‘field’, some call it a ‘being’. Whatever term you want to use it seems as though there’s less energy to go around at the moment. No one really knows why, but not as much energy means not as much universe, so some things are starting to drop out of existence, particularly things that don’t attract energy, or don’t keep the being’s interest or whatever terminology you want to use. Boring things. Like you.”
“Like me?”
“Like you,” he repeated.
All this talk of inter-dimensional beings had got Greg thinking. “You’re not really with the power company, are you?” he asked.
The man shook his head.
“How…” Greg trailed off.
“How can you fix things?” the man asked.
Greg nodded.
“Well, it would help if you could do something interesting or exciting. Make yourself stand out.”
This time the whole house flashed in and out of existence.
“And quickly,” he added, a trace of urgency in his voice, “you don’t have much time.”
“Do something exciting?” Greg thought for a moment, “I guess I could…” His voice trailed off again. And, this time, so did he, along with his home and all his possessions.
The man found himself standing in an empty lot. He sighed and walked back to his truck.
“No joy?” the woman in the driver’s seat asked as he climbed into the cab.
“Nope.”
“Imagine being literally too boring to exist,” she said, as they pulled away.
“Where to next?” he asked.
“An accountant in Lubbock.”
by submission | Apr 10, 2022 | Story |
Author: DJ
The house smelled of rotten eggs. Footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs. Jeremy took a sip of coffee. The lines on his face suggested that he had had his share of stress in his life. His brother Leon, was cradling his coffee mug. “It’s so cold in this house,” Leon said. “By the way, who else is here?” Jeremy smiled.
“Nobody,” replied Jeremy. “I live alone.” Leon’s eyebrow lifted.
“Where are those footsteps coming from?”
“I told you this place is haunted,” Jeremy replied.
“Prove it,” Leon said.
“Go upstairs. Enter the third room on the left, sit on the bed, with the door closed and wait,” Jeremy instructed. “You won’t want to stay in that room for five minutes.” Leon rolled his eyes and climbed the stairs. He found the third bedroom on the left and entered. A dresser was to Leon’s immediate left. A piggy bank sat in an open dresser drawer. Leon closed the door behind him. This part of the house was warm and smelled of lilacs. Then he sat on the bed and waited for something to happen.
The closet had a sliding door. As it slid open he felt a weight that bore down on his legs. Then it forced him down on the bed and pinned his hands and legs. He struggled to even raise his head, as a temporary paralysis took over. His breathing grew shallow. Suddenly something screamed directly in his ear, “Get out or die!” When he could move, Leon leaped out of bed and ran to the door, which flung itself open. As soon as he was out of the bedroom, the door slammed shut behind him. He ran downstairs; he practically flew outside. Then he got in his car and tore out of the driveway.
A skinless man appeared in the doorway and walked across the kitchen, leaving a bloody trail along the floor. He sat down at the kitchen table and took a sip of Leon’s coffee.
“You don’t scare me, Charlie,” said Jeremy calmly. “You never do.”
by submission | Apr 9, 2022 | Story |
Author: Connor Milligan
Reece Elliot rushed into his manager’s office, Tim Woods with the last printout that the pre-Dic machine will print. The print said “The situation in the future is unprintable. The exit door has now closed.” Reece handed over the sheet to Tim. Reece explained to him what it said. They both had a look of confusion, but disbelief also. They both knew the trouble this will cause, and how much will have to go into finding out why.
Reece and Tim now stood in front of the big, green machine. With its enormous size, the Pre – Dic machine had huge circler buttons, and cogs that were always working. But now nothing was working. There was no sound emitting from it anymore. Reece turned and looked at Tim, ‘What will we do now?’ looking down at the piece of paper, Tim said ‘We have to get Roy here now’
Roy Logan had been in a re-education camp for 5 years. He was sent there because his government saw him as a social threat. Spreading secrets, and information on new technologies such as the Pre- Dic machine.
He now sits on his bed in his cell. The blue walls have lost their sense to him. His room felt smaller by the day. Roy thought he will never get out of this hell of a place. Roy was holding a book Called In Side Gods Mind. Suddenly a guard came to his door and ordered him to stand. The guard lets Roy know that he is being released on a day release for a certain project.
Outside, the prison Roy takes in a deep breath of fresh air. Taking in the moment, he still did not know what he had to do. Were there guards playing a game with him? A second later, a brown car was waiting. The horn beeped. Roy did not care because he liked the sound. After all, it felt known to him. Walking up with curious steps, he approached the drivers’ window. With a sure glance, he could not believe his eyes. ‘No! Whatever it is, I am not doing it.’ said Roy. Tim rolled down the window, and said ‘ We need you on this.’ Roy starts to walk back to the prison not bothering to listen to Tim. Roy starts to bang on the prison door, yelling for them to let them back in. Tim then shouts, ‘It’s the Pre Dic Machine’. On hearing this, Roy turns around.
In the car, Roy asks for a cigarette. Tim hands him over one. ‘You never truly understood me, did you?’ Roy asks Tim. ‘People say you are a man before his time.’ Replied Tim. Rolling down his window to blow out the smoke, Roy says, ‘Just like the Pre – Dic Machine’
Tim shows Roy into the room where the Pre – Dic Machine is. One look at this machine, Roy has many questions but takes a moment to be in ore of the machine. He turns to Tim who is now standing with Reece in the room. He asks what was the last note it had printed. Reece hands over the note to Roy.’How do we not know that the message has not been intercepted and changed by someone else?’ asks Roy. ‘We have been using this Machine for nearly seven years now. Everything it has printed has been right, or close to.’ Roy re-reads the message again.’ When you say “We” does that mean the government?’ Both Time and Reece look at each other. ‘I will take this as a yes then, If this machine can print out from here, but the messages are from the future, we don’t know who is sending them. It could be the Russians, Chinese, or even some other life form.’ Tim has a perplexed look on his face. He did not take into account that the messages could be from an enemy, trying to trick them. ‘So what do we do now?’ said Tim. ‘You have to hope that it starts to print more and whoever is sending them is on your side.’ replied Roy. ‘We will have to wait for now.’ Roy turns and starts to head for the exit door. ‘Wait! where are you going?’ says Reece.
From the closing exit door, Roy says’ To the future’ he leaves them with a wave.
by submission | Apr 8, 2022 | Story |
Author: Majoki
The speed at which Michiko’s roboto folded the origami crane was breathtaking. She would have her thousand orizuru in mere minutes and then her prayer must be answered. She knelt on the tatami resting her weary arms delicately on the edge of the kotatsu as the low table began to fill with the multi-colored cranes. With pride and relief, Michiko watched her roboto’s sleek beryllium digits deftly fold, crease and fan each paper square into an ancient symbol of hope—her only hope.
She’d already died once and was near death again. The cancer that gnawed at her bones would not be put off again. Men and medicine had saved her before, but it turned out to be only a two-year respite. Her fellow beings had tried and now could offer no salvation, so she turned to her own deus ex machina. Machinations of the divine.
Roboto.
An orphan and solitary being for thirty-six years, Michiko had almost refused the medidroid prescribed for her cancer care. At first, the droid’s presence in her flat, her refuge, had unnerved her. But she had no one and she could not care for herself.
Roboto did. It shopped, cooked, cleaned, obeying her silently after she had disabled its vocal features. Day after day in silent communion, roboto helped medicate, feed, bathe and dress her. Michiko had been grudging, then hesitant, then surprisingly curious, and one morning after a night of tortured dreams and anguish, she’d awakened with a strange sense of comfort, of peace, her wizened fingers clasping roboto’s cool digits.
Michiko began to use the honorific robot-sama when addressing her companion. When her condition allowed, she would walk among the cherry trees in Nishi Koen with roboto at her side. She began to play the shamisen again. She had always spoken sparingly and that did not change, but she spoke gently to roboto when asking for help. She simply lived. At one point with her strength regaining, she dared to dream of freedom, and yet the heaviness returned, deep in her marrow. She knew. Men and medicine soon knew.
She wondered if roboto knew.
Weaker every day, Michiko mourned for herself. It was a new feeling. Though a solitary being, she was not the self-pitying sort. Yet, as she watched roboto care for her, she realized that she would miss the steadfastness, the complete presence, of her companion.
And so she began to pray. Why not call upon a greatness of spirit, something beyond her kind? A thousand cranes, the most perfect prayer. But she could not manage the delicate work. Roboto. It took the rest of her waning strength to teach the technique, but roboto soon mastered it.
Now, minutes from completion, she knelt revelling in the necessity of being.
Roboto finished folding the thousandth crane and began to link them into one long chain. Michiko, now supine on the tatami, reached out, one hand close enough to touch roboto, but not touching. Through a gathering dizziness, she whispered aloud her last thought, “What would you say to me, roboto-sama? What would you say?”
Roboto, as ever, gave immediate presence to her voice, though unfamiliar with the mortally soft inflection of the query. The anticipation of a thousand cranes ready to soar stilled the room.
“I am Michiko,” roboto answered, releasing the delicate creatures of its creation and reaching, naturally, for the shamisen.
by submission | Apr 7, 2022 | Story |
Author: Andrew A Dunn
1. Check your ticket.
The starfish-shaped station is large. Yes, there are maps to help navigate faux marble floors and moving sidewalks to find your departure gate. Once you find it, check signs from time to time to make sure your gate hasn’t changed. Tickets tend to be non-refundable. If you miss your trip what else is there for you to do for two months almost off the grid – spend them at Aunt Harriet’s in Willoughby Cove?
2. The store on the right sells…
After checking your ticket for the umpteenth time, think about the standard issue garments the travel company sent. Outer clothing – survival suits, coveralls, diving attire – only comes from the travel company. Undersuits are different. Those gray one piece outfits that stretched on tight from neck to ankles felt thin and scratchy when you tried them on, right? You’re in luck!
The store on the right in the station’s main hall sells designer undersuits.
See what they’ve got in your size. You’ll find they offer a variety of colors and patterns. Designer undersuits are more than comfy, they’re warmer than standard issue too. While you’re at it pick up snacks, a book, or kitschy souvenirs to send relatives.
3. Look at the sky.
At around 200 meters underwater, sunlight will cease to be part of your world. Skylights in the station offer nice views of a sky you won’t see for sixty days, but there’s an even better place to make a memory.
Outside the store and around a corner, you’ll find nondescript stairs that lead to a plexiglass-domed lounge. Plush couches and a nautically-themed bar offer an excellent spot to savor an uninterrupted view of the sky before boarding call.
4. Try not to back out.
Second thoughts are common. Two months on the ocean floor sounded like the change you needed after the break up or whatever disillusionment placed you in front of a laptop in the wee hours pricing exotic travel packages. What seemed like a great idea then might not anymore.
The prospect of wearing coveralls over undersuits every day, in chilled corridors bathed in soft light, comes to mind. So does your stateroom with its skylight over your bunk – it looks upward into bathyal zone darkness, and creatures whose anatomies have adapted in wondrous if sometimes monstrous ways to survive at that depth in darkness.
You won’t be bored though. Communal gardening will take up a few hours each day. Other hours you’ll…well anyway, maybe there will be interesting people to meet and activities beyond gardening and watching the deep sea world through plexiglass to keep your mind off the creaking and popping.
Outposts creak and pop because, like videos say, aquatic pressure causes the outer hull to buckle like a soda can. But don’t worry – outposts are safe!
It’s best to forget second thoughts and board the submersible. The alternative? Aunt Harriet’s.
Back out and Aunt Harriet will scrutinize what you wear and insist you help her ready her garden for spring. That means hours spent outside her cold cottage – she refuses to use her furnace unless its below freezing. But there is also a chance the neighbor kid will come home to Willoughby Cove to visit while you’re there. That means a shot at conversation and maybe more to keep your mind off whatever led you to spend two months almost off the grid.
Board the submersible, or catch a bus to Willoughby Cove?
5. Choose wisely.
