Great Hites # 53

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Congratulations to Norval Joe who won this week's voting.

Ashley Redden
Norval Joe
Mick Bordet
And Jeff Hite



Troll
By: Ashley Redden
1. Interview

Sheriff Davis recognized them right off, FBI agents. The dark off-the-rack suits, sunglasses and everyday all American hero type looks nailed them to a tee. But, hell, anyone could have guessed who these two were. They looked as if someone had dropped two young men into a couple of FBI molds and out stepped two iconic special agents, it was almost comical.
He watched as they stopped the first deputy they met, that would be Strauss, a good man if a bit slow on the uptake sometimes. The sheriff watched as both agents flashed their IDs, and asked a question of the deputy. He saw both agents dark glasses follow Strauss’ outstretched finger as it pointed unerringly at Sheriff Davis.
Sheriff Davis sighed and slightly shook his head as he watched both agents stride purposefully across the room leaving Deputy Strauss with his mouth open, finger still at point. He very seriously doubted that any good whatsoever would come of these two getting involved, but his people had hit a dead end. At this point in the investigation, he really had no choice.
The two agents stopped directly in front of the sheriff and went to pull out their brass. Sheriff Davis waved an age spotted hand and said, “Don’t bother.”
Both agents stopped, frozen with their respective right hands half inside their suit top, like something off a bad TV drama. The sheriff’s lip twitched but he held himself in check. Laughing, whether meaning well or not, would certainly not be appreciated by these two. Not that he cared much what they thought, but a little innocent giggle here might cause him problems he didn’t need later. He squinted his eyes instead and wondered where the hell the agent’s task force was. Two more guys weren’t going to help much in finding those lost scientists. Out loud he said, “I’m sheriff Hank Davis, but I guess my deputy already told you that much, you here for the missing scientists?” Both agents nodded and Davis continued saying simply, “How can I help you?”
The agents removed their hands and the lead agent said,” We’re from the FBI. I’m special agent Briggs and this is special agent Stratton.”
This time the sheriff did laugh, but Briggs and Stratton didn’t miss a beat.
“We need to have a word with the survivor of the attack. We would also appreciate access the crime scene as well. Please make available any evidence that you might have acquired during the investigation so far. Also, we expect any evidence gathered from now on, no matter how small, to be made available to our organization at the quickest convenience.”
The sheriff noticed that they didn’t say that any evidence they obtained would be made available to his people, but hell, these guys were the pros. Davis said, “You two mind if I have a look at those ID badges?” He waited a beat and added, “because of the names and all.”
Both agents withdrew their IDs and held them out for inspection. As the sheriff peered at one, then the other, Stratton said, “due to the sensitive nature of our work and the personnel with which we sometimes meet, the given names of our branch operatives are confidential.”
“Well, we did call you guys, but I was expecting a little better turn out. No offense, but just two agents to help find these guys seems a bit thin to me,” answered Davis leaning back after inspecting the proffered identification. Sure enough they read special agent Briggs and special agent Stratton. Sheriff Davis shook his head and wondered to himself, you’d think they could think up something better than a lawnmower engine for names. Out loud he said, “Branch of the FBI? What branch would that be?”
“Classified,” said the agent called Briggs wearing a thin smile. “We’re here to aid in the investigation not run a search party. If and when more help to look for the PhD’s is needed, we’ll call them in on our discretion.”
“Okay,” said Davis and sighed anew. He continued, “We called Jake back this morning; he’s over in the waiting room on the right.” All three law enforcement officers began walking to a closed nondescript wooden door.
When they stopped at the door, agent Briggs said, “We would like to speak with the witness, Mr. Martin or rather Jake you say, if that would be acceptable?”
“Sure,” answered the sheriff. “But let me introduce you so he knows what’s going on. Jake’s been through a lot these past couple of days.” The sheriff turned to the agents and said, “I would appreciate it if you guys weren’t too hard on him, Jake’s a mess. He hasn’t been the same since the accident. I think his mind keeps going back to that pit in the tunnel, but I’ll be surprised if he ever sets foot down there again.”
The sheriff looked from one to the other, “do you two need to be briefed or have you read the report?”
“We’re up to speed,” said Stratton. “One question though.”
“Shoot.”
Stratton glanced at his partner then looked hard at the sheriff. He said, “do you believe the story that’s in the report? Suffice it to say that the details border on the fantastic.”
When the sheriff didn’t answer immediately but stood looking uncomfortably between the two agents, Briggs prompted, “off the record.”
Sheriff Davis nodded slowly and added, “yeah, I’m not saying that I buy everything or that I understand any of it, but I’m sure that Jake believes what he’s saying without a doubt.” The two agents exchanged a furtive glance, the demeanors of both remaining poker faced and unreadable behind the matching sunglasses.
“Okay,” said the sheriff opening the door and standing aside for the two agents to enter. After both had crossed the doorway, Davis followed and shut the door behind him.
The room was small, stodgy, and not overly lit, decorated simply with a solitary long table running almost the entire length of the room. The sheriff opened a hand indicating for the agents to have a seat across from Jake.
On the other side sat Jake, a small disheveled man that looked as though he hadn’t slept in a week. An overfilled ashtray sat in front of the man, stuffed with ashes and butts. Davis wondered if another cigarette would even fit.
Jake sat with his head down, both hands on the table, one over the other. He looked up and acknowledged their presence with a hesitant nod. Jake had been rubbing the back of his right hand with the index finger from his left when they entered. He did not stop. Looking at the nervous fidget and the overall demeanor of the man gave Sheriff Davis a sick feeling in his stomach for the poor guy. He really did look like warmed over crap.
Sheriff Davis introduced the agents and explained their agenda. Jake again answered with a silent nod. Agent’s Briggs and Stratton took turns drilling Jake with a battery of questions while Davis sat by silently, worrying about his friend. The agents tried again and again to lead Jake and get him talking about the incident. The most they were able to get out of him was essentially affirmation to the questioning, which strictly followed the report.
Finally, both agents seemed to have had enough. It had become pretty obvious to even Sheriff Davis from Podunk America that they were getting nowhere fast. Davis cleared his throat. Both agents looked his way. One of them, Briggs he thought, nodded to go ahead.
Davis said, “Jake?” After waiting for Jake to look up, he continued, “can I ask you just one question more?”
Jake nodded hesitantly still rubbing his hand. He had not stopped since the three had entered the room. “Jake, just what was this thing that you said you saw down in the pit?”
“Well, um, see,” said Jake actively rolling his hands now looking directly at the Sheriff. “I think, well, you see, I really think that maybe it was a troll.” The last of the sentence he finished with a wilt, barely mumbling.
“I’m sorry Jake, but what was that last part?” asked Sheriff Davis.
Jake looked the sheriff directly in the eyes, took a deep breath and said, “I think maybe it was a troll.”
Davis sat back and blew slightly ruffling the hair cropped just above his eyes. Jake said gaining force as he spoke, “yeah, if it wasn’t a troll, it had to be something else I’ve never seen before except maybe in some crazy movie or something.”
“You sure Jake, I mean…a troll?”
“Yeah, a troll, I mean dammit sheriff I got a really, really good look at that thing, whatever it was. We heard this swooshing sound, like somebody opened a big trash bag, you know, with air. Then I saw something moving underneath the ledge on the other side of that hole from where those two science guys were trying to climb out. First a clawed arm came out from under the ledge and got a hold of the rock. Then, this long neck poked out, just like that.” Jake shot his arm out rigid, hand in a closed fist. “The end turns up see,” and he rotated his fist up towards the ceiling without moving his arm. “Then this face just pops out of the end, with two big wet eyes looking right at me. Two more arms came out and one flipped something up towards me, caught my leg. I looked down and saw some kind of claw or hook. It was stuck through my pants. That’s when the thing gave a yank and snatched me off my feet. I would’ve gone on over, quick as a wink, but my other leg got caught on some of the crap sticking up from when the hole collapsed trapping those science guys.”
Jake swallowed hard, looking now from the agents to Davis and back again as he continued, “that thing gave another couple of snatches and nearly pulled my leg outta the socket, hurt like hell. Finally the claw tore through my pants and the thing began hissing and pulling the claw back to it, I guess it was on a line or something.”
Jake stopped and tried to light another cigarette. He managed to get the cig in his hand and after some difficulty to light a match, but had begun shaking so bad that he couldn’t make the business end of the two meet. Finally, he put both the unlighted cigarette and spent match back down on the table. Davis noticed that there were several more blackened matches in a pile behind the ashtray in front of Jake. Boy, Jake sure was a mess.
One of the agents asked, “What happened then?”
Jake looked up, in his eyes beyond the fatigue was sadness and shock. He said, “I ran for my damned life that’s what. The whole way out of the main dig tunnel I could hear those science guys just screaming and screaming. I’m not sure when they stopped. When I got outside, I realized that I was screaming too. Had maybe screamed the whole time I was running, maybe, I don’t know. I was almost drug down in that damn hole with the science guys.” He paused and added with a shudder, “and that thing.”
No one spoke. After several moments of awkward silence, Jake stood and said aloud, “One things for damn sure. There is no power on Earth that could drag me back into one of those tunnels. No way, “he shook his head hard. Looking at the sheriff he asked, “Can I go now?”
The sheriff nodded and rose opening the door. Jake made his way around the table and out the door. As he walked out, he paused, turned partially back and said, “You three had best not go back down into those dig tunnels. They should be sealed tight, keep whatever’s down there from getting out.”
One of the agents responded, “Sir, we can’t do that. We have to find the two missing PhD’s.”
“Well, you three just be careful. I suspect that if and when you do find those two guys, you’re not going to like what you find very much.” And with that Jake was gone.
The two agents rose, gathered their paperwork and left with a nod to the sheriff. Davis lingered by the door, gathered his hat with a sigh and said to no one in particular, “no, I suspect they won’t.” The sheriff left the way he had entered, hit the light switch and pulled the nondescript wooden door closed behind him leaving the stark waiting room dark and foreboding. Just like a cave.


The Traveler
By: Norval Joe

　
The walls of his cubicle were a tribute to his travels. Post cards of Big Ben, The Pyramids, Taj Mahal, and Mt. Fuji shared space with hotel stationary in French, German, Malaysian, and Chinese. Exotic memories on the plain grey back ground of a mundane life.
"Jerry", he heard from over the partition, "Are you there?" That was Mark on the other side. "Yeah, man. I'm here, just deep in thought."
What a joke, he mused 'No thought involved in this mindless job, deep or otherwise.
"The weather was cooperating and they would be ready for their final ascent the next day. The sherpa had spread all their gear on a nylon sheet, outside the tent. They inspected each piece for damage or excessive wear. They checked the gates of the carabiners, that they opened and closed freely, and looked for frayed areas of their harnesses. They flaked the climbing rope out onto the tarp, and then inspected every inch, running it between their fingers while examining it with their eyes. They felt the continuous core of nylon fibers through the woven mantle that sheathed them. Like blind men reading brail, they felt for inconsistencies in the dynamic, semi-elastic fibers that might cause the rope to fail, in the event of a hard fall.
"Jerry," Mark said again, "I don't think I can take this job anymore. Day after day, the same thing. How do you stand it?" There was no reply from Jerry's side of the temporary wall. "Jerry, are you over there?"
"Yeah Mark, What do you need?" Jerry asked as he resurfaced.
"I was just wondering how you do it. You've been here longer than anyone else, how can you stand it, day after day?"
"I don't know, Mark. I just try to stay focused."
Focus. He should be relaxing his mind and getting some rest, not focussing on the climb tomorrow. The route was well known and the Sherpa well trained, there would be no worries. What he needed was his strength, and for that, he needed sleep. They would be starting their ascent at 2 am to be able to summit by mid-day. He rolled over in his sleeping bag and squeezed his eyes shut; he could never sleep when it was light outside.
They had returned to Camp 4 the day before and spent the day resting, to improve their chances of summiting. They had set up the camp previously on one of their preparatory climbs. He didn't feel well rested; just moving around at this elevation was fatiguing.
Camp 4 was just above 26,000 feet at the edge of Everest 'Death Zone'; from here to the top the temperature could drop so low as to cause frost bite to any body part exposed to the air. The snow above would be so well frozen in some places that death could be caused by simply slipping from the trail. And worse, the oxygen level is so low that climbing, even breathing becomes extremely difficult and the mind dull; and thus, reactions fatally slow.
　
Hours still before dawn, they roped up as they prepared to leave the campsite for their final approach. He pulled the gators over his boots and up to his knees, to keep snow out of his pants and boots, and stepped into his bindings. He stamped each foot into the snow several times at different angles, ensuring that they had properly attached to his boots, and would remain in place, under any circumstance. He clipped onto the rope and spun the lock on the carabiner, binding his harness to the life line. He checked to make sure that he had his glacier glasses in the most accessible pocket of his goretex jacket; he would need them when the sun came up. He adjusted his halogen head lamp and swung its beam back and forth across the snow in front of him. Each climber inspected one another's harness before picking up their ices axes and headed toward the summit.
"Jerry, I'm quitting, just as soon as I can find something to pay my rent. I don't care if its less than what I'm making now. Heck, I don't care if it's flipping burgers. I just need a change; some time away from this grind. I need some time to be creative again; maybe write that novel I've been thinking about. Time to extend myself; to climb to my potential. The potential that has been stifled by this job.
He watched the Sherpa climbing the trail in front of him, the rope between them pulling taught as he slowed and stumbled. The native climber stopped and turned to look back at his charge. Swaying slightly, he leaned on his ice axe, resting against the against the glacier where it rose to his right. On his left, only eighteen inches from his foot, the mountain dropped away, one thousand feet to a junkyard of broken rock and ice. There were the bodies of climbers down there as well. One was added just last week, as a climber lost his focus, lost his step, and lost his life. They say that for every four climber that makes the top of Everest, one dies coming back down.
'The Traveler'
　
He could see the summit. The glacier distorted his perspective and though it looked close, he knew that he still had another 1000 feet to climb.
"Jerry? Have you really gone all those places you have the post cards from. I mean, that would be tons of traveling. China, Japan, and Malaysia? A trip like that would take weeks. Jerry? Are you there?" "Yeah, Mark, now what?" All those places you've been, when do you go? In my five years here, you have never taken any vacation." There was a long silence, " Jerry? Are you ok?" "Yeah, Mark, I'm just feeling a little dizzy."
He concentrated on the sound of his crampons as the sharp spikes bit into the ice. Each crunch told him he had taken another step forward. Each step was more difficult, the time between each step increasing. He began to verbally command his body, to keep himself moving forward, "Lift the leg. Thrust the foot forward. Plant the foot. Now the next leg."
He was weary. The next leg wouldn't move, though he strained to drag it forward. He opened his eyes and found that he was leaning on his ice axe, that he hadn't moved again for some time. The Sherpa was standing in front of him. "Mr. Caldwell," he was pleading. "You must go back, you won't make it now. If you don't turn back, you will die!"
'How pathetic,' he thought, 'the man wants to cheat me out of my payment.' "I can make it," he argued with the Sherpa, "With or without you."
He fumbled at the lock on the carabeener, eventually opening it. He unhooked his harness from the rope and pushed past the Sherpa, his indignation giving him renewed strength. He heard the Nepalese man shouting warnings but, then, eventually following behind him.
"I'm calling it a day, Jerry. Hope you have a good night. I'll probably call in sick tomorrow; give me a chance to check out some job leads that I have been looking up over the last couple hours. Come on, Jerry, walk down with me."
Mark walked around the partition. The partition crowded with postcards collected from garage sales and torn from travel magazines. Hotel stationary written in exotic languages, not by Jerry, but, to Jerry in reply to his requests for hotel information.
Jerry stared blankly at his computer terminal. His bloodshot eyes, and a small trickle of blood coming from one nostril, was the only color on his otherwise, pale and lifeless face.

Don't Mind Me
By: Mick Bordet

I blame it on the theremin. I started playing it about a year ago, after finally getting fed up asking myself "what is that weird sound?" in the Beach Boys' song 'Good Vibrations'. It didn't matter that the sound they used wasn't actually produced by a theremin, because, by the time I had found that out, I was already hooked. This strange, otherworldly sound, played without even touching the instrument, but by careful manipulation of the body's own capacitance, had mesmerised me. Once I had one in my grasp, I practiced at every opportunity until the swoops and wails of the beginner were replaced by recognisable tunes. About three months ago I was told that I had picked up "thereminist's stare"; that distant, slightly glazed espression that comes with trying to keep one's body as still as possible to avoid affecting the tuning, whilst concentrating on finding the correct pitch and playing with true feeling.

A short time after that I was on the regular bus to work and it broke down at the side of the motorway. The passengers, myself included, were transferring onto another bus that ran the same route half an hour later, but as we walked from one to the other past the open engine compartment, something caught my attention. I bent down, stuck my hand into the hatch and twisted a pipe which led into the main engine block.

"Try that now," I said to the driver, "your fuel pipe was twisted and blocked. That should be it sorted."

He gave me a rather sceptical look, but returned to the driver's seat and tried the ignition. It started straight away. He nodded and gave me the thumbs-up sign, surprised and impressed. Not as surprised as me, though. My knowledge of motor maintenance extends as far as filling my car up with petrol and topping up the windscreen washers once in a while. How did I know to fiddle with that particular pipe? Why was it such an instinctive reaction? It puzzled me at the time, but I forgot about it until one night, some weeks later, when my wife and I sat down to watch a film.

By the time we had reached an hour into the film, I had to switch it off, so annoyed was I with inaccuracy of several of the theories being put forth. I hadn't even heard of Dan Brown until the week before and thought I knew next to nothing of Da Vinci's greatest works, yet here I was, picking apart the film with comments about the Priory of Sion and the Knights Templar as though I was an expert in grail-lore. That happened the day after a long session of theremin practice and it was only the beginning. My memory is starting to fill with some of the greatest works of literature, I know the princples of aeronautics and thermodynamics, I can recite many of Shakespeare's sonnets and have found myself watching French films without reading the subtitles.

It seems my mind has rebelled against my sedantary twenty-first century lifestyle and has taken to going to the library without me. Why that should have happened is beyond me; I can only guess that it thinks I'm holding it back. Perhaps some day my mind will read up on psychological phenomena and I will be able to explain it all, but until then I'm enjoying kicking back and letting the knowledge flow in like the tide.

I must go now; the big match is on in half an hour and I need to dig out the beers. By the time the final whistle blows I should be familiar with everything Dostoyevsky
wrote.

Rob and The Apple
By Jeff Hite

Rob opened his eyes to the new smell, and realized that he didn't know where he was. There was a great meadow in front of him, that he knew he had never seen before. And he was standing waste deep in wild flowers. Scattered around the meadow were a number of fruit trees, all covered it ripe fruit. He was hungry, so he walked slowly through the grass toward the nearest of them. It was an apple and they were all beautiful looking. But as he reached up to pick one, he hesitated. There was another person in history that picked the wrong apple, and paid the price for it. So, he decided not to. He walked slowly to the next tree. This was a peach, it was also laden with fruit, but he noticed something else odd about it. Not only was it covered in ripe fruit, but it also was covered in blossoms.
"What a great idea," he thought out loud. "I wonder how many times a year it will produce fruit."
"Nearly continuously." Said a voice from behind the tree.
"What?"
"I said it produces fruit nearly continusly." a small boy stepped from behind the tree then with a big grin on his face. "That is how we keep Zuse happy."
"I see." He stood in amazement waiting for the other shoe to drop. "This has to be a dream."
"Oh this is no dream, this is real. We have to tend the this orchard to all year round."
"It doesn't look that much like an orchard, more like a meadow with a few trees."
"Well since they produce year round they need extra nutrients, so they are spread pretty far apart."
"Well that makes sense, as much sense as the rest of this I guess. Where are we."
"Foolish man, I told you we are in the orchard of Zues."
"Alright, but where is that?" The young boy looked at him quizzically, and suddenly looked much older to him.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean where is the the orchard located?"
"You are strange to me. The Orchard is on the western slope, it boarders the mortals realm That is why we ocationaly loose tress as the two realms bump into each other. I have told Zues this before. You are a spy for him aren't you? You are down here to make sure that we are not stealing any of the fruit. Who are you?" His face contored into an angry mask."
"I don't know what you are talking about, I just wanted to know where I was. I don't know anything about Zeus or any other god for that matter."
"I don't believe you. You go and tell your master that we are producing the fruit, and that we have never stolen from the trees."
"I believe you," He said stammering as the little man pulled a wicked looking pruning knife from his belt.
"Be gone, get out of the orcard before I change my mind." Rob truned and ran. He was not sure which way he should run, but he ran.
"Rob!"
"Huh?"
"Rob, did you not hear your phone ringing? I have been trying to call you for the last fifteen minutes." Monica's voice as a pleasant relief even if she was annoyed with him.
"No, I'm sorry I got distracted, my mind wandered. What did you need?"

Great Hite 37

Great Hites 37
	COUNTING THE DAYS By: Anima Zabaleta
	The Prison By: Norval Joe
	Prometheus By: Jeff Hite
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COUNTING THE DAYS
By: Anima Zabaleta

One more day, dear Lord. Let me get thru this just one more day.

The well-worn office chair creaks under me, and the computer starts to whirr to life.
Lights flicker as the various programs install themselves. Everyday is Monday anymore… I try not to ponder on how many days I have sat at this desk in the past 15 years. If only I could take a vacation… but everything seems to depend on me… the silos, my children, the families of the people I employ…

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I moved to Cedar Grove in the 90s, fresh from getting my MBA at night school. All I was looking for was a low stress job in the middle of nowhereville, where the cost of living was cheap, and I could decompress from taking classes for the previous 6 years. I didn’t like living in Chicago, but that was the best place to go to school. The plan was to work for a couple of years, learn agribusiness and make some headway on my student loans. Being the assistant manager of a grain silo/farming mercantile sounded perfect to me.

When I got hired, I had no intention of forming any connections in this podunk village. I threw darts at the local tavern, and was ok with the few guys who would invite me to go fishing and hunting with them. I liked my confirmed bachelor lifestyle, Then Sheila showed up, to work as daddy’s admin assistant for the summer. I fell for her in a big way. She was leggy and had a great tan, something that wasn’t commonly seen in Midwestern farming environs. Sheila brought a fresh breath of cosmopolitan flair with her, talking about the latest books on the NY Times best sellers list, and how much she liked Thai food. I realized I missed a few things about Chicago.

To make a short story long, I married the boss’s daughter, with promises of taking Sheila away on a “real” honeymoon as soon as the wheat harvest was done in October. Old Man McGuillicutty had a heart attack and died that September; and Sheila inherited the family business.

Together, Sheila and I picked up the pieces of her fathers endeavors, and managed to grow it some. Farming, though, is never a sure concern, and neither are the businesses that support farmers. Sheila stayed with me for 9 years, but she had escaped the small town doldrums once, and had had no intentions of returning to stay. We never did take that honeymoon, which she always brought up when we argued. Once her mother passed, there was no one left she felt she had to impress. I have never understood how she could walk out on the children and me. It was all part of the small town persona she found so odious, she said.

So, here I sit, waiting for the computer to finish its routine. I no longer read the Chicago Daily Herald, finding news of the bigger world to be too depressing. I turn off the television when the advertisements to visit Mexico come on. Sometimes I can’t even bring myself to make French toast on Sundays, because it conjures up images of foreign places I promised to Sheila… Maybe, some day… Who am I fooling? Today is Monday and I need to concentrate on corn futures and the soybean market. There are people who are relying on me.


************

The Prison
By: Norval Joe

The walls of the prison cell were exactly as you would expect them; slime and black moss grew in the water percolating through the walls and oozing down to pool on the floor. The air in the cell was humid and smelled of rot, but it wasn't cold. Not this deep in the cellars of the prison, with in the very foundation of the mountain, upon which the tyrants castle was built.
The prisoner sat naked on the floor of the cell. His clothes had rotted away years ago. His grey hair matted with filth reached nearly to the floor where he sat leaning against the locked wooden door.
He waited for the sound of approaching boots on the stone floor, outside the door. When had he last heard them, and the sound of the metal plate as it was shoved through the gap under the door?
He couldn't know, in the perpetual dark, during this one eternal night. But he had eaten, he thought, he must have, because he was still alive, having lived long enough for his clothes to rot away and his hair and beard to grow almost to his waist.
He tested the shackle around his ankle. The iron cuff bit into and wanted to tear the thin skin as he pulled on it to test the strength of the chain. The chain, long enough to allow him to reach the door, but not go through. Go through? But it wouldn't open. The metal plate would just scape the floor as it was pushed under the door.
The door was locked, or at least he assumed that it was. He knew it was, didn't he? He must have tried the door in the countless years that he had spent in the cell, with his clothes rotting off and his hair growing down his back.
He stood on weak and trembling legs, his knees threatening to buckle under his meager weight. He leaned against the door, supporting himself as search for a knob or handle. But the door, at the prisoners touch, creaked on rusted hinges as it opened into the dimly lit passage.
Unbelieving, he stepped forward and the chain fell away from his ankle. He ventured tentatively, into the passage, outside the cell. The hallway stretched off into darkness on both sides, the torch near the open door casting only a small pool of light on the floor where he bent trying to catch his breath, panting in anticipation. He stretched his arms and legs to loosen joints stiff from inactivity and felt a sharp pinch at the bend of his arm, like the bite of a spider. His head started to spin and his sight, even in the darkness, filled with a brilliant blinding white. He fell to the floor and rolled onto his back, breathing hard, trying to ease the sudden nausea.
He lay still for a moment, then slowly opened his eyes. His head was resting on something soft. He turned his head to the side luxuriating in the suppleness of the linen and the fragrance of its' cleanness. Beside him sat a woman. She looked familiar, but she was much older than a woman he had known. How long ago had he known her? She looked so kind, with lines of concern at the corners of her eyes and across her brow.
She saw him looking at her and she smiled. She reached out to run her hand through his long greying hair. "Dale, honey, you're awake," she quietly exclaimed! "They didn't think it would happen so quickly." She stood and kissed his forehead. Turning to the phone, she said, "I have to call the kids, there are grandchildren now, too. They will want to say hello. It has been so long." She paused with the phone held halfway to her ear, "The doctors don't know how long the drug will last, they have never tried it on humans before."
She was punching numbers on the phone as the blackness crept in from the edges of his vision, to steal his wife away and plunge him back into the cell, under the castle in the foundation of the mountain, with the slime and moss growing on the walls where the water percolated through and oozed down to pool on the floor.


*********

Prometheus
By Jeff Hite

It had been so long since she called him, that she wondered if he had actually heard her over the howling wind. She thought about calling again, but he had looked up at her when she had said his name the first time. Meridith had been around the old gods long enough to know that they would speak when they were good and ready. Calling him again would just annoy him, and possibly make him take longer to answer. But, she did wish he would hurry up , because the wind here on the cliff edge was freezing.
"What is it that you want girl?" He said finally
"Prometheus."
"Go away."
"Wait, Prometheus."
"Go away, if I don't rest my liver will not grow back. If my liver does not grow back."
Prometheus, I need to know how you did it," she interrupted him.
"If it does not grow back, the eagle will scratch, and bite at me."
"I need your help, I need to know how you got away from Olympus."
"It cannot kill me, but it can torture me, and make me bleed from a thousand places. When it returns the next day it will be hungrier than normal, and even my fully formed liver will not sate it's hunger, and again it will attack me and torture me." He paused for the first time and shuttered. "Do you know how long it will take me to heal from those injuries?" She didn't answer. This was not what she had come to talk to him about. Maybe if she didn't answer him, she could guide him down the path she came for.
"Prometheus," she said when he did not continue to talk. "I need to know how you got away from Olympus."
"What do you mean girl. I have been here forever."
"Not forever Prometheus. A long time, but not forever."
"Stop! I will not hear of the time before."
"You must, you are the only one."
"There was nothing before this."
"Prometheus, you know that is not true," Meredith begged.
"There was nothing before this."
There was a long silence that followed. Meredith, thought about leaving. She thought about giving up, but in her nearly two thousand years of captivity on Olympus, the one thing that she had was time to wait. But the time to wait had ended Everything here was about waiting. Waiting until your power had so diminished that you simply disappeared. Even Hades had been losing his grip. He had been letting the humans recover people that had been dead, by means of so called science. No, she would not give up. This was the only way that she could turn things around. She was Meredith, the final child of mighty Zeus and his lovely wife Hera. The last of the gods born since Olympus had been relegated to a place of the past, by the humans.
Finally Prometheus did move. He tilted his head up so that he could see her. She tried to push her long hair out of her face so that he might see who she was.
"You have more patience than most."
"Yes, a blessing and a curse."
"Why have you come?"
"I need to talk to you. I need to know..."
"Come down here," he said cutting her off.
"What?"
"You heard me, don't waste my time. I have enough pain, come down here so that at least I might see you when I talk to you."
With more than a little hesitation she stood and lowered herself over the cliffs edge. She found well warn foot and hand holds, that led down to where he hung on the side of the cliff.
"That is better. Now I can see you. Who are you?"
"I am Meredeth."
"Meredeth." He rolled the word out and even with his broken voice it sounded nice. "I have not heard of you."
"I am Hercules' younger sister." She hope the memory of the great hero would give her some credence with the long imprisoned god.
"Ah then a Daughter of Zeus. What can I do for you? My powers are limited, and I am kind of shackled to my job here." He laughed a roughly in a way that seemed almost to be a last breath.
"All I seek is information."
"Ah the power of knowledge. If you wanted to know things why not go to an oracle? They can tell the future you know. The only thing I know is the open sky. The sky with the eagle coming toward me, and the sky with the eagle going away from me. Oh, and pain I know a lot about pain."
"I Seek knowledge of things that only you know."
"As I told you I don't know much."
"You know something that no one else knows. You know of the time before."
"There was no time before this." He said grinding his teeth and spitting the words out.
She waited until the fire in his eyes was gone before she continued.
"Once long ago you escaped to the human world and gave them a gift. You are the only one who has ever done this." She rushed it out so the he would not have time to cut her off. But he did not answer. He didn't even look at her. "You gave the humans the gift of fire, ten thousand years ago. Now the humans have turned their backs on us, and we are fading away. Many of the spirits have simply disappeared." Still he did not respond. "Even most of the nymphs had gone silent." He looked at her then, a tear in his eye.
"There was no time before this." He whispered.
"There was, and you remember it."
"No, I don't. I won't." He insisted but his words came weakly.
"Prometheus, please. I beg you. I need to know how you did it. I need to know."
"Why? So that you can spend the rest of your life like me. You want this? Look at me. Look at my wrists. Look at my face. Look at the scars, and the places that will not heal."
For the first time she looked closely at him, and not for the first time wondered what would happen to her if she failed. Where the chains met his wrists, the shackels were not there. Instead, the chains connected right to the bones in his arm, or were those odd bumps in this writs the shackles that had simply been there so long that they had become a part of him. His body was covered in scars that she could only assume were from where the great raptor had attacked him because it was not sated by it's daily meal of his regrowing liver. His Ankels looked much the same as his wrists, but his toes had been torn off. She could only assume by the great bird.
"Is this what you want for the rest of forever?" He whispered softly.
"No." She admitted.
"Then just go," he turned his head away from her.
"But I am willing to face it, to help our people." He turned around in surprise and stared at her. She could not read what was behind those eyes, but there was great pain on his face.
"No." he said finally. "No I will not condem you to my fate."
"But I am willing to."
"No, you are young you do not know what you are saying."
"Prometheus, we are dieing. And I would rather die here on the side of the cliff knowing I had tried then to just fade away knowing I had not." He was silent along time after that. So long that her arms began to burn from the strain of hanging there on the side of the cliff. She would not die if she fell, but there would be pain, and many many years of healing. She had just about decided to climb back up when he spoke again.
"I didn't do it."
"What?"
"I didn't escape to deliever fire to the humans," the tears were streaming down his face now.
"Of course you,"
"No!" he cut her off again. "No, I didn't," he shifted his weight so that she could see the hole in his side where the great bird tore at him every day. "I didn't take fire to them. I could not, just as you cannot now."
"But, then you have hung here for eons for something you didn't do."
"Please," he said sardonically, "I gave them fire. Of course I did. But I didn't leave the mountain, just like you cannot. Like all the gifts from the gods they have to either appear to the humans in such a way that they can see us in the gift, or..." He trialed off again.
"Or?"
"Or they have to be let in to get it."
"Let in? But humans cannot come to mount Olypus any more than we can go to them."
"They did once. I let them in." The releization dawned on her then. Although fire was an incredible gift, the idea of humans being on the moutain was probably more than the gods cound stand.
"You let them in." She repeated.
"Yes, not very far, but I let them in far enough to come to my campsite. I left a fire burning and let them steal from it. It took years for me to coax a human up that far, and at great risk. If Zeus found out that I had made a way in for them. Well in the end he did find out, and you know the rest of the story," he guestured as his prison. His face twisted then, and he cried openly.
She tried to move her body closer to him but he pulled away.
"No!" He screamed. "No, I will not be reminded of what comfort is. It has taken me ten thousand years to forget." She waited until he stopped crying.
"Will you tell me how?" He didn't answer for a long time and then he just let his head fall forward, in a movement that could have simplly been resignation, but she took it as a yes. "How?"
"Come back tomorrow?"
"What?"
"Will you come back tomorrow if I you tell you?"
"If you like."
"I have been so lonely. The Nymph in the tree above stopped coming a thousand years ago. Will you talk to her for me?" That explained the hand and foot holds. "I had almost forgotten about her too, until I heard you tonight."
"Yes, I wil come back." And the pain returned to his face.
"It might be better if you didn't. I might not have a thousand years to forget you too."

Great Hites # 30

Welcome to Great Hites # 30 This is a big deal folks is means we are have been doing this for over half a year. I hope you have enjoyed it.

GreatHites is growing and is now available Via Podcast Pickle and iTunes If you enjoy the stories here take a moment to go out and leave a review on either or both, or leave a comment right here. Make sure you take a moment and vote on your favorite story of the week.

So getting down to business:

This week You will hear A Brand New Promo for Mur Laferty's ISBW, one from Guy David, and A replay of Murder at Avedon Hill By P.G. Holyfield

Speaking of Promo's there there is now one available for GreatHites In the sidebar.

We have four stories this week and I will continue to play them in alphabetical order with the exception of mine which will be at the end.

This weeks prompt was the "temperature started to rise."

So, it back, relax, and keep your thermometer handy.

Great Hites # 30
	THE PARABLE OF THE FROG By: Anima Zabaleta
	Collision Course By: Guy David
	The Temperature Started To Rise By: Robert Jahns
	World's End By: Jeff Hite
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THE PARABLE OF THE FROG
By: Anima Zabaleta
Read By: Alex

“Well, well, well, gentleman, we’ve earned this… 3 days on Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet for some much deserved R and R”, rumbles James. “A swimming pool, 3 suns, and alcohol: What better way to relax. I took the liberty to select the scenario… I hope you don’t mind seeing a little skin. How I love 20th century Miami Beach! Drinks for all my friends!”
The man speaking is clad in a speedo bathing suit, lathering himself in an oily substance. The whole time he has been talking, his head has been swiveling, checking out half the other “guests”, the female ones, anyway. His friends are dressed more conservatively. One is an affable man, wearing period sunglasses, board shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, a swath of zinc oxide cream on his nose. The other is a distinguished gentleman in white linen and a panama hat. His skin has an odd pallor to it.

James T Kirk flags down a beguiling blonde dressed in short shorts and a white tank top, carrying a drink tray.
Yes?

“I’ll have a Cadillac Grande, and get these boys whatever they want. If you keep the drinks flowing, I’ll make it worth your while, heh heh heh”

The AI rolls her eyes, having heard this line from every egotistic space jockey with delusions of grandeur. “Sure, I’ll get right on that,” she says, with a hint of sarcasm, “…and for you gentlemen?”

“A beer would be keeping in character,” says Dr. McCoy, adjusting the antique raybans on his face, eyeing the triple suns overhead like the enemy he knows they are.
“A small amount of fruit juice and seltzer water is the perfect refreshing drink in these climes, balancing the need to stay hydrated and replacing electrolytes. I would advise you gentlemen…”

“Spock! I insist you take a break from all the logic for the next few days! Bring my pointy ear friend a Pina Colada if he insists on being a wuss”, bellows the captain-cum- frat boy. The blonde minces toward the pool bar, accustomed to “boys” on holiday.

Many hours pass, the suns rotate in the sky. The gentlemen have stayed by the pool, drinking and enjoying the view.

“You should be putting on a solar block, JT, instead of that bronzing agent” advises the doctor. McCoy takes another pull on his beer.

“Bones, are you and Shpock gonna snivel like old maids this whole trip? I shoulda invited Chekov. At least he would drink with me.” James is looking a little bleary eyed.

Spock interrupts the belligerent rant. “I remember reading of an ancient human experiment, involving a frog and a kettle of water. Logically speaking, the frog should try to escape as the water in the kettle is heated. But this is not the case. The heat is added slowly; the frog just sits there. As the temperature rises, the frog might feel discomfort, but convinces himself that all is well. James, do you have a little frog in you?”

“Nothing you’re saying makes any sense Shpock, but that’s ok, I love yah, man… Do I smell lunch? Is that bacon…?”

“Great Scott, James”, yelps the doctor, realizing the condition his friend is in, “Pull you together. You’re a Federation Captain, not a French fry!”

“Today, Bones, I am a drunk.”


***********

Collision Course
By: Guy David

64 °F and rising

The voice woke him up abruptly. He set up and tried to focus. His head throbbed. He felt his forehead. There was a suspicious lump embedded in it. "What happened?" he asked, not expecting an answer for some reason. "Looks like we hit an asteroid. We are way off course, in a collision course with the sun." said a calm female voice on his right. It sounded somehow distant, detached. "Where am I?" he thought. We a start, he realized he had no idea who he was and what he was doing there. "Captain, what shell we do" came another voice on his left, a young male by the sound of it, his voice wavering. Somehow, he knew they where referring to him. He was the captain, and he should act. The words "in a collision course with the sun" echoed back to him and suddenly he was alert. They where in danger and he was the one in charge.

128 °F and rising

He was feeling the heat now. He remembered, Captain Isaac Brown, Cargo Ship GD-1024, that was him. The woman on his right was Sara Bolar and on his left was young Jonas Corbas. Somewhere at the rear was the ship's engineer, Moses Capeton. That was his small and very competent crew. He picked them up one by one himself, and he never regretted it. Now it was his job to guide them carefully to safety. "What's our status?" he asked, carefully massaging the bulge on his head. It hurt, but not too bad. He would have to examine it at the next stop. "We lost engine one, and engine two is working at half capacity. It wouldn't last long." came the answer from the engine room.

212 °F and rising

The temperature of boiling water. This ship could hold up to incredible temperatures, still, it had it's limits. Diving into the sun wasn't such a good idea. They would have to somehow steer the ship away from it's present course. The problem was that a half functional engine wasn't enough to steer them in the other direction. He was sweating now. While the air conditioning system built into the ship kept everything in a comfortable level, the psychological impact of the fact that they might dive into the sun soon made him feel like he was burning from the inside.

256 °F and rising

He looked to his right. Sara was glazed eyed, as if lost in the distance. She looked detached. Maybe she was shutting herself out as a defense mechanism, trying not to get buried in their predicament before it melted them away. He looked to his left. Jonas was sweeting and looked terrified. He wouldn't get help from any of them now. Isaac found it hard to think, hard to breath. He concentrated on his breathing, trying to calm himself down, which gave him an idea. He pushed the panic away and took charge.

512 °F and rising

"Moses, listen. Which part of the ship is closest to the sun?" asked Isaac over the intercom system. "The left side" came the answer. "Everyone into your space suits" said Isaac, "and do it quickly, we don't have much time left." He had to help Jonas since the lad was shaking and couldn't operate the suit's locks properly. Sara quickly put up her own suit, almost automatically. After ascertaining they where all in their space suits, including Moses in engineering, and that the suits where functioning properly, he turned to the intercom once again. "Moses, open all the doors on the left side of the ship. I'm going to use the air pressure to steer us out of danger." The sound of hissing air sounded within the ship and it started moving.

64 °F and falling

They floated silently. For all intents and purposes, the ship itself was dead for now, but they knew they would be rescued soon and that the ship would be repaired and put to business again with them in it. The distress signal they sent would reach the nearest base, and sent to their company. The cargo they where carrying was valuable, so the company would have more of an incentive for rescuing them as soon as possible and they where a good crew. The company executives knew it. All they had to do was wait. They waited.


***********

The Temperature Started To Rise
By Robert Jahns

Connie sat quietly, staring straight ahead. She did not want to go to the ball game, but Eric was a fan. She went along with him every time, even if she would rather not. He was excited as they entered the hill country. "You wait to you see our guys play today. They have really come together as a team," Eric said to no one in particular.



She sat there thinking, "I wish this old wreck of an Oldsmobile would just quit. Maybe then he would actually talk with me. Maybe he would listen to what I have to say."



The tired old Cutlass strained at the larger hills. The temperature started to climb, yet Eric ignored the heat gauge. "It is only another twenty minutes and we will arrive at the ball field," he mumbled. He hoped and wished that the temperature gauge was broken.



Smoke rose from under the hood. The steamy vapor clung to the dirty windshield. Eric pulled to the side of the road as the engine stumbled and quit. His car looked more like a steam locomotive than an Olds sedan. "That is just my luck! Only another ten or fifteen miles and we would have been there!" The banshee scream from the radiator cap made Connie cover her ears.



Eric didn't seem worried about getting home, only on arriving at the field to see his precious game. He popped the trunk and pulled out two old plastic jugs filled with water. Raising the hood and pulling off the hot radiator cap, billows of steam greeted the man in a rush. Eric ignored the minor burns to quickly pour the water into the hot radiator. That was a huge mistake. He should have used a bit more patience and avoided the pain of the scalding hot water that hit his face and chest.



Several days later, Connie drove back to the Southern Christian Hospital in Hopewell. She saw that her husband was now heavily bandaged, lying on his side, facing out the window. Eric jumped a bit, not expecting any visitors. "Sorry to startle you," Connie said in a whisper. "I am so glad that the doctors are so kind here. They say that I can stay here tonight with you. If all looks good tomorrow afternoon, we can go home together." Connie was aglow as they talked for the rest of the afternoon. No great discussions on politics or religion were generated. The quiet talk between a couple that were beginning to rediscover each other filled out the rest of the day.



Connie spoke. Eric listened. Eric asked questions and waited for answers. On the way home, they stopped and bought a new car to replace that Oldsmobile. Eric listened and the marriage was reborn as a different, more personal temperature level was starting to rise.


***********

World's End
By: Jeffrey Hite

World's End

One: The Day Gabriel's Horn Didn't Sound.

Dr. Lee stood in the Russian Observatory that he had called home. He watched the culmination of the last twelve years of work at first with wonder and pride at finding it. Then with horror as he realized the implications. The tiny black hole that he had discovered falling toward the sun was not only falling toward the sun, it was going to collide with it, and soon. He did the the calculations in his head and determined it would be better not to warn the rest of the world. Let them spend the last few minutes, in ignorant bliss.
He fell to his knees and began to pray, "Hail Mary full of grace..."


Two: The Beginning.

Cosmonaut Volinski worked to get the final three bolts for the new solar panel installed. The second one had gotten cross threaded and he was going to have to take it out and start again, but the other two had gone in as smoothly as can be expected. He fitted the wrench on the second bolt again and began to work it in reverse. As he did the he noticed that the shadows all but disappeared. He turned to look toward the sun, but all he could see was the blinding light that filled the entire sky, then the incredible burst of static over his radio.


Three: The Final Heat Wave

As the suns core was pulled in on itself, the outer layers we ejected into space. A blistering wave swept past the inner planets and on into the outer solar system.
For the second time in a little over one hundred years the people of Tunguska looked up to the sky and saw their world coming to an end. This time however, it would effect more than them. The blistering wave that passed by the Earth, in a matter of seconds was enough to melt the the Himalayas and send them spilling across Asia and into the Pacific Ocean. The temperature rose all over the earth for the final time.


Four: The Cooling Begins.

Within hours the sun has collapsed in on itself and the people remaining on Earth have one of the most spectacular views of the galaxy around them they have ever seen.
"Alright, lets have it all."
"Mr. President, there is no good news. We are already beginning to see the temperature fall. The only reason that it as not fallen further is that when the blast wave hit, it deposited a lot of heat energy into Asia, and that in turn as raised the temperature of the seas around it. It will buy us perhaps three of four more days."
"And then what?"
"Then, well really it is not about then, it is about what is going to happen. What is happening now. The temperatures are starting to drop and will continue to drop, until we all freeze to death."
"How long?"
"Seven to eights days maybe. With the extra heat in the oceans it might get us ten. But by tomorrow, most of the world will be below 40 degrees and after that it will only get worse."
"I understand. Is there anything that we can do to make it better?"
"No. Of the the three colony ships that we had slated to head to the stars one was destroyed. The other two have been loaded and will launch within hours."
"Thank you. Go be with your families."


Five: The Deep Freeze

Seven days later the on the Hawaiian Island of Maui the last humans on earth use the last tree that they had gathered before they were snowed in, to heat the room they are in. They fall asleep, in the choking fumes knowing that they will not wake up again. When the fuel runs out the temperature in the room, that was never intended to keep out the cold, will drop rapidly, and they will freeze. Mercifully quickly.

Six: Last Rain

"Captain, we have prepared the last of the cyrobeds we will need to enter them soon."
"Thank you John, I want to take one last look."
"Sir?"
"Come look for yourself. Computer, can you zoom in and enhance the image of the Earth?"
"Compliance. Magnification now at maximum."
"If there were a sun to shine on it, it would be a brilliantly bright reflector with all that snow and ice on it."
"Do you suppose there is anyone still alive?"
"I doubt it. It has been nearly twenty days the temperature..."
"look sir, it appears to be raining, how can that be possible? Could the temperature of the core be enough to."
"No, Look at the readings," He indicated the numbers in the upper left corner of the view screen. "That is about the right temperature for the atmosphere to liquefy. What you are watching is air that you and I and everyone on Earth used to breath fall on the planet that we called home as it's finally rain." They stood in silence for another couple of moments before the captain said anything again. "I think it is about time we too went into deep freeze."

Download

The Stars are Bashful

From the beginning of time man has looked to the stars.




Download The Stars are Bashful Audio


"You have got to believe me, you have got to, you don't understand what is at stake here."
"Yes, tell me again" the Sgt. said with a smug look on his face. "What is at stake?"
"All of us. They said we would all be a risk if we didn't stop."
"If we don't stop what?" he said the edge returning to his voice.
"Come on we have been through this all ready."
"All we have been through is this wild story you have told us. You have not told us why you were trying to break into the space center or what you were going to do there." The Major leaned in closely and spoke in a quiet voice.
"Son, why don't you start from the beginning again."
"Look I told you. I was out in the desert about a week ago. At least I think it was a week ago. What year did you say it was?"
"Not now, just keep going."
"Alright so, I was out there and the next thing I knew the stars kind of winked out. Not one at a time or anything, but all at once. At first I thought I was dreaming but then I heard them talking to me."
"What are you doing?"
"It was a soft voice very peaceful feeling nothing threatening. So I told it I was out here to look at the stars."
"Why do you do that?"
"Because they are beautiful, and because we have been trying to reach them since the beginning of time."
"That is not wise. You are not ready."
"Me, no, you are right, I have not had any training to go into space, but man I would love to some day."
"Not just you, your whole race is not ready."
"The voice changed them some how it became, well, different. So I looked and the face that was looking back at me was not at all human. I can't really describe it other than to say that it was not human."
"Your species is not ready to reach for the stars. We have come to warn you."
"We? Who are you?"
"You do not need to worry, we mean you no harm. But we must warn you. There are things outside the safety of your planet that you are not ready for."
"What do you mean?"
"You must tell them to stop exploring outer space. We will return when you are ready. We would have come sooner when you first launched yourselves into space, but we did not think you would try so soon and it is a very long journey from our home."
"We can't go into space any more?"
"No! Not yet. You are not ready."
"But we have worked so hard."
"You are not ready. We will return when you are and help you."
"Then they were gone."
"So it was a warning?" The major asked leaning back in his chair.
"Yes."
"And they did not tell you why, just that we are not ready."
"That is right."
"Nothing else."
"Nope."
"Ok boys just another nut job who saw a UFO. Take him to the tank for the night and we will figure out what to do with him in the morning."
"They said ask Glenn what he saw if you want proof." I screamed as they grabbed my arms. "They said he would have been the first one high enough to see it."
"What he saw were ice crystals."
"They said there would be danger with every further launch."
"Take him away boys."
*****
"Ten Days later when the shuttle didn't return, and the sky was suddenly filled with radio static, and no stars could be seen they let me go. From the beginning of time we have looked to the stars, who would have thought they didn't want us to."

Witch Hunt

This weeks prompt comes from: Mode Room Press, at
www.moderoom.com

Describe a witch hunt in a Scottish Village.
with a case of hand grenades.
Such misery is the result of too much sleep!
Two Policeman enter.
While a man in the shadows loads a rifle.


Witch Hunt Audio

Witch Hunt

"You know, there aren't really any witches in Scotland any more," I said.
"What are you talking about? Of course there are. What do you think that we have been doing for the last five years?" Matt looked at me with a look of pity.
"For one thing we have been getting wet every Saturday night instead of hanging out in the pub with the guys. And what have we got to show for it?"
"Well there are no witches in this village, that is what we have to show for it. And what do you mean by there are no witches in Scotland? You saw the same report I did just last week."
We stopped under an eve and waited while two police officers walked by. We weren't doing anything illegal, but the case of hand grenades that Matt insisted on keeping in the back seat of the car, just in case, was a sure bet to get us in more trouble then we were looking for.
"I saw the report just like you Matt," I said after they had moved out of ear shot. "But what I didn't see in there was what those people were doing that was wrong."
"Sammy, their witches. They are going to be hexing our children and get them to come eat the gingerbread off their houses and then what? Then what will you do?"
"Matt," I said grabbing his arm as he tried to step out from under the eve. "What are you talking about? That is a fairy tale. Did you read the report? Those people are Wiccan, technically that makes them witches but they don't cast spells and they don't have gingerbread houses and they said they just wanted to be left alone. I don't agree with what they believe in, but they are not hurting anyone."
"Sammy, they're witches!" He said rounding on me. "Nothing good can come from them being here!"
"But that does not give us the right to do... to do what? What would we do if we found one? Blow him or her up with one of your grenades? What if they have children?"
"So you admit that there are witches and they have our children!"
"Your not listening to me Matty. I meant their own children. They are humans after all."
"How can a witch have a child? What do they do, 'magic' them out of the fire? Then it would be more of a demon then a child, and we have to rid the world of them too!"
"You didn't read any of that report at all, nothing after the title." I sighed deeply. "This brand of witches are men and women, and they don't do magic, they believe in trees and grass, and they have children of their own just like you and me."
"Oh Yeah! Well what about that dream? What about the one where they told me to rid the country side of witches?"
"Matt, you had been sick and sleeping for three days. You had a nightmare, that is the only thing that can explain it. It is the only thing that could cause this much Misery."
"Sam, if you don't believe me fine, but I am doing to do what I have to do to keep all of us safe. You will thank me when your kids are grown and they have not been roasted and put on the diner table of some witch family." He stopped then and took something out of his back pack. It was a rectangular box. As he opened it up I knew what it was going to be. He had bought a rifle, the kind you could take apart and put back together.
"Matt, what is that? You have gone off the deep end. You are going to hurt someone with that thing." He turned to me, his eyes were red with anger.
"Go then!" he said waiving the unassembled barrel at me.
I ran back up the street the way we had come. Within a few moment I bumped into the two police officers, and I made a choice.
"Officers," I said breathing deeply. "My friend, I think he is in trouble." I wavered just a moment and then lied. "He must be drunk or something, but he has a gun. You have got to stop him!"

Dream Keepers

This is day three and I am already making excuses. Not a good sign, but I will make up for it. This week I had to go on a business trip and well I wanted to spend yesterday with my kids so I didn't get any writing done. Now I am stuck in a hotel room with nothing but time so....

Enough about me. On with the story.


The New from Poughkeepise Day # 73

General Stuff Fridays

People think that there’s one Sandman who puts people to sleep and gives them dreams. Nope. Dreams are fabricated by humans; but once they’re dreamed, if they’re not harvested by the dream keepers, terrible things can happen. They make songs about how your dreams can come true, but do your really want that?




Dream Keepers


"Humans have such fragile minds that they cannot yet mold their dreams in to the reality without damaging it." The instructor droned for what had to have been the four millionth time since he had started the course. "If their dreams are not harvested within a day or at least a week, it will being to drive them mad, any longer and the dream with begin to manifest itself in ways that are completely out of their control." Now there was something new. Dreams going out of control. That was something that would have to be explored Zach thought of the possibilities.

When the lecture was let out nearly three hours later, the idea that had formed in Zach's mind at the beginning of class had been buried under a mountain of other things that he would need to pass the finally exam only a week later. He had two more classes today and was supposed to meet with the very young very charming recent graduate of harvester school for dinner tonight. It was not until much later that day that he remembered it at all.

"Zach! Are you paying attention to me?" The field instructor asked.

"Yes, sir!"

"What did I just say?"

"You were discussing the practical methods of dream collection that is passive and less harmful to the host."

"So you were listening. Good. Tonight I am giving you charge of the Paulson household. Collect the dreams and report back to my office by 9:30 tomorrow."

Zach watched the older catcher go and headed glumly to the Paulson home. There were only two of them and they always had boring dreams. He liked he dreams of kids and younger adults they were always more interesting, or what about that guy they had seen in the video last week, his dreams actually contained real demons. Now that would be a case to handle. But the Paulsons' dreamed of their children, and schools in the past, occasionally each other; even their nightmares were nothing to get excited about; what if I show up late to work, and naked, and have to give a speech. That was about as good as they got.

He sat quietly on their headboard waiting for the first sings of waking and carefully began extracting first misses Paulson's and then mister Paulson's dreams. Neither of them were awake yet, but this was the easiest time to get the dreams, when the mind was not yet fighting to keep hold of the idea or thought that it had last had.

Some of the catchers believed that it was better to let them go until they were already awake and then pull the dream, but that was much more work, and Zach was not in the mood to hang around the Paulson house any longer than he had to. But then he remembered. Leaving a dream for more than a week would cause it's manifestation. Then he remembered something else. That if you got dreams and humans mixed up the dreams became contaminated and could go completely wild.

If he left a dream in mister Paulson, first the bean counters would notice that he was not turning in enough, and second the administrators would recognize whose completely boring dream it was, and he would get blamed, and probably expelled. But if he were to take just the hint, the idea of a dream from misses Paulson and give it to her husband that could get interesting. So he took the her dream and stripped it of the idea, that would never be missed, and he took mister Paulson's dream, and then carefully ever so gently on the final threads of the dream he was pulling out, he slid in the idea from misses Paulson.

The older man sat up at once. Zach barely had time to break the connections before mister Paulson's brain pulled the dream back in. He left then but he could still hear the man's heart pounding.

"Are you alight dear?" misses Paulson asked groggily

"Yes, I think so, but I have had the strangest dream."

"What was it?"

"I can't quite remember." He said shaking his head

The Following night as expected he was given the Paulson house again. This time he didn't wait until they began to wake. He immediately pulled her dreams while they were still fully formed, stole the idea and as he was extracting the dream from mister Paulson, again slipped her idea back in. This time since he was fully asleep the idea had a chance to take hold and it formed a completely new dream, which he left with mister Paulson. With two completely formed dreams he would have the right amount and now there was now a third completely formed but contaminated dream in mister Paulson's head. Tomorrow night he would extract it and it should be something every interesting. Satisfied with his work he took the too dreams to the administration and then headed off to bed himself.

A knock at his door woke him. "Zachery K. Smithwell?" The very official looking man asked

"Yes."
"Were you in charge of the Paulson house last night?"
"Yes," He answered as his stomach dropped to his knees.

"We checked our records and it is clear you turned in the correct number of dreams, but it appears that mister Paulson has gained the ability to generate more dreams and they are manifesting themselves very quickly and quite dangerously. Your instructor said that you should see this. Please come with us."

Zach put on his uniform and followed the two elder dream catchers to the Paulson house. When they arrived he could not believe what he saw. Mister Paulson had himself and his wife in the backward tree house that he had built for their children. The grass around the house was on fire, and he was screaming at the top of this lungs in a language that Zach was pretty sure mister Paulson had never spoken before. There were nine dream catchers all of first class status, attempting to extract the demon infested dream from mister Paulson's mind but not having much luck at it. He watched in amazement as they poked and prodded the dream demon first this way and that, as it lashed out at them. Finally two of them caught it off guard and started to pull it in. It would be a long hard fight, but it looked like they would win it.

"If no one gets hurt, I will not report what you did." Said a voice from over his shoulder. Zach turned with a start to see his field instructor.

"But, I..."
"Don't try to deny it boy. I will have to expel you for lying. But if no one gets hurt then I will chalk this up to experience."
"How did you?"

"Did you really think I was going to leave you alone to collect their dreams. If you had done your homework on the Paulsons you would have found out that they have a history of minor demons. We have been watching them for years, knowing that it would only take a minor cross contamination to cause a problem."
"But if you knew then why?"

"I have seen your type before. Been there myself in fact, and I knew it would take an experience to get you to pay attention. You will fail your exam next week, and have to take my course over again, but I think you will be alright in the end." The instructor smiled.







Dream Keepers by
Jeffrey Hite is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Based on a work at
GreatHites.blogspot.com.

Earth To Jenny

The News From Poughkeepsie - Day 61
Anything goes Sundays:

Jenny is a closeted geek. She works in a PR firm, has perfectly styled hair, and works out in a gym every other day. Everyone thinks she’s completely normal, except that she considers Walter Mitty a saint in her world. She works out with the assurance that some day she will be called upon to be a hero, and she is just preparing for it. In her mind, Walter was a prophet, and living a life in a fantasy world is the proper way to be.

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Earth To Jenny


The phone rang for what had to be the hundredth time that day. Jenny picked it up and looked at it as if it were a snake. "Thank you for calling Wambat, Westburg, Green and Lu where your good name is our good name, this is Jenny Lu how can I help you today?"
"Hey Jenny, this is Mike."
"Mike what can I do for you."
"Well you know that new ad that you guys produced for me. Well I don't really like it."
"Mike, you approved it."
"Yeah but It makes me look like a schmuck." Jenny stifled a laugh.
... "Well Mike you are a schmuck. You run a series of off world smuggling operations. Here is the thing, in working with you over the last year I have been collecting the evidence that I needed to see you sent to some mining colony on the moon, if not the belt."
"But Jenny."
"But Nothing, you are scum Mike."
"Jenny? Jenny are you listening to me? Earth to Jenny." Her mind snapped back to reality
"No, I'm sorry Mike I go distracted by... well never mind. Tell me again what you don't like about."
"That is it. I think that is the whole problem, you never seem to be listen. I am going to have a talk with your boss." He hung up the phone.
"Damn that can't be good." She said putting the phone down. Sure enough not ten minutes later the phone rang again, this time it was Mr. Wambat.
"Jenny, I would like to see you in my office, please."
"Yes sir, be right there." She grabbed her mirror from the desk drawer and checked her hair. Even if she as going to fired there was no point in looking bad while it was happening. Maybe, it would be enough for him to go easy on her. She put the mirror back and walked to his office.
"Come in." Wambat's voice boomed from the other side of the door as she knocked.
"Mr. Wambat you wanted to see me?"
"Yes, Jenny, I think you know what this is about."
"I believe so sir."
"Good, that makes this a little easier. The problem, my dear, is that this is not the first time that I have heard such a complaint... "
The shackles dug into her hands as she stood before the tribunal, they had been droning on now for so long that it really could not be a good thing. Jenny knew that she was going to have to escape, and soon if she didn't want to spend the rest of her life in prison.
"This court has come to the conclusion that, we are going to have to let you go." What? Let me go she thought, but I was on trial for ten different treaty violations three of which held the penalty of life in prison with out the possibility of parole.
"But..." She started to object.
"I am sorry Jenny, you had a very promising future here, but in the past month you seem to have been having trouble keeping your mind on your work. We can't have that. As I said we are going to have to let you go. Please clean out your desk and leave before the end of business today. If you get this problem under control I would be glad to give you a reference. But for now, goodbye." She stood in stunned silence for a few seconds, and then turned and walked out of his office.
"That did not go well," she said to herself. She made her way back to her desk. She sat there for a few moments before deciding that there was nothing there that she wanted or needed, and just left. Trying to avoid every-one's gaze on the way out.
Not wanting to go home and not having anywhere else to go she went to the park. She found a bench and sat down.
"I didn't really belong there anyway."
"No, Jenny you didn't." She started at the voice. There was a man sitting next to her.
'Who, who are you?"
"Your father."
"My father lives in Iowa Riverside, Iowa. He has never been to Boston and probably will never. He says he won't leave until his hero is born."
"I think he has a while to wait. But he is your adoptive father. We choose him because he believes in bigger things."
"What? Wait, you are telling me that he is not my real father."
"That is right."
"Then... who are you?" She really looked at the man for the first time. He did look a lot like her.
"I am your father, but before we go any further I think we need to go some place less out in the open."
"No, no, no. I have been in the city long enough to know that trick. We start walking you grab me and stuff me a van and..." She trailed off as his expression changed. She looker at him. He did look a lot like her.
"Jenny." he said softly. "I am not going to hurt you. We have to talk about some things, I just thought it would be better to do that in private. But if you want to talk here that is fine."
"Yes, I think that would be best. I don't know you from Adam." He laughed. "What is so funny."
"I am Adam." Then she knew it was another dream. She shook her head violently. "That won't help. I am not one of your day dreams."
"But..."
"Jenny. I know about the dreams, I know about them because we sent them to you. To help you remember."
"Remember what?" She pleaded.
"Who you are, who you have been."
"What do you mean?"
"Jenny this is going to be hard for you to believe, but listen to me, please."
"Alright I am listening."
"Look, what I am going to tell you is going to be the hardest thing you have every had to believe but you must, it is vitally important."
"I said I would listen."
"Alright then," he said sitting back on the bench. "One hundred thousand years ago, I was born in a place that was perfect. So long ago that I don't really remember. I had to leave that place after your mother and I broke the rules."
"Wait a minute you are going to tell me that you are the Adam, as in Adam and Eve?" She stood up and started to back up.
"You said you were going to listen."
"That was before the tale got so long I needed a safety harness to climb down it."
"Please. Just listen."
"Why?"
"Because it will change your life."
"How?"
"You will have to listen to the story to find out."
"Alright, but if you try anything."
"The can of mace in your bag. I know." She looked at him surprised. "Go ahead get it out. That way you can be ready if you need it," She did as she was bidden. "Good now sit down please, and let me continue."
"Look I don't know what you are trying to pull, so make this quick."
"Alright, as you wish," he said. "I am not the Adam from the bible, though that is not that far off. I will make this a very short story, your mother and I had to leave you about 30 years ago, really a blink in your life time. We left you in a static time state. Look I can tell from your expression you are not buying this. Your day dreams, they are real. You have lived all of those things. The status we left you in makes it seem that you are a normal human, you grow just like them, and you live just like them, and eventually had we left you long enough, you would have thought you died just like them, but of course it would just be a sleep that you would wake up from. We didn't know how long we would be, but we are back now."
"Wait a minute. So you are telling me that I am not thirty two and that I have lived all those things that I dream about?"
"That is correct."
"So I was right? I really don't belong here?" He nodded. She could not believe it. All the things that she had dreamed. The adventures, the other lives, the other times. Space travel, other worlds, so many other people. She wanted to scream it to every person who had ever said, Earth to Jenny. "I was right." she said out loud finally.



Earth To Jenny by Jeffrey Hite is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at GreatHites.blogspot.com.