#15 - Person from Porlock

“Do you have any stories to tell me?” Ally said.

Isaac squinted, thinking. He kept his eyes on the road. “Why don’t you tell one?” He said.

“There was one I thought of before we stopped last time, but now I can’t remember what it was.” She said. 

“If you tell one first, maybe I’ll remember mine.”

Earlier they had tried listening to the radio, but after landing on three country music stations in a row, Ally had given up and switched it off.

“Let’s see.” Isaac said. He started tapping unconsciously on the steering wheel, humming quietly to himself. He laughed. “I know a story about forgetting a story.”

“A story about forgetting a story…” Ally repeated. “Okay.”

“I heard this from my friend Eric. You might have…let’s see… did you ever meet him? Probably not.”

Ally shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Isaac said, “So, Eric’s family is from Louisiana, where they owned a tire shop. His grandpa was a mechanic. One day, a traveler comes through and needs a tire repaired, so he stops in. While the tire is being fixed by one of the shop employees, Eric’s grandpa and the traveler start talking, shooting-the-shit, telling jokes or whatever. Well, I guess this traveler was a really good story-teller, and one of the stories he told was just fantastic. Super interesting. As soon as Eric’s grandpa heard it, he thought, ‘I’ve got to tell my wife’, which he planned to do when he got home that day.”

Ally was sitting Indian-style in the passenger seat, her feet tucked beneath her. “What was it?” 

“The story?” Isaac said. “Nobody knows. The traveler went on his way after the tire was fixed. When Eric’s grandpa got home that night, he was planning on telling his wife, but he got distracted because there was a salesman at the house. Some guy selling vacuum cleaners.”

“Was it the same guy?” Ally asked.

“No, no. This isn’t like one of those stories. There aren’t any odd coincidences or anything. It’s just that Eric’s grandpa forgot to tell the story when he got home, and he didn’t think about it again until later that night. They went to sleep like usual, but sometime – like two or three in the morning – he woke up and remembered that he had wanted to tell his wife the traveler’s story. But the crazy thing was, he couldn’t remember it.” Isaac said.

“What happened?” Ally said.

“Nothing, really. He figured he’d remember the next morning, but he never did. Eric said that his grandpa never remembered what the traveler’s story was, but he always remembered that he’d forgotten the traveler’s story. Instead of telling the traveler’s story, he told people the story of how he forgot the traveler’s story. If that makes sense?”

Ally rubbed her nose and then crossed her arms. “Wait. So, he didn’t remember the original story the traveler told, but after that, he told people the story of how he’d forgotten the original story?”

“Yeah. That’s what I just said.”

“Just clarifying.”

“So, that’s my story.” Isaac said. “Your turn.”

“Your story’s lame.” Ally said.

“Oh, you wanted to hear a good story?” He joked.

“I expected something better than that.” She said.

“Let’s hear what you’ve got. Do you remember what you were going to tell me before we stopped for gas?” Isaac asked.

Ally sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. After a silent pause, she said, “Nope.”

“What? You still don’t remember?”

“No – it must not have been very interesting. I guess I’m no better than your friend’s grandpa. The ol’ memory’s failin’ me.” She said in an exaggerated southern accent. Isaac laughed.

For a few minutes neither of them said anything. Isaac was about to try the radio again when Ally said, “What about us? What do you think our best story is?”

“You mean like, what’s the best thing that’s happened to us together?”

“Right. If you were going to tell a story about you and me, which one would you tell?” Ally said, twisting in her seat to look at Isaac’s profile.

“You and me. You and me. That’s a hard one.” Isaac said, glancing into the rearview mirror. He looked back at the road. “Maybe I’d tell the story of the time we walked around Coleridge Lake together and I was about to kiss you, but then that guy popped out of nowhere and scared the crap out of us. Remember that? We were sitting on the bench?”

Ally was laughing. “Yep, that was horrifying. Where’d he come from? I was nervous enough as it was.”

“Why were you nervous?” Isaac said.

“Just… I had this feeling you were going to try to kiss me.” She said, rolling her eyes.

Isaac said, “And I would have if that weirdo hadn’t stumbled out of the forest. He delayed our first kiss by – what, about a week?”

“Something like that.”

“What about you?” Isaac asked, making eye contact with her. “What story would you tell about us?”

She scrunched-up her face, as if thinking very hard. “I like this one.” She said.

“Which one?”

“Right now. This would make a good story, right?” Ally said.

“Driving along like this? Just us talking?”

“Yeah.” She said. “Of course, I might have to spice it up a bit. Maybe I could say we got a flat tire and had to stop and have it repaired. I could tell our story to the mechanic and maybe he’d remember it long enough to tell his wife. And maybe she’d tell it to a friend who’d tell it to another friend, and pretty soon some guy would be on a road trip with his girlfriend and he’d tell it to her.”

“I don’t know…” Isaac said, smiling. “Sounds kinda lame.”

“Shut up.” Ally said, holding up a fist as if she might hit him. She laughed. “I didn’t say it was a good story. It’s just our story.” 

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To learn more about the Person from Porlock, read the original Wikipedia article HERE. 

#16 - Eternal Flame

Presently, if you wish to visit the subterranean ruins of the very first Deep Earth Settlement, you need only purchase an advance ticket and travel to the tourist center located twenty kilometers west of Branson, Missouri. There you will register, join a group of ten to fifteen fellow visitors, and be assigned a professional tour guide who will lead you on your exploration through the entertaining, informative, and fully climate-controlled Deep Earth Settlement museum.

Shortly after reemergence, Deep Earth, Inc. (including all fifteen of its North American Settlements) was purchased by the XinHai Corporation and, for decades, remained closed to the public. However, when the settlement property in Missouri was reclaimed by the local government in June of 2119, our leaders quickly began refurbishing it with hopes of one day reopening and welcoming a new generation of Deep Earth inhabitants. Though this dream is still in process, the museum offers visitors a trustworthy look at the first Deep Earth Settlement’s past, as well as a glimpse into the future of fun, affordable, and safe subsurface living.

Upon entering the museum, your first stop will be registration. Here you will experience an authentic recreation of the registration process undergone by Deep Earth’s first settlers. Though history tells us that the original settlers were held to very high standards of health, hygiene, and intelligence, there are no such standards for visitors to the museum. All are welcome!

After registration, all visitors are guided to Truth Hall, where an accurate account of the circumstances necessitating the first Deep Earth Settlement is presented through a series of engaging and interactive exhibits, including Weather Wasteland, Money Market, and a visitor favorite, The War Room. Each exhibit offers a hands-on learning experience. An average visitor might find himself watching historically-standardized hurricane footage, bartering for commodities in a market game, or sitting behind an incredibly life-like nuclear launch control panel.

Truth Hall was designed to educate the present generation on the myriad factors that sent our ancestors below ground into subsurface communities like the Deep Earth Settlement in Missouri. Over the years, misinformation has corrupted society’s understanding of the past. But in Truth Hall, history comes undeniably alive. Visitors leave with a new sense of the tragedies and triumphs experienced by Deep Earth’s forefathers. The goal of the Deep Earth Settlement Museum’s staff is that every visitor will leave the tour with their questions answered and a new appreciation for the human determination and ingenuity required to settle Deep Earth and allow for the continuation of our great nation.

Upon leaving Truth Hall, visitors will be guided to the Deep Earth Construction exhibit, where they will become acquainted with multiple aspects of the design and construction of the Deep Earth Settlement. Years before the first inhabitants arrived at Deep Earth, an army of engineers and laborers worked tirelessly to create what would later be called an “underground city”. Many of these laborers lost their lives during the construction phase of Deep Earth, and the Deep Earth Construction exhibit is dedicated to their memory and continued legacy.

Next on the tour is an exhibit titled The Gathering, a remembrance of the families and individuals who stepped forward to participate in the “great experiment” that was the Deep Earth Settlement program. Culled from the highest achievers in a variety of fields, the Deep Earth settlers were scientists, teachers, doctors, engineers, athletes, executives, and high ranking military leaders. With willing hearts, they descended into Deep Earth, hoping to preserve the greatness of our culture and society. They left behind family and friends on the surface, but never doubted their own purpose in sustaining humanity in the face of enormous challenges. The Gathering exhibit was established to honor these heroes, and to help future generations recognize that survival was the least of their vast achievements.

The Transition Room encourages visitors to imagine the difficulties settlers endured once they arrived at Deep Earth. Life below the surface was much different than life above, and there were many hurdles to overcome. Visitors are invited to watch a short film in which actors recreate poignant scenes from this transitional phase at the Deep Earth Settlement. Artificial light acclamation, dietary supplementation, and Economic Equality Enforcement policies (EEE), were necessary and positive adjustments experienced by the first settlers. These adjustments are entertainingly highlighted in the Transition Room.

For visitors wanting a real taste of the past, the Deep Earth Settlement Museum offers a sampling of dietary supplements and drinks similar to those consumed by the Deep Earth settlers. Samples are available for purchase at the Deep Earth Eatery located in the Transition Room.

After partaking in a “Settler Snack”, visitors make their way through an exhibit hall titled Life in Deep Earth. This portion of the museum tour is the most interactive, with several hands-on learning activities offered. Two favorites are the Temple of Light, where visitors are encouraged to spend a moment of quiet reflection, and Private Pleasures, an exhibit open to all visitors ages eighteen and older.

If a visitor is curious about the Tyndale Terrorist Attack (sometimes mistakenly referred to as the Tyndale Failed Revolution in illegal publications), pamphlets are available upon exiting the Life in Deep Earth exhibit hall.

The last two major exhibits guests will visit are the Reemergence Room and the Future Room. The Reemergence Room offers the most reliable and up-to-date information regarding humanity’s return to surface living. This exhibit is consistently being updated to reflect the most accurate findings and opinions of modern historians regarding the events leading to the Deep Earth Settlement’s success.

Finally, the Future Room presents guests with an opportunity to peek into the visionary minds of our contemporary leaders. Though subsurface living is no longer a necessity, there are still big things in store for Deep Earth. In the Future Room, visitors will learn how technologies first developed for use in the Deep Earth Settlement have benefitted humanity post-reemergence, and how new technological breakthroughs may impact life on earth in the decades to come. 

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If you would like to learn more about Eternal Flames, read the original Wikipedia article HERE. 

#17 - United States color-coded war plans

Saturdays were usually the day Christy slept-in while Daryl fed Jimmy and Jake cereal and watched cartoons. But this morning he had a hand on her shoulder, whispering, “Christy, I need to go to that seminar-thing I was telling you about. The kids are watching TV. I should be back in a couple hours.” 

Christy moaned, stretched, and then mumbled, “OK.”

“I gave them breakfast.” He said.

“OK.”

“So, I’ll see you guys in a bit.”

“OK.” Christy lifted her head from her pillow, her hair a puffed-static-frizz. “Wait, where are you going?” She said. Her eyes were still closed.

“That seminar I told you about. Preparing for disasters and stuff.” He said. He stepped toward the bedroom doorway.

“Wait, you’re going to that?” She asked. She was awake now, rubbing her eyes.

“I told you about it.” He said.

“I didn’t think you’d really go.”

“I was kind of planning on it. That’s why I told you about it.” He said. He tapped rhythmically on the doorframe.  

“Whatever. Go ahead.” She said, pushing the bedclothes off.

“You don’t have to get up.” He said. “The kids are just watching TV.”

“I’m up.” She said. “Just go. It’s OK.”

Daryl had seen a poster advertising the free Disaster Preparedness Seminar a week earlier when he had stopped in at the Commerce Street Army Surplus to see if they sold tent stakes for a used tent that Christy had picked up at a garage sale. They did, and as Daryl stood in line to pay at the register, he noticed the poster hanging on the wall behind the clerk. In bold letters it asked the question: ARE YOU READY? This was followed by an alphabetical list of horrors. Apocalypse. Economic Collapse. Famine. Natural Disasters. Terror Attacks. War. The seminar promised to provide attendees with the know-how to survive and protect their families from the worst conditions imaginable. At the bottom of the poster was a statement that had lingered with Daryl in the week since: NOT IF, BUT WHEN.

Daryl arrived at the Army Surplus five minutes before the seminar was scheduled to begin. The parking lot was filled with pickups and SUVs; his was the only minivan. He waited in the van until two minutes after nine o’clock, hoping to sneak in relatively unnoticed. As he entered, a woman at the register asked, “Are you here for the seminar, sir?”

“Yes.” He said, smiling.

She pointed to the rear of the store. He headed that way, down an aisle containing massive backpacks in a variety of camouflage patterns. The seminar was being held in a small room usually used for employee breaks. Rows of chairs had been arranged facing the front of the room, where a tall man wearing a tan shirt and a tie designed to look like a rainbow trout stood behind a folding table. He noticed Daryl in the doorway.

“Come on in. There’re a couple seats still open.” He said, pointing to an empty spot on the back row.

A man wearing a St. Louis Cardinals hat shifted seats to the right, leaving the nearest chair open for Daryl. Sitting down, Daryl whispered, “Thanks.” The Leader walked the short distance to the back row and handed a few sheets of paper to Daryl.

“Just a worksheet and some other useful info we’ll be covering this morning. I’m Mike, by the way.” He said.

Daryl nodded and quickly scanned the papers. A general supplies list, a food list, a bug-out packing list, some fill in the blanks, a bibliography of useful books and websites.

“As I said, this class is an introduction, really. We don’t have enough time to cover everything, but what I hope to do is give you a starting place. When you leave today you’ll have a pretty good idea of how to start your own emergency plan, what sort of gear you need, some strategic information, and of course, a bunch of resources to continue learning about this important topic.” Mike said from the front of the room. “Does that sound OK to you-all?”

From around the room came nods and affirmative mumbling.

“Let me ask you-all a question. Why’d you come here today? What’s your motivation?” Mike asked.

A man on the front row said, “Just wanna be ready. I got a wife, a daughter. If - God-forbid - something bad happens, I wanna know what to do. Know what I’m saying?”

Mike nodded.

From the left of the room, a bearded man said, “That stuff on the poster - war, terrorism, and whatnot? That’s scary shit. But it’s real, so we need to be ready.”

The Leader smiled. “It is, very real. I think that’s why we’re all here. Listen, these are not hypothetical situations. This is stuff that has happened before and will happen again. It’s fine to hope for peace and, you know, sunny skies, and all that. Nobody wants a natural disaster or another September-the-eleventh. But like the Boy Scout motto says, always be prepared, right? That’s what we’re here for today.”

For close to ninety minutes, Mike presented a range of worst-case scenarios; flash flooding, nation-wide power outages, collapse of the digital banking system, a global pandemic, World War III, terrorism, governmental oppression.

“You can call it the ‘Apocalypse’ or whatever you want to call it, but for many, many people, if one of these events hits, it’s the end for them. They aren’t going to make it. They won’t be ready.” He said.

Daryl listened closely, taking notes on the worksheet provided. After each new crisis was presented, Mike would give what he called “Preparedness Steps” and then give a few moments for the attendees to ask questions. Daryl remained quiet, his arms crossed, nodding in affirmation as men took turns telling anecdotal stories, giving their opinions, or sharing advice. He was astounded at how much thought most of them had 

put into preparedness. Before seeing the poster advertising the seminar, he’d barely even considered it.

The man in the St. Louis Cardinals hat had made a few comments during the seminar, usually reiterating a point Mike had already made, but with his own personal story to support it. As Mike turned the class’ attention to the Bug Out bag packing list, the Cardinals fan began to fidget, as if he wanted to say something. Finally he raised his hand.

“I’m just wondering if any of you here have ever asked yourself why all this stuff is happening? I sure don’t believe it’s just a coincidence that we’re getting all these hurricanes, big tornadoes, the drought we had this past summer, and all the rest of it. I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about this global warming thing.” The Cardinals fan said.

Someone in the room groaned loudly in disbelief. The bearded man chuckled and said. “No offense buddy, but that global warming bullshit is nonsense. Hell, it was hotter when I was a little kid than it is now. I remember goin’ swimming in early May before school let-out. I’m sorry, but in my opinion, it’s all baloney.”

The Cardinals fan said, “I’m not saying it’s scientific fact or anything, I’m just saying it’s one possibility to explain all this weird weather we’ve had over the past few years.”

“It definitely ain’t fact.” The bearded man said.

Daryl felt a bit embarrassed for the Cardinals fan, but he remained quiet. From the front of the room, Mike said, “Now, personally I can’t say I put much stock in the global warming conspiracy. But I do think you have a good question, sir.” He make eye contact with the Cardinals fan and smiled. “It’s a good transition into something I’d like to speak to you all about here briefly before we dismiss.”

Mike paused and looked down at some notes on the table in front of him. He put his hand to his chin and then looked up at the class.

“We’ve been talking a lot about preparedness today. We’ve looked at all sorts of very real, very dangerous threats to our lives and the lives of our families. But there’s one type of preparedness that we haven’t discussed, and it is – in my opinion – the most important. I don’t mean to offend anyone here today, but I hope you’ll lend me your ear for a moment as I talk with you about spiritual preparedness.”

Daryl shifted in his seat. The room became especially quiet.

“How many of you would call yourself a Christian?” Mike asked.

Four of the men raised their hands immediately. A few more joined in slowly. Daryl felt sweat forming at the hairline across his forehead. He reached up and wiped it away and then kept his hand raised briefly before dropping it again to his lap.

“That’s good.” Mike said. “Some of you-all are going to know what I’m about to say. See, the Bible teaches us that what’s most important isn’t what happens in this life, but what happens in the next life. Like I’ve said again and again today, it’s vital that we get prepared for natural disasters and so on, but the Bible teaches us there’s only one way to get prepared for what’s coming.”

Daryl coughed into his hand and wiped his palm across his pant leg. He focused on Mike’s tie, watching the giant rainbow trout dangle upside down from the man’s neck.

“It’s obvious that things are getting worse and worse. Would you agree?” Mike asked.

A few of the attendees agreed audibly. Some nodded silently.

“Well, there’s a reason for that.” Mike continued. “The Bible tells us that all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Sins a real thing – I don’t probably need to convince you on that point. This world is full of liars, thieves, cheats, adulterers, and worse. Just pick up a newspaper. Just take a look around and you’ll see that the Bible is proven to be true when it comes to the sinfulness of the human heart.”

The bearded man said, “That’s right.”

“It wouldn’t be right for sin to go un-judged. Somebody’s gotta pay for it, and the Bible tells us that judgment will come. It will. It’s only a matter of time.” Mike said. He glanced around the room, above the heads of the attendees.

Daryl was staring thoughtlessly at the eye of the rainbow trout. He suddenly realized he’d been tapping his foot on the finished cement floor. The tapping was the only sound in the room besides the hum of a snack vending machine in the corner.

Mike said, “I don’t know what judgment will look like. But I think we can gather from what the Bible says that it’s not going to be pleasant. Not something anyone here would want to endure.” He looked to the clock hanging just above the exit.

“I’ve kept you over two hours, but I just have to say one more thing. If you want to be prepared for the worst – truly prepared – you need to look into Jesus. Read the Bible. It’s full of answers. If you have questions about how to become a Christian, you can always ask. Come here to the store and ask me if you want. I’ll be happy to talk to you.”

Mike smiled. “Thank you all for coming. Before you go, please take a look at the variety of preparedness starter packs we have for sale. Thanks for your patience and for listening to my little sermon. Just for today, we have a special deal - if you buy a starter pack in the store before you leave, we’ll throw in a Bible for free. We have some here with camouflage covers. Not sure what the use of that is, but it looks neat.”

Daryl left the Army Surplus without browsing the preparedness starter packs. At home, Christy was busy doing laundry. The kids were still sitting in front of the TV, bowls of soggy, half-eaten cereal in their laps.

“How was it?” She asked, turning the timer knob on the dryer.

“It was OK.” He said, shrugging.

“Do you think we’ll manage to survive the end of the world?” She asked.

“I hope so.” Daryl said. He walked into the TV room and plopped down on the couch. The kids were watching a cartoon set in a zoo. There were two pandas teaching a giraffe how to fly a kite.

“Are you two going to watch TV all day?” He asked. Neither of them responded. They stared unblinking at the screen. 

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To learn more about the United States' color-coded war plans, read the original Wikipedia article HERE. 

#18 - Wedge (border)

“The girl who works here, when’s the next time she’ll be in?” He said. His eyes looked elsewhere, away from the woman’s face.

“What girl?”

“She has brown hair. About this tall.” He held his hand out flat, palm down, level with his shoulder. “She was here last week.” He said.

“Lots of girls work here, sir.” The woman said. She opened up the register. Her hands moved busily. “Is there something I can help with? We’re ‘bout to close.”

“No. Thank you.” He said.

In the B & P parking lot he sat in his truck, unready to leave town. He watched cars cruise Old Missouri 37. After half an hour he drove to Dairy Freeze and bought an ice cream cone and ate it on the way back to the property. He drove with the windows down and the radio off. After the turn at 112, he slowed the truck and took his time on the narrow lane leading up to the trailer. In the trees, the headlights caught on the eyes of deer and other creatures, effulgent in the darkness.

He parked the truck at the end of the trailer and raised the windows and turned off the engine. The woods were loud at night in a way never heard during sunlight hours; layers of sound that started up high in the leaves and moved in close through the tall grass of the yard. Cicadas, crickets, katydids, all contributing to a resonant thrum encircling him. He stopped and listened. In the noise, there was also a baby’s laughter, just behind him. He turned sharply as a twig snapped in the darkness where the clearing gave way to forest. He went ridged. He strained to make sense of the aphotic space at the edge of his vision.

There’s nothing there, he thought. And then, if there is something, don’t confront it. Don’t speak. Don’t even breathe and be heard over the insects.

He went to the door of the trailer and entered quietly, locking it behind him. He turned on the lights, and left them on till morning.

For days, he stayed close to the property, not going into the forest.  He started a project to reinforce the wooden steps and platform leading to the door of the trailer, working steadily in the morning and napping during the peak heat of the afternoon. In the evenings, after the sun had set, he stayed inside. He thought of the B & P girl sometimes, always with shame. He decided he wouldn’t try to see her again. The gift he’d thought of giving to her – the old medicine bottle he’d found – seemed foolish now. What use would she have with it?

After a week without leaving the property, he’d had enough. He decided to hike the trail he’d taken before, back to the abandoned settlement site where he’d discovered the crumbled stone foundation. The trail was familiar. Along the way he noted landmarks. Downed trees, undergrowth, deer paths, ditches. He walked for an hour and found the place without trouble. He dropped down on a pile of stones to rest on what had been the northeast corner of the structure. The foliage above provided shade and he sat and looked around. He wondered if there were more trinkets to be found like the medicine bottle. Without rising he used the toe of his boot to kick at the dead leaves and dirt, watching the overturned earth for a glint from glass or metal.

“We must be neighbors.”

He looked up in the direction of the voice. Twenty yards off, further down the trail, a man stood looking back at him. The man wore a rimmed raffia hat pulled low; an A-bolt rifle resting over his shoulder. The man nodded.

“We’re not unfriendly, but I need to let you know that you’re on private property. Where you’re sitting’s a historical spot, so we don’t let folks come back here.” The man said.

Still seated on the foundation, he said, “My dad and mom own a lot of this land. Or mom does. Dad’s dead. You sure this spot belongs to you?”

The man with the gun said, “Yes, we’re certain of that.”

He stood up and said, “Okay. I’ll go.”

The man with the gun watched him walk down the hill, away from the site. At the bottom, he looked back up at him. The man called, “It’d be best if you don’t come over here again.”

He didn’t respond. He turned and followed the trail he’d come in on. Walked for ten minutes before stopping to look back for the man. The trail was empty.

Back at the property, he sat on the trailer’s new wooden steps and smoked. He thought about calling to ask about the official acreage and survey information, but began to consider the complications of making a phone call and decided against it. It would be easier to stay away. It didn’t matter. His mother had said the property was a lonely place. It wasn’t as lonely as she’d thought. If you walked long enough, you would meet someone, friendly or not.

He sat for a long time, and then went inside and retrieved the medicine bottle. He got into the pickup and started it up and left the property. Late in the afternoon he was at B & P.

Against his best judgment, he wanted to see the girl again. He didn’t think he could talk to her, let alone give her the medicine bottle. But seeing her would be good. It was wrong for her to go unnoticed; that’s the way he felt. If he kept his distance, there was no harm. He wouldn’t cross the line. 

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To learn more about the real Wedge (border), read the original Wikipedia article HERE. 

#19 - Mojave Phone Booth

We got a deal where we can add our daughter on our plan for ten bucks a month or something and she’d get her own phone with all that text messaging and facebook stuff. We did it for her birthday, surprised her with it. I picked her up after school that day and we drove over to the shop and she spent an hour looking at all the different phones they got there. Course, she wanted the Apple phone – with the camera and games and whatnot. She begged and begged. I tried to play tough, but you know how it is, and in the end I caved. It was lots more than my wife and I agreed on, but it was her sixteenth birthday. That only happens once. Plus, I figured we’d never make it out of that place unless I gave in.

After that, she was glued to it. That thing was always in her hand, her two eyes staring at the screen. She’d be texting her friends, playing some game, never looking up. We made a rule about no phones at the dinner table. That lasted about two minutes.

Couple months after we gave it to her, she came home one night about an hour late. We’d been calling her, sending messages, but hadn’t heard a peep back. Anyway, she comes in and says her friend just broke up with her boyfriend and she’d been talkin’ her through it. That’s all fine and good, but you know, we’d been sick worrying and all she had to do was send a text saying what she was up to. We sorta laid into her. I don’t like to lecture, but she had that sixteen-year-old attitude, like we don’t know nothin’. So, I took the phone away. I planned on keeping it for one week. She acted like the world was ending, crumpled into a ball on the couch like somebody’d died.

I thought it’d be good enough to keep the phone on the dresser in my room that week, but turns out she snuck into our room and took the phone to school the next morning. I caught her sneaking ‘round trying to put it back that afternoon. She lied and said she’d just needed to check a homework assignment on the phone, or something like that, but it was clear she was lying to us. So, the next day, I took the phone with me and kept it in the glove box of my truck.

At lunch I was sitting there listening to the radio, eating something, and I decided to take the phone out and play with it a bit. I hadn’t really had a chance to look at it much since we bought it ‘cause she wouldn’t put the thing down normally. I’m looking at it, messing with a game on there, when a text pops up and says something like, ‘what you doing?’ It came from someone named ‘Mojave guy’. I didn’t know what that meant, but you know, a father’s curiosity got the best of me. I wanted to find out. I figured out how to write back a message and I wrote, ‘Having lunch. How about you?’

Well, this guy starts asking me questions. Course, he’s thinking it’s my daughter he’s talking with. I just respond with real simple answers – only a couple words, but he’s flirtin’ and telling me how he wants to see me again. I have no idea who this guy is, and I’m just getting more curious. That’s when I have this idea. I tell the guy that I want to see him again too, and how it’s been too long and whatever. I was trying to sound like a girl, I guess you could say. Felt a little strange. Anyway, I ask him where we should meet and he says ‘at the phone booth’.

Honest, I didn’t even know there was any phone booths around these days. I didn’t know what to tell him. For a minute I just sat there in my truck thinking about what I should do next. I considered telling this guy the truth - that I wasn’t Brit and that I’d been messin’ with him. But then I sent him a message and asked him to meet me at Hellman Park near the tennis court. See, Hellman Park is close to where I work, so it was real convenient for me to drive over there and see if I could see this guy. He said he could meet me there in twenty minutes.

As I was driving over there, I started putting some things together. First, if this guy wants to meet up with my daughter at some phone booth, that means he’s probably not from her school. Could mean he’s at a different school, but more likely, he’s older or a dropout. Second, I started wondering why she’d never mentioned him. She talked about guys at school sometimes, but she hadn’t been talkin’ about nobody lately. In other words, I wasn’t havin’ good thoughts about what sort of person this ‘Mojave guy’ was.

I parked in the street on the west side of the park at a place I could see the tennis court from. Really, all I was hoping for was a look at this guy. There wasn’t no reason to suspect Brit was up to something fishy, but I just had this sick feeling. Maybe it was just that father’s instinct to protect his daughter. Whatever the case, I just wanted a look at him. Sort of a peek into Brit’s world.

I sat there for a long time, trying to look like I wasn’t lookin’. I watched the clock a bit, too. My lunch break had passed and I knew I’d be getting’ back late, which meant I needed a story for why. Time was runnin’ real slow, the way it does, and whoever this guy was, he never showed up. At least not while I was sitting there. He said twenty minutes, but I waited thirty-five and never saw him.

That night, I’d decided to give the phone back to Brit and try and get her to say something about the Mojave guy. At first she was real happy to have the phone back, but then I mentioned the message from Mr. Mojave, and she got real dodgy all the sudden. Finally, I had to fess up about my adventure at the park, and Brit looked on the phone to see all the messages I’d sent back and forth with the guy earlier that day. She rolled her eyes at me, which I’m used to, and she said I was a weirdo stalker. That’s what you get for caring ‘bout your kids, I suppose. 

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To learn more about the real Mojave Phone Booth, read the Wikipedia article HERE. 

#20 - Stanislav Petrov

Whenever Mr. Burger had the occasion to tell the story of The Two Islands at War, he always began by explaining how he had first overheard the tale, whispered, presumably as a bedtime story, by an unseen female passenger from behind the drawn curtain of a bunk in the sleeper cabin on an overnight train from Bangkok to one of Thailand’s unpronounceable northern mountain villages, just south of the Burmese border. The unseen whisperer had spoken in the measured tone used to lull children to sleep, and Mr. Burger had imagined a child, eyelids heavy, head resting on a small pillow provided by the cabin’s steward, listening intently as the train swayed and chugged. He, too, had listened; straining to hear from behind the curtain of his own bunk.

“Why were you in Thailand?” People sometimes asked, interrupting Mr. Burger just before he launched into his retelling of The Two Islands at War.

“It was an unplanned trip; spur-of-the-moment sort of thing.” Mr. Burger would answer.

“And the person telling the story, they were speaking English?” Someone else might ask.

“Yes, of course. Thailand is crawling with western tourists, you know.” Mr. Burger would respond. Then he would pause briefly before asking, “Are you certain you aren’t familiar with the story?”

Never once had anyone answered yes, and so, Mr. Burger would begin his telling.

“Once upon a time, there were two islands at war. These were two very small islands, and though they were aware of one another - each could be seen from the shore of the other - neither had knowledge of the outside world. For the story’s sake, we’ll refer to them as the East Island and the West Island.”

“The islands didn’t have names?” A listener would ask.

“Of course they did, but the names have been lost to history, along with the language in which the names were spoken. Besides, what does it matter?” Mr. Burger would say.

“The inhabitants of the islands only knew war. Though, no one living could remember the last time they had engaged in battle. History, as it always does, had mingled with myth, and their myths were fabricated from scraps of forgotten history. Stories of great battles were passed down from generation to generation; elders having heard the tales from their elders, and so on. But none of the inhabitants on either island had ever experienced violent conflict. Their war was cold; downright frigid. The standoff had lasted generations, centuries, possibly millennia. And during that time they had gone without any direct contact with their enemy.”

At this point, a listener would often ask, “There was no trade between the islands? No intermarrying? No shared festivals or religion?”

“No contact of any kind.” Mr. Burger would say. “They lived in absolute fear of one another. Even their fishing boats observed strict lines of demarcation in order to avoid encountering boats from the opposing island.”

“So, the conflict wasn’t rooted in a struggle over resources. They each had their own fishing waters.” A listener would observe.

“Correct. The East Islanders fished the waters to the east, and the West Islanders fished the waters to the west. As far as the inhabitants were concerned, each island owned half of all creation. Why would they need all of creation? They were sensible in that regard, at least.”

Mr. Burger would often smile politely at some point in the telling and remind the listeners that many of the questions they might have regarding The Two Islands at War could not be answered. Upon first overhearing the story, he also had questions, but had missed his opportunity. When he woke on the train the following morning, the bunk opposite his was empty. Somewhere in the night, the whisperer had disembarked. “You see,” He would say, “The only knowledge I hold regarding the two islands is what was communicated in the story. That knowledge, you will soon possess yourself.”  

“As you might imagine, having an enemy so close, even one that hadn’t attacked for a very long time, kept both islands on high alert. As a measure of defense, they kept watch around the clock, each posting sentries along the entire perimeter of their respective islands.

“One night, a young man from the East Island was keeping watch. It was a cloudless night, and the moon and stars were bright in both the sky and upon the surface of the water. This young man found a comfortable place to recline along the shore, and for a short time, watched the waves roll in. Before long, he fell asleep at his post. A few hours passed, and when he finally woke, he was horrified to find an unfamiliar boat approaching the shore near where he had slept.

“The young East Islander was frozen in fear. He knew at once that the approaching vessel was from the West Island. Never before had he been so close to the enemy. For a moment, all he could do was stare in wondrous terror. In the relatively bright moonlight, he was able to see the boat quite well, and gradually, he came to realize that the boat was unmanned. It appeared empty, and there were no oars in the water. It was indeed heading ashore, but in a meandering, unguided manner.”

“Perhaps it was a sort of Trojan Horse?” A listener might interject at this point in the story. Mr. Burger would smile politely and resume.

“When the boat finally drifted ashore, the East Islander approached very cautiously, his spear held high, ready to attack or defend. At his hip, he wore a large conch, tethered to his waist with a rope fashioned from wild grass. He knew he should have blown the conch the moment he saw the boat, alerting the other sentries nearby. For some reason, he chose not to. He investigated the boat alone.”

Mr. Burger would pause, as if the story had ended. He would wait for the listener(s) to fidget uncomfortably before he continued.

“And what do you think he found? An empty boat? No. In the bottom of the boat slept a young man not older than himself. A West Islander, snoring softly in the moonlight on a pile of fishing nets. The West Islander had also fallen asleep on that peaceful evening, and unbeknownst to him, his boat had drifted into East Island waters, and had come to rest on East Island shores.

“As the East Islander watched the West Islander sleep, he wrestled with what to do next. He could kill the young man while he slept, of course. That would be easy enough. Or, he could take the man captive, holding him at spear-point until help arrived. One blow on the conch would bring a swarm of sentries, as well as civilians from the row of huts lining the beachfront. For a long time, he watched the West Islander sleep, and then finally decided on a third option.

“It’s true the East Islander was very frightened by this close encounter with his West Island enemy. But a more powerful impulse controlled his actions in that moment. He was curious. He had never met anyone so foreign, so exotic. Every person he knew had been born and raised on East Island. Though his heart was pounding, and he could barely grip the spear in his hand, he chose not to kill the West Islander, but instead to wake him; to speak to him. He poked the sleeping man with the dull end of his spear.”

“What did he say?” A listener might ask.

“First, he said, ‘Wake up!’ And then he asked ‘Why did you come to our island?’ Of course, the West Islander was speechless for a moment. His mind was still clouded by sleep. Once he realized where he was, he was filled with dread, believing he would be killed. Shaking with fright, he told the truth. ‘I was out fishing. I fell asleep. My boat must have drifted here to your island.’”

“They spoke the same language?”

“I was not there to witness the conversation. I assume so.”

“And did the East Islander believe the young man’s story?”

“Would you have believed his story?” Mr. Burger would ask his audience. “If you suddenly encountered an enemy you had been taught to fear? Would you have believed that he was simply a sleeping fisherman, rather than a spy? Or a scout? Or the first member of an invading army?

“That’s the incredible turn in this story. The East Islander, though he had every reason to distrust the West Islander, chose to believe. Despite his training, his instincts, the myths he had heard, and the fear that he felt, he accepted the man’s word, and allowed him to return to his home on the West Island.

“For days, weeks, years following, the East Islander kept the encounter a secret. He knew that if the leaders of East Island knew he had allowed the West Islander to go free, he would be severely punished, possibly even put to death.”

Here, a listener would ask, “So, no one ever found out?”

“Of course they did. If not, how could I tell you the story today? Eventually, the young man shared his experience; but not until he had become a very old man, and the most respected leader on East Island. At that time, only a few years before his own death, he was able to lead the two islands in forming a treaty. The treaty led to peace and cooperation between the two islands. Eventually, the long war was remembered only in a new set of myths, shared between the inhabitants of both islands.”

When Mr. Burger had finished telling The Two Islands at War, he would laugh happily, and say, “Interesting, isn’t it?”

And then one listener would venture to ask, “But do you really think it’s true? Do you think all that really happened?”

To which Mr. Burger loved to reply, “I believe it’s true, and that it happens every day.” 

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To learn about the real Stanislav Petrov, read the original Wikipedia article HERE. 

#21 - Valery Sablin

Naboth had walked the river path since he was a child. His feet could navigate the terrain even on a black-sky night. Usually, he walked it with a load on his back, strapped to his flesh by leather chords; kindling, an egg basket, feed, a slaughtered hog or one designated to be. But today the sun was high and hot, and though he carried with him the leather, there was no load upon him. He was walking free and fast, following the river to where he knew he’d find Cecil.

Cecil had a regular habit of napping beside the river in a patch of tall grass beneath a white oak. He always carried a book with him, intending to read, but mostly he slept. The river noise lulled him. Naboth had observed him that way many times, always in secret. It was fascinating to watch Cecil sleep. Sleeping made even a powerful man like Cecil look infantile and helpless. It leveled men.

At the fork, Naboth followed the path east, closer to the river. The ground was rocky, but he knew how to step. He was slowing, quieting himself. There was plenty of cover between his spot and Cecil’s, but it could be that Cecil wasn’t fully asleep, so Naboth moved lightly, taking careful steps like a bobcat. He felt more like a creature than a man, closing in on Cecil that way. His breathing was shallow and quick.

Leaving the path, he found the cottonwood from which he’d viewed Cecil on days past. The base was wide enough for Naboth to stand behind fully concealed. It was fifteen yards to the river’s edge. The high grass surrounded Cecil, but Naboth could see his long form resting there in the shade of the white oak. Cecil was not asleep. He had his book raised a few inches from his face and was reading aloud, his voice muffled by the trickling water sounds of the river. Naboth crouched behind his tree and waited. He listened to the murmur of Cecil’s voice. In intervals, he peered around the tree down to the riverbed and watched Cecil slowly turn pages. After some time the voice dropped away and all that remained was the river, and Naboth knew that Cecil had fallen asleep.

Before approaching, Naboth tied a slip knot at one end of the leather strap he’d brought. Kneeling behind the cottonwood, he used his hands to pull at the leather until he’d formed a large loop. He wrapped the free end of the strap around his left wrist and held the loop end in his right hand. He gripped it tightly.  

On his way down to Cecil, Naboth felt the creature-feeling again, like he was becoming something wild. Creeping forward, he lost sense of being a man. He knew himself as a beast; something that belonged out in the trees, in the tall grass, near the water’s edge. In that short span, as he stepped silently forward, he was convincing himself. He was telling himself that what he was going to do was a natural, creaturely thing; the sort that beasts do with no concern for goodness or sin. He was barefoot like a beast. His whole life he’d been treated like one, carrying on his body the physical burdens that belonged to Cecil and his folks. They had placed so many burdens on him.

He dropped the loop end of the leather chord down over Cecil’s head and the man’s eyes popped open as Naboth tightened it with a sharp tug. Their gazes met a second before Naboth had Cecil turned on his stomach. He used the remaining length of leather to tie him up like a steer, hands and feet drawn tight and immobile. It was done with such speed that Cecil had no opportunity struggle. 

With his face in the dirt, Cecil said, “What the hell, you gone mad or something?”

Naboth’s only response was to tighten the chord, causing the leather to dig into Cecil’s wrists.

“Boy, you cut this rope or you’ll suffer. I swear.” Cecil said. There was no fear in his voice, only indignation. Naboth understood this to mean that Cecil was unaware of the spot he was in. He was still playing by the old rules, but Naboth knew that, at least for a few minutes, the rules had been erased. Taking a strong grip on the leather, he tugged hard, dragging Cecil a few inches closer to the river’s edge. Cecil was big and not easily moved across the uneven ground.

“What's this about? I don’t understand it.” Cecil said. The tone in his voice had shifted a bit, and Naboth liked the sound of it. It was something new.

“Boy, you’re a good one. Always have been in my eyes. Why you doin’ this? Have I done some particular harm to you?” Cecil said. He was trying to twist his body, fighting against Naboth’s strength. When they got to the river and he felt the water on his legs, he fought harder, but with no success.

Cecil shouted, “You’re gonna suffer and die for this, you devil!”

Naboth remained silent. It took all his strength to get Cecil’s full body into the water. The river wasn’t deep at the edge, but he placed his knee into Cecil’s back, forcing the big man’s head beneath the surface. Cecil fought a while, but then went still. Naboth stayed on top of him for a long time after he stopped moving. When he knew Cecil was absolutely dead, he sat down on him and untied the knots in the leather chord. Once they were loose, Naboth used his foot to push the body deeper into the flow of the river.

Coming up out of the water, Naboth went and sat at the place where Cecil had been sleeping a minute earlier. He picked up the book from the ground and opened it and stared at the markings that covered the pages. He wondered how anyone could pass time looking at such a worthless thing. He tossed the book to the ground. He had no use for it. 

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To learn more about Valery Sablin, read the original Wikipedia article HERE.