The Loophole

Harold was born in New York during the industrial age, his young appearance was due to a secret he kept from any of his colleagues. He made a successful living and made sure every few decades to enroll in classes to stay informed of current trends and ideals.

The secret, a way to keep living past his death due date, he learned nearly 200 years ago from a dark and ominous stranger. He was skeptical at first, but the first innocent life that he had taken rejuvenated him in a way no tonic or elixir had ever done. He was instantly addicted.

The dark and ominous stranger told him that while death was imminent, there was a loophole. Working in a machine shop Harold inhaled too many fumes. The stranger, posed as a doctor told Harold this while he was in the hospital suffering from an unknown disease. It would have been a century before anyone had found a cure. The stranger took a liking to Harold and told him he would have to take the life of an innocent person to extend his life.

Harold’s first life taken was a young nurse. He played on what would have been his deathbed for a week before he couldn’t take the suffering any longer. While she was fixing a bandage on his leg, he took a nearby syringe and injected her in the neck. She collapsed once she got to the hallway to call for help and was unable to speak and ultimately died. He was surprised it had worked but could finally breath again. The hospital personnel could not identify what the liquid was, or who had done it as no one on the hospital floor would confess to seeing anything. Harold hid the syringe in his bedding until the next laundry change came. The strange doctor had also disappeared.

Harold’s unknown disease was miraculously cured and he was released.  He never saw the ominous stranger again. Though the stranger kept a close eye on him.

What Harold did not know though, was the length of time the innocent person had on earth. The nurse gave him 35 more years before he started feeling ill again. Over time he realized what ever the innocent person would have died of in their own timeline, he would suffer the same symptoms. The young nurse would have had Alzheimer’s and as Harold slowly started to loose his memory he realized he would need to kill again.

This time it was a coworker at the machine shop. He needed it to look like an accident, and he knew people would not question an old forgetful man. One day while cleaning a machine he loosened a bolt. Not in a way that anyone would notice it had been tampered with, but enough that when loosened all the way the innocent man lost control of the machine which then sucked his arm into the shaft. He lost so much blood that once the paramedic arrived there was nothing they could do.

Harold was revived again.

The next morning after the machinist died, Harold realized he looked younger. He figured this may happen so he decided  he needed to leave town immediately. He wrote a letter to the machine shop explaining a “family emergency” and to forward his last wages to a new address.

After starting a new life three states away, Harold realized he needed to make plans ahead of time. He also wouldn’t be able to have many close friendships. Someone may become suspicious and he was enjoying cheating death.

By the fifth innocent life taken, Harold had become a master at inconspicuous deaths. He was also very careful to choose the victims that didn’t have much of a life themselves. He never chose anyone with a family or anyone who looked too young.

Once he killed his eighth innocent person he realized the short amount of time he had before he felt feeling the symptoms of their own deaths. He thought it was strange that the eighth person had only a year to live, he was in his early 40’s. Never been married, ate healthy, and Harold discovered he didn’t even have history of cancer in his family. Yet Harold started having symptoms of a heart attack.

One day Harold collapsed, a nearby person called a paramedic for him but he went into a coma. He woke up in a hospital and was desperate. His tenth victim needed to be anyone he could inconspicuously kill right there. He knew the risks, being in modern times with surveillance video and everyone having a cell phone ready for recording. One night while in the hospital, he chose a janitor. The janitor was older, overweight, and even looked sickly. But Harold needed to take the chance, he knew his days were numbered with the current life he had.

He felt rejuvenated again, but only just. Something was wrong with this Janitor.  Harold fell into a deep depression, the thought of ending his life crossed his mind often. He didn’t even last a year with this life before he decided to pick another.

This time, chosing a young life. A child. Something he had never done before. But he craved the longevity he had with the first few.  He did the research, found no absurd family medical history but ignored the normal life traits he usually looked for. He waited for nightfall when the child was still outside playing, and suffocated him. He got out of the town as fast as he could.

Rejuvenated again, but again something felt off. He had to go back around the child’s family hoping to learn more. Nothing unusual showed about the boy, he seemed perfectly healthy.

He discovered the child had begun testing for a rare disease caused by the COVID pandemic, a few years past. Harold found it strange none of this showed in the research of the child.  It was then he remembered the dark ominous stranger. He wondered if there was a way to reach out to him, if he was even still alive.

A week after taking the life of the child, Harold laid in bed, drifting off to sleep. The dark ominous stranger appeared in his mind. Though he wasn’t imagining him.

Harold called out to him in his sleep, asking what he had been doing wrong. The stranger chuckled. He explained that he was Death, he had been following Harold and enjoyed watching him use the loophole but it was time. He should have taken his final breath after the eighth victim, but Harold was too which for Death to catch him. Death wouldn’t let him get away with it this time.

Harold fell deeper into sleep, never to wake again. Happy to have lived for as long as he did.

Scruffy

I kept crossing paths with the painted metal goat in the local home store.

You know the type of store that has everything non essential for living. Wacky furniture, loads of fabric, thumb tacks, a seasonal aisle with fish shaped bbq tongs (whatever that means) and the smallest amount of groceries. You only came in this store if the big box store didn’t carry that thing you needed for your craft project you finally got around to, or you wanted to make fun of something.

The goat looked mass produced. There was an entire row of them where they normally put the Christmas trees or lawn chairs. Probably set out because summer was nearly over but no real holiday was coming up soon enough yet. My guess was that the goats were lawn ornaments. Who would ever want that in their house!?

I had come into the store three times for my project when the goat got the better of me. I had to get one. It had to be my lucky day, the goat was 50% off an already reduced price. Which tells me the store hadn’t sold many.

In fact, as the cashier rang up my items she got to the goat and said “Thank God, these stare at me all day.” I had worked in retail before and I understood her sentiment. Or so I had thought.

Weeks after purchasing the goat and placing it in my back yard near the garden I got a gnawing urge to bring it inside. There was a huge storm coming later in the day, but this goat was meant to be outside. I couldn’t pin the reason but I took it inside and put it near the staircase in the foyer.

It sat there another few weeks, greeting guests as they entered. Most of my friends had come to love the goat. Giving it the name of Scruffy. Which was ironic, since he had no hair. One friend in particular was fond of knitting sweaters for him. By Christmas he was very festive, a red hat, green vest, and little black boots all made out of yarn. I was impressed with her skills since she had never measured him and they all fit perfectly.

After Christmas had gone, I placed Scruffy the goats clothes in a box to put in the attic with my other Christmas decor. Something had felt off. Like the goat was now naked. I found the other sweaters my friend had knitted for him and got him dressed.

A few years had gone by and Scruffy had his own room, a closet full of clothes that went beyond knitting. I had found clothing specifically for him online. A whole community creating lives for their little goats bought from a home goods store. Friends and family that had not specifically met Scruffy in person were appalled at how much I had grown to care for him. They just didn’t understand. I had even begun feeding him, switching out the pellets in the bowl so that it was fresh everyday.

Until one day I knew I had forgotten to put fresh food in the bowl, I felt so bad. However when I went to check on it in the morning, it was gone. I didn’t have pets, but I searched all around the house for a racoon or something that would have broken in and ate it. Until I realized that it was Scruffy. A painted white, metal goat in a 4 piece Egyptian cotton suit that I had bought online specifically for him. He stood in the kitchen, which was not the last place I placed him. He stared at me and I stared back until I heard the faintest, “Hello!”

Matchmaker

The Saturday was around the corner. I filled with dread as it approached but Hahn was all for it, saying it could be an adventure.

Sure, any trip down state could be an adventure if you’ve only done it once or twice. But I’ve done it so often I could do it blindfolded. Hahn wasn’t nearly on the same page. He even kept a daily countdown app just for the occasion. Downloaded it to his phone for the specific reason of our trip.

I suppose he had a good reason to be excited though, he’d only been to see the Matchmaker one other time before. His first match was only temporary, like all of mine had been so far. It doesn’t get easier, which I have tried to explain to him but he’s so full of hope that his next match will be the forever kind.

The days leading up to Saturday felt so long to me, once I heard the date I would be matched again I panicked. My last match ended three weeks before that and I was starting to enjoy the freedom. Because that’s all they had become to me, Matches. Not people. Not after the third at least. Matchmaker told me that I had a gift, turning the final moments of my matches life into bearable ones. I was more thinking I was cursed.

Once the Saturday arrived, Hahn and I got into my Toyota, stopped at a gas station for snacks, and hit the road. Hahn had a special playlist, only love songs.

By the time we got to the Matchmaker he was bursting with anticipation and I was ready to puke. His appointment was first. When he came out he didn’t say a word, very unusual. No matter what I did he just kept looking away.

I had an hour before my appointment and we sat in silence. I wondered if the Matchmaker had matched him with a guy who would die soon.

I walked into the Matchmakers office and she sat me down at my very familiar testing chair, but the test booklet was not there.

She calmly explained that it was an unusual day, she’s never had her matches come together before. That’s when it hit me like a sack of bricks. Hahn and I had matched. But that didn’t explain why he was so somber.

Before I could ask questions, she thanked me for my time. She thanked me for all the matches I had loved despite knowing their fate. She said that I was one of her favorites. And it it me again, this time my heart sank in my chest. Hahn would be the one with the gift this time.

And now you’re back, from outer-space…

I just walked in to find you sitting there with that sad look upon your face.

No, but before I get in trouble for copyright infringement or something silly lets get back to why we’re here.

I haven’t written in a while! A long while!  So many things have happened but nothing has happened and anyway. I came to this conclusion (probably again) that if I don’t do it, I won’t do it, and then it’ll be harder to do it. Writing that is. And look at that, just in time for July Camp NaNoWriMo.

*Some disclaimers/excuses are about to be announced*  I just bought a house! Well, in the process of. God, you know what they need to teach in schools? House buying. How do you do it? What’s a mortgage? Do I need a down payment? What are the hidden costs? What is a lateral sewage pipe? Why do I have to fix my lateral sewage pipe? I close on it in the middle of July. So painting, cleaning, moving, organizing, and all that jazz is going to be thrown in the mix of trying to write something again for the 100th time.

I got Scrivener too, so there’s a bit of motivation in getting to use a cool new tool. Have any of you used Scrivener before? There was like two days of learning and I feel like I’ll need to watch some tutorials on youtube along the way but I’m excited.

What am I writing you ask? (I know you didn’t but let’s pretend)  A collection of short stories!  Because let’s face it, I’ve tried actual novels and get about 20000 words in (once) and never finished it. Short stories is where it’s at. I won’t be excerpting much because the idea is to self-publish this once I’m done.

It’s July 1 and I spent most of my free time today learning Scrivener today so I haven’t even started yet. But blogging is close enough to doing something today for me. If you have well wishes or advice or story ideas throw ’em my way!

Voices outside

She heard the voices again. No they, they weren’t inside her head. They were over there. Mumbling faintly as if they had something to hide. Talking about her or talking about the weather or talking about that guy with the funny nose they saw passing by on the street the other day. But no, not inside her head. If they were inside her head she wouldn’t be concerned. That would be something the therapist would agree with.

What would she say? Would her complaint be that they are talking without her? Would anyone believe her?

She lays her head down on the pillow. If the voices outside of her head would not listen the best thing was to just try and ignore them.

Ghost Town: Tiwappity

The ghost town of Tiwappity was unusual to say the least. No one in surrounding towns quite understood just what happened first, the desertion of the human population or the overwhelming take over by adorable weasels.

Adorable by appearance that is. Several towns folk from the neighboring town of Allendale have attempted entering the weasels lined streets only to be ran out. One man swore he was tied up and carried out, he of course had no proof. Teenagers took challenge by sleeping in the woods near town, waking up to their food supply stolen and tiny weasel footprints in the mud.

Even the folk who lived in the town, now in their 90s, can not explain the strange phenomenon. Interviewers from all over bugged these people so much they all moved in to a home together heavily guarded by FBI agents.

Lots of speculation went around but nothing was proven. Even the natural predators like owls and foxes stayed clear of Tiwappity. Scientists could never figure it out.

The State highway even stoped maintaining the roads leading to Tiwappity.

With the invention of drones, Allendalians thought they had finally had a great plan. They would fly a drone over Tiwappity and discover every secret those adorable weasles had. There was a festival held to raise money to get the best drone out there. The town’s curiosity was strong enough that $5000 was raised in just the first hour of the festival. They used the rest of the time to celebrate.

The day they got the drone, another party was held. They first flew the drone around their own town, creating a video so they could test all of the features. Once they were ready, the mayor of Allendale cut a ribbon on the boarder line of the road to Tiwappity. The road just beyond the ribbon was grown over by grass, tree roots had begun to burst out of the concrete. In the distance, the weasels were waiting.

The drone flew high over the trees at first, circling Tiwappity and climbing down ever so slowly. The townsfolk watched the mega screen at city hall as the drone’s camera searched all around.

It got under the tree cover and started surveying the ghost town. The townsfolk were able to see all the decay of homes and buildings and the overgrowth of plants for a few moments.

A glimpse of a ghost town. Before what seemed like flying weasels came towards the drone. Of course they’ll never know. The townsfolk saw a fiery explosion in the sky and the camera feed on the mega screen went black.

Of course, there was no evidence that this had happened. The files sent by the drone were corrupted and any video tape they had was destroyed. Even the files previously saved of the flight over Allendale itself.

From then on, Allendale put caution tape and barecades all around Tiwappity. They never recovered the drone for fear of the adorable flying weasels of destruction. And there Tiwappity sits, a phenomenon they were never able to explain.

Alarm Clock

This is not what she wanted. It is two hours past regular feeding time. She would rather be scarfing down the pea sized kibble. But instead she is entrapped by my arms.

She doesn’t struggle, perhaps she knows that I need this. The simple comfort of holding my cat on a lazy Sunday morning. A love that is pure.

A faint meow. “No kitty, just a moment longer.” She settles back down and rests her paw on the crease of my elbow that has her locked, ever so gently.

On her mind is breakfast. On mine, it is the impending doom of the diagnosis. The reality that life will happen in ways we can never expect. I must soon get out of this bed and face the day with a brave face.

A meow, a little louder than the first. “Okay, kitty. Let’s bring on our morning.”

Terminated

“Your coverage has been terminated.”

Sleek men in all black suits hand over the little white envelopes.

“Your coverage has been terminated,” they say. No date. No time. Just that your time is ending soon.

The sleek men in all black occupy every day life as if on their own journey. The envelopes are just a part of their daily routine. Children are frightened, of course, until they start to realize that death is just apart of life. No one is shocked when they receive their letter. They know it’s time to start wrapping up.

My Uncle Joe had two weeks when he got his letter. Just barely enough time to sell his house and give away possessions. He was ready, his wife left just days after the vows were spoken, he just wanted to find peace with her.

Some people get their letters and it’s almost an instant and they’re gone.

“Your coverage has been terminated.” As if an all knowing being has lifted a protection over the human body. Theories surround the protection. Questions arise. Who is worthy of guaranteed protection? Are the powers that be just bored of particular lives? Do these sleek men in all black know who the letters belong to or do they just hand them out on a whim?

The sleek men in all black do not talk. They smile and nod and smirk and grimace and cry and laugh. But they do not talk. If you are handed a letter and and beg for forgiveness and gravel at their feet, they do not talk. They bow their heads and continue on.

“Your coverage has been terminated.” My letter said. Three years ago.

I wait. At first, I too passed on my possessions and prepared for ill fate. But here I’ve waited three long years and my time has not come.

I’ve studied the sleek men in all black. Followed their every move. Talked to my loved ones. Interviewed strangers. Watched people reveive their letters and crumble at my feet. A fluke perhaps. Had my letter come to early? I studied it. Read it a million times over. Retraced my steps of the day I received it.

“Your coverage has been terminated.” It said. But when?

Polymath

I would like to tell you about an interesting case I worked on a few years ago. It’s morbid and it’s sad. It still haunts me, I’ve moved miles away and still can’t escape the thoughts that run through my mind. These two men were ordinary people to everyone they met, that is of course, until their “friends” stared going missing. One by one.

The father, Paul, was very talented. He learned every trade he possibly could and would give the shirt off his back to anyone who needed it. For instance, when their neighbor’s tree fell on the house during the storm, Paul was able to learn very quickly how to fix it. He even went as far as insulating and dry walling and painting their attic. They were so grateful that they created a toy room and library up there and named their second child after him. The boy I’m told will now deny that fact and pretend his mother was a huge Paul McCartney fan.

Another instance was the car crash outside of the family home. Paul offered to fix each car for free so they wouldn’t have to go through the hassle of insurance companies. Both cars looked brand new by the time he was finished with them.

The son, Karl, was very quiet. He often showed up to public events but would murk in shadows. Listening to conversations, but never chiming in. He was well liked when he did speak his mind, which I suppose is why he was continuously invited to events. He worked in the factory on the other side of town.

When I interviewed Karl’s manager, he had very few stories of him. Just said that he came to work, did the job quietly, and then went home. He never came to any of the company outings until he met Allison.

Allison was bright and bubbly and you would never see the two of them together not with smiles on their faces. She was the last to go missing.

At first me and my other police officers couldn’t find a link to the disappearances. Johnny from the factory went on a solo adventure in the forest behind the house. We just presumed he was lost in the deep expanse. Our search was centered around the tent we found with his belongings. Assumed he had just gone in search of a rabbit or fresh water and couldn’t find his way back. Johnny’s friends wouldn’t believe us. They told us that he was an experienced backpacker and wouldn’t have just gotten lost. We had nothing else to go on.

The grocer, Bill had a fight with his wife. Stormed out of the house and was last seen wandering around the highway. His wallet and everything was left at home so there was no money trail to follow him. We assumed he hitched a ride with a trucker. There were missing posters put up all along the highway in both directions. It was months before we gave up on that case. No one ever came forward.

Jesse, the only one who was frequently seen with Karl was our first clue that they might be related. But that case went cold after only 6 months. We couldn’t put the connections down on paper to really be evidence. Just speculation. But even then, had no idea that Karl and Paul would have anything to do with it. Jesse’s truck was finally found by the lake. It seemed to pop up out of nowhere. We did the best efforts to search the lake but it was winter then and no luck. Our assumption was that he had gone fishing and fell in, there was tackle and a camp chair along the bank. We’d search again when spring came.

That was until Allison never showed up after spring break. She was a kindergarten teacher, a very loved teacher. I’ve heard many of the students went on to prestigious schools. The School erected a statue of her reading on a bench so students could come sit with her. There’s also a beautiful butterfly garden surrounding the statue. A very lovely tribute to someone who died the most horrific death.

Once Allison went missing our first clue was to head to Karl’s house, naturally. It was usually a significant other when someone so loved went missing. There was speculation she was last seen at his house so that’s where we headed first. Speculation is not enough grounds for a search, and Paul seemed to be versed on the laws. We ended up just talking to him on the porch. Paul was so smart, he answered every question we had almost as if he had rehearsed it. Looking back, that was the clue we needed. It wouldn’t be until a few months later that we actually got to search the house.

Our other cold cases were reviewed. We searched the lake again for Jesse, this time bringing in professionals in scuba gear. They found a lot of interesting things, but not Jesse. He got a hold of his messages and emails and discovered the last contact he had been with Karl.

A day later we decided to search Bill and Johnny’s entire social media history and emails. The one thing they all had in common? Allison.

It seemed she felt bad for Karl, started to date him and actually fell in love. She was determined to get Karl some friends. Bill, Johnny, and Jesse were her unfortunate picks.

Going over all of the evidence we had, on the weekends of their disappearance she had planned one on one hang outs with Karl. But he declined every time. Bill’s fight with his wife was that he was supposed to be gone on a guy’s weekend with Karl but he was home. Bill walked in on her and the young and handsome bag boy from his store. Johnny was going to take him camping, when Karl backed out last-minute Johnny went on his own like he would have anyway. Jesse would have taken him fishing, but Karl was afraid of fish. It was never clear what Jesse was doing missing the few months leading up to the appearance of his truck at the lake. That is one thing that still bothers me.

Once we had enough evidence of the connection, originally thought to be Allison, we searched her apartment. Her parents hadn’t come to collect her things yet, they asked us to pack up what we didn’t need. We happily obliged, but we didn’t find much for evidence and helped them move everything back into their home. That led us back to Paul’s house. The only other connection that we had, this time we showed up with a warrant.

Paul’s smooth talking wouldn’t get him out of it this time. We needed the proof that Karl was the one taking these people. We needed the bodies. What we found was worse.

The first and second stories of the house were perfect. Prime example of a happy family. Pictures of the mother, who died early in Karl’s childhood, hung with precision. Tributes to her memory. The attic with boxes and boxes of Christmas and toys covered in dust. At first the basement seemed normal as well. Until we opened the door on the back wall. Such an odd place for a door, this would have been where the house above would have ended. There shouldn’t have been a room behind the door.

What we found was a perfect replica of the first story of the house. Paul’s craftmanship. Such an amazing recreation. I was shocked. But what shocked me more, the bodies.

Preserved. Jesse, in his fishing gear, a beer in hand and a smile on his face. He sat in a recliner that faced the door. Bill and Johnny sat on the couch their beers touching as if they had just said a toast and were cheering. Faces showed happiness. Paul had learned taxidermy and he had learned it well. The only thing missing were Karl and Allison. The thoughts running through our mind were that the lovebirds were out of the house on a vacation together. We were wrong.

More searching led to another door. Another perfect replica, this time of Karl’s room upstairs. There was Allison, preserved like the others on the bed in lingerie. Honestly, she was beautiful, a perfect angel asleep. Next to her was Karl.

Paul was upstairs being detained, interviewed, questioned over and over. He began to break and the detectives brought him into the station. My initial thought was that this father wanted a perfect world for his son. His motive being that he was just a craftsman practicing on the things closest to him.

That was until Karl startled awake. Alive. The horror on his face when he realized we were not his father.

Karl was naked, we made him put clothing on and took him to the station. Our speculations about Paul were not far off, he wanted a perfect world for his son. But Karl wanted a quiet world. They created the comfort that Karl had always wanted in the hidden hideaway basement.

The bodies were returned to their families for burial. Karl was sentenced to prison for life for conspiracy of murder. He had good lawyers that somehow proved that he never actually wanted his father to kill for him and therefore didn’t get the electric chair. Though I felt that Karl was just a very good actor, and if he didn’t want his father to kill the closest things he had to friends, he was sure grateful anyway.

Paul never saw sentencing. He was found in his holding cell awaiting trial. His death was a mystery until they did the autopsy. Anaphylactic shock the coroner said. Turns out he had requested nothing but peanut butter sandwiches for two weeks. He scraped off the peanut butter and kept it hidden in his pillow. One night he swallowed as much as he could. Killed himself by giving himself an allergic reaction.

I have never eaten a peanut butter sandwich since.

Cedric the Time Traveler

“When’s the last time you saw Cedric?” My father asked over the dinner table. We hadn’t said a word to each other since sitting down and it came as a shock. Cedric was a dear friend but I told my father the truth.

“Not for a while.” I admitted.

“Did he finally go to the looney bin?” He never did think well of Cedric.

“No father, I just haven’t heard anything from him.” I wasn’t actually sure of that answer. He was heavily invested in his work and would often disappear into his workshop but would contact me with any brilliant ideas he had. And in theory they were all brilliant, they just never worked.

After dinner that night I considered everything I knew about Cedric the last time I talked to him. I contacted his last girl friend. He kept in touch with her even if she didn’t want it. The conversation with her didn’t get me anywhere. She clearly was over all of his antics and was glad she hadn’t heard from him in over a month. And as I thought of it, that was about the last time I had heard from him as well. What was his last invention? I pondered and pondered and went over all the emails and texts I had with him. A machine. It was some sort of machine…

I tried to contact him over the weekend and got nowhere. I called the workshop he worked part time, they told me he had put in his notice and never heard from him. It wasn’t like Cedric to just quit a job like that.

Monday night I went to his house. I found the hide-key under the purple frog statue and let myself in. The house was dark and quiet. There was actual dust on the kitchen table, which is honestly the cleanest I had ever seen it. His bed was made, the bathroom empty. His basement was damp and cold as it ever was. I walked towards the garage and crept slowly waiting for a noise. Anything at all to let me know that he was home and in his own work space tinking away.

I opened the door and darkness crept over me. I found the light switch and found a big empty space in the middle of the room. As if there was a car there and he had just taken it grocery shopping. The tables the lined the garage walls were filled with little inventions, coffee pots destined for his next telecommunication device, remote controls for various things in a stock pile, papers and drawings and clutter. I made it to his main workbench at the back wall. Blue prints for the machine he told me about, something that would change life as we knew it. A time machine.

I spent the next few months combing his research and came to the conclusion. He had finally done it! That’s why no one had seen him, he was in the future out there somewhere. I decided not to report it to the police. Cedric would return any day now with his stories about the future and show me new technologies I could yet to imagine.

 

I waited. And waited. And waited. I had been promoted in my company. I found a wife. I had two children and watched them graduate from college. Jasper went off to medical school. Julia went to the Peace Corps and is helping the rainforests. She sends a letter once a month. I still waited. Cedric’s house had gone into disrepair. I had tried to do upkeep on it but once Jasper had children of his own I went into retired grandpa mode and forgot all about it. One day there was a knock on my door.

“I can’t believe it.” There in front of me on my own door step was Cedric. Gray hair and wrinkled face, but it was him. “Cedric?”

“Did you miss me old friend?” He smiled.

“Where have you been all of these years!?” I opened the door wider to let him come in. “Come sit, tell me all about your adventures!”

We sat over coffee and he told me all about his revelation with the time machine he had built out of his Suburu Outback. He wanted something roomy and affordable so he could travel in comfort. He told me he upgraded it once he reached the future and went back and forth though time. I was amazed.  “Why did you wait so long to come back?”

He grew silent. His eyes shifted to the sides. “I’m glad you’re so enthused old friend. But some things are to be kept secret.”

I became uneasy. “What do you mean? What did you see in the future?”

“Marvelous things, cures for diseases. Pills for life longevity. Dinosaurs being brought back to life. Cultures destroyed and Cultures created. Dinosaurs at their second distinction from human greed. Marvelous things and terrible things.”

“But my friend, haven’t you been lonely all this time?” He told me more tales about the people he met and the women he had loved and how none of them believed his travels. He then told me terrible news. He was at his own end. Struck with a terrible disease he caught from visiting the year 5642. He discovered the disease after the jump forward mechanism on his time machine had broke. He was going to die with out the cure and the technology he would need to fix the machine. That was when his decision to come back home came to light.

Cedric and I had a few days together before his death. He stayed with me and my wife and told us more stories of his inventions.

After we buried him I took my wife to his home. It was miraculously tidy again, lived in almost. As if it was that week I had discovered him missing. We went into the garage. The Outback with wires and gears and odd shapes jutting from odd directions as if it had been there the whole time. My wife found a journal in the front seat labeled “Places I’ve Been.” She read a few pages as I looked at all the old blueprints.

“Honey, he…” She paused.

“What is it?” I turned to face her.

“He never went anywhere outside the United States. Your father was right. He was crazy.”

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t time travel, darling. This journal is just a chronicle of his cross country vacation. Entries of different jobs he’s had and different people he met along the way.” She handed me the journal to the last page.

The last words had shocked me and convinced me that I must do his last wish. That night me and my wife cleared any proof that we had set foot in the house and set fire to Cedric’s home.

I’ve convinced every person I have met along the way that I am a time traveler. I think I’ll return home now. The doctors here in California are convinced there are no more treatments for me. I’m old and tired. I just hope I can destroy the evidence before anyone can discover my truths.