Following a traumatic experience, he can’t remember, Tristan Jacobs wakes up naked in the desert dehydrated and burnt. Desperate for salvation he meets a giant, Filmore P Tungsten, who whisks him away through space to a distant planet in the solar system. It is here that he is informed of his special duty, to be the final decision in who will be elected as the new Prime Minister over the Galactic Federation. Dinner and a pageant of sorts ensue before the moment comes. Tristan casts his vote to the surprise of everyone and then chaos erupts as a terrorist group begins slaughtering everyone with the intention to further their cause in destroying the galaxy.
Tristan and companions escape, but barely, before having to sneak their way off the planet. Pursued in a desperate chase they finally crash land on foreign planet where they meet new allies and fight for their survival. As the dust of battle settles Tristan looks above into the heavens to see another ship monitoring the planet.
Who is on this other ship? Do they make is safely off this planet? Do they reunite with friends lost? Pick up the story when the next entry becomes available tomorrow, April 25th.
Get caught up with part 1 of Beyond the Stars by purchasing your copy today. Available in paperback and Kindle formats at Amazon.com
Kat had come to the cabin to escape. To escape the city with its traffic and noise. To escape her mother with the constant questions of when she would settle down and start a family. To escape everyone else’s needs and focus on her own. She was a workaholic, a people pleaser, and the person who couldn’t say no. So this week was hers in solitude, at a getaway far to the north and outside of cell service.
While it did at least have the amenity of running water, the cabin had no electricity. This meant that her laptop had to stay at home and her cell phone would be used minimally since it had to be charged in the car. She would keep herself occupied with puzzles, outdoor hikes, and quick trips into town if she needed anything.
As you can imagine the first few days were great, she felt more relaxed and energized than ever, but it didn’t last long. By day 4 Kat was beginning to desire the company of others. To hear about their lives and compare their days to her own. She started to think about her mother and the woman’s desire for her to settle down. Maybe a little romance in her life wouldn’t be so bad. But to leave early was not an option. She was determined to make it the full week, so she set aside her thoughts and went into town.
There wasn’t much available besides the local tavern, a gas stations, and the small family own grocery. It was at this last place that she found what she hoped would be her salvation. They had a nice selection of books. Mysteries and thrillers were her favorite, but they also had a large selection of romance. A trashy romance might just be what she needed. She picked up one where the cover featured a long haired lumberjack with his flannel shirt open in the front. The damsel had a lacy dress with the sleeve falling low enough to reveal not only her should but a generous portion of her bosom. Rolling her eyes and laughing to herself, she picked up the book along with a couple mysteries and thrillers to take back with her.
This did the trick, the books kept her engrossed. The mysteries and thrillers were her preferred genre so she started with those. Day after day she read from sun up to sun down. She only took a break to eat and enjoy a hike once a day. With 3 days left of her week away she felt completely put at ease, except that the only book left to her was the trashy romance.
She had bought it for a reason and decided to give it a try. At first she found it comical. It was a classic trope, the way the man and the woman behaved and acted towards each other. She was absorbed, at least at first. As the book kept moving she found herself more and more annoyed. The woman in the story didn’t seem capable of doing anything and the man spent more time flexing his muscles than serving a purpose. About half way through she gave up, disgusted, and threw the book across the room, before leaving for an evening walk.
Now had she stayed, she might have been able to stop what happened next. The book had landed on the wood pile right next to the fire place. A fire place that periodically threw sparks and it just so happened that one of these sparks landed on the open page. As you can imagine it ignited and flamed up, but curiously only for a brief moment until it fizzled out leaving a trail of smoke. If she had stayed she would have seen the words around the singe mark start to run together as though they were becoming liquid and running into a pool.
It was this pool of ink that started to bubble, no boil, until once again smoke began to venture forth followed by a tendril. This tendril thickened and hardened and continued to grow until it became a vine with smaller tendrils growing off of it. It was one of these smaller vines that produced the pod. The pod was about 6 feet in height and 3 feet in diameter at its widest. It stood straight and tall until it started to open.
It was about 1 hour after the opening of the pod that Kat returned home to find the unimaginable mess in her home. She couldn’t imagine where it had come from. The plant looked dead, what had probably been green at one point, was now brown and dehydrated. The roots, which looked to start at the wood pile, were shriveled and exposed. She could also see what remained of the book woven into the roots and completely decimated. As she took it in she became concerned about the track of pollen that seemed to move away, towards the back porch, in a distinct and direct path. She followed it.
It led right to the back door, which hung open a crack. She pushed it, letting it swing open fully before she ventured outside to find him. He was leaning against the railing with his flannel shirt open to reveal his chest. The muscles looked painted on beneath the perfect cover of chest hair. The shirt had the sleeves ripped off at the shoulders to reveal his arms. One was wrapped around the porch post allowing him to flex. He was a sight to be seen, with perfect eyes burning a hole right through her. She felt like the woman on the cover and wanted to reveal a little more skin to be just as enticing. But then it happened. A breeze lifted up off the water. He reached up and released his long hair from the clasp that held it and then looked into the wind, shaking out his locks to be teased by air. That was the moment, she rolled her eyes and walked back into the house slamming the door behind her. She was crazy, too much solitude had led her to this, and while he was pretty she didn’t need another high maintenance person in her life. The week was over, she would hire someone to come clean the mess and hope that HE just disappeared on his own. But just in case she would leave word in the town that someone should check on him. Maybe they had a lace wearing girl that would be the perfect damsel for novel romance.
For years it had been revered as the haunted house that no one dared to enter. People would cross the street before walking past, grandmothers would encourage you to throw salt over your shoulder if you looked at it long, and black cats steered clear. So the night that lights appeared on inside, everyone gathered from a safe distance to try and discern who would dare go in. For weeks the house would shine bright through the night. During the day, windows and doors stood open allowing it to breath, and once a week trash was left at the curb. Painters were hired from out of town, since no one local could be paid enough to take the job. From shabby to classy the house became more and more beautiful, even welcoming. This went on for a month before the invitations were received.
They appeared in splendid fashion. Enclosed in beautifully ornate envelopes were invitations that were crafted with fine calligraphy and photos that gave a teasing peek into the mysteries of the “haunted house” now named Uada Estate and Gardens. A story was crafted that spoke of love and legacy. A house that was reclaimed by the ancestral heir and restored to its grand beauty, including the unique gardens that had been known for their rare, exotic, and hybrid plants. They promised to share magic and mystery and their allure was having the inviting affect. The doors and gates would open to the public on the weekend. Crowds began to gather, carried on waves of whispers and anticipation. Those doors would open to a line of visitors finally willing to chance a look inside.
Over the summer people entered the property to explore what was once forbidden to them by fear. Morning through afternoon the grounds were filled with talk and laughter. Small kids ran through paths adorned with the most amazing fragrant blooms while their parents watched from porch or patio listening to stories of the family who built the manor. While the sun was in the sky the property was filled with life, but once dusk fell the guests were escorted out and the gates were shut tight. By August more than 100 people had been within those gates, but if someone paid attention they would realize that only 84 of them had left.
August was coming to a close when the first of the missing fliers appeared. In the city they were taped to storefronts, left on windshields, and stuffed in the free coupon fliers at grocery stores. At first no one made a connection. Some of the missing people had only been here for a day trip, others were nuisance types that weren’t missed, and some hadn’t been noticed as gone. It was Mack Findley, a local detective, who first suspected the connection. He had been scanning through social media posts and found everyone had shared pictures of themselves at the Uada Estate and Gardens. He had never been himself, but he guessed even the night shots were in this same location.
Walking the street on which the house stood, Mack began by talking to neighbors. None of them were familiar with the faces he shared, but they had all been to the estate and gardens. It was a wonderful place with the most wonderful host. They spoke of the young woman who gave tours and ran the property as though she had always been a part of their world and was the dearest friend they had ever known. He was eager to meet her and tour the property in his pursuit of finding answers. It was an hour before sunset when he made his way up the walk and through the gate entrance. He passed the last of the day’s guests now leaving, so he was confident he would have uninterrupted time with the patron of the property. Up large cement stairs he approached massive wooden double doors that had only just been shut to visitors. He rapped firmly, but respectfully, with his knuckles against the hard surface, then leaned in to listed for the approach of feet on the other side.
Another knock against the door, this time slightly harder, spurred movement within. He could hear the latch thrown back and the door began to swing inward, opening onto a lavish parlor that was lit by the evening glow of sunset through a far window. “Hello?” he asked through the opening, just barely popping his head over the threshold. “I’m Detective Findlay, I’ve come to speak with the owner of the estate.” There was no answer so he stepped inside and looked around. Just behind the door a small frail woman was taking deep breaths. She waived in apology and then began the arduous work of pushing the door back into place. “Please, allow me.” Mack took the handle from her and swung the door closed. “Thank you.” Her voice was quite but melodious. If he hadn’t been looking at her he would have expected to see the young woman that neighbors described.
“Madam, I apologize for the late intrusion, but I am inquiring with all residents of the neighborhood after some individuals who have gone missing. I believe they all toured your property.” She looked up at him with absolute concern. “That is such a horrible thing to hear, but I don’t get out much to see people beyond these walls. I wouldn’t know where they go or what they do when they leave here.” “I understand that, but I was hoping you might be able to look at some photos, maybe see if you remember them lingering behind or if there were any odd occurrences associated with them while they were here.” She nodded and lifted a hand to invite him further into the house. “Let’s take a seat in the sun room. You can show me your pictures and we’ll enjoy a glass of lemonade.” He followed her, through the parlor to a door at the back under the staircase that lead to the second floor. He sat and watched her pour liquid from a crystal decanter into stemmed glasses before she took her own seat across from him. “Please,” she said reaching out “may I see your photos?”
The array of faces ranged in age, race, and gender. There was no clear pattern other than the fact that they all had been on a tour of the estate and its gardens. The old woman brushed a finger gently across the picture of a young smiling girl. “They all look like lovely people, but unfortunately with the numbers who come through I can’t recall ever meeting them. Are you sure they were here?” “I am. They each had photos on their social media profiles that they tagged at this location. Any chance they may have lingered behind?” Mack reflected on the few photos he saw from night visits. “Maybe they came through during a night tour.” The woman’s face clouded over, “excuse me? There are no night tours. The doors shut and are locked at dusk, no one tours the ground past then.” Mack was taken aback by the sudden anger in her voice. “I didn’t mean to offend.” The woman settled back down a bit. “Maybe if I could speak with the young woman who leads the tours, she might remember them.” Now relaxed the woman chuckled. “You must mean my niece, sweet girl although a little flighty, she leaves with the last tour. I am sure you passed her on your way up the walk.” Mack reflected on those he encountered when he arrived, none of whom could have been mistaken for the beautiful woman the neighbors described.
Not wanting to overstay his welcome he ventured one last question “any chance someone might have snuck into the garden after dark? I noticed some of the fencing was damaged.” With concern the woman looked out towards the garden. Her answer was distant but firm. “I would hope not. This garden isn’t a kind place after dark.” She turned back with cold eyes “many of these hybrid plants have unwelcome tendencies for pollination and fertilization. Come, I’ll walk you back to the door.”
He wanted to ask more questions about the garden but the woman was already up and moving away. Her speed betrayed her fragile appearance and the door did not give her quite the strain it had before. She ushered him over the threshold with gentle force and before he could turn and thank her for her time the door was shut. He stared at the wooden barricade now thrown in his path. In his gut he knew the answers he sought were here. As he made his way down the walk and back to the sidewalk he kept reflecting on one of the last things she said “this garden isn’t a kind place after dark.” What did that mean? He was just past the damaged part of the fence when he made a split second decision. Turning back, he slipped past a hanging fence slat and into the garden beyond. It was darker here. The sky was now violet as the sun sunk below the horizon and many of the plants reached above his head. This was his first visit to the garden and he found it overwhelming. The colors were vivid, even in the dim light of evening, and he was mesmerized by a feeling of being transported to a different world. Breathing deep he took in the aromas that wafted around him. The whole experience was making him relaxed and full of joy. He walked along the paths with his head and eyes swiveling around, taking it all in. His primary motive was completely forgotten until he got tangled in a low vine and fell to the ground.
On his knees he had a new vantage point and looking around, beneath the foliage, his eyes came to rest on an object that chilled him. He reached out with his right hand to brush away some of the dirt. Slowly the mound became a hand, a woman’s hand with a large diamond ring still attached. He recognized the ring from one of the many missing person’s reports and knew that his search had come to an end. Staying low he continued to look beneath the plants in this area. It was getting much darker so he took out his phone to use as a flashlight. Most of what he saw was expected. Plant stalks thrust deep into the ground creating a dense forest to peer through, but every now and then the light would grace something that didn’t belong. The toe of a shoe, a few fingers reaching upward as though the owner had been sucked below, a face staring back with the frozen expressing of a scream cut short. This last image startled him. He let out his own muffled cry of horror before getting to his feet.
He didn’t have time to wait for a warrant, he was already here and knew that if he allowed the them time, the bodies would most likely be cleared away. He fumbled with his phone to call for back up. As the display came on it was near blinding as night had now fully set in. He jerked his head away and dropped the phone. As his eyes regained focus he came face to face with a flower he hadn’t noticed before. It was slowly opening up before his eyes to reveal an amazing array of colors within. The head lowered slowly and came to rest as though it was looking directly at him, and then it sprayed. It was a fine dust of pollen that shot forth and covered his face in a sticky powder like substance. He stumbled a little and tried to brush it off. When he realized his attempt was futile he decided to find his phone and make his call.
Looking down he found the ground spinning beneath his feet. He tried shaking his head but to no avail and rubbing his eyes only made the sensation worse. Distracted by his distress he didn’t notice the tendrils snaking their way along the path towards him until it was too late. In one swift motion his legs were pulled from beneath him and he found himself on his back. The vines that had grabbed at him were twisting tighter and higher until he found himself immobilized from the knees down. He tried to twist out, but the movement only seemed to tighten the hold they had. The fear didn’t set in until he realized he was now moving towards the bodies beneath the foliage. Images ran through his mind of suffocation as he was dragged under the dirt. He flailed out reach for anything. Plant stalks broke in his hands as he was pulled along with great force. His fingernails chipped as he tried to grasp at the ground, and then his salvation was at hand. A rusty trowel that had been discarded was in his grip. Using all the core strength he could muster he reached out towards the tendrils around his legs. A quick stabbing motion caused a flurry of activity. The vines released their hold and pulled back, flailing around in apparent pain. Mack scurried back trying to catch his breath but his moment of relief was short lived. The vines reached out again, this time more aggressively. Mack jumped to his feet and moved backwards as quickly as possible until he was stopped by what he thought was a tree. He seemed to be out of reach as he stood there trying to catch his breath. The world was still spinning a bit but he could feel the effects passing. Thinking back to the words of the old woman he was now believing that his best option would be to wait until daylight. He’d come back first thing with a team to excavate the garden and expose the bodies of the missing people he sought. He rested his head back against the trunk giving him support while he closed his eyes allowing the last few waves of dizziness to pass. When he opened them, it was to a view of the heavens with stars twinkling overhead, such a beautiful sight to end his horrific adventure. It was the last thing of beauty he saw before the darkness closed in. His final moments were ushered by the sharp barbed edges of the leaves that closed around him, adding his name to a growing list of missing people.
The news of his death was tragic. Sampson Hindershot had been a legend, not only in our community, but in the world. He was renowned for his travels and exploits. So to hear that he had died from a fall down the stairs, of his own home, was a big letdown. People wanted to talk of his death the way they talked of his life, in grandiose narrative that would hold anyone captive for hours on end. Instead, he fell down his stairs. Except, I am here to tell you that his legend lives on, or at least it might if I choose to carry his banner.
It was a Thursday when my colleagues and I at the bank learned of his demise. We set to work determining the next steps for his assets. The money had been easy as it was bequeathed to several charities he had listed as beneficiaries on his accounts. What we were waiting for was someone to claim the rights to his safe deposit box and its contents, but that never happened. No one remained to take over his processions or his legacy, but he was famous, so certainly an executor of his estate would be named and we would be contacted. Yet again, it never happened. As the year passed the stories of his exploits faded and were replaced by those of new, equally as large, living personalities.
A year passed and then the day arrived. With no one to claim his assets we were beholden to clear them and send them to the state. As bank personnel we were charged with having the box drilled and cataloging its contents. I’d be lying if I said anything other than this moment filled us with excitement. It was here that he had left us some mystery, a tantalizing secret that promised intrigue and a possible final story.
With baited breath we watched. The maintenance man took out his tools, an assortment of hammers to knock out the lock, and began his work with gentle determination. With a few swift hits the locking mechanism broke and from its vault we pulled out a black box. It measured 3”x5”x22”, so we knew it couldn’t hold much. The first items were expected. A passport, some coins, a few photos of exotic locations. But each item that came out after became more and more mundane, not worth protecting from the world. Finally, the last item was recorded and the clear plastic bag was sealed. A quiet sigh was the only communication needed to share our joint disappointment. My partner stood and carried the bag from the vault leaving me to return the now empty box to its cubby. As I lifted it, a rattling noise stopped me. What did we miss?
I laid it back down and lifted the lid. Nothing was obvious so I reached into the dark depths at the back. At first I didn’t feel anything, maybe I had imagined it, but as I pulled back my hand my fingers brushed against a hard object. I gripped it and gently pulled it out into the light. It was a large cylindrical object. At least a foot in length with a base diameter of about 2” that tapered till it ended in a sharp point. It shimmered as the light hit it, like it was infused with glitter so fine it could have been star dust.
I was mesmerized, how could we have missed something so big? I walked out carrying it across my open palms like a sacred object. My first thought was that my colleagues might fear I carried a weapon, but no one noticed. I walked directly up to the nearest teller and mentioned we needed to add one more item to the bag that was left behind the line. She looked at me quizzically and inquired into what I had. All I could say was “look” and she did. She looked at my hands and then back at me with a suspicious glance. “Is this a joke?” I was taken aback. “No, why would you ask that?” “Because your hands are empty.” I looked down, they most certainly were not empty. It was an awkward moment, but I did the only thing I could at that moment and returned to my desk. I didn’t hide the object, and no one questioned it. So when it came to leave, I took it with me.
At home it sat on my coffee table. In the evenings I would stare at it, or hold it trying to determine what it was, and during the day I waited for someone to question me about it. I should have never left with it, and it was probably caught on camera, but no one ever did. The week wore on and my excited grew. This was it, this was the mystery that Sampson Hindershot had left behind, but I didn’t know what to do with it. With Friday wrapping as a work day, I became more and more eager to do research. I needed to know what this object was and what I should do with it. Once the front doors locked and I secured my work station I practically ran for the exit and raced home.
When I arrived I was greeted with a package on my porch. I hadn’t ordered anything, but it was addressed to me. I carried it inside and placed in on the table next to mystery object and opened the box. Inside was another box, but this one was of polished wood and ornate iron hinges. A small engraved plaque was on it near the latch. I looked closely at the words which read, Black Forest, Germany ~ Monoceros. I didn’t understand the last word but I opened the box. Inside was velvet and the clear indentation of where a cylindrical object would lay. With confidence I picked up my stolen object and placed it in the box. It fit perfectly. How did someone know to send this to me? I searched the box for a note, pulling handful after handful of packing peanuts out. At the very bottom another small cardboard box sat. I opened it and found a letter and a journal.
Dear Maureen,
It is now up to you to right my wrongs. You must return what should never have been taken. My journal will be your guide.
~ Sampson Hindershot.
I spent the entire weekend reading and re-reading that letter. How did he know it was me? Now it’s Monday morning. I’ve called into work and have sat here for hours reading through the journal. I have a decision to make. Do I take up his banner and leave my life behind to return this object, or do I hide it away and continue to be the responsible person I have always been? What would you do?
He laid there, sprawled out on the sidewalk, watching the passing crowd look past him. He’d given up on trying to be acknowledged. At this time of day people merely stepped over him without a second glance. His goals in life were simple. Pray for someone to fill his tin can with even the smallest of donations or to wait to be arrested. At least in jail he would be out of this damned drizzle that had been falling for most of the day. Neither desire seemed to be coming true. In fact, the last person to walk by had kicked his can away from him. Of course they didn’t notice and he couldn’t muster the motivation to move and collect it. The only silver lining he could find was when a passerby got angry at their umbrella, which seemed to have opened to far, and shoved it into the trash bin across from him.
Slowly he dragged himself from the ground and made his way across the sidewalk to the trashcan. He pulled the umbrella out and opened it. Sure it was now a bit bent but he could at least keep his head somewhat covered and dry. The six o’clock crowd was clearing up, most people had made it to their evening destinations. He decided it was time to make his trek to the park and see if he might find dinner on the way. The walk was fruitful in his hunt for dinner. A half-eaten sandwich, a carnival bag of popcorn with a few kernels left. He even found an unopened bottle of water that someone must have dropped. Satisfied he turned down a side street and into the fading glow of the setting sun peeking out below the bank of clouds that were beginning to break up.
Most of the day had been clear of any sort of wind, but now a breeze was beginning to pick up adding to the chill of the drizzle. Soon enough the man would be to the park and be able to confine himself to the makeshift tent he had created. It might not be the warmest of places but he would be dry and comfortable. The breeze began to pick up causing the old man to pull his torn trench coat tighter at the collar. He held it with one hand while maintaining his grip on the umbrella. A strong gust swept past and grabbed at the umbrella trying to yank it from his grasp but he held tight. Another came and then another each getting stronger until the last took hold of the umbrella and dragged the man into a run. He tried to let go for fear of falling but found that he couldn’t. It was like the muscles in his fingers had cramped up and wouldn’t yield their hold. He ran along with the wind, trying to release his hold and stop. His feet pounded the pavement faster and faster until he felt himself being lifted upwards. Running flat footed shifted to his toes and then he was spinning his legs in the air as the wind, with the aid of the umbrella, began to lift him ever higher.
Even with this miraculous event happening he remained unnoticed by the few people running about with their head buried under their hoods and umbrellas. He wanted to reach out but was too afraid to make any effort other than to ride the wind that had him. Climbing, he crested the tops of trees amazed at how the world looked from this vantage point. Buildings reached for the sky around him and he was entertained by looking into windows, thought be beyond anyone’s vantage point. Eventually even those started to drift away beneath him as the wind took him to new heights. Fear tickled him with thoughts of falling, but his grip still held firm. He had no control at this moment and was at the mercy of whatever force was pulling him upward. A squawking caught his attention and he looked over his shoulder just in time to see a flock of geese split around him. They seemed as shocked as him that they should be meeting in this type of locale, but eventually they too disappeared beneath him.
He had quickly become used to this new vantage point of the world and figured he would be floating like this forever, but then a sound started to reach him. It was a rumble that started low and then continued to build into a steady roar. He looked all around him and then froze in fear as a jet airliner came into focus and headed directly for him. He tried as well he could to change his direction. He willed the umbrella to carry him higher and faster, but alas it was to no avail, he was moving at one speed and one speed only. As the jet neared he could feel the air around him change. It became more volatile and untrustworthy. The plane was almost to where he could touch it but then a turbulent draft caught hold and sent him and the umbrella into an uncontrolled spin upward and outward. He was being tossed around like a whirly-gig coming down from a great oak tree. His feet were beneath him and then above him. He was spinning in circles all while being jerked back and forth, and then the inevitable happened.
It was quick. The umbrella suddenly folded in the wrong direction and closed up. The shock of the sight caused the old man to release his grip, something he didn’t think was possible, and before he could think about what had just happened he was falling. Now his speed was changing, picking up faster and faster. He knew for sure that he only had moments before he became a splat on the earth below. His thoughts couldn’t go beyond that. He couldn’t yell and he could barely keep his eyes open, so he shut them. He knew it would be over soon, and then it was.
But he wasn’t dead.
Not knowing what to expect he opened only one eye to peek around. While it wasn’t the ground, he was resting on something. Slowly he opened the other eye to inspect the soft substance he landed on. It was white and solid; yet not. He pushed down in an effort to lift himself off his face. At first his hand sunk in, about an inch or so, before he was able to find the leverage to move himself into a sitting position. All around him he could see an expanse of white. He could feel the solid form supporting his weight but around him it moved like smoke rolling. As he moved his hands it would cause the smoke to lift and curl. It was as weird a sensation, sitting in a cloud, as it had been flying with an umbrella. New sounds began to drift towards him, this time from below. He could hear the din of what sounded like glasses clinking against each other and the low murmur of conversations being had. He didn’t trust his ability to peek through. He felt safe and secure where he sat but he didn’t want to chance that and definitely did not want to continue on his fall towards the ground. So he sat where he was not moving and keeping his breathing to a slow steady state.
A few feet in front of him the rolling white smoke began to churn and then lifting up from the center of it a black cylinder grew. It was about 7 inches in diameter and as it continued to rise up wool patches came into view, gracing it at odd angles. After 2 feet the brim became visible where it rested atop a head. Once the shoulders crested the rolling smoke the body stopped and turned. He was a red headed gentleman with a double handlebar mustache. The top handlebar was small and curled just under his reading glasses that slipped low on a long pointed nose. The second, lower handlebar, was large and curled downward to cover a good portion of the man’s cheeks. He smiled at the old man before greeting him in a musically tenor voice. “Hellooooo, you must be Chester. You have been expected.” Chester lifted a hand to his chest, questioning the greeting. He began to stammer. “Exp’ expected? Where am I?” The man chuckled. “You have arrived at the gentleman’s breakfast, an evetn that never ends and is forever enjoyable. Please come join us below.” Chester looked with suspicion at the man. “Gentleman’s breakfast, do you mean it is only men here?” The other’s eyes twinkled as his smile practically reached around his face. “The ladies’ tea is just off in the distance, we do gather quite often to meet and mingle, but here it is just us gents enjoying each other’s company. My name is Magnus Hawthorn and I will be your most glorious host, please let me welcome you to our gathering below.” Those were his last words before Magnus once again began to sink through the rolling smoke. As the top of his hat sunk below, Chester began to sink as well. At first the sensation startled him and he tried to keep his head above the rolling whiteness, for fear of suffocating within it, but he was quickly through. The room he entered, for that is all he could call it, was filled with men of various ages. They were lounging about in chairs of various design. Some sat at tables, some stood in groups, some seemed to be lost in their own minds. They all looked happy as they shared drinks and food. No one was concerned about the floor and walls that moved around them in a continuous roll of white smoke. Magnus took Chester by the arm and moved him further into the space. He was introduced to a variety of people, who greeted him and shook his hand, before he was offered a seat at a table. “Chester, I’d like to introduce you to Alexander and Thomas. Great thinkers of science and engineering. I think you will have wonderful conversations. If you have need of anything, please feel free to ask and I shall provide. Gentleman.” Magnus nodded to each of them and left to wander off into the crowd. Chester turned to his new companions and relaxed. Today had ended in the most perfect way and he was content to enjoy this never ending event.
K. L. Kent Author 