Bystander in Time

by Richard Stockford

  When the meal was done Melody brought a tray of coffee and brandy into the living room. Once they were settled into comfortable chairs, Simon looked thoughtfully at Dex. “I don’t mean to pry,” he said, “but are you sure you haven’t been in Southwest Harbor before?”

  “Nope, never. Well, I came down for a couple of days to talk to the superintendent about the teaching position before we actually moved here.”

  “Well, Dex, one of the reasons we asked you here tonight is to tell you about our deepest family secret. It concerns our ancestor, Tobias Masters, and some information he passed down to us.”

  Dex smiled at the thought of learning some original historical facts. “You said he left some writings,” he said. “I hope you’ll let me look at them.”

  Simon took a deep breath. “That would be most appropriate,” he said. “He wrote about you.” At Dex’s quizzical frown, he continued. “There’s no easy way to say this; Dex; Tobias wrote that he met you in 1768 when you travelled back in time.”

  Dex smiled, waiting for the punch line. “That’s insane,” he finally blurted looking back and forth at the serious looks on Simon and Melody’s faces. “I… I’m…I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Maybe not,” Annie broke in excitedly. “What about your face and your name on that carving downstairs? How could he have known you name?”

  Dex shook his head. “I wondered about that too, so I did a little research the other night,” he said. Turns out that the letters DEX are an old Greek abbreviation for ‘approved in Christ’. That’s a quote from the bible, Romans 16:10 as I recall, which was a popular blessing up through colonial times. It’s also the first letters of the fraternity Delta Epsilon Chi. He sat back in his chair. “That’s not me, guys. It’s just a simple good luck carving.”

  “I want to show you something,” Simon said getting up and leaving the room. He was back in a moment with a small wooden box which he set on the coffee table. Opening it, he removed several newspaper clippings and handed them to Dex. “Read these please,” he said.

  Dex took the yellowed clippings and started reading. In an instant, his own name jumped out at him. The articles detailed the story of fifteen year old Dexter Stockford lost at sea and presumed drowned but then miraculously recovered alive and unhurt more than a week later. Dex was at a complete loss. “I don’t understand,” he said passing the clippings to Annie who had been reading over his shoulder. “That wasn’t me. I never…”

  Simon sighed. “Dex,” he said, “Look at the pictures. Are those your parents? I think they are, and that child is certainly you. I know it’s hard, but you need to keep an open mind here.”

  “No. No, don’t you think I’d remember a thing like that?” said Dex recognizing and hating the touch of hysteria in his voice.

  “He said you might not,” murmured Melody.

  “Who said? What are you talking about? What the hell is going on here?”

  Melody’s gaze was steady, her voice firm. “More than two hundred years ago, Tobias Masters wrote that one day you would return here and that you would probably not remember...”

  Dex jumped to his feet. “All right,” he gritted, “that’s enough. It was a very nice meal and I appreciate your hospitality but I guess I should tell you that I really do not care for practical jokes. Not at all. The notes, the carving the clippings, all very elaborate but…”

  Annie stood and placed a restraining hand on Dex’s arm. “Wait, Dex,” she said. “Please listen. I don’t know what’s going on here either, but Simon and Melody are my friends. They wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

  Dex shrugged off her hand and eyed her coolly. “Well then, I guess that makes you part of it,” he said turning toward the door. “I’ll be in the truck if you want a ride home when you’re done laughing.”

  He caught her reply just as the door shut. “Don’t bother, I’d rather walk.”

  Chapter 31

  Dex left the Masters' apartment in a cold fury which he stubbornly tried to maintain even as it gave way to incipient, reluctant acceptance. Hurt and bewildered, he arrived home with no memory of the drive, sick at heart and afraid he might be losing his mind. He wanted to call Annie, to apologize, but he couldn't find the courage to do it.

  The next morning, Dex awoke in his easy chair with an aching back, a six-pack of empty beer cans scattered around him and an exceptionally bad taste in his mouth. He was trying to capture the very real and somehow reassuring dream he'd awakened from when memories of the night before flooded back with all of the fear and bewilderment undiminished.

  Fifteen minutes later, he stumbled out into the morning sun with clean teeth and a cup of instant coffee in one hand and his cell phone in the other, fully intending to call Annie and apologize. He paced unthinkingly across the back lawn towards the cemetery as he tried to organize his thoughts.

  Sometime later Dex grunted in pain as a headstone he was resetting slipped onto his foot. Shaking his head in wonder, he realized that he had once again fallen under the little cemetery’s strange spell. Forcing himself through the gate he fumbled the cell phone out of his pocket and once again considered what he should say to Annie. He assumed he was alone until, hearing the soft clink of glass behind him, he whirled around to see Simon Masters standing beyond the gate holding a couple of long-neck beers. Before he could open his mouth, Simon held up a hand. “Please, hear me out,” the old man said with quiet dignity. “It’s a hot day and I thought we might have a cold beer and just talk for a minute.”

  Dex arched a stiff back and considered. “Yeah, I guess we could do that,” he said. “Let’s talk about messages from a guy that’s been dead for two hundred years and what, crystal balls and Ouija boards?”

  Simon ignored the sarcasm and stepped back from the gate. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “could we go over and sit in the shade?”

  Dex nodded and walked with him to a large maple tree at the edge of the lawn then slid tiredly down against the trunk and accepted a beer.

  Simon sat and looked off at the house. “I know it’s hard, but you understand now, don’t you, that it’s not a joke,” he said. More of a statement that a question.

  Dex closed his eyes and said nothing.

  After a moment, Simon said, “Do you ever wonder why you are here? I meant, why of all the uncountable possibilities, why you are here at this place and this time? Tobias thought about that a lot. He thought about it for a lifetime, and I know what he thought because he wrote it down and left it for me.” He chuckled. “Yeah, messages from a dead guy.” He took a sip of his beer and looked at Dex. “Know what he called himself? He only mentioned it once, but I think it was important to him. He called himself a bystander in time. He didn’t have any technology; there was no such thing as science fiction. He had to figure it out all on his own and I think he did a pretty good job. You might want to hear what he had to say.”

  Dex was silent for a long moment, his eyes locked on a wisp of cloud over the bay. “You know who my hero was when I was in college?” he finally said. “Sam Adams. At first I thought he was just a minor player in colonial times who was cool because he had a beer named after him, but the more I studied history, the more I realized that he was a real driving force behind the American Revolution. A real hero…”

  His voice tailed off as he turned his head to look at Simon. “I spoke with him last night,” he said flatly as if trying to provoke a response. When Simon only nodded and said nothing, Dex continued. “I’ve been having weird dreams and nightmares ever since I got here,” he said, “but this wasn’t a dream. It had, I don’t know, texture, feeling; it was real. We were just two old friends having a conversation in a place that was warm and safe…familiar. And he said ‘Duty stands taller than self. You must answer the call.’ I don’t know what that means, and I don’t know how to explain your newspaper story or why your great, great, whatever grandfather apparently knew about me.” Dex turned h
is face away from Simon and closed his eyes. “I’m really tired. Please leave now.”

  Simon got to his feet. “OK, you rest,” he said. “All I’m asking is that you come by sometime and read some of what Tobias wrote.”

  Sometime later, still slumped against the tree, Dex was awakened by the hollow thump of a slamming door. Movement caught his attention as soon as he opened his eyes, and he focused to see a man he didn’t recognize walk across from the carriage house to the kitchen door and disappear into the house, again slamming the door behind him. Suddenly furious Dex scrambled to his feet and started towards the house, but thinking quickly, he ran instead to the driveway where he could see both the front and side exits and hit 911 on his cell phone.

  The police officer arrived within minutes and led the way, gun drawn into the house. They searched room to room, including the hidden stairway, but the house was empty. Windows were either locked or secured by screens screwed over them from the outside and the only other exit, the back door into the woodshed was securely latched from the inside. The man had vanished.

  “You say you were asleep out back when you saw the guy?” They were standing outside after having looked in the carriage house. The officer’s disbelief was obvious, but at least he was taking notes for a report.

  “I was wide awake,” Dex said a little defensively. “I woke up when he slammed the door,”

  “Can you describe him?”

  “He was a smaller guy; real thin and probably not more than five-seven or eight, maybe about sixty or so. He was wearing some kind of gray jacket, like a thin suit coat, but sort of old-timey looking, and dark pants.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “No, he didn’t even look at me.”

  “Never seen him before? Like around the neighborhood or downtown...”

  Dex shook his head mutely; suddenly afraid he knew what had happened.

  The officer folded his notebook and opened his cruiser door. “I’ll take a look around the area and there’ll be a report on file at the station in case you notice anything missing later,” he said, “but I think you should consider the possibility that you might have been asleep and dreamed the whole incident.”

  When the officer was gone, Dex went to his computer and opened one of the historical documents he’d found days earlier. It was a history of the Tremont/Southwest Harbor business community, and there on the second page, the face of the man he had seen looked sternly out at him over the title: Weldon Quill, MDI’s earliest tycoon.

  Chapter 32

  Dex was outside sitting on the kitchen stoop when Annie drove into the driveway. She got out of her car, her face carefully neutral. “I saw the police car here. Is everything alright?”

  Dex shook his head. “I’m sorry I was such a jerk last night,” he said ignoring her question. “I don’t know what got into me; I think I must be losing my mind.”

  Annie smiled. “Well, Simon and Melody showed me some of Tobias’ writing last night and I guess it is a lot to take in all at once.”

  Dex stood up. “It’s more than that. It’s this house; D.J.’s terrified; I’m hearing things; having nightmares; seeing ghosts; under some kind of spell every time I go near that damn cemetery…Annie I’m scared. I should never have come here.”

  Annie reached out and took his hand. “I’m not sure you had any choice in the matter,” she said. “From what I read, Tobias seemed to think that there was some kind of cosmic destiny at work here. He…”

  Annie was interrupted by a bright red sports car that turned into the driveway. The woman that got out looked to be about sixty years old; short and plump with streaky auburn hair, she was dressed in a cream colored pants suit and wearing enormous sunglasses. She looked at Dex and frowned. “We need to talk, but I don’t want to talk here; let’s go to my house,” she said abruptly getting back into the car.

  Dex and Annie exchanged puzzled glances then climbed into Annie’s car and followed the woman to the house at the end of the road. At the front steps, she thrust out her hand to Dex. “Maud Kneeland,” she said. “Come on in and I’ll make us some coffee. We need to talk.”

  Dex and Annie were standing in a tiny living room cluttered with bric-a-brac and scores of framed photos and certificates when she came back bearing a tray with a carafe and cups. “Sorry I couldn’t be here sooner,” she said settling into an overstuffed chair. “I’ve been at a conference in Bangor since Tuesday. Now, as I said, I’m Maud Kneeland, and you are…?

  Annie introduced herself and Dex said, “My name is Dexter Stockford and I want to know why you’re sneaking around leaving me messages, and what kind of danger are you talking about?” A quick sideways look from Annie told him that he’d probably sounded a little more aggressive than he had intended.

  Kneeland smiled. First of all, I’m a friend,” she said. “I’m a retired nurse and now… well you could call me a medium, I guess. I sometime know things; bits of information, usually out of context and of no value but in this case the message were very clear. You are in great danger.”

  Dex slumped in his chair. “Great,” he muttered. Then sitting forward, “Look, I don’t believe in crystal balls and messages from beyond, but if you had some kind of message for me why didn’t you just knock on the door. I don’t…”

  Kneeland raised a preemptory hand. “You’re uncomfortable in that house, aren’t you? Bad dreams; unexplained…events? Gaps in your memory perhaps?

  Dex was silent.

  “I thought so. That’s because that house hates you.”

  Anne stopped Dex’s retort with a light touch on his arm. “I don’t understand,” she said, “what do you mean, ‘the house hates him’?”

  Kneeland sighed and sipped at her coffee. “Not the house exactly, she said. “Sometimes when terrible things happen in a place a…a sort of entity can form; a malevolent force that remains.”

  “You’re talking about ghosts,” Dex said flatly.

  “Well, no. Not exactly. People around here have called that place a haunted house for years. Mostly just scaring themselves with spooky tales, but human spirits can linger in places they’ve inhabited, and that is the case with that old house, but...”

  “What do you mean ‘that’s the case with that old house’?” interrupted Annie.

  Kneeland shrugged. “Lydia Quill was a very private person. I’ve lived here most of my life, but I’ve only been inside that house a couple of times, and that’s a couple more than just about anyone else on the island. Still, it’s said that the ghost of Weldon Quill, the builder of the house, can be seen walking the grounds at night. I’ve felt a presence in my meditations, and it’s not uncommon to see unexplained lights around that old cemetery in the dead of night, but spirits are merely a part of the natural order. They have no agendas, no purpose, they simply are.” She shook her head. “This is different; I don’t know why, but the force in that house has targeted you and I’m sure the danger is real. In any event, I didn’t know you or any of the circumstances and I didn’t feel comfortable approaching you. But now I think the danger is increasing. So…”

  Dex snorted. “You keep saying danger. What do you mean? What kind of danger are you talking about?”

  Kneeland shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Perhaps, if you’ll allow me to help, we can find out together.” She smiled a little at Dex’s hesitation. “I know you probably think I’m some kind of kook,” she said, “but I promise you I only want to help.’

  Anne jumped into the strained silence. “Well, I for one think we could use a little help. What do we have to do?”

  Kneeland bobbed her head as though to seal a bargain and pushed herself up out of the chair. “I’m very tired,” she said. “I’m going to nap for a while, why don’t you come back this evening? Say about eight o’clock? And Dexter, you should bring your son.”

  “Why don’t we leave my son out of this?” Dex said with a sudden sense of foreboding.

  Kneeland shook her head sadly. “He
’s already a part of it,” she said. “I’ve can sense his danger too.”

  Later, when they returned to the little house at the end of the road with D.J., there were subtle differences in the atmosphere that tugged at Dex’s subconscious. He had been reluctant to bring D.J. into it until Annie suggested that they tell D.J. what was going on and leave it up to him.

  “I knew it,” had been D.J. excited reaction. “This stupid place is haunted.”

  As they got to Kneelands house, Dex realized that it felt right to have D.J. with them.

  When Maud Kneeland opened the door, she looked fresh and motherly in slacks and a sweat shirt with ‘I my grandkids’ printed on the front. There was an aroma of coffee and fresh baked cookies overlaid with something sharper, more exotic. Dex introduced D.J. who looked a little perplexed. “Are you ah, a witch?” he asked baldly.

  Kneeland laughed, “As a matter of fact I am,” she said. To Dex and Annie, “The conference I mentioned in Bangor was actually a coven.”

  “What’s that?” asked D.J.

  “It’s a meeting of people like me, witches, where we learn and share information.”

  Dex looked around, slowly backing away. “How do you... er, what…”

  Kneeland laughed softly at his discomfort. “Why don’t we go into the living room and have some cookies and I’ll explain what I’d like to do.” She said.

  As they settled into chairs in the living room, Dex again sensed vague differences from their earlier visit. The cluttered, homey room was bathed in the light of thick candles and had taken on a faint air of the exotic.

  Kneeland took a seat in a large armchair and waived the others to an oversized couch. “To get started,” she said, “I need to know everything that’s happened.”

  Dex sighed. “I thought you were going to tell us what’s going on,” he said.