He worked feverishly, attached the string, and made ready for his escape.
A loud screech sounded just as he jumped…
The End
19 - Max's Marvelous Machine
Maxwell Rodrick Gaines was a failure. He'd failed as an entrepreneur, he'd failed as an inventor, and he'd failed as a husband. All his grandiose plans had come to naught. His repello-ray had fizzled, his cathode tube splicer had wilted, and his magno-nuclear rod had proven to be a complete bust. His latest brainchild, an ion cannon, had recently exploded, taking with it most of his left eyebrow.
Yes, Max was a complete and utter failure, mocked and jeered by a cruel, indifferent world. But things finally began to change the day the first package arrived. All he ever needed was a dollop of good luck. Now, at last, it seemed that the stars were starting to align for him.
He hadn't been expecting any deliveries so you can imagine his confusion when he opened the parcel and found a thick instruction manual with exacting details for assembling a large machine. The precise nature of the device was unclear, but that seemed unimportant at the moment. Max was too absorbed by the lists of exotic parts and the wonderful schematic diagrams to give it much thought.
He took the book to his workshop and began to follow the directions immediately.
The entirety of the day was spent making minor adjustments to various small, electronic parts. Capacitors, resistors, and inductors were tweaked in novel ways that he'd never considered; diodes were completely reconfigured; and relays were wired together in arrangements that he found completely baffling.
When he went out to check the mail the next day, he found a dozen packages of all sizes and shapes. For a fleeting moment, Max wondered who'd sent the items, but that thought faded from his mind as he carried everything to his workshop and tore open the boxes like a kid on Christmas day.
The various gadgets and devices that had arrived were like nothing he'd ever seen before and his excitement kicked into overdrive as he began assembling them according to the directions in the manual.
The seconds turned into minutes and hours as Max was utterly absorbed by the task at hand. It began to rain, but the failed tinkerer was oblivious to the torrential downpour that pummeled the roof. Because, for the first time in his life, he was entirely convinced that something he was building was going to work.
The routine varied little in the days and weeks that followed. Every morning he found a fresh supply of packages waiting by his door. He would carry them inside, rip them open, and spend the rest of the day and most of the night assembling the strange parts as per the book of instructions.
The machine grew and grew until it completely filled his workshop, but the purpose of the device remained shrouded in mystery. To be sure, some of the parts were quite recognizable. A viewing screen and a large doorway were readily apparent in the design, but the actual function of the mechanism was still unknown.
Through it all, Max didn't worry about tomorrow. His obsessive nature was only concerned about today. The here and now. Finish step 1 on page 217 and then go on to step 2. Turn the page. Begin step 3. And so on and so on.
He reached the end of the instruction manual and hooked up the final parts exactly one month after the first package arrived.
His hands trembled as he flipped a series of switches and pushed a host of buttons that made the marvelous machine stir to life.
The soothing hum of vacuum tubes was more delightful than a Mozart melody to Max's ears while the blinking patterns of colored lights was as mesmerizing as Van Gogh's brushwork.
He stared, transfixed, as the outline of a face began to appear on the viewing screen. As the static faded and the image began to sharpen, it became apparent that it wasn't a human being. Max was looking at a purple-skinned alien with bulbous eyes and an excessively large head.
The creature began to speak but his odd language was indecipherable. When he realized he wasn't being understood, he pointed to a dial just below the screen. As Max adjusted the knob, he began to comprehend the words.
"That's better," the alien said. "The universal translator is operating now."
"Who are you?" Max asked.
"I am Zarth, from the Omicron system in the fifth dimension."
"Why have you contacted me of all people?"
"We needed your help in solving a dire problem that threatens our very existence. A rogue comet comprised of dark matter passed through our atmosphere a decade ago triggering a series of unexpected chemical reactions that have slowly eliminated our oxygen supply."
"That's horrible," Max exclaimed.
"Star Command searched in vain for the longest time. When it became clear that no viable solution could be found in our universe scientists set to work on the nearly-impossible task of designing a machine that would open a door to a parallel dimension, one that would allow living beings to step through to an entirely different location in the multiverse."
"Simply astounding," Max declared.
"Once that was complete we began the equally difficult task of finding someone who would follow our instructions without giving it too much though. We had just about given up hope when we discovered you, Maxwell Rodrick Gaines, a man so hungry for success that he wouldn't bother to stop and question the wisdom of his actions."
As the dreadful ramifications of his labor slowly dawned on him for the first time, Max began pushing buttons and flipping switches, but to no avail.
"Sorry, Max. Once the machine has been activated, there's no way to turn it off."
Max's eyes grew wide with fear as he searched through his workshop, hoping to find some weapon to combat the horrible menace he'd unleashed.
"It's too late for that," Zarth declared as the hum of the vacuum tubes gave way to a deeper, more resonant tone. The doorway began to pulse in a repeating pattern of vivid colors. "Our troops will enter your universe momentarily."
"Must find a way to stop them," Max muttered. If only his ion cannon had been a success! A single shot would blast the nefarious device to smithereens.
But the ion cannon had been a flop, just like everything else in Max's life. In the end, even his apparent success turned out to be a failure as the marvelous machine he'd so painstakingly built over the last month clearly illustrated.
"I'm afraid your services are no longer required." the alien on the viewscreen said as the first invaders stepped through the doorway.
A yellow ray from an alien weapon struck Max in the chest. He collapsed to the floor and watched in horror as hundreds of soldiers paraded through the machine's shimmering doorway.
The End
20 - Outbreak
An outbreak of the deadly Argentum virus on Rigel 7 spelled big trouble for the Planetary High Council. That's why they sent the pride of the space fleet, the Magellan, on a mission to the planet Olmac to pick up some Kabidian plants that could be processed into a suitable vaccine.
Every member of the Planetary Corps wanted to serve on the Magellan under Commander Booker McDowell, the greatest military genius of his time.
As the mighty starship swept across the void of space traveling at three times the speed of light, they received an emergency signal from the High Council.
"Put it on the main screen," Commander McDowell ordered and all the men and women on the bridge turned their attention to President Haywood. "What is it, Mr. President?" the Commander asked.
"Bad news, I'm afraid. The Kabidian plants on Olmac were destroyed in a massive earthquake."
"What are we going to do now?" asked Yeoman Duvall, a pretty red-headed girl.
"You'll have to take the Magellan farther into the Gamma Quadrant to find another source of Kabidian."
"With all due respect, Mr. President, that's uncharted territory," said First Officer Heetley.
"I'm well aware of that fact, Mr. Heetley. But we desperately need that medicine. If, however, you feel that the Magellan isn't up to the task—"
"The Magellan is up to any task the Counci
l wishes to assign," Commander McDowell interjected in a deep, booming voice. "Don't worry, Mr. President. You'll have your Kabidian soon enough."
"Thank you, Commander," President Haywood said as his image faded from the screen.
"Commander, it's my duty to point out—"
"Stow it, Mr. Heetley," McDowell barked as he placed a call to engineering. "Renfro, push those engines to the limit. We need speed, speed, and more speed! Do you hear me, mister?"
"Aye, Commander," said the Chief Engineer. "Loud and clear. I'll give you everything we got."
Moments later, the Magellan accelerated to four times the speed of light. Two hours later the mighty starship flew past Olmac and headed deeper into the Gamma Quadrant than any vessel from the Planetary Corps had ever previously ventured.
"Mr. Heetley, set your scanners for maximum range," Commander McDowell ordered. "Find me a nice green patch of Kabidian and do it in a hurry."
"Yes sir," replied the ship's First Officer.
It took forty-five minutes for Mr. Heetley's equipment to pick up a faint chemical signature indicating the presence of the plants. "The cloud cover on the planet below is making it difficult to get accurate readings, but it would appear that there are humanoid life forms on the surface. Request permission to accompany you when you beam down, sir."
"Permission granted. We'll also take Yeoman Duvall and two security officers," the Commander said as he left the bridge. "Meet me in the transporter room in five minutes."
*****
No sooner had the landing party materialized on the planet's surface than they found themselves under attack by strange flying creatures. Commander McDowell and First Officer Heetley managed to scare them away with their plutonium pistols, but not before both security officers were killed and Yeoman Duvall badly shaken up.
"Can we beam up to the ship?" the pretty red-headed girl asked as she fought back tears.
"Negative," McDowell replied bluntly. "Not until we have those Kabidian plants."
"But Commander—"
"Not another word, Yeoman Duvall."
"I'm picking up traces of the Kabidian on my portable scanner," First Officer Heetley announced. "Five hundred meters to the west."
"Lead on," McDowell ordered.
They hadn't ventured far when Yeoman Duvall lost her footing, fell into a river, and was swept away. Without hesitation or regard to personal safety, Commander McDowell plunged into the icy water. He would have done the same for any member of his crew, but if truth be told, he'd developed special feelings for the attractive woman.
By the time he caught up with her an amphibious beast with bulging eyes tried to drag them both down to the river's bottom. It took every ounce of his strength and courage to rescue the girl from the monster and drag her to safety.
They had barely gotten over the shock of the attack when First Officer Heetley caught up with them. "No sign of the humanoids you mentioned back on the ship, Mr. Heetley," the Commander announced. "But plenty of wild animals with voracious appetites. This could well be the most dangerous planet we've ever set foot on. We'll need all our wits if we're going to find the Kabidian and get back to the Magellan alive."
"We'll have to backtrack a little, but we're not far from the plants," the First Officer informed the Commander.
"Please, sir, can't we leave now?" Yeoman Duvall begged.
Rather than snapping at her, McDowell took Duvall's hand and spoke to her in a calm, soothing voice. "We took an oath when we joined the Planetary Corps and to honor that commitment we have to rise above our fears."
"Yes, sir," the girl said as she dropped her eyes, embarrassed by her unprofessional behavior.
The Commander's gaze lingered on the pretty girl for a moment before he ordered Mr. Heetley to lead them to the plants.
They caught sight of the green field ten minutes later, but as they rushed forward to get the plants they were attacked by bloodthirsty beasts with razor-sharp claws and massive tusks. McDowell suffered a broken arm and Heetley received a deep gouge across his forehead before they'd gathered enough Kabidian.
"Commander, look over there!" screamed Yeoman Duvall. "Giant humanoids!"
"Don't worry about them," he responded. "We got what we came for. It's time to head home."
Moments later they beamed back aboard the Magellan.
*****
"Mommy, Mommy, did you see that?"
"See what, dear?"
"It looked like three little people over there near those green plants. They couldn't have been more than a couple of tinfaws high."
"Don't be silly. There's no such thing as a person who's that small! Now come on, dear. It's almost time for the zoo to close."
"Aww, Mom. Can't we stay a little longer?"
"Don't worry. We'll come back again soon."
"But Mommy, what if something happens to the animals before we can return?"
"What could possibly happen to them?" she asked, her tone betraying her growing frustration with her only child.
"Maybe they'll escape and start attacking people."
"Oh, son. You have such a wild, overactive imagination! These animals are completely harmless. They kill insects so they have food to survive. Nothing else. Don't worry. These sweet, innocent creatures will all be here next time we visit the zoo."
The End
21 - The Thing in the Jar
Alabama
1936
The Thing in the Jar was the stuff of legend amongst the simple folk of Cook County. Many a night had been wiled away drinking moonshine and discussing every aspect of Cletus Shepard's prize possession.
Cletus once claimed to have found the glass jar in the basement of Old Man Sutton's place. Another time he said he came across it in the swamp at the edge of Old Man Sutton's place. In yet another variation the container was in the stomach of a fifteen-foot gator he killed in the swamp at the edge of Old Man Sutton's place.
Those who heard these various iterations could be forgiven for pointing out their similarity to the nursery rhyme This is the House that Jack Built and other cumulative tales.
Cletus didn't just limit himself to progressive modifications or subtle differences when it came to telling his storytelling. No sir. Sometimes he let his imagination run wild.
Flying saucers were occasionally featured. So were all manners of ghosts and goblins. And, of course, Bigfoot made several appearances. Though, it should be pointed out, that many of the Cook County folk preferred the moniker Sasquatch.
Fact is, the provenance of the Thing in the Jar remains shrouded in mystery. That's because Cletus Shepard is what is referred to in literature as an "unreliable narrator." How he came into possession of the Thing in the Jar remains steeped in fiction, but what he did with it afterward is firmly grounded in fact.
Dozens of eyewitnesses can confirm that Cletus had it on display at the County Fair in 1921. "Come see the eighth wonder of the world!" he shouted as folks strolled past his booth. "It'll only cost you one thin dime!" That was a lot of money back then, but that didn't stop people from lining up to take a gander.
The fluid in the jar, which was generally agreed to be formaldehyde, become somewhat murky over the years as the specimen deteriorated. Despite requests to replace the liquid, Cletus held fast on his vow to never break the seal of the container.
After a repeat performance in 1922 and one last hurrah in 1923, Cletus had enough money saved up to buy a Model T thanks to Henry Ford's continued tinkering with the assembly line.
By then, Cletus had enough of the County Fair. That venue was played out. Everybody who wanted to see the storied item had seen it. Most folks were convinced that the Thing in the Jar was some poor unfortunate soul's head. One woman insisted that it winked at her. Others thought it might be an unborn baby. Though, of course, there were the naysayers who claimed it was nothing more than a blob of flour. "Ain't much different than my Aunt Daisy's dumplings."
Cletus decided to abandon the County Fair for another rea
son. A backlash had been growing. There were folks who cried foul and said Cletus was a con man. "I don't know what it is, but it ain't no human head." There were even some fisticuffs. Some folks wanted their money back, but Cletus remained steadfast. He held his tongue, even when the Mayor of Titusville got involved. Though rumor had it that he did give the mayor's son his dime back.
What finally caused the mayor to back down was the growing chorus of calls for Cletus to challenge the incumbent in the upcoming election. Fortunately for Mayor Watney, Cletus had no interest in throwing his hat into the ring, but the sudden realization of his newfound clout did allow him to settle a few old scores.
Amos Bender, who had bullied Cletus on the playground once, found himself blacklisted at the local store. Unable to get supplies, he finally packed up and moved to Deer Creek over in Jefferson County. Likewise, Buddy Collins was on the receiving end of retribution. His barber shop went belly up after Cletus complained about a bad haircut. Truth told, ain't much a barber can do when it comes to a cowlick. Enough hair tonic can bring unruly hair under control, but only for a time. You might get a few hours of looking all prim and proper, but eventually that cowlick is going to throw that tonic and get back to doing whatever it wants. If that means standing straight up, so be it.
Aside from settling a few debts, Cletus Shepard used his power to achieve another lifelong ambition. Her name was Hattie Magee and in the vernacular of south Alabama she was "right purty." And as long as she didn't smile, she could have matched up with any beauty queen in the tri-county area. Once you tasted her cooking, you were even ready to forgive her crooked teeth. Whether it was fried chicken, collard greens, or sweet potato pie, that woman sure knew her way around a kitchen. Cletus, who was notoriously short on tact, liked to point out that she knew her way around the bedroom, too.
Yes, sir. Any way you slice it, Hattie Magee was something special. One fella, passing through town on a hot summer day, even described her as "some kind of wonderful." Now that there was some mighty fine poetry.
With his income from the County Fair dried up like a raisin in the sun, Cletus was open to the next get-rich-quick scheme. Along came Cousin Ernie who was known far and wide as the second smartest man in Cook County. His honor, Joshua J. McCallister, aka 'The Hanging Judge,' being the obvious pinnacle of intelligence in southern Alabama.
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