Assassins of History- Transference

by Vernon Dutton

  The road’s construction was hard to see in the gloom, but it definitely didn’t feel like a paved road, which the Smoketown Road should have been at this juncture. As I progressed through the woods, a small dirt lane branched off to the left from the main thoroughfare. I remembered that there was a paved road at Antietam Battlefield about where this path was located. I angrily thought, “Well, if this road is dirt and that lane is dirt, maybe the Park Service is trying to make it look like it did back in 1862.” I stopped and said out loud to no one in particular, “You never told us you were gonna change things up for the 150th anniversary.” I suddenly felt like a fool and reasoned, “You aren’t gonna get where you want to go by asking stupid questions. Start walking.” So, I sullenly began trekking my chosen path.

  The aftereffects of a probable panic attack were wearing off. Also, this part of the road was in better condition, so I was able to pick up my pace a smidgen. Looking to either side of me, I couldn’t make out the depth of the timber. All I could see was the road in front of me in the intermittent moonlight. I had another fact that hit me, “These woods are another anomaly. They shouldn’t be here.” I irritably answered, “Shut up and leave me alone. I don’t want to hear it.”

  After a few more moments of forward progress, I could see an increase of light ahead. I was finally coming to the end of the woods. This caused me to hasten my pace. Once I broke out of the dismal timbered tunnel, I felt as if a demon of fear had been banished from my mind. I felt ecstatic. I stopped and took a few deep breaths. I viewed the landscape.

  The road turned about forty-five degrees to the right and a plowed field appeared on the left side of the dirt track. At this location, another abnormality presented itself. There was no white house located at this turn in the road. Plus, there were woods along the right side of the road for about fifty more yards. Again, some of the landmarks were consistent with Antietam Battlefield, such as the forty-five degree turn of the road. But some were not, such as the absence of the house and the wooded area to my right. I reasoned, “The Park Service had to have made the changes.” So, I just threw up my hands in frustration and ambled onward.

  I quickly covered the ground to the point where the woods on the right of the road abruptly stopped and opened into a grassy field. Even though my mind was in a maddening state, my stamina and strength were returning. My body felt much better.

  I trudged another 40 yards and came to a dirt lane bordered by fences on my left that dead-ended into the road I was traveling. My heart began to hammer in my chest. On the right side of the road there should be about four historical markers, but they weren’t there. I looked down at the road I had been traveling. It was a dirt road and was rutted. I kicked at the dirt trying to find the underlayment of pavement that was the foundation for the dirt the Park Service had distributed for the 150th anniversary, but I couldn’t dig down far enough to hit asphalt. I finally decided that the Park Service had done a great job of making the park visitors think they were back in the 1860’s.

  I turned and looked at the familiar lane to my left and walked to the top of a small rise. I looked down on a farm house. There was the familiar “Mumma Farm House.” However, it didn’t look like it did the last time I was here. The house and outbuildings were not the whitewashed color that they were supposed to be. They were drab and weathered. Also, there were overgrown weeds along the lane to the house instead of the finely manicured grass that I normally witnessed. Plus, there were lights on in the house. There shouldn’t be anyone there this time of night.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to ponder the array of anomalies because suddenly I heard the howls of rural canines and became fearful of being mauled by semi-feral farm dogs. This induced me to quickly turn around and hurriedly retrace my steps toward the Smoketown Road. I turned left and began to do a limping jog in the direction that I had been preceding. Thank heavens the mangy curs were content with just barking and didn’t follow me.

  I plodded along for a few minutes, ran out of breath and then began hobbling again. Every few steps I would wipe the tears from my eyes. I abruptly felt lost in mind and spirit.

  To keep my mind occupied I took stock of my surroundings. There was a tall post and rail fence on the left side of the road and a snake rail fence on the right side of the road. As I reached a point where the land on the left side of the road dipped down to where I could see the manmade landmarks to the south. I stopped and turned to view the massive New York Monument, the gazebo-shaped Maryland Monument with a list of all the Maryland units that fought for the Union and Confederacy and the Visitor Center, but they weren’t there. I rubbed my eyes and looked again for the familiar reminders of the Antietam Battle. All that was visible was a large field.

  My heart was beating like a drum, while my mind kept asking, “Where is everything? The Park Service couldn’t have taken down all the monuments, could they? This is very, very wrong.”

  Finally, I looked toward the only landmark in the distance that was where it should be and thought, “I have to get to that building. I’ll get my questions answered once I get there.” I shuffled forward, eradicating all useless questions that screamed for my attention by muttering a mantra, “Shut up. The answer is ahead. Just wait. You’ll see.”

  After what seemed like an eternity, I came to where the road on which I was traveling dead-ended into a wider dirt thoroughfare. There, highlighted in the moonlight off to my left, was “The Dunker Church.” I staggered to the post and rail fence on my left and leaned against it.

  For several minutes, I just stood there despondently staring at the edifice and swallowing back bile that threatened to lacerate my throat.

  This building was not the same Dunker Church that I was used to seeing. It was not the bright whitewashed building I remembered from prior visitations. It was white alright, but a muted white. Plus, the junction of the Smoketown Road, which I had been traveling, and the Hagerstown Pike, which ran in front of the church, was in such a rustic condition that the Park Service couldn’t have created this antiquated landscape. Also, buildings and monuments that should have been present were not here. Lastly, the road in front of the church hadn’t been graded to create a level roadbed. The road followed the undulating lay of the land. The landscape in which I found myself was not in the 21st century.

  Finally, I was forced to accept that I was no longer in control of my life. I had no car, no motel room, no job, and no family. But worst of all, I had no plausible way to respond to my present situation. This realization hit me with such force that like a fatalistic Samurai warrior accepting his inevitable doom, I simply gave up. My mind, body and spirit, which during the night had run the gamut of terror, offensive onslaught, a panic attack, and existence in an implausible reality, suddenly shut down. Hugging my upper torso, I sat down and leaned back against the post and rail fence. I was so drained of emotion I couldn’t even rant, rave or cry. After a few moments, I drifted off into an exhausted coma.

  I didn’t know how long I was out, but I woke feeling calm. I didn’t feel the tremendous fear that had created the psychological panic, which had brought on my mind and body shut down. I guess acceptance of my worst fears had been the catalyst that brought back a sort of tranquility. I do know that my mind began to function again. I was able to not succumb to trying to answer a lot of unanswerable questions that could lead to another panic attack. I reasoned that there were some initial actions that needed to be taken and not worry about anything else for the time being. However, I was going to make one assumption. I believe this was the 19th century.

  One of the first things I needed to do was to get warm. The night air was chilly. I knew I had to keep moving to stay warm. For some reason the following thoughts popped into my mind, “Since the building across the road is the Dunker Church, I am definitely near Sharpsburg, Maryland, but when exactly? Maybe I can find an answer to this question in town.”

  So, I tentatively stood up, which gratefully didn’t affect my balance. I looked s
outh down the road toward Sharpsburg and decided ultimately to find out what, in the name of all that was holy, was going on. However, I would accomplish this task logically. I had enough of being put in the dark, both literally and figuratively. I stepped off with sheer determination.

  To take my mind off the chill of the night air, I got to thinking, “The sphere had to have been some kind of weird time travel mechanism. And who was the dark figure I hit with the tree limb? I don’t know how badly I hurt him. Should I go back? No, I just need to put as much distance between me and the East Woods as possible. But that machine was so advanced that it had to be alien made because our government didn’t have anything like it. The only good thing about the sphere was that it didn’t cause pain getting me here. There wasn’t a bunch of blue viscous material that I had to walk through. It didn’t cause a lightning storm when I arrived. I was just swept into it and I was here. But the rapidity of travel didn’t make sense. And what about my car? Who’s got it?” For a while I mulled over the possible answers as I walked. When the questions got too pressing, I would just take a few deep breaths to realign my mind into a more peaceful state.

  After a few tranquil steps, I got to thinking about the leering man who passed me on the other side of the sphere. “Who was he and where was he going?” I contemplated this question until I finally asked the big question, “Can I go back?” “No”, suddenly appeared in my mind as if it was written across the sky. So, finally, I gave up the self-interrogation and concentrated on the road, which made me realize again how chilled I was. So, I decided to think about additional actions to take and get my mind off my body.

  First, I had to find out the date. Speaking of date, I decided to look at my wristwatch to check out the time. However, due to the night’s gloom, I couldn’t see the face of the watch. I waited for the moon to appear from the captivating clouds, and when it did, I observed that the watch had stopped.

  I decided to take an inventory of my possessions. I felt for my wedding ring and it was still on my finger. I reached in the left front pocket of my jeans for the money I normally carry and it was there. I pulled out the bills. In the moonlight, I could see the numbers on the bills were the same, which were ten $20 dollar bills, one $5 dollar bill and five $1 dollar bills. In the dim lighting, the writing on the bills looked different. I couldn’t make out the writing so I put the bills back in my pocket.

  Wearily, I put my cold hands in my pockets, hunched my shoulders and looked at “The Dunker Church” as I passed it on my right. During the Battle of Antietam, this small religious structure had been a prize for the Union Army to capture. Its position at the junction stood out like a beacon of hope for the Sharpsburg community. I decided to acknowledge it as good portent for me.

  Thankfully, no wind was blowing as I continued trudging south.

  

  Dark Mage’s Log: Axeylon 5: Galaxy Date: 16312

  Jarbree finally called, Axeylon 5, the Mother Ship occupied by Lord Dendaras and reported that a wrong slayer had been processed to Jarreal. Lord Dendaras said he would contact Jarreal and have the human exterminated immediately.

  Suddenly communication was closed down. Jarbree reasoned, “This has never happened in the thousand years since the first transferees. They can’t blame me for the mix up. I didn’t recruit this slayer imposter.”

  

  The one good thing was my leg wasn’t hurting as much as it had been. It was still tight, but I wasn’t hobbling anymore. I would have loved for dawn to break and bring with it some blessed warming sunshine, but, if the local population saw me in my clothes, would I be made to answer a lot of questions? I believed Sharpsburg was between one to two miles down the road. As a final affirmation, if I passed “The Piper Farm” on my left in about a quarter of a mile, it would confirm the knowledge that this was western Maryland.

  The dirt road I was walking on was rutted and crude. It was so different from the paved road over which I drove year after year from Sharpsburg to the Battlefield.

  With “The Dunker Church” on my right and behind me, I reached the bottom of a small hill south of the church and looked to my right. In the moonlight, I could barely make out the hill that the 3rd Arkansas and 27th North Carolina had occupied on September 17, 1862. It certainly looked differently now. There was a cornfield on the knoll and there was fencing along the edge of the corn. Anyway, it was from that position that the two regiments had charged across the road I was on and advanced off to my left for about 300 yards. It had helped stymy the Union breakthrough of the Confederate line in the Sunken Road, later given the name “Bloody Lane.” And speaking of “Bloody Lane”, I viewed the western entrance to the lane on my left.

  Up until now the road had been bordered on both sides with a post and rail fence. At the entrance to Bloody Lane, the left side of the road was bordered by a stone fence about two feet high while the post and rail fence continued on my right.

  I just hoped there were no dogs on the route.

  I was enthralled by the countryside that was beginning to flatten out and be more illuminated by the moonlight.

  I came to “The Piper House Lane” on the left and stopped. I looked toward the barn and house. The lane was totally different. Rather than a nice white gravel road, it was just a rutty dirt path. I could barely make out the house in the foggy distance. My wife and I had spent many a night in that old house, which was a bed & breakfast.

  The whole area no longer consisted of the manicured fields, modern-day fences and 21st Century houses that I was accustomed to seeing. Instead, it was a very primitive and rugged landscape. Weeds and high grass lined the fences along the road and the fields, from what little I could see in the moonlight, displayed very uneven cuts of grain, probably wheat, indicating that the harvesting had been performed manually by either a scythe or some crude harvesting machine.

  I also was amazed by the fact that the houses that would normally have lined the right side of the road were gone. Only plowed or grass fields occupied the area now. The fields were sectioned by fences into individual parcels.

  I had made good time, and before I knew it, I arrived at a curve in the road that went down a small hill into Sharpsburg. As I descended, I looked to my left. It was here that a convenience store normally stood, but now it was a cornfield.

  Then it hit me. What was I going to do about my clothes? I was dressed in a T-shirt, jeans and running shoes, and I might add, I was still cold.

  If I had guessed right and this was the 19th century, then the normal attire consisted of brogans or boots for footwear, a pair of wool or cotton trousers with bracers (suspenders), a long sleeve shirt, a vest to cover the shirt and bracers (It was considered very rude to show your bracers to the opposite sex.), a coat and a hat. I certainly didn’t have any of these accoutrements.

  I considered a few options to keep from drawing attention to myself. One, I could see if any clothes were hung out on clothesline in the town to dry and steal them. However, the stolen clothes would no doubt be recognized and I would be arrested as a thief. Not the best way to start an initial visit to a town.

  Two, I could see if there was a clothier in Sharpsburg and attempt to buy clothing. This presented two tangential problems. What if my money wasn’t accepted? I took out the money and tried to focus on it again, but in the moonlight, I still couldn’t make out the writing or even the person’s picture on the bills. I reluctantly returned the money to my pocket. I continued my train of thought. If I did walk into the clothier dressed as I am now, it would cause quite a stir and no telling what would happen.

  Three, I could proceed to the Potomac River crossing at Boteler’s Ford and go over the river into Shepherdstown, West Virginia. Oops, let me correct myself, Shepherdstown, Virginia. If this is the 19th century and before 1863, West Virginia hadn’t seceded from Virginia yet. Anyway, in Shepherdstown I could take my chances. However, it would probably just postpone the inevitable, which would be trying to explain the unexplainable clothing I was wearin
g.

  I decided that it would be better to delay what was going to be a difficult situation and to cross the Potomac River near Shepherdstown. Maybe something would turn up and I would be delivered from having to tell an awkward tale.

  Meanwhile, I had stopped in the middle of the road while contemplating all the ramifications of my possible actions. Having made a decision about what to do next, I continued down the hill with the idea of entering the first street I saw to my right and traversing it west through town. Once through town, I could turn south and proceed until I picked up the road that proceeds west from town to Boteler’s Ford and the Potomac River. Then it would be a straight shot to Shepherdstown.

  I heard a growl come from a house located on the right of the road as I came down the hill toward the edge of town. All of a sudden, a dog came charging out from under the front porch of the house barking loud enough to wake the dead.

  I must have jumped about three feet in the air. The dog caught me completely by surprise.

  

  The Dark Mage’s Log: Axeylon 5: Galaxy Date: 16312

  Lord Dendaras commanded the Mission Officer to contact Jarreal. When no answer was received, Lord Dendaras conferred with his Director of Order. He told the Director that a human had been transferred to ‘Earth 3’ and required immediate eradication. The Director asked for the extermination code. Lord Dendaras gave the Director the requested codes. However, moments later the Director communicated to Dendaras that upon implementing the code the instruments indicated that the Slayer had already been dead for one Earth day. Lord Dendaras shouted, “That is impossible.” The Director stated, “The elimination instructions were correctly transmitted and the return information of the death date is accurate. The Lord quickly cut the line of communication with the Director. Lord Dendaras thought, “What is going on? Who was transferred? How can someone make transference and not be implanted with an eradication module?” Lord Dendaras tried to further analyze the situation and couldn’t. He reluctantly thought, “This has never happened before. What will be the historical consequences?”