Trial Participant Statement from Barb {last name redacted}:
“It should be easier, you know? It’s what we want, wanted now, I suppose. Remember what they used to say about New York? City that never sleeps? Or maybe that was Vegas. No, I think Vegas came later. I’m sure of it. Definitely, New York was the original city that never sleeps. Then of course that exploded, didn’t it? It’s the World Wide Web, isn’t it? Any time of day there is no end of distraction. Hop on and the world is there for the eyes with a billion options. And it’s all a grand awareness now. Like, everything... the lens so wide, the aperture never closes. And the thing is, I don’t even like to be online now. I feel like maybe Emily Dickenson felt. Widow of Amherst… no, that’s not right. She was never married. What did they call her? Spinster of Amherst? Something like that. I don’t even, hardly ever, leave my room because everything is so real now, the unworthy overlooked has now come into its own...
It’s like living in a house with a radio that’s on really loud and the knob is broken and it can’t be unplugged. It can’t be turned off and it never turns into simple noise.”
1 To date, Sleshcellvine is uncertain as to the number of dots Gwen ingested.
Author Bio
Andy Decker lives in central Illinois. He teaches writing and literature at Illinois Central College and pastors a small church nearby. Feel free to visit his blog at jonah2eight.blogspot.com.
REVIEW: MEDIEVAL MARS
by Jill Domschot
While many science fiction authors have used Mars as a backdrop for their off-world novels, Travis Perry gives his own take on the planet in his novella Medieval Mars. The novella follows the story of Evan, who “had become a rider-errant, and had wandered on missionhood with the Brothers of the Shield to protect the Pilgrim Road from bandits.” As the title suggests, the technological lifestyle has collapsed in this future Mars colony, and the people are plunged backwards into a medieval society complete with fiefdoms.
In an unusual twist, the fiefdom Evan protects as a rider is one that revolves around the Baptist church, “Gran Templo Bautista of New San Diego”. It’s a terraformed world, which sounds pleasant enough, but the Mars of Perry’s imagination is fraught with dragons, the threat of war from a heretic king, and enormous temperature swings that are a danger to travelers if they find themselves outside at the wrong place and time.
Evan is a likable character. He’s a relatively young man who lacks self-awareness, but who is honorable and loyal to the fiefdom. But the best aspect of characterization, in my opinion, is the dynamic between Evan and the woman scholar, Susan. She plays the part of the wise old woman, one who has never married, but who has spent her life studying the past and attempting to understand the ancient technology. The average citizens of Mars consider it a type of magic because they don’t understand it; Evan is counted among those.
For reasons explained near the end of the novella, Susan takes particular interest in Evan. And even though her friendship isn’t as genuine as perhaps the reader first thought, her sincerity of heart is unquestionable. That’s the beauty of this duo: the author who created these characters seems to sincerely like and understand them.
Perry has created a very large world with a solid foundation and, sadly, delivered only a short work in this book. That is its biggest weakness.
For example, Evan dreams at one point of having his own fiefdom, or govment as it’s called in the story, in an area that nobody has settled or farmed. Even the warning that the landscape probably lacks water doesn’t deter Evan’s willingness to dream about his future. A hint of romance also enters Evan’s life in this novella―and what does his future life look like with his bride? I don’t know. The author stops short of fulfilling these plot threads.
In addition, rediscovering the ancient technology and reinventing old contraptions such as a hot air balloon certainly has an appeal here that’s barely been excavated. And what is going on in a Gran Templo Bautista of a future Mars? How do the people worship? What do they accomplish through their pilgrimages? Perry has offered a lot of intriguing characters and ideas that are worth developing and exploring, but he’s stopped short of doing so.
Because of the possibility of future stories, his reticence could also be viewed as a positive. This short book calls out for more, and as far as I know, more stories are exactly what Perry has planned for it. In fact, Travis Perry is an author who is full of story ideas in general. He calls his blog Travis’s Big Ideas, and you can read more about him and his projects there: travissbigidea.blogspot.com.
Author Bio
Jill Domschot writes speculative novels with a Gothic flair, as well as odd short stories and philosophical memoirs. Most o her current writing has been in one way or another inspired by accordion music and the really long eighteenth century. (When she says really long, she means stretching from Cervantes all the way to an unfixed point in the nineteenth century.)
Jill can be found online at www.jilldomschot.com.
BIGFOOT FRUIT
by Lou Antonelli
The door opened and a young bearded man stuck his head inside. “Dr. Haydorn?”
The Professor stood up behind his desk. “Come in,” he said with a smile. “You must be Jeff Bowles.”
The young man crossed the room and shook hands. He carried a plain brown paper sack in the other hand. “Thanks for agreeing to see me. It’s great to meet you in person.”
The Professor gestured to a nearby chair. “Have a seat, it’s a long drive from Austin.”
Jeff reached in the sack and pulled out a large lime green heavily dimpled fruit, about the size of a softball, and placed it on the desk. Then he sat down.
“I came to talk to you about that,” said Jeff.
The professor picked up the fruit. “Maclura pomifera, the Osage Orange from the Bois D’arc tree. Shreveport here is the easternmost reach of its natural range in the Red River Valley.” He looked at his visitor. “What can I tell you?”
“I hoped you could show me to where it originated, before the settlers arrived and began to disperse it.”
The Professor drummed his fingers. “Why does a graduate student in zoology care about such an esoteric piece of botany?” He smiled slightly and looked over a sheet of paper on his desk. “I’ve done some research on you, son. You haven’t been a full-time student for over two years, even your matriculation and facilities privileges have expired. I called the zoology department, they said you flamed out because you became a crypto-zoology crackpot.”
The Professor chuckled. “Majoring in sasquatch. Your former advisor told me that ‘worse than a wild goose chase, he’ll lead you on a wild Bigfoot chase’.”
Jeff’s dark eyes flashed. “Professor Smith’s identification of the coelacanth was also met with a great deal of initial skepticism,” he said.
The Professor looked at the young man. “You may be somewhat deluded, but I’ll give you credit, you are not stupid. But no one was looking for the coelacanth, or expected to find it. People have been hunting for the Bigfoot for years.”
Jeff leaned forward in his chair. “No one has ever studied the potential cryptid’s habitat in a formal scientific fashion.” He put together his hands in supplication. “Yes, I know I went off half-cocked when I was young, I went off on Bigfoot hunts and Bigfoot searches. But where there’s smoke, there’s fire. You can’t tell me there isn’t something out there.”
“After the university pulled my privileges, I realized I would have to prove myself,” he continued. “I decided that, instead of looking for signs of where Bigfoot has been, I would study where he should be.”
He pointed to the large green fruit. “That’s led me to this.”
The Professor picked up the fruit and rolled it over in his palm. “As an agronomist, I have to say the Bois D’arc tree is uninteresting. The wood is useless, it’s too hard, dense and gnarled to be worked easily. And the fruit is inedible.”
Jeff’s eyes flashed. “So how did it propagate?”
“Ah, the light begins to dawn. You’ve studied anachronistic fruit dispersal,” said the Professor. “Just because I’m an agronomist doesn’t mean I don’t read in related fields.”
“Then you’re familiar with the theory?”
“Yes, and it is intriguing, because in the New World we have a number of fruits with no natural herbivores.”
“Right,” said Jeff. “There’s the avocado. There is no animal native to North American large enough to swallow an avocado and excrete the pit. It has been propagated by man. But how did it evolve?”
The Professor put the fruit down on his desk. “Fruits that were not raised by the Native Americans, like our big green friend here, as well as the Honey Locust, were only growing in a narrow range along central North American river valleys when the European settlers arrived--probably being dispersed by flooding.” He looked hard at Jeff. “Again, that begs the question of evolution.”
“Right, and I’m sure you’re familiar with the megafauna extinction theory then?” asked Jeff.
“It’s an easy theory to believe in, when the only continent with such evolutionarily-stranded fruit also suffered a mass extinction during the Pleistocene,” said the Professor. “The native horses, mammoths and gomphotheres, ground sloths, and so forth--all gone.”
“So who knows if these extinct megafauna included some primate?” asked Jeff. “I’m not supposing that Bigfoot still exists. I want to know if he ever existed, and if he did, where was his last habitat?”
“Hmmm. The creek bottoms on the fringes of the Red River Valley are certainly isolated,” said the Professor.
Jeff sat up. “You should know. You’ve lived in this area all your life, haven’t you? That’s the real reason I wanted to visit with you. I really want your help with my zoography.”
“I see. I guess I should have thought, with the internet and Google and such, that you would have done research on me. Yes, I grew up nearby in Bowie County, in a little town called DeKalb. It’s 20 miles from Oklahoma, 20 miles from Arkansas, and 40 miles from Louisiana. I got my undergrad degree in Botany at Texas A&M Texarkana and my masters and doctorate in Agronomy here at LSU Shreveport.”
“So you are familiar with the original natural range of the tree,” said Jeff.
“Sure, when I was growing up the most common name we used was Bois D’arc, because the first French explorers found the Osage and other Native Americans using the wood for their bows. The Plains Indians would trade with the Osage for the wood. But the Osage didn’t propagate it. Its original range was only for 100 miles or so along the Red River Valley,” said the Professor. “Now let me ask you a question, young man.”
“Of course, you’ve been more polite to me than most academics,” said Jeff.
“I assume that your theory is that Bigfoot was this fruit’s natural herbivore?”
“Yes, but I got to this point through zoography--studying animal habitats. There have been many theories over the years that various hominid species may have evolved separately until modern man became dominant. Perhaps what we call Bigfoot is one of these. They could have retreated to the depths of the creek bottoms of the Red River, where they may have survived the longest.”
“Which would also explain the limited range of the tree,” said the Professor. He rolled the fruit around on his desk. “The pulp is saturated with a milky sap that will make you nauseous, but the seeds are perfectly edible,” he said. “They’re just not worth the trouble. Even if the anachronistic dispersal theory is correct, this fruit was probably eaten by some prosaic animal like a ground sloth.”
“Ever hear of the Fouke Monster?”
“Of course, and there’s also the Foggy Bottom Monster, both reported in Arkansas, just north of here. Settlers started telling stories of the Skunk Ape soon after they arrived,” said the Professor. “Do you think some of these native hominids might have survived?”
“Well, perhaps into historic times,” said Jeff. “Like the dodo, or the natives of Tasmania. We may find nothing but bones, but it’s worth a try.”
“We? What do you mean we, young man? I’m not a part of your Bigfoot safari.”
“At least steer me to the heart of the original range of the Bois D’arc trees, I’ll take it from there.”
The Professor looked askance and sighed. “You know, when I was your age I was full of fleas and couldn’t be told what to do, either. Old Doctor Borlaug straightened out my wild hair. You’re a sharp kid, if you settled down you might amount to something.”
He stood up. “This will be my good deed for the day. I’ll help you get this Bigfoot crap out of your system. When I played cornerback for the DeKalb Bears I had a teammate who hunted and trapped right where we are talking about. I haven’t talked to Louie Bledsoe in years, this will be a good excuse to look him up again.”
Jeff stood up. “Then you will take me there? Is it very isolated?”
“Hah! You drive to the end of the pavement, then to the end of the gravel road, then to the end of the dirt road, then you go down a dirt path and you run up a tree and swing in on a vine,” said the Professor. “It will be an experience for a kid from Austin like you.”
Jeff looked puzzled. “Thanks—I think.”
+
“Thank God you have four-wheel drive.” Jeff looked at Professor Haydorn, who grimly clutched the pick-up’s steering wheel.
“You can imagine what this road is like in muddy weather,” said the Professor.
“Have we much farther to go?”
“Just a couple of miles past this pump jack here,” said the Professor. “This is right in the heart of the original range of the Bois D’arc trees. This area is still in the extended Red River flood plain. The first settlers who braved the thicket and found the trees traded the wood like the Indians did. It’s resistant to rot and its fence posts are indestructible. The branches have thorns and it grows so dense that in the days before barbed wire it was what pioneers planted fence rows with.”
“It’s pretty wild out here,” said Jeff looking out the window. “Why do people live so far away from anything?”
“The Bledsoes are old pioneer stock, they were among the original settlers, this here’s a Republic of Texas land grant,” said the Professor. “They’ve owned this land free and clear for almost 170 years.”
The Professor glanced sideways at his passenger. “You could be a Bledsoe descendent, you know. All the Bledsoe men look the same, big and tall, broad shoulders, round head, dark hair and bright, dark eyes.”
He looked and saw Jeff looked thoughtful. “Something on your mind?”
“Oh, I just remembered how I first got interested in these cryptids. When I was in elementary school one day, during recess I dangled from some monkey bars that made one boy say I looked like a gorilla.
“‘Yo mama’s a bigfoot!’ he said. All the kids laughed at me. I picked up the nickname ‘Footsie’ because of that. Never completely shook it off in school. Certainly didn’t impress the girls, that’s for sure.”
“Children can be cruel,” said the Professor.
“Yeah, I didn’t know what ‘bigfoot’ meant, so I looked it up. That was the first time I picked up an encyclopedia. I thought it would actually be kinda cool, to live like a wild man in the forest.”
The Professor squinted. “Ah, here we go. The cabin is still here where I remember it.”
He turned into a dirt driveway, and put the truck in park as he hopped out of the driver’s seat. He leaned out the window and honked three times.
“Don’t they know we were coming?” asked Jeff.
“No telephone,” said the Professor.
The cabin was low and the same colors as the dense thicket that surrounded it. A screen door swung open and a young lady came halfway out. It was obvious her unseen hand held some type of firearm.
“What do you want?” she yelled.
“Louie Bledsoe still live here?” he shouted back. “I’m Ollie Haydorn. We used to play football together.”
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The young lady rested the firearm inside against a wall and stepped outside. “Come on,” she shouted.
The pair walked up, and the Professor smiled. “You must be Dina. I haven’t seen you since you were six years old.”
“I remember my daddy used to talk about you, how you went to college and moved away,” said Dina. “I remember you just a little myself.”
“Are your parents home?”
“Mama ran away with the propane delivery man a year or so after the last time you were here,” she said. “Daddy had cancer, died last year.”
The Professor sighed. “That’s a shame, he was a good man.”
Dina gestured. “Y’all come in and visit. I live here alone now, it’s good to have company.”
She served them hot, black and bitter coffee. “I make a living hauling firewood and running traps,” she said.
Jeff looked around. “I suppose it doesn’t take much money to live here.”
She smiled at Jeff. “It’s not like living at a big university.”
“I told Jeff he looks like he could be a Bledsoe,” said the Professor. He chuckled. “You two look like you could be cousins.”
“Daddy used to say it were the Indian in us,” said Dina. “Mama used to say daddy’s people were wild men.”
Jeff reached into the paper bag he carried and pulled out a Bois D’arc fruit. “Speaking of wild men, do you know a place where there are a lot of these trees?”
“Sure, the banks of Skunk Ape Creek are covered with them,” said Dina.
The Professor looked at Jeff, and then they both looked at Dina. “Have you ever seen a skunk ape?” asked Jeff.
“No sir, Daddy said they lived in the creek bottoms to hide from the Indians, and then when the white man came they all caught sick and died,” she said. “Daddy said years ago you could still see some of their bones at the foot of the trees.”
“Can you take us there?” asked Jeff.
“Not the two of you,” she said. “Sorry, Professor, you wouldn’t make it, it’s too wild. The only reason I could even try is because it’s been so dry this summer. There are some really bad places out there.”
She looked at Jeff. “I can try to take you, college boy, but it’ll be hard on you.”
“We’ll pay you for your trouble,” said the Professor. “Like you were a hunting guide.”
“Sounds fine with me, I’ve done that before,” said Dina.
“When can we leave?” asked Jeff.
“You go back into town and get yourself some heavy duty gear,” said Dina, “and come back in the morning. You cain’t make it out the back door dressed like you are now. Professor Ollie grew up in these parts, he can tell you what you need.”
+
Professor Haydorn drained his coffee cup. “I’ll stay behind and keep the stove stoked. Are you sure you’ll be back by the end of the day?”
Dina snorted as she hoisted her knapsack. “It’s only ten miles in the thicket, I can do that barefoot.” She put her arms through the straps. “Now, city boy here will slow me down, but I can kick him in the ass to keep up.”
“I’ll keep up, don’t you worry,” said Jeff. “I’m motivated. But thanks for carrying the tools.”
“If you dig up anything that looks like a hominid bone, just take a sample for DNA testing,” said the Professor. “I don’t want the state to fine us for an unauthorized archeological dig. Your academic career is in the tank, but I still work at the university.”
“I’ll be discreet,” said Jeff.
Dina looked Jeff up and down. “Those boots and denims will do the trick, the professor set you up right.”
“I’d feel better if we had cell phone service,” said the Professor.
“The telco has never even run lines out here, or the power company,” said Dina. “We live on wood and propane out here.”
“Let’s set off,” said Jeff. “This may be the best chance to find the proof I’ve been searching for.”
“I’ll wait right here until y’all return,” said the Professor.
Dina and Jeff both did a last minute check, and then went out the back door together.
The woods began almost at the edge of the porch. Dina led, and Jeff called back as he quickly disappeared. “Wish me luck!”
The Professor walked back inside and poured himself another cup of strong black coffee. “I hope he isn’t too disappointed, and he doesn’t get hurt.”
+
“Jesus!” muttered Jeff. “We’ve been through some serious terrain! Are we almost there?”
“You city boys talk funny, and don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” snapped Dina.
“It’s been five hours, it’s past noon,” said Jeff looking at the sun overhead.
“Yes, we’re almost there,” said Dina. “See those trees crowded together up ahead. They’re lining the bank of Skunk Ape Creek.”
She kept hiking forward. “If we are where I think we are, there’s a bend in the creek that my daddy told me about that’s almost an island. He said that it was the only place he ever saw where all the trees were Bois D’arcs.”
Jeff was moving faster and caught up with her. “We can stop there and rest,” she said. “Daddy said there was a spring that never dried.”
In five minutes they were at the natural tree line, and then they pushed through to the narrow sandy bank of the creek. Dina pointed and they hiked downstream. At a certain point Dina turned and they climbed up the slope of a hummock. As it leveled off, Jeff looked around and whistled.
“Wow, these are the largest Bois D’arcs I’ve ever seen, they must all be at least 50 feet tall,” he said as he looked around. “I’ve never seen them growing in a grove.”
Dina pulled her knapsack and dropped it on the ground. “Is this what you were looking for?”
“Yes, great, this is perfect,” he said as he walked over and pulled the folding shovel out from where it was tied to her knapsack. “I’m going to start to dig right away.”
“My daddy said old settlers said there used to be bones on the ground. The Indians said they were not their own, they said they belonged to ‘The Silent Brothers of the Forest.’ When the Indians caught sick from the white man’s diseases, many of them died, but the Indians said all the men of the forest died,” said Dina.
“That doesn’t make sense, you wouldn’t think the populations would mix for disease to spread amongst them,” said Jeff.
“I’ll let you start digging, I’m going to find the spring my daddy said was here,” Dina said as he took her canteen.
Jeff looked where the trees were the thickest and tallest. The forest floor was littered with the large green fruit. “There must be hundreds of these,” he muttered. “If Bigfoot ate these, this would have been the cafeteria.” He shoved the blade in the earth and began to dig.
The normally subtle citrus-like smell of the fruit was quite strong. As he kept turning over the soil, the rich smell of the humus joined in the aroma. In a few minutes, his spade turned up a piece of white bone.
When Dina came back, she found Jeff leaning up against a tree, turning over a bone in his hand. “You find something?” she asked.
“This is obviously some type of hominid mandible, but now my lack of paleontology fails me,” said Jeff. He held it up for Dina to see. “It’s a jawbone.”
“I can see the teeth,” she said. “Pretty big for a man.”
“Yes, well, we at least have something that can be tested. You want to give me a hand digging?”
“Sure, why not?” She went to her knapsack and pulled out a smaller spade. “Let’s see what else we can find.”
As she bent down to crouch, Jeff leaned forward with his spade, and they made contact forehead to forehead. His knees buckled and he fell backwards, while Dina propped herself up for a moment on one hand before she fell into the dirt face first.
+
When Jeff came to, he saw Dina leaning over him. His face was wet.
“Oh, my,?
?? he groaned. He saw she held her canteen.
“We’re a pair,” she said with a smile. “We bent over and knocked each other out.”
“How long have I been out?”
“Just five minutes. I came to almost immediately, but I was starting to get worried about you. That’s why I doused you.”
She lent him a hand as he stood up. “I feel really light-headed,” said Jeff. “Didn’t we bring some cheese and crackers?”
“I’ll dig them out,” said Dina as she went over to the knapsack.
As she reached toward the bottom, she heard a little moan. She turned and saw that Jeff had taken a bite out of one of the fruits.
°These smell so good,” he said. “I can’t believe they’re not good to eat.” His eyes widened. “Hey, this tastes great!”
Dina walked back to him. “I was always told they would make you sick.”
“Maybe the fruit from these old trees are different,” he said. He took another large bite. “Here, try it!”
The white sap from the fruit was running through his fingers. Dina extended her hand, and then saw the sap. Jeff held out the fruit, and he leaned forward and took a large bite.
She chewed, and swallowed, and gave a little sound of enjoyment. “You’re right, it tastes like a tangy apple.”
She reached down and picked up another fruit. She wiped it on her sleeve and took a deep bite. Then she wiped her mouth with her sleeve. She took a swig from the canteen and then took another bite.
She looked at Jeff, and her eyes glinted. She held up her canteen. “Here, try this.”
He took a long swig. “This water is pure,” he said breathing deeply. “Where is this spring?”
She took his hand. “I’ll show you,” she said, tugging at him. “Come on.”
He grabbed another fruit from the ground as she led him off deep into the darkest stand of trees. As they entered she broke into a run and laughed.
“Catch me if you can, big fella!”
+
“I waited up all night, and when they weren’t back at sunrise, I came to get you.”
“You did the right thing, Professor Haydorn,” said Sheriff Prince. “Even people who’ve lived in these woods all their lives can get disoriented and lost.”
“The woods are so dense...” said the Professor.
“Yes, it’s too thick for horseback, really it’s almost too dense for men on foot, and we don’t want to set the hounds loose, they might even not find their way back,” said the Sheriff. “The foliage is too thick for a helicopter to be of any use. You don’t have any idea exactly where they were going?”
“No, she just said Skunk Ape Creek, I was sure Dina knew where she going, I trusted her.”
“Skunk Ape Creek is twenty miles long, we’ll have to search the whole way,” said the Sheriff.
“I feel terrible, I was the one that brought the boy here,” said the Professor.
The Sheriff’s radio crackled. He held it up to his ear, said a few words, then turned back to the Professor. “No sign of them yet, and their trail leads into the densest part of the thicket. This will be hard.”
“I will take a good look around inside the cabin, to see if I can find a clue as to where Dina was going,” said the Professor. “Please keep me posted.”
He scoured the cabin but didn’t find any maps or notes. He stepped out the back door onto the small porch and looked into the forest.
Something at the very threshold of audibility made him raise his head. He held his breath. He thought he heard it, something almost like the screech of a wildcat--but with something human in it. He walked toward the edge of the thicket, and listened again. This was very faint, and different--deeper. The call almost sounded familiar.
He held his breath again and heard--nothing. He listened for a few moments more. Then he exhaled. “I hope you found what you were looking for, son,” he said as he turned.
The Sheriff walked out the cabin. “Anything?”
“Not a clue,” said the Professor.
“Fool kids, getting themselves lost chasing an old wives’ tale. But we’ll find them,” the Sheriff added with a hint of bravado.
The Professor looked into the woods that seemed to go on forever. He muttered to himself “I hope you kids are OK” as he shook his head.
+
There was a loud rap at the door, and a silver-haired man stuck his head in.
“Hello, Professor. Mind if I come in?”
“Of course not, Sheriff. I heard your truck pull up.”
Professor Haydorn turned away from the fire in his chair and gestured. “It’s very quiet here. Sit yourself down.”
Sheriff Prince walked in and dropped his Stetson on the table. “You remember what we were both doing ten years ago?”
“We were looking for Jeff and Dina,” said the Professor. “We all searched a good two weeks.”
“Still the most puzzling missing persons case I’ve ever had.”
“You gave it your best,” said the Professor.
“I wasn’t spying on you,” said the Sheriff with a wink, “but they told me in DeKalb you were in town. I was thinking of the anniversary, too, and thought I’d drop in.”
“Pour yourself a cup of coffee, the percolator is on top of the stove.”
After the Sheriff sat back down with his cup, the Professor spoke up again. “This place would make a great hunters’ lease, there’s all sorts of wildlife out there.”
“This forest is great for hunting,” said the Sheriff. “I suppose you enjoy it more for the peace and quiet.”
“When Dina’s cousins put the spread for sale, I thought it would make a good place to hide when I am writing,” said the Professor. “I suppose there’s also some residual guilt.”
“Now, you don’t go beating yourself up over the disappearance. You were trying to be helpful to that Bowles boy. It wasn’t your fault they went out and got lost.”
“At night you’d be amazed at all the sounds and the noises in the forest,” said the Professor. “Just last night I heard what I thought sounded like bears walking around the cabin. I fired up the gas lantern and stuck my head out the door with my shotgun under my arm. Whatever it was took off.”
“Did you go look outside in the daylight?”
“Sure did, and I saw some prints, too. There were three of them. I saw the prints in some soft mud. Looks like a large male, a smaller female, and a young one.”
The Professor leaned over and took a Bois D’arc apple off the small table next to his chair. He held it up. “They left me a gift, too, right at the top of the steps on the porch.”
“See, that’s why those kids going into the forest was a bad idea. Who knows what got them?” said the Sheriff. He looked at the fruit the Professor held up.
“Hey, what’s with that thing? It looks like someone took neat bites out of it.”
“Yes, if you look carefully, you’ll see…” the Professor said as he rotated the fruit... “a large bite, a smaller bite, and a much smaller bite.”
“It almost looks like someone was trying to leave you a message,” said the Sheriff. “I wonder who or what did that?” He looked hard at the Professor. “You don’t think there really are Bigfoot out there, do you?”
The Professor turned and tossed the fruit into the fireplace. It began to shrivel and burn. “I didn’t used to, but now I do,” he said softly.
“Now, I do.”
Author Bio
A life-long science fiction reader, Lou Antonelli turned his hand to writing fiction in middle age; his first story was published in 2003 when he was 46. Since then he has had 85 short stories published in the U.S., U.K., Canada and Australia, in venues such as Asimov’s Science Fiction, Jim Baen’s Universe, Dark Recesses, Andromeda Spaceways In-Flight Magazine, Greatest Uncommon Denominator (GUD), and Daily Science Fiction, among others. His steampunk short story, “A Rocket for the Republic”, was the last story accepted by Dozois before he retired as editor of Asimov’s Scien
ce Fiction after 19 years. It was published in Asimov’s in September 2005 and placed third in the annual Readers’ Poll. His story “Great White Ship”, originally published in Daily Science Fiction, was a 2013 finalist for the Sidewise Award for alternate history. His collections include “Fantastic Texas” published in 2009; “Texas & Other Planets” published in 2010; and “The Clock Struck None”, published in Feb. 2014. He is a professional journalist and the managing editor of The Daily Tribune in Mount Pleasant, Texas. A Massachusetts native, he moved to Texas in 1985 and is married to Dallas native Patricia (Randolph) Antonelli. They have three adopted furbaby children, Millie, Sugar and Peltro Antonelli. “In a spare, swift, convincing narrative style, conveying in a deadpan voice a wide array of sometimes Paranoid suppositions about the world, Antonelli juxtaposes realities with very considerable skill, creating a variety of Alternate Worlds, some of them somewhat resembling the constructions of Howard Waldrop, and making some sharp points about American history, race relations, dreams, and occasional nightmares in which the twentieth century goes wrong.”[JC] - From the Encyclopedia of Science Fiction. Find Lou online at louantonelli.blogspot.com.
WILL YOU, CTHULHU
by Ed Shacklee
Will you, Cthulhu, take this wretched, scheming mortal,
who with these vows betrays mankind to join your cult
and sport a smirk till leprous tentacles assault
him from behind and drag him, screaming, through some portal;
or whip him, sniveling, into spider-haunted pits
where thrice-damned hierophants embroil themselves in schemes
Elder Horrors whisper during lotos-maddened dreams,
and babble errant nonsense as they dance in twitching fits?
Will you, mortal—once a bookworm, now a snake—
take this nightmarish spawn of blighted, starless deeps
that sups on supplicants misled to think it sleeps,
and stare till night’s abyss stares back, your soul to take?
Then take this tainted chalice and, quaking, plight your troth,
fat morsel—er, mortal—at the gate of Yog-Sothoth.
Author Bio
Ed Shacklee is a public defender who represents young people in the District of Columbia. His poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Angle, Calamaro, Kin Poetry Journal, Light, and Snakeskin, among other places. He is working on a bestiary.
THE BIGGEST MAN IN THE UNIVERSE
by M.V. Montgomery