The Epochracy Files

by Chele Pedersen Smith

  The

  Epochracy

  Files

  Chele Pedersen Smith

  An eShort-story collection of speculative fiction,

  stretching the realms of time, place and anywhere in between.

  This is a work of fiction. Fictional characters and places are not intended to bear resemblance to any real places or persons, alive or dead and if so, is entirely coincidental.

  However, the mention of existing places, historical events, politicians, and celebrities are real but are used fictitiously. The main storyline of Time Hop’s political outcome and conclusion are satire and the innovation of the author.

  Parlor Game, original concept created 1986, updated 2018

  Roaring Twenties, 2017

  Time Hop, created 2016

  Tales from the Hive, 2017

  Museum of Lost Hearts, written 2017 as High on a Hill Copyright © 2018 by Michael R. Young

  Phantom Promises, 2017

  Earworm, 2016

  Chronicle of the Century, originally The Diary of Janet Marsh, created 1978, updated 2018

  Copyright © 2018 Chele Pedersen Smith

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information systems, without written permission from the author, except for use in brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover art by Steven Novak. novakillustrations@gmail.com

  Epoch: a period of time.

  Contents

  Parlor Game

  Roaring Twenties

  Time Hop

  Tales from the Hive

  The Museum of Lost Hearts

  Phantom Promises

  Ear Worm

  Chronicle of the Century

  The Backstories: An Illusion to the Delusions

  Parlor Game

  Inspired by a dream in 1986

  Edison Jones was engrossed in his fantasy world. Nothing took place around him when the pages overflowed with fairies, fieries, volatile voles and trolls—he ate them up.

  Each paragraph, each chapter, he hungrily consumed every action-packed word, wishing he too could don a suit of enchanted armor and conquer evil with blazing ammo. It was the perfect alter-ago. Too bad he had to hide it from his wife.

  As a TV repairman, he wasn’t much of an activist, although he supposed he was a hero to some. Like Mrs. Hodsley, for instance. She whipped up a batch of magic bars for him last month when her set was on the fritz again.

  “You don’t know what a life-saver you are,” she gushed. “It’s raining arks this week and my kids are driving me nuts!”

  He counted four rowdy boys and summed up how many lamps and vases they must go through on a regular basis.

  And since MTV bee-bopped on the scene a few years ago, the place has been jumping with teens rushing in after school. Their folks refuse to subscribe.

  “Hey, dude, if video really does kill the radio star, good thing you have a TV shop!”

  “You’re totally cool, Mr. J!”

  “Can I call you, uncle?’

  Him, cool? Imagine that! And the punks calling him Mister! That was a riot. He was only seven years older than them. His rad level escalated when he started stocking the old fridge with cola drinks, and the newest innovation—microwave popcorn. Lately he’s been regretting it, though. Not only is he constantly vacuuming, but they were starting to push the limit on the fire safety capacity.

  Yes, he would’ve liked to make a difference in society. Maybe in a pop culture sort of way, he was. Things started off promising. Majoring in Political Science with good intentions, too bad he had to drop out junior year when his father died. Well, maybe it was for the best. The imaginary realm was probably safer than politics.

  College wasn’t a waste though. He could always go back. And that’s where he met Roxi their first year at Ohio State. Couldn’t believe his luck the day he walked into the help center and saw her at the math table. He had accidently insulted her, not knowing she was the tutor!

  Yikes. He could feel the condensation cooling in the air.

  “Sorry, I just thought—“

  “You thought because I’m a girl, I couldn’t be good at math. Well, it’s the 80s Bub, so catch up!”

  Man, he loved her accent—Chicago maybe— and he was hypnotized by the holographic bling on her jean vest. He made up for his ignorance when he reached into his Browns jacket and gave her a Hershey’s kiss. He knew his sugar addiction would come in handy someday, despite what his mother said.

  It seemed like forever before she smiled and unwrapped the chocolate. “Okay. Let’s begin again, Edison. I see you have an affection for inventing excuses. I like creative types,” she winked. “And your mullet is cute, too.” Her caramel eyes made him melt.

  It took a couple of sessions before she totally forgave him. He was sure she’d foil him on purpose, just for spite and women’s lib. But Roxette wasn’t like that. She was sweet and a genius. Not many freshman were hired as tutors.

  She agreed to go out with him after he passed statistics. One date for a D, two for a C and so forth. He liked the probability. Lucky for him he got a B and she adored him! She stayed and graduated while he took over his father’s business.

  When he had a steady income, they eloped the first Valentine’s Day after college. It was the most romantic thing he had ever done. How exhilarating being young and in love. Now Roxette was climbing corporate ladders while he…well, he climbed them too, if supplies on the top shelf or files in the attic counted.

  Had it really been three years already? How could his life become so dull so fast? At least he ditched the mullet for a more mature buzz top like Schwarzenegger’s. It looked a little military but with his own dark hair, jagged jaw and zygomatics, all he needed to do was replace his frames with a cool pair of shades and they’d be twins. Ed snorted. As if. He would never be as tough as the Terminator.

  Glancing at the dog-eared book in his hands, he sighed. No wonder he was bored. Little Elyria didn’t stand a chance next to Grakgorg or whatever place he was reading about at the time. He chucked the paperback into his lunch box.

  The dim shop didn’t help matters either. He loved it at first. Always was good with his hands. Pop taught him everything he knew. But hardly anyone got their sets repaired these days and no one wanted heavy furniture pieces that left dents in the rug and didn’t budge for decades.

  Forget small business. People were flocking to the big box stores for their electronic needs. With technology on the rise, places like Circuit City were gold mines. What was their slogan? Oh yeah. “Where the streets are paved with bargains.” They’d be in business forever. They even sold personal computers. Imagine, owning a computer inside your house! That tripped him out. The government was actually allowing this? What if whiz kids caused another world war or hacked into the school’s attendance files? They could skip school just like Ferris Bueller.

  Ed chuckled and then a realization blew his mind even further. Both those movies starred the same actor! Maybe the dude was onto something.

  Thinking of movies reminded Ed that he and Roxi still needed to fill out their membership for the video store down the street. Now there was a newfangled gadget for you, the video cassette recorder. VCRs made it possible to record television shows and watch uncut movies in the comfort of your own home. No more scheduling your life around the tube. Or waiting til they were old and hacked up for television broadcasting. And if he and Rox didn’t get around to seeing a flick in the theater, they could just rent them when they came out, six to twelve months later! That is, if they ever decided which format to get, Beta or VHS. It was a hot topic at the dinner table.

  What were those kids saying about rad
io dying out? That was still going strong, despite the new CD craze. Apparently the 8-track and cassette tapes didn’t hurt it either. Boom boxes and the Walkman only made music more portable. Seems technology has thought of everything. There was nowhere left to go, except maybe outer space. Maybe he should ride the bandwagon if he wanted business to pick up. The only good thing about the lack of customer traffic these days was plenty of time to read.

  Except for comic books, he had never been much of a bookworm. In fact, he used to loathe the assigned reading they gave him in high school. Until one fateful day two years ago when Mrs. Hodsley and her kids clamored in so she could watch her cliffhanging soap when their set busted. The kids nearly wrecked the place but luckily the ten year-old left behind his copy of Dragons of Irewood. Ed had been hooked ever since. He was glad for the Paperback Trader down the road. Especially when Derek Hodsley returned and insisted he pay ransom. Now they were book buddies and Edison liked having someone to chat fantasy fables with, even if it was just a child.

  Flinging a file drawer open, he rummaged for another installment and sighed. “Well, that was the last one. I’ll have to stop by and see if they have the Robed Mossicrobes series the kid was going on about.” A species of royal microscopic moss taking over a planet? He didn’t quite get it but it sounded cool.

  He looked around the dingy interior. It was more of a den than a place of business. Maybe he should be selling TV dinners instead. It didn’t look much different from when his grandpa ran the place, still decked in the 1950s wallpaper and Howdy Doody posters. All it needed was a pinewood derby and his mother baking a blue and gold cake and he’d be back in Cub Scouts.

  At least in his youth he was free to skim all the superhero adventures he wanted. If Roxi saw him with a sci-fi in his hand, she yanked it out and asked why he wasn’t reading the Wall Street Journal. No wonder work was his refuge. He’d happily put up police tape and turn the place into a reading lodge if he didn’t need to make mortgage payments.

  When he got home that night, Ed verified the second reason for his blues. His foot had barely entered the threshold when the sound he dreaded most made him cringe.

  “Eddie, don’t tell me you forgot the milk again,’ Roxi whined. “I plastered a post-it note to your lunch pail.”

  “Oh, sorry,” he answered automatically. “I must have scribbled an order number on it. Couldn’t you have stopped on the way home?”

  “Not when my meeting ran overtime and I already passed the baton to you. We don’t need two milks going bad.”

  “I’m sorry I dropped the ball,” Ed said, opening the fridge and rummaging for his chocolate mousse.

  “And you’re late for dinner…again.”

  She took a plate out of the oven and rattled it onto his placemat. Her mood shook the house. It wasn’t a mystery that he preferred dragons to the dragon lady.

  He put the dish back in the fridge. “Sorry, I’ll try to be more aware of the time,” he promised, plinking a handful of silver-wrapped dollops on her dish. “Happy anniversary?” He bent down to give her a real kiss but all he got was an earful when she turned abruptly.

  “Is it Valentines’ Day? No! Geez, Eddie, how easy it is to remember whether or not it’s our anniversary?’

  “Cripes, I can’t do anything right. Is this going to be another round with Roxi Balboa?” He plopped into his chair. “Is PMS calling or did the stocks fall again?”

  “Don’t hurl hormones at me, Bub. I have a high pressure job, okay? I can’t help it if I bring work home.” Suddenly she began to cry. “I don’t want this stress. I want to quit. I saved enough to last awhile. We should start a family, but your shop is in the hole. And since you refuse to change with the times, we can’t afford it. You won’t even listen to your friend Bill. He has financial sense and if you act now, you can get in on the boom. But all you want to do is hide behind those barbaric books.” She folded her arms and sobbed into the crook of her elbow.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call them barbaric. That’s more like caveman days, these are ahead of their—”

  “I want a baby.”

  “What? Are you playing that card again?” He jumped up, thinking of defending himself but decided to rub her back instead. If there was one thing he learned from reading, it was better to soothe the monster than poke it with fire. “Look, I still think it’s too soon for a baby. Another year, okay? But if you want me to remodel the store, presto—you got it. I was thinking about it today anyway.”

  She lifted her head long enough to scoff. “Really? You aren’t just saying that to avoid a fight?’ She grabbed a napkin and blotted her tears. “What happened, you ran out of stuff to read?”

  “I, uh, perused my predicament.”

  She eyed him with suspicion.

  “Yeah, I got to the last page and sat there pondering.” He resumed his seat, suddenly starved. He began forking down his fettucine and cubed steak.

  “Well, are you seriously considering face-lifting the place? If you are, I’ll help. But if you’re just stalling to prolong this torture—“

  “I’m seriously thinking about it. “

  “Okay. We’ll see how serious you are. So you’ll get your nose out of those novels and your butt in gear.” Roxi got up and started cleaning the kitchen.

  Ed smiled. She sounded like the Roxi he first met and loved. She always was a go-getter. He just wished it wasn’t his case she kept getting on. Sure, he’d give it a go but he had qualms quitting cold turkey.

  “Oh, don’t forget tomorrow is my company picnic.”

  Ed groaned. “Do I have to go? On Saturdays I do have some regular-standing customers, you know.” No sense telling her it was only Derek bringing in his latest literary find. Sometimes he brought friends and board games. The microwave was popping overtime, even if it sparked every three uses.

  “You’ve missed the last three outings,” she reminded him. “When you don’t show, I get the scrutiny and the jokes for faking a husband just to throw stalker Stan off my tail.”

  Emptying his lunch kit, Roxi discovered the paperback with the milk reminder bookmark. “Ed, you’re impossible!” Screeching, she pitched the volume into the waste basket with such force, it dinged against the metal, making him jump ten feet.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll go to the picnic. Geez. What’s blowing your gasket now?” He followed her fit to see his copy of Magno’s Stronghold infused in canned Alfredo. “Hey, if that was the New York Times, you wouldn’t get so saucy about it. You don’t see me having a hissy when your head is buried in Kiplinger’s. I went and found my own thing, is all.”

  “You’d have remembered the milk if you hadn’t checked out on life. “

  “What’s so important about the milk? We live two blocks from a convenience store. I’ll go right now.”

  “It’s not about the milk! You don’t get it do you? I’m the milk.” She tossed the sponge into the sink and went sobbing to their room.

  Ed felt like a spinning target. Should I follow her? He was never sure what women wanted and usually ended up making the wrong choice. Why did Roxi have hidden options instead of just spelling it out? To be safe, he decided to give her space.

  Washing off his book, he then emptied the trash. Once outside, he decided to zip down to the Zippy’s. Couldn’t hurt. Even though she said it wasn’t about the milk, it was a little. It would save a cereal killing in the morning. Once home again, he shoved the gallon in the fridge and ran upstairs to defuse the evening.

  In slow-motion, he pushed the door open in the dark, creeping quietly in case she was asleep.

  “Hey, are you okay in there?” he whispered. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he patted the covers but Roxi was hard to find surrounded by throw pillows. He thought he heard a muffled, “maybe.”

  “Hey, I’m used to you breaking glass ceilings. Sometimes I forget your workplace might not be so accepting. So no frets, okay? I’ll go to the picnic. We’ll keep up appearances and I’ll prove I can survive a whole day without re
ading.”

  Roxi was so surprised, she flung her arms around him. “Oh thanks Eddie. And if you can keep yourself out of one tonight, I’ll remind you what you’ve been missing.”

  While she adored him with affection, Edison wondered how he would alert Derek on the sly.

  After his morning coffee, duty called. Relaxed on his throne, he fished through the rack of tabloid rags and came up with a dog-eared edition of Elves of Perre Derre. His heart leapt. It was just like Christmas! Cracking open the broken binding, he dove in. Even after a flush, he lost track of time. An hour later, Roxi pounded on the door.

  “What’s going on in there? Are you sick? You left your breakfast in a hurry. I poured you another coffee. Now both are cold.”

  Crap! Ed snapped back to reality. His legs were asleep. “I’m okay. I, uh,” He gave a flailing glance around the room and spotted an unopened package laying on the tub. He tore it open, reading the label. “I, uh, was replacing the old hooks with these teal shower curtain things to match the linen.”

  “Oh, good. Thank you hon. Well, Paul from work is picking us up. He’s on his way, so get ready.”

  “Where are we going?” For the life of him he couldn’t remember.

  “Oh my living hell!” she huffed. “I told you last night. The work picnic. Have you forgotten already? Oh duh, I’m such an idiot. You’re reading in there, aren’t you?”

  “No,” Ed lied, eighty-sixing the book deep into the periodicals. He hobbled up and reassembled himself. “I’m just… wondering where the picnic is. Should I dress up or can I wear sneakers?” High-fiving himself for his quick thinking, he nearly toppled over and had to grab the shower curtain to steady himself.

  “Oh, it’s at LaRhonda’s house. Lars has a sprawling lawn so there will be Jarts, horseshoes and stuff. Sneakers are fine.”

  Roxi left and Ed wondered how he could possibly get dressed in four minutes when his legs were crawling with pinpricks. Should he fake an injury? Just then the shower curtain plucked free from the rings and he fell into the tub. Problem solved.