Mowing the Lawn
I must be a time traveler. I’ve read every book on the subject, both fiction and non-fiction. I’ve watched the movies and the television shows that use time travel to tell a story. I’m a fan. Now I think I might be a victim. Or a beneficiary.
Two weeks ago, my wife told me to go out and mow the lawn, and then later she asked me why I didn’t mow the lawn. But I did, I think. It happened again last week. Same thing. Then, just today, she got angry because I hadn’t mowed the lawn. “But I did.” I pled my case. I looked outside and it appeared freshly mowed to me. She stormed off in a huff, headed out to the garage, and in a few minutes, I heard the roar of the lawn mower. I gazed out the window at the backyard. The lawn was shaggy and overgrown.
It’s not just mowing the lawn – it’s taking out the garbage, fixing the small hole in the wall, and power washing the driveway. I know I did them, and the tasks look finished, but then I get disoriented and confused, and my wife tells me again to do all the same tasks I just did. I do them again, but the same thing happens.
I probably just keep traveling back in time to a time before she asked me the first time. And the second time. Or, perhaps I just don’t listen to her any more.
No, it must be that time travel option. I’m a fan.
The Last of the Lighthouse Keepers
With sunset only a few minutes away, Samuel Coleridge took the jar of kerosene and poured it carefully into the lamp reservoir. Last year they had changed from high-grade lard oil to kerosene. It was happening all over the country, especially at lighthouses. His sister’s poor husband, a third-generation whaler had lost his business because the demand for whale oil had almost disappeared. But, that was not his concern; his brother-in-law was a hard worker, a bit of a drinker perhaps, but he’d find something to do. After all, industry was blossoming - the war was becoming a distant memory, new factories were springing up everywhere, the western frontier was opening up, and things would work out. They always did.
The lighthouse keeper position was something he knew would always be needed – it didn’t matter what type of oil they came up with, lighthouses would always be needed to light the dark skies along every dangerous coast. Nothing could replace the lighthouse. With his ability to read and write, keep accurate records, work with his hands, and lift more than most men, he’d always be in demand. Whaling was a lost profession, and his brother-in-law would have trouble finding something as lucrative. But Samuel figured the money he made was enough for him – he didn’t need much to live a fulfilling life. He would help them out if needed.
He had to forget all this extemporaneous thinking and start focusing on the tasks at hand. He had to get the lamp going so it could send its light out to the open sea from sunset to sunrise. It was going to be a foggy night – he needed to get that fog signal operating.
Samuel took his job seriously. Countless fishermen, captains, and crew members depended on him. It wasn’t an easy job – some people thought you just sat around all night and slept all day. Hardly! Nothing could be further from the truth. A lighthouse keeper’s job was never done. Dust the lens, clean the lens, fill the lamps, paint the lighthouse, repair things that broke, and sweep dead birds from the deck. All in a day’s work.
Mostly it was difficult to be alone. Though Samuel considered himself a loner, being a lighthouse keeper put loneliness into perspective. He sometimes missed the cacophony of a busy saloon, the crowds and chaos of a Manhattan street, and the touch and scent of a woman. But, mostly he was happy out here on the craggy coast, far from teeming civilization. Mostly he felt freer than if he had stayed in New York and followed his father into haberdashery. His father had been a nasty old drunk, and Samuel had been happy to get away from the soot and horseshit of New York City. And away from his father, who had clung to life for the past five years in a secluded upstate sanitarium.
Finishing his chores, Samuel sat down for a read. A local in town had given him Great Expectations, by an English fellow named Dickens and he was rather enjoying it. Samuel hadn’t been much of a reader until this lighthouse job. Reading now seemed to be part of the job description and he was making up for all those books and years he had missed. Being a petty criminal, a late and unsuccessful arrival to the western gold rush, and a Union soldier hadn’t made for much reading time. However, with redemption and plenty of time alone came the joy of reading,
He sat back, removed the bookmark his dear old mother had crocheted, and lost himself in Victorian England.
Samuel woke up groggy as the morning light spread out across the endless sky. Hues of pink, orange, and yellow illuminated his room high above the coast. He turned down the wick to extinguish the light, then pulled a pouch out of his shirt pocket, took a clump of tobacco and stuffed it between his lower teeth and his cheek. Tobacco was the perfect morning wake-me-up for Samuel; he could hold off on eating food with a clump of North Carolina’s finest in his mouth.
He looked out at the sea, calm and serene on this crisp October morning. He looked down at the rocky shore. His gaze turned north toward the small sandy beach, but something seemed wrong. He made a mental note to go down and check it out later. He stopped and locked the weights that rotated the night light, dusted and cleaned the lens with a soft linen cloth, placed a linen cover over the lens to protect it, and pulled the curtains to keep out the discoloring rays of the sun. Then he walked down to the shore to check the tides and take his daily readings.
The rocky shoreline looked the same, and the tide seemed near high, just a little later than yesterday, but the beach seemed different. It was as if ten years of erosion had taken place overnight. He walked next to the shore, the last gasp of each wave gently lapping at his shoes. He bent down to touch the chilly water. He had no doubt that the shore had receded at least twelve inches. Had he missed a storm?
“Dammit Samuel, “he grumbled to himself. “You can’t fall asleep on the job. Some damn storm came up and ya missed it.” He shuddered at the thought of a ship crashing on his ragged shores while he snored away into the night. He focused his gaze south along the shore and noticed a building he had never seen before; a gray house seemed to have popped up overnight.
“Am I losing my mind?” Samuel wondered out loud. “My mind’s not worth a fart in a whirlwind no more.” The road didn’t extend in that direction and the steep and rocky shoreline prevented him from walking that way. He’d get his binoculars tomorrow and try to figure out this mystery.
Back in his room, Samuel pulled the quilt over his torso and fell asleep again; his internal clock set to wake him before dusk. Samuel awoke once around midday after a terrifying dream in which his lighthouse floated out to sea. He had watched as the shore gradually disappeared. The clouds flew past like time had sped up and the waves grew increasingly higher, pounding against the middle reaches of the lighthouse base. Samuel woke with a start as the shore disappeared below the horizon. It took him moments to realize it had only been a dream, a vividly real one, but merely a nightmare. He gazed out the window, saw the sun still high in the sky, and fell fast asleep.
“Wake up, old man. Wake up, “the voice in his head kept repeating. “Who are you? Wake up!” Like being stuck in another bad dream, Samuel couldn’t quite wrench his mind out of the fog of sleep. “Sir, wake up!” His eyes opened to an unfamiliar face- another nightmare he surmised, and closed his eyes to force sleep.
“Sir, wake up.” He felt a hand on his shoulder, then a gentle shake. He opened his eyes again, this time noticing that the sun was low in the sky, though to his keen eye, it appeared closer to dawn than to dusk.
Samuel sat up, suddenly aware that he had been sleeping on the floor. He sprang to his feet. In one swift motion he was erect and staring into the deep blue eyes of a uniformed man.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t wake up. I missed turning on the light. Damn. I’m a cussed fool.” Samuel stopped berating himself for a moment and stared at the young man standing in his lighthouse. Something was amiss. “W
here is my bed?” He looked around the room. There was nothing in it – his possessions were gone. What did you do with everything? I demand an answer!”
“This is a storage room. There’s never been anything much in here.”
Samuel peered at the young man. “Your uniform. I’ve never seen one like it before.” Samuel said it as both a statement and a question.
“Park service. Sir, you are trespassing on government property.”
“Government property? Of course it is. I was appointed to man this lighthouse, sir!”
“State park property. I have no idea what you are talking about. How’d you get in here? You musta stayed after the tours were done. How’d we miss you.”
“Miss me? Young man, you’re going to have to inform me on who you are. I’m going to have to report your presence in my lighthouse.”
“Your lighthouse? I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m gonna get some help.” The man pulled something out of his pocket. Samuel was expecting a Colt revolver, but what he revealed looked like no revolver he had ever seen. Samuel stood dumbstruck, as the man pressed a few buttons, placed the device next to his ear and began talking. “Sir, I have a problem up here. There’s an old man, probably homeless, who I found sleeping up here.” There was a momentary pause and then the man spoke again. “No sir, I have no idea. I-I don’t know how he ended up in here. He seems a little confused. Um, drunk, I-I don’t-”
“I will have you know that I do not drink on my job!” Samuel bellowed. “The nerve of you!”
The man finished up his conversation with someone Samuel could neither see nor here. “Yes. I’ll wait. I’ll keep him calm.”
“Young man, I have no idea what that thing is. I have no idea who you were speaking to, but I demand to know what you are doing in this lighthouse!” Samuel glanced over at the lens and noticed that no flame was burning; in fact, the light was enclosed in a case and appeared to be completely out of service. “I also need to know why you extinguished the light. And what did you do with my lens?”
“Um, sir, I’m not sure what you mean.” The young park service employee, only three months on the job, decided that being polite would keep the man calm until help arrived. “This lighthouse hasn’t worked in 70 years. It helped guide ships for over 150 years, but was closed long before I was born…and I’m sure long before you were born, too.”
“Closed? How can that be possible?” Samuel walked to the window and gazed down at the shore. “Well, lord Jesus. Where are the rocks?” His stare turned northward. “Mercy! Where is the beach? And what are those buildings? Where did they come from?”
“I don’t know of any beach. I’ve never seen one, but I’ve been here only three months now. This lighthouse used to sit on a rocky spit of land that jutted out a few hundred feet, but erosion, and some would say global warming, have taken away most of the land and rocks. The state and the Army Corp of Engineers have kept this old lighthouse from falling into the ocean.”
“I had a dream, a dream that this lighthouse was floating out to the sea, but it was just a dream. Falling into the ocean? Son, I don’t have any notion what you’re speaking about. I think I need to lie back down and wake up again.” Samuel sat down on his bed.
“D-do you have a home? Any relatives we can contact? My name’s Dustin. I’ll help you out any way I can.”
“Dustin? I never heard of no Dustins.”
“Well, I’ll help you out. Tell me where you live. Where’s your home?”
“This is my home!
Dustin ignored the response. “Any relatives we can call?”
“My sister lives on Long Island. Her husband is a whaler, or was a whaler.”
“A whaler?”
“Yes, but the whaling industry is dying. He’s a good man, but he’s looking for a job right now.”
Dustin shook his head, believing the old man to be delusional and in need of a mental health professional. “Do you have a phone number for him or your sister?”
Samuel looked with confusion at the young man, who was oddly clean shaven and short haired, and who wore very dark glasses. “Phone number. I’m afraid I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“Well. Ok, how about where you live. If you don’t have a home, I’m sure we can find some local shelter for you.”
“But, this is my home. Here. This lighthouse. Why are you questioning me? I was nominated and appointed to this position. Our local collector of customs, William Gustaphson nominated me and I plan on upholding the responsibilities of my appointment. I’m responsible for this lighthouse – keeping it in proper working order.”
Samuel stopped talking at the sounds of footsteps. Three men arrived, all dressed in the same brown uniforms. “These men are here to help you.” Dustin said. “They’ll get you some food and drink. And you can see a doctor.”
“I don’t need no damn help, I don’t need no damn doctor, and I’m going to report all of you as trespassers! I am Samuel Coleridge and this is my lighthouse!” He pushed two of the men, including Dustin, and got in ready position to fight the other two. Samuel kept the four men at bay for a few minutes as the melee pushed toward the door to the stairs. When the biggest of the four attempted to tackle him, Samuel tripped over one of the man’s legs and crashed head-first into the metal railing. His body bounced down a few steps and came to rest on the first stairwell.
One of the park rangers checked his pulse and breathing, finding both weak but present. He called for medical help and waited for the EMTs to arrive. They watched as the unconscious man was taken away in an ambulance. Thirty minutes later Dustin got a call. The man was missing.
“Missing. How can he be missing?” Dustin spoke loudly into his phone.
“They took him into the ER. His pulse and vitals were getting better, but he was still unconscious.” Replied the voice on the other end of the call. “They were searching for a room to put him in and when they got back he was gone. Gone without a trace. Weirdest thing any of them ever saw. They’re looking all over for him, but no one saw a thing.”
Dustin felt bad for the man. Probably homeless, probably a little mentally deranged. Maybe a war veteran – too many of those brave men and women who served their country were forgotten by the government and relegated to the scrap heap of life. The hospital just let him walk out the door. Poor old guy. Though the image of the man stayed with Dustin, he went about his normal morning duties in preparing the lighthouse for visitors.
An hour or so after the lighthouse opened to visitors, Dustin was on the deck chatting with a family. “I’ve heard this lighthouse is haunted. Is it true?” The woman’s laugh muffled by the rather vibrant morning breeze.
“Well, there is that rumor.” Dustin made a mental note to familiarize himself with that ghost story – it would make a good tale for the tourists.
The woman, reading from a guide book, continued, “After the lighthouse was closed and shuttered and before it was opened as a park facility, there were reports of intermittent light coming from the lighthouse. A park ranger came up here once and found a quilt and a book, a Charles Dickens book.
“There’s a book and a crotched bookmark in the small museum on the ground floor.” Dustin remembered. “You can see it on your way out. I doubt a ghost left it, but it makes for a good story. Why, just this morning we found a man who must have broken in, or stayed behind last night when we closed up the place. Just a poor homeless guy looking for some shelter. Probably some homeless guy left the book, too.”
The woman continued reading.” A long time lighthouse keeper died from unknown causes in the lighthouse. He so loved the lighthouse that he never wanted to leave so he stayed even after he died.” She laughed out loud and smiled at Dustin. She raised her voice to counter the yowl of the wind. “Samuel Coleridge had been the lighthouse keeper for nearly one year when he was found dead on the stairwell. Local fishermen had reported that the light had failed to come on for several nights when local law enforcement
went to check it out and came across Coleridge.”
The name sounded familiar to Dustin. “What did you say his name was?”
“Um, Coleridge. Let’s see, Samuel Coleridge.” She looked up at Dustin, his face now whiter than the whitecaps spreading out across the blue Atlantic. “Speaking of ghost stories, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She saw a bead of sweat forming on his brow and perhaps the tear trickling down his cheek. “Are you alright?”
Dustin was definitely not alright.
Used Time Machine for Sale
The caption read:
Used Time Machine for Sale
Searching through online ads trying to replace my rust bucket on wheels, I came across the weirdest ad I had ever seen - and if you have ever searched through online ads for anything, you know that’s a pretty bold statement.
The body of the ad read:
I know this sounds like a fake ad, so you will have to take a leap of faith here. I can’t prove anything to you because, well, I’ve used my machine by now, and it’s kind of difficult to communicate across the years, and believe me, I traveled a distance from 2016. But, I tested it several times, one minute, five minutes, ten minutes, 30 minutes, and it worked like a charm. The last time I set it for several years (and I did keep my fingers crossed as the engines fired up), but if you are reading this ad, I have gone somewhere - or should I say, sometime. So, you’ll have to trust me on that part. Now here’s the part where I trust you. The cost is $1000. That’s far below the dollar amount of the materials it took to build it, and it doesn’t even begin to cover the time I spent creating, designing, and assembling it. But, I don’t want your money. I want you to send it to the Alzheimer’s Association as a donation in my name. See, my mom had Alzheimer’s and she just died. We didn’t even realize she had it until she was halfway along. I’m going back several years to see if we can catch it much earlier this time and give her a few extra years of life. Give her a few extra years with her grandkids (the ones from the good kids in the family), and give me a chance to change my status as black sheep of the family so that she can have a few happy moments with her only son, instead of all the heartache I caused her. So, I’m going to trust you to send that check, and the machine is yours. Call 855-8888 and be the first on your block to own a time machine.
Altering the Apocalypse: and Other Short Stories About Humans and Time Travel Page 15