“A Girdle Round the Earth” by Jeff Baker. Friday Flash Fics for August 5, 2021.

A Girdle ‘Round the Earth in Forty Minutes

by Jeff Baker

“Hey, Skip! You pushing?”

“No, I’m making coffee,” came the voice from behind the car. “We’re out.”

“Wha?” Truman Mackelhany said between grunts as he pushed the ancient car while holding on to the wheel.

“Yeah, I’m pushing!” Skip said through grunts behind the car. “Oh, wait! Hey! Here it goes!”

With a rumbling sound, the rebuilt 1914 Maxus Racer shuddered as it pulled onto the road after having its rear end in a ditch. Skip Fowler ran behind it and hopped in the open seat beside Truman.

“Did your Great-Grandfather have to do this a lot?” Skip asked.

“Probably!” Tru said grinning as he steered the old car down the dirt road. “You still got the map?”

“Hope so!” Skip said.

The two of them had rebuilt the old Racer, open seats, cylinder body but powerful engine and an actual storage space when they heard about the offer: ten thousand dollars to race from Chicago, through Missouri to Albuquerque along older roads on a nearly 100 year-old map in hundred-year-old cars. They had actually been pretty well-prepared for the trip, they’d rigged a top for when it rained so their “cockpit” wouldn’t get flooded. All they needed to do was get goggles. And maybe their heads examined. But Tru had wanted to do it; it was in his blood. His Great-Grandfather Marcellus Truman (“No relation to the President,”) had entered the legendary Peking-to-Paris road race in 1907 but had shown up to start the race in Paris by mistake. They had clothes, cellphones and debit cards. They’d jury rigged a charger under the steering column. The cellphones were also their car radio. They were making about 40 miles a day.

“Hey, Tru?”

“Yeah, Skip?”

“How much have we spent on this trip so far?”

“About half of what we’d get if we win the race,” Tru said.

“We turn left up ahead, and we can make it to a motel, just outside Tulsa,” Skip said.

“Yeah?” Tru said.

It started to pour. The two of them tried to pull the top up. It ripped. They looked at each other.

On the plane back to Chicago, Skip ordered a beer.

“Your Great-Grandfather would have wanted it this way,” Skip said.

“Yeah,” Tru said as they clinked bottles.

—end—

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Cursed! Flash Fiction Draw Challenge for August 2021, by Jeff Baker.

Photo by Ludvig Hedenborg on Pexels.com

Cursed!

By Jeff Baker

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The prompts for this month’s Flash Fiction Draw Challenge were Historical Fiction, set in a marsh involving a necklace and/or pendant. I avoided the temptation to call this “My Favorite Marshman.” —-jeff

“You fool, Walter!” Thomas said. “First, ‘borrowing’ the Master’s jewelry to impress a woman far older and of a higher station than yourself.” (Walter was all of nineteen in that year of 1674.)

“I meant to hide it, and to claim it stolen!” Walter exclaimed.

“Stolen, yes! Now lost!” Thomas said. “Prithee, we are both lost, lest we find the ruby necklace in the marsh!”

“Nay, we are safe for the very reason the necklace is safe,” Walter said. “The reason the marsh be the perfect hiding-place! None dare venture out there and not because of loose footing! The superstitious folk of Devon fear the bogies and beasties who dwell in the marsh and mists and not just at night! Wise folk such as us know better but we are few and far between!”

“Wise, my breeches!” Thomas said. “If we were wise we would never have done like this!”

“I have hidden treasures in the marsh before and I will find this one again,” Walter said. “And our beloved master and employer is among those who would not enter the marshlands were Good King Charles II himself to offer him wine and wenches and food to party among the bogies there! But we must come up with something beyond a bogie…Aha! The Devil appeared to us…”

“Us?” Thomas said.

“Us,” said Walter. “And we used the blessed holy relic of the ruby necklace which belonged remember to the Master’s ancestress, a Holy woman who gave almost all to the Church…”

“Except the valuable ruby necklace,” Thomas said.

“And the Devil conjured the most awful beastie imaginable; a devil-dog and it gave chase, and we ran into the marsh pursued by the monstrous Hell-hound and we flung the necklace at it and the dog and necklace both vanished. The necklace now cursed, and the marsh doubly cursed.”

“Will he believe this?” Thomas said.

“He leaves money out for the elves replacing the gold miners took from them.” Walter said.

That evening, Thomas and Walter ran into the Great Hall of their Master, clothes torn and damp with marsh water, their tale ready for his credulous ears.

“Lord Harry!” they yelled. “Lord Harry Baskerville!”

—end—

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Progress Report: July 30, 2021, from Jeff Baker.

Photo by Leah Kelley on Pexels.com

Not a lot of progress on the fiction in the last two and a half weeks. Did just about a paragraph on the anthology mystery due October 31st. Started a story on the spur of the moment—wrote about half a page in a store parking lot in longhand in the spiral notebook. And I worked on the columns.

Oh, yes, the columns. I’m writing two columns now. The one on mystery short-stories (for Crippen and Landru) and the monthly column for Queer Sci fi. I’d been having trouble coming up with ideas the last few months so I brainstormed and wound up writing a bunch of columns in the last couple of weeks. About three or four for C & L are mostly done and I finished (or nearly finished) the QSF columns from August through January 2022.

Also, I proofread and tweaked a story I first started (didn’t have an ending) about six years ago. I sent that one off and also sent off a poem that I had forgotten about. I need to send off more poetry: I have a lot of it on file. And I sent off another story I’ve had around. There will be more of that next month when a market I wrote this one story for a year ago opens up—finally!

Whew!

That’s about it for now!

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“When the Wind Blows” for Friday Flash Fics by Jeff Baker (July 30, 2021)

Note: I grabbed the picture for this week from the old Monday Flash Fics page from before I ever started posting there. Thanks to Brigham Vaughn for posting the original picture!

When the Wind Blows the Cradle Will Rock

by Jeff Baker

Agent Shawnna DuQuesnie stared down at the bundle of blankets in the car trunk. She glanced at the device in her hand, looked at the sleeping child wrapped in the blankets, checked the display of the device and glanced over at the group of agents standing by the van in the field in the twilight.

“Um, Paolo, would you come here a minute?” she said, gesturing.

Paolo Silva broke of his conversation and walked over. The other agent, was busy checking something inside the van.

“What’s up?” Paolo asked. “Kid still asleep? No complications with the transfer set-up are there?”

“Not really,” she said. “But see if you read this the way I do.”

She handed Paolo the device, he scrolled through the readout on the screen.

“This…looks…like…noooooo…” Paolo’s voice trailed off. He glanced over at the van.

“We can send the kid back,” Shawnna said. “He wouldn’t remember anything and he’s in the sleep-stasis mode anyway.”

“Yeah,” Paolo said. “Kidnapping kids from the past and ordering the families to pay ransom is one thing, but I never guessed…”

“We’re just lucky there was so much displacement it showed up on our monitors and we caught the guys. So we can return the kids even before any ransom messages could be sent. And he’s the last one.” Shawnna said. “Should we tell him?”

Paolo glanced at the van again. “I don’t think we have any choice,” he said. “This fits into the idea of not being able to change history because it’s already happened. Even going back into the past is a part of history. But we need to be sure.”

Shawnna cleared her throat. “Craig, could you come over here for a minute?”

Agent Craig Fischmann, tall, young and dark haired, filling out his white t-shirt like the field agent who-could-chase-down-bad-guys that he was walked over to the car they’d grabbed from the chronal kidnappers.

“Sure,” Craig said. “What’s up?”

Paolo held up a hand. “Not too close,” he said. “Check him.”

Shawnna held up the device to Craig and swiped the screen with a finger. After a moment she nodded. “It should be okay. Come over here and look in the trunk, but don’t touch anything.”

“Okay.” Craig said quizzical. He stepped over to the trunk and stared down at the sleeping bundle. After a minute he looked up. “I’ve seen that blanket before. A long time ago. It reminds me of the one that…hey…” He broke into a broad grin. “That’s…not me is it?”

“We think so.” Shawnna said. “Where were you when you were four years old?”

“Wow. I grew up in Oklahoma but that was after my folks split when I was five. Before that, I spent a lot of time at my Grandparents in Jersey City.”

“That’s the time/space co-ordinates we have, along with your own bioscan,” Shawnna said. “It’s you.”

“Wow.” Craig breathed again, grabbing the lid of the trunk as he stared down at his sleeping younger self.

“That’s why we have to ask; do you remember anything like this or anything strange happening back in 2067?” Paolo asked.

“No.” Craig said. “But I do remember that blanket. It had been my Mom’s when she was a kid. I loved that thing back then.” He looked up and grinned. “Then I discovered toy trucks and dumped the blanket!”

“So, what happens to him? I mean, me?” Craig asked.

“We send him back, and according to you, nobody will be the wiser.” Shawnna said.

“Wow,” Craig breathed. “Where’s the transfer team?”

“On their way,” Paolo said. “Just in case, you’d better get out of here.”

“Yeah, we don’t want to risk my getting zapped back twenty years when they transfer, well, Little Craig.” Craig said with another grin. “Even though I didn’t feel so much of a twinge of anything unusual over the past few days.”

“We may be worrying over nothing, but we don’t want to take a chance with either of you,” Shawna said.

“Okay. I’m outa here,” Craig said. “Should I take the van?”

“Sure,” Shawna said. “We’ll call when we get Little Craig back to 2067.”

“Great,” Craig said. He looked down at his sleeping younger self. “You have fun now, Kid. Enjoy it all while it’s happening. Childhood doesn’t last.”

Big Craig wandered over to the van as the Transfer Team vehicle pulled up to a corner of the field.

—end—

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“In a Van By the River” for Friday Flash Fics, by Jeff Baker. July 23, 2021

In a Van By the River

by Jeff Baker

Day Three:

It’s evening. It’s beautiful. I can hear the water lapping the bank, if you can call a rice paddy a bank. My ancestors were here over three hundred years ago. They evacuated when the flooding began. Nobody expected it. Nobody expected the waters to recede the way they did either. Something about the Moon being a little off of its orbit and affecting the tides. That may be all bullcrap. Anyway, I’m here now. For a while at least.

Day Five:

Seriously hot today. And the first cloudless day since I got here. Sun could burn the hide right off of you. Glad I got the tent. Sweat a lot but I got to go over my notes. My Great-great-something grandfather’s letters; he was here with the Marinecor I think he called it (I can barely make out his handwriting.) The story, of course, that he met my Great-something grandmother somewhere in this area. She was evacuated and wound up where he was living across the ocean. Nice story, if it’s all true.

Day Six:

For the record, I am, what did they call it “camping,” in a tent when I have a fully stocked van with cooler and all the amenities. I want to get the feel of it, the way people lived back then. I’m cooking the stuff I have here in the cans for dinner. It’s about dusk, the sky is deep blue and I can see the stars coming out. Jupiter is bright and high overhead. The crescent Moon is following the sun behind the horizon.

Day Seven:

My Great-Something Grandfather wrote about this area and because of the Marinecor’s knack for specifics I have the old compass coordinates so I was able to find the same location and even managed to find a few landmarks Great-Something wrote about even after the landscape being underwater for two centuries. He mentioned a cave that had been used as a temple near here. Well, tonight’s dinner is something true to the historic period; a meat-product they called “spang,” if I read the handwriting correctly.

Day Eight:

Did some exploring and decided to carry the heat shield with me. Hell with historical accuracy, it’s hot! I found the hill which was buried in riverbottom mud and dirt and was hidden, until I almost walked off the top of the hill into a gully created in the interim. I think I found the cave opening, but it is too late and I want to be back at my tent before evening. Read some out of an old-style book I bought that mentions some kind of “cult” in the area that the local monks spoke against. Were the monks using the cave as a makeshift temple during the War? I’ll find out.

Day Nine:

Cleared out the opening to the cave today; am filthy. Looks like it was a temple of some sort. Large supporting columns carved with strange symbols. Will investigate tomorrow when it gets light.

Status Report, Year of the Ox:

Tracked subject from abandoned van and tent to cavern locals warn about, why they stay away from area. Local superstition; they believe the old gods brought about the flood and pushed the water back. Found LiOssah. It was his camp-site. Found him at the edge of the cavern. Identified him by his clothing. Flesh torn from body. Bones yellowed at the edges as if they had been dipped in acid and gnawed by giant rats.

Still have not found skull…

—end—

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Didn’t have a clue where this was going until I sat down to write it with only the notion of a diary or journal. The original entry made reference to “Moons,” and it wasn’t to be set on Earth! Maybe I copped-out by giving it a quickie horror story ending. Sharp-eyed readers may catch a description I borrowed from a Lovecraft story. The title was cribbed from Saturday Night Live and the late Chris Farley. —–jsb, July 21, 2021, 2:55a.m.

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“Mystery at Castle Dracula,” Conclusion. Friday Flash Fics, by Jeff Baker, July 16, 2021

Mystery at Castle Dracula, Conclusion

by Jeff Baker

The Story So Far: Vampire hunters Jessie Skedderis and Shawn Rodriguez have traveled to Transylvania, accepting a mysterious invitation at what may be Castle Dracula. But the servant Wilhelm is a real vampire and has grabbed Jessie, demanding that Shawn remove his holy protection against vampires; the Blessed Star of the Kabbalah, and toss it out the window. Shawn reaches under his shirt, pulls the chain off with a painful snap and tosses it out the open window. Leaving him confronting Wilhelm who is holding the muscular Jessie effortlessly with one slender arm…

“I am,” Wilhelm said, “as you may have surmised, not one of those pitiful beings who may not expose themselves to the daylight.” His teeth glistened.

“But you don’t have your full powers until nightfall,” I said, standing by the window, fists clenched.

“He’s got those powers now,” Jessie said, squirming in the vampire’s grip.

“You are, I take it, the real Count Dracula?” I asked.

Wilhelm laughed. “I never even encountered such a person! I am the last of the vampires who have contributed to the legend of the immortal count. The servants here are under my control. It saves money on paying them salary. But my need to feed is real.” He grinned even broader.

I glanced at where Jessie had left the baseball bat. Wilhelm snarled and tossed Jessie aside. I dove, aiming straight at the vampire. I hadn’t expected to be able to tackle him but grabbing him was all I needed. I clung to his waist There was a sizzle and Wilhelm began to smoke where I was holding on to him. There was an unearthly shriek. With one hand, he pushed me away. I landed several feet away on the floor, watching the vampire stare at his smoking hand where he had grabbed me. He stared at me and snarled again. I had never seen a face more monstrous.

There was a loud crack behind him. A shadowy shape leaped out of the darkness of the room. Jessie. With half of the freshly-broken baseball bat which he plunged between the vampire’s shoulder blades. I did not think the vampire’s mouth could open any wider but it did. Teeth. And a gurgle of shock. I raced behind them and picked up the other half of the splintered baseball bat (thank God it was wood) where it had fallen after Jessie had smacked it against the stone corner of the wall. Rushing in front of them, I plunged the jagged end of the broken bat into the vampire’s chest. I expected a howl or rage, but instead there was a long, shrill squeak like the death-rattle of a huge rat.

I reached out and grabbed the vampire’s arm to push him away, and steam rose from where I touched him and his body felt mushy under his shirt. Jessie and I stepped away as the undead thing sagged and fell apart into a sickening gelatinous puddle. We stared, half expecting the puddle to morph back into Wilhelm but it just sat there.

“I’ll get the Holy Water,” Jessie said in a hoarse voice, reaching for the suitcase and the sealed metal vial we’d brought from Rome.

“Don’t use it all,” I said. “We may need it to get out of the castle, but I don’t think the castle staff are vampires. In fact if they were in his power that’s probably gone by now. But bring the bat. What’s left of it.”

I watched as Jessie sprinkled the water from the vial on the mess of clothes and putrescence. When he was done, I grabbed him and held him close.

“You feel good,” Jessie said.

“You do too,” I said.

I held Jessie for another moment. I fingered the rip in my shirtfront and the spot where I had securely taped the Blessed Star of the Kabbalah to my chest, just in case something like this would happen. A risk but worth it.

“Think there’s a motel near here?” Jessie asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “But let’s call a cab and sleep on the train.”

—end—

Posted in Fantasy, Fiction, Friday Flash Fics, Horror, LGBT, Mystery at Castle Dracula, Short-Stories | 2 Comments

Progress Report; July 13th, 2021 from Jeff Baker

Photo by Leah Kelley on Pexels.com

Got some stuff done! Not what I expected to! Wrote one extra column, worked on another and wrote some on four stories and finished another for a market I’d just found out about (wound up about 1400 words) and fired it off before the weekend deadline AND heard back from the market which wants to publish the story! (Royalties, as usual, some day that will pay off!) Also worked off and on at a story I’d been doodling around with since I wrote the title and a couple of lines five years ago. To my surprise I finished the first draft! I have to read over it and tweak it but it should be about ready to send off!

That’s about it for now!

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The Reidels Investigate in “Looking For the Yellow House,” for Friday Flash Fiction by Jeff Baker. July 9, 2021.

Looking For the Yellow House

by Jeff Baker

(A Donna and Sean Reidel Mystery)

“You take that way, I’ll take this way.”

Donna Reidel pointed and her husband Sean nodded. They were tired, hungry and spattered in mud. The last three days they had been threatened, evicted from a hotel room that wasn’t even theirs and shot at.

“Of course, shot at,” Donna thought as she tried the door of the house on the end. It wouldn’t budge. The long row of houses were about the size of tool sheds and had been built in a long row on what looked like a poor man’s version of a boardwalk. But the little seaside town had been hit hard by the economic downturn; shops were closed, even the local school had been shuttered. From a distance, the town looked alive. Lighthouse beckoning ships into a safe harbor. But closer inspection revealed the boarded-up storefronts and the sealed-off door to the lighthouse, which was on automatic. After three days of tracking down leads, all Sean and Donna had found out was that what they were looking for was hidden “in the yellow house” near where the man had been found on the beach, dead. He’d lived here as a kid. Sean and Donna had been hired to find what he had stolen.

They hadn’t even been told exactly what they were looking for. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

Seeing it was the problem. And it didn’t help that the houses had all been repainted so many times that they all had some yellow paint flaking off. Donna and Sean couldn’t break into all of them. Only one house was important enough.

“We may not have time,” Donna said. “But we have to wait.”

It was warm for early spring, but dusk came early. Donna and Sean stayed hidden in the shadows. When it was dark enough

“Funny thing about a beam of light,” Sean said. “In spite of how it’s drawn in the comic books, a beam of light is usually a bluish-white, like the Moon.”

“But not that one,” Donna said, pointing at the lighthouse.

The bright beam that shone out of the lighthouse was a blazing white as it shown over the sea, but when it swung over the town it suddenly angled down and swept the ground of the town, turning a bright yellow.

“A prism,” Donna said.

“Or a busted lens,” Sean said.

“One that he knew about.” Donna said.

The two of them watched the light repeat its track through the town, making sure it followed the same path each time. When they were sure, they went to the one of the small houses the yellow beam had lighted on and after a few minutes of lock picking were inside. The small room had a painted-over window and a small cot. On the cot was a brown envelope, In the beam of the Reidel’s flashlight, the envelope practically glistened like gold compared to the rest of the furnishings of the dingy room.

—end—

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Battle Crime With The Dustman! Flash Fiction Draw Challenge Story for July, 2021 from Jeff Baker. July 7th, 2021.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The draws for this month’s Flash Fiction Draw Challenge (Thank you, Jeffrey Ricker!) were a comedy set in a car trunk involving a vacuum cleaner. I’ve used a lot of song titles as story titles but I never thought I’d use this one (changing one word!)—jsb 7/7/21

My Old Man’s The Dustman

by Jeff Baker

I adjusted my mask, pushed my helmet down on my head and ran down the row of parked cars in the mall parking lot.

“Pop!” I called out. “Pop!” I wished the noises from the highway weren’t so loud. Then I thought I heard it: a muffled noise.

“Pop?” I moved closer to the sound, a beat-up looking Chevy. I looked in the window. Nope. I caught a glance of myself in the reflection in the car window. Striped trunks, green cape, a stylized letter “D” on my shirt. Pop was the superhero with the powers. Me, I was an unwilling sidekick. Besides I had a business degree. I only helped Pop, a.k.a. The Dustman out when I was between jobs.

And now, he needed my help. Being able to turn into a stream of sentient dust wasn’t much of a power but it meant that he could filter himself anywhere. Last I heard, he was following some bad guy who called himself Kettleman. As long as nobody called me Dustboy. I was 27 and had my own portfolio with an IRA.

This time I heard it clearly; a thump from the rear of the Chevy.

“Pop?” I called.

“In here,” came the faint voice.

“Well, dust out of there,” I said. “Maybe you can’t fit through the lid but there’s got to be a little opening somewhere.”

“I’m already dust,” came the voice. “I’m stuck in here, pop the trunk and get me out!”

I didn’t know how Pop could talk when he was dust, but I was just glad his super outfit dusted with him so he wasn’t naked all the time.

“Captain Kettle or whatever he called himself had a vacuum cleaner,” the voice said. “I’m in that.”

My Pop was trapped. Inside a car trunk. Inside a vacuum cleaner. And this was a guy who’d saved the world with the Crisis Squad. I started laughing. I couldn’t help myself. I got a hold of myself.

“Okay, Pop, what do I do?” I asked.

“Break in the trunk and get me out!” Pop said.

“With what?” I asked. “I don’t carry a crowbar on this silly outfit!”

“Then, break into the car!”

“Hey, I don’t want to get a criminal record!” I protested. “You need a burglar, not an accountant! Hey, wait…”

I was looking through the car window, wondering if I could use a coat hanger. It was an old car, but then I had a hunch.

I tried the door handle.

Bingo! It opened. A minute’s fumbling under the dashboard and I found the lever that popped open the trunk. I was amazed this genius hadn’t left his keys in the ignition. I grabbed the hand vac out of the trunk and pulled it open. A cascade of greenish dust spewed out over me and the ground. I sneezed.

Another moment and the dust whirled itself into my Pop.

“Just like ‘I Dream of Jeannie,’” I said. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” my Pop, Dustman said. “How ‘bout you?”

“Fine.” I said. “Where’s this Kettledrum bozo?”

“In the mall paying a bill. Wanna help me get him?”

“Sure!” I said.

Pop grinned. “Okay, Dustboy, let’s get to it!”

My Pop and I ran towards the entrance, and I didn’t feel ridiculous at all.

—end—

Posted in Fantasy, Fiction, Monthly Flash Fiction Draw Challenge, Short-Stories | 1 Comment

Progress Report, July 6th, 2021. From Jeff Baker.

Photo by Leah Kelley on Pexels.com

Surprised myself by finishing and revising two (count ’em, two!!!) full-length short-stories and fired them off to their respective markets. One being the Saturday Evening Post (Fingers crossed!)

Also worked on a couple of the Flash Fiction stories, and finished one a few minutes ago!

I also need to proofread a couple of columns and work up the monthly Flash Fiction Draw Challenge story for July (which I’d forgotten about!)

Lots of parentheses!

That’s about it for now!

———–jsb, July 6th, 2021, 3:50am.

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