Author’s Note: This is my latest addition (#19) to my short story compilation. It’s a tale of our time-traveler hero going into the future while on vacation and his unexpected encounter with a pirate named Hook (no, not that one) and a smuggling ring of fine jewels.
The revised version . . . https://ideasnmore.net/the-jolly-roger-incident-1
A short story about Charity Hospital New Orleans and its aftermath from Katrina
Prologue
NOLA. Its spirit stays with you long after you’ve gone. The sights, smells, music and culture all linger, sometimes even after one’s memories fade. Those thoughts, dreams, even nightmares can embody your neighbor’s flesh and blood even when that neighbor passed away long ago. Caution: Some photos may be too unnerving or unsettling for some viewers.
A little history . . .
Charity Hospital of New Orleans, LA has long been the medical headquarters for many patients. Some of whom, it is said, never left. If that is so, how many souls stayed behind after the hospital permanently closed? What of them? When alive they endured many horrific events with Hurricane Katrina. Many a sane person would have gone crazy during those times, not able to rid themselves of the nightmarish memories they must still have.
I wonder, do souls have nightmares? Do they wander around aimlessly and body-less seeking answers? Do they seek revenge of some sort? Do they yearn to inhabit other living or dead bodies to continue life anew?
Seems like this would be the stuff of an episode right out of Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone. While interesting to ponder, the hospital sat empty and abandoned for a long time without anything being done to recessitate it. A surreal set of circumstances led to its demise and only in New Orleans could an old, empty hospital reemerge as a haven for lost souls. Spirits, ghosts, whatever you like all need a place to gather, a place to call home. In NOLA’s Charity Hospital, they evidently found it.
But the story doesn’t end here; it merely continues. To what end, you may ask. Well, we don’t know . . . yet.
Chapter One
It was a dark and gloomy night in the French Quarter so we thought we’d stroll down a few blocks and see some old buildings. We eventually got to the section of Tulane Avenue where one of the oldest abandoned buildings in the area has sat empty for decades-Charity Hospital New Orleans.
Staring up at the 1939 built 20-story Art Deco building, one gets a feeling that the intimidating structure is not too keen on the idea of letting visitors inside its hallowed halls.
Nevertheless we marched slowly but steadily onward to see what had been left behind when it was evacuated because of Katrina in 2005.
In a word, not much. Yet there was a lot that remained. Indeed, some rooms we passed looked like time itself had died that horrific day. Other rooms appeared as if the patient had hardly gotten out of the room before the flood waters rushed in. And then there was the Autopsy Room.
We drew closer not believing what we thought we saw. The patient appeared to be the only “living” creature in the room. Then suddenly one of the “surgeons” unexpectedly looked up and floated in our direction. It was obvious that he/she/it wanted us out of the room – NOW! We didn’t hesitate except for me; I felt like my shoes were glued to the floor. I kinda shook it off a bit and yelled “we’re going, we’re going!”
As if these images didn’t make for an uneasy feeling in us, we made our way down this one hallway to see what more could be observed. That’s when we heard it; a soft, eerie-sounding voice whispering “Get out. Leave us alone. We don’t want you here.”
We all just froze. At first we didn’t know what to do or say, if anything. Finally, someone in our group said simply, “Let’s proceed anyway. I’m not going to let a strange voice scare me outta here.”
Well, we continued on, this time ascending two more floors. Alas, it was just as bad and desolate as downstairs. Some rooms appeared as if a bomb had gone off. Others looked like they had only recently been vacated.
Proceeding down the hallway we came to what appeared to be an operating room. As we peered inside we could see the patient on the table surrounded by ghost-like figures all dressed in surgical gowns.
Back in the hallway we all were grasping for breath and, yes, looking like we’d just seen a ghost! But before we had a chance to recover, approaching from the other end of the hallway were various other ghostly figures heading our way.
Upon seeing this, we wasted no time in locating the nearest stairwell and ran up, I don’t know, what seemed like several flights of stairs. We came out and were grasping for breath. At this point someone just spouted “to hell with the research, let’s get the hell outta here.”
“Okay, everyone, calm down. We’ve just had the wits scared out of us. If this were Halloween, it would be funny. C’mon, let’s proceed down this hallway and . . . “.
Chapter Two
Just then low screams came from a few doors down. When we got there we witnessed a shadowy figure sitting on the bedside with an ax and a pool of blood clearly visible on the floor with a severed hand laying in the blood.
“Oh my God,” blurted Selma. “Somebody do something! He’ll bleed to death,” she said.
“What makes you think he’s alive?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m sure he’s not. He’s been that way for decades,” says a voice emanating from a nearby chair on the far side of the room.
This time, this ghost appeared more visible than his counterparts before. His features were distinctive but his body had an iridescent glow to it. He was there and yet he wasn’t.
“Excuse me, sir. Do you know this person?,” I asked. “Yes,” said the ghost. “He was my brother, Warren. He died years ago,” stated the ghost.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said I. “By the way, I’m Joe, this is Selma, Thad and Fred. We’re just exploring the hospital before it gets torn down. We honestly didn’t expect to come into contact with anyone here. But we have; at least we think we have,” I stated.
“My name is Walter. I died some years ago, too. As for meeting folks here, you have indeed come in contact with them. If they’ve seemed to be a little skiddish, they are. They’re not used to visitors especially when the hospital closed some years ago. Everyone in New Orleans thought Charity had been completely evacuated; alas, it was not, as you have seen.
“Oh sure,” Walter continued. “Every body was taken out of Charity but some of those died before being taken out. Those souls decided to stay and remain with the friends they had made while here.”
“So what about you, Walter?,” I asked. “Well,” he started, “I kinda look after this place and my friends. We’re not leaving as we have no place to go. Our families have accepted our deaths and have moved on. Why would we want to go back after all these years and disturb their peace? No sir, not gonna do it!,” Walter stated flatly.
When we reconvened out in the hallway we thought about what to do next.
We all thought it best to leave then so we began toward the stairwell. As we started our descent, we could hear in the distance jazz music from the downstairs coffee shop where a jazz quartet played . . . decades ago. All would be dead by now.
Chapter Three
As Selma led the way and was making the turn on that flat “transition” area between floors, she was startled by the sudden appearance of a cloud-like image swinging an ax and, in the blink of an eye, thrusting it into the mid-section of Selma’s body.
As soon as it began it was over, with the image disappearing into and through the wall. Selma was writhing in pain lying down in a pool of blood grasping for breath. There was little we could do. In moments she would be dead.
Walking down fifteen flights of stairs in a building without power or air conditioning is taxing enough. When you add on carrying a dead body under these conditions it makes for a grueling exercise.
The remaining three of us just knelt there beside Selma, all stunned and in shock. Before we knew it, Fred jumped up, hysterical, and screamed, “I’ve got to get out of here; we’re not wanted!”
With that, he jumped up and proceeded to run downstairs, from the fifteenth floor, but seemed to trip as he was rounding the corner of the stairwell, broke through the railing and fell to the lobby and to his death.
Thad and I exchanged horrified looks and just remained there, motionless and not saying a word.
Chapter Four
Then I stated as calmly as I could, “Ok, let’s proceed together, steadily down the stairs to the lobby. It’s just the two of us now, Thad; there’s nothing more we can do here.”
“But what about Selma? We can’t just leave her here; she deserves better.,” Thad remarked.
“You’re right, Thad, she does,” I injected. So we both picked her up as gently as we could and proceeded resuming our trek downstairs. I suggested we take a moment’s break on the tenth floor to gather ourselves.
We reached the tenth floor and rested some. We were both sweating profusely but had nothing to wipe the sweat from our burning eyes.
Almost there we thought. Adrenaline had started to kick in and traversing the next five flights wasn’t nearly so difficult as we suspected it would be.
We each winked at one another and allowed a wry smile on our faces; we were close to getting out of here. We then took a few more steps then stopped. Froze. We heard something that sounded like crackling wood. Before either one of us could say anything, the floor of the stairwell began to give and in a flash both Thad and Selma’s body fell the remaining five floors. If she was still alive she wouldn’t have survived the drop. Thad wouldn’t have either.
Chapter Five
So now it was just me. Five floors to the lobby and exit. I was shaking so badly I could hardly stand. I managed to steady myself as best I could and slowly, holding onto the railing, got down to the second floor but I had to stop once more to catch my breath.
A few more steps and I’m home free, I thought. When I got to the landing area between first and second floors I just stopped again and thought about what we’d just accomplished. Just a few more steps . . . And then from behind I felt the unnerving sensation of being pushed. Before I knew it I was head over heels tumbling downward and unceremoniously heading for the first floor.
For what had to be only a few seconds, it felt like I was tumbling through infinity. Then, suddenly, I felt motionless, I wasn’t falling anymore. I guess I was laying on the concrete floor but I didn’t feel a thing. Didn’t even feel my heart pumping. My breathing? Don’t think I was. My mind was slowing down, now almost to a standstill.
Is this what it’s like when . . . you’re. . . dying . . .
A final thought to my story. Four new souls entered Charity Hospital to see what happened inside thanks to a wicked woman named Katrina. During their journey they met some very interesting residents, all of whom called Charity home. Never mind that the hospital has been closed for decades and that there are no living residents inside. As there have been since Katrina there are now only souls, the souls of Charity.
Epilogue
The historic Charity Hospital building in New Orleans is undergoing a massive $600+ million redevelopment with Tulane University serving as the anchor tenant and become the heart of Tulane’s Downtown Medical School. The iconic New Orleans hospital served the community for a century as the City’s safety-net hospital, saving hundreds of thousands of lives and training thousands of doctors and nurses. Old Charity will become the flagship building for Tulane’s School of Public Health and Tropical Medicine, as well as housing for biomedical research labs, Tulane’s Innovation Institute and their School of Professional Advancement. The revitalized structure is expected to open around 2027.
The project is moving forward through a complex, years-long journey to revitalize the 90-year-old, 20-story structure that has been largely vacant since Hurricane Katrina in 2005.
Hurricane Katrina flooded Charity’s basement, shutting down the hospital and trapping roughly 360 patients and 1,200 staff members inside. Weeks later, a team of volunteers, contractors and the military cleaned out the lower floors to get the hospital “medical ready,” but it would never reopen.
For a closer look at how this monumental structure is being reimagined, you can explore the Charity Hospital Redevelopment Project or read about Tulane’s plans on the Charity Redevelopment page.
Hopefully making a ruckus, one blog post at a time!
Be sure to check out my other blog,Joe’s Journey, for selected short stories and personal insights on life and its detours.
More stories can be read at https://ideasnmore.net/short-stories
It seemed tranquil enough at first sight. It also appeared quite spooky. The residents didn’t seem to mind, after all they were used to it. It was the outsider who would occasionally visit their neighborhood by the sea. It was the outsider who got queasy when he set foot in the neighborhood. It was the outsider who wouldn’t return from whence he came. It could be the outsider who might become a permanent resident if he didn’t end up dead.
You see, the residents were very selective as to whom they invited into their little neighborhood by the bay. It didn’t matter to them that it was haunted. That just added a bit of allure to the area. No, it wasn’t the Twilight Zone. It was just a little haunted neighborhood by the bay.
By what or from whom is it haunted you might ask? There have been rumors scattered around for years but nobody knows for sure. Seems like around the late 19th Century, a shipwreck happened upon the shores of what would become this little neighborhood.
The wreck was the result of a horrendous storm that destroyed the ship and caused the crew to abandon her. As the storm ravaged on, some of the crew was lost at sea with only a handful of them surviving and eventually making it to shore.
Once there, the remaining crew found refuge in an old abandoned shack from where they would ride out the storm.
As the story/rumor goes, the fledgling crew mates did what they could to survive but kept a low profile in the neighborhood. All appeared to be going okay for the neighborhood until about one year later.
That was the year, in fact the exact day, a year later when another massive storm hit the area and completely wiped out many in this shoreline populace. Including the house in which lived the crew mates. The house still stood but the crew was gone.
No signs of anyone, anywhere. No belongings, no nothing. They just vanished.
THREE YEARS LATER
One night as a couple of the residents were out for a stroll, one noticed a distant light coming from one of the houses on the edge of the neighborhood. As they got closer they discovered the light was emanating from the long abandoned house that was vacated after the bad storm several years prior. But how could that be; no one had been living there since the previous and only occupants from the ship wreck and they had completely vanished after the storm hit. They were all thought dead.
Through a bit of trepidation and curiosity, the couple decided to investigate and moved closer to the house. Because the house had been abandoned after the storm and not been kept up, it was in a state of disrepair and looked dilapidated. Nevertheless, the couple nervously managed to walk up to the front steps near the entrance. Then they froze as if they had encountered an invisible wall. They couldn’t move. The only thing they felt was cold, extreme cold as if from a meat storage locker.
Although they stood there frozen in place, they could still see their surroundings but it was as if time itself had stopped. That’s when they saw it. Slowly but ever so gradually the front door began to open. As they stood there they felt the expectation of finally seeing someone answering the door, albeit under very strange circumstances. But as the door creaked open, they saw no one. An empty space in the entrance way.
What to make of this? They didn’t know what to think. Or do. How long would they remain frozen in place?
It seemed like it was just a blink, a millisecond in time before they found themselves inside the house standing unfrozen in the entranceway. Though they could move, they did not. They just stared at one another as if to silently ask “what do we do now?”. They were in total darkness except for a tiny light at the end of the hallway. This couldn’t be the light they saw from outside. That one, they surmised, must have come from the upstairs. But how? Were these lamps, candles set ablaze. There had been no electricity turned on since the storm hit and as far as they knew, the house was abandoned.
Or was it? How were the lights on? Even if the light source was a candle, it would have to be lit. Like it or not, further investigation was in order.
So the couple slowly made their way toward the flickering light at the end of the hall and just as they approached it they suddenly felt immense cold, as if they had walked into a freezer. It was just like they’d experienced when they reached the front door.
Simultaneously at that point the light flickered out and they were standing in complete darkness. But for a moment. There, just a few steps away and up what appeared to be a staircase, flickered another light as if beckoning them up the staircase. Interestingly the cold seemed to immediately dissipate when they began walking upstairs.
But as soon as they approached the light it moved. It was as if someone or something was leading them somewhere and holding the light as they traversed the curving, spiral staircase. Even in this twilight setting they could see no one. The light seemed to be moving on its own, always staying just slightly ahead of the couple.
When they finally arrived at the top of the stairs, they discovered open air, no rooms or walls, save for one partly dilapidated door that lead to an empty, what was left of a bedroom.
The light was still flickering but just barely, given the slight evening breeze from the adjoining bay.
The couple just stood there, frozen, afraid to step anywhere for fear of the timbers giving way. It was at this moment that they felt an uncontrollable sense of movement like they were being pushed toward the large opening on the bay side of the house.
There was nothing here but open air and a drop of about 300 feet down to the rocks below. No one could survive that fall. But why were they standing there now, right on the precipice of falling to their death?
They were once again standing there in total darkness. No sound except for the uneasy beating of their hearts. Their pulse raced, blood pressure climbing and anxiety rising to new heights.
Could they have outstayed their uninvited welcome? Did someone want them dead? Who the hell was behind these flickering lights? Was this a convoluted prank or sick joke? In any event they were more than ready to take their leave.
Because of their unsure footing they slowly started backing away from the open air portion of the storm-torn wall and began to turn around and walk out.
That’s when they heard it; a scraggly old voice that sounded more like a whisper.
“Where are you going? You can’t leave now, the party’s just begun. Besides you just got here,” voiced something quite invisible to their eyes. As they were still trying to adjust their eyesight in the dark, a candlelight appeared right in front of them, seemingly floating in mid-air.
There was no one present. This time, though, instead of a rush of very cold air they felt only a slight chill. As if a door had simply opened to the night air.
“Who’s there?” blurted out the man. No one answered.“ I said, ‘who’s there? Show yourself or at least speak and answer me.”
Silence.
Finally, the man turned to his lady friend and urged, “come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”
They began to walk but the flickering light stayed just in front of them, floating in mid-air. Whenever they turned, it turned. Always in front.
When the couple reached out in front of them to see if they would feel anything, all they felt was air; nothing.
“I don’t know who or what you are but we’re leaving; we’ve had enough,” said the man. Just then the light seemed to move out of their way as if to let them by. As the couple made their way out of this “semi death trap” their way out was lit by another floating light.
They made their way safely down the stairwell and into the foyer and out the door. Once outside they stopped and just looked at each other. Totally perplexed but relieved they would now be on their way back home in the neighborhood.
While the couple was walking away, the door gradually closed and the soft sound of quiet laughter could be heard from within the house.
Then a distant voice, “you think they’ll be back?” “Oh, I’m sure of it,” said another voice. “And we’ll be ready.”
***************
Over the course of the next few weeks, the couple queried several of their friends in the neighborhood and told them of their encounter in the apparently abandoned house at the end of the block overseeing the bay. Not one person they talked to knew anything about the house and had understood it had long been empty, that no-one had lived there since before the storm hit.
After one such neighborly conversation, the couple returned to their abode where they had been residing for just the past six months. As they discussed with each other their various conversations with their neighbors, they agreed that something was amiss. No one knew anything and/or no one was talking.The couple suspected their neighbors knew more than they were letting on.
During these last few weeks the conversations with their neighbors did reveal circumstances about the shipwreck over a year ago and that some survivors did make it onshore to seek cover from the storm. It was at this time that the survivors sought refuge in the old house at the end of the neighborhood. This fact was confirmed by the neighbors who recalled that time. After that, however, no one could recall anything. On this topic the neighborhood grew silent.
As the couple thought back on their eerie encounter inside the house, they began to wonder if they hadn’t experienced the presence of the survivors in ghostly form. They didn’t really believe in that sort of thing but at this point it seemed a viable explanation. Or one very elaborate hoax. But why? And, what’s with the neighborhood acting clueless?
One thing was sure: The couple wouldn’t get any clarification from their neighbors. They’d have to further investigate on their own. So, by mid morning the next day the couple set out to walk down the neighborhood “streets” – if you could call dirty, muddy avenues streets – to end up at the old house on the edge of the neighborhood overlooking the bay. They anticipated a different experience that time of the morning in contrast to their initial visit late at night.
Before they even got near the house, they thought it was extremely odd that the neighborhood was so quiet. There wasn’t a soul stirring, no dogs barking, nobody out for a morning jog. There was . . . no life at all present. It was as if everyone and everything had died.
As the couple approached the house, the hairs on the back of their necks rose up and a genuine sense of anxiety increased within them. When they got to the front door, they stopped cold. They heard voices, although somewhat muted, coming from inside. It sounded like a gathering of people were having some sort of meeting. They knocked, politely of course, but no one answered. Then the door creaked open ever so slightly so they cautiously opened it and stepped in. There was no one inside and no noise whatsoever. What happened to all those voices? Where had they gone?
As they stood there in the foyer, seeing nothing, they heard a voice very distinctly say, ” Welcome. Nice to see you again. We’re having a little get-together of the neighborhood and discussing future plans for the area. Won’t you come in and join us?”. The couple hadn’t moved but said, “uh, sure, we’d love to join you.”
As they both continued walking into what appeared to be nothingness, the man let out an agonizing groan and immediately dropped to his knees. His wife, looking on with startled amazement, gasped as she saw a huge silver sword driven into her husband’s abdomen. Not knowing what to do at that instant, she started to kneel down beside him when he let out an horrific scream as another silver, razor-sharp sword was being thrust into his back, killing him instantly. As he fell to his side, she tried to embrace him but looked up at where she thought someone stood above her and yelled out, “Why in God’s name have you done this? What did we ever do to you?”.
The invisible voice soon took shape, as did the rest of the characters in the room, and remarked “We want to welcome you two into our neighborhood. Our neighborhood of ghostly beings, our disembodied souls who still want to live and rejoice.”
As the woman muttered, “but I don’t understand; why did you have to kill my husband?” “Simple,” the ghost said; “you need to be dead before you can enter into our neighborhood.” Just then the woman muttered in disbelief, “but I’m not dead.” Upon hearing that, the rest of the gathering shouted back to her, “Yet, deary, but you soon will be.”
Looking upon them with mystified horror, the woman, still bending down beside her dead husband, started to say something when everything went black. No noise, no voices, no feeling. She was numb except for an unknown sense of disembodiment. Turns out she hadn’t felt when her head left her body as it rolled down the floor in the foyer. She subsequently collapsed right beside her dead husband, blood spilling profusely from her body.
The “main ghostly figure” proudly announced to the group, “Behold, the newest members of our neighborhood. We shall call them Joe and Karen, such a sweet couple.” The group responded with an energetic round of applause. One of the ghost members added, “they will make such a nice contribution to our neighborhood.”
And with that the applause continued, thundering down the hallway into the misty night air. The Manor by the bay had done its job. The neighborhood would grow quiet again. Until the next time . . .
For other stories of mystery and the macabre, check out my collection at ideasnmore.net/gallery
{Author’s Note: This is a special blog post featuring my 12th short story. This Thursday will also feature the story on my other blog, Joe’s Journey, for those different audience members. Hope you enjoy it and Happy Mardi Gras!}
It was an unassuming place by all accounts. It stood there off the beaten path but welcoming to those wanting of a beverage or two. Or so it seemed. John and Terry were on their way home after a series of meetings during the day when they drove by in their hovercraft and decided to stop. As soon as the pair walked up to the entrance, they were met by the Bouncer who unemotionally proclaimed that only Terry was really welcomed here.
When the two inquired as to why, they were told that no one of blue skin was allowed inside. When the two pressed the issue, saying it was ridiculous in this day and age, they came nose to barrel with an old fashion, but still lethal, shotgun. The Bouncer simply stated that should they try to enter, they would be blown to bits. Both of them. When Terry asked why both of them, he was told, “Because you brought Blueskin with you!”
Feeling rightly discriminated upon, the two attempted to gain entrance. John immediately grabbed for the shotgun when it went off right in John’s face. As his head rolled down the steps, the gun went off again in Terry’s direction and in seconds only his torso remained standing. The bouncer just stood there, unemotional, and called for “cleanup at the entrance.” Soon, the bodies were quickly carried off and all was back to “normal.”
The Monster was alive and well.
Star Date 3096.14
Water on Mars! It used to be a pipe dream. That was back centuries ago, in the 21st Century to be precise.
Now, in the 31st Century, 1,000 years hence, the landscape has indeed changed. Over the years, discrimination, while not usually this horrid, was rather commonplace. In a large, multicultural city like Sandstone, the disease was still rampant. It was as if the citizens were living in the 20th and 21st Centuries, not the 31st.
Cities now stand where thousands of years ago only a sand swept landscape existed. It is very much a multicultural metropolis now with inhabitants from across the galaxy. Travel to and from the Red Planet now only takes a matter of hours whereas long ago it could take months to get here.
To the casual observer, the planet’s development seems normal enough. Progress and scientific achievement have been on a steady pace to deliver to the masses what has been needed. Though there have been ups and downs amidst the socio-cultural wars over the past fifty years or so, mostly any upheaval has been kept to a minimum.
Much of this relatively calm state has been the result of actions and governing legislated by one Admiral Martin Alvarez, current governor of the Sandstone Colony and a descendant of Vulcan heritage. He is joined on the Leadership Council by Commander Suzanne Coppersmith, whose descendants arrived from Earth on the third mission to Mars.
Not too far from Sandstone is another, more recently developed region, called Mariah. It’s not as developed as Sandstone and has a much more rebellious culture and population. It seems hellbent on disruptive behavior and disdains progress, both tenets loathed by Governor Alvarez and his leadership council.
Even though the two regions have yet to clash in war, neither are prepared to do battle with an unknown force, so powerful that destruction is imminent. The Monster is already here.
Fighting a known, visible entity is one thing, but this version is unseen and unheard. Its invisibility is seemingly invincible. It creeps into the valley of the countryside not caring what’s in its path. Those who come in contact with it are forever changed. The colony Mariah found this out the hard way.
Once embedded into the colony, the Monster made itself at home. Even though the residents were used to being selfish and rather brutal, they were no match for the Monster. Over time, and a very short one at that, they were overcome and, eventually, destroyed by self-inflicted madness.
Then, the Monster moved on. Next in its path was Sandstone Colony, population 8 million. An established city of respectable size, at least by Earth standards, Sandstone had obtained a status of refinement, culture, leader in education and every modern refinement one could think of. Its residents were progressive minded and forward thinking. Just the kind of tandem the Monster loved to obliterate. Given time, it would.
Now, in the 31st Century, 1,000 years hence, the landscape has indeed changed. Over the years, discrimination, while not usually this horrid, was rather commonplace. In a large, multicultural city like Sandstone, the disease was still rampant. It was as if the citizens were living in the 20th and 21st Centuries, not the 31st.
Cities now stand where thousands of years ago only a sand swept landscape existed. It is very much a multicultural metropolis now with inhabitants from across the galaxy. Travel to and from the Red Planet now only takes a matter of hours whereas long ago it could take months to get here.
To the casual observer, the planet’s development seems normal enough. Progress and scientific achievement have been on a steady pace to deliver to the masses what has been needed. Though there have been ups and downs amidst the socio-cultural wars over the past fifty years or so, mostly any upheaval has been kept to a minimum.
Much of this relatively calm state has been the result of actions and governing legislated by one Admiral Martin Alvarez, current governor of the Sandstone Colony and a descendant of Vulcan heritage. He is joined on the Leadership Council by Commander Suzanne Coppersmith, whose descendants arrived from Earth on the third mission to Mars.
Not too far from Sandstone is another, more recently developed region, called Mariah. It’s not as developed as Sandstone and has a much more rebellious culture and population. It seems hellbent on disruptive behavior and disdains progress, both tenets loathed by Governor Alvarez and his leadership council.
Even though the two regions have yet to clash in war, neither are prepared to do battle with an unknown force, so powerful that destruction is imminent. The Monster is already here.
Fighting a known, visible entity is one thing, but this version is unseen and unheard. Its invisibility is seemingly invincible. It creeps into the valley of the countryside not caring what’s in its path. Those who come in contact with it are forever changed. The colony Mariah found this out the hard way.
Once embedded into the colony, the Monster made itself at home. Even though the residents were used to being selfish and rather brutal, they were no match for the Monster. Over time, and a very short one at that, they were overcome and, eventually, destroyed by self-inflicted madness.
Then, the Monster moved on. Next in its path was Sandstone Colony, population 8 million. An established city of respectable size, at least by Earth standards, Sandstone had obtained a status of refinement, culture, leader in education and every modern refinement one could think of. Its residents were progressive minded and forward thinking. Just the kind of tandem the Monster loved to obliterate. Given time, it would.
Now, in the 31st Century, 1,000 years hence, the landscape has indeed changed. Over the years, discrimination, while not usually this horrid, was rather commonplace. In a large, multicultural city like Sandstone, the disease was still rampant. It was as if the citizens were living in the 20th and 21st Centuries, not the 31st.
Cities now stand where thousands of years ago only a sand swept landscape existed. It is very much a multicultural metropolis now with inhabitants from across the galaxy. Travel to and from the Red Planet now only takes a matter of hours whereas long ago it could take months to get here.
To the casual observer, the planet’s development seems normal enough. Progress and scientific achievement have been on a steady pace to deliver to the masses what has been needed. Though there have been ups and downs amidst the socio-cultural wars over the past fifty years or so, mostly any upheaval has been kept to a minimum.
Much of this relatively calm state has been the result of actions and governing legislated by one Admiral Martin Alvarez, current governor of the Sandstone Colony and a descendant of Vulcan heritage. He is joined on the Leadership Council by Commander Suzanne Coppersmith, whose descendants arrived from Earth on the third mission to Mars.
Not too far from Sandstone is another, more recently developed region, called Mariah. It’s not as developed as Sandstone and has a much more rebellious culture and population. It seems hellbent on disruptive behavior and disdains progress, both tenets loathed by Governor Alvarez and his leadership council.
Even though the two regions have yet to clash in war, neither are prepared to do battle with an unknown force, so powerful that destruction is imminent. The Monster is already here.
Fighting a known, visible entity is one thing, but this version is unseen and unheard. Its invisibility is seemingly invincible. It creeps into the valley of the countryside not caring what’s in its path. Those who come in contact with it are forever changed. The colony Mariah found this out the hard way.
Once embedded into the colony, the Monster made itself at home. Even though the residents were used to being selfish and rather brutal, they were no match for the Monster. Over time, and a very short one at that, they were overcome and, eventually, destroyed by self-inflicted madness.
Then, the Monster moved on. Next in its path was Sandstone Colony, population 8 million. An established city of respectable size, at least by Earth standards, Sandstone had obtained a status of refinement, culture, leader in education and every modern refinement one could think of. Its residents were progressive minded and forward thinking. Just the kind of tandem the Monster loved to obliterate. Given time, it would.
Over the years, Sandstone had evolved into a thriving metropolis and an enticing tourist mecca that attracted people from all over the galaxy. Tourists came from as close by as Saturn and Uranus, not to mention as far away as Vulcan and Romulus, two favorites of Earth.
Even in the 31st Century, evil still exists and can run rampant in the streets. The Monster is sometimes mistaken for the evil it really is. It can only be felt, sensed as in a horrid nightmare, terribly gone awry. Only those very sensitive to it might recognize it and be able to try and combat it.
Admiral Alvarez was one such person. He and his ancestors had been witness to it centuries before. They did not defeat it; they only minimized it for the time being.
Hearing rumors and listening to dangerous, idle talk, the Admiral advised the leadership council that circumstances would have to change and significantly if they were to avoid what happened to Mariah. For all they knew, the Monster had not only arrived in the city but had been present for some time.
Although this was a Martian colony, they knew they had to rely on their Vulcan heritage of logic and level headedness to get the best of the Monster. Whether or not they could defeat it was another matter entirely. The fate of Martian civilization was at stake.
The Council was quite proud of all the diseases they had eradicated over the centuries. However, discrimination had not been eliminated, much to their chagrin. What to do with it now and how to best deal with it was the question.
Meanwhile, the Monster was spreading far and wide.
In the spirit of social enlightenment, a crowd started to gather at Colony Centre for a political rally. Soon it began to have the look of a group of intellectual, progressive and civic-minded folks who only wanted sound and civilized suggestions for the next political race at hand. They appeared not in the mood for tyrants of the past nor any negative discourse that would run afoul of logic and even temperament.
In short, they wanted to support the candidate with the best ideas for solving pressing issues of the day. They wanted to leave personalities and emotions out of it. A purely Vulcan stance.
Still, a small group of detractors in the crowd began to verbally and loudly question everything the moderator wanted to say before introducing the candidates for Mayor. Their outbursts were just the opposite of what the majority of the crowd wanted to hear.
“Get that pink-skinned son-of-a bitch off the stage,” they shouted.
“We don’t need no blue-skinned bastard leading this city. All they want is only what’s good for their people,” insisted one protester.
As one of the candidates rose to speak, a bright beam of light from a phaser erupted from center stage right and the candidate crumpled to the stage, dead in a pool of blood.
This sent the crowd screaming and running in all directions for fear of what might come next.
Then, the sound of another phaser was heard and the moderator succumbed to the stage floor, his head split in two.
The dissidents scrambled through the crowd and out of sight. Their mission accomplished. Disruption became the order of the day. Murder was the side show. The Monster was the main attraction.
The Leadership Council, having witnessed the ordeal, was in shock that something this abhorrent could take place in mid-day in this society. They saw the monster first hand and couldn’t stop the deed. They had no idea of its presence and intent. What would they do? What could they do?
The dissidents were being pursued and when caught would be taken to the Death Colony on Saturn to be put to death. No trial, no sentencing. Just death to any dissident, especially to those who murder.
The few times the Mars Colony had to deal with situations like this, death to the violators had been the only viable solution. It may not have been the best but it was the only deterrent they had come up with thus far. As a result, crime, particularly murder, was down to practically nothing.
The Leadership Council was still distressed that no other non violent measure had been tried to counter the actions of the few dissidents who apparently were obsessed with disruption. It was their way or no way. Sensing that this monster was beginning to gain strength left the Council perplexed. They were dealing with an uprising they hadn’t faced in centuries.
This was particularly disturbing to Commander Coppersmith, who had experienced the Monster first hand years ago even on a progressive, but troubled planet like Earth.
During an emergency meeting of the Leadership Council that afternoon, following the assassinations at Colony Centre, Commander Coppersmith, an historian of ancient Earth, recalled a prolific writer of mid-20th Century Earth, Rod Serling, who said this about civilized societies . . . “No moral, no message, no prophetic tract, just a simple statement of fact: for civilization to survive, the human race has to remain civilized.”
The Leadership Council held this truth above all else.
The Commander continued “Serling went on to say this about a darkness that pervades the landscape, a society’s inner soul if you will, ‘A sickness known as hate. Not a virus, not a microbe, not a germ – but a sickness nonetheless, highly contagious, deadly in its effects. Look for it in a mirror. Look for it before the light goes out altogether.'”
But, it was not just hate.
Coppersmith declared “We must initiate a continuous counter offensive, starting with this council. Then we spread it to our people and let it grow until our darkness morphs into light and becomes unwanted by the Monster.”
Summing up, she said “I know this will take time, more than we realize, probably. However, I’m confident we can accomplish what we have to. We’ve not only Mars’ present society to consider but future generations as well. The Earth during the 20th Century had a rough time surviving.
Here on Mars in the 31st Century, peaceful and progressive as it is, society is being challenged by the Monster. Discrimination and racism still menace our people. Will the Monster ever be defeated? Who knows. A democratic and diverse society, however, must have the final say.”
After a resounding standing ovation, the Council set about forming a long term plan to overtake the Monster. Not surprisingly, the Commander was put in charge.
Even then, with the Monster, in all its ugliness and vile nature, not bound by normal parameters, its existence may be for all time. As it was back on 20th Century Earth, racism raised its abhorrent head in corporate board rooms, on playgrounds, in the grocery store and now has spread out into the galaxy. The Martian Colony Sandstone is merely the latest stop on this nightmare train to society’s destruction.
The Martian people didn’t quite know how to deal with the Monster, just like the people on Earth before them. Try as they might, logical thinking and clear-headed behavior proved insufficient. But being aware of the Monster may be the difference maker now. Even though it would spread its evil intentions throughout the galaxy, the Monster would be leaving Mars, the damage having been extensive, and seeds planted.
As we were about to leave the last part of the Evil Doer sequel, the lobby was a scene of chaos. Mr. Curtis, still somewhat dazed, began to slowly move around and see to the cop. It would be a few minutes before emergency personnel would appear on the scene. In the midst of all this, Mr. Curtis wondered if the explosion were merely coincidental or if it was a plan by the GM to help him get away and remain on the Galaxy’s Most Wanted List.
That would have to be a question left for another day. Why was the GM/Time Traveler doing all this? Why did he want the Majestic transported to another time? Why be so reckless? Too many questions. Too few answers, thought Mr. Curtis. Now what?
As he tried to make his way around the immediate chaos where the cop lay, Mr. Curtis felt unsure of himself. He got more woozy and unsteady. Then as he got to the cop, Mr. Curtis suddenly fell to the floor, unconscious. Their search for answers would have to wait.
And Now, The Final Chapter
“Get that damn light out of my face!,” exclaimed Mr. Curtis. “Relax sir,” intoned the stranger. “Just checking your reflexes and your cornea.”
“Who are you and where am I?,” asked Mr. Curtis. “You’re in the hospital. I’m Dr. Zooski. You’re doing just fine, all things considered,” he said.
“Whaddaya mean?,” retorted Mr. Curtis.
“You’ve suffered a concussion and been in a coma, sir,” explained the good doctor.
“How long have I been out?,” inquired Mr. Curtis.
“Three months, fourteen days, seven hours and some assorted minutes,” said Dr. Zooski.
“Three months!,” exclaimed Mr. Curtis. “I’ve gotta get outta here! Wait, how’s the officer who was injured nearby? I need to talk to him. I need to find the GM of the Majestic, find out where he went,” explained Mr. Curtis.
“Hold on, sir. You’re not going anywhere for awhile. You just woke up from a three-month coma and we want to make sure you’re okay,” said the doc. “As for your officer friend, I’m sorry to say he didn’t make it. His internal injuries were more than he could overcome. And I have no idea about the Majestic GM,” said the doctor.
Mr. Curtis then realized that now he was on his own if he wanted to get to the bottom of the GM’s involvement with the explosion and the status of the Majestic. But where would he go and what would he do? These questions naturally troubled Mr. Curtis and also made his headache worse. No matter, he obviously wasn’t going anywhere for some time and now had more time to think and consider possibilities.
******
It has been several weeks since Mr. Curtis awakened from his coma and he was feeling much more like his old self. He thought in order to start gathering some clarification on the explosion, he’d return to the scene of the crime, the Majestic. He would talk to management and find out what, if anything, they knew. Maybe a few clues would emerge.
What he learned was that the explosion was no accident, it was arson. Evidence on the scene indicated that the former GM had indeed played a part if not planned and executed the whole thing. Question is: Where is he now? And why did he do it?
Mr. Curtis found himself wondering if other, additional sites have been targeted by this fellow and if they would alter the Space-Time Continuum. Curtis had to find out and subsequently stop him.
If the GM had been set on “moving” the Majestic into the future for whatever the reason, Mr. Curtis thought, wouldn’t it make sense for him to set himself up as general manager of the futuristic Majestic and have it serve as his HQ for more evil doing?
With this in mind, Curtis set out to locate him and confront him, and, hopefully, put a stop to the madness. So, with his time-traveling cane, Mr. Curtis set off to the future, the 24th Century to be exact. This is where he felt the GM had settled with the new Majestic.
Upon reappearing inside this futuristic Majestic, Mr. Curtis wasted no time in searching for the GM. In a matter of minutes, he found him. Not ever knowing the man’s name, Curtis opted for an introduction of himself and immediately knew the GM recognized him. After a few moments of surprise, the GM collected himself and introduced his person to Mr. Curtis. However, the look of surprise and concern were still evident on the GM’s face.
Nevertheless, the GM did not try to run away. Instead, he remained calm and in conversation with Mr. Curtis. He even acknowledged he was aware of what happened to the old Majestic and felt bad about the explosion in the historic landmark. He was not aware, however, that the officer at the scene had died. He also never admitted responsibility.
Mr. Curtis laid it out clearly for him who he was and his mission: Making the GM pay for his crimes. The GM seemed unflappable and unmoved by the possible repercussions. As such, he turned away from Mr. Curtis, answering no more questions, and proceeded to walk away.
Just then, Mr. Curtis picked up his walking stick and adjusted the very top where the indicator light showed “stun.” Pointing it toward the back of the GM, Mr. Curtis activated the setting and in a flash the GM crumbled to the marble floor unconscious.
Because a crowd had begun to gather around the two men, Mr. Curtis flashed his badge-like credentials and assured the gathering that all was under control. After a few minutes, Mr. Curtis had the GM moved to a private room where he could question him more and, if needed, to transport him back in time to the old Majestic or, possibly, even to the Space-Time Continuum Enforcement Council for trial.
Upon the GM regaining consciousness, Mr. Curtis continued with his interrogation. During questioning, he learned that the GM had indeed been responsible for the Majestic arson explosion in order to give himself a diversion for escape into the future. He had also rigged it so that he would in effect take the Majestic with him into a future setting so that he could reestablish his headquarters.
When pressed, Curtis also learned that the GM apparently acted alone in this evil deed but the GM never admitted it. Mr. Curtis thought that even if the GM acted alone, it was not beyond the realm of possibility that there were others who had been influenced by the GM and would follow him to other sites for more destruction and damage to the timeline.
Having received the information needed, Mr. Curtis decided it was time to move on and take the GM with him. He would transport him to the Enforcement Council for trial and processing. Holding up his walking stick, he merely stated, “Space-Time Continuum Enforcement Council, two to transport.” Then, poof, they were gone in an instant.
The evil GM was turned over to authorities, tried and convicted. Mr. Curtis had repaired the Space-Time Continuum and, for the moment, all was back to a rather normal state. Unfortunately for the Majestic, it would be torn down in the early 1960s for a parking lot. Thus, the Majestic of the 24th Century would cease to exist.
After the trial, Mr. Curtis returned to the Majestic of the Sixties before its demolition and was rummaging around the evil GM’s office when he came upon an oddly shaped locket. It had a ruby red crystal in the middle which was obviously designed to be pressed into some form of action. Upon closer examination, Mr. Curtis discovered that it was already set to activate and, not only that, but was currently set to emit a beacon of sorts.
Mr. Curtis felt a deep, unsettling tenseness in his gut when he realized the beacon was “live” and transmitting. Was this some sort of homing mechanism and to whom was this signal being sent? In the pit of his soul, he didn’t really want to know but he feared it was already too late.
~
