CODING HUMANS

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Last and Final Journal Entry

Dr. James Francis Quasar,

Today is the 13th of December year 2020—my birthday. 

I have been locked on timewave-3 for an unknown amount of time, and I feel I am at my wit's end.  I turn 64 years of age today, but, based on my calculations, I have now lived some 324 years stuck within the confines of this treacherous building. 

Somewhere in the past, I was knocked out of timewave-5—where I originate from, landing on timewave-3 (TW3). I cannot seem to find a way out. I have watched my younger self come and go for eons. I have tried to connect with him so to find my way back to TW3. He is the one that discovered (discovers) the missing equation needed to unravel TW0. The poor man is locked in a whip of alcoholism and cannot break free. We have spent many nights together drinking the stars away, and even after all this time, he still has not made the connection that we are one and the same. I suppose time resets for him on each interval, whereas it continues for me, so he hasn’t the memory. 

I have, on occasion, tried to change or alter his actions and guide him into a better lifestyle, but no matter what efforts I make, he just slides right back into the bottle. I am writing in this journal for you, him/me, or whoever is to read this at whatever time. You should know: In my (our) office in Science Hall basement, I have learned that the opening within the brick wall—that is, the loose brick I (we) keep our hidden drink—seems to have some connection with the timewave interloop. I can reach myself (you) on other waves, i.e., depending on when something is left within. This journal will no doubt become blank upon my return tomorrow, and it snows tonight. I will leave you (me) with what I have learned about our current situation:

We (I) have been on a loop in timewave-3 from December 13th, 2018, to December 13th, 2020, for at least 150 cycles now. Tonight, it will reset. 

I have made multiple attempts to get this notebook to you. This time, I will leave it with the front office in a box to be mailed to you. If you do receive this, try and reach me by leaving a message within.

If you wish to leave the building at any time, it must be done during a snowfall. Our only opportunity to leave the building is during a fresh snowfall—that is, while the isthmus and surrounding lakes are blanketed with untouched snow. It must also be actively snowing. The strip of land between the two frozen lakes acts as a conductor. The falling snowflakes then generate friction, expanding the isolated warping of timewaves within the building to the edge of the lakes. Please know that the snow schedule has altered and decreased drastically since 1910. It comes lighter and later in the year now, so opportunities to escape and get to campus are slim. Also, due to technological advancements, the city can remove the snow within hours of it falling, so you must be quick. Else you’ll get stuck outside and then flung onto some other timewave without memory of your previous whereabouts. 

In my loop, I can only make it out of the building on three nights of the year before I am flung back to the starting point. The young J.F. here in TW3 has been working diligently on the God Equation, but I cannot seem to line up with him and extract the formula from his journal. It always seems to disappear somewhere upon his return from the Tornado Steak house. He may lose or misplace it in his absolute state of inebriation, or another one of us or one of them is retrieving it. If you find this version of the journal, please note that the equation is derived on TW3 on the night of November the 3rd, 2019, while at the Tornado Steak House lounge. Do not disrupt the man or limit his drinking—the blacked-out state gives him the right amount of lucidnes

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[20 | Unit 6140] Download or Read PDF

Sometime in the future

“Hey Steve, I think you should come over here.” “Where you at, kid?” “Back—back in the bedroom here—by the closet.” “Alright, I’m a come-in. What’s hap-nin back here?” “Look at this. Is this a swastika?” “I think that there is a sauwastika kid.” “Yea, that’s what I said- swa-sti-ka.” “Nah, kid: Sauvastika. It’s that left face-in gnat-z one, you know, clockwise turned one. It’s a Buddhist symbol or some-en—I think. See them dots there in the centers. Hindu garbage.” “Look: they are everywhere. All up and down the wall.” “Put yer flashlight up there to the ceil-in, kid.” “Jesus. Is that blood?” “Nahhhh. It’s just some deep red paint pigments. Blood don’t stay bright like that long after hitten oxygen. This fella sure did a number on this here place.” “How do you know so much about this stuff?” “Oh, you know, just hearing things here and there—you know how people are. They love to talk, and talk bout stuff they know bout. You just get dem going like start-en a lawnmower, and they won’t stop run-in they mouths till they run out ah gas. Easy way to gain someone’s trust too—just let them talk their little hearts out. Also, an easy way to learn who not to trust. See. There I go blab-in on just like-em. But really, I heard mostly from the history channel. You ought-ah try watch-en some-in educational every once while kid. You’d be surprised how enrichen knowledge can be.” “Wait. What do you mean about ‘not to trust?’ How’s that?” “Well, people that don’t wanna talk, dey usually try-in to control the conversation. Dat way, dey get some-in out of it. Well, not the shy ones but the strategic ones. You ever find yourself talk-in someone that keeps ask-in questions, and you just keep talk-in and talk-in more and more?” “Ahhhh, Yeah.” “Hand me a light bulb here, kid, so I can screw it up in the closet get some photons go-en in here.” “60 watts good?” “That oughtta be fine. Anywho, you are likely be-in manipulated for their own personal gain of some sort. Keep an eye out for question-askers. Easy way to spot-em is when you find yerself blab-en on and on, and in the middle of yer blab-in, you think to yerself ‘Wow. This person really likes me and is interested in me.’, they ain’t. No one in they right mind gives a hoot bout what anyone else has to say less they married and wife-E is trying to nag some-in outa ya.” “Wise words, Steve – wise words.” “Yeah, but the wise are lonely, kid. Very lonely. Best to tuck yer pride deep up yer butt less you want to lose dat pretty young gal you always toat-in round. Arrogance will get you nothing but a bottle of lotion. Just remember: Whenever, and I mean whenever you is having a conversation with a woman, you are always wrong—especially when yer right. This why ain’t nobody wants a woman in office—they is prone to communism—got to control everything.” “So, what’s the deal with this place?” “Oh, some old professor lived here. Physics, I think. No one knows where he went off to. He actually had some help in the design of this building—I think, back when he was still working at the campus. They say he lost his marbles and then went looking for them.” “Alright, then. What do you want me to get started on then?” “Suppose we should replace this drywall here first and then put new drywall up on the bare studs. We gonna have to rewire the whole place too. We’ll have to get the maintenance to turn off the power for the build-in fore we do that. Kid, why don’t-cha run on down the lobby and ask that pretty little brunette—what’s her name again? Lay-Na?” “Lena, I think.” “Yea, Lena—that’s it. She ain’t gots the best for look-in, but her back ends like a crisp apple. Go on down there and ask her to get them to shut the power off for this unit. Also, tell her to tell the maintenance fella I may need the whole build-in or neig

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[19 | Insane or Sober] Download or Read PDF

1:00 am

BANG-BANG-BANG – BANG – BANG-BANG-BANG 

Jolted awake from a deep sleep, James’s heart felt as if it were given a shot of adrenalin. BANG-BANG-BANG. “Huh. What is going on?” BANG-BANG-BANG. The muscles in his body stiffen, and his eyelids stretch to the back of his head. He sees nothing but darkness, and his mind runs without brakes. BANG-BANG-BANG. “Christ! I’m coming.”

(Oh, God. Jesus. What did I do? Where am I? Is it dark outside, or am I in a windowless room? We need a drink. Is there any alcohol here? Wait, I must be in my bedroom; there are no windows in this room. Yes, this is my mattress. Thank God. Last thing I need is to wake up in a stranger’s home again or on the street again. No, we drank all the alcohol. What time is it? Where is my phone? Shit – did I lose my phone? It must be sometime after midnight by now. Crap – where is my phone at? What time did we fall asleep?)

His eyes close back shut, but he feels them wanting to pop back open, the same sensation one has when they are tired but cannot sleep. The release of chemicals in the brain increases his energy, but his body is so fatigued, just rolling over is a struggle. BANG-BANG-BANG – BANG-BANG. 

(Who the fuck is at the door at this time. Jesus.)

At this point, falling back to sleep is no longer an option, so James gathers up his strength and gets himself out of bed. He thinks to put something on but quickly learns that he is still wearing his clothes from the previous day. (Shit. I must have been really fucked up to still have my jeans on.)

He makes it to the door and looks through the peephole, but no one is there. He then squints to try and look around, but no one is off to the left or right. Then he notices something out of place. There is an ax with a wooden helve resting against the wall in the hall across from the door.

In any normal situation, the site of this ax accompanied by the pounding, would have caused a rush of anxiety. However, James is not entirely lucid at-the-moment, so he removes all of his clothes and goes back to bed, thinking whoever was at the door must have given up and left.

Sometime later, James finds himself uncomfortably wedged on the corner of his mattress. He is half wrapped in sweat-soaked sheets that covet his torso. He wants to move to the dry side of the bed, but it is too much of a challenge, so he pulls the sheets off his body. When he unveils himself, his perforated skin continues to excrete beads of sweat. Cold air then disperses across the field of water droplets sending shivers to his core, so he pulls the wet drapes back over himself, feeling the unpleasant sting of fluid-soaked threads.

(This is not going to be a fun night, or day, or whatever time it is. I need water.)

He rolls side-to-side, trembling and twitching, flexing and unflexing his muscles. He moans in agony while scrunching blankets into his hands. He grips them fiercely then releases them in succession. He squirms about the mattress pulling the blankets off his body and then back on every few seconds. (Too hot, too cold, too hot. Too fucking cold—Christ.)

He endlessly expels warm salty sweat from head to toe. The body reserves no water in its attempts to flush the toxins.

The stress becomes too much to take, and his brain is still racing. He continues to toss and turn until his body shuts down. His eyes teeter-totter on him; then, he finally starts to fall back asleep. The moment before he slips into an unconscious state, voices from people talking next to his bed stop him from crossing the line of slumber. 

An older man and a few children are chatting next to the bed, but he cannot see them because his eyes are still shut, and he cannot seem to get them open.He thinks to himself whether or not there is a TV in the room

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[18 | History] Download or Read PDF

“Hey Siri, search Google ‘construction 53703 Metropolitan Place’.”

“I found this on the web:”

Google- Construction 53703 Metropolitan Place

madison.com › news › default-claims-filed-on-condos...

DEFAULT CLAIMS FILED ON CONDOS TWO BANKS ARE ... 

Feb 6, 2008 — The fate of the newly completed Metropolitan Place II, a 164-unit ... Construction of several ambitious condo projects and conversions of ...

…

www.madisoncampusanddowntownapartments.com › ... 

Metropolitan Apartments | Madison Campus & Downtown ...

Metropolitan Apartments located in Madison, WI offering FREE HEAT!, FREE ... Great location walk to shopping, entertainment, campus, State Street, dog park, ... Intercom Access Building; On Bus Line To Epic; Some Handicap Accessible ...

…

Goooooooooogle >

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10    Next

“Hey Siri, search Google ‘construction 53703 Metropolitan Place 2008’.”

“I found this on the web:”

Google- Construction 53703 Metropolitan Place 2008

madison.com › news › default-claims-filed-on-condos...

DEFAULT CLAIMS FILED ON CONDOS TWO BANKS ARE ... 

Feb 6, 2008 — The fate of the newly completed Metropolitan Place II, a 164-unit ... Construction of several ambitious condo projects and conversions of ...

madison.com › business › some-pricey-condos-here-are... 

SOME PRICEY CONDOS HERE ARE BEING SNAPPED UP ...

Aug 1, 2008 — At Metropolitan Place, 333 W. Mifflin St., prices have been reduced ... The 2008 Parade of Condos, sponsored by the Madison Area Builders ...

…

www.emporis.com › buildings › metropolitan-place-ii-...

Metropolitan Place II, Madison | 101597 | EMPORIS

Metropolitan Place II is a 13-story high-rise building in Madison, Wisconsin, U.S.A.. View a detailed profile of the structure 101597, including further data and ...

Goooooooooogle >

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10    Next

J.F. taps on the EMPORIS article. 

(‘13-story high-rise? They said it is 12-stories. The elevators only have L-12 on the buttons.’ ‘Don’t forget the basement. It is not included in this count.’ ‘So, the 12th floor is actually the 13th floor, or the basement is the 13th floor?’ ‘I guess it depends on which floor one starts at.’ ‘Alright. Let’s not get superstitious here. On the other hand, numbers have great meaning—maybe not by themselves, but when applied in engineering, numbers are quite significant. Take the Cicadas, for instance: they burrow underground and only emerge to breed on yearly prime intervals, so to avoid cross breeding’s with other Cicadas.’ ‘Yes – the periodical Cicadas comes out to breed but need to avoid other variations of their species. For example, if one type comes out every 13th year for three cycles, say 2000, 2013, 2026, and the other comes every 17 years, 2001, 2018, 2035, then they flip to 17 and 13, they will never come at the same time.’ ‘Ah yes – the beauty of the prime numbers.’ ‘I knew something was off about this place.’ ‘Well, what does that have to do with a building?’ ‘I don’t know. It just came to mind.’ ‘Alright then.’ ‘Let’s check out some old articles.’)

October 11th, 1916 – Madison State Journal

Tragedy on Campus

A fire broke loose in the dome of The Main Hall at The University of Wisconsin—Madison yesterday afternoon. Top physics student, James Francis Quasar, is in custody under suspicion of performing illegal experiments. So far, they appear to be the cause of the fire, a fire that led to twelve students' injuries and the death of three. It is unclear what his experiments were. Other professors are currently investigating them and stated that all work is confidential regardless of legal inquires and warrants due to government top secrecy.” 

December 1st, 1916

Madison State Journal

Laws do not Apply to th

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[17 | The Journal] Download or Read PDF

October 22nd, 1909 – Journal: Today, I traveled to Madison to attend a physics colloquium and inquire about studies. With good news, I am accepted into the graduate program. It was easier than I thought. I suppose not too many people are anxious to spend the better half of their life studying theoretical physics and advanced mathematics topics. I am thrilled to begin the program. While I was there, I also acquired a small plot of land right on the isthmus. It was a stroke of luck, I suppose. A man had recently built a small cabin on the ground and then unexpectedly passed away. I was able to purchase it for a very reasonable price from his brother. I travel back to Milton tonight to gather my belongings and will be returning to the cabin shortly. 

I feel that I have found my purpose in life here in Madison. I had an unexpected encounter at the seminar. A beautiful young woman was also attending it. I dare say: It was love at first sight—at least for me, it was. I’ll have to wait and see what her thoughts are. When I first got a glimpse of her eyes, my soul was knocked clean out of my chest. I felt weightless, like time had frozen. It was as if the universe shut down for a moment, and we were the only two left. Without hesitancy, she came to me and began conversing, opening me right up. She knew all the right words to say to get me to feel comfortable. Not a shy bone in her body. This is good because I would have lollygagged about her for days before conjuring up the courage to approach her. She insisted that we meet to discuss electromagnetic topics over dinner when I return. I dare say she may be the future Mrs. Quasar? I hope so. Outside of my desire to master the mathematical arts, she has become the only thing I can concentrate on. If I am not to be with her, I will suffer for a length of unknown time that will last longer than a few fortnights. We are to meet for picnic on my new plot of land. The weather is still well enough to sit outside. If it takes a turn for the cold, we’ll have my cabin’s fireplace to take up residence next to. I return the following Friday. We are to meet at Main Hall and walk to my cabin from there.

October 31st, 1909 – Journal: It is Hallows’ Eve, and the weekend was anything but scary. I met with young Ella Friday morning at Main hall, and we then walked the campus for a few hours before making it to the cabin for dinner. She is so bright. I am shocked by her vast knowledge of physics—amongst other topics. I dare say she is smarter than I? She wishes to attend university for physics as well, but her being female dampers her plan. She seeks to be an assistant to a professor so she may sit in on lectures and learn regardless of her gender and social status. I told her she could learn along with me as I attend class over the years. This excited her. She spent the past two nights with me in the cabin. I have never felt such a bond with another person. It is as if we are connected spiritually through space and time. I dare say: I am in love, and she is in love with me also. I am to ask her today to live with me here at the cabin. She has been staying with a lovely family outside of town, earning a place to sleep by helping with chores. I believe it would please her to break free from labor to live and study with me for the years to come. If she agrees, I don’t think it will be days before I ask for her hand.

November 11th, 1909 – Journal: I have been so caught up with my dear Ella that I have not had a moment to think nor study. I should study as I begin the graduate program in spring. I need to prepare for the lectures to come. Ella seems to take to study without resistance. She has read through most of my books within a week. She will do great things. I am so happy to have met her. She did accept my offer to live w

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[16 | Riddles of the Pounding] Download or Read PDF

When James gets home, he doesn’t hear anything. He sighs in relief and says, “Thank you, Jesus!”. He then maneuvers down his little hallway that stretches more than half the length of his tiny five hundred square foot apartment into the kitchen. 

He opens up the cabinet, takes out a bottle of Tanqueray Gin, and pours a few ounces into a Collins glass over a golf ball-sized sphere of ice. He then grabs his notebook and ballpoint pen and retires to his rocking chair. Before sitting, he angles the chair next to the window for maximum exposure to the city. 

He sips on the Gin for a few minutes, thinking, (Life is good. The universe will give you what you need if you ask for it, and what I need is some quiet time. The time-wave equations are almost complete. I just need to make the one last connection for them to be finalized. Once I find this connection, I can model them to show that my findings are what is needed for time-displacement to be feasible in our lifetime.)

Once he finished the Gin, he gets up and pours another few ounces over the shrinking sphere of ice. He returns to the rocking chair and takes his notebook off the windowsill. He opens it, and the moment the pen hits the paper, eight rapid thumps radiate from the half-broken ceiling. 

THUMP-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump

Frustrated, James slams his notebook on the windowsill and stands erect from the rocking chair, leaving it swaying back-and-forth. He grabs Watson and exits his condo heading down the hall to the elevator. He waits at the elevators holding the ax with both hands staring at the butt. He imagines what someone’s skin wrapped skull would look like as it drives deep into the back of the cranium. (I bet the skin will fold inward, staying intact, and the hair will look like a fresh sheet of sod rolled out over a sunken hole.)

James lives on the sixth floor, so he thinks it would make sense that the pounding in his ceiling is coming from the 7th floor. He gets in the elevator and shoots up a layer. He arrives a few seconds later and begins walking up and down the hall pressing his ear up against every unit’s door—listening for the poundings—but he hears nothing more than televisions and conversations between people. Flustered and confused about the situation, he returns to his unit for another drink. 

When he opens the door, he finds that the place is in pieces. The walls and ceiling had been smashed to bits. The floor is littered with jagged chunks of sheetrock. He walks into the condo feeling his feet crunch on pieces of drywall laying atop other pieces. The mess doesn’t register to him. He just makes his way back to the rocking chair, only stopping to fill a glass with more Gin.

After an unknown amount of time passes, James drunkenly swings his head around to look for the ax, but it isn’t where he left it when he came in. He starts to panic, thinking he may have left it somewhere in the building and someone may find it. He quickly gets up out of the chair and moves to the door. He walks through his condo like he is on ice, sliding his feet through the dust and pieces of wall, leaving what looks like a trail in a fresh snowfall.

Once out of the condo and in the halls, he makes his way to the elevators. When he arrives, he forgets why he is at the elevators and decides that it would be best to go to the lobby to see if there might be anyone to converse with. When the elevator reaches the lobby, and he exits it, he sees a few people dressed up. Some are standing, and others are sitting in the Victorian chairs. They are all holding holiday cocktails and have essences of Christmas tied to their outfits. 

James hears music coming from the entertainment room. He stands near the elevator watching the people, and become

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[15 | The Noise] Download or Read PDF

“The noise. It has to stop. Please, God, make it stop. I cannot live like this. I need it to stop. Why. Why do these people have to keep moving like this? They won’t stop moving. It is driving me crazy. I am going to have to kill them. I tried to leave this place, but I cannot seem to break free. It is like some sort of sick twisted joke being played on me. Apparently, no one else in this building has had any issues with the sounds I am hearing. I have to have quiet for my work. It requires deep concentration without interruptions, and all I hear all fucking day long is these psychos and their nonstop activities. I swear to God, I won’t lose a wink of sleep if someone murders the shit out of them. I pray that they die. Just die. Dear God, please take them out.”

Bang Bang

“Fuck! It won’t stop.”

Bang-Bang

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Gaaaaaawwwwwwwddddd!!! Christ! Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck – that’s it! Someone’s going to die. If I have to warp space and time to find these pricks—these fuckers are going to die.”

On his way back from the lobby, the ax was again resting by his door. He had instinctively brought it in and set it on his counter. He grabs the ax off the counter and takes a shot of Jack Daniels, and then another. He swings the ax up and rests it on his shoulders, holding its knob in the palm of his left hand. He uses his other hand to grip the neck of the whiskey bottle. He says to himself, “Heeeeeeere’s Jimmmmy.” Pretending that he is Jack Torrance from The Shining. 

boom-BOOM-BOOOM-BOOOOM-BANG-BANG-BANG THUMP-thump-THUMP-thump

boom-BOOM-BOOOM-BOOOOM-BANG-BANG-BANG THUMP-thump-THUMP-thump

BOOM-BOOM-BOOOM-BOOOOM-BANG-BANG-BANG THUMP-thump-THUMP-thump

thump

“Yep. They are going to die. Tonight’s the night.” 

He puts the ax back down, resting it on the countertop. He then twists off the cap of the whiskey bottle, takes a hefty slug, filling his mouth full of the burning liquid. He swallows it down, trying not to activate his gag reflex. Once it is in his stomach, lining the walls with warmth, he walks over to the mirror on the wall and examines himself.

“Are you ready?” “Indeed, sir. We’ve been ready for some time now.” “Do you think we can follow through?” “Without question. We must, for we cannot reside in such an environment for a night more. It must be done.” “Who do you think is the one that makes the noise?” “It is unclear. There are hundreds of units within this building that could be the source. They are all connected by metal and wire. The origin could be from anywhere. Clearly, it wasn’t the running skeleton above you, so we must search elsewhere.” “I shall begin with the ones I’ve seen exercising daily.” “Are you sure you should be so open about your solution? We will surely be found out.”  

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Goddddddddd! Damnnnnnnnn! Ittttt! Yes. We must end it tonight. I cannot tolerate it one night more. I don’t care if I have to spend the rest of my life in a cell—at least I’ll be able to get some sleep knowing I am surrounded by cement bricks and not this fucked sound conducting speaker system of a condo.”

The whiskey courses through his veins, now bubbling his brain with ethanol. He goes back to the counter and grabs the throat and belly of the ax. He has every intention of breaking down all his neighbors' doors until he finds the one that won’t stop moving around all day. 

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM

“Fuckkkkkkkkk!” 

His anger takes over, and without thinking, the ax swings into the wall. He pulls it back, ripping it f

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[14 | Xanadu] Download or Read PDF

“Good morning, my darling.” 

James wakes up – and to his disbelief – he doesn’t feel any effects from the night before. A soft light seeps in through his eyelids, and everything comes into focus. He then sees a girl sitting at his side, on the bed. She is gently filtering his hair through her slender fingers while gazing into his eyes. She has a look a teenager has when falling in love for the first time. He can immediately sense the passion she has for him, but he isn’t quite alert as of yet. As his brain renders consciousness, he realizes he recognizes her. (It’s Ella. Oh, my sweet Ella.)

Her soft and sweet voice drifts through the air and into his ears, saying, “Happy Birthday, James. How does it feel to be an old man?” with a slightly sarcastic tone. James pushes himself up and rests his back against the headboard. “Old man?” He then, without thinking, instinctively looks into a vanity mirror positioned across from the bed and notices that he looks younger. “Yea, silly. The big two-five. You are twenty-five today! I fixed you some breakfast in bed. Lookie here: Italian Espresso, Cream Cheese Danish, and some freshly picked cherries from the tree out front. They just turned red and ripened overnight. I suppose you’ll be spending the afternoon harvesting them, won’t ya.” James replies with an agreeable smile, reacting again without hesitation. 

“You know me and foraging. We have the fresh butter we just churned in the icebox, right? It needs to be cold to make the pie crust best.” “Of course, sweety. You know I have your back when it comes to cooking. Been waiting for your cherry pie all year!” She then leans forward and presses her lips against his. 

The moment their lips touched, nothing in the world seemed to matter anymore. Wherever or whenever James had been the night before faded from his mind as if it never happened. He begins to feel something he thought he would never feel again. A sensation of purpose and belonging flows through him like an electrical current. 

He embraces Ella, firmly positioning his left arm around her shoulders, and maneuvers his right hand to cusp her bottom. He lifts her up and swings her around, laying her back on the middle of the bed. 

She is wearing nothing but a thin nightgown that loosely covers her body. James can feel her moisture on him. His heart beats as if time is frozen.

He pulls the strap of her nightgown down off her shoulder and then the other, exposing the swell of her breasts. He then pushes the gown down so that it scrunches up around her stomach. He gently grips the garment and moves it up her torso. She intuitively arches her back so he can pull it out from under her. She then puts her arms up in the air so he can completely remove it and expose her naked body. 

The two of them spend the morning making endless love. Eventually, neither of them can conjure up any more bodily fluids, so they kiss one peck at a time until they fall back asleep.

About an hour after napping, James wakes up and gets out of bed. He moves slowly to not disturb Ella. He then takes a moment to appreciate her body. She is lying on her side with white sheets draped partially over her legs and halfway up her chest. He observes the flawless curvature of her back and impeccably formed physique. He thinks to himself that he must have won an interstellar lottery ticket to find himself with her. 

James looks around the room he is in and inspects it. It is a cellar of a small house. There are a few storm windows with step ladders under them. The bed Ella is laying on is an old feather stuffed mattress with buttons sown into it. The buttons make indents every square foot or so, and the bed it rests on is made with a metal frame. The headboard looks like an arch cutout of a jail cell

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[13 | Tripper] Download or Read PDF

“Gaawwwwwddddd!!! That fucking noise. Why won’t it stop? I just want to sleep! PLEASE, for the love of God, LET ME SLEEP!”

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM

(a few seconds pass)

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM – BANG

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM – BANG

BANG

BANG

“What the hell happened last night? I feel like I was pummeled with a sack of potatoes. At least I am still at home. I hate waking up in strange places. I think it’s time for me to get my shit together. Maybe even start hitting the gym. I’d like to learn more about that woman anyway—see if she may be the upstairs neighbor making all the racket.”

8:15 am 

James had been rudely awoken, and the continuous thuds prevent him from falling back asleep. He is too exhausted to do anything about it, so he lays in the bed and endures the irritating noise. 

The sound continues for close to an hour before he can fall back asleep.

9:30 am

Just as his eyes close and he slips back into a slumber, CRACK! A loud crashing sound reminiscent of someone dropping a heavy weight on the floor snaps him right out of it. The sound does not continue, so he is unaware that it had woken him. He falls back asleep. 

11:00 am

Piddle-piddle-thump-thump, piddle-piddle-thump-thump.

Thump-thump thump-thump. Thump-thump thump-thump. Piddle-piddle-thump-thump, piddle-piddle-thump-thump.

A series of what sounds like repetitive light thwacks and wallops radiates from the ceiling, waking James yet again. The patterned racket continues endlessly. He lays on the bed staring at the ceiling. He fantasizes about sliding a long carving knife deep into the heart of whoever is responsible for the sound. (I’d like to watch the life leave their fucking eyes as I plunge a freshly sharpened twelve-inch blade through their chest plate, puncturing the heart. I wouldn’t want to hit an artery; I want it to be slow so they can suffer for hours the way they are making me suffer. It sounds like someone sprinting back-and-forth. What is wrong with this person or people or whoever the fuck they are.)

He becomes overly frustrated trying to make sense of the situation, wondering what he did in his past to deserve such karma. The pattern reminds him of a plyometric cardio exercise routine.

About 2-hours later

James wants to get up, and hullabaloo to the management but is too exhausted. He cannot even muster up enough strength to use the bathroom. It’s as if he is strapped to the bed and unable to leave it.

The exercise routine had gone on for an hour, and then another one started – lasting about the same amount of time. After it stopped, he fell back asleep and quickly entered into a deep dream state. 

He is dreaming about teaching a physics class and the research he has been working on. He fantasizes about a beautiful girl falling in love with him while he lectures. Perhaps one of his students, a petite young one. 

The girl he manifests comes to his office after class and begins flirting with him. She slides her chair up close to his while he explains her homework problems to her. She intentionally presses her leg against his leg, and then she looks for movement under the fabric of his pants. She is happy to see a developing lump. She then nonchalantly moves her hand up his thigh while they both examine the homework. He feels her begin to massage his crotch. Then she unzips him and slips her hand in. The feeling of her cold hand gripping him excites him further. He looks at the top of her thighs popping out from a crimped pink skirt and cannot resist himself. He turns her chair towards his, puts his hands on each of her kneecaps, and spreads her legs. The separation forces her skirt to pull back to the hips, and the disengagement exposes light pink panties that match her dress. There is a single white rose printed on the center

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[12 | 1970 (12/23/20)] Download or Read PDF

An unbroken seal twists and cracks. 

“Father, it’s been 12-weeks since my last confession.” 

Ice cubes clink as they are dropped into a ceramic coffee cup. Liquid then surrounds them, shifting the miniature bergs into equilibrium. 

Twist psssssstttttt

A fresh bottle of seltzer is opened then poured atop the liquor. Tiny bubbles fly every which way as the soda mixes in.

“It has been too long, my love. The mere scent of you gives me goosebumps. Come. Sit with me. Let’s pray together.”

James sits down in his rocking chair and sips his cocktail. He uses his top lip to filter the cold liquid through the ice cubes. While swaying back-and-forth, he gets a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the wall across from his chair. Before taking another sip, he raises the cup to himself to say cheers without words.

A few drinks later

Yet again, J.F. finds himself sitting in his rocking chair next to the only window, wondering what has happened to the past months. Everything seemed normal before sipping the alcohol, but now, as the ethanol is absorbed, thoughts come tumbling in. For most, memory is tied to sobriety; for him, it is wrapped up in states of lucid of inebriation.

(That hallway. What is it about that hallway? Am I cursed? How did I end up back in this place? Wasn’t I free? How long have I been here, anyway?)

Knock-Knock-Knock

(Now who could that be? Could it be for me? ‘Must be, you see. You are the only one here, my dear.’ ‘Must be the neighbors. Couldn’t be for me.’)

tap-tap-tap

“I thought I glued that cursed little door-knocker to the wood.” “You did.” “Goddammit.” “Go. Go and get the door. Maybe it is your lucky night.” 

The door seems a mile away, even though it is within a 10-foot walk. The desire to get the door is overwhelming, but he struggles to lift himself from the chair. He feels too relaxed to want to move since the alcohol took over.

“Is that fucking skeleton faced bitch again coming after me?” “I don’t think so, friend. How do you know about her anyhow?” “I saw her slip in the snow last week. The snow remover ground her face to pieces. Quite a gruesome sight.” “Ah, yes. The blood sprinkled snow.” “When was the last time you left this building?” “Just earlier, today, right? To get the drink for the night?” “Is that so? Do you remember where it was that you did go?” “To the- the- store down the street. The one I always go to. Riley’s.” “How do you feel?” “I am feeling better. It has been too long since my last confession.” “Shall we find ourselves searching the halls this evening?” “I suppose so. It is about to snow. Do you remember what happens when it snows?” “I do. We can leave.” “Yes. We can leave.” “Where should we go?” “I don’t know. I don’t think we need to go anywhere. Dr. Tripper should be arriving soon. He will be in the lobby around noon.” You mean midnight?” “I do.” “He has taken the key for the ballroom. He intends on using Watson.” “His ax?” “Indeed.” “The ballroom massacre takes place tonight.” “I thought that happened in the 70s?” “What year do you think it is?” “2020” “Ha! My dear lad, you must have been had for I am old enough to be your dad. Go take a look in the mirror you just had.”

Knock-Knock-Knock

“Don’t you think it’s time to answer the door? Don’t you want it to be her?” “She’d never come here on her own. She has been twisted up into a show. The city has changed her. She used to be such a beauty – an innocent, wholesome country girl. Remember her – the first day? No cares about fashion or physique. Just a natural woman in her prime.” “Why don’t you think it would be her? Or could it be her?” “She moved, you see.” “I know, but do you know what year it is?” “2020” “Son. Look in the mirror and see.” 

tap-tap-tap

“Godammit. I thought I glued th