Unearthed: The Speculative Elements, vol. 3

Unearthed

The Speculative Elements, Volume 3

A Cape Breton Anthology

Edited by Sherry D. Ramsey, Julie A. Serroul, and Nancy S.M. Waldman

First Published in 2012

Compilation © Third Person Press 2012

Introduction © Michael G. MacDonald 2012

Cover Artwork © Nancy S.M. Waldman 2012

Copyright in the individual stories remains the property of the authors.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission from Third Person Press, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

This book contains works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, entities or settings is entirely coincidental.

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Third Person Press

Email: thirdpersonpress@gmail.com

Web: www.thirdpersonpress.com

Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, Canada

Unearthed: The Speculative Elements, v. 3

Electronic Version ISBN: 978-0-9811025-7-3

This book is dedicated to all the writers who know what it’s like to dig valiantly for ideas and words, unearth them, and work them into something wonderful.

The Speculative Elements Series

from Third Person Press:

Undercurrents

Airborne

Unearthed

Other titles from Third Person Press:

To Unimagined Shores: Collected Stories

by Sherry D. Ramsey

***

Table of Contents

Introduction

Wherever You Call Home

Grass

Motion Words

Fitting In

Rainclouds on Her Face

To Soar The Endless Sky

The Cache

Dog Fight

Terminal

The ExtraOrdinary

Dream A Little Dream

Perfect Instruments

The Boy With Two Faces

Our Last Vacation

The Choice

Mud Pies

One Word

Harvest

The Dwarf Under The Step

Overheard

Uprooted

End Matter

***

Introduction

by Michael G. MacDonald

Water. Air. Earth. Fire. These four classical elements were used by the ancients to describe the universe around them. For those of us enjoying The Speculative Elements series by Third Person Press, the classical division of all things into these four elements does not bode well. Undercurrents (volume one of the series) was water, Airborne (volume two) was air, and this third volume, Unearthed, is (not surprisingly) earth. We readers are left to look forward to only one more volume, an as-yet-unnamed work tentatively titled Flashpoint, based on fire. Let’s hope the publishers are fans of Aristotle and add a fifth element, aether.

Still, that only leaves five volumes of outstanding speculative fiction. Our 21st century periodic table may list 118 elements (so far), but I don’t think the editors will be looking for an anthology based on Meitnerium (I had to look that one up)—although Neon or Radium stories might have a certain glow.  

The current volume uses a common thread of earth to tie the stories together. However, as in the earlier volumes, the authors don’t slavishly adhere to the elemental theme. Instead, earth can be the home soil that provides life and a sense of place, the mud of a distant planet, the filth matting the soiled clothes and bodies of zombies, the ingredient in a magical concoction, the place mystical creatures live, or the caves of noble dragons. You will find earth as the home for vampires and werewolves, as the backdrop of dreams, as the place to find artifacts left by aliens, or as the source of items that give one control over reading thoughts or travelling through time.

You will find tales here that show how love can grow between two people, whether the love of ‘boy meets girl,’ or the love of parent and child (even when there is no blood relation), as well as love for a race or group one didn’t know existed before the events of the story. Stories, too, look at how hunger can drive us, whether hunger for food that forces people out in dangerous situations, hunger for adventure that makes a person ignore the warnings of a wilderness guide, or hunger for the hunt that leads to revenge on behalf of canine cousins. Earth plays a role in all these stories in some way.

There are stories that deal with healings by magic as well as healings passed through time. There are stories of valuable treasures mined from deep below the surface, and stories of trade for these treasures, sometimes with the trade items being valued very differently from species to species. We read of prisoners held in work camps, shape-shifters, and essences that take over bodies, dare-takers, terrorists, tricksters, and vampire-hunters. The stories in this volume cover an amazing range of subjects, and are populated by compelling and complex characters that are human, animal, mythical, spectral, elemental, alien, and downright unknown!

§

Wherever You Call Home by Peter Andrew Smith offers an insight into what might happen if a couple of spectral members of Highland clans Campbell and MacDonald were forced to revisit their old feud. Throw in other competing peoples and spirits who might have to cooperate, and there are lessons to be learned for all. Even better? The battleground is rural Cape Breton.

Grass by Donald Tyson is a creepy tale that will make you very careful when selecting a campsite. If a guide who knows the area isn’t comfortable with a place, you might want to heed that warning; maybe  there’s was something more than superstition to the eighty-year-old story.

Motion Words by Joyce MacDonald brings us far out into a universe of exploration and trade, with a xenolinguist from Unama'ki (the Mi’kmaq name for Cape Breton Island) serving on a distant planet. She is comforted by memories of the music and dance of home while stationed on this ominous world of mud. What was causing all those strange seismic disturbances?

Fitting In by James F. W. Thompson makes us wonder just how much one would do to survive a zombie apocalypse. This story blends humour with the loneliness of a survivor who might be the last of his kind among the multitude of living dead. Not the usual guns-blazing head-shot kind of zombie story, for sure!

In Rainclouds on Her Face by Walter Carey, we see the power of connection no matter what definition of family we wish to use. We also see the importance of dreams and the attachment to one’s homeland. How does time affect relationships? How unconditional is love?   

To Soar The Endless Sky by Lorena Mann takes us into the realm of the last dragons. As humanity encroaches on this noble race, is there anything left for the final survivor of her line than revenge against the humans?   

As we explore The Cache by Sherry D. Ramsey, we see a man teaching his girlfriend’s son about geocaching. Is he able to bond with this child for the sake of his relationship with the mother? More to the point, exactly what is hidden in that cache, and who—or what—planted it there?

Dog Fight by Stephanie Snow takes us into the realm of the loathsome practice of dog fighting. But could a special breed of man and his partner Marcel have a surprise waiting for the people who pit dog against dog?

Terminal by Bruce V. Miller presents a lonely man dealing with illness in a disturbingly possible near future to which we can relate. As he seeks solutions to the world’s ills, he reaches out with emails to a former lover who might never answer.

Taking a dare might not be the most mature thing to do, but in The ExtraOrdinary by Larry Gibbons, the teenage protagonist has his reasons. What would it be worth to any of us to face the places underneath our streets, and underneath our graveyards?

Dream A Little Dream by Wade Rideout explores the fabric of the dream world, and what nightmares may really mean. Who do we meet, what do we find, and what do we lose in this land beyond dreams?  

Perfect Instruments by Ken Chisholm dissects aspects of a planned terrorist act in very interesting ways. What if other agents (and I don’t mean from the CIA) were at work in the free choices people make? This story is a brief and interesting look at how influence might happen.

Sometimes a lad needs to learn his lesson. In The Boy With Two Faces by Wesley J. Colford, we see a young man who plays a few too many pranks on people. What if someone had the power to send him a valuable message? Would he learn? Would it be too late?

Our Last Vacation by Jenn Tubrett introduces a world of possibilities in which many of us might love to live. Imagine any place or time as your vacation spot! Perhaps a romantic getaway is order, or a chance to witness a historic tragedy. What time or place would you pick to talk about your relationship problems?

Could it be fear of death that influences the main character in The Choice by Alicia Serroul? This story is subtle; rather than deal with what happens after we die, it makes one wonder what happens before death has our surrender, especially if someone/something gives us a choice.

Mud Pies by Nancy S. M. Waldman examines a world of magical recipes and practices, and includes the mundane tasks and hard work that goes into the family business of healing and divination. Sometimes, all it takes to break the routine is a visit from a distant cousin; sometimes, that’s when the trouble starts.

One Word by Katrina Nicholson presents a frightening future of prisoners held to work in a dangerous mine. Being forced labour is bad enough, but not being allowed to speak? Perhaps death is preferable. But what if you meet someone worth living for?

Harvest by Kerry Anne Fudge is a look at vampires and werewolves that is a refreshing perspective compared to so much of the recent works about these creatures. What happens when a self-serving, greedy vampire hunter trespasses into this world?

The Dwarf Under The Step by Mona Anderson is an example of a title that presents the main point of the story quite well. This story is a fascinating look at what happens when a nephew goes to the old country to claim his inherited small estate. Sometimes, it’s better to get to know a place well before discussing your concerns with the locals.

Wouldn’t you love to hear what other people are thinking? In Overheard by Meg Horne, we find a richly developed tale that looks at how hearing others’ thoughts might actually function in our lives. Would we get the context right? Is it a blessing or a curse?

Uprooted by Julie A. Serroul closes this volume with an intriguing story of a world within our world. We see the different people side by side, but with one striving to hide its presence from the other. What if we learned about a race that lives very unlike the way we do, and how might we respond to this knowledge? Perhaps it’s better to keep some people from learning too much. But what if love begins to bloom?

§

Each story is self-contained and rewarding. I generally shy away from a series of novels that span the years and require the reader to wait from volume to volume. I can see the appeal in character development and depth of the literary universe, but sometimes all I want is one good story, well-told. Also, I often want to move from reality to reality, age to age, paradigm to paradigm. Within the short stories of Unearthed, I’m entertained differently over and over.

Having enjoyed all these stories so much, I’m back to looking at the sparse table of elements from ancient times. Four elements, five at best; that’s all! Still, I’m confident that the talented editors will find new themes to frame the anthologies from Third Person Press. I look forward to many more page-turning short stories to keep us going!

Michael G. MacDonald

May 2012  

* * * * *

Michael G. MacDonald is a professor in the Communication Department at Cape Breton University. He is involved in independent filmmaking, and was the title villain in the horror-comedy spoof of 80’s slasher films The Legend of the Psychotic Forest Ranger (directed by Brad Mills). He likes monsters, aliens, angels, ghosts, and various mythical creatures, but not all at the same table at the same time.

***

Wherever You Call Home

by Peter Andrew Smith

The pot was filled with shiny mint-condition gold coins. I replaced the lid, brushed the dirt off my knees and wondered if it was possible to kill a ghost.

Da! I shouted. Where are you?

Da appeared in a flash. What’s all the fuss?

I stuck my shovel next to the treasure sticking out of the partially dug hole. Are you responsible for this?

Me? Da said. Ghosts don’t have pots of gold.

I did my best to glare at the shimmering figure of my great-great and a whole lot more greats ancestor. Were you playing poker with the Leprechaun and happened to mention a perfect hiding place?

I have no idea what you are talking about, Da said.

I lifted the lid and pointed to the name inside.

I might have said something in passing. Da stroked his whiskers. No matter though. Now you’re rich and don’t have to move to Halifax.

I’m not going for the money.

Then why? Isn’t there enough to keep you busy here?

It’s not that. I struggled for words to explain what I didn’t really understand myself. I feel restless. There is something missing in my life.

Lad, you moan and groan so much I think you belong with the Banshee. A nudge from Da’s elbow sent a chill up my side.

I can’t see us having any future together.

Of course not, the ghost snapped. She’s Irish.

I rubbed my forehead. The fact she’s one of the wee folk who screams and wails all night might also be a problem.

Why? Did I ever tell you the story of how I met the woman who would become your great-great the greats continued for a while, —Grandmother? Now that was a woman who loved to scream when—

I did a bit of screaming myself.

Da shook his head. There was a time when you wanted to hear family history.

We’re not talking about this anymore. Tell the Leprechaun to hide his gold somewhere else.

If you’re leaving, why plant trees?

I promised the Mikumwessuk before cutting down the one blocking the satellite dish.

Da shifted his attention to the woods at the edge of the field. I don’t like Mi’kmaq forest spirits living on our land.

Huh, I heard them muttering the same thing about Scottish ghosts the other day.

Respect your elders. Why do you worry so much about them and are so quick to leave me?

I sighed. You know you’re tied to family as well as to the land. You can come with me.

Bah, nothing there but fog and a cranky old sea monster, Da said. I’ve been here on Cape Breton for hundreds of years and can’t imagine going—who’s that?

An unfamiliar blue car with Ontario license plates crept down the driveway.

No idea, but it’s late in the year for tourists.

The trail is beautiful in every season, Da protested.

So says the ghost who bailed on me last winter coming back from Cape North.

I wanted to check on the house, is all.

I rolled my eyes. Get rid of the gold before company gets here.

But I want to meet them.

You waited seven generations for a descendant with the Sight and you expect to talk with some stranger from Toronto?

Anything is possible.

Like me circling the remote with salt just before tomorrow’s match between Glasgow and Manchester?

Da sputtered a bit before winking out. Enjoying the silence, I walked toward the car.

A young red-haired woman with the greenest eyes I had ever seen stepped out and flashed a warm smile.

Hi, I’m Heather Jones. She stuck out her hand. I bought the place next door. You probably saw the moving truck.

George Smith, I said. She had the cutest spray of freckles across her nose. The woods block my view so I really don’t see anything unless you’re coming down the road this way. Except of course if you came across the old railway bridge, but no one has used it in generations. All the land grants to the Scottish settlers went to the river. Over the years the others were subdivided so our two properties are the only original ones left. I forced my mouth to stop. Sorry, I must be boring you.

Actually, it’s refreshing to talk with someone. Her eyes twinkled.

It is pretty quiet on this road. Most of the homes are only summer places.

Well, it’ll be nice to have one neighbour to borrow sugar from when I’m doing Christmas baking.

Sorry, I said. I’m moving to Halifax.

Oh. Some of the brightness went out of her smile. I guess I’m going to get caught up on my reading this winter.

You come here with family?

Ye—No, just myself. I was able to buy back the family homestead— Heather looked away for an instant and then focussed intently on me.

Just then, Da appeared, resplendent in his best formal kilt. I pretended he wasn’t there. The last thing I needed was another neighbour thinking I was crazy.

She’s a pretty lass, and no wedding ring either, lad. Da circled around her. Do you think you have any chance of hooking up with her?

I had to remember to lock out the music video channels on the dish. I smiled at Heather and opened my mouth to say something when I noticed her cheeks turning the colour of her hair.

Heather, I asked very softly, can you see a Scotsman in a kilt standing next to me?

I can, she answered, in barely a whisper.

Really? I grabbed her hand. You have the Sight? I thought I was the only one who could see and hear the ghosts and fey. This is wonderful!

Heather stayed very quiet and still as Da preened in his kilt.

What’s the matter? He’s friendly, I assure you.

This is a bad idea. She pointed at Da. That’s Campbell tartan.

Yeah, so?

My mother was a MacDonald.

Da started to mutter about traitors and backstabbers.

No way, I said. I have been alone my whole life with spirits and wee folk, so nothing, especially not some stubborn old Scottish ghost, is going to prevent us from becoming friends. My face fell. Unless there’s some other reason...

George, under other circumstances you would be the answer to my prayers. She wrapped her hands around mine. You have the Sight and seem like a nice fellow.

So what’s the problem?

A shimmering woman wearing MacDonald tartan appeared beside Heather and hefted a ghostly walking stick in my direction. You’ll get your thieving, lying Campbell paws off this innocent flower of Scotland.

Things went downhill from there.

§

The third heating pack finally brought some feeling back into my left side. I readjusted my earplugs so Da’s old Scottish war song and the answering tune wailing from Gran MacDonald became a dull roar. With Heather in her house and me in mine they couldn’t get any closer to each other than our property line. Just my luck to meet the woman of my dreams and discover that we were on opposite sides of a centuries-old clan feud.

I leaned back in my chair and sipped my tea. Heather thought I was a nice fellow. A beautiful, unattached woman who had the Sight was interested in me. My mind started to wander. I imagined holding her in my arms and feeling her lips pressed against mine. My eyes closed as my thoughts went a bit further.

A sharp pain brought me back to reality.

I saw a small, winged fairy wearing all the colours of the rainbow, and some nature never intended, examining a hair that recently belonged to my head. I pulled out an earplug without thinking and was assaulted by the wail of bagpipes. I pushed it back in as the fairy waved his arms to catch my attention. I ignored him until I found the salt in the cupboard.

The fairy hovered in place, tapping his foot as I shook out a small circle around us. I cautiously pulled out an earplug and experienced blessed silence.

"Qu’est-ce qui se passe?" I asked.

The rapidfire response was passionate, punctuated by gestures, and told me nothing other than the fact that this small houseguest was upset.

"Lentement s’il vous plais, I said slowly. Je ne comprend pas."

Heaven save us from high school French, the fairy answered with a thick but understandable accent. Why is it that you English never bother to learn anyone else’s language?

I’m Scottish, actually.

You would prefer we speak Gaelic?

My cheeks grew warm. I only speak a few words.

Well, your ghost certainly speaks it easily enough, as does that she-devil on the other side of the woods. I have not heard cursing like that since you-know-who moved in under the train bridge.

You pulled a hair from my head because Da is swearing too much?

"Non, I am disturbing your slumber because your damn ancestors are causing trouble. The fairy looked from side-to-side. Do you know what is in the woods?"

The Mikumwessuk. I gingerly touched the aching spot on my head. They didn’t complain about the road work last spring, so I doubt a few blaring bagpipes will bother them.

I lost another hair.

"Stupid Anglais! No spirit creatures pay attention to mortal noise, but this feud is loud enough to wake the dead. There are other things in the forest. Things that are best left asleep."

I’ve been through the woods all my life and have never seen anything else.

I said sleeping things, he roared at me. You grow up in a land and never learn anything about it. A Kukwes tricked by a Shaman sleeps in an enchanted cave in the forest.

My eyes went wide. Are you sure?

You think I would lie about a greedy spirit bear that eats both spirit folk and mortals?

This feud needs to stop right now.

"Exactement."

Go and tell Heather I’m coming over.

The fairy fluttered his wings. I do not know where she is.

She’s the redhead with the ghost who moved in next door.

I know who she is. She introduced herself when she arrived last week. Her French is better than yours and she is much easier on the eyes.

Then go and tell her about the Kukwes.

Idiot. We tried. We fairies looked all over her land and could not find her.

I broke the circle, grabbed a box of salt and ran out the door.

A handful made Gran MacDonald disappear in a flash.

That’s it lad! Da shouted. Together we can drive these foul—

The second handful temporarily banished him.

I tossed a third when Gran reappeared and lunged for me. I was going to run out of salt if they didn’t stop soon.

Why did you do that to your dear old Da?

I hefted my last handful of salt and he took his hands away from the bagpipe.

Gran MacDonald flashed into sight a few seconds later cursing loudly but staying in place.

Salt can’t stop this feud, Da said.

His eternal enemy nodded silently.

Where is Heather? I asked Gran.

None of your business.

Damn, damn and damn. She went deeper into the woods, didn’t she?

Gran nodded. She wanted to pay her respects to the forest spirits.

Go to her.

You can’t tell a MacDonald what to do, she said, but disappeared before I threw my last handful of salt.

Lad, you’re acting strange even for you, Da said. What is going on?

A fairy warned me there’s a Kukwes hibernating in the woods. I looked at his bagpipes. I don’t think it’s asleep any longer.

Gran reappeared, so pale I could barely see her. I can’t wake her up.

Where is she?

I don’t know. It felt like the woods, but it was wrong.

Gran, go to her and start crying so we can find you.

That won’t be very loud, she said. My pipes would work better.

They still might not be enough. Da, could you get someone louder?

The Banshee isn’t talking to me but she’ll listen to the Leprechaun. Da scratched his chin. But he’s still sore about you finding his gold.

Remind him I gave it back. Then tell him you know the perfect spot to hide his treasure.

The smile that started on Da’s face never finished. That only works if you can get the Kukwes back in the den.

My dearie is doomed isn’t she? Gran said. You have no idea what to do—

Hold onto that thought and start your weeping, Gran MacDonald, I said, running toward the woods.

§

The howling that started moments after the ghosts disappeared led me to a clearing where a giant bearlike creature was trying to dislodge an inconsolable Banshee from the top of a tree. I backed up into the brush and felt a chill on my arm. Da pointed to a slit between two rocks.

I crawled over to the opening and stuck in my arm. An overwhelming fatigue assaulted me and I concentrated on the wailing from our Irish neighbour to stay awake. A hand grabbed my arm and I pulled with all my strength. Heather emerged with an anxious Gran hovering at her side.

Thank you, my flamehaired neighbour said, falling into my arms. I held her trembling body close.

Lad, Da whispered. We need to move.

The forest went deathly still.

Well, well, the Kukwes said. What do we have here?

Neighbours dropping by for a visit? I suggested.

The forest terror shook its head. Never been fond of unannounced company. I think I will eat you.

Are you sure? Maybe we have things in common and could be friends.

I never thought of that. You could be right. It sniffed at the air. No, you both are definitely food.

But you aren’t giving us a chance... Heather protested.

How very true. That is rude of me. The Kukwes tilted its head to one side. I’ll eat him first.

But—

No, I’ve made up my mind. The maiden gets saved. It showed all its teeth. For breakfast.

I grabbed Heather’s hand and we ran down a twisty path that circled around a large outcrop of rock. The sounds of destruction trailed behind us. Maybe it was tracking us by scent. I turned away from the breeze to put us downwind and kept running toward the water. The growling behind us continued without interruption. In a few minutes we would have our backs to the river. I caught sight of the abandoned railway bridge in the distance.

This way. I pulled Heather down an overgrown path. We emerged from the edge of the forest at the foot of a crumbling stone foundation.

Lad, you don’t want to do this, Da said appearing at my side.

Gran motioned down a trail leading away. Child, run before this Campbell damns you.

Heather’s emerald eyes examined me. How desperate is your plan?

I’m afraid if I think about it too much the Banshee will show up and start wailing, I said. This stands about as much chance as the Jacobite revolt.

Which one?

Take your pick.

Her hand gripped mine tightly. I always thought they gave up too soon.

The Kukwes cut off my response by bursting from the woods. It roared at the sight of us, advanced, but then paused, sniffing the air.

I saw movement just behind the Kukwes and wondered if it might be that easy.

We live peacefully with the Mikumwessuk, I said. We honour them and respect their ways.

So? the Kukwes said.

You don’t want to disrespect them do you?

Barks of laughter answered me. You think I don’t know those meddlers are behind me? They can’t help you.

So they’re the ones who made the cave that trapped you? Heather asked.

Damn, she’s smart and beautiful.

The laughter deepened to a growl. I will deal with them after I finish with you.

The Kukwes lunged forward and we fell back against the stones of the crumbling railway crossing.

I can build you a bridge with lots of people on it, I shouted.

A fist smashed from the stonework into the Kukwes. It staggered back a couple of steps, teetered to one side and crashed to the ground.

A huge misshapen body emerged from the stone. Okay, you ‘ave my attention, but I wouldn’t dawdle if I was you.

The Kukwes groaned from where it had fallen.

Dearie, run while there is a chance, Gran said. Don’t disgrace your heritage by making a pact with an English Troll.

She’s right, lad, Da said. Better to die than deal with this sassinak.

Oy. Be nice. The Troll examined us with beady eyes. So what’s this about a bridge?

I can get you broadband internet.

The Troll snorted. Not like we haven’t heard that before in rural Cape Breton.

If Heather and I bridge our connections we can get a decent wifi signal to you.

The Troll stroked the wart on his chin.

The Kukwes sat up shaking its head from side to side. That’s not a real bridge.

You ever tried surfing on dialup, mate? the Troll snapped.

They are lying to you. The Kukwes steadied itself against a nearby tree. They just don’t want to be eaten.

Well? the Troll asked.

I looked at Heather. I think I can safely say that neither of us wants to be eaten.

I can respect that, the Troll said. But what about my wifi?

With both signals it shouldn’t be a problem, I said.

The Kukwes tore the branch off a nearby tree. Since they are going to be in my stomach, it will never happen.

The Troll looked at the Kukwes, then at us, then back at the Kukwes. He shook his head.

Sorry, but it not worth fighting ‘im. I’ll get high-speed down here one of these days. He stepped