Category: Fiction Factor

It had become something of a cruel ritual.

Each afternoon the kids would walk past the rusty, baby blue dumpster, taunting the odd man lurking behind it.

“Look everybody … it’s Creepy Dumpster Guy,” yelled Randy. “Hey … Creepy, you found any tasty chicken bones in there? It sure stinks in there, Creepy Dumpster Guy. Is it you, or the trash we’re smellin’? Maybe you’re the trash.”

The man – dressed in an army jacket, blue jeans and green trucker’s cap – never responded. Still, the boys would laugh, staring him down as they continued on their way home from school. Sometimes they’d even empty the remnants of their lunch boxes on the pavement, occasionally wadding up napkins and throwing them at him.

“Come and get it,” they’d chant.

Jada had watched this go on for weeks, following the same path as the boys but staying well behind. She was quiet – had been for most of her 12 years – and said nothing to the young men who seemed to take great pleasure in making fun of the unfortunate fellow.

The first few times, she simply waited until the loudmouths had moved on, then she’d scurry quickly past the dumpster herself, trying not to make eye contact. One day, however, her pace slowed.

At first, she just gave him a quick glance, and then a smile.

Later, she’d wave – and Creepy Dumpster Guy waved back.

They didn’t speak – Jada didn’t really know what to say to him, anyway – but she wondered if hers was the only friendly face he’d see during the course of the day. That thought made her sad, but at least she was making an effort to be kind. Hopefully, she thought to herself, others were making the effort, too.

She had even started provided food for him. She and her family didn’t have a lot, but she was usually able to sneak an extra apple or banana into her paper bag while preparing her lunch each morning.

She’d place them a couple of feet away from the dumpster and scurry off, hoping Creepy Dumpster Guy would enjoy the fresh food, even if it was just a piece of fruit.

Fridays, unfortunately, were always especially rough for him. It was the end of the school week and a time when Randy and his minions saved their worst for Creepy Dumpster Guy.

The taunts were longer and more vicious, and at times it became physical. Often, they’d throw pennies at him.

“Hey, Creepy Dumpster Guy,” Randy would yell. “Why don’t you save these and go buy a new dumpster!”

But on this particular day the gang brought rocks, and thought it’d be funny to use the man for target practice.

Jada could hear the projectiles pinging against the dumpster, and the more she heard, the angrier she became. Although she had never confronted the boys and felt her mouth go completely dry as she began trotting toward them, it was time to put an end to this senseless barbarism.

“Stop it, Randy!” she bellowed – her voice shaking. “Leave him alone! You could hurt him.”

Randy gave Jada a bemused look.

“What do you care?” he said. “It’s none of your business. He’s just some bum.”

Jada stepped off the sidewalk and walked toward the man, who was still crouched behind the dumpster. She then looked toward Randy with fire in her eyes.

“We don’t who he is,” she said. “But I know who you are. You’re a jerk. And a coward. And if you’re going to throw rocks, throw ‘em at both of us. Show how tough you are to your little buddies.”

Randy turned red, looked at his crew, and then looked back toward Jada and Creepy Dumpster Guy.

“You’re the … jerk one,” he mumbled, dropping the medium-sized rock he held in his right hand. “Let’s go, guys.”

Jada made her way back to the sidewalk and noticed something different about Randy and his posse. For the first time they didn’t look like bullies, they simply looked embarrassed – maybe even defeated.

Jada smiled.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said. “They won’t bother you anymore … I’m gonna make sure of it. Oh, and I’ll come by in the morning and bring you something to eat. Bye.”

As Jada disappeared into the distance, the man stood up – although he wasn’t like any man anyone had ever seen before.

Humanoid in form, he was mostly translucent, with a slight amber tint. And the dumpster was simply an optical illusion – a clever disguise for his spacecraft, which he entered by phasing through the side after shedding his disguise.

“Report,” boomed the voice from the electroacoustic transducer in the roof of the craft.

“The microcosm test was a success; we would be wise to allow their species to evolve,” said the being. “As we observed there is much cruelty, but there is also kindness … and strength. Precognition signals that the young female human, Jada Abernathy, will become President of the United States in 30 Earth years. She – and a coalition of others like her – will formulate a workable plan to guide this planet on a path to peace. My recommendation is to postpone the invasion and give them an opportunity to succeed.

“Ashtar Sheran signing off … and plotting a course for Proxima Centauri B.”

Bright red hair, alabaster skin, ruby red lipstick, magenta sun dress, silver pumps – Lucy was a whirlwind of style as she made her way into the upscale Ultron Café. She wanted to look good, of course, but she also needed to make sure her date recognized her.

It was her first dip into a new online dating service, and although Richard had seen photos on her profile, she specifically told him to look for the “carrot top rocking hot colors.”

For her part, she’d be keeping an eye out for a thin, dark-skinned man with a buzz cut, baby blue shirt and khaki pants.

The minute he walked through the door she recognized him and gave him a wave.

“Hi, Richard,” she said as he moved in for a hug. “So nice to finally meet you in the flesh. I hope you don’t mind … I’ve already got a table for us.”

The couple sat down and Richard ordered a bottle of red wine as soon as the waiter appeared.

“Wow,” Richard said. “You look even prettier in person, but I had no doubt you would. I’m so glad we’re finally making this happen.”

Lucy smiled and adjusted her bangs.

“Me, too,” she said. “It’s funny … I’ve tried so many of those other services but, as you might imagine, I wasn’t going to find the right fit. I mean, I couldn’t exactly be honest with any potential suitors.”

Richard laughed.

“No, honesty is definitely not the best policy with those others, is it?” he said. “But I was able to use them to my advantage, if you know what I mean.”

She did indeed, and felt relaxed enough to open up. Before she could, however, the waiter returned with a bottle of Pinot Noir and asked if they’d like an appetizer.

“I’m ready to order if you are,” Lucy said to Richard.

Both settled on the filet with baked potato and salad, and waited until the waiter was out of ear shot before resuming their conversation.

“OK,” she said. “Tell me about your first.”

Richard cleared his throat.

“Geez, you don’t waste any time, do you?” he said. “I like that in a woman. Well, it was at a rest stop off of I-85 in South Carolina. I had thought about doing it for years but as you know there’s a big difference between thinking about it and actually doing it. So, that was the beginning … and that was about 15 years ago.”

Lucy nodded.

“Fifteen years ago, huh?” she said. “And how many since then – and don’t give me an estimate, you know very well the exact number … guys like you keep track.”

Richard grinned.

“Twenty-three, and the last one was two weeks ago,” he said. “I was hoping to make it 25 by the end of the year. But that’s enough about me – time for you to dish. When and where was your first?”

Lucy looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

“Believe it or not, it was my senior year in high school … at a drive-in in St. Louis,” she said. “But here’s the weird part – it was almost five years later before I did it again.”

“At the same drive-in or a different one?” Richard wondered.

“No, no,” she said. “Drive-ins are kinda hard to come by unless you want to travel. I like staying within a 50-mile radius, places like Mount Olive, Illinois, and De Soto, Missouri. it’s just kind of a rule I made up for myself a while back. Now it’s usually hotels. Cliché, I know, but effective.”

After the food came, Lucy and Richard dug in, chatting as though they had known each other for years. And considering how quickly they devoured their meal, it was obvious they wanted to continue the evening in a more intimate setting.

Richard flagged down the waiter, put cash on the table as soon as the check arrived, and reached for Lucy’s hand.

“I’m staying across the street,” he said. “Would like to come back to my hotel with me and – I don’t know – maybe compare notes?”

Lucy grabbed her purse, glanced at the vial of sodium cyanide resting near her keys, and winked.

As they made their way out of the restaurant and began to distance themselves from the other patrons, Lucy gave Richard a quick peck on the cheek.

“I’m so glad we found a dating site for serial killers on the dark web,” she said. “I’m having such a great time!”

Brady Lark walked into the Windy City Auction House, surveyed the marble floors and white columns leading up to the ceilings, and then sheepishly waved at the woman stepping out from behind a glass counter.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Are you the manager?”

Amanda Archway extended her hand and smiled – providing a quick once-over of the young man adorned in gray high-waisted, wide-leg trousers, a V-neck polo shirt and black Oxfords.

“I’m actually a specialist here at WCAH, but I suppose that qualifies as being a manager. Is there something I can help you with?”

Lark handed over a crisp bill he pulled from an envelope.

“Gee, I certainly hope so,” he said. “My name is Lark – Brady Lark – and I don’t really know who I should talk to, but I was just wondering what this is worth.”

Archway eyed the currency, put on the reading glasses that had been dangling around her neck, and carefully studied it.

“My goodness,” she said. “A $10,000 bill. I’ll be completely honest … I’ve seen many antiques and antiquities, but I’ve never even seen one of these up close before. I’ve certainly never held it in my hand.”

She was hardly alone; very few people in the new millennium had seen an actual $10,000 bill. It hadn’t been issued since 1945 and was taken out of circulation in 1969.

When it came to monetary collectibles, this was one of the rarest of finds.

“Just by looking at its markings, it appears to authentic,” Archway said. “And it’s in pristine condition … truly remarkable. May I ask how it came to be in your possession?”

“It’s my grandfather’s,” he said. “He’s a scientist – was a scientist, I mean – and he was always curious to learn how much it had increased in value. He, uh, left it to me in his will.”

Archway walked over to her counter, gently laid the bill down, and began typing furiously on her phone.

“I’m going to get our on-site appraiser to look this over,” she said. “If he can authenticate this, I think we can make you an offer you’ll be extremely pleased with.”

Lark didn’t notice any chairs, so he nervously paced back and forth – hands in pocket – as Archway signaled the appraiser over to study the bill.

Although only a couple of minutes had passed when Archway approached him, the wait seemed interminable.

“Mr. Lark, sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. “There is no question that this is, in fact, a very real and truly exquisite $10,000 bill. There are only a handful left in the world and I can’t imagine ever finding one as well-preserved as this one.

“We’re prepared to offer you $100,000 for this bill.”

Lark’s eyes widened.

“Holy mackerel!” he exclaimed. “I really had no idea what you might offer. That’s a lotta clams.”

“Indeed,” she said. “You make a huge profit, and I’m quite sure we can do the same at auction. It’s a win-win for us both. It’s up to you, of course, but we can make this deal right here, right now. I just need some identification.”

Lark reached into his pocket and produced a driver’s license.

“Those are my credentials,” he said. “Oh, and you can just make the check out to me.

“Absolutely,” she said, quickly completing the necessary paperwork. “We truly enjoyed doing business with you and if your come across anything else from your grandfather’s estate, please keep us in mind. Here is your check.”

While the money was real, the fake ID he had purchased only hours earlier had allowed him to open a bank account and fool Archway. With the windfall from the sale of the $10,000 bill, he was supposed to spend a couple of days buying as many books on quantum mechanics as he could find and use the rest to purchase silver, which would power the time portal constructed by his grandfather.

Unfortunately, the device was good for only one, two-way trip – transporting at 8:34 Eastern Daylight Time on July 12, 1940 and retrieving at 8:34 Eastern Daylight Time on July 15, 2022.

Lark stared at the check and felt the color drain from his face; his grandfather was a genius, but even geniuses make miscalculations.

“I’m just looking at the date on here,” he said. “I thought it was July 12, 2022.”

Archway shook her head.

“No, Mr. Lark,” she said with a chuckle. “It’s July 12, 2023. Don’t worry … we all get our years mixed up sometimes.”