Category: Fiction Factor

Diablo stood up on the metal surgery table, shook his head vigorously, and let out a quick snort.

The humans he lived with were gone. So was the veterinarian in the white coat, as well as the young tech wearing pink scrubs.

There was no equipment in the exam room, either, although he could still see the utility sink and two gray chairs situated against the light blue walls.

Something there that wasn’t before, however, was a Golden Retriever. She stood in front of the closed door, looking straight at him as her fluffy tail swept from side to side.

In life, Diablo would’ve bared his teeth and barked – the fawn-colored fur on his back rising to make him look like a tiny Stegosaurus.

In death, though, there seemed no reason for the Chihuahua to go to all that trouble.

“Who are you?” Diablo asked, his head tilting to the left.

“I’m Orla,” said the retriever. “I figure you might have some questions and I’m here to answer them.”

Diablo sat down and yawned.

“Well, yes,” he said. “First off, what happened to my humans? The last thing I remember one of them was holding me and kissing me on the head – she had a runny nose – and the other was red-faced and wet-eyed. I’ve never seen ‘em like that before.”

Orla wandered over to the table and put her paws up on the side.

“That’s what they do,” she said. “Remember how sad you’d get when you’d see them leave the house? That’s how they felt when you left to come here, only worse.”

Diablo wasn’t sure where “here” was.

“So, when you die, you spend eternity in a vet’s office?” he said. “I gotta tell ya, Orla, that sucks.”

Orla – who had been smiling the whole time, smiled even wider.

“Oh, no, we’re leaving here soon,” she said. “You’re still transitioning right now. We’ll be on our way to a much better place before you know it.”

“Is it the Rainbow Bridge?” Diablo asked, excitedly. “I’ve always heard the Rainbow Bridge was the place where we go.”

“Well, sorta,” Orla said. “The ‘Rainbow Bridge’ is a poem written by Edna Clyne-Rekhy. After her dog Major died in 1959, she wanted to remember him so she wrote that. You’ll meet Major later on … he’s a very good dog. Anyway, where we’re going is just called ‘The Park’ – at least that’s what I’ve always called it.”

Diablo wagged his tail for the first time since he died.

“I’ll be straight with you, Orla … I wasn’t sure I’d make it,” he said. “The humans had a cat I used to mess with a lot – even attacked him a time or two while he was eating.

“Speaking of which … I bit the male human a few times, too. Not sure why. I was sorta playing, but he just seemed bitable for some reason. And don’t get me started on Bonzo, the Jack Russell that lives down the road. I hated that bastard … spent a whole summer trying to figure out how I could attack him in his sleep. I was afraid those thoughts and deeds might keep me out.”

Suddenly, Diablo found himself standing in deep green grass next to Orla. The exam room was gone, replaced by blue skies and open spaces.

“No dogs are ever kept out,” Orla declared.

“Surely Cujo was,” Diablo said.

“Well, that was just the name of a movie dog,” Orla explained. “He was played by several different St. Bernards, and all of them are in The Park. But even if Cujo had been real, he’d have still made it. No dog is truly bad, they just get corrupted by bad humans.”

As Diablo looked across the way, he could see canines of all shapes and sizes – as well as other animals, including cats.

“Kinda surprised cats and dogs all go to the same place,” Diablo said, eying a Norwegian Forest cat frolicking with a miniature dachshund.

“Well, not all of them,” Orla explained. “Some cats go to a place called ‘The Box,’ which is basically just that – a giant cardboard box. And a few of them go in together and buy condos and turn them into palaces. Not sure where they get money. Anyway, cats tend to make their own rules and that can sometimes make their afterlife a bit complicated. They’re gonna do what they’re gonna do.”

Diablo laid his ears back and ran some zoomies, buzzing a pair of tabbies who seemed more amused than bothered by his antics.

He then rolled over on his back, scratching it furiously against the ground, and popped back up on his feet.

“So,” he mused, “I get to do this forever?”

Orla nodded.

“Yep,” she said. “You can run, eat and sleep as much as you want to. This is your reward.”

Diablo sighed.

“That’s great and all,” he said. “But I miss the humans. They loved me and I loved them – even that guy I bit. And I wish I could tell them I’m not mad about that last trip to the vet … I was in a lot of pain, and it was time for me to go.

“Kinda bummed I’ll never see ‘em again.”

Orla’s brown eyes twinkled.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “You’ll see them again.”

Orla pointed to a spot under a willow tree where a German Shepherd was smothering its human with kisses.

“Yay!” Diablo shrieked. “So, people get to come to The Park, too?”

Orla gave Diablo a quick nuzzle to the side of the face.

“They do,” she said. “But only the good ones.”

“Dang it!”

Paulie Priest walked the same path through the woods every morning, sat on the same green wooden bench, and he was always able to get a Wi-Fi signal on his laptop.

Not today, though.

Instead of several options popping up under the “Select a Wireless Network” window, there was nothing – not even “JumpinJackFlash68,” which had become his go-to connection.

Paulie was painfully shy, incredibly smart, and much more comfortable alone than with others. His morning walks were something of a refuge; he loved the sights and smells of the forest, but he also relished the sounds of “nerd time.”

That’s what he called his daily ritual, which featured the flora, fauna and funga appetizer followed by the main course –

plopping down and listening to podcasts such as “Robotics Rebellion” and “Humanoid Aliens: A Theory.”

If he could somehow survive middle school and high school, he wanted to go to Georgia Tech’s School of Electrical and Computer Engineering. He would never dare tell anyone, of course, but he was confident he could make history there.

Last year during the annual science fair at Fillmore Middle School, the seventh grader took the grand prize with a homemade robotic vacuum cleaner. Designed to look like the spacecraft of his favorite show, “Wandering Star Command,” the gadget scurried across the floor of the auditorium, picking up debris and wowing the judges with its efficiency.

It was one of many inventions he had stored away at the small house he shared with his mom. Because when he wasn’t walking and listening to podcasts, Paulie loved tinkering in the garage and building whatever he could think of with whatever he could find.

Many of the components he used were left behind by his dad, a computer technician who drove off to his job in Atlanta several years earlier but never bothered to come back.

Instead of holding on to a bitter memory though, all Paulie wanted to do right now was listen to the live broadcast of “Robotics Rebellion.” Without a signal, that wasn’t going to happen.

So, he did what people always do when the Wi-Fi isn’t working: he rebooted.

Moments later his laptop came back to life and he found one network option called “Distress Call 2374.”

“Well,” he said, “there’s no lock and the signal looks strong, so hello, ‘Distress Call 2374.’”

With a simple keystroke, he was in.

However, all the icons on his screen disappeared and were replaced by what looked like hundreds of neon yellow dots moving randomly – and rapidly – over a bright orange background.

The dots ultimately settled into a pattern, one that formed the fuzzy outline of what appeared to be a woman sitting at some sort of control panel.

“This is Captain Luna Bertrand of Exploration Vessel Marquee … do you read me?”

Paulie blinked several times to make sure he was seeing what he was seeing – and hearing what he was hearing.

“I read you … fine,” he said. “You’re really blurry, though.”

The screen pulsated with white light briefly before clearly displaying Bertrand, a green-eyed redhead clad in a blue military-style uniform.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “Am I clear now? I can see you fine.”

Paulie gazed at Bertrand and all the high-tech equipment in the background. The production values of the broadcast were excellent.

“So, what gives?” he asked. “Is this some kind of viral marketing thing? If this has to do with a ‘Wandering Star Command’ spin-off, I’m all in. Your bridge doesn’t look like their bridge, though.”

Bertrand tapped her side of the screen and a schematic popped up in the lower left corner.

“Look at this and tell me if it’s yours,” she said.

Paulie immediately recognized it as the blueprint for his robotic vacuum cleaner.

“Well … yeah,” he said, slightly puzzled. “That was my science project. But how did you get it? How do you even know about it?”

Bertrand answered by punching a button transforming Paulie’s computer screen into a hologram that displayed both the vacuum cleaner and the spacecraft.

“We’re facing a bit of a time issue here, so I’m giving you the condensed version,” Bertrand said. “To you, it’s May 8, 2024. But I’m from the year 2374 and communicating with you through a rift – a very, very tenuous rift. In the 350 years between your time and mine, the earth has endured two world wars and three plagues. But five years ago, in 2369, there was a cyber attack that resulted in an information wipe.

“Explaining the particulars would take far too long, but let me just say we’re dangerously close to using an abacus to figure out math problems. Now, I don’t really expect you to believe any of this, but I’d appreciate it if you’d humor me.”

Paulie was certainly skeptical, but the fact that his standard laptop was now a device capable of 3D imaging got his attention.

If it was a hoax, it was a brilliant one.

“OK,” he said. “Just for fun, I’ll play along. What do you need from me?”

Betrand placed the image of Exploration Vessel Marquee over that of Paulie’s vacuum.

“According to the bits and pieces of historical records we salvaged after the wipe, the class of starships used 200 years ago are based on your science project,” she explained. “Comparatively speaking to what we fly now, they’re easy to build, cost-effective, durable, and ideal for transporting passengers. Problem is, we haven’t been very successful reverse-engineering them. I need you to compare the schematics and give me some idea of what we need to do to replicate the Priest-Class vessels. I’m confident we can figure out a way – with your help.”

Paulie smiled.

“This is funny,” he said. “Normally somebody’s idea of a joke ends up with me stuffed in a locker so … thanks for naming spaceships after me.”

Bertrand shook her head.

“Please, Dr. Priest,” Bertrand said. “If we’re going to successfully evacuate Earth before the planet dies, we could use your expertise. Now, look at how our engine room is constructed in relation to the motor on your device …”

There was no quiet way to reach the cabin near Moonbeam Creek.

Dead leaves covered the makeshift path leading to it, so each step added a loud, crunching noise to the typical sounds of the woodlands. Of course, with windchimes hanging from the ceiling of the old, rickety porch, the resident of the cabin was surely used to plenty of noise.

Moonbean Creek – or at least the forest that it split – was thought to be the home of the “Moonbean Monster,” a tall, ape-like creature that had allegedly roamed these woods for decades.

Like the Yeti or Bigfoot, it was often seen only in shadows or quick glimpses; there was never any positive proof it existed, and no bones or bodies had ever been found. But tall tales? It had spawned its share.

What made the Moonbeam Monster different from the other creatures, though, is that amateur “monster hunters” Lexie Thornton and Dex Schneider had proof. They had long been fascinated by the folklore surrounding mythical beings, and a year or so earlier had taken a special interest in the Moonbean Monster.

The creek was a popular spot for anglers, and Lexie and Dex had spent hours upon hours talking with several of them – most all claiming they had had some kind of encounter with it.

Calling it a “monster,” however, didn’t square with what they heard from those who had experienced such close contact. Other than being startling in its hirsute form, the Moonbeam Monster seemed peaceful enough. It would often be spied grabbing elderberries or pawpaws, then quickly disappearing into the wild.

The pair of sleuths decided to place cameras on trees throughout the area, and even employed drones on occasion to cover more ground.

Over 12 months they had collected plenty of photos and videos, but the most compelling was a grainy, night vision clip that saw the Moonbean Monster walk up to the cabin, step on the porch, open the door, and then lean down and walk inside.

As they approached the domicile, they didn’t know who – or what – to expect after they knocked on the door.

“Hi, I’m Lexie Thornton and this is my partner, Dex Schneider,” Lexie said. “We were hoping you’d give us a few minutes of your time.”

The heavyset man who opened the door appeared to be in his late 60s or early 70s, his thinning white hair combed straight back and his flannel shirt bulging just above the beltline of baggy, faded blue jeans.

“I ain’t religious, I don’t need no magazines and I ain’t registered to vote,” he said. “Whatever y’all are sellin’, I ain’t interested.”

As he started to close the door, Dex piped up.

“Please, sir,” he said. “We’re not trying to sell you anything. We just want to talk to you about the Moonbean Monster.”

The man smiled, swung the door open and made a sweeping motion with his hand, gesturing the two to come in.

The inside of the cabin was spartan; a single bed, table with four chairs, and small kitchen area with a wood-burning stove.

There were no paintings and no “homey touches” of any kind.

“Pull up a chair,” said the man.

“May I ask your name?” Lexie said.

“Sure,” said the man. “But I ain’t telling ‘cause it don’t matter. You said you wanted to know about Moonie; nothin’ about me is interesting.”

He pulled a chair away from the table and situated it near the fireplace.

“I’m guessing y’all are the ones that put them cameras up everywhere and fly them little contraptions through here,” he said. “Why did you go and do something like that? Moonie ain’t botherin’ you – or nobody else. Never has.”

Dex produced a tablet, made a couple of quick swipes, and showed the man a photo of the monster entering his house.

“Sir, the Moonbean Monster – or Moonie as you call him –  has been in your house,” he said. “Were you here when it happened?”

The man chuckled.

“Moonie has been comin’ and goin’ from here for as long as I’ve been here,” he said. “And I’ve been here since before you two was even born. Look here.”

The man walked over to a box near his sink and produced a handful of pawpaws.

“Moonie likes these a lot,” he said. “I always keep some on hand for when he visits.”

Lexie pulled a small recording device from her pocket.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

“I don’t care,” the man said. “But you ain’t gonna be here long and I ain’t got much to say other than Moonie lives in these parts just like I live in these parts … just like deer and turkeys and whatever else you can find in these woods live here.

“If you think I’m gonna do anything to put him in danger, well, that ain’t gonna happen. When people come sniffin’ around looking for somethin’ everybody thinks is different, it usually don’t end real well for the thing that’s different.”

Before Dex or Lexie could say anything, the man walked to the door and opened it.

“Moonie ain’t no monster,” he said. “He just wants to be left alone. Now y’all need to leave. Anybody else comes sniffin’ around, I’ll just tell ‘em y’all are pullin’ a hoax.”

Lexie and Dex got up, smiled politely, and walked out onto the porch. The man could hear them talking, and then listened as they crunched their way toward the creek.

It would be nightfall in a couple of hours … once again giving him the opportunity to venture out into the woods.

He could already tell a cool evening was in store, perfect for a fox – or maybe a hound dog or racoon.

Moonie was his natural form, but with all the unwanted attention it was time to give that shape a rest for a while – at least long enough for the monster hunters to lose interest, take down their cameras and move on to some other venture.

Once the sun sank and he saw the creekside clear of humans, he took off his clothes, opened the door, and darted out into the night.