Three Witches

 This is what I get for being a nice guy. I gave someone who seemed down and out some money for food and the like. He granted me three witches. Damn, now I’m pronouncing it like he did.

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“I’ll grant you three witches.”

                                                                                        

I burst out laughing. “Three witches, that’s a new one. What would I do with three witches?”

“I mean it,” he said. “I just have trouble with my i-s-h-es. I grant you three,” and he replied slowly. It still came out, “witches.”

“Listen Mister, whatever your name is,” I answered. “You don’t have to grant me anything. You looked like you needed a few bucks. It’s no big deal.”

“Crazy bugger”

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I played the game. Guess what?  I got two that worked out okay; this third one,  teleportation, I never contemplated the consequences. The government wants me for a science experiment. They’re hunting me down.

How was I to know that no matter where I went, or how I got to wherever, there was a disruption, a detectable anomaly, like a submarine under the ocean. Now I’m on the run, a fugitive from science.

When they came to me the first time I wasn’t sure what was going on. Neither were they. They were polite and asked me to come to a lab in California.

As I mentioned, they were nice enough, that is until I said I wanted to leave. They drugged me and assumed that would hold me. That’s when I found out that all I had to do was mentally wish. Up until that point I spoke my wish aloud, albeit quietly.

I got out of there by the skin of my teeth after hearing a doctor mention brain surgery. I was not going to be some ones lab rat.  I know that they know, and they know that I know they know.

Santa Fe was nice for a week until I saw the unmarked military freighter land at the airport and taxi to a remote location. It’s a small airport. I know a C130 when I see one. Three Tahoes rolled off. It was time to go.

I wondered where was the safest place to hide? Why not the Space Station?  Those guys wouldn’t say squat. They would get grounded for life if they ever said there was an alien on board. Alien, that’s what they called me.

Wrong!

Two days later I overheard Vandenberg telling the captain that a military bird would be launched from the deep space flight center.

It was back to earth. I felt like a criminal. I’m glad I asked for language fluency in all languages. I can be anywhere and converse like a native. I went to New Jersey.   

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I discovered by conducting a number of searches on Google that biometric observation was more insidious than imagined. Retinal imaging combined with facial recognition was pervasive. Many of the large malls had them installed. They were tied into police HQ, they were tied into the FBI and other agencies. The transponders in all vehicles could be used as a tracking device. Sure the GPS and cell phones were also dead giveaways, but most people had no idea about these other technologies.

BTW using certain key word searches were also beacons that were passed on to these agencies. That I guessed. I made my searches in different parts of the country never staying in one place too long or returning.

I will admit I had to steal food, clothing and some money from a bank. But I did it after hours and never took more than I needed.  It was a lonely life. I couldn’t endanger anyone else. That was my reward for being a nice guy.

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Currently I’m in a Tibetan monastery in the mountains of New York. The monks there take care of me and I cook and clean for them. I spoke to the head monk. I explained the situation to him. He just smiled as if he knew what I was talking about.  I know it can’t last but for now it gives me a breather. I can contemplate what and to where my next move should be. One more body in a temple is not a give away. But I didn’t want to endanger my host either.

Over the few months I was there, one female monk, Shree, became my close friend. She had no idea of my situation. One day she asked me why I was there. She said, “You’re on the run. You’re not a criminal. That I can tell. Besides, the master would never harbor a criminal. What’s your story?”

I told her the whole thing. She laughed.

“I’m not making it up,” I said as we walked along the inner border of the temple. She was beautiful even bald. She radiated something.

“Why stay in this existence,” she asked?

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. You’ve been sitting in on the lectures. You appear to have a deeper

 grasp of the truth than most.” She stopped and looked around. “I have to go. I’ll see you soon.”

She left me there wondering what that was all about. I was about to go chasing after her. I heard the sound of rotary wing aircraft. They never flew here. I guessed someone had tipped my hand, possibly a jealous monk? We’re all human after all, no matter how hard we strive.

This existence? I wondered. Then it hit me. “I wish I could be 1 hour in the future.”

The temple was still there. I guessed that wasn’t going to work, damn.

She came back from the direction she had departed. She was smiling.

“I see you understood my words.”

“What are you talking about? I’m still here.”  I pointed to the temple and the monastery.

“Yes you are,” said another voice. It was the gentleman I gave the money to, the three witches guy.

There was no sound of helicopters.

The End

Christmas Bash

No one but the powers that be, know St. Nick gets retired and replaced every 100 years. This year St.Nick XXVth is conducting his last run. Age and technology have taken their toll not to mention the changing demographics that have discombobulated the usual routes used for the last few centuries. His replacement has been picked. He has no clue as to whom. Like the pope, the selection is done in complete secrecy

 Nick’s sled is fitted out with cloaking, shielding and mass shrinking devices that allows for his huge cargo, in addition to the Time Freezing Clock that without, would in normal time, make his run totally impossible.

 Nick is downing Baileys and coffee to stay awake. His catheter is in place. Hey, when you gotta go, ya gotta go and can’t stop at the nearest bar or tree and take a leak. At the close of his route, Nick has finished a  bottle or two. He isn’t keeping count. It’s his last run.

 He was about to head back to the Pole but chanced to look in the freight box and realized that he missed a new subdivision in NJ. “Damn, I hope the new guy has an updated GPS and plotting. He’s going to need it. AI,” he called out to the Directed Encased Energy Ramjet, “fire up the thrusters and come about 180, cloaking on, running lights off, shielding on, tree top level, utility pole avoidence.” He was sober enough for that and 100 years of training didn’t hurt.

 “Yes sir,” the AI responded. “Coming about 180.”

 ++++

 His job completed and always prepared, Nick pulled out the reserve bottle of Baileys. He drank it down. Then in a somewhat blitzed state noticed a sign, Nick’s North’s Bar and Pole Dancing. His brain only recognized  Nick’s North’s Pole. “I don’t ever remember putting THAT sign up. AI , landsthere.  Keep sloaked and shrielded.  I gottaseewhat’sgoingonhere” he commanded in a very slurred voice.

 The sled, invisible and shielded, was backed into a number of times by some of the more drunken bar patrons.  They of course saw nothing and gave it no other thought until  Christmas morning when they viewed the ass end of  their smashed vehicles and wondered how that happened. Most thought they hit a big pot hole at the time.

Christmas eve at the bar was not that unusual to have a few patrons come in dressed as Santa. Nick XXVth was Greco-Roman wrestling big, about 6’13 ½ and drunk. A waitress-elf dressed in mistletoe and a two strategically placed ornaments came over and said, “Hey Santa honey, what can I DO for You?” She looked him up and down.

 Another dressed in much the same outfit came over to the big guy and said, “Santa baby, you bring me my Bently I asked for?” And kissed him on his fire red cheek

 “I don’t ever remember seeing either of you at the shops,” he said playing with the ornaments. “And You two I would have remembered.” He sounded sober then.

 “Oh Santa, I’ve seen you before,” they both said. “And I have been a very good girl,” said the first one. She gave him a big wet kiss and sat on his lap. “What will it be? It’s Christmas and I’m in a giving mood.”

 Number two came around from behind and gave him a big hug.

 Nick, quite drunk, placed a few gold coins on the table and was about to take a bite of that forbidden fruit when in came what can only be described as a woman equal in height to Nick. She was visibly pissed off and pointed to Nick. “Nick you besotted bugger. You should be home by now. I had to come looking for you.”

 “Oh shit, his wife,” said one dancer.

 “Of all the days to screw off, your retirement day.” She knocked the first tart off his lap, flung the other across the room and threw Nick over her shoulder. She left 12 gold coins on the table to cover any damages and lugged the big guy out.

 “AI on! Cloaking Off! DEERS ON, prepare for lift off,” she commanded. The sled responded and lit up appearing like a circus carnival. She threw Nick in the back, covered him and got on to the drivers seat mumbling, “I’ve been following you for a while to get a feel for the job. Then you began to wander and wobble and I knew things weren’t right. I saw you land here, a bar of all places. You’re totally drunk on the job. You were about to be taken for a ride by those two. You can hardly walk no less fly.”

 “Theyrerrr my friens and theyerr, hic, our elvers, they told me.”

 “Right!”

 “Id’s the Nort spole. I wis one of my lobving elbes. She told me so,” he managed to slur back. “And who the hell,” burp, “are you?”

“It’s not the North Pole, it’s a bar in NJ you old fool. And I am your replacement. Now shut up, we’re going home.” She was fuming.

 “You’re my replacement? You’rer kinda cute. What do yu slay we do a mile sligh? Whattt’sss’s you name?” He made a grab for her.

 “Nicolina.” Then she said, “I hate to do this but …” Then she socked him and knocked him out.

 By the time they returned to the factory at the Pole, Nick XXVth was awake and hung-over.  He looked at Nickolina. “So you’re for real; not a nightmare,” he said rubbing his jaw.

 She laughed, “Of course I am. I’m Odina Sinterklaas the First. Santa to everyone else. You just have to believe and have faith. Now I’m going to get you to bed. It was your last trip and brother, it was a dozy. You’ll sleep it off and tomorrow no one will be the wiser. It’s my present to you. Sleep tight and to YOU, a good night.”