Author: Ezereal PM
Felix Olemstead finds himself purchasing an old radio, one which nobody had thought to buy ever since the shop had come into possession of it back in 1939. While tuning it to a certain channel, Felix hears the soft murmur of voices. He listens to the conversation and is visited by a strange man and taken to a different dimension on the brink of a war.Rated: Fiction T - English - Fantasy - Chapters: 4 - Words: 8,749 - Reviews: 2 - Follows: 2 - Updated: 12-30-12 - Published: 11-29-12 - id: 3078634
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
When the winter fell in with a subtle layer of frothy ivory speckles, I never thought that I could be so inspired by everything I see. You see, I was a writer, known as Felix Martin Olemstead, and took my inspiration from my surroundings. I payed daily visits to the library to have access to a silent space to work on my novel. At home, I was never allowed the delicacy of a silent workspace. Most people take silence for granted, but when you're a writer it is the only thing you can hope for when you are hard at work like a honey bee. I was on my way from today's visit, and I decided to take a look at an old childhood memory of mine; a small little resale shop.
I could feel the tension in the building as I strolled in, everybody turning to stare at me as the mini bell at the top of the old, wooden door jingled about. I waved my hand as a gesture to make them go back to their work and stop staring; it was making me feel self-conscious. This store has always had a special place in my heart. My father would always bring me here, nearly every day, and all I would do is wander aimlessly around the aisles looking at the different items they sold. My favorite spot in this store was the section with the old, dusty antiques, and that is the very spot where I was heading right now.
There was an old, familiar scent to it; a kind of scent that gives you a sense of safety and reassurance. I've missed this place, not having been to it ever since the day my father had died in that accident. He had been working in a steel mill and there was an explosion that had killed three people instantly. He was one of them. I was only thirteen then, and my mother was thrown into a state of depression and didn't do much around the house. It was the child who was left to take care of the parent, instead of the other way around. I was twenty now and had been living on my own for two years, finally over my father's death. Anyway, as I was strolling down the aisle, I caught something oddly familiar in the corner of my eye: the old radio.
It seems that nobody had ever bought it, as it was set right at the same spot as it had been in those many years ago. My hands reached out to grab it, and after I had payed for it, I was on my way home. When I stepped out of that door, a blast of cold air hit my face, sure signs that Jack Frost was nipping at my nose. This might even be the coldest winter I've ever experienced. I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck and my hat farther over my ears as I walked the one block route back to my small, one-story home. I placed one foot carefully on each step, as it was already frozen over with slippery, dangerous ice. I didn't want to make a fool of myself and flop onto my face.
The radio eventually found itself a place on my desk where I would usually sit down to continue my joyous hobby: writing. Sometimes writers block will just take a hold of your throat and put you in a chokehold until you couldn't draw from your well of ideas any longer...and that's what was happening to me now. I had originally planned to buy a radio to listen for inspiration, and I did. However, I wasn't quite sure if a radio this old would still work. I wouldn't even be surprised if it just up and exploded right in front of my eyes! I turned the dial to place it on a specific station, but all I heard was static. Mysterious, crackling static. As I twisted the knob to the right, yet again I received only static. As I turned it back to the left, something had finally come up.
There was the soft murmur of voices, soft and hushed as if they didn't want people to overhear. Honestly, I couldn't make out much from it, but it didn't sound like a normal radio station to me. The most I caught was one person's thick accent. German, I assumed. I kept the radio on, resting my head on my desk as I listened to their voices, having false hopes that I would hear an actual conversation. I could feel my eyelids getting heavier and heavier as sleep began to take control of me. I was just about to fall into sleep when the voices became clearer. All I could hear were two words:
I jumped out of my chair, nearly getting my foot caught in the rug in the process. I was desperately hoping that it was just your usual story reading or talk show and not some serious psycho out to get me. I know it is such a crazy thought and someone might label me as insane, but if someone else were in my place they would feel the same way. Five minutes passed, five long, painfully slow minutes, before I stood back up and sat back on my chair. "Calm yourself, Felix," I reassured myself. "You're probably just letting your lack of sleep get to you. Nothing is wrong." I spoke to soon.
Everything went black. Not black as if you slipped into unconsciousness, but black as if somebody turned out all the lights including the sun. It was the strangest thing I have ever heard of, and I just brought my knees up to my chin and huddled in my chair trying to give myself reassuring thoughts. There seemed to be no traces of light anywhere anymore, and the static and voices from the radio had come to a complete stop. Nothing made a sound, not even birds outside or mice scratching around in between the walls. I couldn't even hear the sound of myself breathing, and for a moment I questioned whether I was or not. I noticed a sudden light source emanating from the other side of the room, so I built up the courage to look. As I looked up from burying my head in my arms, there was a shadow of a man standing in the doorway.
The light was coming from him. Not from a flashlight he might have held, but this man himself was like a human flashlight. The light was extremely bright, but it went away as the man began to walk toward me. I never really caught a glimpse of him; all I could see was him seeming to disappear and reappear very quickly, much like a flashing light. It looked as if he was holding out his arms and was reaching out to take a hold of me, so instinctively I kept backing up until I was pressed against the wall. I don't know what this man's problem was, but he stood right up against me and pressed his hand to my chest. The lights flashed back on for a split second, and then everything disappeared. I glanced around, panic in my eyes, but I only saw a black, deepening void. Turning my gaze back to this stranger, I finally got to take in a good glimpse of him.
He had wiry, grayish-blond hair that fell messily down to his shoulders, giving him the impression of a man that had just woken up. He had a small little ascot, sea blue, tucked into his white suit and black, shining boots covered his feet. In his large, gloved hands he held a Cross on a chain, holding it up as his other hand was pushing me against something. It felt like it was a wall I was pressed up against, but when I looked out of the corner of my eye there was just empty space.
Black, spiral galaxy-like objects were floating around the void while the rest of the "sky" seemed to have a slight purple hue to it. There were no stars, no signs of any other planets, and no other signs of life anywhere. Just a deep, empty hole. My breath seemed to catch in my chest as the force with which I was being pushed with increased.
I often read about fantasy worlds in books, also taking some inspiration from them to work with. I never thought I would be stuck in a place like this myself and, finally, the thought crossed my mind that I might be dreaming. Maybe I had fallen asleep next to that radio, and all of this is a scenario my brain was coming up with in my state of unconsciousness, but then again, this might even be real. It seemed like forever that we were stuck in silence; I didn't know if there was any difference in the way time was kept track of here. As I was about to start pushing back, trying to get free, this stranger finally talked. "Hold still."
Their voice was pitched higher than one would have expected. I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from being incredibly rude and laughing. I obeyed with a nod, questioning whether I should have even listened or not. So I spoke up, asking "Why?"
"I'm not sure you are able to survive in Neverence," he said. For some strange reason, he kept glancing at his wrist as if he was checking the time. The only reason that was strange to me...there wasn't a watch on his wrist. Then it occurred to me: He said he wasn't sure if I was able to survive.
"Excuse me?" I stated, attempting to push myself away from him. "You're not sure if I can survive? I'm perfectly fine now, aren't I?"
"Yes, I can see that. You certainly do not understand. This is a different world from your...human world. We've never taken possession of a human into Neverence before."
"Yes, that is the name this world was given. The name containing 'never' because nothing will ever grow, nothing can ever sustain itself here. Hence the word 'Neverence.'"
"Well, that is creative. Er...can you let me go, now?" The weight from my chest lifted and the stranger stepped back, bringing the hand that held the Cross down to his side. Again, he kept glancing at his wrist, a look of despair upon his face.
"What is your name?" he asked, bringing his arms up to cross over his chest.
"Felix Olemstead," I stammered, rubbing the spot on my chest that still felt like it was being pressed up upon.
"Well, Felix Olemstead...Welcome to Neverence." The smile on his face faded. "You don't look too happy."
"No, don't get me wrong, I am thrilled to be here. What I don't understand is why I am here. Am I dreaming?"
"Ohoho, no! This is no dream. I brought you here because there is a danger." His tone became grim and his eyes narrowed. His fists clenched at his sides. "You see, you are in danger. You may not know it now, but those men having a conversation on your radio? They were discussing a plan that mustn't be overheard."
"I don't understand," I replied, scratching my head in confusion. "All I heard was static."
"That is the point. They talk like that - in static. They are capable of speaking other languages, but together...You see, you overheard their war plans."