Goblin Gulch - The Curious Story of Milton, Nevada

[JayRay]

Chapter 8: The Serb?

I glanced at the diminishing ration of schnapps in my tumber and then to the bottle. With nonchalance, my host acquiesced my yearning for a refill. 

"Well, as it were, in cosmic happenstance, a Serbian man... his name may misfire in my neurons at the moment, possibly an effect of this good Schnapps you so generously have provided - He seemed to believe that by alternating, and re-polarizing the current of photoelectric current being passed through the curtain we could... flip the switch so to speak, and make the curtain traverse one from our world to the other, one way - to stop the would be invaders from gathering reinforcements to brutalize our vastly underprepared world. The Serbian thought that if he could do such things, it would be up to us to then drive the creatures back into the curtain where they would, we hoped, be sucked back into their dominion to stay."

"Vait... Vait... so you were ze... lab rat? The risk if it didn't work?"

"Well." I had to admit, the idea seemed much grander and foolproof before this current inquiry. "It was going to be him, pulling the switch, polarizing the effect, and then us walking through, and then him pulling the switch again and us walking back, just a proof of concept. The curtain seemed to only work in one direction regardless, so either the experiment was going to work, or it wasn't. If it worked, I would have been able to cross the threshold as entering a posh bathhouse, with no issues. And if it hadn't, well... I would have embarrassed myself by walking into a wall. Which, at first... I did."

"So the Serbian was wrong, it didn't work?"

"Oh no, Herr Doctor, I never said it didn't work, just not the first time, for me. Samuel Clemens on that day did NOT cross the thresholds of time and space, taking part in the grandest adventure of all time. But, someone... well someone did. I pray someone did."

Albert Einstein raised both eyebrows. "Why do I feel that, when you say someone did, there is a bit of sadness in your recollection, Mr. Clemens?"

I sat my tumbler down, tapping its rim with a finger.

"It was set in historical verse and, quite officially regarded that the city of Milton was swallowed into the brittle motley of sand and shale, a victim of rampant mining throughout the town, but in actuality, it was the sacrifice of one Hank Morgan and his allies that fateful day that caused the invasion to end, that rendered the doorway between our world void, and ended the chaos of the 'Goblin Gulch'... I commemorated Hank's sacrifice by writing a novel, telling his story how I wanted it told, making his ending better, so to say."

"A good sentiment" He nodded, a tinge of a knowing smile on his face.

"And of course, The Army, as well as the damnable Secret Service pretty much demanded that no one speak of the real story of Milton Nevada. They washed the whole thing up like yesterday's textiles, and to this day have quartered off an area of Nevada as to dissuade any from entering. They destroyed the land's scant resources, and with no potable water, or land that could grow anything, the people moved out and away and for the most part forgot about Milton, forgot about Hank, and the others whose story only now lives in the minds of those who by Providence, were lucky... or ill-fated to have witnessed them. Some of those people deserve to be remembered... others, well, others are probably better off where they are, in unmarked pits of sand, with nary a headstone to mark their earthly husks. My novel as well, couldn't speak of goblins or the savagery of what they did. SO... I did what any good adaptable author would do, and simply gave the literary version of Hank a good ol' conk on the head, and set him off on his glorious verbal adventures... the origin of which as far removed from Nevada as geographically I could muster."

Albert nodded with a bit of a smile still present, and rose from his chair. He walked across his study to a recessed bookcase, and drew out a book that I immediately recognized from the blue spine and silver lettering. He set my copy of 'A Yankee in the Court of King Arthur' down on the table. "I must ask. if all is corrected, and all is done as you say, then why seek me out now? Simply for a logical stance on the mystery of your ill-fated town?"

I shook my head slowly as I ran my finger down the spine of the book. "No, no... The reason I asked about the forces behind what would cause such a thing were, well... two weeks ago, as I sojourned through San Francisco, on my way to your very doorstep, a newspaper article caused a stir within me and a cold sweat. The article spoke of a freak lightning storm in the mountains east of that gilded city, and the next day, reports of savages butchering cattle nearby. I feel that if something is not done soon, San Francisco may suffer the same fate as Milton Nevada. 

"Well, let's make sure zat it does not, Herr Clemens." Albert pulled his hat from the top rung of a nearby coatrack, his coat, and then an umbrella, as though we were preparing for a trip. "Contact your Serbian friend as well. I feel his expertise may be warranted if vat you say is true."


- The END ... For now. -