The Day the World Forgot

Welcome to the sixth issue of Sketchy Scoops! You’re number one source for the most spurious content on the internet.

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A Work to Rival the Classics

Recently,

William F. Edwards

announced a new project where he hopes to create a mythic work to rival Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Ovid’s epic poem contains many stories, but one of the most enduring— and heartbreaking—is that of Acis and Galatea. We can only hope that one day William’s writing is equally as touching and enduring.

Good luck, William! If you’d like to check out his other work, he writes The Warthog Report which features a great write of the 70’s era TV show Get Smart.

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The One that Got Away

Tom Sadler

writes Dispatches from a Trout Wrangler. Fishermen are known for their tall tales, but there is one story that makes Tom grow reticent. We uncovered it quite by accident, but a little digging and a few quiet inquiries have revealed the truth about Tom’s trip to Sicily and the day his heart was broken. Decades have passed since that time, but his friends have confided that there are times, while fishing, when Tom will grow quiet and they know that he is thinking about her. “It’s something about the rivers,” they say.

We have learned that many years ago, Tom spent the summer working on a fishing boat off the coast of Sicily. While trawling the shores one night, he caught a nereid in his nets. Although, she was the one that had been caught, Tom’s heart had been ensnared. He could not bear to see a being of such incomparable beauty trapped and so he set her free. She expressed her gratitude with a single kiss. Then, she leaped from the boat and returned to her watery home. She may have swam away, but he still carries the memories of that kiss to this day.

We here, at Sketchy Scoops, are happy that Tom resisted the temptation to try to imprison or to win her heart. Her suitor, Polyphemus, was not kind to the last person who engaged in such behavior.

Last known picture of Polyphemus captured by documentarian Ray Harryhausen in THE 7TH VOYAGE OF SINBAD

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Scoop Reports: The Day the World Forgot

Editor’s Note: I’m not sure what to make of this one, folks. Scoop says that no one received the newsletter I sent out on Friday. Personally, I don’t remember sending one out, but he assures me that I did. Read on for the full story.

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If you’re in the reporting game, or any gig that puts you in the ring with the general public, you’re bound to tangle with the wild parade of the unusual. It’s the price of admission when you interact with humanity at scale. I’ve been rolling with those punches for more than twenty years, so it takes something special to shake me. But these past few days, they’ve been a haymaker from left field, got me questioning every solid truth I thought I had nailed down.

Like so many of life’s most seismic shifts, the day started off harmless enough. After the events chronicled in The Twisted Carousel, I decided to stick around Fenwick, West Virginia for a few days. Several of my childhood friends still lived in the area, but mostly I wanted to see if Buck would make it back into town before the next story carried me off somewhere new.

I awoke to the murmur of the Cherry River. I found its presence just beyond my window to be as comforting now as I had as a child. I’d forgotten how much that old muddy river meant to me. The tranquil ripples and the chatter of song birds nestled along the shore filled me with a sense of joy and aching nostalgia for the part of my youth when I called these hills home.

I sat up in bed and noticed that a crumpled piece of paper had been slid under my door. It was an invitation from Bessie. She wanted me to eat lunch with her in the shop that afternoon. That kind of thoughtfulness from her didn’t surprise me, but I couldn’t remember the last time someone had invited me to a meal that didn’t come with a heaping side of trouble.

As a child, she’d always treated me like family. I think she could tell I needed one at the time, but I’m an adult now and I’ve learned to trust my gut. Something was up.

I dressed and took the short walk out of Fenwick Bottoms, where I’d been staying, to where her shop sat at the intersection of Routes 39 and 55. My gut had been nagging me. It felt like Bessie was up to something. And I got confirmation as soon as I swung round the corner.

The proof was as clear as a moonlit night. The store was never exactly hopping, but you could always count on a small crowd of regulars. Nursing cups of joe, trading stories on the porch, or just talking about how the world had passed them by.

And yet, here it was a little before noon and the shades were drawn. The door was closed. The only thing in that parking lot was the echo of past habitation and the specter of what used to be.

But, even from out here, I knew that there was at least one person waiting inside that store. The telltale whisper of smoke curling up from the chimney told me that the place wasn’t entirely deserted. I knocked at the door and was alarmed to see it swing inward at my touch.

For a moment, I felt a sense of panic that something may have happened to her, but then I heard her voice. “Are ya comin’ in or not?”

I stepped into the store and pulled the door closed behind me. Bessie stood by the pot belly stove in the middle of the store. Her hands outstretched. It was something I’d seen her do many times and she’d once explained to me that heat was the only thing that gave her any relief from the swollen knuckles and joints that arthritis had inflicted on her.

“Close it, but don’t latch it,” she said. “We’re waitin’ on one more.”

I turned the handle and opened the door a crack. I’d no sooner done so than I felt it being pushed open behind me. I stepped out of the way but didn’t see anyone. As the door opened further, I saw a toddler step into the room… I’d pegged the visitor as a toddler because they barely cleared the thirty-inch mark. But, there was a snag in that theory—a gray, bushy snag. The pint-sized mystery had a beard, a full, bushy waterfall that would put any mountain man to shame.

“Good. He’s here. All right, Sammy, you can shut the door now.”

I didn’t move right away. Part of that was my confusion about seeing this… person, but the kicker was hearing her call me Sammy. That name was a dusty relic in the vault of my past, long replaced by ‘Scoop’. It had been a lifetime since I’d been Sammy. She cleared her throat and I realized she was still waiting on me. So, I closed the door.

Bessie took a seat by the window and her guest sat on a footstool nearby. She told me to get the pot of coffee from the stove and to join them. I filled the cups with coffee and took a sit next to Bessie. She found a perch for her coffee on the windowsill, while I was left cradling mine in my hands. The old table, usually, occupying pride of place in the room, was gone. It had been spirited away. Presumably to make room for our diminutive guest, creating a clear avenue for conversation.

As I drew closer, I saw that despite his small stature he was easily as old as Bessie. Maybe even older. He wore tawny brown pants, a dark jacket, and a dull white shirt. All of it appeared to have been hand-stitched and custom tailored just for him.

I tried to keep my face unreadable, but Bessie’s reaction told me that I’d failed. She was enjoying my shock and confusion. My bewildered state had become her source of delight, a private spectacle staged just for her amusement. To her credit, she didn’t actually laugh, but I could see that her guest had noticed and shared her delight.

“I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine. He’s been tradin’ here for…” She looked over at him briefly and then continued, “well, long before I opened the shop. This is Gadabout. Recently, he came to me with a problem. After hearin’ his concerns, I thought you’d be the best person to help. He’s here on behalf of all the gnomes, spriggans, and the other fantastic creatures who live in our area.”

Not Gadabout. Photo by Caitlyn Vermeij on Unsplash

I almost spit my coffee out, but I recovered quickly and tried to make an intelligent comment. “A gnome? Like with the gunpowder and clockwork contraptions?”

“Shut your mouth,” Bessie scolded.

Gadabout shrugged. “Fret not, dear Bessie. I’ve grown quite accustomed to this type of conceptual disarray. In fact, perplexities such as these are the very reason for my visitation. No, the majority of gnomes are not principally engaged with acts of invention. While there exists among us a select few whose proclivities lean toward the innovative, our fundamental occupation is in the stewardship and vigilant guardianship of the vast interconnected tapestry of the natural world.”

I was knocked for a loop and left grappling with disbelief. I’m not exactly sure how I thought a gnome would speak, but his mannerisms were a twist in the script that I hadn’t seen coming.

Bessie patted me on the knee. “He speaks a little different than us, but you’ll get used to it. He has something important to discuss.”

I nodded at her and then looked at Gadabout. “I’d be lying if I said my curiosity wasn’t piqued.”

The gnome smiled at me. “Happy to hear it. I’ve come to you today because there exists an enigmatic force, a cloak of obfuscation that veils my kindred—gnomes, elves, goblins, demons, and all manner of fantastical beings that populate the whispers of your folklore and fireside tales. This entity? These individuals? Let’s call it an organization. They actively work to keep our existence a secret.

“However, recent technological advancements have ushered in an era of unease that has unsettled this once unshakeable protector. In bygone times, they could merely beguile a human. They would implant doubts that caused people to question the sight of a brownie pilfering cream from freshly churned milk.

“But alas, even those charms of old hold no sway over the unwavering, watchful eye of the nanny cam. The proliferation of cellphones and their ubiquitous cameras has caused open consternation within the ranks of this clandestine order. Cloud backups are entirely immune from their influence.

“As you can imagine, this shifting landscape has caused them to intensify their hold over the supernatural community. They have begun to impose their will with an iron fist and have resorted to incarceration and even execution of those whose actions threaten to expose our hidden existence.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Bessie tossing me a long look. I paid it no mind, instead I tipped myself forward in the chair, and edged closer to the heart of the matter. I considered the small man, his oddly styled clothes that looked like a strange mixture of old-world fashion, but still managed to somehow seem modern at the same time. Maybe it was because they were tailored so well? It didn’t matter. Far-fetched didn’t begin to describe this little fella had begun to spin. “I just want to make sure I understand everything you’ve told me. Fairies are real?”

He nodded.

“Pixies?”

“Yes.”

“Brownies? Sprites? Boggarts?”

“All those. Yes.”

“Goblins? Ghouls? Bogeyman?”

Bessie cleared her throat. “Do you really need to run through the whole list? Sammy, you remember those Time-Life books from the 80’s? The ones called Enchanted World? Gadabout, you know those right?”

“It’s some of my best work!” Gadabout said.

“Wait! You wrote those?”

“Well, not entirely by myself, but there exists a group of us who have been increasingly concerned with humanity’s advances. We’ve been trying to get the word out about our existence for a long time.”

“But, why? Why would you care? I mean if everything you’re telling me is true, your people have lived in secrecy for who knows how long. Why would you want to be out in the open now? People will not react well to knowing that there are untold numbers of new species that have been living next to us all this time and that you’ve done so in complete secrecy. Why would you want to bring that grief upon yourselves?”

“The concealment of our reality is not a sustainable endeavor. It lacks permanence. Each human carrying a cell phone poses a potential threat. Urban landscapes and corporate enterprises are becoming increasingly saturated with cameras and surveillance devices. Machines that have the ability to discern individual faces now exist. How long will it be before someone notices our movements?

“Even your modern conveyances are equipped with these intrusive tools! While we may evade these for a time, your mechanized creations are becoming increasingly astute. They can identify patterns. In due course, someone will recognize an aberration. Someone will investigate and we will be discovered. It is my belief that we would be better served by coming forward on our own before we are dragged kicking and screaming onto the world stage.”

I couldn’t argue with his logic. He did have a point, but things were not going to go as easily as he hoped. Some nutjob out there would declare open season on these creatures and maybe even start a war, but ultimately, this wasn’t my decision to make. “What do you want me to do about it all?”

“The task of disseminating this revelation falls upon you. Bessie has told us of your renown across this vast land of America. The people will read your message and trust your words.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s been a long time since that many people looked to me for their news… and if everything you’re saying is right, you folks are a big part of the reason why I’ve fallen from grace.”

“Not us. Rather, it is the council you should blame. They are the ones who seek to preserve secrecy, but you should know that any action you take may bring with it new reprisals.”

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That night I hit the keys hard, hammering out the peculiar story that Gadabout had dished out. I shot it over to my desk man, a whiz with all the techy mumbo jumbo, and he sent it out to the lot of you. With that done, I figured my part in this peculiar play was at its curtain call.

I hung around for another day, but Buck never did show. That’s when I got a lead on a new story. This time in Pittsburgh.

I said my goodbyes and headed into Richwood for one last stop before heading north. I have two rules for any time I’m in Nicholas County. Rule number one is that I have to get a pepperoni roll. Rule number two is that I’ve gotta get a slice from Hole in the Wall.

With a fresh slice of pie cooling in my hand, I parked myself in the lot, drinking in the heady aroma of fresh-cut wood. It wafted over to me from the nearby mill. To an outsider, the scent might come on a little strong, but to a hometown boy like me, it’s the fragrance of memory. Sure, the mill’s seen more face-lifts than a Hollywood starlet—new bosses, new signs—but the song remains the same: Richwood has always been in the business of shaping timber. It’s not just the town’s namesake, it’s its lifeblood. But there I go, wandering down memory lane…

The cheese and peppers hit just the right note, a symphony of flavors on my tongue. I was in no rush. This was a moment to savor.

Out of nowhere, a figure emerged, making a beeline across the gravel lot. A beanpole of a man. Impossibly thin and unnaturally tall. He was decked out in a get-up that screamed ‘old-school undertaker meets spaghetti western’. He approached silent as a ghost at high noon, and without a word handed me an envelope.

My eyes glanced down to see my own name staring back at me from the envelope. When I lifted my gaze, ready to question the mysterious courier, he’d vanished into the ether, leaving no trace, but the puzzling letter. I cracked open the seal and began to read the words.

Esteemed Scoop,

It is plausible that my identity may elude you at this moment, but I assure you that we have met. My name is Gadabout. If my courier has delivered this message, it means that the council has forced you to forget our conversation. Our mutual friend has assured me that you had shared my story with all of your readers earlier in the week. It’s possible that they were made to forget as well. For that reason, I shall relate the events of our meeting once more…

So there you have it, folks. This is where the chips have fallen. I’m gonna take another shot at getting this word out, casting it into the void with a prayer that it reaches a few of you out there. If this makes it’s way into your inbox, can you hit reply and let me know?