the outer portals, for the sand world, he had discovered to his pain and sorrow, harbored a full complement of huge and voracious mosquitoes, and these had been but the vanguard of a plethora of annoying flying insects, all drawn irresistibly to the white brilliance of his gasoline lanterns.
Despite the fact that he had come to simply accept the sand world, seldom thinking about the many very odd (to say the least!) facets of his discovery of and repeated entries into it, there were some things that he could not ignore. One of these was the peculiar time difference between the world into which he had been born and in which he had lived most of his life and the sand world. He had quickly found that a mere day or so in the sand world meant that he would be gone from the other world for several days and nights.
One result of this anomaly had been that he hardly ever saw his friend Bartlett anymore, since he had felt obliged to arrange with the postmaster to not any longer trouble the carrier with trying to make route delivery of his mail, but rather to drive to the post office, when and as he "got back from his frequent trips" and pick up the mail.
As the aft cabin of the wrecked bireme was wider, longer and higher than either of the other two, Fitz had there established his sand world pied-a-terre. With a folding canvas cot, air mattress, light sleeping bag, a chemical toilet and camp stove, in addition to the gas lanterns and the table, chair and stools dragged in from the next-largest cabin, he made it quite a comfortable home away from home.
In the largest of the two side cabins he stored his bike, along with necessary tools and parts, lubricants and gasoline for it and for the stove and lanterns. In the smaller, he stored hardware, weapons and ammunition, canned and freeze-dried foodstuffs, liquor and water. He had as yet to come across any save salty sea water in his extensive explorations of the sand world, though he felt certain that there must be some somewhere, for the ponies and birds must surely drink.
Although he often felt a bit silly lugging carbine, revolver and weighty ammo in this empty country, still a nagging, frequent sensation that he was being watched, observed by some unseen sentience led him to strap on his weapons whenever he set out on any exploratory trip.
He could not tag time or place to the first time he had felt the invisible presence, save that he was sure that it had been at some time after he had begun to actually live, off and on, in the sand world. Not that it was really a new feeling for Fitz to experience; he,
along with his siblings and both his parents had all their lives had the ability—often a singularly unpleasant ability—to feel, to sense the presence of noncorporeal entities and influences in buildings and places; therefore, he knew that his sensory awareness of this something as yet unseen was of more merit than merely an active, Celtic imagination playing upon his mind in the loneliness and mystery of the sand world.
No, he knew\ He knew that some thing—or things? —were out there trailing him, if not somehow pacing him in his journeyings, watching and observing, though careful to remain unseen, never seen, by him. While out in the vast reaches of sand on the bike, he could sometimes almost—but not quite— see a presence atop the next dune—or the one closest to left or to right ... or on the one just behind him.
True, he could not sense anything threatening or malicious about the presence, this watcher in lonely places, even when he was become terrifyingly aware of occasional nights that the . . . whatever had somehow passed soundlessly through barred doors or bolted gun ports to share with him his very cabin. Nonetheless, he always felt a bit better for the pull of the canvas-webbing sling on his shoulder, the sagging weight of the big-bore revolver at his belt.
Earlier on this Friday evening, shortly after his arrival on his regular weekly
Despite the fact that he had come to simply accept the sand world, seldom thinking about the many very odd (to say the least!) facets of his discovery of and repeated entries into it, there were some things that he could not ignore. One of these was the peculiar time difference between the world into which he had been born and in which he had lived most of his life and the sand world. He had quickly found that a mere day or so in the sand world meant that he would be gone from the other world for several days and nights.
One result of this anomaly had been that he hardly ever saw his friend Bartlett anymore, since he had felt obliged to arrange with the postmaster to not any longer trouble the carrier with trying to make route delivery of his mail, but rather to drive to the post office, when and as he "got back from his frequent trips" and pick up the mail.
As the aft cabin of the wrecked bireme was wider, longer and higher than either of the other two, Fitz had there established his sand world pied-a-terre. With a folding canvas cot, air mattress, light sleeping bag, a chemical toilet and camp stove, in addition to the gas lanterns and the table, chair and stools dragged in from the next-largest cabin, he made it quite a comfortable home away from home.
In the largest of the two side cabins he stored his bike, along with necessary tools and parts, lubricants and gasoline for it and for the stove and lanterns. In the smaller, he stored hardware, weapons and ammunition, canned and freeze-dried foodstuffs, liquor and water. He had as yet to come across any save salty sea water in his extensive explorations of the sand world, though he felt certain that there must be some somewhere, for the ponies and birds must surely drink.
Although he often felt a bit silly lugging carbine, revolver and weighty ammo in this empty country, still a nagging, frequent sensation that he was being watched, observed by some unseen sentience led him to strap on his weapons whenever he set out on any exploratory trip.
He could not tag time or place to the first time he had felt the invisible presence, save that he was sure that it had been at some time after he had begun to actually live, off and on, in the sand world. Not that it was really a new feeling for Fitz to experience; he,
along with his siblings and both his parents had all their lives had the ability—often a singularly unpleasant ability—to feel, to sense the presence of noncorporeal entities and influences in buildings and places; therefore, he knew that his sensory awareness of this something as yet unseen was of more merit than merely an active, Celtic imagination playing upon his mind in the loneliness and mystery of the sand world.
No, he knew\ He knew that some thing—or things? —were out there trailing him, if not somehow pacing him in his journeyings, watching and observing, though careful to remain unseen, never seen, by him. While out in the vast reaches of sand on the bike, he could sometimes almost—but not quite— see a presence atop the next dune—or the one closest to left or to right ... or on the one just behind him.
True, he could not sense anything threatening or malicious about the presence, this watcher in lonely places, even when he was become terrifyingly aware of occasional nights that the . . . whatever had somehow passed soundlessly through barred doors or bolted gun ports to share with him his very cabin. Nonetheless, he always felt a bit better for the pull of the canvas-webbing sling on his shoulder, the sagging weight of the big-bore revolver at his belt.
Earlier on this Friday evening, shortly after his arrival on his regular weekly
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