Sentaku: A Short Story Anthology

Preface

The purpose of this publication is to showcase the craftsmanship of fiction writers–those who, by the power of imagination and hard work, both inspire and entertain. This eBook will provide a platform for those seeking to promote their work and provide an opportunity to further develop their skills as writers.

Sentaku is a Japanese word that means selection, choice or option. Simply enough, this book is a collection of fiction: an anthology of short stories from seven gifted and aspiring writers. While the title of this book may not seem especially profound, the stories here contained are quite to the contrary. Each of the featured authors brings an entirely unique perspective, style, genre and flavor to this choice group of fiction. Whether you fancy talking dragons and post-apocalyptic wastelands or military campaigns into the far reaches of outer space, there is a story here for you.

Please join me in supporting the following authors. With great anticipation, I invite you to enjoy the treasure that is Sentaku: A Short Story Anthology.

Reid A. Peterson

THE INCIDENT AT MESSER’S BUTTE

Marshall Harrup

August 4th, 2019

I was unhitching the mule from the plow when the truck pulled up. It was nicer than most of the trucks UFO hunters drove; their hobby tended to drain the vehicle budget a bit. It was silver, though, and that fit. I always figured the idea was to look like the vehicles they kept trying to find; at least this guy hadn't put a fiberglass saucer on the roof of his cab.

I started towards the truck, leading the mule. Might as well greet whoever it was and gauge how crazy they were before walking away from them to the barn. The driver's door opened, and in the light dust it appeared that a child stepped out. Then they began to walk towards me and I stopped moving.

He was a midget, but his face was strikingly familiar. Not the same, but very much like a face I'd seen decades ago. He stopped too, and recognized the shock on my face.

Hi, I'm Dell Tanner. He extended his hand. I'm looking for information about the Roswell crash. I know you've probably had visits from plenty of kooks over the years, but you're one of the very few left around who was in the area back then.  He glanced up and down at me. I must say, Mr. Deevers, you look remarkable for your eighties. I laughed.

Well, Mr. Tanner, the desert does tend to preserve things. Let me stable Jess and I'll meet you in the house. It isn't locked. A few minutes later he was sitting at my table while I boiled some water for tea. Mr. Tanner, you're right. I have had many, many visits from kooks over the years. I have told the same story numerous times, and even been interviewed by two different newspapers. To be honest, you don't seem like you're off your rocker. What exactly are you hoping to get from me? I had an idea of the answer. His family obviously had strong genes, not just for height. But I also wanted to see how honest he would be with me.

My great-uncle disappeared just over seventy years ago. He was short, like me. Dwarfism runs in our family to a degree, but he and I had it to the greatest extent of anyone in recent generations. I retired not too long ago, and decided to make it my mission to track him down. It's been difficult, to say the least. But I have uncovered that he joined the army during world war two. He was obviously unfit for the draft, and was very patriotic. All that my grandfather remembered was that an opportunity came up that my uncle got very excited about, a way he could serve his country. Then he disappeared a few years later.

I had been nodding the whole time, and stood up as he finished talking. I'll be right back. I went upstairs to the spare bedroom, moved the nightstand to the side, and carefully lifted a floorboard. I brought the package underneath downstairs and handed it to Dell. Alright. You get the whole truth.

June 20th, 1947

Hey Pa, I said. Can I get a teaspoon of black powder? There's a cactus stump back of the barn that I just can't budge. Ma wants to plant another okra patch back there.

Pa tossed me the keys to the old shed. The leftover black powder was from when his grandpa tried to prospect his way to better fortune; the keys were from Pa's time stationed at the armory in San Diego during the war. He kept everything dangerous locked up, except his shotgun and my rifle.

I ran around the corner to the shed. Ma was clipping the laundry to the line, and a slight breeze was blowing. We were grateful for any air movement; summer in New Mexico was no joke. The last couple weeks of school the teacher let us go out under the trees outside the building, so none of us would pass out. I unlocked the shed, and started digging around for the black powder. I had turned twelve not too far previous, and Pa gave me the lay of the land about my responsibilities as an up and coming man, chiefly learning to run our little farm and take care of Ma. I took the black powder and the fuse roll, and marched the hundred feet to the barn very carefully. Old powder gets sensitive to shock.

I spooned a little bit of the powder into the hole I'd dug alongside the stump, laid one end of the fuse, and started putting dirt back over the explosive. Then I ran the fuse back to around the corner of the house, yelled out that I was lighting the fuse, and did so. The spark traveled quickly along the small cord, and about a minute later a flash and dull whump showed the powder had exploded. The stump lay to the side; it hadn't come completely out of the ground, but it was loose now.

It took me the rest of the day to get the stump out, stopping for a drink every so often. By the time I finished, Ma was calling for dinner. I'm pretty sure I was asleep even before I hit the pillow, even without undressing. That turned out to be a good thing.

I woke up; for a few minutes I had no idea what had disturbed me. Then I remembered hearing a load crash and dull thud, almost like a blasting powder charge way down deep in a mine. I heard rustling in Ma and Pa's room, and knocked softly on the wall.

Pa, did you hear something?

Yeah. Only thing I can figure out here is a plane crash. Get your boots on, son. We need to go see if someone's in trouble. Ma, get your kit out and get the table cleared off. If anyone's alive they'll be in bad shape.

No one else lived closer than two miles to us, and Pa was certain the sound had come from the opposite direction, back amongst the canyons. He had grabbed his shotgun. In the middle of the night like this, we didn't want to run into a pack of coyotes unarmed. We drove down the road towards the canyons. Pa stopped the truck and climbed up, scanning the area with his binoculars. The moon was good size, and the stars gave plenty of light too.

I see something that looks like a fire. Somewhere between Old Canyon and Messer's Butte. The truck won't go all the way in, but we will get as close as we can. We were another hour in the truck picking our way along dried riverbeds until we had to get out. Sound carries in the desert air; we had already traveled three miles, and Pa estimated another mile to where he saw the fire.

Pa, do you think anyone's still alive by now?

I don't know, son. But we're no help at all if we break our necks rushing through canyons to get there.

Finally, at close to two in the morning by Pa's pocket watch, we climbed up the side of a small canyon to what was, after all, a crash site. I didn't know what to expect, I had never even seen a plane except in the sky. But Pa looked startled, and that scared me.

The brush for dozens of yards around was smoldering. It looked like the initial blaze had been intense; there were a couple of places where big rocks looked like they had split. Pa shone his torch around, trying to get an idea of which direction the plane had been moving. Finally he spotted a cactus trunk, and the top of the cactus fifty feet beyond.

Come, boy. I think they're in this direction! We moved quickly; the ground had deep, fresh furrows as if something had reached down and scraped huge claws along the ground. Then Pa stopped short, looking down into another canyon.

That doesn't look like a plane, Pa.

No, son. I think that's something else. And it must run on different fuel; gasoline wouldn't cause rocks to split like back there. We started to climb down. If I had to guess, this isn't a propeller craft. You can see how the entire thing looks like half a wing; I bet the other part is close by. I think this is some new aircraft. I thought it looked like a bird, and said so. Birds are the best flyers, and they hold their wings different ways for better speed, distance, or maneuverability. Man had tried to mimic bird flight for nearly a century, maybe this is the latest attempt.

We finally got down to the wrecked plane. There was heat still, even long after any fire had burned itself out.

Let's move around the torn side. If there's a way in and anyone left alive, we will probably have to make a hole, Pa said, as he kept moving. I put my work gloves on as we worked our way around. There was shredded metal everywhere, and a lot of it was likely hot enough to scorch skin. I got around the side first and started pulling on a sheet of metal that had bent over the hole in the frame. 

Pa, I need help! I think I found a way in, but this won't budge! Pa finished picking his way under the tail of the plane, and grabbed hold next to me. It took every bit of both of our strength to bend the sheet back a little.

Son, I know it's a lot to ask. But do you think you could squeeze in there and look around? If there is a canopy release or something it could open up a bigger hole. I wasn't sure what would be in there... and wasn't keen on seeing a dead body if I could help it. Pa saw me hesitate and put his hand on my shoulder. Listen, son. At some point in life we all have to come to terms with death.  Once the spirit's left, what's behind can't hurt a soul. But I need you to get in there and see if there's anyone alive, while I look for something to pry the frame back further. You can do it.  I looked up at him, and knowing he relied on me gave me the courage to step through that hole.

I had my electric torch and shone it around. The inside was very dark and cramped; it looked like Pa wouldn't fit inside even if he got through the hole. Suddenly I realized the entire thing was upside down; there were buttons and switches near my feet, and when I looked up—

I almost screamed. I'm ashamed to say it, but the sight of two small bodies hanging there turned my feet to rocks and my knees to jelly. They were strapped into seats and the arms and heads hung straight down.  I stood there for a minute without moving before I remembered to breath again. I could hear Pa moving around outside, then he called out.

Son, are you all right?  I think I found a piece of the frame to help open up this hole more. What do you see?

I- There's- Then I sobbed. Pa, there's two dead kids in here! They're just hanging, the seats are on the roof, and they don't look any bigger than me!

They're kids?? I don't understand... I'm so sorry, son. You can come out now. Do you see any sort of hatch release? I looked around, and noticed a third empty seat. Directly below