Four Ways to Uncover a Time Traveler

by Ryan Walraven

“He’s definitely a time traveler.  No doubt.”

“Jules, you’re being paranoid.  Or delusional.” 

He shot me a look. 

“Or both.” I glanced down the train car at the man in question. “He’s just a normal guy with a strange sense of style.”

Jules raised a bushy eyebrow at me. “How can you be so sure?” Normally I would have shaken this off as another one of his dramatic episodes, but as we rode the rattling Japanese train southward the wall of darkness outside seemed to add weight to his words. We weren’t exactly on one of the central lines, either.  This was the old Omi electric, leading through the rural mountain towns of central kansai. 

I turned back from the window. “Look, maybe this guy is a little weird, but just because he’s wearing a cape doesn’t mean he’s some sort of Star Trek character.”

“You’re right, that’s preposterous.” 

I smiled victoriously, but he raised his index finger and went on. 

“Time travel is a rare occurrence in the Star Trek universe.”

He snorted as the relief drained from my face.  I had a bad feeling that this was going to lead to another incident.

“This isn’t another one of your conspiracy theories, is it?” I checked my cell phone wearily.  Still fifteen minutes until Yokaichi station and the train was rattling around more than ever. I loosened my school-issue necktie and tried to get comfortable. “I’ve heard enough of time travelers, extraterrestrials, and undead samurai for one lifetime. Can’t we enjoy a single commute without pretending we’re in one of your weird stories?”

“Hey!” He frowned and jammed his hands in his pockets, turning away and looking out the window. “You said you liked the samurai story.”

“Well,” I paused, clearing my throat, “that was just  a story.”

“Well this isn’t.  Look at that guy,” Jules waved a hairy arm in the man’s direction. “He meets all four criteria for time travelers. And…” he paused an raised his index finger for dramatic effect, “I think he’s been stalking me.”

He was trying to get me to bite. “No.  Just no, Jules. He is not stalking you,” I chopped my left hand into the palm of my right and indicated the accused man.    

“The guy is totally staring at us,” Jules appealed in a furious whisper. 

“Or he’s daydreaming.”

“About assassinating one of us to accomplish his mission.”

I laughed. “Look, even if he is a time traveler, why would he be stalking you: a high school junior with no extracurricular activities, poor communication skills, and an after school job selling otaku stuff on ebay? If you weren’t so weird, you’d be the most boring person I know.”

“Wow Wells, thanks man. I have some aspirations other than living in Japan my whole life, you know. Not everybody’s dad can be ambassador or whatever your dad does.”

“Secretary to the trade secretary,” I said, rolling my eyes and undoing the top button of my shirt.  “We’ve been through this about ten times, now.” 

“I’m going to be a professional writer and political blogger as soon as I get out of samurai land.  You’ll see,” he folded his arms across his chest and looked away from me. 

“Alright, I’m sorry,” I sighed. I might as well be nice if we were going to be riding the train together all year. “Tell me about these four signs.”

“What signs?” he smirked and raised his bushy eyebrows again. 

“God dammit,” I cursed and wound up to punch him in the shoulder, but the train hit a bump and nearly knocked me off my feet. Even my judo-club training couldn’t help me keep my balance on these death traps. The engines were whining like the Millennium Falcon and we were rolling past the dark rice fields and shadowy mountains outside at quite a velocity  “Just tell me,” I said, lowering my fist, “about the criteria you mentioned.”

“Number one,” he held up his bony index finger like some sort of professor, “strange, atavistic clothing.”

“Ok, I’ll admit it. He’s a qualifier.” I peered down the car at our Japanese stalker. He was staring blankly into the night now, ignoring us and the rest of the passengers. “But what the hell, he probably works for a Renaissance fair or one of those gothic lolita costume shops or something. Anybody could qualify for number one.”

“That’s why there are three more criteria,” he said, crossing his arms and shaking his head at me.

“Ok, I’ll bite. What’s number two?” I said, reaching up and grabbing an overhead strap to steady myself against the motion of the train. Outside, snow was beginning to settle on the window frames. 

“The second criteria,” he said, his eyes gazing outside, “is an unnatural accent. As if he’s trying to speak normally but can’t quite get it right.”

I scoffed. “That’s basically true of everyone in this country,” I said, giving up on standing and squeezing into a seat next to an old Japanese man. The old fellow was staring at me through thick glasses, but my eyes wandered down the car to the man in question – the man in the cape, or was it a hooded cloak? Hadn’t his eyes been gazing in our direction again before he put his hood up? The man crossed his arms and lowered his head but I had the feeling that somewhere beneath his hood his eyes were still peering at me. “So, what’s the third criteria?” I asked, finally dragging my eyes away. 

“A strange preoccupation with watches.”

“That’s fallacious reasoning.”

“How do you mean?” he said, sounding hurt as he lunged for an overhead strap to steady himself.  The train felt ready to derail; outside the brakes were squealing. 

“Time travel.  Watches. Ok, I see the connection, but it’s superficial, like something they would put in a movie.  No real time traveler would be that obvious.”

“Why not?” he said, nearly falling over as the train came to an unexpected halt. Overhead, the speakers emitted an incomprehensible announcement to explain the problem. Jules straightened himself and dusted off the soy sauce stained front of his blazer. Then, he went on, “Assuming he travels frequently to various points in time, he’ll want to  keep several watches to keep track of the local time after he leaves each temporal location.”

“Alright, fair enough. There’s one more criteria, right?”

“Yes, indeed.” He paused and glanced overhead. “The lights are flickering.” I looked up and sure enough he was right. No one else seemed to notice or care. The old man beside me was snoring quietly, his gray beard resting against his chest.

“So what? These old trains are always falling apart.”

Jules glanced down the car at the accused time-traveler, but for all intents and purposes the man looked asleep, hunched over and leaning against the wall. 

“The fourth criteria is his smell. Time traveling leaves a physical and chemical imprint on his body – one that’s difficult to conceal.”

“So what?” I leaned my head over and took a brief whiff of my armpit. “After two hours of judo club I smell pretty bad too, but I’m no time traveler.”

He grimaced. “You’re so weird.”

“At least we have something in common,” I said, jabbing him playfully in the shoulder. 

“Owww!” he whined. “Look, you’ve got the wrong idea.  They don’t smell like BO. There’s still deodorant in the future. The smell is strange, chemical, like new car scent mixed with air-conditioned air.”

“Alright. So who’s going to test him for that criteria?”

He shrugged and adjusted his glasses. “This is all theoretical, of course.”

I threw my hands in the air and let them fall to my sides. “That’s it? You’re just going to leave it at that?”

“Well I’m not going over there. Especially on a night like this.” He indicated the flickering lights and the ice crystals forming on the train windows. 

“Are you asking me to go?”

“No.”  He shook his head emphatically. “I’m just going to keep an eye on him. Maybe I’ll snap a few cell phone photos for good measure.”

“You know Jules, I wouldn’t mind…”


“I’ll do it.”  A grin started to spread on my face. 


“Seriously. Comon, I know you man. The whole reason you brought this up is so you could get me to go over there and scope this guy out, right?”

He stared at his shoes and adjusted his glasses. “You are a brown belt.”

“Alright.” I stood up and cinched my leather belt, waking the old Japanese man in the process.  “I’ve got this.”

“No, Wells,” he persisted, “it’s alright. The guy could be dangerous.”

“Dangerous is my middle name,” I grinned, loosening my necktie further and cracking my neck.  “Besides, there’s no way this guy is actually a time traveler. If he is, I’ll sneak over to a vending machine later and buy you a beer.”

He adjusted his glasses and shook his head at me, his shoulders hunched.

I strode down the train car toward the man and he seemed not to notice; as I got closer, I couldn’t help but check for strange smells. There was nothing unusual except the burnt plastic smell coming out of the train’s heating vents.  Finally, I came up to him and leaned against the window beside him. 

“Strange night, eh?”

His chin slowly lifted and he blinked at me from beneath his hood. “Hmm?”

“Strange stuff,” I said in Japanese this time, “first the snow storm and now the train stopped out here in the middle of nowhere.  Probably only four minutes away from Yokaichi, too.”

He nodded and licked his lips, as if tasting the words before he spoke.

“Uncanny,”  he answered in almost perfect English. There was only the slightest hint of an accent. 

The answer jolted me for a second. I had expected something in Japanese. I blinked at him and he folded his arms across his chest, yawning. 

I pried on. “You wouldn’t happen to know the time would you?”

He raised an eyebrow at me as if to ask ‘are you kidding?’ but then pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and glanced at the time. “Eight fifty.  Our journey has run very late.”

“Thanks,” I went on, shooting an ‘I told you so’ look at Jules. No watches. “You have somewhere to be?  Work?”


I coughed into my fist and glanced out the window. The snow was really coming down now.  Presumably the conductor was outside, shoveling off the tracks with his hat or something. “So, uh, that’s an interesting outfit you have on. You work at a clothing store?”

He cocked his head back.  His lips were curling into a slight smile. “No,” he shook his head. 

“A museum?”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “I simply find these garments comfortable.”

I leaned in closer to the man and glanced about conspiratorially. “Look, I’m sorry for bothering you. I know this is ridiculous, but my friend down there,” I said, turning and jacking my thumb in Jules’ direction, “he thinks you’re a time traveler.”

“Hah hah hah.” The man laughed, each syllable oddly disparate, like the cars of the train. He didn’t seem to get the joke. “Your friend must be very strange,” he said, stretching out the last words. 

“Yeah, he is.” I shrugged. “Sorry for bothering you and thanks for clearing that up.”

I strode back down the car to Jules, jamming my hands in my pockets with the thumbs hanging out. He rubbed his temple with his hand, mortified.

“Nothing,” I said, holding my hands out in appeal. “No smell, a pretty normal accent – solid English, actually – and a cell phone to tell the time. Sorry Jules.”

He sighed and leaned himself against the window. “Why do you always do this?”


“Embarrass me in front of people.”

I shook my head. “What are you talking about? It’s not me buddy, this was your idea.”

“You didn’t have to act like I’m some sort of kook in front of the whole train,” he waved his hands at the other passengers, his cheeks red. 

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. “Look, nobody cares. That guy could have been a psycho just waiting for some white gaijin to kidnap. I put myself on the line there and this is how you thank me?”

He sat down next to the old man and crossed his arms without saying a word. As if in response, the train started up again and began rolling down the tracks. 

“Don’t look now,” he said, “but that guy is coming back to kidnap you, Mr. Dangerous.”

I bit my tongue and turned. Sure enough the man was heading in our direction, his cloak trailing behind him. He had his arms crossed in an X shape, like a gunslinger reaching inside his cloak for his six-shooters. 

I shrunk back defensively, but all he removed from inside the cloak was his cell phone. 

“I apologize,” he said, bowing slightly. Long hair spilled out of the hood, “but my cell phone is in a state of malfunction. The time,” he said, rolling up his sleeve to reveal an arm covered in watches, “is nine fifteen.” He dragged out the last word again, then smiled, bowed and walked away back down the train. 

My jaw dropped. “Wow. Jules, man. Do you think…?”

He silenced me with a wave of his hand and rose from his seat, staring after the man.  “Don’t worry about it,” he straightened his necktie and lifted his head, “we’ll discuss it after you buy me that beer.”

I cleared my throat. “If we ever get off this train, I’ll buy you two.”

Outside, the dark landscape was rolling by again, but now it was the inside of the train that seemed foreign to me. We had only three minutes left to Yokaichi, so I didn’t take a seat. Instead, I joined Jules and surveyed the other passenger with a weary eye. 

“You know, that woman in the back is awfully pale,” he said, a grin spreading on his face. 

I shook my head.  “Zombie or vampire?”

© Ryan Walraven 2015


by Ryan Walraven

Harold pressed his nose to the cold glass of the convenience store window and stared longingly at the street lights outside. Flurries were drifting down from somewhere high in the troposphere and they seemed to give a majesty to the evening that he was neither accustomed to nor inclined to associate himself with. The entire city was abuzz with life; bustling crowds of holiday shoppers had descended to roam the pine-scented shops and watch the Christmas lights go up. But unlike them, Harold was tethered to the counter of the Save-And-Go. Snow or no snow, someone had to guard the smoothie machine and sell donuts to the consumerist hordes.

“Hey Harold!” a cheery voice called from over his shoulder. “Stand there any longer and your tongue will freeze to the window.”

Harold put on a smile and peeled himself away from the view to face the fluorescent reality of the store. “My face is still intact, thanks,” he said. “I was just watching for the milk delivery truck.”

Josh, his boss, gave him a skeptical look and tapped his watch. “Not tonight,” he smiled, “the milk delivery comes on Saturdays.”

“Oh, right,” Harold gave a shrug, “I forgot. All of these days seem to blur together.”

Josh gave a curt laugh. “Keep talking like that and it’s going to be a long month,” he said, wagging his finger. “Business is going to pick up over the holidays, but most of your coworkers are out of town.”

Harold tapped his fingers on the plastic wood of the counter and restrained the urge to groan.  He knew where this was going. “Well, I’ll be here on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays as usual.”

Of course,” Josh said, snapping his fingers and squeezing his eyes shut. He was dancing around the subject, Harold could tell, and strategizing as he listened to the Sinatra pouring out of the speakers overhead.

Harold averted his eyes, compulsively clicking the receipt-signing pen open and closed.

“You know,” Josh said, winding up and putting his hand on Harold’s shoulder, “If you could use some extra hours for the holidays, the store would love to have you.”

No. No. Harold closed his eyes and bit his tongue, but he couldn’t think of a reply and somehow the words came rolling out: “Sure, I guess.”

Harold turned his head and sighed. This would probably mean working on Christmas eve. Somewhere inside of him, part of his soul collapsed like an arthritic grandma on a hot city street.

“Thataboy!” Josh said, thumping him on the shoulder and shaking Harold like a limp mop. “You’re awesome, Har!”

“You know,” Harold said, rubbing his shoulder. “You have unusually strong arms for such a skinny guy.”

Josh laughed and thumped him on the shoulder again. “You should come to the gym with me sometime!”

This was a request Harold had more practice at refusing. “No thanks man,” he said, patting his flat stomach. “I’m skinny enough as it is.”

“Suit yourself,” Josh said. He winked at Harold and turned to leave.

Harold gave a sigh of relief, but Josh turned back at the last second. “Hey Har, while it’s slow would you mind restocking the shelves?”

“Noooo problem,” he said. Of course he didn’t mind doing all the work. He grabbed a cart and rolled it to the back room, grabbing haphazard bags of potato chips and candy bars, along with a whole array of bottled sodas and tea. Josh hadn’t mentioned the drinks yet, but he would. That was guaranteed.

He rolled back to the floor and found a lone customer roaming the aisles: a skinny teenaged girl with flyaway hair and a serpentine green scarf. She ignored Harold, despite the rattling of his cart, and danced around a shelf of pixie sticks and bubble gum. She was kind of cute in an Ellen Page sort of way, Harold concluded.

He rolled the cart down an adjacent aisle, certain that he’d make it to the soda cases without even attracting a glance from the girl, yet some inexplicable whim struck her and she skipped directly into his path like a gazelle into a freight truck on the African Savanna.

The rolling cart of liquid sugar cane and processed potato barely grazed her knee, but it was enough to send it careening into a candy display. The resulting collision  knocked half a dozen bottles to the floor and engulfed an entire shelf of gummy bears.   

“Whoa, sorry,” she gasped, gaping at the mess.

“It’s nothing,” Harold replied, rolling his eyes and surveying the devastation. The gummy casualties numbered in the hundreds, maybe more, and ruined plastic packages lay all around them.    

“Are you sure you don’t need some help or something?” the girl said, tugging on the draw string of her hoodie.

“Sure, I guess,” Harold mumbled and knelt down to pick the intact sodas away from the mess, his heart beating.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

He sighed; it was pretty much impossible not to imagine the girl making the situation worse. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oook.”  She shrugged and wandered off.   

Harold quickly got to work, but behind him someone cleared their throat.    

He turned and glanced over his shoulder, expecting Josh to demand an explanation, but it was just a customer standing at the register: a guy in the leather jacket leaning on the counter and waiting to be checked out.  Exercising his benign judgment, Harold saved a lone squadron of gummy bears from the disaster and perched them atop one of the shelves. Then, dusting his hands off, he jogged over to the counter and rung up the guy’s items. It was important to keep one’s priorities straight on the job, and small acts of individuality were the only thing that helped him keep his sanity.

“Hrrnhrmnnnn.”  The customer cleared his throat again.

Harold looked up into a pair of bloodshot eyes and noticed several details about the man’s appearance: his hair was long and tangled, his leather jacket was worn and cracked, and his face was covered in a shaggy mustache that curled around into a pair of enormous sideburns. As he looked at Harold, one eye seemed vaguely out of focus.

“Can I help you?” Harold ask, tentatively. 

The man raised a finger to reply and licked his hairy upper lip, but couldn’t seem to get the words out. He thumped his hand on the counter instead, his body quivering.

Harold backed away from the counter, rolling his eyes.  He had experience dealing with these types – the man had probably been having drugged-out convenience store adventures for going on thirty years. Rather than argue with such a veteran, Harold decided to summon Josh right away.  He turned to leave, but the man finally spoke.

“Cigarettes,” the man mumbled, his chin now resting against his chest.

“We don’t carry –” Harold started.

“Cigarettes!” the man shouted. The Sinatra pumping quietly out of the speakers seemed distant and faraway, the store a silent wasteland.

“We don’t sell any,” Harold said, backing up another step and bumping into the wall.

The man’s eyes widened and his gaze drifted shakily to the windows and the snow falling outside. “How… how come you ain’t got no cigarettes?”

“We hate tobacco farmers,” Harold gibed, exasperated as he turned to leave the store and summon Josh. The man lunged over the counter and his hand caught Harold’s shoulder.

“Smokes,” the man reiterated, his breath reeking of smoke and whiskey.

“We don’t have any goddamned cigarettes,” Harold said, losing his temper and smacking the man’s arm away.

The man’s eyes widened and his lip trembled as he surveyed his own arm like some sort of alien artifact. Harold spun and tried again to leave, but the man pushed him from behind and sent Harold tumbling over his own backpack. He fell to the floor behind the counter, his elbow hitting the wall and erupting with pain.

Behind him, the man grunted and moved off into the store mumbling. Harold gave a quick sigh of relief – he was still alive – and tried to haul himself to his feet, but when he put weight on his right arm, the elbow gave way and collapsed. Taking a deep breath and leaning back against the wall, he tried to think reasonably. The best thing to do now would be to call the police. There was a phone nearby on the counter, but Harold concluded that the one in the back office was probably a better choice. He started to get to his feet and froze.

“Hey man, hands off,” the girl with the green scarf said.

“Bitch,” the man growled.

Harold’s mind raced. He dove for the phone cord and dragged it off the counter to where he was hiding.  He held his arm out to catch it, but his heart was beating and his arms were shaking. The phone smacked his arm and clattered to the floor, its receiver shattering into five pieces.

Harold froze.

“Get off me man!” the girl shouted again.

Harold cringed; he didn’t want to get shivved but it was too much to just sit there and listen. Grabbing a broom with his left hand, he unsteadily hauled himself to the counter.

The red-eyed man was standing in the middle of the central aisle, his back to Harold as he faced the girl.

She had her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised.

Overhead, the music stopped. The playlist must have come to an end. Harold gripped the broom in hand like a medieval broad sword and steadied himself. If he lunged just right…

“None uh these people round here,” the man started, stumbling forward and clutching the girl’s arm. “None uh them…”

Harold’s pulse was racing. His mouth had run dry and his right arm felt as if it might break off at the elbow, but he had to do something. He started off from behind the counter and raised the broom to swing, but before he could, the girl went crazy.

“Get the fuck off of me!” she screamed, pushing the guy back into a shelf of potato chips. The man’s bloodshot eyes looked as startled as Harold felt. She stomped up a step closer and pointed at the man’s face and then out the door. “Seriously. Get the hell out of here old man!”

The man’s lip trembled and he pushed himself to his feet, crushing potato chips and corn curls under his palms. Harold’s mouth dropped open as he awaited the flash of a fist, or a knife, but the man got to his feet and stumbled past, straight out the door.

“Some people,” the girl said, shaking her head. “Are you alright?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess” Harold said, shaking his head and limping back to the counter. “Fine.”

“You shouldn’t let guys like that push you around,” she said, carrying a pack of gummy worms to the counter as if nothing had happened. “He’s just a drugged-out creep.”

Harold laughed curtly and rang her up. “Hey,” he said, as she walked out the door.

“Huh?” she turned, her hair wafting in the draft out of the heating ducts.

“Nevermind,” Harold said, shaking his head and rubbing his elbow.

“See you later.” She waved and left.

As if on cue, Josh returned to the store, but Harold had made up his mind.

“Did I miss anything?” Josh joked, cracking a smile.

“The music went off,” Harold shook his head and walked to the counter, leaning the broom against the Tic-Tac display. “And I quit,” he said quietly.

“Excuse me, Har?”

“I said I quit.”

“I thought so,” Josh replied, eyeballing Harold. “Are you messing with me?”

“No.”  Harold grabbed his bag and jacket from under the counter and turned to go, but stopped. “No,” he said again, “not this time.”

The automatic doors parted with a hiss and he passed out into the night, subconsciously searching for signs of a green scarf, but the whirling snowflakes were thick, covering everything, and he couldn’t see far beyond glow of the store front.

© Ryan Walraven 2015

Snow, Ones, and Zeros

by Ryan Walraven

    “School,” the word barely escaped her lips, a curse more than a realization. She wiped the sleep crust from the corners of her eyes and sat up, groggy from staying up late and playing games.

    “Kat!” her mother called again as the smell of bacon wafted up from the kitchen.

    Kat dragged her legs from beneath her purple blankets and shivered as she set her feet on the cold floorboards. Even bacon wasn’t worth waking up for on a February morning.

    “Kat!” her mother shouted more shrilly this time.

    “I’ll be down in a minute,” she mumbled, stumbling to her old desktop computer and flicking the monitor on. It wasn’t much, but then again, most eleven years olds didn’t have their own computers. Her parents had bought it for her when she got skipped ahead to the seventh grade.

    She slipped on her NetSet, the virtual glasses most kids used to immerse themselves in the glowing world of the Net, and Reddit, her homepage, popped out of the screen in 3D. Her computer was so old that it could barely register her physical gestures as she flicked in and out of articles, and it couldn’t simulate touch, taste, or smell at all.        

    Whatever, she thought. It was better than nothing.

    None of the stories on the Reddit front page stuck out, so she clicked on a link to r/Games and was quickly immersed in floating turtles, castles, and cartoon knights. Her dad had the parental controls revved up pretty high, so the more violent stuff was out of sight, but she knew how to circumvent them when it suited her.

    “Katherine Woo! This is your last warning,” her mother called up the stairs.

    She groaned and let her head loll back, then removed the NetSet and stumbled down the stairs. Fresh bacon, oatmeal, and green tea awaited, a standard Woo family breakfast. Oddly, though, her father was absent.

    “Dad left for work early?” she asked, her voice a hoarse squeak.

    Her mother crossed her arms and shook her head. “You should pay more attention to the news, Kat.”

    Kat shrugged. “Why?” she asked through a mouthful of bacon. “Did he win the Nobel Prize for corporate coding?” She twirled her hand in the air in sarcastic celebration.

    Rolling her eyes, her mother peeled back the kitchen curtain to reveal a window partially obscured with snow. “School is closed,” she said. “I waited to wake you, but I still have to go to work.”

    Kat dropped her fork and burst from her chair, dancing and shaking her butt. “Wooohooo!”

    “I have to get going,” her mom said, lifting her purse and jacket from the coat-rack. “Stay inside and get some studying done, alright?”

    She paused her dancing and shot her mother a glare. “Mommmmm.”

    “At least practice your coding. High school’s not that far away, you know.” She wagged a finger at Kat. “They want kids who know their algorithms these days, and not just the old C stuff. Do you want to get into Hopkins, or waste your time at some state school like UMBC, hmm?”

    “Alright.” She sighed .

    “And don’t forget your Geometry either,” her mom added, slipping her jacket on.

    “Yes, mom.”

    Her mom smiled and rubbed a hand through Kat’s hair, then hugged her. “Your father should be back by five, but I won’t back from the hospital until eight. If you’re hungry, there’s leftover miso in the refrigerator.”

    “OK,” she nodded.

    “And stay inside, seriously. It’s only twenty degrees out there and the wind’s kicking up. OK?”

    Kat nodded again and, finally, her mother scooted out the door, keeping an eye on her until the very moment the door clicked shut. As soon as Kat heard the lock turn, she cheered and danced up the stairs, straight to her computer. She slipped her NetSet back on and resumed her web browsing, heading to the Final Fantasy Reddit and floating through disembodied castles with articles pasted to the walls, then skipping over to r/Hax0rz to see if there was any interesting coding news. Then it hit her, she should check out the Catonsville subreddit to see if there was any info about the snow.

    The place was bare bones, just text links like something out of the early 10’s, and the only recent links she saw were a post about ultimate frisbee and a picture of a giant snow phallus. Yawning, she waved her hand back and forth and refreshed the page compulsively until, surprisingly, a new post popped up.

    “Snow Day and Internet Hangouts at my Place?” the title read. It was by CvGamerGrl16, aka Christine, her math tutor from the high school down the road.

    “I have to go to this,” Kat whispered, clicking on the link. Christine was head of the Indie Programming Club at Catonsville High, a total genius, and would probably get into an awesome school like Berkeley when she graduated.

    “Hot Chocolate and an epic snowball fight!” was all the description said.

    Kat tapped a finger on the air in front of her screen and brought up her instant messenger; sure enough, CvGamerGrl16 was online.

    “Hey, mind if I come over today too?”

    “O, hai Kat,” Christine’s avatar said, smiling and adjusting its hair. “Sure! As long as it’s OK with your mom. It’s off of Rolling Rd., 1940 Norris St.”

    Kat jumped. The snow day was going to be awesome!

    She sprinted to her closet and surveyed her clothes. High Schoolers were probably going to be there, so she would have to stay warm, but also look savvy. Tossing more clothes out of the closet than she would wear all week, she settled on something bright, muffled by additional layers of outerwear – thermal jogging pants, her coat, scarf, hat, and gloves. A smattering of blues, greens, and whites, at least the outfit sort of looked coherent. She wasn’t usually much for fashion, but she would be at high school in a year or two (especially if she got skipped ahead again) and it would be useful to have friends before she got there. As long as the girls at Christine’s didn’t compare bra sizes, she would probably be OK.

    “More than I can say for the school I’m at now,” she grumbled, slinging her scarf around her neck and slipping her keys into her pocket. When it came to socializing, she had an easier time of it on websites and game servers than she did at the small Catholic School where her parents sent her. The place didn’t even have a gaming club, let alone the capability for 3D graphic design! Everyone just played soccer or basketball, or some other analog hobby.

    Lady of the Holy Well. The school even had a terrible name. She groaned and tried not to think about it, slipping her mobile NetSet on under her cat-ear hat. It would keep her HUD (heads up display) up while she traveled and give her directions and, besides, she never went anywhere without her Set. It wasn’t much compared to what most kids carried around these days, but she had scrounged it up from a junk shop and was quite proud of it, green tinted lenses and all.

    Outside her front door, the snow was falling so thickly that the sun was completely obscured by a woolen sky and the virtual garden gnomes she had placed on the lawn were shivering, huddled in an igloo by the door. They were only visible to her, of course, and other people who passed by with NetSets linked up the the virtual world. Most kids traveled everywhere with them, but adults tended to be more moderate, so it was entirely possible her parents hadn’t even noticed her handiwork.

    She stomped down the steps and nearly slipped across a patch of ice and into the gnomes’ igloo. “Hey! Watch it!” one of them shouted, shaking a fist at her.

    “Log off already,” she retorted, shaking her head as the creature stormed back inside, grumbling the whole way.

    She tapped the ethereal map icon in the corner of her vision and brought up Christine’s house. It was a little less than four miles away, which didn’t sound too far. She brushed the snow from the rim of her glasses and started off down the sidewalk.

    The first ten minutes wasn’t bad and she had a fun time of kicking snow everywhere and sending other people’s virtual creations scattering. It was surprising, actually, how ubiquitous the virtual facades had become. Some of the houses along the way were turned into hulking fortresses, others into gingerbread houses. Considering rule 34 of the internet, one couldn’t help but wonder what was going on behind closed doors.

    It wasn’t until she knelt down to scratch a cartoon squirrel’s nose that things went amiss.

    “Hey Woowoo!” a voice shouted from over her shoulder. She turned just in time to get slammed in the face with a snowball. It cracked her VGlasses and knocked her straight off her feet and into a snow mound. She groaned and got back up as snow trickled down the back of her jacket, then turned to see two boys from the down the road leering at her: Mark and Jyles, aka MonkeyMark and JKing797. They were decked out in black snow gear and dark, tinted VGlasses, but their appearances had been altered to make them appear as giant dark knights to anyone else wearing a Set.

    “Whatsa matter, Kitty-Kat? Did you get out of the house and get lost?” Mark jeered, laughing through his black, baboon-shaped virtual helmet.

    “Leave me alone, 8-bit,” she said, crushing snow between her fingers and growling.

    “Or else what? You’ll perk your cat ears at us?” Mark went on. Jyles kept silent, but had his eyebrow raised at her in a disturbing way.

    Kat’s heart was pounding and she wanted nothing more than to leap on the boys and smash snow into their faces, but it was hopeless; it was two against one and they were way taller. Mark hefted an armored arm at her, peeling his finger back and gesturing her over. “Just come over here for a second, then we’ll leave you alone.”

    Kat’s head swam as icy breaths puffed out of her mouth. She narrowed her eyes, slung a fistful of snow at the boys and took off running down the icy sidewalk. What had seemed like pretty snow-strewn pavement moments before was now a treacherous obstacle course. Her legs began to ache as she pounded through the calf high drifts and turned a corner, heading towards Rolling Rd., a major intersection and probably somewhat safer. Along the sidewalk to either side of her virtual critters stared with wide eyes and pointed.

    A quick glance over her shoulder showed that the boys were still in pursuit. She ducked as another snowball just missed her head, then sprinted off again into the swirling snowstorm. This turned out to be her second mistake. The first one was not taking off her NetSet when they it cracked.

    The combination of virtual critters and snowflakes dancing before her eyes obscured her vision and she crashed right into an old telephone poll, slamming her head and falling over backward.

    “Owww,” she cried, getting to her knees and reaching a hand up to her head. Her glasses, at least, were still intact.

    “Oh no, did the lil cat hurt itself?” Mark’s voice called out from behind her. She looked up from the snow, where blood was dripping in bright red drops, to see Mark’s face directly in front of hers. “Here,” he said, grinning and smashing more snow in her face, “this should help with the scrape.”

    “Aghh!” she screamed and thrashed at him, but Jyles pushed her up against the telephone poll with a hand against her throat.

    “We told you not to run,” he said. His oblong black-knight’s helmet shaking side to side at her. Behind the translucent image, she could see his long, ugly face. “What do we do with her now, Marky?”

    Mark cracked his knuckles and grinned, but then a miracle happened. With a squeal of tires, a mail truck plowed into the snow on the side of the street and came to a screeching halt.

    “What in Feynman’s name is going on over here, boys?” Mustafa, the tall, black mailman for their area climbed out of his truck.

    “Shouldn’t you like… be off today?” Jyles said, releasing Kat’s throat.

    “Neither snow nor rain, nor heat or dark of power outage,” Mustafa said, hefting a package in his hand and quoting the creed. He gave the boys a glare, raised his eyebrows and, without another word, sent them running down the street.

    “You OK, Kat?” he said, helping her to her feet.

    “Yeah,” she said, stretching and feeling her forehead. “Just a few bumps and scrapes.”

    “You gotta watch out for guys like that,” he said, shaking his head. “Times come and go, but troublemakers never change.”

    “I would have been OK if I wasn’t so clumsy. I ran right into that pole.”

    “You know,” Mustafa said, wiping her forehead with a handkerchief and readjusting her Set her for, “maybe you should give this thing a rest.”

    “Maybe,” she said with a sigh, “but it helps with directions.”

    “And wait a minute, girl. What are you doing out in this weather? I bet your momma doesn’t know about this little adventure of yours.”

    Kat blushed, readjusted her NetSet, and shrugged without saying anything.

    “You get along home now and I won’t say anything next time I see her, alright?”

    She nodded and took off around the corner, turning just in time to shout out to him. “Thanks!”

    Kat, of course, had no intention of going home. She was already halfway to her destination and a little snow down her back and a scrape on her head weren’t going to stop her from rubbing elbows with the President of the Game Programming Club. As soon as Mustafa had his back turned, she cut a corner and made her way back to Rolling Rd., aiming straight for the nearby 7-11. Her hands felt half frozen and if she was going to make it, she’d half to stop for something warm.

    A few blocks away, the store’s digital cartoon 7 greeted her with a wave and a hello from atop the store. She ducked inside and the warmth was an instant blessing. She hasn’t realized how cold her nose and ears were until they started to thaw. Grabbing a hot chocolate, she scrounged up all the change she could from her pockets, paid, and huddled beneath a heating vent in the back of the store.

    It had been an hour since she left home, she noted, looking at the store clock. She must be halfway there by now. A tap on her virtual map showed that she only had 1.4 miles left. Noting it, she gulped down the last of her hot chocolate, readjusted her cat ears, and prepared to dive back into the storm. That was when she heard laughter; Mark and Jyles were walking around the store.

    Her stomach lurched. She could see the horned top of Jyles black knight helmet bobbing above the products in a nearby aisle.

    “She’s got to be here somewhere,” Mark’s voice said.

    Gulping, she dropped her empty hot chocolate and looked for an escape route. If she ran for the front door, they were sure to see her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a door marked ‘Staff Only.’ Surely there were cameras nearby, but the clerks had their backs turned and the boys were growing closer…

    With a grunt, she pushed open the heavy metal door and spun into a world of chilled drinks and stacked potato chip bags. Fumbling about in the dark, she noticed warning lights popping up in her Set’s display; her system was alerting her that she had been detected. Panicking, she ran toward the back of the room and looked for an exit.

   Someone behind her a door opened. “Is someone in here?” a clerk called.

    Kat pushed further into the darkness. Getting caught in there could mean trouble, maybe even expulsion from school. Her life would be ruined. She gulped, then felt her hands press against a door handle. An emergency exit! Without hesitating, she jammed it open and darted into the snow.


    Running at first, she continued up Catonsville’s main thoroughfare and tried to make sure the boys weren’t following her. Gaudy neon signs and digital cartoon mascots greeted her by all the stores, and as she jogged by she couldn’t help noticing that a lot of them were dark inside. The snow was really starting to pile up and the plows were having trouble keeping it off the streets. With luck, she’d be off school for the rest of the week.

    Already, her lungs were beginning to burn with the cold air, so she slowed down and tapped her virtual HUD to look up the weather, but it just fuzzed and flickered. The crack in her NetSet was apparently a result of more than just superficial damage.

    She shivered and wondered what the temperature was. Kat still had her directions up, but if her display shut off altogether and she got lost… it was pretty cold out there. Rubbing her nose with a mittened hand, she trudged on further, kicking at the smiling digital animals by the sidewalk. Elves, gremlins, neon rabbits – the creatures all seemed to be laughing at her or mocking her with wide eyes and smiles, so she grunted and tried to shut them out.

    Her feet grew cold, the wind swirled and stung her ears, and snow flakes battered her face. She had come so far, but still couldn’t help but think of turning back.

    “No, I have to finish this,” she mumbled into the wind, her breath a dense mist. That was the moment her Set chose to give out. Without warning, the display shut off, her HUD disappeared, and she was surrounded by nothing but a green-tinted winter landscape. The cartoon squirrels that had been scampering around her moments before, the cawing ravens and glowing digital Christmas trees – all of them disappeared. Some of them, she realized, she hadn’t even thought of as fake until they vanished.

    “Frak,” she cursed, tapping the glasses and sliding them off. “I hope I remember the directions correctly.” She sighed and slipped them into her jacket pocket. It would probably cost her at least $50 for another second-hand pair.

    Grumbling and kicking the snow into giant white clouds, she walked onward, her heart sinking. Now she wouldn’t be able to see the games Christine had set up around her house or play along if they went inside. And what would the rest of the coders think of a girl who didn’t even have a Set with her? Life just sucked sometimes.

    She shivered and cursed again. “Frak!” She kicked a pile of snow as she turned onto a side street, then watched the detritus falling around her. It was sort of peaceful, actually, without the buzz of digital monsters surrounding her.

    The streets were mostly empty, almost pristine with the fallen snow, and the way it fell on the spires of the old Victorian houses made them look like castles even without their digital decors. “Zounds,” she said, breathing slowly and spinning in the street. There was a whole analog world of Catonsville that she had been oblivious to for ages.

    She stopped to watch some kids build a snowman and then it hit her. Had she even turned on the right street? Where was she? Kat spun and tried to blink away the swirling snowflakes. Where was the street sign? Did streets even have signs anymore? That was when another snowball struck her in the face.

    “Got you again, Woo!” Mark shouted from down the street.

    “Augh!” She sprinted down the street and the two boys followed, coming after her as she rounded a corner and slipped on a patch of ice. Kat groaned as she slid straight into pile of snow beside the curb. She was going to have to do something about her clumsiness streak.

    “Go away,” she growled as the two boys strode up. “How did you even find me?”

    “You’re going to Christine’s thing aren’t you? Why else would you be out here?”

    “Yeah, stupid. It’s like, 25 degrees out here,” Jyles added.

    Kat picked herself up and thought about what Mustafa had said. Without their digital mockups, the two boys just looked like skinny, spoiled children. And she was actually taller than they were. “You ARE going to leave me alone!”

    “Or else what?” Mark added, tossing snow on her head and crossing his arms. Kat fumed. Without his virtual black knight’s outfit, he was just a punk in an expensive pair of glasses.

    Jyles doubled over laughing like and picked up more snow to pour on her. Suddenly, Kat lost it.

    “You’re going to leave me alone!” she shouted, marching up to Mark and jabbing a finger straight into his chest.

    “Whoa!” he said, shoving her arm away and throwing his hands up as if he hadn’t done anything wrong. “Why so hostile, kitten?”

    “Or ELSE!” she added, jabbing him in the chest again,” I’m going to hack into your Set and you’ll be watching nothing but kids’ shows until you’re 21.”

    Jyles was doubled over, still laughing hysterically.

    “And you need to shut up!” she shouted, kicking him in the balls and knocking him over. Suddenly, the laughter stopped and Mark froze, staring in disbelief.

    “You bitch,” he whispered furiously, cocking his fist back. Before he could let loose, Kat smashed a snowball into his glasses, cracking them right down the center.

    “Fuck!” he said, stumbling blindly and trying to tear them off.

    Mark finally ripped them off and growled at her, but she was already holding another snowball in waiting and launched it at his face. Before it hit, he ducked and took off down the street, leaving his friend groaning in the snow.

    “And you’re GOING to give me fifty dollars for a new pair of glasses the next time I see you!” she shouted after him.

    “Get real,” he called back, ducking around a corner and flipping her the finger.

    Well, it had been worth a try.

    She left Jyles lying in the snow and started off again, looking for her destination. She felt exhilarated, breathing in the cold air and marching down the abandoned streets as if she were server admin for all of Catonsville.

    It took a few misturns, but after a while she finally came to Norris Street. At the door to Christine’s, she raised a pink hand to knock on the door, but hesitated. Her reflection in the glass showed a bloody streak on her forehead, tousled hair, and chapped lips. Panic shot through her; she was a complete mess.

    Glancing over her shoulder, she thought about turning back, but then the door unexpectedly opened.

    “Hey Kat!” Christine called from inside. “I was heading upstairs and saw you standing out here and… are you OK?”

    “I … ran into some trouble,” she said, shrugging and trying to readjust her hair as nonchalantly as she could.

    “Trouble? Oh my God! Are you serious?” she squealed, ushering Kat inside.

    “I guess everyone else is here already?”

    “Everyone else just wussed out because it’s so cold outside. We’ve been playing Dwarfcraft on LAN instead. Totally lame. Even if they came over they probably would have just brought their Sets to jack in and play games or something.”

    “Yeah, hahah,” Kat forced a laugh, feeling her broken glasses pressing against her side from inside her pocket.

    “Oh man, did you scrape your forehead?” Christine maneuvered her head and tried to get a good look at Kat.

    “I sort of got into a fight,” Kat said, “but it’s not big deal.”

    “Whoa, poor girl. I didn’t take you for the sort. Does your mom make you do Tae-Kwon-Do or something?”

    Kat shook her head. “Just Math lessons and programming.”

    “Tell me about it,” Christine said throwing her hands in the air. “You probably need some major r&r. Over here!” She waved and led Kat into the living room. “Sit!” she commanded, “I’m gonna go make some beverages. You up for cocoa? I won’t bombard you with equations today, I promise.”

    “That sounds awesome,” Kat replied and plopped down on the couch as Christine skipped into the kitchen.

    “You know,” Kat added, fishing some tissues out of her pocket to dab the bump on her forehead, “I had imagined today would be like, a giant digital snowball fight. You guys at the programming club always seem so immersed in games.”

    “You’d be surprised,” Christine said, peeking her head around the corner. “Marshmallows?”


    “In your cocoa.”

    “Oh, sure.”

    “It’s like, sometimes I feel like I just need to unplug, you know? Let go of the games and programming for a bit so I can sleep without dreaming in binary and come back down to Earth for a while. A snow day’s the perfect excuse.”

    “I think I know exactly what you mean,” Kat said, smiling lopsidedly.

    Christine came in with two giant mugs and handed one to Kat. “So, what shall we do now?”

    “I don’t know,” Kat said, relaxing and sipping from the mug. The cocoa was thick and frosted with a sugary layer of marshmallow. After being outside so long, it felt like the beverage was thawing her throat. “But at the moment, unplugging sounds really good.”

© Ryan Walraven 2015

A Beginning…

The sky outside the man’s window was set to a horrible hue of blue and the clouds wafting by were like bulbous whales. To his chagrin, the day seemed to have every intention of being clear and sunny. But he could change it.

He had to.

From the roof of his row home, the sounds of the city were assaulting him from every direction, but he could shut them out. Cross-legged, disheveled, but calm-faced, he closed his eyes and listened to the wind pass by his ears. It spoke of mossy bricks and ffar off trees whose leaves were crinkling brown in the frigid air. With a twist of his mind, the story changed. The wind shifted.

The clouds overhead began to gray, then darken, concealing the setting sun as they congealed into thick clumps. Mist rose from the woods and parks and a hush seemed to fall over the city. It was the quiet before the storm.

At the corner of the man’s mouth, a thin smile began to form. Tonight was the night. Tonight he would change the city for good.