An essay by Dr. Samantha Blunt, as provided by Franko Stephens
Art by Luke Spooner
Excerpts from the journal of Doctor Samantha Blunt, concerning the incidents leading up to and involving the Werner and Chalsky Event of 2023, released by court order to the Smithfield County Special Investigations Unit. Compiled and abbreviated by Franko Stephens.
~
January 24, 2023
They are at it again. I watched their foolishness, as I do most mornings, from my third floor home office window while drinking French vanilla coffee. It’s still hard to believe that when everyone bought their freshly built homes in this new neighborhood, constructed in an area especially for folk like us, neither had any idea that they were moving next to each other. In the whole world, there were few communities devoted to scientific genius, both active and retired, and fewer still on their own peninsula where the temperature is specially modified to always be seventy degrees. So perhaps the odds are not truly against two enemies, one spending his whole career thwarting the malevolent, immoral, and fringe science related practices of the other, from sharing a waist high white picket fence. Then again, the world is vast.
To their credit, they did their best to avoid each other for most of last year. However, the New Year’s Eve party involved a mutated form of vodka that stayed in the bloodstream twice as long. They both had to pay restitution to Harry Clintock, and the party was not even at his house. The feud was sparked anew.
Cain Werner was a brilliant quantum mechanic who patented the technique used to solidify molecules back to their original form after teleportation. He collaborated with Walter Chalsky, who built the first working teleporter with Cain’s lucrative input. Unbeknownst to his partner, Chalsky wanted to use the machine for high level robbery with the product of his other passionate experiments. He was fond of genetically modifying animals to follow his commands with heightened intelligence, combined with human skills such as lock picking and computer hacking. Raccoons were his favorite, though chimpanzees were a close second. I know all this from his confessions while we briefly had a torrid love affair just before the holidays. It ended amicably, though we had quickly bored of each other. Nothing ever happened between me and Cain. Even in my sixties, I still liked the bad boys.
This particular morning was very ugly. Where the fence met the front sidewalk, Cain actually spat in Walter’s face. He was normally the last to lose his cool, the hunched, thin man who always sported a bright bow tie, even in the early hours. Walter, significantly meatier in the shoulders, wiped the saliva with an open palm, then struck Cain against his cheek. He lunged for Cain, who touched a button on his watch to launch Walter onto the other side of his yard with an invisible force field. Cain held his face as he staggered back into his house. That night, a small furry creature threw what appeared to be feces against Cain’s windows. It took him hours to clean.
~
For more stories like this before they appear on the site, check out Mad Scientist Journal: Summer 2016!
February 17
Damn Werner started it this time. I woke to find that Walter’s lawn was gone. It literally had disappeared, leaving nothing but a blank black void in its place. I opened my window to hear their vulgarities. Walter had tested the openness and learned the ground was still there, it was simply gone to perceptions. He stood like a lost astronaut, shouting, “Cain, you illegitimate bastard offspring of a hobo! Give me back my lawn!”
“Guess you’ll have to give back that Yard of the Month sign. Oh, wait, you can’t find it now!”
Six hours later, as I was watering my fly traps, the lawn appeared. The grass was covered in frost, and never quite looked the same again.
~
March 3
I have not seen Walter in two weeks. I grow concerned. Either something happened to him, or he is deep in a plot. I suspect the latter, for Cain has seemed almost skittish, not out of guilt, but perhaps from fear of the unknown. Their history stretched over bitter decades, duels without measure. I’ve heard more stories from other colleagues in the neighborhood who either worked with or against the pair. Apparently all logic could get cast aside until it escalated to a breaking point where they have no choice but to claim victory or calm the hell down. I wonder who will be the champion this time. I wonder if either could be called a champion if both were acting like idiots.
~
May 2
Walter has been receiving large shipments teleported to his door late at night. I think I saw life support pods on top of the crates. He was expressly forbidden by the HOA to own wild or domestic animals as a condition of his admittance to the peninsula. I doubt that would stop him. He only resurfaced recently, after Cain’s house was covered with a strange silky web. I can only guess why Cain spent several days sleeping in a pop-up habitat in his backyard.
I wish they would both stop. It’s only a matter of time until their childish grudges flood over to my side of the street. I came here to retire, to live quietly in relaxation. My royalties from my many inventions left me financially secure. I have nothing to worry about, save for those buffoons. There is talk of ostracizing them from the peninsula. Personally, I don’t believe anyone has the gall to try. I try to keep neutral. I try my very best.
~
May 3
Loud thuds are coming from Walter’s house. I heard him yell once and the thuds stopped. What does he have in there? A chimp? Cain seems to be fortifying his house, adding motion sensors and barring the windows. He waved to me pleasantly as I watched from my window. I don’t even try to hide behind the curtain anymore. If they don’t want to be spectacles then they should stop acting as ones.
~
May 7
Another neighbor called the police. The community itself has no security force (thank you, worthless HOA), so County officers pulled up to the curb in bulletproof vests. Thankfully, they used tranquilizer darts to subdue the four-armed ape on Cain’s roof. I could not stand to see the poor simian die in this pointless feud. Of course they questioned Walter, who boasted from the picket fence, “What proof do you have? What proof? It was on his lawn, and possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
“Sir, you are a well-known genetic engineer who–”
“So are ten other residents here. Again, what proof do you have?” Eventually Walter walked back toward his house. “Have fun getting that thing in the back of a van. I’d hurry if I were you. He’s a big boy.”
There is a large hole in Cain’s roof from the ape’s fists. The forecast calls for rain.
~
May 8
Admittedly, when I saw what was on Cain’s front porch this morning, I actually sat for an hour and a half just to see his reaction when he opened the door. I was not disappointed. He gaped at the bushel of bananas before flinging them over the fence onto Walter’s ill grass. He shouted at the side of the house, kicked the fence, and then adjusted his bowtie. His black bowtie. He saw me again; I waved politely. He did not wave back. There were thunderstorms for hours.
~
May 16
Cain spoke to me today as I was at my mailbox. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve seen here, Sammy. Our behavior is deplorable.”
“You’re right,” I replied. “What’s wrong with you? I understand the history. I know what he did, what he tried to do, and how you stopped him so many times like a superhero. Can’t you just let it go?”
“Imagine your life’s work. Imagine it being swindled, exploited, and used for crime. Imagine the embarrassment and guilt you may feel. Now imagine you’re reminded of it every day whenever you mow your lawn, or sit on the patio, or simply go outside. Two nights ago, my doorbell rang. A raccoon was on my porch wearing khaki pants, and you know what it did? Pulled down its pants and mooned me. This is my life now.”
“The Homeowner’s Association is going to kick you both out. From what I’ve heard, they’ve started the paperwork.”
“Let them. They’ll have to buy my house back. And I’ll be free of that crusty piece of flotsam. But I won’t leave before him. I won’t let him win.”
I had to shake my head and walk away. They’re lost causes. They deserve each other.
~
Two nights ago, my doorbell rang. A raccoon was on my porch wearing khaki pants, and you know what it did? Pulled down its pants and mooned me. This is my life now.
May 30
I heard the shouts from my living room while trying to eat my lunch and watch television. A laugh escaped me as Cain stood in his front yard cursing. A raccoon stood on its hind legs on the sidewalk, wearing a collar with a rectangular box. I had to crack my window to hear what Cain was saying. “I’ll kill you, you little bastard. Then I’ll flog your master. Hear me?”
The raccoon pressed a button on his box. “Up yours,” said a voice from a small yet powerful speaker. “Up yours. Up yours. Ha ha ha.”
Cain ran toward it and halted when it bared its teeth. After making a rude gesture one would never see a furry animal do in an animated movie, it scurried off into the neighborhood. Breathing heavily, Cain punched his legs in fury before shouting at Walter’s house. I am sure he watched the whole thing, laughing like a madman.
~
June 3
I spotted more raccoons roaming behind my yard last night. I had to clean up the mess they made around my trashcan. Tonight there is a community vote on Cain and Walter’s continued residence, regarding which I already have an opinion. I hate cleaning up trash.
~
June 9
Cain Werner and Walter Chalsky were served papers simultaneously instructing them to vacate the neighborhood. If they did not move out within a month, further action would be taken. I knew from a reliable source at the community meeting that the County Police would not force them out, since they did not recognize the HOA as an authoritative group. I’ve been looking at real estate listings. A nice little place called Volcano Island has some very impressive homes.
~
June 21
I wiped the dust off an old invention of mine I kept in the guest room. The Shift Differential is the size of a suitcase, its plain exterior masking the, to be modest, genius intricacies I used in its technology. While I do not mean to boast, this little gem has been used in major cities for disaster preparedness. When activated, it diverts the kinetic energy unleashed from a massive chaotic effect, such as an earthquake or tsunami, and converts it into harmless waves of hot wind. Other than altering bird migration, it has no detrimental side effects.
This was a later model which was upgraded to include a setting for smaller physical threats such as an assault from a mugger, or a bullet from a sniper. The S. D. simply ceases the movement of the physical attack with a brief, controlled repulsion. In short, if a mugger were to strike at you, the blow would go back against him. It made millions.
I turned it to the Mugger Setting and kept it with me around the house. While I know that neither would purposefully harm me, unless they knew of my vote to oust them, both had spiraled beyond the rationalization of control. I set cameras at my front and back porches so I could view their altercations without exposing myself at a window or door. Try as I might, my focus is always drawn to their scuffles, as if I was refusing to exit a stadium until the last round of the boxing match was over. They owe me a conclusion. I deserve that much.
~
November 28
Oh, God. I should have done more. I should have told the police that it was Walter’s ape. Maybe if he had been in jail, it would not have happened. I could have done more. It’s even taken me five months to write this down. Five months, five years, it doesn’t matter. The memory will always be fresh.
From my old television (I refuse to buy those holograph TVs that are all the rage now. They’re safer than Virtual Reality ones that caused heart attacks in my age group, but I get agonizing migraines from them.), I watched the live audio and video footage. Cain and Walter came to blows. Cain had fluid gauntlets that coated his forearms like candle wax. He punched Walter, whose feet left the ground as his buttocks met the dirt. From his long sleeve jacket, Walter shot what I could only assume was a ferret, whose teeth latched onto Cain’s unsuspecting groin. Even I thought that was low. The tubular rodent released Cain after a smack from the gauntlet, and it hustled down the street. “Todd, come back!” Walter cried. Cain rushed at him, though he was slowed by his testicular wounds. Walter thrust a tool the shape of an electric razor at one of the gauntlets, and a sizzling shock caused the fluid to malfunction and cover Cain’s face. While he pulled it off, Walter ran, not at him, not at his home, but toward my own.
He halted in my driveway to appeal to my camera. “Sammy, dear, get the hell out. Get out! I don’t care about these other worthless flesh bags, but I’ve always cared about you. Run! I have no choice. This must end.”
I could have run. He knew that. He had given me a handheld teleporter the size of a paperweight as a parting gift when our affair ended. It was the latest model, a descendant from the lovechild of his and Cain’s brilliance. That, too, I kept by my side, though it was still turned off. The S. D. was now turned to Disaster Setting. My curiosity was always my greatest strength and my worst weakness. Despite the danger, I had to know.
Cain had the fluid gauntlet under control when Walter returned. He charged the larger man, who dodged him at first. Walter seemed cool and confident, and had Cain not been so enraged, he might have realized this and ceased from pure fear. Yet the bowtie man did not relent. He clipped Walter’s chin and landed a solid punch to the ribs. He went down, curled into a fetal position, and lashed a kick to Cain’s groin. They lay next to each other like two babes in a daycare center at naptime. Walter rose first, holding his side gingerly. From his jacket pocket, he brought forth a pen with a bright red button on top.
“Get the hell out of my neighborhood,” Cain rasped. “I’m not leaving first.”
“No,” Walter croaked. “You’re not. You never will. So let’s go together.”
I turned on the S.D.
Walter pushed the button.
I remember watching those violent cartoons as a child, the ones where one culprit would suck the other one up with a vacuum cleaner or pull them from a mouse hole in the wall. It was much like that, with Walter’s hand disappearing first into a tiny black dot. He grasped Cain by the neck, his bowtie clenched tightly in his remaining palm. Quickly, very quickly, Walter Chalsky and Cain Werner were sucked into the miniature black hole released from the pen-like device. A small black sphere sat in midair, growing as it absorbed every molecule around it.
I turned on the teleporter.
I saw a tremendous flash as the circumference of the sphere touched the invisible perimeter of the Shift Differential. Reflexively, I activated the teleporter with a squeeze, realizing too late that I had not set a destination. When the world appeared again after a few seconds, I found myself in front of a hospital fifty miles away. Walter must have set it before gifting it to me. He had planned that far ahead. I was not surprised. After all, he was a brilliant man.
It was all over the news. Titles like “Neighbors No More” and “Modern Hatfield and McCoy Tragedy” blanketed the online news sites. Generic footmen from the government questioned me. Once they learned I had a journal, they threatened to seize it, but I am not without highly placed friends and their protections. I may just hand these words over to the County Police just to tick them off.
My Shift Differential had stopped the black hole’s progress, though it failed to disperse its effects. The peninsula was deemed a no man’s land and the residents, all of whom survived (save two) were ordered to evacuate. I was allowed to return, since my invention had contained a catastrophe. Other scientists, government scientists, were there for a little while to investigate once radiation was ruled as minimal. My Shift Differential had been confiscated, but I could get one from the manufacturer whenever I want. I gathered most of my other belongings and teleported them to my new home in a quiet, normal suburb with quiet, normal people. I was forced to leave the old-fashioned way so they could keep an eye on me. I took one last look at my house, and while my escort summoned a vehicle, I walked down the sidewalk in a radiation suit with a clear dome helmet.
Cain and Walter’s houses were gone. Their yards, and two of their neighbors’ lawns, were gone. So was the sphere. I cannot describe in any words the sheer, colorless nothing left in its wake. I won’t even try. If one dwelled on it, looked at it too long, I am confident that one would go insane.
The wild animals roaming around the abandoned houses gave me doubts about radiation or any other dangers in the air. I saw a deer chewing grass by a driveway. I saw several raccoons prowling in the daylight. Normally that would be a cause for concern. Not here, though. One scratched underneath a collar with a rectangular box. It regarded me, squinted like a scholar before a holy book, and pushed a button. “Sammy, dear. Sammy dear. Hi, Sammy dear.” The raccoon held up a tiny clawed hand, wiggled it, and followed its kin up the sidewalk. Oh, he truly was brilliant. Truly.
As the mandatory escort drove us away in an all-terrain vehicle, I wondered who the villain had really been, the man with morals who could not calm his rage, or the darker soul who went out of his way to make sure at least one person was safe from his own actions. Together, they were destructive genius. Apart, they could have accomplished anything they wanted. Anything at all.
Dr. Samantha Blunt is an award winning inventor with over 23 patents. Though she has amassed many experiences from around the world, she loves nothing more than a good cup of tea and trashy scandal. Her curiosity and polished ego have been known to get the best of her.
Franko Stephens lives in Pennsylvania with his wife and children. His previous work includes the novel The Crooner on Amazon Kindle. When he’s not creating bedtime stories for his daughter involving stuffed animal secret agents, Franko works on as many writing projects as possible. It keeps him out of trouble.
Luke Spooner a.k.a. ‘Carrion House’ currently lives and works in the South of England. Having recently graduated from the University of Portsmouth with a first class degree he is now a full time illustrator for just about any project that piques his interest. Despite regular forays into children’s books and fairy tales his true love lies in anything macabre, melancholy or dark in nature and essence. He believes that the job of putting someone else’s words into a visual form, to accompany and support their text, is a massive responsibility as well as being something he truly treasures. You can visit his web site at www.carrionhouse.com.
“The Werner and Chalsky Event” is © 2016 Franko Stephens.
Art accompanying story is © 2016 Luke Spooner.