PREVIEW: The Timeship of Semack
 | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  |
The LOST GENRE GUILD
Biblical Speculative Fiction
| Joseph Ficor's short story "Timeship of Semack" can be found in Light at the Edge of Darkness along with 26 other stories of Biblical speculative fiction.
Read more about the author, Joseph Ficor |
If I go west along the road heading out of town and I stay in the woods, I’ll get to the
interstate.
The farming community of Douglaston, Illinois, nestled among endless soybean and
cornfields, had three public buildings: an old grocery store still selling food that tasted
like it had been canned in the 1930s, and two churches: one Southern Baptist and the
other Lutheran.
The Wilfreds, Joe’s sixth foster home in fourteen months, were prominent members of
the former. They’d made him attend services and Sunday School every Sunday the entire
time he lived with them.
I hope Mom’s okay. I hope I’ll find her fast. Members of the Alton Police Department had
shattered their home. They’d charged her with drug dealing and child neglect. Joe had
fought them. One policeman had tried to grab him, and the boy had sprained his wrist.
He hadn’t meant to hurt the officer.
The fourteen-year-old leaned against a tree trunk. It was hard to see in the dark. His
tears blinded him.
Mother’s apology to the cops rang his ears for the hundredth time. “Everything will be all
right,” she’d promised him. She’d been wrong. Her promise replayed a dozen times a
day.
The police took both of them to the station, but they let her go after two hours. Joe
never understood why.
He had not seen her since. Mom never showed up for scheduled visits or court dates. He
called her, but she was always too tired to talk. He understood. She had to work hard so
they could be together. She loved him and wanted him back. Joe just knew it.
Joe never recognized the male background voices on the phone, and he didn’t care. He
wanted to be with his mother. It was the only life that he’d ever known and Children
Services had taken it away. I’ll get back to her no matter what.
Joe continued through the woods flanking the road but carefully out of traffic’s sight. If
anyone from the town spotted him, they would try to send him back to the Wilfreds.
The Wilfreds were good people. Joe’s one chore was helping take care of the exotic
animals on their farm. They raised llamas, peacocks, four-to-six-horned sheep, and other
rare animals. His foster mother, Linda, took most of the responsibility for the care of the
farm. These were the 1980s and exotic animals were selling like water in Death Valley,
but Linda had trouble finding buyers. She was still new to the business. Joe admitted it
was fun learning about and caring for the creatures. But Mother . . . it could never be a
proper home because his mother was not there.
Dear God, help me to make it back to my mother and get away from these crazy religious
foster parents.
He did not think much would come of his prayer, but it never hurt to cover all bases.
Joe had learned about prayer from the weekly Bible studies in the Wilfreds’ home. Joe
enjoyed these, especially the story of Joseph in the book of Genesis. He liked to think
that he had gotten his name from that character, but he knew his mother named him
after her brother who had died. Members of the Bible study talked a lot about getting
“saved” and knowing Jesus as a personal Lord and Savior. Joe began to learn what these
terms meant, but the whole God thing gave him the creeps. God was that big man
upstairs whom you asked for help when you needed it.
Joe walked for a long time.
He’d hoped that headlights would help mark the road, but there were no cars at all, and
he could no longer see the road. The moon hardly penetrated the thickening woods.
I’m lost.
A branch cracked behind, and he froze.
Two years ago, according to locals, a little boy had gotten lost in the woods. The howls
of a coyote pack echoed that night. The boy’s mutilated body was found the next
morning.
Joe waited forever, but heard only crickets and frogs.
Finally, he gathered his courage and resumed his trek. He angled toward where the road
should have been, but there were only more trees.
interstate.
The farming community of Douglaston, Illinois, nestled among endless soybean and
cornfields, had three public buildings: an old grocery store still selling food that tasted
like it had been canned in the 1930s, and two churches: one Southern Baptist and the
other Lutheran.
The Wilfreds, Joe’s sixth foster home in fourteen months, were prominent members of
the former. They’d made him attend services and Sunday School every Sunday the entire
time he lived with them.
I hope Mom’s okay. I hope I’ll find her fast. Members of the Alton Police Department had
shattered their home. They’d charged her with drug dealing and child neglect. Joe had
fought them. One policeman had tried to grab him, and the boy had sprained his wrist.
He hadn’t meant to hurt the officer.
The fourteen-year-old leaned against a tree trunk. It was hard to see in the dark. His
tears blinded him.
Mother’s apology to the cops rang his ears for the hundredth time. “Everything will be all
right,” she’d promised him. She’d been wrong. Her promise replayed a dozen times a
day.
The police took both of them to the station, but they let her go after two hours. Joe
never understood why.
He had not seen her since. Mom never showed up for scheduled visits or court dates. He
called her, but she was always too tired to talk. He understood. She had to work hard so
they could be together. She loved him and wanted him back. Joe just knew it.
Joe never recognized the male background voices on the phone, and he didn’t care. He
wanted to be with his mother. It was the only life that he’d ever known and Children
Services had taken it away. I’ll get back to her no matter what.
Joe continued through the woods flanking the road but carefully out of traffic’s sight. If
anyone from the town spotted him, they would try to send him back to the Wilfreds.
The Wilfreds were good people. Joe’s one chore was helping take care of the exotic
animals on their farm. They raised llamas, peacocks, four-to-six-horned sheep, and other
rare animals. His foster mother, Linda, took most of the responsibility for the care of the
farm. These were the 1980s and exotic animals were selling like water in Death Valley,
but Linda had trouble finding buyers. She was still new to the business. Joe admitted it
was fun learning about and caring for the creatures. But Mother . . . it could never be a
proper home because his mother was not there.
Dear God, help me to make it back to my mother and get away from these crazy religious
foster parents.
He did not think much would come of his prayer, but it never hurt to cover all bases.
Joe had learned about prayer from the weekly Bible studies in the Wilfreds’ home. Joe
enjoyed these, especially the story of Joseph in the book of Genesis. He liked to think
that he had gotten his name from that character, but he knew his mother named him
after her brother who had died. Members of the Bible study talked a lot about getting
“saved” and knowing Jesus as a personal Lord and Savior. Joe began to learn what these
terms meant, but the whole God thing gave him the creeps. God was that big man
upstairs whom you asked for help when you needed it.
Joe walked for a long time.
He’d hoped that headlights would help mark the road, but there were no cars at all, and
he could no longer see the road. The moon hardly penetrated the thickening woods.
I’m lost.
A branch cracked behind, and he froze.
Two years ago, according to locals, a little boy had gotten lost in the woods. The howls
of a coyote pack echoed that night. The boy’s mutilated body was found the next
morning.
Joe waited forever, but heard only crickets and frogs.
Finally, he gathered his courage and resumed his trek. He angled toward where the road
should have been, but there were only more trees.
The Lost Genre Guild's mission is to promote quality works of Biblical Speculative Fiction (spec-fic)
through its authors, fans; to endorse new releases that fit this criteria; and of course, to glorify Him.
through its authors, fans; to endorse new releases that fit this criteria; and of course, to glorify Him.
JOE MOVED THROUGH THE woods as fast as he dared, cautiously
choosing his footsteps by the light of a half moon. Nobody
heard me leave!
Escaping his foster parents’ house undetected made him smile
and walk a bit taller. The Wilfreds were a good family, but they
were not his family. Betrayal struck his heart, but he pushed it
aside with the thought of his goal: returning to his mother and
maybe running away with her to their relatives in Mississippi.
choosing his footsteps by the light of a half moon. Nobody
heard me leave!
Escaping his foster parents’ house undetected made him smile
and walk a bit taller. The Wilfreds were a good family, but they
were not his family. Betrayal struck his heart, but he pushed it
aside with the thought of his goal: returning to his mother and
maybe running away with her to their relatives in Mississippi.
