Eighteen-twenty-two had not been an easy year for Uncle Mack as he and the young boy slept back-to-back under the Lean-To. An old piece of leather was stretched to its max around two loblolly pines. The needles provided the only cushion for the night besides their straw-brim hats rolled beneath their heads. Oblong and rusted, the boy caressed sixty-something pounds of quartz between his arms. Uncle Mack squirmed away from the boy and sat up, admiring how adaptable his twelve-year-old nephew had become. He felt some pride after the two of them had carried that piece of quartz up the mountain until they had to make shelter for the night, hunkering down by Echo Ravine.
As they usually did, his thoughts shifted to how much his nephew had cost him since the boy’s parents drowned crossing the very river where they had found the quartz. These ruminations began to dwell in his consciousness. Unenlightened thoughts soon became an obsession, burrowing a permanent home in his brain. Mack and his brother’s family had ventured from southern Georgia into the Blue Ridge mountains of North Carolina to join the gold rush. Mack told his brother not to cross the river that day; he didn’t listen, being the older one. Two years later, he and the boy had finally found their payload. He had noticed the glimmer in the late afternoon sun, but now, studying the chip in the quartz, the color shone even under the moonlight. Uncle Mack tenderly nudged the quartz out from underneath the boy’s arms. Outside of a slight squirm, he did not wake, allowing his uncle to cradle the rock in his arms and stand up. He adjusted his grip on the odd-shaped rock, fumbling with the pounds of quartz that held the precious gold within its vein. His shoulder popped as he lifted it above his head, impeding any doubt. The rock came down with a quarter force, cracking the boy’s forehead. The skin split jaggedly, turning his sandy blonde hair into a matted dark brown.
Mack grabbed the boy’s ankles and dragged him out from underneath the shelter. He was grateful for the full moon because his fading fire barely illuminated a five-foot radius. If he could keep count of his steps as he rehearsed every day for the past week, he would know when he reached the ravine’s edge.
Fifteen, ten, seventeen…
On the twenty-second step, his foot touched the rock just as he had practiced. He stepped in front of the boy and rolled the body off the ravine. Although he could not see the body now, the thuds and plops illustrated the images Mack thought he had escaped. Clearing his eyes with his shirt sleeve, he knew it was time to clean the campsite and the quartz. Mack stepped forward but did not connect with the ground. Within just a few seconds, he felt his hips shatter through his organs. The taste of salt and bile filled his mouth and nostrils until a restless silence engulfed his consciousness. Uncle Mack had never been good at numbers; after all, his nephew was the mathematician of the two.
#
Nineteen-forty-eight had been a good year for Odie. His dirt-hauling business was booming. He had acquired ten trucks, nine more than he ever thought he would own. He was clearing debris and making room for the post-war boom. A weekend in the woods hunting was what he needed to clear his mind and spark new business ideas. Odie stopped running, grabbed a tree, and bent over, trying to control his labored breathing. His orange vest must have fallen off his large frame when he had adjusted his gun strap. He yanked off his deerstalker and threw it down, allowing the sweat to drip off his steaming head. In between each gasp, he could hear the crunch of branches. A low guttural growl echoed as Odie gripped the sides of his muddy camos. A crackle, another crunch, and the pop, pop of the teeth—Odie turned his head past the tree’s trunk and was welcomed by a roar and the stench of hot death. His first few shots from his rifle had only pissed the bear off, so he dropped his Model 70 and ran.
The hell with the rules; I’m not playing dead…I am dead!
Odie ran so hard he couldn’t tell if it was his huffing or the bear’s he heard, but the moans and chuffing now seemed to invade any personal space he thought he had maintained. He stopped and turned to face his executioner, who wore a shiny black coat and a deep brown on his snout. He stood at seven feet, growling, and Odie took his final step back before his heel slipped and his head rested on top of a quartz rock. The bear lowered himself to all fours, disappointed in the absence of a fight. He circled Odie, sniffing his pant leg and licking some blood off the quartz before he walked away.
#
Two thousand and two had been a good year, and Ruston savored days when the sun illuminated the country roads. His dump truck was loaded down, and the terrain and weather were polite to his tires. The economy had pulled out of a brief recession, and people were building again. The quaint villa that was being constructed in these North Carolina mountains had boosted this small town’s economy, even saving Ruston’s family business, which he had inherited from his great uncle. Odie’s Big Haul had been contracted to remove the excess dirt and rock from the construction site. As Ruston’s truck carried the load, a beautiful piece of rusted quartz sat in the middle of the debris. Sparkles sprinkled across the quartz glimmered in the sunlight, hinting at the solid-gold vein at its heart. Ruston encountered many unusual rocks and even a few semi-precious stones while performing his duties. Still, he had decided to take this one to the university nearby and have one of the geologists examine it.
As the truck began descending the mountain road, Ruston allowed it to accelerate more than usual since the tourist season had ended for the year. He adjusted his air vent and commanded his phone to play classic country. The sun was beginning to set, shining its glare through the tint. Squinting, Ruston reached for his sunglasses in the front passenger seat, and a young doe decided it was an opportune time to cross. Sliding the glasses on, he caught a glimpse of the deer and swerved sharply to his right. The truck flipped onto its side, cascading a mound of dirt onto the valley road. Ruston loosened his seatbelt and reached for the glove compartment; fortunately, his six-foot-three height gave him an adequate wingspan. He fumbled with the glove box until it opened and grabbed his hammer.
Bashing the hammer tip into the driver’s side window, the glass shattered after the fourth hit. Ruston pulled himself through the window. His instinct to survive seemed to overpower the pinch of the glass; his hands and fingers had collected. Jumping off the side of the truck, he rolled onto the field. Just a few more feet, and he would have been off the side of the mountain. Allowing the adrenaline to subside, he watched the doe munch on the greenbriers on the other side of the road. Patting his pockets, he realized his phone was in the truck, probably under one of the seats. He would walk the 2.2 miles to the next exit with no other communication and a desolate town. Ruston paused and began to walk around the back of the truck. He looked at the spilled pile of dirt but did not see the quartz. He looked at the dump bed and saw the glimmer of gold.
Let me hide this in the bushes…just in case.
He climbed into the horizontal bed, his feet sinking into the dirt. He fought for balance as he reached for the quartz, but then he heard a loud hissing. As the hydraulic pistons blew and the host cylinder broke, the bed shifted a few feet, forcing an avalanche of mountain soil onto Ruston.
#
Police lights illuminated the dump truck, with the haul now in tow. Ruston’s body had already been transported to the hospital, where he was pronounced dead, while his competition pulled off with the load Ruston had spilled. An officer approached the sheriff.
“What about that big rock? They missed it. Want me to call them back?” the officer said.
“Na, it’s kind of pretty sitting in this field; just leave it.”
#
Twenty-thirty-two had been a mediocre year for Gethin. His wife had left four times this year, and it was just March. Pushing his daughter on the swing in the valley park was a treat and an escape from the everyday. He wasn’t sure what his daughter’s words were, but he could tell she thought she would fly into the mountains with each push. He could feel his glasses automatically readjusting upon the bridge of his nose as he commanded them to play the eighties pop through the temple tips that wrapped around his ear. His skull echoed the music of a carefree generation he often yearned to experience. Gethin gave an aggressive push, allowing the swing momentum to entertain his daughter. Sitting off to the side, he noticed a bright glimmer. He admired the large piece of quartz as it sparkled under the sunlight.
“Stop music. Call Erland. Hey, Erland, have Rex call the county. We have an exciting specimen right here in Valley Park. Yeah, get the team on over here.”
#
Erland and Gethin stood about twenty feet from the rock in the laboratory. They wore lab coats and goggles over their glasses, watching the lab assistant clean the quartz and prepare it for display.
“They just built a park around it. No one moved it, took it, or even noticed the shine?” Erland said.
“Everyone is too busy to see the treasure right below them,” Gethin said.
The lab assistant gripped the rotary tool with his rubber gloves, allowing a trickle of water from a hose to work alongside the sander as the rust began to strip away, revealing the gold. Erland and Gethin turned around as Dr. Medford opened the door. The aging professor wore his usual three-piece suit, navy, of course, while his shoes sparkled almost as much as the quartz.
“Gethin, what a find,” Dr. Medford said. “This will be a fine specimen for the University’s Museum of Minerals. No gold of this worth should belong to one person but to the masses to admire.”
“Keep back, Doc. No lab attire, no lab entry. You made the rules,” Erland said.
“Oh, you’re just jealous of my find,” Gethin said.
The rotary tool screeched and slipped off the quartz, jumping out of the assistant’s hand.
“Steady there,” Gethin said. “Dr. Medford….”
Erland grabbed the front of Dr. Medford’s shoulders as he started to lean forward. Silently, just staring, a trickle of blood began to run out of his left eye. The stream gushed as Erland struggled to support Dr. Medford’s weight. Gethin grabbed Dr. Medford under his shoulders while Erland kept his chest upright.
“It’s the rock, the damn rock,” Gethin said.
The lab assistant unplugged the rotary tool, and the loosened hose leaked water onto the floor. He ran over to the others, his rubber gloves grasping his scalp.
“Oh my God. Help me, God, please, please. Oh crap, the sander slipped; I do not believe this,” The lab assistant said.
“Stay calm, call the paramedics,” Gethin said. “A rogue piece of quartz. Unreal.”
Neither could feel Dr. Medford’s warm breath as they meticulously laid him down on the lab floor.
#
Twenty-forty-five had been a weird year for Father Rowen. The strange dreams began in February and hit their peak of weirdness in April. Father could take no more by the time May arrived. He walked amongst the burnt-down buildings, swinging a thurible and spreading incense amongst the rubble. Seminarian Wheaton followed his path and studied how dirty Father’s robe had become in the mud and ash. The young Seminarian realized Father Rowen was a priest who preferred to lean into the dirt and step in the mud.
“Is that what you keep seeing in your dreams, Father?” Seminarian Wheaton said.
Father Rowen kicked aside some of the rubble, exposing a piece of rusted quartz.
“This is what I keep seeing.”
Father swung the thurible from side to side over the rock, bathing the quartz with incense while mumbling prayers.
“Is that a rock from hell?” Seminarian Wheaton said.
“No, just the…well, what was the geology building? It is not the rock’s fault, but rather the way people used it. That is the sin. We will break it down and rebuild it into greatness. It shall shine in glory again one day.”
“Then it will end?”
“Yes, then it will end.”
#
The year AD 412 had been a year of patience for the Pellucid people. Clothed in bearskin and deer hide, the Pellucid crawled out of a large hole at the mountain base. The men of this ancient tribe were no more than four feet tall, and the women ranged from 2.5 to 3 feet tall. Single file, they continued to crawl out of the cave opening, exited the inside of the mountain, and climbed a cut trail along the mountainside. The moon’s rays shone down, illuminating their translucent skin. Their organs pulsated as they performed their functions, and electrical impulses traveled up and down the backs of their heads as neurons communicated at synapses. They continued to ascend with guttural moans and hums. Their noises only told a fabricated history of their origin, never realizing they had been abandoned from an interstellar mission gone wrong hundreds of years ago.
They entered a stone wall at the top of the mountain, which zigzagged around the pinnacle. A beautiful quartz altar, solid white with gold veins, sat in the middle of the wall. Yearning to appease the cruel sun that tortured them daily, they would offer one of their own on this night. Mercury and Venus promised to be in conjunction, and they hoped their sacrifice would convince these two lovers to protect them from the light that burned them so violently during the day. Two stone-carved hawk heads sat on either side of the altar, facing East. The tribe’s priest carefully laid a woman on the altar. Already unconscious from a blow to the head, she slept peacefully as others moved stones along the wall to align with the planets. The priest drove a jagged stone knife just below the sternum and cut downward. The altar turned crimson as the Pellucid groaned and hummed beneath the stars.
#
Twenty-fifty-four had already been a stressful year for Rue, but she was determined to make it to Easter Mass on time. She didn’t need her unfaithful husband by her side pretending to pray, all the while fantasizing about his girlfriend. She and her daughter would be just fine.
“Teresa, come on now,” Rue said.
She yanked her daughter forward, almost dragging her across the pavilion, but she was careful not to tear her floral dress, which they had picked out together.
“Mom, I need to….”
Teresa’s four-year-old legs moved as fast as they could to keep up with her mother’s pull, but she stopped on the stairs leading to the church doors.
“Mom, I need to tie my shoe.”
As bells rang and the priest was called down the aisle inside, Rue knelt, brushed Teresa’s bangs out of her eyes, kissed her on the cheek, and tied her left shoe.
“Look, Mom, I’m standing on a golden stair.”
Rue looked at the odd step, solid white quartz with gold sparkles, unlike all the others.
“It’s pretty, honey… and a little weird, but that’s probably just pyrite, fool’s gold. No one would make a stair out of gold. Come on, sweetheart. Sorry, I was impatient; let’s go pray.”
Rue grasped Teresa’s hand gently and walked into the church as the sunshine bounced off the golden quartz.