An Unwitting Antichrist

By Timothy Shaw

For as far back as he could remember, Tubal Cain had always tried to make the world a better place. And invariably, he always got it wrong. After years of keeping to himself rather than risk inadvertently wreaking havoc, he found the unfortunate accident of an elderly fellow employee too much to bear. This quest sets off such a chain of events that lead to, quite possibly the end of the world. ~ A story that tracks the ever escalating chain of events by a modern day Don Quixote come Antichrist.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Timothy Shaw
• Release date: Dec 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465750136

Timothy Shaw

Timothy Shaw has lead a not so ordinary life. Growing up in his family's travel business, he soon had a passport full of exotic foreign stamps. Having started working at age nine, it was not a great leap that he displayed the same hard work ethic when he joined the Springfield High School theater program, where to this day there is an award bearing his name. Following graduation he had two major choices; a full scholarship to the Ringling Brothers/Barnum Bailey Clown College or join the military in order to pay for college. He opted for the clown job and joined the Army. During his stint in the US Army, Timothy served as a German linguist stationed in what was once known as West Berlin. As it happens, likely due almost entirely to his fine work, peace broke out, the Wall fell and the two Germanies re-united. This effectively put him out of a job but he thought it lucky, as most soldiers these days don't seem to have that kind of luxury. In the years following, between Berlin and his present home of Tacoma, WA he has held a number of different jobs in an equal different number of fields. Although he published a number of poems in national publications over the years, even a play or two; it was not until 2011 while working his current position as a Visual Interpreter for the blind for a community college that he thought to take up the challenge of actually writing a novel. His first novel, written for the National Novel Writing Month in November 2011, was approximately fifty thousand words. The following year saw a second novel in the series coming in at about double that. As The third novel in what has turned into a series has just been completed but has not yet been published.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Tubal was sitting in the secretaries' area outside the Oval Office. He sat and gazed around the room, noting the little differences from the scenes he had seen in television movie sets.

Left to himself, as he was, he began thinking back on how this had all started. It was all going terribly wrong. Nothing could have prepared him for the scale or magnitude of how out of hand events had spiraled. It seemed to him that mere months ago he was working as a mid-level manager in the shoe department at one of those big department stores in downtown Detroit with little else on the horizon but more of the same mundane, boring, unchanging life he had always lived.

To Tubal Cain, who's mother had always seemed more than a bit dubious about his lofty aspirations and never shied away from informing her son of his many shortcomings, it seemed like he was always the dreamer but never the doer. As far back as he could remember he had always been consumed by big ideas. Ideas that could change the world. Ideas that could build up humanity until it would show as a second sun in the heavens. Ideas, generally, who's timing just wasn't quite right.

There was the episode of rounding up all of the neighborhood children to help him clean up the old park at the end of the road near his uncle's farm when he was a boy. Sadly, he forgot to mention this or get the permission of any of the parents and by nightfall on the first day of, Children Saving The Planet Week the local police had every car out and the newspaper headlines read, "Mysterious cult-like kid kidnaps the Children of West Edensville!" It was a complete disaster. He was made to give a formal apology in front of the entire town, in the middle of the town square. To top it off, that's when his voice decided it would change. In the intervening summers, while visiting his uncle, he rarely left the farm and almost never spoke to anyone around the town.

High school hadn't been much better. He had a terrible time explaining to the school board how he had managed to turn the football field into a swamp and where the swarm of locusts had come from. Not one soul, not even his biology teacher, had thought it a good idea to make his class project an effort to see if he could control plagues of locusts by using a flood. The pastor of the local church said, and this is a direct quote that actually made the local paper and was picked up by the State Tribune, That boy is like a plague straight out of the Old Testament. Lord help us all!

There were actually many, many oh so many more of those types of incidents throughout his life, however things had seemed to settle down in the last few years. Well, you know, after he'd moved out of state, got hired for a job for which he was very overqualified and just stuck to his own business. Keep your head down and nothing bad will happen. That had been his motto for the last three years. It was as if, whenever he actually 'tried' to help, if he actively 'made an effort' to improve any given situation; while his intentions were utterly honorable and his actions completely self-less; it's as if it all came out in the extreme and exact opposite of the way he had wanted. So, for him, he had been trying to keep to himself and not make a mess of the world around him.

He would sit there during his lunch break in the department store cafeteria, eating his brown bag lunch, a sandwich with the crusts cut off and a bag of plain potato chips usually. He would listen to all of his various co-workers comment, complain and ask what the world was coming to these days, all without comment. He knew, or rather he had his own opinions on what it would take to fix the world, but didn't dare speak up lest another great notion get him (and everyone he was trying to help) into an even bigger mess. So he sat there, quietly. That is, until that one day, last January...

Chapter 2

It was the new year, 2012! The world population had recently, officially hit seven billion and there was talk about the new age of humanity on the radio chat program he listened to on his headphones while on his way to work. He was experiencing his own crush of humanity getting off the people mover when a tinny voice spoke into his ear saying, And so anyway the Mayans said that we're all gonna bite it in 2012. What was it now Al? Oh yeah, December 21, 2012 the Mayan Long Count calendar runs out, just ends! That's all she wrote, pal! December 21st? Did he hear that right? That was strange, the twenty first of December had always been a date of mixed emotions for Tubal. It was his birthday.

He was mulling over the ramifications of this revelation when he nearly walked into the back end of a growing crowd outside the employee entrance of the department store. He was bobbing around, craning to see what all the commotion was about when he was pushed aside by a paramedic with a neck brace who parted the crowd like Moses walking through the Red Sea. He briefly caught a glimpse of the prostrate form of the older lady, Mrs. Whimplestein who worked the fragrance counter, when the crowd surged back in to fill the void made by the paramedic. Still not quite sure what had happened, he made his way around the crowd to the entrance and moved inside.

In the employee entrance foyer, there was a smaller, more compact crowd huddled by the glass window next to the door. He recognized Marjorie from accounting. She was a slight, unassuming brunette who he had always kind of fancied but had never made known his feelings. He paused a moment to stand next to her, peering out the window to see what everyone was watching.

What happened? he asked, almost as if to no one in particular but he was rather pleased when Marjorie responded.

Old Mrs. Whimplestein, replied Marjorie without looking away from the window, She tripped on that huge cracked paving slab.

Tubal knew of which paving slab Marjorie was speaking. Everyone who worked in the store, let alone on the entire block knew about that stone. It was an eyesore. Not to mention, dangerous, as poor old Whimplestein had just proven. This disturbed Tubal. He didn't quite know why really. It wasn't as if he knew Edna Whimplestein well. In the three years he had worked there, she may have spoken to him on a total of perhaps two separate occasions with maybe a sum total of eight to ten words passing between the two of them. But that didn't matter. This was wrong.

The more he thought about it, the more he began to get angry. His morning passed swiftly in a steam-filled, barely contained internal conflict. By lunch time his self-righteous indignation had come to its boiling point and without really knowing that he was going to do it, or what 'it' was really... Tubal Cain, sandwich clenched in hand, rose up in the cafeteria of the department store and bellowed.

An outrage. he said at first, waiting until he had gotten a few people's attention. This is an absolute OUTRAGE!!! he repeated, clenching his fist and thus destroying his sandwich as bodily punctuation. Everyone was now staring. He felt the first tingling of doubt and trepidation but for some reason lost to him now, he continued.

There is a sixty three year old, sweet little grandmother laying battered and bruised in the hospital right now and we are all to blame. Everyone just stared. Well, one person gasped at the accusation but for the most part everyone was transfixed and wondered where this was going, really. So they just sat there, watching.

Taking the silence as a positive sign and permission to continue, Tubal did just that. He turned slowly atop the lunch table where he stood, scanning the crowd. Then he spoke, though he hadn't gotten as far as actually planning the words that would come out of his mouth, he would later recall that he was fairly impressed with the ones that did.

I am to blame. You! You are to blame too. We all knew about the cracked paving stone. We all complained about it. We all would side-step it time and time again. Some of us even thought about a lawsuit, though talk is all we ever did. the crowd was completely silent, everyone shifting about, uncomfortable under Tubal's accusing stare. Well, no more! I'm going to actually DO something about it. I'm going to get it fixed!

And with that, he threw down his now ruined sandwich onto the ground and stepped down off the table to the sound of uneasy, though growing in strength, applause. It was not until he had left the cafeteria and was out of sight of the crowd that he wondered just 'how' he was going to do something about it. What might that something be, he pondered. And what was he going to do about lunch?

Pushing his hunger aside, he made his way toward the elevators. When the shiny doors opened with a ding, he strode inside and quite purposefully pushed the button for the top floor. The woman who was already standing in the elevator gave him an uneasy look, seeing how worked up he was. She obviously had not been to the cafeteria recently, he thought to himself.

It was a rather short ride to the top. However, in that time Tubal managed to come up with a number of very specific and pointed ideas of the types of things he'd want to say when he got to his destination.

Ding! Top floor. The elevator doors parted and out he walked, straight over to the receptionists desk outside the office of the store manager. The receptionist looked up as he approached.

Tucking a stray red curl neatly back behind her ear she asked in a very professional, yet semi-condescending tone that is only achieved by people far too talented and under-challenged in their vocation can evince, Is there something I can do for you, mister, um...?

Yes, Cain is the name. I'm in shoes. Well, I'm the assistant manager of the shoe department, that it. I'm here to see the General Manager, is he in? blurted Tubal, making a half-hearted attempt at the door that was just slightly further out of reach from next to the desk, which he thought might be more by design than coincidence.

I'm sorry, shoes you say? The receptionist's demeanor turned frosty and even more condescending, were that possible. No, no, Mr. Meeker is quite busy. I can assure you.

Well this won't take up too much of his time, you see. A great injustice must be righted. A smile to show sincerity never hurts, he thought.

She was having none of it.

Just then, as luck (or Fate) would have it, the door opened in front of them both and the middle aged, slightly balding department store general manager, Mr. Meeker stepped out. He didn't notice them right away. He was holding a sheaf of papers, scanning them intently when he started to speak without looking up.

Miss Halloway, would you get me the inventory reports for Ladies Intimates from last quarter please? and looking up for the first time, Oh hello there. I'm George Meeker, the store manager. And you are? he said, extending a hand out to Tubal.

Swiftly taking both advantage and the proffered hand, Tubal seized on more than just a greeting and started right into his prepared litany of the injustices done to the people when it came to paving stone maintenance, etc...

Whoa, whoa there son! Slow down a moment. with a look at his receptionist that said something along the lines of, (Don't worry about this, I'll take care of it. You just get me those files and then make sure to save me with an 'Emergency Meeting' in about five minutes) he ushered Tubal into his office and said, Let's back this story up and start over so we can both know what's going on, eh?

Mr. Meeker's office was spacious, well appointed and made Tubal feel somewhat small. His confidence began to show the first signs of wavering. He shook his head to clear such thoughts from his mind and just sort of blurted right into it, as the general manager signaled he should sit while he made his way around an expansive wooden desk.

Before Mr. Meeker had even had a chance to sit completely down in his large, plump, red leather chair Tubal started his tale.

Well you see sir, Tubal began, There is this rather large and quite dangerous broken paving slab that... Tubal was cut off by an interjection from Mr. Meeker.

Now wait a minute here, Mr. Meeker raised a finger, Just where is this paving, er, slab located you say?

Somewhat perplexed at being interrupted, Tubal explained, It's just out in front of the employee entrance to the store.

The South side entrance, along the alleyway? asked Mr. Meeker.

Why, yes sir. answered Tubal, a tinge of confusion began to turn into a dreadful kernel of doubt and that sinking feeling he had always developed when trying to do the right thing started to twist itself way down deep in the pit of his stomach. This was usually when things all started to go horribly horribly wrong.

Well son, Mr. Meeker explained, That paving slab has been a nuisance. I know just the one of which you speak. Yes, indeedy. A glimmer of hope started to form inside Tubal but was quickly extinguished as the manager continued. Yes, we've been wanting that thing fixed for years now. Problem is, it doesn't belong to us. It is under the ownership and maintenance care of the city.

A mild, distraught and barely audible, Oh... was all Tubal was able to get past his lips. It was questionable as to whether the old man had even heard him as he went on, Yes, they seem to think that it has a rather low priority, being that it's in an alleyway and times being what they are, they think the money best spent elsewhere, you see?

Mr. Meeker started to rise, signaling to Tubal that the meeting had come to an end and that should conclude the matter nicely as no one within his office was to blame. Or so Mr. Meeker thought.

No sir, I do not see. Tubal uttered quite determined but not yet knowing where the words were coming from as he felt that, deep inside, he had already given up on yet another Pyrrhic crusade. But he continued, If it doesn't fall to you or the store to ensure the safety of our workers, then who do I have to speak to about getting that thing fixed?

Mr. Meeker paused as he rounded the desk. He eyed Tubal for a moment before speaking. Perhaps, he thought, I misjudged this young man. Well, he said, "I believe you would have to go to the office of the Superintendent of Roads and Walkways at the City Maintenance Bureau in the City Works building over