Timecraft

By Kelly Don Ford

The crack in the proverbial egg
is about to bust open. One of the worlds most primordial enigmas is soon to be
revealed. It is an object of timeless proportions. This mysterious adventure
begins in the life of a young boy who discovers the location of a treasure
worth more by far than any pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. As he grows
up he wonders if its not just the mad ramblings of his grandfathers legacy.
He deciphers the code and finds a sentient device that can show him all facets
of any moment in time. Not a time machine but something far more profound, he
views prehistory before Eden up to now and beyond as well as his eventful last
day. The secrets it exposes and the event horizons it displays go beyond the
distant reaches of space and time as we find the essence of truth imbedded in a
fictional account. Its amazing revelations and significant implications can
help mankind forge ahead into the unsettled future. We uncover among other
things who the ETs really are, their leader and followers, as well as their
purpose here on earth. Many other historical facts are not as they appear to be
and we find blatant unexpected flaws in our most advanced sciences and
theology. As he matures and handles this awesome responsibility, it transports
us on an epoch journey we will never forget.

The setting of the book takes
place in a quaint little town in Texas between Brownwood and Cisco. It
traverses back and forth from there to Dallas
with pivotal moments in Seoul, Korea.
The main characters name is cloaked to protect his true identity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 17, 2004
• ISBN: 9781414042763

Kelly Don Ford

Kelly Ford was born in 1946 in Dallas, Texas. An unidentified find at his grandmother’s house as a youth shaped his future interests and drives. He served in the U.S. military from 1966-1970 and graduated with a B.S. from SWTSU, now TSU, in 1988. Writing is his passion. He continually researches and finds just the right topics and contents. His 1st book was “Ancient Signs of Deception” in 1998.

Book preview

© 2003, 2004 by Kelly Don Ford. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

ISBN: 1-4140-4276-0 (e-book)

ISBN: 1-4140-4275-2 (Paperback)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2003099049

IstBooks-rev. 02/11/04

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

This is a fictional work. Characters, names, places and events are creations of the imagination of the author or are used fictitiously and not to be interpreted as real. Resemblance to any historical, present or future event, location, organization or person: living, dead or apart from this, is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

When I was a young boy I dreamed. There is one dream I will never forget even if it wasn’t really worth remembering. It was in the cool and the stillness of the morning. A foggy mist was slowly rising into a cloudless sky. I began the ascent up a stunning mountain slope full of magnificent and fragrant trees, rock formations and kaleidoscopic sights. At times I ran and jumped, feeling the gentle breeze and never seemed to tire. Along the upward path were strange looking people adorned in unfamiliar clothes. Their attire: shiny and embellished with intricate designs; hair: radiantly dark and flowing; eyes: narrow and squinting as they smiled. They watched me run and would point as I sped along and up the rolling hillside past people, some holding twirling parasols, others seemingly in quiet, reverent prayer. I will always remember the breathtaking ladies glancing my way with shy white faces and bold red lips. There were several pointed and arched spiraling roofs along the winding way. As I finally reached the top, the overlooking view was majestic and awesome, so much entrancing beauty in both radiantly bright and soft pastel hues. The air smelled of sumptuous incense with aromas I had never perceived before. I enjoyed just being there, caught up in the fleeting moments. Nearby was a suspended gondola going down the side of the mountain on seemingly endless cables. It reminded me of the Monorail at the State Fair of Texas. I was beckoned and persuaded in. There were other strangers inside. The door gently closed. We began the unknown descent. They spoke to one another in a singsong foreign accent and I heard music in the background: Sa-rong, hen-dun-day, su-ro-gah, cho-wah-so. We went out over the hillside for a few moments and then suddenly, the landscape got much brighter. At that moment I would hear a loud sound and always awake abruptly. This became what is termed a recurring dream. After a few years it just stopped. Someday, it will all come back to haunt me.

I was born a baby-boomer. The year 1946 started it all. There was a thunderous birth of babies, more boys than girls, born after WWII so this was our fitting and lifelong title. That year started so many babies being born, both male and female, that we would comprise the majority of all Americans in our age group for the rest of our lives. Commercial advertising has always and will always cater to us, until we become the dying boomers in any regard. As we age on the top side of the new millennium, they advertise prescription drugs more and more and even caskets have full page pictorials in a lot of the magazines. This baby boom ran through the year 1964, so from the year I was born along with the birth of the United States Air Force until the year which included the Beatles dashing onto the scene, this period of time comprised the greatest cultural as well as the most technological metamorphosis and advancement the world has ever witnessed since the dawn of creation. I also graduated high school at that time which was the most exciting and thought provoking generation to grow up in. Since then the only things to come into play during that time to literally disappear were the beatniks, the bop, and crystal radios. But even bell-bottoms, wide ties, hula hoops and yo-yo’s come back into style occasionally.

It was the good ole summertime. My heritage is Scotch-Irish (not a drink) and Dutch (a nice word for German, not too popular because of the World War). I’ve traced my paternal lineages all the way back to Celtic origin. Further than that the records just aren’t there unless you happen to be a genealogy guesser. There are many of those around, in it for fun and profit. I came out at 10 pounds 3 ounces, and was crowned King because I was the largest baby to be born at the Methodist hospital in Dallas, Texas in some time. I don’t remember who the Queen was. All I know is that after several pictures were taken with both of us placed shamelessly in the same crib by well-intentioned hospital staff, I never saw her again, although I never stopped looking. Like most men I’d spend a great part of my life chasing skirts trying to find just the right one, and then wondering if the one I chose was she. Oh, I had girlfriends. My first true love occurred during the first grade in Mrs. Fad’s class. Lorraine, was her name. Her dark hair and dark eyes were more beautiful and exotic than any girl, woman or actress I’ve ever seen since, except my wife of the future of course. I know everyone has a first by which all others will be measured. And Lorraine was no different in that respect. She was much too special for even me. I knew it then and I’d probably always know. Every time she looked at me I was a king. After a few years of elementary bliss she mysteriously disappeared, parting was such sweet sorrow, and I didn’t see her again until high school. Her last name had changed as well as the magic we’d once shared. Then when she first left, along came my second love, Christine Barbara. She was fun and jovial and I learned what it was like to love two women. After that I lost count. But I was always too timid and shy, the nice guy who finishes last, which I found out much later is a better position to be in. Most of my later loves were also from afar. Then there was a next door neighbor, Denise; Cherry from my lunch room; another Barbara; another Christine; and most of all a Knightalear at my high school named Vicki. My heart just got bigger and bigger. Although my heart may have broken many times, I never fell out of love with any of them. Eyes never get filled with seeing and I always had time and room to look at yet another pretty face, body or gorgeous figure. Beauty, being in the eyes of the beholder, is a personal call. I find it in almost everything, everywhere and everyone. Guess that’s why I waited so long to get married. Woah, wait just a minute. I’m getting way ahead of myself. Let me go back closer to the beginning. Beginnings are tough, that’s for sure. It’s very important that the foundation gets laid right. It’ll make a lot more sense and save a heck of a lot of time. Time, what a word. Time is of the essence. Time and time again. Never enough time. It carries so much meaning for us all because our allotted time here on earth is so short. Everyone dies. It happens to us all. Nobody but nobody gets out of this life alive. Poor or rich, fat or thin, old or young, sick or well, and on and on. All we ever seem to have control of, and that isn’t always true, is the here and now. Now, where was I? Oh yes, closer to the beginning. My parents loved and adored me. Well, weren’t they supposed to? Like they had a choice. They did try to have a baby for a long while. Ten years. In fact, ten years five months twenty-two days plus a few hours to be exact. They were married on Ground Hog’s day 1936. They took very good care of me, were exceptionally proud of me and gave me all they had to give. We weren’t rich by any means but we weren’t poor by a long shot either. Mom didn’t go to work until after I started school. I never even heard about there being a kindergarten until I was in the first grade. The first grade, what a traumatic experience. Especially when I had a mom at home who met my every need and then, bam! It was like a new birth experience, but a bad one. To me it was like being thrown in the water for the first time and then told to sink or swim. I wasn’t prepared. Yes, I was smart, but in my own way. And so it took a few years for me to master the multiplication tables? So what! I eventually got them down. September through May; my, how I longed for summers, I wanted them to last forever. They didn’t. But there was always next year, next summer.

And the summers did come, every year, right on schedule. And I knew exactly where I’d be bound for, slap dab near the middle of Texas, not too far north of Brownwood, at grandma’s house. She was my dad’s mother, born in 1893. My how I longed for her giant bear hugs, and just time listening to her soothing voice. She was short, a little over five feet, a tad heavy but back then I thought all grandmas were; big and soft and the ultimate protector. Hair smoothly combed and nicely pinned into a bun. A faint smell of something that was a cross between dusting powder and homespun soap filled the air around her. She had a pleasant look and disposition. I never saw her cross or mad. Of course she didn’t raise me either. She could converse about anything. It didn’t matter to me. I knew that anything she talked about was very important to her so I was always attentive. Maybe she’s the one who taught me to be a good listener. Our talks weren’t just limited to gossip or farm or ranch work or even the weather. She was also interested in my life and what went on in a boy’s world and she bet I missed the summers and their experiences with my friends back at home. I didn’t. I’d rather be with her, any day. She cherished me and I loved her deeply. With her I could do no wrong. I didn’t even want to. She seemed like all my relatives rolled up into one, even the brothers and sisters I’d never had. I wouldn’t admit that to my friends back home but it was the truth nonetheless. And then there was religion. We differed somewhat but that made the talks more enjoyable to me. I liked looking at things, important things, from all angles. What seemed right one minute would just switch and seem incorrect the next. Deductive and inductive reasoning became obsessions for me. It wasn’t that I liked to argue. No! It wasn’t that I liked to win arguments. Not that either. I just liked the challenges, new thoughts and perspectives they provided. Somehow it made life a little more worth living. And so the summers went. She made wonderful and tasty meals, home cooked and always country style. But, I couldn’t stand to drink fresh cow’s milk or eat real butter. She’d always go buy homogenized milk and margarine before I came and kept them in her ice box. I liked her preserves. She made peach, apple, grape, apricot and plum. But I always preferred the store-bought kind, specifically grape jelly. I’d try the others but when it came around to downing those country homemade biscuits, it was thickly spread grape jelly with very little or no margarine and at least a quart of very cold homogenized pasteurized vitamin D whole milk. And you can’t forget the crispy fried bacon. I can almost smell it now. There were other things on the table, like fried potatoes, sometimes grits and such. But I was only interested in tanking up with the protein and carbs that would stick to my ribs and last all the way till lunch time.

Grandpa, my dads dad, her husband had died in 1940 being born in 1888, of a heart attack. He was a Jack-of-all-trades thus the nickname Jack, a dreamer, a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow chaser and a friend who’d give you the shirt off his back if you needed one. He did have one misgiving and that was of a complainer. That day when he complained of his arm and chest hurting he was paid little attention to and no one would take him seriously much less go across the road to the neighbors to call for a doctor. So he went himself, crossed the road and fell dead in the ditch en route. He was buried in the cemetery a mile south of town. His dad and mom were interred there too being the second settlers in that town. Grandma Belle remarried a few years later, for convenience and companionship, to a great one-eyed man named Clarence. He took care of the place and spent a lot of his time on the west facing front porch sitting in a high back wooden chair smoking cigarettes, rolling his own. We talked a little, mostly about the weather and the day of chores ahead, but the main event was just relaxing and enjoying the day and the fresh air. I had allergies, like many others of the population, but I enjoyed the farm smells and even the drifting seed tufts of the cottonwood trees sometimes so thick they looked like falling snow.

As long as I can remember, the well house there in May had always been locked up I guess ever since it was built around 1938. After city water came through town there was no need to pump their own water after that, although deep, pure and free. They did keep it to supply the horse trough and for cheap irrigation. One bright and shining morning, the summer I turned eleven, I decided to do some scouting with an old set of keys. Who knew what they all opened? Not me. Not yet. I began an exploration and uncovered a buried find that would eventually change my life forever. It changed my life then but I was too young and naive to put the two and two together until many years had passed. I should have been scared to death but was too excited and wanted to keep it a secret so I wouldn’t get into trouble for being too nosy and not minding my own business. I forgot what all I had for breakfast that morning but grandma had outdone herself. Besides the flapjacks, bacon, eggs, sausage, biscuits, jelly, milk and juices there were cookies, cake and pie from a cooking experiment the day before. I was full, so full in fact that I never wanted to think about eating ever again. I saw the set of keys at the back of a utensil drawer I had rummaged through looking for grandma’s measuring spoons. I found the keys again easily enough and slyly slipped them into my front shorts pocket, the pocket with four marbles, two washers and a small knife I had gotten for my birthday. The pocket felt deep and warm and familiar. I glided out the kitchen door, across the enclosed garden porch, through the screen door, leapt