Alien Spaces in Similar Places

By Arnold J. Inzko

Alien Spaces in Similar Places is a Sci-fi novel for young adults. Ashton Claiborne, a young and smart lad, played with his mirrors in the attic of his home. He came upon Alana Walton by sheer accident, during one of his frightening trips, wandering into a parallel space. He found out that Alana robbed his grandmother, Nelda, blind. He told his sister about it and both investigated Alana, traveling through the mirrors. His father, Thomas Claiborne, later joined his siblings, helping to hunt down Alana. After Ashton's grandmother died, she sucked her dry of blood and backfilled her with embalming fluid. She was good at her job, and usually she catered to the embalming candidates before they died, familiarizing herself with their financial circumstance and then finishing her job after the victim's death. Eventually, Thomas and his children were instrumental bringing Alana Walton and her accomplices to justice to justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456745288

Arnold J. Inzko

Arnold J. Inzko lived in Austria, in England and lives now in the USA. He attended nine schools in the countries mentioned. He received his primary education in Austria, worked in London, England and he earned a degree in mechanical engineering in the USA. In the United States, he served 2 years in the Army and received an honorable discharge. Then he worked mostly as manager in the engineering field. After his retirement, he taught engineering related subjects at South Hills School of Business and Technology. Now he is writing Sci-fi novels.

Book preview

Contents

PART ONE

Chapter 1

2010 AD

Chapter 2

2010

Chapter 3

1850

Chapter 4

1915

Chapter 5

2010

Chapter 6

2013

Chapter 7

2013

Chapter 8

2013

Chapter 9

2013

Chapter 10

1920

Chapter 11

2013

Chapter 12

1920

Chapter 13

1920

Chapter 14

2013

Chapter 15

2013

Chapter 16

2013

Chapter 17

2014

Chapter 18

2013

Chapter 19

2013

Chapter 20

1945

Chapter 21

2013

Chapter 22

2013

Chapter 23

2015

Chapter 24

1952

Chapter 25

2015

PART TWO

Chapter 26

2016

Chapter 27

1995

Chapter 28

1995

Chapter 29

2016

Chapter 30

1998

Chapter 31

2016

Chapter 32

1998

Chapter 33

2016

Chapter 34

2016

Chapter 35

2016

Chapter 36

2016

Chapter 37

2016

Chapter 38

2038

Author’s Notes

I dedicate this novel to my first grandson

Ashton P. Runals

missing image file

A map of Roseville and surrounding areas

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Descendants of Christopher Claiborne

Other Statistics

Hartman Genealogy

Bruno Hartman

b: 1820   m: 1845   d: 1915

Mary Hartman (Wife)

b: 1821   m: 1845   d: 1853

Agnes Hartman (Daughter)

b: 1853   m: 1878   d: 1936

Alana Walton (Not related)

b: 1950   m: 1976   d: NA

PART ONE

Chapter 1

2010 AD

ASHTON CLAIBORNE WAS MISSING.

It was a Thursday afternoon and his whole, tired family was frantically looking for him. They have searched for Ashton for the last four hours. Darkness and bad weather came upon the search parties, turning the surroundings eerie gray, dim and cold.

The members of the search parties were familiar with the layout of the land, but that didn’t influence them from getting concerned that they will never find Ashton again. First, they looked in their two-story home. They started on the first floor, without course or direction, frantically running over each other, checking all rooms; living room, kitchen, bedrooms, spare rooms, study and the toilets.

Ashton was nowhere in sight.

Next, they went to the basement, where they checked an old washer and dryer, as well as niches and crevices. Then they rechecked the bedrooms and the toilets on the second floor. Again, they couldn’t find him. The attic always was a mystifying place for young Ashton, ever since he could walk and climb steps. Occasionally, he snuck up there and played with the old, broken, wooden train and toys from his grandparents. His mother knew that he was afraid being alone in the attic, but he couldn’t resists it’s fascination. For some reason he was always drawn to it.

What are you doing in the attic all by yourself? said his mother, worried about him.

Just playing with toys, said Ashton, looking over his shoulder to make sure that his mother didn’t go too far away.

Now, the search party turned on the lights and opened the door, leading to the attic. But, all they found was an antique mirror near the door, half hanging from a post and half leaning against an old dining room chair with a red carpet in front of it. Behind it were junk, broken toys, an accumulation of years of old furniture, useless items and newspapers, boxes and chests. The family uses it as a storage place. However, Ashton wasn’t there either, though they checked every corner.

In the early evening of the same day, a second search party assembled in town to help the Claiborne family. With their cars, they traveled to the Claiborne home, a long three-mile stretch in quickly changing weather. Once they left their cars, the wind blew from the north and the rain felt like sharp needles piercing people’s faces. On this day, the wind blew more cutting than usual. Above, the clouds were moving fast. They turned up their collars, hoping for some protection from the vicious storm. One woman used an umbrella, but a wind gust turned it inside out and then ripped it out of her hand. She screamed, trying to retrieve it, My umbrella, look. The vicious wind carried it over the nearby trees, imitating a ghost, traveling aimlessly, looking for tomfoolery. Initially, they searched in the afternoon and into late at night near the Claiborne home, hoping to find Ashton nearby. That was a lost cause and the search parties slowed down in their search activities, standing around wondering what to do next.

At the beginning of the storm, about sixty feet, behind the home, the vicious rain swelled the creek. The search parties stayed away from there, but they had bad feelings about it. Did the creek’s torrent flow wash the five-year old boy down the gulley and over the waterfall, a quarter of a mile downstream? Or, perhaps, Ashton ran to the nearby town of Roseville, Illinois, where he started Kindergarten this fall? He was the studious type. He loves the school and he was happy when he entered it.

His mother Cathy was crying, fearing the worst for her little boy. Her face was the color of talcum and she shivered. Ashton was a fragile child, wearing glasses, shaped round and ill fitting on his narrow face. He was smart and he liked to fantasize. On nice days, he sat on the bench by the creek. His father built it two years ago. That’s where he daydreamed and threw pebbles in the water. Sometimes, he tossed small pieces of bread in the nearby pool and hungry trout jumped and attacked the crumbs. That made Ashton happy and he laughed. How many other kids played by this dangerous creek, before him, thought Ashton. When he wasn’t by the creek, watching the water flowing he spent time with his father, while he prepared physics experiments in his home laboratory for his next class. Ashton watched intently. His favorite experiments were the ones related to light and mirrors though he didn’t understand the complicated physics of reflecting and re-directing light rays.

Finally, the local police officer arrived. It took him a while to organize his thinking. Eating donuts and drinking coffee in the local cafeteria made him sluggish. He allowed himself a thin smile, looked over the situation and said, Two of you better check the road to town, he might be there.

Good idea, said an elderly man with a raspy voice, while he scanned his flashlight along the back wall of the home, shaking. Dusk set in a short while ago and fortunately, the vicious wind was beginning to fade. He turned toward his battered army jeep and sat in it. Then he used his phone to call his home, telling his daughter that he and his friend will be heading toward town, looking for the boy. She shouldn’t worry about him, because he had lots of experience in these matters. The battered jeep skidded from side to side, attempting to gain traction on the muddy surface of the dirt road. Realizing the treacherous and slippery conditions, he drove slowly to prevent from swerving and ending up in the nearby, deep gulley. Because the Claiborne home was located near the outskirts of Roseville, the city neglected to pave it, but they had plans to do it later. Also, the road was sparsely illuminated, though a few homes lined the sides of it. It’s only three miles to town and it won’t take me long, thought the old man. His name was Charlie Peterson and he lived in town all his life. Occasionally, he acted as the town’s historian, relating to newcomers the goings-on in town. He was a tall, lanky fellow, and always wore his jeans, holding them up with his red suspenders. He knew every street and every home in it. He drove by the high school, where Ashton’s father, Tomas Claiborne, taught physics and calculus. He continued on to the downtown turn around, searching for Ashton near the Flynn and the Coventry funeral homes, located on opposing streets. He returned on the same road and stopped in front of the kindergarten. The janitor had it locked at this late hour. Charlie left the jeep running and he quickly walked to the building and shone his flashlight in the windows. He was hopeful to find Ashton in one of the rooms. When Charlie finished checking every room, anxiously hoping that he would find him, he regretfully returned to the jeep.

Couldn’t find him, he said to his sidekick, shaking his head, pressing his lips.

Well, then. We had better return. And while we do let’s check the road again.

Right. I’ll be watching.

Charlie put the jeep into gear and he engaged his four-wheel drive, straining the gearshift handle, averting an accident due to the slippery conditions. They drove slowly, checking the sides of the road with Charlie’s flashlight. But, all they saw was a lonely deer, crossing the street.

Boy. That was a close call, said Charlie frowning. When they returned the Claiborne home, people stood in front, deciding on what they should do next and they surmised, I guess you didn’t find the kid.

Nop, we didn’t, said Charlie, disappointed.

After searching for another hour, they were ready to give up. They didn’t know where else to look. Later, in a moonless night, they assembled on the large porch, trying to keep warm. Some stood and some sat on the benches.

Be careful, the benches might collapse with all the weight on it, said Tomas, looking at his fat cousin.

Tomas was a multitalented individual and he did most of the renovating around his home. He ordered materials to reinforce the one-hundred-sixty year old benches, but it hadn’t arrived yet. When Tomas inherited the home, his father had grossly neglected it. Tomas modernized it to 2010 standards. To start with, he removed the old wallpaper and painted the rooms with earth tone colors. That took an extraordinary amount of work, because the walls were cracking and uneven. Then he lifted the soiled carpeting, sanded and stained the hardwood floors and placed, new, expensive rugs in most rooms. In the living room, he removed an old, large and heavy mirror and stored it in the attic. Converting one of the smaller rooms for his laboratory was one of the last items on his list. And, he will renovate the benches as soon as the materials will arrive. The original owners of the house built them when they built the house. It was a lovely old, two-story house, with a large attic, where the Claiborne family kept miscellaneous items as well as rugs and old furniture, among which was a heavy, large mirror.

Chapter 2

2010

CATHY CLAIBORNE LOOKED AT the cold and shivering relatives and friends, as they were trying to keep warm. They were saddened that they couldn’t find Ashton. How could Cathy raise the spirits of the folks standing on the porch? She knew what to do. She rushed to the kitchen and placed a large pot on the electric burner of the stove. She fetched three bottles of red wine and she poured the wine into the pot. She threw in a few cloves, apple peelings and other special ingredients and then she brought the wine to a boil. With a ladle, she poured the hot wine into mugs and passed it out to the folks on the porch. They loved the potent drink and it warmed their bodies from the inside out.

Shall we try again? asked one of Cathy’s friends, feeling re-energized.

What else could we do? We looked everywhere, said a relative, stroking his chin.

That’s true, said Tomas. He looked at his watch. It was way past midnight. His nine-year old daughter, Pamela couldn’t sleep, being worried about her brother. She stepped up and said to her father, We should check the house again, dad. Like from the basement to the attic. She looked bewildered at her father, raising her brows and slightly shaking her head the way kids do. The folks looked at each other and one relative volunteered, I guess that wouldn’t do no harm. Tomas put down his empty mug and went to the basement. Two friends followed, reluctantly. All they found in the basement was three cider barrels, shelves with fruit, stored for the winter and two cases of beer. Tomas picked the apples from his apple orchard and Cathy stored them for the oncoming winter. On the ground floor, they checked all rooms, including the washer and the dryer — occasionally he had a habit of hiding in there but Ashton was nowhere in sight. Then they looked on the second floor — in the closets and under the beds. He wasn’t there either. The only place left was the attic.

Shall we check the attic one more time? asked Tomas.

We should do that, dad, said his daughter, nodding. Tomas led the way. The steps were narrow and treacherous. He slipped and almost fell backwards into the hands of one of his cousins. He caught himself on the wobbly railing. This is what I have to repair next; one more job added to the list, thought Tomas. Before he entered the attic, he turned on the light switch, mounted near the door. Then he opened the door. Three, powerful, energy saver lights illuminated the attic, making it the best-lighted room in the house.

Tomas stepped in and Cousin Dan was right behind him. They looked down in front of them.

There they saw Ashton, sleeping on a dusty, red carpet, blood oozing from his leg.

How is this possible? said Tomas. We checked the attic not too long ago. I swear that Ashton wasn’t here.

I was right behind you, said Cousin Dan, I’m sure of it. Tomas nodded, for reassurance that he was right.

Ashton, called Tomas. Wake up, Ashton. Tomas waited a few seconds then he bent down and shook Ashton. Finally, he woke up and looked around confused. Then he felt pain and he screamed, My leg hurts. He reached down and touched the gash on his left leg.

Ouch!

What happened to you? asked his father, concerned.

I don’t know dad. It hurts.

I will get you mother. She can apply a bandage, said Tomas.

All right. The frightened boy rubbed his eyes and said, What time is it, dad? I should go to bed. I have school tomorrow morning. Tomas looked at his son, shaking his head. Today is already Friday and tomorrow is Saturday — then comes Sunday. After that, it will be Monday and that’s when you go back to school.

But I came to the attic on Thursday. Isn’t today Thursday, dad?

No, son. Today is Friday, early morning. What happened to you, anyway?

I don’t know, dad. My leg hurts. I’m not sleepy now, but I’m very hungry.

Let’s go to the kitchen. Your mother will tend to your leg. Then you can eat. We had beef stew today and we have plenty left. When Cathy saw a shaking Ashton entering the kitchen limping, she hugged him with a new outburst of cries, God, am I glad that dad found you. How are you feeling, honey? asked Cathy, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

Fine ma. My leg hurts and I’m hungry. Cathy looked at Ashton’s leg and she said, How did you do that, son?

I don’t know —I don’t remember. Cathy ran to the bathroom and found a tube of Neosporin and bandages. Carefully, she tended to Ashton’s leg.

That feels better mom, said her thankful son.

Give him some of the beef stew, mother, said Tomas, pointing his head toward the stove. Cathy warmed up a bowl of stew in the microwave oven and gave it to Ashton. Next to the stew, Cathy placed two slices of homemade bread, a napkin and a spoon. Ashton devoured the food, while the