David Mason : A Collection of Three Stories

By David Mason

David Mason was a science-fiction writer, who published in pulp fiction magazines. 

In this collection, you will find three short stories by this author, full of innovation, adventure and mystery. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Orpheus Editions
• Release date: Apr 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9788835804628

David Mason

David Mason grew up in Bellingham, Washington and has lived in many parts of the world, including Greece and Colorado, where he served as poet laureate for four years. His books of poems began with The Buried Houses, The Country I Remember, and Arrivals. His verse novel, Ludlow, was named best poetry book of the year by the Contemporary Poetry Review and the National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum. It was also featured on the PBS NewsHour. He has written a memoir and four collections of essays. His poetry, prose, and translations have appeared in such periodicals as the New Yorker, Harper’s Magazine, The Nation, The New Republic, the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, the Times Literary Supplement, Poetry, and the Hudson Review. Anthologies include Best American Poetry, The Penguin Anthology of Twentieth-Century American Poetry, and others. He has also written libretti for operas by Lori Laitman and Tom Cipullo, all available on CD from Naxos. In 2015 Mason published two poetry collections: Sea Salt: Poems of a Decade and Davey McGravy: Tales to Be Read Aloud to Children and Adult Children. The Sound: New and Selected Poems and Voices, Places: Essays appeared in 2018. Incarnation and Metamorphosis: Can Literature Change Us? appeared in 2022. He lives with his wife Chrissy (poet Cally Conan-Davies) in Tasmania on the edge of the Southern Ocean.

Book preview

ROAD STOP

It was like any other car on the road. It

was automatic, self-contained—and eternal!

The highway stretched away in ruler-straight perspective toward both horizons, black and shining in the sun like a river of ink. Beside it, the bright pastel buildings of Rest Stop 25 stood among the green trees. Occasionally a car shot past, a flash of metal and a hiss of split wind; but the road was one which was used more often at night, and was nearly empty in the afternoon.

Sam was the only attendant on duty. Stop 25 needed only two human attendants, even at its busiest hours. He sat, staring out at the highway, his elbows on the lunch counter, his round face blank, but his mouth set tightly. The phone at his elbow emitted a small grunting noise.

You still there? the phone voice said inquiringly.

Yeah. Sam said, still staring at the highway.

Well.... The voice paused. Look, it might not come your way. It usually turns west at the New Britain intersection.

Not always. Sam said. It went by here once before.

It almost never stops, anyway, the voice said firmly. It won't stop.

Some times it does, Sam said.

It doesn't have to.

Sam shrugged and said nothing.

Okay, then, the voice said. I called you about it, anyway.

Thanks.

Sam turned away, still watching the road.

Far off a speck of metal gleamed, growing larger. The distant high sound of brakes began, as a car decelerated, coming toward the Stop.

It was just an ordinary car, Sam told himself. That other car was still hundreds of miles away. But his hands were damp as he watched it grow larger.

It was an ordinary Talman sedan, with two people in it. It swung into the Stop's parking area, and its doors slid open smoothly. A small red light flashed on its arched front. The repair signal. In response the doors