Chasing Magic

By Eric Wojciechowski

A race of alien machines, implants discovered to modify some humans to survive a journey into space, and a group of people who know what’s coming. In 2017, the novel CHASING DISCLOSURE debuted introducing just such a universe with an answer to the UFO phenomenon. Now, expanding on those themes comes the present volume, CHASING MAGIC. A follow up collection of short stories and narrative threads continuing the story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eric Wojciechowski
• Release date: Sep 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005702038

Eric Wojciechowski

Eric Wojciechowski lives with his wife and two children in Livonia, Michigan. Usually writing essays and articles in politics, religion, pseudoscience and Woo-Woo. Lover of all things Fortean. Some non-fiction work can be seen at Skeptical Inquirer, Skeptic magazine, American Atheists magazine and Free Inquiry magazine. Currently blogging and commenting about things of interest over at Substack: https://ericwojo.substack.com/

Book preview

Chasing

Magic

ERIC WOJCIECHOWSKI

Copyright © 2020 Eric Wojciechowski

Cover/Back by Marc Ducrow

www.marcducrowart.com

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781005702038

DEDICATION

To my mother, my biggest fan and source of encouragement since childhood to keep writing and creating.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Like all the times before, I need to thank my wife, Melissa, for all the encouragement and being my first reader, editor and top cheerleader. I also wish to thank Allison Trigger-Gallinati who kept reminding me I should be writing when I wasn’t and who promotes my work like it’s her own. And finally, I want to give continued thanks to the UFO community who welcomed my first novel, CHASING DISCLOSURE, and continues to stay interesting and diverse in thought, action and most of all, creativity. May this subject matter never get old.

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

- Arthur C. Clarke

…a performance that may some day be considered understandable, but that, in these primitive times, so transcends what is said to be the known that it is what I mean by magic,

- Charles Fort

CHAPTERS

Spring

Aaron

Scrape

Bathtub Gin

посетитель

Summer

Vet

Reel

Blocking Thoughts

Jodet’s Coin

Fall

Faye Girl

Blueberry Airship

Jealous Johnnie

Winter

About the Author

SPRING

I’m the third to last person to have Run DMC’s Rock Box on my MP3 player. I’m the second to last person to have Baltimora’s Tarzan Boy on my player, I’m fairly certain. And I’m the last person to have Adam Ant’s entire collection.

And I’m also the last person who knows what happened to those persons Matt talked about. Those ones that came out of their tombs after Jessie died. Matt referred to them in 27:51-53 and then dropped the ball. Luke, Mark and that Gnostic, John, didn’t touch it at all. Cowards.

And if you wanna know how it’s going to end, pay attention to the research coming out of a group in Dubai, the work of resurrection after this planet becomes theirs, after the Alkaios take that which gives it light.

AARON

Aaron is scaring the shit out of the neighborhood again. Ever since the Sandy thing, he’s been outside, shaking his fist in the air and yelling obscenities. My neighbor, who’s been retired for years, shows no concern for the rest of us who have to get up and work in the morning.

Starting on Monday, it was three in the morning. His voice carried from his front lawn, took a thirty-degree turn down the space between his house and mine and squeezed through the bedroom window that needed some caulk and woke me up.

I tapped Alex, my husband’s arm, honey, you left the tv on. But those words didn’t come out of my mouth. I said them in my head. Then said them two and three then four more times in my thoughts until I was fully awake realizing it wasn’t the television but my neighbor, Aaron making the racket.

Aaron is in his early seventies. He spent a lot of time outside. He was obsessed with wandering his backyard and front lawn, picking up the most trivial pieces of nothing to keep the grounds spotless. But that was normal people hours, like, three in the afternoon. Not yelling like a maniac in the middle of the night.

That Monday, actually bleeding into Tuesday, because it was three in the morning, Aaron was shaking his fist into the sky, turning around and around as if to find the target of his anger. He said, Fucking come back and I’ll knock yer gawd damn black eyes back to hell ya gawd damn little fucks.

So that was weird and I looked out from behind the curtain covering the big picture window in my living room but I couldn’t see anything in the area he was looking at. He apparently didn’t anymore either as after a few minutes of scanning the skies, he slapped his arms to his sides, gave up and walked back into his house.

I spent a few minutes straining to see what could be the cause of his frustration but nothing was present that shouldn’t be up there. Stars, the moon, maybe a planet or two.

Then Tuesday bleeding into Wednesday, Aaron was out there again. This time it was about two in the morning and he was running down the sidewalk yelling, Little fucking fucks! I’m gonna shoot yer punk asses if I catch you.

Again I looked out my picture window and watched him until he ran out of view. I figured maybe one of us should have a talk with him or get him some help. I mean, ever since the Sandy thing.

From the first day we moved into our house in Pleasant Oaks, Aaron and Sandra were there. They may have been the original owners of their home. Sandy made an amazing pie.

My husband and I moved in about ten years ago. Aaron would have been in his early sixties then.

Back then, our real estate agent was driving my husband and I around a subdivision. I was sitting next to him. He waved his hand out his open window, Look at all them. It's like your own personal ATM. His head turned with each passing house, These things just keep going up and up in price.

Alex was in the back seat doing the head turn too. As we passed a large Craftsman bungalow with a well maintained landscape, he let out a long whistle and said, That's nice.

Our agent looked back at him, Yeah, huh?

Alex put his hand on my shoulder. He leaned forward to my ear, Are you sure we can afford something in this neighborhood?

Our agent filled in a response for me, Alex, you buy now and in five years you can sell for almost twice the price.

Alex and I shared a look of understanding. Our agent said, If you pay more now, you'll have less repairs and upgrades when you move in.

Our agent steered us around a corner, Now these are the real beauts that I was telling you about.

Alex squeezed my shoulder and said, I really think these are out of our range.

I turned to look at him. I said, Honey, I don't want a starter home.

Our agent slapped his knee and said, Great choice. You don't want to be moving all the time. Get something you can retire out of.

House after house went by. We stopped at one with three men on the roof, tearing shingles and tossing them into a dumpster in the driveway.

Our agent stepped out of the car and adjusted his belt to his actual waistline. He looked up at them. This place has been on the market for a year now. I've been waiting for them to do some fixing before I took anyone to see it. He waved his clipboard at the men on the roof. This is a good start.

Alex said, How old is this place?

Our agent flipped through the file on it. He ran his finger down a sheet. 1991.

Alex shot a look at me, And they already have to replace the roof?

Our agent closed his file. Inspection of the property showed more than a few places on the roof where there were foot-size holes.

Alex and I observed a garden gnome on the grounds. It had big red boots. And a great, big grin on his face.

Our agent opened the file again. The prior occupant used to go out of town a lot. Their fourteen-year-old kid had a Batman fetish or something. Neighbors saw him up there in costume a lot.

Oh, I said, imagining what the caped crusader did to the inside of the place, And did the kid do a lot of crime fighting on the inside?

Oh no, the inside is just fine, our agent said. He held out a key and wagged it in my face, Shall we take a look?

The 1990s was the time when cheap and fast went into the construction of new homes in new subdivisions. Vinyl siding can be your first indication of just such a home.

Inside, the kitchen was beautiful and spacious. The living room had a fabulous layout. The bathroom was a dream. And there was a huge, roomy master suite. When the roof was completed, the house would be turn-key, ready to move in. Our agent's words, not ours. He had a different adjective for each room.

Alex spent most of the tour with his mouth open. I had to keep reminding him to close it or we'd give away how much we liked the place.

After World War II, the U.S. Federal Government guaranteed home loans to all the vets who returned. By 1956, 2.4 million had taken advantage of the program. And the suburbs were born. With the promise of country living in close proximity to the city, the landscape changed.

Alex ran his fingers across the magnificent fireplace mantel. What's the name of this subdivision again?

Our agent looked back at his file and said, Pleasant Oaks.

Each suburb found itself named after what was leveled to make it. I pictured the few oak trees remaining along each of the streets, imagining they used to be part of a giant forest filled with wild game. The house we looked at prior to the one in Pleasant Oaks was located in Wyandot Springs. The last full blooded Native American from the Wyandot people died in 1937. Convenient for the housing boom that would follow a few years later.

Alex leaned with his back against the fireplace. He spread out his arms so that each hand grasped the edges of the mantel. Like Jesus on the cross, he might as well have said It Is Done. Our agent's eyes widened and he smiled. He said, You like it, eh?

Always wanted a fireplace.

A few weeks after we told our agent we'd take the house, we were signing the mortgage papers. We signed pages claiming primary residence, denying we'd be using it as a chemical dump, and a whole list of other things prior homeowners actually did. A few weeks after that, we moved in. And within days, we met Aaron and Sandra and the neighborhood was normal until a couple months ago.

This spring, I was outside planting some hydrangeas mixed with other decorative greens when Aaron walked up and did an awkward shuffle with his feet, keeping his hands in his pockets. He didn’t look at me but stared at the ground. "Uuuuuuh, how