The Indescribable

By M. V. Harold

The Indescribable is the story about a piece of glass art that cannot be copied, photographed, videotaped, or described in any way. So what happens when it gets stolen from the Rolling Hills museum? It is up to an overpriced detective and his friends to find the piece and the reason for its disappearance. As they search for the piece, they will find there is much more at stake than they realize.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546225829

M. V. Harold

The Indescribable is M. V. Harolds first full-length novel. He earned his Bachelors degree in Leadership from Lincoln Christian College in Lincoln Illinois. During his collegiate years his interest in writing fiction grew. He often wrote poems and plays for class assignments and his follow alumni. Over the years he developed a keen interest in Christian apologetics, which is the discipline of defending what a Christian believes; it is from his interest in apologetics that he began writing Christian fiction to help explain concepts that might be difficult for others to understand.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Glass Class

A fter working a third-shift, mediocre, go-nowhere job, a man awoke from just two hours of sleep to attend his first glassblowing class.

He took a quick bath, put on his clothes, had breakfast, and headed off to class.

This average, slightly overweight, middle-aged man had no children, wife, or girlfriend. A loner his entire life, he was often bored and companionless with very little to keep him occupied; most things neither excited nor amused him.

Now, this was not to say that he had absolutely no friends. He simply saw his relationships as passive in nature; here today, gone tomorrow. Nonetheless, people liked him.

As he drove to class, he saw the usual scenery of buildings, signs, well-known landmarks, and trees. Today he took special notice of the changes. Over the years, the buildings, businesses, and structures had either become dilapidated or had been remodeled or removed, reminding him that there had been no real change for him personally. If only something life-changing could happen to me, he mused.

He always hoped for some adventure that would give him excitement, something to strive for. Not that he hadn’t done anything with his life; he learned many things from being a college graduate, acquiring a trade, writing stories, and dabbling in the arts. In fact, the class he was going to was just one of the many types of arts he learned over the years and begged these questions: what would come from all of this, and why would he keep doing it?

He arrived at the studio Glasses for the Masses and walked through the open door, noticing a pallet full of silicone pellets in fifty-pound bags. No doubt these would be melted down in the crucible to become the molten glass from which he would work.

Inside was a showcase of all the glasswork produced in the studio: flowers, cups, bulbs, sun catchers, and pretty much any other item the human mind could envision, some of which would be showcased in art shows throughout the area.

His instructors were two pretty ladies around his age, although generally he paid little attention to such details about people. One was the head instructor and the owner of the shop, and the other was her assistant. They greeted him with warm smiles.

So, are you ready to begin? the head instructor asked.

Oh yes, he said, trying to feign some level of excitement.

The instructors started by doing a demonstration. He watched as they drew the glass out of the crucible onto a hollow rod. The molten glass was rolled on the mauver table, to give it an even surface, and then rolled through frit for color. The glass was then placed into the furnace to be heated up, the first of several times, to keep the glass molten while shaping. Finally, a bubble was blown through the hollow rod into the glass and the shaping process began.

After several minutes of work, the glass finally took the shape of a vase. The glass was placed in a post-heating oven so that it could cool slowly, lest it crack.

Throughout this demonstration, the man silently prayed, Dear Lord in heaven, I praise your name. Please let something interesting happen to me today. Let me experience some excitement. Let me create something amazing, something that can glorify you. Lord, I am so bored with life and need something to happen to help me find my purpose, to find my meaning. Even if it’s nothing more than one piece of glass art. If that’s all it would be, that’d be enough.

He repeated this prayer over and over. His concentration on this prayer was so intense that he was almost on the verge of tears.

Are you all right? You look like you’re going to pass out, the head instructor said.

Yes, I’ll be fine, he replied.

She considered him for a moment and then nodded. Okay, you ready then?

Yes.

Let’s get started.

Now it was his turn to work the glass. With the assistance of the instructor, he began the basics of gathering, rolling, and reheating. When it was time to shape the glass, something unusual happened. As he blew, he found himself breathing the prayer into the piece. He sat down at the workbench and began to shape the glass, his hands seeming to work of their own accord. He worked the glass, twisting and turning and pulling and cutting; his hands were a blur. The instructor and her assistant watched in amazement as this rookie worked the glass.

He took another gather from the crucible and repeated the processes. This would go on for the next several minutes: twisting, turning, pulling, and cutting, until he was finally satisfied.

When he was done, he flashed the piece in the furnace and went back to the bench to narrow the area where the glass met the rod; this was done so that the piece could be separated from the rod with a drop of water and a quick tap on the rod. After the piece was released from the rod, the head instructor took a propane torch and heated the sharp end to smooth it out.

When it was finished, the instructor picked up the glass creation with insulated tongs and stared in amazement. I have never seen anything like it. No one ever has worked glass like this before. It—it is indescribable, she said, unable to take her eyes off the piece.

It was exactly as she said: indescribable. No words in the English language, or any other language, could capture a proper description. The man, the head instructor, and the assistant stood there for a minute, staring at the piece without saying a word, almost as if they were in a trance.

We need to place it in the annealer for post-cooling, the assistant said, breaking the fixation.

Yeah, the instructor said, shaking her head, We’d better.

When they opened the door to the annealer, they saw that it was already full of other glass pieces.

Empty it out—all of it, the head instructor ordered.

After the assistant emptied the annealer, the instructor placed the piece inside as gently as she would hold a newborn baby. When she closed the door, she slowly looked up to the man and asked, You’ve never taken glass classes before; how were you able to do this?

The man considered her for a moment and said, I don’t know. It almost felt like someone else was doing it.

Whatever the case, this piece is one of a kind. There’re no other pieces out there like it. It will be priceless! Turning to her assistant, she said, We’re closing shop for the rest of the day. I don’t want anyone else in here until it’s cooled!

Sure thing.

The instructor said to the man, You can pick it up in a couple of days—

Wai—

I assure you it’ll be safe, the instructor said, cutting him short.

He paused for a moment, not sure what to say. His eyes shifted between the instructor and the assistant until finally he nodded in submission. Okay, I guess I’m fine with that.

The man shook their hands, thanked them for the lesson, and walked out the door. As he made his way to his car, he noticed a spring in his step. He even afforded himself a little smirk. Whatever happened in there today, he knew it was a one-of-a-kind experience.

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While anxiously counting down the hours to when he would pick up his piece, fear started to arise. What if something happened to it? What if it was stolen? What if it didn’t cool right? What if it shattered?

It was not unusual for him to get the last-minute jitters; on many occasions he allowed his hopes to get high only to be let down. Even now he was beginning to worry.

Finally, it was time to pick up his piece. He rushed to the glass shop. When he got there, he saw that the door was open, and he rushed right in. So, is it finished!? he asked urgently.

Yes, it’s over here, the head instructor said, motioning to a mound of newspapers, Go ahead. Unwrap it.

He slowly unwrapped the newspapers and, as he discarded the pages, excitement welled up inside.

Finally, he could see his piece. He picked it up and stood there for a few minutes, mesmerized by what he was holding. He wanted to say something, but no words came forth. As before, there was still no way to describe it; it seemed to have an aroma and a sound, both of which were indescribable as well.

What is that aroma and sound. Is it coming from my piece?

Yes, I think so. Also, I tried to take some pictures of it, and guess what?

What?

It didn’t show up, she said, handing the man her camera.

As he examined the photos, he noticed a radiance of what appeared to be light with no form, blurring out whatever was there.

All of this is so strange. The aroma, the sound, the photos, the piece itself—none of it makes sense, the head instructor said, We just can’t describe it in any way.

"That’s it. We’ll call it The Indescribable!" the man proclaimed.

I think you nailed it on the head, the instructor replied, Art dealers will come from all over the world wanting to buy it. If that’s what you want.

He looked at her and back at the piece and considered her words. To be honest, I have no idea what I’m going to do with it.

With that, the man turned around and left.

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As it turned out, he did find a purpose for The Indescribable; he rented the piece out to several museums that paid him quite well for the privilege of displaying his work. The museums advertised by using catchphrases such as, "Come See The Indescribable, We Dare You to Take a Picture!; The Amazing Indescribable, It Can’t Be Replicated, Duplicated, Photographed or Described!; or Come See What Everyone Is Talking About, But Can’t Explain Why!"

The Indescribable was displayed in big cities all over the world, drawing immense crowds. No cameras could capture its image, nor its emanating sound. Even when people tried to use magnifying glasses and microscopes, they continued to see the same radiant blur. People attempted to sculpt it, or paint it on canvas, but all of them eventually gave up because they could not comprehend where to even begin.

In time, the man, the artist, would gain so much revenue from displaying the piece that he no longer needed to tour with The Indescribable. He decided to give the piece away. He came across a mid-sized town named Rolling Hills; it was an impoverished town where many of the people struggled to make ends meet. Crime ran rampant because of its impoverished state. It was here that the man gave away The Indescribable, knowing that this town could use a little hope and joy. He gave the piece to the mayor who, in turn, had it displayed at the local museum. After this, the artist went on his way. No one knew what became of the artist, he simply faded into obscurity, but not The Indescribable.

In a short time, The Indescribable became a major tourist attraction for the town of Rolling Hills. Already world famous, once people found out the piece’s permanent residence, they came from all over the world just to catch a glimpse.

With the tourists came new revenue for the town; several stores and restaurants and new jobs. With the new-found boom in the economy, outside businesses set up shop in Rolling Hills, if only to be near The Indescribable. It was in this town that the story really began.

Chapter 2

Welcome To Rolling Hills

R olling Hills was an average-sized community of roughly thirty thousand people in the Midwest. People often wondered about its classification, stating that it was too big to be called a town, but too small to be considered a city. Whether Rolling Hills was a town or a city, one thing was for sure, it had a notorious history.

Rolling Hills was first settled in the early 1800s near a major river. Because of its proximity to the river, many steamboats and rafts often landed in Rolling Hills for bed and breakfast, or to purchase supplies, which made it an ideal place for commerce.

Then came the widespread use of railroads. Local farmers erected silos along the river to store their grain which could be shipped by rail or barge. Farmers also brought livestock, to be transported by train, and marketed in the towns the rails led to. Rolling Hills became one of the most important logistics hubs of the Midwest.

In the early 1900s, factories were built, and the Industrial Age was in full swing. Roads were paved with the coming of the automobile. Rolling Hills continued to experience meaningful growth.

Then came the Great Depression; many of the factories closed and commerce slowed significantly but, because of the local farmers, Rolling Hills weathered the depression relatively better than many other towns and cities in the United States.

During World War II, the factories reopened to help the war effort. Rolling Hills experienced its biggest economic boom ever. Investors came by the droves to do business with the people of Rolling Hills. Because of all the new work, high-rises were built to house workers and their families. Somehow, during the war, the entertainment industry began to peak as well. Rolling Hills welcomed new movie theatres, baseball parks, and a speedway. Many people considered this period the grandest of the town’s golden years.

Then came the paving of the interstate, creating one of the most impactful changes in the United States. The people of Rolling Hills, known for their self-sufficiency, believed the town could endure any change that came along. Yet, as so oft-happens when people believe they can confront the winds of change under their own power, Rolling Hills faltered.

With the coming of the transcontinental interstate came a new way of life for many Americans. Though trains and barges were continually used, an interstate connection allowed major businesses to move goods more efficiently, and, since Rolling Hills was nowhere near the new highways, it began a slow and painful decline.

Businesses started moving out or closing shop. Factories, once busy with work, shut down. The high-rises, once made to house workers and their families, became derelict structures standing like relics of an era long-since gone. Even some of the farmers ceased doing business in the town. This caused unemployment to run rampant, with many people leaving the area for good.

Nevertheless, Rolling Hills remained a major logistics hub, if not for entirely upstanding reasons. The goods shipped there during this period were not the sort of savory, wholesome things one would find in their local supermarket or hardware store. Rolling Hills had become a den of demons who took advantage of the hardships. People were desperate and willing to do desperate things.

Meth labs and crack houses, complete with drug runners, afflicted the neighborhoods. There was human trafficking and sweatshops, tricking the naive and the helpless. Indeed, lots of money was to be made in Rolling Hills, but the ones who would benefit from it were the ones willing to exploit their fellow man. City Hall, the police, and even the local churches had little influence on solving the ongoing problems. This was the state of Rolling Hills when The Indescribable first arrived.

When the people of Rolling Hills got word that the world-famous piece was going to be showcased in their museum, they started talking. Many scoffed at the idea, dismissing it as a rumor. Some believed it an elaborate hoax (after all, there were no photos to substantiate its existence). Still others were hopeful that if The Indescribable was as magnificent as people said it was, it would be a welcomed sight to a weary town.

Finally, the unveiling day arrived. All activity was heading toward the Rolling Hills Museum located in the center of town. The Indescribable had been at the museum for a few weeks, but the mayor decided to hold off the big reveal until they were ready. Now, with all the media and advertising, people were coming from all over to witness the unveiling of The Indescribable.

Inside the museum there was only one floor about the size of a basketball court. There were many pictures of the town’s glory days: factories making products, trains running on schedule, farmers loading their grains in silos, and barges being filled. Various train equipment was on display including lanterns, flares, wheels, axels, and even a caboose. One of the most notable displays was an interstate marker with a bold, angrily-drawn hash line through it, depicting the town’s frustration over the building of the interstate. The museum was simply a fixture in the town. Though available to the public at all hours of the day, free of charge, the museum had very few visitors. That was all about to change with the revealing of The Indescribable.

In the center of the museum hung a veil covering a glass display. The glass display was flanked by what appeared to be vents as well as several horn-shaped objects surrounding it.

The museum was packed wall-to-wall with people from all over Rolling Hills, eager for a glimpse of The Indescribable. People began to murmur among themselves.

"Is it really The Indescribable?"

I think it’s a sham.

Who did they have to bribe to get it here?

If this is the real thing, why did they bring it here to this backwater town?

Finally, the mayor of Rolling Hills, Harold Banks, dressed in his suit and tie and sporting a weary look on his face, approached the crowd. He was no stranger to his role as mayor; he was elected for the seat many years in a row. In all his time as mayor, he often wondered what good he had achieved for Rolling Hills. Today was different though; he was about to present the greatest piece of art in the world, The Indescribable. Somehow he knew this was going to be the best thing to happen to the town in all his years of incumbency.

The mayor walked up to the glass case and retrieved a key from his jacket pocket. He signaled for three others to reach into their pockets and pull out keys as well. The four keyholders met at the glass case obscured by the veil. The mayor cleared his throat, letting the crowd know he was ready to speak.

"I won’t bore you with a long-winded speech today. Yes, I know many of you are skeptical, but I assure you this is worth the wait. I would like to thank the artist who brought this to us, but he left without giving his name. Nonetheless, when you see this masterpiece, you will understand that this is, by far, one of the most important days in all the years of Rolling Hills. So, without further ado, I give to you The Indescribable!"

The mayor and the three other men took their keys and inserted them into slots, one on each plane of the glass case. With a gesture from the mayor, the keyholders turned their keys simultaneously. Once the locks were turned, the mayor began to turn a crank which slowly lifted the veil. As Mayor Banks removed the veil, the crowd immediately went silent. They were all seeing, for the first time, The Indescribable.

Immediately, cameras started taking pictures. Some spectators asked about the vents and horns which surrounded the glass case,