New Strike Series- Lunacy

Aaron Bilek

As I lay here on my deathbed, rather than letting my bold adventures and stories die, I confine them to the pages of this book. I can write indefinitely, thanks to my nearly infinite spring of memories.

    Starting life on June 12th in the year 1954 named Mack Creb Adden, I was already considered strange. Not strange in a bad way, for when I was birthed there was a significant lack of crying in the hospital room. Growing up, I continually exhibited abnormal, but benign behaviour. I always ate my vegetables, went to bed on time and never complained about anything. When it came to school, my grades consisted of straight A’s and the only calls that were made home about my behaviour were those praising it.

The only really strange thing about me that could not be attributed to good behaviour was my extreme obsession with the moon and stars. I could be found atop my roof for hours on end, gazing at the brilliant luminescence of each point on the night sky. My interest of the heavens increased daily, until I was twelve years old, watching TV when my obsession increased tenfold. Imagine my excitement when I heard Kennedy’s announcement that man shall reach the moon within ten years.

Every night since then, if I was not stargazing, I was watching television for updates on the “Space Race”. Then, they did it. On July 20th, 1969, man reached the moon. I remember distinctly being crouched in front of our television set with mom and pop perched on the loveseat behind me. The lunar lander came in on its final descent. The hiss of the door exposed the men inside to the darkness surrounding them. Braving their fear, my new heroes took their first step on the moon. Unfortunately, I don’t remember much after that because I blacked out the instant that astronaut’s foot came in contact with the lunar dust.

I woke up the next day in a hospital bed, my mom asleep on a sofa, my dad crouched over me in prayer. I moved weakly, but it was enough to catch his attention. My dad cried tears of joy, hugged me all over and roused my mother from her sleep. She gave me a similar treatment. They explained to me that I suddenly fell over while watching the moon landing. When they rushed over to help me, I sat back up just as fast, claiming to need “a pad of paper and a pencil”. My parents thought nothing of it when I left the room. However, when I did not return within a half an hour, they became concerned and headed to my room to check on me. That’s when they called an ambulance after finding my body keeled over on top of my desk, unresponsive to outside influences. Once done with their story, a doctor was called in to look at my miraculous recovery from a comatose state.

I was released after three days of recovery. Once home I was regrettably confined to my room, for fear that outside sources could trigger another coma, this one more permanent. Tired of lying down and sleeping, I make a sport out of crumpled pieces of paper and my waste basket. I went through a notebook fairly fast, and went on a prowl for a new projectile source. My eyes fell on a pad of paper on my desk and I eagerly snatched it up to use for sport. However, when I analyzed the top page, I forgot about paper balls.Instead, I realized that this is what I must have done after I blacked out. This project utterly perplexed me because the symbols surrounding the main chart were unlike any I’ve ever seen.

My surrounding friends and family, if asked, would say that they noticed a distinctive change in my personality over the next year I turned from a free-thinking kid into a one-tasked machine. I did only what was necessary to decipher this chart, going to professionals, getting scans of the paper, even going as far as to seeking the help of psychics. Every result from my research came as a negative. But this would not deter me from my goal. As an exceptionally bright, albeit not social, student, I was given generous scholarships to colleges of my choice. I ended up pursuing degrees of cryptography and ancient languages to further my understanding of my one-minded goal.

When I reached the age of twenty-eight, sixteen years after the chart incident, I came to a breakthrough. By combining Roman numerals with ancient cuneiform to form symbols matching those written on the chart. By comparing the symbols to the symbols on the chart, I was able to decipher the chart to English. However, upon decoding, I realized that it wasn’t just a chart, but a map.

A map pointing straight to the heart of Old Jack’s Apple Orchard, on that was situated not five miles from the house where I grew up. I packed my bags and took the first flight to my hometown. I could barely contain my excitement to have finally decoded my lifelong obsession. After getting permission from Old Jack himself, I oriented to the exact location on the map. Using the natural landmarks outlined by the map, I made quick progress. Upon arriving, my hopes were shattered. Nothing. My life’s work. Nothing. Not so much as a sign stood where the map pointed. The only thing here was a decaying pile of leaves. I laid down to better cope with my loss.

A loud thump could be heard when my head hit the pile of leaves I was planning to use for a pillow. Using my bare hands, I cleared the pile away from my new glimmer of hope. In the absence of leaves, a bolted trapdoor exposed itself to the afternoon light; and to a man about to uncover secrets that have the potential to destroy the world.