The Crystal Skull

Spencer Escobar always held a keen fascination with the legend of the crystal skulls of ancient Mesoamerica. He wondered at their mystical powers and arcane origins. He pondered their purpose and delved deep into the recesses of the internet for any facts, theories, rumors, or gossip he could find about them. So devoted was he to the crystal skulls that he visited every known collection and exhibit, drank only Crystal Skull vodka. He even saw Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skulls more than once and swore up and down to any who would listen that the movie was actually good, making him the only person on record to do either. No scientific evidence or analysis could persuade him. Crafting techniques were too modern? Made by a now extinct advanced civilization. Materials were from the wrong part of the world? Aliens aren't concerned about oceans. Dating techniques revealed they were made in the 19^th century? What a mystery! The ancients who made it could have been time travelers, or used some other yet unknown technique! He refused to have his beliefs debunked. His biggest wish was to one day discover a crystal skull of his own. Then he could prove they were not fraudulent, as he would know his was no forgery but a real authentic piece of legend. As it happened, he found himself at a Halloween party, and there in the punch bowl, he saw one, laying among the red mix of fruit juice and rum. He rushed home to get a proper case, something that would keep the skull safe from damage or theft, something that would let the world know this was his find and they should not touch it. Naturally, he had planned for such a find years ago, but alas, when he returned to the party, the skull was gone. His only clue as to who had stolen it was the punch itself, which was a bit more watered down than when he had left.

- Originally mailed to J. Lawrence in Roseland, New South Wales, Australia

The Bunker

Paranoid by nature, Jeb Woosley of Rock Springs, Montana built his fallout shelter in September 1945 at the age of twenty-five. He knew early on that if we could develop the bomb so would other nations. So he prepared. He built a large bunker five yards below ground with three foot thick concrete walls. He had a fully stocked pantry. He had a pump that pulled water from a subterranean spring and filtered it for him. He had a pedal powered dynamo for electricity and exercise and more fuel than one could imagine needing just in case. The entertainment room had a reel-to-reel player, a projector, a small library of music and film, a shelf of how-to books and novels. In time, he made the bunker more comfortable than his own home, and for added safety, hid the entrance beneath a large plastic boulder.

Every time a crisis arose, he would warn the town that the end was night, mock them for not preparing, and then retreat until his secret safehouse. The Berlin Blockade, the Korean War, McCarthy, Sputnik, the Bay of Pigs, the Cuban Missile Crisis, the Apollo moon landing, Vietnam, the death of Mao Zedong, Afghanistan, the Berlin Wall, the Gulf War, 9/11, the Gulf War again, Afghanistan again, the Arab Spring, and every election since Carter. By the time the big one came, he had long since become the boy who cried wolf. The blast leveled the near by cities and the fallout slowly killed whoever was left standing in the small town of Rock Springs.

But not Jeb. He had enough food to feed a man for ten years, clean running water, and seeds to start a farm when everything settled. What he didn't have, however, was time. He died of old age two weeks after the war went hot. In the irradiated aftermath, people scoured the country side, bandits and families alike, looking for safety, for food, for a way to rebuild, but none ever found Jeb's hidden treasure trove beneath its large fake rock.

- Originally mailed to J. Knight from Pascagoula, Mississippi