For Sale: Used Time Machine. No Refunds! • by Roxana Arama

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Pete Wood writes:

When I created this contest, I expected nothing but tongue-in-cheek takes on time travel tropes. While several writers didn’t disappoint with humorous entries, the variety of the stories surprised me. It never occurred to me that my writing prompt could inspire a serious story, a literary story.

Roxana knocked it out of the park and she had some tough competition. Her depth of character and pathos in only five hundred words is a feat. I hope you like her story as much as I did. I think we’ll be hearing more from her.

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The time machine had been in my garage for months, but I never touched it. I’d read too many sci-fi stories of messed-up timelines. My father left it to me together with a manual and two letters. One, marked the year I turned eight, 27 years ago, said, “Come visit, son!” plus time-traveling instructions. The other, written just before his death, only said, “You were right. Please forgive me!”

I barely knew the guy. Mom and I moved away after their divorce, and he was too busy with his research to video chat once a week with his five-year-old son. When we moved back, he tried to contact me, but by then he was a stranger. When he died, I felt nothing. My anger with him had died long before that.

For months, that human-sized box had been taking up space, so I finally wrote an online ad, “For sale: Used time machine. No refunds!” I’d sell it to a scientist for research and donate the money to an animal shelter. No hits though—people thought it was a joke. No one had managed to build a time machine, but I suspected my dad had. The ad was taken down the next day. The site admins thought it was code for crime.

But now I was determined to get rid of it. I was unscrewing its door hinges when I heard noises outside. A buyer maybe? I hadn’t done too much damage, so I opened the garage door and called out.

A man walked in. Familiar look, though his clothes were out-of-date. Next thing, he bear-hugged me.

I pulled back.

“It’s Dad.” He wiped his eyes. “No, call me Josh. We’re almost the same age.”

It was Dad alright. He looked like the pictures I grew up with, of the great scientist whose work was more important than his kid. Seeing him here was messed up—but proof his invention worked.

He looked around. “That’s my time machine! Older… and with a broken door? Then, why didn’t you come? Got my letter? I’ve been waiting a whole year.”

“A whole year? Tough.”

“I finished it three years after your mom said screens were bad for kids’ brains and ended our video chats.” He smiled. “I traveled with it and watched you grow.”

“Don’t remember you anywhere.”

“I made my will and waited for you. I thought you’d understand, as an adult, how much a father would miss his son.”

I shrugged. “Fathers and sons? No idea.”

“We can now catch up on lost time—”

“Josh, stop. Stay away from me. And my timeline. Better still, take the rest of your life and figure out how your four years of hardship compare to my growing up without a father.”

He looked crushed. After he left, as I screwed the hinges back in, I realized he’d actually taken my advice and reflected until close to his death. Ever the scientist, he’d left the first letter in his will—for timeline continuity.

¤     ¤     ¤

 

Roxana Arama is a Romanian-American writer and a member of Codex Writers’ Group. She has an MFA in Creative Writing from Goddard College, her work has been acknowledged in several literary contests and magazines, and she maintains the website Rewriting History: How writers turn history into story, and story into history at www.roxanaarama.com. She lives in Seattle with her family. Follow her on Twitter at @RoxanaArama.

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stupefy (ˈstü-pə-ˌfī) to stun, astonish, or astound

Edited by award-winning author Bruce Bethke, STUPEFYING STORIES is a bold attempt to grow a new general-interest science fiction and fantasy magazine from the ground up. For the past ten years we've been a part-time purely-for-the-love-of-it affair publishing on a wildly erratic schedule, but our goal is to grow to become a regular monthly magazine that pays pro rates—

And here's the radical part: we want to do this not by chasing after foundation grants, asking people to contribute to our crowdfunding campaign, or begging passers-by for spare change, but by selling books and magazines that people LIKE TO READ!

Available on Kindle, in paperback, and free for Kindle Unlimited subscribers.
Why not take a minute now to check us out?  

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For Sale: Used Time Machine. No Refunds! • by Vivek Mittal

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This week The Pete Wood Challenge stems from a simple want ad, like you might see on Craigslist: “For Sale: Used Time Machine. No Refunds!” We’re doing something a bit different this time, though, in that we’ve selected fewer but longer stories, and we’ve saved the best for last. Today, second place goes to Vivek Mittal, for a story about…

Well, as Pete Wood puts it, “This is my second favorite story because it thinks small. Vivek Mittal presents the dangers of time travel and a neat little Paradox on a small scale with some authentic characters. No need for a big twist where the Nazis win World War II. Well done.”

Sounds interesting? Then read on…

—brb

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“And you want how much for it?” The buyer’s wrinkled clothes reeked of cigarettes. He showed up the day after I posted the ad in the outpost dining area. Just in time.  

“I’d be happy with $50K.” I scratched the fresh scab on my face. I didn’t want to bring attention to it yet, but couldn’t help it. 

“That’s a lot. What did this thing do to you?” He pointed up, then down my body.

“It didn’t do anything to me. I just got a bit carried away.”

He hesitated, then said, “What did you do then?”  

“I made some changes.”

“And…?”

“It’s fixed.”

“That’s weird. Anyway, does it work?”

“Yes. A lot.”

“How far back can it go? The other models I’ve looked at go back max 5 years.”

“Oh this one, it goes backwards and forwards, up to a hundred years.”

“What? That tech is out already?”

“Not exactly. I modified the machine based on the time travel wiki…and other sources. You could probably modify it further once you buy…”

“No, no, the way it is seems fine. I don’t have time for all that.  Plus I’ve got kids, so I can’t be tinkering around with radioactive parts. Speaking of which, is it sealed?”

“Yes, I did it myself.  What do you plan to do?”

“We’ll go back to see my mother. She passed last year. I’ve been saving up since.”

“Sounds simple; it’s a good idea. Don’t do what I did.”

“What did you do?”  

“I saw some old friends, and did a few other things.”

“How long were you gone?”

“About a year. But when you travel as much as I did, your body, it takes a toll.”

“What did you, uh, fix?” He was starting to see the connection.

“I should have more in the bank by the time I’m done.”  The buyer’s eyebrows shot up.

“How so?”

“It’s all planned out.  Excuse me.”  I spit out some blood. Then felt a new sore opening on my chest. “For one, by arranging this meeting.”

“What do you mean? I just answered your ad.”

“I needed someone trustworthy to buy it and someone that could pay me what it’s worth.”

“We just met; that’s bullshit.”

“This is just the first of many meetings. So do we have a deal?” I looked up and waved to a man walking towards us with a slight limp.

Ignoring me, the buyer said, “Shit then, tell me whats going to happen in the next ten minutes. Can you do that?”

“Let’s just say it may not be what you expect.” As the man came into view, I could see a face pockmarked with scabs, burning cigarette in hand. The buyer knew who it was even before turning around. 

The future version of the buyer told him matter of factly, “Just get the stupid thing. It’ll be worth it.” 

¤     ¤     ¤

 

Vivek Mittal is a dad, attorney, and writer. He attended Voices of our Nation (VONA) in 2020 where he was mentored by Tananarive Due. He has taken workshops with Neelanjana Banerjee, D’Lo, and Sehba Sarwar. Much of his work is speculative, though not all. His work has appeared in a STEAM multi-issue zine collaboration with NExSci, in The Aerogram, and in the Asian Pacific American Law Journal. 

When not writing or working, he explores the wonders of the world with his partner and two kids. 

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Okay, Bruce Bethke here, editor of Stupefying Stories and CEO of Rampant Loon Press, and I’m going to make this pitch very simple, direct, and personal. If you like cyberpunk fiction, the guy who wrote the original “Cyberpunk” story 40 years ago (me) thinks you need to read “Eddie’s Upgrade” by Kevin Stadt, just one of a dozen great new stories in Stupefying Stories 23.

And keep your eye on Stadt. He’s a writer to watch. 

Stupefying Stories 23: available now in paperback, on Kindle, or free for Kindle Unlimited subscribers. Buy it now.

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For Sale: Used Time Machine. No Refunds! • by Duke Kimball

 

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We’re doing something a bit different with The Pete Wood Challenge this week: fewer but longer stories. This week we’re presenting five stories, a new one each morning, all of which stem from a simple want ad, like you might see on Craigslist: “For Sale: Used Time Machine. No Refunds!”

And with that we turn it over to Duke Kimball…

—brb

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“Does it work?”

“Tranny’s busted.” The old man spat, eyeing Mac distrustfully. “No reverse.”

Mac shrugged. “How can you tell?”

The machine didn’t look like much. Certainly didn’t look like a car. Or a plane. It looked like an old rusted propane tank with a hospital bed bolted to the side. Made Mac’s Buick Electra look like a damn spaceship.

A few levers on a panel, which sat below a flat pane of opaque black glass. One of them had been snapped off midway, a jagged piece of metal with a big strip of duct tape over it. Presumably that one was reverse. Mac prodded it. It felt seized.

The old man shook his head. “Look. It moves through time, but it ain’t going backward. Just forward. So if you want it, you better not want to come back.” He took a flat brown bottle from his back pocket and took a pull off it. 

Mac checked his watch. 1:30. “Little early for that, ain’t it?”

The man scowled, turned away. Mac grabbed him by the shoulder. “Alright, old timer, no offense. If they got these in the future, can’t I just get it fixed?”

The old man barked out a wheeze of a laugh. Like the machine with the hand-painted sign in front of it, it seemed seldom used. “Not if I did what I came to do” He pointed at it. “That thing is dangerous. Ain’t nobody should have that kinda power.”

Mac raised an eyebrow. “Why sell it then?”

The old man took another pull off the bottle, draining it. he tossed it behind a bush by his busted-down porch, and Mac heard the crash and tinkling of glass on broken glass. “Need the money, I ‘spose.”

Mac sighed. Fiddled with his wedding ring. Eyed the suitcase in the backseat of the Buick. “No coming back, huh?”

“You heard me.” The old man’s eyes softened, just a little. “Shouldn’t be too bad there though. I hope.” He glanced back at the run-down shack, the ramshackle barn behind it. “I’m happy here, though. It’s… simple.”

They took a long minute, listening to the birds and insects chitter around them. Mac found the old man’s eyes unsettling. Something in them didn’t belong in a broken old man. They had a youthful fire buried in them. 

Mac coughed. “I think I need some time to think about it.” He moseyed back to the car before waving at the old man, who watched the young fella get in the convertible and drive back off down the old dirt road. And then he spat.

“They always do,” he mumbled.

He took the time to kick another dent in the side of the damned thing before shuffling back into the house. 

¤     ¤     ¤

 

Duke Kimball is a literary boat captain who doesn’t currently own a boat. His work has appeared in places like Mysterion, Star*Line, and Strange Horizons. He lives in Lansing, Michigan, with his wife Michelle and a dog named after a cheese factory.

 

 

 

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For Sale: Used Time Machine. No Refunds! • by Gustavo Bondoni

 

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We’re doing something a bit different with The Pete Wood Challenge this week. Fewer stories, but longer stories. This week we’re presenting five stories, a new one each morning, all of which stem from a simple want ad, like you might see on Craigslist: “For Sale: Used Time Machine. No Refunds!”

And with that we turn it over to Gustavo Bondoni, an Argentine author who writes primarily in English, a very successful novelist and short story writer, and someone whose work has already been published in fifteen countries and seven languages. This is his first appearance in our pages—although not his first appearance in our submissions inbox, and after taking a quick look at our archives, I do wonder if he ever sold that one about the baby that barks…

—brb

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“But it was boring!” the pimply woman whined. “Just a bunch of people plowing fields and milking cows.”

“That’s not my fault,” I replied. “The time machine worked exactly as advertised. Besides, I told you: no refunds.”

“Be reasonable,” the bald man said. “We spent most of our savings on this thing. If we can’t get our money back, we’re screwed.”

“I’m not in the financial advice business,” I replied, but their crestfallen expressions got to me. “Why did you need to go back? Are you writing a paper? Studying ancient cultures?”

“We wanted to film old-timey people fighting battles and stuff.”

“And why would you want to do that?”

“A guy on YouTube says you can get a huge number of hits with things like that.”

So, they were morons. It wasn’t a crime, but it wasn’t a reason to give their money back. “What year did you go to?”

“June, 1875.”

“Why?” No major wars that I could think of.

“It was an old-timey time,” the woman replied. Her face indicated that it should have been obvious to me.

“And where did you go?”

“Um…” the guy said. He turned to the woman.

 She turned red. “Middlesex.”

“England?” I asked.

“Massachusetts.”

I tried to think of what might have been happening in rural New England at the time. Precisely nothing.

“But why? Why would you go there, then?”

The bald guy replied. “Well, you know: middle… sex.”

“Oh, God.”

“Don’t judge,” the woman said. “We need to make ends meet. It sounded like there could be some interesting old-timey stuff to film… well, you know.”

“Look, I’ll take the machine off your hands. I won’t give you any money, but at least you can free up this garage.”

“Screw you,” the guy replied. “We’re keeping it. You won’t fleece anyone else.”

I sighed. So that’s the way it was going to be. “How about this? I’ll give you a good date and year. Really interesting times.”

“What’s the catch?” 

“No catch. Here, I’ll set the machine for London in 1665. Make sure you visit the brothels.” I winked at them. “That’s where you’ll get the kind of film you want.”

Skepticism had turned to enthusiasm. They might be idiots, but they knew what a brothel was.

“By the way, do you know what a bubonic is?”

They shrugged.

“Well, no worries. Have fun in 1665.”

They pressed the button and disappeared.

When they didn’t reappear immediately, which was the default for the return trip, I shook my head sadly. “Idiots.”

I’d need to fly to London to retrieve the machine. I’d set the coordinates for a maintenance space under a road, which I knew was still there.

The nice thing about a time machine that only travels into the past and returns is that it always comes back to me, even if the buyers get themselves killed, as they invariably do.  

I’d sold this one sixteen times already. 

¤     ¤     ¤

Gustavo Bondoni is novelist and short story writer with over three hundred stories published in fifteen countries, in seven languages.  He is a member of Codex and an Active Member of SFWA. His latest novel is Test Site Horror (2020). He has also published two other monster books: Ice Station: Death (2019) and Jungle Lab Terror (2020), three science fiction novels: Incursion (2017), Outside (2017) and Siege (2016) and an ebook novella entitled Branch. His short fiction is collected in Pale Reflection (2020), Off the Beaten Path (2019) Tenth Orbit and Other Faraway Places (2010) and Virtuoso and Other Stories (2011).
 
In 2019, Gustavo was awarded second place in the Jim Baen Memorial Contest and in 2018 he received a Judges Commendation (and second place) in The James White Award. He was also a 2019 finalist in the Writers of the Future Contest.
 
His website is at www.gustavobondoni.com

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Calling all heroes...

A beautiful princess, kidnapped and locked away in a sorcerer’s tower. A deadly labyrinth, filled with traps and monsters. So, Mr. Handsome Prince, before you go charging in there with your mighty sword swinging, did it ever occur to you to wonder who maintains that labyrinth?

Find out in GROUNDSKEEPER, by Kirstie Olley, just one of the terrific tales in STUPEFYING STORIES 22!

Available now in paperback, on Kindle, or free for Kindle Unlimited subscribers.

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For Sale: Used Time Machine. No Refunds! • by Ray Daley

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We’re doing something a bit different with The Pete Wood Challenge this week. Fewer stories, but longer stories. This week we’ll be presenting five stories, a new one each morning, all of which stem from a simple want ad, like you might see on Craigslist: “For Sale: Used Time Machine. No Refunds!”

And with that introduction we turn it over to Ray Daley, who is already well on his way to becoming a Most Frequent Contributor…

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Mister beaten up shoes came back again today. His fourth time in the last two days.

“She’s still for sale then?”

I nodded. “Just like yesterday, and the day before. No takers yet.”

“Sign says used? How, exactly?”

Was he stuck in his own time loop? He’d asked me that on the previous three visits. “Went to the future, eighty-three days. I just wanted to check if something had happened or not. It also works in reverse, as it got me back here.”

“Can’t you see who’ll buy it?” He was checking out the main control panel. Again.

“I told you before, don’t touch unless you’re buying it. Sold as seen. And no, I can’t use the machine to do that. You can’t use time travel to influence events. What happens happens.”

I caught him this time. I’d had my suspicions before but only heard the sound. His foot, hitting the machine. The stupid fool thought he could kick the tyres? It didn’t even have tyres. Which might explain a few things.

“I’m still not sure. I might come back tomorrow. If it hasn’t sold. Would you take eight hundred in cash?”

I nodded. I’d listed it for a grand, willing to go down if people brought cash.

I watched him tramp off in a cloud of dust, waiting for it to settle before checking the machine.

¤

I found the crack, a tiny split on the seam, around the rotor cover. I checked the control panel. Yep, it was leaking random time. 

So, Mister beaten up shoes was stuck in his own time loop. The random time had leaked on his shoes, trapping him in a singularity. That was going to be a problem.

“Or not?” That was a familiar voice. I turned around. It was me. Ah, time travel, you crazy mistress! “You travel to before he arrived, perform a triple seal weld on the seams. It won’t crack then. It splits relative determinism, but beaten up shoes will finally make his decision afterwards.”

I wasn’t about to ask how he knew. He’d come from a time where it’d already happened. And not upset things, either.

“So, I go back in time? I’ve only ever done that once. As you well know.”

Best I got going then.

¤

A guy in beaten up shoes rocked up today. “Time Machine for sale? Sign says used? How, exactly?”

“I had a potential buyer kick the thing, split a seam, leaked random time, stuck him in a loop. I had to go back in time, repair the fault before it happened, and stop him from doing it. By the way, don’t kick the machine. Please?”

He raised an eyebrow. “How did you…? Never mind. Sign says a grand. Would you take eight hundred in cash?”

I just put out my hand. The damn thing is his problem now. Then. Will be.

Whatever. Damn time travel. More trouble than it’s worth, if I ask me. I have, and it was. You know what I mean.

¤     ¤     ¤

Ray Daley was born in Coventry and still lives there. He served six years in the RAF as a clerk and spent most of his time in a Hobbit hole in High Wycombe. He is a published poet and has been writing stories since he was ten. His current dream is to eventually finish the Hitchhiker’s Guide fanfic novel he’s been writing since 1986. Tweet him @RayDaleyWriter or check out his web site at https://raymondwriteswrongs.wordpress.com/

 

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In a world...

Where the Soviet Union won WWII, England is now a Soviet satellite, some magic actually works (sometimes), and Premier Kruschev is going eyeball-to-eyeball with President Patton—

The last surviving member of His Majesty’s Dragonslayer Corps is called out of retirement, because it seems dragons aren’t extinct after all and one has taken up residence in a prominent Politburo member’s country estate. Read the rest in THE SHE-DRAGON OF BLY, by Jason D. Wittman, just one of the terrific tales in STUPEFYING STORIES 22!

Available now in paperback, on Kindle, or free for Kindle Unlimited subscribers.

 

 

 

 

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