Tommy’s world was a blinding white light. He listened for the man but heard nothing. After he could finally see again, he saw that he was back at the bottom of the well.
He looked up. No one was there. He climbed to the top, scaring the red-tailed hawk when he surfaced. Still, the man was nowhere to be seen.
Tommy felt a pit in his stomach. Did he really die? If so, why didn’t—
“Hey!”
The yell came from the river. Tommy ran to the shore. It was the man. He was already on the water, waiting in the rowboat. Though the rowboat was barely recognizable. It was now a floating barricade of war. Each side of the boat was shielded with wooden planks. But the real protection was spread out across the benches of the boat: all the weapons from inside the cave.
The man wore a Spartan helmet. He nodded to Tommy, and Tommy hopped in the boat. He strapped on his own Spartan helmet waiting on the bench, and started rowing without saying a word.
The course was the same as last time: the Stanley was still about one hundred yards away, but they were getting closer. This time, they scanned the shorelines for arrows. So far, not another soul in sight besides the people on the steamboat.
“Best be ready, boy,” said the man as he handed Tommy a 9mm pistol. “I reckon this one suits you best.”
Tommy’s eyes lit up. He nervously responded, “Yes, sir.”
The man put a musket on his own lap, then turned back while still rowing. “Ain’t just arrows comin’ at us that you oughta be wary of—it’s time itself, and it don’t let a man win easy. Every time you try to bend time, it bucks like a wild horse.”
Tommy attempted to make sense of these strange words but failed. “What exactly are you saying?”
The man stopped rowing so he could fully turn to face Tommy. “I’m sayin’ hold on to yer britches. What’s comin’ are trials tailored specifically for us. Time is testing you and me. If we prove ourselves worthy, time changes. But mark my words—ain’t never been easy. Not once.”
“Wait. So you’ve done this before?” asked Tommy.
The man nodded and began rowing again.
“Was that your letter in the cave? I think the name was Locke?”
Again, the man nodded. “Been a lifetime since I wrote that letter.”
“Where or…” Tommy paused, “…when are you from?”
“That depends. What year do you call home, boy?” asked Locke.
Tommy responded, “2025.”
“So my future, your past.” Locke took a quick breath between his hard rowing. “Listen here. I’ve tried everything to stop that boat. Failed, every time. Been stuck in this cursed place longer than I care to count.” He nodded back at Tommy. “Reckon it’s ‘cause I needed you all along.”
“But why?” Tommy asked. “What makes me so important that you needed me all this time?”
“Well now, if there’s one thing I done learned ‘bout bein’ chosen, it’s that—”
FWIP! FWIP! FWIP!
A barrage of arrows rained down on them. Tommy and Locke ducked.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
The armor worked—the arrows stuck into the sides of the wooden planks.
Clink!
One arrow drilled Tommy’s helmet and bounced into the water.
Bang!
Locke fired his musket into the woods. Reloaded. Then, shot at the left bank. Reloaded. Then, at the right bank. Then, he paused, scanning the shoreline. Tommy cocked his pistol like his grandfather taught him. His hands were shaking as he pointed it at the shoreline behind them. They never saw where the arrows were coming from, but this did the trick. The attack stopped. Silence filled the air once again. Until—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“What are you doing?” yelled Locke.
Tommy lowered the smoking pistol.
“Sorry,” said Tommy. “I, ah. Well, I guess I just wanted to shoot a gun. My bad.”
Locke shook his head as a smile materialized across Tommy’s face. “Don’t go smilin’ just yet. We made it through this phase. Now brace yerself for what’s comin’ next.”
the Stanley was now on a straight stretch of water past the riverbend, and they were on its tail. But only for a moment. In a flash, the Stanley was gone, swallowed in a sea of thick fog that swept over the river.
“Don’t stop now, boy! Keep rowing!” Locke barked.
They couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of them. Their only guide was the music that continued to play from the Stanley.
And then the river—or time—doubled down on its attack in the flick of a switch. It was like the wave pool Tommy went to with his friends. One moment, the river was still. The next moment, it was calamity. Waves crested in all directions, crashing into every side of their small boat.
Tommy was losing energy. Fatigue overcame his adrenaline a long time ago, and now each row came with twice the resistance as before. Rowing blindly over towering waves meant for the Atlantic, not the Ohio River. Through fog you could cut with a knife. Through water pouring down on them. Forcing Tommy to time his breaths between the waves or else choke like he’s been doing for the last ten minutes.
This was torturous. Still, they kept moving forward. He wasn’t sure if the music had grown closer, but he knew it wasn’t farther away. His sense of reality shifted. A madness crept in. How is this happening? At what point will it stop? Can I really die here? Ironically, what pulled him out of this dark train of thought was more madness. The waves had suddenly calmed down, yet something scraped against the bottom of the boat.
Tommy prayed it was another irregular wave. But then it returned, hitting the right side of the boat, nearly turning it over. When Tommy looked at the water, he could have sworn he saw a dorsal fin. Surely, his eyes were playing tricks on him through the fog. If only he were so lucky and didn’t see the fin clearly re-emerge. It was now downstream, cutting through the water like a torpedo headed to the back of their boat.
“Locke, behind you!”
He pointed his gun and turned. Too late.
Whooosh!
The beast rammed into the back of the rowboat, sending it upright into the air. Tommy’s pistol flew into the river as the boat nearly flipped over. Tommy released the oars and clung onto the bench. His weight dragged him down toward the river, then slammed him into the boat when the back end crashed down into the water again.
Locke shook his head. Tommy thought he heard him grumble, “Ugh. You again.”
“What do we do?” Tommy asked.
“Keep rowing. He’s mine to reckon with.”
And that’s what Tommy did. He rowed towards the joyful melody floating through the fog. He rowed as gunshots blasted his eardrums. He rowed as the unknown beast struck all sides of the boat, almost tipping it every time. He rowed as Locke cursed this creature, calling it by a strange name, using ancient words. Tommy only stopped rowing when he heard, CLICK—Locke was out of gunpowder.
When Tommy turned, he saw the fin swimming away and then submerge below the water.
Locke searched the boat for any lost weapon, bullet, or satchel of gunpowder. Nothing was left. Everything had fallen into the river. He shook his head and gripped his musket. It had no firepower left, but it did have a bayonet attached to it. Then, he grabbed my shoulder and looked me in the eye. His face was twisted, angry, and nearly shaking.
“Listen, boy. We both come out right if you stop that ship.” His maniacal eyes peeled back. “I’ll hold my end. Now you hold yours. Godspeed.”
Locke turned towards the back of the boat. The beast re-emerged. It was nearly on top of the water, speeding directly at them. Tim thought he saw whiskers that were longer than his arms. Locke balanced himself on the last bench and raised his musket with one arm above his head. The fish was thirty yards away. And then twenty. Ten. And—
Tommy braced himself, nearly falling back as the front of the ship shot upwards when Locke sprang from the bench, leaping out of the boat towards the beast. And when Locke landed, he was on top of it with his bayonet lodged into its back.
Absolute fury came next. The fish violently twisted, whipping, spinning, roaring in pain. It was a deep and haunting gargle. The inflections varied like the creature was speaking. And for the first and last time, Tommy saw the entirety of the beast. It was a catfish as large as a shark.
It leaped into the air, ramming its head back, but it couldn’t throw Locke off—so it dragged him underwater. Tommy watched on, waiting, praying, he would surface. Tommy froze. He was not resurfacing. But then Locke’s last words rang clear as day in Tommy’s head. “I’ll hold my end. Now you hold yours.”
Tommy closed his eyes. Took one deep breath, then began rowing once again.
The fiddle floating from the Stanley was Tommy’s north star. Blindly pushing and pulling through the dense fog to the tempo of the song. And the song grew louder. He still couldn’t see the ship, but he knew he had to be close.
It’s time to end this!
He gritted his teeth and rowed through the pain. He told himself that each row was the last one he needed to make it to the Stanley. Even in the chilled fog, sweat poured into his eyes, burning them, but he dared not stop to wipe them dry. Nor would he have to, because his sweat soon dried, then just as quickly froze. Tommy thought nothing of this and kept rowing.
On his next back row, water splashed his face. But this water was different. This water was ice cold. Still, he pushed on. He moved quickly, cutting through the water with little to no drag. Every so often, though, he would float over debris. And then the frequency picked up. Debris was everywhere, but the fog was too thick to make out what it was. It all became clear when he hit a large piece head-on. It was ice. The river was freezing over.
Hopeless thoughts flooded in. How many more obstacles must he face? Is this even possible, or a cruel punishment he must endure forever? He wanted to surrender. He wanted to quit. But then he reminded himself of Locke’s sacrifice. His brother fighting in the hospital. Now wasn’t the time to give up. He was here for a reason. Now was the time to be relentless and fight to the very end.
“Ahh!” Tommy let out a battle cry and rowed through the icy waters. The debris had now grown into sheets of ice. The only shred of hope was the fiddle, still joyfully playing nearby.
This wasn’t about speed anymore; it was about strength. With each row, each long thrust, he broke through a sheet of ice. The fiddle sounded like it was within a stone’s throw. He screamed and grunted his way through each sheet as the ice progressively grew thicker to the point where his boat couldn’t move forward. He was stuck in the ice. He felt like he could almost touch the fiddle. But with every passing second, that fiddle grew softer and softer.
He knew what he had to do. And there was no time for hesitation.
He rushed to the front of the boat and jumped onto the ice. His balance immediately shifted. When he tried to re-adjust, his right foot cracked through the ice. And when he placed all of his weight on his left foot, that too fell through as he lifted his right foot out of the water. Adrenaline from the frigid water flushed any lingering fatigue. Every other step was a trap, a false floor, his leg sinking back into the river. If his momentum paused, he knew he would be consumed by the thin ice.
He latched onto the fiddle like a lifeboat pulling him out of this death trap.
“Ahh!”
His momentum died. His left foot snagged the ice after it fell through. And then his right foot followed the same fate. He was now waist-deep in the water, holding onto a thin sheet of ice with both hands. He put all his weight on the ice, trying to pull himself up—but the ice was too thin. It shattered into pieces, sending Tommy completely under the water.
He fought to swim, but made no progress. His muscles were locked up. As he drifted lower, his world grew dark. Was this strange reality resetting again? If so, how could he ever win? These trials were too much. He didn’t know the answer. Nor did he care anymore. All he could think about was failing his brother again. Was this how he felt as he sank into the water? Helpless and injured? At least he had Tommy to save him. And for the first time, Tommy realized the heroism in his act. Nothing could take away the fact that he allowed his brother to jump. That was on Tommy. But how Tommy reacted afterwards saved his little brother’s life. Finally, Tommy was at peace.
Tommy closed his eyes. Using the little energy he had left, he smiled as the darkness overtook him.
When he opened his eyes, light blinded him as a brilliant sun warmed his frigid bones. Relief came first, then regret shortly after. He’s alive, which could only mean one thing. He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to face the reality of being back in this well, in this purgatory, stuck for eternity. He—
“He’s breathing!” a woman shouted.
Tommy’s eye shot open. He was lying in the middle of a large crowd. They were dressed just like the people on the boat.
Wait a minute!
He was on the boat! He sprang up, and the crowd cheered.
“He’s alive!” a man next to him yelled. He wore similar clothes like Tommy. And like Tommy, they were soaking wet.
“What happened?” Tommy asked.
“I seen you go in the water,” said the man. “But you never came back up—so I dove in after ya.”
Tommy stood and looked out. From what he could tell, they were approaching the 1800s version of Steubenville.
Tommy bear hugged the man.
The man then asked, “What do you need?”
Tommy smiled, then looked him straight in the eye. “I need to talk to your captain.”
Homecoming
When Tommy’s eyes adjusted, he was back at the bottom of the well. He took his time climbing to the top, delaying the moment of truth. He squinted, praying the hawk wasn’t there. Check! No hawk—and no well cover. He quickly climbed over the top brick. Check number two! The area around the well was hidden in dense overgrowth. Little doubt was left, but he needed one last confirmation.
He closed his eyes and begged out loud, “Please, please, please,” right before he ran his hands over his head.
“Yes!”
He jumped in the air. His hair was gone. Clean-shaven, once again. Confirmation received! Tommy was back in the present. It was 2025.
He lowered his head back over the top of the well and yelled down to the bottom, “Hey, you down there, whatever or whoever you are. I did it!” He raised both arms in the air, then mumbled to himself, “I’m not exactly sure what I did, but I did it!”
Tommy took off. He ran to his camp, but nothing was there. So he ran to the riverbank. His kayak was waiting where he left it, on the shore with all of his supplies still intact. He couldn’t wait to tell his friends what happened. More importantly, though, had he really changed time? This sparked a thought.
He ripped into his supplies until he found what he was looking for—Legends of the Ohio Valley. His fingers rifled through the pages in a frantic blur. He started at the beginning, then flipped to the end. He double-checked the table of contents, then the references. Then, he shut the book and smiled.
“It was good knowing you, Stanley. I’m glad you got cut from this edition.”
One last question awaited him. And his answer waited on the other side of the river.
But as soon as he launched onto the water, a chill ran down his spine. He looked up and down the river. Narrowing his eyes at the top of the water. Waiting for a dorsal fin to emerge. An arrow to fly through the air. Or the Stanley to appear, approaching the riverbend downstream. He slowly lowered his hand into the water, holding his breath at what he would find. He released a long sigh, and his shoulders relaxed. The water wasn’t freezing. It was quite warm, just how he had left it.
He nodded to the island, paying respect to the adventure it took him on, then turned to face the mainland. It was time to return home. So, Tommy put to work everything he had just learned—he rowed as fast as he could until he got to where he needed to be. And when he made it to the Ohio shore, the same fisherman was still there.
He must’ve slept here, Tommy thought. I bet his night was more peaceful than mine was.
Through the woods, he could see his friends at Kaleb’s truck. He expected them to come and greet him, but they weren’t coming. They were leaving.
“Hey!” Tommy yelled out. “I’m down here.”
This got their attention, and also the fisherman, who pulled his hat above his eyes to see what was going on.
Tommy leaped out of his kayak and ran to meet his friends at the bottom of the hillside.
“What happened? Are you okay?” his friends asked as they walked down the trail from the top of the hill.
Tommy ignored their questions. “Where’s my phone?”
Dustin took it out of his pocket and handed it to Tommy. “Your mom just called.”
Tommy froze. His hand with the phone sank to his side.
Dustin continued, “She wanted to know where you were. I did my best to cover for you, but ended up telling her the truth.”
Tommy’s face was losing color. “And what did she say?”
“She wasn’t too happy,” replied Dustin. “She said you promised to take your brother fishing tonight.”
Tommy’s hand went limp, and his phone slipped from his fingers. Tears instantly welled in his eyes. He glanced back at the island. When he closed his eyes, the tears broke free.
Dustin started to talk, but stopped. So, Kaleb finished his thought, “Dude. What is going on?”
Tommy said nothing. He just picked up his phone and texted his mom: Mom! Tell Danny to get the poles ready. I’ll be home soon.
Tommy looked at his friends. “I need you to take me home.”
“What? I’m so lost,” said Kaleb. “I mean, you just got here. You barely made it to the island.”
“I’ll explain everything on the car ride home. Now, let’s go.” Tommy started dragging his kayak up the hill. His two friends didn’t move. Confusion had overtaken them.
“Man, I really don’t know what’s going on,” said Dustin, shaking his head. “But just so I’ve got this straight, you’re already forfeiting the bet? That means you owe us a hundred dollars.”
Before Tommy could reply, a voice yelled out from the riverbank. It was the fisherman. “Son, did you visit the well?”
“Yes,” replied Tommy.
The fisherman stood up. His eyes were wide and looked directly at Tommy. “And did the well let you in?”
“Yes, well, not at first, but after I—”
The fisherman cut Tommy off. “Boys, pay your friend his money.”
THE END
