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The Orb

    Since the war, Jake MacCorkle’s unanswered questions haunt him. He drifts through life in a flat, emotionless routine between his father’s home and the VA—until the dreams start. 

    At the breakfast table, he jokes about them with his father. The reaction is not what he expected. Without explanation, his father says “We need to talk.”

    When his father dies in an automobile accident that day, Jake is devastated.

    In the will, his father leaves him thousands of acres in the North Georgia Mountains with ironclad caveats: never cut a tree, build a road, or sell it. The lawyer knows nothing. A handwritten letter from his father asks a favor, “Spread my ashes on the land,” followed by a single intriguing hint, “experience it for yourself.” 

    For his father’s sake, Jake travels to the mountain property. As an Army Ranger, the trek to spread his father’s ashes should be a simple job, but it isn’t. Trails appear and disappear and it seems the forest conspires to stop him. 

    “The grueling hours pushing through the forest, the mesmerizing sound of the river, and his mixed feelings about the trip had stolen hours. The last glimmers of sunshine offered a magical twilight. The gray, leafless trees stood barren, waiting. The earthy-brown leaf litter sprinkled along the bank glinted red and gold. The shimmering river, broken by variants of gray, brown and black rocks, was fired purple, blue, and red by the setting sun.

    I’ll do it now.

    On the rock, he unscrewed the urn top, faced downstream, and held the canister high toward the waning sun. A lump grew in his throat.

    ‘I love you, Dad.’

    As instructed, Jake started at the lower left, swung the canister in a large circle, and jiggled the ashes out. Ashes emerged and dispersed in a thick cloud. A gust of wind swirled. Jake caught a full dose of ash in the face. He clutched the canister to his chest and closed his eyes.

    A noise, a shuffling in the leaves, not far, something large, was on his right. He shifted the canister to his left arm and bent to reach the water. He flailed with his right hand until he found frigid water and splashed it into his eyes. Vision blurred, he shook his head and struggled to see.

    Both sides of the river were lined with hundreds of somber, oddly dressed, respectful people. Jake’s heart leaped to hyper drive. The canister fell and clanged off the rocks. He swiped his eyes and slapped gritty water out of his face.” 

    Sure, of his growing insanity, he huddles in a small cave that night. Nothing happens. Falling asleep to the sound of the rushing river, the morning brings a more frightening event. The back of the cave is open, exposing a path into the heart of the mountain. Should he enter? Should he experience it for himself or run? Either way, Jake’s life and destiny will 

change forever.