Lori stomped along until she found a secluded spot behind an old, dilapidated shed. She kicked the shed’s wooden wall until one of the boards broke. Disgusted, she slid down the rough wooden wall and buried her face in her hands. The tears flowed freely now, and she was as upset with herself at losing her temper as she was at the world for her father’s sake.

  Eventually the sobs subsided, and Lori took a deep, shuddering breath. She wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her shirt and regained her composure. Once she felt more in control of herself, Lori stood up and made her way to the general store.

  Inside she found the three men in their rocking chairs, unchanged since yesterday for all she could tell, and probably drinking from the same pot of coffee as yesterday, which they brewed the week before. Or the month before. The store owner came out from his back office, looking up from his ledger book and nodding at her briefly.

  The cracker barrel crew greeted her with the same cheers as they always had. Lori said hello, and told them her father was leaving with her this time and wondered if any of them would be willing to care for the goats and dogs while they were gone. She offered to pay ten cents a day, and they all said they would take care of it. Lori wasn’t clear which would be doing it exactly, and the store manager mouthed that he would take care of them. Lori said her thanks and they wished her well as she left.

  Lori exited the store, intent on returning to the barn, when she caught a glimpse down the narrow alley of Ebeneezer sneaking out of the railroad office. She quickly stepped back into the shadows, pressing herself against the wall of the general store. Ebeneezer crept out of the office, closing the door with the delicate care as if trying to avoid notice. He then waddled towards the train station, where a conductor lounged on the rails of a car, puffing leisurely on a cigarette. Ebeneezer spoke to the conductor, who gave a subtle nod and waved at the small brown kobold. The conductor rang his bell, signaling the engineer. In no time, the train wheezed and chugged away from the station, its rhythmic clatter fading into the distance.

  Ebeneezer vanished behind the general store into the adjacent alley. Lori leaned against the wall, concealed by a few crates that shielded her from the main street. Ebeneezer soon reappeared, walking up the main street toward the barn. As he disappeared from view, Lori stroked her chin, wondering why he had been so mysterious. Intrigued, she glanced up at the railroad office, and with curiosity tugging at her, found herself drawn irresistibly to its door.

  The train rumbled several miles up the track, its whistle piercing the air while thick black smoke billowed from its stack. Lori peered through the window of the office but saw only shadows. She stepped inside, nudging the creaky door open just enough to slip through, then quietly eased it shut.

  The office held the familiar smell of old wood, paper and the ozone of the telegraph batteries. The counter was neat with logbooks and papers stacked precisely. Lori stepped behind the counter to see if Old Sam, the operator, was in his office. The office door was open, and the old timer lay with his head back, asleep in his chair. Lori snorted at herself in disgust. Ebeneezer had not been sneaking around; He had been quiet and considerate of the sleeping telegraph operator.

  As she turned to leave, a glint of sunlight caught her eye, drawing her back toward the telegraph desk. The familiar setup was there: the sounder, the key, and the assortment of brass objects all meticulously arranged on a wooden platform. Electrical wires snaked from the equipment, climbing up the wall to connect this dying town with the great world beyond.

  The gleam of shiny brass that had initially caught Lori's eye turned out to be something far more intriguing; a wooden cylinder crowned with a brass wheel, reminiscent of a ship's helm. Set apart from everything else on the table, Lori couldn't resist picking it up. Etched into the brass beneath the wheel were the letters of the alphabet and the numbers zero through nine. Curious, she slipped her finger between the spokes and gave the wheel a gentle turn. Then it dawned on her: this was an ABC telegraph instrument!

  A smile spread across her face as she began to spell out her name, turning the wheel as far as it would go for each letter before it clicked back into place. If only it were connected, her name would have gone zipping along the telegraph wires in electrical clicks and clacks. Old Sam had told her about this device many years ago, yet she had never laid eyes on one until now. He'd told her how, hailing from Anglador across the ocean, these instruments had fallen out of favor due to their sluggish pace—seasoned telegraph operators could tap out messages much faster with a key.

  Yet there was an undeniable charm to the ABC instrument. Its luxurious deep red wood and brilliantly gleaming brass made it clear why old Sam had cherished it and brought it with him thirty years prior. However, in Anglador, they used a different type of code, meaning that here, any message transmitted by it would end up as nonsensical gibberish.

  The scene unfolded in her mind’s eye; Ebeneezer had entered the railroad office intent on sending a telegram and found a fellow from his own part of the world. Ebeneezer hailed from Caledonia, which lay north of Anglador on the island. They must have chatted about the homeland, and old Sam had brought the ABC instrument out to share with the kobold. Lori’s eyes fell on the telegrapher’s logbook which lay uncharacteristically askew on the desktop. She cast a quick glance at Old Sam, still deep in slumber, before flipping open the book to the last entry. Today’s date and time stared back at her, revealing a message dispatched just an hour ago to Craterton Forge, addressed to Bing Blackwebb.

  “Understood. Leaving on Jangles to Hakitaw by way of Fort Dane. Will report from there. Arrangements for Colonel requested.”

  Lori frowned at the reference to her father. What arrangements?

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The telegraph sounder clacked. Lori glanced at it, puzzled, as it hesitated for a moment before clacking once more with a tentative, almost curious rhythm, then fell silent. She returned her attention to the logbook. Static from distant storms or high winds sometimes triggered the sounder.

  The entry prior to Ebeneezer’s read, “EB. Disturbing reports from Fort Dane. Advise you proceed there immediately. Sent for Redhand. Blackwebb.”

  Lori grimaced. Redhand was a medicine man from the country to the south, a man with knowledge of history and lore of the area. If Bing was requesting his help, it meant it was serious. Bing considered himself an expert. Which he was, Lori hated to admit. And Bing had little respect for native knowledge or magic. How bad was it that Bing thought he needed the likes of Redhand?

  The earlier entries detailed strange interruptions in the telegraph signal over recent days. There were few responses to 'CQ' calls, which were open invitations for anyone tuning in, and a peculiar note from one day ago that Hakitaw's telegraph operator had fallen silent, no longer responding to messages.

  Lori lost herself in thought, wondering what might have happened. She gently closed the worn logbook, her gaze drifting towards the silent telegraph machine. Old Sam was still snoozing in his chair, and she didn’t want to bother him, so Lori quietly slipped into the operator's seat. With a sense of anticipation, she flipped through the dog-eared directory until she found the codes she needed: 'HW' for Hakitaw and 'OL' for Oblivion.

  “HW, OL,” She tapped out in code.

  No response. She drummed her fingers on the desk, her eyes drawn to the darkened patch of wood where Old Sam's arm had worn down the surface, tapping out messages faithfully for twenty-five long years.

  She tapped out the message once more and waited, but still, there was no response. However, the telegraph wasn't entirely mute. The sounder trembled, quivering in its cradle as if it were on the verge of delivering a message that never arrived. Lori knew this strange behavior was unusual—unless there was a lightning storm brewing somewhere, which, she supposed, was possible.

  After her third attempt, Lori tapped out the call for Fort Dane. A response came after only a minute, and Lori transmitted her message. “Devin Andrews. McKendall’s General Store. Redhand coming. Meet at Fort for departure tomorrow morning. Lori.”

  After receiving the confirmation of message received by the Fort Dane operator, she flipped through the directory for the Craterton Forge operator at the landing port. She tapped out the code and waited until they responded, then sent a message to Selene Blackwebb asking her to research any information she could find on the Wayahee Tribe and the history of the Hakitaw town and salt mine, and forward it to her at Fort Dane.

  After confirming with the operator, she sat back and considered if there was anything else to do. Nothing came to mind. She glanced at Old Sam, wondering if he was asleep or had passed away. The operators might suspect something if they realized they hadn't been dealing with him, as each had a unique communication style called a 'fist'. However, neither operator questioned her, so Sam might be safe.

  She dipped the pen in the ink bottle and logged the time and contents of the messages. Then she counted the words and calculated the cost, cringing at the expense. They charged a dime per word. Reluctantly, she took the money she earned from the general store exchange out of her pocket, counted the bills, and left an extra dollar, hoping Sam would forgive the intrusion.

  The sounder clacked once, trembling as it had throughout her transmissions. It was a wonder she had been able to get any message through at all. It clacked again.

  “Hello, there,” Lori said playfully as she tapped the excess ink from the pen into the ink bottle and replaced the stopper.

  She froze when the sounder gently clacked out, ‘hello’.

  Lori stood still, staring wide-eyed at the telegraph, the pen still in her hand.

  The sounder sat innocently quiet.

  “Who’s there?” Lori’s voice was weak. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead.

  Nothing happened. She swallowed, but her mouth had gone dry.

  It had to be a strange coincidence, Lori thought. The random tapping of an electrical storm…

  ‘We are free’, tapped the telegraph.

  Lori dropped the pen and staggered back.

  ‘We are coming’.

  Lori tried to catch her breath. She stared at the telegraph. “Who are you?”

  The sounder clacked with a consistent rhythm, then it rapidly tapped the words, ‘Trapped no more. The winds announce our coming.”

  Lori took a deep breath. “What is your name?”

  Rhythmic tapping, then ‘I am the scar on the sky. I am the blight of the sun. I am the bringer of darkness.”

  Lori hugged herself. “Yes, well that’s quite a long name to remember. What did people call you? you know, before you were trapped and forgotten?”

  Silence. Lori began to question her own senses. Then the tapping came so rapidly Lori could barely follow it.

  “They have forgotten. All will remember. I am Magion. I am Dagion. I am Nox.’

  Lori quickly sat down at the desk, took a piece of paper and wrote down the names. “Right. Do you have a name you prefer? Or are there three of you?”

  The clacking continued, but Lori couldn’t make any sense of it. Then it stopped.

  “Well, it’s great to meet you. Glad you’re no longer trapped. Where are you now?”

  ‘Darkness. Cold.’

  “Just out for a stroll, or are you headed somewhere?”

  Silence.

  Lori wiped the sweat from her brow. Her thoughts turned to shuffling cards, a reminder that she was a gambler, and the stakes were getting higher. “Are you looking for something? Perhaps I can help.”

  ‘We seek the prison. We shall destroy it. None shall imprison us again.’

  “I see. What sort of prison is it?”

  ‘The vessel of Garmac. We must destroy it.’

  Lori wrote as fast as she could. “Garmac, you say? What does it look like?”

  Silence.

  “What will you do when you find it?”

  Silence.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Lori’s fists clenched in frantic frustration. She tried to think of anything she could say to keep this thing talking.

  A series of whirs and clicks sounded from her right and her heart leaped. It was the ABC telegraph. She grabbed it. The dial twisted and turned with an urgent, frantic energy. She followed the letters as it spelled out ‘Garmac will be destroyed. All will be destroyed. Trapped too long. Searching, searching, searching…”

  Lori set down the ABC telegraph, which kept repeating the same word. She wrote the last message, then both telegraphs went silent. She stared at them, knowing it was impossible. A telegraph couldn't hear her, and the ABC telegraph shouldn't work without a battery. The cards were being dealt, and it was time to ante up.

  A fierce wind roared beyond the walls. She peered through the window, shivering as a chill crept up her spine. Clouds of dust and debris swirled wildly outside. The relentless pelting of sand against the office's exterior resonated like tiny chimes in a frantic symphony.

  She reread her notes, folded the paper, and put it in her pocket. Old Sam remained asleep. She quietly approached him, listened for his soft breathing, and saw a blanket on a high shelf. She unfolded it and gently covered him before leaving quietly. She stepped out of the railroad office into the dust storm, squinted against the sand and wind, covered her face with her kerchief, and ran to the barn.