Welcome to this month’s edition of Creative Sundays on Apt613: A monthly themed showcase for short fiction and creative nonfiction by local writers. This month’s theme is stories no one would believe. We hope you enjoy these stories, real and imagined.
By Jed Looker
“Have you heard the tale of the Solstice Monument?” the stranger asked from across the bar. His clothes were modern in a way I’d not seen before, like how science-fiction shows imagined future fashion.
“Excuse me?” I replied.
“The concrete platform in the park across from the embassy, some eight metres in diameter. Has a pair of red, concentric circles linked by spokes and a single, black line pointing northwest.”
It was Sunday afternoon and my favourite time to grab a pint: well after brunch but before dinner. And quiet. It had been raining for a week and I wanted to get out of my apartment, read the Bytowne Cinema calendar and maybe catch an evening show.
I gave the man a dismissive nod and resumed reading.
“It has two parts, you see. At one end of the park is the monument, at the other Champlain’s statue.” He emptied his tumbler, dropped a few coins on the bar and walked over to sit at the stool next to me. “On June 20th the black line will align directly with the statue and setting sun.”
I did remember reading an article a while back about the mysterious nature of the Solstice Monument. “Something about Champlain holding a Knights Templar astrolabe?”
“No, that’s misdirection. But it does have to do with when and where the sun sets.” He reached into his shirt pocket to extract a metallic disc the size of a coaster. “And this.”
I gave in to the inevitable conversation and asked what it was.
“See for yourself,” the man said. He handed the object over. It resembled an intricate clock and weighed as much as a hard drive. A deep groove ran through the centre and engraved along the side were symbols that made me think of a math equation.
The man leaned in. “It’s a key.”
The surface felt smooth, like beach glass.
“A key to,” he lowered his voice, “someplace quite different.”
Even if I was being put on, I decided to play along. I asked how the key worked.
“Place it at the centre of the monument at sunset on the 20th. Align that groove with the black line. When the sun dips halfway below the horizon a door will open.”
I gave a chuckle and handed the object back.
The man shrugged. “That’s what they say, anyway.” He stood from his stool and dismissed the key with a gesture. “Take it, I have others.”
“Are you an astrologist?” I asked as the man headed out.
“A kind of historian,” he replied.
#
I strolled through Major’s Hill Park two weeks later on a summer evening that seemed to last forever. June 20th happened to be a Saturday and the park simmered with weekend activity. College kids played a game of pick-up ultimate on the lawn and a couple shared a Beavertail on a bench. At a bend in the pathway children sketched chalk rocket ships on the pavement.
I stepped onto the Solstice Monument and faced northwest. The sun had started to sink behind Champlain’s statue at the other end of the park. It was hard to imagine these landmarks as anything else but a salute to the longest day of the year.
The key felt heavy in my hand. I inspected the mysterious markings along its side. This is silly, I thought, but what was the harm in a little curiosity? I located the centre of the concrete platform and placed the metallic disc on the black line as instructed.
I waited.
#
Nothing.
I waited some more.
I laughed at the story I’d have at work on Monday and was about to retrieve the key when my fingers and toes started to tingle.
The hair on my arms stood on end and something shimmered out of the corner of my eye.
Suddenly a sphere materialized around me, like a soap bubble, swirling with yellows and blues and purples.
And then it shattered, no, popped outward, into droplets that evaporated into mist.
I had a hard time processing what I saw next.
I remained on the Solstice Monument, but the park was different: older perhaps and surrounded by tall buildings that reflected an orange sky. I was inside a sort of glass hanger or laboratory. Around me stood people in orange coveralls and protective goggles, some writing on tablets, others holding odd-shaped instruments. All observing me with interest.
“Do not be alarmed,” said a familiar voice from the other side of the room. “My team is excited to see you is all.”
The stranger from the pub stepped onto the concrete platform.
My mouth opened but did not form words. The man wore the same clothes from a couple of weeks ago, under a white lab coat. He smiled and placed his hands on my shoulders.
“Welcome,” he said, “to the future.”
This story was inspired by a CBC News article featuring Andrew King and his investigation into the mystery of the Solstice Monument in Major’s Hill Park.
Jed Looker teaches design research at Algonquin College and spends much of his free time reading speculative fiction. He lives in Ottawa with his husband and two dogs.
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