It was Tuesday or Friday or some other day not guessed or mentioned. Facts are always important. Continuity is even better for credibility. Second hand information is never wise but it is all we have to go on at this time. The story is important, perhaps even verging on urgent so, lets proceed in the immediacy of the moment as it is told.
There is an elderly gentleman who walks down the narrow path each day, by ugly shacks that are almost as broken down as him. He wears the same smelly overcoat, not so much to offend as to protect himself from inclement weather and perhaps to hide his shame at being found in such impoverished deplorable conditions this late in life. This information is pure speculation, given to us by second and third level informants but it sounds plausible and seems about right so we added it to this report for your inspection.
Since we have no other sources to rely on, not even the press, which used to be as solid as concrete in the past but now that is another story and we have to compose what we know with what we have on hand and move forward with our story.
It would have been nice to give the elderly gentleman a name. Information is that sparse in these parts. For the purpose of moving right along we will call him Mr. Gray for convenience sake.
As stated earlier, the gentleman was out for his daily walk. Citizens of the near by fishing community were interviewed by us and will verify these following accounts. They have supplied us with visual and odor verification of the now famous or infamous Mr. Gray. No one has ever spoken to the man but one brave soul got close enough to hear him grunt one day. We can testify that he therefore had or has working vocal cords but not much more.
It is our understanding that he takes the exact same path every morning. He steps outside his little yellow mustard colored bungalow at 8:00 am sharp every day like clockwork. The sea dock is only several blocks away from where he resides. He walks one block down past the row of tightly compacted dwellings, makes a quick right, walks down the end of that block and then hangs a quick left. He goes to the end, straight ahead is the ocean sea wall and dock. He arrives at this destination precisely at 8:05 am every day.
This is where things get dicey. This is where the story takes a left turn and becomes hard to fathom. The truth is; it is not known what happens next. Mr. Gray walks off the dock, off the sea wall and disappears. No one witnesses him reaching the water. He just vanishes. No one has ever seen him wet. Everyone feels confident that his smell is something unique. It is something that must have fermented, evolved over many years....perhaps decades. Leaping off the wooden planks would have surely landed him in the water, which would have changed, altered that unique unmistakable pungent odor emanating from the ancient man.
At exactly 8:05 pm every night, Mr. Gray reappears from where he had disappeared to earlier in the day, as he does every day.
The local authorities became suspicious after receiving such outlandish reports from so many different people from all walks of life. Two detectives would be placed at the location and the time of the reappearance of Mr. Gray to catch him in the act of not being there and then being there. Since there are no established laws regarding disappearances and reappearances, the local police were way out of their depth on this matter.
No one has ever reported him as a “missing person.” The truth is, he was not missed and when he returned, well, there wasn't much the police or anyone could do about it. There were no applicable laws to fit these events and no crimes committed from what could be surmised. Gray came and went as he pleased.
After years of this unusual activity someone decided to intervene, to interrupt, to put a stop to what they perceived as diabolical behavior. Mrs. Jones was just that person. She had developed a twitch in her left eye and suffered from depression over this matter. She lives practically in-between Mr. Grays path from his home to the sea wall. The old woman watched for years, as the ancient fossil passed by her open window every morning, every day, for what seemed to be an eternity. She decided to stop him in his tracks midway through his morning routine walk. Today is that day. She approached the old man in a lumbering emphatic stride. Being that she is a very large woman to begin with in girth and height, made this an easy, natural, simplistic task that she was more than eager and equal to. She was a sight to behold. Gray encountered that sight. It had to have been frightening.
The street roads are so narrow that Mr. Gray had no other choice but to stop as she came close.
Her twitch was observably ominous from a distance. It alone could shake trees, rattle cages, wake the dead from their revery with its overpowering menacing glare. She confronted him head on with a very direct question. (according to reports.) “What is going on between you and the dock?” Mr. Gray looked up at her and sighed. At first he pretended that he was from another land and could not understand her language but realized quickly that tactic would not fly. He figured that the bulldozer like human in front of him would not budge without a reasonable response.
He told the huge woman that she must move immediately or life as she knows it would cease to be. This region will go out of existence. He said that he is a time traveler and must stay on course with these clearly defined regimented actions given to him from future people, authorities who control time and space and portals that hold it all together.
She laughed and suggested that he might be crazy. He could only smile and wait for time to pass him by. He could see a small fishing vessel moving off to the west nearly beyond his field of vision as the bulky woman finally moved on down and away from him, showing her posterior to be as large as her front as she faded into her place of origin, her tiny shack and life as she perceived it.
After this report was filed with our agency by sources not verifiable, it turns out that the fishing village disappeared along with all of the inhabitants. There are no first hand accounts of what really happened...only rumors...and rumors don't count as facts...but that is all we have.