Parker

In lore we go

Photo by Pedro Miguel Aires on Unsplash

“This artifact,” established the museum guide,” is one of the most curious exhibits in the museum.” He pointed to a rock that sat on a pedestal. It gleamed with light shining off its surface. “This rock was found when a couple in Mott’s Mills were building their new house.”

“What’s so special about it?” inquired Jenny.

“I am glad you asked,” the guide replied when he reached out to it.

“Oooh,” went the crowd as purple light rose from its surface.

“That is one thing. We don’t know why it does that. Another is this.” he turned the rock around where a single word looked like it was tattooed across the back.

“Parker!” Jenny gasped quietly to herself.

“Parker,” continued the guide. “It is not much inscribed as just there. We are unsure of the meaning of the name.” He noticed Jenny’s eyes staring intently at the rock.

“The other words are interesting,” stated Jenny.

The guide looked at the globe and then back at Jenny. “There are no other words. Just Parker.” He looked at Jenny curiously before ushering the tour group on to the next exhibit.

“Ianua aperta est,’” reflected Jenny. “Family lore has been right.” She reached out and touched the rock. Suddenly she was standing in the doorway to an ancient farmhouse. There was the smell of cherry wood burning. She looked around. A wood cook stove, a sink with a bucket of water standing beside it. Rustic chairs and a wooden floor. The walls were plain logs packed with what looked like mud. A woman turned.

“Welcome home Jenny,” said her mother. “We have been expecting you.”

“Mom,” cried Jenny as she ran to embrace her mother in a warm hug. All the scents Jenny associated with her mom came flooding back and she felt the warmth of her mother. Suddenly Jenny’s eyes opened with surprise. She stepped back and took a good look at her mom. “Does this mean I am dead too?”

Her mother regarded Jenny with a smile. “Dead? No. Just as I am standing here you are alive.”

Jenny thought this over for a minute. “We buried you last year,” she whispered.

“And that was a fine funeral too. That old body was worn out. As you can see I am well.”

“But how..?” Jenny asked, confused.

“What was the last thing you did?”

“I was at the museum and touched the rock with our last name on it. It also said…” Suddenly she gasped. “Ianua aperta est.” She whispered, “The door is open.”

Her mother smiled. “A bit of ancient folklore that is true. The door has opened for you to travel here.”

“But I am not dead,” Jenny exclaimed.

“Nor was I, the first time I came here. It lasts a bit longer the more you use it.”

“So when you knew you were dying you came here? Why here? Why this place in time?” Jenny couldn’t get over the quiet she was hearing. Another quick look confirmed no electronics.

“Peaceful isn’t it?” said her mother, noticing Jenny’s glance around the room. “The rock takes you places where you are needed and welcomed. I like it here. I feel alive again.”

Jenny glanced out the window and then turned towards the open door. “Who else is here?” she inquired.

“All in due time,” her mother replied, removing a rock from her pocket. “This was my passage. It was given to me by my grandmother. It will help you move back and forth.” She handed it to Jenny.

“You could move back and forth?”

“Not anymore. Once you have died the movement stops. I have waited for you knowing you would show up.”

Jenny frowned. “How could you know that?”

“You were at the museum, correct.”

“Yes,” said Jenny, a little nervous.

“That is a calling rock. It reaches out and gives you the opportunity to be here. It is special only to Parkers. I found it there and appeared elsewhere, as you have. And now you have to return home,” she said as Jenny was fading slowly. “It lasts a short while. You can’t return too often so use this rock wisely,” she said referring to the rock in Jenny’s hand. “Return when you are ready. Bye.”

Jenny opened her eyes as a voice said. “You shouldn’t be touching the rock.”

Jenny smiled knowingly as she removed her hand and placed it into her pocket where she fingered the piece her mother had given her. “Another place another time,” she said as she rejoined the group.