“Winter Solstice, 2012”

William Wayne Watson had become a self-made multimillionaire in the mid-1990s just when the www. Internet phenomenon had magically proliferated all over the newly developed high-tech global communications marketplace. The extremely successful entrepreneur had achieved great wealth and prosperity by imaginatively financing large shopping center constructions all over Southern New Jersey, the very clever maneuver materializing a full decade before Amazon.com and other commercial web giants had been vigorously driving various established brick and mortar mall stores out of economic competition.

After feeding a small portion of high-grade puppy chow to his always-neurotic chihuahua Co-Co, the self-important mogul prepared his second morning glass of ice-chilled Southern Comfort and then plopped-down onto his den''s comfortable red leather recliner, A warm fire glowed through the tempered windows of the room''s huge black wood-burning stove, a prized possession that occupied a splendid space situated directly upon an expensive four-foot by five-foot black marble slate.

The proud resident of 520 Grand Street, Hammonton, New Jersey was quite contented with his lofty existence as Watson stared out his impressive full-length Andersen windows, his eyes focusing on the frigid twenty-three degree reading that was being registered on his all-too-familiar outside thermometer. Fully barren deciduous trees dominated a distant woods. The naked oaks and elms along with the dull gray dark-clouded sky momentarily commanded the man''s general attention.

Then Bill''s alert blue eyes admired the various specially-crafted wood varieties prevalent in his newly built elevated den, which was actually a raised deck addition to the home''s original family room. The lower original den had a handsome colonial red brick fireplace fueled by a fake-log gas insert.

The newer platform addendum exhibited a spectacular brown-stained ceiling that was composed of rich California cedar. The addition''s solid oak floor (featuring an extravagant red and black Oriental rug) was slickly varnished to perfection, and the fantastic raised deck was highlighted by dark brown maple plug inserts. And lastly, the hundred thousand dollar “new den” showpiece possessed pine-wood window trims complementing ten hand-made birch-wood wall cabinets. A pair of enormous trapezoid windows had been constructed high on the spacious room''s back wall, with the beautiful glass-paned objects being positioned six feet above the thigh-high wall cabinets. And to supplement the new room''s outstanding appearance, eight mid-sized vertical windows had been built between the new den''s carpenter-assembled utilitarian storage compartments, and those eight attractive objects were accompanied by ten vertical full-length Andersens, six of them existing behind the red leather sofa and sets of two on either side of the prodigious black wood-burning stove.

''I''m pretty darned bored now with just being a regular management consultant,'' William silently sulked. ''My mind needs to be challenged with bigger things than offering random opinions about typical mall designs. Talk about doing the right thing at the right time. My former expertise is rapidly becoming obsolete!''

Then William Wayne Watson''s fairly distraught mind awkwardly evaluated a rather disturbing current event. ''It''s December 21^st, the yearly Winter Solstice in the season cycle,'' Bill considered as the somewhat anxious tycoon nervously sipped his recently poured sweet and delicious Southern Comfort. ''I must admit that my spirit''s a tad superstitious on this particular longest day of darkness. The ancient Mayan Calendar abruptly ends today,'' Watson restively reminded himself, ''and that weird realization suggests that a dramatic change might be about to happen to the Earth and to all its populations. It''s now 10:50 a. m. and unbelievably, I can palpably feel the suspense mounting. It''s a common fact that I''ve repeatedly read on the Internet. The Winter Solstice will occur at exactly 11:11, only twenty-one heart-pounding minutes away. Why can''t I just be objective about the entire ''end of the world'' scenario and rationally convince myself that the silly mystery about December 21^st, 2012 is essentially a baseless ridiculous mendacious fraud!''

Just when William''s fertile-but-restless mind was contemplating his vulnerable spirit being separated from his mortal body and him being “Raptured” away into the heavens by Divine Forces, his rise into the stratosphere occurring because Watson had been a good Christian who had practiced both the Ten Commandments and the Golden Rule throughout his adult life, the uneasy fellow''s reverie was suddenly interrupted by a ringing of his den''s land-line telephone. Casually checking the readout, the rich resident immediately recognized that his wife Judith was calling from the family''s Stone Harbor beach house.

“Hi Honey,” William instantly acknowledged, beginning the informal conversation. “How long did your drive down to Stone Harbor take you? Was it the normal hour and twenty minutes? Did you take the toll roads?”

“Yes Bill,” Judith casually confirmed. “I decided to travel the Atlantic City Expressway and the Garden State Parkway route. To my surprise there was only moderate traffic going east and south. Are you driving down to the shore tomorrow morning as planned? You can help me decorate the beach house for Christmas. I''m already having a tall fresh pine tree being delivered!”

“I intend to be there,” Watson verified with a genuine smile apparent upon his lips. “I can''t wait to see Bill Jr, Joe and Steve along with our grand-kids. How many all together are gonna'' be enjoying your extraordinary holiday dinner feast?”

“Either fourteen or fifteen,” the cheerful wife estimated and indicated. “That is, it depends on whether your Aunt Ellen can make the scene. She''s not fully recovered from her shoulder operation yet, as you well know!”

“Do you have any special arrangements for the day after Christmas?” the husband curiously inquired before again lifting his cold glass to his mouth. “Don''t you ordinarily drive our three daughters-in-law down to Cape May and....”

“Yes Bill,” Judith firmly stated before her slightly interested spouse could ever finish articulating his simple question. “Michelle, Rose and Helen will again accompany me to the Cape May-Lewes Ferry. We board as walk-on foot passengers, faithfully take the hour and and half ride across Delaware Bay to Lewes, and then we hop onto an awaiting bus and head directly to the shopping outlets near Rehoboth Beach. The ferry excursion has become an annual tradition, and of course, we then take the last boat back to Jersey. Next year we plan to include our three granddaughters on our comprehensive shopping spree!”

“Keep spending my dwindling fortune and soon I''ll have to start earning a living again.” Bill mildly complained and grinned.

“Don''t get too upset Dear,” the wife automatically advised. “I''ll only be searching for bargains and closeouts over in Delaware!”

“Well Judy, I recommend that you don''t spend too much cash over there in Delaware,” Bill deliberately joked. “I didn''t build those mammoth Rehoboth outlet stores, you know! My most profitable enterprises were exclusively limited to South Jersey malls and local shopping centers! But in all seriousness,” the husband stipulated in a more honest tone of voice, “I intend to be joining you noon tomorrow in Stone Harbor. And as a gesture of polite courtesy, I''ll gladly treat whoever is there to a delectable lunch Saturday afternoon at the Lobster House just over the bridge into Cape May. Make reservations for at least twelve!”

“That''s a deal Sweetie!” Judith blushed and answered. “See you here at the shore tomorrow at twelve. But Honey, I notice that the waves in the Atlantic are a trifle rough today and will get even worse this evening. The Weather Channel predicts that there''s wind and rain approaching from the south so please drive carefully. And lastly Bill,” the blonde-haired wife jested and facetiously declared, “don''t let all of that stupid crazy speculation about Planet X. The thing will not be wickedly entering the solar system and then quickly sending our beloved Earth off course and soon speeding out of its normal orbit. Don''t allow that fictional lunacy to bother you.”

“Don''t worry one iota Judy!” Bill indulgently laughed before imbibing another mouthful of his still-chilled liquor. “I can''t believe that thousands of gullible naïve idiots have purchased million dollar survival shelters installed inside isolated mountains all over the world. Those impractical bunkers will be worth pennies on the dollar in less than an hour from now! Those frivolous survivalist Fools! They''ll never become gainfully unemployed aristocrats like us living on Easy Street as long as they profess and enact their ignorant paranoid emotional behavior!”

“See you at noon tomorrow!” reminded the financial baron''s model wife. “It''ll be perfectly terrific having the whole family reunited again at Christmas. Truthfully Hon, that''s one wonderful custom that I believe the Watson clan should always honor. Don''t forget to take that pesky rascal Co-Co to Stone Harbor with you. I''m so glad we had her spayed last week! So long for now Bill!” Click.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

William Wayne Watson was more than a tad apprehensive about all of the notoriety given on TV, on the Internet and in the press concerning Planet X, alternately alluded to as Nibiru. But adding to the man''s growing consternation, it was the unique conjunction of separate popular predictions coupled with medieval superstitions that eventually had vastly affected the man''s rapidly ascending awareness of potential widespread destruction.

As Watson sat in his favorite red chair and proceeded to gulp-down larger quantities of his rich alcoholic drink, the man''s delicate psyche recollected the often-publicized auspicious aspects of December 21^st, 2012, a date whose intrigue had also captured the minds of millions and millions of equally influenced earthlings.

In reference to the Mayan Calendar ending on that specific late December day, other parallel events were simultaneously in play on that first twenty-four hours of winter. Planet X supposedly had acquired an irregular orbit outside that of Pluto, and the ominous sphere had been reputed to be traveling through space in a 3,600 year-long erratic path around the comet-infested distant perimeter of our extensive solar system. According to archaic legend conjecture, when Nibiru last came near the Earth thirty-six centuries ago, afflicted Planet Earth shifted on its axis, thus causing cataclysmic seismic volcanic activity on all of the continents, the most dramatic catastrophe being the Great Biblical Flood experienced by Noah and his family.

''According to my general research, much of this very fascinating Planet X story is based on the keen studies and writings of deceased ancient astronaut author Zecharia Sitchin, especially his controversial interpretations of strange Sumerian and Babylonia mythological tales,'' Watson speculated and recalled before swallowing down more of his tasty fear-quelling elixir. ''But if my flimsy body is going to penetrate right through the cedar wood ceiling before I ever enter the lower atmosphere totally against my free will,'' the fabulously wealthy investor mused and soon smiled, ''then I might as well be half-intoxicated before my fragile anatomy is ever subjected to such diabolical death-causing pain!''

Inside his toasty-warm den, the now thoroughly-obsessed man continued with his abundant anxieties about the impending and encroaching Winter Solstice. ''It''s the stuff that science fiction moviegoers positively crave! But in terms of real life experiences,'' William concluded, ''the imminent end of the world is elementary fantasy and nothing else!''

11:11 in the morning finally arrived and the time''s temporal abstraction was scientifically recorded by the hands of the den''s reliable wall clock, but no disastrous consequences or violent environmental manifestations were observable or detected. William Wayne Watson imagined that his nervousness had been unnecessarily influenced by a tremendous national and international hoax. The relieved Grand Street resident smiled, shook his bewildered head in wonder, finished off the remaining ounce of his second Southern Comfort concoction and next gingerly reclined in his warm cozy red leather recliner. Closing his eyes, the rich former shopping center developer now felt exquisitely safe, secure and totally relaxed.

''The radical pole shift never occurred as millions of maniacal dolts had feared,'' William logically surmised. ''The Earth is still adequately spinning on its same normal axis! Molten nickel inside the planet''s core is still moving in the exact same excellent direction! Humanity is still in strong harmony with the remainder of the Milky Way Galaxy! The amazing power of the Most Merciful Universe has spared me and my world from absolute doom and total devastation! And I find it most comforting and not disappointing at all to think that daylight hours in the Northern Hemisphere will now become longer with each passing week! Hallelujah! Spring is only three months away! Thank God for the Vernal Equinox!''

At precisely 11:30, feeling completely insulated from the perils of apocalyptic danger, the now-complacent retired business genius again slowly closed his increasingly heavy eyelids, and without further hesitation, William Wayne Watson gradually drifted-off into a deep inebriated slumber.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The last vague idea that had meandered through William Wayne Watson''s cerebrum was the absurd notion that the 2012 Winter Solstice would be much different in nature than the previous year''s June 21^st Summer Solstice and also quite distinct from the corresponding 2011 Spring and Autumnal equinoxes, when the entire Northern Hemisphere had predictably encountered equal day and equal night. But still, the prospect of an accurate-and-foreboding Mayan Calendar forecast had (that morning) weighed heavily on the man''s rather blurry judgment.

At precisely 1:12 p. m. a dozen Hammonton municipal police cars, fire engines and rescue squad vehicles (showing flashing red and blue revolving lights) were conspicuously visible, cluttering the asphalt road in the vicinity of the landmark 520 Grand Street three-story mansion. Several on-a-mission police officers had cordoned-off the whole block in order to prevent curiosity seekers and nosy ambulance chasers from trespassing upon (and needlessly obstructing) the investigation scene.

Police Chief Bruce Campanella, Fire Chief Dante Frederico and dedicated Rescue Squad Captain Thomas DiCicco conducted a brief conference outside the recently damaged William Watson estate, which unfortunately had been partially destroyed by a raging inferno that had ultimately resulted in the tragic loss of life of one of the community''s most prestigious citizens.

“What do you think happened here?” Captain DiCicco wondered and asked his stunned colleagues. “I mean, I know that Bill Watson is dead and that an autopsy will definitely be performed by the county coroner''s office. But what a truly terrible calamity! I personally knew Bill, and I still can''t believe this horrific thing has happened! As you two men know, Bill Watson had huge clout with our elected bosses, the power-hungry town politicians!”

“Well Tom, the next door neighbor Dottie Edwards reacted promptly to the emergency, but still her urgent effort was too late phoning-in the immense conflagration. But fellas'', I too knew Bill Watson pretty well,” softly stated Fire Chief Dante Frederico, who was gently holding and soothing a shivering Co-Co in his arms. “Bill and I are, or should I say, Bill and I were in the town Lions Club together, and Guys, I''ve been a welcomed guest inside Bill Watson''s fabulous home on many occasions, basically to discuss major club fundraisers. As has been documented in local newspaper articles, Bill was famous throughout South Jersey for his unselfish charity work. He had great compassion for the less fortunate. I regret that I''ve really and truly lost a dear friend.”

The ever-vigilant Chief of Police waited a moment, cleared his throat and then attempted expressing himself to his also-shocked first responder colleagues. “Bill owned a deluxe fishing boat out of the big Cape May marina, and he and I had gone on several deep sea fishing expeditions cruising out to the Baltimore Canyon. I mean Fellas'', the trips were way out in the Atlantic, our secret destination being somewhere south off the coast of Rehoboth Beach. Besides being a renowned business operator,” Police Chief Bruce Campanella confided, “Bill Watson was also a very avid ocean fisherman. Dante, tell me,” the Police Chief resumed his solemn commentary, “what is your theory about what had actually occurred here?”

“Well Chief,” the normally laconic Fire Marshal replied, “off the record, I hypothesize that Bill had fallen asleep in his favorite chair and thereafter was quickly consumed by a raging inferno that apparently was caused by the large wood stove and by its red-hot smokestack becoming too hot. There probably had been too much creosote deposits lining the interior chimney walls,” Dante Frederico confidentially deducted and stated. “Then the excessive heat over time had eventually split the flue tiles and when that happened...”

“Then the room''s external wood frame swiftly caught fire and soon the blaze''s flames spread, igniting the walls, the cedar ceiling and finally the solid oak floor. Even sheet rock will burn when the temperature gets above seven hundred degrees,” the knowledgeable Police Chief added to the ongoing dialogue, recollecting several past house fire incidents. “Everything Fellas'', including wood, has its combustible kindling point! But please explain to me Dante, exactly how the loud explosion heard by the neighbors might have happened? I think I understand the reason for the intense fire that had enveloped poor Bill. But what about the fierce explosion that certainly contributed to his horrible demise?”

“Again, off the record Bruce, I speculate that the lower den had a gas insert that was slightly leaking,” Fire Chief Frederico analyzed and disclosed, “and when the intense heat from the upper den fire got to the gas-laden oxygen in the lower den, the gas from the brick fireplace suddenly....”

“Suddenly blasted out that section of the home, thus killing our dear friend Bill Watson,” Chief Bruce Campanella plausibly summarized. “You Men know as well as I do that when tar and wood fragments accumulate inside a dirty chimney, bad things consequently develop! This is the third chimney fire in Hammonton this month and it''s just the first day of winter!”

“But little Co-Co survived both the fire and the powerful deadly explosion!” Rescue Squad Captain Tom DiCicco exclaimed in amazement. “How was that accomplishment possible, and why didn''t Bill ever respond to the dog barking!”

Chief Bruce Campanella inhaled a very deep breath and then informatively declared, “Most chihuahuas bark a lot, but tiny Co-Co here is what is known as a ''non-barking chihuahua''. I know for a fact that this breed of canine only occasionally whimpers and whines. And since Bill was probably fast asleep, and there''s evidence that he was drinking Southern Comfort,” the still-rattled police official explained to Frederico and DiCicco, “Co-Co immediately forgot about her master''s fate and speedily retreated to the laundry room where the frightened pooch was later salvaged by the second town firefighter on the scene, Jack Evans I believe.”

Although not directly discussed in the trio''s communications, the still-astonished men individually believed that the fatal Watson house fire was of accidental origin and that no nefarious foul play had been involved in the disaster. After a brief interval of respectful silence, verbal interaction again was initiated.

“I don''t envy your obligation in the least Chief, you having the ugly responsibility of notifying Judith about this hideous tragedy!” Thomas DiCicco mentioned with a bowed head. “Without a doubt, it must be a very daunting chore you must now perform. How do you gather the vital courage to do it?”

“Regrettably Tom, that undesirable task comes with the territory,” Bruce Campanella somberly declared and shared. “You''ve identified it quite perfectly. That difficult phone call is perhaps the toughest and most dreaded aspect of my entire job description. And Fellas'', I believe Judith is at the Watson''s shore house down in Stone Harbor. I''ll get active on that sordid detail right away and obtain the shore home''s phone number from Chief Brown down there. Now Gentlemen, I must confess that I wish I had retired two months ago, just like I had planned on doing! Sometimes it just doesn''t pay to stay on another six months simply to add to your pension benefits!”

“Right Chief! Pretty abominable duty you must perform!” Tom DiCicco reluctantly again concurred while ineffectively endeavoring to ignore Chief Campanella''s obvious expressed guilt. “I don''t envy you one bit! But honestly now, all of Bill Watson''s amassed money will do him absolutely no good. Once you''re dead, although your colossal estate might be worth plenty to your immediate heirs, in the final analysis,” the now-animated Rescue Squad Captain emphasized and then paused to carefully reflect upon his sincere intent, “the formerly rich dead person is not worth a plug nickel upon his hasty entrance into the hereafter!”

“Amen!” Chief Campanella very clearly agreed. “December 21^st, 2012 was supposed to be the end of the world, but unfortunately instead, today''s date became the end of poor Bill Watson''s world!”

Jay Dubya

Copyright: Jay Dubya  December 26, 2012   Ninety-Nine Novellas e-book