Ben woke with a jolt, gasping for air like a man who had just surfaced from
the deep end of a swimming pool. His chest heaved, and he sat up so fast
his head spun. For a few disoriented seconds, he couldn't figure out where
he was. Was he dead? Dreaming? Maybe he'd fainted… but why?
Food poisoning, he decided. I should have known it was a bad idea to eat
anything from a dive called Sloppy's Burger Shack.
Blinking rapidly, Ben glanced around. The last thing he remembered was
inspecting the old well, and his unfortunate tumble over the side.
So how the hell was he now sitting beneath the wooden archway sign for
Lucky Nickel Acres? The fading-lettered sign cast a shadow over him in the
late-daylight, the same golden evening light he'd been driving through on
his way up to the property. But it felt different now…
And the ground beneath him felt different, too.
Ben frowned, brushing his hands over the surface. He was sitting in a
perfect circle of glittering, golden sand that looked completely out of place
against the reddish-gray gravel of the driveway.
What the hell...? he thought. It looks like a respawn point in a videogame.
Ben chuckled to himself at that idea, knowing how ridiculous it was to even
consider. Then again, he'd apparently survived a fall down a well, so
anything was possible. He might be dead or dreaming. He might be
hallucinating he was in a video game after eating the Heart-Attack Special
at Sloppy's Burger Shack. Hell, for all he knew, he was in Lewis Carroll's
Wonderland. Nothing would surprise him at this point.
Ben stood up slowly, looking around for any signs of a little white rabbit
with a pocket watch. Nope. No grinning cheshire cats, red queens, mad
hatters, or blond girls in blue dresses, either. So maybe he could take
Wonderland off his list.
Anything else, though? Fair game as far as Ben was concerned.
His head spun as he took in the familiar but eerily changed landscape
surrounding his little haven in the circle of golden sand.
Something was off. Many somethings, really. Nothing major, but all of
them just strange enough to trigger a sense of uncanny valley as he
surveyed the scene.
The driveway, for example, and the road leading up to the house—weren't
how he remembered them. A two-track packed gravel trail wound through
the verdant hills toward Lucky Nickel Acres, much smaller and older
looking than the wide rural road he'd traveled to get here. There were no
telephone poles beside the road, either. And the communications tower atop
the hill behind the property was absent as well. No powerlines marred the
skyline. No contrails crisscrossed the wide blue yonder that stretched as far
as his eyes could see over miles and miles of perfect, undisturbed pastoral
lands.
It was like he'd gone back in time somehow, to the same place a hundred or
two hundred years in the past, before electricity, before modern technology
had become so prevalent that you ceased to notice it and instead noticed its
absence like a gaping wound.
Instinctively, Ben felt in his pocket for his cell phone, and was not at all
surprised to find it wasn't there. Though he could still feel the weight of his
uncle's book and the deed to the property in his jacket pocket.
Sensing that something had changed in his peripheral vision, Ben turned
toward the old farmhouse and squinted. His mind struggled to make sense
of what he was seeing, even as he felt his heart surge with hope.
The place didn't look nearly as run-down as before. It was still old, sure,
but less... dilapidated. The roof wasn't sagging as badly, and the
outbuildings looked worn but intact, like they'd been patched up over the
years.
Ben's old truck, however, which he'd parked next to the house, was
nowhere to be seen. Neither, he realized with a jolt of dread, were the tools
he'd lugged out here from the job site.
What the hell is going on here? Ben cursed under his breath. Did someone
steal it while I was out?
The thought was impulsive, coming without any real consideration. Just as
quickly, Ben remembered the strangeness of his situation.
Riiiight, he reminded himself. No trucks in Wonderland. Ruins the magical
ambiance.
Ben snorted at the ridiculousness of the thought. But really, why was that
any more ridiculous than what he was actually seeing?
"Guess there's not much to do but explore my surroundings," he said aloud,
hoping he might feel less crazy if he heard the sound of his voice in the
stillness.
But his voice sounded different, too. Deeper and more resonant. The
powerful voice of a young man, not a guy on the far side of middle age
who'd spent the last forty years huffing concrete dust and wood chips.
"Thanks for the idea, self," he said. "But this definitely doesn't make me
feel less crazy…"
Talking to himself with a voice that didn't belong to him was probably not
the sanest thing he could be doing… Exploring was definitely the better
option.
Ben rolled up the sleeves of his jacket, ready to go poking into some of the
old farm buildings to see what he could find. But he was suddenly
distracted by something else.
His forearm, to be exact—lean, tan, and muscular, wrapped with thick,
healthy veins like he'd just been pumping iron at the gym. And was a good
thirty years younger. And had replaced thirty pounds of excess flab with
fifty pounds of lean muscle.
"Holy shit," he said, barely registering the strangeness of his new voice.
"I'm jacked."
He blinked and flexed his fingers, watching the muscles ripple under
smooth, taut skin. The sight sent a jolt of confused excitement through him.
Wait a minute...
He ran his hands over his body, heart hammering in his chest. His palms
brushed over thick mounds of dense muscle. His t-shirt was stretched tighter against his torso than it had been in years. His fingers traced the firm
lines of his stomach—solid, strong, without a hint of the gut he'd grown
from years of greasy fast food and late-night meals alone.
Pulse racing, Ben's hands shot to his face, feeling his jawline. Strong,
broad, not a trace of sagging skin. His skin felt smoother, less weathered.
His fingers ran up through his hair—thick strands of it, not the thinning
patches he'd grown accustomed to. A shaggy 'I don't give a damn' cut, like
he'd had in his youth.
"This isn't possible," he said, his voice coming out low and gravely. "Of all
the impossible things I've just realized in the last ten minutes, this is the
least possible of them all."
At first, shock gripped him, his mind scrambling to find an explanation.
It had to be a dream.
He'd fallen down the well, hit his head, and was now caught in some
bizarre coma-vision where he was younger, stronger... a better version of
himself.
But as he looked around, as he inhaled the crisp air, felt the heat of the
setting sun on his skin, and smelled the earthy scent of the fields around
him—everything felt too real.
If it was a dream, it was unlike any dream he'd ever had.
"All right, then… I'm dead. I've died and gone to heaven. It's the only
explanation left."
A slow grin crept across Ben's face, despite the morbidness of that thought.
Then, almost involuntarily, a chuckle escaped him. His hands skimmed over
his body again, as if trying to make sure it was all real. He stretched his arms, twisted his torso, and even jogged in place for a moment, marveling
at the complete absence of pain in his knees, shoulders, and back. Not to
mention the mind-boggling strength of this new body.
"If this is heaven," he said aloud, a laugh bubbling up, "I'm not
complaining. No aches, no pains, the body of a young, fit demigod. Hell, I
might actually start enjoying life again. Er… afterlife, I guess. Probably not
supposed to say 'hell' in heaven, though…"
He shook his head in disbelief, glancing down at himself one more time,
still grinning. He'd thought inheriting the farm was too good to be true.
This… this was a whole new level of incredible.
Ben flexed a bicep, his eyes goggling at the size of the bulge. Then a
question popped into his head, something he hadn't spent much time
thinking about as a single man with no time or interest in mid-life dating…
He frowned thoughtfully, and pulled the waistband of his jeans—now far
too loose on his lean frame—away from his taut stomach. The bulge he
found down there was even more impressive.
"Whoa, what the fuuuuu… fudge." He stopped himself from cursing just in
time. If this was heaven, he didn't want to risk his invitation to the afterlife
by offending the master of the universe with his construction-worker's
mouth.
Though the python in his pants had him questioning the nature of the gods
or goddesses in this place. And it made him wonder something else…
Ben looked up at the sky, cupping his hands around his mouth like he was
calling out to the clouds.
"Hey! If you're listening up there, thank you! And if it's not too much to
ask, while you're busy making dreams come true, could you send me a few
beautiful women? I never did find true love in my past life, and now that
I've got this new body it would be a shame to see it go to waste!"
He let out a laugh, the ludicrousness of it all crashing over him like a wave.
It was ridiculous, unbelievable—but it was happening, and for the first time
in years, Ben felt... good.
Better than good, actually.
Amazing.
On top of the world.
He felt like a winner for the first time in his long, fifty-six years of
existence. He didn't know how it had happened, but he sure as hell didn't
want to do anything to mess it up.
Ben glanced around once more, trying to make sense of this new reality.
The changes, now that he was paying attention, weren't subtle—they were
impossible to ignore. The dirt road leading up to the house was more like a
packed wagon trail, the kind he remembered from old western movies.
There were no telephone poles, no power lines anywhere in sight. The
landscape was wide, open, and clean in a way that felt... old.
Ancient, almost.
If he had somehow gone back in time, that might explain the youthful body
and the less dilapidated state of the house and outbuildings. Glancing up at
the wooden archway with the sign for Lucky Nickel Acres he noted that it
looked newer, the paint still legible, not faded and worn like he
remembered.