Here is another older story I thought I'd knock the dust off of.

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"You're traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind; a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of the imagination. Next stop: THE TWILIGHT ZONE."
- Rod Serling

Chris Blake had one wish, to appear on stage in front of a large crowd and experience the thrill of their applause and adoration. Chris is about to find out what happens, when you open the door to... THE TWILIGHT ZONE.

He wanted stardom, and headed west with Hollywood as his destination. Hoping all of time and money spent on singing, piano and acting lessons would surely pay off. Confidant of his abilities, he decided that the time was right for the move.

Motoring along a dusty back-road, Chris happened to glance down into a small tree lined valley and spied what looked like an old town. His curiosity being what it was, he began to look for a way down into the well hidden little town.

After what seemed like hours, he finally found a path which had grown over through the years, it was apparent that at one time this may have been a bustling little road, but had been unused for many years. He might be the only one to have ever stepped foot in the town for a long, long while.

Pulling his car to a stop outside one of the dilapidated buildings, Chris shut off the engine and opened his door. With fascination, he surveyed the entire surroundings before stepping from his vehicle. Leaning against his car he looked up one street and then turning, looked back down the other. It looked as if he had just stepped onto the back lot of some Hollywood movie set.

Still sitting as it probably had for years, was a wagon, its tongue resting against the ground where their long gone drivers must have placed it. He approached it and peered inside, not much of the was left as weather had taken its toll. The weeds were thick and growing right through the rotted floor.

Chris stepped up onto a nearby sidewalk made from wood planks nailed to a frame, his weight making the old boards creak. Gingerly he tested the walkway before moving any further, once satisfied, he began to explore. The building that he had parked before appeared to be an old Livery Stable, with rotted saddles and tack still where they were placed long ago. The heavy smell of straw filled his nostrils, as he moved about the room.

Some of the items there were in surprising condition; the leather was a dry but with work could be resurrected. He found an old roll top desk and opened it up, not much of value inside, as most of it was of the written nature. He picked up a bill that had been lying on the top of the long ago manager's desk, it was for 10, 25 lb. sacks of grain at a cost of $15.38. Chris chuckled to himself at this paltry sum, in today's market... it would most likely be considerably more.

He stepped back out into the walk and started down the near side of the street, he could imagine the people of the time as they passed nodding their greetings toward one another. He tipped his head and touched the brim of his imaginary hat as he smiled at a lovely young woman who existed only in his thoughts.

Stopping at the end of one street he looked back at the buildings. Closing his eyes, he could almost hear the sounds that this small town made in its day. After several quiet minutes, he stepped down into the street and began walking once again. He could hear the crunch of the stone and gravel under the weight of his feet. Most of the street had already been reclaimed by weeds from un-use, some of them seemed to have remained untouched... like the one he was currently on.

He crossed the street and stepped back onto another walk, approaching the first building he came to. From the look of the shingle out front, it appeared to be a mercantile of some sort. The door gave way to minimal efforts and slowly swung open, gingerly he peeked inside. To his amazement, most of the shelves were completely stocked, though dusty. He began to look over some of the items and realized that there was a fortune of antiques in here. Even the nondescript items like blue denim jeans lying on the rack were probably worth thousands. Smiling to himself at his fortunate luck, he made a mental note of the items he would take with him when he left the little town.

He noticed a long display case and looked down through the glass, as he wiped the dust aside gasped at its contents. Four Colt revolvers, each one in near mint condition, only a slight patina of surface rust appeared to mar their beauty. Chris could almost count the money he was going to get for this bounty, which made him wonder how he would free up enough room in the car for everything he wanted to take along. He imagined his poor car would be mighty full as he returned to the main road.

All about the room were items as simple as a hairbrush or hand mirror, to the rather large items like the plow resting under the window. He stood in the center of the room and smiled, everything was covered under a layer of dust which revealed the fact that none had been here since the day that the people had abandoned their sleepy little village. Thoughts of why they had left in such a hurry never once crossed his mind, perhaps which was left for time itself to explain.

His eye caught a small glass-beaded pouch suspended on a string of decorative chain, it had been intended for a beautiful genteel lady of a bygone day he was certain. What cloth interior of the purse that was there was still pretty soft and pliable, but it was the beauty and sheer elegance of the item caused Chris to push it into his pocket.

Now, more determined than ever to explore this valuable location, he headed out of the shop and moved on down the street. He passed a dress shop with yellowed clothing still in the windows, their beautiful color long since fading into history. This door was still locked, so for the time being he continued on down the walk. The second building he came to was an Undertaker's residence. He passed on this shop for fear of what he might find in the back room. The third store he came to was their barbershop; he pressed his face to the glass and looked inside. The dirty distorted glass made a quality view almost impossible, but Chris could see nothing of interest or value at this shop and decided to move on.

He noticed that he was coming toward a small cross street, on the opposite corner sat the little town's bank. Greed will do strange things to a person, and Chris was no different. He crossed this street lined with high thistles and horse weed, meandering as he looked for an easy path to the opposite side. Finally, he stepped to the door, after a moment he realized that it too was locked, but only for a fleeting moment. His shoulder splintered the door away from the hinges and he caught it as it toppled toward the floor. Leaning it against the wall he brushed the dust and wood chips from himself and stepped into the room.

His heels thudded against the planking of the floor as he was now a man on a mission, he was looking for the riches this bank might relinquish. His efforts paid off as the safe was still open and the contents were for all to see. He picked up a few of the paper bills and looked at them...most had dates of 1877 or earlier. At least that gave him the era of the town. The bills most likely weren't worth anything on today's market; he knew that only antique collectors or dealers would want those. At that same moment, his eyes caught a small glint of yellow coin, strewn about under the bills thrown in disarray. He began to sift through the bills in an effort to find the golden coins. Each gold piece would bring a hefty sum in today's market.

Chris removed all of the golden coins and dropped them one by one into his trembling hand, counting them as each fell. Digging deep into his pocket he pulled out the ornate bag and began to drop all eight of them in. His smile grew wider as the light clink of the coin sounded as each one fell. He placed the chain around his neck where he could feel the small pouch and its valuable contents nestled next to his skin. There was an odd waive that quickly passed through him, a slight shudder of dread that crossed though his mind.

He pushed the paper contents around in the safe and not seeing any more, he decided to move on. His brief moment of fear went out of him like a light. As he left the bank he once again found himself on the sidewalk planking. Off in the distance, he thought he heard a piano being played and decided to check it out. Only a diagonal across the weed covered street was a building, he made his way through the weeds that grew in this particular area of the street.

Slowly he pushed the big double doors open and watched as the beams of sunlight reflected the dust that was in the air. There were chairs arranged at each table to look like some type of restaurant or high class pub. He moved toward a huge dusty red wall of cloth, he surmised that this might have been some type of theater. As he climbed the short stairs he tried to find his way behind the curtain without luck. Slowly he fought with the dust covered cloth until he found the antiquated rope cord that would open the curtain; he began to pull at the cord. It gave to his efforts eventually, and slowly began to open bathing the entire area with a soft light of the dust covered windows.

Within the dim lighting of the stage he saw a fancy antique piano centered before a vast bank of mirrors. As he stood on center stage he was in awe of the buildings sheer size and splendor, it truly was a work of beauty. Ornate silks and rich woodwork abound in this beautiful theater, its polished floors need only to be cleaned to show their luster again. This was truly a gem, Chris would love to have seen it in its day, all clean and polished...filled with people. He closed his eyes and imagined the room filled with sounds of talking and clinking of dishes welcomed his thoughts. Ting-ting-ting, a soft plinking came from the old piano. Chris opened his eyes, his curiosity piqued as he slowly turned toward the sound.

He walked back to where the piano sat and tapped a key, the sound cut through the quiet like a knife. He could see where a small rodent had been walking across the keys...that must have been what caused the sound he had heard. He picked out a cord and played it on the yellowed keys, it surprised him that it was still in tune for such an old piano.

He moved to the side and lifted the lid, propping it he began to search around for a place to sit. his quick glance revealed the bench resting near the back of the stage. As he carried it across to the piano he wondered if there were any old sheet music nested inside the bench...he couldn't get that lucky. He carefully placed it in the front of the piano and opened the bench; it was completely full of old yellowed music. He pulled one out and sat it on the piano, he studied the title... "If Wishes Were True".

He glanced to the copyright date is said 1869, “Fairly new for this era”, he thought. Slowly he placed each hand in the proper position and began to play. The room was suddenly filled with the melodious sounds of the antique piano, Chris was in heaven. As his hands drummed out the happy little tune he imagined that others were in the room with him.

He turned his head and imagined a young woman in a provocative dress carry beers from the long bar to a table of men taking a moment while playing cards to watch the stage. Chris couldn't help but to imagine each person's eyes were upon him while he continued to play on and on.
The people, he imagined were very appreciative of his ability as he smiled and nodded at them from where he sat and played. Closing his eyes, allowing the music to envelope him, once and a while someone would give a "whoop". He imagined that they came there for him, to hear him play.

As the beautiful notes were caressed from the piano, he looked out across the tables and imagined one fellow raise his mug of beer in a toast to his talent. Chris slowly closed his eyes and continued to play, allowing himself to be pulled into the melody he was creating - knowing that the images he was seeing was only in his imagination.

As Chris finished the tune the crowd erupted with a boisterous cheer and rose to their feet while clapping - for him! Chris was all smiles – realizing that they were cheering for him and his music! He wished that it were real, but sadly it was only a result of his overactive imagination.

He rose from his seat to take a bow and as he did his eyes fell upon the long golden tresses that cascaded down from one shoulder, the ornate braid bouncing as it reached its length. He lifted it up and pulled gently, the effort caused his head to slowly turn – it was attached. In panic and fear, Chris spun toward the mirrors where the sight that met him caused all his breath to escape in one gasp.

Chris no longer looked as he had when he woke up, his form no longer that of Chris Blake. Now they all knew him as Christine Blakeley "The Golden Songbird of Willow Valley". Even Chris' own mind began to cloud with confusion, as he couldn't determine which life was real.

Her eyes wandered downward as she took in the clothing... dressed in a long flowing gown of pink and white silk, it had a high collar where it concealed her creamy white complexion and ample bosom. Gracefully, she brought a slender hand to her chest where she felt the little pouch and its golden treasure nestled tenderly and protectively between her breasts.

Little ringlets of golden hair framed her stunning face, and stared back out of crystalline blue eyes under long dark lashes. Christine felt her knees weaken and fell back into the piano and as she did...caught herself from falling, not able to take her eyes from the mirror. She felt she was losing her mind but couldn't remove them from the reflection.

Upon her head she wore a hat which complemented her dress; it had a long single feather descending, which had been dyed pink to match her dress. Christine's trembling hand went to her mouth as she took in her reflection, behind her a concerned man had moved and supported her from falling. He smiled and helped her to the side of the stage as the curtain began to close.

"I was afraid that this might happen to you Christine, you shouldn't be performing in your condition anymore." The man held her close while the young woman's stunned eyes sparkled back at him. "You really need to think of yourself now."

Christine tried to speak and the man placed his finger against her very kissable lips, "Shhhh, lets go home." He gently began to guide her off the stage, through a back-door. "You can perform AFTER the baby has been born, but first you must take care of yourself."

Offering the exquisitely beautiful and distraught woman his elbow, he waited for her to hesitantly take it. She frowned... not sure on what to believe.

"Oh come now, Christine...it's not that bad! You'll be back, your fans will see to that!" The tall man smiled and kissed the woman's upturned lips as they glistened back in the reflected light. "Let's go on home, Love."

With each step away from the piano, Chris Blake became no more. Christine had her husband and career to think of... and the tiny child developing in her womb. She knew that she would return to the stage, you can't really keep a true performer away for long.

***

Chris did get his wish of sorts; he was now adored by his fans and cheered by countless hundreds. However, Chris Blake never made it to Hollywood; instead he took a trip through time. His destination became a sleepy little town located in the middle of... THE TWILIGHT ZONE.