Betsy

It’s fair to assume a story like this would take place in a grandiose setting, perhaps in a metropolitan hub, like a cafe in Paris or the metro system of New York City. I always thought that if a time traveler were to visit our timeline, surely, it would be to stop a devastating tragedy that would impact millions and alter the trajectory of the global timeline. Something as monumental as time travel shouldn't occur in some backwater, remote, and underdeveloped town like mine. It sounds crazy, but to this day, I cannot fathom another explanation, so I’ll stick with this one. Besides, what's a great story without a hint of skepticism and incredulousness?

The day consisted of standard Saturday afternoon activities: Breakfast was made, the chickens were fed, the truck was gassed up, the AC was blasting, and Lucas was in his booster seat, ready for our weekly trip to Tractor Supply Co. It was late in the summer of 2006; I remember vividly, because time traveling and all aside, Tractor Supply Co. had opened their first store in our humble Kerrville earlier that summer. I was so proud of our little town, and was sure that was going to put us on the map. We took Lucas to the grand opening and let him pick out a few baby chicks to start our chicken coop that is now flourishing with annoying lil' bastards that eat everything and shit everywhere. I think of that summer fondly; it was the start of our ever-growing family of animals. We purchased our first chickens (with the help of Lucas, of course). Our first cattle began roaming our ranch. Goat cries began a daily nuisance, and most important of all, Lucas was growing around animals, the way I did and the way my Pa did.

It was late during that memorable summer, the Texas heat was still unforgiving, when our humble lives changed forever.

I shut the truck's door, sat for a few seconds enjoying the relief from the heat, and turned on the radio.

"Ready to go, bud?" I asked Lucas through the rear view mirror. He flashed a thumbs up.

We walked throughout the store, aimlessly. I would have never admitted it then, but truly, I had little to no idea what I was doing. There's a big difference between living on a ranch, the way I did growing up, and managing one. I had no experience. We had no ranch hands. It was just the three of us, throwing darts, seeing what would stick. So yes, I will now admit that a lot of our Saturday afternoons consisted of Lucas and I walking around shops, seeing if anything might offer help, as if through divine intervention.

And something certainly did.

“Tyler," came a soft voice, accompanied by a tap on the shoulder. We were in the middle of an isle, my mind deep in thought looking at mesh steel fence panels. The touch startled me.

I turned around, acknowledging with a nod. Lucas, sitting in our shopping cart, lifted his arms to the stranger, indicated his desire to be carried.

The man was about 2 inches taller than me, light complected, and had a similarly dirty blonde tone of hair as I do. He still carried the youth exclusive to someone in their 20's, but that seemed to be fading quickly. However, his generally handsome looks were disrupted by a large scar that ran from the top of his eyebrow, diagonally down to his chin.

I stared at him, taking everything in, when he repeated my name. He wasn't asking if that was my name, more like stating a fact. He stared at me intently, only changing his gaze momentarily towards Lucas; a playful smirk caught his lips when he did, clashing with his otherwise serious demeanor.

"Yeah?" I exhaled, sounding more like a weak grunt. Something about him made me extremely uneasy.

"Listen," he started, getting right down to business. "I don't have much time left." He lifted his hand, showing a concerningly discolored hand.

I stared blankly, my mind shuffling between remembering what my wife asked me to purchase, the cattle that had broken our fence and escaped, fencing prices, and now this stranger who knew my name.

Lucas continued pawing at him, arms swaying in the air, with the biggest smile on his face.

The stranger did not look at Lucas again.

"I can't imagine I have more than 2 or 3 minutes left to...that doesn't matter. Listen closely...Tonight, at 2:37 AM, Betsy will break..."

My mind scrambled trying to catch up to the speed of this conversation. Who the hell was Betsy?

"...through more metal fencing that was weakened last night by the other cattle."

Oh...that Betsy, I thought. The Betsy that no one knows I called Betsy besides Lucas because of how childish it is to name a calf a cute name like that. The Betsy that follows me around as I'm out in the field. My favorite animal whose name I've never mentioned to anyone, not even my wife. That Betsy.

My confusion must have manifested through my expression, because the stranger waved his hand - the discoloration now extending up his arm, beyond his shirt sleeve - in front of my face.

"Tyler, I need you to focus. This is a matter of life or death here. You must reenforce the fence. Today. Right now. Do you understand? Tyler?" The stranger snapped his fingers inches from my face, succeeding in focusing my attention, but igniting my frustration.

"Do not snap your fingers at me." I said coldly. Of all things, those were my only words to him? No, who are you? No, how do you know about Betsy? No, why does my son seem to like you so much? Nope. A stupid and hot headed, do not snap your fingers at me.

I blushed with shame of my short fuse. I swerved the cart 180 degrees and began walking away. Lucas craned his head back like a bird, waving at the stranger.

"Please, Tyler. Don't be prideful. Do it!"

Me? Prideful? How dare he? Even if he were correct (he wasn't) he has no right to call me that.

I left all of my potential purchases in the cart, grabbed Lucas, and walked to the truck.

The ride was a quiet one. Lucas was tuckered out in his seat from all of the excitement, and I drove in silence, deciphering what had just occurred. By the time I drove into my garage, I came to the conclusion that this was some odd joke my wife had concocted. I must have let the name "Betsy" out at some point, and this was her way of teasing me about it. It was a weak theory, but it sufficed at answering my questions. I was not going to bring this up to my wife. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

.

.

.

The rest of the day flew by in a haze. I went through the motions, chatted with my wife, tended to our livestock, even cooked dinner, but my mind was elsewhere. I struggled to balance the possibility of my wife playing a joke on me and there being a grain of truth in the ominous pleading by the stranger. I had a million questions and no answers.

I found myself continuously looking at the clock, as if waiting for some act of God to fall before me, but the clock kept ticking, and I kept watching.

My wife and I put Lucas down for bed and went out to the deck to watch the sunset: One of our favorite activities. The sky appeared to be ablaze as the Texas sun wen down for the night. We overlooked our property, our livestock, and the beautiful life we had built for each other every evening during this golden hour. Except that day was different; my usual appreciative spirit was absent, replaced by dread.

"I'm calling it," my wife said mid yawn. It was 11PM - our usual bedtime - but I felt more awake than ever.

"You staying?" she asked. I nodded, cracking open another beer.

"Don't party too much," she chuckled and clicked the door shut.

The next hours were the most stressful of my life. The alcohol seemed to have no effect on me, and my brain was hyper focused. Every sense was cranked up to 11. The moonlight amplified every shadow that danced across my field, triggering a response of panic by my overstimulated brain. The noises that come with night in the country - the very noises I had grown accustomed to my entire life - seemed alien and unknown to my ears. The hooting of an owl, rustling of the wind among the falling leaves, and the cries of cicadas all had me at the edge of my seat.

At around 1:30AM, I decided enough was enough. If this was all a joke, it was one terrible joke. It had worked, haha, great one! I stayed up late into the night! That’s what I would tell my wife about her little joke. But secretly, I knew it hadn’t worked: I hadn't reenforced the fence! That's what my stubborn brain said, rationalizing my late night. It hadn't worked! I didn't reenforce anything.

So why was I awake?

I stood, scanned the field one more time, and gathered my lamp and empties to head inside. But the stranger's pleading resonated in my head. I put the lamp down and dropped my weight on my chair. I already stayed up this late, what's one more hour, my rationalization brain continued spinning. I continued reading my book.

It began at 2:35.

I was brought back to reality from my book's universe by soft steps approaching our fence that separated the deck from the field. My brain buffered, reconciling my book's universe with that of the Texas Hill Country.

My lamp illuminated the eternal darkness of my field, showing little Betsy walking calmly towards the fence. This had to be a joke.

I didn't move; I stared, in disbelief, at the unfolding events. Again, this had to be a joke.

Betsy walked slowly and unsteadily, in a way only a young animal does, straight through the gap of broken fence. She walked under the spotlight created by my lamp. I stared intently. This has to be a joke..so what's the punchline?

She walked past the side of my deck, towards my garage. It was comical how slowly and wobbly her walk was, and I chuckled as she walked past me out of my sight. I focused the lamplight on the broken fence, waiting for more to develop in this oddity of a night.

Then multiple things happened at once.

A thundering explosion shook the deck, causing me to drop my lamp and fall to my knees. The eternal darkness of the country night swallowed me whole, leaving me pawing at the ground for my lamp. My ears rang in pain from the explosion, leaving me without sight or hearing in the dark abyss.

But the darkness was short-lived. Within a few seconds, the darkness that seemed to be able to swallow the earth was broken by flames erupting from my garage. I looked back in that direction and saw that it had been replaced by a live inferno. The roof had been blasted off, causing chunks of fiery debris to fall onto my house, which was also being eaten by flames.

Even through the ringing in my ears, my wife’s screaming pierced through the tinnitus. It was a raw, animalistic sound I had never heard come out of her, and I ran towards the house in panic, stumbling over chunks of wood and my own feet. The damage was worse than I had expected. Our garden an trees by our front door had served as kindling, allowing the flames to spread like a wildfire. Our front steps were aflame, causing an agonizing pain as I ran through them, stampeding through the door. Once inside, I couldn't comprehend how the fire had spread so quickly; parts of the roof had caved in under the weight of the blazing debris that had fallen from the explosion. Curtains were on fire, our rugs, table, and furniture were burning, all soft dancing red through the heavy smoke.

The most terrifying sound a man can ever hear filled my damaged ears: The simultaneous cries of agony of your wife and infant child.

"LUCAS!" cried my wife, "GET LUCAS!"

I ran into his room, guided by his wails of fear and pain. His bed was surrounded by hot embers and ash, as he flailed around helplessly. The room cracked and popped, sending chunks of wood popping throughout, raining small burning daggers. I shielded my crying son with my body and ran for my wife.

"Tyler..." she groaned. Her voice was weak, barely audible, igniting fear in my heart.

"I can't move..." she said weakly.

A structural beam had collapsed over the bed, shielding her from the small fiery debris, but locking her in place, leaving her completely defenseless and immobile. I tucked Lucas under my left arm, and placed my right shoulder under the beam.

"I need you you squirm out, honey." I said in as soothing of a tone as my smoke-filled lungs could muster. "Ready? GO!"

I threw my body weight upwards, causing my shoulder to tear and dislocate: A cheap price to save my wife.

As she wiggled out of her burning prison, I dropped the beam, grabbed her hand and guided the three of us through the smokey maze that was our house. We navigated the rooms on pure instinct, and with my last ounce of strength, I tackled the burning backdoor open, freeing us from the hell that had become our home.

We walked to safety onto our drive way, breathing in fresh air, when I collapsed and fainted.

.

.

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I woke up the next afternoon at Kerrville State hospital. A nurse promptly told me my family was okay and asked me to remain calm. She fiddled with the devices connected to me, and I lost consciousness again.

Later that evening, a sheriff's deputy explained that a gas leak had been the cause of the fire. Something had caused my propane generator to explode, setting off the night's events.

"Betsy," I said.

The police said that had I not been on the scene as fast as I was, or if I had been in bed with my wife, it is likely the night may have ended more tragically.

I was woken up the next morning by a some good news.

”Everyone is a little dinged up, but healthy," said a large nurse in a joyful tone.

"We only have one booboo here! Right? yes we do, but you're going to be alright, hun" said the nurse as she brought me my son.

I hugged him tightly, kissed his cheek, and froze when I saw a a fresh scar developing that ran from the top of his eyebrow, diagonally down to his chin.