For years, when I have found the time, I have enjoyed searching for ancient mystical archeological relics. This has been an interest of mine since I first saw Raiders of the Lost Ark as a boy. So, you can imagine my excitement when I learned of the possible existence of the Original Magic 8-Ball near the Civil War battleground of Petersburg, VA. Most people are familiar with the toy Magic 8-Balls manufactured by Mattel since 1946, but what many do not realize is that inventor Abe Bookman drew his inspiration from long-forgotten stories of an original Magic 8-Ball, one imbued with magical qualities and could be used to tell the future, however sometimes in dangerously vague or ambiguous terms.
No one knows where the original Magic 8-Ball came from and no one knows how long it has been in existence. Some stories say that it was first found in a cave along the Ohio River late in the 18th century by a group a Jesuit evangelists making their way towards Canada. Others say the 8-Ball was a creation of slaves, the idea being brought over from certain African rituals of prognostication. I personally have seen pre-Columbian Native American relics that depict something that looks suspiciously like a black billiard ball. Its origin remains a mystery.
Its fate was also a mystery; it had not been seen or reported in almost two centuries, until I discovered a meaningful diary entry written by Confederate cavalryman Marshall A. Ryder. Imagine my excitement! Ryder was one of few survivors of the long and brutal siege of Petersburg. His diary revealed that he owed his life to the 8-Ball. The magic ball constantly helped him to avoid the more gratuitous scenes of carnage. His diary does not say how he came into posession of the ball, but it does describe his desolation upon losing it somewhere near Petersburg. He died two weeks later, killed by friendly fire.
I don't want to give away my relic-finding techniques, but it shall suffice to say that I am very good at what I do. Upon driving to Petersburg, I found the magic 8-Ball tucked away in a small cavelike structure not five miles from the battlefield. It was hidden under a pile of very old firewood and rusty gardening tools. Of course that isn't important - what is important is that here I was, holding the magic instrument in my hands. Do I dare use it? Could you not? I cleaned the glass window with my sleeve. You could just see the icosahedron die floating in its eerie blue resting place. There was an electricity to be felt merely by holding such an instrument of power. I asked the question that I, like so many others, had always wanted to ask, "Will I ever travel back in time?"
That was my question. Time travel. You may scoff, but really, is there any question more appropriate for an amateur archaeologist to ask? Every weekend, every trip I take, is an attempt to go back in time.
I fixed my eyes on the grimy little window. The die moved slowly, but with purpose, as if being guided by a thoughtful Hand from Beyond. The answer presented itself: "Ask Again Later." A letdown, it's true. No matter, I thought, I will simply ask again later.
At that point, a ghostly owl who had been hiding all this time in the darkened rafters, flew out from its porch with a terrible screech, startling me to such a degree that I dropped the 8-Ball and watched it shatter at my feet. Desolation washed over my entire being. I was a an emotional castaway, lost on a sea of disappointment.
However, my question, I happily deduced, was answered. Solace. I would indeed be travelling back in time at some point in the future. After all, how else could I "Ask Again Later?"
