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

By Anon Allsop

Eric Van Vleet wanted nothing more than to learn all he could about the Civil War, the society could help experience the sights and sounds of battle as they played out their reenactment in a quiet room, but Eric wanted more. He made an offhanded wish to an old man that was about to change a young teen's life forever. Eric is about to find out what happens when you become another little pawn in a Chess game known as...THE TWILIGHT ZONE.

The icy Pennsylvania wind blew snow across the sidewalk, creating little swirls that raced before Eric's legs as he trudged through the white blanket of snow. In his young hands were several thick books that contained all the information he would need to reenact the horrific 'Battle of Gettysburg' in the basement of the community center.

Once a week, the society would meet at the community building in room 314 and play out a different battle, using research and the vast knowledge the participants would bring to the game. Over time, they had created tiny pewter figures in the likeness' of each combatant of those great armies to use for their games, many common action figures were reused over and over, only the officers were set aside for specific battles. This week it would be the 'Battle of Gettysburg', one of the bloodiest battles during the entire Civil War. Most of the society consisted of older gentlemen, retired history professors or war buffs. However, probably one of the most clever and brightest in the society was Eric Van Vleet.

At 17, Eric had surpassed several of his society's best reenactors and carved a niche as one of the greatest Civil War minds the little group had ever known. He could break down a battle into hours and sometimes minutes, telling you where each unit was positioned on the great board with its miniature rolling hills, trees and buildings. He was so good that he could recite officers and specific soldiers within a particular unit which history recorded as notable. Yes, Eric was a stalwart among the society’s elite.

Through the double doors of the Community Building Eric dashed, balancing the books in his arms he made his way to the great room. The coveted room had been set aside for almost three years by the community for the sole purpose of the society. Many times they would be on hand for informal tours by the local schools or passerby that found their meetings interesting. Once inside the room he was met by familiar faces, slowly he made his way to their reference table where he could place his books.

"Ah, there he is now - Eric Mayflower, boy genius." One old man kidded and patted the boy on the back. A few of them chuckled as Eric hung his coat on the back of a chair.

Another looked up from the table where he was putting the last touches on the rolling landscape that was to be their great battlefield. "You ready Eric?"

"I got them all right here." He said patting the pile of books he had just laid on the table. "How about you?" He said as he studied the topography of their 'Gettysburg' board.

"Almost done, just need to add a few more trees along that hill line and it'll be ready." An old man spoke as he continued to push tiny 'trees' into the soft clay that made up their hill.

After a few silent minutes the old man raised himself up and smiled, "Okay boys, bring forth the armies." He spoke with an exaggerated flair, raising his hands triumphantly in the air.

Eric smiled and took a cardboard box from one of the others, he held up a piece, examining the tiny pewter figurine. "Well, General Stewart, you are here at last." The old professor rose up and gave Eric a wry smile.

"July 2, 1863." The professor spoke as he pushed his little round glasses further up his nose, "That was a quote from General Lee to General J.E.B. Stewart after he went off raiding the nearby countryside."

Eric pointed and nodded, "Lee wasn't a happy man right about then." He positioned the piece on the board near Seminary Ridge.

A tall man in his early 60's shook his head, "Eric, you need to get a life." A few of the other society members laughed, "Shouldn't you be off somewhere trying to make a move on your girl?"

The professor laughed, "Now what use would a girl have to our Eric?" He elbowed another in the side as the group continued to position the individual pieces of the battle.

The laughter was silenced by a knock on the door, every eye raised to see a thin and bent man leaning against a cane in the open doorway. "Is it okay to come inside and watch?" He asked, studying each face looking in his direction.

The old professor moved around the large table and pulled out a chair for the stooped old man. Eric looked at his clothes and decided that it was just another homeless person coming inside from the cold, it had happened before, the society didn't mind. The man slowly pulled his jacket from his shoulders and dropped it into an empty chair, then took his seat to watch the society members set up the battle's figurines.

Just as the group was putting the finishing touches on the huge field, the old man tapped Eric on the elbow and pointed to a hill to the young man's left. "Which group is in that wooded area over there?"

Eric glanced into the direction indicated, "The Twentieth Maine is over there, why do you ask?"

The old man stared into the tiny woods, "That's where Chamberlain was..." He slowly rose and moved toward the table.

Eric's interest in the old man was piqued, "That's right, apparently you know more about this battle than we assumed?"

The little man laughed and patted Eric on the arm, "I should - I was there." Eric's eyes suddenly darted to the others surrounding the battlefield.

A slow grin snaked across the professor's face, as the old man suddenly burst into laughter. "Actually young man, my Grandfather was a drummer boy in that battle, he had been assigned to the Twentieth Maine." He bent slightly and pointed to a place on his lower leg, "He was shot right about here, almost bled to death right on that field, near those trees."

Eric was in awe, he had never actually spoken to anyone who had known a combatant which personally fought during the war. He wanted more from the old man, and decided that all through the evening he would slowly draw the information out. It didn't matter to Eric, that the old man's Grandfather had been a lowly drummer, it was the chance of undocumented information, regarding one of the most glorious moments in military history... and here was a vast store of untapped knowledge.

The professor kept eyeing the older man, "Do I know you? I have this strange feeling that I should know your name."

The little man laughed, "Perhaps, but back when you knew me, you were no older than this young lad here." He indicated Eric with a nod. Then he glanced around the battlefield and smiled, "Back in 61... there were others like you."

A jokester laughed, "1961... or 1861?" Others chuckled at his comment.

The professor slowly widened his eyes, "Gentlemen, this is one of the society's charter members, Albert Welch. I knew I'd remember if I thought about it hard enough. He was the man responsible, for creating all of these little figurines here on our battlefield!" He offered his hand to the old man who promptly shook it.

Eric was drawn further into awe as even more was revealed, he knew now that he must glean every possible shred of information from this stranger. The man carefully took a figure from the board, "Marcus Weatherby." He said almost in a whisper.

Eric frowned; he couldn't recollect any person by that name in that particular regiment. But of course, he had been wrong before... once, maybe twice. He watched the old man sat the figure back down in position and slowly walk around the table, by the little town he picked up another. His old eyes filled with tears and he slowly lowered the figure to the table, at another spot he picked up a fallen solder, his uniform painted a rich blue.

"This was my brother." He again lowered it gently to the table, almost reverently.

Eric raised his eyebrows and looked quickly toward the professor, who also possessed a surprised expression on his face. The young man decided that this old gentleman was most likely an escapee from a nearby nursing home. What had once been a brilliant mind was now riddled with holes like a brick of Swiss cheese, it was sad... so sad. The old man looked back up toward the serious faces surrounding the table and smiled, laughing aloud.

"Gottcha!" He smiled, and pointed his finger around the room.

The old professor eyed Albert, who was laughing, "You had us there, we weren't sure if we should humor you or call for a doctor."

The room broke out into laughter as Albert glanced around the table and saw that the others had all their pieces in place for the first day of the battle, then he walked around the back of the table where he took up a position behind us all.

He got a serene look on his wrinkled face as we knew he was about to say something. We waited, giving him the respect he deserved as an elderly man and charter member.

"If you could be anywhere on this battlefield…where would it be?" He swept his arm across the table and asked the entire room.

We all thought about it, some shrugged, others offered their opinions, and Eric was no different. "I'd want to be right in the thick of it." He spoke boldly, showing his bravado.

The professor laughed at his youthful outburst, "You would have been killed right along with many, many others."

"That's true, what the professor said, I've seen what war can do." One older man spoke knowingly.

"He's right; I was in Nam for two tours. War isn't anywhere as glamorous as you may think." He held his hand up, three fingers were missing. "That's what being a prisoner got me... don't tell them what they want, they cut one off and move to the next. Pretty soon you'll be spilling your guts and telling anything that they want to hear, even if you have to make it all up."

Eric frowned, "Well, okay then, I wouldn't want to be right in the middle, but I'd still want to be there."
The thin man chuckled, "Sure, you'd want to be off on the side watching with the civilians, along that back ridge by the edge of town, nearest to the fence."

"But close enough to see the action." Eric added as he scrutinized the position of his Generals.

The elderly man shrugged, "That wasn't always the safest place to be either, but still, you would have had a great view of the action."

One short round man added, "If you were that close, they would have probably pulled you in to help with the wounded and the dead." The others nodded.

The professor looked at Eric, "The sights that those people would have seen... truly horrific."

"I wouldn't care. Just to be that close to one of the most famous battles in American Military History would be worth it." Eric leaned across and moved a Captain and his men closer to the woods.

"You'd be alone then." One of the more youthful members said, if youthful meant around 58.

They continued on throughout the evening, discussing their movements upon the field of battle and why each move was made. After close to four hours had passed, they slowly, one by one began to filter away to their modern lives. Only two remained the thin, frail man and Eric.

The man stood with the aid of his cane and began to push his thin arm into the sleeve of his coat. "Was that really true what you said?"

"About what?" Eric asked as he also put his coat on.

"About wishing to be there during the battle..." The man leaned against the board, and then momentarily checked to see if his weight had crushed any of the clay that was used to sculpt the hill.

Eric thought about what he had said for a moment, "Sure, why not. Yeah, I'd love to have been there and watched history in the making."

The old man smiled and reached for his pocket, "Congratulations son, your wish has been granted." He slowly pushed a white card into Eric's hand.

Eric looked down at the card, "Make a Wish." Was all that was written on the card, he slowly turned it over in his hands.

Suddenly a loud boom sounded forth, Eric glanced up to see a plume of smoke and dirt spiral toward the sky. His eyes grew wide as almost twenty gray clad soldiers fell in a heap not 500 yards from where he was standing. The others that were left raced into almost certain doom. Slowly, the card that had been in his hand spun toward the ground. Eric watched in horror as two armies collided before his very eyes, bayonets brandished in rage and war.

One blue clad regiment swung nearby and wheeled toward where Eric stood; the solders running back and forth carrying their dead and dying. A blast rocked the ground, sending Eric staggering under its percussion. Standing in shock, he watched a man nearly be torn from the force of the blast. An officer rode past brandishing his saber, trying to spur his men on. Slowly his regiment regained composure and began to move back toward the main battle.

The dashing young officer wheeled his horse back to where Eric was standing, "You there, don't just stand there watching my boys die... get your ass over there and see if you can help!"

Eric was shocked as he stood, unsure on exactly what to do. "Damn it! Come on and help these kids out!" The officer again shouted, he jumped down from his horse and quickly sheathed his saber. His movements were not angry but rather demanding.

He was soon beside Eric in only three paces, his large hand gripping Eric's arm just above his elbow. "For Christ's sake girl, help these boys out!"

He spun the youth around and gave him a shove toward a boy not much older than Eric that lay pleading for help. Eric fell across the prone boy, catching himself only by throwing out his hands. As he sat up he looked down at the open wound on the youth's chest, Eric's eyes opened wider and wider. A scream began to form upon his lips, it wasn't from the sight of bloody bodies that had Eric's attention anymore, it was from the sight of two very prominent breasts that pushed out upon the flowery dress that he had on. It was at that moment that Eric realized that the young officer referred to him as 'girl'. He spun looking for the officer; he was crouching next to another man bleeding from his shoulder.

Eric ran, fell and rolled next to him. "You...I..."

The officer looked at the beautiful girl before him, the dress she was wearing now covered in the blood of the poor young dead solder, and she appeared beside herself with shock. The battle was more than the poor girl could take; he drew her in and gave her a slight hug.

"It'll be okay dear; you must pull yourself together for them. They need your help." He studied her features closely, noticing that she was still unmarried and guessed that she could be no more than 17, perhaps 18 years old.

The young Captain thought back to another day, so long ago when he last had a young girl this close. They had been lying in the loft of his father's barn, how he would love to be able to take this lovely young creature to that loft. He smiled quickly, thinking of how he would make her a woman. But first and foremost, his thoughts were drawn back to his wounded men.

"What's your name child?"

The beautiful blonde tried to pull the wildly blowing hair from her tear streaked face, "It's... oh God... I..." She looked all around herself and then down to her hands and chest, the blood covering them both. "I'm... Eric..." Her voice spoke with an eastern accent, again she pulled at her hair wildly blowing in the warm dusty breeze.

"Okay Erica, you need to put your finger in this hole to this man’s bleeding, I'll run and get a doctor." He didn't wait for an answer; he pushed her slender finger into the young man’s wound and raced back toward a wagon.

Eric watched the young Captain race away, tears still streaming down her dirty cheeks. She looked into the eyes of the young wounded soldier, he was watching her closely; "You shouldn't be out here like this!" He scolded, "You should be off somewhere making little babies!" He slowly smiled and glanced at her protruding chest, "But, if a feller's gotta be anywhere... being right here ain't so bad."

Eric raised his face toward the sky and screamed his voice shrill and wailing as tears began to cascade down his rosy cheeks only to drop against soft, pert breasts. He had become just another little pawn in the great battle of life.

***

The old man smiled wryly and picked the pewter figurine of a kneeling girl from the floor, slowly and gently he placed it on the table next to the prone figure of a fallen soldier. "Well son, you got your wish." He glanced across the table and moved another piece closer to that of the kneeling beauty, "Erica Van Vleet, I'd like to introduce you to your future husband... Captain Horace Anderson."

With a soft chuckle he released his hold on the Captain's pewter figurine, and stepped toward the doorway. He glanced back at the table, again chuckling to himself... then slowly turned out the light.

***

Erica's choice had been decided for her, forever to be included as one of the many Chess pieces of an ever expanding battle, just another among the thousands of little pewter figures which graced the huge table of room 314. Her life would forever be written and sealed among the annuals of Civil War history, broken down into a few minor paragraphs in a great book called... THE TWILIGHT ZONE.