Time Beavers

Sadly, half of this story is true.

Scientific rendering of a Time Beaver © James Hart. Music to get hyped on is “Heroes Are Back” by Adam Saban, used with permission via SoundStripe.

The day I discovered Time Beavers and pieced together their conspiracy, I was reading updates on Nextdoor.

I like getting my community news from Nextdoor. The posts are always self-described as well-researched and articulate, and often drafted by used car salesmen, spouses of liquor store owners and other county luminaries. We never have “scientists,” “structural engineers,” “habitat biologists” or any such hucksters pushing insidious sustainability agendas on there—some of the people on Nextdoor have MBAs!

“BEAVER DAM NEAR CULVERT” the post said. “Someone’s got to DO something about these things. They’ve dammed the marsh and theyve broken the foundation of the homes near the marsh. Those homes are falling in the swamp someone needs to call ANIMAL CONTROL.”

In the comments, there were confirmations that the vile things were indeed destroying the foundations on the community street on which I happened to live, along with further calls for intervention.

The demand for animal control was a common one. Ours may appear to be a sleepy little backwater town at first glance, but for years we’ve been besieged by cats, squirrels, rabbits and other intimidatory wildlife that would think nothing of torching our neighborhood if thumbs allowed them access to gasoline. Naturally, like my neighbors, I had animal control on speed dial.

Thank goodness I decided to check my mail as I did, however, as I may never have put it all together. After the phone’s second ring, I stood transfixed, all attention on the sidewalk below me.

The crack in the sidewalk.

We live in a new community of townhomes. Developed in the early 2000s, it adheres to most—well, some, but definitely the most important state building, environmental and engineering codes. The best bureaucracies county money can buy have ensured everything was up to code during its construction.

Naturally, the crack that extends through my driveway, my neighbor’s, her neighbor’s, and everyone else’s down the remainder of the street is in no way indicative of quick-and-dirty development or the desire to squeeze one extra row of profit right beside an escarpment leading down to a retention basin. No, something far more foul was at play here.

When we moved in, I had idly suggested the crack in the street was the work of hill giants, but my five-year-old informed me those only live near Arendelle.

But then there was the asphalt patch in front of our house. A year back, something had caused our water main to bust right in the intersection facing our front door. Someone, or some thing, had moved the pipes underground to such a degree that water began to rush through crumbling asphalt at a rate of untold gallons per minute.

The break in the asphalt. The crack.

It was the beavers.

But how could this be? The beavers dammed the culvert just this past winter, but the sidewalk crack—although widening every year—had always been there, and the water main broke long before the beavers ever arrived.

The Nextdoor man said they were the cause, though, and he wouldn’t have such a strong opinion unless he was absolutely certain.

That’s when it hit me: The only way the beavers could be behind my community’s foundational woes would be if they were damming up quantum fabrics in addition to our culvert.

These were Time Beavers.

The implications were severe. They’d have access not only to the marsh’s saplings and shrubbery but all parallel pasts and futures. Possibility itself lay before them like so much pine and maple. I would have to tread lightly here.

A cursory search for Time Beavers on Nextdoor proved unenlightening, and the library wasn’t open until morning, so I skulked about the neighborhood for clues.

Later that night, I noticed another local particularity—half of our street lights were out. This was always the case, but our community employed the finest electricians studying for licensure that money can buy, so naturally I had assumed this to be some kind of cost-saving measure.

But this, too, was starting to make more sense.

Any advanced technology would require power at an industrial level to operate. Somehow, the beavers were pulling juice from the grid to operate their Time Dam.

I raced down to the marsh, searching for a high-voltage cable, power converter, anything I could photograph to provide as evidence for the authorities. But there was no cable, no black box.

That’s when I saw one of them in the marsh.

He was calmly, yet oh so purposefully, paddling through the water. After a moment, he slipped below the surface, leaving only ripples.

Of course. These were Time Beavers! They would have access to processes and technologies heretofore unimagined. They were stealing our power to destroy our community and we lacked the ability to even prove it.

Outrage and a demand for justice overtook me. “Damn Time Beavers, stealing our electricity. That’s our electricity, you furry bastards, you leave our street lamps alone!”

A couple walking their dog stopped to stare at me.

It dawned on me that while angry missives from the HOA had made everyone aware of the beavers in the culvert, others may not be aware of their connection to the sidewalk crack, the patched up intersection, or the faulty street lights. Not everyone knew about Time Beavers.

I decided that it was probably not a good idea to have the cops called on me. Especially since the cop called out would probably be my neighbor, and because she was weeks away from retirement, she probably wouldn’t appreciate getting involved in a conspiracy of this magnitude.

Especially since she just helped me jump-start my car last month.

And rescued my car from the snow last winter.

I realized I was already way too close to this and needed help. Specialist help. But I couldn’t implicate myself. After all, I couldn’t rule out the possibility that Time Beavers, innovative as they are, also had access to the internet.

I created an anonymous Nextdoor account called “TimeBeaverTruther87” and called on all those in the area to be on the lookout for suspicious beavers of above average intelligence and access to time travel technology. I’ve already received several helpful replies, including one from a retired locksmith who confided in me that the beavers were also linked to the Electric Universe and our “friends,” the Greys. I would encourage you to check Nextdoor, as more details will be forthcoming as they emerge.