It came from outer space.
Yes, I know that is a title to a 1950s science-fiction B-movie, but it is the most apt description I can think of for this, well … cosmic storm. That seems to be the most agreeable buzzword for all the talking head scientists on the radio. It seems radio is it for an indefinite period of time. TV signals are blocked by this “storm.” The old saying that “seeing is believing” really hits home at a time like this. I don’t know what to believe about what’s being reported on the radio. I can’t help but think of Orson Welles’ infamous broadcast of War of the Worlds in 1938. This can’t be real, can it? No, it’s not aliens. It’s far more incredible.
As I said, this event, miracle, storm—or whatever you choose to call it—came from space. Ancient man believed that celestial events were omens of fate. Eclipses, comets, planetary alignments, lunar or solar cycles, and even meteor showers were believed to foretell the coming of a great prosperity or a profound cataclysm. Many still believe in the validity of these heavenly harbingers.
I have attended church with Ann and Seth more from obligation than any type of spiritual calling. I was not a deeply religious man before this event. I can say with even more conviction that I was not and still am not a superstitious man. I put no such stock in irrational, gullible thought, but it is undeniable that something has happened and is happening, something unlike anything mankind has seen before. Little did I know that I would presently be bearing witness to that as intimately as any other person on the planet.
According to the radio, which I had raptly listened to for about two hours now, a true miracle was visited upon the planet today, but was it of Heaven or Hell? Is it necessary for an event to be spawned of a loving and benevolent God to qualify as a miracle? Evil can sometimes be every bit as potent in this purview. We call horrific events disasters, but in some cases couldn’t they be classified as negative miracles? Maybe this is just the last vestige of my optimism talking. Whatever the reason behind the event enveloping the planet today, mankind seemed as split about the origins as they are about religion itself. I myself am split … there are no two ways about it. I am cautiously excited, but I am also as scared as hell.
The last time I saw Ann and Seth together was the day two weeks ago before I headed for a business meeting in Memphis. Honestly, I didn’t really have to go, but I have always found it difficult to delegate authority and I couldn’t escape the feeling that something would go wrong if I didn’t. My instincts turned out to be right, but for all the wrong reasons.
Annabelle and Seth were taking a picnic lunch to Lake Beaverfork that afternoon and they both begged me to come with them. I could have blown the meeting off and gone—a part of me wanted to, but another part won out. The selfish part, the part that knew mid-April in Arkansas was still a little too early for water activities. I hate cold water, hate it with a passion; I almost think I would rather get a root canal with no Novocain than to go swimming in a cold lake.
I wished them well, teased Seth to watch out for the toe bass that enjoyed nibbling on little boys’ feet, and left without another thought for the airport. In the world of karma, that was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, or in this case, broke my heart. It wasn’t until I returned the next morning that I realized they were gone.
As I said, my wife and son left two weeks ago. But my son returned today of all days, the day the cosmic storm entered Earth’s atmosphere. The superstitious would have proclaimed the storm as a harbinger of his return, but I am not a superstitious man.
Yes, I did say that just my son returned. Where his mother is, I still am not certain. I never considered whether a human being can experience overwhelming joy and overwhelming terror at the same time, but let me tell you from personal experience … we can. It is an indescribable feeling and one I do not care to repeat. It does something to the soul, like putting it on the rack and stretching it to its limits before releasing it abruptly like a taut rubber band.
People may ask why I didn’t feel pure joy for the return of my son. What is there to be terrified of?
I was terrified of the one thing that has been eating at my heart since I realized they were gone. In all of my nightmares I never considered that it does not necessarily require flesh and blood to harbor the trappings of a fiend. Fate can fit that definition just as easily.
That certainty would be the hardest lesson in my life, because two weeks ago, coming home from Lake Beaverfork, Annabelle and Seth were killed in a car accident.
CHAPTER 4
Seth
“We only part to meet again.”
—John Gay
Annabelle was a diabetic and had a low blood sugar attack behind the wheel, causing her to veer off the road and hit a tree. That was what the responding officer on the scene told me, but I knew better. She was exhausted from running our household and taking care of Seth with little or no help from me. Her mild diabetes was never an issue before, and I was sure she had simply fallen asleep at the wheel. This knowledge was like pouring salt in an open wound. I was told by one of the attending EMTs in an attempt to give me some comfort that they died instantly. How can anything comfort you at a time like this? The nightmare had not happened as I had imagined, but it had happened all the same. Except it was worse; I had lost both of them.
Today when the storm hit I was downstairs in our comfortable four-bedroom home in Conway, Arkansas. “Our” is a possessive pronoun that I will have to learn to get out of the habit of saying, but it still feels right. It feels right even after the stabbing pain of recollection every time it slips out because there is no more “our,” only “my.”
I don’t even remember what I was watching when the storm arrived, after a while it just became white noise buzzing in the background, droning away as I pondered the living nightmare in which I now found myself.
After sitting in the kitchen floor, dazedly listening to the radio for what seemed like hours, I think what finally got my attention was the light coming in through the window. It was not sunlight, although it was mid-afternoon and the sun would have been shining through the westward window I was facing. It was not lightning or car lights, although I did think it may be the taillights of a very large truck at first glance. I went to the window and looked out, almost losing all my breath in a large gasp of surprise.
The scene outside my window was surreal, like looking through a portal into another world. This was my lawn, my vehicle, my street, and my neighborhood, of this there was no doubt. But it was like the sun had been replaced by a gigantic ultraviolet light. The colors of the grass, trees, and plants were magnified tenfold, and all seemed to glow with an eerie luminescence. The blue sky had been replaced with a faint lavender hue and was speckled with yellow clouds. Wonderland has come to Arkansas, I thought to myself. But, I would soon find what a limited statement that was. Wonderland had come to the planet.
Like most people do when there is breaking news, out of habit I ran back to the TV to see what the alphabet networks had to say. In my distracted state of mind, I had forgotten the signal had gone out. In spite of the news reports, seeing gray static on every channel of my TV, I quickly deduced that it must be a problem with the set. After all, that particular TV was over ten-years-old and the last of the enormous cinder block televisions, so it must have just kicked the bucket.
I hurried up the stairs to tune in on the newer plasma screen in the bedroom. At the top of the stairs rested a large landing that exited to a full-size bath in front of the stairs, a single bedroom to the right, and two bedrooms to the left. The master bedroom was to the far left. Seth’s bedroom was the single one to the right. The door had been closed for the past two weeks, but today it was open just a crack. I probably wouldn’t even have noticed if not for the strange light outside, shining through the bedroom window and streaming out through the small crack.
I paused just as I reached the landing and looked at the door. A thin b
eam of purplish light flickered across the hardwood floor of the landing. I stopped and watched, mesmerized for a few moments, and then something made me jump with surprise. I saw movement in the light, as if someone inside my son’s bedroom had just walked past the door.
“Hello?” I called out shakily.
How could there be anyone in there? Surely it was just a tree branch blowing outside the bedroom window, but then it dawned on me … there weren’t any trees on that side of the house.Frozen, I listened and heard nothing. I was just about to move on to the TV when a faint noise met my ears. I listened curiously at first, but the longer I listened the faster my heart began to race. Was that someone crying? The more I listened, the more certain I became that a child was crying in Seth’s room. Could this have been one of his friends that had snuck into his room to privately mourn? I didn’t think so. Seth was only six, after all, and the nearest child his age lived about four blocks away, a far piece for a six-year-old to travel by himself. But still, I was positive about what I was hearing: it was definitely the undersized sobs of a child.
My tinge of curiosity was quickly replaced by a creepy feeling, like 100 mice were running up and down my spine. My interest about what was going on outside had been brushed aside for a new single-minded focus. Who or what was on the other side of the door?
I slowly crept toward the door, barely daring to breathe. A large vase beside the bathroom contained two large golf umbrellas. I grasped one by its protruding handle and slowly withdrew it from the vase, like a knight drawing his sword. I didn’t know what the heck I was going to do with an umbrella, unless the intruder was armed with a water pistol. I guess it just gave me some sort of security as I moved to open the door, however false it may be.
I placed my left palm against the surface of the door and gently pushed as it slowly started to swing inward. I poked the tip of the umbrella into the widening crack, ready to repel any attack that came my way. The door gave one last tiny creak as it came to a stop. As I peered into the bedroom, the umbrella dropped from my hand and my heart leapt into my throat. Sitting on the bed, crying and looking sadly at his shelf of Star Wars toys, was Seth.
I rubbed my eyes and shook my head. Surely this was some trick of the light, some trick of this weirdness that was going on outside. No, it was definitely no trick of the light; as for a trick of the weirdness outside … that was debatable. I would soon find that this was no trick of any kind. The reports on the radio appeared to be true.
He didn’t seem to notice me at first, or at least not to pay any attention as he continued to gaze longingly at his playthings. He looked the same as he had the last time I had seen him alive. His blond hair was parted neatly in the middle and he wore an orange and yellow striped shirt with khaki shorts. At the end of his skinny legs dangling over the edge of the bed, he wore a pair of faded Spider-Man tennis shoes.
As I entered further into the room, he turned his head and looked at me. It was the same Seth, but on the other hand, it was not. His whole form, flesh and clothes alike, seemed to shimmer faintly like the surface of a lake just as dawn breaks. He gave off the same ethereal glow as the mysterious light shining in from outside. Whatever this weirdness was, he seemed to be both independent and part of it at the same time.
This was the moment that I experienced the rare mix of joyous elation and profound horror. My son was back and he was sitting on his bed looking at me, which makes me happy… I should be happy but … he’s dead, for God’s sake! I buried him and his mother two weeks ago! This can’t be real … it just can’t!
But it was real, and that point was driven home like a bolt of lightning as Seth spoke to me.
“Daddy, you can see me?” he said in a tired and frightened voice.
It was Seth’s voice all right, but a little different. It was like he was talking to me from inside a large metal drum; his voice echoed with a tin sound that sent the mice scurrying up my back again. I stood frozen, unable to muster a response through my emotional turmoil. Finally, Seth spoke again.
“Please talk to me Daddy,” he said as his bottom lip puckered and silvery tears welled in his eyes.
My heart melted just enough to manage adequate lubricant to unhinge my jaws.
“Seth buddy, how did you get here?” I asked in a voice that came out squeaky, like a pubescent teen.
“I’ve been here a while Daddy, but you wouldn’t talk to me. I slept with you every night but I guess you couldn’t see me.”
I walked over to take his tiny hand, which he eagerly raised for me to grasp; it felt gelatinous, like a liquid with the consistency of pudding. I felt a small electrical current run up my arm when we touched, but that was not the worst of it. His hand was frigidly cold, like he had just stuck his arm into a deep freeze. I pulled back with involuntary revulsion.
He looked at me with a hurt-filled expression, leaving me with the dilemma of whether to give him a comforting embrace or run from the room in terror. A sudden realization came from nowhere, like my brain had just snatched one of the confusing pieces of information floating in my head and enhanced it to perfect clarity.
Seth said he had been sleeping with me. Ever since the funeral, I had not slept very well, which is understandable given the circumstances, but I have also been severely chilled at night. I first thought it was the air vent above the bed, but when that was eliminated, I assumed I was coming down with something. Could it have been possible that I was feeling Seth’s … what? His ghost? Ten minutes ago I would have dismissed that speculation as inane, superstitious fantasy, but now I wasn’t sure.
Seeing is believing, but how could I be sure of anything considering the bizarre phenomenon manifesting outside? I had to get my head on straight. I needed to sit down and collect my thoughts. I trudged toward an old rocking chair in the corner, but before I could sit down, Seth spoke again.
“No Daddy, that one has a broken leg … ’member?”
Yes, I did remember. How could I forget? I broke it a month ago when I stupidly stood on the seat, trying to change a light bulb in Seth’s ceiling fan. I had been too busy to get the wood glue and just fix it. If he was a figment of my imagination … how the hell did he know that?
“Of course,” I said, feeling shaky. “How silly of me.”
He smiled a weepy smile. “You can sit with me, Daddy.” He pointed to the other side of the bed.
I didn’t want to sit on the bed, not that close. I know how crazy that sounds because this was my son. But was it really? If this were a hallucination, it is the most realistic and profound one I have ever experienced, not that I had that much experience with them. I have never done drugs. If this were a mirage, what did I have to lose? But … if this were somehow real, then it was my son sitting there and I had been given a great miracle. Negative or positive, it was my boy, damn it!
I eased onto the far side of the bed, like I was sitting
by a temperamental dog that might bite at any second. He looked at me with tearful eyes and a quivering bottom lip; I looked at him with apprehensive eyes and a trembling body. I was shaking from head to foot.
“Where’s your mother?” I asked.
That was when the silvery tears hanging in the corners of his eyes let go like tiny streams of mercury. They soundlessly struck the navy blue Toy Story bedspread, leaving not a single mark or wet spot. It was as if they passed straight through the bed like a, well … like a ghost.
He shook his head mournfully and sobbed. “I don’t know, Daddy.”
My heart skipped a beat and sank into my guts simultaneously when I understood that Ann was gone, not only physically but spiritually as well. Where could she be? My son was here and he was all alone, at least he had been for the past two weeks. No wonder he seems so scared, the poor little guy. A few tears leaked from my eyes, but unlike Seth’s, they made large dark blotches on the bedspread.
“Don’t cry, Daddy. She was okay th
e last time I saw her.”
“Where was that?” I asked in a hoarse whisper.
He frowned and looked back at his shelf of toys. He grabbed Anakin Skywalker and held him in his hand, rolling him over and inspecting the plastic surface like he had never seen the toy before.
“I don’t know,” he said. ”We were picnicking and then we were
in a dark place and two doors appeared. They were bright like the time we sat by the lights on top of the stadium at the Razorback game, ’member?”
I nodded my head and smiled. That was one of the few things we had done, just father and son, in his short life. I felt like crying again.
“Well, Momma smiled at me and told me it was time to go and she went through one of the doors. I haven’t seen her since,” he said as another stream of tears jetted down his small face, disappearing into the bedspread.
“Why didn’t you go through the other door, Seth?”
He looked at me and replied as if it should have been as obvious as the nose on my face.
“We are going to the Air Space Moozem, Daddy.”
He paused a moment, tightly shutting his right eye as if in deep thought. “The one in Washaton,” he said with a sheepish smile.
My heart turned to ice and melted in the same instant. Yes, we had planned this trip to the Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C., just me and him, father and son. We had planned many trips like this before but they never materialized; I was always too busy. I had planned this trip with the sincere promise that this time would be different, this time we would definitely go. That’s what I said, but if I were truly honest with myself, this one would have probably ended up being cancelled as well. My work was always too important to miss.
The Tesla Gate Page 3