I’ve been reading some short stories lately by Isaac Asimov. His bizarre plot lines, lack of character description, and oftentimes humorous writing style has definitely influenced this story. I tried to focus on developing an interesting (and funny, I hope) story, rather than concentrate on my writing style. That’s a departure for me, so hopefully I pulled it off. You be the judge…
Even after three years, a distinct sulfuric smell remains embedded in my basement walls. It lingers, despite the coats of paint I’ve slathered onto the walls and the candles I’ve burned to rid my place of the stench. I was warned before I purchased the house that the previous owner had been a half-baked scientist—a physicist, to be precise—and he often conducted loud, noxious-smelling experiments in the basement. The neighbors had complained on more than a few occasions.
I didn’t think much about the previous owner before signing on the dotted line and moving in. I didn’t even care that Mr. Scientist had abandoned the house under mysterious circumstances, disappearing one night and leaving a garden shed-sized apparatus humming and whirring in the basement. When the hum-whir didn’t cease, the neighbors came over to investigate and found a vacated house with not so much as a note to indicate where the scientist might have gone. After a few months of vigilance and cursory investigation by the police, the house was declared abandoned and was taken over by the state.
I was elated when I saw it pop up on the market. Just the right square footage, the right neighborhood, and an unbeatable price. Apparently, homes associated with strange disappearances don’t sell easily. But I didn’t mind. I’m not the superstitious type and I didn’t believe for a second that the scientist’s ghost could be lingering in the walls.
But now, I’m not so sure.
The first incident happened almost six months ago. I was sitting in my easy chair in the living room, reading the latest Reader’s Digest, when a rat the size of an Idaho potato appeared in the middle of the room. Now, that may not sound unusual, but when I say appeared, I mean appeared. With a little pop and a puff of smoke, the rat materialized in my living room, only a few feet away.
I shrieked and jumped out of the chair, hurling the Reader’s Digest toward the critter. The magazine hit him squarely on the side, but he hardly reacted. His back spasmed a little and he blinked watery eyes—I was reminded of the look my cat gives me after she’s awakened from a particularly long nap and is still caught between reality and the dream world.
Unfortunately, the cat was nowhere to be found when the sleepy rat appeared. I had to get rid of the rodent myself, shooing him outside with a broom. The rat walked lethargically, trundling along like my great aunt Bertha.
After that day, I didn’t see the rat again and pushed the incident out of my mind until another odd event occurred two months later.
This time, it was a dog—a scraggly-looking thing with tawny fur. She appeared in the basement and I stumbled upon her when I went downstairs to do my weekly laundry. The dog was sleeping on my pile of dirty clothes and, when she heard me approach, she raised her head in mild interest. We looked at each other for a long moment, then the dog closed her eyes and lowered her head back to the pile of t-shirts and work pants.
The dog stayed in the same spot all day, sleeping like she hadn’t slept in several years. It was only when Ms. Meow worked her way down to the basement that the dog got up, stretched, and lazily walked over to the stairs to investigate the feline invader. It was then that I noticed the dog’s collar: “My name is Stella. If lost, please call Patty at (555) 848-8484.”
I was stunned. Patty was the name of my next door neighbor. Could this really be her dog? I’d certainly never seen it before.
It was. Patty cried with joy when she wrapped her arms around Stella and stroked the dog’s matted fur. “Oh my, Stella!” she sobbed. “You’ve come home!”
“How long has she been missing?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“A long, long time,” Patty answered. “A few years. It happened right before the Scientist disappeared.”
“Strange,” I said and watched as Patty coaxed her dog up the stairs and out of the house.
That night, I got rip-roaring drunk and thought about the dog appearing in my basement and the rat popping into my living room two months prior. Was I losing my mind? I had always been a sensible, rational person, but now I felt half-crazed and delusional. And, who could I tell about the mysterious appearances? Certainly no one would believe me.
I did my best to ignore the oddities I’d seen and move on with my life. Unfortunately, the future had different plans.
More animals started to appear around the house with alarming frequency. Guinea pigs, cats, dogs, a few squirrels, rabbits, a pair of parakeets, and a potbelly pig all materialized within three months of Stella the dog. They surfaced in the living room, on my kitchen counter, in the basement, in the bathtub, and—on one memorable occasion involving the squirrels—right alongside me in bed while I was sleeping.
It got so bad, that I started bunking down in my neighborhood bar, hunching over my whiskey until the bartender kicked me to the curb. I’d take the long route home and amble-stumble my way to my doorstep. Whenever I arrived, I dreaded turning the door handle and stepping inside. What would be added to the menagerie today?
During the last few weeks of the madness, monkeys—and only monkeys—started to pop up. They were of the ape variety, heavy-bodied things that scratched at themselves and refused to move when I prodded them with a broom. The monkeys were the most disconcerting of the animals because, unlike the others, they would continue to return to my doorstep after I deposited them outside. They would ring the doorbell, rap their knuckles against the windows while I was in the shower or in bed, and kick at the front door until I let them back in. If the neighbors noticed, nothing was ever said.
Over the course of two weeks, I accumulated nearly a dozen simian companions. They made a complete wreck of the house—opening cupboards, overturning trashcans, smearing fruit (and other, less savory items) across my countertops, furniture, floors.
I plunged myself into realty magazines and websites, desperately seeking a new home on the other side of the city. The appearing animals had driven both Ms. Meow and myself to the brinks of our sanity.
Finally, I made a decision. I would move into a hotel room for a little while so I could gather my wits and begin house-hunting in earnest. I began packing a bag, stuffing clothes and shoes into it without much thought.
I was almost done packing when I heard a voice issue from the living room.
“Good gravy, what on earth has happened to this place? Looks like a burgeoning trash heap in here.”
I froze. “Hello?” I said and picked up the nearest weapon I could find—my bedside table lamp—and tiptoed to the edge of the living room. “Who’s there?”
I raised the lamp over my head and stepped into the room. A man was sitting in my easy chair, smoking a pipe and wearing an enormous grin across his face.
“Ah yes,” the man said, leaning back in the easy chair with the air of an old friend who always appeared in my living room on a Tuesday night to smoke his pipe and chat. “You must be living here, then?” he asked.
I stood, gaping. “Well—uh, of course,” I sputtered. “This is my damn house, isn’t it? What on earth are you doing here?”
“I think you are mistaken, sir,” the man said. “It is my house. I was just…gone temporarily. Conducting an experiment, you see.”
That’s when it donned on me. “The scientist? You? You disappeared three years ago. People presumed you dead.”
“Pah!” the man scoffed. “I’m fit as a fiddle. And I’m about to become a very rich man, my friend. A very rich man indeed.” He fiddled with his pipe, fingers eager.
“You didn’t think to leave a note?” I asked. “You didn’t think people would notice your absence?”
“Why should they?” the scientist asked. “I certainly wouldn’t notice theirs.” He looked me over. “Ah, I see. The house was declared abandoned and you purchased it. Is that it? Well, as you can see, it’s clearly not abandoned, so I think you’d better scoot along.”
At this moment, one of the apes lumbered into the living room, picking at its teeth with one of my salad forks. When it spotted the scientist, it ran toward him, whooping.
“Hello there Kiwi!” the scientist said, patting the ape’s head. “Did you have a nice trip through time? I must say, the whole process wipes you out. Makes you sleepier than a mid-winter bear. If it weren’t for my elation, I’d be snoring in this easy chair right now, I tell you that.”
“No,” I said, “you wouldn’t. It’s my damn easy chair and it’s my damn house. Now, please leave before I call the police.”
The scientist found it all quite amusing. “Whatever you say, friend, whatever you say. It doesn’t much matter anyway. I’m about to be a rich man. A very rich man.”
“You keep saying that. What makes you think you’re about to become rich?”
“Good gravy, man, I thought it was obvious,” the scientist shook his head. “I invented a time machine, friend. A bloody time machine! I projected myself (and scores of animals—maybe you noticed some of them?) three years into the future. And it worked! Here I am! My machine is going to sell for millions—no, billions! You’ll see. My name will be in all the newspapers, all the magazines, all the—”
“What machine?” I asked, incredulously. “Do you mean that thing in the basement?”
“Yes, indeed! That’s the one. Don’t tell me you never got curious and fired it up once or twice. It’s not exactly conspicuous.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I’ve only heard of the machine. I never actually saw it. The state cleaned up all the rubbish in this place before I moved in.”
A moment passed between us that seemed to stretch out into space, wrap around the moon, and sail back again. The scientist’s mouth hung open. His eyes were wide and terror-stricken.
Over the past few months, I had become accustomed to the grunts and shrieks of animals, but nothing prepared me for the unearthly sound that issued from the scientist’s mouth as he tilted his head back and screamed.
Kate Bitters is a freelance writer, founder of Click Clack Writing, and author of Elmer Left and Ten Thousand Lines. She is writing a story a week in 2015-2016 on the Bitter Blog. Subscribe to follow her journey.
Author: KateBitters
Kate Bitters is a Minneapolis-based author and freelance writer. She is the author of Elmer Left, Ten Thousand Lines, and He Found Me. One of her proudest/nerdiest moments was when Neil Gaiman read one of her short stories on stage at the Fitzgerald Theater.
Hahahahaha! Maybe you should write sci-fi all the time. This story contains all the genius of Asimov: ordinary people (so we feel connected and in the scene) with an unexplained, extraordinary event. Part of the fun of sci-fi is to try to guess what's going on. I guessed the scientist had some sort of matter transmitter, but the actual fact, sending animals into the future, I didn't guess. Which makes the ending so delightful.
Thank you, Karl! I'm glad you enjoyed it. I tend to write heavier/darker pieces, so maybe I DO need to lighten up a bit and try some more Asimov-type writing. Thanks for reading 🙂