The Tesla Gate

by John D. Mimms

  “Seth,” I asked, “are you hungry?”

  He stopped with a heaping spoonful halfway between the bowl and his mouth, milk slowly dripping back into the bowl. He looked at me curiously and then shrugged.

  “I’m not sure,” he said as if he were trying to remember something, then completed the trek of the spoon to his mouth.

  “Do you feel hungry?” I interjected before he could scoop another load of chocolate goodness.

  He leaned the handle of the spoon against the inside of the bowl and looked at me quizzically.

  “I’m not sure I’m hungry. I just wanted some Chockit Berries.”

  I blurted the first question that came to my mind.

  “How do they taste?”

  His confused expression broke into a broad grin.

  “They’re ‘berry’ good!” he said, using his tiresome, but nonetheless cute, trademark slogan for the breakfast delicacy.

  “So, they taste good?” I reiterated.

  He shoveled another hefty spoonful into his mouth and grinned broadly at me like a chipmunk with his cereal-stuffed cheeks, slowly shaking his head in the affirmative. It was at that moment that my fascination was quelled like a block of ice sliding into my gut; it was replaced by frigid horror. As Seth sat with a stuffed, grinning mouth, I saw a few pieces of cereal ease through his cheeks and splotch with a faint smacking noise on the table top. This was followed by thin streams of milk beading down each cheek.

  I tried my best to keep a placid and sane face as I smiled stupidly at Seth. What did I expect after I saw the Star Wars figure ooze through his hand? I casually got to my feet and strolled to the cabinets on the other side of the table behind Seth. I didn’t want to look down when I reached the other side, I didn’t want to see. But why else had I made this short walk to an unfrequented row of cabinets? It ended up being a morbidly ironic stroll to the cleaning supply cabinet where my terrible suspicion was confirmed, yet I would be able to effectively deal with it … at least physically anyway.

  Seth sat in the chair, cheerfully finishing the last remnants of his Chocolate Berries and milk. He seemed completely oblivious to what was occurring beneath the view of the tabletop. The majority of the contents of his bowl were now pooled in a brown and white puddle under his chair. I had witnessed the toy pass through his hand and now the cereal through his cheeks and … body? Is that what I should call it? I didn’t know, but at the moment, that seems the most salient description. His “body” appeared unable to contain his meal as milk and cereal gradually passed through him until it reached the chair and then slowly trickled over each side, forming the chocolaty lake on the tile beneath him.

  Should I bring his attention to it or should I cleverly distract him out of the room while I clean up the mess? I didn’t know what the hell to do. My shock and horror intoxicated my judgment, causing me to stare stupidly at the spectacle. Seth noticed my distraction before I could pull myself together. He looked down at the mess on the floor and then looked back to me in panic-stricken horror. He squealed like a terrified rabbit and jumped across the tabletop, streaming milk and Chocolate Berries behind him.

  CHAPTER 6

  The Boss

  “To be an ideal guest, stay at home.”

  —E. W. Howe

  The icy, disquieting feeling running through me as I observed this spectacle was melted away in an instant by fatherly compassion. The terrified shrieks of my boy broke down all apprehension. I reached out and grabbed him around the waste and pulled him toward me. I fought through the initial shock of his gelatinous cold “flesh” and pulled him back as he kicked and struggled in terror. As I pulled him up and embraced him, he initially felt as if I was hugging a semi-frozen bag of ice cream, but, as I hung on, something incredible happened.

  Seth embraced my torso like a small bear climbing a tree, hanging on for dear life and wailing inconsolably. The cold of his touch was almost unbearable at first then a feeling came over me that I had never experienced before, something impossible. Simultaneously, I felt the intense cold meld with an incredible feeling of warmth. As I patted Seth’s back I noticed this phenomenon more prominently as my hand went warm-cold with every pat. I slowly looked down, preparing myself for what I would see, not wanting to upset him further. What I saw didn’t so much as terrify or repulse me as I couldn’t escape the feeling like something inappropriately intimate was occurring. Of course there wasn’t, and who is to say what is appropriate in circumstances such as these?

  The areas where I felt the strange intermingling of cold and warmth were parts of Seth’s body that were slowly sinking into mine. A knee, an elbow, the toes of a Spiderman tennis shoe, his chin were all protruding about an inch into my stomach, chest, hip and shoulder respectively. As I took note of this, another sensation caught my attention. I had the strange feeling of snowflakes falling on my shoulder and then turning into shooting warmth radiating from my shoulder all the way down to my feet. It took me a moment to comprehend this feeling and then it dawned on me as completely as the lavender light streaming in from the kitchen window. It was Seth’s tears. They were passing through me just like I had seen them disappear into his bedspread earlier. I felt the sensation subside as Seth’s crying slowed a little.

  “It’s okay, buddy,” I said rubbing his back, feeling the strange mix of cold and warmth as my hand inadvertently penetrated his back. “I’ll clean it up, it’s okay.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” he asked weakly as he pulled his head back as if to look at me, but instead buried his eyes behind his forearm to hide his sadness. I had the strange thought that considering everything I had just seen, Seth could possibly still see me through his arm. I wasn’t sure and was rather doubtful; even though objects could pass through him and vice versa, I could not see through him. Well, there was the instance where the Star Wars figure sunk through his hand, but it was fairly close to the surface before it became visible.

  “Nothing’s wrong with you, buddy,” I told him. “There’s something wrong with the world.” I pointed at the strange light out the window. “That’s what is affecting you, but I promise we’ll make it all better.”

  He seemed to relax and even smiled a little after my promise. I’m surprised any of my promises carry any weight with him anymore. I didn’t even believe the one I had just made. How could I? I had no idea what the hell was going on other than the reported story that the dead had become visible today, a scenario I’m not even sure I fully accept and probably would dismiss out of hand as tabloid foolery if not for the presence of my son.

  I was just about to set him down on the edge of the table opposite his spilled meal when the phone rang. It startled me, causing me to flinch. I was afraid this would have an adverse effect on the mood, but it was just the opposite. Seth giggled at my reaction and commented impatiently.

  “It’s just the phone, Daddy.”

  I smiled and lovingly brushed my hand over his forehead, ignoring the cold.

  He smiled. “You better get it! It might be Pubasher Kerrin House!”

  Publisher’s Clearing House was the running joke around our home whenever the phone rang or the mailman came – It might be Publisher’s Clearing House! I don’t think we had entered the sweepstakes in years, or at least I hadn’t. Ann had a regular subscription to three different “chick magazines,” so maybe we had.

  I winked at Seth then walked across the kitchen to the cordless phone on the counter. I gave the caller ID a perfunctory glance and saw that it was not the Prize Committee; it was my boss, Don Lewis. Don was my boss but it was really a title he held in name only. I reported to him, but in actuality we worked as a partnership at PortaPad, Inc.; we were the two best mobile home salesmen in the state. We were also best friends. He was there for me when Ann and Seth were killed and told me to take as much time off from work as I needed. Don is a great guy, but like most of us, he has his faults. One of which happens
to be letting whatever he’s thinking spill out like a verbal geyser.

  “Take all the time you need,” he told me shortly after the funeral. “Grief is a tricky thing and can eat away at you if you don’t work through it. I remembered when my dad died I locked myself in my room…” Don was cut off by his wife.

  “God bless you Thomas, we are here if you need anything. Come on Don, it’s time to go.”

  Don normally called my cell phone so this was unusual for him to call the landline. It didn’t surprise me though; in fact, I was expecting it. I hadn’t charged my cell phone in days and had no intention of doing so in the near future. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, so I just put my ringer on silent and placed my cell in my dresser drawer to die a slow death of battery starvation. An annoying thought crossed my mind just before picking up the receiver: I should have unplugged that as well. I think the only reason I didn’t is the fact that my self-imposed communication embargo would have surely brought visitors to my door, and that was the last thing I wanted.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Tommy! Can you believe this crap on the radio today? Ghosts appearing? What a hoot, eh?” Don said with the same lack of verbal filtration between his brain and his mouth. I understand his excitement, I really do.

  “Have you seen any spooks on your block? I mean who you gonna call, right?” he asked with a disbelieving smile in his voice.

  “What do you think, Don? I haven’t listened to the radio in a little while. What is the official report?”

  Don chuckled softly and took a deep breath like he was about to relay a very amusing story.

  “Well…” he began, as if coming to the punch line of a joke. “They say old honest Abe is out and about in Washington, D.C., along with a few other dead presidents, and I ain’t talking about cash!” He brayed with laughter at his cleverness and went on. “They also say that ghosts are showing up in people’s homes and businesses, claiming they have been there all along but we just couldn’t see them.” He sputtered laughter again, but this time I thought I detected something underneath his good humor and amusement. It was like hearing the faint sound of distant thunder on a gloriously sunny day; he was scared.

  “Have you seen any?” I asked him.

  He laughed again … there was the distant thunder, a little more prominent this time.

  “It’s just a big joke!” he snorted. “Dead people walking around? Please.”

  I know he failed to connect the dots in his head of how the event occurring today could possibly affect me considering my recent loss. I don’t think he wanted to believe what he was hearing, so he was hiding under a façade of humor. I had never known Don to act this way, but then today was definitely unique circumstances.

  I took a deep breath and looked up to see Seth sitting at the top of the stairs watching me. He had another toy in his hand, I couldn’t tell what at this distance, and he smiled patiently at me. I was going to keep my mouth shut. I didn’t want the attention and I was almost certain that any unwelcome gawkers would upset Seth immensely. I was going to remain quiet until Don spoke again, this time the fear was unmistakable.

  “Gina … you know, my wife.”

  “Yes, I know Gina,” I replied patiently.

  There was a long pause and then heavy breathing, like he had just run up a few flights of stairs. He started to speak then his voice choked off like someone had just knocked the wind out of him. After another long pause I heard him swallow hard before he spoke.

  “Gina called me at work about an hour ago and told me…” he took a couple of deep breaths and then changed his tone to incredulous disbelief, but the fear was still present in his voice like underlying feedback on a microphone. “I can’t even believe I’m saying this!”

  “It’s okay, Don,” I said calmly. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  Nothing had ever acted as an adequate filter between Don’s mind and mouth, but the fear of whatever he was trying to tell me seemed to be working like a charm.

  “Gina called an hour ago … she said my dad was waiting for me in my study.” His dad had passed away two years ago. I know because I was a pall bearer at the funeral, not to mention I was reminded of the fact two weeks ago when Don tried to comfort my grieving by telling the story of how he locked himself in his room after his father died. In Don terminology, his room was synonymous with his office.

  “Are you going home?” I asked.

  There was silence on the other end of the line.

  “Don?”

  There was another long silence and then Don exhaled loudly and spoke faintly.

  “Would it be okay if I came and talked to you first?”

  “You know I don’t mind Don, but there is one thing you need to know before you do.” I said.

  “What?”

  I closed my eyes and contemplated my response for a few moments. I had not intended to say anything on the subject but considering what Don had just told me, it might be appropriate.

  “You need to know that Seth is here.”

  There was another long pause and then two words spoken with a hoarseness that made them barely audible.

  “My … God …”

  “Are you okay with that?” I asked.

  “Is he, is he solid, can he walk through walls, can he fly, is he …?” Don said before I cut him off.

  “He’s fine, Don. Just let me do the talking when you come, okay?”

  “Okay,” he muttered, breathless.

  I looked up and saw Seth was still sitting on the top of the stairs watching, a worried frown now creased his small face. I gave him a reassuring wink but before I could ask Don when he would be by, I saw a silvery flash outside my living room window. I looked out and saw Don’s silver Camaro screeching to a halt in my driveway.

  I looked back up at Seth but before I could say a word, he saw the look of exasperation on my face. He turned and retreated up the stairs, a moment later I heard the door to his room slam shut.

  I met Don at the front door before he could ring the bell, knock, barge in or whatever he intended to do. His countenance did not match the jovial person I had just spoken to on the phone. My friend’s fear was no longer the rumbling of a distant storm; his face was awash in a tempest of nervous excitement and terror.

  “W-w-w-here is he?” Don stammered.

  I was distracted momentarily by the atmosphere outside. This was the first time I had even opened a door or a window since the event began, and I quickly discovered that the mysterious lavender light was only half of the spectacle. It was hard to describe, but the air seemed to be alive; it pulsated and undulated like an electric charged breeze. It was not a visible sensation but a tactile one, felt by every square inch of my body. It was not unpleasant at all, more like being in a relaxing spa of warm electricity.

  Don was about to push by me into the house when I came to my senses. I gently grabbed him by the upper arm and bade that he take a seat on the sofa. He looked at me with wild-eyed excitement, and then reluctantly sat down.

  “Were you being serious with me?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Yes, but if I bring him down you have to promise me you won’t say a word. You know how your mouth can outrun your brain,” I said with a friendly grin.

  He shook his head in the affirmative and gave me a half-smile.

  “I know … I promise.”

  I looked at him sternly for a few moments. He seemed to calm somewhat and then repeated his vow.

  “I promise.”

  “Wait here,” I said, then turned and slowly ascended the stairs.

  I reached Seth’s door and knocked lightly. No answer. I tried the knob and the door swung open effortlessly. I stepped into the room.

  “Seth, buddy,” I began, but then stopped in my tracks; he was nowhere to be seen.

  I walked over to th
e closet door and called his name, no answer. I opened the door, no Seth. I turned in mounting panic, scanning the room wildly, and then my eyes fell on the bed. I walked up beside the bed, taking care not to tread on the Anakin Skywalker figure lying on the floor.

  “Seth?”

  No answer.

  I got to my hands and knees and peered under the bed. No Seth. My heart was racing with panic now, I was frightened for the safety of my deceased son, but the irony was lost on me as I set out to inspect the rest of the upstairs rooms. After a quick and thorough search, a block of ice slid into my stomach, reminding me of the pain that was still fresh after just two weeks. Seth was gone.

  CHAPTER 7

  Boundless Limitations

  “Only those who attempt the absurd can achieve the impossible.”

  —Albert Einstein

  As I descended the stairs, I suspect my face looked very similar to Don’s when he arrived; no … it was definitely worse. This was my child; I can’t have lost him again, not this fast. I ran through the kitchen and out the door to the yard beyond Seth’s window. I paid no attention to the unusual changes outside; my mind was focused on a singular purpose. My panic rose exponentially because he was nowhere to be seen in the yard.

  “Seth! Seth!” I called and hopped up on the cedar picket fence surrounding our backyard. After scanning the perimeter I determined he was nowhere in sight, hopping down from the fence I was startled to see Don standing a few feet from me.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “Seth is gone!” I muttered breathlessly and darted past him and back into the house. I hadn’t seen Seth come back downstairs, but searching the ground floor was the only option left to me. I had just searched the dining room when a shriek and a crash resounded from the kitchen. I entered the kitchen to see Don lying flat on his back and breathing heavily. He had slipped in Seth’s cereal, which I had not had the opportunity to clean up yet.