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Love is Deadly and
Death is Lovely
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Kohana Mehl-McKee
Short
Stories
Curiosity Killed the Cat
A
single slip, one tiny accident, can ruin everything.
My father was too curious for his own good. It was why he was a historian. He always wanted to know more, more, more about the past and never seemed truly satisfied. It used to sadden me, how he’d choose dusty books over quality time with the family, but like most humans do, I adapted. He was curious; I was quiet. I learned to be content with sitting in the corner and drawing while my father sat in his corner and read. It became our quality time together while my mother would walk around the park and meet up with friends.
That was exactly the sort of quality time we were having when my father’s curiosity expanded.
The knock on the front door echoed through our quiet house. Knock, knock, knock. Now, when I’m all alone, I can still swear I hear that knock echoing through my head.
My father didn’t even look up from the book in his hand, a biography about Mark Twain. Stifling a sigh, I put my drawing pencil down and walked through the living room. I opened the front door, a greeting on my lips that fell away when I saw Caleb's ashen expression
Caleb was one of my fathers few close friends. They’d spent a majority of my life working together to try and find a way to transport people to the past. The sceptic I was, I didn’t quite believe that time travel could exist. Both my father and Caleb were confident that they could one day figure it out, though, so I quietly stuck by them. I have very fond memories of when I was young and would sit in the lab and draw as they fiddled with wires and things my child brain couldn’t understand.
“William,” Caleb blurted once he saw my father sitting on the couch, awe clear in his voice. My father lazily dragged his gaze to Caleb who was now standing in the middle of the living room. That lazy gaze was quick to turn to surprise.
“Caleb? What are you doing here?”
“I found it. I found it.”
“Found wha-” my father started, then trailed off. A sour look crossed his face. “That’s not funny, and you know it,” he snapped. Caleb ran a hand through his hair and shook his head so hard that I was sure it would fall off.
“No. No, this isn’t some petty joke. I found it. All it took was a little chemical imbalance change.” My father still had a disbelieving look on his face, so Caleb continued explaining. “I sent a fruit through first. An apple, just an apple. Poof, it was gone. I pressed the button, and poof, it was back. Then I went through myself. See, at that moment, I didn’t care if I would’ve died or been injured. I had to know. I had to. Looking back, I can now see that I was too hasty, but I went, William. I was there. China, 1963. I was there. You have to believe me. You have to.” All the color had seeped out of my father’s face as he listened to Caleb. Annoyed, I crossed my arms. Was Caleb really trying to say that he’d invented time travel
My father was too curious for his own good. It was why he was a historian. He always wanted to know more, more, more about the past and never seemed truly satisfied. It used to sadden me, how he’d choose dusty books over quality time with the family, but like most humans do, I adapted. He was curious; I was quiet. I learned to be content with sitting in the corner and drawing while my father sat in his corner and read. It became our quality time together while my mother would walk around the park and meet up with friends.
That was exactly the sort of quality time we were having when my father’s curiosity expanded.
The knock on the front door echoed through our quiet house. Knock, knock, knock. Now, when I’m all alone, I can still swear I hear that knock echoing through my head.
My father didn’t even look up from the book in his hand, a biography about Mark Twain. Stifling a sigh, I put my drawing pencil down and walked through the living room. I opened the front door, a greeting on my lips that fell away when I saw Caleb's ashen expression
Caleb was one of my fathers few close friends. They’d spent a majority of my life working together to try and find a way to transport people to the past. The sceptic I was, I didn’t quite believe that time travel could exist. Both my father and Caleb were confident that they could one day figure it out, though, so I quietly stuck by them. I have very fond memories of when I was young and would sit in the lab and draw as they fiddled with wires and things my child brain couldn’t understand.
“William,” Caleb blurted once he saw my father sitting on the couch, awe clear in his voice. My father lazily dragged his gaze to Caleb who was now standing in the middle of the living room. That lazy gaze was quick to turn to surprise.
“Caleb? What are you doing here?”
“I found it. I found it.”
“Found wha-” my father started, then trailed off. A sour look crossed his face. “That’s not funny, and you know it,” he snapped. Caleb ran a hand through his hair and shook his head so hard that I was sure it would fall off.
“No. No, this isn’t some petty joke. I found it. All it took was a little chemical imbalance change.” My father still had a disbelieving look on his face, so Caleb continued explaining. “I sent a fruit through first. An apple, just an apple. Poof, it was gone. I pressed the button, and poof, it was back. Then I went through myself. See, at that moment, I didn’t care if I would’ve died or been injured. I had to know. I had to. Looking back, I can now see that I was too hasty, but I went, William. I was there. China, 1963. I was there. You have to believe me. You have to.” All the color had seeped out of my father’s face as he listened to Caleb. Annoyed, I crossed my arms. Was Caleb really trying to say that he’d invented time travel
A
single slip, one tiny accident, can ruin everything.
My father was too curious for his own good. It was why he was a historian. He always wanted to know more, more, more about the past and never seemed truly satisfied. It used to sadden me, how he’d choose dusty books over quality time with the family, but like most humans do, I adapted. He was curious; I was quiet. I learned to be content with sitting in the corner and drawing while my father sat in his corner and read. It became our quality time together while my mother would walk around the park and meet up with friends.
That was exactly the sort of quality time we were having when my father’s curiosity expanded.
The knock on the front door echoed through our quiet house. Knock, knock, knock. Now, when I’m all alone, I can still swear I hear that knock echoing through my head.
My father didn’t even look up from the book in his hand, a biography about Mark Twain. Stifling a sigh, I put my drawing pencil down and walked through the living room. I opened the front door, a greeting on my lips that fell away when I saw Caleb's ashen expression
Caleb was one of my fathers few close friends. They’d spent a majority of my life working together to try and find a way to transport people to the past. The sceptic I was, I didn’t quite believe that time travel could exist. Both my father and Caleb were confident that they could one day figure it out, though, so I quietly stuck by them. I have very fond memories of when I was young and would sit in the lab and draw as they fiddled with wires and things my child brain couldn’t understand.
“William,” Caleb blurted once he saw my father sitting on the couch, awe clear in his voice. My father lazily dragged his gaze to Caleb who was now standing in the middle of the living room. That lazy gaze was quick to turn to surprise.
“Caleb? What are you doing here?”
“I found it. I found it.”
“Found wha-” my father started, then trailed off. A sour look crossed his face. “That’s not funny, and you know it,” he snapped. Caleb ran a hand through his hair and shook his head so hard that I was sure it would fall off.
“No. No, this isn’t some petty joke. I found it. All it took was a little chemical imbalance change.” My father still had a disbelieving look on his face, so Caleb continued explaining. “I sent a fruit through first. An apple, just an apple. Poof, it was gone. I pressed the button, and poof, it was back. Then I went through myself. See, at that moment, I didn’t care if I would’ve died or been injured. I had to know. I had to. Looking back, I can now see that I was too hasty, but I went, William. I was there. China, 1963. I was there. You have to believe me. You have to.” All the color had seeped out of my father’s face as he listened to Caleb. Annoyed, I crossed my arms. Was Caleb really trying to say that he’d invented time travel
My father was too curious for his own good. It was why he was a historian. He always wanted to know more, more, more about the past and never seemed truly satisfied. It used to sadden me, how he’d choose dusty books over quality time with the family, but like most humans do, I adapted. He was curious; I was quiet. I learned to be content with sitting in the corner and drawing while my father sat in his corner and read. It became our quality time together while my mother would walk around the park and meet up with friends.
That was exactly the sort of quality time we were having when my father’s curiosity expanded.
The knock on the front door echoed through our quiet house. Knock, knock, knock. Now, when I’m all alone, I can still swear I hear that knock echoing through my head.
My father didn’t even look up from the book in his hand, a biography about Mark Twain. Stifling a sigh, I put my drawing pencil down and walked through the living room. I opened the front door, a greeting on my lips that fell away when I saw Caleb's ashen expression
Caleb was one of my fathers few close friends. They’d spent a majority of my life working together to try and find a way to transport people to the past. The sceptic I was, I didn’t quite believe that time travel could exist. Both my father and Caleb were confident that they could one day figure it out, though, so I quietly stuck by them. I have very fond memories of when I was young and would sit in the lab and draw as they fiddled with wires and things my child brain couldn’t understand.
“William,” Caleb blurted once he saw my father sitting on the couch, awe clear in his voice. My father lazily dragged his gaze to Caleb who was now standing in the middle of the living room. That lazy gaze was quick to turn to surprise.
“Caleb? What are you doing here?”
“I found it. I found it.”
“Found wha-” my father started, then trailed off. A sour look crossed his face. “That’s not funny, and you know it,” he snapped. Caleb ran a hand through his hair and shook his head so hard that I was sure it would fall off.
“No. No, this isn’t some petty joke. I found it. All it took was a little chemical imbalance change.” My father still had a disbelieving look on his face, so Caleb continued explaining. “I sent a fruit through first. An apple, just an apple. Poof, it was gone. I pressed the button, and poof, it was back. Then I went through myself. See, at that moment, I didn’t care if I would’ve died or been injured. I had to know. I had to. Looking back, I can now see that I was too hasty, but I went, William. I was there. China, 1963. I was there. You have to believe me. You have to.” All the color had seeped out of my father’s face as he listened to Caleb. Annoyed, I crossed my arms. Was Caleb really trying to say that he’d invented time travel
“Show me,” my father whispered. “I need to see it. Need to know.” Caleb nodded.
“Hurry.” And just like that, he was back out of the door. Closing his book, my father stood up on shaking legs. Distantly, I heard a car start.
“Dad,” I said, grabbing his arm to keep him from toppling over on his weak legs, “do you really believe him?” He shrugged. “Take me with you.”
“No, Amelia, my little Earhart. Not yet,” my father answered, eyes somewhere a million miles away. He bent down to kiss my forehead, then grabbed his coat, shoved his feet into his shoes, and left the house without another word.
That was the last time I ever saw my father alive and whole.
Seven hours. That was how long I waited for him. It was almost one in the morning before Caleb knocked on my door again. My mother had gone to bed. She had reassured me that my father’s absence was nothing of concern. After all, he was a curious man, and curiosity calls when curiosity calls. I knew this was different, though. I felt it deep in my bones. Something was very, very wrong.
Knock, knock, knock.
I hadn’t been able to get in the right mindset for drawing since my father left, but I had still tried. When the knock came, I set my drawing pencil down and stood up. A feeling of deja vu flashing briefly in me. This was exactly how it had gone seven hours ago. Except this time, when I opened the door, Caleb stood there, tears spilling on his face. I opened my mouth, except no words came out. Something was very, very wrong.
“I messed up,” he said. Another tear fell down his cheek. Something was very, very wrong.
“What?” I asked, voice hoarse. “What happened?”
“It’s best if you just see for yourself.”
So I went. My father was in trouble. What else was I supposed to do other than go?
During the drive, I kept firing questions at Caleb, but he never answered. Just stared at the road, knuckles white on the wheels. He drove to the lab building on the college campus that he used, one that I’d been in many times before, but not in this dire of a situation.
“A lab,” Caleb explained, talking for the first time since knocking on my door. I nodded, my heart racing. What would I find in there?
Caleb took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the lab. I followed him, wincing at the fluorescent lights. He took me to a room in the very back. Everything in the room was shockingly polished and bright. The white counters, the tiled flooring, the silver tools, everything except one thing. A black box stood alone in the center of the room, just large enough for an average sized human to fit into comfortably. It was covered in wires of all different colors, and on one side there was a panel with various buttons. The supposed time machine. Last time I’d seen it, it was nearly so put together.
“Where is my father?” I asked, trying to ignore the machine and all of its chaos.
“I think the machine… killed your father.”
“Hurry.” And just like that, he was back out of the door. Closing his book, my father stood up on shaking legs. Distantly, I heard a car start.
“Dad,” I said, grabbing his arm to keep him from toppling over on his weak legs, “do you really believe him?” He shrugged. “Take me with you.”
“No, Amelia, my little Earhart. Not yet,” my father answered, eyes somewhere a million miles away. He bent down to kiss my forehead, then grabbed his coat, shoved his feet into his shoes, and left the house without another word.
That was the last time I ever saw my father alive and whole.
Seven hours. That was how long I waited for him. It was almost one in the morning before Caleb knocked on my door again. My mother had gone to bed. She had reassured me that my father’s absence was nothing of concern. After all, he was a curious man, and curiosity calls when curiosity calls. I knew this was different, though. I felt it deep in my bones. Something was very, very wrong.
Knock, knock, knock.
I hadn’t been able to get in the right mindset for drawing since my father left, but I had still tried. When the knock came, I set my drawing pencil down and stood up. A feeling of deja vu flashing briefly in me. This was exactly how it had gone seven hours ago. Except this time, when I opened the door, Caleb stood there, tears spilling on his face. I opened my mouth, except no words came out. Something was very, very wrong.
“I messed up,” he said. Another tear fell down his cheek. Something was very, very wrong.
“What?” I asked, voice hoarse. “What happened?”
“It’s best if you just see for yourself.”
So I went. My father was in trouble. What else was I supposed to do other than go?
During the drive, I kept firing questions at Caleb, but he never answered. Just stared at the road, knuckles white on the wheels. He drove to the lab building on the college campus that he used, one that I’d been in many times before, but not in this dire of a situation.
“A lab,” Caleb explained, talking for the first time since knocking on my door. I nodded, my heart racing. What would I find in there?
Caleb took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the lab. I followed him, wincing at the fluorescent lights. He took me to a room in the very back. Everything in the room was shockingly polished and bright. The white counters, the tiled flooring, the silver tools, everything except one thing. A black box stood alone in the center of the room, just large enough for an average sized human to fit into comfortably. It was covered in wires of all different colors, and on one side there was a panel with various buttons. The supposed time machine. Last time I’d seen it, it was nearly so put together.
“Where is my father?” I asked, trying to ignore the machine and all of its chaos.
“I think the machine… killed your father.”
Killed. Dead.
My jaw fell open and I further examined the machine. It looked complex, but not dangerous. “What-what do you mean?”
Killed. Dead.
Caleb heaved a sigh and sat down on a metal bench.
“I got it. I figured out how to time travel. Just this evening. He was the first person I told.” Caleb trailed off, tears welling in his eyes again.
“What happened?” I asked, almost afraid to know. Caleb didn’t answer me. “What happened?” I repeated, raising my voice to almost a shouting level.
“I-I sent an apple through. Before I got your father. To test the machine. It went through, and then I went through, and it worked. Your father, he changed the location and the year. It made the machine restart. I looked at the graphs for the apple, and it dematerialized in order to understand the location it was being sent to. That way when I was sent, I was sent into a place that the machine had already gotten used to.” That made no sense to me.
“You said it dematerialized…?”
“Yes, the machine sent its essence there, but kept an invisible form here. It’s hard to explain unless you’ve studied the same materials as me. Imagine a ghost. The apple was like a ghost in that world, trying to understand what was happening there.”
“Are you saying my father is a ghost from the past?” My tone was so incredulous, it also seemed offensive, but I didn’t care.
“No, I’m saying he’s a dematerialized form of himself.”
“Okay. So rematerialize him like you did for the apple, then go get him. You said that was safe, right? Because something had already materialized there, so it was safe for something else to go.”
“Yes, that would be safe, but I can’t rematerialize your father.”
“And why not?”
“Because he has functioning parts. Blood pumping, organs working, cell circulation. He’s more complex than an apple. I can’t rematerialize your father without killing him.” My heart stopped in my chest. If what he was saying was true, and I still wasn’t entirely sure that it was, then that meant my father was a dematerialized essence, a ghost. I didn’t respond for some time, thinking that over.
“Where did he go?” I finally pondered out loud.
“Mark Twain's house, 1883.”
“If all of this is true-”
“I assure you it is.”
“-then send me over.”
There was a pause. “What?”
“Send me over,” I repeated, voice firm. “I’ll find a way to bring him back.”
My jaw fell open and I further examined the machine. It looked complex, but not dangerous. “What-what do you mean?”
Killed. Dead.
Caleb heaved a sigh and sat down on a metal bench.
“I got it. I figured out how to time travel. Just this evening. He was the first person I told.” Caleb trailed off, tears welling in his eyes again.
“What happened?” I asked, almost afraid to know. Caleb didn’t answer me. “What happened?” I repeated, raising my voice to almost a shouting level.
“I-I sent an apple through. Before I got your father. To test the machine. It went through, and then I went through, and it worked. Your father, he changed the location and the year. It made the machine restart. I looked at the graphs for the apple, and it dematerialized in order to understand the location it was being sent to. That way when I was sent, I was sent into a place that the machine had already gotten used to.” That made no sense to me.
“You said it dematerialized…?”
“Yes, the machine sent its essence there, but kept an invisible form here. It’s hard to explain unless you’ve studied the same materials as me. Imagine a ghost. The apple was like a ghost in that world, trying to understand what was happening there.”
“Are you saying my father is a ghost from the past?” My tone was so incredulous, it also seemed offensive, but I didn’t care.
“No, I’m saying he’s a dematerialized form of himself.”
“Okay. So rematerialize him like you did for the apple, then go get him. You said that was safe, right? Because something had already materialized there, so it was safe for something else to go.”
“Yes, that would be safe, but I can’t rematerialize your father.”
“And why not?”
“Because he has functioning parts. Blood pumping, organs working, cell circulation. He’s more complex than an apple. I can’t rematerialize your father without killing him.” My heart stopped in my chest. If what he was saying was true, and I still wasn’t entirely sure that it was, then that meant my father was a dematerialized essence, a ghost. I didn’t respond for some time, thinking that over.
“Where did he go?” I finally pondered out loud.
“Mark Twain's house, 1883.”
“If all of this is true-”
“I assure you it is.”
“-then send me over.”
There was a pause. “What?”
“Send me over,” I repeated, voice firm. “I’ll find a way to bring him back.”