Category: Fiction Factor

“Hey, look!”

Jenny Parker pulled her Honda Civic next to the curb in front of 1974 Chameleon Lane, pointing at the “For Sale” sign in the front yard of the ranch-style house. Her husband, Chase, rolled down the window and gave the property a once-over.

The gray roof looked new, as did the bone-colored aluminum siding. Twelve Whitestone steps led up to a spacious porch and a large, red front door.

“Looks promising,” Chase said. “But a lot of houses we’ve looked at were promising until we found out the cost. Let me take a picture of the number on the sign so we can call and check it out.”

Just as Chase aimed the camera on his smartphone at the sign, the front door swung open and a man wearing a tan linen suit stepped out.

“Hello,” he said, smiling and waving at the couple. “Are you guys interested in looking at the house?”

Jenny and Chase couldn’t get out of their car fast enough.

“Yes!” Jenny said, excitedly. “We moved down from Bridleton about eight months ago for my new job, but we’ve had no luck finding a house. We’re getting really tired of apartment living.”

“Thing is,” Chase piped in. “It’s a seller’s market, and we’ve only got so much we can afford.”

The man walked down the steps and extended his hand.

“I’m Norv Paxton of Mockingbird Realty,” he said. “To set your mind at ease, what do you think this house is going for – just a ballpark guess. I’ll bet you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

Jenny and Chase looked at the house, then looked at each other.

“It’s what … 23, 2400-square feet?” Jenny asked. “This is mostly a rural area so that might knock the price down some. I’m gonna say about $800,000. But right now we’re on a tight budget, so that would be a pretty big stretch for us.”

“What if I told you,” Norv said, “that you can have this house for $650,000?”

Chase laughed.

“No way,” Chase said. “Seriously? If that’s what you’re asking there must be some serious structural issues. Don’t tell me … the basement floods, right? There’s gotta be something wrong.”

Norv motioned for the potential buyers to follow him into the house.

“OK, “ Norv said, after Jenny and Chase had made their way inside. “Walk with me. There are no structural issues – at all. It’s four bedrooms, two and half baths, hardwood floors in the living room with cathedral ceiling and a gas log fireplace. You’ve got a dining room with great natural lighting and a kitchen with everything you need.

“The primary bedroom has a bath with a double vanity, and the lower level has a bonus room, laundry room and half bath. Come down and I’ll show you.”

Everything looked perfect – until Jenny spotted a large, dark stain on the floor of the bonus room.

“Ah,” she said. “That looks like there are some water issues down here.”

Norv shook his head.

“No,” he said. “No water issues. But that stain is the reason we’re offering this house at such a huge discount. By law, I have to let you know that there has been a violent death in this house in the last three years. And because you look like nice people, I’m going to be completely honest – it was a pretty grisly murder.”

“Ugh,” Jenny said. “I think I already know the answer, but is that stain … blood?”

Norv, who had been grinning continuously, suddenly turned serious.

“Well,” he said. “It’s whatever chemicals they used to clean the blood. Look, I realize how off-putting something like that can be. This is hardly a high-crime area, it was just a random act. And, the killer is spending life in prison without a shot at parole, so the house is not some kind of target.

“I tell you what … I’ll talk to the trustee. I think I can get them to go as low as $600,000. Whaddya say? You’ll never, ever find a deal this good – not for a house this great.”

“Excuse us just for a second,” Jenny said.

The couple whispered quietly to each other as Norv walked a few feet away.

“Norv,” Jenny said. “I think you might have a deal. This is the perfect size for us – and the perfect price – and houses don’t have memories, do they? Can we meet back with tomorrow morning around 11 and set the wheels in motion?”

Norv pumped his fist.

“We most certainly can!” he exclaimed. “Let me check everything inside and lock up the house, and I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Jenny and Chase got back in the car, cranked it up, and drove away.

“Is it creepy that we’re gonna move into a house where somebody got killed?” Jenny wondered.

Chase shrugged.

“A little maybe,” he said. “But I’d rather feel creepy than feel broke. We can just put a rug down and …

“Shit!” Jenny shouted. “I have to meet with a  client tomorrow at 11. I completely forgot. Call the number real quick and see if we can do it after, say, 12:30.”

Chase looked at the photo of the sign and punched in the numbers.

“Yes,” he said. “This is Chase Parker. My wife and I just met with a Mr. Norv Paxton over here at, uh, 1974 Chameleon Lane, I believe it is. He wants to meet us at 11 a.m. tomorrow to discuss – excuse me? Yes, Norv Paxton. No, I’m not kidding, I …”

Jenny glanced at Chase, who stayed on the phone another 30 seconds or so before dropping it onto his lap.

As he turned to Jenny, she could see all the color had drained from his face.

“What’s wrong, Chase … You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said.

“I guess I did,” he said. “Whoever I just talked to thought I was making a sick joke. She said Norv Paxton used to live at 1974 Chameleon Lane.

“He was murdered there three years ago.”

Diablo stood up on the metal surgery table, shook his head vigorously, and let out a quick snort.

The humans he lived with were gone. So was the veterinarian in the white coat, as well as the young tech wearing pink scrubs.

There was no equipment in the exam room, either, although he could still see the utility sink and two gray chairs situated against the light blue walls.

Something there that wasn’t before, however, was a Golden Retriever. She stood in front of the closed door, looking straight at him as her fluffy tail swept from side to side.

In life, Diablo would’ve bared his teeth and barked – the fawn-colored fur on his back rising to make him look like a tiny Stegosaurus.

In death, though, there seemed no reason for the Chihuahua to go to all that trouble.

“Who are you?” Diablo asked, his head tilting to the left.

“I’m Orla,” said the retriever. “I figure you might have some questions and I’m here to answer them.”

Diablo sat down and yawned.

“Well, yes,” he said. “First off, what happened to my humans? The last thing I remember one of them was holding me and kissing me on the head – she had a runny nose – and the other was red-faced and wet-eyed. I’ve never seen ‘em like that before.”

Orla wandered over to the table and put her paws up on the side.

“That’s what they do,” she said. “Remember how sad you’d get when you’d see them leave the house? That’s how they felt when you left to come here, only worse.”

Diablo wasn’t sure where “here” was.

“So, when you die, you spend eternity in a vet’s office?” he said. “I gotta tell ya, Orla, that sucks.”

Orla – who had been smiling the whole time, smiled even wider.

“Oh, no, we’re leaving here soon,” she said. “You’re still transitioning right now. We’ll be on our way to a much better place before you know it.”

“Is it the Rainbow Bridge?” Diablo asked, excitedly. “I’ve always heard the Rainbow Bridge was the place where we go.”

“Well, sorta,” Orla said. “The ‘Rainbow Bridge’ is a poem written by Edna Clyne-Rekhy. After her dog Major died in 1959, she wanted to remember him so she wrote that. You’ll meet Major later on … he’s a very good dog. Anyway, where we’re going is just called ‘The Park’ – at least that’s what I’ve always called it.”

Diablo wagged his tail for the first time since he died.

“I’ll be straight with you, Orla … I wasn’t sure I’d make it,” he said. “The humans had a cat I used to mess with a lot – even attacked him a time or two while he was eating.

“Speaking of which … I bit the male human a few times, too. Not sure why. I was sorta playing, but he just seemed bitable for some reason. And don’t get me started on Bonzo, the Jack Russell that lives down the road. I hated that bastard … spent a whole summer trying to figure out how I could attack him in his sleep. I was afraid those thoughts and deeds might keep me out.”

Suddenly, Diablo found himself standing in deep green grass next to Orla. The exam room was gone, replaced by blue skies and open spaces.

“No dogs are ever kept out,” Orla declared.

“Surely Cujo was,” Diablo said.

“Well, that was just the name of a movie dog,” Orla explained. “He was played by several different St. Bernards, and all of them are in The Park. But even if Cujo had been real, he’d have still made it. No dog is truly bad, they just get corrupted by bad humans.”

As Diablo looked across the way, he could see canines of all shapes and sizes – as well as other animals, including cats.

“Kinda surprised cats and dogs all go to the same place,” Diablo said, eying a Norwegian Forest cat frolicking with a miniature dachshund.

“Well, not all of them,” Orla explained. “Some cats go to a place called ‘The Box,’ which is basically just that – a giant cardboard box. And a few of them go in together and buy condos and turn them into palaces. Not sure where they get money. Anyway, cats tend to make their own rules and that can sometimes make their afterlife a bit complicated. They’re gonna do what they’re gonna do.”

Diablo laid his ears back and ran some zoomies, buzzing a pair of tabbies who seemed more amused than bothered by his antics.

He then rolled over on his back, scratching it furiously against the ground, and popped back up on his feet.

“So,” he mused, “I get to do this forever?”

Orla nodded.

“Yep,” she said. “You can run, eat and sleep as much as you want to. This is your reward.”

Diablo sighed.

“That’s great and all,” he said. “But I miss the humans. They loved me and I loved them – even that guy I bit. And I wish I could tell them I’m not mad about that last trip to the vet … I was in a lot of pain, and it was time for me to go.

“Kinda bummed I’ll never see ‘em again.”

Orla’s brown eyes twinkled.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “You’ll see them again.”

Orla pointed to a spot under a willow tree where a German Shepherd was smothering its human with kisses.

“Yay!” Diablo shrieked. “So, people get to come to The Park, too?”

Orla gave Diablo a quick nuzzle to the side of the face.

“They do,” she said. “But only the good ones.”

“Dang it!”

Paulie Priest walked the same path through the woods every morning, sat on the same green wooden bench, and he was always able to get a Wi-Fi signal on his laptop.

Not today, though.

Instead of several options popping up under the “Select a Wireless Network” window, there was nothing – not even “JumpinJackFlash68,” which had become his go-to connection.

Paulie was painfully shy, incredibly smart, and much more comfortable alone than with others. His morning walks were something of a refuge; he loved the sights and smells of the forest, but he also relished the sounds of “nerd time.”

That’s what he called his daily ritual, which featured the flora, fauna and funga appetizer followed by the main course –

plopping down and listening to podcasts such as “Robotics Rebellion” and “Humanoid Aliens: A Theory.”

If he could somehow survive middle school and high school, he wanted to go to Georgia Tech’s School of Electrical and Computer Engineering. He would never dare tell anyone, of course, but he was confident he could make history there.

Last year during the annual science fair at Fillmore Middle School, the seventh grader took the grand prize with a homemade robotic vacuum cleaner. Designed to look like the spacecraft of his favorite show, “Wandering Star Command,” the gadget scurried across the floor of the auditorium, picking up debris and wowing the judges with its efficiency.

It was one of many inventions he had stored away at the small house he shared with his mom. Because when he wasn’t walking and listening to podcasts, Paulie loved tinkering in the garage and building whatever he could think of with whatever he could find.

Many of the components he used were left behind by his dad, a computer technician who drove off to his job in Atlanta several years earlier but never bothered to come back.

Instead of holding on to a bitter memory though, all Paulie wanted to do right now was listen to the live broadcast of “Robotics Rebellion.” Without a signal, that wasn’t going to happen.

So, he did what people always do when the Wi-Fi isn’t working: he rebooted.

Moments later his laptop came back to life and he found one network option called “Distress Call 2374.”

“Well,” he said, “there’s no lock and the signal looks strong, so hello, ‘Distress Call 2374.’”

With a simple keystroke, he was in.

However, all the icons on his screen disappeared and were replaced by what looked like hundreds of neon yellow dots moving randomly – and rapidly – over a bright orange background.

The dots ultimately settled into a pattern, one that formed the fuzzy outline of what appeared to be a woman sitting at some sort of control panel.

“This is Captain Luna Bertrand of Exploration Vessel Marquee … do you read me?”

Paulie blinked several times to make sure he was seeing what he was seeing – and hearing what he was hearing.

“I read you … fine,” he said. “You’re really blurry, though.”

The screen pulsated with white light briefly before clearly displaying Bertrand, a green-eyed redhead clad in a blue military-style uniform.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “Am I clear now? I can see you fine.”

Paulie gazed at Bertrand and all the high-tech equipment in the background. The production values of the broadcast were excellent.

“So, what gives?” he asked. “Is this some kind of viral marketing thing? If this has to do with a ‘Wandering Star Command’ spin-off, I’m all in. Your bridge doesn’t look like their bridge, though.”

Bertrand tapped her side of the screen and a schematic popped up in the lower left corner.

“Look at this and tell me if it’s yours,” she said.

Paulie immediately recognized it as the blueprint for his robotic vacuum cleaner.

“Well … yeah,” he said, slightly puzzled. “That was my science project. But how did you get it? How do you even know about it?”

Bertrand answered by punching a button transforming Paulie’s computer screen into a hologram that displayed both the vacuum cleaner and the spacecraft.

“We’re facing a bit of a time issue here, so I’m giving you the condensed version,” Bertrand said. “To you, it’s May 8, 2024. But I’m from the year 2374 and communicating with you through a rift – a very, very tenuous rift. In the 350 years between your time and mine, the earth has endured two world wars and three plagues. But five years ago, in 2369, there was a cyber attack that resulted in an information wipe.

“Explaining the particulars would take far too long, but let me just say we’re dangerously close to using an abacus to figure out math problems. Now, I don’t really expect you to believe any of this, but I’d appreciate it if you’d humor me.”

Paulie was certainly skeptical, but the fact that his standard laptop was now a device capable of 3D imaging got his attention.

If it was a hoax, it was a brilliant one.

“OK,” he said. “Just for fun, I’ll play along. What do you need from me?”

Betrand placed the image of Exploration Vessel Marquee over that of Paulie’s vacuum.

“According to the bits and pieces of historical records we salvaged after the wipe, the class of starships used 200 years ago are based on your science project,” she explained. “Comparatively speaking to what we fly now, they’re easy to build, cost-effective, durable, and ideal for transporting passengers. Problem is, we haven’t been very successful reverse-engineering them. I need you to compare the schematics and give me some idea of what we need to do to replicate the Priest-Class vessels. I’m confident we can figure out a way – with your help.”

Paulie smiled.

“This is funny,” he said. “Normally somebody’s idea of a joke ends up with me stuffed in a locker so … thanks for naming spaceships after me.”

Bertrand shook her head.

“Please, Dr. Priest,” Bertrand said. “If we’re going to successfully evacuate Earth before the planet dies, we could use your expertise. Now, look at how our engine room is constructed in relation to the motor on your device …”