Bruce Tete

Stephen

Ever since I was a boy, I have been fascinated by death. I would listen as my grandmother would tell me stories of heaven and hell and all their demons and angels. And when I reached my adolescence and discovered my fathers old books of Norse mythology, I learned that there are countless stories and theories concerning what comes after. When I began schooling, I became enraptured with the natural sciences as well as the men exploring distant lands at the time. I could never get death off of my mind, and I would spend entire days pondering, theorizing, almost to the point of madness. So, I made a promise to myself that I shall be the first man to venture beyond the boundaries of life and return to this world with all my flesh and blood.

And now, I stand here ready to fulfill that promise. Snakes of electricity bit at my fingers and face as shadows danced on the walls of my laboratory, forming the shapes of hideous monsters with shadowy smiles and eyes like gleaming pearls, that watched the act which I was about to perform. The machine’s inwards churned as it spat out more electricity from its hulking mass of steel which encircled me. “Ready?!”yelled Marie. Her green eyes stared wildly at mine, and I watched as electricity unfolded itself from her hair and the array of freckles that orbited her eyes. I opened my mouth, “R–” and before I could even fully utter the word, a white so pure and fiery suddenly flashed before my eyes, blinding me.

All of a sudden, it felt as if my ears were submerged in water, muffling the sound of my groans of pain and an echoic voice that surrounded me. I rubbed my eyes with my fists, in an attempt to re-summon my vision. And when my hearing returned fully to me, so too did my vision, yet, I saw only black. A void unlike any dark night, no, it was endless, shapeless, just a void that seemed to almost hum when you stared into its boundless depths. Where am I?, a distant voice whispered. “Hello?” I yelled back. Someone is in here, it whispered. “Show yourself!”. Fear and confusion filled my heart, as I stared nervously at the dark. I’m going to day, it declared, as if it were standing just behind me. I grabbed the knife strapped to my bag, spun around, and swung wildly, yet my knife found nothing. I’ll kill you! it snared. I spun around again, slashing the void before myself. “Come forth!” we both yelled in unison. I froze for a moment, the voice sounded familiar, as if I had heard it all my life. What are you?, my own voice asked me. And after some experimenting, I came to the conclusion that the voice was my own thoughts echoing throughout wherever I am now.

I struck a match and lit my lantern. But even flame illuminated nothing, not even the ground, which now that the adrenaline has subsided, I realized did not exist. It appeared I have been merely floating on nothingness, Strange, the voice said. I let go of the lamp which floated comfortably beside my head as I grabbed the bag strapped to my back and checked my supplies: 5 canisters of lamp oil, a box of matches, parchment and a quill, a week’s worth of food, and enough water to last me two days. I grabbed the parchment and began taking notes in my log, and tried fabricating some theories, and failed. So, I stared at my watch and waited as the seconds ticked by, waited to be back in Marie’s arms.

​

Marie
I remember the day I first saw Stephen. We were in a cafe, close to the University in Paris. I was sitting at a small table placed beside a window overlooking the street, which would occasionally distract me from my book and tea with drunken pedestrians and impatient automobiles honking at each other. And there he was, on the other side of the room, looking up to stare at me only to bury his face in a book whenever I turned my head. This would continue for sometime but I ever truly paid him any mind. I was often too busy reading political essays and manifestos or planning my next march. But one afternoon, as I was preparing to take a sip from my freshly poured tea, I looked over, and there he was darting his head back. I watched as he practically inhaled a biscuit, muttered something to himself, and stood up. He walked up to me, with a smile so big and awkward it looked almost painful.

“Hello.” he said scratchily before the half-chewed biscuit lodged itself, summoning an assault of heaving coughs for what can only be described as too long. I waited for his cough to cease before I spoke, and stared at him calmly as his face turned red and crumbs flew from his mouth.

“Hello–” I said before being interrupted by a single cough. “Can I help you?”

I saw his eyes nervously dart back and forth searching for an answer to my question.

“I was just wondering... who it is you are reading?” he just barely managed to spit out.

“Marx,” I said blankly, “ have you heard of him?”

“Why yes-- of course, who hasn’t heard of the great thinker Marx.” he said with a
mouthful of sweet innocent lies.

 

“Really? Which of his works is your favorite?” I said with the suspicion of a policeman.

 

“Why theeeee...” he tilted my head to get a closer look at the cover of her book and was able to get a peak at half of it. “The Communicator’s Manual of course.”

For some reason a giggle sprung from my mouth and from it, sprung a fit of laughter, until the whole cafe turned to look upon my heaving laughter. And when I recovered from it, I said to him:

“My name is Marie, and you?”

“Stephen.”

​

“Stephen, would you care to sit with me and discuss the numerous complexities of the Communicator’s Manual?”

And he did, and we spent the rest of the afternoon and evening completely enchanted by what the other had to say. He told me of his studies and the University he was attending, the one that had rejected my application on account of my sex. I told him of my writing and activism, and when I asked him what it was he was studying he said to me: “Death.” before swiftly changing the subject to something less morbid. And we continued our conversation until the owner had politely asked us to leave because it was nearly midnight. We stood outside on the street, clutching our books to our chests, and looking deeply into each other’s eyes.

​

“Can I speak to you again?” he asked.

“That depends,” I replied smiling. “Can you chew your biscuits slower?”

And so, we spent the next four years completely immersed in one another and our growing love. We would always sit across from each other at the cafe and watch the hours erode away as we read our books together, peeking up from the pages to give a flirtatious smile or a series of sweet words. And once the cafe closed its doors, we would spend the rest of the night
walking through the cobblestone streets of Paris before sneaking into his dormitory. Which is where he first showed me his research, mountains of papers, each filled to the brim with notations and theories. I asked him to tell me what he was working on and he obliged.

“For centuries, mankind’s knowledge has been nothing but theological theories and superstitions,”he said with stars in his eyes. “Stories of heavens and hell bring to mind when we believed that serpents and monsters dwelled at the end of the world, nothing but folktales and superstitions in desperate need of illumination. Which is what I hoped to provide. Marie, you ask

me what the goal of my research is, my goal, no, my destiny is to venture beyond the boundaries of life and discover the universe’s greatest secret.”

I stood silently for a moment, staring at him, and with a frantic excitement he walked me through his research. Grabbing papers while pointing at signs and equations, and after some questions and some answers he was able to convince me that these were not the ravings of a mad man and that it was indeed possible to transports ones body into whatever may come after life
and return with with the knowledge that man has sought after for centuries.

After some time, his research became normal to me, while I wrote poems and essays, he would scribble down mathematics and formulate his schematics. Over time his focus drifted from his research and a year after his graduation, instead of purchasing the equipment necessary for his experiment, he bought a ring. Marriage had always been something I opposed fundamentally but after months and more failed proposals than I can count, convinced me to be his wife. Our wedding was charming, our honeymoon enthralling, and our marriage one of the happiest times in my life.

However, our happiness would soon be interrupted. I awoke one day to a pulsing pain in my head and so parched my mouth might as well have been filled with sand. I spent the entire morning vomiting until with tears hugging the corners of his eyes, Stephen diagnosed me with cholera. I spent two weeks, bedridden, with Stephen never leaving my side for a moment, and tending to my every need. miraculously, I survived and fully recovered from my ailment. Stephen, however, did not, and spent the following months treating me as if I were made of porcelain or shutting himself in his study, chiseling away at his research, now reminded of death’s looming clutch on life. I was sleeping peacefully one night, when he shook me gently.

​

“I’ve done it.”,he said with a wild ardor.

​

“Done what?” I mumbled groggily.

“I’ve finished my research.”

I blinked my eyes repeatedly. “HM?”

He held my hand and guided me into his study and sprawled along the floor as a machine. It appeared like a long hard steel table, like the ones they have in the morgues, with large tubes and wires, slithering from it, connecting to levers and switches situated on the study’s walls.

​

“With this,”he said. “I can transport matter into the world of the dead”

 

I looked around still filled with the whispers of sleep.“Darling–”

​

“Wait,”he interrupted. “Let me show you how it works.”

And he continued to explain how it drew power from lightning in order to deconstruct both the soul and reconstruct it in the other world, which would then pull the body along with it. He explained the functions of the countless dials and switches and levers and when he was done he stared at me with the excitement of a puppy.

“I want you to do it,”he said. “I want you to be the one to pull the switch.”

“What?” I said.

“You’re the only one I trust.”

“You can’t possibly expect me to–”

“Please darling, you are the only one who can do this, you are the only one who believes me. Please, darling... please.”

He clutched my hands tightly and stared into my eyes.

“Very well.” I said timidly.

And so he spent the week pointing at every dial, lever, and component of the machine, explaining its function and what I am to do with it. And once that was done with, we had only to wait, to wait for a storm to come barreling through and strike the machine with a torrent of energy. And we waited and waited, but for weeks not a drop descended from the heavens. Until one night, we suddenly woke up from a thunderous crash. The tempest Stephen had long hoped for had arrived and as we ran to the lab, I prayed that the machine would not actually work, and that my husband would remain in this world with me. But fate disagreed.

With supplies strapped to his stomach, he lay down on his back preparing for his journey. I stretched out the antena and it emerged from the antena like one long finger pointing at God. Suddenly the blackened sky threw down a bolt of lightning with all its strength and the antenna caught. Electricity squirmed throughout the machine which now churned and heaved to life. With each lever I pulled it seemed to growl lowder and lowder like some other worldly beast. I grasped the ignition switch and looked back at Stephen. “Ready?” I yelled. And before he could even respond, the whole room turned into one white blur, and then black.

I woke up to a ringing in my ear and roaring flames nipping at my feet. I looked around the room and saw only melted cogs, scorch-marks, and walls enveloped in flame. My shoulder felt wet and strangely cold and when I grasped for it I felt a long metal beam protruding from the joint.

I awoke the next morning in a bed, in the whitest room I had ever seen, wrapped in bandages and casts.

​

“Stephen?” I called out. No reply. A nurse came in, explaining my injuries: impaled shoulder, fractured leg, first degree burns, etc. I could barely pay attention, because something much more pressing was on my mind. “Where’s my husband?” I asked.

​

She gave a sweet but somewhat sad wrinkled face. Before she could even open her mouth, a man appeared behind her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. With her head down, she quietly exited the room, which is exactly when my sense of pain returned to me, and I reached the opinion that I’d rather have my leg cut off rather than endure another of the throbbing pain emanating from my cast.

​

“I’m sorry, madame,”the man said. “He did not survive the accident.”. The golden buttons of his uniform gleamed as his blue eyes sunk into his red mustache. I stared blankly at my feet, feeling only emptiness. “We could not locate his remains,''he said. And just before I could fully sink into my sadness, I was reminded of the events of the previous night. I must’ve pulled the switch. I must
have.

“What we did find” he continued. “...Well, we are not quite sure what we found. Would you mind telling me what you and your husband were doing that night.”

​

“We were sleeping.” I said, summoning the most pitiful look I could.

“Sleeping? Well, would you mind telling me--”

I broke into hysterical sobs, screaming the name of my husband while clawing at the policeman’s chest.

​

He slowly pulled away and before darting out of the door said: “We found these at the laboratory.” Pointing to a stack of books beside my bed.

​

“Thank you,” I said with a quivering lip.

​

And the moment he shut my door, I promptly sat up, whipping away the tears and snot, and looked around my room calmly. I grabbed the books by my side. One was wrapped in black leather, the other, my husband’s notebook, with all the details of the machine as well as the experiment. What providence.

The remaining months were spent attempting to understand the two books, and wailing at the questions of any officers. When I was finally released I spent everyday, trying to understand and decipher the notes. I would frequent the university and pester their professors until I got answers, until five years later I had revived Stephen’s research from half- burnt pages, sciences beyond my comprehension, and penmanship of which existed no poorer.

​

My writing and protesting became more and more infrequent and the next six years were spent in the laboratory, reconstructing the machine. Machinery, much like science, was beyond my comprehension, but I did my best. Constant tests, experiment, and strikes of lightning, yet success came rarely to me. Until the day I had finally rebuilt the machine, exactly as I remembered it. Soon my bed would not feel so empty whenever I awoke and the love of my life would take me into his arms and tell me stories of the world beyond.

I spent countless nights awake, waiting for the perfect storm, until one arrived, a tempest like I had never seen before. I prepared the antenna, tightened each valve, and prepared to end this decade of loneliness and longing. Lightning struck the antenna, and the machine rose to life and I flipped the ignition switch.

​

Stephen

Why has death not come to me? Ten years! Ten years without food. Ten years without water. Ten years of my stomach caving in on itself and lips so dry they’d fall off if I smiled. AND YET: Death has not come for me. Here I am dead!, My voice yelled. Right on your front door step, I’ve come all this way so please if you could find the time.

 

“Answer me!” I screamed,

plunging my knife into my chest, only to rip it out, adding yet another scar that should have killed me. Ten years, 320,362,040,658,061 ticks, and NOTHING has happened.

What is taking her so long?! I knew I should have married a scientist.

​

“No, no. Be quiet! Maybe something went wrong, maybe she is fixing it. Maybe she is hurt,” I yelled.

​

Or maybe she just won’t do it.

​

“Silence!” I said, before tossing a long empty can into the blackness. “Please Amelie” I cried. “I can’t bear it anymore. I cannot bear another second of him!"

​

How about ten more years?

 

Tears streamed down my cheek as I curled up into myself, running my hands along my body, seeing what else the void had taken to me. My feet have begun to dissolve, begun to slowly join the black mass that I am suspended in, so has my left hand, my right elbow, and bits of my ribcage. I relax my body, and feel as the void slowly eats away at me. Do you think you
last ten years?

​

“No,” I said, "Do you think she has ten years?''

​

"Yes.” 

 

Maybe she’s dead.

​

Maybe she’s found someone else.

 

Maybe she’s forgotten you.

​

“Silence!” I proclaimed.

 

I reach in my bag for the last match. And lit the lantern which I clutched madly in my hands.

“Please Marie,” I said, holding it close to my face, feeling its warmth begin to seer my skin. “Please Marie."

Just then, for the first time, my eyes were flooded with light. I rubbed and blinked away the blindness, I looked up and saw a door. From which glorious rays of light spilled into the void.

​

'Stephen!”, said a voice so sweet and familiar.

​

"Marie!" But that voice did not sound like mine, it sounded more fiendish, more monstrous.

​

I looked around and was horrified to see what light illuminated. An endless sea of corpses, who all looked at me with their cloudy eyes and noseless faces. Such horror, they all said in a terrible symphony. Without hesitation I grabbed my entire bag and threw it at their faces with all my strength, and watched as an amorphous horde of hands and faces reached for me like a wave of flesh and blood. And as I was propelled through the void, I turned towards the entrance, and in front of it stood a man. His body was long and black, like one great ribbon of silk, and his face was a jagged skull with two eyes colder than eyes.
Thank you, it said in unison with the corpses.

​

Marie covered her eyes, as the entire laboratory was flooded with white burning light.

And when she lifted her eyes from her sleeve. She gasped, for in front of her, stood her lover. She froze from the sheer shock.

​

“It worked.” she said as a tear settled on her cheek. Stephen looked up at her “Marie?” He said with a hoarse and ragged voice. “Stephen!” she screamed with delight.

​

She ran into his arms, letting him hold her and spin her around.

​

“I’m so sorry.” she said, sobbing like a babe. “The equipment caught on fire and the lab was destroyed and I had to--”

​

And as she held her sweet face in his hand, he leaned in for a kiss. And all her sadness and worry melted away. She felt his hand squeeze her hip tighter and tighter, until she felt her pelvis being cracked. She squirmed in pain and when she lifted her eyelids she looked on in terror at the thing that was now kissing her. Its head, the skull of a monstrous, godless creature, with eyes so white they nearly blinded her, and from its mouth oozed an icy cold black liquid pouring into her throat. She pushed and screamed, but nothing could free her or her lips from the thing that now grasped her. Her body heaved and coughed, trying to expel the sickening ooze, but each time she gagged it felt as if her body was gagging on her own mind, trying its best to cough it out. Suddenly, she was gone, that twinkle in her eye that Stephen loved so much departed her green tear-filled eyes. Her body dropped to the floor with a thud, and above her a black figure wiped itschin with a bony chuckle.

​