Sour Milk
The stress began, as I suppose it does for most young adults, with school.
Who do those fuckers think they’re kidding? he thought to himself as he scanned
the assigned readings for the week ahead.
It was Friday. He had hoped to get a little ahead of next week’s work, but looking
at what he was going to have to get through had completely demoralized him.
“The only way out is through,” his kid sister Sophia said looking over his
shoulder. She patted him on the back and continued on her way.
He gathered his work, claimed the comfortable armchair, and began to read. The
first thing that distracted him was his father’s pencil tap, tap, tapping on the table.
Next, it was his mother asking him to take the trash out. He could hear his sister
humming in the other room. Finally, his baby brother began to cry. He ground his teeth
and silently wished for it to stop.
Then it did - everything stopped.
He noticed the silence, rose, and investigated. His sister stood in the kitchen
unblinking and unmoving. The milk jug in her hands was half open. He walked around
her, flicked her ear, and waited. Nothing happened.
“Mom,” he yelled, feeling his heart quicken.
No one answered. His breath sat heavy in his chest.
In the study, his father perched at his desk. In his hand was a pencil that had
frozen halfway through making the letter a . He found his mother at the top of the stairs
holding a laundry basket. Nothing in the house made a sound. A faint whimper escaped
from his mouth.
Keep it together, he thought. Figure out what’s going on.
He stepped out of his house. All around him people stood but none of them
moved. He walked down the street looking at all the people who had frozen in
precarious situations: An old woman stood in the intersection, a boy clutched at his
dog’s fur, high up above him a man leaned over and looked down from a cherry picker.
Behind him, he noticed a billboard which portrayed a scared woman looking at a young
girl. The text read: Poltergeist Report.
The show recreated supposedly true poltergeist phenomena on a weekly basis.
Something nagged at the back of his mind. He stared at the sign and then set off for the
library. The building was nearby and as he entered he knew something was off here too.
There was no reason to believe whatever had happened to the rest of the world hadn’t
happened here, but still, he had hoped. The silence within the library weighed heavier
than normal. It had the air of a funeral.
Hurrying to a computer, he clicked home on the internet browser and searched
the system.
“At least something works,” he muttered.
The books on spirituality and the supernatural were tucked away on the third
floor near some reference books. He hurried up the stairs, grabbed the book and sat at a
table gazing at a novel. It was really more of a tome. Its cover read: Poltergeists and the
Unconscious Mind .
He read, quickly and undistracted, over the next few days, eyes flickering from
page to page, pausing only to get something from the vending machine and for two
quick naps. Eventually, he had a theory. It wasn’t much to go on but it was something.
“Poltergeists are often thought to be entities, possibly that were once human,
sometimes conjured by witches. However, there is another opinion,” he read. “The
human mind, especially its unconscious is complex. A nest of emotions, and ideas that
science is still learning about. Perhaps, we as creatures are not purely physical.
Perhaps, there are latent powers that manifest themselves in unexpected ways. It is
true that most poltergeists manifest themselves around adolescents, some of the most
stressed people around. It’s a difficult thing to balance school, life, and building a sense
of self. It may be that they are acting out unconsciously. Releasing the stress in ways
even they are unaware of. Knocks, raps, and disembodied voices are common. Fires
and other dangers less so. But who knows what we’re truly capable of?”
He shut the book. He thought about the sounds that had been grating on him at
home, and how school, and work, and life in general had been wearing him down. When
it had reached its peak, everything had stopped.
“I guess-” he said aloud and hesitated, I froze time. The question is, what am I
going to do about it?”
He left the library, inspecting people on the street as he walked. Nothing had
changed that he could see. You did this, he thought. You can undo it.
As he walked he tried to will the world into action but nothing worked. By the
time he stopped he realized he had unconsciously made his way home.
He noticed the smell when he opened the door. His family hadn’t moved. Father
was still in the study, mother at the top of the stairs, and his sister in the kitchen.
However, the gallon of milk in her hands had gone sour. It took his mind a moment to
process what this meant.
“I haven’t froze time,” he groaned aloud. “I’ve just froze everyone in place.”
He wasn’t sure how long he had been in the library reading that book. Two maybe
three days he reasoned. Time is hard to tell when the sun doesn’t rise or set.
Three days without water, three weeks without food, he thought. Who would
have known I’d actually learn something in Bio. He hurried and checked their pulses.
All still there beating away like silent drums.
Hurrying to the cabinet, he grabbed a shaker, and quickly made a protein shake.
I’m sure the nutrients in this will help.
He poured some of the liquid into his sister’s mouth. He did this slowly, worried
about her choking even if she was frozen. He moved from room to room, sister to
mother to father, until the shake was gone.
He rubbed his eyes. What now? he asked himself as he placed the shaker in the
sink. It made a dull clunking sound. That was when he remembered his mother telling
him to be quiet when he put plates in the sink. The clinking would wake his baby
brother.
He froze. He turned. He looked at the closed door to his brother’s room and
slowly made his way over to it. A whimper escaped him as he placed one hand on the
knob but didn’t turn it. It was the kind of whimper only a helpless animal can make.
Three days without water, three weeks without food, he knew, But that was for a
healthy adult… he thought. It had to be different for infants didn’t it? The smell of sour
milk was more like an omen now. He opened the door.
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