The First Christmas

Flavia walked from the bedroom into the common area of the house to find Cassius standing on a chair so that he could reach the lintel of the main doorway and hang a bull’s disembodied scrotum.

“Cassius,” Flavia said, “what are you doing?”

Cassius turned his head to face his wife, a broad grin on his face. “Io Saturnalia!” he said enthusiastically.

“Husband,” Flavia responded with concern, “do you not remember that we now worship the one true God? We should not participate in such wicked activities as Satunalia.”

Cassius climbed down from the chair he was standing on and walked over to his wife. “Dear Flavia,” he said, “I am a Christian, now and forever, but there is no harm in decorating for this holiday.” He reached out to embrace his wife, but she pulled away.

“I am troubled by your choice to put up decorations,” Flavia said walking to the window to closer examine the garlands that hung there. “This holiday is in celebration of the grace of Saturn, who is a false god. If we decorate as we have always done, are we not giving praise to a mere idol?”

Cassius moved the chair he had been standing on back to the table, sat down, and started eating some dried dates and figs from a bowl sitting there. After chewing in silence for some time, he responded. “I have no plans to attend any of the sacrifices that will be held during this or any other day of the celebration. I merely wish to participate in a few of the activities that I have enjoyed since my youth. I may wear my bright clothing and my hat of a freeman and decorate our home in the usual way, but that does not mean that my allegiance has reverted back to the false gods of this land.”

Flavia walked from the window and sat down at the table across from Cassius and began eating with him. “I am concerned that by participating in some parts of the celebration, our friends and neighbors will think that we are participating in them all. We took upon ourselves the name of Christ and promised to stand for Him and I worry that by trying to do some of these activities, we are not standing for Him.”

The couple sat in silence as they continued eating. After a few moments Cassius spoke up.

“Perhaps you are right. It just felt wrong to not decorate today, so I woke up early and collected some garlands and bought the bouquet of testicles from a traveling vendor. Even though we are now Christians, we are still living in Rome; it simply feels natural to be involved in Saturnalia, even if just superficially. However, I do not want to act against the will of the Lord. I will take down the decorations.”

As Cassius got up and walked back to the doorway, Flavia realized that she was happy that her husband had listened to her, but she was also saddened that he had to give up something that he enjoyed. If only there was a way to have it both ways. Suddenly, inspiration struck.

“Cassius, what if we were to adjust the celebration to be focused on Christ?”

Cassius paused in moving the chair to the door. He seemed skeptical. “Perhaps, but what would we change?”

“We could arrange a meeting during the same time as one of the sacrifices. Likely it would not be a standard meeting where we share the Lord’s Supper, but we could still sing and listen as the scriptures are read.”

Cassius smiled a little. “That sounds promising.”

Flavia continued. “And perhaps we can keep the garlands up, but let us take down the ox loins; we can replace them with some viscum album that I saw growing nearby. The white color of the fruit will represent the purity of the Lord.”

“What of the exchanging of gifts? Acts of charity cannot be unrighteous.”

“Agreed. We will keep the giving of gifts as well. The act of giving can represent the gift of eternal life that the Savior has made available to all who accept Him.”

Cassius was now grinning broadly once more. “This sounds like a most splendid plan. What will we call this new celebration?”

Flavia waved her hand dismissively. “That is unimportant. I am certain that we will devise a name with time. What is important is that we send the message to our brothers and sisters in Christ so that we may all celebrate and worship together as a mass of Christians.”

Cassius reached across the table and grabbed Flavia’s hand with his own, which she in turn squeezed tenderly. She was happy to have found the Church, but she was even happier to have a husband with whom she was able to share her faith. Truly, it was a Saturnalia, uh …new holiday miracle.

Origin

Excerpts from the journal of Jeffery M. Brown

October 29

Dr. Ramirez called today about the results of my cholesterol tests. It turns out that my “bad cholesterol” (whatever that is) is too high, but not by a lot. He recommended that I start taking fish oil every day. I think he’s overreacting a little, but I also think it can’t hurt to take an OTC supplement, so I bought a cheap bottle of generic fish oil capsules on my way home from work. I’ll get tested again in six months to see if it’s helping.

November 3

I know how this sounds, but I’m starting to notice some changes in my body and I think they’re being caused by the fish oil. Unless I keep my skin immersed in water, it dries out very quickly. In an attempt to combat the dryness, my skin is growing scales, especially on my hands. It’s like I’m turning into a lizard or … a fish. I can’t believe I just wrote that, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. I haven’t told Mom yet, because I know she’ll laugh at me, but if things keep progressing, she’ll have to believe me.

November 5

The skin problems are getting worse. My skin is flaking off in protest of not being constantly underwater. Not only that, but I’ve started discharging electricity at random times. I think the fish oil I’m taking must be mixed with electric eel oil as well. I’m trying to gain control of this ability as it might be useful. So far I’m just sending off sparks at random, but I think if I concentrate, I’ll be able to harness this new energy.

November 7

I controlled the electric discharges a few times today! I didn’t have complete control the whole day, but I was able to intentionally generate electricity more than once. Like at work, I took a break from folding sweaters to walk up to Alyssa; I touched her on the arm and I shocked her! She thought that it was just static electricity, which I’m happy letting her believe. It’s going to take more practice to fully control it, but if my assumptions are correct, I should be able to generate even larger electrical discharges before long. Maybe I’ll even be able to charge my phone just by thinking about it.

November 11

I’m not sure if I can continue taking the fish oil. I’m no closer to controlling my electrical powers and my scales are getting so bad that my hands are bleeding off and on all day. I even turned in worksheet today that had small smudges of blood on it. Plus, I don’t know where my changes will end. Will I grow gills and have to live in the ocean? Will I become cold-blooded? Will I lose my hands and grow flippers? The risks may be too great …

November 13

I called Dr. Ramirez and explained what was happening and told him that I couldn’t keep taking the fish oil. I didn’t want to tell him why, but he kept asking, so I told him everything. I expected him to laugh at me, but instead he was quiet for a while. When he responded, he apologized for not warning me. He said that there had been rumors (but no documented cases) of people having these kinds of reactions, but they were very rare. He said that the fish oil was still good for my cholesterol, but I could reverse the side effects by using lotion with cocoa butter. He explained that because fish are animals, their natural opposites are plants and cocoa is a powerful one. I told him that I already eat chocolate, but he said that the cocoa butter needed to be absorbed topically. Which makes sense: I’m being turned into a fish from the inside-out, so to reverse it, the antidote would need to go from the outside-in.

November 17

The cocoa butter is working. I’ve stopped discharging electricity and my skin is returning to normal. I am a little sad that I have to give up my super powers, but I know this is for the best. Besides, I probably wouldn’t make a very good hero since I don’t have a tragic origin story. Anyway, I’m sure that Alyssa wouldn’t be interested in a fish-man, so it’s better to stay a normal human. Maybe once I’m back to normal, I’ll finally ask her out.

The Hunt

Argus sat on the tree branch, waiting. The waiting was the hardest part of the hunt. Sharpening your weapons, reinforcing your cords, that was one thing: at least you were doing something. With waiting, all you did was, well, wait.

This hunt had lasted a few weeks, with little sign that his prey was close. In his youth, he had stalked his prey, but he now realized that wasn’t terribly practical – with each prey that came near, he’d have to change so much about his behavior to get close, and that was exhausting. So instead, he now puts out bait and sits, waiting.

Very subtly, Argus felt the air shift. The other creatures of the forest became very still and the silence that stayed behind was palpable. Now, the true test began. Argus gripped his lariat in his right hand, using only his forefinger to keep the loop in place, the excess cord held loosely in his left hand. All of his attention was focused on watching the tree line for his prey and being ready to pounce.

With little warning, four creatures exploded into the sky from the forest canopy. They flew without wings, propelled by some unknown force. Argus had only the briefest of moments to decide which prey to pursue. He could have chosen the fastest or the biggest one, but Argus had studied these creatures and knew that the best one to go after was simply the closest one. He adjusted his stance to a crouch and watched the flying creatures’ flight pattern. As soon as a creature was in range, Argus let his lariat fly. The cord found a home around the end of the long, rat-like tail and Argus let the coiled excess spill out. He watched the cord fly out after the lead and jumped from the tree just as the cord pulled his chest harness it was attached to.

This is where the hunt really got exciting, Argus thought as he climbed the cord up towards the creature. This close to his prey, he could see the details up close. The scales that covered its body were large and shimmering in the early morning light. The two limbs it had in place of arms were short numbs with a long, single claw attached to the ends. From his current position below and behind, he couldn’t see the head, but they all look about the same with their rodent-like teeth obscured by large, full lips and their soulless, black eyes, staring into nothingness. Truly, they are fearsome creatures to behold and many hunters have been intimidated on their first encounter, but Argus had grown accustomed to the chase.

He quickly scaled the cord and was soon climbing on to the creature itself. He had to move carefully to not cut himself on the sides of the large, hand-sized scales. His heavy boots and gloves provided some protection, but even some hunters that wore full armor had lost a limb simply to the scales. Every preparation in the world would mean nothing if one was careless in the moment. To help lend some stability, Argus pulled his pickaxe from its holster at the back of his belt. It was made from a previous kill’s claw, which was incredibly strong. With each swing of the axe down into the side of his prey, slowly moving Argus forward, the creature cried out with high-pitched, whistle-like screams, steam pouring out of the single nostril on the top of its head.

Despite the danger of traversing the creature as it swung its body about violently, Argus was soon at the head. He quickly holstered his pickaxe and unsheathed the sword on his back. The sword was built out of a bone from a previously killed creature with the edge made up of razor-sharp scales. He positioned the point of the sword directly over the nostril on the creature’s head – the only vulnerable part on the whole of the creature – and thrust downward. Rather than the whistle-like scream from before, the creature let out a deep bellow. As Argus’ body vibrated with the sound emanating from his prey, he pressed the sword deep into the creature’s brain, dark green blood pouring out of its head. Now the creature’s path was curving downward, unable to stay aloft through its mysterious means. Argus held tight to his sword, as much for stability as to ensure the death of his prey. Trees crashed around them as they plowed a path through the forest. With a thunderous crash, the creature met the ground, though it continued sliding for nearly a half-mile.

When the creature finally came to a stop, Argus – who was quite exhausted at this point – pulled out the mouth pipe from its loop on the left side of his belt. He took a deep breath and let out four distinct calls, a pattern that was unique to successful hunters. Soon, the village would arrive and help him harvest everything useful from his kill. He slowly began his climb down from the top of the animal. On the ground again, he took inventory of his extremities. Everything was accounted for, though he did have a few minor cuts and scrapes. Argus had known hunters that had lost fingers without realizing it, the thrill of the hunt had been so strong. If he had any wounds that needed attention, now was the time for it. However, without the need for first-aid, Argus sat down and leaned back against a still upright tree as he waited for the others.

He did not have to wait long. Just as he was truly getting comfortable, he heard the village’s chief call to him.

“Argus!” the older man called. “Quite the impressive jaub you have here.”

“Aye,” Argus called back, turning in the direction of his elder tribesman. “It will sustain our people for some time, Orion.”

“I think a jaub like this will offer much in food and textiles.” Orion was now in front of Argus and he extended his hand to help the other man to his feet. “I hope that the benefits of this one will also be bounteous, but we will not know for certain until we have sliced it open.”

“Please let me know the quality of the jaub when the assessment has been completed. Now excuse me, I must go and look for Eos.” Orion nodded and went to observe the deconstruction and appraisal of the newly landed jaub while Argus wearily began looking for his wife amongst the crowd that had formed. While he was searching, a hand lightly touched his shoulder, causing him to turn and look for the hand’s owner. He was met by the face of his wife, Eos, with her violet-grey eyes and reddish-blonde hair (though a few streaks of white had started to come in). She was carrying their young child, a boy named Aether.

“Quite the jaub you have landed, Argus,” she said to him, proudly. She turned to face Aether, “Your father is the best at finding and landing jaubs, young one.”

Argus looked at his little family, happy that he could provide a good life for them through his efforts. After all, everything comes from the jaubs that he lands: food, clothing, tools, medicine, even materials for their houses. In the past, hunters would go after other animals as prey, but no other creature provided as much to men as jaubs did, so now that was the only prey worth going after. Once the jaub was landed, other men and women of the village would deconstruct it down to the various components to be used. The various insides, called benefits, were especially valuable since they were essential components in medicines. However, no part of the jaub could be utilized without the jaub itself first being landed. In many ways, Argus thought, the hunter was the most important role in the village.

With his wife and child beside him, Argus slowly walked back to the village for a well-deserved rest. The hunt would begin again soon, but for now, he would enjoy his time off.

Bitter

Fernando poured a cup of coffee and passed it to Britta. She accepted the cup happily and breathed in the aroma. It was a cold, winter morning, so having some hot coffee would do her some good. She usually added creamer to her coffee, but she didn’t want to delay warming up, so she decided to take it black this time.

She looked at Fernando as he poured a cup for himself and thought about her feelings towards him. They were just friends – him with his girlfriend and her with Rick – but she often wondered if things would be different were they not tied down. Not that she wanted to break things off with Rick; she just wondered if she and Fernando would be compatible as a couple, or if being friends was for the best.

She continued thinking on the matter when she took her first sip of coffee. Not only was it still rather hot, it was also very strong. Strong and incredibly bitter. She looked back at Fernando and was suddenly annoyed at him. Why hadn’t he told her that the coffee was like this? Didn’t he care about her at all?

Her annoyance grew until she was not just angry, she was furious. All of the time that she and Fernando had spent hanging out and this is how he repays her friendship? He might as well slap her in the face. No, a slap in the face would be better than this. This was like a stab in the back.

Fernando turned to offer Britta some creamer, when he saw that she was glaring at him. He seemed to know what was going on and spoke up.

“Britta,” he said, “you can’t drink this coffee straight: it’s very bitter and can sometimes affect the drinker.” He opened a shot of French Vanilla creamer and held it out for his friend. “Drink this, it will help mellow out the coffee.”

Britta looked at him, scowling. “Don’t you mean it'll mellow me out?”

“Just drink it, Britta.”

“Why should I do anything you tell me to do, Fernando?” Britta asked, her words dripping with venom.

“Drink this and I’ll leave you alone forever.”

“Good,” Britta said as she grabbed the shot and threw her head back as she downed the contents. Suddenly, she wasn’t angry anymore. In fact, she wasn’t sure why she had been angry at all. She looked at her friend. “What happened?”

“I forgot to tell you,” Fernando explained, “this is pure, uncut Columbian coffee that my tia sent me. It can be a bit strong for the uninitiated. It sometimes makes the drinker as bitter as the coffee itself. Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Britta said, still a little surprised at what had happened. She looked at Fernando and thought about how he was such a good friend. Here he was sharing with her something that his aunt had sent him. That was just like him to be so kind. Maybe if things were different …

Natural Living

Angie stared out of her bedroom window. From her vantage point, she could see into her neighbor’s backyard, the same backyard where she and her husband had eaten dinner last night. She looked on, frozen with a bizarre mixture of emotions, as her neighbor’s young son was pooping on the grass.

“Eric,” Angie called. Her husband walked out of the adjoining bathroom where he had been brushing his teeth.

“Mrlph?” he questioned, his words obscured as he wiped his mouth with a hand towel, walking towards her. “What’s up, Ange?”

“Remember dinner last night at the Wright’s?”

“Babe, why would I forget? It was just last night. Plus, I still can’t get the taste of kale out of my mouth.”

Without saying a word, Angie pointed towards the young boy who was now running around the backyard, completely naked.

“Is that Grover?” Eric asked, squinting his eyes. “And is he naked?”

“Yeah, but that’s not even the weirdest thing. Just, like, a minute a go, I saw him pooping. Right on the grass, too.”

“No way!” Eric said is disbelief. “Like, what, he was just squatting and taking a dump?”

“Yeah! I mean, he’s only three, but that’s still super gross. Why would Wayne and Verona let him do that?”

“Come on, they don’t know this is happening. I’m sure Grover just got up before them and he’s, y’know, being a kid.”

“You used to poop outside as a kid?” Angie asked incredulously, turning to face her husband, one eyebrow raised.

“That’s not what I meant,” Eric said, putting his hands lovingly about his wife’s waist. “Just that he’s doing something dumb and weird.”

“We need to tell them about this. He shouldn’t be allowed outside, especially to go to the bathroom.”

“Whoa, hold on, Angie,” Eric said, his voice becoming serious. “You can’t just order them around.”

“I’m not ordering anyone to do anything,” Angie said, walking towards the nightstand on her side of the bed. “I’m just going to let them know what’s happening and they’ll obviously take care of it.” Angie picked up her cell phone and started scrolling through the contact list. “What’s their number?”

“I don’t know; I never got it.”

“Fine. I’ll walk over and tell her.” Angie walked over to the closet and began to change out of her pajamas

“Please don’t make a thing out of this,” Eric said to her from his spot in front of the window.

“I’m not making a ‘thing’ out of this. There’s nothing to make out of it. I’m just going to ring their bell, tell them that their son is running around like a wild animal, and then I’m going for a run.”

“Just try to be careful how you tell them.”

Angie walked out of the closet, now wearing running shorts and a t-shirt and carrying a balled-up pair of socks in one hand and her running shoes in the other. She sat down on the edge of the bed to put them on. “It’s fine, Eric,” she said without looking up.

“I just mean that some people might be offended to have their child described as ‘a wild animal.’”

“Obviously I’m not going to use those exact words,” Angie said, a little annoyed. Having tied her shoes, she walked into the bathroom and started brushing her hair. “I’ll be back in, like, thirty minutes and we’ll have breakfast.” She stopped and turned to look Eric in the eye. “I promise that I won’t be offensive, okay?”

“Alright,” Eric said, not pushing the matter further. “I’ll have breakfast ready when you get home.” He turned and walked downstairs to the kitchen.

Angie returned to brushing her dark, curly hair. It was so frustrating that Eric was more concerned about not offending their weird neighbors than taking her side. She just wanted him to listen to her and see her side of things. She decided that she was brushing her hair a little too hard, probably because she was annoyed with her husband. She pulled her hair into a pony tail with a hair-tie and pulled a head band out of a drawer to further keep her unruly hair in place. Clearly, her Puerto Rican ancestors had never considered how big, think, curly hair would make exercising so uncomfortable. She applied some deodorant and left the bathroom.

She grabbed her phone and slid it into its armband case which she put on her left upper-arm. She picked up her earbuds and started untangling them as she walked down the stairs. When she made it to the bottom, she said “bye” to Eric, who replied in kind, and walked out the door.

It was still pretty early, at least for a Saturday, so the street was mostly empty. That would make running easier. Angie was still annoyed at Eric for not being supportive, but she had a feeling there was more to her state than was obvious at the surface. Sometimes that happened. Even though she didn’t know what was bothering her, she knew that her run would help. Running always seemed to clear her head and after watching a little boy poop in his backyard, she needed her mind cleared out.

~~~

As Katy Perry’s “Roar” played in her ears, Angie ran. This run was different than usual. Normally when she ran, the running was the point. This time, it felt like she was running away from something. She reviewed the recent conversation in her mind, looking for reason in the confusion. She had rung the doorbell of the Wright’s home and was greeted by Verona.

“Oh hi, Angela!” Verona said, smiling broadly. “Long time, no see.”

“Yeah, hi” Angie said, smiling nervously. “And Angie’s fine. Anyway, I just stopped by to tell you that I saw Grover in your backyard and that you might want to check up on him, that’s all.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I know he’s back there. He can be a handful and letting him run around in the morning makes him more manageable.”

“Okay. Did you know that he’s naked?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. Remember last night when I said that we like having everything ‘all natural’? I wasn’t just talking about food. Other animals don’t wear clothes, so why do we? Wayne and I are teaching Grover to not be ashamed of his body. Whenever we’re at home, we encourage him to wear as little as he wants to. It should be great for his self-esteem.”

Angie knew that Verona was kind of a hippie but this was really pushing the envelope. Suddenly, Angie didn’t want to waste any more time talking and just get to running.

“Right. Well, I also saw him, um, pooping. In the backyard. Just thought you should know.”

“I think that it’s barbaric to force our children to hold in their waste. No other animal besides humans wear diapers or use toilets. Obviously we can’t always live naturally and organically, but that’s only because society forces its norms on us and makes us assimilate. We want Grover to have as much freedom as possible, so yes, we let him relieve himself outside. Besides, human waste makes for wonderful fertilizer, so our garden is very healthy.”

Angie’s blood ran cold. “You mean you use your family’s poop as fertilizer for the food that we ate last night? Like the tomatoes and onions and kale we ate last night were grown out of your poop?”

“Yes! Isn’t it amazing what you can do when you go back to living organically? I like to think that some of our vegetables, I’ve eaten twice.”

~~~

Angie had felt suddenly queasy, something that happens when you find out your dinner the night before grew out of human-manure. She told Verona that she just wanted to make sure that Grover was okay, but she had get going for her morning run.

Having finished her two miles, she thought about going farther, as if she could sweat out her uneasiness. She decided that the best thing to do was to go home and eat a new meal. She couldn’t un-eat dinner, but she could replace it with something new.

She walked through the front door and was greeted by the rich smell of bacon in the air. Eric’s cooking was usually simple, but it was also usually tasty. She went into the kitchen, still a little sweaty from her exercise, to find Eric sliding an omelette on to a dining plate, next to another plate with a matching omelette. She walked over to the fridge to grab a cold water bottle when she asked what kind of omelettes he had made.

“Well,” Eric replied, “the Wrights had sent us home with some kale, so I figured we should get rid of it right away. And you know how bacon can improve the taste of anything, so it should go down pretty easy. Babe, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Indeed, Angie was frozen in horror as she looked at her breakfast. After a moment (but what felt like an eternity) she finally was able to compose herself enough to say what was wrong.

“Eric,” Angie said, not taking her eyes off of the omelettes, “the Wrights make their own fertilizer.”

“Well, sure. Lots of people have compost heaps.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she said, turning to look her husband in the eye. “What I saw Grover doing this morning was making fertilizer.”

Suddenly, all of the color drained from Eric’s face. He moved quickly over to the sink and started making retching noises. Angie walked up behind him put a hand lovingly on his shoulder. Seeing him like this made her feel better. Not because he was dry-heaving, but because it meant that he was on her side. Their conversation this morning had made it feel like there was a distance between them, but here in the ugly-light of nausea, she could see that he was on her side. As gross as it was, it was also a beautiful moment.

After nearly a minute of dry-heaving, Eric stood up and turned to face his wife. “I am never eating anything from their garden again,” he said, his grey-blue eyes full of moisture. He looked over in disgust at what he had made for breakfast. “What’s the opposite of garden-fresh vegetables?”

Angie couldn’t help but laugh a little before she replied. “Probably bacon.”

“Bacon alone is no match for manure-fed kale. Let’s go to McDonald’s.”

Angie nodded in agreement, gently smiling.

As she climbed into the passenger seat of the car as Eric held the door for her, Angie was happy for the weird morning she had had. It was frustrating to have Eric disagree with her, but if they hadn’t disagreed, it wouldn’t have felt so good when they were back in agreement. If it took having the argument to get to the happy moment of being equally grossed-out by their neighbors, she was glad to have gone through it all.

Though she doubted that they’d ever eat kale again.

Unexpected Visitors

"Hello?" John called into his dark living room from his bedroom. "Who's there?"

A voice called back to him, though not one that he knew. "We don't mean to startle you, my good man. We are simply a pair of weary travelers that unfortunately wound up in your domicile."

Great, thought John, some crazy hobo's broken in and now he's lost. Should I call the cops? Do the cops even deal with crazy hobos? While he was trying to decide what to do next, he stepped out far enough to turn on the lights.

"Ah, splendid! You have electric lamps!" said a different voice, with what sounded like a Russian accent. John's eyes were adjusting to the light, but he could see that there were two men in the living room with him, but they didn't look like any homeless person he'd ever seen before. One man was very tall and thin with a dark mustache and was wearing a very old-looking suit. The other man looked like, well, he looked like Mark Twain.

John tried to raise the baseball bat he was carrying menacingly, but his expression was far too confused to intimidate anyone. "What's going on here? Did you guys come from a play or something? Why are you dressed like Mark Twain?"

The Mark Twain doppelganger smiled broadly. "You recognize me! That is quite nice to know. Tell me what year is it?"

John was thoroughly confused now. "Is this like a gag or something? Are you guys, like, making a video for YouTube or something?" he asked as he lowered the bat to his side.

"What my friend means," said the Russian-sounding guy, "is that we have recently traveled and are no longer aware of the date. Would you be so kind as to inform us?"

Completely at a loss for what was happening, John told them.

Mark Twain laughed "Ha ha! Over one hundred years later and my name is still well known!"

"Your pen name is well known," corrected the Russian-sounding man.

"Very well, but he recognized my face as well. I would say that's even more remarkable!"

"Just a second," John said, gathering back some determination. "What is going on? Why are you in my apartment?"

"Our sincere apologies," replied the tall man who's accent wasn't quite Russian, John decided. "My name is Nikola Tesla. You appear to already know of my companion. We were conducting an experiment in my lab in New York City in the year 1896 and we were transported through space and time."

John rolled his eyes. "You expect me to believe that you time-traveled here?"

"The choice to believe our tale or not is entirely yours," said Mark Twain, "but your rejection of our explanation will not change the facts."

John thought for a moment. He decided that if he had to deal with crazy people, he might as well have some fun. "Out of all of history, why'd you come to my apartment at 1 in the morning?"

Nikola explained: "In truth, this is not our first journey through time. We were attempting to arrive back to our starting time, but we appear to have missed our target, but by only about one hundred years this time. I am confident that the next attempt will be successful."

John smiled a little. "It's starting to make sense now. You guys are high, right? You guys on mushrooms or somethi--" John was interrupted by the sound of glass breaking in the bathroom. "There's more of you?" he asked as he walked quickly towards the bathroom. As he walked, Nikola called behind him, "If there's another traveler, it is purely by accident!"

John opened the bathroom door and saw a guy in his late teens or early twenties, wearing a dress. All around him on the floor were shards of glass that used to be the bathroom mirror. The man looked up, clearly shocked. Nikola and Mark appeared behind John, peering over his shoulders. Without turning around, John addressed the two men to his rear. "A friend of yours?"

"Not quite," Mark said. "That is a young man we recruited to help us when we were last stranded in ancient Greece. He can become very distracted by his own reflection. For this reason, I believe that he is the one that the myth of Narcissus was based on."

"Okay," John said. "Let's get him out of here before he cuts himself trying to make out with a shard of broken glass."

~~~

Wide awake, John was pacing back and forth across the living room floor. "So let me get this straight. Nik, you worked for Thomas Edison and he stole a bunch of your ideas. Later, you started you own lab and became friends with Mark - sorry, Sam. You two were hanging out and tried an experiment when you were transported to sixteenth century England. You tried to duplicate the experiment, but ended up somewhere in France during the Crusades. You tried again and wound up in ancient Greece where you picked up this guy by mistake. And now you think you can make it back to where you started if you try one more time?"

"Yes, very good summary," said Sam from his seat on the sofa.

"Why will this time work when the other times just sent you off all over the place?"

"With each attempt," answered Nik, who was sitting next to Sam, "we obtain better control over the place and date of our destination. For example, we finally made it back to the United States, though Philadelphia is clearly not New York. Also, this was our first successful forward leap in time rather than go backwards again. Even if we don't make it exactly to where and when we are attempting, we will surely be much closer than now."

John nodded his head, thinking. "And the equipment you build to make these time jumps gets destroyed every time?"

"Correct. However, with your materials and appliances in this, our future, we should be ready much faster this time."

John looked over to Narss (as he had started calling him), who was sitting on an ottoman and was occupied taking selfies with John's cell phone. "And what about him? Are you going to take him back to his time first?"

"As much as I hate to say it," Sam said, "we can't risk getting lost again. We'll have to take him with us to our time. I'm certain that his family will miss him, but they surely won't miss all the time he took watching his reflection. That aside, we can provide him a good life in our time, one much better than he would have lived in his own."

"I can probably convince my sister to adopt him," offered Nik. "She is very caring, even to strangers."

John stopped pacing and looked at Sam and Nik. "Let's pretend that I believe what you're saying. Why should I help you?"

Sam stood up and looked John squarely in the eye while placing a hand firmly on his shoulder. "Why, for the adventure! Just think, no one in your time will have ever met a time-traveler. Not only have you already met three, but you can now help us get back to our own time. No other man in history will be able to say that!"

"Except for Narcissus," pointed out Nik.

Sam shot an annoyed glare at his friend. "Well, no other man will be able to say that and won't also be stranded in another time."

"How much time do you need to build your equipment again?" asked John.

"I expect that it should take only about one or two days," answered Nik.

~~~

Nearly three weeks later and the three men were finally ready to leave. Nik's estimation had been based on what technologies he assumed would be available in the year 2014. Even so, John was impressed with what they had accomplished. A couple of old TVs and a microwave from a thrift store, along with various odd bits of wire and parts from a few calculators, and Nik and Sam had supposedly built a time machine. Now, here in the parking lot behind the closed-down movie theater, it was time for the moment of truth.

"Thank you again for your kindness, John," said Sam. "This has been our best trip as of yet."

"Agreed," Nik said while still making some final adjustments to the machine.

"I still don't know why you two didn't want to look anything up on the internet," said John, "to see how things worked out for you."

"Knowing the future won't stop me from dying one day," Sam said, "but it would make me fret over each moment until the final day. I'd rather enjoy the time I have, however long that may be."

"And I," Nik said, turning to face John, "do not wish to lose out on the experience of discovering new ideas and concepts on my own."

"Beside that," Sam said, "Narcissus has been using your machine to view this inter-net the whole time, so we'd hardly have a chance ourselves even if we'd wanted it."

"I meant to ask about that," John said, looking over at Narss. "What's he been looking at?"

Nik called Narss over and said a few words in another language to him. After a reply, Nik translated. "He said that he very much enjoys something called the 'Book of Faces' and how anyone can take photographs of himself to share with others. He is especially impressed with some young woman named Paris. He has learned a lot from her about loving one's own self. Also, he says that he very much enjoys moving pictures of cats."

John nodded his head. "It looks like he really understands the internet. Did he see anything he didn't like?"

Nik said a few more words to Narss, whose reply was much shorter than the previous one. "He said that a man named Khan-yay West needs to get over himself."

With that, the three men each took turns shaking John's hand before grasping the coiled-wire handles that allowed them to interface with the machine. John stepped back to what Nik had assured him was a safe distance and waved good-bye. The other men waved back as Nik pressed the initiation button. Suddenly, there was a flash of light and John had to shield his eyes with his hands to keep from being blinded. After a few seconds, the light faded and John lowered his hands.

He had to admit, he was impressed. The three men were gone, along with about half of the machine. What remained of the machine was partially on fire. Everything looked about how Nik and Sam had predicted.

After such witnessing the operation of a legitimate time machine, and spending nearly a month with legendary historical figures, John summed up his feelings: "Man, that was weird."