In the Time-Storm's Eye

Short Story — Desperate to see his father one last time, a brilliant inventor returns to the video rental store where they last spoke, but finds someone else waiting for him instead...

Apologies for the absence — I’ve had a chaotic few weeks full of hurricanes, evacuations, and storm clean-up. Fret not; I’m back with plenty more stories to share!

Photo by Clinton Naik on Unsplash

We lost my dad on a warm summer evening, during one of our weekly trips to the video rental store, picking out something to watch for family movie night. Some drunk shitstain blew a red light on our way home and T-boned us. He was dead before the ambulance even got there.

I was with him, like I always was. Used to say I was his little buddy; his shadow. He’d pick the movie, I’d pick the snacks. That last trip always haunted me: maybe if I had been a little quicker grabbing the sour gummy worms… if the cashier had been a little slower ringing us up… we wouldn’t have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

So, when a lifetime of obsessive research led me to the ChronoWalker — a device capable of navigating the currents of time — I had an obvious destination in mind.

I kept the cloaking fields on as I piloted the ChronoWalker's cramped, spherical JumpPod into the back section of Reel Cheap Rentals, checked the dinner plate-sized porthole to ensure the coast was clear, and opened the hatch. 

The place looked a little different than I'd remembered — perhaps my perspective as a full-grown adult made the shelves seem a bit shorter, and the aisles narrower — but the smell saturating the place matched my recollection exactly. A distinct odor of carpet shampoo and popcorn emanated from the galaxy-patterned floor.

I pretended to browse the horror section while straining my ears for footsteps or conversation. I grabbed one of the cheap clamshell cases from the horror section and gave it a shake. The plastic rattle of the VHS inside seemed to be the only sound in the store, aside from the hum of the fluorescents overhead.

From the moment I realized time jumping was possible, a single question dominated my waking hours: what would I do when I actually saw my father? After more sleepless nights than I can count, I decided that I couldn't save him. But I could see him one last time, and hear his voice. 

Maybe then I could find peace. 

First I'd have to find him. And after a full minute of waiting and listening, I started to wonder whether my Chronometer had been off. But the analogue clock above the door confirmed I'd arrived during business hours. I crept along the row of shelves and poked my head out, just far enough to get a look at the front desk. A big box of candy sat open, half-unpacked before a wire-frame shelf of partially stocked snacks. Two crinkled dollar bills sat on the counter. While the register appeared unmanned, its drawer hung open, waiting for payment to be deposited. It was as if both customer and cashier had vanished mid-transaction.

As I walked around the store to confirm the place was in fact empty, a new sound began to overpower the buzzing lights: an intermittent, howling wind. For all the details I’d misremembered, I was certain this evening had been clear and sunny. Something was very wrong here.

I peered through the window out to the dark strip mall parking lot. The place was still crowded with cars, all standing up to their doors in water. A few idled in the right of way, headlights flickering against the torrential rain. It was as if their drivers had simply vanished, partway through the process of leaving the lot.

"I wouldn't go out there if I were you."

I leapt back from the door, spinning around on the spot to find the shop was no longer empty. Standing beside the register was a lanky man sporting a black chevron mustache, green coveralls, and a matching painter's cap. He leaned on the handle of a beat-up vacuum cleaner, cord trailing out of sight down the aisle I'd come from.