Seth

The sound of the fork scraping eagerly against the ceramic plate was loud in the otherwise silent room.

Jennifer sat across the table as the boy—she could no longer bring herself to refer to it as a creature, a thing, or an it either in words or thought—brought the last forkful of pancakes up to his mouth.

Since returning to the house nearly three hours before, he had consumed two quarts of orange juice, an entire jar of marmalade, a half bag of marshmallows that she had found in the back of the fridge, and an entire box of pancake mix that had yielded five short stacks. The counter, stove, and left side of the table was littered with the nearly-untouched foods that she had tried to offer to him, all of which he had refused. It seemed that meat and vegetables were the most offensive to his digestive system, because after a cursory sniff at them, he had pushed them aside and stared at her with wide, innocent eyes.

Anything that was high in sugar and carbohydrates immediately sent him into a nearly ravenous state, but after she had managed to coax him into slowly eating his food rather than shoveling great gobs of it into his mouth, he seemed…almost human.

But he’s not human. More importantly, he is not my Seth.

How many times had she repeated this over and over in her mind, as if by saying it enough times would somehow convince her of the obvious truth?

Seth was dead, buried. This being may look like her son, but underneath the deep blue eyes and apple cheeks it was something altogether unknown and impossible.

By this point there was no denying that the meteorite and this being were connected, but to what extent she could not even begin to hazard a guess.

“You were hungry, weren’t you?”

The boy looked up from his empty plate, the fork still clutched in his left hand. Seth had been right handed, but Jennifer was a lefty. When she had demonstrated how to use the fork, spoon, and butter knife, she had done so with her left. The boy was extremely intelligent and seemed to be picking up on the smallest and most complex things by the second, and anyone watching wouldn’t suspect that he was anything other than what he appeared to be.

For whatever reason he hadn’t managed to communicate by speaking, and aside from the initial terrified whimpers, communication between them had been in the non-verbal sense.

Non-verbal. That was a vague understatement. She could hear his thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken aloud, and while he could understand her whenever she spoke, he had not uttered a single word.

I was hungry, but now I’m…I’m…. The features of his face scrunched up as if in deep concentration as he tried to find the word to describe what he was feeling. It was so much like Seth had done whenever he was finishing his math homework or was trying to determine the name of some rock specimen that he had found, that she felt nearly overcome with emotion.

She tried to cover her reaction by bringing her coffee mug up to her mouth, but the boy, who had been watching her intently, sensed that something was wrong. She shook her head and lowered her gaze, unsure of what he would think of the tears spilling down her cheeks. When she had fainted he had remained by her side, keeping watch until she regained consciousness. Affection seemed as natural to him as breathing or eating, and whenever he had sensed that she was fearful or overwhelmed, he had reached out to comfort her in his own strange, silent way.

He immediately set the fork down and pushed back from the table. His feet made hardly any sound on the old linoleum floor as he quickly padded over to her and stood silent and patient at her side. The large blue eyes seemed enormous and full of sadness as he reached down and gently took her hand in his. She let him, marveling once again at how lifelike the sensation was, even though she knew that it was a lie.

Her shoulders shook as she cried silently and he squeezed her hand reassuringly.

I hurt you.

When she glanced up, the boy’s expression was plaintive and full of misery. She forced herself to smile and wiped at the twin tracks trailing down her cheeks. “No, you did nothing wrong. It’s not your fault that I’m sad.”

What is ‘sad’?

She sighed and continued to hold his hand, no longer fearful of his touch. “It’s just that you look like my son, Seth. Seth is….” She glanced up at his face, gauging his reaction. He continued to stand there staring at her, but she could tell by the look in his eye that he was trying his best to understand her. In the three hours since she had brought him home and had begun speaking to him, his vocabulary had grown immensely.

“Seth died seven months ago in an accident. You look like my son when he was younger, but you are not him—you can’t be him. I know that I should be afraid of you, but I’m not.”

“Yes, and now he is gone.”

His expression was much too solemn for one so young. Dead.

She nodded and then leaned down so that they were more eye to eye. “Why did you take on his appearance? Was it so I wouldn’t be afraid of you?”

The boy stared at her through the bangs of his hair—she really had to do something about how long and unruly it was—and then slowly raised his left hand and pointed. Her eyes followed where he was indicating and they landed on a photograph of Seth seated at the dining room table. To his left stood Jennifer, her eyes alight as she prepared to set a lit birthday cake down in front of him. The picture was two years old and had been taken on his eighth birthday.

Your son.

“Yes, that’s my son.”

You love him even though you are sad. You love him even though he is gone, dead.

“Yes, I love him even though I am sad. That’s what love is—it’s beautiful and terrifying and it oftentimes doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense to love someone who is dead, yet we do. It’s what makes us human.”

Almost as soon as she said that last part she regretted it. The boy wasn’t human, yet he behaved as though he were. What was human then, if a being such as himself could feel and act the way human beings did?

If her words hurt him he didn’t let it show. Instead he smiled almost wistfully as if he both understood and forgave her.

I don’t want you to be sad, but I’m too weak to change my form again. I need to return to where I came from or I’ll be gone too, dead.

“What do you mean that you’re too weak? You seem perfectly fine to me and the way you’ve been eating….” A cold dread suddenly gripped her. The boy had been consuming copious amounts of food and drink since his discovery, but even now she became aware of his stomach grumbling as if it were empty. There was a pinched expression around his eyes, as if he were ill or in pain.

Hungry. He looked from her to his empty plate. I don’t want to die.

“I won’t let that happen to you, okay? I promise. Just tell me what I have to do to help you, and I’ll do it.” She felt a fierce protectiveness overcome her. She was already running through a mental inventory of what she had in the pantry. There was stuff for more pancakes and even cookies—yes, he would love cookies—and somewhere in the freezer out back were all kinds of casseroles and desserts that friends and family had dropped off after Seth’s passing.

That should last a few days and then I can go into town and buy groceries. I can’t take him with me because how will I explain to people who he is?

The boy gave a small, frightened whimper. Don’t leave me. Please.

“Never.” She reached down and embraced him without thinking. He yielded, and after a few moments, awkwardly returned the embrace.

“I won’t leave you.” Her voice was muffled against the soft nest of his hair which was warm yet curiously devoid of scent.

His arms tightened around her and she could feel that he was trembling slightly. I can’t stay here. I must go back.

She nodded, still holding him tight to her. “I know. I’ll help you get back, just tell me how.”

I need them to return—will you help me find them?

“What ‘them,’ what do you mean?”

He drew back, and with his left hand he pointed towards the windowsill above the sink. The strange rocks winked and sparkled in the early afternoon sun streaming in the window. They had been lined up neatly in a row, some five in all.

Without a word he released his hold on her and strode over to the window. He stood on tiptoe and reached out, grasping the largest one in the center of the row. He turned to face her, his expression unreadable as he balanced the rock in the center of his upturned palm.

Don’t be afraid.

The rock began to wobble slightly, as if alive. She watched in a mixture of trepidation and fascination as the wobbling grew more intense. Soon the movement of the rock began to blur as it sped up. It began to emit a low-pitched humming that seemed to throb through flesh, sinew and bone. An incandescent icy light began to pulsate from within the whirling, flashing crystals, and from their position on the windowsill, the others began to spin and glow.

With a flick of his wrist he tossed the rock into the air where it hung suspended. It continued to spin and twist, all the while emitting that same eerie humming. Too fast for her eyes to register, the others flew off of the windowsill and joined the one hanging in mid-air. They hovered uncertainly within the axis of the spinning center rock, slowly circling it like a satellite. The humming began to increase in intensity as the rocks circled faster and faster, and then with an almost crystalline-like pitch, they shot towards the center as if a magnet had drawn them inward. With an audible click they seemed to notch together like the pieces of a puzzle, melding smoothly into a sphere the size of a soccer ball. The whole spun lazily round and round, and Jennifer could see that a hole remained in one side, as if a piece were missing.

I need them to return—will you help me find them?

Memories of her flinging the strange rocks away from her into the brush flashed through her mind. There had been eight—no, nine—of them in all that she had retrieved from the dry river bed, but was that all of them? The sound of something crashing through the brush as it had clumsily run away had prompted her to leave the site, and now, as she looked deep into the eyes of the boy who had become her son in more than just appearance, she knew.

“That was you, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. Will you help me find them?

“Yes. I will help you find them.”