Category: Weird Science

The Artist Who Lost Himself and Stole His Own Painting

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“And what do you want to be when you grow up?” the teacher asked.

“I’m going to be an artist,” Oscar solemnly declared.

“And what else?”

“Just an artist, nothing else.”

Oscar loved to paint since he was very small. He especially loved drawing on the walls, as high as he could reach. When he drew on the wall, his artwork was still there the next day, making the world beautiful.

Of course, his parents tried to hide the pens and pencils and crayons and markers. Oscar always found something to paint with. If he couldn’t find paints, he’d draw with make up. When that was hidden, he painted with ketchup or soap or shampoo or deodorant or toothpaste.

His parents gave up. “When we move out someday, you are going to help us paint the walls.”

Oscar grinned. “That sounds wonderful. I’d love to!”

“We’re going to be painting them white.”

“Just white?”

“Just white. Nothing else.”

Oscar was horrified. “Who would want plain white walls? I’d be happy to paint something much, much better.”

When he finally finished art school, Oscar went door to door selling portraits. Despite his talent, it took a long time to be successful. He persisted. Eventually, he saved up enough money to have a studio to paint in.

He didn’t have to go door to door to sell his paintings any more. People came to him asking to buy them. He finally had all the time he wanted to paint. And so he painted a lot.

He painted beautiful, realistic still lifes. He painted apples and partridges, pears and playing cards, water glasses and plums. He painted lovely, inviting landscapes. He painted deserts and mountains and oceans and forests. He added cows and geese and camels and elephants. He painted on canvases and walls of all sizes and shapes.

“Maybe you were right about this art thing,” his dad said one day on a visit to his studio. “Some of these are really good. Do you ever paint anything for advertisements?”

His mom looked at the walls, all covered in paint and shook her head. “You never did grow out of that, did you?”

“Out of painting?” Oscar asked.

“Out of painting on the walls.”

Oscar sighed. “They’re murals, Mom. People pay me to do them, so I have to practice somewhere.”

And then one day, Oscar wanted to move on and paint something grander. Something that was better than anything he had ever painted before. He wanted to paint his magnum opus.

Right away, he was faced with a difficult decision. Would he paint a still life or a landscape? After some thought, he made a decision. Why not both?

He painted a room with large windows. The windows looked out on a lovely forested hill on the edge of a charming village. Friendly animals peered through the branches of the trees. The room was filled with all the things he liked best. Art supplies and canvases, photo albums and his favorite paintings. Food and flowers.

It all looked lovely, beautiful, realistic, and inviting. Just like Pygmalion, Oscar fell in love with his art. He spent hours staring at the perfect room with the perfect view and sighing.

He couldn’t paint anything else. It was a crisis. His parents and friends and customers and teachers all visited, but Oscar refused to look at anything but the painting.

And one day, when he reached out to touch a perfect pear, his hand met empty air. The canvas was a door instead of a window. Oscar stepped inside and made himself at home.

“Oh look, Oscar painted himself inside his last painting,” his mom said. “I wonder where he went.”

“We’ll leave him a note,” his Dad said. “I think he should paint some pictures to advertise that new toothpaste. Mint fields in the sun or something. I’ll include it in the note.”

But Oscar stayed in the painting. He was declared missing, and eventually, his parents came and collected his things. They sold his painting to a museum. Oscar was not pleased.

The moment the painting left his studio, Oscar hid out of sight when people were around. He didn’t think he could sit still long enough to fool people into thinking his painting was normal. If they knew they could come inside, everyone would want to come of course. It was his magnum opus. But, he really didn’t want any company.

In the museum, people were around all day. They were noisy and pointed and took pictures. Even worse, some people scoffed and said that his painting was boring. Oscar sat out of sight and fumed. The museum didn’t deserve his painting.

One night, he slipped out of the painting, plucked it off the wall, and left. He took it back to his parents’ house and hung it in his old bedroom. They returned it when they finally noticed, but he just stole it again. And again. And no one seemed to notice it happening.

They finally gave up. Left in peace, Oscar could finally start painting again. He left his new paintings in his old bedroom. The museum was thrilled to buy paintings that didn’t steal themselves. Everyone lived happily ever after.

Another Time Machine Story

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Archie had finally done it. He’d made a time machine. The grants committee said that he couldn’t do it and laughed him out the door, but they were wrong. Even Eugene, the mad scientist living in the haunted house three streets away had tried to discourage him.

“Even if you build a time machine, you can’t go back and change time,” Eugene said. “Everybody knows that.”

“Everybody is wrong, and I’m going to prove it.” Archie glared at Eugene.

Eugene sighed. “Why is this so important to you? What do you want to change?”

“My dog Rex was hit by a car when I was five. I’m going to save Rex.”

“Good luck.”

It took years of work, but it was worth it. He patted his framed photo of Rex with a smile. “I’ll see you soon, buddy.”

In the middle of the night, he moved the machine to the park by his childhood home and set the date and time. There was a burst of light and the time machine buzzed. It stopped.

It was morning, a half hour before Rex would come racing out the front door.   Archie locked up the time machine and covered it with a tarp. He looked around. Something wasn’t quite right.

The world looked hazy. It was like there was a bad connection between him and the world around him.   Archie reached out to touch a nearby tree. His hand went straight through.   He looked down. His feet were floating a few inches above the ground.

This was not good. If he couldn’t touch anything, how would he save Rex? Maybe he could still be heard or seen. He had time to figure this out.

He walked through the park. The old lady who came to sit on the park bench and knit was already there, sitting in the shade. She didn’t look as old as he’d remembered.

He almost tried to sit down next to her, but caught himself just in time.   He reached out and his hand went through the bench. That could have been comical.

“Mrs. Simon, can you hear me?” he asked politely. She didn’t look up. “Can you hear me?” he asked a little louder. She didn’t stop knitting.

A man walked by with a dog. Archie followed him, trying to get the dog’s attention. Nothing he did worked. No one could see or hear him.

He couldn’t bear to watch Rex die again. He decided to go back and fix what was wrong. Even better, he’d go to the future and get the answer from his future self. If he couldn’t see or hear himself, he’d at least be able to look at the time machine and see what was different.

Archie returned to the time machine and set the date for five years into the future from when he’d left. That should be enough time to fine-tune the machine. Getting it to travel in time was the hard part.

There was a burst of light, and the machine buzzed. When he stopped, there was nothing. The time machine was floating in a formless void. There were no stars or bits of rocks or anything at all.   Even if the earth had been destroyed somehow, surely there would be something left?

Obviously, his time machine had more problems than he’d thought. Time to return and fix it. He set the date and time to five minutes before he left.

The world was hazy again. He watched his ghostly double set up the machine, climb in and set the date and time.   There was a burst of light, and the world was back in focus.

He drove the machine back home. Eugene was waiting on his front porch. “Now you know,” he said.

Archie frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Do you think you were the first to build a time machine? To try to go back and fix something?”

“Well, yes. Everyone else thought it wouldn’t work.”

Eugene shook his head. “I told you that you couldn’t fix anything, not that it wouldn’t work. The past can’t be changed. The future hasn’t happened yet, so it doesn’t exist.”

“But…”

“Some people spend so much time trying to change what can’t be changed, that they don’t live the life they have now. It’s such a waste.”

Archie sat on the porch steps with a thump. “But Rex…”

“Was a very happy dog, and is probably in a good place. But there are other dogs that need help now. And there are other projects that could use your attention.” Eugene patted his shoulder. “It’s a lesson we all have to learn. Welcome to the mad scientist club.”

Archie sat up straighter. “Wait, there’s a club? And you have to build a time machine to join? Wow.”

Eugene smiled and started to walk away. “We meet every third Thursday at the convention center,” he called over his shoulder. “Bring cookies.”

The world seemed just a little bit brighter.

The Nightmare

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Paul woke up with a gasp and ran into the kitchen. His mom was there, eating a bowl of cereal. Paul flopped down onto the chair next to her. “Mom, I just had the most awful nightmare. It’s one I had before. If I keep having the same nightmare over and over, do you think it means something? Maybe it’s a warning.”

“I don’t know. I keep dreaming I left you behind at the grocery store, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

Paul rolled his eyes. “That’s because you still make me hold onto the side of the grocery cart like a baby.”

“Well, you haven’t been left behind at the grocery store, have you?”

“If you somehow left me behind at the grocery store, I’d sit at the bench by the door and wait for you to come back for me,” Paul said.

Mom set down her spoon and looked at Paul for a moment. “I forget how much you’ve grown up.”

Paul scowled to hide how pleased he was with the compliment. “You say that like it’s so surprising.”

Mom laughed. “You’re right. How could I forget that you’re growing up? It’s not as though you lose your shoes every morning.”

“You shouldn’t be so mean to me. I just woke up from a terrible nightmare.”

Mom stopped laughing and patted Paul’s arm. “You’re right. Tell me all about it. In fact, wait just a moment. I have just the thing.”

She left the room, and returned a few minutes later with a book. She turned the cover to face Paul. He read the title out loud in a tone of disbelief.   “The Dreamer’s Dictionary?”

“You wanted to know what your dream meant, right?”

“And that will tell us?”

Mom shrugged. “Maybe.   Who knows? Personally I think dreams are really just weird things your brain makes up when it’s bored. But it couldn’t hurt to look things up, right?”

Paul sighed. “Fine, fine. Let me tell you about my nightmare. It’s about these guys in glowing masks.”

Mom flipped the pages. “Glowing means good things will happen. Oh, but masks mean deceit. Maybe a surprise party?”

“Who knows? Not me.   I guess it will be a surprise if it happens. Anyways, they were carrying these tulip plants around in little clay pots. Except, instead of a flower, they had a crab claw at the end of the stem.”

Mom opened the book again. “Seeing tulips in bloom is a good omen. Crabs mean tricky rivals. Unless you ate them?” Paul shook his head. Mom tapped a finger on her chin. “It will be good to have tricky rivals? Maybe they’re throwing the surprise party.”

Paul laughed. “Maybe.”

“So what happened? What did they do with the plants?”

Well, they carry them around, and if the plant pinches someone, there’s a flash of light and the person now has a mask and flower of their own. They go around infecting everyone, like zombies.   They walked on the power lines to get around more quickly.”

“Well, let’s see. Light means you find a solution. I can’t find pinching. Power lines mean success.”

Paul nodded. “Yes, but success for me or the zombies? And what did the transformation solve?”

“I don’t know. It’s your dream, dear. So, what happened next?”

“Well, I went to the news station so they could warn people to stay away from the plants. But the news anchors all had glowing masks. I ran away and ended up in the basement, which was full of the crab tulip plants in pots, all reaching for me. That’s when I wake up.”

“News… It says that you’ll get good news. That’s nice. Basement. Refuse plans that don’t appeal to you.”   Mom set down the dictionary.   “Really, it sounds like a nice dream dear. Good news and solutions and success. I think that according to this something nice is going to happen.”

“But it was scary and they were like zombies and it felt like a nightmare,” Paul said.

Mom smiled. “I guess sometimes we just don’t know what’s good for us.”

Paul frowned. “You’re still going to make me hold onto the side of the grocery cart, aren’t you?”

Mom picked up her spoon. “Probably.” She took a bite of cereal and made a face. “It’s soggy. That’s unfortunate.” She shoved the bowl towards Paul. “Do you like soggy cereal?”

Paul laughed. “No. Who does?” He went back to his room to get ready for the day, feeling much better than he did when he woke up.

He didn’t believe all of the weird stuff in the dream book, but maybe that meant that dreams mostly don’t mean anything at all. They really were just weird things your brain made up when it was bored. His brain just happened to like the weird dream with masks and crab claw tulips. He hoped it picked a new favorite soon.

 

A New Career

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“Esther? Esther, where are you?” Charles yelled

“In the kitchen,” she called back.

Charles dashed into the kitchen and grinned. “Esther, I’ve finally decided on a career.”

Esther paused and then continued kneading the bread dough. “I thought you already have a career as an inventor.”

“That’s just a hobby.”

Esther didn’t look up. “It pays the bills,” she said. She punched the dough.

Charles frowned. “It does?”

Punch. Punch. “Of course it does.”

“But how?”

Esther sighed. “I do the paperwork to patent your inventions and then I sell the patents.   I’ve told you all about this, you know.   You sign all the paperwork.” She punched the dough a few more times.

Charles eyed the dough nervously. “Are you upset with me? You’re punching the dough pretty hard.”

Punch. Punch. Punch. “Nope, I’m not mad. This is just a necessary part of making bread. Tell me about your new career.”

Charles laughed nervously. “Right.   Well, I was thinking about starting a new career in life mathematics.”

“Mmm-hmmm. What’s life mathematics?”

“The new field of life mathematics will help people make important and unimportant decisions with more accuracy.” Charles began to wave his arms as he talked. “If you’re tired and go to bed early, you have extra to do the next day. It’s a complex equation.   Will the extra energy you get from the extra sleep be sufficient for the extra tasks? Life mathematicians weigh the odds.”

“And you can really figure out the odds for every situation and person?   That’s incredible.” Esther smiled.

Charles dropped his hands to his sides and sighed. “Well, not yet. It all really depends on the individual and their specific circumstances. I tested the results of my equations so far, and it’s about as accurate as flipping a coin.”

Esther narrowed her eyes and punched her dough one last time. “Oh really? That’s too bad.” She gathered the dough together and shoved it into a loaf pan.

“But it’s certainly going to be an entire field of study in the future.   I’ll be a pioneer in the field, and my name will go down in history. That’s pretty good, right?”

Esther ran a tea towel under some water, and then twisted it tightly.   Water ran through her clenched hands.   She shook the towel over the sink and then laid it over her loaf pan. She turned, and folded her arms over her chest with a sigh. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean? Life mathematics is going to be amazing. Think of the potential. Will the extra cupcake taste good enough to be worth the extra calories? Exactly how long do you have at the store today before your toddler has a meltdown? How should you knot your tie for your next job interview? Life mathematics will have all the answers.”

“I think that part of what makes people who they are is how they choose to answer some of those questions. Maybe you can’t really use math to predict every individual,” Esther said.

“You could predict general outcomes,” Charles said.

“That’s statistics, then, isn’t it?” Esther asked.

“Well, maybe a little bit,” Charles said. “How disappointing.”

“It’s all right,” Esther said.

“I feel like you just pummeled my new idea alongside your bread dough.”

Esther laughed. “It will rise again and so will you. You’ll just need to decide if the idea is worth all the effort it will take to actually make it work. Whatever happened to your self-tying bowtie?”

Charles grinned. “Oh that?   I finished it yesterday. I hadn’t shown you yet? Let me get it and I’ll tell you how it works.”

“I’m sure it will be amazing,” Esther said. “I’ll wait right here and start making some sandwiches.” She pulled a loaf of bread out of the breadbox and started slicing it while Charles ran back to his laboratory.

 

The Girl in the Mirror

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Sadie woke up and squinted at the bright light shining through the window. How had she managed to sleep in so late? She was always the first one up. She sat up and frowned. Nothing looked familiar.

Where were her clothes and toys? Where was the dresser that she’d covered in stickers?   This furniture was really…nice.   It looked like real wood.   Everything was so clean, too.

There weren’t any piles of clothes on the floor, and the dresser just had a bowl of fake flowers. The walls didn’t have any scribbles or posters, either. And the blanket was just stripes, without any cartoon mice.

There was a soft clicking sound and the doorknob turned.   The door opened slowly, and then her sister Miranda peeked inside. Except that Miranda’s nose looked all wrong.

“What happened to your nose?” Sadie asked.   Her voice sounded deep and hoarse.   She must be coming down with a cold.

Miranda poked at her nose. “What do you mean?” she asked. Her voice sounded kind of funny too.

“It looks wrong,” Sadie said. She pointed at Miranda, but her arm looked wrong. She pulled her hand in closer to her face.   “What happened to my hand?” she asked.   She lifted up her other hand and compared it to the first.

“What are you talking about?” Miranda asked.

“My hands look old. What happened?” Sadie asked.

“You are old, grandma. Really, really old,” Miranda said.

“I’m not a grandma. If I’m old, then you are too, Miranda,” Sadie said. She stuck out her tongue. Miranda was always so unhelpful.

“I’m not Miranda, I’m Carol,” Miranda said. She opened the door wider and leaned out into the hall. “Mom, Grandma’s acting all weird again,” she yelled off to her left, down the hall.

“I’m coming,” someone yelled back.

Sadie folded her arms and glared at Miranda.   This was a really unfunny joke.   She was not old. She was going to ignore the old hands, because there had to be some explanation that made sense. If she’d somehow gotten old, surely she’d remember it.

She didn’t remember being even sort of old. She remembered going fishing with Dad and cooking with mom and hiding under the bed with Miranda during thunderstorms. She remembered playing hopscotch and jumping in puddles. She didn’t remember Miranda’s nose looking like that.

A woman came in that looked a little like Mom, but her hair and eyes weren’t the right colors and the clothes that she was wearing looked wrong. “Who are you?” Sadie asked.

The woman frowned. “It’s one of those days, then,” she said. She waved her arm at Miranda. “Come on out Carol,” she said. “Grandma needs some space today.”

“I’m not a grandma,” Sadie said.

“Of course not,” the woman said, in a voice that said she really didn’t mean it. “Would you like cornflakes for breakfast? You can eat them in bed today.”

Sadie didn’t want to want cornflakes, but she was hungry. “With sugar?” she asked.

“Sure,” the woman said.

“Two scoops?” Sadie asked.

“Okay. I’ll be right back,” the woman said. Well, that proved this wasn’t Mom. She never let Sadie have two scoops of sugar. The woman left, shooing away Miranda, who’d been peeking in the door.

As soon as the door closed, Sadie leaped out of bed, and then nearly fell over.   Wow, why did her knees ache? And where did she get this awful nightgown?   Ignoring that for the moment, she hobbled over to look at the mirror over the dresser.

An old woman looked back at her. Was this some sort of trick? She tapped at the mirror. The old woman tapped back. She tried to shake the mirror. So did the old woman. She scowled. The old woman scowled too.

Then she made her most ferocious funny face. The one where she pulled her eyes and mouth wide open and turned up her nose and stuck out her tongue and glared. The old woman in the mirror laughed.

“Got you!” Sadie said. The old woman in the mirror winked, and then her face looked serious and she pointed back at Sadie as Sadie pointed at her. And the door opened and the woman from before was back.

“Why don’t you get in bed, so I can put the tray on your lap?” the woman said.

Sadie sighed and sat on the bed and pulled the covers over her lap. “Where did the girl in the mirror go?” she asked.

“Maybe she’s on vacation,” the woman said absently as she fluffed the pillows.

“I hope she comes back soon. The old woman in the mirror is kind of creepy,” Sadie said.

“Mmmhmm,” the woman said, and then left, closing the door behind her.

Sadie ate a bite of her too sweet cornflakes and sighed. Maybe she’d take a nap after breakfast. It would be nice to wake up somewhere more normal.

Another Scientific Theory

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A decade after sharing his famous marble theory, Dr. Frederick was once again waiting backstage with a nervous MC. The young man was pale and pacing, obviously upset. It had been a long time since he’d seen someone this nervous.

Dr. Frederick had been very shy as a child, due to his stuttering. People were always so impatient, and few had been willing to wait for him to form words. They’d finish his sentences, or worse cut him off completely and walk away.

He’d learned to answer his own questions, as much as he could. But the questions he couldn’t answer on his own piled up. He’d ask the few people he knew were patient enough to listen.

Sometimes, they’d help him find the answers, and sometimes they’d direct him to someone who could help him. Then he’d have to build up the courage to try to stutter through his questions with someone new. Dr. Frederick knew what it felt like to be nervous. Read More