Melvin’s Secret by James Rumpel

Melvin Schwartz had a secret. It was not some little, I-chew-my-toenails-type secret, but a major Earth-shattering secret. Melvin was an interdimensional god. None of his neighbors in Baldenville, Wisconsin would have even come close to guessing Melvin’s secret. He hid his true identity very well.

Melvin liked it on Earth. He had grown to respect the people of the planet. They were powerless little insects compared to even the weakest of his race, yet they continued to try and push forward. Maybe someday they would make an evolutionary leap, but for now, they were satisfied with developing a great tasting low-calorie IPA or being able to do that stupid dance from Fortnite. Melvin admired their pluckiness.

Sunday, December 2^nd started like almost every other day of Melvin’s scheduled six-year vacation on Earth. He woke up early, before the dawn, and took his shower. He then proceeded to the kitchen of his one-bedroom apartment to take his daily power-suppression dosage. If Melvin failed to take the correct amount of suppressant his omnipotence would radiate out into the world, causing unimaginable havoc.

Once, in September of the previous year, Melvin had accidentally taken a three-quarter-dose and the results had been staggering. He worked at a small-town hardware store and had worn an admittedly ugly beige sweater to work that day. By noon, every person entering the store was wearing a beige shirt or top. Stores throughout the country sold out of beige clothing in a single day.

Clothing factories immediately switched to manufacture all beige apparel. By the time, Melvin realized what had happened and returned home to finish off his dosage, millions of dollars’ worth of resources had been invested in the creation of beige clothing lines. When the population was no longer influenced by Melvin’s power and peoples’ opinions of beige returned to normal, most of that money was lost.

When Melvin went to the cupboard where he kept his suppressant, he was surprised to find that the two-gallon container was nearly empty. Only about a quarter-dose remained. He was not concerned, however, since he had two fifty-five-gallon barrels of the stuff stored in the garage. He recalled having completely emptied the second of those barrels when he last filled the small container. He would, simply, have to go and tap the final barrel to complete the day’s allotment.  He had enough of the chemical power-depressant to last about three more years. The next interdimensional portal was due to just before he ran out.

To Melvin’s great surprise and dismay, he found the second barrel to be empty. A close examination located a small leak in the bottom of the blue plastic barrel. The liquid had slowly leaked out and evaporated during his first three years on Earth. It didn’t take long for Melvin to realize that the situation was not good.

Unable to scrape up even a small additional amount of the crucial concoction, Melvin sat at his kitchen table contemplating his alternatives. He could not return to his dimension until the doorway was opened.  Usually, a very strict schedule was followed when allowing all-powerful beings to move from one dimension to another. The only thing Melvin could do was to attempt to send a message to his dimension and explain his predicament. The company that had arranged his brief vacation on Earth might be able to offer some kind of relief. Maybe they could send more of the suppressant or maybe they would be able to extract him from this world.

Melvin locked the doors to his apartment. He hoped that if he avoided contact with humans they would not be affected by his supreme power. He searched the back of his bedroom closet for the emergency communication device. It was something he never intended to need so he had not been too concerned about its location. Eventually, he found the tiny communicator and sent off a brief message describing his situation.

All he could do was wait. Melvin knew he could not go into the public in his current state. Anything he wore or anything he did could easily develop into the next worldwide craze. After an hour or two of trying to sit without thinking he realized he needed something to occupy his thoughts. Melvin mindlessly turned on the television.

“Welcome to this week’s professional football game,” announced the voice in the TV set. “Today’s game is a classic match-up between Chicago and Minnesota.”

“I hope Chicago wins,” thought Melvin, “I don’t like Minnesota.” He went to the kitchen to make himself a snack.

While constructing a ham sandwich, Melvin listened to the announcer talk about the upcoming game.

“And, of course, Minnesota is a stupid team. They are terrible and everybody hates them.”

Melvin dropped his sandwich and ran back into the living room to see what was happening.

“The Minnesota home town crowd is loudly booing their team as they prepare to receive the opening kick-off. Some of the fans in the first row are throwing things at their team. I think that is a great way for them to behave. The Minnesota team deserves to have things thrown at them. They are throwing hotdogs and beer bottles. You have to love that kind of behavior. The only thing I wouldn’t throw at those losers is a ham sandwich. Ham sandwiches are the best.

“Oh no. What have I done?” said Melvin.

The tv continued to describe the game. “On the opening kickoff, the Minnesota player is tackled at the fifteen-yard line, but there are multiple penalty flags on the play. Let’s listen to the referee explain the flags.”

The gruff voice of the official replaced that of the broadcaster. “There are multiple penalties on Minnesota. I don’t care what for. We are going to penalize those jerks ten yards and throw three of their players out of the game.”

“This has to stop,” mused Melvin. “I can’t keep doing this. I have to be stopped.” He turned off the television set and buried his head in his hands.

A commotion drew his attention to the window. Looking out the window he noticed a large gathering of people on the front lawn of his apartment building. Many were armed with clubs and baseball bats. A few people in the crowd carried firearms. Some were even brandishing torches.

“We have to stop that guy,” yelled someone in the crowd.

A chorus of replies erupted from within the gathering.

“Yeah, let’s get him.”

“Burn him out.”

“Somebody, get a noose.”

Melvin looked at the approaching mob. He opened the window and shouted “No, I don’t want this. I don’t want anybody to get hurt.”

Suddenly the crowd stopped and began to disperse.

“Careful, watch your step.”

“Let me help you across the street.”

“I could get some bubble wrap and put it around everyone.”

“I would make everyone a ham sandwich but I don’t want to use a knife to cut the bread.”

Melvin was at a loss. He had no idea what he could or should do. He tried not to think of alternatives, knowing that there could be undesirable repercussions from any action or thought.

Maybe he could think of only positive things. He knew that even the most benign thoughts could end up changing humanity in some unnatural way. He resigned himself to the fact that he, single-handedly, was going to bring about the fall of the human race.

The only alternative seemed to be to take his own life. But, if he did that, would suicide become unbelievably popular. He tried to force the thought from his mind.

A popping sound drew his attention. A black rectangle, the size of a door had magically appeared in the center of the room. From the darkness, a gray-robed figure emerged.

“It’s okay, Melvin. I have come to take you home.”

“Oh, thank you,” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think the portal could be opened for another three years.”

“We always have an emergency portal ready,” said the vacation company representative. “We’ve run into this before. Where do you think pet rocks and pre-holed jeans came from? Now quickly, let’s get out of here before any further damage is done.”

The two interdimensional gods stepped into the door and disappeared, leaving humanity to its own fate.

—

James Rumpel is a retired high school math teacher who has greatly enjoyed using his newfound additional free time to rekindle his love for science fiction and the written word.