The Merxyn Experiment

By Scott Wells

Ever since the strange rings appeared above his house, Steve Wilson’s life has been a non-stop circus. Being constantly hounded by press members, onlookers, and baffled scientists would be reason enough to go insane, but to make matters worse, his best friend, world famous psychic Stirling McBane, is trying to convince him that his house is alive and demanding to be left alone.

Steve refuses to believe such illogical claims until the day he discovers, in his bedroom closet, a portal leading to another planet. There, he learns that his unique home is the result of a flaw in an alien experiment being conducted on Earth.

Armed only with a found diary, the telepathic voices of disembodied beings, and the company of a disgruntled extraterrestrial graduate student named Rel, Steve and Stirling must piece together the truth of the Merxyn Experiment and its power to alter the fate of the entire human race.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scott Wells
• Release date: Dec 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465733740

Scott Wells

Scott Wells was born in Dallas, Texas, in 1973, and grew up with a fascination with computer games, programming, and the writings of Douglas Adams, author of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series, whose distinct, quirky humor inspired the young writer to pen his first short story, My Life as a Pencil. One night in his early college days, he had a dream where he and his brother opened Scott's closet door and found a portal that eventually lead to Germany, where they proceeded to call their parents and inform them of their new locale. Their parents were...surprised. This dream sparked him to write what was eventually to become his first novel, The Merxyn Experiment, a unique science fiction story self-published in 2001. In December of 2011, he released at as an e-novel. He currently resides in Dallas, Texas, and when he isn't writing or doing software engineering to put food on the table (and the doggie bowl), you can usually find him watching a movie, playing a video game, or just chilling with his family and friends.

Book preview

The Merxyn Experiment

By Scott Wells

Copyright 2011 Scott Wells

(rev 2, 01/24/2012)

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Thanks go to my friends and family who constantly encouraged me to finish this book. Extra thanks go to you, Dad, for providing unconditional support of me and my work. I wouldn’t have done this without you.

Chapter 1

The small house would have rolled its eyes, if it had any. The constant barrage of White’s complaining and whining irritated Brick, and having heard enough of the larger house’s rants, Brick finally interrupted White’s sob story.

Shut up! Brick demanded, If you don't like these huge crowds of people, then consult your owner. Don't make us all miserable.

A round of agreement came from the other houses.

White wove a low growl into his response. Don’t interrupt me, Brick. You should learn to respect the feelings of others, especially your elders. And that goes for the rest of you, too.

Some of Brick’s neighbors mocked White’s age superiority theory.

Look, Brick said. I don't see what age has to do with it. The simple fact is that you have a problem, about which you have informed this whole block more times than we can stand, and you haven't done squat to solve it.

Well, if you don’t want to listen to me, Brick, then move.

You don’t think I’ve been wishing I could do that? I’d love to be able to relocate to some remote neighborhood where all the owners sit around and watch game shows. But I can’t. I’m stuck being adjacent to your cracked foundation.

The other houses in the neighborhood snickered at this remark.

White responded, I hope you burn, Brick.

Brick couldn’t help but laugh at that.

I see that my problems mean nothing to you, Brick, or anyone else, White said. Why do I even bother to…

Brick waited a few seconds for the rant to continue, but it never did. White had never stopped talking in the middle of a sentence, especially during one of its rants. Brick began to inquire about the motives for this silence, but White uttered a single question that made Brick, and the remainder of the houses on the block, sit in perplexed silence.

"Just how the hell do houses know how to talk?"

Chapter 2

Reporters from all over the country flocked to Lint, Texas, temporarily tripling the existing population of that area. Lint, by itself, was not particularly interesting. In fact, Lint made number one in a recent Tyme article, America's Most Uninteresting Cities. This, of course, was a paradox, for something making number one in any list in Tyme meant that that something possessed at least one characteristic of particular interest. In this case, that characteristic was absolutely nothing. However, thanks to the sudden emergence of color changing rings above a house in this small city, Lint was guaranteed to be bumped down that particular list to at least a few spots below the entire state of Wyoming.

~~~~

Steve Wilson walked outside his now famous home to get his mail. He caught sight of the huge crowd of reporters and once non-believers gawking at the sky from his front lawn, their numerous cars parked along his and the five adjoining blocks.

*Click*

A reporter took another picture of the huge colorful rings that constantly changed from red to orange to yellow to green to blue to indigo to violet.

Ooohh! he vocalized as Steve's bit of sky turned red again.

*Click!*

Steve rolled his eyes. How much longer would he and his property be at the center of the world’s attention? Sighing at that question’s obvious answer, he forced the rusty mailbox lid open with a metallic snapping sound and reached in the box to grab what was probably going to be a bunch of useless junk mail or more requests to appear on endless That’s Stupendous! type programs.

Steve? To the side of him, a familiar voice broke his silent fretting. With one hand thrust into a mailbox, Steve turned his head to greet the voice’s owner.

Steve smiled, Hey, Stirling!

He grabbed his mail, met Stirling on the sidewalk, and chucked him on the shoulder. What brings ya here again?

Stirling adjusted the placement of his thin-framed glasses and said, I picked up some pretty weird vibes coming from this house when I visited it in my dream last night, Steve.

Steve raised his eyebrows and blinked as a substitute for words. Oh, great. More psychic nonsense. Was it possible to ever have a normal conversation with this guy?

Hey, it’s Stirling McBane! One reporter shouted. This led the flocking of people to the two friends like seagulls to a bread-tossing beach goer.

Steve shut his eyes for a second and groaned. Here we go.

Stirling raised his voice and said, A few days ago, when we analyzed this place, we didn't find any paranormal activity. However, after we left, I began to experience psychic energies that seemed to have followed me from our visit here. Then, after last night's dream, I felt I needed to check out your house again and run some more tests.

Stirling paused, seemingly awaiting for some type of response. Steve didn’t know what to say, except, Dream?

Stirling nodded.

Explain your dream to the American public, Mr. McBane, said a young reporter as he fought for a place for his microphone.

Sure.

Sure. Steve chuckled softly. Like Stirling would ever refuse publicity.

Stirling shot Steve a glare for a brief moment before he continued, In my dream, different colored apparitions were constantly flowing in and out of Steve’s house. One approached me and said that he’d truly appreciate it if I were to fix his spine. I told him I didn't know how, and he sadly thanked me for my time and returned to the house, muttering something about modern medicine. I couldn't make out any details of the specter, though. He just looked like a big blue blob.

Mumblings of disbelief and wonder filled the air.

A large man appeared from the side of Steve's house, furiously waving some type of device in their direction.

Hey, Stirling!

Stirling acknowledged the man with a wave. Excuse me, he said to the reporter. Then, turning to his friend, he said, Steve, come on. Maybe Roger's found something that’ll help us.

That would be a welcome change for Steve.

Without further notice, Stirling pushed his way through the even larger crowd of reporters and on-lookers, and made his way to where his assistant stood. Steve followed, along with the crowd.

The large man said, Stirling, I didn’t get a single reading, even when I pointed it at the sky.

Roger, did you turn it on?

"Yes."

Stirling sighed and rested one hand on the side of the house. He grabbed the device in question with the other and started scrutinizing the hand-held-arcade-looking thing.

The reporters commented on Stirling’s work while Steve waited for the conclusions.

Oh, Stirling mumbled after a few moments, I see…okay…sure…no problem.

Stirling handed the device back to Roger and said to him, Works fine.

He turned to Steve. Your house wants all these people to go away. It says their crowding is giving it claustrophobia, Stirling said as if this explanation was a common occurrence.

Stirling then headed inside the house, reporters following him to the front door, begging for more information.

Alone, Steve whispered, Jesus H. Christ, and entered his house through the garage.

Chapter 3

Brain cell 0x00A3[2] knew that something out of the ordinary was going on. It had known longer than Stirling had. It knew that. It knew a lot. The problem was conveying this knowledge to its owner. If it dwelled in a rational brain, like Stirling's, then that would pose no difficulty. However, it knew perfectly well where it dwelled.

Of all the rotten luck, A3 thought.

It sighed as well and as loud as a brain cell could, and micro-millimeters away, one of its adjoining cells, 0x00A7[2], heard it.

What's wrong? asked A7.

Steve won't listen to me.

He never has.

That's my problem.

A7 said, Oh. Well, if it makes you feel any better, he doesn't listen to me either, or the other billions of us brain cells in the Rational Zone. Hey, at least we get a permanent vacation. We don't have to work like those Logical Zone guys.

True, A3 agreed, But I think we waste our time, not to mention our whole lives in this mass of gray matter, by just sitting here thinking of stupid, erotic dreams to give him. My ideas are never passed. I still say we tell him what's going on.

"You realize how long that would take to explain our reasoning to the cells in the pons and the Logical section? Ten freakin' deciseconds! Pathways to the pons are never available for that amount of time. And forget the Logical Zone; you know how impossible it is to rationalize with them. Just give it a rest."

A3 sighed in agreement and was just about to comment, but it suddenly received a calling signal.

I communicated with Stirling's brain when he put his hand on my side, came the signal. It was from Steve’s house. He told Steve my request. Unfortunately, Stirling's hardly ever around, so any direct help you can give me and the others would be very much appreciated.

A3 answered, I can't promise anything, White. I'll keep you posted, though.

Okay, thanks.

Yep.

The signal went away. A3 thought for a brief millisecond. It came to a decision, and sent a request transmission signal through the nerve axons to the Logical sector.

Whatcha doing? asked A7.

Shhh!

"Excuse me!" it hissed.

About two nanoseconds later, A3 was answered.

Yes? droned a gate-keeper cell of the Logical zone.

I'd like to send a thought to Steve, please.

No.

~~~~

[Keeping in mind (no pun intended) that the Logical Zone of a normal human brain totally surrounds the Rational, a cell in the Rational Zone would have to go through the Logical Zone in order to receive a thought grant. Thus, one can clearly see why A3 is spending its time talking with the Logical brain cells. However, one might not realize or comprehend just why the Logical gate keeper refused this brain cell's request. The truth of the matter is rather unfortunate, but not something big enough for Tyme to print an article on.]

~~~~

A3 tried again.

The gate-keeper mumbled, Yes?

Look, I know you don't want me to communicate with the others outside the Rational Zone, but this is important, almost priority two.

Uh-huh. Why do you request access?

Because Steve's house wants to talk to him, and needs me as a link between the house and Steve. If I-

Houses don't talk; it's not logical. They never have; they never will. What makes you think they talk?

Would you just quit analyzing everything and trust me?

The keeper dug into its records and retrieved the brain-wide infamous XSONG incident. It then reminded A3 what had transpired.

~~~~

About two years ago, Steve pulled up to a XSONG gas station and began filling his car with ninety-three octane premium gasoline. When he was through, he paid for his purchase and began to walk back toward his car. While doing so, a beautiful girl in a red Miada convertible pulled up next to his car, got out, and started to unscrew the gas cap. When the two saw each other, she gave him a smile. Steve told himself that, despite his apparent bad luck with women, he would try to get to know her. All the Logical brain cells in the Logical Zone kept sending warning signals with accompanying memories of many recent failures to pick up women. They told him that he needed to work on his approach before actually trying it out, and that his nervousness had always made him screw up his lines. However, something inside of Steve made him ignore these warnings, reasoned with his rationality and gave him new confidence. He walked up to the woman, ready to extend a friendly offer.

So, he said, unconsciously pointing one hand to his chest and one down to his pelvis, would you like me to fill your tank?

The woman smacked the side of Steve's face with her purse, grabbed her gas cap, shouted something about sexual harassment in public, jumped in her car, and drove off. All his brain cells immediately searched frantically amongst themselves for the idiotic Rational cell that gave Steve the confidence. The Logical brain cells strengthened the wall between the Rational Zone and the rest of the brain and since then have only allowed very few rational thoughts to be processed.

~~~~

Clearly, the gate-keeper began, the last time Steve used rationality, it backfired. He's not ready for it.

"But when will he be?"

I don't know. Check with the association cortex.

That's the center of the brain! How long will it take until you Logical guys let me transmit a signal?

I don't know. Have a good second. Bye.

The connection broke.

~~~~

A7 cackled. That was useful.

Shut up, A3 requested.

A7 didn’t. Hey, let's have Steve dream about him floating in an endless sea of butter sauce, and a huge lobster pincher picks him up and…

A3 sighed again and transmitted a request signal to the association cortex. A signal came back. Thank you for sending a signal to the association cortex. All of our cells are currently busy at the moment. If you wish to stay on the connection, a cell will get to you as soon as possible, unless, of course, a priority one event goes through. If this happens, the connection will be terminated and will not be available for…

A huge rush of impulses became swarming into the brain.

PRIORITY ONE! PRIORITY ONE! they screamed.

A3's connection broke.

Great, it said and then joined in A7's conversation about the time Steve ate too much seafood.

~~~~

YYYEEEEEOOOWWWWW!

Steve grabbed his burning hand and blew furiously on it. Then, he rushed to the sink and put the hand under running cold water.

Stirling jumped up from the kitchen table and ran to his friend.

That pot's hot, Steve, informed Stirling as Steve's pain began to ease.

Steve didn't answer. He shut off the water, dried his hand, and with a hot pad on the other, grabbed the adversary that caused him pain.

Should have used this in the first place, he said as he pointed to his hot pad.

Stirling nodded and sat back down.

Steve dropped the pot on a cutting board and began dumping the macaroni contents into a bowl.

Do you understand what I said about your house? Stirling asked, apparently bored of watching Steve make the food.

"Well, I don't know. I guess I can't see how a house can feel unhappy, or anything for that matter. And if it was upset, it never informed me."

You wouldn't listen.

"I never heard it." Steve said and emptied the contents of the cheese packet into the bowl.

I told the house that possibility, but it said that it did inform parts of your brain.

Steve stopped mixing and stared at Stirling.

"Say something with an ounce of sense, man. Houses do not talk. They never have; they never will. It’s not logical. What makes you think houses talk?"

It told me.

Steve paused. Then, Oookay. And does every house talk, or just mine? And when did it tell you this, anyway?

It seems that not all houses talk; just the ones on this block, and maybe a few more. And it's not just houses, either, but I can’t pinpoint what else.

But when did it tell you all this?

When I put my hand on its side.

Steve resumed making lunch in silence for a few seconds. Granted, Stirling’s normal behavior usually fell outside the norm, but Stirling had never talked with houses before, at least not that Steve was aware of.

It could have something to do with the peculiar colors and rings in the sky over this house, Stirling hypothesized.

Steve brought the meal to the table and sat down across from his friend. Possibly, he said.

They helped themselves to the pasta.

Ya know, began Stirling, mouth full of food, I don't see why it's so hard for you to accept what's happening. It might not make much sense, but there's no law in the universe saying that inanimate objects can't talk or that colored rings can't appear above the houses of irrational bachelors.

Stirling, the ring business I can see for myself, but talking houses is just too strange to believe.

Stirling took a huge swallow of his soda before asking, Not even from me?

After a brief pause, Steve answered, I don't know. I guess I can't see into that psychic brain of yours to understand.

As Steve put a second helping of pasta on his plate, he remembered something. If Stirling, a world-renowned psychic, wasn't pulling his leg, then why didn't the device that Roger was using produce results? Wasn’t the device used for measuring metaphysical activity? And wouldn’t talking houses fall into that category?

He asked Stirling these questions. Stirling said, "None of our equipment has shown any paranormal activity either inside or outside your house, except, of course, for those rings in the sky. And, for right now, I don’t know their origins or purposes."

Steve nodded as Stirling continued, See, our equipment doesn’t pick up on telepathy, which is how your house talked to me. I don't know if it will contact me anymore since you took my advice and asked the police to ensure that the crowd would keep its distance.

I was sick of them anyway, Steve interrupted.