I was sitting in the living room trying to get some work done when I noticed something deeply unsettling. Pandora hadn’t moved in nearly half an hour. At first, I didn’t think much of it. People sit on couches all the time. In fact, couches are specifically designed for sitting, and it would be strange if someone used one for anything else. The problem wasn’t that Pandora was sitting on the couch. The problem was that she appeared to have become one with it.
She was staring at her phone with an intensity usually reserved for bomb disposal technicians and people trying to remember where they parked at the airport. Every few minutes she made a tiny noise. Sometimes it was a quiet “hmm.” Other times it was a soft “oh.” Between those occasional sounds, she remained completely motionless, her eyes fixed on the screen as though the fate of civilization depended on whatever she was reading. I glanced up from my laptop, watched her for a moment, and then returned to work. Five minutes later I looked up again. Pandora was in exactly the same position.
The situation became more concerning when John Mercer wandered through the living room on his way to the kitchen. He glanced at Pandora, glanced at me, then looked back at Pandora again. “What’s she doing?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
John shrugged. “Okay.”
Then he walked away.
That bothered me far more than it should have. Not because of what he said, but because of what he didn’t say. Normally John Mercer has an explanation for everything. If a meteor landed in the parking lot, John would somehow know its chemical composition before emergency services arrived. Yet this time he simply accepted the situation and moved on. The fact that John Mercer wasn’t concerned made me concerned.
A few minutes later, Mr Whiskers entered the room and immediately began demanding attention. He meowed loudly, rubbed against the couch, and then performed one of his dramatic full-body flops onto the carpet. Pandora didn’t react. Mr Whiskers looked confused. I looked confused. Even the cat appeared slightly unsettled by this development.
When ten more minutes passed without any change, Mr Whiskers escalated his efforts. He jumped onto the couch beside Pandora and stared directly at her. Nothing happened. He climbed into her lap. Still nothing. He stretched himself across her arm and partially blocked her phone. Pandora gently moved him two inches to the left without ever taking her eyes off the screen. Mr Whiskers stared at her. I stared at her. The cat and I exchanged a look that seemed to communicate mutual concern.
That was when I developed a theory.
Not a good theory.
But a theory.
“What if her soul left?” I asked when John returned with a cup of coffee.
John stopped walking. “What?”
“What if her soul left her body?”
John closed his eyes and took a long breath, the sort of breath people take when they realize their day is about to become significantly more complicated.
“She’s reading something,” he said.
“That’s exactly what someone would say if they were covering up a soul departure.”
“I don’t think that’s a thing.”
“It could be.”
“No.”
“Maybe her soul is trapped inside the phone.”
John stared at me for several seconds. “I want you to hear yourself.”
I ignored him because the evidence was mounting. Pandora made another small noise from the couch. It wasn’t an excited noise or a surprised noise. It was the kind of quiet “oh” that sounded as though it had traveled a great distance to reach us. I stood up and cautiously approached the couch.
“Pandora?”
No response.
“Pandora?”
Nothing.
I waved a hand in front of her face. Without looking away from the screen, she gently pushed my arm aside and continued reading. Somehow, that made the situation worse. The body was functioning normally, but where was the mind? Where was the spirit? Where was the part of Pandora that usually rolled her eyes when I said something ridiculous?
I returned to my chair and folded my arms. “This is serious.”
“It isn’t.”
“I think she’s operating on instinct.”
John sighed deeply while Mr Whiskers jumped onto the back of the couch and continued monitoring Pandora’s condition. The cat knew something. I was certain of it. Over the next twenty minutes, Pandora remained completely absorbed in her phone while the rest of us conducted what I considered a thorough investigation. By this point I had developed an extensive working theory involving spiritual displacement, digital consciousness transfer, and the possibility that Pandora’s soul had become trapped somewhere inside an appliance review website.
Finally, after nearly an hour, Pandora blinked several times and lowered her phone. I sat upright. John looked over from his chair. Mr Whiskers immediately perked up. Pandora looked around the room as though she had just returned from a very long journey.
“There you are,” I said.
“There who is?” she asked.
“Your soul.”
Pandora stared at me.
“My what?”
“Your soul.”
John immediately started laughing.
I pointed dramatically in Pandora’s direction. “You’ve been gone for almost an hour.”
Pandora looked down at her phone. “Oh.”
“There! You said that exact same thing at least twelve times.”
She frowned. “I was reading reviews.”
The room fell silent.
“Reviews?”
“Yeah.”
“Reviews of what?”
Pandora hesitated.
“A vacuum cleaner.”
I blinked.
“A vacuum cleaner.”
“People have very strong opinions about vacuum cleaners.”
I looked at John. John looked at me. Mr Whiskers meowed. In that moment, the entire mystery collapsed. An entire hour of investigation. An entire hour of theories involving psychic displacement and digital imprisonment. Not a conspiracy. Not supernatural forces. Not an interdimensional soul transfer.
Vacuum cleaner reviews.
Pandora picked up her phone again.
A few seconds later she quietly said, “Oh.”
I immediately pointed.
“There! It happened again!”
Nobody took me seriously after that. But if Pandora spends another hour reading appliance reviews and starts levitating, I’m going to be the only person prepared for it.