Short Story: The Sunscreen that made everything invisible

 The Sunscreen That Made Everything Invisible

The Freckle-Face family had descended upon Dorset for their annual summer holiday with the sort of military precision that suggested they were planning to survive a nuclear summer rather than simply enjoy a relaxing week by the sea. Their rented cottage, "Seashell Sanctuary," came equipped with enough sun protection to shield a small army from solar radiation.

"Factor 50!" her mother, Prudence Freckle-Face, announced while brandishing a tube of sunscreen like it was life or death. Mrs Freckle-Face was an over-the-top worrier, and Clementine knew it.

They were preparing for what should have been a simple day at the beach, but Prudence had once again turned it into an operation that required strategic planning, tactical application of protective lotions, and enough safety equipment to satisfy the most paranoid health and safety inspector.

"Mum!" Clementine protested, examining her arms, which were already gleaming with so much protective lotion that she looked like she'd been dipped in liquid pearl and buffed to a high shine, "I'm practically radioactive with sunscreen already. I think I'm safe from spontaneous combustion. Also, I'm pretty sure I could survive re-entry into Earth's atmosphere at this point."

"You can never be too careful about UV exposure," her mother replied, "Did you know that just fifteen minutes of unprotected sun exposure can cause lasting damage to developing skin? The ozone layer isn't what it used to be!"

Her father, Professor Nigel Freckle-Face, was currently engaged in the construction of  a simple beach setup, sunbeds, food table, picnic blanket. By his standards as a professor of physics, he approached the seating set up like it was a scientific mission.

"According to my calculations," he announced, we should be in just the right positions while eating lunch today." He stared proudly at his almost circular layout.

Oscar, Clementine's younger brother, was already protesting another layer of sun lotion. "It feels weird," he complained, squirming as their mother applied sunscreen with thoroughness. "And it's buzzing."

"Don't be silly," their father said, applying his own generous coating, "Sunscreen doesn't buzz. Though I must say, this does feel rather... unusual. Almost tingly."

The sunscreen was indeed different from their usual brand. For starters, it shimmered slightly, like it had been mixed with ground-up pearls or possibly stardust. For another thing, it felt oddly energetic when applied, as if it were doing more than just blocking UV rays.

Clementine looked down at her arms, now covered in the shimmering lotion, and noticed something distinctly odd. She could see the pattern of her beach towel through her hand. Not clearly, but definitely more clearly than she should have been able to.

"Um, Mum?" she said carefully, holding up her hand and watching the light pass through it in ways that definitely violated several laws of physics. "I think there might be a problem with this sunscreen."

"What sort of problem?" her mother asked, then looked at Clementine and let out a small shriek, "Where's the rest of you?"

Indeed, Clementine appeared to be fading. Not disappearing entirely, but becoming increasingly see-through, like a person-shaped piece of very faint glass or a hologram that was running low on power.

"Oh, brilliant," said their father, looking down at his own increasingly transparent hands with a sort of fascination  "I think we've accidentally applied invisible sunscreen. That's... scientifically fascinating and practically problematic."

"There's no such thing as invisible sunscreen!" their mother protested, then caught sight of herself in the cottage window and had to sit down rather suddenly. She appeared to be nothing more substantial than a floating sun hat and a pair of sunglasses. "Although... that does appear to be what's happening to us."

Oscar was now so transparent that only his swimming trunks were clearly visible, he was absolutely delighted with this development. "This is BRILLIANT!" he announced, running around the garden like a ghost with excellent fashion sense. "I'm invisible! I'm a superhero! I'm the Incredible Disappearing Boy!"

"You're not invisible," Clementine pointed out, watching her brother's translucent form cavort around their holiday cottage garden, "you're just... translucent. Like a jellyfish with legs and an overactive imagination."

"Even better!" Oscar declared, attempting to walk through the garden gate and discovering that being see-through didn't actually grant him the ability to pass through solid objects. "I'm a jellyfish superhero!"

Their mother was reading the sunscreen tube with hard concentration, "It says here... 'Chameleon Sun Protection - adapts to your environment for ultimate camouflage and UV protection.' Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear."

"Chameleon?" their father repeated, his disembodied voice coming from somewhere near what appeared to be a floating Hawaiian shirt and a pair of very concerned-looking sunglasses. "We're not chameleons! We're humans! Humans don't need camouflage! We need visibility! We need to be seen by other humans for basic social interaction!"

"Tell that to the sunscreen," Clementine said, watching as a confused bee flew straight through where her arm should have been and emerged looking very puzzled about the whole experience.

The situation became significantly more complicated when other holidaymakers began to notice their peculiar condition. A family walking past their cottage garden stopped dead when they saw what appeared to be floating swimming costumes having an animated conversation with a selection of beach accessories that seemed to be moving around independently.

"Excuse me," said a concerned-looking woman, staring at Oscar's floating swimming trunks with the sort of expression that suggested she was questioning her own sanity, "but are those... swimming trunks talking?"

"It's a new interactive beach toy," their father said quickly, his disembodied voice coming from the general direction of a hovering sun hat. "Very advanced. Artificial intelligence. Cutting-edge holiday entertainment technology."

"Remarkable!" the woman's husband said, pulling out his phone to take photos of what he clearly believed was the future of seaside entertainment. "The voice projection is incredibly realistic! And the way the clothing moves—it's like actual people are wearing them!"

"Very sophisticated programming," their mother agreed, her voice floating from somewhere near a pair of sunglasses that appeared to be nodding in agreement. "State-of-the-art holiday innovation."

Meanwhile, Oscar had discovered that being nearly invisible made him practically unstoppable at hide-and-seek, much to the confusion of the other children on the beach, who kept losing track of their new playmate mid-game and wondering whether they were experiencing some sort of collective hallucination.

"Has anyone seen the boy we were playing with?" a confused eight-year-old asked her parents. "He was right here a minute ago, and now there's just his swimming costume floating around, making jokes."

"Perhaps he's very good at hiding," her mother suggested, watching as Oscar's trunks appeared to be playing an elaborate game of tag with several completely bewildered children.

The local ice cream vendor was having particular difficulty with the situation when Oscar approached his van for a 99 Flake. The man found himself conducting a perfectly normal conversation about ice cream preferences with what appeared to be a pair of floating swimming trunks that had developed both consciousness and pocket money.

"Right then," the vendor said slowly, clearly trying to process the situation, "one 99 flake for the... er... the swimming costume?"

"That's me!" Oscar's voice came cheerfully from somewhere inside the apparently empty trunks. "I'm having the best day ever! Being invisible is brilliant!"

"You're not invisible, son," the vendor said carefully, "you're just... well, I'm not entirely sure what you are, but you're definitely something."

"This is getting ridiculous," their mother said, her voice floating from the general direction of a sun hat that appeared to be having an existential crisis. "How long does this last? We can't spend our entire holiday in floating clothing!"

Clementine consulted the sunscreen tube, squinting at the small print that manufacturers always seemed to make deliberately difficult to read. "It says here, 'Effects wear off naturally with water exposure or after eight hours, whichever comes first.' We need to go swimming."

"Swimming?" Oscar protested, his voice carrying the sort of outrage that suggested she'd just suggested something completely unreasonable. "But I'm having the best day ever! I'm like a ninja! A jellyfish ninja! I can sneak up on seagulls!"

"You're like a health and safety nightmare," their father corrected, his voice coming from somewhere near a floating pair of sandals. "What if someone sits on you because they can't see you're there? What if you get lost because we can't see where you've gone? What if the coast guard mistakes us for some sort of paranormal activity?"

This turned out to be a valid concern when a well-meaning ice cream vendor nearly set up his cart directly on top of their mother, who had to make urgent transparent-person noises to avoid being flattened by someone who couldn't see that the apparently empty space was actually occupied by an invisible dermatologist having a very strange day.

"Excuse me!" Her voice came from somewhere underneath what appeared to be a cart that was floating slightly above the ground. "Occupied space! Invisible person! Please relocate your commercial vehicle!"

The vendor looked around in confusion, clearly hearing the voice but unable to locate its source. "Right then," he said slowly, "I'll just... move along. Talking beach, is it? Very modern. Very... unsettling."

They made their way to the sea as a family of floating clothes, causing considerable excitement among the other beachgoers, who were convinced they were witnessing either a very elaborate street performance, a supernatural event, or the most advanced holiday entertainment technology ever developed.

A group of teenagers had started following them, live-streaming what they were convinced was either a viral marketing stunt or proof that the beach was haunted by the ghosts of very fashion-conscious tourists.

"This is going straight on TikTok," one of them announced, filming Oscar's swimming trunks as they appeared to walk independently toward the water. "Haunted swimwear! This is going to get millions of views!"

The moment they hit the water, the shimmering effect began to fade, and they gradually returned to their normal, visible selves, much to Oscar's disappointment and everyone else's relief.

"Well," said their father, as they emerged from the sea looking perfectly ordinary again and slightly confused about why a crowd of people was applauding their return to visibility, "that was certainly an adventure."

"Can we use the normal sunscreen tomorrow?" Clementine asked, wringing seawater out of her hair and trying to pretend that the last few hours hadn't happened.

"Definitely," her mother agreed, carefully wrapping the chameleon sunscreen in a towel like it was radioactive material. "Though I might keep this for emergencies."

"What sort of emergencies require invisible sunscreen?"

"You never know," her mother said mysteriously, watching as the crowd of confused tourists gradually dispersed, still discussing whether they'd witnessed advanced technology, supernatural phenomena, or just a very strange day at the beach. "You never know when you might need to disappear for a while."

As they packed up their beach equipment and prepared to return to their cottage, Clementine couldn't help but grin. Sometimes, she reflected, the most memorable family holidays were the ones that went completely off-script and reminded you that the world was full of impossible, wonderful things that couldn't be explained by normal science or common sense.

Her parents, meanwhile, made careful notes about the experience for what they privately called their "Unusual Holiday Incidents" file, which was becoming surprisingly comprehensive.

From somewhere in the distance, they could hear the ice cream vendor telling other tourists about the day he'd sold a 99 flake to a pair of swimming trunks, and how modern technology was getting so advanced that you couldn't tell what was real anymore.