Bethany the Martian: Is it me?

Every writer knows this feeling, I think.

Staring at your work in progress, watching the cursor blink at you.

Blink.

It almost seems to mock, doesn't it?

I'd been writing, white hot. Going like blazes-

-and suddenly I caught up to what I was writing.

It was a sudden stop, my stomach lurching inside of me.

Like thinking there's one more step to a staircase you're going down a little too fast, and stumbling.

Like that.

I was alone in the house. I'm always alone in the house, anymore. I have a roommate, but she's got a new girlfriend and is spending most of her time away.

No big deal.

Except, well, moments like this can make you aware of how alone you are, you know?

I was playing a little bit of music to make the little soft sounds of a house that settles less obvious.

Less intrusive.

Less... ominous.

The house is noisier when there's more than one person in it, but it's also a valid mental excuse for the noise. You're not so alert and aware of the noises, because there's a conceivable reason for them. They slip under your notice.

Alone, the house is louder.

Because it is just a house, and it is not supposed to make noise at all.

So I play soft music while I write in the dark reaches of the night, when I cannot sleep.

I don't sleep much, these days.

Blink.

Sigh.

The sigh came from my left. It sounded, at first, like a dog sighing.

(I own no dog.)

I turned all the way around, spinning my office chair and blinking, owlish, in the dark room.

I knew there was nobody.

There was obviously nobody.

There was nobody but me.

I was either under caffeinated or over.

I tried to think back to my last cup of coffee, couldn't remember when it happened.

There was a cold and empty mug on my desk, and the last remains of my previous cup had dried in the bottom.

I got up to make another.

I have one of those ridiculous machines that take the little cups. Do you know the kind? My roommate bought it after the last coffee maker shat the bed. I'd rather have a more normal machine, but it seems silly to have two coffee makers.

Excessive.

They make lots of noise when they operate, a big huff at the end.

Normal noises.

I like my coffee sweet- lots of cream and lots of sugar. Coffee purists fuss at me over this, but fuck 'em.

(When I worked in an office, I considered getting a mug that said something to that effect. I decided it wasn't going to be worth the discussion with HR, but only just.)

I drank that cup straight off, just standing at the counter. Started another one, this one to take back to the office and sip at for a while.

More to have something to do with my hands while I stared at the fucking cursor than anything else, honestly, but the caffeine would help.

Probably.

I took my cup of creamy coffee back to the office, sat in my chair.

Blink.

Sigh.

I turned, again, looking around.

It sounded somewhere between animal and electrical, I guess. It could have been either. A human. I couldn't tell.

Blink.

Sigh.

It was regular. It was such a neutral noise, it could have been any number of things.

A burst of static.

A rattle of a plastic bag on a fan.

But it still sounded like breathing, to me.

Blink.

Sigh.

I cut the music.

I checked my roommate's desktop, to see if it was on and making weird noises, but it was off.

I opened the closet to see if there was anything in there.

(or anybody)

I stepped out of the office into the hall.

I couldn't hear the noise, anymore.

It was only in the office.

(Blink.

Blink.

Sigh.)

I went back in and sat back down and put on music again.

Turned the music up louder.

Tried to write.

Blink.

Sigh.

I checked all the outlets in the room. Maybe it was an electrical noise of some kind.

I glanced at the covered window.

I tried to remember- was the window open, tonight?

It was nice and cool outside, the heat of the summer fading into the pleasant coolness of fall.

I may have opened the window at some point.

Or Ellie (the roommate) may have. She left a snickers bar on my desk the last time I slept.

(When was that?)

She might have.

But the curtains were heavy, and blocked all light out. And I wondered- is something on the other side?

An animal, maybe.

Blink.

Sigh.

Or a person? Breathing into the screen would definitely make that noise, I realized.

Regular,

even,

heavy breathing.

Blink.

Sigh.

I considered pulling the curtain away from the window.

But-

no.

I got the big flashlight- the heavy metal one that I have at least two of- and eased open the front door. I didn't turn it on, that's not it's purpose.

Not yet.

The flashlight was heavy in my hand.

Cold.

Solid.

Real.

I see well in the dark, but it wasn't needed.

The moon was full, silver moonlight reflecting off of dewy grass. Most people could see pretty well in this light.

I eased my way around the house, the cold metal of the flashlight warming in my hot hand.

There was nobody standing in the bushes outside of my window.

I sighed in relief.

(A real sigh.)

(Human.)

I turned the flashlight on, and saw no animals.

No animal eyeshine.

Nothing shuffling away.

The window was shut.

I switched the flashlight off. Looked up at the moon's silver face. The wind played on my face.

Cool.

Pleasant.

There was a dog barking in the distance.

I heard cars on the main road, passing.

The deep thrumming of a subwoofer in a car with the music cranked up.

Real noises.

Human.

I went back inside.

Shut and locked the front door.

Went back into the office.

Blink.

Sigh.

I started to clean the office.

Straightened papers.

Cleared away some trash.

Blink.

Sigh.

Creak.

What

the

fuck?

Blink.

Sigh.

Creak.

I remembered-

-I'd left the front door unlocked.

Shut, but unlocked.

My back was to it.

(Could someone have slipped in?)

I could feel the blinking cursor, in the back of my mind. Almost hear it, like the ticking of a metronome.

(Blink.

Blink.

Sigh.

Creak.)

I had left the big, heavy flash light in the other room.

There was only my coffee mug on the desk.

Empty.

(Did I drink the coffee?)

I picked up the empty mug.

The last of the coffee had dried in the bottom.

(What time is it?)

The mug was smooth and heavy and cold in my hands.

(How much time has passed?)

Not much of a weapon.

(How long has this been going on?)

I opened the closet door, sliding it quietly aside.

Nothing in the closet. A dresser full of junk, tucked away. A guitar neither of us played.

Blink.

Sigh.

Creak.

(What day is it?)

I checked the calender.

September 6? No, it's October. It's October, dammit.

(Isn't it?)

The internet was down. The calendar in the other room hasn't been changed since February or January

(I really shouldn't bother with paper calendars anymore).

I finished checking the house.

There was nobody.

There was nothing out of place.

Nothing with me.

Except the noise.

Noises.

The noises.

In the office.

(Blink.

Blink.

Sigh.

Creak.

Blink.

Sigh.

Creak.)

I went to stand in the office.

I couldn't figure out where the noises were coming from.

Blink.

Sigh.

Creak.

Every way I turned, it seemed that the noise was on my left.

I checked the calendar on my computer again.

October.

Blink.

Sigh.

Creak.

Checked again.

September.

Blink.

Sigh.

Creak.

(When was the last time I left the house? Really left the house?)

Blink.

Sigh.

Creak.

(When was the last time I saw my roommate?

When was the last time I went to the store?

Talked to someone on the phone?

How much coffee have I had?)

Blink.

Sigh.

Creak.

I closed my eyes.

Blink.

Sigh.

Creak.

Opened them.

I was standing in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in my hands.

Hot.

Black.

I could taste black coffee in my mouth, hot and bitter.

I closed my eyes.

Opened them.

I was standing in the office, a half empty cup of coffee in my hands.

Hot.

Black.

My tongue felt burnt, my throat raw. Like I'd been gulping it.

My mouth tasted like ashes. Cigarettes and coffee.

(I haven't smoked in years. Have I?)

Blink.

Sigh.

Creak.

The front door opened.

“Liz?” A man's voice, a voice I don't know.

The mug slipped from my fingers.

Hot coffee

splashed

on my bare feet

the

mug

cracked.

Who the fuck is Liz?

Bethany the Martian

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Is it me?

No comments:

Post a Comment