Every writer knows this feeling, I
think.
Staring at your work in progress,
watching the cursor blink at you.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
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.
Blink.
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.
Blink.
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.
Blink.
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.
Blink.
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.
Blink.
Sigh.)
I went back in and
sat back down and put on music again.
Turned the music up
louder.
Tried to write.
Blink.
Blink.
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.
Blink.
Blink.
Sigh.
Or a person?
Breathing into the screen would definitely make that noise, I
realized.
Regular,
even,
heavy breathing.
Blink.
Blink.
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.
Blink.
Blink.
Sigh.
I started to clean
the office.
Straightened
papers.
Cleared away some
trash.
Blink.
Blink.
Sigh.
Creak.
What
the
fuck?
Blink.
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.
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.
Blink.
Sigh.
Creak.)
I went to stand in
the office.
I couldn't figure
out where the noises were coming from.
Blink.
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.
Blink.
Sigh.
Creak.
Checked again.
September.
Blink.
Blink.
Sigh.
Creak.
(When
was the last time I left the house? Really
left the house?)
Blink.
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.
Blink.
Sigh.
Creak.
I closed my eyes.
Blink.
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.
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?
