The Unauthorized Autobiography of Ethan Jacobs
Page 22
Chapter 22
The clock read 2:47 AM He was disoriented by his odd sleep patterns and it took his eyes a moment to focus. He hoped he wasn’t up for the night, and cursed all the naps he’d taken. Closing his eyes, he decided to give sleep another chance.
His nose kept him awake. Something was funky in the air. Not the strong stink he had smelled before, but a similar, putrid odor, lingering in the background. Whatever it was had been back, maybe hours ago—or maybe it was hanging out in the living room right now. He thought about getting up and walking around to see if he could find the source. That was when he heard the scraping sound.
Scratch. Scratch.
He thought it was nothing at first, and was just about to write it off when it happened a second time. Faintly, at first, like a branch blowing against the vinyl shutters on the outside of the building. Then again, this time a little louder, like maybe…like…
Like Slobber was scratching at the front door to go outside.
“Oh, hell no,” he said, with exhausted frustration.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
He sat up in bed, ready to punt the dog into the living room.
“Quit it, Slobs! I’ll let you…”
The dog was lying at the foot of the bed asleep.
Slobs turned his head to look at his person and yawned, but didn’t move from his spot. Ethan checked his own forehead. No fever, no headache.
Am I imagining this?
He got up and walked into the living room to have a peek around. The dog didn’t follow. He turned the light on and inhaled deeply. No stink. Then he walked around the couch and into the kitchen, turning on the light and taking another deep breath. No stink there, either.
Everything was normal. That disturbed him.
Scratch. Scratch.
It was coming from the cabinet underneath the sink. His brain screamed: Ignore it! Hopefully it was a mouse and he could get Slobs to kill it, as he’d done a couple of times before. He called the dog and after a beat or two he heard the lazy whump and jingle of his tags as he rolled out of the bed.
Ethan gripped the handle to the left cabinet door and looked over his shoulder, waiting for the shadow of the dog to stretch across the ceramic tile floor. Slobber appeared in the doorway and sat down just outside the kitchen, looking on sleepily.
Ethan cracked the door open peered inside. He couldn’t see anything. He swung the door open all the way with a deep exhale, revealing a can of Raid, a bottle of dish detergent, and a crusty sponge. Pipes led from the floor to the sink drain. Slobber yawned. It was empty.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. SLAM!
This time the dog jumped, yelped, and galloped through the bedroom, stopping to crouch at the bathroom door. Ethan grabbed the can of bug spray and ran to the dog’s side, finger on the nozzle, ready to rock and roll.
Slobber growled and pushed his nose to the crack under the door. No light shone from underneath. Ethan held the Raid ready in his left hand like a ridiculously huge can of mace, and then turned the knob. The dog whimpered and backed away, ducking behind Ethan's legs. The door creaked as it opened inward to reveal an empty room. Slobber turned behind his master's legs and peered out cautiously from the other side.
Ethan hooked his hand around the corner and flipped on the light switch. As he stepped in the room to investigate, he noticed the terrible smell again—the same horrid vomit-rot stench from before, only stronger. He tore open the shower curtain, and then threw open the cabinet under the sink, finding absolutely nothing.
“AHH!” he screamed, heart pounding.
It was ninety-nine percent frustration, one percent adrenaline.
“I know you’re here, I can fucking smell you. Show yourself or get out of my house!”
Nothing happened.
He looked around and listened, waiting patiently for anything to occur, all the while hoping that it wouldn’t. No sooner had his toe touched carpet than his arms broke out in goose bumps and the hair on his neck stood up like it was getting ready to sing a hymn in church. The dog growled. Slobs backed up slowly in a crouched position with his teeth bared.
This time his focus wasn’t on Ethan, but on something else. Ethan turned slowly to see what was behind him, and as he did, he felt the air being sucked from around him, the way the ocean pulls sand out from under bathers' feet.
Something unseen pushed past him, spinning him around as it went. The hot, wet aroma engulfed his body and stung his nose and throat. He could taste it. The force blew through the bedroom, causing his comforter and curtains to billow wildly. The dog jumped to avoid contact. Papers rustled in the living room before the slamming sound resumed from the cabinet door in the kitchen.
Ethan ran to the kitchen, yanking the drawstring free from his sweat pants, and immediately knelt to tie the handles of the cabinet doors together. He knew deep down that the symbolic gesture was futile and looked at Slobs, who had finally joined him.
“Should I say a blessing over the knot or something?”
Slobs whimpered his weak response. Ethan sat back and stared at the doors until his heartbeat and his breathing returned to normal.
The clock on the microwave informed him that it was 3:22 AM, and ghosts or no ghosts, he was exhausted. Ethan kept the dog close to him so as to not be alone, and it took an hour or so to relax, but the sound of Slobber's snoring calmed him and he finally fell asleep.
..ooOOoo..
The next morning Ethan woke up and felt rested. The apartment was a mess. Trash was everywhere and the computer was sideways on the floor, its cursor still blinking and ready to go.
Ethan picked up the trash, the computer, and various other odds and ends while grumbling about the creature that had moved into his apartment. Then he made coffee. He eyed the cabinet, which was still bound up with the tie string from his sweat pants. A pair of scissors from the junk drawer made short work of the cord. He cautiously opened the doors and stuck his head under the sink. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, just like last night. Whatever it was had gone—hopefully for good.
Back in the living room he turned the TV on and flipped through channels. Not that it really mattered, because even after some real rest, he was still weak and sleepy. All he really needed was noise.
Flip. Something to keep his mind occupied.
Flip. Something to keep it off of Emily.
Flip. Something to distract him from his invisible alien roommate.
He settled on a cartoon which would be entertaining enough to sip coffee to.
“Casper the friendly ghost, the friendliest ghost you know…”
“How perfect,” he said.
He was starting to feel much better.