With each breath of spring air, I felt myself lowering. Calming. Merging back with my body. And when I found myself once again looking out from behind my organic eyes, when I once again had regained control of my limbs, I kicked the nearest cluster of dandelions. I watched the parachutes break loose and float away before cascading back to the earth like a gentle snowfall.
In the brush pile behind me, I heard sudden movement. I spun to see green eyes fixed on me. After darting his head out to say hello, the pure black feline bounded toward me. I couldn’t be certain, but it sure seemed to be the same slender black cat that introduced himself to me the day we spray-painted the Grand Am years before. He followed as I began making my way through the field of dandelions. Not too far into my trek, I checked to see if he was still behind me. Not only had he followed closely, but behind him, three more cats had emerged from the brush. Each had identical black coats. Their emerald eyes sparkled in the afternoon light.
We marched up the slope, knocking loose and dispersing the dandelion seeds as we went. Each time I looked behind me, more black cats had joined the procession. They were multiplying. The small group of four became twenty. Then fifty. As I neared the top of the hill, I looked again, and there were hundreds of black cats trampling through the field of dandelions.
I stopped at the highest point. From directly behind me to the base of the slope, the landscape was dotted with black felines. As soon as they recognized I was standing still, they halted as well, observing me attentively. The seeds they had kicked up made it appear to be snowing from the ground upward. The particles eventually fell back upon them, delicately painting their black coats with white speckles. Some sat on their hind legs. Some lay with their paws crossed regally in front of them, while others began grooming themselves, checking intermittently to assure I was still within view.
I knew what it meant. They had come to say goodbye. My vision became blurred. The field in front of me became a watery, impressionistic landscape of black splashes against a muddy backdrop. I wiped the tears from my eyes so I could more clearly take in the beautiful scene.
Crossing over from our property, a figure stepped into the field. Everett. He looked up the slope while shielding his eyes from the sun. Having identified me, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted something I couldn’t make out in the distance. The cats nearest him seemed to pay him no attention. They continued to focus in my direction. Frustrated, he began charging through the congregation. The cats did not waver as he stepped between and over them, his shoes kicking up the fallen white flakes.
When he finally reached the top of the hill, he didn’t say a word. There was nothing he could’ve said except to say he was not leaving. Instead, he stood beside me in silence, looking over the content felines. After some time, he sat on the moist ground. I sensed him looking up to me, so I did as he asked without words and sat beside him. My jeans immediately became soaked from the damp soil. Together, we took it all in one last time. The woods. The fields. And the mystical cats that sat patiently before us. As the sun set over the landscape, I still couldn’t believe what was happening. I couldn’t believe he was abandoning our magical world.
22
Little Blue House
With Everett gone, buildings were taller. Hallways were longer. The universe itself seemed to expand. The sky was vast, and the stars that speckled it moved apart from each other, creating gaps the size of galaxies composed of nothing but empty space. Without Everett, the world was overwhelming. He wasn’t there to explain it to me. Protect me. Tell me what to do. How to act. I realized quickly I didn’t know who I was. He held my identity and took it with him wherever people go when they grow up. And I was left an empty, isolated abnormality.
The world wasn’t to be enjoyed but endured—and if I was lucky, in small doses. I was afraid of being around other people. Everyone was so much more intelligent than I, their words much more articulate than the surely erroneous words I would’ve uttered—so I avoided eye contact and stopped speaking. Driving became too heavy a responsibility. There were too many components to remember. Too many opportunities to make a mistake, get in an accident, become lost, break something I couldn’t fix. So I started riding my bike to work.
Work. I dreaded going. I had been reassigned to the bottle room in the back of the store, sorting pop and beer cans. The machine had eight slots, each corresponding to a bottling company. My job was to slide the cans into the correct slot. The machine would crush and drop them into the bins below. It became too complicated. Too often I stood in front of the growling machine, watching earwigs crawl out from cans that hadn’t been rinsed, unsure of which slot the can in my hand was supposed to be dropped into. Does Coke or Pepsi make Mellow Yellow? I’d agonize over these choices as more and more bins filled with cans to be crushed piled up behind me.
Nature became my only solace, a sanctity in a world that spun so fast I couldn’t keep my eyes focused. I studied its microsystems. I stared into puddles. Peered into foxholes. Sat among weeds. I examined the bones of a dead raccoon I had found at the back of the field. I stared at them for so long, imagining them gathering and fusing, that I wouldn’t have been at all surprised had the hollow carcass stood and scurried into the forest. I’d hike to the far end of the woods, where there was a small pond. If I sat long enough, turtles would come out of the water to say hello. Some days, it’d be five at a time. I’d pet their heads with my finger. I’d grip their shells and sail them around the edges of the pond as if they were miniature spaceships. They came to love hovering in the tall weeds, chewing on foliage they couldn’t otherwise reach.
Even though I found comfort escaping into the countryside I knew so well, I had to be careful not to lose track of time. It was crucial I be back to the house before dark—because when Everett left, it was not just my identity and confidence that were taken; my protection was gone as well. Strange how at one time I had welcomed the monsters. I’d become excited when Everett suggested we search them out in the cornfield or deep within the woods. We’d tempt them. Tease them. It was like poking at a tiger through a cage. With Everett, there was no real danger. Yet without Everett, the cage had been removed. The tiger was loose, and it was looking to kill.
Each night, they dared come closer to the house. I lay awake listening to their tapping. Scratching. Digging. Their grunts. And their moans. Nobody but Everett could’ve stopped them. He promised he’d visit. And he’d say, “You can visit me when Mom and Dad come to Texas. And when you save up enough money, you can come on your own.” But promises of seeing him in some vague future weren’t enough. I lived with the ever-present feeling of impending doom.
And soon, just as I predicted, evil came to me in the middle of the night. It didn’t shatter the windows or claw through the doors. It was through a portal of darkness that a cloaked demon found its way into my room. I narrowly escaped being eaten alive by jumping out my window. That night, I slept in my car beside an old barn. Only when the sun rose did I make my way back home. Still too afraid to go inside, I sat on the log in the field where Everett used to sit, staring into a sea of tall weeds.
The tallest golden strand became my focal point. I studied its subtle sway. I concentrated all my energy, fear, and desperation into the tip of the thin plant. I stayed locked on it, and eventually everything else went black. All that existed was the swaying plant. Noises from the woods were erased. My sense of touch was removed. I became numb. The weight of my body was gone. It was a strange sensation, being in the field while at the same time feeling as if I wasn’t even there. At the peak of this vibrating duality, I knew I no longer needed the swaying weed. I was ready to let go.
I closed my eyes and traveled high above myself. It wasn’t my first time. I had done it before in that very spot as Everett looked on. I had never gone much higher than the trees. Yet no longer did our hiding spot in the field offer the same comfort and safety it once had. No longer did I feel compelled to stay tethered to it. I rose to the clouds and flew
through their foggy dampness. I was afraid I’d lose control and float forever past the stratosphere and into the ozone layer. I was afraid I’d be catapulted into space and become trapped somewhere beyond our solar system, unable to find my way back. But I concentrated on my breathing. I could breathe at that altitude just like I could breathe underwater in my dreams. And slowly, I relaxed. Being sure to keep within the safety of the clouds, I allowed myself to ride the wind.
When it felt right, I exhaled deeply and dropped below the billowing wisps. No longer was I above the woods and the field. Instead, I hovered over a neighborhood I wasn’t familiar with. In this particular neighborhood, I singled out a particular house. It was a little blue house. The grass wasn’t mowed. The fence that outlined the tiny backyard had collapsed in one section. Strangely drawn to it, I began to drop at a rapid pace. Unable to slow my descent, I entered through the roof in a swift motion. Passing through the shingles, two-by-fours, and drywall was as simple as blinking. I barely felt a thing.
I steadied my breathing while orienting myself from my wild ride. I found myself looking over a small living room, my back stuck against the ceiling. Above the couch was a painting of two nuzzling horses, with ribbons tied to their manes. I slid forward and noticed that above the television was a large frame that held various-size photos. There were photographs of Everett and Kirsten’s wedding day. Pictures of my parents, Kirsten’s parents. And in one of the frame’s tiny circles, I even saw a picture of me. It was odd, looking at myself while not in myself—thinking of my body sitting far away in a Michigan field near a pile of old raccoon bones.
They still weren’t settled in. Boxes were strewn along the entryway. Cans of paint sat on top of a tarp in the corner. Half of one wall was a faded shade of yellow, while the other half had been freshly painted bright white.
I was startled by sudden loud bangs. “Goddamn it!” I heard from another room. Everett! I quickly scooted into the kitchen. His shirt was off but apparently was doing little to cool him. He was red-faced and dripping sweat. The August heat of Texas was suffocating the small house. He stood over an air-conditioning unit. Tools were scattered about. At the end of his rope, he began attacking the unit with a wrench, denting the dilapidated thing. On the other side of the kitchen, Kirsten held open the fridge door. Wearing a thin nightgown, she had her hair bundled up and was letting the cool air flow over the back of her neck.
A series of clicks filled the room, followed by a sound similar to gushing water. Everett and Kirsten heard it too and began searching for its source. Everett’s eyes fixed to the ceiling. And eventually, on me. Kirsten too seemed to have spotted me. Everett scowled disapprovingly as he reached up. I cowered in the corner, not knowing how I was going to explain my long-distance intrusion. “Motherfucker!” screamed Everett. As he held his hand up to the vent, I realized it wasn’t me he was reaching for. “I cannot fucking believe this! It’s heat!” He raced to the thermostat, attempting to stop the hot air from gushing through the vents.
Kirsten rushed to the window and desperately tried to lift it open. She wanted air, even the dry air Texas had to offer. But the window wouldn’t budge. “It’s not gonna work!” Everett screamed to her. “They’re sealed shut! All of ’em—except the one for the air conditioner.” She held back tears of frustration as she gave the window one last futile shove. Everett charged to the hallway. He opened the metal panel that concealed the furnace. He cussed at it, not knowing what to do. Giving up on the window, Kirsten swung open the kitchen door. Two large cockroaches, which had been clinging to the curtain, dropped near her feet with a clack. She let out a short scream before kicking them out the door. Desperate for air, she left the house with them.
Everett had left for this? For a dump of a house without a working air conditioner? For a possessed furnace? For that awful horse painting above the couch? Still, in his presence, I felt safe. No longer did I sense the evil that had been relentlessly pursuing me. As I hovered on the ceiling, watching him tinker with the furnace, I wondered why I couldn’t just stay there. Live with him in the tiny blue house. He wouldn’t even have to know. I’d leave my body behind. I didn’t need it. I’d let it rot in the field, let it wither and become a skeleton like the raccoon’s.
Yet just as that thought penetrated my mind, I became distracted by the sound of shuffling beneath me. I looked below. But the noise wasn’t coming from inside the blue house. It came from a place far away. I reached for Everett. But he didn’t even notice as I was sucked through the roof and back into the atmosphere.
Abruptly, I opened my eyes. It was unbearably bright, even with a thick cloud passing overhead. My body tingled. It took a moment for my circulation to kick in, for the rest of me to fill back into my cells. Once again, I heard the rustling noise beneath me. I stood dizzily from the log. One of the cats, I assumed. It had probably been hiding in the log the whole while, had become restless and wanted to play. But when I knelt to peer inside, what I saw was not the welcoming face of a frisky feline. Instead, I found a pair of glowing red eyes glaring into mine. It gave a low, sinister growl. I jolted back as it lunged forward. It charged out of the log, growling, baring its teeth. A claw trap was clamped on the front leg of the raccoon, assuredly set in the woods by Mr. Peterson. The animal was vicious, filled with fury and pain. Had I attempted to unclamp the trap, it surely would’ve torn into me. It was looking to bite, to attack whatever dared come near. It chased me out of the clearing and through the weeds.
Of course it couldn’t have been a friendly cat. It had to be a ferocious wounded animal that pulled me back from Texas. I should’ve known. Evil never would’ve allowed me to stay with Everett. It worked to keep us separated so I’d remain an easy target.
The phone was ringing as I entered the house. I answered, out of breath. “Ayden? Is Dad there?” Everett sounded out of breath as well.
“You have to come home,” I whispered desperately. “The monsters—they’re out of control.”
“Ayden—”
“Every night they come out of the woods and the fields and into the yard. They’ve been clawing to get in. And then last night, the light in my room kept getting dimmer and dimmer—”
“Calm down.” He cut me off. I could tell he was agitated. I knew he was already frustrated and sticky with sweat. “Nothing’s coming out of the woods. And if your lights are getting dim, change the bulbs, for Christ’s sake. Just because you hear noises and your room is getting dim doesn’t mean—”
“I was attacked!” I revealed boldly before bringing my tone back down to a whisper. “Last night. I was almost eaten. They know you’re gone. They didn’t get me. But they’ll try again.”
“Listen to me. You’re completely safe. Now stop it.”
“Safe! They’re coming after me because you’re not here. They won’t even let me visit you.”
“But you’re coming in the fall with Mom, right?”
I was becoming as frustrated with him as he was with me. “When are you coming home?” I asked flatly.
I could hear his breathing become more labored as I imagined the tiny house transforming into an oven. “Not for a while,” he said finally. “Please. Is Dad there?”
“I don’t know,” I replied angrily, “because I just walked into the house after sleeping next to a barn in the Grand Am last night. Want to know why? Because I had to jump out my bedroom window to stop from being shoved into a cloaked monster’s black-hole stomach.”
“Well, can you see if he’s there?”
I was stunned. He wasn’t willing to even listen, much less come back and rescue me. He didn’t care if monsters devoured me. He was more concerned about his broken furnace than my survival. “At least tell me what I’m supposed to do. If you’re not coming home, when they come for me again, how will I survive it?”
I could feel the heat rising through the telephone. He let out a deep sigh. “Fight them,” he offered reluctantly. “Just like we did before. Just like I taught you. Fight them like we fo
ught them from inside the spaceship—and on foot in the fields and the woods.”
Although my heart swelled a bit at his admission of our past adventures, his proposition was absurd. “How could I fight them alone?” I asked. “I’d be killed in an instant.”
“You don’t need me. You never did. You could’ve handled them all on your own.” But he was wrong. I did need him.
Dad came into the house looking weary after his long haul through the Midwest. With him in earshot, I quickly changed the subject. “Thanks for putting me above the television,” I said.
“Above the television?”
“My picture—in the circle.” I handed the phone to Dad without saying goodbye. “It’s Everett. He needs help with his furnace,” I told him before disappearing to my room.
23
The Hyperbaric Chamber
Sleep pumped through me like a drug. It was the deepest, heaviest sleep, as if I were curled beneath a giant rock. It would’ve been easy to remain under the spell of the intoxicating rhythms. Yet somehow, in the corner of my mind that refused to give up consciousness, I knew I was being held under by the hot and heavy breath, by the poisonous fumes expelled from the bellies of demons.
I had finally convinced Everett to come home. I had come too close to having him back to be thwarted once again. I had to wake. Warn him we were under attack. So I attempted to force myself out of it. At the bottom of the foggy pit where I languished, I envisioned a spiral. I climbed up on the winding coil and rode it for miles and miles, twisting up, and eventually out of, the murky trap.
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