table.
The hutch, recliner, and shelves were shadowless.
Not even I cast a shadow.
The ashes in the hearth rustled.
“The poker. Calapooya…”
Light poured through the window.
“I brought It here, with me...”
The evergreens swayed on the hill, just as they always had. Just as they always would. In the evergreens I stood next to a pond, holding a stone.
“Let me go.”
In a white room with a white carpet, it is easy to see when something is out of place. Especially when there is a shadow on a day when no shadows are cast.
“Wherever I go.”
“Whatever I do.”
“I'll never be free.”
“You'll be there too.”
The surface of the pond was still.
I could see my reflection.
It was there.
Behind me.
It was reaching out.
I grasped the stone.
“There are a lot of things in the basement that need to go.”
“Knickknacks, keepsakes, even a couple of cans of gas.”
I had nothing to lose.
“It’s so nice to come to Home to a fire…even when there isn’t a fireplace.”
A hellish scream riled the horses in the field.
The bio diesel accelerated down the dirt road past the clipped signpost, tailpipe burning a bio-chemical trail through Sublimity. A colorless sun hung over the Willamette Valley. I-5 topknotted the Marquam Bridge and merged onto the Banfield. I drove in a stupor, planning my next move.
“It knows I’m coming. I have to be quick. No milling about. I’ll get what I need, pack the car, set the house on fire…”
I looked in the rear view mirror.
“If I lost control, and something else was pulling the strings, would I know? If IT was me, and I was a stranger to myself, at what point did It take over? When did I stop calling the shots? Why go back? Isn’t that what It wants? Isn’t that what It’s wanted, all along?”
Logic painted a precarious causeway over a chasm of despair. The overcast sky stretched infinitely overhead. I stepped on the gas, rub strip skirting the freeway wall, accelerator curling like an adder, the engine cutting in and out, wheels losing momentum, emergency lights on, the gauge at 300 degrees.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I pulled into Laurelhurst. Smoke wisped into the cabin. I got out and popped the hood. The engine block was cracked. The bio diesel would have to be towed.
Drizzle eroded the last remnants of white on Cesar Chavez Avenue, the golden Maid of Orleans buffeted in rain. An adumbrate penumbra buried Belmont Square and the old church, a bitter chill descended still enshrouded in a mist, Hawthorn thorns, and black acorns, the windows empty and forlorn, I climbed the stairs into despair’s capricious moldy gut, and opened the unholy door and stepped with fear inside, waiting for the Mephistophelean House to seethe my soul awry, but nothing came from in the House and at the door I stood, wishing I had moved into another neighborhood.
The Deerhound was waiting.
“Calapooya?”
It perked Its head.
The white door unbolted.
“Jonsrud? Is that you?”
The Deerhound tramped into the kitchen.
The white door was open.
I called at the top of the stairs.
“Jonsrud? Is this some kind of joke?”
Paws crossed the floor. Water trickled down the wall. The pump whirred. I poked my head under the flue inside the windowless chamber.
The Deerhound was gone.
Water spilled from the trough. The floor was dry. The black X and pink circle shone like a bloody sun. I studied the upside-down numbers on the wall, 174 lines repeated over and over.
“174, 174, where have I heard that number before? Shouldn’t have come down here. Shouldn’t have come back at all. X marks the spot. The Doctor’s private trust...” I reconsidered. “Quantum interference, like a stone in a pond. The ripples are the borders between that which happened and all the things which could of happened, but didn’t.”
I stared at the black X and pink circle. The black X marked the spot on the wall where the two sides came together. If I stood a little closer to
The hutch, recliner, and shelves were shadowless.
Not even I cast a shadow.
The ashes in the hearth rustled.
“The poker. Calapooya…”
Light poured through the window.
“I brought It here, with me...”
The evergreens swayed on the hill, just as they always had. Just as they always would. In the evergreens I stood next to a pond, holding a stone.
“Let me go.”
In a white room with a white carpet, it is easy to see when something is out of place. Especially when there is a shadow on a day when no shadows are cast.
“Wherever I go.”
“Whatever I do.”
“I'll never be free.”
“You'll be there too.”
The surface of the pond was still.
I could see my reflection.
It was there.
Behind me.
It was reaching out.
I grasped the stone.
“There are a lot of things in the basement that need to go.”
“Knickknacks, keepsakes, even a couple of cans of gas.”
I had nothing to lose.
“It’s so nice to come to Home to a fire…even when there isn’t a fireplace.”
A hellish scream riled the horses in the field.
The bio diesel accelerated down the dirt road past the clipped signpost, tailpipe burning a bio-chemical trail through Sublimity. A colorless sun hung over the Willamette Valley. I-5 topknotted the Marquam Bridge and merged onto the Banfield. I drove in a stupor, planning my next move.
“It knows I’m coming. I have to be quick. No milling about. I’ll get what I need, pack the car, set the house on fire…”
I looked in the rear view mirror.
“If I lost control, and something else was pulling the strings, would I know? If IT was me, and I was a stranger to myself, at what point did It take over? When did I stop calling the shots? Why go back? Isn’t that what It wants? Isn’t that what It’s wanted, all along?”
Logic painted a precarious causeway over a chasm of despair. The overcast sky stretched infinitely overhead. I stepped on the gas, rub strip skirting the freeway wall, accelerator curling like an adder, the engine cutting in and out, wheels losing momentum, emergency lights on, the gauge at 300 degrees.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I pulled into Laurelhurst. Smoke wisped into the cabin. I got out and popped the hood. The engine block was cracked. The bio diesel would have to be towed.
Drizzle eroded the last remnants of white on Cesar Chavez Avenue, the golden Maid of Orleans buffeted in rain. An adumbrate penumbra buried Belmont Square and the old church, a bitter chill descended still enshrouded in a mist, Hawthorn thorns, and black acorns, the windows empty and forlorn, I climbed the stairs into despair’s capricious moldy gut, and opened the unholy door and stepped with fear inside, waiting for the Mephistophelean House to seethe my soul awry, but nothing came from in the House and at the door I stood, wishing I had moved into another neighborhood.
The Deerhound was waiting.
“Calapooya?”
It perked Its head.
The white door unbolted.
“Jonsrud? Is that you?”
The Deerhound tramped into the kitchen.
The white door was open.
I called at the top of the stairs.
“Jonsrud? Is this some kind of joke?”
Paws crossed the floor. Water trickled down the wall. The pump whirred. I poked my head under the flue inside the windowless chamber.
The Deerhound was gone.
Water spilled from the trough. The floor was dry. The black X and pink circle shone like a bloody sun. I studied the upside-down numbers on the wall, 174 lines repeated over and over.
“174, 174, where have I heard that number before? Shouldn’t have come down here. Shouldn’t have come back at all. X marks the spot. The Doctor’s private trust...” I reconsidered. “Quantum interference, like a stone in a pond. The ripples are the borders between that which happened and all the things which could of happened, but didn’t.”
I stared at the black X and pink circle. The black X marked the spot on the wall where the two sides came together. If I stood a little closer to
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