you be fine? You hit your head, fell in the lake, took on too much water. Your hard drive crashed and rebooted, but everything
is back online now, running smooth. Leave it at that.
Or maybe there are no new neighbors
.
Maybe whatever you saw, it wasn’t real. Maybe he’s not even a real man
.
But that was silly, wasn’t it? What else could he be?
There are possibilities. All kinds of possibilities
.
Well, there was one very simple way to resolve this non-mystery. Tomorrow morning he would take a short stroll around his
backyard and see what he could see. And maybe, if he was feeling up to it – and why shouldn’t he feel up to it, he was in
fine health – he might just walk up the driveway and knock on the door. Hello, I’m Mick Nash, that’s my house right there,
my family lives here. I thought it was time we had ourselves a nice neighborly greeting. Stop by for a beer sometime, bring
the wife and kids, but in the meantime stop fucking standing there watching my house like a creep, all right? That would be
that, and then he would know.
Unless of course no one answered the door, no one had moved in, and the house was empty. How about that, Mickey? What would
that mean? It would mean you are seeing things. It would mean you need to tell Amy we have a problem with the machinery, time
to explore some unpleasant medical possibilities. Right? Right.
I’ve been looking for you for a long time
.
The sound of the voice echoing in his head lowered his core temperature so abruptly he felt as though he had just stepped
out of the shower on a January morning between furnace cycles. For the first time since waking up, the gravity of what had
happened – and what hadalmost happened, the lake pinning him to the wrestling mat of eternity – hit him full force. The very end of Mick Nash was
no longer an idea, a distant event. It was right outside his window, stretching itself around his neighborhood, and it wanted
to come in, cozy up with him, reach its fingers in and close his eyes for good. He could feel it out there, beckoning. There
was no logic to it, but it had something to do with that obstruction sitting in the dark, and the man who had been watching
him.
Mick turned away from the window and crawled back onto the bed. He pulled the covers up, balling them in his fists. He closed
his eyes and experienced an echo of the unnatural feeling when his family had hugged him, kissed his cheeks. None of it felt
real. Today did not feel real. His life did not feel real. He wondered what had really happened out there during the missing
eleven to eighteen minutes. He wondered where he had gone and what he had seen.
He wondered what he might have brought back.
14
Mick sat up some hours later, in middle-of-the-night darkness, tangled in the bedding, feeling trapped. He hadn’t heard a
door creak or window breaking. He simply surfaced from a shallow pool of near-sleep and with primitive certainty
knew
.
Someone was in his cave.
He surveyed the bedroom, catching the scent of stale water and something muddied, like silt at the bottom of a lake. He turned
to shake Amy, but her side of the bed was empty; right, she was in the guest room. Outside the big window, the five largest
Flatirons stood risen from the earth like stone tents crooked with time.
He got out of bed and found the three-foot scrap of stainless-steel pipe he kept behind the walk-in closet door. The gummy
handle wrapped in electrical tape was comforting. Nice heft. You want it, you got it, fuck-o.
He took a few steps toward the open bedroom door and cocked his ear. He imagined the sound of drawers opening and closing,
the telltale creak of a floorboard, but nothing came. The scent of fetid water was lesspotent now, as if it had originated in the bedroom and since moved on.
He stepped into the hall. The carpet was wet in places near the door. He went further, feeling around with his bare toes,
spots of it squishing
is back online now, running smooth. Leave it at that.
Or maybe there are no new neighbors
.
Maybe whatever you saw, it wasn’t real. Maybe he’s not even a real man
.
But that was silly, wasn’t it? What else could he be?
There are possibilities. All kinds of possibilities
.
Well, there was one very simple way to resolve this non-mystery. Tomorrow morning he would take a short stroll around his
backyard and see what he could see. And maybe, if he was feeling up to it – and why shouldn’t he feel up to it, he was in
fine health – he might just walk up the driveway and knock on the door. Hello, I’m Mick Nash, that’s my house right there,
my family lives here. I thought it was time we had ourselves a nice neighborly greeting. Stop by for a beer sometime, bring
the wife and kids, but in the meantime stop fucking standing there watching my house like a creep, all right? That would be
that, and then he would know.
Unless of course no one answered the door, no one had moved in, and the house was empty. How about that, Mickey? What would
that mean? It would mean you are seeing things. It would mean you need to tell Amy we have a problem with the machinery, time
to explore some unpleasant medical possibilities. Right? Right.
I’ve been looking for you for a long time
.
The sound of the voice echoing in his head lowered his core temperature so abruptly he felt as though he had just stepped
out of the shower on a January morning between furnace cycles. For the first time since waking up, the gravity of what had
happened – and what hadalmost happened, the lake pinning him to the wrestling mat of eternity – hit him full force. The very end of Mick Nash was
no longer an idea, a distant event. It was right outside his window, stretching itself around his neighborhood, and it wanted
to come in, cozy up with him, reach its fingers in and close his eyes for good. He could feel it out there, beckoning. There
was no logic to it, but it had something to do with that obstruction sitting in the dark, and the man who had been watching
him.
Mick turned away from the window and crawled back onto the bed. He pulled the covers up, balling them in his fists. He closed
his eyes and experienced an echo of the unnatural feeling when his family had hugged him, kissed his cheeks. None of it felt
real. Today did not feel real. His life did not feel real. He wondered what had really happened out there during the missing
eleven to eighteen minutes. He wondered where he had gone and what he had seen.
He wondered what he might have brought back.
14
Mick sat up some hours later, in middle-of-the-night darkness, tangled in the bedding, feeling trapped. He hadn’t heard a
door creak or window breaking. He simply surfaced from a shallow pool of near-sleep and with primitive certainty
knew
.
Someone was in his cave.
He surveyed the bedroom, catching the scent of stale water and something muddied, like silt at the bottom of a lake. He turned
to shake Amy, but her side of the bed was empty; right, she was in the guest room. Outside the big window, the five largest
Flatirons stood risen from the earth like stone tents crooked with time.
He got out of bed and found the three-foot scrap of stainless-steel pipe he kept behind the walk-in closet door. The gummy
handle wrapped in electrical tape was comforting. Nice heft. You want it, you got it, fuck-o.
He took a few steps toward the open bedroom door and cocked his ear. He imagined the sound of drawers opening and closing,
the telltale creak of a floorboard, but nothing came. The scent of fetid water was lesspotent now, as if it had originated in the bedroom and since moved on.
He stepped into the hall. The carpet was wet in places near the door. He went further, feeling around with his bare toes,
spots of it squishing
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