The Household Spirit
Page 31
He was looking at Emily.
He knew that she was there, looking at him. They were still keeping each other safe.
Thank you.
Emily began to cry.
Thank you for saving my life.
Suddenly the room that Emily was sitting in ceased to exist. The screens disappeared.
This was not part of The Household Spirit.
Emily heard a few cheers from the other room. Shouts of “Blackout!” Wooooos and laughter and calls for looting; a wineglass shattering. Emily was paralyzed. Seconds later, the power returned, but the digital projectors had reset themselves. They showed only blue screens that blinked ERROR.
ERROR behind her. In front of her. To the side.
ERROR.
ERROR.
ERROR.
Harriet burst into the room, looked about. “Well, that’s that,” she said. “Sorry for abandoning you. Guess there’s no point turning this back on now. Ethan’s here, by the way. He had to walk twenty blocks and looks like a fucking Sasquatch…”
ERROR.
ERROR.
Emily, still sitting, said, “You can’t just leave him there, Harriet.”
“Wait, what?” Harriet said. “Emily, are you all right?”
ERROR.
Emily laughed; she shook her head no. She wiped the tears from her eyes. She just needed to see the end, she said. Emily needed to see what happened next. Harriet understood. She touched Emily’s shoulder, then, without a word, went over and got the projectors working. She said she’d be back shortly. The momentary blackout had reignited the party.
The screens, once again, showed Mr. Jeffries returning home. But Harriet had sloppily synced the videos and now there were two Mr. Jeffries, then three. Four. He brushed his teeth at the same time that he opened the refrigerator for the ginger ale. He got out of his car after a long night of work. Then his car, on another screen, pulled up the driveway. Emily stood. You need to get as far away from here as possible. She was surrounded. She could not move. But then she heard it, like a hand reaching into her panic and waking her up. It sounded as if it was coming from the screens, from deep inside Emily’s memory of home: a door opening, a blizzard, and the joy of a little girl shouting, “Daddy!”
Acknowledgments
I am grateful for the patience and invaluable guidance and expertise of my editor, Lexy Bloom, and agent, Sophie Lambert.
The editorial assistance of Shumon Basar, Peter Harmon, and Charly Wilder.
The Akademie Schloss Solitude Fellowship (Studio 33); Joyce and Michael Bala; Neil Castro and Jeffrey Wodicka; the Corporation of Yaddo; Jobcenter Neukölln; Ilke Froyen and the Passa Porta residency; the Hipsh/Wilder clan of Kansas City; twenty-five years of sleep paralysis attacks; Kevin Conroy Scott; Louis Frutel-Wodicka (my favorite person); and Mika Krogerus for the alte Scheiße and neu Home.
About the Author
Tod Wodicka was born in Glens Falls, New York. He is the author of All Shall Be Well; and All Shall Be Well; and All Manner of Things Shall Be Well. He lives in Berlin.