by Don Sloan
He looked to his right, and saw his own house and, because he could think of nothing better to do to escape the swiftly oncoming storm clouds, he began swimming. He kicked out with his muscular bare legs and pointed his torso, still clad only in the cutaway tuxedo jacket, toward his house. He arched his back into a jackknife position, as a diver might to reach the bottom of a grotto, and the move worked. He began descending rapidly, while the winds picked up behind him.
Now he felt as though he was being propelled from behind, swimming for his dear life through the thin summer air, hoping against hope to make a safe landing on his own front porch, which now loomed just before him. The wind and rain coming in off the ocean crashed into him with the force of a wave and rolled him head over heels into the front wall of his house.
Stunned briefly, he struggled to wake up. But the rain and the wind just kept pummeling him, until he realized that the water was in fact rising from the beach and surging toward his home. He pulled himself into a sitting position and saw an enormous wave coming for the house. He began screaming and pleading to wake up, to be saved from this terrible dream that had started out so beautifully. The wave now looked like a solid 30-foot wall of water, bearing down on him with the force and the sound of a freight train. And then it hit the house.
Nathan was instantly immersed in bitter, salty seawater and slammed against the front wall of his house. Behind the wave was still more water and Nathan found himself treading surf that was over his head. Now he saw that if the water kept rising, he would be drowned by being trapped under his own porch roof.
He arched his back again and dove for the floorboards of the portico, reached out and touched the boards, and swam straight out through the roiling waters about 30 yards before he judged that it was safe enough for him to kick for the surface. He had been holding his breath for what seemed like hours.
Now, as his head broke through the surface, he was astonished to see the sun shining high in the sky, with gulls wheeling and keening and crying above him. He pushed aside a long string of kelp and began looking around for his house while he bobbed and floated―but it was nowhere to be seen.
How could this be, he thought, and a sudden feeling of overwhelming exhaustion overcame him.
The storm was gone, as though it had never been, and he was floating somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, naked except for the elegant dinner jacket still clinging to his body. He turned over onto his back, stretched out both arms and floated, riding up one wave and down another. He wondered briefly whether there were sharks circling him in his dream, and wondered if he ought to be more afraid than he felt at that moment.
But a voice came to him saying it would be all right. He smiled at the sound of the voice, which he could not place: it was actually a mix of voices, such as you might hear at a party. But one seemed to stand out above the others. It was a woman’s voice, elderly but kind. “Who are you?’ he asked. And the woman said, “A friend. Go back to sleep now and don’t dream. I will protect you.” And Nathan did as he was told, sleeping soundly and dreamlessly until the smell of strong coffee awakened him.
He rose from the sofa and found sunlight the color of butterscotch streaming through the sheer curtains into the parlor. He glanced at his watch and found it was 7:15 a.m. on Wednesday morning. The smell of vanilla-laced coffee came to his nostrils and he realized with a start how hungry he was. He stood for a moment and looked down at himself. No tuxedo jacket or white pants; just the Old Navy boxers and blue work shirt he had been wearing when he fell asleep the night before. His jeans were folded neatly on the floor by the sofa, alongside his Weejun moccasins. As he yawned and scratched himself, he became keenly aware of eyes watching him.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a man in boxer underwear,” Sarah said, smiling. “But do you all scratch yourselves like an old bear when you wake up in the morning? Inquiring minds want to know.”
Nathan reached for his jeans. “I’m not sure if we all scratch, but I know I do. Must be the primeval man in me.”
He smiled as he drew on his jeans and slipped his bare feet into his Weejuns. She’s even prettier in the morning than in the evening, he thought. “Where have you been hiding out? Wait. My first guess would be in the kitchen, making coffee.”
“Well, I did that first, you’re right, but then I went upstairs to take a shower, so I’m not qualified to play the part of a dirty, hairy cave girl.”
He crossed the room and threw an arm around her, drawing her close and smelling deeply of her fragrant short hair and clean skin. “What was that old commercial? My―you look lovely even without makeup.”
She gave him a quick wet kiss and looked deep into his eyes. “Thanks. Want some fresh coffee?”
“I’d love some, but first, I believe I’ll take a hot shower. You have extra towels for your cave-dwelling friends?”
“Of course. What kind of establishment do you think I run here? Come with me to the kitchen and I’ll get you fixed up with some java.” They walked with arms about each others’ waists, as though they had been good friends for years, and Nathan once again wondered at the sudden onset of this relationship, which felt so different from any other he had ever had.
“Do you like your coffee black or with something in it?” Sarah asked. “It’s vanilla hazelnut from Starbucks. Hope it’s okay.”
“Perfect. Thanks.”
She handed him a steaming mug and he sipped it, then took a deeper swallow. “How did you sleep? Good, I hope.”
“I slept wonderfully and only had one brief dream. You know, I don’t ever remember having such strange dreams as I’ve had since I’ve been here.”
“I know what you mean. Although last night, for some reason, I didn’t have a single dream, good or bad. Must have been the security alarm I installed last night.” She beamed at Nathan and he blushed.
“Well, luckily there was nothing to rouse the alarm,” he said, sipping at his coffee again. He looked over at the counter and found it topped with breakfast preparations. “I think I’ll run upstairs and grab that shower now, if you really are intent on making breakfast. It would be the perfect start to the perfect day.”
“I’ll do my best. Fresh towels are in the hall closet.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
Nathan grabbed his coffee mug, refilled it, and then went up the stairs to find himself a thick green towel and a new bar of soap, and was inside Sarah’s shower within minutes. He decided against singing, even though the urge to do so was so strong he could barely fight it. When he finished, he stepped out of the shower and toweled off. He made a mental note to run up to his house and change clothes, if possible, before breakfast. He dressed quickly and descended the stairs.
well, my dear, the Presburys are gone, but what about all these remaining people?
we’ll just have to deal with them just as we have all the others. Remember the way we—
tortured that one young family? Kept it up for days and days, until they were all insane and the—
way that poor boy’s head split open like a ripe watermelon when she hit him with the axe! It was all we could do—
not to stop screaming, but the shadow took him and never gave him back. That was very satisfying. We talked about him for months, but they never—
could put all that baby’s intestines back inside. What a terrible mess! And the Roberts’ found her brother that same day with a butcher knife in his hands and blood all over—
the piano, turning all the ivory keys the most peculiar shade of red . . .
What first struck Nathan was the absence of something that should have been there. The pleasant smells of coffee and breakfast-cooking from just a few minutes ago―before he went upstairs to shower―were gone. The second thing to strike him was the absence of any sounds at all.
“Sarah?” he called out. No answer. He quickened his pace and hit the bottom of the stairs at a dead run. “Sarah, where are you?”
He ran into the kitchen. Not
only was Sarah not there, no breakfast of any kind was being prepared. He looked around wildly. This is not possible, he thought. He placed his coffee cup on the counter and noticed that there was no coffee maker in this kitchen. In fact, he was dumfounded to discover that this was not Sarah’s kitchen at all.
“Sarah!” he yelled. “Where are you?” But only his echo came back to him. This house’s kitchen had not been updated like his and Sarah’s. Old tile, in shades of pink and gray, covered the countertops and an old Hotpoint stove and refrigerator from the 1950s sat against the wall. Wallpaper was peeling off the beadboard behind it and hanging in tatters, and a single fly-specked bulb hung from the ceiling. “This is insane,” he cried. “This can’t be happening. Sarah! I can’t find you. Where are you? Where am I?”
He ran from the kitchen to the parlor and over to the great room. In the parlor he found a black grand piano. And in the great room he discovered French doors that led onto a tiled patio, exactly as it had been in the moonlight from his dream. Now, however, the morning sun had gone behind a cloud and, as he looked out, the threat of more snow loomed. He looked at his watch and it was still only 8:05 a.m. So time had not changed―only his location. But how? And to what purpose?
His only thought now was to get out of that house and back to Sarah’s before she started worrying about him. He quickly retraced his steps back to the hall and found the front door padlocked on the inside.
“Oh, man, tell me I’m dreaming,” he said. But no voice came to him this time. He ran to the kitchen and pulled on the back door. This, too, was padlocked but the glass panel inlaid in the door crashed easily outward when he wrapped a kitchen towel around his elbow and gave it a quick punch. Wrapping the towel around his fist, he cleared the window of shards and quickly climbed through and out onto the back stoop. Here he found himself in the overgrown yard he had seen in the moonlight in his dream.
“This is just a little too much for me,” he said. “There is no damned way for me to explain this. I go upstairs in one house and come down in another a block and a half away.” The wind suddenly picked up, blowing around the house from the ocean and Nathan realized how cold he was, clad only in his work shirt and jeans. He had left his coat at Sarah’s. “It must be below freezing again,” he said, “and some questions really need answering.” He went out the back gate, which was not padlocked, and made his way back to Beach Avenue.
He was worried about Sarah. Any force that could physically and in real time transport him from one house to another while he was in the shower was certainly capable of harming her while he was away. The question still remained as to how this was done so easily and flawlessly, so he didn’t discover his whereabouts until he reached the kitchen, but the explanation―and there had to be one―would have to be left until later, when he found Sarah all right.
He was running now, down Beach Avenue, and passing startled people out strolling the avenue with their dogs. He passed his own house and broke into a sprint. Sarah’s house was in the very next block and he doubled his speed. Sweat was dripping from his brow as he pulled up―in front of an empty lot, where Sarah’s house should have been. The ground was as level and overgrown as though the lot had never been developed.
“Oh, my God!” Nathan said, and the people passing by wondered if this young man, standing in a bitter ocean wind, was all right. He put his hands up to his head and fell to his knees in front of the lot, which had no fence, no driveway, no outbuildings―nothing to indicate that Sarah or her house had ever existed. After a long moment, someone touched his shoulder and he looked up to see a man in a bowler hat and high cravat. He had a kindly face, the face of a minister, perhaps, and he looked very concerned.
“Young man, is there some trouble?”
Nathan didn’t know what to say. Yes sir, I was just here fifteen minutes ago, upstairs taking a shower, and now the house doesn’t exist, and then here you are, looking like someone from the 1800s. His thoughts whirled crazily in his head and he began to shake violently. The cold wind, coupled with his light clothing and recent exertions, were causing a sudden warmth to flood his body. He began to feel light-headed. Then he began to sway, and slumped to the ground, with a curious knot of troubled faces surrounding him. He slipped further and further into unconsciousness.
Sarah’s face was the first one he saw when he awakened in the hospital room. His eyes were having trouble focusing, but she bent her head down to his face and kissed him. “Sarah?” he said thickly. “I—“
“Shh—don’t try to talk,” she said. “I’m just glad to see your eyes open. We were beginning to wonder.”
“Wonder, what?” and he tried to put together a more coherent stream of words, but there were none. Sarah’s face floated in front of his, full of worry, before being replaced by a brisk nurse in an old-fashioned white, starched cap and uniform. She began busily taking his vital signs as Sarah stepped back from the bedside. “Wait,” he said weakly, “I don’t understand why I’m here, or even where I am.”
“Well,” said the nurse briskly, “you are in the Cape May General Hospital and you were brought in two days ago for hypothermia that went directly into pneumonia and other complications. You wouldn’t regain consciousness and everything we did to bring you back just seemed to make you go further away.” She finished taking his blood pressure and shoved a thermometer in his mouth: the old-fashioned kind with a mercury bob at one end. “Put this under your tongue and keep it there,” she said.
“Wait,” he mumbled. “This still isn’t right. Where’s Sarah?” But the two women were gone, as quickly as they had appeared.
Nathan felt too weak to get up, even though every fiber in his being said he should. None of this was right, but he was having to fight his way back to consciousness to begin making any sense of it. All right, Nathan thought to himself, first things first. My temperature right now is normal―I can tell that just by feeling my forehead. And I can’t be in a real hospital because I don’t have one of those weird gowns on. He looked down and saw that he was still clad in his work shirt and jeans. He wriggled his toes and found that even his Weejuns were still on his feet. “Who is doing this, and why?” No one was in the room, which was, now that he could see better, like one of his own upstairs guest rooms. Who the hell were these people, how did they get into my house, and what was going on? The questions and events seemed to be flowing so fast that he could scarcely keep up with them. With an effort he raised his head from the pillow and felt a pounding throb that caused him to stop abruptly. After a moment or so, however, the throbbing subsided and Nathan swung his legs over to the side of the bed and out from under the covers. The bed was one that his grandfather had made. He had slept in it many times. It was made of redwood and could be stacked on top of an identical one across the room when necessary to make bunk beds. It felt strange to Nathan to be tiptoeing his way across the room to his own bedroom doorway in his own house. But he seemed certain that the two women would be back soon if he didn’t hurry and get out of there. He wondered who they were, and, if it wasn’t Sarah who had kissed him, who was it?
Nathan made his way over to his own bedroom and looked in. He entered and found that all his clothing was in its proper place, and waiting. Hesitating only a moment, he opted for a snug Polo sweatshirt and fresh jeans, and put on thick socks before slipping into his Weejuns again. At least this is going well, he thought, and cautiously made his way down the stairs, expecting at any moment to see someone who would ask him what he meant by sneaking out of his own house like this. He met no one, however, and he let himself out the front door, locking it tightly behind him. “Let’s try this again,” he said, and he went down the walk to the boulevard. The bitter wind knifed at him as he walked. His heart leaped when he came close enough to see its gables rising above the trees, just as they should have been. He went up the wide steps and knocked on the door. Sarah quickly answered it and let him in.
“Where have you been?” she asked with genuine concern. “I thought
you were just going to get a shower. Did you go back to your house?”
“Well, yeah, kind of,” he said, for he didn’t know what else to say at the moment. He looked around him and saw his jacket hanging on the hall tree, and smelled once again the fresh aromas of a big breakfast cooking. “Have I been gone long?”
“What kind of question is that? Nathan, are you all right? I was really starting to worry about you. I started looking for you about a half-hour ago when you didn’t come back into the kitchen.”
“Well, I have just had a very strange experience that I hope doesn’t repeat itself. Have you been here the whole time?”
Sarah still eyed him with worry, and she could tell that whatever had happened had shaken him. Indeed, he wavered a little when he walked, so she had to prop him up on the way down the hall. “Nathan, I’m going to call a doctor.”
“No. I mean, I’d really prefer you didn’t.” He sat heavily in a kitchen chair and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m still not sure that what I think happened really happened. But it’s just one more out-of-body experience that keeps adding up here. This one really took me by surprise. If I had been asleep, I’d write it all off as a dream.”
Sarah pulled out two large plates from the oven, brimming with eggs, bacon and homemade biscuits. “Are you sure you’re well enough to eat?” she asked. She looked around. “Where’s your mug? Upstairs?”
“Not exactly,” Nathan answered with a wan smile. “Unless I’m crazy, which I may be, it’s sitting on a pink and gray countertop in the kitchen of the old abandoned house at the corner of Beach Avenue and Howard.”
Chapter 11
It was an hour later.
They stood in the freezing wind outside the back door of the abandoned corner house. On the stoop was broken glass, and the open window gaped before them. They were not surprised, but neither were they comforted by the sight.