Four Octobers

by Hautala, Rick

  Ben told himself he would have to make an appointment to see his doctor. These feelings and this disorientation were at their worst at night, and he strengthened his resolve to call first thing in the morning.

  “I have to get through the night first,” he whispered, flinching at the sound of his voice. He turned and was starting toward the back steps when he glanced down at the dead leaves piled at his feet. The gully was shallow, but the leaves covered his feet to the ankles like he was standing in a snow bank. In the orange glow of the streetlight, the leaves were a dark, burned-caramel color. The pointed tips curled like tiny claws, but it was only when he shifted his focus, like looking at a “magic eye” picture, that he saw something else.

  The pile of leaves seemed almost to have assumed a vague human shape. The longer he stared at it, the more it looked like a person, lying facedown by the side of the road. The arms were stretched out, and Ben thought it looked as though the figure was clutching the ground like someone clinging to a life raft in the middle of the ocean. The legs were splayed awkwardly with one leg cocked up while the other stuck straight back. The head was flattened but still had a vague roundness to it that was very convincing. Ben had the panicked thought that someone had been hit by a passing car and had died while trying to crawl to get help.

  Ben held his breath as he stared at the increasingly distinct figure. With a sudden gasp, he shook his head and rubbed his eyes, trying to make the illusion disappear, but even after telling himself it couldn’t possibly be a person, the hint of a human figure persisted.

  “You need help, buddy. You really do,” he whispered, not entirely sure if he was speaking to himself or to the human shape lying in the gutter. He slowly backed away from it, careful not to kick the leaves and disturb the pattern. A fitful gust of wind blew at his back, sending another shiver up his spine. With a quick shake of the head, Ben darted to the side and then dashed toward the back steps. With the wind whistling in his ears, he could easily imagine that he heard footsteps coming after him. It wasn’t hard to imagine that the human-shaped pile of leaves was heaving up onto its hands and knees and staring after him with cold, hollow eyes. That image filled him with fear and spurred him on. He took the back steps three at a time and slipped on the top step, bumping the door hard enough to rattle the glass in the frame. He reached into his jeans pocket for his keys, all the while trembling.

  “Come on…Come on!” he whispered as he fumbled to get the key into the lock and turn it. A cold prickling tightened his shoulders. He didn’t dare look behind him because he was convinced, now, that the leaf figure had gotten to its feet and was lurching toward him, its leafy arms rattling like old bones as they reached out for him.

  The lock clicked, and Ben let out a loud wailing cry as he shouldered the door open and practically fell onto the porch floor. Spinning around quickly, he slammed the door shut and fumbled to lock it. His fingers slipped, and he grazed his knuckles against the rough wood, taking off a few layers of skin. The porch glowed with near hallucinatory brightness as he looked at the back of his hand where blood was spreading across his knuckles like a splash of black ink. He jumped when a gust of wind slammed into the door. When he glanced outside, he saw a pile of dead leaves swirling in a little tornado near the foot of the steps. It hovered there for a heartbeat and then faded away, leaving behind a handful of dead leaves on the steps.

  “You didn’t get me this time,” Ben whispered, not really sure what he meant. His face was close to the door window, and his breath left two tiny ovals of condensation on the glass. The wind that whistled through the narrow crack at the bottom of the door sounded faintly like laughter. As much as he wanted to believe he had imagined what had just happened, he couldn’t stop thinking that the leafy thing had been after him. The sense of threat was palpable, and although he told himself he might be reading way too much into it, he couldn’t help but feel as though that thing was patient and willing to wait until the time was right.

  ****

  The palms of Ben’s hands were cold and clammy. Thin lines of sweat ran from his armpits down his bare sides, tickling him as he hefted himself up onto Dr. Porlock’s examination table. He couldn’t help but jump when Ed—they had been on a first name basis for years—pressed the cup of the stethoscope against his back.

  “Take a deep breath,” Ed said. Ben complied, sucking in a slow, even breath that he let out after a few seconds.

  “Another.”

  Ben took another breath even though he was feeling a little light-headed. Tiny white spots drifted across his vision before he let it out.

  “How’s your diet?” Ed asked as he moved the stethoscope to another quadrant of Ben’s back. Without being told, Ben sucked in another breath, held it, then let it out.

  “Good…good,” he said. “I’m eating so much fiber I’m practically crapping sawdust.”

  Ed chuckled as he moved his stethoscope again, and Ben inhaled and exhaled one more time.

  “You’ve lost a bit more weight than I like.”

  “I had it to lose,” Ben said, patting his stomach.

  “True, but you don’t want to lose too much too fast. Still, your lungs sound clear, and your blood pressure’s lower than it’s been in years.” Ed stepped in front of Ben and placed his thumb first under Ben’s left eye then under the right, pulling them down. “You look good. Especially for someone your age.”

  “Thanks…I think,” Ben said. Unable to maintain eye contact for very long, he shifted his gaze to the floor and said, “But I feel like crap. I—” He sighed and rotated his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just not sleeping.”

  “That’s certainly understandable, considering you lost your wife so recently.” Ed smiled tightly. “But what is it? Are you having trouble falling asleep or staying asleep?”

  “Falling asleep,” Ben said. He took a sip of air that caught in his throat and made him cough. His eyes filled with tears, blurring his vision as he glanced at his doctor and friend. “I don’t think I…I can’t fall asleep. I haven’t slept in over three months.”

  Ben made a habit of joking around with Ed whenever he had an appointment, and Ed regarded him now with one raised eyebrow as though waiting for the punch line.

  “I’m serious, Ed. Ever since Mary died, I haven’t slept.”

  “Well, you must have dozed,” Ed said, trying without success to inject a note of levity into his voice. “It’s not possible for someone to go more than a few days, a week tops without sleeping. There are sleep deprivation studies that have proven—”

  “No. You’re not hearing me. I don’t sleep. Ever. Every single night, ever since Mary died, I…I’m not sure how to explain it, but I go into this, like, weird state where I see and hear things.”

  “You mean you hallucinate,” Ed said, his brow lowering with concern.

  Ben studied his doctor’s face, unnerved because he had never seen him look so worried before, even when he had that skin cancer scare a few years back.

  “Yeah,” Ben said with a sharp nod. His head felt like it was being supported by an old spring. “I…see things. Especially in my peripheral vision, and I…I hear things.”

  “Voices, or other sounds?”

  Ben’s shoulders slumped forward, and he folded his hands together in his lap, fighting back the low shudder that was running through him.

  “Sometimes I hear voices…but not usually. Usually it’s like a humming sound, a buzzing, and I can’t tell if it’s inside my head or not. Sounds like a bee hive sometimes. And last night, I went for a walk after dark because I couldn’t sleep. I heard this scraping sound. I was sure someone was walking behind me, but whenever I looked around, there was no one there.”

  “You haven’t been taking any drugs recreationally, have you? Or maybe having a bit more to drink that usual.”

  Ben frowned and shook his head. “No. Of course not.”

  “I just have to ask…especially if you’re mixing them with the medications I prescribed
for you.” Ed fell silent for a moment that went on a little too long, in Ben’s opinion. Finally, he shrugged and shook his head. “Look, I’m certainly no expert on this sort of thing, but there’s a sleep research center in Portland. You want me to have Ginny make an appointment for you?”

  “Maybe I should see a therapist?” Ben said, hearing the quaver in his voice. “You know—like that bumper sticker I saw that read: ‘The voices may not be real, but they’ve got some pretty good ideas.’”

  Ed chuckled softly, but Ben wasn’t amused.

  “Maybe it’s a sign that I’m…you know…cracking up.”

  “You have been under an awful lot of stress lately.” Ed placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder, but he felt uncomfortable with the man’s touch on his naked skin and shifted away. “Mary’s death hit you very hard…”

  Ed’s voice pulsed painfully in Ben’s ears as what he said sank in and he stared down at the floor. He was trying, not too successfully, to keep the images of his ill and dying wife out of his mind. As he stared at the floor, the pattern of the tiles shifted subtly, the dark brown streaks swirling like threads of chocolate syrup dissolving into milk. His focus gradually shifted until it appeared as though the floor tiles, instead of being flat, were scored with ridges and valleys an inch or more deep. Ben’s pulse surged in his chest so hard it caught him by surprise, and he let out a tiny whimper.

  “What is it?” Ed asked, concerned. His voice sounded distant, as though it were coming through the wall from the next room.

  Ben felt frozen in time.

  He realized he wasn’t breathing, and for several seconds, he couldn’t detect even the faintest stirring of his pulse in his chest or wrists. The dark brown ridges on the floor deepened as they began to writhe like a tangle of earthworms on the off-white tile. As he strained to hear, he became aware of a low hissing sound, like someone was brushing rough leather with their bare hands.

  Ben was desperate to say something. He wanted to look up at his friend, stare him straight in the eye and tell him how frightened he was that he might be losing his sanity, but he couldn’t lift his gaze from the floor. After a moment, he realized the sound was coming from the writhing mass of worms on the floor. If he’d felt an impulse to jump down off the examination table before, now he was frantic to stay where he was so he wouldn’t step on the twisting worms.

  “Why don’t you put your shirt on,” Ed said, “and I’ll give a call over to the sleep research center. There will be someone there you can discuss this with.”

  His voice sounded so far away Ben could barely hear it, much less make out what he had said. The air pressure in the room seemed suddenly to have lessened, and the lightheaded feeling he’d had before was now much worse. It took a great effort to tear his attention away from the floor and to look up at his doctor.

  “You all right?” Ed asked.

  As he spoke, the motion of his lips didn’t quite match his words, like a poorly dubbed foreign film. One corner of Ben’s mouth twitched into a half-smile, and when he inhaled, air flooded his lungs like a gush of cold water. He started to reply but ended up coughing so hard he doubled over, resting his hands on his knees.

  “Whoa. Take it easy there, pard’ner,” Ed said with a laugh.

  Somehow, Ben was able to raise his hand and signal to the doctor that he was all right.

  “Whew,” he said, fanning his hand in front of his face like he was brushing away unseen cobwebs. “Guess that went down the wrong tube.”

  Ben’s insides were trembling as he eased himself off the examination table. The floor looked flat and ordinary now, but he was poised, expecting to feel it start to curl and buckle beneath his feet as he stretched his arms back to relieve the pressure in his chest. He could barely control his shaking hands as he shook out his T-shirt and slipped it on over his head.

  “So what do you say?” Ed’s expression was neutral, and Ben didn’t take that as a good sign. “You want to set up an appointment at the sleep center?”

  Ben hesitated, but only for a second before he shook his head.

  “No,” he said in a broken voice. “I think I can…I’ll deal with it.” He stood there, waiting for a reaction from Ed. When it didn’t come right away, he turned for the door.

  “How ’bout you check back here in a week or two. Just so we can make sure you’re all right.”

  Ben wanted to say no, but then he thought better of it. The truth was, he was really worried about what was happening to him. Ed had been his friend and doctor for almost twenty years, and he knew he should trust him, but he didn’t want to be seen as weak or vulnerable.

  “In the meantime,” Ed said, “I’ll call over to the center just to see what kind of work they do. They might have some useful suggestions.”

  “Like what, drink a glass of warm milk before going to bed?”

  Ed sniffed with laughter as he closed Ben’s medical record folder and walked with him toward the door.

  “I suspect they’re a little more advanced than that,” he said. “But who knows? Maybe they’ll drill holes in your head to let the demons out.”

  Ben didn’t react, and when Ed held out his hand for him to shake, he hesitated, not wanting Ed to notice how clammy and shaky his hands were. Putting more strength into it than necessary, Ben shook hands with Ed and then stepped out into the corridor. He could feel his doctor’s gaze on the back of his neck as he headed for the stairs, leading down to the main office.

  “Have Ginny make a follow-up appointment for you,” Ed called out before he turned to another closed examination room door where another patient was waiting. Once he was downstairs, though, Ben nodded a quick goodbye to Ed’s receptionist without making eye contact and strode out into the unseasonably warm, October morning.

  ****

  “So how’s it going?”

  “Shitty. How ’bout you?”

  “The same.”

  “In other words shitty.”

  Ben inhaled sharply, his mind drawing a momentary blank. For a long time, now, he hadn’t liked the way he and his brother, Rob, talked to each other, always trying to see whose life was crappiest. His brother always seemed so negative and depressed, and his goal, apparently, was to drag Ben down with him. Of course, that hadn’t been all that hard to do following Mary’s death. Still, that gave Ben another reason to keep his distance from his brother. He found a certain measure of relief and, in fact, couldn’t remember the last time they had seen each other. Although Rob lived in Afton, less than fifty miles from Northbrook, where Ben lived, they didn’t get together for holidays anymore. Rob hadn’t even bothered to come to Mary’s funeral, begging off by saying he just didn’t like the way funerals made him feel.

  After a long pause, Ben sighed and said softly, “Yeah…things are still pretty much shitty.”

  “You back to work yet?”

  “No. Not yet. I…uh, I’m probably not going to…at least for now. I’m certainly not going back to the college. They hired someone to fill in for me while I was out, and I—” He took a deep breath, and when he let it out, tiny white spots of light floated in his sight. “I just don’t think I have the heart to teach anymore.”

  As he was talking on the remote phone, Ben wandered from the kitchen, through the dining room, into the living room, and back to the kitchen again. The day had remained unseasonably warm, but as the sun dropped below the horizon, a chilly wind blew in from the north. A cold draught snaked its way through the windows, which Ben had left open all day. The old glass panes rattled in their frames as he ran them shut and locked them, pausing a moment to look down toward the river.

  “You still got a few years to go till retirement, Bub. What ’cha gonna do in the interim?”

  Ben shifted his gaze to the sky above the river. It was a flat, dimensionless purple with not a cloud in sight. The leaves of the trees on both sides of the river shivered in the breeze; the water was rippled, like dented tin. The only light in the living room came from the small reading lamp besid
e the couch. It cast enough light for Ben to see his pale reflection in the window. He was surprised by how gaunt he looked. He’d lost so much weight, he wondered if his brother would even recognize him were they to get together.

  “I’m not worried. I’ve got some savings and—” His voice caught, and it took some effort to finish what he intended to say. “Plus, I’ll be getting Mary’s life insurance money sometime, so I’ll be all right.”

  “Well, I worry about yah, little brother.”

  “You don’t have to. I’m not the one who died.”

  “No, you’re not. But you will be if you let this shit drag you down.”

  Ben shivered and turned away from the window as the light in the sky dwindled noticeably to a deep, bruised purple. It happened so fast a wave of vertigo swept over him, and he had to put his free hand on the edge of the sofa to steady himself.

  “You still there?”

  Rob’s voice at the other end of the line sounded faint. It reminded Ben of the sound quality they used to get when they were kids, playing with tin-can phones.

  “Yeah. I’m still here.” Ben’s own voice sounded to him like someone else talking on the street outside the house. A powerful rush of sadness and loneliness filled him. The daylight outside had faded rapidly, as though the sun were on a dimmer switch. When he glanced up at the sky again, he saw that it was streaked with clouds so thick they looked like billows of curdled smoke.

  “We ought to get together sometime,” Ben said. “It’s been…how long? Seriously, we should get together.”

  “Hey. I call you every couple of weeks, don’t I?” Rob said. There was more than a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

  “Yeah, but it’s not the same as seeing each other. God. It’s been…how long? We should never have let it go this long.”

  “What can I say? Shit happens. ’Sides, I’m not around much, so I’m usually not home. Fact is, I was down your way just yesterday. Swung by your place—I guess around six o’clock. It was already dark. Didn’t see any lights on in your place. I waited around out front for ten minutes or so, then headed home.”