When the young man walks through the door, I think to myself, I know him. Where do I know him from?
The answer is there, in the forefront of my brain, but I can’t quite manage to get a grip on it. It’s like a rock buried in the river of my thoughts, covered with moss and mud. Slippery.
I stare at him and smile, just in case, and the young man smiles back and waves. I wave back to him, and then continue sweeping the floor.
The young man busies himself making some sort of sandwhich, and I decide to talk to him, to see if I can’t jog my memory.
`”How are you?” I ask.
“I’m good,” he replies. “Just got back from school.”
“What are you studying?”
“Mathematics as applied to extraterrestrial propulsion,” he replies.
I nod, but decline to comment as I don’t completely understand what he’s talking about. He finishes making his sandwhich, and steps out again.
I return to sweeping the floor, and fragments of conversation float through my head. One line in particular stands out.
On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, I’d give it a nine.
My mind shies away from that memory. It’s not a pleasant one, and I don’t like to think about it.
When I finish sweeping the floor, I look around for something else to do. Right now, there’s nothing.
I wander into the front hall and my eye alights on a door. I look around, and then step toward the door. I grasp the doorknob and try to turn it, but I can’t. The thumbbolt is turned.
I turn it back and try again. This time, the doorknob turns, but the door still won’t open. The deadbolt is locked. I reach up to unlock it, and then realize that there is no switch to do so. If I had th ekey, I could open the door and escape, but I don’t.
I look around, looking for the key, but can’t seem to find it.
I turn back, and head into the kitchen again, and sit at the table. I stare out the window at a squirrel sitting on the deck. For several minutes, the squirrel ambles around, checking here, checking there, and then accidentally knocks over a bird feeder. The noise as it falls over scares the squirrel, and it runs off.
I carefully step around the table, and to the door leading to the back deck. I grasp the doorknob, and open the door. I step outside and right the birdfeeder, straighten up a few other things, and then step back inside.
A young man is in the kitchen, an dI think to myself, I know him. Where do I know him from?
He is placing a dish in the sink and rinsing it off.
“Have you eaten?” I ask him.
“Yeah, I had a sandwich.”
“Oh...” I say. “You really ought to eat more.”
“No, I’m okay.”
“Just a sandwich though... you really ought to eat more.”
“Seriously, I’m okay.”
The young man pats me condescendingly on the shoulder, and then steps out again.
I wander into the front hall, and my eye alights on a door. I try to turn the knob, but find that the deadbolt is latched. I look around, but I can’t seem to find the key. No escape today.
A young lady bounds down the stairs and around the corner. out of curiosity, I follow her, watching as she manipulates some sort of machine I know I should recognize, but don’t.
She turns on the television- I know that much at least- and watches it. A young red haired girl is telling an old white haired man that they are knidred spirits. her name, it occurs to me, is Anne. His is Matthew. He is taking her home to meet his wife Marilla, who is expecting the girl to be a boy, and won’t she be surprised? Four hours from now, if I’m not interrupted, I’ll see Matthew collapse in a field and die from a heart attack.
A voice from the past rises unbidden in my mind again. I’d say it was a nine. I try to shove it away, but this time, the memory wants to stick around.
Is she going to be alright? another voice asks.
Hard to tell,” the first replies. If she’s strong enough to do an- some long word I can’t quite remember- she may last for a few years, but in all honesty, I’m not expecting her to live through the night.
The next thing I remember from that night is a blinding flash of white light, and then I woke up here with no idea what’s going on, or who anyone is, or even where I am. This isn’t my house, I know that.
I need to get back to my house. I don’t belong here. It’s illegal. Whoever these people are, they can’t hold me prisoner!
I come out of my reverie to an empty room. There was something going on here... what was it?
That memory has slipped away too. What’s been done to me?
I get ready for bed, and lay down. I’m afraid, I know that. I don’t know why I’m afraid, or what there is to be afraid of, especially at my age. I close my eyes, but fear is trembling in my chest, and I know something’s going to happen, but I don’t know what.
The night grows silent, and then the scuttling begins. Quietly at first, a tick here, a tack there. Bony and chitinous on the floor.
Then a squeak. A few more clicks and clacks, and then something bumps against the bed. I open my eyes, and look down.
Something huge with eight eyes is staring back at me. I scream and pull back, but it scuttles up on to the bed.
I gather my courage and lash out at it. There is a thud, and a bony crunch, and it falls off the bed and on to it’s back, it’s ten legs in the air. It’s pincers click and snap, and then more of the things dart out from the darkness under the bed and tear it apart.
I scream again, an dthat draws their attention. The two beasts, look up at me with green blood dripping from their jaws and begin to climb up the bed. I scream a third time, just as the door to my cell opens, an older man steps in.
“Shaders!” I scream at him, pointing at the two nightmares who are advancing on me. the man runs forward and brings his fists down on one of the beasts- the Shaders. He flails wildly at the second one, knocking it away.
Behind him, an older woman turns on the light. The man stands, his hands covered in the green and black slime and looks back at the lady.
She comes forward and wraps her arms around me, and quietly begins to sing. She sings a song my mother once sang to me, a long time ago, before I was taken into this hell.
“Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Momma’s gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that Mockingbird don’t sing, Momma’s gonna buy you a diamnond ring.”
By the time she sings about the looking glass, I am passing into the land of nod.
I open my eyes in the morning to an uncommon silence. I roll over, and my hand, seeking the smooth comfort of Laura’s waist searches in vain. I roll over and see that Laura has already risen. I smile and rise as well. I walk into the kitchen where Laura will undoubtedly be starting on breakfast for both of us.
As I step into the kitchen, I don’t hear the sound of bacon, and I don’t hear the sound of eggs, and I definitely don’t hear the sound of Laura bustling about being busy.
The kitchen, in fact, is empty, and it looks different, and for a minute, I can’t place what it is. Then I realize that the kitchen table is rectangular instead of circular.

Laura bought another table without telling me, I think. I’ll have to have a talk with her about that.
I ame some coffee and sit down at the table, waiting for Laura to com eback in.
A footstep bnehind me makes me smile.
“i was wondering when you were going to show up,” I say with a smile, and turn. The young lady standing there isn’t Laura. She’s someone I’ve never seen before. The smile fades, replaced by a bewildered look, and again, those memories surface... with horrifying clarity.
I’d say it’s a nine.
Is she going to be alright?
Hard to tell. If she’s strong enough to do an angioplasty, she may last for a few years, but in all honesty, I don’t expect her to last the night.
Tears welled in my eyes. When will Laura get to come home?
The doctor looked at me. In al honesty, Alan, you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that she may not come home.
Those words caused grief to well up inside me, and suddenly, there was an explosion of bright white light and the rest is jumbled photographs, mostly out of focus.
One is of a voice saying “brainstorm;” another is bright neon lights above me rushing past as incomprehensible medical terms are shouted around.
A third is of a test they gave me. Having to draw two rectangles. An absurdly easy task, but one I had an enormous amount of difficulty completeing.
The rest, ironically, is history.
The young lady pours herself a bowl of Trix (Silly Rabbit, Trix are for kids - I know that much) and walks over to the other room. A moment later, the sound of cartoons bounces off the walls.
I shuffle over to the cupboard and reach for a coffee mug. Inside, I see a box divided up into seven different sections, each with a letter. Funny thing- there are two “S”s and two “T”s. There is a note taped to the box: “G’Pa’s Pills.”
Suddenly, the phone rings. No one is around. I shuffle over and answer it. “Hello?”
“Yes, Hello,” the voice on the other end responds, “This is Jennifer Rhodes calling from the New Haven Neurological Institute. I’m just calling to confirm the appointment for Alan Parkes tomorrow at 11 a.m. to test how far his alzheimers has advanced.”
“Alright,” I say, “I’ll pass that on.”
“Thank you, sir, and have a good day.”
“You too.”
There is a small decorous click on the other end, and I hang up. Moments later, I sit down to read the paper.
Now, where was I?