Falter Kingdom. Michael J. Seidlinger
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points?
I need as much as I can get, really.
How about extra credit?
Ah, there.
Under the shower, I can almost let the hot water knock me out. I hear that it’s actually kind of common for people to fall asleep in the shower. I think the trick is to be ready to stick your arms out in front of you so you don’t crack your skull on anything when you fall down.
So I do that. I mean, why not?
But dammit—I get maybe a minute of hot water and it’s back to cold. That means I need to jump away from the shower stream. That means I have to mess around with the water again.
It’s usually not this bad.
I bet I look like an idiot. I’m the idiot who got in the shower naked before I even checked to see if there’s hot water.
I mess with both hot and cold but nothing works. The water is ice cold.
I think about shouting for Mom, but then I’d be proving that something’s wrong, that I can’t do this myself. I’ve done most things myself; why would I need Mom’s help now?
I watch the water. Maybe if I just wait it out a moment it’ll warm up. The pilot light might need to warm up, whatever the hell that means. I reach for my towel and wrap it around me.
It’s probably funny to anyone not in this situation, seeing someone in the shower afraid of the water.
I test it again, sticking two fingers under the jet stream. Nope.
It’s getting colder in the bathroom too. I can see my breath.
But it’s not hard to push it aside, paying it no mind.
I probably wait a few minutes, which seem like forever, and then I try it again. The water isn’t as cold this time, which is enough to lean in and try playing with the shower knobs again.
I toss the towel back on the rack.
Yeah, okay, so in the corner of my eye, I saw it.
I saw it from the moment I got in the shower. It was kind of like a shadow, a mass or blotch that you can barely see; but it’s also not really either of those things. Behind the shower curtain, I thought of it as just something I made up, something I imagined.
But you see, my towel didn’t make it back on the rack. It slipped off and hung in midair, forming a shape that waited for me to see it.
Chilled, you care most about getting warm. Getting warm is, like, the only thing you need when you’re fucking freezing.
I’m shivering.
I look at my hands—they’re shaking.
I’m really shivering.
This isn’t cool.
I have trouble taking it all in. I see it happening but, you know, it’s happening and I keep myself out of it. I’m like, “Oh, okay, cold spots now, great.” But I’m not like, “Help me. I’m being haunted.”
It just doesn’t come off as totally true.
So then when I’m under the water with my eyes closed, I get a shower going. Not really hot water but not cold either. It feels good enough, and I stand there, letting the water run down my shoulders. I like the way it feels on my penis. I wouldn’t ever mention it to anyone, I’m not a pervert, but it really does feel great, the warm temperature just dripping off the tip.
But it doesn’t last long. I start to feel the water changing. Going to be cold as hell so I reach for the towel but it isn’t there. I feel the air around where it should be and then—
Well, I still don’t know how to really explain it. But it got my attention.
Eyes opening, this is what I see: my towel draped over an area of space, forming the shape of a human figure, but that isn’t really right either. It looked off. I—I don’t know how to explain it. The head was too small and the shoulders too broad. But it lasts only as long as it takes for me to see it. Then the towel falls and gets drenched in the water, and I’m stuck without a dry towel.
I stand there, in the shower, shivering for a long time.
I’m still not able to get warm.
I keep thinking, “So that’s it, huh?”
But it carries its own weight. It isn’t as simple as saying that I’ll think about it later. I guess seeing it, seeing something that shouldn’t be there, kind of changes the way I perceive everything else.
You know how it’s never a problem saying you believe in something, but you really don’t accept or believe it because it’s never anything more than some random concept? That’s kind of how this is. I’ve heard about it since I was a little kid—people being haunted by demons—and about how it’s gotten to be so common that there’s a whole industry around getting rid of them. But it all comes off as fake.
It doesn’t seem real until it’s staring right back at you.
And it’s watching. It really is.
It’s watching me right now.
It’s always there, this feeling that I’m not alone.
It gets me thinking about everywhere I’m not looking. If I’m looking straight ahead, is it watching me from behind? If I’m looking everywhere for it, is it everywhere I’m not, watching?
That’s the kind of stuff I think about.
And I sort of fixate on this, because it’s a problem, a real problem. And I’m—I guess it’s fine admitting it now—I’m getting a little worried.
Not afraid. I’m not, I swear.
But something, everything, is starting to feel different. Everything’s changing and I’m not sure I understand what that means.
I’m still shivering, damn.
It takes getting under the blankets, napping for, like, an hour—or at least trying to nap—to stop shivering. I want to get online and read about people’s experiences with demons, but I can’t type. My fingers keep hitting the wrong keys. So yeah, I get under the covers, keeping the lights on even though it really doesn’t matter if they’re on or not, I hear the haunting continues no matter what. If it needs to, it’ll zap the lights. But it feels, you know, reassuring.
I pull the sheets over my head, just enough so that it’s kind of hard to breathe. I don’t really sleep though. I just listen to the sound of my breathing, the sound of my voice, but I’m not talking. I’m not saying anything, which takes all the comfort out of being under the covers. I try not to think about anything, but that doesn’t really work.
So I make a run for the other side of my room, secure my laptop, making sure it’s plugged into a power source, and get back in bed.
Before I really do anything, I get a message.
Becca. I’m actually a little relieved. This takes me away from what’s been happening since I got home.
“I’m like so angry at you right now you have no idea.”
I read the message twice before replying, “I have some idea.”
“Then you know that I had to walk home. Walk home.”
“Becca, I’m... sorry?”
“How sincere, ugh.”
Fess up, Hunter. Admit that this isn’t going to just go away. And I’m not talking about Becca.
“Look I am sorry, okay? Lots going on. It’s crazy.”
Becca types and erases and types. I watch the cursor flicker. I look around the room. I don’t see anything wrong, but the feeling is still there. I wish it would just lay off for a little bit—just a little fucking bit.
Becca’s