To Science

Paneling and bookcases muffle all sound except a ticking clock. I stare upward and wait. A stain on the ceiling looks like my Uncle Otto.

“I know I’m not crazy,” I say finally.

The couch is comfortable, but lying down feels awkward, like most picnics.

“Who said you’re crazy?” replies David. He insists that I call him David. Maybe so I’ll feel more relaxed.

“No one, actually, it’s just that things aren’t making sense. Or making too much sense.”

“And how does that make you feel?” he says, glancing at his note pad, ready to write.

“Please don’t say that. It’s so dumb”

“Then how do you suggest I find out how you’re feeling?”

After a brief pause I say, “I feel like an observer of my own life. Like I’m acting out a script. Or like I’m making everything up as I go along. Like it’s not real. Like I’m dreaming. How’s that?”

“Well, that would be classic depersonalization disorder, but let’s explore a bit further, ok?”

“Sure. Let me ask you this. How many coincidences does it take to screw in a light bulb?”

David looks up, puzzled.

“You know, before the little cartoon idea bulb appears over your head.”

I tilt my head to the right and look directly at David. “Metaphorically of course. Remember, I’m not crazy.”

“Go on,” he says, and smiles.

To read the rest of this story and more than fifty others, please consider buying "Natural Selections," at Amazon.com.

Intrusion

She was drifting off to sleep, thoughts of the day swirling into dizzying random images like chocolate into cake batter, when she sensed a presence. Through closed eyes, one or more red digits on the bedside clock flicked the silent passage of one minute, and then the next. The subtle change in brightness was magnified through her eyelids by the contrasting blackness of the room. She dared not look for fear of what she might or might not see. A specter, a watcher was in the room, lurking in the darkness, and there was a childlike safety behind her tightly shut eyes akin to pulling the covers over her head. She was paralyzed.

Her heart pounded as she considered her options. The iPhone on the nightstand was within reach, but may as well have been miles from her grasp. The red glow from the clock’s display would betray her as her arm crossed the gulf between the mattress and the wooden surface. She heard breathing.

Tiny incremental movements, too small to be detected, could bring her closer to the edge of the bed over a period of time. But then what? The unseen enemy had the high ground. Even a sudden lunge would put her at a clumsy disadvantage.

A scream would be of no use, just a trigger for attack and a pathetic surrender of her last breath. Frank slept like a stone beside her. Waking him would be difficult judging by the depth of his slumber. He was more helpless than she was. And how would she reveal the threat without movement or sound?

To read the rest of this story and more than fifty others, please consider buying "Natural Selections," at Amazon.com.

Uptown 8

Denny pulled on a heavy fiber rope that dangled from the ceiling. He pulled again, more forcefully this time, but still without the expected result.

“Back up a little,” he said to Aaron.

The eight year old sprang to the far end of the hallway in an exaggerated leap from danger.

“Where does the secret door go?” he asked his Dad.

“It’s just the attic buddy,” said Denny.

One additional forceful pull broke the seal on at least two coats of paint. The attic had not been used within Aaron’s lifetime at least. Another tug and the folded up stairway opened like a jaw with the screeching noise of an expanding set of rusted springs and a cascade of dust. Denny unfolded the stairs and pressed against them with his boot to secure the bottom edge against the hallway carpet.

“Ready?” he asked.

Aaron nodded and smiled.

To read the rest of this story and more than fifty others, please consider buying "Natural Selections," at Amazon.com.