I found my best friend Sean during a neighbor’s summer pool party, when I was twelve.
He was in the tool shed.
Summers in my small, southern
town moved slowly, mired in long days of heat so thick it sometimes hurt
to breathe.
Of course, it is also possible that they only felt slow to me, being that I didn’t get out very much.
It wasn’t that I hated the sun, although I couldn’t call myself a fan. I just had a problem with attracting vicious creatures. Every biting, stinging insect went right for me whenever I stepped outside.
So I spent that night trying to slap away the mosquitoes, which I could feel but couldn’t see. Being twelve, I thought I’d make less of a target if I were moving, so when it came time to dry off I walked around instead of sitting by the pool.
My neighbors lived in an impressive white house, a remnant from the old South that was over a century old. The backyard was expansive and dotted with tall, thin trees. In the rightmost corner, close to where our house and theirs were separated by fence, they kept a shed. Like the house, it was white, or least it was probably white at some point in time. The wood paneling was chipped and dingy, and the roof missed several shingles. My neighbors used it to store their tractor, their watering cans, their brooms and pinking shears and saws.
I passed by it, hearing something scrabbling around inside. The shed had a wide, open entrance, and I peered into it, curious but afraid. I thought maybe it was a rat, but the sound was too heavy for something so small.
I spotted a shadow, thin but definite, reflected on the wall by the moonlight. It moved closer to me, heralded by soft footsteps. Terror gripped me then, and I grasped at my throat, finding it difficult to breathe. Unfortunately bathing suits have no pockets, so I didn’t have my inhalator with me. I sank to the grass on my knees, on the point of hyperventilating, when a hand touched my hair.
I opened my mouth to scream for my mother, and the same hand was quickly covering my lips. His skin, warm and dry against my mouth, smelled faintly of metal.
“Hello,” said the boy, wrapping his other arm around my waist and pulling me to my feet.
I screamed anyway, but it was breathless and weak.
“That’s not a very polite way to greet someone, is it?” he said, his intense eyes searching my panicked face. I squirmed, but he had a good grip.
"How about I take my hand away on the condition that you refrain from screaming?"
Exhaling raggedly, I nodded.
He let me go, and I trembled so badly that I crumpled again to my knees. I stared up at him, taking him in. I’ve still never met anyone as tall as Sean. At that time he was already over six feet, and he was just two years older than me. Eventually, since he was a homeless bum, he would develop a robust tan, but then he was pale and slight, with bright blue-green eyes and long purple hair that spilled over his shoulders. A deep scar shaped like a cross took up most of his left cheek, and besides that he wore only a pair of black drawstring pants.
It only took a moment of looking into those eyes to understand that he was mad.
When my parents called for me to go home, he said, “I’ll go with you.”
There wasn’t anything I could do about it. I made him a salami sandwich because he was so thin. I didn’t understand how someone with arms as skinny as his could have such a strong grip.
He devoured the sandwich, and then another, and then several cans of soda and a bag of chips.
My parents acknowledged him, glad I had made a friend. That he was male, twice my size, and eating all our food didn’t seem to perturb them.
It’s been two years since that day. He alternates between sleeping in the shed the next door and the one on the lot behind my house. Sometimes, when it’s very hot or very cold, I’ll make him sleep here.
I’m thinking, as I sit on my bed and watch the leaves fall, that maybe tonight will be one of those nights.
I shut the book I was reading and opened my door. Sean, leaning against the door like a sentry, fell back in surprise.
I jumped away as well, dumbfounded because I know my parents had locked the house before going out.
"How did you get i-in?" I asked, flicking the hall light switch as I padded down the front stairway. The house was completely dark except for my room. "I thought m-mom and dad locked the d-doors."
"Oh, Claris, my dear, do you take me for a fool?" Sean said dramatically as he bounded down the stairs, two at a time. "It was merely a matter of picking your primitive excuses for locks."
He followed me into the kitchen, draping himself over a chair as I turned on those lights as well.
“Make me a sandwich, woman,” he said lightly, putting his feet up on the table.
“O-only if you put your feet down,” I answered, fishing around in the fridge for the deli meat.
I piled some turkey onto some bread and handed it to him. He bit off a corner, watching me with pleased, half-lidded eyes while I put away the food.
”Um... you know, S-sean, winter is approaching... I think maybe you sh-should start wearing more clothes..." I began.
"How many times must I tell you? I am immune to your pathetic Earth elements. I need not wear excessive amounts of that which you call clothing."
I rubbed my temples. "Well, listen...are you sure you don’t want to stay here tonight? The news said it was going to be thirty degrees outside."
Sean made a noise in his throat, signaling that he was becoming impatient with me.
"Come on," I prodded.
He was silent for a few moments, pondering. He paused and grinned, showing off his sharp little teeth. "Mmmokay... but only if I get to sleep in your bed."
I looked at him, and then outside, thinking of the frigid darkness. "Oh, fine.”
Sean's grin widened, and he trotted over into the den, flopping onto the couch and taking the remote control from the table. He turned on the television as I walked past him, where I slowly took a box of matches from off the fireplace's mantle. Sliding open the inside of the box, I withdrew one of the wooden matches and struck its red tip against the rough surface on the side of the box. The match caught fire, and I saw Sean's eyes immediately latch onto the flame's light.
"Ooh," he said. His pupils contracted and his lips parted in excitement. "Fire..."
"C-calm down, Sean," I said nervously, tossing the match into the pile of dry logs and turning on the gas. The logs burst into flames, and Sean nearly darted off his seat and kneeled in front of the fire, his glittering green eyes wide with fascination. The red-orange flames licked at the air around them, crackling loudly. I stood there, still clutching the box of matches, watching Sean and the fire. He did not say anything for a long time, simply knelt, staring.
"Are you okay?" I ventured, returning the matches to the mantlepiece.
"I.. just..." he mumbled, "I remember fire."
"Well, it was o-one of the first things we as a species figured out," I said lightly. "S-so I hope you do."
"No, I mean.. I remember it. From a long time ago," he said, his voice sounding relaxed and almost sane. "Not a fireplace kind of fire... I mean the kind that burns down your house."
I did not really know anything about Sean's life previous to the day I met him. For one, it was not really my business, and for two, it was obvious that he couldn't recall much of it, anyway. His former house burning down seemed plausible, and actually fairly ordinary—but I doubted that was actually what happened. After all, the loss of a house is tragic, but it's something people tend to remember.
Meanwhile, Sean was reaching his hand towards the flames, his fingers extended.
"Sean, don't t-touch it! You'll get burned!" I cried, grabbing onto his shoulder.
"That's the point," he said, but he didn't fight me. "I'll remember it if I can feel it."
A roll of thunder hit my house before I could answer, and he turned away from the fireplace suddenly, his attention refocused on the new sound. He returned to the couch and pressed his face against the window behind it, smiling, the fire forgotten, as raindrops scattered over the glass. "Mmm, storm."
I shook my head, and thanked whatever listening deity for attention deficit disorder.
"L-listen, it's late... I'm going to bed," I said.
"Late?" Sean turned away from the window and took my hands in his. "Ah, but my dear Claris, the night is young! So young.."
I reddened.
"I, u-um.. just want to get some reading done," I stuttered, my fingers shaking.
"Ah," he let my hands drop. "Alright then. Do what you like."
I closed my eyes and shook my head again as I turned and started up the stairs.
"Try not to c-cause any major structural damage, okay?" I called back, looking over my shoulder to see Sean fiddling with the television remote control.
He cackled maniacally. "Certainly, certainly."
*
I stared at the ceiling of my room, listening to the rain and the sound of Sean’s rhythmic breathing. I looked over at him with his body curled into a ball, his hair in his face, the sound of his breath mixed with that of a muted rrr noise in his throat. I sighed deeply and rolled over, my fingers digging into my pillow as I pulled it closer. I wasn’t quite sure why Sean always insisted on sleeping in my bed—he had never tried anything, and he was normally so quiet that I didn’t realize he was there. All that I could recall him doing was a few times when I would wake up and his arms would be around me, but nothing else. Probably mistaking me for a stuffed animal.
I looked over at my bureau—my glass lamp, that I had owned since I was a small child, lit the small space around the bureau, casting its warm yellow glow on my books and reflecting off my glasses. I usually slept with that light on.
I lay there for a while longer, listening to the rain and letting my stream of consciousness flow, until finally I felt my eyelids grow heavy. I yawned as my eyes closed, and I fell into the subconscious.
I had a short dream.
Whips of lightning cracked against the purple sky as I scrabbled over the rotting white fence that separated my house from next door. My sneakers crunched the rain soaked grass as I ran, desperately searching for what I had seen there. Stopping to catch my breath, I saw it again. A sliver of red-blue, disappearing behind one of the trees. I knelt down, gasping, wondering if I was just imagining everything. I closed my eyes for a second, and when I opened them I saw the streak of red-blue again, this time sliding into the door beneath my neighbor’s pool. Sucking in a breath of air, I stood and walked to the moss covered door, trembling as I took hold of the tarnished knob. The door opened with a sickening creak, and I slowly stepped inside. Suddenly, a blade shot from the darkness, its sharp tip aiming right at my throat.
"So, you’ve found me," a voice, cold and soft, whispered from the depths of the tiny room. My whole body shuddered with fear as that voice rang throughout my mind.
"Th-this… th-this h-has to b-be a dr-dream," I gasped, as the blade’s tip moved from my throat to my arm. I cried out a little as the tip ran down my fragile, pale skin, leaving behind a stinging trail of crimson red.
"No…" the voice answered,
as a terribly familiar face moved right in front of mine, its mismatched
eyes narrowed dangerously. "It's a nightmare."
The dream ended abruptly,
and I opened my eyes to find my breath stuck in my throat. The unease
dissipated after a few minutes of looking around the room, assuring myself
that it was just me and Sean.
But as I closed my eyes for
the second time, I heard thunder.
end day I
begin day II