Why Is My Husband Standing And Not Moving at All?
My spouse was inside my house, the woman at the door claimed. She raked her fingers over her dirty hair, clearly annoyed.
The address you have is incorrect. I lied and said, "It's just me and my boyfriend is here."
She leaned in towards me and put a hand on the door frame, saying, "No, no, please, just listen to me." I told her again that she had the incorrect address and that I couldn't help her before closing the door. I could still hear her, though.
"I have no idea what he'll do! Allow me to enter and locate him. Her palm pounded on the door as her muffled voice sharpened. "He remains motionless."
It sounded like she had left, so I froze at the doorway and waited for several minutes, just in case her ear was against the door. At first, I didn't think much about her marriage. She attempted to converse so gently, but it was clear that she was coiled tight enough to shatter at any moment. There was something strange about her. She continued to float on her toes as she peered into my flat from behind me. She didn't appear abandoned, though, or even neglected. Her tailored trousers and cashmere jumper conveyed a distinct vibe.
So I used the crowbar I kept hidden under the blankets in the linen closet to search my flat. With their windows looking out into the street, the front rooms were empty. It seemed inconceivable for someone to have broken in that manner, as I had been there the entire day.
Then the old dumbwaiter shaft came back to me.
It was closed behind a metal slab that was hinged behind the kitchen door. It was no longer an open shaft but a dusty room where wires passed through to prevent noise from seeping between flats. My largest chef knife, which is kept in the drawer across from the refrigerator, was with me.
The steel panel had no handle or lock and was painted the same colour as the wall. Rather, a tiny, uneven hole was pierced through one side using many drill bit plunges. I took a screwdriver out of the junk drawer and gave it a quick twist to try to pry it open so I could take a step back and extend the blade with my other hand. Rather, it creaked excruciatingly slowly as it swung open, and I dropped the knife, frightening myself even more as it clattered at my feet. I knelt to pick it up without thinking. As I knelt on the ground, I visualised a pale hand reaching into my head and hair, but as I glanced inside, there was nothing there—just the dark. It was empty.
Upon exiting the kitchen and walking by the front entrance once more, I noticed that the woman had pushed a piece of paper—similar to a takeaway menu—into my door. The words "Listen! Please" were scribbled on a tattered envelope that looked like it had been taken from the garbage and crumpled. Subsequently, I detected her soft voice coming from beneath the door, which was even closer than where I had bent to get the piece of paper.
The first time my spouse saw me was in the nook where my desk and printer cabinet meet, just around the corner from our French doors. He must have spent the entire morning there. It was only after I stumbled and hurt my ankle getting up from the desk that I realised he was standing straight up, like a sunflower. Abruptly, he was there, looking at nothing, when I looked up. The second time, he was squeezed between a window and the wall immediately inside the front entrance of our foyer, behind an all-glass display case.
When the whispers stopped, I became aware that I was breathing heavily. I was still on my knees, and I could feel the ache starting. "Are you still there?" the voice said in a whisper. I chose not to respond.
"He used to be as slender as an electric outlet, but now that he's called out to a site, he's gone through tubes of high SPF sunscreen. He has the ability to repress his presence and eliminate your hunch that someone else is close by. He's improving with practice; he is aware of where your eyes fall and the gaps they pass over.
"Move on!" I yelled and ducked into the corner of my flat that was furthest from the front entrance. With all the lights on and some TV on, it took me some time to become comfortable. The woman at the door had a mental disorder and a persecution complex, and she tried to drag me in, I told myself, not paying attention to the performance.
I slipped over to the window and looked out onto the park that was on the other side of my house. It had a swing set and a picnic pavilion, and it was tiny and mainly mowed. However, just across from me rose an unexpected and twisting shock of woodland. Even though the sun was still up, it was low enough that the shadows cast by this thicket were gloomy. There, I searched for her, thinking maybe two red eyes? I fully opened the blinds, but I couldn’t see her.
The park was deserted save for a few families playing volleyball at its furthest end. Next, I noticed a blue light emanating from an electronic cigarette. She was sitting on a beach chair in the shade, her legs arranged carelessly in front of her. Her face was so barely visible, that it appeared as though she was gazing through my windows.
I contemplated going outside to confront her, but as I turned around, her husband was there. I refrained from screaming. Breathing in, my throat clamped shut. He was standing next to my dishwasher, one knee pressed up against the refrigerator, and I could see him through the kitchen doorway across the room. Instead of standing erect, he was hunched forward at a right angle, with his back against the marble worktop. With fingers spread at strange angles, one arm was firmly pressed against his thigh, the other down, and finally the wrist up.
His eyes were aimed far out and to one side of me, his face oriented forward, positioned atop his torso like a bullet on a shell casing. His pale face displayed an expression of joy. His lips were a dazzling scarlet colour. He showed no symptoms of being noticed and remained still. Even yet, I knew that those eyes would turn and focus on me, and I didn't feel like I could move or turn away until they did. I made myself wave my arms and then clap, but nothing happened.
"You" "Sir!" I exclaimed. I mentioned. "You must go now!"
It wasn't as though he was ignoring me; rather, he remained silent. There was no tremble, no breathing. He was so motionless that as if the whole world had frozen.
Naturally, I dialled 911. I was told to leave the house as soon as possible by the operator. I spoke with the operator for a little more, but I ran out of things to say. The only way out was over his head. My stomach was full with acid. I couldn't possibly traverse that room. I thought about throwing something at him. or going after him. However, there was nothing closer to peril than a TV remote control.
My phone fell out of my hand as I was trying to get it back to my ear after the operator mentioned that police were on their way. My spouse never lost eye contact with me, even as my phone crunched under the couch and clattered across the floor. I got down on my hands and knees, thinking of reaching beneath and slithering over, but then realised that would mean losing him from view. It was best to get away. He might stay frozen if I manage to slither past him without touching him. Would he approach me and simply seize me? It was all I could do.
As I glanced down at my hands on the floor at the transition between hardwood and tile, he had vanished. However, it was fleeting as I could see him standing right in front of me again; he had not moved. Like he wasn't where I was expecting him to be, or that I had somehow forgotten him, my eyes had let go of him and were having trouble finding him again.
The arms that were supporting me gave way so badly that I pitched forward and took a hard smack to the side of my face. I didn't touch him as I fell directly at his feet. I rolled backwards and smacked into the cabinet behind me, pushing back with my heels of hands so hard I heard the fiberboard crack inside the door.
Now that I could crawl past him, I waited for any action from him. His khaki t-shirt didn't quite go with the oak cabinetry behind him or contrast with the white refrigerator. His black trousers did not complement the brushed chrome of the dishwasher, but I could see that he had a small piece of shimmery silver, possibly a lanyard loop, dangling from his pocket. How he could have slipped my mind is beyond me. However, he didn't appear to notice me.
I crept by him, straining to watch him over my shoulders until I was unable to move slowly at all. I got up quickly and tumbled to a standing position before sprinting so fast that I couldn't hear my heartbeat over the sound of my feet hitting the ground. I finally forced my way into my front door and closed it without turning around after fumbling with the lock.
No one was discovered when the cops checked my flat. I made an effort to clarify that they might not have seen him and that he might still be there. However, they refused to let me back in. Nor would they search the park. They ultimately departed, irritated that I wouldn't go back inside.
I was lost outside my building, not knowing where to go and without my phone. Now that night had come, the air felt pleasant. The woman in the driver's seat threw up the passenger side door and gestured me over, but I didn't notice the double-parked car until later.
I'd be ashamed to talk about the awful things I said to her. However, she was not the same woman who had faced me on my porch; instead, she was cool, collected, and understood how to deal with her husband standing motionless. I'll call her Fauna as I don't want to reveal her true name.
When I was able to listen, Fauna said to me, "I'll teach you to see him." I didn't want to go anywhere with this individual or see him, but I was at a loss for what to do. She took me far out of the city, until the stars appeared above a vast suburban area. She became a multi-acre construction site closer to the motorway, where duplex condos faded into industrial parks. Blonde soil covered in marks left by bulldozer treads. A cinder block frame that could eventually become a large box shop stood at the centre.
She switched off her headlights, and all of a sudden I was forced to face the sensation I had previously dismissed in favour of her calm assessment of my circumstances. My weary muscles protested at being called back to attention as I was paralysed with fear. Had I encountered a couple who collaborated?
However, she persisted in her reasonable speech and gave clear instructions, so I was unable to object at that point. Rather, I trailed behind her, allowing her to grab my hand and guide me through a diversion into the middle of the blocks that were still in place. She spread out a picnic blanket and patted me kindly while I lay on my back next to her. I was screaming within.
She stated, "We're in the middle of one of the less spectacular meteor showers that doesn't make news." But if we know where to look, we can spot one every few minutes.
She informed me that men who remain still cannot be found like a face in a crowd or a bird among branches. That is an attempt to be more precise. These immobile men would be uncommon, even if you could live in a condition of perpetual observation, where every square inch of reality is scrutinised. They disappear from your view, slipping into your scotoma and evading your notice.
She gestured to a section of the sky and remarked, "There was one." "Have you seen the one?" I didn’t.
She remarked, "Because you are scurrying around, searching for shooting stars." "As opposed to merely observing the exterior of reality."
She stated her husband had disappeared into the skies of our daily lives. He had shut down every aspect of himself to become eternal while he was motionless, making him an unidentifiable object in space. She showed me how to look down and search without a preconceived notion of what I wanted to see. She stated that once you see them, you can never want anything from the sky again. To become aware of your surroundings, you must detach yourself. When I first spotted a shooting star, I laughed and put my bad day behind me. And after that, still more and yet more.
With her hand on my shivering forearm, she whispered, sitting up, "Now, please, please, don't be afraid."
I cast my meteor eyes about. Men were arranged in peculiar ways; they were forced up against the cinder blocks, bent at an angle in the mud, and even stood upright in the middle of the road.
She said, "I see them everywhere now." "So many of them are just standing there."
