Page 3

I stand up, toss my boxers on the floor and look at my Fichus tree.  Each of the leaves still hanging to branches have been drained to a pasty yellow shade, the rest of the leaves lay dead on the floor.  Unsure as to whether or not it looked like that yesterday, I shake my head, cover my genitals with my hands, and sneak to the bathroom right outside my bedroom door and to the left, at the top of the steps.  My brother's former room is directly adjacent to mine.  I enter the bathroom, turn on the shower and shut the glass door that contains it.  I look at myself in the mirror again and study my new face.

Maybe it was just a dream, maybe I am 23 and I just had a really intense dream about my past from when I was 17.  I look out the window, through the blinds, to see that it’s still raining.  The rain is collecting in puddles in the green suburban grass; the strip of houses ascends up a short hill from my position, four of them up until the end of the block, and in the distance I see trees and the gray clouds that come with rain.  The sky is moving as though I’m watching an old 8mm film twice as fast, and it’s making me dizzy.  I step back and get in the shower, hoping it can offer some clarity.

Steam is already filling the bathroom, I step into the stream of water and let out a deep sigh as it strikes my body hard and runs down past my feet.  I stroke the little brown hairs on my arms and the patch on my chest, then the fully developed pubic line from my navel to my crotch.  I run my hands through my dirty blonde hair, it was pure blonde so many years ago, almost white, but the shades became darker with each summer I spend indoors and became almost brown by the time I was sixteen.  I look down, there’s a Temple class ring on my right hand and a gold band on my left hand.

The showerhead is now at eye level, which must mean I’m about two inches taller.  I run my hands over my face and feel some rough stubble, not like the minute hairs that used to cover my face.  I step out of the shower and quickly shave it off with my electric razor.  Why would I even try to grow a goatee?  Did I do it on purpose?  Was it because Evelyn liked them?  I get back in the shower.  I’ll have to get a haircut later.

I close my eyes and let the warm water run over my skin, let the steam engulf me.  I keep my eyes closed as I wash my hair, then I hear something hit the ground.  Had to have been my soap, but it sounded like a much heavier impact than soap would make.  I blindly reach over to where the soap dish is and put my hand around the bar.  I turn to face the back wall and open my eyes, seeing that the steam engulfing me is red.  I turn quickly back to the showerhead and see a dark red liquid spraying out at me, forcing a scream that nearly curdles what I think it might be.

I look at the floor and there is a severed foot, the shock of seeing it makes me lose my footing and slip backwards into the glass door, shattering it.  I manage to get a hold of the towel rack and not fall into the shards, but I look back in front of me and see blood cascading down out of the showerhead, then I notice that the ceiling of the shower has disappeared and there is a wide gaping hole where it used to be.  “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?”

I glance stare into the abyssal, visceral cave ascending into darkness; the walls are meaty, fleshy, and alive, like I’m looking down the throat of some horrifying enormous beast.  There’s some sort of muscular contraction in the walls that vomitously forces out a severed human head that strikes my groin and sticks firmly to my penis.  “GET OFF!  STOP!”  I frantically rip the head away, pull myself up, and throw the bathroom door open.  My hands, my arms, my entire body is covered with blood.  I crawl across the floor to my bedroom sobbing, once inside I slam the door and start wiping the blood off with my blankets.

I throw open the drawers of the large desk in wall and pull out socks, boxers, and a t-shirt.  I pull those on and put on a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a jacket.  I haven’t a clue as to why I’m getting dressed, because I don’t know where I’m going to go next or what I’m going to do.  As I tighten my laces, I hear a moan.  It’s soft, too soft for me to discern whether or not it’s human.  I can’t locate the source, which makes it seem almost as though the house is generating the sound.  I snap my head to the door, thinking that it must be that thing in the shower.  Was it always in there, just above the ceiling, coiled in the walls of the house?  I glance at the closet quickly, and then turn my head towards it.  There’s a black object poking between the door and the frame.

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