Page 12 of Monsters' Touch

But now, walking through the downtown streets, sensible heels clicking on the pavement, the harsh midday sun seems to bring to light everything that just isn’t adding up.

Not that any of it did before. But this is the second instance that losing time has broken pattern.

The second Sunday it happened, I chalked it up to coincidence. The third was a pattern, one that, until now, remained constant.

Movement ahead catches my eye and I stop mid-thought and mid-stride as a blur of sapphire blue darts out of a gate a dozen feet ahead of me and down the long street, disappearing at the next cross street.

“What the—What was that?” I mumble, thumbnail anchored between my teeth. Vaguely person sized, the streak had no form, no discernible features, so I couldn’t say if it really was a person or not.

Not that people moved that fast. Which left one option.

Hallucinations.

Great.

Another thing to add to the list of oddities I could never bring myself to tell a doctor.

I take a breath, remove my thumbnail from between my teeth, and keep walking, trying to focus on the autumn sun on my face and making my breath line up with my steps.

I don’t usually walk home from work, and honestly, I kind of regret the choice. My feet hurt and my stomach grumbles, protesting exercise without sustenance. But even so, the fresh air and quick pace I keep has me in better spirits than this morning, so that’s something.

As I turn the corner to my condo, a held breath hisses out as I confirm that Tad’s car isn’t in the parking lot. I didn’t realize I was worried about the possibility until my tension level dropped. Not to normal. Not to before I’d broken up with Tad. But to the low level anxiety I seemed to always have. I hurry inside, set my keys on the small table by the door, and suck in a gasp.

Everything iswrong.

From the wall color to the shape of the furniture and the dimension of the room. Even the damn refrigerator sounds strange and foreign somehow. Everything is vaguely different, but not in a way I can pinpoint.

I glance at the too sharp angles of the couch, the brighter splotch of sunlight on the carpet, which itself seems like a higher pile.

So, yeah, another weird thing. But it’s fine. It’s all totally fine. It’s probably just my eyes adjusting from being outside. Yeah.

Maybe I’m a little lightheaded from not eating. It could be that.

My mom used to get aura migraines. Maybe I am too, and that’s what’s messing with my vision.

So many things could explain the “otherness” I see in my own condo. And I hold on to each like grasping at reedy straws. Because what other option is there? What other explanation could there be?

The too loud and slightly off-pitch rattle of the chain lock swinging against the door breaks me out of that line of thought, and instead of entertaining it further, I march to my room and change into the softest chenille pajamas I own. Obviously, the next logical step is crawling into bed and pulling the covers well over my head. Safe from all the weirdness beyond.

At some point, my brain stops circling around everything that doesn’t make sense and I drift off to sleep, only to be woken an hour later by the sound of my phone vibrating every bone in my skull.

I bolt upright, searching for the buzzing offender rattling each mug and bowl on my nightstand. I should really take those to the kitchen.

I give it an evil glare and pick it up to discover I’ve missed several calls from work, my mother, and Tad.

Great.

The phone grows heavy in my grasp as the thought of wading through each voicemail, each text, and deciding which to respond to or ignore presses in around me, constricting my chest like a huge snake of dread.

My breath quickens to shallow puffs.

Yeah. Screw that. I drop the phone back on the end table, ignoring everyone, pull the covers over my head, and go back to sleep.

The next morning, I crack open each eye slowly, wary that all the weirdness of yesterday might once again greet me. But a quick glance around the room reassures me that it, and presumably my condo, is once again the way it should be.

The extra sleep seemed good for me, and I set about my morning shower with a bit more pep in my step than usual. I am also strangely excited about my plan.

The thing I’d said in passing at lunch to Michelle is now my new goal. The thing I will focus on.

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