Page 8 of Her Alien Neighbor

I grab a block of red oak from the stack beside me, and glide it toward the blade of the table saw, smiling as it slices through the wood like butter, then turn the block around so it may carve the roughened edge of the other side the same way. Once I have the trim removed, I turn off the motor and inspect my work.

Impeccable, as always.

Not that there was ever any doubt. It is the reason my custom furniture business has taken off since we arrived in this quiet town over a decade ago after leaving Boston.

Switching out the clean block of wood with a second piece I must cut, I turn the table saw back on and resume my work. The blade has sliced through half the block when the door to my shed flies open and a wild creature stumbles in.

No. Not a creature. A human female.

Her hair is a dark brown, so dark it is almost black, and cut in short, choppy pieces that frame her round face. There is also a section of shorter hair that obscures her forehead. It is matted in the back and sprouting up in chaotic waves on one side. She is shouting something, but as I am wearing my safety headphones, I cannot hear a word.

What is she thinking, entering my shed? On my private property, no less. Thankfully, my hands stilled the moment she came in, but I could have easily injured myself on the saw’s sharp blade had I not noticed her right away.

I have no idea how she ended up here, but looking at her disheveled state and uncontrolled rage, she must be in need of professional care I cannot provide.

“What do you want?” I bark out once I cut the engine on the saw and remove my headphones.

“The noise!” she shouts back, her chest heaving. My gaze drifts down to the area, following the movement. She is wearing a pale-yellow T-shirt that is practically molded to her lightly tanned skin, the bottom hem tied in a knot at her hip, exposing a narrow patch of skin along her stomach just above the waistband of her soft black pants. Her shoulders and arms are plump, ending in slim wrists and small hands. Her breasts appear big enough to fill my palms, and I feel them begin to sweat as I envision squeezing, massaging, then feeding the hardened tip of one into my mou––

“Do you have to be so fucking loud?” she yells, running a hand through her tousled hair. “I was trying to sleep.”

I direct my gaze at the window, taking in the light gray sky of the early afternoon. “Do you often sleep in the middle of the day? Do you not have a job?”

Her mouth falls open, surprised by my curt tone, and I notice how lush her lips are. They are shaped perfectly. I could not envision changing a thing about the thickness or shape if given the chance.

“Uh, not that it’s any of your business,” she practically hisses, “but the last few days have been total shit and I haven’t slept well. I finally got a moment of peace this morning and climbed into a soft, warm bed. Next thing I know, I’m awoken by the sound of power tools.” The mysterious woman puts her hands on her wide hips, then pinches her eyes closed as if reliving the event against her will. “Like nails on a goddamn chalkboard. Do you have to do that right outside my window? Isn’t there anywhere else you could,” she waves an open palm at the block of wood, “do your little crafts?”

Little crafts? The nerve of this woman coming in here and dismissing my work simply because she chose to nap the day away. She has no idea how much time and care are put into every single one of my pieces. It is not as if I slap a few blocks of wood together and sell them at an obscene markup.

I take my time, adding intricate carvings into table legs, the backs of chairs, along the length of walking sticks, and so on. All I ask is that clients include three of their most cherished hobbies or interests when placing an order. The artistic freedom this arrangement allows makes the work enjoyable. And she just wandered in off the street and mocked it.

My patience, what little there was to begin with, has evaporated. “I do not know who you are, or how you ended up here, but I suggest you leave. And maybe sleep at night like everyone else.”

As I put my headphones back on, she says, “I told you already, I live next door.” The pieces of this puzzle start to fall into place. Lady Norton’s bedroom window is just outside the shed, and her glass panes are quite thin.

If this woman was in Lady Norton’s home, that must mean… “So you are the niece. From California. Vanessa, is it?”

She jerks back, surprised. “Aunt Franny told you about me?” She shakes her head. “I mean, she mentioned she had neighbors my age she wanted me to meet, but I didn’t think you actually knew her.”

Her age. How adorable. If only she knew there were centuries between our ages. Draxilios age slowly, allowing us to maintain our youthful appearance for a very long time.

“My brothers and I were quite close to her,” I tell her, leaning forward and pressing my fists into the table, my knuckles cracking under my weight. “Lovely woman. We spent a lot of time at her, er, I suppose, now it is your home.”

“That’s kind of weird, don’t you think?” she spits out, crossing her arms beneath her ample chest. “Why would a group of guys hang out with an old woman?”

I do not understand her question. Why would we not hang out with an old woman? It is not as if we were seeking an old woman to befriend when we moved here, but the friendship we built with Lady Norton did not seem strange or inappropriate. It felt natural. I suppose this is something uncommon among humans, though I do not understand why. We revered our elders on Sufoi.

“We liked Lady Norton,” I tell her plainly. “She was funny.”

Vanessa’s nose scrunches up as if she inhaled a horrid stench. “Lady Norton? Why on Earth would you call her that?”

“Well, she––” I begin to explain, but Vanessa puts up a hand and groans.

“Know what? I don’t even care,” she mutters impatiently.

Why is this woman so unpleasant? She cannot even let me finish a sentence. All because she is sleep-deprived? If Vanessa was Lady Norton’s favorite niece, then I cannot imagine how rude the other one is. Willa, I believe. I hope I never meet her.

“I’m selling the house, so I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

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