A Long-Distant Relationship With Reality (Sorry Zucchini)

[TW: MENTAL HEALTH, BLOOD]

Rory's hands shook as he worked to open the unfamiliar locks of the front door. He knew he should have grabbed gloves before leaving that morning but decided otherwise in order to cut down on time. Zucchini was there to greet him, purring at his arrival, leaving a trail of white fur at the base of his pant leg. Gross.

Making his way to the kitchen proved to be his greatest challenge of the morning as he was accosted by affection along the way from the small feline. The note that he was searching for, which was sure to be overly detailed and written with some kind of glitter gel pen, was left somewhere on the counter top. There were not many places the note could be, as there was little in the way of appliances or clutter to hide it. The living space was all too artificial, too sterile. He hated it, the bleach smell that came with the unimaginative minimalism.

Everything about the home felt out of touch with reality, as if time shifted in odd ways here. From the low buzz of the AC unit, to the layout of the furniture that presented itself too closed off to be an inviting space, the home felt wrong to him. After Rory read through his pink glittering instructions on how to care for his feline companion over the next few days, he began combing the house from room to room ensuring he was alone with Zucchini.

Checking under each bed and through every closet twice did nothing to put his mind at ease, not while a very persistent meowing could be heard from behind him, letting him know breakfast was supposed to be served by now. She was already getting on his nerves. Maybe this was a bad idea, he really should have let someone else offer to care for her for the next few days.

The cold tile felt like a shock wave with every step he took making him more alert, more aware of every movement in his body. Why was the AC unit even on at this time of year? Rory made quick work doing the bare minimum to feed the cat so he could search for the thermostat. Maybe he would feel more at ease if the temperature was not fifty degrees in the house. If he had not been in such a rush he would have packed warmer clothes and blankets. As it was, the living room was unfortunately bare of any spare blankets to keep him warm while he would spend the next few nights sleeping on the couch. All he wanted was to go back home.

Zucchini was purring at his feet again, demanding something more than just kibble tossed into a bowl. Of course that would not be enough for her to feel content, she needed enrichment, attention. A futile attempt to receive affection. If he waited long enough maybe she would leave him alone. Annoyance was creeping up on him like a finger poking at him over and over in the ribs. What was up with her?

Rory spent the rest of the day rummaging through the kitchen and flipping through channels on the television, but there was still a constant nagging feeling of something feeling just off. Just wrong. The curtains were letting in too much light, the couch facing away from the front door was too vulnerable, the damn cat would not let up with needing to be as close to him as possible. She finally settled in to sleep on her perch on the windowsill hours later after dinner was served, wet food that had a lingering smell of sour.

The heater shut off around three in the morning, and the chill in the air woke Rory soon after. A single spare blanket that he brought with him was not enough to keep the cold from seeping in as he shivered into consciousness. Zucchini was snuggled into his side, unbothered by the temperature. Instead of getting up off the couch to turn the heater back on, Rory went with a much lazier approach to keep warm by curling further into her to steal any body heat he could. The closer contact helped only marginally but was enough to lull him into an eventual state of calm. The first moment of peace he had felt in the house. The first sense of safety.

There was an odd noise he could not quite pinpoint though, something rhythmic coming from the room. All of the appliances had been turned off and the AC unit should not be coming back to life at this time. The sound was something quiet, almost like a hum of sorts but not quite.

More raspy…

Too close…

Getting closer…

Something was behind him, breathing on the back of his neck. He did not know what he would see if he turned around or what would happen if he so much as moved. Rory always had a freeze response in moments like this, as if staying still would protect him from whatever he was afraid of. There was a soft pressure on the couch cushion, as if it were leaning in even closer to his neck. Desperate to turn around but terrified of facing whatever was there had him nearly paralyzed. Zucchini's soft purrs did nothing to quell the dread. His entire body was shaking, sweat beading on his forehead. He needed to see.

Ever so slowly, Rory craned his neck to the side, every slight creak of the springs in the couch adjusting to shifting pressure brought a heightened sense of anticipation for something in the air to snap. The pounding of his heartbeat was ringing in his ears and he was shaking too much to keep the rest of his body still. Nothing. Nobody was there. The rhythmic sound did not go away, he could still hear it clear as day right in front of him. Three distinct breathing patterns swirling in the air around him. Zucchini had a soft purr to her exhales and Rory’s, rapid and short, were the loudest in the room. So what else was he hearing? Who else?

Listening to every creak of the floorboards, every settlement in the foundation of the house, every gust of wind that upset the tacky wind chime in the backyard, it was enough to startle him into a state of terror. By the time the sun rose above the mountainside shining light through the large arching window of the living room, Rory had been awake for the better part of four hours. He wanted to do another full search of the house. Needed to. Just to make sure. Just to feel okay.

Breakfast was late again, Zucchini reminded him of this by pestering him repeatedly which eventually led to a sharp claw to the back of his heel. Okay, so maybe he needed to reorder his priorities. If he could just relax into a routine everything would be fine. The sour smell lingered again, mixing with the faint odor of bleach that had not dissipated even with the windows cracked open.

The floorboards would creak every so often, as would the doors. Rory assumed it to be the home just settling but that did not feel quite right. Every new noise sounded like a person walking, like a door being opened just wider than what would just be a draft coming in through a window. Zucchini had been at his side when the first glass broke, the sound echoing through the home in the near silence. Was he not alone?

“Hello…” Rory felt foolish for assuming there would be an answer to his call, but it never hurt to check. Nobody. Nothing.

Then, something. A quiet scraping sound, like a nail along the tile floors, just for a moment. He could not quite make out if it had come from the kitchen, only assumed it had.

And then again.

And again.

Closer.

Maybe a mouse had gotten inside? Shit, he could only hope that was what it was. He could not bring himself to go check. He had been so thorough when he searched the home every single time.

It had been nearly an hour of sitting and waiting for something to happen before Rory had to find the broken glass. Checking all the cupboards twice only led him to find a secret stash of oreos, which he noted for later. He needed to figure out what actually broke. Another search of the house. Every footstep sounded doubled, every breath he took sounded as if it were coming from just behind him. Was the house just built to echo noise in an odd way? Was there something there with him? He needed to check again. He was missing something.

Panic was building. Zucchini was zooming from room to room, screaming and jumping on furniture. The air had a bite to it again. The doors he swore to have closed were open fully. Panic was building. Everything was wrong, everything…

Children playing outside could be heard in the cul de sac, birds chirping, wind chime ringing. Everything was wrong. Panic was building. The bathroom mirror did not reflect who he was. Scratch marks covered his cheeks and forehead, eyes bloodshot and pupils dilated. Whoever was looking back at him was not who he was. There was too much light in the room. What was happening? Why would Zucchini not shut up? How did the blood under his fingernails get there? A high pitch ringing could be heard from down the hall. Too loud. Too bright. Panic was building.

“Hello?” He called out into the home again. And then again. A meow in response. Rory curled up on the cold tile floor, door ajar, listening. A child crying outside. Zucchini clawing at what was sure to be a nice piece of furniture. A door closing. A glass breaking. Breathing loud above him. He was not alone. Panic erupted through his chest, down his arms, up his throat. Everything was too much.

It was not until Rory woke later that night laying on the freezing kitchen tile that the heater kicked to life. Shit, the windows. There was snow build up on the screens, a breeze ratting the frames. Why was the wind chime quiet? How did he end up here? Ringing in his ears. Vision blurred. His neck was twisted at an odd angle, pain shooting down his spine. Pins and needles in his arm.

He needed to get up.

Shit. The room was spinning, whirling in and out of focus. Breathing above him. Was that him? Maybe he could just lay there and not move, just go back to sleep. That would help. Zucchini was quiet. Did he feed her? He could not remember. The wind chime was silent. Ringing in his ears. Breathing above him.

He needed to get up.

Objects were shifting in his peripheral. Walls twisting, elongating. Closing his eyes did nothing to slow the spin of the room. Extending his arm, clutching the edge of the counter, dragging himself forward. Pain in his temple. Again. Reaching out, dragging himself forward. Pain erupting down his spine. Again. Reaching out. Again. And again. A scraping sound reverberating through the dark kitchen. Half way to the living room he bumped into the dining table, something tumbling off and breaking. Glass breaking. The wind chime. What was it doing inside?

It was too much effort to drag himself to the couch. At this angle on the floor he could see the clock on the wall reading what he thought to be three in the morning. Rory’s vision was still blurred and the numbers were melting together in a whirl of shapes and fuzzy textures. Zucchini was quiet. There were footsteps coming down the hall. A shadow in the corner of his eye, tall and dark. A noise, like the humming of a tune he could not recognize. The wind chime, broken at his feet.

He needed to run.

To escape.

A mantra chanting in the back of his mind to run. Get out. Screaming echoing through his skull. Who was screaming? Rory curled up tight, hands over his ears, throat strained and eyes wet with tears. A pounding in his chest drowning out the pain in his back and the shaking of his hands.

A bird chirping in the backyard was his first indicator that daylight was approaching. A rough breeze knocked fresh powdered snow off tree branches, dancing to the ground and settling in small piles. The heater worked to raise the temperature of the home but lost the fight to every open window. A car outside kicking to life, a door slamming shut, the crunch of tires rolling over ice. Another bird chirping in what was almost a peaceful morning. Almost, but not quite.

Every exhale of breath could be seen floating into the chilled air of the kitchen, like a ghost roaming the room. The quiet of the home held a sickening sense of anticipation and dread, as if all hell was about to break loose. Clawing his way to his feet as the weight of the world was crashing down on his shoulders took an eternity. Focus. What did he need to do? If he could just finish his tasks he could leave. What did he need to do? Find Zucchini. Close the windows. Clean the glass. Then he could leave. Go to work. Be okay. Just be okay.

With every agonizing step he took, the sense of freedom grew closer and closer. Find Zucchini. Find her. The back door was open. Shit shit shit. Would a cat even venture out into the snow? Did someone get in? A crunch of glass below a bare foot. A scream. Rory slipped and crashed to the floor again, clutching his foot. Screaming all around him. A mantra chanting to run. Heavy breathing right beside him. Blood dripping.

He needed to get a grip on things. Reality was slipping away. Ever so slowly, piece by piece Rory pulled shards of bloodied glass from the bottom of his foot. Soft whimpers echoed through the room. What was happening? Was the house haunted or was he? Ghosts are not real. None of it was real. Was anything? All he wanted was to catsit for a weekend just to get away from his life for a bit. He needed a break, but this was not what he anticipated.

He needed to find the damn cat. Bloody footprints stained the kitchen tile as he moved to close the sliding back door, praying she was not out there. Search the house. Again, he began coming through belongings and under furniture, hoping, praying, this time to find what he was looking for. Nothing. Nowhere. She was gone. Shaking the near empty food bowl did not lure her in either. Nor did squeaking any toys. Zucchini wandered out into the cold. Shit shit shit, he could not even do this one simple thing right. Never anything right. Never.

Anxiety consumed him as Rory desperately searched the home again, overturning furniture and leaving a trail of red behind. Blood under his fingernails, dripping down his cheeks and forehead staining his shirt. The pristine home now in absolute shambles, no cat in sight. Making the decision to search the backyard was a futile attempt. There would be no righting this wrong.

The soft sound of the front door opening startled Rory out of his frenzied state. A robbery? He needed to escape. To run. Run. Run. Run. Locking himself in the bedroom he made a quick plan to crawl through the window and make a break for the front yard. Could he even run fast enough with his foot in such a state still? He could not bring himself to care about the pain at this point. He just needed to-

“Rory?” A quiet call from the living room, “Oh my God…”

How did they know his name? How? Get out. Run. Think later. RUN. Shattering the window was faster than unsticking the lock that would not budge. Breathing behind him. Screaming in his head. The room spinning rapidly as he tumbled through the frame, slicing the skin on his forearm clean open. GO GO GO GO… A mantra swirling in his mind needing to find safety.

Rory landed hard on his shoulder, not hesitating for the pain to kick in as he lunged to his feet. It was more of a limping jog as he did his best to escape his fears. Heavy breathing behind him with every step, raising the hair on his arms and the back of his neck. Who was following hims? What? Someone was screaming. The cold snow burned his feet and shot blinding pain through his open wounds. He could only see red, only hear screaming, only feel pain.

Why was he running again? He could just stop. Just stop. Lay down in the middle of the road, give up. Just give up. Where could he even go at this point? Someone was behind him, calling out his name. Was that his name? The ground found him faster than what he could register. A crunching sound. Red. An all encompassing pain erupting through his skull. Red. He needed to get up. The edges of his vision blurred and swirled in a dark mix of everything red. So much red. Rory closed his eyes in a last attempt to hide from his fears.