The Big Mystery
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In the days that followed, I found myself constantly glancing in the direction of my phone. There were a lot of missed calls and voicemails on it. Every time one came through, or I noticed that I had a text message from someone, or even just when I heard an incoming call come in, I’d look down at it to see what was going on.
Then I’d put it away without listening and not think about it until another day.
Sometimes it seemed like everyone was calling me, but mostly it was just people who wanted information or reassurance about something that was happening locally, or for whatever reason, they thought I knew all about, or could tell them about some guy who might be involved with this thing, or whatever.
I kept telling people no because I didn’t have any idea how much of it was real. It wasn’t just what I did know either: The more I learned the less confident I became, and the more certain I got that there would never be enough solid evidence, or maybe even anything close to solid evidence, to make anyone believe me.
At first, it was kind of funny, watching everybody’s reaction once the story went public and I made my appearance at the news conference. But after a couple of days, I started having to answer questions as though I believed every single crazy thing I talked about. It was exhausting, but I also felt bad.
After all, I hadn’t told anybody to stop believing in God (although that certainly wouldn’t have stopped a whole bunch of folks), but then nobody ever asked me whether I thought there was a God. So I was stuck answering questions like it was the truth anyway.
It got worse too: People began coming up to me wherever I happened to be walking around town and demanding answers. They wanted to talk to me about my experiences in the woods. About their experiences with whatever was out there, whatever had left scratches and bite marks and other weird signs on our bodies.
One person even asked me to identify a photograph of him she said had been taken by her friend of his hand and wrist, which were covered with these red dots where he’d supposedly been bit, scratched, or clawed. That was fun.
And I was still getting texts, calls, e-mails, and messages from people saying things like “You’re the only one who knows.” And “If you don’t start talking about stuff now, we’ll all forget it.” Or “You’ll lose your credibility if you keep hiding this. Don’t go down without taking the fight to them.” Or “What are you scared of?”
There was even one guy who sent me three separate emails saying the same exact thing, although each email had different subject lines, so I couldn’t figure out who it belonged to. He wrote the same basic message each time too, except sometimes he added that he’d love to take a walk in the woods sometime.
It was pretty clear to me that whoever this guy was, he had nothing good for me to worry about, not in any of those subjects, not in any other ones, and not with any other issues whatsoever, which meant that he was probably the most dangerous of all the people I was dealing with.
A week later and it was getting really annoying. My mom had even called me twice since that night in the woods and both times I’d had to hang up on her when I realized she was calling to talk about it all again.
Then there was a Saturday morning that was particularly rough:
“Hello? Hello?”
I picked up right away. It sounded like the phone was being held at arm’s length while the owner leaned over the top of something, which explained why he didn’t get much else besides background noise.
“Hey.”
“Is that you, Sam? It’s me!”
I recognized the voice right off, but I was so used to people asking me what this or that meant, and what that meant, that the question took me by surprise.
“No, it’s not me, it’s someone named Sam,” I replied.
I heard some movement from the speaker, which I figured was the phone being set down somewhere.
“Well… Okay, then who is it? Is that you?”
Now it was my turn to be confused.
“Are you asking if it’s me?”
I could hear the guy laugh at himself.
“Yeah, sorry, it’s kind of early. I’m in bed. Can we talk about this later today?”
He must have seen a little smile come onto my face.
“That’s fine, just call me back sometime tonight,” he suggested, and I heard the sound of him putting down the receiver.
***
The next day it was Sunday afternoon and I was sitting alone on the back deck, listening to the birds chirping in the trees outside, trying to figure out how to get the rest of my life in order. I was supposed to be doing homework, but I’d already tried to do that a number of times in the past few weeks and it just didn’t work anymore.
I wasn’t even sure why I kept going through the motions, except that my dad always taught me that the best way to learn about something is to study it until you understand it inside and out. But that wasn’t working either.
The only things I knew for certain were that I needed to be careful, I needed to avoid getting myself into any more trouble than I was already in, and I should try to get a good night’s sleep every chance I got. Other than that, it felt like no amount of studying would ever help me with the unknowns.
And even if they did, what use was learning anything when it might end up being useless anyway?
My parents weren’t home yet (or, if they were, I hadn’t met them yet), which made it an especially quiet, relaxing day for me. There was only one problem: No matter which direction I turned my attention, I was bombarded with all kinds of new questions, mysteries, and worries. So I decided to stop turning around and face the music.
I sat with my feet propped up on my desk chair and flipped open the cover of a thick paperback book that I’d been reading for two months now. At first, I thought I’d never make it through this thing, but lately, it’s been the only place where I’ve found peace.
As usual, I was in the middle of a chapter about something completely unrelated to the plot of the novel when a knock came at my door. I almost asked someone to hold on because I wasn’t done reading, but instead of answering and risking losing the momentum of the story, I put my bookmark in and looked up.
I didn’t recognize the woman who was standing at the threshold, although she wore a pair of sunglasses that left her eyes exposed. A lot of people wear those glasses, including me, so that probably isn’t enough information to identify her at all.
“Who are you?” I asked. “And what do you want?”
Her expression shifted as she stepped into the house and saw how small and messy it was compared to her own. She must have gotten the wrong address. That made it easy to let her go without too many hard feelings. Besides, she might be a friend of mine if we knew each other better.
She smiled at me, and I noticed right away that her teeth were perfectly straight.
“Sam, right? We’re friends.”
I shook my head, and she took another look around the room, trying to decide whether it was worth hanging around to ask a couple of more questions. Maybe it would be better to call me tomorrow.
“I’ve got to run,” she said, backing away from my door and taking her sunglasses off.
“Wait a minute!” I shouted, but before I could say any more, she disappeared right through the wall.
***
A couple of days later, I was at a party in the basement of my dormitory building when suddenly, a loud voice interrupted the festivities:
“You guys! Hey, Sam, you can’t hide from me forever.”
It sounded like Kaitlin. My roommate was standing on the top stair of the staircase leading down to our living area. With everyone else’s attention focused on her, she was probably able to shout without being overheard.
Kaitlin had a pretty good idea of what kind of a reputation I had, especially after I went crazy at my sister’s wedding last summer (although maybe not the whole reason for it). After that incident, she was reluctant to invite me anywhere again. But she also seemed curious as hell about me and was dying to see exactly what all the fuss was about.
So far, neither I nor anyone else in this crowd knew how to respond to her sudden appearance. It happened to me every time I was in the company of Kaitlin, and the same thing usually ended up happening then: Everyone would look at me, waiting for my reaction and trying their best to figure out if I was actually surprised by seeing her there or if I’d somehow arranged everything in advance.
But I couldn’t answer for fear of looking guilty. If I told someone I hadn’t invited her down here, I’d have to explain why. Then I’d have to tell them all about all the weird stuff I’ve been doing since we met—like how much it freaks me out when she calls me by name (and, in general, whenever I’m around her at all), and how often I feel compelled to follow the rules and stay hidden and silent and invisible.
If I didn’t say a word, they’d know that all these things weren’t my fault. They wouldn’t think I was a freak show.
But then again …
The moment I started talking, it would ruin the fun I was having hiding from Kaitlin, not to mention all the secrets I had locked inside me. As it was, I felt safe enough to be myself in my own dormitory room, even though I was constantly on guard against running into her.
But that would change once everyone saw her sitting with me at the party, just like it did at the wedding and at that party at a restaurant downtown where she came out of nowhere and stole my food.
When I finally worked up the nerve to look over at her, Kaitlin gave me the same warm smile she always used when we were together in person.
“Hey! Sorry for interrupting your little get-together, Sam,” she said. “You were making such great progress with the book. But don’t worry. You’re not in trouble. Not with me, anyway.”
There were a few snickers and chuckles at this. Some of the guys thought I must have given some kind of performance art in order to keep Kaitlin out of sight, but no one really believed it.
Kaitlin was standing close to me now, staring into my face the way she had the night we met, and I wondered whether she remembered how she almost died when I tried to kiss her back then. She looked younger than ever; a lot of people who knew us both had started saying recently that she’d grown up into a beautiful young woman.
As soon as I realized that, I began to wonder how much more attractive I’d become. At least in terms of appearance. The only people who knew I wasn’t the man I looked like were those who already suspected as much, so the news might not make quite so big a splash as it would have been six months ago.
On the other hand, maybe nobody would believe me if I said anything about my new abilities.
Then Kaitlin took something out of her purse and held it out in front of me. It was a picture of the two of us, taken during our first week of college last year. I stared at it in disbelief. It hadn’t occurred to me until then how much we’d changed since last September.
The photograph was taken in front of the statue of Thomas Jefferson on campus, which stood beside the student union. We had each grabbed a handful of sand from the fountain in front of it and formed a pile behind our backs.
It was a silly pose, and the photographer had probably made sure we looked ridiculous while taking it in an attempt to embarrass us (the joke was on him—I loved the picture).
After he snapped the shot, it took me several minutes to realize that my hand had been in the way, leaving a hole where my middle finger should have gone.
This meant that for the rest of the day, everybody could see right through me. My invisibility would end when I left campus and walked into town with my friends, but the damage was done. Every single one of my classmates would know about it.
There would be rumors and questions, and I’d be the butt of jokes. All because it would appear that I’d lost my mind and ruined my own body in an effort to cover up the truth.
It turned out, though, that Kaitlin had another photo she wanted me to see. It showed her standing next to a boy whose head I recognized from the group’s Facebook page. He was wearing sunglasses indoors, so it was hard to tell what he looked like without them.
“That’s me!” Kaitlin exclaimed happily, pointing at herself with glee. “We’re dating now! And he looks like a normal guy. Isn’t that cool?”
Her date was grinning like an idiot, and I was happy that she seemed to be doing well …
… and terrified that she might be trying to hook me up with someone else, or worse, that I’d somehow end up going out with this weirdo.
She handed me a piece of paper. It was a letter she’d written to him explaining how it all worked: that I was a freak, yes, but also the kind of guy you couldn’t resist, and that she was the girl who could understand him the most, because of the bond between us, and that he needed me in his life more than she needed him …
The End