He looked out the window again, giving up completely on the novel infront of him, setting it down on the coffee table next to him. Anuntouched cup of coffee that at one time had been steaming, sat nextto the novel. He remembered that he had only taken one sip of it; hehad been so busy staring out the window at all of the people walkingaround. He saw another group walking by, this time they had a child, a littlegirl, with them. They had packs on their backs as well. They didn’thave the same zombie expression on their faces, he noticed thatimmediately. They were concerned, the look on their face was one ofwariness, as if they were afraid of being seen—embarrassed.Jim looked at the father immediately, and the little girl seemed tobe very close to his side, as if she were hiding on that side of him.Jim really couldn’t get a look at her; only the father and his wifewere walking. The father glanced in the direction of Jim’s house,and once Jim knew what he was looking at he took a quick step awayfrom the window. His breath caught, and the coffee table bumped as the back of hisknee came in contact with it, jarring it, sloshing the coffee so itformed an uneven circular wave in the cup, just kissing the rim, justenough to expel a couple of drops of the thick, blackish liquid ontothe table top. Jim didn’t notice. The novel that had been so uninteresting for the whole morning waschristened by the coffee, and thick, black drops oozed down thecover, as if the cover itself were weeping—the figures in theillustration an expression that the book had made of absolutedespair.Jim took another step back, and his leg did not bump the table thattime. He looked at the man going up the street who had turned hishead facing forward, walking with his family, each one of themcarrying empty backpacks—heading to the sale, the one where theysold anything. <I>Yes, anything</I>. Jim sat back down quickly, watching the family disappear down thestreet, the little girl, just about as typical as little girls couldgo, walked with a slight limp, like she had hurt her ankle orsomething. The mother was right by her, her hand on the girl’sshoulder. The mother was really quite plain seeming, at least as faras Jim could tell, average height, a good build, very fit. Everythingthat was quite typical. The father was walking with them, he had astrong, muscular build, a good protector for his family, watchingover them with a benevolent eye—strong, angled chin, good overallface structure—the other half of his face had a few small patchesof hair that seemed to be remain, but the rest was shiny and red,almost the whole half of his face had been burned off. Red ridges ofirritated flesh, spotted with pink patches of new skin. It was poorlybandaged, and obvious that it was somewhat recent, how he was alreadyhome and walking around was a mystery, Jim had a theory, but hedidn’t want to consider that at the moment. His eye wandered aroundin the socket, filled with not sadness, or curiosity—but hunger.The look was all too familiar—he was going to buy stuff, notbecause he needed it, but because he had to.</ol>
<H2 ALIGN=LEFT >HE WAS in a hallway, lined with metal doors. Old rusty ones that werespeckled with heavy rivets, the padlocks on them, thick and coveredwith some kind of fungus, the smell of it was damp and spicy.The stones underneath his feet were solid, but they didn’t feellike stones should—something about them was just wrong. It wasalmost like they were moving underneath him. Not like they were looseand moving as he stepped on them, his weight causing them to shift,but moving of their own will—because they were alive. The doors were breathing, he didn’t know how he knew that, but hedid. They were breathing slowly: in…out…in…out. The flaringlocks and bars, shifted as they breathed, though at the same timethey were still. Dead still. He was heading forward, he wasn’t sure; he just knew that he had toget into the room at the head of the hallway, the one with the large,iron door. He glanced around him, feeling like he didn’t belong there. Theangles of the hallway felt off, as if they were from another realmcompletely. Something about it was wrong, very wrong—the kind ofwrong that turned his knees to pudding and caused his spine to growtiny little pins up and down it. “Help me!” A voice behind the door said. He knew the voice; he knew he had to help. He had to get there. Heran forward and reached for the door, grasping the slippery,breathing handle, and pulling it open. Inside there was a large pile of stuff that filled the room. Herecognized the plastic containers with their neat labels, but hetried to ignore them. He saw Beverly, tied with restraints that were impossibly made ofpaper, twisted around each other and roped tight. </ol>
“Help me,” she said. Her foggy eyes were still that cobalt thatseemed to go on and on forever. He moved forward, trying to dig hisway through the stuff, the stuff that was knee-deep. The wrong anglesscreamed at him from every side, as if they were bent just momentsago, the entire building folded into shape, but it was slowly comingundone—breathing doors and all. He tried to wade through it, but it was feeling thicker and thicker,impossibly holding him back slowly. “Help me!” She cried again, tears streaming down her face, hercopper mane streaming madly in ever direction. “I’m trying!” He said; it felt like he was trying to speak witha mouth full of tiny rocks. Sandy pebbles filled his throat, scrapingaway the flesh on all sides. The angles creaked, as if they were coming unfolded.He managed another foot forward, and an arm immediately met his leg,the bluish-gray fingers wrapped around his leg, latching onto thethin pants he wore. Jim shouted and tried to shake the thing off, but it was no good, hetried to manage another foot forward when the other arm to the thingbeneath reached out and joined its companion grasping his leg. He tried to pull his leg, but the creature had a heavy grip on him,refusing to let go. Jim gritted his teeth and pulled up as hard as hecould muster, calling all strength in him to that one moment. The corners groaned, protesting their shape.He pulled and the thing that he had emerged, the hideous face twistedand sneering—Jim shuddered when he saw it. The man with the half-burned face was holding on as tight as hecould. His eyes were cold and dead—but at the same time they werehungry. A mouth full of grinning razors shone at him in the mosttwisted parody of a smile that Jim had ever seen. </ol>
Jim tried to move forward again, trying to get to Beverly, trying toget her out of the building before it was gone, and before themonster of a man got to her, the one that had such a grip on his leg.He pulled again and felt a hand land on his shoulder, and a cruelchuckle broke the air. He felt the hand squeeze, and just as heturned his head, a hammer was raised in the air, poised to strike. Then he woke up. The room was dark, and the electric tingling of a nightmare slowlyfading away—the angles collapsing on themselves—danced on hisscalp and tickled the back of his neck. He looked at the clock. 4:33After a few deep breaths he knew that the dream had moresignificance, deep down he knew that something was different. Something was wrong. <H2 ALIGN=LEFT >WHEN JIM went back down the sale the next day, he was more than justa little hesitant about it. The feeling in his chest was like a vicelocked around his sternum, and then there was the electric tingle inhis stomach. He knew that he shouldn’t be so nervous, having beenthere so many times, but it couldn’t be helped, he still feltextremely nervous. The sky overhead was a mottled gray, dips of blue were visible everynow and then, but the blinding gray of the atmosphere was almostoverwhelming. It was almost blinding, the strength of it wasunmatched, and it caused him to squint if he looked up directly atit. There were a lot less people that day, he could see that, already.There were only two or three cars perhaps parked by the yard, readyto collect their things. Not a single person was walking on the roadwith a backpack, coming to feed their hunger. </ol>
Jim saw the sign ahead of him, it was still the same simple sign thathe had seen Bram hammer into the ground weeks ago, but it had a farmore ominous feel to it. Like the sight of it infected him somehow.That phrase at the bottom: “We Sell Anything” three word dartsthat poisoned his mind. It was like something was breathing it intohim, a contaminate that would be the end of him. <I>Dear God, please help me. </I>He slowed his pace and felt the feeling begin to recede. It was as ifevil had jumped on his back and then simply jumped back off. Hebreathed a prayer of thanks as he moved down the driveway and intothe back yard with the towering white picket fence. The feeling wasstill strong in the air, he could still feel something very wrong—butit didn’t feel like it was weighing on his shoulders as it had beenbefore. The driveway was a lot smoother than it had been before, as if thepebbles had all be cleared away, which they probably had by all thefoot traffic that it had received, and the grass on the sides of itseemed to be dying away, and scuffed up. The lawn itself didn’tlook quite as well cared for as it had been. There was somethingdifferent about the whole place, as if something was changing. Jim was sure that something was. He could see that there was a man wandering around from table andtable, the look in his eyes was the same that he had seen in theothers’: that hungry deadness. The man was tall, wearing a white button-up shirt, and jeans. Helooked very fit, a man who could really have a long life ahead ofhim. His eyes though, were shadowed by deep, dark circles, and thickbags that were underneath, like he hadn’t slept in days—his lipsmoved every now and then, mumbling to himself, almost desperatelymumbling. Jim saw him grabbing things out of the bins—things that had nopractical value at all, especially not for a man like that—and Jimknew deep down that the man had to have those things. He was puttingthem in his sack, counting each object, placing it in there as if itwere a delicate animal, carefully setting them down in there,maneuvering them so they set neatly within. Jim didn’t want towatch him continue, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away. The man wasmoving a little quicker from bin to bin, pulling just a bit ofeverything out, sorting through it seeming to be the last thing onhis mind, he just had to have the things—he needed the stuff. Thelook in his eyes, that lustful coldness, burned brighter and brighterthe more he pulled out. The stuff was becoming part of him, he couldsee the attachment forming in the man’s mind, worse, and he coulddiscern the connection deep down in the man’s soul. </ol>