You Can Never Go Back, But Neither Can You Stay—Part 3
“Hey,” Emory said with some caution, “can I help you with something?”
The person looked up at Emory, then said in what Emory read as an elderly masculine voice, “There’s something in there.”
“Oh yeah?”
He nodded.
Emory moved closer, slowly, her sandals lightly flip-flopping against her heels as she did. She wasn’t wearing a lot: very short and ragged cut-offs and a loose tank top. Her nipples were visible through the shirt, and she was somewhat self-conscious of this, but was more curious about the shelter than nervous about her appearance. The guy’s old, too, she thought. Like, beyond old, so he probably can’t see very well.
She lit up a smoke and asked, “What’s in there?”
“You don’t know?” he asked.
Emory shook her head no.
“Monsters,” he said, then jabbed it again with a stick.
This gave Emory the feeling that he wasn’t well. There was a plague, after all. Suddenly she wished she were wearing a mask. She felt her back pocket, where she usually kept a cloth mask; but, of course, she didn’t have one on her. She sighed and made sure not to get any closer.
“Well if they’re in there,” she said, “shouldn’t we just leave them alone?”
He stared at her blankly, then back at the shelter. “I used to live here.”
Emory arched an eyebrow, took a drag, then said, “Really?”
“Nineteen forty-three to nineteen seventy-five. Raised three kids here in that very house you’re living in now.”
“Oh, I don’t live here. I’m a caretaker.”
Again he stared at her blankly, so she clarified, adding, “I’m just housesitting for my friend who lives here while she’s in Japan.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “Good. That’s good. Someone has to keep an eye on the place. There are monsters in here.”
Emory swallowed, then asked, “What kind of monsters?”
“Horrible things.”
“Like snakes?”
“What? No. They looked like us. Like us. That’s the problem. They looked like us. Couldn't tell who was one and who wasn’t.”
“Like a doppelganger? Or a shapeshifter?”
“I haven’t any idea,” he said. But then, as though his mind reminded him of something, “No, I never saw one change into anything else. I think they’re stuck like that. Like we are. Like badgers and fish.”
“Hmm. Interesting.”
“Goddamn awful is what it is. They’d work their way into your life. They’d suck you.”
“Like a vampire?”
“No, on the … you know, on the penis.”
“Oh my.”
“Yes. I don’t know what they did with the women and the droggies. Don’t know about that. But they sucked me.”
Emory looked down out of what felt like respect for his trauma. She didn’t really know what to say. Also, droggies was a rather offensive term in 2022 Azza-Jono for an androgyne, but she made an allowance for his age and current mental state.
“All right, well, be careful, okay?” Emory said.
He nodded. “I will. I will.”
Then she went back inside, waited near the window to make sure that he’d left.
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