My phone vibrates on my desk. I rotate away from my workstation and roll over to view the screen.
Unknown number.
I don’t answer those, so that little mystery will go unsolved. I roll back to my workstation and begin the task of cleaning up my workspace. Once I remove the bones from the beetle colony, I’ll place them in the hydrogen peroxide bath I’ve prepared and let them sit overnight to whiten them. Then I’ll submerge them in a sink filled with warm water and Dawn dish soap to remove the peroxide smell. Once they dry, I can glue all the human parts onto their pre-made planks and pack the pieces neatly in boxes to take them to the market.
My phone vibrates again. I stand from my chair, remove my rubber gloves and gaze at the screen.
Private number.
Still not answering. Bill collectors will try anything to get you to answer the phone.
The doorbell rings as I step out of the room to empty my trash in the kitchen. I freeze in place and turn my head slowly to the Felix the Cat clock ticking loudly on the wall, his tail and eyes swinging back and forth. It’s seven in the evening. Not too late for visitors, but later than my parents would arrive if they dropped in unannounced. I walk back into the office and peer at the computer screen. Staring up at the camera on the front porch are the bright blue eyes of Dr. Z. He’s wearing gray jogging bottoms and a University of South Carolina t-shirt. He looks away from the camera and rests his hands on his hips, twistinghis waist back and forth as if he's stretching his lower back muscles. His cock stands out like a sore thumb from his gray sweats, making it difficult not to notice its size.
He rings the doorbell again. A part of me wants to answer, and another part of me is afraid.
But why is he here? Did I forget something at the hospital?
I glance down at my attire. I’ve been wearing the same Courage the Cowardly Dog shirt for two days and haven’t showered either. There are even Cheeto crumbs on my pink shorts. Once I get in the zone, everything, including hygiene, tends to take a backseat.
I take my hands, quickly swipe the orange specks off my shorts and amble toward the front door. In my head, all I can think is don’t fucking knock, don’t fucking knock. It’s my only rule, and if he breaks it and I don’t follow through with his sacrifice, Mastyx will know I feel something for this man I barely know.
The minute my bare foot slaps the floor in the living room, the flames of the fireplace grow high and hot, making me stop dead. My core trembles relentlessly. I take a step back from the front door, and the flames die down to barely a visible flame where they once were. The pulse in my neck pounds as the doorbell chimes again and the faint voice of Dr. Z. calls out, “Miss Salavatori?”
I can’t move; fear keeps me from taking another step, but I have to. I have to save him. The flame in the fire rises and lowers rhythmically as if being fueled by Mastyx’s breathing.
My head snaps in the direction of the office as my phone vibrates off the desk and bounces noisily onto the floor. It has to be Dr. Z.
The flames of the fire burn lower and lower, indicating Mastyx may be retreating to the Earth’s core, where hell awaits. I straighten my t-shirt, take a deep breath, and take two quick steps toward the door. The flames of the fire grow high, and thistime, a hot, flaming tongue lashes out of the fire and singes the floor inches from my black-painted toes. I curl my toes under as the tongue slowly recedes behind the fireplace flames. Mastyx can’t come into the human world without being summoned by me, but he can use fire to send me a message, one that again I just received loud and clear. I step slowly away from the charred mark on my hardwood floors where his tongue scorched the wood.
The doorbell rings again.
I know what Mastyx is doing. He’s trying to keep me from the door, hoping the doctor will knock. I close my eyes and chant internally for the doctor to go away. I go back into my office and close the door. The doorbell sounds louder for some reason. Perhaps it’s Mastyx taunting me to try and answer again. I cover my ears and glance at the computer screen. Dr. Z steps off the porch, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his phone to his ear.
The hardwood vibrates beneath my foot as a private number pops up on my phone, still resting face up on the floor. I squat down to pick it up, and the lightbulb in my desk lamp pops violently, shattering across my desk and keyboard, making me leap away from it and fall to the floor, landing on my ass. I sit on my bottom, my breathing rapid in the dark, my heart racing, stunned.
The phone switches to voicemail and goes dark. I peer up at the computer screen, the only source of light left in the room, and there’s no one there. The doctor has vacated the premises and not knocked.
Safe for now.
The computer screen goes black before the white bouncing ball of my screensaver kicks in and bounces around the screen. I wrap my arms around my knees and draw my legs up against my chest, taking several deep breaths in and out to steady my racingheart. Several minutes go by before I feel brave enough to stand. Although there is nothing with me in the dark—no rising flames, no Mastyx—I find it eerily quiet; too quiet, as if all sounds have been sucked out of the room so Mastyx can not only hear me breathe, but he can also hear my heart go from pounding to a barely audible thump.
I exhale loudly and grip the edge of the desk with one hand, then pick up my phone from the floor with the other before pulling myself upright.
My phone vibrates and lights up, the banner across the top letting me know I have a new voicemail. I tap the banner and read the message Dr. Z left me.
Miss Salavatori, I apologize for stopping by unannounced. I haven’t heard from you to recheck your wound and grew concerned. Please call the hospital and schedule a recheck appointment.
There’s a noticeable pause, as if he’s contemplating his next few words.
Also, I don’t know what made you take off so quickly when you saw me in the parking lot, but rest assured, I never meant to scare you. If it was something, or someone else who frightened you, I…I mean, we…the hospital has resources available to you. Umm, have a good day.
Click.
Something or someone else…The doctor is on to something. It’s something more than someone who frightened me. I leave the phone on my desk and head into the living room, where the fire is barely lit, the wood inside glowing a bright, reddish-orange; the intensity waxes and wanes, as if it’s asleep and breathing peacefully.
As I pass the front door, heading to the closet to retrieve my foldable wagon to put in my car for the market, the door rattles with an unnerving knock. I freeze, my hand extended to the closet door handle, my head cranking slowly to the heavy partition separating me and whoever is on the other side. It rattles again, the knocker not giving up on someone answering. I peer over my shoulder at the fireplace.
Nothing, no high flames, no lashing tongue, and I crank my neck further toward the office, considering if I should look before I open the door. If it’s the doctor and I try to answer, Mastyx will stop me. My hand falls away from the closet door as I turn my body in the direction of the front door, take a deep breath, quickly jog over, and yank open the door with the next persistent knock.
