quiver volume no. 8, issue no. 2 Head Designer Gabi Harris editorial If you’re reading this in the past, I can assure you that time you spent reading Twilight was not a waste, and had everything gone according to plan, would’ve been a great influence on this edition’s design. If you’re reading this in the present, then you’re aware that, in the twilight of our 2020 winter term (See what we did there?) , Knox College announced that, in light of the COVID-19’s surgence in the United States, it would be closing its doors for the forseeable future--the spring 2020 term. As such, this edition is a little different, being released online and all. It’s been a rough journey, what with the massive changes we’ve all ex- perienced, the increases in stress and workload, and all of the hopes and dreams we’ve had to bury or set aside, but we here at Quiver are proud to still be able to publish students’ work in this time, and are even prouder of everyone who submitted to us this past term. We couldn’t have done it without you! So, once again, we would like to thank all of our submitters, readers, staff members, and our advisor, Barbara Tannert-Smith. And if you’re reading this in the future, then I would like to ask, do the murder hornets make a comeback? Stay Safe & Happy Reading, Quiver staff Editors-in-Chief Shae Salts Gabi Harris Social Media Manager Molly Cyr Manuscript Editors Sebastiano Masi Sarah Lohmann Jasmine Lamb Molly Cyr Christa Vander Wyst Editors Abroad Riley Jin Jaina Gliva contents Rings.............................9..............................C.J. Johnson Midnight Diner.............................16..............................Zoe Pearce Freeze.............................22..............................John Muth Sunday.............................31..............................Sam Naftzger The Sea From the Other Side.............................38..............................Amber Lane-Bortell Resonant.............................52..............................Brooklyn Plogger In Transmission.............................62..............................Shae Salts Swimming Buddies.............................79..............................Sam Esteep Clyde.............................81..............................Shae Salts f a Mothman & Gays.............................85..............................Parker Stocksdale Strange Attention to Mouth(s).............................133..............................R. Jamil Means “Beautiful”.............................134..............................R. How to Live a Life of Squirrel.............................136..............................R. Cherry Swing.............................137..............................R. Doesn’t Fit.............................139..............................Iris Berto s p Creator Biographies.............................142-143 Editor Biographies.............................144-145 Colophon.............................147 + fiction fiction fiction 9 My grandmother gave me her ring when I was eleven. “Keep this safe,” she said, holding it so close to my face my eyes crossed. “Do not lose it. One day, you will have husband, and you will give him this when you are ready for him to ask you to marry him.” Then she took my hand, placed the interlocked bands in my palm, and curled my fingers. “You will be brilliant, my dear,” she whispered to me. When I came out to her at sixteen, she tried to take the ring back. I told her I didn’t have it with me and never returned to her house. Like hell she would ever get that thing back from me. I remember that she didn’t understand what I was saying at first. As soon as it clicked that I meant I liked girls romantically , she started pleading with me. “Victo- ria, it does not matter. You can change your mind. You can still have boyfriend and be good—be respectable.” But then I told her about my girlfriend, Charlie: that I wouldn’t be changing my mind. “Give my ring back!” she shouted, spit flying from her wrinkled mouth. Her accent was curled and sharp, like the tail of a scorpion paralyzing its prey. “No!” I remember crying, my hands clutched to my rings rings rings c.j. johnson 11 10 “She didn’t understand me, Mom. She didn’t even try.” It’s a strange thing to comfort a parent. Especially when you don’t feel the same sadness they do. I could sympathize, always. But, in that moment, the most I could do was hold her and hope she didn’t get upset when I didn’t cry with her. I wondered what would have happened if I’d never come out to Baba? If I’d held it in just two more years? I would still be standing here, holding Mom, but maybe I would be crying, too. Maybe I would have been the one needing comfort. I wouldn’t have to call Charlie in twenty minutes to see if she could drive me to Saercrouse’s field to find an heirloom that would just be buried again 48 hours later. I’d be wearing that ring on my wedding day. (Maybe I’d be marrying Charlie, we’ve lasted over two years, after all.) It wouldn’t be the wedding Baba would have wanted, but, at that point, it wouldn’t have mattered because she would already be dead. And as I held my mom and she sobbed into my sweater, I began to cry. Not for my grandmother, but for this imagined life I could have had. I wouldn’t have been happy, but I might have had a bit more love. I “I wasn’t thinking!” I whisper-shouted to mom. “Okay? I was angry and frustrated at her and kept thinking about that stupid ring sitting in my jewelry box.” I’ve been three inches taller than my mother for three years now, but I’ve never felt smaller than when she looked at me then. She looked at me like I had stepped on her dog. Like she was the dog. When she spoke, her voice shook. From anger or grief, I couldn’t tell. It very well could have been both. Probably was. “Victoria. You will find that ring and you will give it to me by 9 o’clock tomorrow morning or so help me God—” she stopped herself, holding a knuckle to her lips, glaring daggers at me. “I need Ba- ba’s ring for the mortician by tomorrow at nine. I know that you and Mom didn’t get along towards... the end, but she still loved you.” I rolled my eyes without thinking. Mom didn’t notice, she was looking at the ground then. Thank the Lord for small mercies. “What she did to you was unforgivable, Victoria, but she never understood that. She didn’t... she didn’t understand.” Her eyes filled with tears. I reached for her. Wrapped her in my arms. when she was upset. Her grip was tight on my hand. “What do you mean you don’t have it?” “I threw it in Saercrouse’s field,” I said, gently trying to pull my hand away, avoiding her eyes. “You did what ?” she’d practically shrieked, pulling my arm down, forcing my eyes to her level. Saercrouse’s field is five miles out of town at the end of a dead-end dirt road with no tire tracks on it. It’s the type of road that teenagers in movies would drive to go smoke weed and have sex. Except there are only thirty-three teenagers in Monroe, and they all believe in the ghost stories people tell about Saercrouse’s field. Didn’t you hear that old man Saercrouse had a daughter that got possessed back in 1854? She killed her family and is still looking for more victims is the most popular depiction. Faeries used to breed there. If you kick the dirt a bit, you can find their rings is another. My favorite would have to be the one that insists the dirt is sentient. If you so much as step on it, that field will swallow you whole. Why do you think the thing hasn’t been tilled in so long? They were all just ridiculous stories that the people in this backwash town make up to pass the time. I heard all of these sitting on my dad’s lap down at Huffinton’s Bar. chest. She stood, holding herself up by the arms of her chair. She was so frail; I had to stop myself from going to help her. “You are not boy, Victoria,” she said with every ounce of malice she had. “Stop trying to be one. You will either respect me, or you will get out of my house!” That was the last thing she said to me. And now Grandmother is dead. It’s been two years since that conversation—since we spoke to one another. She wrote in her will that she wanted to be buried with the ring. The only problem is that I don’t have it anymore. “Where’s the ring?” my mother asked me this morning in a hushed whisper, her eyes frantic. She pulled me into the doorway between the kitchen and the hallway leading to our rooms. The will attorney sat two rooms away on my mother’s plush floral couch, sipping away at his tea. At least that’s how I pictured him. Pristine, dressed in all black, immune to the emotions of his clients. “I don’t have it,” I whispered back. There was no reason to be whispering, but Mom did this sometimes 13 12 She reaches a hand out, and I take it. “Is it so bad if we don’t find your grandmother’s ring?” she asks me. I look at her, the light from the flashlight at my side just illuminating her chin and nose, casting dark shadows over her eyes. She looks lovely: a natural eye- shadow on her hooded eyelids and a soft light on her cheeks. And then both our flashlights go out, and we’re plunged into darkness. I look at the sky; there’s no moon. Mushrooms need damp dirt in order to grow prop- erly.... “Vic....” “It’s okay, Charlie,” I say. I click the power button on my phone, but the screen doesn’t light up. I ask Charlie to try hers—same result. I reach down to touch the dirt; it’s dry as wood. “Where’d the stars go? Vic?” Charlie asks. She’s scratching at my arm, pulling me back up from the dirt. “I just saw them, but then it was like a dome was put over us and now.... Now....” She’s right, there are no stars. I hold her hand tight as I stand back up. “Well, it’s what you said.” “I know. I know, I just—ugh! I was angry! I was an- gry when I said that and I was angry when I threw the damn ring. I was sixteen! I did the first thing I thought to do. I’m sorry for what I said about your grandma, but that doesn’t erase the fact that mine was a bitch.” She scrunches her mouth to one side, and I know that she knows I’m right; she just doesn’t want to admit it. “You know you did dumb shit when you were six - teen,” I tell her. And just like that Charlie makes a face at me, then snorts, and I know that I’ve won. “Yeah, I did do stupid stuff, Vic. But at least I didn’t, like, throw an entire expensive-ass ring away,” she says. “No.... You just shaved all your hair off and every - one thought you were a cancer kid for three months.” “I was going for lesbian! I over-shot, okay?” I laugh, unbridled. It rings through the empty field. I step into a ring of mushrooms and try to remem- ber sophomore year biology to figure out how they managed to grow here when everything else withered away. “I know, Char, I know.” whispering. “Is this around where you dropped it?” I shine my phone’s flashlight at her, and her pupils explode; I can’t see her irises. “I didn’t drop it—I threw it as far as I could.” Charlie frowns. “Did you have to be so dramatic, Vic?” Her breath puffs in front of her face like white cigarette smoke. She’s back to searching the dirt. The grass never grew back after the Saercrouses skipped town. Neither did the corn. “Well, I don’t know, Char. Maybe when you get rejected by your grandmother, you can decide what the right amount of drama is!” I snarl. She looks at me again, hurt. I keep my flashlight on her, though I want to turn it away. “You know that I can’t do that,” she says. Guilt fills me, twisting my stomach and reaching it’s fingers towards my heart. Both of Charlie’s grand - mothers died when she was twelve. She told me once that she was jealous that I got the chance to come out to mine and she didn’t. I think she was always secretly disappointed how royally I fucked up by not going back to Baba. For not finding a way to forgive her. “Look. Charlie. You know that’s not what I meant—” wouldn’t have needed to feel the pain that came with Baba’s rejection. In that moment, I hated her more than anyone. I wished she’d never existed. Charlie’s hand is soft as I tie myself to her. I wish we would have come earlier. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I told Charlie that we could go to the middle of this cornfield at six p.m. Every single fall, without fail, I forget that the time falls back and the sun sets earlier. I don’t really know how—I suppose that I’ve never been involved in many activities so I never really had a reason to keep track of my time. But by the looks of it’s angle in the sky now, we only have about thirty minutes until we’re sur- rounded by nothing but stars. We spend those thirty minutes scouring the ground, our phone flashlights on, even though it isn’t dark yet. We’re just hoping to catch a glint of some old gold peeking out from the packed dirt. I look up to see the last of the sun’s rays disappear behind a field further in the distance. The sky turns gray. “Babe,” Charlie whispers. I don’t know why she’s 15 14 Sometimes, on quiet evenings, ones that are so quiet the silence feels just a moment away from caving in, a second from collapsing my lungs, Charlie will ask me if I miss her. If I miss remembering her. We’ll be sitting on her bed or in the school parking lot during lunch. One time, we’d been standing at the stovetop in my kitchen. I was stirring chili that Mom had put on the stove for supper, her arms around my waist. Mom doesn’t know—no one does. How would we explain? Nobody really believes in faeries, no matter how many folktales the town tells. No matter how many storytellers at Huffinton’s try to convince the next batch in the new generation that magical crea- tures are real. No one believes it—not even the story- tellers. I always tell Charlie that I don’t. You can’t miss someone you already wished to for - get, especially when the last thing left to remind you of her is buried with her body. chest. “What are you?!” I shout. I don’t want to give this fucker anything—I don’t have anything to give. The voice only laughs. High, piercing. Like crows cawing in the wind. Bats shrieking for their food. “ I have been here for millenia. I am olderr than the dirt. It is not my fault that you’ve only just noticed me. Noww, what will you givvve me for your ringgg? ” My arms are shaking. I think everything inside of me is shaking. I think I’m shaking Charlie. Wait. No. She’s shaking too. Jesus. It doesn’t feel like there’s space to argue. What do you give to a ghost? Or a faerie? A fae? What do you give a creature you can’t see? A creature you can’t touch? What do you give when you have nothing but the girl in your arms and the head on your shoulders? You don’t give them the girl, that’s for fucking sure. So you give them your head. You give them the first memory you can think of. And sometimes that memory is a person. “Take my baba,” I say. And I swear I feel the thing grin. Charlie tightens her grip on my hand. “‘ Sssorry.’ Not many of you have apologizzed before.... ” “It was an accident,” Charlie whispers. “ Yet you still make excusessss .” Charlie’s other hand grips my bicep. “Not excuses!” I intrude. I feel a puff of breath on my face. It smells rancid, like spoiled greens. Spilled vodka. The combination nearly makes me puke. “Sor- ry. Just, explaining. We were just trying to explain.” “ Iss that right? ” it asks. “Yes,” Charlie whispers again. I wrap my arm around her waist, scared she might faint. She presses closer to me. “ Alrighht. The rulesss are still in play, however. ” “Rules?” “ Yesss. You stepped into myyy ring. It is my turn to offer a traaade. ” My grip on Charlie’s waist tightens. “What do you want to trade?” I ask. “ I miight know what you are looking forr. A ring? Smaalll. With three loops, yesss? I will trade you thisss and your freedom if you give me somethinggg in returnnn. ” It feels like the voice is all around us now. Like if I were to step an inch to the right, I would trip over it. I pull Charlie to my “Vic.... Do you think...?” She doesn’t need to finish her thought, I already know what she’s thinking about. The old stories.... There’s a hissing coming from my right. It tickles my ear, brushes my hair to the side. “ You ssshhouldn’t be heerre ,” a voice gasps. It leaks into my bones, scratches at the marrow. “ No ressspect! ” I feel its spit land on my cheek. “ No reverencce! ” I open my mouth, close it. There’s nothing I can say. The voice comes, harsh and grating. “ Foolish girlssss! Everyone knows not to trussst this land. ” Charlie links our arms together; I’ve never been more grateful to have her. “What are you?” she asks, small, timid. We’re met with silence. “Please just let us leave,” Charlie says when she realizes she won’t get a response. Her voice is surprisingly steady, even if it’s nearly a whisper. “We don’t want any trouble.” I squeeze her palm, hoping to gain a bit of her bravery. Breathe . “We haven’t heard anything about this place,” I say. “We’re sorry.” It hums, long and deep; I feel the sound reverberate through my veins. 17 16 back in the kitchen with Bill. We were laughing about the same old stupid shit we always laugh about while he was finishing up an order. Burger with fries, hold the ketchup. I couldn’t eat a burger without ketchup. I think I said that to Bill as I carried the plate through the swinging doors. There were only really a few people in the diner. One in a booth in the corner at the back. Two at the counter and one in the middle by the door. The guy in the middle had ordered the burger without ketch- up. He didn’t look at me when I set his plate in front of him. Don’t blame him. I’m not much to look at, and his eyes seemed tired. He nudged his coffee mug towards me so I filled it with the pot that was never not in my hand. Everyone else seemed satisfied so I poked my head back into the kitchen, but Bill must’ve been on a smoke break. Nasty habit. It’s turned his teeth gross, and I know he’s noticed because he doesn’t smile as much as he did when I first met him about five years ago. But it ain’t always pissing in a pot to quit that shit. Anyways, the night continued pretty normally, people came and went in that nighttime slow-motion that they did. They ate their food so that the last bite they took was room-cold. But the time flew by for me a place to sit, fill up on coffee. Midnight Stop was that place, with its green neon lights flashing outside, the smell of coffee inside, booths worn enough to be more comfortable than when they were newly installed, and a counter for me to sit behind to watch as the traffic outside passed across the purple sky, pausing occasion- ally for a cup of coffee. Most nights it was just Bill and me. Sometimes Sue stayed. She didn’t own the place but she ran it. Ran it pretty damn well too, if you ask me and Bill. Bill’s the cook. He’s got this crazy, frizzy orange fro that looks pretty funny under his hairnet. He’s really self-con- scious about it, doesn’t want anyone to see him in it, so he stays back in the kitchen mostly. Not that anyone he’d know would be stopping by the diner this late anyway. So, on this particular night, that feeling just kept growing with the fading light. That odd, creeping feel- ing. I’d sometimes felt a little odd before, I mean, who hasn’t? Tonight, it was beyond anything I felt before. But wouldn’t you know it, soon as the sun gave in and the light completely disappeared, that feeling disap- peared with it. I continued my shift feeling alright. It was about ten thirty, pushing eleven, and I was I’m not gonna lie, I had been feeling real off since I started my evening shift at the diner. When the sun finally began its descent, the feeling started to swell in my stomach with the ever-encroaching darkness. Around here, this time of year, the sun liked to take its sweet time saying goodbye. Maybe it was the way you could see for miles that made it seem slower than sunsets you’d see in other places. When I was younger I couldn’t believe that every place shared the same sun, but I grew up and realized what was different were the sunsets. Anyways, that night was an odd one. Odd in the sort of way you don’t know if something’s real or not. The sun seemed to be digging its fingers into the dry, desert floor, stirring up dust, just to get a few more hours with our town. From my place behind the counter, I could see perfectly out the window above all the booths, watch- ing the colors spread across the sky. I had worked at the diner for a while now. Midnight Stop it was called because we were the only place that stayed open past midnight. Even though the people in our town weren’t much for a diner that stayed open past midnight (everyone was usually in bed by then), we got a lot of truckers that passed through and they always needed midnight diner midnight diner midnight diner zoe pearce 19 18 Older than old. They were covered in beautifully painted figures and landscapes. Of the cards facing up, three of them stuck in my head long after. On one, the devil danced with a little girl, her orange hair burn- ing around them. On another, there was a tall tower covered in bright, glowing, neon vines. And on the last one, there was a figure in a dark blue cloak with the face of a skull. Before I could clear my throat and ask again, the man said, in a gruff voice, “No, I won’t be needing any more coffee. We’re almost done here.” I tore my eyes away from the cards because the man had turned his face towards me for the first time the entire night. His eyes were open and his hat was no longer covering his face. I finally saw his white, pupil-less eyes clearly. I re - member stumbling back, embarrassed, though I wasn’t sure what there was for me to be embarrassed about. The oddity of the sight in the booth followed me silently back to the counter where I deposited the coffee pot. I was sure if I went back to the kitchen, I would not find Bill. So I stood at the counter while the minute hand on the clock moved swiftly towards the next hour: closing time. A minute before one, both of them stood. The girl in armor reached out and shook came in. “Great, thank you, that’ll be all for now.” I was too stunned to even reply, and I couldn’t tell you if it was the armor or how much more talkative she was than the man across from her. Back at the counter, I watched them from the corner of my eye for a while before I retreated to the kitchen. Bill was still nowhere to be found. I checked the walk-in freezer but still nothing. It wasn’t like him to take another smoke break until closing but he might’ve since the place was so empty. He’d be upset later if he missed all this shit. I grabbed the coffee pot from where it was heating and headed back to their table. I’ll admit: I was god- damn curious. As I approached, this was the scene at the table: the man in the hat had some cards laid out in front of him. He had his eyes closed again, his hands stretched out over the cards. His giant fingers moved and pointed to the cards delicately and with ease as if he had done it many times before. The girl across from him was bent over her notebook, fervently writing. “Can I get you more...” I started to say, but when I was close enough to see those cards my words died away. The cards weren’t like any that Sue kept in the back for late night solitaire. These cards looked old. Around this time Bill likes to take inventory for Sue, so with nothing else to do, I was still up front when the girl walked in at midnight. Only an hour until we closed. She was dressed from her feet to her shoulders in armor. I’m not even lying. Armor. The kind a Prince Charming would have on in some fairy tale your mom would read you at night. The only visible skin, from her neck up, was covered in freckles. Her fluffy, pink, bobbed hair bounced with the clanking of her armor as she maneuvered into the diner. I know my mouth hung open until she found who she was looking for; she spotted the man in the corner at the back and clanked on down to him. I barely caught it, but when she passed me, she said, “I’ll take a Coke, thanks.” I didn’t move until she was sitting across from the hat guy. Bill wasn’t anywhere to be seen so I grabbed a bottle of Coke as fast as I could and headed back to their table. I’m not one to be nosy, but it’s not every god- damn day that a girl with pink hair in full armor walks into your diner. They were talking about something until I walked up, then they fell silent quicker than a speeding ticket. The girl smiled up at me as I set the bottle down. She slapped a quarter on the table next to a notebook that I hadn’t noticed she’d had when she and soon it was close to midnight. There was only one person still sitting. Same guy who’d been there in the corner since ten thirty, pushing eleven. I didn’t think anything of it. Some people were just plain tired when they came in here. And we never got enough people at once to need to disturb those who had gotten comfort- able in their booths. So I hadn’t bothered him at all except to ask about his coffee, but he stopped taking refills around eleven thirty. He looked like a trucker, but I couldn’t tell if that was his truth or just his appearance. He never took off his hat once. An old, sun-washed thing that had a patch of writing on it but I couldn’t make out what it said. And I didn’t want to stare. I spose I coulda asked but I didn’t want to make him talk if he didn’t want. That’s why I’m perfect for this midnight job. People don’t really want to talk to anybody past midnight. They just want their coffee and to be left to it. Except this guy hadn’t even wanted coffee in a good amount of time. From the counter, I could see under his hat better. He was sitting there with his eyes closed. Seemed to be meditating. He’d already paid his tab so I didn’t have a problem just letting him sit there until we closed. 21 20 last. “Closing time!” When I told Bill what had happened, what I’d seen, he laughed. When I asked him where he had been for that whole hour, he said he had been doing inventory and then took a smoke break. With nothing more to it, we turned off the neon green lights outside that flashed “ Midnight Stop ” and locked up. Later that night, I laid awake in my trailer, just thinking, until the sun started peeking through my blinds. I wasn’t sure what I had expected him to tell me about my future. At the time, I had just been hop- ing for something , anything. When I finally dreamed, I dreamt of the characters on those cards, those white, pupil-less eyes, and pink fluffy hair. In the following days, I tried to convince myself none of it had hap- pened. However, as strange as it was, that night wasn’t the strangest I would ever witness at the Midnight Stop . I know now what he would’ve told me was in my future: adventure. “You keep your money.” “Oh, thanks! So how’s this work?” “You keep it because I’m not for hire. I don’t read for just anyone.” “Oh...” “There’s not enough time anyways.” “I can stay after closing. I don’t mind cleaning up late.” “No.” “Are you sure I can’t—” “Almost to my stop now.” “Your stop?” “Don’t worry about it.” The man smiled at me. That’s right. He smiled. Wasn’t making any damn sense and now he was smiling. “How about one last cup of coffee?” He lifted his mug to me. I took it as I slid out of the booth, eyes squinted at him the whole time. Only time I turned my back on him was when I was pouring the coffee at the machine. But somehow, it was enough time for him to walk out the door without me noticing. I turned around at the sound of the bell as the door swung shut. And wouldn’t you know it, soon as it clicked closed, Bill burst through the swing- ing door from the kitchen, fiery hair free from its net at the man in the hat’s hand before turning and clanking out into the night. The man sat back down, started shuffling his cards together. I must’ve lost my marbles for what I did next. But my curiosity was eating me from the inside out. Who doesn’t want to know their future? Now, I’m not a strong believer. In anything, really, except what I’ve seen with my own two eyes. However, the night was strange enough that if you’d have told me trees could walk and fish swam in air, I would’ve believed you. My heart was racing as I walked toward the booth in the back, already untying my apron. I set it in the seat next to me as I sat down. The man, still standing, stopped his shuffling but didn’t speak. I knew I’d have to meet those cloudy eyes again to get what I wanted. So I gathered my courage and glanced up. Looking him in the eyes felt like staring down Medusa. “I’d like you to read my future...sir.” He glanced at the door, at the watch on his wrist, and then back at me again, looking like he didn’t know whether to make a bolt for it or bust a knee laughing. “I can pay if that’s an issue.” I dug around in my apron and produced my tips. Finally, he decided on an airy chuckle and sat down again. 23 22 tions said. “We’re standing right here, and he still fell asleep,” Reggie from the Mailroom said. Others commented on their disbelief while Wallace slept. But then a path through the gathering crowd was made as some object barreled its way toward the disturbance. The object was the boss, Mister Pawalsky. Mister Pawalsky got up to Wallace and didn’t under- stand what was going on. “What’s the purpose of this racket?” Mister Pawal- sky asked, looking around at the faces of the crowd. He was irritated, easily noticeable because he was tighten- ing his tie around his neck. He was always tightening his tie around his neck, which was the fourth reason most people at the company disliked Mister Pawalsky. The other three varied between different people but usually consisted of the following things: he yelled all the time, he smelled like turnips and rutabaga, he cheated on his wife, and he was definitely embezzling a lot of money from the company. “Mister Pawalsky, Wallace, here fell asleep,” Leon Anthony said. Wallace was still asleep, his body was ac- tually leaning forward because of his muscles relaxing. “Well, wake him up,” Mister Pawalsky ordered, and deodorant created an invisible cloud around them. Wallace was in the eye of the storm. Someone said, “I’ve seen this before. Don’t touch him...” It seemed just because Wallace was bored, because he was frozen, didn’t mean he couldn’t entertain ev- eryone else in the office. Francis poked him with a pen, but Wallace didn’t move. Penelope shot a yellow rub- ber band at him, and it hit him in the cheek, leaving a little pink welt. He still didn’t move. Wallace’s eyelids were starting to droop, which was the only movement he’d been able to make in fifteen minutes. “Oh shit, Wallace is about to fall asleep,” Leon An- thony let out, narrating the scene that could be clearly seen by everyone. “I cannot believe this is happening.” Neither could everyone else. Wallace’s eyes finally closed and after a moment, his breath was visibly deeper. A snore even escaped his lips. “This motha-fucka’s asleep!” screamed Leon Anthony, his disbelief only outsized by his glee. “Oh shit!” He clapped his hands together and everyone else started rumbling about the scene they were witnessing. “I can’t believe he did that,” Penelope from Acquisi- Wallace Krinkler sat at his desk. He looked at his computer, but he wasn’t typing. He wasn’t doing any work or looking at porn. He just sat there. He was at work, and he was bored. So bored, he suddenly thought he might be frozen. Wallace’s co-worker, Leon Anthony walked past and said, “Hey, Wallace. ‘Sup, man?” But Wallace didn’t move. He was frozen. “Yo man, you a’ight?” Leon Anthony asked. “You frozen? Oh shit!” Wallace couldn’t move. His eyes could only look forward at the blinking cursor on his computer screen. On another tab in his web browser, the number of emails was steadily increasing. His emails were all ei- ther work-related or e-marketing or spam. But Wallace realized, he wasn’t just, as the saying goes, bored stiff. “Hey, everyone, Wallace is frozen,” Leon yelled out to the office. People started to gather around them. Penelope from Acquisitions. Reggie from the Mailroom. Francis, also from Acquisitions. They all gathered around Wal- lace. Their starched white shirts, the men’s ties which were the only possible way of showing individuality created a zoetrope of sliding images around him. The hurricane of cologne and perfume and hair-product freeze freeze freeze john muth 25 24 “Wow, what is this place?” Another voice asked. “This is wicked,” said another. “I think we’re all sharing a single consciousness or something,” came another. “Who’s there now? Name yourselves!” Pawalsky ordered. “Well, who are you?” asked the first unknown voice. “I’m Pawalsky, and I’m in charge here.” “Well, it could be argued that since this all started with Wallace, he might be the one in charge.” “I’m not in charge. I don’t want to be in charge.” Wallace’s voice called out. “Wallace is that you? It’s Penelope.” “Oh hey, Penelope,” Wallace said. “Sorry I shot you in the face with a rubber band.” “Not a problem—” “Everyone shut up!” Pawalsky’s voice screamed. “So who all is in here now? Besides me, Krinkler, and Lenny.” “My name is Leon Anthony,” Leon Anthony’s voice said. “I don’t care... Now, sound off.” “Penelope Fisher.” “Francis Pangburn.” now Mister Pawalsky was frozen too. “I think they’re all frozen,” Francis, but not the one from Acquisitions said, backing away from the growing group of frozen people. “I don’t think we should touch any of them.” “I think you’re right,” Penelope said. Someone be- hind her said they had said that a while ago. “—up!” Mister Pawalsky’s mind completed the sen- tence he was screaming just a moment ago. “...” “Who’s that?” Leon Anthony’s voice asked. “What do you mean, who is that?” Mister Pawalsky screamed, sending his angry thought waves through wherever their minds were meeting. “I’m Ignatius Barnsworth Pawalsky. And I demand to know what the hell is going on here.” “Oh Mister Pawalsky, we’re glad you could join us.” “Who the hell is that?” Mister Pawalsky barked. “It’s me, Wallace. Wallace Krinkler, from Acquisi- tions.” “Krinkler! It’s your fault we’re in this damn mess,” Mister Pawalsky screamed. “Get us the hell back out of here and get back to work.” said. “But how are we gonna get out of here?” “I don’t know. I don’t even know how I got here.” “Well if you don’t know, and we’re both frozen. Oh, shit!” Leon Anthony said, his mind getting agitated again. “You said it, brother,” Wallace said. “Uh uh, don’t start that ‘brotha’ shit just because we’re sharing minds. You still white.” “Sorry, Leon.” “It’s a’ight brotha.” Leon Anthony responded. “...” Everyone stood around looking at Leon Anthony and Wallace in a frozen embrace. Wallace was falling forward in his unconscious stupor, and Leon’s eyes were starting to droop. He was also, now, falling asleep. “What the hell is going on here?” Mister Pawalsky grunted. “Why is he not moving now? “I think he’s falling asleep too,” said Penelope from Acquisitions. “He better damn-well not be,” Mister Pawalsky said, storming forward. “Hey you, wake—” But he couldn’t finish his sentence, because as he was saying his last words he put his hand on Leon Anthony. And looking right at Leon Anthony. Pieces of turnip, or rutabaga, came flying out of his mouth. Leon Anthony shrugged his shoulders, looked at the boss and then everyone around, and then at Wallace. He raised his hand to shake Wallace’s shoulder, but when he touched his co-worker he froze too. There weren’t any histrionics or shrieks, Leon Anthony just stopped moving. He just stood there with his hand on Wallace, unable to budge. “Hello? Where am I?” Leon Anthony’s voice echoed out into the void. “Oh, thank god. I never thought I’d talk to anyone ever again,” a voice cried out, coming through Leon Anthony’s mind. “What do you mean?” Leon Anthony said, and then realized he’s talking inside his own head. “How am I talking right now? And who am I talking to?” “It’s me, Leon. It’s Wallace.” “Oh shit, Wallace man. I was just about to touch you to wake you up.” “You touched me? Maybe that’s how we’re connect - ed.” Wallace’s voice said in the darkness. “Hey, that makes sense... I think,” Leon Anthony 27 26 alsky hyped himself up again. “I’m telling you, if you don’t name yourself—” “Maybe you should stop yelling at him.” Wallace piped up. “Yeah, I mean we’re all in this same darkness. This is Leon Anthony by the way.” Penelope and Francis also voiced their agreement. “Thank you all, but I’m not worth getting worked up about. To be honest, I’m not even sure who I am... I got here when you all did, and well...” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, play coy. I know exactly who you are,” Pawalsky called out again. “I’ve known it from the first time you spoke up.” “Oh shit, you knew... Who is it?” Leon Anthony asked, and the others also wanted to know. “It’s Krinkler putting on a funny little fairy voice. You’re not fooling anyone, fella.” “Sir, it’s definitely not me,” Wallace said, concern running through his voice. No one else spoke up, un- sure who was telling the truth now. Someone pulled their hand back. “I can’t do it,” they said, defeated. “But I’m so curious what’s going on.” As Francis and Penelope’s eyes were shutting and “I won’t ask again, who the hell else is in here?” Pawalsky called out. But now the other voice was silent. “You scared him away.” “How dare you?” Pawalsky cried. “You just want some stranger hanging around in here? Not knowing who is who? Who are you?” “This is Wallace, sir.” “Well don’t think I forgot about you Krinkler. You’re finished when we get out of here. I don’t know where it is, but there’s got to be something in the em- ployee handbook about this.” “About bodies freezing and connecting in an ephemeral void?” Francis called out. “I think this is beyond a Human Resources issue.” “Well, it’ll definitely be in there after today. I guar - antee you that.” “That all depends on us getting out of here,” Pe- nelope said. “Oh, we’ll get out of here. I’m sure we’ve already got the best people working on it.” Pawalsky assured, mostly himself. “It might not be that simple.” Said the voice again. “Who—? Is that you again, whoever you are?” Paw- frozen against Mister Pawalsky’s, whose eyes were now beginning to close. Someone had tripped and sent those two flying forward. And while everyone else had backed away from the bodies, there wasn’t anyone else visible who could have been the other voice. “Should we like, call an ambulance or something?” Francis from Acquisitions asked. Others shrugged their shoulders, and others just went back to their cubicles like this was an everyday occurrence. “Wait, you’re going back to your desks? How could you do that?” asked Someone. “This is an incredi- ble moment. Something special is happening.” They looked around, but now even more people were going back to their workstations. “I mean they’re just falling asleep.” Francis from Acquisitions said, turning away from the bundle of bodies. “They’re bound to wake up eventually.” And then he walked back to his cubicle. “If you think it’s so special, why don’t you touch them?” said Jordan from I.T. They thought about it for a second. “I could touch them, couldn’t I?” Then they reached their fingers out, hesitantly. “Francis from Acquisitions?” Wallace asked. “No, the other one,” Francis said, a little disappoint- ment was audible in her voice. “...” “Is that everyone?” Pawalsky barked. “...” “There’s definitely someone else here. Speak up now.” “I’m afraid to,” said the unknown voice. “Why would you be afraid?” Wallace asked, with concern running through his voice. “Well, there’s an awful lot of shouting happening for being in such a peaceful place.” “Peaceful? You think this place is peaceful?” “It’s not unpeaceful,” Leon Anthony’s voice said. “Yeah, I don’t mind it too much. This is Penelope, by the way.” “I kind of like it. Oh, Francis here...” “I don’t care what you all think. I want to know who else is in here with us.” Leon Anthon