B.C. GRAYER

In my backyard lived a creature that could answer any question you put to it, truthfully, in the form of spoken words. The problem was, no matter what you asked it, you were never happy with its answer. I never understood how this could be, how no matter what you asked–How do I get rich? How can I be most happy? What are you and where did you come from?–the answers gnawed at you, the truth of it burned like acid in your mind. 

My aunt, I suspected, had asked the creature tons of questions over the years. She was a truth-seeker, and despite the end result, it seemed, she could not help herself, especially as she got older and her life was coming to an end. I, either because of what had happened to her, or because I was built different, had managed to avoid asking the creature any questions whatsoever except one, which was really a test question, and, after seeing the results, kept myself away from it.

Of course I’d wanted to ask it things. I wanted to know what all this was for, humanity and conscious existence. I wanted to know if there were aliens and if they’d ever come to Earth. I wanted to know if there was a God and if it cared. I wanted to know how I could be happy, how I could live my longest, most satisfying life, and yet I’d seen what had happened to my aunt, and that and me being fairly risk-averse kept me away.

My aunt was incredibly smart and practical. She had moved onto a plot of land she’d purchased cheaply, about a mile from a defunct paper factory that had polluted the surrounding area. She had the soil tested to make sure where she was living would be safe. It was, up to the woods. That was where the creature lived.

For several years, my aunt lived in a trailer on that plot of land and worked at the local college teaching history. Then she quit her job and built a house where her trailer had been. Nobody knew where her money had come from. My mother speculated she’d got it by some nefarious means. Sometimes she’d said it was from insider trading. My mother knew nothing about the kinds of people my aunt conferred with, except that they were “academics”, a group she strongly distrusted. Sometimes she said my aunt had “probably extorted the money” from a colleague. My aunt had mentioned a few relationships she’d had with colleagues while working at the college. Some men, some women. My mother disliked how liberal and varied her sister’s romantic life was.

My aunt never told me where the money came from, but later, after I’d inherited her property and discovered the creature, the answer was obvious. The creature had told her some vital piece of information, and with that she had earned enough money to retire and build a house. After that she wrote books, books on history. I read them all, looking for insights that she might have gleaned from the creature. I found none. Her writing was smart and insightful, not particularly popular because of its academic nature. For some reason, she had decided not to include any discoveries she’d gotten from the creature in her books.

I never understood why my aunt left her property to me. I was closer to her than anyone else in the family, and she, although distant, was closest to me, I saw no reason why she would gift me her land with the creature. It became quite clear that the creature had unraveled her. Although it provided her some comfort and freedom, as she’d asked it more and more questions she became increasingly isolated, and eventually she ended her own life. Why then would she leave her land and the same possible outcome for her nephew?

My aunt was not stupid. She was, in fact, the smartest person I’d ever met. It seemed that there was nothing she had not thought of. I’d never once heard her say a stupid thing. She took care with her words and actions, so I had to assume there was a reason she’d left her property to me, and with it, access to the creature. Maybe she expected that, upon discovering what had happened to her, that I would not make the same mistake. Or maybe she knew me well enough to know I’d keep my distance. Or maybe she’d simply asked the creature what would happen to me if she left her land to me, and the answer satisfied her.

The problem with all this speculation is that it assumed my aunt was behaving rationally. But I could not find anything rational about killing yourself. There was nothing to suggest my aunt was terminally ill or that she could not bear to go on living. She’d left a letter for the family explaining what was to be done: I, Michael was to inherit her property. The remaining of her belongings were to be donated to various charities she supported. Her remains were to be cremated. She’d already cleared out a great many of her belongings in the house. Someone had come in and cleaned, so I could have moved in right away, after her body was taken away. I waited several weeks, not feeling particularly enthused about it. My mother recommended I simply sell off the place and live somewhere else. But I had a lot of good memories in that house and outdoors. Spending weekends and summer afternoons with my aunt, listening to her read, helping her with her garden. My aunt had taught me a lot more than my mother. She was not so touchy-feely, but she engaged with me. She taught me history, philosophy, politics. She never shoved it down my throat, but instead presented the information and we discussed it. My mother resented her sister more and more for this. Growing up, my mother resented that her sister did so much better in school. Later, when my aunt cultivated intellectual interests in me, she resented that. She also resented her money, the fact that my aunt didn’t work. My aunt never offered her sister money, and my mother resented that. But if my aunt had given her money, she would have resented that, too. My mother was just a hateful person, that was just who she was.

One hot summer day, about a week after I’d moved into my aunt’s house, I went into the woods. I didn’t have a clear purpose for going out there. I knew the lands were polluted. The land was lumpy and the trees were dwarfed, sometimes misshapen by whatever toxic byproducts the paper factory had released, into the air and upstream. I did not have to walk long before I spotted thick shadows in one area of the woods, beneath trees far taller than anything else around. I noticed as I got closer to the trees, all sounds of birds and insects had faded away. They were for some reason repelled by this area.

Through the curtain of shadow I saw a hole in the ground, directly between the circle of tall trees, completely filled with darkness. The temperature had dropped noticeably as I stepped under the trees and I heard a faint whooshing sound. The air, cold here, smelled of decay. Rotted things, perhaps bodies. The closer I got to the hole, the stronger the fetid smell became, until I had to pull my shirt over my nose to keep myself from gagging. I still could not see into the hole. The whooshing sound was breath-like, having two phases. A deep, guttural phase of air being drawn in, followed by a shallower, hissing phase of air being let out. Whatever was doing it was large. It sounded as if it filled the entire pit.

I took my phone and shined its light into the hole. What I saw made me draw in my breath, so fast it hurt my chest. Two twisted eyes stared back at me from the bottom of the pit. Eyes from which the light of my phone could not penetrate. A flat, flabby shape of pale flesh surrounded the eyes, expanding like leavened dough as it took in air. Below its eyes was a mouth, long and lipless, equally as dark inside, slightly parted as it grew. It drew in air until it filled the pit, rising to about half its depth, of eight or so feet, after which its mouth closed and smaller holes appeared about its margins, quarter-sized openings of darkness which hissed its spent air. This refreshed the decay smell entering my nose.

After several cycles of air, the thing in the pit opened its mouth wide and spoke.

You may ask me any question and you will receive an answer, as truthful as your language is able to provide. Be warned that no answer will deliver satisfaction, not even knowing tomorrow’s weather.

Its voice was deep and gasping, as if air were being sucked out of the creature as it spoke. An acrid smell, like burnt chemicals, filled the air after it had spoke.

I was in too much shock right then to comprehend this creature and what it meant, what it said of my late aunt’s strange behavior before she died or anything else. I’d heard its words and understood them, and long ago I’d given up the idea of satisfaction. My aunt had cultivated a more realistic view of life. Life was pain and suffering most of the time for most people, with moments of pure joy and contentment few and far between. Even after retirement, my aunt was rarely happy. It was hard to know what could have brought on such a feeling. Even a utopia, with all its abundance and liberties, would’ve been boring to her. I was not so different. Less gifted in intellect but equally sour. But the look and smell and sound of the thing before me was what gave me pause. All that entered my senses prevented me from asking the profound questions. Questions of purpose and creation and future. 

Minutes, several or maybe more passed, the creature and I looking at each other, the only sound I was hearing was its breath, deep and whooshing going in, higher and hissing going out.

“What will the weather be like tomorrow?” I asked.

Its eyes, two dark whorls in pale flesh, seemed to twist slightly more as I spoke. Its mouth opened wide to speak.

Too unremarkable for you to think about while the day is upon you. Clouds will be visible on the edges of your vision, but you will not register them. In the evening, when you are reminded of our conversation, you will remember the sky as clear and blue. But you will have forgotten the clouds and replaced them with shapeless blue space. You will wonder if I was telling the truth and be unable to decide. You will tell yourself you will ask me again this question soon but it will take more time than your current notion of soon. Eventually you will understand that I always tell the truth, to the fullest extent that your words can provide, and this will frighten you more than anything you’ve ever known in your life.

When the creature finished speaking it began to turn around. Its dark twisted eyes and long mouth slid off to one side and pink, roughened flesh came into view. Its face disappeared and was replaced by salmon-colored craters, covered in moss. About the craters, some small as coins, others as big as dinner plates, were spidering vessels, which bulged as it expanded, its whooshing noise muffled by the earth of the pit. New quarter-sized holes appeared on the margins as it hissed out air. I stood, swaying on my feet, watching it expand and deflate for an unknown time, minutes or maybe much longer, before I stumbled off, dazed and baffled, unable to foresee what the creature meant.

I tried to go about my day as if nothing happened. I found I wasn’t able to focus. I kept seeing the creature’s face in my mind, hearing its gasping words, its breathing sounds, even its smell of rot seemed to follow me around. I emailed my boss that I was not feeling well. It was a courtesy I didn’t need to provide. The client we were working for was indecisive. First we’d been tasked for making eyeglasses with embedded screens from which you could play videos which would run in the upper corner of your vision. Now they wanted them water-proof. Indestructible, able to be thrown out of a moving car without issue. The engineering side of my firm was working on these things. My boss was giving me this or that little project to keep me busy while that was under way. This was probably going to be my final job. I had been diligent in my savings. I spent very little in my day to day living. I didn’t have a house payment. I could retire soon and live off the dividends of my investments if I wanted.

Since I wasn’t working, I putzed around the house for a little while, picking things up. Then I went for a run, once the sun had slipped behind a block of clouds. It made me think of the creature’s words. But you will have forgotten the clouds and replaced them with shapeless blue space. I wondered how I’d forget something like that now that the creature had told me. Its own words seemed to defy the accuracy of its prediction. Mid-run, about three miles out along the winding country roads I was running on, it occurred to me that my aunt had likely met this creature. Little epiphanies about my aunt followed me all the way home.

In the middle of the night I was awoken by a call from my mother. Her voice was hoarse. She said she was in the hospital. She’d had a small stroke. Nothing serious, she just wanted to let me know. The doctors weren’t happy with her blood pressure so they were keeping her at the hospital. I quickly dressed and drove down to see her. 

When I came into her room, she was reclined in the hospital bed, wearing an oversized hospital gown, pale-faced and with blue lips. She looked a lot like my aunt except she had blue eyes, icy like her heart. They often flared when she was angry. As soon as I arrived, she started complaining about the staff. Telling me they were ignoring her requests to fix the room’s temperature, “holding me here like I’m a prisoner” she said.

I reminded her that she’d just had a stroke. She said that they made it seem like it wasn’t so bad. I asked if she felt any different and she said she just felt tired. She wanted to go home. She wanted to sleep in her own bed.

I left her and went to talk to the nurse. The nurse brought me to the doctor who explained that her cholesterol was way too high, that she needed to make dietary changes and go on medication or she would have another stroke, with likely worse consequences. I told him that she was a stubborn woman, but I would try to convince her.

When I got back to my mother’s room, she complained about beeping sounds coming from one of the machines next to her bed. They were beeping because she had pulled off wires that had been taped to her chest. I realized then that my mother wasn’t going to listen to anything I said, anything the doctors said, anything anyone said. She was going to do as she pleased and suffer the consequences.

I stayed with her at the hospital all the next day. I emailed my boss again, explaining the situation. Throughout the day, I found myself needing to get away from my mother, so I took walks around the hospital’s perimeter, looking at flowers set in rows along the walkways. She was let out by early evening and I made it home by sundown. It was only when I pulled into the driveway and my eyes settled on my aunt’s long, gloomy house that I remembered the creature’s weather forecast. I sat, holding the steering wheel, trying to recall if I’d seen clouds as I walked around the hospital. I didn’t think I had. But it had said I would and would not remember. So there I was, wondering if it was telling the truth, just like it had said. And not long after, I promised myself I would ask it about the weather again soon.

I never did. In the days following my mother’s stroke, work picked up again. I decided to wait to retire. My mother, as I’d predicted, listened to no one about changing her diet or taking medication. She kept having small strokes. She kept living for a while. Five years passed before she finally died, from a fall where she hit her head. After her funeral, I did not go back to the creature to ask it any questions. The initial answer I’d gotten was enough to keep me away, though I thought about the creature often, saw its pale face and twisted eyes, heard its breathing.

It wasn’t until I received a letter a few years later that I began to seriously consider returning to the creature. The letter came from a woman I’d fallen in love with in my early twenties. She was the only woman I’d ever loved and the reason I never pursued any woman romantically thereafter. I’d met her at a charity event where I was volunteering, collecting donations for a climate disaster abroad. Wildfires threatening the rainforest. Despite my cynicism, I found volunteering rewarding. I got to meet all sorts of people, and the result was some money went towards a good cause. 

The woman showed up at the banquet hall close to the end of the event. She wore a long green dress that clung to her curving hips and sparkled beneath the great chandelier that hung over the dance floor. There was a lineup of bands playing music for the event. The final group was a jazz quartet. I watched the woman sway back and forth with her eyes closed, her long black hair shimmering under the banquet lighting. She opened her eyes and met mine, saw me watching her. She smiled easily and came over to the table I was standing at, collecting donations.

I was not one to pursue women. It was not in my nature to boldly compliment a woman as gorgeous as this one and ask for her name and number, and yet I did. She said her name was Ashley. I know now that she was lying. Back then it hadn’t occurred to me she would lie, not about her name or her past or anything else. I was so enthralled, so naive. I was taken that she was even talking to me.

After the event, she and I went to a bar across the street. I found out she was new to town, five years my senior, and looking for work. She said she was a dealer for online collectibles from movie sets. She’d done it ever since high school. Both her parents worked in Hollywood. She wanted to try something new, which was why she moved here. She didn’t know what she wanted to do yet. My naive, twenty-something mind neglected to ask what she was doing at the charity event when she didn’t have a job, or why she would move to a mid-sized town like Columbus, Ohio without having any connections here or there even being some kind of similar market for the work she was doing. After several drinks, I took her home and we made love and she had me feeling like we were destined lovers. There was nothing I did not tell her, about my aunt and my mother, how my aunt as of late had been becoming more distant, subtly, answering my calls and texts less and less, how my mother was becoming more bitter, more angry, about anything and everything, and she and I saw eye-to-eye on almost nothing. I told her my worldview, my cynical view of human civilization which I’d inherited from my aunt, my lack of belief in God, in free will or a universal purpose. Back then I wasn’t aware of when I was sharing more in conversation, when interchanges were unequal or people were holding back. I simply assumed Ashley was quiet, hadn’t a lot to say; I might’ve even thought I’d left her in awe with my words, such a laughable notion knowing what I know now.

Weeks passed and my infatuation with Ashley grew to indescribable heights. She was always in my thoughts. My heart was so full of love for her it felt like it would burst. We spent most evenings together at first. We made passionate love and she had me believing I was the best she’d ever had. Me, who’d only had one other in bed, a natural in the act of lovemaking. After a few weeks, she started making excuses of why she could not see me. Odd jobs she’d taken. Sicknesses that came on abruptly. I didn’t question it, my heart only burned to see her. Sometimes we would be together and she would get a call and have to leave, saying a client needed her. She told me she was back to selling movie props again, working with local collectors. Collectors in Columbus, Ohio. I ate that terrible lie up like it was nothing. I even bought a lie that she was working with local movie-makers, selling off their props. 

After a couple months, she started asking me for money. She said business had dried up and a few clients had stiffed her. That had me feeling the tiniest amount of suspicion, but I was so young and so stupidly in love with her I buried the feeling. Pretty soon I had given her several thousand dollars, all of which she swore again and again she would pay back, soon, when her clientele started paying.

She was coming by less and less and that suspicious feeling was getting harder to ignore. I considered talking to my aunt about my new lover, but we weren’t seeing each other often enough for me to easily do that, and by that point I was starting to think whatever she told me would have me feeling embarrassed, ashamed I’d leapt into this relationship so fast and fully, and was only questioning who she was and what her intentions were now.

The week before she pulled the rug out from under me, she moved in. She swore it was only temporary, that her landlord needed to fix some pipes that were leaking. Most of her clothes she kept in trash bags. She brought in several suitcases which had airplane tags from places I’d never been–Montreal, Austin, Portland. It was then that I realized how little I knew about this woman, who she was and what she’d done in her life. I’d been an open book and she’d only told me little snippets, things about the movie industry, about growing up on movie sets, seeing this or that actor from afar. Even though she was living with me that last week, I didn’t see much of her. She was out of the house a lot “working”. When she was home, she was often in the bathroom or in any other room but the one I was in. When I was in my office working, she was in our bedroom. When I went to the bedroom, she made some excuse and went to the living room. When I followed her into the living room and tried to touch her, she pulled away, told me she needed space, she wasn’t feeling well.

I left the house to pick up groceries the day that she left me, taking with her a handful of my credit cards, information to my bank accounts, and a few valuables she’d found in my apartment. She didn’t leave a note, nothing to indicate she wouldn’t be back. When I got back to the apartment, I saw her things were gone and for a brief time I actually thought somebody kidnapped her. That was how naive I was. Later I found my bank accounts drained, several of my credit cards maxed out, and the few belongings worth some value missing from the apartment. The impact of her betrayal was still with me, long after my aunt died. It had hardly changed by the time my mother died. By the time I’d  received the letter from the woman, I still hadn’t dated anyone, hadn’t pursued any kind of romantic relationship, not even casual sex since. Just the thought of it made me sick to my stomach.

As soon as I saw the unmarked letter on my porch, I knew it was from Ashley. She’d never written me a letter before, but something about the way it was set on the rug before my front door, slightly crumpled and askew, my mind immediately went to her.

I took the letter inside, glancing at the trashcan as I passed into the kitchen. Deep down I knew I wasn’t going to toss out the letter without reading it. I waited until I had coffee in my hand, and I sat with the letter on a chair next to the window.

Michael–

you’ve probably moved on with your life. If you haven’t, I doubt you’ll ever forgive me or trust me again. It took me far too long to understand how big of a mistake it was to lie and steal from you, to leave you and everything we had together. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get the courage to tell you how sorry I am. Well, here I am. I’m unbelievably sorry. Sorry I ran away from the only man I ever loved, sorry I threw away any hopes of being happy. I didn’t deserve you back then and I certainly don’t now. If I could go back to the woman who betrayed you fifteen years ago, I would beat the stupidity from her smug, pretty face. I would tell her she was making the biggest mistake of her life. A mistake she’d never forget. Since I can’t do that, I’m writing you this letter. I won’t go on wondering if I’m making the second biggest mistake by not telling you all this.

Regardless of how you feel about me, I am truly sorry. I can’t imagine the hurt I’ve caused you. If what I feel now is even a fraction of how I made you feel, I deserve to be alone. Alone and miserable. I hope life finds you well. I hope you’re doing better than I am. I’ll be passing through Columbus in two days. If you could somehow stomach the sight of me, I would love to see you. I know I don’t deserve it. I’m not expecting you to come see me, and if you do, I’m not expecting anything more than conversation. I’m staying at the hotel above the bar where we shared drinks the day we met, across the street from the banquet hall. Room 304. I’ll be here for three days.

Love and misery,

Ashley

I read the letter a handful of times. On the fourth read, I noticed water stains along the side of the page. Tears? I wondered. She would want me to think that. Or perhaps they were real. I could picture Ashley bringing herself to tears after she’d penned this letter, thinking it would be a nice touch. I wondered how she looked now, fifteen years older. Probably still gorgeous. Sociopaths always seem to age well. They glide through life without any worries, stepping on whoever and whatever. But probably she had the slightest crow’s feet on her temples, streaks of gray in her hair she had to have dyed. Or who knew, maybe she was leaving the gray in, thinking it would make her look more grieved, more likely to make me sympathetic. I really didn’t know the lengths to which this woman would go. It had me grinning and shaking my head.

I had no doubt the letter was a pack of lies, just like everything else she’d told me. About growing up on movie sets, selling movie props, etc. She was a good liar, but she was stupid to think a letter like this would work. It was surprising she’d even try. It had me thinking she didn’t know me so well after all. Even as a mid-twenties-something, if she’d tried this, a couple years after leaving me, it was hard to believe I would fall for it. I thought back on how embittered and ashamed I felt, a feeling that still echoes within me. It had only taken months for that feeling to come, and for several years it grew, hardened, fortified itself, until I was sure I would never let another woman get close to me, ever again. Even now, I wondered. 

I left the letter on the kitchen counter and went into my office. I was finishing the last project of my career. The final designs for my final client. I hadn’t needed to continue working after my mother died but I saw no reason to stop. Now I was bored with it. I had some hobbies I wanted to do–gardening, woodworking, painting. I had more than enough money to live on. And that was why Ashley was coming back around. How she could’ve known, I didn’t know. Maybe it was just a guess. Her only good guess.

The client was after a product that was both a screen and a piece of decoration. It was a flexible tablet that could play videos and be molded into various shapes. A useless product looking to bank on pure novelty. I didn’t really care. They could have asked for a sex toy or a melee weapon, it was all the same to me. My mind was occupied with what would come after this job. If the hobbies I’d chosen would occupy me or I would start traveling or consider moving. That last consideration wasn’t at all serious. First of all, there was all the work I’d have to go through to sell the property. Second, there was the creature. What was I going to do–cover it up with wood and dirt? Pretend it didn’t exist and hope nobody discovered it until the papers were signed?

The fact was I was still considering the creature, still thinking about it all these years later. I had not laid eyes on it for almost a decade. I hadn’t a clue what I might ask it, if anything.

How about what was Ashley expecting from a letter like this? Did she truly think you were this stupid?

I saw the creature’s twisted black eyes contort even more as I thought about it. I really didn’t know. Part of me assumed Ashley was smarter than this. More capable. Why go back to someone you already duped? It seemed so much easier to go after a new man’s money, someone who would easily eat your lies, who hadn’t the memory of being lied to, burned so badly it kept them away from any and all relationships since.

My morning work went quickly and around lunchtime I crossed paths with the letter again. I picked it up and reread it.

It took me far too long to understand how big of a mistake it was to lie and steal from you, to leave you and everything we had together. It was such a laughable statement, “to leave you and everything we had together.” What we’d had was nothing. I’d shared everything there was to share about myself, and Ashley shared almost nothing. What she’d told me might have been a complete fabrication. Her life in Hollywood. The different movie sets she’d been on. I was too stupid back then to see how empty everything she said was. I was too drunk on love, on bedding her, my head swirling with a fantasy of Ashley and I sharing a life together, starting a family, living in a house like my aunt’s, sitting together on a bench outside while we drank coffee, holding hands. Utter nonsense. My aunt’s cynicism couldn’t stem the tide of all those love chemicals, blinding me so fully.

If I could go back to the woman who betrayed you fifteen years ago, I would beat the stupidity from her smug, pretty face.

I found myself sighing, wincing at Ashley’s pathetic attempt for sympathy. Had this worked on other men? Had others that Ashley had lied to and stolen from read things like this and were convinced? I couldn’t imagine it. Even the dumbest rock with male genitalia would harbor suspicion. The work required would be more than with a fresh rube. And there would be no need for a letter, for apologies, for making amends. So why?

I left the letter where I’d found it and finished my day’s work. The letter never really left my mind. I wasn’t seriously considering going out to see her, her lies were not working on me, I was just fighting to understand it. Why was she taking a chance on me? There was no sense in it whatsoever. Literally any other man would’ve been better. My neighbor down the road, sixty-something, always in dirty overalls, half his teeth gone, he would’ve been a better choice. Or somebody like him but with more money.

My mind struggled to understand how this had happened. This letter, this attempt, how the Ashley I’d known who’d so easily twisted me about her finger before pulling the rug, would come up with such a stupid ploy. Had she hit her head? Went crazy and conjured a false memory of our relationship? One that made her think she’d fallen in love with me? The letter itself didn’t hint at anything like that, but I couldn’t explain it any other way.

After work, I passed through the kitchen again, and my hands nearly picked the letter back up. There was a kind of obsession I was developing about it, trying to unravel this mystery, what Ashley’s real intentions were. All I had was the letter. Part of me thought that if I kept reading it, I would discover something new. Some way a word had been written that would indicate something. It was making me antsy, wanting to pace. I needed a reset.

I changed into running clothes and went outside. As soon as I was running along the road, I began to feel better. For a little while, my mind gave the letter a rest and I took in the surrounding farmlands. Blankets of soy filling the plots that stretched out from the road, gently rolling. In the distance were farmhouses, barns. Trucks and farm equipment sitting in the sun on gravel lots. I’d always wondered how much pollution from the paper factory ended up in the crops. The soy had never showed any signs of it. It had never looked dwarfed or misshapen, like the trees in the woods. Probably there were byproducts in the soy, just not enough to show in its appearance.

A mile down the road, I was starting to wonder how Ashley had found me. And why she’d chosen to hand deliver the letter instead of sending it by mail. Was there something in this choice? Some kind of clue. I could feel my face tensing as I tried to work it out, picturing Ashley slowly driving down the country road, pulling into my driveway. When had she done it? Probably in the early-early morning or at night. Probably she stopped her car at the end of my driveway and walked the rest of the way, so as not to wake me. But picturing all this did not get me any closer to an explanation.

Maybe there is no logic I thought. Maybe this was the point. She wants you to obsess about the letter until it makes you crazy.

And yet for some reason that didn’t ring quite true. No version of Ashley in my mind was thinking on this level, nor were they into something so sadistic. Ashley never struck me as a cruel person, just a selfish one. Which was why this letter had baffled me so much. I couldn’t see what she was getting out of this.

At two miles out, I wasn’t feeling like running anymore, so I turned around. I was at the part of the road where a stretch of forest stood between two farms. The trees here were tall and healthy-looking, nothing like the trees in the woods behind my house. Still it had me thinking of the creature. I could almost smell its decay in the thick humid air as I ran. My own breath reminded me of the creature’s gasps, deep on the inhale, high and hissing on the exhale.

I was alone on the long, flat road. Nobody was in sight ahead or behind me, and yet I felt as if I weren’t alone. Ashley, as difficult as her letter was to understand, was there with me, pacing back and forth in my mind. Off in the distance, where the woods became thick and shadowed was the creature, watching me with its twisted eyes, breathing its whooshing breaths, exhaling its stink.

You could ask it. 

Ask the creature what? I thought. Ask it what Ashley is after?

Yes, of course I could. I could ask it that, or I could ask it what Ashley would do next, after she left town. Or how she would die. Or any number of things. That was the beauty of the creature’s offer. Nothing was off the table. As long as you were willing to bear the disappointment of the answer.

Was I? Would I be okay being disappointed with the truth of Ashley’s intentions? As I ran back to the house, my legs growing heavier and heavier, it seemed like the letter’s mystery was taking a bigger toll. It was diverting my day into a crazed obsession. I wasn’t at all worried about falling for Ashley again, that would never happen. Instead I was caught in the confusion of it, what exactly she was after. It just wasn’t sitting right that she really expected this letter to work, for me to fall for her again so that she could pull the rug once more. And I couldn’t picture her really truly loving me either, because what we’d had was nothing like love. I had been in love, yes, utterly drowned in it, but Ashley had simply danced around that love, shared what she had to, played the part as long as she needed to get what she wanted. So what did she want now? What was she thinking when she wrote the letter?

As my house came into view, I started running faster. I cut through my front yard, leaping over a creek, and then I continued on, past my house and into the backyard. I ran through the tall rolling grasses ahead of the woods. I ran through the woods, past short, contorted trees until I saw the smudge of shadow beneath the circle of tall trees.

Before I was beneath its shadows, I pulled out my phone and activated its light, and by the time I was standing before the pit, I was looking at the pale-faced creature, seeing its twisted eyes, hearing its gasping breath and smelling its stink, just like I had nearly a decade ago.

“I received a letter this morning from a woman–”

You need not explain any aspect of your life to me. I am as aware of its every unfolding as I am the inevitable answer to every question I am asked. There is nothing I do not know.

As I watched the creature’s long, lipless mouth work and gasp for air, I felt a lump harden in my throat. I felt my knees shake, weak from the run.

No, that’s not why you’re shaking I thought. I was shaking because I was on the edge of something. The same edge my aunt had been on many times before.

“What is Ashley’s intention with the letter?” I asked.

Within anyone skilled in deception there are multiple selves. There is a part of Ashley that truly regrets her conduct towards you. She recognized genuine feelings she had for you, unique to you alone, but like other men she betrayed you. This part of her imagines a reality in which she could have behaved differently. She has imagined this reality ever since she has known you, even as she was betraying you. It has grown stronger and more detailed over time. But she can only carry this imagined reality so far. Another self within Ashley, a deceiving self, believes you would never have accepted her, not as she truly is. Not then and not now. Sometimes she can convince herself that part of you could understand her lies, how they are inherent to her nature. She sees you as an indecisive person, and this conflict within you is born of lies to yourself, so she can imagine you accepting her lies, more than anyone else she has ever met. But she does not think it is enough. This realization led to the tears you observed staining the letter. As soon as she began to cry, she wondered if her deceiving self had managed to provoke this thought knowing it would add credibility. This part of her believes there is a slim possibility that a letter such as this could bring you back to her, and perhaps with time she would be able to exploit you again. So, as you see, there are contradictory intentions. A part of you suspected this all along, but another part of you refused to believe it. You kept rereading the letter hoping you would see something different. Now, because you have chosen to ask, you will not reread the letter.

The creature began to turn away as soon as it had finished. its dark eyes and long mouth sliding off to one side, revealing its pink, cratered back. I stood there for a time, pondering the creature’s answer and listening to it breathe, my body swaying. I felt a vague sickness growing inside me, threatening to buckle my knees and send me tumbling into the pit, landing on the creature’s back. As I walked back to the house, my legs grew heavy and uncoordinated, as if I’d ingested some drug that had taken all my energy. I stopped at the edge of the woods and leaned on one of the short, misshapen trees and waited to see if I would vomit. The tenuous feeling passed and I stumbled through the tall grasses back to the house.

Once I got inside, I began to peel off my clothes, feeling like they were somehow part of the problem. I climbed upstairs and started a bath, not feeling confident I could manage to stand in the shower. Ashley flickered in my mind as I lowered myself into the tub, her face tear-stricken, crazed. I’d never seen her in such a fashion, but the image was as clear as if I’d just seen her, minutes before. I turned the water hot and laid there, unmoving for some time. It didn’t seem as though the bad feeling inside me was fading so much as it was competing with the hot water, and because I wasn’t moving, the fatigue was not a problem. Only once before had I felt like this, my body heavy and aching from immense fatigue and at the same time restless. It had been after a long run in the heat, the humidity way up. 

Eventually I climbed out of the tub, feeling only marginally better. I glanced at the toilet, wondering if I could somehow purge this feeling by putting a finger down my throat. I didn’t think so. I went downstairs and opened the liquor cabinet, poured myself some whisky. Before I started on it, I went around to all the windows and pulled the blinds. The light, for some reason, was getting to me. Then I sat down with my whisky and tried to sip it. Like the hot water, the whisky’s burn was a welcome distraction from the bad feeling, this heaviness, this fatigue mixed with restlessness. I tipped the glass back and poured another. I hadn’t had a drink in a while and in minutes I was feeling lightheaded.

After I finished the second glass, slower than the first, I went upstairs to the bedroom. I pulled all the blinds and collapsed onto my bed. I didn’t fall asleep. The bad feeling, the image of Ashley, tears flowing and out of sorts did not let me. I was genuinely surprised to hear the creature state that a part of me had suspected Ashley was fighting against herself all along. Consciously I was unaware of this. Instead I had focused on singular motives, rational or otherwise. 

She sees you as an indecisive person, and this conflict within you is born of lies to yourself, so she can imagine you accepting her lies, more than anyone else she has ever met.

Was that true? No one had ever told me I was indecisive. Immediately I thought of a handful of instances in which I’d been decisive. The first being my turning away from romantic endeavors, ever since Ashley’s betrayal. Of course I had never fully written off finding another woman, if the feeling within me had ever changed. 

At some point, as I stared into the darkness of my bedroom, I saw Ashley in her hotel room, above the bar where we had shared drinks. She was pacing, looking at the floor, picking at her nails. The tension in her face, the way her eyes moved uneasily about the room, she looked as if she was filled with the same bad feeling as I, this gnawing, nagging, nervous fatigue, that would not go away.

This version of Ashley looked older, but not by much. She hadn’t crow’s feet or gray streaks in her hair, there was just a witheredness to her face, a heaviness from years of stress and strain.

I got out of bed after a time and dressed. I pulled the blinds and saw the sun was on its way down. I was no longer tipsy. The bad feeling had waned and was replaced by something else, some kind of engine that sent me downstairs. I downed a glass of water and went outside. My nerves were surprisingly settled. I felt almost nothing as I made my way through the tall grasses and into the woods, towards the patch of shadows under the tall trees. I found the creature waiting for me once more, exactly as it had hours earlier.

Different questions fluttered through my mind. Is there anything I could possibly do to have her in my life? … If I took her back, would I be happier? … What is it about this woman, who I know so little about, that I cannot escape from?

The questions swirled about my mind as I stared into the creature’s dark, twisted eyes. They seemed to glimmer as I considered them all, teetering on the edge there.

“Where did you come from?” I asked.

I was born on Earth, just like you. I am an accretion of matter, energy, and information, just as you are. My ancestors contributed to an unbroken succession of information transmission, its pattern molded by chaotic forces, no different than humans. My lineage adapted to the evolving landscape and has played different roles in the unfolding of time-space, as your people call it. My time has mostly been with humans. Feeding upon their musings, their curiosities, their sufferings. These are, to me, what you call “food”.

“So you eat every time I ask you a question?”

No. I eat whenever you consider asking a question, or wonder what my answer would be, or even muse about the consequences of hearing my answer. By knowing me, knowing what I’m capable of, you produce all I need, question or no question.

A feeble wind blew at my back as I heard the creature’s answer, watched its eyes twist and untwist as it spoke. I wanted to know more, I realized. I wanted to know how the creature had an answer for everything. I wanted to know how it managed to never become exposed, made public knowledge by human societies. How long did it live and how did it reproduce? I realized then that I had wondered the answers to these questions, but now the knowledge was so close, just seconds from my reach. And yet I knew that this was all fodder for question burning brightest inside me. Would I go see Ashley? Was it worth the risk?

The wind picked up strength and stirred the trees around me. As I stood there swaying, I could feel a tingling sensation on the back of my head, dancing behind my ears. I wondered if this was from the creature feeding upon me, upon my musings and sufferings, as it had said.

The creature remained as it had, as if expecting me to continue asking questions. I turned away from it and began walking back toward the house. That tingling sensation continued, spidering about my scalp. Ashley appeared in my mind as I walked through the tall grasses, smiling. It wasn’t a cruel smile, it was genuine. What it meant, I didn’t know.

When I got back to the house, I went back to the liquor cabinet and poured another drink. This one I sipped on as I considered my options. I could, right now, leave this house and never come back. Leave Columbus and drive until I found somewhere I liked. After a few weeks, I could call someone to handle the work of preparing my house for sale. I could forget about the creature, if it was discovered and what that would mean. Let it not be my problem.

Or I could stay here and do nothing. Let it spider about for a while. The feeling would stop and I could continue on as before. Except I knew that I could not. I’d broken the seal on something and I knew I couldn’t put it back. The question about the weather did not count. The questions today did. If I did nothing, more questions would come, more and more until I went out and asked them. Just like my aunt had.

So run away or what? Face it? Try to kill it?

I pictured myself going to the creature and asking How do I kill you?

Would it tell me? Maybe. If it did, would I go through with it?

I finished my drink and went back outside. The wind was still blowing, colder now, and sending down scattered drops.

Halfway through the tall grass I stopped, wondering how, if the creature would tell you how to kill it, why my aunt hadn’t thought of this. Certainly it occurred to her I thought. Maybe she did…

But then, if it wasn’t a creature she could kill, she could have moved away. The creature wasn’t the kind of monster that trapped you physically, made you come to it again and again to ask it questions.

No. It made you want to ask. It made you want to not leave. It made you want to not kill it.

I continued walking until I was in the shadows of the tall trees again. I hadn’t pulled out my phone yet. I could hear the creature’s deep, gasping inhale, followed by its high, hissing exhale. Its smell seemed less offensive than it had previously.

Why would she give me this thing? I thought. After what it did to her?

It was a question that burned inside of me ever since I’d discovered the creature and understood what it had done to her, how it had, in its promise for infinite knowledge, pulled my aunt away from me, isolated her, sent her adrift, beyond the reach of the rest of the world, who hadn’t a source of infinite knowledge. That knowledge had led to her ending her own life, for some reason.

Maybe she didn’t mean to leave the creature. Maybe she’d tried to end it and couldn’t, after all. She just wasn’t strong enough.

I could not know. Or rather, I could know, but then the answer would disappoint me. Drive me into further madness. 

In the darkness of the tall trees, rustling in the wind, threaded with cold droplets of rain, I walked up to the edge of the pit, felt the edge of the hardened soil with my feet, and I sat down. The smell of rot only intensified slightly, and I found the smell somewhat welcoming now, as if it were an old familiar scent, baked into fond memories. After a few moments, I slid down the side of the pit, my back against the curving wall, until my feet touched soft, pulsing flesh. I felt the creature’s breath pause as I touched it and it pulled away, allowing me to slide down further. 

The creature’s breath had gone shallow as I touched down to the bottom of the pit. In the darkness, I stepped forward and reached out a hand. My fingers touched soft, delicate flesh. It had the consistency of freshly baked dough, tender enough to pull apart with your fingers. Its gasping breath started to hitch as I held it with my hand, my fingers sunk into its soft flesh, writhing.

I was on a different precipice now. I lingered there, imagining if I’d taken the route of my aunt. That version of me would have had to drink a lot more whisky, enough to numb the dread of what would come from all the questions that burned within me. How could I manifest a life with Ashley, despite the kind of person she was. What had my aunt been thinking when she wrote her will. What led her to end her life. How could I have saved my mother’s life, given her stubborn nature. How could I make more money than I knew what to do with. How could I fix the world and all its problems. How did life begin. Was there any purpose to it all. Did God exist. Why did it hide from us. Why had it made such a cruel and awful place for its children to live in.

On and on that version of me would have asked. Filled himself up with all that knowledge. And then what? Maybe after that, there would be no purpose to go on. Maybe once you heard it all you had no more will to live. I didn’t know and I wouldn’t know.

My hand seized the soft flesh of the creature and pulled. I heard it let out a sharp, shuddering breath as the skin broke and warm air rushed into my face. I expected a decay smell beyond my wildest imaginings. Instead it smelled like nothing. Like pure water vapor, warm and heavy.

The steam poured out and with it any hope of knowing all life’s great mysteries. Free will, the existence of the soul, afterlife. On and on.

Surrounded by the cloud of warm vapor, I pulled out my phone and activated its light. At my feet laid the pale, deflated remains of the creature. Inside it had been nothing at all. Nothing but vapor. I pulled at the pile of skin and it tore and shrank, wilting and graying before my eyes. I kicked around its skin until I found its face, nothing more than holes.

Somehow this thing had known everything. Everything about everyone. Everything about the universe. How every minute would proceed, up to its death.

I stood looking at its remains until it looked like nothing at all. Some ashes in the dark dirt.

I climbed out of the pit and went back to the house. When I got inside, I found Ashley’s letter on the counter, which I carried over to the trashcan and dropped it inside. Would I go see her? I didn’t know.

Just as it should be, I decided.