Fresh Mountain Start

8

'The antenna is supposed to arrive today, right?' Gary asked.

He had spent the last few days trying to make conversation while he was at home. John wasn't sure how he had managed to be convinced to stay, but that he did did not mean that he was happy, and the tension filled the house. The few conversations they had attempted to have, especially those that attempted to go any deeper than surface level pleasantries, became heated quickly.

'Yes,' John said.

'That should be good,' Gary answered. 'You can get back to work, then. You'll see how much better you feel when you're doing something.'

'Sure.'

'I'm running late,' Gary said, lifting his plate and his coat at the same time.

'Yeah.'

'I should be home the usual time tonight,' Gary said. 'Why don't you go down to the village? See what's going on?'

'Okay.'

He knew he was being childish. He could hear it in his voice. Gary hadn't seen it, and he was making an effort to understand- but he hadn't seen it, and he couldn't believe it. He had just rejected John, right out of hand. He just asked questions like, 'if it's real why hasn't it tried to get us? The doors aren't very sturdy are they?' or 'Why are there no footprints in the mornings?'. Questions that John knew must have answers, but they eluded him.

And the thing was still out there, every night. Watching them, and waiting.

'Oh, actually,' Gary said, 'just checked the weather. Looks like it's going to chuck it down. Try and do something relaxing, eh?'

'Sure,' John said. 'See you later.'

Gary took a step toward the door, and then stopped.

'I love you, John. You know that, right?'

'Yeah,' John answered. 'Love you too.'

They kissed, and Gary left, his face... tired, John decided. He looked tired.

When the sound of the engine had faded into the distance, the house sat in silence.

John didn't turn on the TV. He didn't move from the sofa. His eyes stared out the window, unfocusing, letting the pleasant, numb haze settle on them. The tips of the trees waved in the wind.

Silence.

Complete, utter, silence.

He was entirely alone in the house.

Entirely alone on the mountain, most likely.

An hour went by.

Two.

And then the promised rain came, the sky greying and darkening. A gentle tip-tap on the windows, brushing its way across the roof, cold air seeping in through the edges and cracks of the walls and doors, and then the heavier rain drops fell. Fist sized smacks. Thump, thump, thump. They hit the roof and the glass like a marching band's worth of drums beating out an uneven rhythm.

John put his feet down onto the floor.

He forced himself up, uneasily.

He found a blanket.

He wrapped it around him, and waited for it to heat up.

Then he took a chair, and sat out on the porch, waiting for the postman.

The eyes followed him as he sat.

He could see them from the moment he walked out the door, waiting there in the darkness under the trees, but he didn't have the energy to deal with the creature. The tiredness seeped in to his bones, and every small step felt like it took a herculean effort. He tried his best to ignore it, even seeing it start to creep closer and closer. He sat in the chair as it reached the edge of the treeline closest to him.