An Entire Year of You

Chapter 23: Voicemail

Carlos wasn't exactly good at bowling. He wasn't terrible but compared to the rest of the team he was quite an amateur. All the same, getting out once every two weeks and spending time with Cecil, Josie, and his friends was a great form of stress relief. There were few problems that couldn't be solved by chucking a ball down at some innocent pins at full force. Plus, after endearing himself to the Erikas he managed to get his phone fixed. Fixed and 'protected', so they said. He had to find someway of thanking Josie for her less than subtle suggestion. If only she'd thought of it sooner. It would have averted an ongoing crisis.

He wasn't completely sure that he was at fault, but the timelines matched. Ever since he started messing with the clocks time had started to get weird. It had been weird before, sunsets had never been the way they should, but now it was slow. Way slower than it should have been. He kept to himself at first. Maybe he was just imagining things. He'd contacted Cecil to get him to ask his listeners to come forward with any information about the situation, but he seemed distracted. He thought the whole thing was 'neat'. It wasn't neat, it was potentially devastating, especially since time was moving faster back home meaning his benefactors could be coming for him before the year was up.

Fumbling through his notes offered no relief, they only brought up more questions. He thought the problem might have stemmed from his inference with the clocks, but when he thought back, he realised that the clocks had never been working at all. At least, they shouldn't have been. The gears never moved. He'd been too caught up in the moment to notice while it was happening, but they were always completely frozen. He was pretty sure some of them were made of foam. Foam and...several other things. No batteries either. Why hadn't he been paying attention? He was a scientist for goodness sake. Back to the phone, back to Cecil, but he wasn't answering.

That wasn't a problem, right? After all, why would he pick up? He was working. It would be weird to take a personal phone call on the air. There was no need to panic. There was a scientific explanation to all of this. He started to leave a voicemail. Cecil would surely get back to him.

"Cecil, sorry to bother you. I need you to get the word out that clocks in Night Vale are not real. I have not found a single real clock. I have disassembled several watches and clocks this week and all of them are hollow inside. No gears, no crystal, no battery or power source. Some of them actually contain a gelatinous grey lump that seems to be growing hair...and teeth. I need to know if all clocks are this way, Cecil. This is ver–"

Something moved in the corner of his eye. A tall black shadow lurked just outside the door. Carlos found himself suddenly struggling to remember whether he got the Erikas to fix the lock.

"There's something at my door, Cecil. I need to go, okay? I'll call you back in...well, I don't know."

He hung up. The figure continued to stand outside, unmoving. Should he go to the door? Should he call out? No, if the figure had good intentions, they would do something. Heck, most of the people and creatures in Night Vale with bad intentions made themselves known, often loudly, and Carlos quite liked that system. He edged towards the window and peered through the blinds. The figure clung to a leather suitcase. Carlos wasn't sure but he could swear it was buzzing. His figure was hidden by a long tan jacket and his face was completely obscured. He wasn't sure by what. He wasn't wearing a mask and from the position he was stood Carlos should have had a clear view. Yet it was covered by an impossible shadow. He reached for his phone. Cecil probably wasn't going to pick up, but just hearing what was going on out loud was quite calming.

"There's a man in a jacket holding a leather suitcase outside my door, Cecil. He's not knocking, he's just standing in front of my door. I can't make out his face. I'm peering through a crack in the living room blinds –"

The figure turned his head was sharply Carlos was surprised his neck didn't snap. It stared right at him. Oh God, those eyes. Those eyes were all he could focus on, virtually all he could see.

"Oh no, he saw me." He slowly put his phone down without looking away. He was trapped in a hellish staring constant. For over ten seconds it stood there, as if inspecting him, before turning towards the door and trying the handle. Carlos jumped back as it rattled, shaking the whole room. A wave of relief washed over him when the lock got in the way. The Erikas pulled through. The figure walked away.

"Okay..." Carlos muttered to himself. He reached for his phone and turned around. There stood the figure, whispering incoherently. Carlos didn't even try to maintain dignity. This was a screaming matter and scream he did. His grip slipped and the phone tumbled to the ground. It survived without cracks. Now he just had to make sure he survived too. Backing up, he tripped over his own feet and fell onto his back. One day he would go a whole month without falling, providing he lived to see another month.

"You are Carlos Cienca." He growled. His voice seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, echoing across the walls, bouncing into every corner of the apartment. It wasn't a question, not remotely, but Carlos shakily nodded anyway. "I bring a message."

"From...who?" Carlos gulped. The figure shoved a brown envelope into his hand.

"No idea. I'm not allowed to open other people's mail." He shrugged.

"You're...the mailman?" Carlos asked.

"Mailman, handyman, whatever you need man. For today, for tomorrow, whenever I'm required."

"Oh." No wonder Josie didn't want him to meet the mailman.

"You will have a nice day." The man in the tanned leather jacket told him. Carlos blinked and suddenly he was alone. Maybe he was always alone. Yeah, that was right, he'd always been alone. Or had he? He felt like he'd just been talking to someone. And why was he the phone? Why was his phone screen cracked? Where had he got this letter from. He stumbled to his phone.

"Sorry about that, Cecil." His voice trembled. He'd probably given the poor man a fright, though hopefully he'd listen to all the voicemails at once and everything would be explained. Maybe he could call back and repeat back to him what he said, since he was no longer entirely sure. "I forget what I was doing. I think somebody came over...but I don't remember who or what for. Anyway, I need to meet you. Are you free tomorrow afternoon? You have a contact number for the mayor and someone with the police, right? It's important that I find them. And again, can you get the word out on your radio show about the clocks?"

He put his phone down and looked down at the letter. His hands shook as he removed his neatly folded paper inside. It appeared as if someone had printed out an email and mailed it to him. He scanned the text, his eyes repeatedly moving back to the subject line.

'Just the man we were looking for.'