Three a.m., and three dead alien children knocked at my door.
Alien is a harsh word, really, but each of them had skin that was so transparent, I could see their muscles and veins and organs. Dead is an even harsher word, but you must understand the condition of the muscles and veins and organs I saw. Maybe it was the three a.m. darkness, but everything inside them was a shade of grey so close to black, it’d be an injustice to label them “grey”. Nothing moved. No beating heart, no expanding and collapsing lungs. Just muscles and veins and organs of three dead alien children.
There was a girl, a boy, and a child with no face. Each of them had a small woven basket swinging from the crook of their elbow. They pushed past me without a word and settled down on a couch in the living room. I felt myself shutting the door behind them then following them into the living room, where my body perched itself on the arm of the couch opposite the three. The boy and the child with no face had scooted the coffee table closer to their side of the room, and the girl removed the white napkin covering the contents of her small woven basket with a showy flourish. Her companions seemed to lack the energy to add flair to the action, but carried it through all the same. Next, they each pulled out a moldy muffin and set it on the coffee table. I suppressed a gag as they started picking off large chunks of the non-edible pastries.
The girl angled her head upwards to study my reaction. Before I could ask what possessed them to come in, she answered.
“We’re here to bury you alive, sir.”
My mouth hung open. I drew in a breath, crossed my arms, and frowned at the floorboards. Meanwhile, the children began to construct a pyramid of muffin parts.
“Don’t worry,” said the boy as he licked a hunk of moldy muffin and stuck it in one of the pyramid’s many gaps, “your daughter won’t miss you.”
I remarked I didn’t have a daughter.
“All the better, then,” came the reply.
I settled back on my seat as one who is offended usually does. Pain flared up deep within my chest, but I couldn’t help but grin. I chuckled and shook my head at the ridiculousness of it all. It was three in the morning, and I was in the living room, watching three dead alien children ignore me. They stacked pastry chunk on top of pastry chunk. They were up to the fifth tier now. They had started out gingerly placing each piece accordingly with their thumbs and index and middle fingers, their little ring fingers and pinkies waving in the air. But now their childish nature had taken over, and they were smashing pieces into others, knocking over parts of the pyramid, and scattering crumbs everywhere. I didn’t have the courage to tell them to stop.
Instead my eyes scanned the perimeter of the now-unfamiliar room, as if the c***roaches on the walls could give me some advice. Their antennae twitched, but the creatures themselves remained silent. One c***roach with a particularly large lump on its back scurried across the face of a portrait of me I don’t like. She had painted it two years ago, before she told me she loved me. I remember it so clearly: the sunlight tanning her face pale, the smell of the paint she used to desaturate the portrait’s colors. Everything, from the soft curls of her hair to the way her smile turned me into stone, is completely locked in that portrait of me I don’t like. The c***roach positioned itself on the tip of the portrait’s nose, and its wings fluttered underneath the burden of the lump on its back. Out of all the years this house has been infested with c***roaches, I didn’t realize the creatures had wings until now.
Movement to my left caught my eye.
As I turned my head, I noticed it was not the children, for they were still fumbling with their pyramid. Instead, it was the mirror positioned eight inches--and a little to the left… No, right. No, you had it right the first time--above the wall-table that had caught my eye. Or more specifically, the person in the mirror.
When I looked in the mirror positioned eight inches above the wall-table, the person staring back was not me.
She had always told me I’d eventually lose it completely. I think that’s why she left. She didn’t want to be here when the three dead alien children showed up.
I wish I had told her I didn’t either.
My entire chest began to hurt. My right hand instinctively flew to my heart. Something was clawing at my ribs. An image of my heart growing six fleshy legs and using them to scatter about its prison flashed across my mind. I coughed into my left fist, stumbling onto my couch. If my heart had legs a couple of seconds ago, it had teeth now. It was biting, gnawing, ripping at my lungs, and I became the center of the room as pyramids and tables and c***roaches spun around me. Too nauseous to watch, I hung my head and gulped in air faster than I could let it out. Maybe the children didn’t hear; none of their hands came to pull me back up.
The hair on the back of my neck at attention, the energy in my chest detonated, sending waves of stinging pain outwards through my body. My body went limp, and I collapsed into the cushions' warm embrace. My eyelids refused to close as the pain centered on my brain. It rushed around the organ and stabbed at it, as if it were attacking each individual nerve with thousands of microscopic pins. My face was on fire, and I imagined I could dig my fingers underneath the skin and peel it right off. But if I did that, who would the children have to bury?
This is it. a voice inside me said. This is what you’ve been waiting for. This is the moment. Is it worth it?
I could’ve screamed. I could’ve clawed at the air and let the burden of her drag me under. I probably could’ve been rescued sooner, I realized, but now it was all too late, and the c***roaches would crawl all over me and my body would get all moldy and the dead alien children would pick me apart and turn me into a pyramid for everyone to admire.
And then she would know she was right.
I covered my face with my hands and let the weight of her words crush me.
Meanwhile, the children didn’t seem to notice. They kept constructing their pyramid.