The Pseudo-Chronicles of Mark Huntley

Keeping Tabs - 9/19/04

Sunday, September 19, 2004

Quite a bit has happened since I wrote last, on Friday, and none of it pleasant. I’m going to dig right in and catch up on what happened. It'll probably take two parts, so here's part 1...

Friday evening started as I’d planned—with nothing on the agenda. I curled up with Kim Stanley Robinson's The Wild Shore, and got wrapped up in the story while listening to vague rumbling outside my windows. Maybe the beginnings of a storm, maybe just the atmosphere groaning. 

That was nice for a while: just me, my book, and a couple Millers to grease the wheels of the mind. I can blame the Millers, though, for a serious case of the acidies that hit my stomach around ten. Took me off guard; I hadn't had a bad reflux episode for a while. But I couldn't just ignore it. That bitter taste flooded into my mouth and twisted my belly. 

I got out of my chair and pawed through the closet for the container of antacids that I knew was in there. The thing was, it wasn't. I checked the bathroom, the kitchen, and I'd be damned but I was out a whole fucking container of antacids that surely elves had made away with to feed to the blessed calcium-craving nymphs of the wood.

*urk*

I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep like this. Glancing out the window, I saw a night without rain, but still unwelcoming, with thunder in the distance and the occasional lightning streak. Reluctantly, I put on my shoes and headed for the door. At least I probably wouldn't get wet.

My destination was the Korean corner store a couple of blocks away. When I got outside, it seemed like those couple blocks were a long way to trek— something just oppressive about the night. The sky lit up, flashed twice, happy to justify my anxiety. I saw a few other people out, on whatever errands they felt compelled to run at 10:07 p.m. in ominous weather. I didn’t mind their company, those strangers. 

As I walked along, though, one stranger in particular gave me a… less than warm feeling. I wouldn't have noticed him if I hadn't turned my head to take a second look at a dark shop window I'd just passed (handsome watches on display—hey, I could really use a new watch). 

He was walking in the same direction I was, about fifty feet or so behind me, and there was nothing unusual about his appearance or the way he was walking. Dark clothes, a bit retro floppy-brimmed hat pulled down over his face. Joe Citizen out for a stroll, same as me. But just looking at him gave me serious chills, and I didn't know why.

"What, do you think you've picked up a tail?" I muttered to myself. I'd thought that skipping the crime show garbage on TV would have inoculated me from such idiotic ideas. I did know one way to test it, though, just like (I thought?) they did on the shows. I stopped in front of the next shop, a closed bakery, and spent a good thirty seconds staring into the window. Mmm... day-old bread. 

Rather than stopping as I had, Joe Citizen kept walking, and crossed the street after several yards. He went on, turned a corner, and disappeared from my sight.

So there I had it. He hadn't been following me. Jesus Christ. I continued on with a lighter heart to the Korean corner store. Only jumping a little at the sputtering of the tube lights when I walked in. I headed over to the meager medicine aisle. There, I found one little roll of antacid tablets... not the brand that I liked, but they'd have to do. As I was paying for the antacids, a movement caught my eye and I casually looked over at the refrigerator cases of beer and soda.

My buddy from outside was there, peering into the cases, his back to me.

I dropped the change I'd just received from the old cashier. When had this guy entered the corner store? I hadn't heard a single customer come in after me.

"Your change," said the cashier. I scooped up the coins and hurried out of the store before the man at the refrigerator cases could look my way. I got the feeling that I wouldn't like it if he did. 

Once outside, though, and walking away at a brisk pace, I started to feel foolish. Why had I let myself get creeped out so much by some random stranger? So he'd taken a roundabout way and ended up at the same store I stopped in at. That was by no means a shocking event. How many other places could you shop at that time of night? 

I decided to take a different way home, though. I turned and headed a few blocks out of my way to the north. Not long after that, I got the sense that somebody was watching me. I whirled around three separate times to try to catch a glimpse of a watcher, any watcher, but the scant number of people nearby were just normal folks going about their normal business. Thunder rumbled far above my head, louder than it had been before.

I’d make a maneuver. Just in case. At the next block, I hung a left, and as soon as I was out of sight of whoever might have been back on the previous street, I sprinted as fast as I could to the next cross-street, and took another left, sure that I hadn’t given anyone enough time to spot me. I jogged down that street, took a third left, and then a block later I was back on the street I had left behind in the first place. Mostly the same people as before, since I had rounded off the block at a good speed. But I no longer felt like I was being watched. If someone really had been following me— Joe Citizen again?— he’d be up ahead chasing down a wrong trail, not expecting me to come back to this street.

I started up the street, feeling pretty good about myself. And then I stopped dead as I realized that the grey-bunned old woman I'd just walked by was singing softly to herself: "I sit in my old car / Same one I've had for years..." 

I stared at her. She gave me an annoyed look and went quiet. I left her and as soon as I came up to a guy in dreds, sitting on some steps, I could hear him singing in a low, clear voice: "Same food for years and years / I hate the food I eat..." 

I began to run. I almost knocked into two short men in t-shirts as I went, and what spun me away from them was the refrain they sang together, in Spanish but I knew the translation by heart: "When the world is running down / You make the best of what's still around."

It was all I could do not to scream. My legs shook, hard, like they were angry, and then they stabilized and I pelted away.

Yeah. Unlikely. Crazy. I know. You can imagine what was going through my head. But that's not even the worst part. 

I was running blindly for home, not knowing whether I'd picked up my tail again, but what could I do? Where else could I go? I didn’t have my “being followed” sense, but maybe I’d been stupid to rely on it in the first place. I reached my apartment building, skipped the elevator, flew up the stairs to my apartment. Slammed the door behind me. Took the antacids, four of them. I still felt like I was going to throw up.

I looked out the window. Eight stories below, under the glow of a streetlamp, the dark figure of a man stood looking up at my apartment building. At my apartment. My two windows. I couldn't make out his face under the shadow of his hat. But I could still tell that he was looking at me. He just stood there, motionless, watching. 

I stepped away from the window, shaking violently. Should I call the police? But what was there to say? I had no idea who the man was. And he’d take off before a squad car could arrive. 

I shut off the lights. Then I went back to the window for another look. The man was gone.

Thunder complained outside, louder than ever. I went to my front door, locked it, put the bolt on. Then, for good measure, I hauled my bookcase over in front of the door. The darkness wasn't helping, so I flicked on a small lamp. Even with the antacids doing their work, I could tell I wasn't going to get much sleep that night.

posted by Mark Huntley @ 11:41 PM

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