The Hum

My dog will bark at something as innocuous as a buzzing fly, and by the sound of it, there’s a group of flies who found something exciting, maybe a pile of dog droppings from my thoughtless neighbor, outside my door.

“Hank, enough. It’s ok, just leave it.” I ask him to stop but this dog’s vocal cords know no bounds. It sounds more like a swarm of bees so I swing my legs off the side of the couch to investigate. Standing up I realize the migraine I’d lain down to soothe is still there. I get those a lot.

My brain pulses against my too-tight skull as I make my way to the door. Hank is a medium sized dog but trying to get around him is like trying to remove a St. Bernard who’s busy in his own world, staring at a blade of grass. “Ok, relax, one second.”

I finally get around my dog to where I can check the peep hole. I expected to see a friendly new wasp nest taking shape, it wouldn’t be the first to appear outside my apartment door, but on the other side is a dark circle. It seems to register that I am at the door because the circle moves back and I now see it’s a camera from a drone. My left eye is starting to twitch from neglect as I keep my right eye pressed to the peep hole.

The drone produces and drops a small cardboard box with an ineffectual thud on my doormat and then hums away, job complete. I crack the door open so Hank won’t wiggle out and I squat down, reaching for the box easily with one hand. I shut the door quickly, lest any neighbors walk by, and lock both the handle and top bolt. Hank is now distracted by a cockroach swaggering by who must have made his entrance in the brief time my door was open. It’s always cockroaches in the summer and spiders in the winter here.

Deliveries are normally sent to my apartment’s package room, so I feel a bit nervous handling this thing. I take it to my kitchen counter, wash my hands, then fumble underneath my sink for the purple gardening gloves I used the one time I transferred my only plant to a bigger pot. I pull them on and hold the box still while I take a knife to its seams. And inside is… nothing.

I pick it up and inspect each side of the brown cube. There’s no writing of any kind, not even addressing it to me, no identifying tape, no return address. I put on my phone's flashlight to catch any detail I might be missing on the inner flaps but it’s completely bare. I look around my silent apartment as if I might see an answer darting through the air, but all I hear is the hum of my refrigerator. Hank is now curled up on his bed, napping from the minor excitement at the door.

“Whatever.” I say this out loud and leave the box on the counter. I have lived alone for a few years and I’m still surprised by the sound of my own voice with nobody but Hank around to hear it. Despite my headache, I need to go for a run but I just plop on the couch and stare at the blank TV screen. I have the remote in hand to turn it on, but I just stop. I’m caught in a daze and the humming of the fridge grows louder, pushing its way into my ear canals and filling the empty space in my head. The black of the mounted flat screen swallows me until it’s all I see. The rest of my apartment disappears.

The noise from my fridge is floats and propels me into this black hole. I’m in a vacuum but I can feel the displacement of air as I pass through the different spaces. I don’t know how far in I am or how far there is to go. Then, a flash of white.

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Hank brings me back. He’s licking my hand and whining. The remote has fallen to the floor and I stare at it, then the TV, then blink at the sound of my AC unit kicking on and overpowering the fridge’s guttural call. Maybe I should go on that run. Get out of the house a bit and into fresh air.

I’m lightheaded as I stand up so I pause for a second while I wait for my brain to stop buzzing. I go to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. I almost don’t notice it. The box, it’s grown. “What the hell?” It comes out as a croaky whisper, like the pipes in my throat have some kinks to work out. I didn’t measure it before, but it is definitely bigger. I pull on my left gardening glove and pick it up. It’s heavier too. And it’s been resealed. “What the hell?” I say again, and it’s low but clear this time. The same knife I used before is still here and I try and fail to cut the box back open.

I grab a sheet of computer paper from the printer I never finished hooking up and put it underneath the box, tracing around its bottom with a sharpie and leaving a perfect square on the white sheet. I’m going to go run now. I just need to change… I walk toward the bedroom to throw on a sports bra and stop short, afraid I’ll miss it. I jump around and the box hasn’t moved. I don’t think it’s grown either.

I lace my shoes and I’m about to grab Hank’s leash. I squint at the counter. It grew. The damn thing grew again. I’d already clipped his leash to the harness but I drop it now and dart to the box. The lines I’ve drawn aren’t visible from any perspective. This thing swelled so fast. Hank had followed me into the kitchen, dragging his leash behind him. He whines at the box while I stare at it. His noise becomes a distant sound drowning in fog that clouds inside my head.

Hank pushes his head into my hands and I’m back, but the box has grown. “Maybe not a run. Maybe I’ll just take you out to use the bathroom.” I look briefly at his sweet face on a block of head and nod as my eyes pull back to the box. I’m still nodding. “Yes, just a quick walk,” I promise the box.

I grab his leash from the ground and we make our way to the front door. I look over my shoulder to the counter where the knife and gardening gloves guard the cardboard. I feel anxious, like I shouldn’t leave. That’s why I force myself out the door and then Hank takes off, pulling me with him. He isn’t giving me the chance to lock up, let alone allow my feet to hit the ground. He’s about fifty pounds but has no problem pulling my arm from its socket. “Hank, relax. Heel. Heel!” He normally responds to the command but he doesn’t stop his race until we are about a quarter mile from the apartment. Then, he just sits and watches me pant as my heart rate attempts to even itself out.

“All right. Do your thing. Go potty.” He lifts his leg over a thorny bush but only lets out a little squirt before he lays in the grass, rolling on his back, inviting me to join. “Okay. Only for a moment.” I join him and rub his belly as he wriggles around the ground. My petting hand slows then stills. Visions come to me masquerading as memories. They comfort me. The memory is dark but inviting, and I can feel it. Barely a breeze brushing my arm. I’m not hot nor am I cold. It feels so good. And I need to go back.

“Ok. Let’s go…” I stop and look at his face. This pit bull mix I found on the road years ago. I named him, but why can’t I remember his name? I stare at him, willing him to remind me. I will not look at the tag on his collar. It will not come to that. My heart had calmed down but now it pumps furiously and I start to feel dizzy. I feel like I can’t breathe. I fall into his round, loving stare. My breath is shaky. “H-hank. Let’s go home.”

I make it the length of his leash before it’s pulled taut and I realize he hasn’t followed me. He’s standing firm. “Come on.” I pull on the leash and he gives up one weak step before resuming the strong stance. “Hank, come.” Begrudgingly, he does.

We are nearing my apartment door and he starts to bark. He’s loud and I’m scared neighbors are going to come out so I scoop him up and carry him inside, again locking both locks.

For a second, amidst Hank's barking, I almost forgot. I wish I did forget, but I remember and my legs bring me there before my mind can catch up. The box is huge. Half of it hangs off the side of the counter and if it gets any bigger it will fall. “What are you?” And then the hum of my… what was it? It’s vibrating through my brain again but I can’t remember its source. It’s right there. It’s big. I’m looking right at it and it keeps things cold. What the hell is it?

My eyes get wet and I’m in danger of crying out loud. Even with only Hank around to hear me cry, I hate doing it. “What is it? What are you?” I slam my fist against the stainless steel. I like how it feels so I do it again, harder. The word comes to me as the box falls off the counter. Refrigerator.

Why do I keep forgetting everything? It used to just be misplacing my keys. It’s gotten worse, sure, but never as bad as it has been today. I want to go back to the warm, dark place. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to find it. I feel like I’ve lost my mind. My head pounds and is now the empty vacuum. It isn’t as comforting as before. I feel nauseous and I want to get out of here but my eyes aren’t opening. I raise my eyebrows to try and force my lids apart. They only make a slit big enough for tears to fall down my face in wide sheets. The darkness is holding me. And it holds me. And it holds me.

Hank is whimpering again. I turn around and he’s curled up against the box that’s now a bit bigger than he is, trying to comfort what’s inside. The thing I lost.