The Thing On the Floor

He’d been talking about it for months. It started small: he’d told her that people he knew were starting to act differently. He’d told her that people he knew were doing and saying things that weren’t like them, almost as if they were under some kind of spell. From there, it only progressed. He was convinced that the planet was being infiltrated by a foreign species. He called them ‘invaders’.

“They’re shape shifters,” he’d said. “They’re killing us off one by one, and then taking the form of the person they’ve killed. They’re going to take over. They’re going to wipe us out.”

She can remember wanting to laugh at him. She can remember asking if he was reading some shitty sci-fi thriller. But now the thought just made her chest pound, because she’d realized too late. It had taken her too long.

Headaches. They’re one of the warning signs - they’re how you know you’re close to one. Her headaches never go away anymore. There’s too many, now. Eyes. Another indicator. An invader's eyes aren’t glossy. They don’t shine like human eyes do. They’re hazy - almost matte. Their movements and actions are abnormal. Almost idealized. They stand straight - too straight, and they’re polite.

Spotting them takes practice, but Lydia had been doing it for weeks now. Eventually, you learn to just know.

She glances towards the blood on her hand again. She’d known her neighbor had been invaded for a while now. She’d seen it’s eyes. She knew. Lydia had never intended to harm him. But it wasn’t going to let her leave. Lydia had needed to get on the road, but It kept blocking her path. And then the thing stepped towards her, and she had no other option but to fight back.

Maybe he isn’t dead… she knows that’s not the case. If the initial impact of the garden hoe hitting the side of his skull hadn’t killed him, his neck landing on the corner of the raised flower garden certainly had.

He’d be laying there, still, tucked away in her backyard, hidden between two rhododendron bushes.

The only way she’s managed to stomach it is by picturing him once the decomposition process has ended - the bugs have left and the maggots have feasted and now all that remains are a few rib bones sprouting moss with shoots of wildflowers sprouting up between them.

That’s how she must picture him now - already several months gone.

You’re an idiot.

She can’t stop shaking her head. She can’t stop blaming herself for not listening sooner. Because Drew had warned her. He was a friend, someone who worked in her building, someone she ate lunch with everyday. Someone she confided in. She knows she should have trusted him.

She punches the steering wheel, and she doesn’t stop. She punches until her knuckles are red and ready to split open.

YESTERDAY

She finds him outside their building, sitting on the side entrance steps where the smokers take breaks.

“Did you see it?” he asks urgently. “The ocean last night?”

“What the hell are you doing, Drew?” Lydia grabs onto his wrist, screaming in whispers. “Just tell me what you want. Just tell me what I need to do to get you to leave me alone!”

He rips his arms away from her. “You really still think I’m messing with you? Did you not see it last night? Lydia, they’re here.”

She inhales deeply. He’s lying to you. But she isn’t convincing herself of anything.

“There were all those lights in the sky, and the water flashed white, and then the tide went way out like a tsunami was coming, but nothing ever came back. You need to run,” he insists, his eyes round and bloodshot. “You both do, Lydia. We need to get out of here. They don’t have you yet, they don’t know you know. It’s too late for Callie, but you-,”

“Don’t say her name,” Lydia barks.

“Please, Lydia,” he whispers. “Please, we have to get out of here. We need to run.”

Lydia doesn’t respond. She’s too busy thinking about how she shouldn’t be thinking about any of this. She’s too occupied with trying to deny what he’s saying. But so far, everything he’s said has happened - the water, the eyes, the voices, the changes in people - they’re all real.

“I’m not sure how much time we have. But if your girlfriend has been invaded, then it’s only a matter of time before one comes for you and Becklan.”

Lydia hesitates, staring up at him. “How do you know Callie’s gone?”

“We go to the same grocery store. I run into her all the time.” He extends a hand, momentarily gripping onto her arm. “I’m sorry, Lydia. I tried to warn you. If we don’t get ourselves hidden by tonight, then it’s going to be too late. You saw exactly what I did, how could you still be this unsure?”

“Because this is insane! I mean, this is absurd. A foreign species? Coming to earth? It can’t be true." Her head shakes, her grasp on reality slipping. “But then the eyes, and all the weird conversations, and the power outages - ours has gone out three times this week,” she’s rambling, her voice lifting as she begins to panic. “The headaches, and then those lights in the sky, and then the voices-,”

“Voices?” Drew cuts in. “What voices?”

Lydia tries to inhale - to catch her breath. “Nothing,” she shakes her head. There was a group of children across the street. They were laughing. “It was…” she’s trying to calm down, “it was probably nothing.”

She’s looking everywhere except at the person she’s talking to. She’s scanning, noting anyone and everyone.

Drew nods. Lydia thinks he looks calm, but she also thinks his eyes are wider than a calm person’s would be.

“You’ve got one watching you,” he says, because he knows she’s lying. “Lydia, it’s going to kill you. Soon.”

“If this is real,” she begins, fighting to hold onto rationality. “Then what the hell are they waiting for? Why haven’t they taken over by now? Why bother with pretending to be human?”

“The lights last night, the water - it was them. More coming. If they just start attacking and killing in huge swarms, then us humans will fight back. We’ll figure it out. We’ll know. But if they come slowly, picking us off one by one without alerting the police, the military, the government, then we won’t stand a chance.”

Lydia wipes her palms on her pants, ridding them of sweat.

“And why haven’t you found a place to hide yet? If this is real, then why didn’t you conceal yourself a long time ago?”

He swallows. “Because I’m scared,” he admits, his voice a whisper. “What good would it be to survive if you were the only one? I can’t do this alone. And you’ve been such a good friend to me, I…” he clamps his mouth closed, thinking without looking at her. “I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I didn’t at least try to warn you.”

Lydia is breathing quickly, her eyes bouncing from person to person. “I need to see Callie."

Drew shakes his head. “You can’t. She’s one of them-,”

“I have to speak to my family, Drew,” Lydia shouts, the stress eating her alive. “I can’t just abandon them.”

Drew exhales roughly, as if having just received a heavy blow to the gut. And then he blinks, running a hand through his hair. “You need to find a way to accept the truth. It’s likely that they’re already gone. Look around you,” he demands. “We’ve lost thousands within three days.”

She shakes her head in denial. “No. No, Callie isn’t gone. You’re wrong.”

“You know I’m not.”

“I can save her,” Lydia says forcefully, as if trying to convince herself as much as him. “I love her,” her voice quiets some, wavering. “She hasn’t left me.”

Drew stares. “I’m leaving tomorrow, with or without you,” he says tiredly. “If you’re coming with me, be back here at 8am. And, if you’re not…” he doesn’t finish the thought, he just shakes his head, watching as Lydia turns and leaves him standing on the sidewalk, alone.

TODAY

She bounces her leg up and down, waiting for the stop light to switch green. Sitting still was too hard. It allowed her to slip inside herself. Without the movement, without action, all she could do was think.

Like about last night, when Callie was acting strange. When her eyes were absent and flat. When she laid down on the wrong side of the bed. When she’d sat there, perfectly straight, barely blinking, staring at the TV for hours. Last night, when Lydia realized that the love of her life was gone.

And then having to leave this morning alone, her toddler son Becklan still in that house, with that invader, completely vulnerable, because Lydia couldn’t let Callie know that she knew what she really was.

He’ll be okay, Lydia repeats tirelessly. I’ll get back to him in time. It won’t hurt him.

Lydia pulls up to the curb where Drew had told them to meet.

She paces back and forth. There was a pit in her stomach, and it throbbed in unison with the pounding of her chest.

It doesn’t take long before she spots him . Lydia rushes forward, the tension in her stomach lessening, but in no way subsiding.

“Drew,” Lydia starts running. “Drew,” she repeats, but he doesn’t turn around until she’s gripping his arm.

He smiles at her. “How can I-,”

“Listen, we’ve got to go. Now,” she insists, pulling him towards the exit. “Look, whatever you had planned, wherever you think we’ll be safe, we go there now, alright? Just let me pick up Becklan first.”

He has to yank backwards with most of his body weight in order to break from Lydia’s clutch. “I’m sorry Ms. Pak, but I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

Lydia stops moving. Her body goes stiff as her eyes narrow in on his face. “Drew,” she begins, studying his eyes. “We need to hide.”

“Hide?” he asks.

Lydia takes a step backwards. There’s no shimmer. She stares for a moment longer, but she’s seen this too many times before. She’s certain. The thing that’s standing before her is not Drew. “No,” she shakes her head.

“Don’t you remember?” she asks quietly, “how we were going to run?”

He smiles again, something Drew rarely did nowadays. “Oh,” he nods, “do you like jogging? I’ve heard it’s an excellent cardiovascular exercise.”

Lydia grabs onto his shoulder. “Listen, Drew. You warned me about invaders. And I didn’t believe you before, but I do now. So let’s go. Let’s run.”

“I can’t do that,” he says roughly as he once again struggles to pull himself away from her. “I have to go to work,” he states firmly, no longer smiling. “I suggest you do the same.”

Lydia blinks, trying to ignore the edge in his voice.

“While you still can."

There’s pain in her chest as she takes a blind step backwards, nearly tripping over her own feet. She watches as he turns, and she forces herself to turn as well; to turn and not look back. She knows that whatever she saw wouldn’t be him.

It’s your fault. She tries to ignore the thought, but it keeps forcing itself back into her mind. It’s your fault he’s dead.

She returns to her car. Becklan is still himself, and he’s alone with an invader.

~~~

When she steps through the front door, she steps into darkness. She inhales sharply, removing her cell phone to use as a light when the switch on the wall does nothing.

“Lydia?”

She freezes, innately aware of the sound of her own breathing. It came from somewhere down the hall.

“Yeah,” she answers quietly.

“It happened again.” Callie says calmly. Her voice doesn’t sound normal to Lydia- it’s tighter. Higher. “That damn breaker.”

“I’ll take a look,” she decides. Hesitantly, she enters back through the living room and towards the garage door.

When she pulls it open she’s greeted with a wall of damp, stagnant air.

She turns right, walking down the narrow space between the parked car and the wall. Her phone screen is only able to penetrate through a few feet of the darkness, so she angles it at her feet to avoid tripping.

She flips the metal box open, wincing when it screeches from rust.

The noise was unanticipated, and she’s so overcome with nerves that she drops her phone.

“Shit,” she whispers, lowering in order to retrieve the device.

“Shit.”

Her muscles tense. The word hadn’t originated from her that time.

She grabs the phone swiftly, looking in front, and then behind. She sees no one.

“Callie?” She asks.

The silence is buzzing in her ears, and then: “Callie,” is repeated.

She spins, the noise originating from somewhere to her right. “Who’s there?” she asks, extending her phone outwards.

“Who’s there,” it repeats.

Lydia’s breathing is uneven, and not just because there's someone in the garage with her. It was the voice. It was her voice. They sounded exactly the same.

An invader, she thinks.

“Lydia,” Callie’s muffled voice calls out from somewhere inside, sending a trembling sensation down the back of her neck. “Did you do it?”

She pants, inhaling sharply in and out as she approaches the breaker a second time. She scans with the light in all directions to make sure nothing is close to her, and then she pulls the beam towards the box, reaching for the switch.

There’s something moving towards her, on her left. She knows it’s there - she can feel its presence as it inches closer, but she doesn’t look.

“Can you hear me breathing, Lydia?” A voice hisses. It’s right next to her, warmth brushing against her ear.

She flips the lights back on, swinging an arm outwards.

It collides with nothing. There’s no one there.

She rushes back into the house, locking the garage door behind her, her legs numb.

Callie is in the kitchen, and Lydia rushes past her even though she says her name. She jogs, refusing to stop until she’s inside Becklan’s room. She closes and locks the door so that Callie can’t enter after.

“Lydia?” Callie says when she tries the handle. “What are you doing?”

“Hold on. Just give me a minute with Beck, alright?” She lifts Becklan's backpack from the floor, emptying it of crayons and paper and other kindergarten content.

“Why’d you lock the door, though?”

“Just give me a minute,” Lydia shouts, and then she hears footsteps fading down the hall. “Beck,” Lydia says loudly, glancing over her shoulder as she begins emptying dresser drawers, throwing in random pieces of clothing.

Becklan was in bed beneath the covers, still asleep.

“Beck,” Lydia says louder this time, “come on buddy, it’s time to get up.” Lydia turns, approaching the bed in order to wake her son. “We’re gonna go on a little road trip-,”

“Mommy,” Becklan whispers.

Lydia’s body tenses. Something was off. Becklan’s voice was faint - quivered.

“Mommy,” he says again in a hushed voice, and then, slowly, he adds, “there’s something beneath my bed.”

Lydia doesn’t move closer. She stands where she is, throat tangling. Slowly, she swallows, forcing her legs to bend low enough to get a view of underneath the bed.

The first thing she spots is the hand. Small, fingers outspread and gripping at the floor. And then the arm, bent at the elbow, narrow and bony, the shoulder blade poking out from beneath a thin shirt. And then the face - a child’s face, grinning a wide smile with a mouthful of half missing teeth. It’s eyes were dark - absent.

It moves, sliding on its stomach towards Lydia.

Lydia flinches backwards, getting her feet out from under her so that she can kick the thing in its face. And then a second kick, and then a third. She fumbles to grab a soccer trophy off of Becklan’s shelf, slamming the object into the being’s skull until it lays motionless, no longer squirming.

It's on it’s stomach, a ring of crimson spreading outwards from its small body.

Lydia trembles, dropping the piece of metal and rushing towards her son. “Come on, Beck,” she manages to find the words, lifting the child in her arms, cradling the back of his head. “It’s alright, sweetie. Come with me,” Lydia whispers.

Callie stands down the hallway. "What's happening?"

Lydia's breath wavers. "Um," she inhales deeply. You need to run. You need to get Becklan out of here. "It's difficult to explain..."

Callie frowns. "I mean with Beck. Did he scare you?"

“Scare me?” She whispers, body numb.

“Yeah. He hid underneath the bed to try and scare you.”

Lydia glances downwards. Her knees bend, nearly giving out. She’s not holding Becklan. The only thing in her arms are a pillow and a Spiderman blanket that’s been wrapped around it.

Lydia steps backwards, the items falling from her hands as she moves away, stumbling over her own feet as she backtracks towards the room, swinging the door open roughly. Her eyes are wide as they scan over everything, looking under blankets, in the closet, in the toy chest. Checking behind the curtains and around the bookshelf and behind the door.

The room blurs, something warm on Lydia’s cheeks.

There was no sign of Becklan.

There was only the thing on the floor.