Ghosts in the Attic (9 page)

The man showed no sign that he’d heard Justin. He drew his legs up to his chest and made a mewling sound in his throat. His bare back was smooth and muscular, and Justin felt an involuntary stiffening begin.

“Hey, Mister, you okay?”

When the man still did not respond, Justin stepped closer. He noticed that the bottoms of the man’s feet were covered with abrasions, as if he’d walked across some rough terrain. The same abrasions covered the palms of his hands, as if perhaps he’d crawled. Justin squatted next to the man and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder.

The man reacted as if a hot poker had been placed against his skin. He yelped like a dog and backed away, scuttling on his hands and knees, flaying away the skin but seeming not to notice. His upper lip curled back, and he growled low and menacing.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Justin said, rising slowly and taking a few steps back toward the house. “I’m not going to hurt you; I was just seeing if you needed some help.”

The man’s large, soulful eyes, a rich brown with flecks of green, darted around, taking in his surroundings. He looked back at Justin and his expression softened, becoming that of a lost child. “Where am I?” he said, his voice coming out as a hoarse croak.

“Lipscomb Street.”

“Lipscomb Street,” the man repeated with a grimace, as if tasting the words and finding them offensive.

“Yeah, near the old high school. Are you from around here?”

“Nothing is familiar. Everything is alien to me in this state.”

“Do you want me to call somebody for you?” Justin asked, tugging at his earlobe, a nervous habit he’d had since childhood. “Is there anything you need?”

“Water. I need water.”

“Uhm, sure, I can do that. I live just over there.”

The man slowly rose to his feet and started forward, his gait unsteady. The way he moved his legs was stiff, robotic, as if the act of walking was unfamiliar to him. As he neared Justin, he tripped over his own feet and started to fall again. Justin quickly grabbed his arm and held him upright, allowing the man to lean on him for support.

Being this close, feeling the stranger’s body heat, made Justin stiffen even more. He shifted discreetly to hide the incriminating evidence and led the man toward the house. Justin knew it was stupid to let a stranger, especially one as strange as this one, into his home, but the man was in such obvious need of help. Besides, it wasn’t like he might be concealing a weapon somewhere.

“I’m Justin, by the way,” Justin said as they walked across the broken-tile porch. “What’s your name?”

“I am called The Swift One.”

“Ty Swiften?” Justin said, his mind reinterpreting the words into something that made sense to him. “Well, it’s nice to met you, Ty.”

The two men stepped into Justin’s living room. With its wood paneling and hardwood floors, the room was dark and inviting. There was a fireplace in the far wall, a large mirror above the mantel. Ty walked to it on legs that were gaining assurance, staring at his own reflection as if at a stranger, fingers exploring the contours of his face like a blind person.

Ty squatted in front of the fireplace, his manhood dangling between his legs like ripe fruit, and said, “Can you make fire?”

“Well, it’s the middle of May, I don’t have any firewood. If you’re cold, I can bring you some clothes, maybe a blanket.”

Ty looked down at his own body, as if just noticing his nakedness for the first time. “Yes, that would be nice. This body is pitifully exposed.”

Justin left the stranger alone in the living room and collected some old sweatpants and sweatshirt from the back of his bedroom closet. After a stop in the kitchen to fill a glass with water from the tap, he returned to the living room to find Ty standing in front of the bookcase inset in the wall next to the fireplace. He seemed entirely comfortable with his nudity, not in the least embarrassed or ashamed.

“These should fit you,” Justin said, holding out the sweats.

Ty crossed the room, ignored the clothing for the time being, and took the water. Justin noticed his pink tongue sneak out and lap at the liquid before he caught himself and gulped the water down. “May I have more?”

“Sure. Would you rather have soda or tea?”

“No, water is fine, thank you.”

Justin laid the sweats on the recliner and hurried back to the kitchen, marveling at this surreal situation. What was he doing? This man was unquestionably unstable, it was possible he was even dangerous.

And yet he didn’t seem dangerous. If anything, he was a perfect gentleman, polite and considerate. And stark naked.

Filling the glass again, Ty had to admit he found this whole thing exciting. His life was normally so dull, so routine. Work, quiet evenings at home, a date every other weekend or so. Not much deviation. But this, this naked man with his peculiar way of speaking, this was a
major
deviation and Justin embraced it.

Returning with the water, Justin found Ty dressed in the sweats. The shirt was a little tight across the chest, but otherwise they fit reasonably well. He was holding the television remote, turning it over in his hands, looking at it as if it were a relic from some bygone age.

“Did you want to watch something?”

“What?” Ty asked. He took the water and downed it. “Thank you, you are most kind.”

“No problem. Do you mind if I ask how you ended up wandering down the street in your birthday suit?”

“It is a long story,” Ty said, wandering around the room, running his fingers along the surface of the furniture, the television, the mantel, the pictures on the walls, as if trying to reassure himself that it was all there, all
real
. “I’ve never strayed this far before.”

“Do you need a lift back home?”

“Home…” Ty’s eyes lost focus as he stared off into the distance. “Now I remember. There was a fire, trees burning like kindling, smoke filling the sky like Armageddon.”

Justin frowned. “Are you talking about the fire in the woods on the outskirts of town? I thought they said on the news that it didn’t hit any populated areas.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” Ty said, and he suddenly seemed so weighed down with sadness that Justin wanted to go to him and hold him.

“Is there anything more I can do to help? You can use my phone if you want.”

Ty smiled, his full sensual lips blooming across his face like a flower. “I appreciate the offer, but there is no one for me to call. I am alone now, the last of my breed.”

Justin opened his mouth but could think of nothing to say to this.

Ty studied a photo on an end table, a photo of Justin and his sister taken a year ago. “Family?” he asked.

“Yes, my sister Sarah. She lives in Oregon; we don’t get to see each other much these days.”

“It is good to have family. Make the effort; don’t let time escape you. It is all so fleeting.”

Tugging on his earlobe as if trying to remove it, Justin felt such empathy for this stranger that tears prickled at the corners of his eyes. “Do you need a place to stay tonight?” he asked, then blushed when he realized how that sounded. He didn’t want Ty to think he was propositioning him. “I mean, I have a spare room; I could make up the bed for you.”

Ty crossed the room until he was standing close to Justin, close enough that his breath washed over Justin’s face like a refreshing breeze. “I could use … comfort,” Ty said, running a callused finger down Justin’s smooth cheek. “Companionship. Mine is a lonely, solitary existence. It is good to know the heat of another from time to time.”

Justin felt himself trembling and could not work up enough breath to speak. He closed his eyes and moaned softly when Ty’s hand went up under his shirt, finding the nipple and pinching lightly.

“You feel lust for me. I can smell it on you. You are a magnificent specimen. May we share the night in your bed?”

Justin nodded dumbly, taking Ty’s hand and leading him into the back bedroom. They undressed in the dark, partaking of each other’s flesh with urgency and hunger. Justin gave in to the experience, feeling every sensation with intensity. The pleasure and passion of the act was beyond anything he had known before. Ty proved himself an experienced and expert lover, raising Justin to heights he’d never imagined. When the peak was reached, it was explosive and all-consuming.

Justin fell asleep in the stranger’s arms, head against his chest, the lullaby of Ty’s strong heartbeat whisking him away to dreamland.

* * *

When Justin awoke the next morning, he found himself alone in the bed. He sat up, his mind foggy, searching the room for signs that last night had been more than just a fevered dream. Untangling himself from the covers, Justin discovered that he was nude and sticky with dried sweat. He found his boxers hanging from one of the bedposts and slipped them on.

He started from the room then paused, staring down at the floor. Here were the sweats he’d given Ty to wear last night, discarded at the foot of the bed. So it wasn’t merely a dream; the stranger had been here. But where was he now?

The sound of something shattering elsewhere in the house drew Justin’s attention. “Ty?” he called as he made his way down the hall toward the kitchen. He could hear a snuffling, a rustling, but no response.

Justin pulled open the door and stood on the threshold, staring at the scene before him with numb horror. It was so bizarre, so unexpected, that at first his mind could not react, could not accept the data his eyes provided.

The garbage can by the refrigerator was overturned, and a black wolf rummaged through the trash, eating bits of old hamburger and discarded fruit. The animal was so intent on the buffet of garbage that it didn’t seem to notice that it was no longer alone.

The numbness wearing off, Justin started to back away, slamming the door against the hallway wall in the process. The wolf looked up and Justin let out a startled cry. The wolf cocked its head and studied him quizzically with its large, soulful eyes, a rich brown with flecks of green.

Ice seemed to run through Justin’s veins as he stared into the wolf’s eyes, eyes that were familiar, eyes that had stared into his own last night.

But no, that was madness. It wasn’t possible, what Justin was thinking.

Justin sank to his knees and held out a trembling hand. The wolf padded over and lapped at the offered hand with a rough, sandpapery tongue.

“Ty Swiften?” Justin said in an awed voice. “
The Swift One
…”

* * *

a month later…

The sky was the deep purple of a fresh bruise as Justin pulled into his driveway. He’d had to work late tonight doing inventory, and it was after six by the time he got home. He hurried into the house, tossing his keys on the coffee table on his way to the kitchen. He stopped only long enough to snag the steak he’d laid out to thaw this morning from the sink then barreled out the backdoor.

In the backyard was an old storage shed, slats of wood painted gray to match the house. The double doors were secured with a sturdy lock. Justin worked the combination with a practiced hand and walked into the shadowy coolness of the shed. The black wolf, curled up in the center of the space, raised its head as Justin walked inside.

“Hey there,” Justin said, tossing the steak onto the dirt floor. The wolf padded over, sniffed the meat, then gobbled it up in a single bite.

Justin took the metal folding chair from the corner and sat down. The wolf came to him, licking his fingers and laying its head on Justin’s lap. Justin stroked the animal’s fur and scratched behind its ears.

“Soon,” Justin said, glancing out the shed’s single window at the darkening sky. “Very soon.”

The man and the wolf sat in the shed, waiting for the full moon.

FINDERS KEEPERS

Elden tipped the wastebasket and emptied the contents into his wheeled cart. The usual office debris tumbled out—papers, Styrofoam coffee cups, paperclips, post-it notes—but then something solid and wet plopped into the cart. Elden stared down at it for several seconds before reaching into the cart and retrieving the item.

He held it in his cupped hands, bringing it close to his face, examining it. It was battered and scarred, obviously mistreated and misused. At first Elden thought it was broken, but then it pulsed and inflated. It was struggling but was still working. Not for long, though, not unless someone took the care to mend it.

Cradling it protectively against his body, Elden walked down the hall to the break room. He took his bagged lunch from the refrigerator, dumped his bologna sandwich in the trash, and placed the item gingerly in the plastic bag.

When his shift ended at midnight, Elden took the bagged item home with him. He placed it on the kitchen windowsill, next to his potted plant. There it stayed for the next three weeks. Elden regularly talked to it, just as he did his plant, massaging it at times, rubbing ointment into the worst of the scars. He nourished and nurtured it, showering it with attention and affection until its scars healed. They did not disappear, but they did fade, and its stuttering rhythm soon became strong and constant.

Three weeks after taking it home, there was a knock at Elden’s door. He was surprised to find one of the workers from the office where Elden was a janitor on his doorstep. She was young, early thirties, blonde hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, eyes that were sad and older than her years. She smiled wanly when Elden opened the door.

“Hello,” Elden said.

“Hello, my name is Lisa. I, uhm, well, I believe you have my heart.”

“Oh, of course,” Elden said, standing back to allow the young woman inside. He led her to the kitchen where her heart beat strong and healthy on the windowsill.

“There it is. I thought it was lost.”

“You threw it out,” Elden said simply, taking the heart and handing it to the young woman.

“I thought it was broken beyond repair.” She turned the heart over in her hands, checking it by sight and touch. “Amazing, you can hardly even tell it was damaged. How did you manage this?”