"Tanya, can we have just one dinner without you checking your phone?" her mother asked.
Tanya took her hand out of her sweater pocket and left her phone inside. She cast an apologetic smile at both her parents.
"Sorry," she said. "It's just …"
"Big celebrity," her father said with a wink.
"Yeah, that's it," she said with a laugh that she didn't even pretend trying to make sound genuine.
"Are you sure that's all?" her mother asked. "You don't seem like yourself."
Tanya tried to remember the last time she'd even seen her parents, despite still living with them. Between the three of them always working, they were like roommates more than a family. How would they even know if she seemed like herself or not? She was half-tempted to tell them about her strange week, but Vanessa's words, you attract them when you think about them too much, made her superstitious. And them? Who the fuck was them? Whoever they were, she wanted them far away from her family. Whatever she was going through, she wouldn't wish on anybody, especially not her loved ones.
"Yeah, Mom," Tanya said. "I'm just working a lot."
Her father started cutting the chicken breast on his plate. Her mother stared at her another beat before going to do the same. Beneath the bandages Tanya had applied, her fingers itched. It made grabbing her fork difficult. She had to get creative with her grip, otherwise the pressure hurt the bumps. Maybe she'd see a doctor soon if they didn't go away or got worse. Hopefully, a doctor would know what the hell they were. Hopefully, they'd just clear up on their own.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket again. She made a fist with her left hand to resist reaching for it and took a bite of green beans.
"It's good, Mom," she said.
"Hey, I helped," her father said.
"You did a great job getting them out of the fridge and opening the bag," Mom quipped.
Her parents laughed, and Tanya smiled despite herself. Since her mother had gotten well some years ago, they'd found an easy routine. Banter like this over dinner was common. Aside from new lines around their eyes and more white strands in Dad's hair, they'd changed little, and Tanya found this incredibly endearing. More than that, it now made what felt like an unraveling reality seem more tightly woven, less likely to fall apart.
In her pocket, her phone buzzed again.
_____________________
"Fuck!" Vanessa groaned and tossed her phone aside.
She glanced around her apartment, expecting Hannah's ghost to rematerialize.
You fucked up, it would say. You should've helped when she asked, and now you're too late.
Simon sniffed the spot where the ghost had sat, but Hannah didn't reappear. Vanessa felt no relief. She had crossed a forbidden threshold, a threshold from which she had already been fortunate enough to return. Could she hope to be so lucky again? She didn't like her odds. Her words of warning to Tanya echoed back to her—you attract them when you think about them too much.
Simon turned away from the couch and sat down to face her. He whined, and she tried not to think of it as a bad omen.
_____________________
Tanya picked at her food and tried not to think of the unanswered messages on her phone. She shifted and silently willed whoever it was to hold on. The last thing Tanya needed was for her parents to worry about her. Because of how grief over Uncle Bentley's disappearance had so deeply affected her mother, they would inevitably overcompensate if they thought she was struggling with something mental.
She stabbed a sliver of chicken breast and took a small bite. She could hardly taste the blackened seasoning or feel the chewy texture.
Of course, her troubles were not only in her head, but they wouldn't see it that way. They'd see her as having a psychotic break, not even considering that something else might be happening, something uncanny. Ironically, her mother might have been more open to such a possibility before getting well.
The chicken slid down her throat in slow motion. She thought she might throw it back up. Her fingers throbbed against the handle of the fork. Her father looked at her and crinkled his brow.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.
Something warm drizzled down her index and middle fingers from beneath the bandages. Tanya set down her fork and looked.
"Fuck," she said.
"Tanya!" her mother said, more out of surprise than the need to reprimand.
"What is it?" her father asked.
"I'm bleeding," she said, holding up her fingers.
"What happened?" her mother asked.
Her father only stared, occasionally blinking like a computer shorting out.
"I …" She had no answer. "I need to get up."
She pushed away from the table and stood.
"Sweetie, wait," her mother said.
Her father called her name as she headed for the stairs. She ascended, unable to rip her gaze away from her bloody fingers. The bandages were soaked through. The wounds beneath them pulsed like small, angry hearts. She closed herself in the bathroom and leaned over the sink. When she removed the bandages, she nearly screamed.
The bumps on the pads of her fingers had changed again. They looked like fish mouths, lips around bloody holes, opening and closing, oozing blood with every breath.
"Oh God," she said.
She bent to unroll some toilet paper. When she stood back up, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked pale, and darkness clouded the skin around her eyes. It looked like she hadn't slept in several days, or like she had the flu. The few bites of dinner she had churned in her belly. Something foul burbled up her gullet and filled her mouth. What she saw reflected behind her made her swallow the nastiness.
A thick coat of slime now covered a significant portion of the shower wall. It made a pattern resembling a tree with several branches and splatters of firework patterns. The network had spread from the drain, crawled up the side of the tub and across the tile. It was mostly clear in color but for brushstrokes of rainbow translucence.
Tanya braced herself against the sink and wrapped her fingers tightly in the toilet paper, never taking her eyes from the ooze splashed across her shower. Confident her wounds were sufficiently dressed, for now, she left the bathroom and closed the door.
"Tanya, what is going on with you?"
Her mother stood at the head of the stairs. Dad stood behind her. They wore matching expressions that shifted back and forth between concern and confusion. Tanya held up her hand.
"I need to go to the hospital," she said.
"What happened?" her mother asked.
"Just let me by. I don't know how much time I have."
"What does that mean?"
"Can we at least give you a ride?" her father asked.
"No!" She nearly shouted it, and her father flinched. Her mother stood mostly still. Only her mouth moved, falling open and closing, words failing her. Tanya said, "I better drive myself."
She thought they'd try to restrain her, but they simply moved aside.
"Call us when you get there," her mother said.
Outside, the autumn air blew against her face. It put no spring in her step; it only made her cold. She got into her car and pulled out of her driveway. She fully intended on driving herself to the hospital, but as if someone else had commandeered her body, she drove toward Athena's.
______________________
Vanessa checked her phone again even though she knew what she'd find. No response from Tanya. No indication she'd even read the messages. Despite the lack of surprise, she cried out in frustration. She nearly hurled her phone across the room. Simon watched her, his big brown eyes wide with concern. He'd seen her like this before. Many times, when recovery seemed impossible, when every attempted step forward knocked her several steps back. Nights where she stayed up all night pacing the apartment. Afternoons spent screaming into her pillow.
She wasn't supposed to be like this anymore. The right cocktail of medication, talk therapy, and a healthy routine had sent her into remission. But ever since she saw that game, everything was going wrong. Noises seemed too loud. Sunlight seemed too bright. Her thoughts were either fogged over and impossible to put into words or racing, sharp, and repetitive. A cruel wheel of confusion, paranoia, and loathing.
Vanessa clutched the phone in her lap. She folded both hands around it and willed it to buzz with a response.
I'm sorry, she'd written. If you still want to talk, I can call.
I shouldn't have been so dismissive. You might be in danger, but maybe we can figure this out.
Write me back when you get this, okay?
Simon noted Vanessa's obvious distraction and padded away from her. He bypassed his dog bed and headed for the bedroom. She usually left the door open for him, only ever half-heartedly telling him not to jump on her bed because, of course, she didn't mind him sleeping with her, especially since seeing that game.
Even though she would've felt it go off, she checked her phone again. No response. No indication her messages had been read. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. In the other room, Simon let out a bark that rattled her bones. She sat up straight and looked down the hallway. It was dark and shadowed. Anyone could be back there. She stood, phone in hand, and headed for the hallway.
Again, her childhood fear of thresholds resurfaced. Again, despite her phobia, she crossed into the shadows and kept going.
The darkness swallowed her almost immediately. It was impenetrable, even though behind her, the living room and kitchen lights still glowed. She put her arms out to feel for the walls. She needed to know they were still there. The floor she was sure about. It offered sufficient familiar resistance to every step she took. She focused on that, reliable gravity, steady ground.
Another deep bark from Simon nearly broke the illusion of stability. Vanessa stopped to collect herself. She looked over her shoulder at the illuminated living room and contemplated returning there. But even in the light, she was not safe. Most of what she'd endured in that abandoned amusement park had happened during the day. Only she had survived. More than once, she nearly joined the others in death.
She began to walk forward again. Simon was growling at something in her bedroom. When she reached the slightly open door, she hesitated. This was the true threshold. She'd escaped the amusement park and rebuilt her life. Even now, she bet she could turn back. Tanya hadn't answered her messages. She could always ignore any response. Go back to her life and forget all that happened.
Simon kept her moving. His presence, his companionship, had kept her grounded, made her feel safe. Now, he was in her room trying to tell her something. Out of obligation to listen, she reached for the door and pushed it open all the way.