The Other

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Simon opened his eyes, awakened by a terrible noise. It took him a few moments to remember where he was.

Oh, right, he thought—the waitress. The sound was her uneven snores.

After his event in Kingston with Neve, Simon needed some time to himself, as he often did after encounters with The Other. So, he left Ottawa, stuck out his thumb, and went where the fates took him. On this occasion, the fates took him to South Philly.

He’d accepted a ride from a student at Temple University, returning to the school after a weekend visiting family in Upstate New York. From there, he wandered around the city, exploring some tourist sites, until he found himself in a dive bar in an industrial area. The place wasn’t busy; he wondered if it was ever busy. A few regulars brooded in the booths while a group of men were up to some strange hijinks. Simon sat at the bar and conversed with a stressed-out and overworked waitress. Even though the place wasn’t busy, she seemed to be the only one doing any work.

His interest paid off as she invited him home. He took her up on the offer with no other place to stay. The sex was pedestrian, but at least her place was clean. But now he had to sneak out on her.

The snoring woman beside him had her arm thrown across her eyes, and her mouth hung slack, one leg hanging out of the covers. Simon slid quietly off the bed and searched for his boxer shorts in the dim light. He found them on a lamp where his intimate companion had thrown them the night before.

Gingerly, he slipped them on and picked up his jeans and shirt. He could only find one sock. He dropped the one he had found, as no socks at all were better than only one, and gently opened the door. His lover gave one extra loud snore and rolled over, her back now to him. He blew her a silent kiss and eased the door shut.

In the living room, he hastily donned his jeans and shirt and picked up his travel bag from where he had left it by the front door. He grabbed his boots, not waiting to put them on, and departed the apartment.

Two landings down, he fished a fresh pair of socks out of his bag and sat to put them on and tie up his boots. Then he booked it out the front door and onto the street, deserted at this time of the morning. He should find a diner for breakfast and then figure out his next steps. Simon crossed the road.

“Hey! Asshole!”

Simon turned and glanced up. The waitress hung out her open window.

“Hey,” said Simon, giving her a nervous finger wave. What was her name again?

“Don’t hey me.”

“You just hey’d me.”

“Whatever, asshole. Where are you going?”

“I was going to get us some coffee,” he blurted. “How do you take yours?”

“Oh,” she said, her demeanour shifting. “One cream, two sugars. There is a great place called Sunrise Café, two blocks in the direction you’re going. Take a left up ahead.”

“Thanks. Do you want anything else?”

“I’d kill for a cheese Danish if that isn’t too much to ask.”

“Cheese Danish. Got it,” he winked, hoping she didn’t notice he had his bag with him. “Last night was…” His voice drifted off.

“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?” said the waitress. “Hurry back, ok?”

“I’m going to hurry,” he nodded. Simon turned, went in the direction she’d indicated, and turned at the corner she’d mentioned. A glance back showed she was still hanging out the window, watching him. He gave her another wave, and as soon as he was out of sight, he started to sprint. He sprinted right past the Sunrise Café. Best to just get out of Philadelphia altogether.

Simon wandered towards the I-95 and stuck up his thumb near an on-ramp. A truck pulled over.

“Where you headed?” the trucker asked through the open window.

“Nowhere in particular. I suppose wherever you’re headed.”

“I’m off to Baltimore, but I have a stop to make in Elkton, Maryland first.”

“I guess I’m headed to Elkton, then.”

“Sure thing. Hop in.”

“Thanks.” Simon climbed into the cab. “You often pick up strangers at the side of the road?”

“From time to time,” said the trucker, pulling back into traffic. “It gets lonely on the road. Nice to have someone to talk to. My name’s Frank.”

“Simon.”

“Good to meet you. You roam the roads a lot?”

“Whenever I can. It helps me recharge from the stress of work. In between contracts, I head out and see where the fates take me.”

“Now see, that’s living. You got it all figured out. Total freedom.” Frank sighed. “I wish I had that freedom.”

“Freedom doesn’t mean being free of responsibilities,” said Simon. “Too often, people forget that. What I do is temporary until real life draws me back in. The life of a nomad is fun, but you also tire of not having a place to call your own. I’ll do this for a couple of weeks, and then the fates will bring me home again.”

“That’s some deep shit.”

Simon laughed.

*

Simon and Frank had a long discussion about the meaning of life, the definition of freedom, and the Philadelphia Flyers’ chances of winning the Stanley Cup. In just under an hour, Frank pulled off the highway into Elkton.

“You sure you don’t want to come to Baltimore?” asked Frank.

“Nah,” said Simon, his stomach growling. “Cities all seem so same. Without landmarks, you wouldn’t even know you were somewhere different. Small towns are where the character is at. I ain’t never explored along the Chesapeake Bay before, so I think I’ll head south here and see where the fates take me.”

“Alright, man. You take care of yourself. And if you’re ever back this way, give me a holler.” Frank slipped him a creased business card with an oily thumbprint on it.

“I’ll do that,” smiled Simon, slipping the card into his pocket. “Safe travels.”

Simon headed south, stopping at a convenience store where he picked up an apple juice and muffin. Neither the watery, cheap apple juice nor the dry, slightly stale muffin were satisfying. He stuck out his thumb again, and a guy in his sixties picked him up. He was headed south as far as Phillips Corners. Simon had no idea where that was or how long it would take, but said he was going to Phillips Corners, too.

This ride lacked the intense discussions he’d had with Frank, and they stopped an hour later.

“I’m afraid I’m not going as far as town,” said Charlie, the man who’d picked him up. “I live a ways up this sideroad. This is the closest I’m getting if you’re headed into town. The town itself is about two miles ahead.”

“This will be fine,” said Simon, glancing at his watch. It was only 9:37 am. He was famished. “They got a place to eat?”

“Yessir. Margie’s. About the best damn place around.”

“It’s probably the only place around, right?” 

Charlie laughed. ‘That it is. Still good, though.”

“Alright. Thanks for the lift.”

“My pleasure.”

Simon got out of the car and gave Charlie a wave. Charlie responded with a short toot on the horn and drove off, leaving Simon at the side of the road.

It was a beautiful day in late spring. The sun shone brightly overhead, and a faint breeze rustled the surrounding trees. In the distance, he heard a tractor tilling the fields. He glanced at his phone to see where he was. Philips Corners was near the Delaware border, nowhere near Chesapeake Bay. Simon took a deep breath and wondered if that was a whiff of the sea in the air or only his wishful thinking.

He’d head into town and grab a bite before setting out again. The Delaware coast was almost as close as the Chesapeake Bay. Either would satisfy his waterfront craving. He hadn’t realized it, but he wanted to see the sea. He’d decide with a full belly. Decisions made in hunger were always poor.

Simon hoofed it towards town. Only two pick-up trucks passed him on his journey, and he caught a brief glimpse of the tractor he’d heard, but other than that, he hadn’t seen much activity. Good. He liked small sleepy towns.

It was almost a quarter past ten when he saw the faded town sign with its peeling paint. Philips Corners, Est. 1847. Pop: 253. The town was smaller than he’d hoped, but he was counting on Charlie’s recommendation that Margie’s would suffice.

It was bigger than he’d anticipated for a town with so low a population. It must serve the broader rural area, he thought. The low buildings were in better shape than the town sign, neat and trim and painted with various colours. The wide street accommodated angled parking, and over half the spots were filled. Tall, black cast iron streetlamps ran along both sides of the road, with large baskets of flowers suspended from iron cross pieces. One side of the street was dominated by a gas station and farm supply store, obviously all one business. Dolph’s Hardware and Feed, the sign said. Dolph’s probably wealthy,thought Simon. He’s cornered the market.

On the other side of the street were three businesses. A small market, Taylor’s, was closest to him. Hopper’s Drugs was at the far end of town. Two small signs in the window declared it to be where you bought Greyhound tickets and an outlet of the US Postal Service. Between the two was his destination: Margie’s Café.

Only then did Simon realize no one was on the street. With four successful businesses and the number of cars parked, someone should be outside, either coming and going or sitting on a bench, having a conversation with their neighbours. But there was no one.

Simon pushed the thought from his mind and headed to the café. The bell above the door tinkled as he opened it. Inside, the scene resembled the street, as it was empty. Now a sense of dread crept over him.

He scanned the small café. Plates of half-eaten food sat where they had been abandoned. A coffee pot sat beside a half-filled cup of coffee. Steam rose off the cup and the pot, indicating it had only recently been poured.

“Hello?” Simon called. No response. The only sound he heard was sizzling from the café’s kitchen.

“What the fuck?” Now, at this point in a horror movie, the audience would say, Get out of there! And most people would. But Simon wasn’t most people. His instincts took over. There was a mystery here.

Casually grabbing the pot of hot coffee, he walked behind the counter, picked up a fresh porcelain mug, and poured himself a cup. He placed the pot on the counter and took a sip. Hmm. Damn fine coffee.

Simon walked through the swinging door into the kitchen, where he located the source of the sizzling sound. A charred hamburger patty sat on the grill. He set down his coffee, picked up the spatula, and removed the burnt meat. He’d hoped to get a full breakfast, but now he craved a hamburger.

He wandered around the kitchen, but it was as empty as the rest of the café. Opening the backdoor, he glanced outside. No one. And not just no one, he remarked. No birds were singing in the trees, and no insects were buzzing. Even the breeze had stopped. There was absolute quiet and stillness.

I should go,he thought, but his stomach grumbled. That stale muffin had not helped, and he thought better with a full belly. It won’t hurt, I guess.

Returning to the grill, Simon searched around for a refrigerator and found within a stainless-steel tub with preformed fresh hamburger balls. He took two and dropped them on the grill, smashing them flat with the spatula. He whistled as he busied himself, sprinkling a bit of salt on the meat. In the fridge, he found strips of bacon and some eggs. He took two strips and one egg and added them next to the burgers.

Next, he found the freezer and pulled out an opened bag of French fries. Pouring a generous amount into the steel basket, he returned the fries to the freezer and dropped the basket into the hot oil. The oil crackled as the cold potato strips submerged. Simon wiped his hands on his pants, wishing for an apron, and went back to digging for more food.

He found the hamburger buns and slices of cheese. One bun he placed on a clean plate and spread a piece of cheese on each of the sizzling patties after he flipped them. He pulled the basket out of the oil to glance at the fries before dropping them back in. Simon liked his fries crispy.

The tantalizing smells made his mouth water, and his stomach grumbled. Stacking the patties on the bun, he added the bacon, the egg, fresh spinach, raw onions, tomatoes, and a hint of ketchup and mustard to his burger. The fries he pulled from the oil at their optimal time, a crisp golden brown. He poured them into the stainless-steel tray, added a generous amount of salt (more salt than his doctor would advise), and added them to the plate. Simon stared down at his concoction. Perfection.

“Order up!” he yelled as he smacked the handbell next to the grill, the shrill metal sound echoing in the empty diner. He took his plate, grabbed the now lukewarm coffee he’d forgotten about while he cooked, and headed into the café.

Simon placed his food on an empty table and returned to get a drink. Grabbing a fresh glass, he found the soda machine, added some ice and poured himself a 7-Up. He returned to his food and sat but promptly jumped back up and returned behind the counter, where he found what he was searching for: a bottle of malt vinegar.

Whistling as he walked back to his seat, he doused his fries with the vinegar, sprinkled salt and pepper and drowned them in ketchup. Popping a fry into his mouth, he closed his eyes and savoured the taste.

Now he could think. As he slaked his appetite, he allowed his mind to wander. Everyone was gone. No, he corrected himself. Every living thing is gone. How far? Was it just the town? Or was it everywhere? The dread of being the last living person on the planet dawned on him, but he chased that away with a swig of soda. Don’t add to the problem. Stick with what you can confirm. All he had was Philips Corners, Maryland, was now a ghost town.

Had something prompted everyone to leave? Probably not. If so, there wouldn’t be any cars parked out front, as people would have used them to escape. The hot pot of coffee when he entered the café would suggest whatever it was had just happened. He hadn’t noticed anything on his approach. What if I had made it into town a few minutes earlier?

Simon pushed the thought from his mind. Dealing in hypotheticals and could have beens will drive you mad. The people, animals, and insects were gone, and he was here. And people were here just before he arrived, with thriving businesses, so it wasn’t a slow descent to nothingness. There were ghost towns that had been abandoned.

It couldn’t be an environmental issue, as there would be bodies, and Simon would have succumbed by now. Was it The Other?

Simon took a deep breath and focused his mind. He didn’t sense The Other. He mumbled a simple spell but did not pick up any immediate threats. Curious. But he was safe for the moment.

He continued to eat his burger when his contemplation was interrupted by a sound. A truck entered the town.

Simon took one last sip of his 7-Up and wiped his mouth with a napkin. Moving to the door, he glanced out. A pick-up truck had pulled in front of the hardware store. A young man, perhaps thirty, got out, a faded baseball cap pulled low. Without sparing a glance, he strode into the store.

Either he hadn’t noticed there was no one around, or it wasn’t unexpected, thought Simon. He opened the door and stepped out onto the street.

The man returned a few minutes later, in obvious distress. He searched the street franticly.

“Hey, there,” said Simon. The man jumped. Simon waved and approached him.

“Where is everyone?” asked the man. “There’s no one in Dolph’s.”

“Nope. No one in the café either,” said Simon. “I suspect there is no one in town.”

“Who are you?” The man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Just a man passing through. My name’s Simon. I came into town about twenty minutes ago and found things just as you see.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you could shed some light on things. From your demeanour, this is not a common occurrence. Like everyone goes to church or something at the same time.”

“No, it’s not.”

“What’s your name, son? And why did you come to town?”

“Tim,” he said. “I was out mending fences, and my old hammer broke. I came in to get a new one.”

“And you didn’t see anything inside?”

“No. It’s just empty, like it was closed or something. But it’s the middle of the day, and the doors were open.”

“You’re spooked, aren’t you? You know people in this town?”

“Of course I am! Are you not? People don’t just up and leave, do they?” Tim pulled off his hat and paced around. “George should have been talking feed with someone, and Wilma working the cash register. There should be people coming and going out of the stores. My mother—she’s sometimes in town this time of day.” Tim stiffened as he scanned the cars parked along the street. His posture relaxed. “It’s not here.”

“Well, that’s something then,” said Simon.

“What should we do?”

“Do? Son, I don’t think there is something either of us can do.” Simon glanced around. “There’s a good chance we don’t find a damn thing if we poke around. Or we might find something we don’t want to find.”

“Should we call the cops?”

Simon shook his head. “No. There’s nothing they can do about this.”

“We have to do something!”

“I have some experience with things like this. I’ll handle it.”

“What about me?”

“You? I suggest you go back into Dolph’s and find that hammer you need. Don’t worry about paying for it. I don’t think Dolph will care. Then you get in your truck and go back to mending fences. Don’t tell anyone you were here. Not your mother, your wife, no one. You tell anyone, and they are likely to tell someone else. Secrets die when they are shared.”

“Why should I keep this a secret? People need to know what happened here!”

“They’ll find out soon enough that everyone is gone. But they’ll never find out why.”

“We need to find out.”

“No, you need to return to your farm and pretend you were never here. Because this area will be filled with serious men and women in black suits driving black SUVs, they will want to find out what happened. They will want to talk to anyone who might know anything about what happened here. And they’ll focus on you because they won’t have many leads. They are going to ask you a ton of questions, questions you will not have answers for. If they don’t like your answers, they’ll assume you’re hiding something.”

“But I don’t know anything!”

“They won’t know that. They’ll assume you’re lying. People in situations like this, when the serious men and women don’t get the answers they want from them, tend to disappear. I don’t know what happened here, but I have some ideas. And I know the people who will investigate this. You don’t want any part of it. And there is nothing you can do to change what happened. Get your hammer, go home, and don’t tell anyone you were here today. I can’t stress that enough. Tell no one. You’ll feel guilty and want to talk about it, but don’t. Or the serious people will come for you.”

Tim nodded, having gone pale. “Will I ever see any of these people again?”

“I’m afraid not. That’s not how this works.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I work with these serious people. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. Just go.”

“Right,” Tim nodded, staring at the ground. He turned and went inside the store.

Simon sighed and glanced around. He noted the sounds of birds returning. He shook his head and smiled.

Tim exited the store, his new hammer clutched in his hand. He didn’t look at Simon or say anything, but got into his truck and drove out of town.

Someone would need to tear the town apart and search for clues about what happened. But that someone would not be Simon.

He took out his phone and wrote a text to his boss, Harjit. I’m in Philips Corners, Maryland. The town has disappeared. You should contact your counterparts in the US government. I’m not sticking around. Heading to Chesapeake Bay.

Simon read it over before he sent it. He gave the town one last look and then walked out of town, heading for the Delaware coast.

 This story appears in the first book of The Meph’hibb’anauth Cycle, the second series in The Other.