little bit of sunshine

The bar is fairly crowded, but the seat adjacent to yours isn’t the only available spot. A potential tug on your hook?

“Sure, go ahead.”

This handsome stranger’s tousled, dark hair isn’t the right shade to match Johnny’s, and his hazel eyes are too light to be like Simon’s. Not that it matters, you remind yourself. He introduces himself as Alan or Alvin–you don’t quite catch it when he says it the first time and then there’s a roar of laughter from a nearby table when you ask him to repeat it, so you just give up.

“Have you been here before?”

“No, this is my first time.”

He’s pretty fit with toned biceps showcased under rolled up sleeves, but he’s not built like Johnny or Simon. Like he could lift you easily if he used both of his arms, instead of how you’ve imagined your neighbors only needing one.

“The Lone Hook is great. Not that I could convince my roommates of that. They all ditched me to check out some new club instead.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, the person I was supposed to meet also bailed on me.”

Regardless of how Alan (or Alvin) compares to your neighbors, he’s got a lot of things going for him. Perfect smile, captivating eyes, engaged and interested in you, the loser who very clearly got stood up and waited around for thirty minutes hoping that your date would just suddenly appear. Your night might just be turning around.

“I’m moving out soon and will be done with roommates, though. I can’t wait to have a place all to myself.”

“Yeah, I get you. I really don’t miss having to deal with roommates.”

The conversation progresses smoothly, mostly thanks to him. He genuinely seems to want to get to know you better, inquiring about your job, your hobbies, and even your family. He also doesn’t judge you when his line of questioning forces you sheepishly reveal how much of a homebody you are.

“Other than walking around the park near my house, I really don’t get out much. I’m sure that’s been apparent to you already.”

“Nothing wrong with that. I’m sure your neighborhood must just be too nice to leave. How long have you been living there?”

Alvin (or Alan) is so charming and charismatic that it pulls a wire in your brain too tightly. Your stomach keeps doing flips from equal parts anxiety and attraction. It must be because it’s been a while since you’ve had to socialize with strangers instead of just Johnny and Simon. 

“I'd love to join you on one of your walks. My dog would too, I think I haven’t been taking her out enough. Lately, she’s been barking at anyone who passes by. How about you? Do you own any pets?”

“...no, no pets.”

Before you knew your date would disappear off the face of the earth, you'd been approaching tonight with trepidation over anticipation. It especially didn’t help that your neighbors were constantly prodding you about your upcoming date, keeping it at the forefront of your mind all week. Some of that anxious energy must just be transferring over to this new endeavor. Since your nerves won’t settle, you finish off your drink and move on to another one.

“There’s a group of us going to a show next weekend, and I’ve got some extra tickets if you’re interested. We had a lot of drop outs at the last minute, so feel free to bring a friend or two along.”

“Oh...I’m not sure about that. I don’t really have anyone I could bring either.”

“Well, I’d be happy even if you just brought your lovely self.”

Hehe, he called you lovely. Would your date have called you lovely? Would your neighbors call you lovely? In your dream, Johnny and Simon say nice things to you and they call you “love” and they pour so much affection into you—filling you to the brim—that you nearly drown. Your mind wanders off track as more of your drink disappears, but at the last minute, you remember to prioritize the man who’s actually sitting in this bar with you.

Alan-Alvin really seems to be checking all your boxes, but something still holds you back. An inexplicable force that keeps your hands folded neatly in your lap when he leans in to speak over the sounds of the other patrons. You’re desperate to fight through it and not let this chance slip away, though. When there's a lull in the conversation, even though you’ve been ardently avoiding any mention of your neighbors, you bring out your only prepared starter topic.

“My neighbor said this place used to be called something else before it was The Lone Hook.”

“Yeah, it got new owners about a year ago, and they renamed it then.”

“What was it called before?”

“The Cellar.”

The sip of your drink that was about to pass through your lips ends up all over your outfit instead, along with the majority of what was left in the glass. Fucking of course it was named that.

The bar’s razor thin napkins aren’t helping much to clean up your mess, so you excuse yourself to the bathroom. As a grown-ass woman, you really shouldn’t be spilling on yourself as much as you have been lately. It was embarrassing enough when Simon switched out your usual tea cup for one with taller sides after your last spill, as if you couldn’t be trusted to stay dry. You’ll never earn the right to use your old tea cup again at this rate, and you quite liked the pattern on that one!

Hunched over the sink in the ladies room, you use this reprieve from your impromptu date to review how the evening is going. Your hesitation is coming from somewhere, and you’re determined to figure out its origins. Alvin-Alan has been nothing but an attractive and personable gentleman, so what is this unease that you can’t seem to shake and why does it feel disturbingly familiar?

“You must be the new neighbor.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood! I’m Johnny, and this here’s Simon. We live right next door.”

Oh, that's right.

It was when you first moved into your house and met your neighbors. There was something about them that perturbed you, and for a while, it didn’t make any sense. Johnny was all bright smiles, and Simon was brusque, but never rude. They were ideal neighbors–quiet, polite, friendly but not too friendly. A perfectly crafted veneer painted on the side of their house that faces yours.

The neighborly fence was tall and intact back then, but because Johnny and Simon are such eye-candy, you kept stealing glances at them. That’s when puzzle pieces started slotting together until they formed the image of a basement door.

Your thoughts are spiraling in this dingy bathroom, head dizzy and buzzing. Your paranoia ended up right on the mark then, but that doesn’t mean it is now. Al-whatever could be a completely ordinary man and probably a great lay in bed. Plus, you’re a bit tipsy, so your cognitive reasoning might be drawing faulty conclusions. But sobering dread is blooming inside of you, nurtured by phantoms of déjà vu. Fingers wrap around the edge of the sink basin in a ploy to stop them from trembling.

It’s about time you leave The Cellar.

When you return to your seat, Alan is still there with a fresh drink waiting for you. Ice in the glass bobs and floats lazily as if recently disturbed.

“I got you a replacement,” he announces with another devilishly handsome smile. You stretch your lips to mirror the expression while waving down the bartender.

“Thanks, but I’m actually going to head out now. You enjoy it,” you reply stiffly as you hand your credit card over to the barkeep. While your tab is getting closed out, you watch condensation sweat around the glass as Alvin makes no motion to drink it.

“Let me walk you home then,” he courteously offers. “You said you lived by yourself, right? I’d feel bad if I let you go on your own when there’s no one to make sure you made it back safely.”

Dread continues to cultivate, vines and tendrils curling tightly around you. Are there other personal details that you’ve thoughtlessly disclosed to him? Does he believe you’re the type of person that no one would notice if they went missing until it was too late? An awkward, friendless shut-in who has no regular contact with the outside world and lives alone with no guard dog to alert them of an intruder?

“I’ll be okay, it’s not too far.” A lie, you are quite a ways away from home. “It was nice meeting you.”

Nothing he might say will keep you from escaping this place, so you don’t bother listening to his response. Purposeful steps weave you through the crowd and out the door, hastening once you're in the open but taking some unplanned route due to the urgent instinct to get away. To run, to flee, to widen the distance between the stranger in The Lone Hook and you.

Once you have the sense to realize you’re lost, you finally stop to look up how to get home on your phone. You spin in place to figure out your orientation, and that’s when out of the corner of your eye, you spot something.

A glimpse of a shadow, retreating behind the corner of the street you just came from.

It could have been anything. A stray cat darting away, a random pedestrian that made a wrong turn like you, or even just your notoriously overactive imagination. There’s no logical reason to fear that man from the bar or to believe that he’s following you, yet you do. Your suspicions are unfounded but also rampant and unchecked.

The dread resurges, blankets you like fungus consuming a decaying log. What should you do? What can you do? You consult the directions that will lead you home, and on the map, right next door to your house, is perhaps the answer.

You open your group text with Johnny and Simon, but you barely know what you want to ask them. Maybe if you were just on a call talking to them as you walk, it would make you feel better and dissuade whoever might be out. Mentally drafting the text, you plan out the preamble and how to let them know it’s fine if they’re busy and how you’re probably just panicking for no reason and—

BANG.

A loud clatter echoes from where you saw the fleeting shadow, like the sound coming from beneath your neighbor’s floorboards, like the sound in your dream when the basement door slams open. A message is typed out and sent before you consciously register what you’ve written.

I think someone’s following me

You stare down at it numbly before starting on a new, coherent text with more context. A call from Johnny interrupts you.

You meekly answer it. “Hi, sorry, I–”

“Where are you?” Johnny asks, his voice so serious that you almost don’t recognize it at first.

“I–uh, I’m on...” Your eyes dart around for street signs and for any more abnormal activity. “Hays and Trenton. And it’s probably nothing, I just–”

Simon halts your rambling with a tone that straightens your spine. “Share your location with both of us. Get off the streets and find someplace where you can hole up in until we get there. If it has security cameras, stand where one can see you.”

“Stay on the phone,” Johnny adds. “We’ll be there soon.”

Dread evolves into terrible fear, fed by your neighbors’ grave urgency. Abstract perils solidifying to become real, tangible, and right behind you.

“Johnny...Simon...what if...”

“Don’t worry. We’ll be there soon,” Johnny repeats firmly.

Simon attempts to temper your panic as well. “Won’t let anything happen to you, love. Just follow our instructions.”

Following your neighbors’ lead has become second nature to you. Recognizing what their expectations are without them telling you and meeting those expectations is your standard operating procedure. So with Johnny and Simon administering direct orders, no interpretation required, your body begins to obediently move on its own.

You share your location with them using the “indefinitely” option and then shelter in the back of a nearby 24-hour corner store, a surveillance camera pointed right at you. Your neighbors require that you provide a steady stream of communication as you pretend to be very slowly browsing the shop’s wares. Occasionally, they go on mute to discuss something privately, but otherwise, they’re speaking to you to keep you calm and focused when all your mind wants to do is take a little vacation from your body.