PRELUDE
Jack twirled his pencil in his fingers. In his boredom he studied his mundane classroom. Its assorted motivational posters, seasonal decor, art projects. He’d counted the ceiling panels four times over already, and would soon run out of ways to avoid the math problem his teacher was gesturing to on the board. Doesn’t she know we have calculators for this?
Soon the boy began to doze off, his chin falling into his navy blue turtleneck. He thought about homework, then basketball practice, then
he felt a s h i f t .
In an instant he lost his sense of balance entirely, as though he was in the midst of a somersault. He twisted, turned, and fell out of his chair to the ground. He shook his head. Maybe he’d just fallen asleep, he thought. Looking around, he’d attracted the gaze of his entire class, his teacher, Ms. Reed, included. He muttered an apology and climbed back into his chair.
What was that? He stared intently at the whiteboard, hoping to show everyone he was paying close attention. But what he found were strange animals intricately drawn in dry erase marker. He saw a deer. Or rather, a deer with a bobcat’s head. He listened to his teacher’s words.
“So, we have two double digit numbers…”
The deer-cat moved.
It walked to the left side of the board, its eyes scanning its surroundings. It gave the students a once-over, then locked eyes with Jack. Its head turned, and suddenly Jack found his own head twisting clockwise to match. Further, and further, until the world was nearly upside down. He tried to stop, but found himself to be powerless. He grabbed his chin with one hand and the top of his head with the other to steady himself.
His neck was straight. His head hadn’t moved. Fear crept in.
Still, his world continued to turn. Jack found that his breathing had quickened. He teared up. Everything was wrong and he couldn’t make sense of it. He decided something had to change.
BANG-
He slammed his head on his desk. Then silence. Once more, the class came to a halt because of the boy in the turtleneck. Ms. Reed stood in thought for a moment, then walked over to Jack’s desk. He turned to the creature on the board. This time, there were bloody holes and gashes in its pelt. Jack screamed.
Jack’s carpool dropped him off in front of his house. In the boy’s right hand he grasped an envelope Ms. Reed had given him at the end of the day. It was addressed to his parents. His left hand he held his canvas backpack.
Jack lived in a typical two story house with a large red door. No more surprises today, the boy figured. It was a Tuesday. No matter how fantastical the events of the day had been, Tuesday’s were set in stone. He’d walk through the door and dodge the attempts of his two dogs, Rusty and Bolt, to tackle him. The scintillating scent of oatmeal raisin cookies baking in the oven would draw him into the kitchen, where he’d find his mother swaying along to a Johann Strauss waltz spinning on the record player. He’d run into the family room and join his father on the couch as he watched the Beaver’s game on TV. Everything would be alright.
The boy relaxed his grip on the envelope and opened the front door.
But something was wrong.
He stood still for a moment. No dogs. No scent of oatmeal raisin cookies being baked in the oven. Jack cocked his head and walked into the living room, where he found the television lacking a baseball game, and a couch lacking his father.
This was, in fact, the first Tuesday in quite some time that Jack had come home from school to find a lack of these things. Maybe something’s come up, this happens to adults sometimes, Jack thought. A tax meeting, a business deal… or what had his father mentioned the other day? A… a coloroscopy? Maybe that was it.
But that didn’t explain the dogs. Jack found himself panicking once again. It had been a strange day, after all. He dropped his backpack and the letter to his parents on the floor of the living room, then ran upstairs.
He quickly checked his bedroom. Nothing. As he turned to leave, he thought he saw a small creature scramble along the wall in his peripheral vision. He froze for a moment. By the time he turned to the wall, there was nothing to be found. He checked the guest room, the bathroom; all empty. His parents had once told him not to open their bedroom door if it was closed, at least not without knocking first, so that’s what he tried.
Knock knock knock.
He waited what he considered to be a suitable amount of time, then slowly creaked open the door…
He took one cautious step inside, then another.
The room was dark, the blinds had been drawn, and the lights were off.
It was absolutely silent, so the click of the light switch was unnaturally loud.
Jack’s eyes adjusted to the light.
Odds and Ends 
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