Muscle Memory
Max awoke in the middle of the night to some sound downstairs. He sat up, freezing still, listening for more noises, but there were none, even after several minutes. He had rolled back over to go to bed then, falling back asleep. Another sound from downstairs - he was still not awake enough to make out any defining characteristics. He sat up in bed, waiting for it to sound again, hoping it would, hoping to hear a comforting something which would let him once again sleep. None came.
By the time he’d finally decided, in the absence of sound, that it would remain silent, he’d unfrozen and started slipping out of bed into slippers, preparing to go down and see. He snuck towards the door, terrified of making any noise at all, terrified of possible repercussions in a situation he did not yet understand.
At that very moment, Max, noiselessly halfway to his bedroom door, heard a low creak downstairs. It was a noise he knew the floor couldn’t make, it was too guttural, it echoed weirdly, like it was coming from way high up. He paused, then unsure - the creak had let a cold through his bones. The more he stood in the middle of his room, the cold in him thawed, he was overtaken with a feeling he did not understand. This feeling he did not understand compelled the last of the cold out of him just as quickly as it had appeared, towards the door inevitably in front of him. He slowly began tiptoeing towards it again.
As soon as the door slid back most of the way shut behind him (he made sure it did not close, unwilling to risk any unnecessary sound), he began sliding his slippered feet down the carpeted upstairs landing, closer to the sound. His eyes were glued to the wooded foyer, scanning for any sound. The floor was empty, no shadows crept across its blueish moonlit surface, no phantoms strayed within the field of vision. Another cold, smaller now, hit him as he reached the top of the stairs. He thought too hard about what was waiting for him downstairs. It’s nothing! It’s probably just the wind outside blowing a branch, that’s why it sounded high up. It’s probably just the house moving. Max, sweetie, the house is old! Old houses get restless after so much time spent at one address, they have to voice a little independence now and again. His mother’s voice bounced off the kitchen tiles in his mind as his foot found the first step.
Max’s milky, slender feet traced a carefully plotted map of silence down the stairs. He held his breath. He remembered a peaceful time. He repeated silent prayers, the voice inside his mind. Eight steps from the bottom. A wind rushed outside, a dog barked in a neighbor’s yard. A slight give on the next step, the air conditioner hummed loudly. A second wind of confidence, a memory of the map, three stairs in quick succession. Max thought of the last time he nailed every step, how accomplished he felt as the ground floor solidified under him. He didn’t let such a thing go to his head, though, no, he remembered his pace and eases up, made sure every footfall was perfect, matched to the record upstairs. Just two steps left to go now, two more and he’s there. His mind replayed a time when his father noticed him practicing his steps to go down to the garden at night, silent. Max’s father, a lean man with thick glasses, whose name Max only learned long after this incident, remarked to him, “Impressive,” before returning to bed, chamber candlestick in hand. Max smiled as his father flashed cross his mind. Max slid down the last step and onto the ground floor.
Much the same as it had been just a minute ago, when Max was still on the handrailed upstairs landing, the lower house remained blue, docile, silent. At the bottom of the stairs, he considered his options carefully. Immediately in front of him, the front door. To the left, the dining room kitchen combo, to his right, the sprawling living room with attached solarium, then the outer deck. He looked around a moment before letting his intuition rule left. He crept on the balls of his feet, nearing silent, rounding the corner.
The room at first glance was as it should be - dining table in front of him, then the bar, then the kitchen, its vast granite surfaces silent in death. The little hallway in the back to the left of the fridge leading to the garage, lit aquamarine by the ancient Finding Nemo nightlight, still and empty. He inched into the space, checking each shadow around him, getting closer and closer to the hallway. As he passed the bar, a thought popped up. Max forced himself to consider the possibility that the sound, which he was not awake enough to hear, was the sound of someone quietly breaking into home, jimmying the lock, et cetera. If this were the case, he thought, he should probably find something with which he could defend himself. Then, right in front of the island, he wracked his brain, which drawer, again, was the junk drawer? He was pretty sure it was either the one right next to the fridge or the one at the end of the bar. First guess right! There was a small, unhandy box cutter which Max picked up carefully, not engaging its blade. He gave the kitchen a thorough onceover, every crevice, before rounding the corner back to the entryway.
The second he was back under the stairs, something felt wrong. He faced forward, living room in full view, full of warm memories and christmas trees and distant visiting relatives. It was too quiet, too shadowy. He stood just a second, box cutter in hand, arms akimbo, trying to parse all the dark for naught. After doing his best (thinking back to all the movies) to steel his nerves and fight the fear, he walked forward, hunched over, blade extended into the room, ready. He walked in, trying as best, like he had with the kitchen, to judge his surroundings, but this wing of the oblong house was simply too spidery and unlit to make anything out. He was just in the middle of walking past the first couch when he another creak sounded, this one was not high up or far away but seemingly right in front of him. All his steeled nerves frayed and burned on the spot. He froze up mid-step, rigor mortis setting in all of a sudden. Another creak. And another. Max couldn’t help but break his freeze for his eyes to follow the huge, lanky, emaciated, pale creature wrapped in black cloth emerge from behind the solarium and slowly creak towards him. It occurred to Max’s frozen mind that this creature in his home’s limbs were what had been creaking all this time.
The creature, only describable as humanoid in the sense that it had definite limbs ending in hand/footlike appendages and technically stood upright, though with how many limbs it had it was sort of hard to tell. Its slow advance creaked a storm so loud Max wondered silently whether his parents had yet stirred. Another huge gust of wind outside, a branch struck the window directly behind. The creature came to, or more correctly, rolled to a stop in front of Max. He unfroze just a moment to look up at what was technically a face, a wider organ than the limbs that surrounded it.
Max?
The voice sounded like hell. Octaves below what Max thought possible, echoing not in the room but only in the chambers of his mind. He maintained what he thought was eye contact with it, not responding. He thought of better times.
Max, I’ve been told to look for you. We have business.
Max frowned but loosened up. Business?
Yes, business. I’ve been sent here to broker a deal. A deal to make all ends meet.
He still didn’t yet understand. A deal? To make what ends meet?
These are things I cannot tell you. I can only say you have slipped through a system you cannot ever understand. I have been sent here to make right by you on behalf of much higher powers. Let me get directly to the point of my visit tonight. To make right by you on behalf of higher powers, I have been bestowed the opportunity to grant for you one wish, anything you would like.
Max, so overwhelmed by the past several minutes, asked for time to consider his options, put the box cutter away. He thought about everything. He thought about his parents and their huge, museumish house he used to get lost in. He thought about the quiet spots on the stairs, which he discovered when he would walk down to the solarium late at night after his parents had gone to bed. He thought about the creature in front of him with all its responsibilities unknown to him. All the thoughts dissolved quickly into nothing.
I wish to go away from here.
Away? Where?
Somewhere far far away where I’ve never been. I want to go away and start over.
The creature stared down at him for a moment before making a strange grunting sound, a sound Max realized was laughter.
Everything went black for a moment.
~
Max woke up in his bed, summer sunlight glaring through his blinds, with absolutely no memory of the last night’s events.