Displaced

Displaced By Paul Willis (two page preview) Shutting off the lights was becoming an ominous chore for Jeff Shields. He didn’t care to admit it, but his pre-bedtime routine was undergoing a metamorphosis as suspicion began to govern his every move. It began as a nightly glance out the living room window before he closed the drapes, escalated to a lengthy, scrutinized survey of the block, and now was evolving into outright paranoia. Tonight, it was exceedingly difficult to get to bed on time. The wind was overly potent for a midsummer night, or any night, for that matter. It whipped through the trees, creating an eerie cacophony of rustling leaves and branches layered with the subtle whine of a freight train’s whistle in the far distance. To Jeff, the shrill sound, a clamor generally reserved for the winter months, carried a menacing tone. It was still above 80 degrees on this mid-July Colorado night, and in most circumstances, the gale would have been a welcome reprieve from the dry, near-100-degree temperatures that had encompassed the area most of the past three weeks. Not tonight. But then again, the way things had recently transpired, he probably could have found something menacing about the models’ poses in his newest swimsuit issue. He lived alone in the Denver-area suburb of Archer, and things just hadn’t been right the past few months. Things, little things, were becoming peculiar around the house. And the mysterious little quirks were increasing. He had recently lost his roommate, Roger Jordan, who moved out in April to buy his own place. Because Jeff was doing the same with his current home and was starting to make more money, finding another roommate wasn’t a priority. He was leaning toward not getting one at all. Although Roger still knew the code to the garage, the strange happenings could not be attributed to him. The two remained buddies, and Roger, a website designer, was far too busy and too grounded to concoct an elaborate scheme to mess with Jeff. In fact, Roger didn’t even know about the oddities because Jeff was too embarrassed to tell him – or anyone else. Jeff recently earned a promotion at Sanstrom Enterprises in downtown Denver, where he held an accounting job. His Monday-to-Friday, 9-to-5 workweek began tomorrow. The digital clock beside the living room television read 11:13 p.m., meaning it was time to think about turning in. He found himself reluctant to turn off the late-night sports program and kill the lights. He was no wimp, but he was edgy because of the recent events. It would be much easier to concentrate on the day’s highlights than to fall asleep in his current state. At this point, he wouldn’t have been surprised to walk into his room, only to find a vagrant stretched out on his bed with a sign begging for food. Or perhaps the bedroom door would shut behind him with a sinister thud, eternally locking him from the outside world. “OK,” he thought aloud. “Time to go to sleep if I’m going to be worth a crap at work tomorrow.” Television off. OK, good. House lights off. OK. “Wow,” Jeff thought to himself. “I’m like a regular 28-year-old. I’m not afraid of the dark.” It was 11:31 when he crawled into bed, and for the first time in roughly a week, sleep was smooth, deep and effective. But that was the final night of seamless rest for quite some time. A butter knife stuck to the counter by peanut butter usually doesn’t carry a macabre connotation, but that was the first of the bizarre happenings. In early May, Jeff returned home from work and noticed the sticky knife on his countertop, merely a leftover from someone who didn’t clean up after making a sandwich. Although it was something he could envision himself doing, he had no recollection of making anything with peanut butter in the past month. Maybe he had craved a midnight snack and was too tired to remember? Nope. He had cleaned the kitchen spotless the previous night, and it remained that way after his pre-work cereal that morning. So it had happened during the day while he was gone. Roger, the only other person with house access, had been at work in Highlands Ranch more than 40 minutes away. Plus, Roger wouldn’t visit without letting Jeff know, and he was no mess-maker anyway. Many friends had visited Jeff’s place, but he knew of none who would force their way in, eat a sandwich then blaze without making mention. His parents lived in Oregon, so they certainly did not play a role in peanut butter-gate. This particular instance didn’t frighten Jeff, just made him wonder what the heck had happened. He had dismissed the occurrence after a few days, because, how long can you dwell on something that was ultimately irrelevant? But that was only the beginning. Additional minor incidents began to surface. Twice, Jeff returned home from work to see a burner left on. Each time, he was sure he hadn’t touched the oven that morning. Yet another time, the pantry door was open. He didn’t have a dog or any other pet for that matter. He did have seven fish in a 55-gallon tank in his living room, but he doubted a tinfoil barb would escape the tank, flop to the kitchen, hook up a PBJ, then, sensing a shortage of breath, realize that he’d better return to his tank instead of cleaning up. Since moving to Colorado six years ago after graduating from Oregon State, he had lived in this home and witnessed no odd activity. If something supernatural possessed the house, things would have surfaced long ago, right? The mind-boggling aspect to these kitchen peculiarities was that nothing was threatening about them. They were just strange. He convinced himself simply to ignore them, because if thieves were to blame, they would have stolen all his valuables by now. He persuaded himself that his recent increased workload might have allowed him to overlook a few mundane details. In the back of his mind he knew this wasn’t the case. When he thought it out on a purely factual basis, he realized how undeniably abnormal this was. It was when he viewed it from this perspective that he became uneasy. Just when he was ready to dismiss everything, more disturbing occurrences unfolded away from the house. He innately sensed a connection. (Please purchase Displaced on hardcover, perfect-bound or eBook to read on)