Watching the news for the next several hours did nothing to answer Wil’s question beyond the most basic. What was happening was very bad, it was widespread, and it wasn’t a joke. A better question might have been “What wasn’t happening?” because from the brief clips he saw, it seemed like everything that could go wrong, was.

Riots in Dallas, Portland, Chicago, and dozens of other cities.

Tsunamis in LA and Miami. An earthquake in Arizona (Is that even on a faultline? Wil thought), fires in New York, possibly some kind of coup attempt in Denver, and tornadoes in Seattle.

Live footage from the disaster area themselves was rare. The few brief clips that did make it through the bad reception and heavy internet traffic were blurry, and usually didn’t last longer than thirty seconds or so before something happened to the camera-holder.

Finally, after several hours of watching harried news anchors and impromptu-announcers make confused, stammering reports, the TV clicked off. Wil stood from the chair he had been sitting on and flicked the TV’s power switch.

Nothing.

He tried the light switch next. He’d had it off, as there had been enough light from the overcast day outside to illuminate the small cabin’s living room.

Nothing from the light switch.

He checked the fridge next, and it was dark when he opened it, though still cool. He hadn’t brought much food, just enough for a week to mull things over, and the fridge was mostly empty save for some left over pizza, spam and eggs, and a few beers and bottles of water. Ditto the freezer, except it held only ice. He had plugged his phone into a wall outlet while he watched the news, but it showed it was no longer charging, and had stopped at 83%.

“Damn,” Wil muttered. With the TV out his phone was his only source of information. It wasn’t like he had anybody to call. His parents were long since passed, his ex hadn’t spoken to him since their break-up over a year ago, and he wasn’t close friends with anybody. Maybe his therapist?

His shrink was the last person he had texted, the day after he’d been told there would be no promotion, no progress, no change.

Portland, Oregon

Six Days Ago

Wil strode down the aisles of the Home Depot, taking in the somehow comforting smell of wood and paint that permeated every facet of the high-ceilinged building. Bright halogens cast uniform, flat light over the store below, throwing the various goods into stark relief and creating sharp, black shadows beneath the metal shelves.

Wil didn’t have a shopping cart. He wouldn’t need one. He only needed one thing, and it would be easy enough to carry in his hand.

He saw the long spools of rope lined up neatly on racks, wound tightly up above their price tags, priced by length. As if on cue, his phone buzzed when he approached the large spools and touched the first rope.

Buzz buzz.

The rope was cheap, but too thick, and too rough. Difficult to make a noose with that, and even if he could, it would hurt like hell. Pain was something he wanted to avoid.

Buzz buzz.

The next rope was thinner, but made of plastic fibers. Absolutely not. He wasn’t certain that he was going to hang himself, but if he was he wanted to have something nice at the ready. Just in case.

Buzz buzz.

Wil sighed and took his phone out. The display read, “Dr. Carroll,” and showed a picture of a smiling man in his fifties with a glossy bald head, a white goatee, and thick tortoiseshell glasses. Wil grimaced as he considered sending it to voicemail or just answering with a text, but Dr. Carroll was nothing if not persistent. If he ignored him, blew him off, or didn’t act properly, the doctor would likely notify the police. He’d done it once before when he thought Wil might be about to do something permanent.

Wil had considered just dropping the doctor numerous times, but just couldn’t. He’d started seeing Carroll at the behest of his ex, shortly before they’d broken up. Maybe it was because he felt like it was the one remaining connection he had to somebody who cared, or because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be dead more than he wanted to be happy, or because he, grudgingly, found the doctor likable.

Wil accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear with another sigh. “Hey Doc,” Wil said.

“Hey yourself. You’re twenty minutes late and no cancellation notice. You okay?” Carroll asked. He had a voice that bordered on deep but without going over into intimidating. Wil sometimes wondered if it was natural or if it was something he’d perfected over the years.

“Yeah, sorry, just busy with, uh, work,” Wil said.

“Did you get the promotion?”

“Yeah, yeah I did,” Wil said. If he told Carroll no he hadn’t then that paired with his absence for their meeting might set off some alarm bells. Wil just wanted some time alone, time to evaluate, to really sit and think and decide whether he was going to shoulder on or let himself slide out into oblivion. He couldn’t do that if Carroll had him involuntarily hospitalized or notified his ex-girlfriend, who was his only emergency contact. “I’ve been prepping some new manual layouts for my first day at it on Monday. I guess I’ll actually have people working under me and want to make a good impression.”

There was a pause from Carroll’s end of the line. “What kind of manuals?” he finally asked. Carroll wasn’t stupid. He must have heard something in Wil’s voice that made him suspicious.

“A couple furniture manuals, a car seat manual, and one for a sink,” Wil said. Just then an announcement for customer assistance to the paint department sounded over the store’s loudspeakers. “That’s why I’m at Home Depot. I needed some screws, pipes, and other literal nuts and bolts for reference.”

“I see,” Carroll said in a way that made Wil think he saw something else. “Well that’s fantastic news then. I know you were concerned about that last week, saying you’d been struggling with ideation a bit more the more uncertain you were. How’s that been? Still having regular ideation most days?”

Wil had lied a bit to the doctor earlier when he’d told him he only thought about suicide on “some days.” He’d been worried that telling him it was closer to “some hours, every day,” would be too big of a red flag.

“Getting better. Good news like this obviously helps, of course,” he said.

“I’m glad, but you can’t just rely on good news. Life isn’t just about good news. You should be happy, proud of yourself, but I want to make sure you’re going to be okay whenever the next time bad news rolls around is. Hopefully not for a very long time, but still,” Carroll said.

“I know, Doc. Thank you. But really, I’m good,” he said as he touched another strand of rope. Too thin. He’d likely decapitate himself if he used that. The last thing he wanted was to unduly traumatize whoever found him with unnecessary gore. Carroll’s words cut into him just as much as the thin rope might have.

He should be proud, he should feel good, but he hadn’t actually gotten the promotion. So should he be ashamed? He was, as usual, just Fine. A flat existence, like the bright but charmless halogens overhead. Functional but nothing more.

“You know you’re supposed to cancel at least twelve hours in advance or there’s a partial fine?” Carroll asked.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ll pay it next week, okay? I should be settled into my new position by then,” Wil replied. He touched another rope on a spool in front of him. It was as thick as two of his fingers, and smoother than a baby’s new hair. It wasn’t cheap, but Wil didn’t need much of it.

“Wil, if you want, we can just push your session back a couple hours. Two other patients canceled for this evening and I’ve got some spare time. If you’re out already, it wouldn’t be too hard for you to swing by would it?” Carroll asked and his voice softened.

Wil had never done therapy before. It had all seemed a little too much for him. But this had still been when he was with Naomi. He would have done anything for her, so he had agreed to see Carroll, his reluctance an obvious chip on his shoulder from day one.

But Carroll had been patient, calm, and quite adept at pointing out bullshit.

And when Naomi had left him, she had made him promise to keep seeing Carroll for at least a year.

And even then, he would have done anything for her, so he promised.

And now it had been a year.

And nothing had changed. It wouldn’t change.

Wil couldn’t bring himself to smile, but he managed to make his voice sound like he might have been.

“I would but I’m just swamped right now. Good swamped though. It was a good day,” Wil said.

Another pause from Carroll. Then, “Call if you need to, Wil. I’m always available.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Wil said, then a quick good-bye as an employee in an orange canvas vest approached.

“Help you, sir?” the man asked.

“Twelve feet of this, please,” Wil said and held up one end of the soft rope.

Texting Dr. Carroll now wouldn’t help him. Ralph would normally be even less helpful but Wil wanted to know what the deal was with that last video.

Ralph hadn’t posted anything since then, but if he had seen something, maybe he could tell Wil what was going on. Even with the power out in the area, phones still seemed to be working and his text went right through.

WILFRED: Ralph? Are you okay? I saw your video.

Wil wasn’t really expecting a response. Unless Ralph proved to have a very elaborate and poorly timed sense of humor, what the video had shown looked very serious. The house caving in and those arachnid-esque legs…

Wil shuddered and then looked down at his phone as it vibrated.

RALPH: Hello. I am fine. Please come visit me.

Wil squinted at the phone. He hadn’t had many text conversations with Ralph, but those three short sentences didn’t sound like the fat, boisterous man with psychologically illuminating armpit stains. Wil scrolled back up to their last conversation, over three weeks ago.

RALPH: gettin drinks w/ mike after wrk. U in??? :D

WILFRED: Sorry, not feeling well. Just gonna rest. Thank you, though.

RALPH: Man you gotta get out sum get you drunk and unwind u knoooooow :O

WILFRED: Hah, maybe next week. See you Monday, Ralph.

RALPH: l8r t8r

All of their brief interactions had been like that, with Ralph peppering his texts with shorthand and emojis. Wil glanced as his phone vibrated again.

RALPH: Come visit me here. I am here. I like you. Come visit here.

Wil frowned as he read the text. Maybe Ralph had had a concussion? Maybe somebody with questionable English skills had come to help Ralph after hearing his house cave in. An actual call would clear things up. Wil was usually loathe to make a voice call, but this as an emergency. He hit the dial button for Ralph’s number and waited.

Ring.

Ring.

Ri——

“Hello,” a voice said. Ralph’s.

“Ralph! Thank god. What the hell is going on? What was that video you posted?” Wil asked.

“Video? Video. I’m fine. I’m Ralph. Come visit me,” Ralph said. Wil pulled his phone away from his ear and stared at the screen. Ralph sounded like Ralph. It was his voice but…sleepier? Slower? Putting the wrong emphasis on the wrong syllable.

“Ralph?” Wil asked.

Silence.

“Come here,” Sleepy Ralph said. “Hiding will not save you. Running will not save you. Come here. Be with us. We can save you.”

Wil’s skin crawled as the voice spoke. It wasn’t Ralph, not really. Its voice changed as it continued to speak, and a chittering noise rose in pitch behind Not-Ralph’s voice.

“Who is this?” Wil asked.

“Come to us, or wait, and we can come to you,” the voice said and then there was a piercing shriek and the line went dead.

“Holy shit,” Wil breathed as he dropped the phone onto the table. He rubbed at his ear as it continued to ring after being subjected to the shriek. Nothing human could have screamed like that.

So then what was it? Wil thought. If it sounded like Ralph but wasn’t, if it shrieked in a way no human could, then what? Was it that thing with the tall legs that had broken in? How would it use a phone?

Wil still wasn’t sure if what he had seen on Ralph’s video had been what he thought. Maybe those tall black columns hadn’t been legs. Maybe they had been the poles of a machine, or trees blown in by some freak tornado like what had happened in Seattle.

Maybe.

Wil looked out the window of his parents’ cabin again. The pine trees rustled in the wind, and if Wil strained his ears, he could hear distant sirens. The whapping of helicopter blades sounded overhead, then faded away. But there were still no animal sounds, not even the buzzing of insects.

Just the quiet, indifferent rustle of evergreen needles: a billion tiny fingers tapping to keep time until whatever was happening finally passed.

Wil jumped as his phone vibrated.

“Ralph,” was calling. Will hung up and then blocked Ralph’s number. He quickly set about closing all the curtains and pushing the now useless fridge in front of the front door. He leaned the table up against the largest window, and braced it against the sofa. A pair of bookcases covered the other two windows, and then Wil retreated to the bedroom with his phone.

There was another window in here, but it had shutters on the inside, which Will closed, and latched shut. He took a couple pillows from the bed along with the top blanket, and then locked himself in the dark bathroom. He climbed into the tub and stretched out as best he could. The bathroom lacked windows, and if somebody wanted in they’d have to break through the window, shutters, and the locked door. He was as safe as he could get.

That was when it occurred to Wil.

For the first time in what was probably months, if not years, he had gone hours without thinking about his suicide. He’d even forgotten his soft, expensive rope out in the living room.

Wil snorted to himself in the cold darkness of the bathroom. It had taken what appeared to be a wave of national disasters, but he’d finally been able to focus on something other than his meandering life and potential death for once. Wil snorted again, then started to laugh into the empty black around him.