New Neighbor

first day in my new apartment, santa fe, nm 2022

Over the years, I’ve collected too many oversized sweaters, shirts meant for being 21 instead of 31, jeans a size too tight for “maybe one day,” all dead weight I’d carried into this closet.

I’m shoving armful after armful into thin, cheap trash bags, already ripping at the seams, destined for Goodwill. I’m trying to shake the phone call I had earlier with my friends across the country. They’re married, and they called to say hi, yes, but they also called four drinks deep. The conversation was short, sweet, and ended with a “wish you were here!”

I crave the rush of drunken stupor. Maybe I could find a bar in this new small town to scratch the itch, meet up with a stranger to take me home for the night. I drop the armful of itchy sweater vests with a thud.

Off one ugly Christmas-themed vest (that I’d never worn), a red bell bounces across the floor, rolling down into an air vent. With a huff, I’m on my knees, peering down to try and find it. But it’s too dark.

I return to the air vent moments later with a flashlight, shining it down into the crevice of the floor. The red of the bell glints, but it’s not inside the vent. It’s right beside it, as if it had never fallen in. I pick up the bell. My walls creak, a low growl from the foundation of the house, and the unsettling feeling of co-existing with another entity sinks my heart.

I don’t think I would have cared under another circumstance. But now, living in a mortgage I signed less than a month ago (by myself), my anxiety spikes in bile. There’s something in the vents.

I sit against the opposite wall, clearing the floor of my clothes for a path. I steady my breathing, and roll the bell across the floor, watching it drop back down into the vent.

It jingles softly as it echoes in its fall. Then, silence. I don’t dare exhale, I don’t dare move my eyes from the vent. But nothing happens.

I’m about to give myself room to breathe when a dark shadow reaches up through the vent. It shimmers in the light, unrestrained so it forms to whatever shape it can conjure. In this case, it’s a pointer finger and thumb, clutching the red bell tightly as it places it back on the floor outside the vent.

The fingers disappear into a black cloud, and the cloud slithers back down into the floor. Fight or flight kicks in, and I want to throw a punch. I lean into the vent, flashlight shining, ready to banish the evil within.

But inside, the shadow sits. Its eyes peer up at me, soft, fearful, even in their glowing state, it reminds me of a child. I would deny the biology of the moment, but maternal instincts kick in, like I'm witnessing its first day on earth.

We hold gaze. Like my mother taught me, I keep my distance. I turn my flashlight off, and close the door to my closet. I can finish cleaning tomorrow.

A week passes. I'm out of clean clothes, so I build my courage and open my closet, flickering on the light, half expecting to see the creature waiting for me.

But it’s empty. My clothes are still in small piles pushed up against the wall, but it’s nowhere to be seen. I can’t help but clock the twinge of disappointment in my chest, until I look down at the vent.

A small, smooth river stone sits exactly where the bell was placed. I crouch down, lifting it to my palm to feel the texture, a textbook-perfect rock. I look down in the vent, and catch the shadow's eyes as it whips back further away from my sight. I whisper a small thank you.

It was only fair to return the favor. That night, I baked cookies so I could introduce myself to the neighbors. I saved an extra one for the creature, setting it exactly where the stone was placed. I turned my back, felt a cool breeze on my neck, and knew the cookie was gone.

From there, the exchange of gifts becomes a habit. Every morning I'd get a new gift of nature, from pinecones and leaves to flowers and even the carcass of a butterfly. When I go to the store, I pick up a trinket for the creature, when I go to dinner I bring home a bite of dessert, when I travel I bring a new piece of the world back to them.

In my efforts to craft my way through homesteading, I offer a poorly crocheted plushie I made to resemble the creature, a small, soft grey and black yarn woven orb with wide glowing eyes. The creature, in return, offers up a ring that my neighbor swore she lost two weeks ago. In the sunlight, it leaves a brilliant reflection on my hand.

This continues for years. The creature is in my walls through loud laughter of dinner parties, sobs from sad movies and tragic phone conversations. The creature is in my walls through Christmas trees going up, fresh spring flowers (that they always get a bloom from), kids ringing the doorbell for candy on a cool autumn night. I stop craving substances that take me out of my soul, I shape up my body for new clothes that I actually wear in my closet.

The creature meets a boyfriend, another boyfriend, a girlfriend, and then a forever who stays. The creature watches as I build DIY wedding decorations, as I pace nervously waiting for test results, as I slowly pack up boxes for a house that I have outgrown.

I am a mother now, well, almost a mother. We have to move from my house with two bedrooms to one with four. I talk to the creature through the vents before the big move, a quiet attempt at reassuring both of us that I'll see them again. I leave one final gift. The creature is silent. I cry locking the front door for the last time the next day.

Everything is mostly unpacked at the new house. The baby's room is set up, ready for this new phase of my life that I haven't convinced myself I'm ready for. I sit in here tonight, in a recliner where I'll hold my daughter. The rest of the world is asleep. I am the only one awake.

I rock myself back and forth, trying to soothe my aching body that could go any day. In my palm is the small, red bell, the original gift from the creature. I shake it softly, listening to the jingle.

I toss it onto the floor, watching it as it rolls towards the vent, and falls inside. I hold my breath, anticipation for seeing my old friend again. Nothing happens. But I hear the quiet creak in the walls, and I can't help but smile.