Maria hadn’t see Nance in a few weeks. 

Most everyday (every nice day, at least) Nance would walk Gus, her aging, white faced golden retriever around the block. And on most days (if Maria was sitting out on her front porch) Nance and Gus would stop, come up, sit, and have a drink of pop or ice tea (a bowl of water for Gus) and just talk. 

The last time Nance had stopped by was at least three weeks ago and this worried Maria— who, admittedly, was prone to worry. “Us old gals have got to stick together,” she told Nance, some summers back.

A lot of concerning, and dangerous things have happened in those last three weeks. And Maria thought it was high-time to check up on her neighbor that lived at the end of the block. 

And so, on that warm, September afternoon, Maria walks the three thousand or so feet down to Nance’s house. And when she gets there, to her relief, Nance is sitting out on her front porch, in a rocker.

“Well hey there, stranger.” Maria says.

“Afternoon,” says Nance. 

The sun is in Maria’s eyes and she has to squint. “Haven’t seen you walking around lately.”

“No,” says Nance, and after a while says, “had to put Gus down last Friday.”

“Aw Nance, I’m awfully sorry to hear that,” Maria says. And she really is sorry. Maria remembers Nance had once claimed that she loved that dog more than she had loved her late husband, Jeffrey, who had passed well over a decade ago of a heart attack. “I know how much you loved that dog. I just came down to check in on you. I’ll leave you be.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Nance says. “Come on up and stay a while.” Nance lifts herself up off her rocker with a groan. “I just brewed some tea.”

“Nance,” Maria begins “You don’t—”

But Nance cuts her off. “It’s too hot out here to be ditherin’. Just come up and make yourself at home. I need a refresh anyways.”

The screen door bangs shut and Maria climbs the porch stairs and takes a seat in the other rocker. 

How many summer evening had Gus and Nance spent out there on that front porch? Maria wonders. Gus, laying down beside Nance’s rocker, snoring or farting (sometimes both)— Gus was prone to some awfully indigestion as much as Maria was prone to awful worry. 

The screen door opens and Nance is walking, a little lamely, with two glasses of tea, condensation already forming on the glass. 

“I think this is the hottest September I can remember,” Nance says and the screen door bangs.

“They say it’s global warming.”

Nance gives Maria her tea then takes her seat. “I probably just have a bad memory.”

Maria takes a long swallow. “It’s good,” she says. 

“Lipton,” Nance says.

“No it aint,” says Maria.

“No,” Nance agrees. “So what’s new?”

“What isn’t?” Maria says. “Tell me first, how are you doing?”

Nance rocks for a moment. “Oh, I’m doing fine. Each day is better. That first weekend though.” She’s quiet for a stretch. “I’m doing fine,” she concludes. “Should probably keep walking though.”

“Oh, you should,” Maria says, a little too eagerly. “It’s so good for you,” she adds. “Me too. Just walking down here winded me, awful. Maybe we can start walking together. When it gets a little cooler.”

“Maybe,” Nance says.

 “How’s junior?”

“Don’t know,” Nance says. “Never calls.”

“Well you call him,” Maria says, “don’t you? Especially with… with all that’s been happening?”

“He’s busy with the new job and—”

“Well you’ve talked with him since the toilets, haven’t you?”

“Since the what?” Nance says.

“The toilets,” Maria repeats. “All that’s been going on with the toilets.”

“The toilets? What’s been going on with the toilets?”

“Nance, you’re joking. The toilets. It’s all over the news.”

“I don’t watch much news.”

Maria’s mouth drops. “They’re… they’re dangerous.”

“The toilets?” Nance says. “The toilets are dangerous?”

“Yes! They’re infected.”

“Infected?”

“Yes! No!” Maria corrects herself. “That’s just what they’re calling it. They’re being used. By some sort of parasite.”

“Parasite? Is this Ca-rona all over again?”

“No,” Maria says. “Nothing like that. This is some sort of creature— they think it came from the ocean. It comes up through the pipes and it latches itself over the toilet.”

Nance waves her hand away and leans back. “Don’t believe everything you see in the news.”

“People are dying!”

“So what’s this parasite do? Wait for you to sit down and… crawl up your…”

“Worse,” Maria says. “It eats you!”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Nance laughs. “You’re fooling.”

“No I aint,” says Maria. “They showed a picture of one on the news. It’s huge—”

“Well I guess we don’t have to worry about it. If I see a huge parasite on my toilet I’ll call the police.” Nance laughs again.

“I’m being serious,” Maria says. “It doesn’t look like a parasite. It doesn’t look like anything at all. It blends in, looks just like a toilet but then when you sit on it—” Maria claps her hands. “It snaps on you. The one they showed on the news looked just like a giant Venus flytrap.”

“Oh Maria,” Nance says. “You don’t really believe that do you?”

“Of course I do! It’s on the news—”

“Don’t believe everything you hear in the news,” Nance says.

Just then Johnathan, the postman, treads up Nance’s front porch.

“If it’s any bills just take them back.” Nance says.

“Johnathan!” Maria says. “Johnathan. You’ve heard about the toilets, haven’t you?”

“Sure I have,” Johnathan says. “It’s all over the news.”

“Well there you go,” Maria says, satisfied. “I aint lying to you Nance.”

“Where’s Gus, Mrs. B?” Johnathan says.

“Had to put him down last Friday.” Nance says.

“My condolences,” says Johnathan. “He was an awfully good boy.”

“Yes he was,” Nance agrees. “Thank you, Johnathan—”

“Johnathan,” Maria says, “did you hear about that rest stop outside of… oh where was it?”

“Bangor?” Says Johnathan. “Bangor, Maine?”

Maria snaps her finger. “Bangor, Maine. This family stops at a roadside rest stop after a camping trip or some-thing-or-other and the husband says he has to run in and use the bathroom and he doesn’t come back.”

“Probably ran off with another woman,” Nance says.

“The family waited there for hours,” Maria says ignoring Nance’s comment. “The mother even had the little boy run in to check on him. You heard that didn’t you, Johnathan?”

“Sure did,” Johnathan says.

“There were others too,” Maria continues, “not just that family.”

“Found that the whole men’s side was all mimics,” Johnathan adds. “They think they     got about a dozen people before killing the mimics.”

“Mimics!” Maria says. “That’s what they’re calling them.”

“They think they come from the ocean,” Johnathan says.

“I was just telling that to Nance. See Nance it’s real.”

“So what?” Nance says. “Are we just supposed to stop using toilets?”

Maria and Johnathan ignore Nance’s question.

“They think it’s a relative to the octopus,” says Johnathan.

“Is that right?” Maria says. “I haven’t heard that.”

Nance rises with a groan takes Maria’s empty glass and waddles towards the door. “All this talk makes me have to use the little girls room.”

Johnathan’s eyes widen. Maria’s mouth drops.

“Didn’t you just hear a single thing we just said?” Maria says.

The screen door slams shut. Johnathan and Maria look at one another in disbelief.

“I ought-to be finishing my route,” Johnathan says and hurries down the stairs.

Maria, alone on the porch, listens. It’s hot on the porch and the late afternoon day has turned the world a burning orange.

“Oh, Nance,” Maria says and wonders how long until she herself gets up, opens the screen door and calls into the house for her. How long until she actually goes inside to check the bathroom?

Just like that family in Bangor, Maria thinks.

The screen door opens and Nance is back with two fresh glasses of iced tea.

“Did you really use the bathroom?” Maria asks.

“Of course I did. This tea runs right  through me.”

Maria stiffens. “I should be going.”

“You barely just got here,” Nance says.

“The tea,” Maria says. “Thank you for the tea.”

“You’re afraid if you drink anymore you’ll also have to use the bathroom,” Nance says.

“It crossed my mind, yes.”

“How long have you been doing your business in a bucket?” Nance says.

Maria laughs but there’s no humor in it. “Since the news told us—”

“Well, I don’t know about your toilet. But mine is just as comfy as ever.”

Maria stands. “And I hope it stays that way. I’m glad to see you are safe and sound. I do wish you would take this seriously. People are dying.”

“I believe you,” Nance says. “Bangor, Maine though… that’s an awfully long ways away.”

“It’s happening all over the world!”

Nance takes a long sip. “I believe you. Probably didn’t even start here in the U.S. though did it?”

“South America.”

Nance nods. “Isn’t it strange how all this bad stuff, it always starts somewhere else?”

“I don’t know. It’s a big world.”

“Sure is,” Nance agrees. “How many deaths here? In this town?”

“I don’t know the numbers,” Maria says.

“I do,” Nance says. “Zero. Not a single death or sighting of a mimic in this whole town.”

“Nancy Baker,” Maria scolds. “You have been watching the news.”

“Not watching,” Nance says. “Reading.” She hands Maria a thin, folded paper.

Maria opens it. “The Daily Reporter? This isn’t the news.”

“Not that news?” Nance says. “It’s as much the news as that twenty-four-hour fear factory you watch.”

“Nance,” Maria says. “I’m not—” She stops herself and reads the headline. “The Mimic Hoax.”

She continues. “The cause of toilet related deaths are due to high dosages of Adderall in our drinking water, put there by—” She stops and looks up. “Nance, you don’t really believe this, do you?”

“What’s more likely? Some government mishap or underwater monsters pretending to be toilets?”

How many years have we been neighbors? Maria wonders then. Thirty? Thirty five years? Their boys were a few years apart, used to play on the same little league team but that was it (except for her daily walks around the block with Gus). Maria realizes then she really only knows a little about Nance, would have never guessed that she would believe in such things. Maria hadn’t even stepped foot in her home—

“What’s the matter?” Nance says.

A pained look crosses over Maria’s face. “My stomach. I think its—” She drops the paper and grabs her stomach.

“You’re as white as a sheet, Maria.”

“I need to go,” Maria says through clenched teeth.

“You need to use the bathroom by the looks of it.”

Another contraction and Maria grimaces.

"You aint going to make it to your own house. Not way down there,” Nance says. “Go in and use my toilet before you have a mess right here on the front porch.”

“I can’t,” Maria cries but takes a lurching step to the screen door.

“Just through the hallway, first door on the left,” Nance says.

The screen door bangs shut and it’s quiet for a long moment. Nance listens.

The street is empty. Mr. Rothens isn’t mowing his yard. Mrs. Dyer isn’t in her garden. There hadn’t been a child outside playing in a decade.

Maria screams one shrill, but short scream and then it’s quiet again, no sound at all.

“That’s a good boy,” Nance says, “Nice and quiet.”

She leans back in her chair and begins rocking. “Such a hungry thing.”

Chirping of peepers then, and the orange afternoon gives way to purple dusk.

“Pretty evening,” Nance says and sips her iced tea.