The house was a two-story colonial. White siding, with black shutters. The front door was painted burgundy and opened into a small foyer. Hardwood floors gave way to a staircase that divided the first level in two. A narrow hallway ran straight back to the kitchen.
To the right was the family room, painted deep yellow gold. A couch sat facing the brick fireplace and there was one dark brown armchair that looked worn, but very comfy. A TV stood atop a low entertainment stand. On the opposite side of the hallway was the dining room. There was an oval wood dining table, with a chair set at all four sides, a plain chandelier-looking light fixture suspended from the ceiling above. The room was beige with white trim. It looked seldom used.
On the far wall was a mirror and Gray caught a glimpse of himself in it. He looked different now. He was different now. Bigger, for sure. He felt stronger than before, too. The wound he’d suffered from the robot had healed and he once again had full use of his arm and shoulder.
The robot. He shuddered as he recalled how he’d nearly been killed by it. The man – the other Alex - had saved him and the children.
The twins.
He envisioned their tiny faces smiling up at him. They were safe for now. Gray couldn’t recall their names; his mind was like a fog. Sometimes it parted and memories were revealed, sometimes not. Maybe his molting had caused theses mental obstacles.
Inhaling deeply, he heard the creaking of his frame as his lungs filled; like the heavy limbs of an ancient tree swaying in a breeze. He was denser than before his long slumber in the storm shelter. This acquired heft was recognized when he had hauled himself out of the shelter and taken the first few steps, which left deep imprints in the soil. Now, inside the house, the floorboards strained beneath his weight.
On the refrigerator before him was a calendar, a sticky note with penciled message: out of eggs, bread, milk. There also were multi-colored magnetic letters spelling out the boy’s entire name: Stanley Gary Reece.
Outside, Gray heard the young boy shouting. He lumbered to the kitchen and peered out of a window over the sink. The view was of the backyard and the crop fields beyond. The boy was calling out to the dog, Doris. The boy, who had been called Stanley by an older man, was holding a garden hose and when the dog came to him, he allowed her to drink from it.
It all seemed familiar to Gray – the house, the farm. Even the family, consisting of Stanley, his father and his grandfather, Garrett, felt like people Gray once knew. The dog, too, was known to him somehow.
He thought of the dog he’d seen in the forest, near the stream. The one that featured human qualities. That dog had visited him last night. Yes! It was her that had roused Gray from his sleep!
This recollection generated great optimism in Gray, and he stood upright with elation, bumping his head into the ceiling. He ducked and turned to see a small crack in the drywall.
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How had the dog found him? Had it followed him from the other place and if so, how had it know about it? Regardless, he remembered the dog opening the shelter’s door and staring down at him, her robust build silhouetted against the predawn sky.
She’d spoken to him. Not verbally, but in his thoughts. At least he thought she had. He’d been compelled to get up and get moving. Something of great importance was to take place and Gray was to be a part of it. What this something was had not been disclosed to him, as the farmer had been close by. Rising from the shelter, Gray watched as the dog, accompanied by two other canines – that looked identical – trotted away into the fields. Disguising himself as a small tree, Gray waited until the farmer passed and made his way toward the barn, where he’d hid until now.
His eyes were drawn to Stanley and Doris and he glanced through the window again. As the boy squirted the dog and she chased the stream from the hose wagging and barking, Gray smiled. The boy laughed as Doris jumped at the stream, biting at it over and over.
Then Gray stiffened as he was overcome with alarm. Something was wrong, but he didn’t know what. A tingling sensation ran through him and he sensed impending disaster. His heart began to thump harder.
Still playing, Stanley dropped the hose and ran, and Doris gave chase. They circled around the trunk of a large oak tree, the dog playfully nipping at the boy’s heels.
Fatigued, Stanley stopped and leaned against the tree, catching his breath. Doris sat at his feet panting, her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. He patted her on the head. “Good girl, Doris,” he said.
Gray’s heart raced and dread seized him. He placed his large, rough hand against the window and stared in horror as a burst of light erupted near the tree, swallowing both Stanley and Doris. As the boy cried out, Gray whispered, “No!”
When the flash subsided, both lay on the ground. As Gray stared on, his attention was drawn to the nearest field, where cornstalks thrashed and swayed. Mr. Reece yelled “Stanley!” as he emerged and ran to his son, scooping him into his arms.
Another man, older than the father came running from the opposite side of the yard. “What the hell happened?”
“Gramps,” mumbled Gray.
The frightened giant withdrew from the window, shaking his head in disbelief. He bumped into the kitchen table and it screeched across the floor into the wall. Gray knew this ordeal had happened before. He had seen it before…had felt it.
Outside, the commotion grew louder as the men tended to the boy. Gray studied the roughhewn digits of his right hand, then examined the massive club that formed his left. He turned to the refrigerator and his eyes fell upon the magnetic letters. He moved closer and reached out a long, woody finger. In the middle name, Gary, he grabbed the “r” and slid it down, out of the way. He nudged the “a” to the spot where the “r” had been, then placed the “r” ahead of the “a.” Holding his breath, he stepped back and viewed the new name and exhaled.
Gray.