The Traveling Inspector

I never thought of my situation as lost. It's not like I'm playing hide and seek. The whole precedent of being lost is someone searching for you, or I suppose you could be searching for yourself.

I'm doing neither.

Nobody is looking for me, and I'm not looking for anybody, some introspection is going on, sure, but I'm not one of those cringe millennial woman who fall off the face of the earth to "find themselves". You know, the ones who delete their six hundred follower instagram count to "get some space", only to make a new account three days later in the hopes that people in their digital world missed them.

My reality has nothing to do with these kind of people. I like to call them Attention Deprived.

I guess you could call me a Lone Wolf--if you wanted.

I didn't run away from anything, and I sure hope that nobody in the world is out there being miserable and missing me. The reality is that I wouldn't have disappeared had I known that not a single sole would miss me. I had no friends, just the girl who worked at the Bodega by my house, and no family that I had spoken to within the last ten years of my life. I had a facebook account that I posted on every four to six weeks, some meme I found usually.

My life had consisted of working remotely as a website designer for miscellaneous customers online. My customers and I sent one or two messages back and forth to discuss what they wanted for their webpage, but aside from that, and the girl in the Bodega, I spoke to nobody on a daily basis. Nobody knew of my existence and I preferred it that way. It gave me the unique opportunity to disappear without being found--ever.

I'd taken my money out of my bank account, all of it, every cent. Closed the account, stuffed the bills into random pockets of my jeans, packed up my car, and drove six and an half hours into the country side.

I found a small village, one with one main street and only a couple hundred civilians.

I offered a small sliver of my cash to the owner of the large country house that towered over the village on the hill. He moved out the same day, screaming and cheering at his new found fortune.

I moved my things in, cooked myself a thick steak, and went to sleep in my new home with my new sheets and in a village where I could be anyone and do anything. Somewhere secret.

Things went great at first. I mean really, amazing.

I met this woman on the first day, blonde hair, pretty blue eyes, a small waist. She looked at me with hope and admiration. She was young, barely past her mid twenties. To me, a child.

I took her out to a great dinner in the village. A family run Mexican place. I got enchiladas and she ate two small tacos, swearing to me she wasn't hungry afterwards. Though, she stared down at my food longingly. As if she wanted it, but would never allow herself to ask.

I offered her a few bites. She smiled at me lovingly and accepted, probably questioning how I could have read her mind.

Then I took her home with me. She marveled at my fancy car, sang along to the pop songs I'd qued for her before picking her up. Nothing like Taylor Swift or Katy Perry to get a girl thinking your into feminism.

"You listen to this on your own?" She asked when the car turned on.

"Sometimes." I replied.

We sat on my couch in front of the fireplace. The warm of the flames and coals tickled our bare feet. She snuggled up onto my shoulder. I leaned my head down to hers.

Being in the presence of a woman felt mildly uncomfortable. Part of me felt I would do something wrong, but then I remembered her fascinated eyes, and realized I could never do anything to this girl that she wouldn't swoon at or find "quirky" I suppose.

I put my finger on her chin and lifted her face to mine for a sweet and passionate kiss. Before long my tongue was in her mouth, and then my hands in her pants.

I guess you could say we made love that night, or at least thats how she referred to it afterwards.

"That was... amazing Marcus. Wow." She spoke breathlessly. "Truly lovemaking."

For whatever reason, I started to feel the urge to sleep. I felt a little bad for her, but the whole evening had really tired me out. "I'm going to sleep. You're welcome to stay." I flipped to my side, giving her my back.

She let out a small sad sigh. A few moments later I felt her slip out of the bed and begin to dress herself.

This is when things started to fall apart. Fucking Melanie. I really do believe she's the reason for it all. Had I never spoken to anyone in the village I could have stayed safe in my small bubble forever.

Melanie began to tell people about me. A little gossiper she was. Telling them about my amazing house, how I listen to Pop music, how I am a sweet rich old man.

Before long, people began to ask me questions. Where was I from? What do I do for work? How long have I been here? What happened to Joey the man who used to live in my house? What kind of car do I drive? Who is my favorite artist?

I felt harassed the moment I walked inside the grocery store. Thats the thing with small villages, everyone knows everyone, and everyone knows everything about everyone as well. I was an outsider, a foreigner, an anomaly to them. I understood why I might be so intriguing to such small minded town folk, but I couldn't help but feel trapped.

I didn't like speaking to people, much less explaining myself to them.

I came up with a plausible story for myself, one that would make them leave me alone.

"I'm a traveling inspector."

"What does that mean?" An older bearded Santa looking man asked me.

"Joey wanted me to inspect his house--for bugs and such--I stay in his house while I do it. Soon I'll be on my way again."

"Where are you going next? Don't you get lonely?" A younger girl questioned me. She had a small child on her hip and her husband packed up her groceries behind her.

"I prefer to be alone." I responded to her dimly.

"I think it's cool." Melanie chimed in from behind me. I forgot she'd pounced on me in the parking lot before I'd entered the store. Almost as if she'd been waiting for me out there.

This is when the nightmares began.

Every night, especially the ones where Melanie joined me, I had these horribly vivid visions of the townsfolk climbing up my hill and surrounding my house with torches and pitchforks. They would all chant in unison, "You don't belong here. You don't belong anywhere. You must leave now." And then, when I wouldn't leave the house, they would begin to chant my name. "Wesley Wesley Wesley Matlock Wesley Matlock." Somehow, in the dream the town folk knew my real name.

I always awoke in a deep panic. Sweat covering my skin, my hair drenched, my wrinkled hands shaking. I was too old for this.

Whenever Melanie slept with me, she would always take a strange maternal role in my recovery.

"Did you have a bad dream?" She'd rub my back tenderly, "What was it?" She'd ask.

Then I would look at her and realize she'd been the person leading the townsfolk to my home. Her eyes fiery, her mouth in a strange grin, her hand wrapped tightly around a torch.

I wouldn't be able to unsee this version of her when I looked at her.

I stopped seeing Melanie.

I stopped going to the grocery store.

I stopped speaking to any of the civilians in the village.

Clearly, this raised some questions. One, because Melanie was such a gossiper and had told everyone in the village some horrendous story about why we had stopped seeing each other, but also because I didn't have any food to eat.

I decided to pay off my neighbor Rebecca to buy me groceries. I offered her nearly the same amount as I'd offered Joey for my house. She'd been absolutely stunned to be handed such money just to buy me groceries.

She brought me back essentially the whole supply at the butchers. That way, I could freeze the meat and have it for a much longer time.

Apparently, Rebecca buying six bags of meat from the butcher also raised some concerns among to town folk. Mostly I'm sure because Rebecca is my neighbor. I realized, I could have been more discreet in my scouting. Paid off someone who lived on the opposite side of town instead. That way nobody would suspect the meat was for the strange old man in Joeys home.

The nightmares continued, but for whatever reason, the pitchforks morphed into pieces of steak. The villagers began to throw steak at my home like snowballs.

One morning I woke up and when I headed to the porch there was a half cooked steak on my welcome mat. Only seared on one side.

I took this as it was--a warning. My time was halfway up.

The next morning, the steak had been seared on both sides.

The one after that, the steak was burnt through. Charred to a crisp.

I packed up my things. Clearly, I had overstayed my welcome in this village.

When I began to put things into my car however, I ran into a much larger issues. Some crazy villager had taken a key to the hood and sides of my perfect BMW. Who else other than Melanie?

I could hear the villagers laughing at me from below. Giggling at my destroyed car.

Rage boiled through me.

They didn't know what they'd done.

The war between Wesley and the village began.

I keyed Melanies father's car.

I awoke to six raw bloody steaks smeared over my house and car.

I broke the windows of Melanies car.

I awoke to marbles all over my deck, I slipped on them and fell walking my head real hard on the wood.

I decided to be the bigger person. I packed up my destroyed car, took my four remaining bags of meat from the freezer, and left the village.

I drove six hours farther into the country side and paid off a man named Wilbur to let me work and live on his farm for the foreseeable future.

In this farm, Wilburs daughter took a liking to me.

Though, I realized, I preferred spending time with the farm animals rather than the people.

Finally, my nightmares subsided. I stopped thinking of young Melanie. I was too old for her anyways.