Unstoppable

Denny: I’m having a crisis. When can we meet?

Stan: What? Writer’s block?

Denny: No. 911!

Stan: Daily Grind. 4pm.

Denny: Thx

***

Denny spotted Stan in a back booth, sucking a tall Frappé through a straw. His jet black crew cut hair had graying at the temples. He wore a polo shirt and shorts.

Tall, trim Denny wore a t-shirt with a big black dog on the front with gray chino shorts. His shoulders relaxed when his friend and writing coach smiled at him.

“Thanks for coming, man,” Denny said as he took a seat.

The coffee shop had few customers, all staring at their phones or tablets.

“What’s up? Are you having a writing or personal problem?” Stan asked.

“Both.” The coffee bean grinding machine wailed.

Stan stared at Denny, waiting.

“You will not believe what I have to say. It’s crazy.” Denny’s eyes darted up.

“I’m all ears, buddy.”

“That novel I’ve been working on, based on my family and how they flaunt laws—”

“Yeah, the one where their neighbor seeks revenge for the house addition that blocks their view.”

“Yes. You remember what happens at the end?”

Stan clears his throat. “Let’s see … the neighbor burns down the house on the 4th of July, killing the family inside.”

“It’s coming true.” Denny brought his clasped hands to his mouth.

“That’s crazy! It’s just a coincidence, pal. Walk me through it.”

Denny explained how, like in his story, his family built an addition on top of their home to enhance their lake view, even though it defied zoning laws. Normally, the city would force the homeowner to remove the construction, but his family only got a small fine.

“They paid someone off?” Stan asked.

“Of course.” Denny said, nodding his head. “Like in the story, the neighbor is irate.”

“Naturally. No doubt his home value plummeted. But what makes you think your story is coming true?”

“I checked the dryer vent, you know, on the outside of my family’s house.”

“Why?” asked Stan

“Someone plugged it up with a cloth.” Denny’s knee bounced up and down like a jackhammer. “Just like my story, the neighbors are trying to burn my family’s house down to get their view back.”

Stan’s eyes grew wide. “Whoa. That’s bizarre. What are you going to do? Go to the police?”

“I did. They listened, but said they couldn’t do anything unless I had proof.”

“Did you tell your family?” Stan took another sip of his drink.

“And admit that I write stories about them under a pseudonym? No way. They would ostracize me. Even though we’re not close, I don’t want them as enemies.”

“Gotcha,” Stan said.

“It’s ironic, really. They read nothing I write, even my publications. They wouldn’t even notice if I used my real name. My family doesn’t respect my career choices.”

“Sorry, man. A publisher hasn’t accepted your novel yet, right?”

“Right. I’m waiting to hear from my agent. I need the money desperately. Either I get this published, or I go back to subbing high school English.”

The coffee grinder whirled, releasing an aroma of toasted beans. A late afternoon crowd gathered.

“Well, guy, I’m a just a writing coach, not a detective. I think this is just some strange cosmic coincidence. Have you considered talking to the neighbor?” Stan asked.

“Ya think I should? Hmm. Maybe I will. Thanks for listening.”

***

The next morning, Denny drove the short distance from his apartment to his family’s house. The towel he’d removed from the dryer vent remained on the ground near the side of the house. Denny picked it up and grabbed a copy of his novel’s ARC from the back seat of his car and walked up the hill.

On the way, he admired the view. No wonder my family wanted this astounding panorama. Beautiful lake, cottages, sailboats, Douglas fir trees. The neighbor must be furious.

When Denny reached the neighbor’s house, the eyesore confronted him: a newly constructed level on his family’s house, fifteen feet high, replete with a protruding deck. Sweat dampened his pits. Denny knocked on the door, half-hoping no one was home.

An overweight man with a too-tight t-shirt and shorts answered the door. A hat tamed his grayish curly hair.

“I’m hoping to have a word.” Denny said, with both hands behind his back.

The man scowled. “I’m not buying what you’re selling.” The door began to close.

“I’m related to your neighbors, the ones who stole your view.” Denny leaned his body to the right like he does with unfamiliar dogs.

“Stole is right.” His jaw set. “You come to steal my car, too? Our family’s had this house for generations. The view of the lake is its total value. And now it’s gone.”

“I can’t control my family’s behavior. I wanted to show you this.” From behind his back, Denny brought out the gray terry cloth towel.

A glint of recognition formed in the neighbor’s eyes. “What’s that?” The tone of his voice gave him away.

“I found this stuffed into my family’s dryer vent pipe. Is it yours?” Denny waited a beat, then added, “Don’t bother answering.”

The neighbor shook his head.

“Look, I know you want to burn my family’s house down. I kinda don’t blame you. But there’s gotta be another way.”

A female voice said, “Hon, who is it?”

The neighbor looked toward the voice, then back at Denny.

“Here’s the Advanced Reader Copy of my latest novel. I’m a writer. It’s uncanny, really, but my novel documents how I know your plans.” Denny’s heart pounded.

The neighbor shifted his weight but still continued to hold the front door and ignore his wife.

“In my story, a wronged party burns down his neighbor’s house by plugging up the dryer vent. He wanted his view back. Sound familiar? Read it.” Denny handed him the ARC.

The neighbor took the story but then rolled back on his heels and Denny thought he might tip over.

“I’ll keep this as evidence.” Denny shook the towel and walked away. Before reaching the sidewalk, he turned around and shouted, “I’ll be watching you!”

The neighbor slammed the door.

***

Denny left nothing to chance and clandestinely installed a camera near the dryer vent of his family’s home, hoping to catch the neighbor in the act should he try again. Although another arson method could be more effective, he suspected reality would unfold as his typed words dictated. He didn’t know why.

Although publishers already had his ARC, Denny rewrote his novel’s ending hoping to change emerging reality. He downed copious amounts of coffee, skipped meals, and went without sleep to complete the revisions.

In the new version, the fire gets detected early, and the family survives. Although the rewrite lacked impact, he knew he couldn’t live with the guilt if the power of his words killed his family.

He’d hoped his family would follow their tradition of heading to the coast for the holiday weekend, but they wanted to celebrate their home addition with a barbecue on the deck.

***

Denny arrived early for the 4th of July party and noted two things. The camera was gone, and the dryer vent was plugged-up again. The neighbor was both determined and single-minded. Worse yet, Denny’s original story still held the power over events — the rewrite failed. He resolved to be vigilant.

Most of the time, he stayed on the deck where his dad barbecued burgers for the guests. The accumulation of food debris on the cooking grate gnarled Denny’s insides. He scrubbed the grate when his father took a batch of food to the kitchen to remedy the fire hazard.

Later, he rushed to push aside the pile of paper plates and napkins next to the gas grill to avert another potential danger.

“What’s with you, Denny? You’re a nervous Nelly,” his dad said, turning his head to avoid the smoke from the grill.

“Just trying to observe safety protocols, Dad.” Denny chewed the inside of his mouth.

“You worry too much, son.” His dad rolled his eyes. “Look at this view. Ain’t it great?”

Hearing a slight rumbling sound, Dennis hurled down the stairs into the basement to find that his mother had turned on the dryer. He turned it off.

We just have to get through tonight.

The lake’s fireworks display started at 9:30 p.m. Each boom gave Denny a start. Like Peanut, the family Labradoodle, Denny’s body trembled. He leaned down to pet Peanut and said, “Not much longer, buddy.”

By 10:00 p.m., the fireworks grand finale blasted in the sky with a bouquet of color and smoke. Denny leaned over the balcony’s railing to search if anything was going on down below. Except for a fleeing cat, the ground was still.

What if the neighbor changed tactics? What if I’m looking down while the neighbor is throwing fireworks on the roof?

Denny stepped on a chair to look at the shake roof but didn’t see any debris.

How could Dad select the least fireproof shingle choice? He took a deep breath and sighed.

As the party crowd dissipated, so did Denny’s shaking. His muscles softened now that the night was over without his story coming true. He bid farewell to his folks and headed home.

***

Denny didn’t sleep well. Leftover anxiety still riled his unsettled mind. Fireworks in his neighborhood continued until after two in the morning. By three, his body finally calmed down, and he fell asleep.

At 6:30 a.m., someone pounded on his door.

The sun blinded his eyes as he opened the door. The fire chief stood before him.

“I’m Chief Johnson. Are you Denny Jones?”

Denny rubbed his eyes. “Yes…”

“I regret to inform you—”

Denny’s world spun, then went black. He came to while flat on his back with the fire chief staring down at him.

***

Denny resisted going to the hospital and assured the fire chief he was just in shock. He squelched his mourning in favor of satisfying his curiosity. What did I miss? How did my story come true?

He threw on clothes and drove immediately to his family’s home. A fire crew continued to work to extinguish the embers. All that remained were burnt beams and ashes. Denny spotted Peanut in the crowd being restrained on a neighbor’s leash. His reunion with the dog would have to wait because Denny had something else to do.

He got back in his car and drove to the culprit’s house. The garage door was open, and Dennis spotted two incriminating items: a gas tank and a drone with a bucket attachment.

So that’s how he did it. He dropped gasoline on the shake roof, and then probably threw firecrackers to ignite the gas. Dude’s smarter than I thought. The fire investigators will figure it out. With my help.

He snapped a quick photo and decided not to confront the man … yet. As Denny hopped back into his car, his cell vibrated, a rare call from his agent.

“Tony?”

“Yes, Denny. I have some great news,” Tony said.

“Yeah?”

“Your novel got picked up by a publisher.” Tony’s voice exuded jubilation.

“No kidding?” Dennis asked in a flat tone.

“Uh, I thought you’d be happier. Are you okay?”

“Not really. It’s a bizarre day. I’ll tell you later.”

“Okay. I’ll send the paperwork.”

“Good. Can you check something out for me?”

“Sure,” Tony said.

“Can you find out a couple of things with the publisher? Ask them if I change the novel to a non-fiction.”

“Huh?”

The line went silent. Then Denny gasped, followed by a choked sob and deep breaths.

“Are you there, Denny?”

“And ask if I can extend the story to include the writer getting revenge.”