Do Not Disturb

Bob Yoo closed his car door with a soft, “Bang.”

Sun squinted through the clouds, warming his skin.

Not a proper winter, but better than the fall chill of New York, Bob grunted. He had barely escaped the winter snow. Now it was almost spring.

Bob’s leather work shoes trotted up the flower-lined pathway to the black door of his home. His eyes found the newspaper perched on his doorstep. He bent to pick it up and take off his shoes. He straightened, pulled the key out from his pocket, and unlocked the door.

Alfredo, his Australian Terrier, bounded to him in a fluffy bundle of brown. Bob set down his briefcase and shoes next to the door to pet the dog.

Later, Bob settled into a velvet green chair that sat invitingly in front of a TV. He put his feet on the accompanying footstool, the newspaper tucked under his arm. He always liked putting his feet up because he could feel the blood draining from his feet, taking the pressure off.

Buzzz. Something green lit up on his phone.

On the notification preview that briefly flashed were at least twenty emojis.

Bob sighed.

It would be none other than Elara, the golden retriever (as he had privately dubbed her) at work. Bob guessed the woman was a few years older than him, at forty-eight. If he texted her back, she would respond instantly, and then he’d have to respond to her again, and…. Bob hesitated before putting the phone on Do Not Disturb. He’d respond to her later.

He set the phone aside, unfolded the newspaper, and jumped straight to the comics. Here in Lemon Grove, they always had Garfield comics. (These were the best.)

An hour and a half later, the emptiness in his stomach made him tuck the newspaper on top of the old TV. For dinner, he munched on—probably his last—taco. Bob realized he’d miss the food in SoCal. He still had frozen apple pie from New York in his freezer, but he wasn’t particularly hungry for dessert.

Bob got up, scraped his leftovers into Alfredo’s dish, did his dishes, and set them to dry as he always did.

By now it was 8 pm.

Taking some wood polish and a rag from under the sink, Bob strode over to his briefcase by the front door, taking a picture frame out. Using the rag, he polished the frame before staring into it.

A few moments passed. The house was still, Alfredo curled up in the corner on his dog bed.

Bob carefully slipped the polished picture frame back into his briefcase, along with his work badge.

Thirty minutes later, Bob switched off the lights in his bedroom. He had to go to bed early, in case there was a time change the next day.

From his bed, through the open curtains, he could see the tall streetlamp rising on the road near his house, casting its glow over the neighborhood.

Bob began to clamber into his bed. His phone, lying on his nightstand, briefly flashed.

With a pang of guilt, Bob realized it was probably Elara. But it was too late, and he didn’t like to stare at his phone in the dark (it was bad for his eyes).

Tomorrow, she’ll never know I existed. He pretended the thought didn’t make him a little relieved.

Bob turned on his side as he lay down, glancing outside, the white muslin curtains fluttering gently.

He didn’t want to be late for work the following day, especially if he would likely lose a few hours of sleep. The next day would be the first day of spring.

***

Sunshine and cherry blossoms greeted him through the white curtains as soon as Bob awoke. He yawned and stretched, glancing at the clock. 8:04 am, he still had time. He quickly got dressed, made a cup of coffee, and gestured to Alfredo.

“Here, boy,” Bob snapped his fingers, attaching a leash to the dog,

Alfredo's tail wagged shyly.

They slipped out the front door.

In the streetlamp’s place stood a ledge of green.

Bob and Alfredo walked down a quiet suburban street. Pale-painted houses with yawning windows lined either side. Cherry blossom trees greeted him in a few of the front yards with a flurry of pink against a baby blue sky. Bob’s house, a lemon yellow, didn’t stick out like a sore thumb among these houses, despite the old-fashioned trimmings.

Same house, different neighborhood.

He breathed in some freshly mowed lawn and glanced at a balding man he didn’t recognize behind a mower.

“Morning, Bob,” the man greeted him with familiarity.

Bob returned the gesture with a slight nod. He’d learn the man’s name later.

Every day of a new season, Bob woke up in a new neighborhood. Although he often wouldn’t know the place, the people would always act like they had known him for years.

He had a stable job, and the workplace on his Google maps would always lead him to a new job with similar work.

It had always been like this, ever since Bob could remember, as far back as when… but no. He didn’t like to think of that, not today.

After their walk, Bob said goodbye to Alfredo and headed out the door. The cherry blossom trees waved at him as he pulled out of the driveway, and he followed his Google Maps to his new workplace, right on Taft Road, down a long, winding hill, onto Coolidge Highway, exiting 37a, and past several surface roads.

When Bob walked through the glass landmass building, a receptionist politely greeted him with a small wave.

“Hi, Bob!”

Bob nodded in reply.

His watch hit 9 am, and he followed the general train of people up a flight of stairs and pressed his badge against a set of heavy doors. When the doors opened, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Cubicle after cubicle stretched beyond infinity. Bob had done the drill many times by now. His cubicle would be in the right corner. He strode with his focused, even strides, briefcase in hand, down the aisle.

Bob stopped.

He backed a few paces, slowly.

Had I just seen... ? But no, how absurd.

Not wanting to intrude on this coworker’s space, he quickly glanced over it without staring. The walls were decorated with animal anime. A few plushies sat on the desk. Bob squinted before resuming his normally stoic expression and continued down the corridor of cubicles.

She lives in SoCal, Bob reminded himself.

Empty walls surrounded a clean, polished desk in the last cubicle on the right. Bob approached the desk, pulled out the picture frame, and pushed it into place.

Water breaks were one of the most crucial events in a 9-5, and for Bob, that was no exception. They were a time to hear the juiciest gossip, but Bob wasn’t interested in the juice. He was interested in the names—stuff he was supposed to know.

With an even stride he began down the cubicle corridor.

It was then that he saw a brief flash of poofy, curly red.

Oh no.

The lady stood in a cubicle, and when she turned, Bob could see her hee haw lines—as he privately had dubbed them—stretched wide around the mouth.

He almost made a run for it.

“Bob!” the voice called.

Bob stared down the row of cubicles in dismay before he forced a half-smile as he slowly turned.

Elara stood in the middle of the row of cubicles.

Her mouth opened like a fish, as if she were going to say something.

“What are you doing here?” Bob hissed, interrupting her. He spoke out of anger, partially trying to conceal his confusion.

A slight look of perplexity flitted across Elara’s face. “What do you mean?” the loud voice demanded. “I work here!”

“No. You. Do. Not!” Bob said through clenched teeth.

Elara seemed flabbergasted, followed by an awkward silence. Bob heard a pencil drop, and an awareness of other gaping mouths confronted him.

In a daze, smoothing his tie, he said “s’cuse me.”

Bob returned to his cubicle, making short eye contact with those he passed as he regained his senses.

Were they familiar? No. He didn’t recognize any of them.

Bob sat silently at his desk, thinking.

He sighed. Probably a glitch. Someone from a past season could not recognize him.

His eyes landed on the picture frame that was now in his hands. A moment passed before he placed it on the desk.

***

Bob’s eyes later grew tired from staring at report after report. Numbers danced in his head. Slowly, his eyes drifted to the side of the cubicle, and Elara shot by.

She slightly turned as she quickly stopped with the biggest, toothiest grin. She thrust up an entire arm to wave in an exaggerated, “Hello!!”

Bob sharply turned away.

What kind of glitch is this? He didn’t know.

More numbers and reports couldn’t distract him, and everywhere he turned, he saw Elara, Elara, Elara.

A light drizzle of rain peppered Bob’s jacket as he strode in the parking lot. Today, he was leaving early. Tomorrow would be a new day. He got into his car and began reversing out of the parking space. This, this glitch—it had never happened before. Maybe I could quit?

As he sailed on surface roads, it wasn’t then that he realized he’d left the picture frame in the cubicle.

Crackle.

The world briefly flickered, and Bob got a glimpse of another scene, a bright and sunny one, like SoCal.

What the—?

Bob pounded the brakes.

The car tires slid against the wet pavement until the car was diagonally in the road.

Rain peppered the streets, and he watched in silence as big drops splashed his front windowshield, his heart pounding.

Bob glanced around. The street was empty. In the darkness of the clouds and rain, Bob’s phone, lying on the passenger seat, briefly lit up with an accompanying buzzz.

Bob glanced at it and saw a bunch of exclamation marks.

Elara.

Bob remained impassive, but he could feel the blood pounding in his knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel. He checkef both sides of the street, before he quickly proceeded down the road again, heart thudding.

What can the strangeness of the day’s events mean? He thought he had known Elara. Is she following me, and how? Questions raced in Bob’s mind as he streaked down Coolidge Highway.

Home, Bob repeated. Home is always safe.

He pulled into the driveway, got out, and slammed the door, ignoring the neighbor’s cherry blossom tree as he beelined it for the door.

Alfredo whimpered as Bob opened the door and closed it.

Bob knelt. “Here, boy,” he beckoned.

Alfredo gave a sharp, “Yap!”

What is wrong with him?

The dog pranced in circles before yapping at Bob. A dawning realization grew over him as the dog led him to the home-corded phone.

Bob froze as he stared at the phone. It was practically vintage. The phone number hadn’t worked for years.

He tremblingly pressed the pound key and entered the voicemail pin.

At the first tone of her voice, Bob screamed, yanking the cord and silencing Elara.

How did she know this number? It hadn’t been used in years.

Bob had no time to gather his thoughts. The air crackled with static. Slowly turning, he could see the TV in the living room come to life.

The remote sat on the kitchen counter, untouched.

On the bland screen, in grayish hues, sat a woman: —Elara.

“Bob,”

The use of his first name and the voice he couldn’t escape startled him as his blood curdled.

“It’s me, Elara, your coworker.” The TV crackled with static. “I know this is strange, but you must know,” she continued, as flashes of black and white appeared on the screen. “Have you ever wondered about this place? Have you ever wondered why the house is always moving?”

Bob remained impassive. It appeared to be a recording. Paralysis took over Bob.

Elara pressed on. “The house moves to protect you.”

Bob stood there, feeling the worry creep up to his forehead. Yes, he had said this house was safe. But how could it be, now that it had been invaded by her?

“Haven’t you ever wondered why your father died?” Elara asked.

At the abrupt question, Bob briefly closed his eyes, partially out of fear, partially remembering his mother lying on her deathbed, in this very house, her frail arm lifted to say something. Something about his father. Something about…

Bob forced his eyes open to watch the recorded screen.

“Haven’t you ever wondered what happened to the people who were most permanent in your life?” Elara continued. “What happened to those brothers, those sisters, and where they all went?” Her voice cracked, and it dropped to a low tone.

Elara’s poofy, badly dyed red hair appeared as a dull red on the screen, and her almond eyes seemed almost tired.

“I knew you’d be terrified once someone became permanent again,” Elara whispered.

Bob flinched.

“It’s me, Elara, your sis—”

The TV crackled, going silent, and was dark.