Expectant

The book fell to the floor with a dark thud, its sound far too loud in Nando’s ears. That was the fifth time this week, in as many books. Yes, being autistic made him far more aware of patterns and connections. He was used to that. But this was too timely and too frequent to exist only in his head. 

Nando picked up the book, his fingers hesitant as they wrapped around the hardcover novel. He reopened the book to where he had been startled. 

We have been expecting you.

It was absurd. There it was, clear as day. But why? The surrounding context did not make sense. The paragraph he had been reading was describing an argument between two adventurers; there was no clear reason for that line to appear in their conversation. Nando stood up from his couch to walk to the kitchen counter, where the other four books lay. The Old Testament, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, The Jungle Book, The Little Prince, and now The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. He had not gotten more than three chapters into any of them before that very same phrase had appeared. As soon as he read it, he closed the book and had to wait a while before opening another. It was the very first line of the first book. Was that combination of words supposed to be in each book? If so, why did he happen across these five? Did it matter if the line was there already or not? Maybe it had been planted, maybe he had been led to those novels. He decided it did not matter. Who was expecting him, if anyone? He had the unpleasant feeling that he might already know. 

Nando thought back to one week ago. The man with the coin was the only thing he was sure of from that day. When he tossed his coin in the air, right as he and Nando crossed paths, Nando could have sworn that time itself slowed down. The coin hung in the air between his face and the man’s as that phrase came from his mouth. “We have been exspecting you.” It did not sound very abnormal. Though it was an odd thing to say to a stranger, there was nothing in his words that should have aroused the overwhelming sense of dread that he felt. It was the way he lingered on the end of the ‘x’ in ‘expecting,’ I think, thought Nando. Almost like the ‘s’ sound was just barely too long, longer than it needed to be. No voice had ever made him that terrified, even in a movie. Even the thought of that moment cooled his spine in the same way it had when he thought a monster was in his closet as a child. 

Then there was the homeless woman and her stroller. It would not have remained in his mind if it had not occurred less than ninety seconds after the man with the coin. “Next Thursday, next Thursday!” she shouted in a high voice, cackling as she lurched forward, leaning on the stroller. She passed him on the inside of the sidewalk, and her stroller clattered across the metal grate surrounding a tree. There was no baby in the stroller, only a superhero action figure that bounced as the stroller wheels hit the uneven surface. He glanced back in comical confusion, but noticed that she had glanced back at him. There was a consciousness in her eyes that chilled his vertebrae again, so unexpected after what he thought was a drugged rampage. Nando kept reassuring himself that he had imagined it, but he was so unnerved by what he thought were scales on her forehead that he could not forget. 

Today was Thursday. Nando wanted it to be over, so he could have some security in knowing that at least the woman’s words were nonsense. But the man with the coin… His statement, then five repetitions of it in five books. He wanted to do something. What? What would he do? He did not even know what the danger would be if it existed. Though he was healthy, he had called in sick from work that day as a precaution. This proved to be a poor decision, as he had nothing to distract him from this superstitious deadline. Thankfully, it was now ten o’clock, and he could reason himself into going to bed soon. Then it would all be over. 

As he performed his meticulous bedtime routine, Nando decided to add some of the exercises his therapist had taught him. They helped when he was over-fixating on something, as he often did. His mind just would not let him rest. First, five things he could touch. That was easy. Toothbrush, faucet handle, toilet flusher, towel, door handle. Easy. Then four things he could see. Shower curtain, dust bunny in the corner, little fruit fly crawling on the wall, the mirror–

Nando’s heart stopped. He spun around, but saw nothing. He had been doing so well, why did his mind have to play tricks on him now? Surely, he had not seen what he thought he saw. Two red eyes, very small like beads… but there was just a wall behind him. His heart rate started to slow down. He returned to the mirror, and saw nothing there either. Nando felt immense relief. He reminded himself that over-fixating on things might be useful when studying a complex topic, but it was no good for memories that haunted him. He finished brushing his teeth, then went to bed. 

Usually, it took Nando at least half an hour to fall asleep. His mind just would not stop. Calculations might run through him, as he tried to figure out exactly how many rubber ducks would fit in a basketball stadium. Or he would obsessively type with his fingers. Ever since he had taken that keyboarding class, he had a bad habit of typing as he read or as he thought about conversations. Autism had pros and cons. Tonight, however, thirty minutes felt like three hours, and even after all that time, his eyelids refused to grow heavy. He remembered another incident from that day, but he was sure his mind was making connections that simply did not exist. He remembered the details anyway.

As Nando returned to his apartment, a little boy had been playing outside. Nando did not recognize him. Probably a nephew of one of the other tenants. But as he walked by, he felt the child’s eyes on him. He looked back. He was indeed staring at him. Nando waved, but the boy did not. Shrugging, Nando turned to walk into his apartment. It had not registered then, but his mind now recalled a strange image that his eye caught in the peripheral right as he turned to the door; something shot in and out of the boy’s mouth very quickly. Not his tongue; at least, Nando hoped it was not. What a strange shape. It was too long and thin. It must have been his imagination. 

More time passed, tossing and turning, until he checked the clock for the fourteenth time. 11:58. For nearly two hours, Nando had struggled to fall asleep. He needed the clock to turn two more minutes so he could rest. 11:59. There it was, he was almost there. So close to midnight. He had started counting seconds as soon as the minute changed. One, two, three… He got to fifty when a sound made him freeze where he lay. Something was moving in the hall. It was not footsteps; the sound was constant, but it was growing louder. He thought of sandpaper, but no… more like hauling a pine tree through snow. Despite that nice holiday image, he was not settled. His limbs shook, but he could not move. He managed to point his eyes at the clock. To his horror, it still read 11:59. How was that possible? 

The sound of brushing needles on snow grew louder. Now his mind imagined two trees. Or three? He could not tell. His door slowly opened, having been slightly ajar, but the opening did not face him. He could not see the intruder. Death entered his mind as a reality he had never previously known. A new sound added to his mounting terror. It was like wind, but not a breeze. It was the kind of wind that was cruel, wind that would come on a cold day when he was already chilled to the bone and take away the rest of the heat he had been clinging to. It sounded very quiet at first. Then, as though someone had put headphones into his ears, all of the sounds were very loud in his head. He had experienced the same thing during panic attacks, when the imagined voices he heard could be talking at a perfectly normal volume but would still strike fear into his heart with the exaggerated decibels. The contrast of real silence with imagined sound–yes, that was what brought him the most anxiety. But this time, the sound was really in his room. 

Nando, paralyzed, searched the filing cabinets of his mind for clues in the chaos. He opened the drawer his brain kept memories of books in. The Jungle Book. The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. The Little Prince. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. The Old Testament. Why these? The silhouettes of three figures rose in the darkness. Magic? No, that only connected a few. A male protagonist? Too vague. There had to be a connection. As the figures reached a tall stature, Nando saw eyes appear on what he assumed were their faces. All six eyes were red. These were not humans. His neurodivergent brain would not let him stay away from his other thoughts for long, though. Was it a location? Was there something he was supposed to do? 

“We’ve been exspecting you.”

Three voices spoke in unison, if you can call it speaking. The man’s voice had also lingered on the end of the ‘x’ sound. The man with the coin and the phrase. The woman with the stroller and her scales. The boy and whatever was in his mouth. As Nando felt the three figures closing in, his mind made a connection. Snakes. Yes, each book contained a snake! It was a moment of victory in his mind, realizing what connected the books and the three incidents. Hissing, scales, and a long, thin tongue. His mind was distracted enough by this triumph to allow his jaw to unclench and speak. “I got it! It’s snakes, I figured it–”

And all three figures sank their fangs into his chest.