Impeccable Timing

“Time… 11:43am, precisely 54 seconds ticking forward. Place… my house, everything seems to be normal”. She looks around her surroundings, out the dusty window. The dial continued to tick forward, letting her know what exact time it was. She must have not done the science quite right. Looking through the right window, the trees had seemed to have the same exact placing. There was still a pile of rubbish overflowing out of the trashcan. She leaned over her shoulder and still saw the mailbox covered in moss, leaning over in a perpetual state of almost decay. Sighing, she let her head fall on the wheel, shifting her focus to the mechanism still laying in her hands. Everything was completely aligned. And yet, something wasn’t right. She had not gone back in time, but had remained in her own time. “I am in a prison of my own choices” She sighed. “I should have never trusted that dumb man online. Reverse your worst decisions, my ass.” Scoffing, she threw the machine onto the right seat, breaking into tears. Wiping her hand over her stinging eye, she felt around the for the door handle, and stepped out, her feet splashing into a pool of water. 

But something was wrong. Terribly wrong. She didn’t remember there being a puddle when she left. It was a sunny day. It was a dry week. Casually looking down, she found a find a sticky viscous substance. A rusty, red, thick liquid. The hairs on her head rose as she knelt down to inspect the pool with a sudden realization that what she stepped in was indeed…blood. 

It had this distinct smell to it though, like a new shiny penny. The pool of blood, filling as she stood there still, grew till it started to drip down the pavement. It’s tendrils reached across the driveway, as if to hope to find something at the end. Her hands shaking, unable to blink, she forced her legs to walk so that she could go to the front of the car. There. Right there. Was a mangle of flesh, with broken bones rising from the muscles. Parts of it heaved as a faint chocking sound could be heard. The skin was peeled back to reveal the organs were still intact, convulsing. As she edged forward, she noticed that the being…was still alive. The heart muscle kept on beating, spurting the remaining blood across its body. The head though - it didn’t seem to be harmed at all. Turned away from her, it’s hair in golden curly locks laid on the ground. Mustering some courage, she spoke to the flesh, mumbling the words “Are…you…alright?” Of course it wasn’t alright. At this point, it barely resembled a person. It was a dumb phrase. A stupid phrase. But it was the right phrase, as the head of the being slowly turned towards her, moving in a mechanical motion as you could hear the sounds of bones grating against one another. 

“You sound…just like me” it wheezed, choking on its own blood. Blinking open its eyes, it stared at her with horror, and in a trembling voice, it said: 

“Why do…you look just like me?”

It’s eyes, still open, dulled in that same horrified look. With the last beat of its heart, It reached its hand out and grabbed her leg, pulling her down to the ground, so that she was forced to look at the last tear rolling down its face. 

Panicking, she grasped at the hand, trying to pry her fingers off her leg, but the creature remained firm in its grip, even in death. Her breathing became immeasurable, as she struggled to focus. Tears streaming down her face, she kicked her leg back and forth, only finding some success, the arm being torn away from the socket with a swift ‘pop’, a slicing sound emitting where the skin and muscle tore away. Standing up, the arm still clasped onto her leg, she limped to the garage, hoping that it would also open with swift lift from the bottom. Miraculously it did, and lifting the door above her shoulders, she ran into the garage, looking for pliers. The same pliers still in the messy bottom drawer. Falling to the cool ground, she willed every bit of strength in her to pull each finger off her calf. Each fought with her before breaking in a clean piece, so that she could pull the entire arm off. Panting, sitting on the ground, she looked ahead to see the sun setting off in the distance as her figure became illuminated by the colors of the red, infected sky. 

The rest of the day was a blur. In the sense that she could only faintly remember how she cleaned herself, or hid the body. How she scraped the goo and flesh off the pavement. Perhaps, it was better that way. Perhaps, she had already repressed that information. And the most hopeful perhaps: she was in a dream of her own making. A horrible dream. A perfect cliche. But no amount of looking intensely into mirrors could reverse the reflection that she saw of a herself, hands covered in blood. No jeans could truly hide the hand-shaped bruise, still clutching her leg. However, what she did know was that she was now sitting at the dinner table. There was her little brother, mother, and asshole father, Anthony. Her eyes continued to stare forward, blinking only when necessary as she shoveled food into her mouth. The car looked fine. There wasn’t a speck of red on the pavement. Everything was as it should be. She thought, again and again and again. 

But nothing could replace that look on the girls face. It haunted her. Why did she look, so familiar?

“Tell me, Nancy . How was your day today?”, a voice speculated. “Nancy”, the sing song-y voice asked more quizzically. “I’m talking to you.” 

Awakening from her repeating mantra, she looked over to her mother. “Who… are you talking to?”

“Nancy, I know you’re a trickster, but this isn’t funny you know.” Her mom’s face twisted the same way it always had, giving the same joyful speculative face. But this wasn’t her name. Not by any stretch. She looked over to her little brother, scarfing down the last bits of his favorite mac and cheese. “Isn’t that right Ted?” Her mother looked over Bill and then looked at me with a little smile. “I don’t know what to do with her William. Maybe she’s been smoking that weed again?” With a chuckle, she reached for another piece of garlic bread, biting a bit, “So are we calling you Ann now?” Looking over to Bill she rambled on about where that name was supposed to come from. 

From his silence, Bill spoke, enough that she knew that something was utterly wrong. Awfully wrong. Terribly wrong. “If you want to be called Ann honey, that’s okay. As long as you’re still the wonderful self you are, I’m okay with it!” With a smile and wink, he looked over to her mother. “Just don’t give your mother too much hell okay? You know she can never keep up with you!” 

Wrong. 

Wrong. 

Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong. 

A voice, seeming to come right behind her ear, whispered. “But isn’t this everything you asked for?” It was too much. Rising from her chair quickly, she said: “I need to go…. go … “ Looking around her as the rest of the family looked at her, she interjected “to the bathroom!…Yes. I need to pee. yes.” A sweat drop trickled down her face. The family looked at with her for a shocked moment, before talking about more mundane business. 

She rushed through the hallways, carefully looking through every part of the house. This was her house, right? These were her parent’s, right? She had to look for some sort of picture. Some form of evidence. Something to tell her what was wrong. Which piece was wrong. Whether it had been pure luck, or some form of a dark coincidence, she glanced up to find a family portrait. The same one that she had seen over and over again. But there was one catch. Bill should not have ever been in this photo. Dad should have been in this photo. Pulling the picture down to inspect it further, she tried to look for any reason to believe this was edited. But saw none. He was there, with his same smile. Running to the office, she looked up to see the same family trip pictures, but he was there, in every single one of them. There was no way, she thought, that anyone would go this far to prank her. How could they have done such a perfect job making sure each picture was authentic? Bill was never there, and yet...he was? 

Unless. Her fingers started losing their strength, as the picture slipped out of her hands. The same voice whispered into her ear. "Isn’t it everything you asked for? Isn’t it everything you wanted?"

It was everything she wanted in this world. It was perfect. A perfect world....It was possible, that she could lie. It wouldn’t be that hard, to be herself this entire time. The perfect version of herself. Smiling in the mirror, she practiced her name several times till it fit. 

The next few days passed as if nothing had happened a few days prior. The days were each as equally as happy as the last. And her relationship with her family only grew. Bill wasn’t up to his usual antics. He looked at with a loving smile, as opposed to his disappointed scoff. As each day passed, the memories of the creature vanished. 

But within three days, the house began to stink. A permeating sort of smell, the one that doesn’t seem to want to leave. The third day it smelt like rotten eggs that proceeded to sour milk and any form of rotten food alike. It was the worst in the kitchen, never leaving. Thinking that it was the food left on the table, everyone made sure to clean every surface and throw out any food that wasn’t eaten. The trash was thrown every day. But the smell continued. 

“I’m always amazed how one awful smell can completely change how you work”, her mom commented. “I’m starting to think some animal must have snuck some food away to a part of house that we can’t reach. Thinking on top of her feet, she replied “Maybe it was a family of mice?” 

“Oh, how cute,” her mom agreed. “But… that just won’t have to do. I’ll need to call an exterminator.” 

Looking at her phone, she replied without a thought, “Yeah, that sounds like a good plan.” 

Within the day, the exterminator came, and inspected each wall in the house, but found nothing. The house was spotless. Clean. There was nothing to be found, so the man said, but as the next morning rose, the smell became far worse than ever before. It smelt like fish. Even the water began to smell. As water was drawn from the tap, a murky foamy substance always floated at the top. Drinking a whole glass made her vomit and convulse. The family begun to buy water from the store as the foam would flow from even the shower nozzle. But the family remained determined to find a solution. And she stayed quiet, looking at her phone. 

Gradually, the smell even haunted her dreams. She went to sleep, the fifth night, and dreamed of going to her friends' house. It was a beautiful day. Perfect. But as she leapt across the pavement, within a moment she was thrust to ground. She couldn’t feel, she could barely breath. A large mechanical object held her in place as she tried to locate her phone. Tried to call for help. But to her dismay, it was pointless. A voice, softly asked her how she was, and as she looked over, she saw herself. Waking up hyperventilating, she reached for a bottle of water and chugged it down, trying to calm her nerves. Her mother rushed into the room, and began comforting her, rubbing her arms and legs back and forth, and the worries were all gone. 

But when she woke up, the seventh day, the scent, it’s scent, continued to follow her around the day, into school, and to the grocery store. She walked through the fruits section, but even the fresh herbs smelt like copper being left to dry in the hot summer sun. A text came up on her phone, from her father. “Honey, we’re getting a plumber. We have no clue where this smell is, but today the water isn’t running. We’ll see if he can find anything.” The message ended in a heart, so she had no other reasonable option but to text back ‘Thank you’, adding another heart icon. 

Regardless, as she grabbed various fruit and vegetables, she knew that this would be her last happy day. Her last day in paradise. She had tried to pretend that nothing was wrong, because everything with them was perfect. Singing a vapid song as she pulled the car up the driveway, the sun setting a beautiful crimson outside, she walked up to an unusually quiet home. 

The door was already opened. A sole weeping voice murmured across the house. Pictures were thrown to the ground, crosses carved into her face. Fearfully, she stepped into the room to find her mom sitting on the ground, holding something in her hands. It was small, tinier than a mouse. The smell was more intense that it ever was before. And then, coming closer, her mom looked up. She looked awful, makeup dripping down her face as she spoke, softly at first. “Why.” 

“Why what?” She nervously laughed, looking around her. She continued to feign innocence out of her own self-preservation. 

Still caressing the tiny object in her right hand, she reached out and grabbed her leg. The bruise burned as her mothers hand continued to dig in. “Who, are, you.” Her voice was part whimper, part contempt. 

“I’m Nancy! Your daughter, you know!” She tried to be cheerful, and nervously laughed. She tried to slowly edge backward, eyeing the front door, holding the car’s keys in her pocket. But her grip continued, as she pulled her jeans to find the green and yellow imprint of a hand. Wailing, her mother retracted her hand, long enough so that she could get up on her feet, and start running. As she reached the garage, she could hear her mother began charging at her, their screams rising as she ran through the corridors to the garage. She lifted up the door with ease, her mother on her tail, and leapt into her car to find the mechanism. Shutting her door shut to the banging of her mother on the window, she reached down to find it with one message. 

“Who did you think you were?” 

Ignoring it, she set the dials on it, reversing the path she took before, she started to rev the engine as she placed the device on her lap. “C’mon c’mon c’mon….send me back. Please!” She screamed as she reversed down the driveway. 

But it was futile. As the machine clicked in some sort of mechanical sadistic laugh, it shut itself off. She threw the ball out the window, as she shouted: “You bastard! You are the one who did this to me!” But no one answered.