EVAN WHO SAW SHAPESHIFTERS

 “Shit,” Evan’s coffee overflowed. It pooled around his cup and dribbled to the floor. With one hand, he placed the pot back on the coffeemaker. He unrolled a length of paper towels with the other and sopped up the coffee. Wildlife distracted him – a fox pawing at a rabbit hole. “Ah,” Evan hissed. The spilled coffee was still very hot. It seeped through the paper towels and burned his fingers. When he wiped his countertop clean, Evan tossed the mass of paper towels in the kitchen’s trash can. He left the coffee cup on the counter. He bent over to take cautious sips and looked back out the window.

His kitchen window overlooked several blocks in the neighborhood. He lived on the fourth story of a five-story building. From his window, he saw neighbors’ houses, trees changing colors, commuters on their way to work, and a garbage truck that stopped every few feet to collect the trash his neighbors set outside. The fox disappeared.

He carefully brought his coffee to the home office. He set the cup on his desk and turned on the computer. The screen flashed. He took a seat in the swivel chair. The computer loaded video editing software. Evan clicked on his project. It was a commercial for a local karaoke bar called The Foxhole. Evan wondered what a fox would sing if it could. He heard somewhere that foxes yelped. Evan doubted that they crooned. He hummed a line from a song he knew.

Evan clicked through a few frames of the commercial until he recognized an actor. The shaggy hair, the wet eyes, the stubble on his chin, the broad shoulders, that grin – he looked familiar. Impossible, Evan thought. He swiveled in his chair. He had a framed family photos on the other end of his office. The actor looked like his brother. Evan swiveled back. No, he thought, not quite. The actor was leaner than his brother. He had no gray hair sticking out at odd ends. Evan clicked through more frames. The actor had straight teeth. His brother’s teeth were slightly crooked. Evan got back to work.

He finished in the evening. In his dark kitchen, he retrieved three Tupperware containers from the refrigerator – vegetables in vinegar, rice, and cold chicken. Evan showered, microwaved the rice, and warmed the chicken and the vegetables in his oven. He ate at the window and checked the time. Local filmmakers organized an industry night at a neighborhood bar called Bookender’s. Between bites of rice and chicken, Evan decided to go. He left his dishes in the sink, locked his apartment, and trudged down the stairs.  

On the way out, he stopped at a tree by his apartment building. He noticed a small opening among the roots. He thought about the fox. Evan crouched low to the ground and looked inside. “Psst, psst, psst,” he made a sound. He invited the fox with an outstretched hand. “Psst, psst, psst.”

He saw nothing. He looked up at the branches. They creaked and swayed with the wind. He thought about a branch snapping off and falling through the fox. The thought made him shiver. The wind blew, and the branches shook. He got up and walked towards the bar.

Bookender’s was a little watering hole near Evan’s apartment. The first thing anyone noticed about Bookender’s was the smell. It smelled like something. No one agreed what it smelled like, but everyone agreed that it smelled – an in-house cleaning solution, spilled drinks, stale books, and something else. Purple lights lined the ceiling, and a disco ball threw light around the barroom. Evan’s shoes squeaked on the floor as he walked to the bar.

His crowd huddled on the other end. Evan knew the filmmakers by name. He waved at Kevin who wanted to break into narrative features and nodded at Josh the documentarian. An editor named Andy talked with someone whom Evan did not know. Maybe he was an actor. Evan knew fewer actors than filmmakers. He ordered a beer at the bar and waved at Andy. Andy came rushing up.

“Evan, how are you?” he asked. Evan did not have time to respond. Andy took Evan by the arm and pulled him through the crowd towards the stranger. Evan’s friends and associates shook his hands, patted him on the back and shoulders. The stranger was dressed in black. He looked familiar. He had tufts of gray hair. He smiled and flashed his slightly crooked teeth. He had big brown eyes. They looked expecting.

“Evan, this is,” Andy started. “I’m sorry, but I forgot your name,” he said.

“That’s not important,” the stranger replied. He smiled.

Andy insisted. The stranger demurred. He refused to give his name. “I’m no one, really,” was all he said. Someone pulled Andy away. The stranger looked intently at Evan.

“I feel like I’ve met you before,” Evan said.

“You have known me,” the stranger said.

“Where did we meet?” Evan asked.

“At your apartment, remember?” the stranger asked.

Evan tried to remember the stranger. He failed to place him at his apartment. To his surprise, the stranger knew him well. He described the apartment – the stained couch, the records in the living room, the tumbleweed decoration in the corner – in detail.

 “What were you doing in my apartment?” Evan asked.

“We watched a movie,” the stranger said. “Buffalo ’66.”

“That’s my favorite,” Evan murmured.

“I know,” the stranger nodded.

Evan’s ears reddened. “I don’t remember you,” he said. “I should remember you, but I don’t. Who let you into my apartment?”

The stranger looked at Evan cooly.

“What did you do there?” Evan raised his voice. The crowd quieted. The color drained from Evan’s face. Evan did not know the stranger, but he recognized him. The stranger looked like his brother only older, larger, squarer. He was cleanshaven too. Evan’s brother hated shaving.

 “This is a stupid joke,” Evan muttered. “I’m leaving.”

“Yes, you are.” the stranger said. He pointed towards the door. Evan looked. He glimpsed a brunet man with gray hairs sticking out, brown eyes, slightly crooked teeth, nearly identical to Evan but taller and slightly older.

“That’s not me,” Evan said. “That’s my brother. My brother’s here.” The other man slipped out of the door before Evan got a closer look. Evan crossed the bar.

He followed this second stranger who thudded ahead, across a main street, down a side street, up an alley, and around a corner. It occurred to Evan that he was leading him back to his own apartment. Evan shouted, “Stop.” The second stranger did not respond. He turned the corner to Evan’s apartment building. When Evan rounded the corner, he did not see the stranger. He stopped, and peered into the dark.

Some rustling startled him. A fox dashed out of the bushes along the sidewalk. Evan jumped. The fox slowed to a stop with one paw in the air. Evan took a slow step forward. The fox’ ears turned. Evan covered his mouth and took another step. The fox spun in a circle. It laid down and licked its haunches.

Evan crept closer, close enough to touch. He squatted down and reached. The fox turned its head to look at him. Evan’s breath caught in his throat. The fox seemed to have a knowing look. “Who are you?” Evan whispered. It looked at him again. Evan recognized that look. He felt cold, then he felt hot. “Who are you?” Evan asked in a trembling voice. A wind blew. “Who are you?” Evan asked again. The branches in the tree cracked overhead. The fox dashed away. A bough plummeted down and cut Evan across the cheek. “Ah,” he hissed. His body recoiled, and he fell. Evan looked around for the fox. It disappeared.

Evan sat there for a moment. Looking. More moments passed. When the wind died, he heard something rising in the air. It sounded like a low moan. Then he heard rattling. Then he heard a roar. A light shone from over the hill – headlights. The garbage truck from that morning crawled slowly up the road. The garbage man hanging on the back was singing. The garbage truck rolled to a stop. Evan and the garbage man looked at each other.

“Can I help you, sir?” the garbage man asked. Brown and gray hairs poked out from under a ballcap. Streetlamps made his brown eyes glow.

“You look familiar,” Evan said.

“I don’t know you,” the garbage man replied. Evan sat for a moment.

“You remind me of someone who does,” he said.

“What’s it to you?” the garbage man asked.

Evan opened and closed his mouth. “He’s gone,” Evan said. “He’s been gone. I miss him.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” the garbage man said. “Piss or get off the pot, why don’t you?” He slapped the garbage truck. It rolled on.

Evan watched the taillights recede in the distance. He stayed sitting, staring, hardly breathing. His hands gripped the grass at his sides and pulled. Some dry blades gave. Suddenly and all at once, he sobbed. He sobbed for the first time since his brother died. It came like lightning, and it rose like steam from his body. He quieted just as suddenly. When he finished, Evan calmly pushed himself to his feet. He wiped his nose and went to bed.

The next morning, he made his coffee in the kitchen with the blinds pulled down. He did not look out the window at the trees or the houses or the garbage bins or the cars on their morning commutes. The fox from the night before may have been on the lawn across the street singing songs like the garbage man hanging on his truck. Evan did not care. He thought about his brother and other shapeshifters in between the radiating pain from the cut across his cheek.

Taylor Thornburg is an author and essayist based in Omaha, Nebraska. His fiction explores strange yet humane ways of being. This short story, "Evan Who Saw Shapeshifters" is a brief work of speculative fiction on grief. He has other fiction published in the Garfield Lake Review and Thirteenth Story Magazine. Fiction is forthcoming in L'Espirit Magazine and Valley Voices.