Josh Malerman - Bird Box

Malorie shakes her head vehemently.

“You told us Frank took the notebook with him,” she says.

Gary starts to respond. Then he stops.

“I don’t have a satisfactory response for that,” Gary says. “Possibly I thought you would be frightened if you knew I had it on me. You can think what you will, but I’d rather you trusted me. I don’t fault you for looking through a stranger’s luggage, given the circumstances under which we’re all living. But at least allow me to defend myself.”

Tom is looking at the notebook now. The words crawl beneath his eyes.

Don takes it next. His angry expression slowly turns to confusion.

Then, as if Malorie’s aware of something greater than what any vote might solve, she points a finger at Gary and says, “You can’t stay here anymore. You have to leave .”

“Malorie,” Don says with little conviction, “come on. The man is explaining himself.”

“Don,” Felix says, “are you fucking nuts?”

The notebook still in his hands, Don turns to Gary.

“Gary,” he says, “you must realize how bad this looks.”

“I do. Of course I do.”

“This isn’t your writing? Can you prove that?”

Gary removes a pen from the briefcase and writes his name on a page in the notebook.

Tom looks at it for a second.

“Gary,” Tom says, “the rest of us need to talk. Sit here if you want to. You’d hear us in the other room anyway.”

“I understand,” Gary says. “You’re the captain of this ship. Whatever you say.”

Malorie wants to hit him.

“All right,” Tom says calmly to the others, “what do we do?”

“He has to go,” Cheryl says without hesitation.

Then Tom begins the vote.

“Jules?”

“He can’t stay here, Tom.”

“Felix?”

“I want to say no. I want to say we can’t vote to send someone outside. But there’s just no reason to have that book.”

“Tom,” Don says, “we’re not voting to send someone out who wants to go this time. We’re voting on forcing someone to do it. Do you want that on your conscience?”

Tom turns to Olympia.

“Olympia?”

“Tom,” Don says.

“You voted, Don.”

“We can’t force someone outside, Tom.”

The notebook is resting on the table. It’s open. The words are immaculately presented.

“I’m sorry, Don,” Tom says.

Don turns to Olympia, hoping.

But she does not answer. And it doesn’t matter. The house has spoken.

Gary rises. He picks up the notebook and places it back in the case. He stands behind his chair and raises his chin. He breathes deeply. He nods.

“Tom,” Gary says, “do you think I might have one of your helmets? One neighbor to another.”

“Of course,” Tom says quietly.

Then Tom leaves the room. He returns with a helmet and some food. He hands it all to Gary.

“It just works like this then?” Gary says, adjusting the strap on the helmet.

“This is terrible ,” Olympia laments.

Tom helps Gary put the helmet on. Then he walks him to the front door. The housemates follow in a group.

“I think every house on this block is empty,” Tom says. “From what Jules and I discovered. You have your pick of them.”

“Yes,” Gary says, nervously smiling beneath the blindfold. “That’s encouraging I suppose.”

Malorie, burning inside, watches Gary carefully.

When she closes her eyes, when they all do, she hears the front door open and close. And in between she thinks she hears his feet upon the lawn. When she opens them, Don is no longer standing in the foyer with the others. She thinks he has left with Gary. Then she hears something move in the kitchen.

“Don?”

He grunts. She knows it is him.

He mutters something before opening and slamming the cellar door.

Another profanity. Aimed at Malorie.

As the others silently scatter, she understands the severity of what they’ve done.

It feels like Gary is everywhere outside.

He’s been banished. Ostracized.

Cast out.

Which is worse? she asks herself. Having him here, where we could keep an eye on him, or having him out there, where we can’t?

Does Gary follow you?

The sounds of someone behind them, distant yet in earshot, continues.

He’s trying to scare you. He could overtake you at any time .

Gary.

That was four years ago!

Could he have been waiting four years for revenge?

“Mommy,” the Boy whispers.

“What is it?”

She fears what he is about to say.

“The sound, it’s getting closer.”

Where has Gary been for four years? He’s been watching you. Waiting outside the house. He watched the kids grow. Watched the world grow colder, darker, until a fog came, one you foolishly thought would mask you. He saw through it. Through the fog. He’s seen everything you’ve done. He’s SEEN you, Malorie. Everything you’ve done .

“ Damn it! ” she yells. “ It’s impossible! ” Then, turning her neck, the muscles resisting, she yells, “ Leave us alone! ”

A row isn’t what it used to be. Not like it was when they started today. Then, she had two strong shoulders. A full heart of energy. Four years to propel her.

For all she’s endured, she refuses to believe it’s possible that Gary is behind her. It’d be such a cruel twist. A man out there all these years. Not a creature, but a man .

MAN IS THE CREATURE HE FEARS

The sentence, Gary’s sentence, only six words, has been with her since the night she read it in the cellar. And isn’t it true? When she heard a stick break through the amplifiers she retrieved with Victor, when she heard footsteps on the lawn outside, what did she fear most? An animal? A creature?

Or man?

Gary. Always Gary .

He could’ve gotten in at any time. Could’ve broken a window. Could’ve attacked her when she got water from the well. Why would he wait? Always following, always lurking, not quite ready to pounce.

He’s mad. The old way .

MAN IS THE CREATURE HE FEARS

“Is it a man, Boy?”

“I can’t tell, Mommy.”

“Is it someone rowing?”

“Yes. But with hands instead of paddles.”

“Are they rushing? Are they waiting? Tell me more. Tell me everything you hear.”

Who follows you?

Gary .

Who follows you?

Gary .

Who follows you?

Gary Gary Gary Gary

“I don’t think they’re in a boat,” the Boy suddenly says. He sounds proud for having finally been able to make a distinction.

“What do you mean? Are they swimming ?”

“No, Mommy. They’re not swimming. They’re walking.”

Far behind, she hears something she’s never heard. It’s like lightning. A new kind. Or like birds, all of them, in every tree, no longer singing, no longer cooing, but screaming.

It echoes, once, harsh, across the river, and Malorie feels a chill colder than any October air could deliver.

She rows.

Don is in the cellar. Don is always in the cellar. He sleeps down there now. Does he dig a tunnel where the dirt shows? Does he dig a tunnel deeper, lower, farther into the earth? Farther away from the others? Does he write? Does he write in a notebook like the one Malorie found in Gary’s briefcase?

Gary .

He’s been gone five weeks. What has it done to Don?

Did he need someone like Gary? Did he need another ear?

Don sinks farther into himself like he sinks farther into the house, and now he is in the cellar.