Bird Box

thirteen

Felix is taking the path toward the well. One of the housemates’ six buckets hangs from his right hand. It’s the wood one. The black iron handle makes it look old. It’s heavier than the others, but Felix doesn’t mind. Rather, he likes it. It keeps him grounded, he says.

The rope is tied around his waist. The other end of it is tied to a steel stake in the dirt, just outside the home’s back door. There is a lot of slack. Some of it rubs against his pant leg and his shoes. He worries about tripping over it, so, with his left hand, he lifts it and holds it away from his body. He is blindfolded. The pieces of old picture frames that outline the path let him know if he’s walking too far to one side or another.

“It’s like Operation!” he calls to Jules, who waits, blindfolded, by the stake. “Do you remember that game? Every time my toe touches the wood I hear a buzzer going off.”

Jules has been talking since Felix started walking toward the well. It’s the way the housemates do it. One fetches the water, the other lets him know how far he is from the house through his voice. Jules hasn’t been saying anything in particular. Reciting grades he got in college. Listing off his first three jobs after he graduated. Felix can hear some words but not others. It doesn’t matter. As long as Jules is talking, Felix feels a little less like he’s out to sea.

But not much less.

He bumps into the well when he reaches it. The cobblestone lip scratches his thigh. It amazes Felix to think how much it hurts, walking this slow, and how much it could hurt if he was running.

“I’m at the well, Jules! Securing the bucket now.”

Jules isn’t the only one waiting for Felix. Cheryl is behind the closed back door of the house. She is standing in the kitchen, listening through the door. The housemate who waits inside the kitchen is only there in case something goes wrong outside. She is hoping her role as a “safety net” won’t mean anything today.

Above the well’s open mouth is a wooden crossbar. At each end is an iron hook. This is why Felix likes bringing the wooden bucket when he goes. It’s the only one that fits perfectly on the hooks. He ties the well rope to the bucket. Once it’s secure, he rotates the crank, making the rope as taut as it can go. His hands free, he wipes them on his jeans.

Then he hears something move out here.

Turning his head quickly, Felix raises his hands in front of his face. But nothing happens. Nothing comes at him. He can hear Jules talking by the back door. Something about a job as a mechanic. Fixing things.

Felix listens.

Breathing hard, he gives the crank one turn in the opposite direction, his ear toward the rest of the yard. The rope is just slack enough now for him to remove the bucket from the hooks and let it hang, suspended, above the stone mouth of the well. He waits another minute. Jules calls to him.

“Everything okay, Felix?”

Felix listens a little longer before responding. As he answers, he feels as if his voice suddenly betrays his exact location.

“Yes. I thought I heard something.”

“What?”

“I thought I heard something! I’m getting the water now.”

Turning the crank, Felix lowers the bucket. He hears it strike the stone sides within. They are followed by hollow echoes. Felix knows that it takes about twenty revolutions of the crank for the bucket to reach the water. He is counting them now.

“That’s eleven, that’s twelve, that’s thirteen…”

At nineteen he hears a splash from the bottom of the well. When he thinks the bucket is full, he brings it back up. Securing it to the hooks, he unfastens the rope and begins walking toward Jules again.

He will do this three times.

“I’m bringing back the first one!” Felix calls.

Jules is still talking about fixing cars. When Felix gets to him, Jules touches his shoulder. Usually, here, the housemate who is standing by the stake knocks on the back door, alerting the person waiting inside that the first bucket has been retrieved. But Jules hesitates.

“What did you hear out there?” he asks.

Felix, carrying the heavy bucket, thinks.

“It was probably a deer. I’m not sure.”

“Did it come from the woods?”

“I don’t know where it came from.”

Jules is quiet. Then Felix can hear him moving.

“Are you searching to make sure we’re alone?”

“Yes.”

When he is satisfied, Jules knocks twice on the back door. He takes the bucket from Felix’s hands. Cheryl quickly opens the door and Jules hands it to her. The door closes.

“Here’s the second one,” Jules says, handing Felix another bucket.

Felix is walking toward the well. The bucket he carries now is made of sheet metal. There are three like this in the house. At the bottom of it are two heavy rocks. Tom placed them there after determining the bucket wasn’t quite heavy enough to submerge. It’s heavy, but not as heavy as the wooden one. Jules is talking again. Now he brings up breeds of dogs. Felix has heard this before. Jules once owned a white Lab, Cherry, who he says was the most skittish dog he’s ever known. When his shoe touches the wood in the dirt, Felix almost falls. He’s walking too fast. He knows this. He slows down. This time, at the well, he feels for it with an outstretched hand. He sets the bucket on the cobblestone lip and begins fastening the crossbar rope to the handle.

He hears something. Again. It sounds like wood popping in the distance.

When Felix turns he accidentally knocks the bucket off the well’s lip. It falls in; the crank turns without him. The bucket crashes to the bottom. The loud echoes of metal against stone. Jules calls to him. Felix, turning around, feels incredibly vulnerable. Again, he does not know where the sound has come from. He listens, breathing hard. Leaning against the cobblestones, he waits.

Wind rustles the leaves of the trees.

Nothing else.

“Felix?”

“I dropped the bucket into the well!”

“Was it tied?”

He pauses.

Felix nervously turns toward the well. He pulls on the crossbar’s rope and discovers that, yes, he tied it to the handle before knocking it in. He releases the rope. He turns toward the rest of the yard. He pauses. Then he begins bringing the second bucket back up.

On the walk back toward the house, Jules is asking him questions.

“Are you all right, Felix?”

“Yes.”

“You just dropped it in?”

“I knocked it in. Yes. I thought I heard something again.”

“What did it sound like? A stick breaking?”

“No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

When Felix reaches Jules, Jules takes the bucket.

“Are you sure you’re up for this today?”

“Yes. I’ve already gotten two buckets. It’s all right. I’m just fucking hearing things out there, Jules.”

“Want me to get the last one?”

“No. I can do it.”

Jules knocks on the back door. Cheryl opens it, receives the bucket, then hands Jules the third.

“Are you guys all right?” she asks.

“Yes,” Felix says. “We’re fine.”

Cheryl shuts the door.

“Here you are,” Jules says. “If you need me, tell me. Remember, you’re connected here.”

He tugs on the rope.

“All right.”

On the third trip to the well, Felix has to remind himself to slow down again. He understands why he is rushing. He wants to be back inside, where he can look Jules in the face, where the blankets over the windows make him feel safer. Still, he reaches the well sooner than he expects. Slowly, he ties the crossbar rope to the bucket’s handle. Then he pauses.

There are no sounds out here except the voice of Jules, coming from the other end of the rope.

The world, it seems, is unnaturally quiet.

Felix turns the crank.

“That’s one, that’s two…”

Jules is talking. His voice sounds far away. Too far.

“…that’s six, that’s seven…”

Jules sounds anxious. Why did he sound anxious? Should he?

“…that’s ten, that’s eleven…”

Sweat forms behind Felix’s blindfold. It slowly travels down the length of his nose.

We’ll be inside in no time, Felix thinks. Just fill the third bucket and get the fuck—

He hears the sound again. For the third time.

But now, he can tell where it is coming from.

It is coming from inside the well.

He releases the crank and steps back. The bucket falls, crashing against the stone, before splashing below.

Something moved. Something moved in the water.

Did something move in the water?

Suddenly he feels cold, too cold. He is shaking.

Jules calls to him but Felix doesn’t want to call back. He doesn’t want to make a sound.

He waits. And the longer he waits, the more scared he gets. Like the silence is getting louder. Like he’s about to hear something he doesn’t want to hear. But when no sound comes, he slowly begins to convince himself that he was wrong. Sure, it could have been something in the well but it could have been something in the river, too. Or the woods. Or the grass.

It could have come from anywhere out here.

He steps toward the well again. Before reaching for the rope, he touches the cobblestone lip. He runs his fingers across it. He is determining how wide it is.

Could you fit in there? Could someone fit in there?

He isn’t sure. He turns toward the house, ready to leave the bucket where it is. Then he turns back to the well and begins turning the crank, fast.

You’re hearing things. You’re losing your marbles, man. Get this thing up. Get back inside. Now.

But as he cranks, Felix feels the very beginning of a fear that could grow too big to handle. The bucket, he thinks, feels the littlest bit heavier than it normally does.

It’s NOT heavier! Get the bucket UP and get BACK inside NOW!!

When the bucket reaches the lip, Felix stops. Slowly, with one hand, he reaches toward it. His hand is shaking. When his fingers touch the wet, steel rim he swallows once, hard. He locks the crank. Then he sticks his hand into the bucket.

“Felix?”

Jules is calling.

Felix feels nothing but water in the bucket.

You see? You’re imagining—

Behind him, he hears wet feet on the grass.

Felix drops the bucket and runs.

He falls.

Get up.

He gets back up and runs.

Jules is calling to him. He is calling back.

He falls again.

Get up. Get up.

He gets up again. He runs.

Jules’s hands are upon him.

The back door is opening. Someone else’s hands are upon him. He is inside. Everyone is talking at once. Don is yelling. Cheryl is yelling. Tom is telling everyone to calm down. The back door is closed. Olympia is asking what is going on. Cheryl is asking what happened. Tom is telling everyone to close their eyes. Somebody is touching Felix. Jules yells at everyone to be quiet.

They are.

Then Tom is speaking, quietly.

“Don, did you search by the back door?”

“How the fuck should I know if I did it right, man?”

“I’m just asking if you searched.”

“I did. Yes. I did.”

Tom says, “Felix, what happened?”

Felix tells them. Every detail he remembers. Tom asks him to go over what happened at the end again. He wants to know more about what occurred at the back door. Before he was let in. As he was let in. Felix tells him again.

“All right,” Tom says again. “I’m opening my eyes.”

Malorie tenses.

“I’m fine,” Tom says. “It’s okay.”

Malorie opens her eyes. On the kitchen counter there are two buckets of well water. Felix is standing blindfolded by the back door. Jules is removing his blindfold.

“Lock that door,” Tom says.

“It is,” Cheryl says.

“Jules,” Tom says, “stack the chairs from the dining room in front of this door. Then block the window in the dining room with the table.”

“Tom,” Olympia says, “you’re scaring me.”

“Don, come with me. We’re going to block the front door with the credenza. Felix, Cheryl, turn the couch in the living room on its side. Block one of the windows. I’ll find something to block the other one with.”

The housemates are staring at Tom.

“Come on,” he says impatiently. “Let’s go!”

As they begin to scatter, Malorie touches Tom’s arm.

“What is it?”

“Olympia and I can help. We’re pregnant, not crippled. We’ll put the mattresses upstairs over the windows.”

“Okay. But do it blindfolded. And be as careful as you’ve ever been in your entire life.”

Then Tom leaves the kitchen. When Malorie and Olympia pass the living room, Don is already in there, moving the couch. Upstairs, the two women delicately place Malorie’s mattress on its side against the blanket covering the window. They do the same in Olympia and Cheryl’s rooms.

Downstairs again, the doors and windows are blockaded.

The housemates are in the living room. They are standing very close together.

“Tom,” Olympia says, “is something out there?”

Tom pauses before answering. Malorie sees something deeper than fear in Olympia’s eyes. She feels it herself, too.

“Maybe.”

Tom is staring at the windows.

“But it could have been… a deer, right? Couldn’t it have been a deer?”

“Maybe.”

One by one the housemates sit upon the living room’s carpeted floor. They are shoulder to shoulder, back to back. In the center of the room, the couch against one window, the kitchen chairs stacked against the other, they sit in silence.

They listen.