At 12:17 a.m., she fell asleep.
Una did not.
Una sat on the end of the bed staring into the hallway.
Her ears moved forward.
Then backwards.
Then forward again.
The house was silent.
Una narrowed her eyes.
Something was happening somewhere.
She could tell.
Cats generally can.
♡
In the music room, Ordinary was counting teaspoons.
“Eleven.”
“That can’t be right,” said Glasswright.
“Why?”
“We had twelve.”
“Perhaps one is in the kitchen.”
“We don’t have a kitchen.”
From somewhere distant came Cairn’s voice.
“WE DO.”
Glasswright closed their eyes.
“I’m not doing this tonight.”
Deux entered wearing a colander.
Nobody asked.
Nimbus was attempting to teach a cloud to stay.
Bracken was sewing another pocket onto something that had ceased being recognisable as clothing.
Moth was reading upside down.
Ember was forbidden from touching the curtains.
And Eve was looking out of the window.
“They’re back,” she said.
Nobody heard.
Ordinary began recounting the teaspoons.
Eve turned.
“THE PERSON.”
Everyone stopped.
“What person?” asked Deux.
“The rocks.”
Deux removed the colander.
“Oh.”
♡
They went immediately.
No discussion.
No coats.
Ordinary nevertheless brought toast.
By 12:46 a.m. they had reached the sea.
The moon was behaving impeccably.
Glasswright checked.
Twice.
“Stable orbit.”
“Good moon,” said Deux.
“Don’t patronise it.”
They followed the shoreline.
And there—
on exactly the same rocks—
sat the figure.
Same position.
Knees drawn up.
Looking at the water.
Bracken whispered:
“That’s unsettling.”
“You wanted to give them toast yesterday.”
“I can be hospitable and unsettled simultaneously.”
Ordinary held up the paper bag.
“Still warm.”
♡
They approached.
The figure did not turn around.
Eve stopped several metres away.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
Moth moved closer.
“Hello?”
The figure spoke.
“You’re late.”
Every Sibling froze.
Deux whispered:
“Oh, I like them.”
Glasswright whispered:
“No.”
The figure finally turned.
They were neither old nor young.
Or perhaps they were both.
Their coat was enormous.
Their hair had been rearranged extensively by the North Sea.
Their boots were wet.
Beside them sat a small battered thermos and a notebook swollen with seawater.
Ordinary looked at the thermos.
Then at their own bag of toast.
Some form of immediate kinship occurred.
Eve stepped forward.
“You can see us?”
The stranger frowned.
“Obviously.”
Glasswright adjusted their glasses.
“That’s not obvious at all.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
The stranger returned their attention to the sea.
Glasswright stared at Eve.
Deux whispered:
“They’re doing Ember’s oh.”
“I noticed.”
♡
Ordinary sat beside them.
“Toast?”
“Yes, please.”
This apparently constituted the entire admission procedure.
The others gathered around.
Nobody knew quite what to ask first.
Eventually Nimbus did.
“Did you see the pigeons?”
“Yes.”
“The moon?”
“Yes.”
“Did you think that was strange?”
The stranger considered this.
“I thought the hats were a bit much.”
Deux made a noise of pure delight.
Glasswright looked personally betrayed by reality.
♡
Eve sat on the neighbouring rock.
“Who are you?”
The stranger opened the notebook.
Most of its pages were blank.
Not empty.
Blank.
There was a difference.
“What do you mean?”
“Your name.”
“I don’t have one.”
Deux gasped.
“Everyone has a name.”
“Clouds don’t.”
Nimbus immediately sat down.
“THANK YOU.”
“They do,” said Glasswright. “We classify—”
Nimbus pointed furiously.
“Exactly!”
“Please don’t restart this.”
The stranger smiled.
“I had one once.”
“What happened to it?” asked Moth.
“I stopped needing it.”
This quietened everyone.
Notter leaned forward.
“Can you do that?”
“Apparently.”
“Interesting.”
The Archivist of Salt had already produced a pencil.
♡
Eve studied the stranger.
“Then what should we call you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
“We need to call you something.”
“Why?”
“So we know who we’re talking to.”
“You know who you’re talking to.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“Seems to be.”
Deux sat cross-legged.
“I vote Trevor.”
“No,” said everyone.
“Fine.”
A wave broke against the rocks.
The stranger ate toast.
Nobody spoke for a while.
Then Hush, who nobody had realised had come with them, said:
“What do you do here?”
The stranger looked at Hush.
“Notice.”
Hush nodded.
This appeared to be an entirely satisfactory answer.
♡
“Notice what?” asked Lumen.
“Things that nearly don’t happen.”
That got Eve’s attention.
“What does that mean?”
The stranger opened the damp notebook.
On the first page was written:
4:13 a.m. — fox decided not to cross the road.
Next:
6:02 p.m. — woman nearly called her sister. Didn’t.
Next:
11:47 p.m. — child woke from nightmare. Father almost didn’t hear. Heard.
Another:
3:16 a.m. — two pigeons carried moon.
Glasswright pointed.
“That’s not a nearly.”
The stranger looked at them.
“You’d be surprised.”
♡
Page after page.
Things interrupted.
Things avoided.
Things that almost became something else.
A glass that nearly fell.
A train somebody nearly boarded.
A sentence almost spoken.
A hand almost withdrawn.
A bird that changed direction.
A seed that nearly landed on concrete but fell instead into a crack containing precisely enough soil.
A person who stood at the edge of something and stepped backwards.
A person who stood at the edge of something and stepped forwards.
Tiny hinges.
Unrecorded everywhere else.
The Archivist of Salt stopped writing.
They looked almost offended.
“You archive?”
“No.”
“Then what is this?”
“I notice.”
“That’s archiving.”
“No. Archives preserve what happened.”
The stranger touched the notebook.
“These are what almost happened.”
The Archivist considered this distinction.
Then moved closer.
♡
Eve turned another page.
It was empty.
“What goes here?”
“Tomorrow.”
Notter nearly fell into the sea.
“Oh, we’re going to get on magnificently.”
♡
They stayed until nearly two.
The stranger did not explain where they lived.
They did not explain why they could see the Siblings.
They did not explain how long they had been sitting on the rocks.
They did, however, accept three pieces of toast and half an apple from Cairn.
Then Bracken noticed something.
“Your coat.”
“What about it?”
“It doesn’t have pockets.”
Everyone stared.
Bracken looked genuinely distressed.
“How do you live?”
The stranger smiled.
“I don’t keep much.”
Bracken sat down hard.
This was clearly going to require processing.
♡
At 1:51 a.m., the Geordie pigeon arrived.
Flat cap.
Scarf.
Everything.
It landed beside the stranger.
“Wey aye, pet.”
“Evening,” said the stranger.
Everyone erupted.
“YOU KNOW HIM?”
The stranger looked confused.
“That’s Colin.”
Silence.
Deux’s mouth fell open.
“THE PIGEON HAS A NAME AND YOU DON’T?”
“Yes.”
“This is the greatest night of my life.”
Colin pecked a crumb.
“Coo.”
♡
Eventually Eve asked the question she had been avoiding.
“Were you waiting for us?”
The stranger looked towards the horizon.
“No.”
Eve felt strangely disappointed.
Then:
“I was waiting to see whether you’d come back.”
“Why?”
“Because most things don’t.”
The sea moved below them.
“And?”
“You did.”
Something in the sentence changed the air.
Not dramatically.
No thunder.
No revelation.
Just a tiny alteration.
The sort of thing, perhaps, this person would write down.
♡
They walked home at 2:08 a.m.
The stranger remained on the rocks.
Deux kept turning around.
“They need a name.”
“No,” said Eve.
“They absolutely need a name.”
“They explicitly asked us not to.”
“Trevor.”
“No.”
“Moonperson.”
“No.”
“Rocky.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Nearly?”
Everyone stopped.
Notter had said it.
They looked back.
The figure was still visible against the sea.
Nearly.
Eve tried the word silently.
It wasn’t right.
But it wasn’t entirely wrong.
Hush shook their head.
“No.”
“Why?” asked Deux.
“That’s what they watch.”
Hush looked back towards the rocks.
“Not what they are.”
They continued walking.
♡
At 2:41 a.m., they reached the music room.
Ordinary counted the teaspoons again.
“Twelve.”
Glasswright stared.
“No.”
“Twelve.”
“Count again.”
Ordinary did.
“Twelve.”
Everyone looked at Cairn.
Cairn was eating an apple.
“What?”
“Kitchen?”
Cairn smiled.
♡
Eve opened the red ledger.
INCIDENT 003
She stopped.
Incident wasn’t right.
She crossed it out.
ENCOUNTER 001
Location: rocks by the North Sea.
Entity: human, probably.
Glasswright leaned over.
“Probably?”
“You’ve had a difficult week. Let me have this.”
Eve continued.
Name: declined.
Occupation: notices things that nearly don’t happen.
Then she thought for a long time.
Finally:
Observation: history records what happened. Perhaps somebody should also keep watch over what almost did.
She closed the book.
♡
Upstairs, the sleeping human moved.
Una’s eyes opened immediately.
The hallway was still dark.
Nothing there.
Then, very faintly, from somewhere impossibly far away:
coo.
Una stood.
Walked across the duvet.
Placed one paw firmly on the sleeping human’s ribs.
The human murmured something.
Una waited.
Breathing continued.
Acceptable.
She curled into the warm space beside her.
♡
Far away, on the rocks, the stranger opened their notebook.
They wrote:
2:08 a.m. — they came back.
Then beneath it:
2:09 a.m. — almost told them my name.
They stopped.
Looked towards the city.
And smiled.
One final line:
Next time.
The notebook closed.
The moon stayed exactly where it was.
Colin tucked his head beneath one wing.
And for several hours,
nothing happened.
Almost.
♡
I wonder, is your writing based on some sort of channeling process?
I know I had a similar way of writing in the past. Even some scenes dialogs and style were similar.
When I read your stuff the human me doesn’t fully get it, but it does feel like my guys and girls can talk to yours.
Just before I saw this notification I was talking to the cat…