A Little Getaway
Written by Howard Simmons
Installation by Lisa Barcy
“This wallpaper is almost psychedelic,” Rian said, running his hand along the pattern. Up close, the image was beautiful, but uncanny. “It looks like eyes.”
“I kind of see a mouth,” Toby said, placing their weekend bag on the bed.
“Neither feel very romantic,” Rian said.
The bed and breakfast, the dying resort town, it was Toby’s idea. Rian had wanted to stay in Chicago, get a fancy hotel room, order room service, maybe go to the pool. But he loved Toby and if Toby wanted a romantic weekend in an old home that smelled of mothballs and squeaked with every step, then he was going to make the best of it.
When they arrived for the B&B’s wine tasting in the sunroom, everyone was already there, seated on white wicker furniture. A table was set to the side, with bottles of blackberry wine and a plate of cheese and mixed nuts, which no one but Rian touched.
A retired couple eyed them warily, but were pleasant to the newlyweds, who were in their early 20s and lived in a small town an hour away.
Rian and Toby watched the four trade pleasant inanities. They talked about the weather. About golf. Lawn care. The older couple asked the newlyweds what they did for a living. The newlyweds asked how the older couple liked retirement. None of the inquiries were directed to Toby and Rian.
Yet they weren’t ignored, exactly. Rian had the distinct feeling the couples were watching from the corners of their eyes. When Toby crossed his legs at the knee, the older man raised an eyebrow at his wife.
“Who cares?” Toby said when Rian pointed out no one bothered to talk to them. “Wasn’t that wine awful? We should buy a bottle.”
They had dinner at the Italian restaurant. When they were seated, conversations at the surrounding tables halted. No one was looking at them, no one acknowledged them. There was no outright hostility, but Rian felt unwelcome.
He knew queer people who lived in rural areas who loved their lives, were a part of the community. Maybe folks here weren’t used to seeing gay couples. Maybe they didn’t want to seem nosy.
“They’re watching us,” Rian said as they made their way back to the B&B.
“Who?”
“Everyone.”
He tried to see what Toby saw – people on the sidewalk window shopping, walking dogs, eating fresh fudge from the candy store.
He woke to a sound of skittering, like many-legged things tapping to get his attention. The wallpaper’s sea of eyes rolled in waves across the room. He blinked. The eyes blinked back. He sat up, but the change in position changed the pattern and the eyes were gone.
The noise started up again behind the wall. This time, there was something smoother about it, like a hum. Or a breath. Like whispering.
He thought of Uncle Jim, whose breathing had scared him as a child. A heavy smoker, his uncle struggled to breathe, each exhalation of air like something crawling desperately up his throat. Rian wondered if he and Toby were to get married, would they invite Uncle Jim? He had a Don’t Tread on Me bumper sticker, but Rian couldn’t remember if that was good or bad.
He must have drifted off again because when he opened his eyes, the digital clock’s face was blank. Outside, the wind howled. Even the light from the street lamp was out.
This time, it was as if the sounds were in their room. He found his phone on the night stand and clicked the flashlight icon. The sound stopped.
He got out of bed, toes curling on the cold, hardwood floor. The light swept the room’s corners. Empty. He made sure the room’s door was locked. He went to the bathroom and tried the light switch. Nothing. The bathroom’s shower curtain had been closed. Had Toby done that?
The curtain quivered. From air or a body’s movement, Rian was unsure. “It’s just your imagination,” he whispered to himself. But he couldn’t bring himself to check.
The wind’s lowing was punctuated by what he assumed to be hail. He brought his phone to the window, pressed the light against the glass.
There was a face in the tree, watching him. Rian yelped and stepped back. Then, even though everything within him told him not to, he pressed the phone back to the window.
There was no one there.
He should have felt calm then, safer. So he pretended he did. He got back into bed, nuzzling into Toby, who was warm and solid and sleeping peacefully.
He should have closed his eyes, mirrored his boyfriend’s slow breathing. But instead he looked over Toby’s shoulder. The wallpaper was too dark to see, really. Still, he thought he knew what the shapes were. Eyes, yes. But also mouths. With sharp teeth. He could hear the whispers again. They were telling him all the things being said about him and Toby behind their backs. By the newlyweds, who asked to move rooms, by the owners who’d thought Rian was a girl’s name. By the waiter, by the people who pretended to cross the street for a window display when Rian and Toby approached.
The mouths stretched and whispered and watched. Rian shut his eyes and clung to Toby. He pressed his head into his pillow and covered his other ear with his hand. It would be morning soon. He and Toby would be safe and they could leave. So long as he didn’t look, so long as he didn’t listen, it would be okay.