1: Revenge on a Red Pen

Last night I dreamt I was at my funeral again. The dream’s a little different every
time I have it. Sometimes I’m lying in my coffin, watching it all unfold.
Sometimes I’m watching from afar, knowing I’m still alive and it’s all a lie.
Sometimes I’m a guest there, milling around with everybody else. Today I was
invited to do a eulogy. I had to read out my own cause of death. “He disappeared,”
I had to say, “just vanishing mysteriously one day and now he is tragically
presumed dead.”
Only I knew I hadn’t “just vanished,” something much worse had happened
to me. But I didn’t know what, and I couldn’t say anything.
Maybe there was a reason I have this dream all the time. No, that’s silly. It’s just a
dream. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it, somehow.
I was on the bus, heading to the dreaded hellhole that is school. It was a
Monday, too, and everyone knows Mondays are the worst days of the week. I was
surrounded by the chatter of other kids and adults, jabbering about whatever dumb
stuff popped into their heads. I didn't have any friends to talk to, at least not on the
bus. I liked to tell myself I did have friends and I was not a total social outcast, but
honestly, my only real friend was my cat, Tao. At least he couldn’t judge me.
Unlike some people.
An automated voice declared, cutting through the music blaring into my ears
from my EarPods, “Next stop, South Boulevard.” That’s my stop. I grabbed my
backpack and stood up shakily, heading towards the bus door. A kid in a fancy
private school uniform headed toward the door too. I knew that kid. His name was
Nathaniel Torrington, and he was a hoity-toity snob who thought he was better
than everyone else because he got to wear a stupid uniform.
“Out of my way!” he growled, shouldering past me. I scowled at him.
“Connard,” I muttered under my breath. It’s a French word that means
something I’m not really supposed to say in school. Lucky for me, Nathaniel did
not speak French well enough to know slang terms.
“Weirdo,” Nathaniel said, giving me a look like I just grew an extra head.
“Is that some Chinese curse or something? This isn’t China, you know, it’s
Canada. We speak ENGLISH. Go back to China if you want to speak Chinese.”
I rolled my eyes and didn’t reply. Nathaniel was an idiot. It wasn't even
Chinese, and we live in Vancouver, the most Asian city outside of Asia. He needed
to get over it, and I promised myself that eventually I would make sure that he did.
 The bus screeched to a halt, and the doors opened. Nathaniel got off first,
and turned left, heading to his fancy private school, St. Christopher’s. I turned
right, towards my public school, Churchill. I thought naming an entire school after
a racist merde was kind of an idiotic idea, but it was not up to me.
I reached the school in a matter of minutes, walking as quickly as I did. I
walked faster than most people my age. I started the habit so I didn’t have to have
social interactions with other people.
It was 8:43 by the time I stepped onto the blacktop and into the lineup for
my class. It was a grade 6/7 mix, and I was one of the sevens. Next year I’d have to
face the horrifying abyss of high school, which I was not looking forward to. But
for now, I only had the equally horrifying and abyss-y elementary school.
I stood a little apart from the rest of my class, still listening to music on my
EarPods. I didn’t like talking to people when I didn’t have to. You can probably
guess how fun group projects were for me.
The day was only eight hours and forty-four minutes old, but I already
wanted it to be over.

It was 2:15 pm and we had just finished our mind-numbingly long math period.
Now we were moving on to English. Namely, vocabulary. We got our vocab tests
back that day. I was thrilled.
Ms. Gandhi—and no, not like the Mahatma Gandhi, just someone whose
surname was Gandhi—started calling out our names.
As usual, my name was called first. Figures nobody else in my entire class
of twenty-odd people could have a surname that began with a letter before D.
“Terry,” Ms. Gandhi said as she handed me my marked test, “please speak
with me after the bell.”
I just want to say—Ms. Gandhi wasn’t a bad teacher. She was nice and
understanding of everything, but the little, tiny thing called subtlety. So, when she
told me to see her after school ended, she declared it to anyone within earshot—
also known as the entire frigging class.
I could feel a hot red blush creep up my cheeks as everyone looked at me. A
few people snickered under their breath. Ms. Gandhi only asked you to stay after
school if you did really badly.
“W-well,” I managed to stutter quietly, “I mean, I have to catch my bus. I
might not have time.”
 “I’m sure you can get another bus,” Ms. Gandhi said, far, far too loudly.
Was it just my imagination, or was everyone staring at me, boring holes into my
body with their laser-beam eyes? “This is very important, Theriault.”
I swore her voice echoed off the walls so strongly you could probably hear it
in space.
“Okay,” I muttered and slunk back to my seat. I didn’t bother to look at my
sheet. I already knew what was written on it. A big fat red zero inked with Ms.
Gandhi’s favorite pen.
Maybe I should take that red pen of hers, I thought, because of all the pain it
has caused me in my life. I can give it the same fate that it doles out on others.
That’s the kind of thoughts I had that made me not-so-popular. Revenge on
inanimate objects wasn't exactly considered normal.
One day, though, that pen was going to pay.
After the bell rang, everyone but me rushed outside. I stayed, trudging
reluctantly to Ms. Gandhi’s desk.
“You wanted to speak with me?” I asked, dreading the next five minutes
with all my heart. Sometimes I wished the entire world would just... disappear.
“Yes, Terry, I do,” said Ms. Gandhi, smiling her fake, fixed smile. She
always smiled like that when she was about to deliver bad news. “It’s about your
recent vocabulary test.”
Oh, great. This was going to be fun.
“Okay,” I said, not sure what else to say. Ms. Gandhi had a nice desk. It was
made of wood, and it had pretty engravings on it. It stood out from the boring,
basic tables that we students got.
Her pen was so close to my hand. I could grab it now and rip it apart. I could
imagine its red ink staining my hands like blood, its plastic body torn in two by my
rightful, delicious vengeance. But I held myself in check. One day, it was going to
happen. But not today.
“You’re a very bright boy with lots of potential, Terry,” Ms. Gandhi said. I
knew where this was going. I’ve had the same talk with what seems like a million
teachers. “But you need to focus.”
I mouthed her last words along with her. She was going to eat her words one
day, and I’d be sure of it. Ms. Gandhi pretended not to notice my mimicry.
“May I see your test?” she asked.
I didn’t move. “You already saw it.”
 “I’d like to see it again, please,” Ms. Gandhi replied. Another annoying
thing about my teacher was that she was so damn patient. I wished she’d just get
mad and shout or something, so it’d be easier to dislike her.
I shrugged, mock-nonchalantly, and gave her the test. I was planning to
throw it into the recycling bin as I left the classroom, but clearly Ms. Gandhi had
caught on.
“I emailed your father,” she continued. “He says you’ve never mentioned the
state of your grades.”
“Oh? That’s odd,” I said. Deny everything. “I told him several times. Maybe
he just wasn’t listening to me.” Ms. Gandhi wasn’t fooled, and she raised a
skeptical eyebrow.
“Well, I’m sending him a picture of your test just to be sure he gets it,” she
told me, and I felt a pit of dread open in my stomach.
“Okay,” I said again. “Maybe if he won’t listen to me, he’ll listen to you.”
“Look, Theriault, is something happening at home?” Ms. Gandhi asked, her
voice turning more serious.
“No,” I said. “Nothing happens at home.” Not after what happened to
Mama.
“Well, my door is always open if you need to talk,” said Ms. Gandhi, clearly
not believing me. She didn’t get it. Nothing was happening at home, because that
place was not my home anymore.
By the time I left the school, my bus had already left, and I had to wait
fifteen minutes in the rain for the next one. At least I didn’t have to deal with
Nathaniel on top of everything.

2: The House

I got off at my bus stop and noticed that the rain had let up. Good. That meant it’d
be easier to get to the House.
The House is what I called an old bunker I found buried in the woods. I
wasn’t entirely sure what it was for, but it had electricity and heating, and running
water, so I brought a TV, a gaming console, and a beanbag chair to it. After school,
I always make a beeline to that place. I told my dad I’m hanging out with friends.
He didn’t get to know about the House after everything he did.
I made sure I had all my snacks in my backpack and started off into the
forest. See, the House was off trail, so I had to make extra sure I didn’t get lost or
lose it.
Twenty paces up Selkirk Trail, then turn left and head off trail. Walk twelve
more places and voila, there you had it, the metal door that led into the House, my
House. I gently eased the door open and clambered onto the ladder. I shut the door
as quickly and quietly as I could and descended into the House in pitch-darkness.
Once my feet touched the ground, I felt around for a wall to my right.
My hands found the light switch and a bright light illuminated the House. It
was about ten feet in length and width. There was a tiny bathroom attached to the
kitchen, where there was a faucet with running water. No food, though. I had to
bring my own snacks. Not that I minded. I pulled a bag party mix chips and
pretzels out of my backpack and collapsed into my green beanbag chair. The TV
was an old one I found in the garage of my real house, but I managed to hook it up
to the power grid in there. The gaming console was super old too—like, from
2011? Its graphics were totally merde, but it was fun anyway.
The only other person who knew about the House was my little brother
Thibault. He came once, said it was creepy, and promptly left. I was surprised he
didn’t snitch on me to Dad, though. It would probably be more fun if Thibault
would come and play video games with me, but he thought video games are a
waste of time. He was a straight-A, goody-two-shoes tiger parent’s dream. I envied
him and I hated it.
After I played and won three games of Mario Kart with NPCs, I pulled out
my sketchbook and flipped it to a new page. Most of my recent sketches were of
the same thing; Mama. I wanted to remember her face, every tiny detail, even as it
faded from my memory. I started a new sketch; of what she looked like the last
time I ever saw her. We were in the car, driving past my school way too far over
the speed limit. I remember she picked me up in the middle of English class.
“We’re going to have a special day together, just you, Thibault and I,” she
told me in Mandarin Chinese. We were driving to Thibault’s gifted school. I
remember her gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles were white,
and her eyes had a strange look in them.
I saw suitcases in the back of our blue SUV, but I didn’t think it was
anything important. I remember begging her to slow down. Now I knew she was
trying to run away with us, to leave Dad before he could stop her.
 I was only ten, and Thibault was only eight. I didn’t know any better. It was
all Dad’s fault she died, that we never made it to Thibault’s school. He said it was
an accident, a tragic accident, but I knew better. It was all his fault.
And Thibault’s, too. Why couldn’t he have just been normal like everyone
else and gone to a normal school? Then we wouldn’t have had to drive so far to get
him, and Mama would still be alive!
I was so angry, and I pressed too hard with my pencil. The lines came out all
harsh and sharp and messed up the drawing. Just as I was trying to fix it my phone
started ringing. It was Mama’s old one and it had a flowery case. I didn’t like the
phone case, but I wouldn’t replace it because it was Mama’s.
I looked at the name on the screen. Dad. I groaned and clicked the green
pick-up button as well as the speaker.
“Qu’est-ce que c’est encore ?!” I snapped. That means, “what is it now?”
“Tu dois rentrer maintenant, Theriault,” Dad replied calmly. “On prend le
dîner.” He wanted me to come and eat dinner with him and Thibault, like a big
happy family when we were anything but.
“Okay, fine,” I growled, hanging up. I grabbed my snacks and climbed
quickly out of the House, shutting the door behind me. I tried to walk home so
slowly that what would normally be a five-minute journey took fifteen minutes.
When I reached our apartment building, I climbed up onto our patio and took out
my house key. But before I could unlock the door, Dad opened it, almost slamming
it in my face.
He said nothing, only nodded slightly in the tiniest acknowledgement of my
existence. I was used to that. As I stepped into the apartment, though, my cat Tao
was much more excited to see me. I guess you know your life’s messed up when
your cat loves you more than your own father. Tao was orange, stripy and
adorable, and when I scratched him behind the ears, he purred loudly. At least one
thing in the world cared about me. I headed to my room, down the hall from our
virtually empty living room. After dumping my backpack on the floor, I went to
the dining room where Thibault and Dad were already sitting, with a premade
microwaveable meal set up on the table. Back before the crash, Mama would make
us delicious Chinese food every day.
“Hey, Terry,” Thibault said to me as I sat down. Dad didn’t condescend to
speak to me at all.
“Hi, Ty,” I told him. I went by Terry most of the time because Theriault was
the last name of a murderous cult leader. Thanks a lot for that name, Dad.
 We ate in silence, relishing the taste of chemicals and preservatives in our
microwaveable macaroni and cheese. At least, Dad and Thibault did. I picked at
my food, not wanting to eat anything made by him.
I was about to ask to be excused when Dad finally verbally addressed me.
“So, Theriault,” he said. “I got an email from your teacher today.”
“Oh?” I said. This again.
“She says you’re failing your English, and she wants you to take remedial
studies,” Dad said, his French accent barely noticeable as he spoke.
“Ah,” I said, shooting a glance at Thibault, but I found no support in him.
Guess I was own for this, like most things.
“You lied to me,” Dad said, his voice full of barely controlled anger. “You
said school was going well.”
“Oui, Dad, but—” I began, but he cut me off.
“You are grounded,” he said firmly. “You must come home directly after
school. No more of this staying away from home all day. And you will go to these
remedial classes.”
“Dad—” I tried, but Dad wasn’t going to be swayed.
“No negotiation,” he snapped. “Go to your room.” I did as he said, storming
away from the dining room without even putting my plate in the dishwasher. How
come that cheating scumbag who called himself my father got to tell me what to
do?
Oh well. It didn’t matter. I never listened to him anyway. Why should this
time be any different?

3: Good Morning, No One

My alarm went off at 7:58 on the dot, jolting me out of yet another funeral dream.
This time, nobody showed up but me and I had to do the whole service all by
myself.
I lay groggily in bed for a minute longer, waiting for Dad to come and wake
me up. But by the time it was 8:03 am, there was nothing but silence. Weird.
Shouldn’t Thibault have been up by now, about to get on the bus for his thirty-
minute journey to his special school?
I got up and got dressed as fast as I could in my sleep-slowed state. Did
Thibault sleep late? Maybe he had already left, and Dad went with him. But by the
time I reached the living room, I saw Ty’s backpack lying on the floor, with his
lunchbox and books still in it.
“TY!” I hollered. “Thibault, you’re going to be late for school!” There was
no reply. Cautiously, I headed into my little brother’s room. Thibault was a neat
freak and a pack rat, so everything was meticulously sorted and put away. His bed
was empty and shockingly unmade. Thibault always made his bed once he got up.
He couldn’t stand wrinkled sheets or untidy blankets.
So where was he?
I ran into Dad’s room. He used to share it with Mama. The bed sheets were
orange and so were the pillows but there was still nobody there. What if Dad took
Thibault and abandoned me?
It wasn’t as awful a thought as it sounds, trust me. But it was impossible,
because they would have taken their stuff with them. I packed my backpack and
lunch faster than I ever had before. I grabbed an apple from the fridge for breakfast
and I ran outside, onto the patio and then the sidewalk.
Everything seemed normal for a Tuesday morning. I could hear birds
chirping in the weak autumn sun, and the red-brown leaves from the bare trees
crunched under my feet. On the street adjacent to my apartment, the cars—
The cars.
They weren’t moving.
They were all just sitting there, turned off in the middle of the road. I ran to
the closest one, a mustard yellow Mercedes with a custom license plate saying,
BOO BEE (ha, ha, ha). Peeking in the passenger window, I realized it was
completely empty.
What?
There was nobody around. There should have been a bunch of kids heading
to school! Where was everybody?
I started to panic. I had no idea what’s going on. This was the kind of stuff
that happened to people in movies or books, not real life! At this point, I’d have
been happy to see even Nathaniel of all people.
“HELLO?” I yelled as loud as my voice could go. “IS ANYBODY
THERE?”
I got no answer but the chirping of the sparrows.
I didn’t know what this was, I didn’t know what was happening, but it was
sure as hell not good.
 “Oh, mon Dieu,” I muttered, walking then running towards my bus stop.
There was nobody there either. I waited pointlessly for fifteen minutes. No bus
came.
What was I supposed to do?
I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything.
Well, I did know some things, even if said things are few and far between.
I ran back to my apartment, an idea blooming in my head. I couldn’t drive, I
couldn’t take the bus, but I could bike. My bike was on my patio, locked to the
railing. It was a pretty bike, all electric blue and orange with highlighter yellow
lightning bolts. Thibault’s bike was beside it, and I felt a sharp pang of worry for
my little brother.
Where is he? Where are they?
It was a long bike ride to school, but my panic and adrenaline fueled me all
the way there. Just as I suspected, the building was eerily empty and deserted.
I tried to open some of the doors of the building, but they were all locked. I
grabbed a heavy rock instead and threw it like a baseball at one of the windows,
shattering the glass. The little pieces of glass fell on the ground by my feet, and I
tried not to step on them as I crawled into the school from the window. I realized
suddenly I was in my classroom. The one that, less than twenty-four hours ago, was
bustling with human activity and people. Now it was silent. So silent I could have
choked on it.
I noticed I was standing next to Ms. Gandhi’s desk. The red pen lay on it,
exactly where it was yesterday. If I was the only person left in the world—and I
was beginning to suspect that I was—who would care if I destroyed one piddly
little pen?
I grabbed the pen for later. I had more important things to do.
Climbing out the window was harder than climbing in, and I cut myself on a
piece of jagged glass. The cut was long but shallow, and only bled for a few
seconds. I had to be careful. There was no healthcare, nobody to help me if I got
mortally injured.
Or was there?
With a flash of inspiration, I yanked my phone out of my pocket and dialed
911. The emergency responders should pick up immediately. But nothing
happened. My phone just rang and rang. Finally, I hung up and started to call every
number in my contacts, even the ones called Scam Likely. I just wanted someone
to pick up. Anyone. I just wanted proof I’m not completely alone in the world.
Nobody picked up.
 I didn’t think anybody ever would again.

Biking back home was hard. Harder than the way there. I think it was ’cause the
adrenaline wore off. Not to say I wasn’t terrified, but I was less so. My brain had
finally processed everything. Now I was running a checklist of what I needed to do
if everybody was still gone the next day. I needed to get food somehow, because
what I had in the fridge wouldn’t last long. I needed to make sure the faucets and
stuff still worked, or else I’d have to find a new source of water. Electricity, too. I
needed to survive.
By the time I was back home, it was 12:34 and I was starving. When I
opened the door, I heard several indignant meows coming from the kitchen.
Tao! I had forgotten about Tao! Animals were still here, then. I wondered
what would happen to all the pets whose owners disappeared.
Well, Tao was here. I’d do what I could for the other pets.
I refilled Tao’s food bowl. He rubbed his flank against my leg, purring.
“Hey, little guy,” I told him. “It’s just you and me against the world, as usual.”
Suddenly it hit me. The last four hours finally registered in my brain. I
plopped down on the floor next to Tao as reality flooded my mind. It really was
just me and my cat against the world now. Dad telling me to go to my room might
be the last human voice I ever heard that wasn't my own.
I always liked to think I liked to be alone. But I guess I never knew what it
felt like to be truly and wholly alone in the world.

I woke up at 9:21 am and I realized I forgot to set my alarm. It was a Wednesday,

so if Dad or Thibault were back, I’d have heard them and woke up. Guess I was
still alone.
Well, almost alone. Tao was sleeping curled up beside my legs, looking
more peaceful than any living being should in such a situation. I got up and went
through my regular morning routine. Today was going to be very busy for me. I
had to get food—canned food or food with a lot of preservatives I could store until
this was over or until I died, whichever came first. I was considering stocking up
the House as a bunker in case something happened. I also needed a lot of cat food.
The internet still worked, but nothing had been updated since midnight on
the day everyone vanished. I still had all pre-existing knowledge, so that should be
helpful.
I remembered a quote from a book that went something like, “If nobody is
listening to me, am I making any sound at all?”
 I didn’t understand at the time I read it, but now I did. There was only Tao
around to hear me talk.
I had other things on my mind, though. Such as how to break into grocery
stores to get the food.
I felt like ‘how to break into a grocery store’ wasn’t exactly a good thing to
google, but at that point I really didn’t care.
The results were all about shoplifting small things, so I guessed I was on my
own for this one, and for all the things afterward. I’d probably just use a rock like I
did for school. There was nobody to catch me, after all. Nobody to take me to jail
for my heinous crimes.
The thought made me laugh so hysterically that I thought I was losing my
mind. More like I was in shock. Anyway, social norms were of little importance
without a society, so I could literally do anything I wanted now.
The rock worked beautifully, smashing the store’s glass doors in one smooth
move. An alarm went off but there was nobody to stop me from stepping into the
store with my big, empty bags, ready to steal. Is it really stealing if nobody is
around to own all the stuff you’re taking?
Anyway, I filled one bag with enough canned food to last a lifetime and
grabbed more short-term stuff, like bread, fruit, ice cream and candy.
I was a twelve-year-old set loose in a grocery store. What did you really
expect?
Cat treats and food, too. It took three trips on my bike to get everything to
the apartment, which I’d decided was going to be my home base. The House was a
backup. I decided this mostly ’cause of Tao. I didn’t want to make him live in a
smelly hole in the ground, and I didn’t really want to live in a smelly hole in the
ground either. I hadn’t seen any animals besides the birds and Tao, though, so I
wondered if it was just Tao specifically who was still around.
I honestly hoped so. I didn’t want to have to deal with coyotes and raccoons
on top of everything else.
I was so tired at the end of my grocery raid that I just crashed onto the
couch, watching Tao play with one of his coil-spring toy thingies. He looked so
happy.
“All in a day’s work, eh, bud?” I said to him. He meowed in reply, then
chased his toy into another room. I might have sworn he was smiling, if I didn’t
know better.
It’d been a month since the Vanishing, as I’d decided to call it. It sounded like
something out of a sci-fi movie, but I supposed my life was now something out of
a sci-fi movie, so it fit. The days were long and boring without much to do. Mostly
I played video games, but stuff like Roblox or Minecraft isn’t fun with nobody else
at all. At least, if I kept at it, if everyone else reappeared, I’d be waaaaay ahead of
all of them.
I tried to find the silver lining in my days, but most of the time it wasn’t
even worth it. I just wanted to see someone, talk to someone. I wanted to hear a
voice that’s not my own.
I was so alone. I wished I could go back to Before. Knowing everything I
did now, I would appreciate it so much more. I would say hi to everyone and be so
outgoing and make so many friends because I would know what it feels like to
have nobody. You don’t know how good you’ve got it until you lose it all.
Some days I wondered what the point of going on was. It wasn’t like the
future I thought I’d have would apply to my current life. 
Nothing I learned Before applied to my current life. Thanks a lot, school.
Thanks to you, I knew that the nucleus was the powerhouse of the cell! Or was it?
Actually, I think it’s the meto—mitoch—whatever it’s called. But whatever,
you get the point.
I thought my brain was short-circuiting. The dream I had on the day of the
Vanishing—I kept having it again and again, on loop every night. It was not like
the other ones, because it was always exactly the same, and somehow, I always
made the same choices.
Oh well. Nothing in my life was normal anymore. Why should dreams be
any different?
I was lying on my bed, trying to find diamonds in Minecraft. It was not
going very well, and I was getting super bored. I just wished I could play with
somebody else, like maybe Thibault or even somebody from the other side of the
world. I didn't care—I just wanted human company.
I closed Minecraft and stared at the screen for a second before opening
Google Chrome. I searched for AI chatbots until I found a good one that worked
well.
I ended up having a stupidly long conversation with the chatbot about cheese
and why it’s a food, until the chatbot started repeating the same sentence on loop
so I closed that tab, too.
Tao strolled into the room; his orange tail stuck up into the air. He meowed
pitifully, an adorable mew-row noise. I shut my computer as he jumped onto my
bed with me, and I scratched him behind the ears. “Hi, Tao,” I told him. “You’ve
been very busy napping, haven’t you? But now you’re all done, and you want me
to pay attention to you. That sound about right?” The adorable cat only purred in
reply.
“You’re such a good cat,” I informed him, then got up to refill his food
bowl. Those days were long and dark, but Tao was like a ray of light. I know that
sounds stupid, but it’s true. The only thing that was really keeping me going was
Tao. I had to take care of the cat; I had to feed the cat and make sure he was all
safe. He distracted me from feeling sorry for myself.
“Cute boy,” I said as he munched happily on his food. “If only you knew
what a predicament we’re stuck in, or you wouldn’t be so cheerful.” Tao didn’t
even meow in reply, laser-focused on his food. “Or maybe you wouldn’t care. Cats
are supposed to be solitary, right? In the wild you’d be all alone by yourself,
wouldn’t you? Taking care of yourself, and only yourself.” The thought made me
sad. “I hate that this is your natural state,” I told him, “but it’s destroying me.”
“Meow,” is the only advice Tao shared with me.
“That’s great, Tao,” I said. “Good advice. Now I know exactly what to do.”
It was not a lie. I did know what to do. Just survive.

It’d been a month and a half since the Vanishing, and I didn’t think I was aging. I
mean, it’d not been very long, but I was in the middle of a growth spurt when the
Vanishing happened, and I hadn't grown so much as a millimeter since then.
I didn’t know what to say. I was so tired, but I hardly did anything all day. I
didn't think I could get through the rest of my life like that. What if nobody came
back? What if I was all alone forever?
Sometimes I got really mad at everybody, especially because I didn’t know
what happened. How could they just leave me here like that?
The Vanishing was destroying me, and I didn't even really understand it. I’d
been doing research, trying to guess what happened. I found nothing at all. I
guessed this just has never happened before—obviously.
It was Dad’s birthday that day. I think. It had been hard to keep track of
time. The calendar on my phone still said it was Monday, September 19 th, the day
of the Vanishing. It’d been forty-seven days since the nineteenth, though.
He would have been 44.
I never really cared about him as much as Mama. But I still wished he was
there with me.
 I needed to make another grocery store run. Tao had run out of treats, and
I’d run out of soda and energy drinks.
The grocery store, Save On Foods, stank to high heaven. It was all the fruit
slowly rotting. I was actually surprised it was rotting at all. If I was not aging, why
were the raspberries and oranges?
Eh, it didn’t matter. The only thing I needed to know was that cat treats
weren’t rotting, and neither were sodas.
I piled a shopping cart high with Coke and Gatorade and Feastable Cat
Treats and Nestea. “Priorities are very important,” I told the cartoon cat on the cat
treat box. “But you already know that don’t you? You’re made for marketing.” I
smiled to myself as I slowly pushed the cart back to the apartment.
Tao was asleep when I walked into the house. It was so eerily silent. You’d
think I'd get used to quiet after forty-seven days, but apparently not.
The white walls of the living room seemed to be closing in on me, crushing
everything inside them. I tried to ignore it, but I knew—I knew I was going to go
insane if I couldn’t find anyone to talk to. I didn't know how much longer I could
live like this.
“Tao, you need to start talking,” I said to my cat, almost deliriously. “Talk,
talk, talk like Puss in Boots. Who even named Puss in Boots? That’s an awful
name. If he was born today, Puss would be bullied into oblivion.” I didn't know
what I was saying.
Meow, said Tao.
“Excellent idea, monsieur,” I said. “I’m sure Puss would love to meet you.
You’d be friends right away.” Tao didn’t deign to reply, instead beginning to
groom his orange pelt. “Are you ignoring me, you little criminal? Hey, I’m talking
to you. That’s right, you, kitty.” Tao stretched his jaws into a ginormous yawn and
padded gently over to a spot on the rug where the sun streamed in from the
window. He curled up and promptly went to sleep.
“Lazy cat,” I yawned. “Though I wouldn’t mind a nap, Tao. I guess one
advantage of not having anybody else here is that I can sleep all day, every day if I
want to.”
Tao just purred. I wish I could be that happy. I was envious of my freaking
cat. I was definitely losing my mind now, wasn’t I?
Sleep tight, Tao,” I said as I headed into the kitchen to make myself lunch. I was
practically living off peanut butter and jelly sandwiches now. Those, and candy. I
couldn't cook. I was afraid to turn the stove on because I might burn the entire
neighborhood down and there wouldn’t be any firefighters to put out the flames.
Besides, I liked peanut butter and jelly. I could always grab some microwaveable
meals if I wanted to eat something hot.
“Hot and greasy and full of preservatives,” I said to myself. “My kind of
meal.” I talked to myself now. It was comforting to hear my own voice. It
reminded me that I’m real.
I’m probably real.
“Cogito, ergo sum,” I muttered to myself. I think, therefore, I am. I
skimmed the Wikipedia page once, and it was mostly words jumbled together into
sentences that probably should make sense but really didn't. But I think I got the
gist. “If I can doubt I’m real, that makes me real?” I murmured. I think that was
kind of it. But it was more complicated on the Wikipedia page.
After I devoured my sandwich, I headed to my room to play video games
and reread the same books again. What else did I have to do with those long,
empty days?
Slacking off is easy when you’re all alone.

3: Chickens Where They Shouldn’t Be

I was lying on my bed, reading a book when I heard it. A strange squawking noise
came from the living room, followed by several terrified clucks and the noise Tao
made when he saw birds flying around outside. Then I heard a loud crash that
sounded like cutlery hitting the floor.
“Tao, what the—” I hollered, sprinting into the living room. I skidded to a
stop, staring uncomprehendingly at the mess in front of me. Several large chickens
and a rooster were running from the kitchen to the living room to the hallway,
chased by my own cat.
“What the hell?” I said, dumbstruck. “How did chickens get in here? I
locked the door!”
The chickens clucked in reply, still being chased by Tao. “Tao!” I yelled.
“Quit it! Stop!” Tao ignored me. He seemed hell-bent on disobedience. As he
zoomed past me, a blur of orange fur, I reached out and snatched his scruff, jerking
him to an abrupt halt. I scooped him up into my arms and held him tightly. He
mewled pitifully as I surveyed the scene before me. Feathers and poop lay
everywhere, and the chickens were still running around in blind panic.
 “Well, damn, Tao,” I said, making my way over to the door. It was still
locked. None of the windows were open. “How’d you do it this time?” An abrupt
thump came from the closed bathroom door in the hallway by my bedroom.
“Oh, hell,” I said as soon as I saw what was inside. “How the heck did a cow
get into my bathroom?!” I stared uncomprehendingly at the sleek black-and-white
bovine before me, her jaws gnawing on a bathroom towel. There was a tag around
her neck. I was almost afraid to approach the creature, and Tao apparently shared
the sentiment. His tail was all puffed up and his ears were flattened. He wriggled
out of my arms and scurried off.
I stared into the cow’s watery brown eyes. I didn't know what to do.
“This can’t be happening,” I declared, like saying it will make it any truer. I
glanced over my shoulder and saw the chickens running into each other,
squawking like mad. I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Maybe I
was just crazy. Only one way to find out.
I sidled slowly towards the cow, until I was just close enough to touch her
neck. I reached out with a trembling hand and brushed her rough-haired flank, then
I read the tag around her neck.
It was a handwritten address from Abbotsford, a farm town outside of
Vancouver. Under the address, it read: Daisy.
“Well, Daisy, how did you get in here?” I asked the cow, who tipped her
head to the side. A bouncy ball fell out of her ear and bounced up and down on the
floor a few times. It was like the world was glitching, somehow. “And how am I
going to get you out?” Not to mention all the chickens. I had to clean up
everything, too. I already felt so tired.

Several hours and pecks later, the chickens were out of the house and running
loose in the streets. One of them ran into a house wall and the wall warped into this
weird twisty thingy that looked like a hollow croissant before returning to its
normal state. The chicken vanished. I also got Daisy the cow out of the bathroom
and cleaned up the house. Tao was hiding. I was afraid for him. What if a lion from
the zoo got in or something and ate him? I thought maybe we should move to the
House. But I guessed a lion might also spawn there?
This was all so... stupid. This couldn't be happening! It couldn’t! There was
a COW in my bathroom! My life wasn’t like some story or video game or
whatever! I was a real person! This kind of stuff didn’t happen to me. It couldn’t!
Or it shouldn’t happen to me, anyway. The world was seriously glitching!
Or maybe malfunctioning was a better word. I didn’t know what to do. I stood in
the center of the living room, turning in a slow circle to make sure all the chicken
poop was gone. Damn chickens. Always getting into places they’re not supposed
to be in.
It had been a day since the Chicken Incident, and it had been even weirder today
than yesterday. I saw a trampoline and tumbleweed rolling together down the
street. The trampoline was making a noise like Darth Vader singing Led Zeppelin’s
Immigrant Song, but weirdly distorted. The tumbleweed had pieces of apples
flying out of it. The second I touched the trampoline; I was thrown backwards into
a wall. My back had a bad bruise on it, but the bruise faded in half an hour.
I was seriously concerned. What ifs crowded through my mind, tumbling
about like leaves swirling through the rapids of the Fraser River.
What if I get teleported somewhere else? What if Tao does? What if I have
apple chunks flying out of me? What if, what if, what if.
“Can’t worry about that now,” I muttered, “can’t worry about that now.
What happens happens. Can’t worry about that now.” I kicked one of the couches,
an ugly red thing with a million scratches from Tao’s claws and Thibault and I’s
fingernails when we were small. I yelped as pain ricocheted through my toes.
“Ouch! Shi—” I cut myself off and took a deep breath.
“Can’t worry about that now,” I repeated, like it was a magic mantra. “Got
to keep going. Just keep going.”

Despite all the world’s supposed malfunctioning and my loneliness, I survived all
alone for 2 years. Two entire years of solitude. Exactly 730 days. I kept track in a
notebook I kept by my bedside. The notebook quickly filled up, and by the time
day 729 rolled around, I had given up all hope of ever seeing anybody else again.
“Can’t worry about that now,” I told myself every day. But I didn’t think I
was going to last much longer. I couldn’t last much longer. Even Tao couldn’t stop
me from staring down that beautifully awful dark abyss, and wondering if it was
better in there than it was out here.
Even Tao couldn’t stop me from wanting to find out.
Sometimes I heard voices. Mama’s, Dad’s, Thibault’s and Ms. Gandhi’s
swirling into a cacophony. Whenever I heard them, I would jump up and try to find
where it came from. I never found them, because I think they were never real. But
they were a second torture, like a starving person surrounded by food they can’t
eat.
 Do you know what it does to a person, being completely alone? To have the
knowledge that everybody is gone, and you somehow aren’t? The thoughts crept
in. What if it was my fault? What if I caused this and that’s why I was still alive?
I tried to fight back at first, block these taunting whispers from my
consciousness. But as time passed, I began to believe them. They certified
themselves as facts in my mind, solid blocks of truth that were unavoidable.
Unescapable.
My fault. My fault.
So, I told myself on the 729 th day of Nobody, I would do it tomorrow. I was
going to do it on the second anniversary of this death sentence disguised as an
adventure.
And then I would finally be free.

4: I Don’t Think I’m Crazy

My alarm went off at 7:58 on the dot. I was violently jerked out of my funeral
dream; the same one I’d had every night for 730 nights. I sat up instantly, and by
instinct, reached for my timekeeping notebook. I stared at the last number, penciled
in so carefully by Ms. Gandhi’s favorite red pen. A little 729. It was just a number
and yet it meant everything.
I picked up the pen that was also lying on my nightstand and carefully began
to write 730. The last day. My last day. “It’s gonna be today, Tao,” I told my cat,
who stretched and purred. He looked blurry somehow, and I realized it was just my
eyes tearing up.
“I love you, little buddy,” I told him. “I’ll let you out before I go. Catch your
birds and eat them and don’t die, okay?” Tao just sat up and began to groom
himself. Then I heard a noise. The clatter of bowls on a table. My breath hitched in
my chest. It had been 730 days since I had heard that sound, and yet it was as
familiar as the back of my hand. I leaped out of bed, getting dressed in record time
before I sprinted into the living room. Dad was there! He was pouring milk and
cereal into the bowls. He had hazel eyes and red hair, and he was there.
“Dad!” I said, the sound slipping from my lips without checking with my
brain first. I lunged forward and grabbed his torso, hugging him as hard as I could.
“You’re here! You’re back! You didn’t leave me after all.”
Dad stared at me, halfway through pouring Cheerios into Thibault’s cereal
bowl. “I was always here,” he said. He seemed more surprised I was hugging him
than my words. But his voice was the most beautiful sound in the world. Hearing
those four words was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to me, and
tears of joy sprang up into my eyes. That is, until I remembered it was Dad I was
hugging.
I awkwardly released him and began to bombard him with a barrage of
questions. Where had he been the last two years? Why was he back now? What
had happened?
“Woah, slow down. Nothing happened, Theriault,” said Dad. “What do you
mean, two years? What are you talking about?”
I was about to reply when Thibault came out of the bathroom, already fully
dressed and ready for his long bus trip to school. I almost squealed with delight at
seeing him. Thibault was alive. I ran over to hug him, too, but he squirmed out of
my grasp. “Terry, what are you doing?” he complained, swatting me away.
“You’re being weird! Stop that.” I stopped and stared at him for a second. He
seemed to not even notice that 730 days had passed since I had last seen him. I
mean, I hadn’t aged at all, and neither had he...
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and stared at the lock screen. The date
said September 20th, 2023.
September twentieth.
After two years, the nineteenth of September was over. Everybody was
home. Everyone was back, and they remembered nothing.
“Uh, hello, Terry?” Thibault said, and I realized I had totally zoned out.
“Sorry, Ty, never mind,” I said. “Anyway, can’t a guy just want to hug his
brother?” I grinned at him so widely I must have looked crazy, but I didn’t care. I
heard myself laughing loudly, but I wasn’t so sure if it was me.
I wanted to tell Thibault everything. I wanted him to understand. But I
couldn’t, not right that second, because I had to go to school. School! Once I had
called it a hellhole, but now my face was split by an idiotically large smile as I
prepared my backpack. Dad opened the fridge and wrinkled his nose in confusion.
“When did we get so much soda?” he asked.
I peeped into the fridge and saw all my sodas and junk food from my last
grocery store run. Save On had run out, so I had biked to Costco.
“I got them at Costco,” I told Dad.
“When did you go to Costco?” Dad asked.
Yesterday, I wanted to say, but it was 8:45 and I had to go catch my bus.
“Gotta go. Bye, Dad!” Thibault had already left.
 On the bus, I was surrounded by chatter, and I loved it. I saw Nathaniel
sitting grumpily by himself, and I felt a pang of pity for him. He was alone, like I
had been for the last two years. I plopped down next to him in a sudden, impulsive
decision.
“Hi, Nathaniel,” I said, beaming.
“Why are you sitting next to me?” Nathaniel snapped.
“You looked sad all alone,” I said, and instantly realized it was the wrong
thing to say. I guess 2 years of loneliness had rusted my social skills.
“Well, I don’t need your pity, Theriault,” Nathaniel huffed. He turned away
from me and stared out of the window. I wanted to talk more but didn’t know what
to say.
“It’s not pity,” I said pathetically. “More like... sympathy.”
“Since when are you a walking thesaurus?” Nathaniel growled. I ignored the
barb, too happy to care.
“How’s school?” I asked.
“Fine,” Nathaniel said, but he was still scowling. “Stop talking to me.”
“Why?” I said, genuinely curious.
“Just stop it, okay?” Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about
school.”
“Okay, then let’s talk about something else,” I said cheerfully. “Where were
you the last two years?” Nathaniel stared at me like I’d just grown an extra head.
“You saw me yesterday, stupid,” he said. He looked as confused as Thibault
and Dad were earlier.
“No, it’s been two years,” I insisted. “Everybody vanished for two years
except for me, but time didn’t pass! I was all alone with my cat and weird stuff
kept happening, like chickens appearing in my living room...”
“Do you need mental help? I know some good psychiatrists,” Nathaniel said.
“I don’t need any psychiatrists!” I said. “It happened. I swear. I biked all the
way to school on the first day you all were gone, and I broke the window and stole
Ms. Gandhi’s red pen.”
“Who’s Ms. Gandhi?” asked Nathaniel. “And you’ve definitely lost it. Are
you trolling?” A shroud of all too familiar hopelessness began to crowd the edges
of my euphoria.
“No, really, it happened,” I said, but the bus was stopping, and we got off.
“See you tomorrow, Nathaniel!” I called out to him, but he didn’t respond. Maybe
Ms. Gandhi and my classmates would understand. I walked slowly that day, trying
to talk to everybody, but they all looked at me like I was a total weirdo. The only
person who would talk to me was a guy named Jasper, and even he hurried away
when I tried to tell him about the Vanishing. Ms. Gandhi will understand, I told
myself, she’s a smart responsible adult.
Long story short, she didn’t.
“What are you talking about, Theriault?” Ms. Gandhi asked. We were
walking to class. She had beady black eyes that stared through me like I was a
swish kebab, and her eyes were the skewer. Her hawk nose looked like it wanted to
eat her mousy brown hair. “Of course, it hasn’t been two years. You haven’t aged
at all and neither have I!”
“Yeah, but then how do I have your pen?” I replied. The classroom had a
high ceiling painted white; I noticed it as we stepped into the classroom. Like
ivory. Pipes and lights of the same shade stretched across it. “On the day
everybody vanished, I broke that window, and I took your pen.” I pointed at the
broken window, which had jagged shards of glass still lying around it.
“Wait. You broke into the school?!” Ms. Gandhi cried.

Two exhausting hours later, I’m sitting in the main principal’s office, staring at my
father, Ms. Gandhi, the school counselor, and the principal, Ms. Sassel. Her name
is very fun to say.
I’ve never met the counselor before. I think her name is Grace. She’s one of
those teachers who make you call her by her first name.
I’ve just told them everything.
“So, let me get this straight,” says Grace. “You believe everyone
disappeared two years, and now everyone is back with no memory of those events,
and during this time period, you broke into the school.”
“Yes! Yes, that's exactly what happened!” I say. “Ordinarily, I... I mean, I’d
have never... but I had to see for myself.” I look at all their faces and realize what
they're thinking. “I’m not crazy, I promise! It happened, really it did!” They don't
believe me. I can see it on their faces.
“Theriault hasn't been in his right mind lately,” Dad says finally. “Very
isolated, not coming home until late.”
“Dad,” I say, trying to catch his eye. He won't look at me, only Ms. Sassel.
“I will be taking Theriault to see a therapist, and I ask for him to not be
blamed as he is clearly not thinking properly,” Dad says, continuing to ignore me.
“Dad!” I shout, jumping to my feet. “Would you just listen to me? For once?
It happened! Really! I'm not crazy! I don't need to see any dumb shrink!” Dad
looks at me silently. I can see what he's thinking on his face. He thinks I'm insane.
“Screw this, and screw you,” I snap. “I’m leaving.” I begin to stalk out of the
room, already making plans to get to the House. But before I can cross the
threshold of the door, a strong hand grips my arm.
“It's not negotiable,” Dad says.
“Nothing ever is with you,” I reply flatly, knowing there's no way out of
this. Maybe the shrink will get it. I don't think they will, whoever they may be. Dad
didn't. Ms. Sassel didn't. Ms. Gandhi didn't. Grace didn't. Nathaniel didn't. Jasper
didn't. A sinking feeling settles on my shoulders as Dad leads me to the car. He
says something about an appointment, but I hardly hear him.
He continues to talk as he drives, filling the silence with meaningless noise.
I'm not really paying attention until he says, “The appointment has been scheduled
for a while.”
“Wait,” I say, “you wanted me to see a shrink before all this?”
“A therapist, yes,” he replies. “You have not been acting... yourself lately.”
Like you would know, I want to say, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want
to talk to him. Ever. At all. But I have some questions I want to ask.
“So, that’s where we’re going now?” I ask begrudgingly.
“Yes, I was actually on my way to pick you up when I got the call,” Dad
says, keeping his eyes on the road. I’m sitting shotgun, but now I wish I had sat in
the back.
“You didn’t bother telling me you’d pick me up early?” I snap.
“Did you need to know?” he asks in response. I roll my eyes and don’t
bother to reply. “Honestly, Theriault, you might not believe me, but you do need
this. It’s expensive, too, so, try not to ruin your chance.”
I make a harrumph noise.
There’s silence in the car, but it’s supercharged like tension. I feel like a
ticking time bomb that’s about to blow. I came back to everyone, and they don’t
believe I ever left in the first place. I stare out the window, wishing I had just
disappeared with everyone else as the scenery rolls by. Clothing shops and cafés
and restaurants edge the streets. They’re bustling with people and ordinary life. We
pass the Costco I raided yesterday. The doors are still smashed, but none of the
food is rotten anymore.
“What happened here?” Dad says to himself.
“A robbery, probably,” I say aloud. In my head, I tell him, I smashed the
door in with a rock, like what I want to do to your face.
 “Hmm,” is all Dad says. I think he has his suspicions about the store, but he
won’t say anything. Good old Dad, never saying anything of importance to
anybody, even if they really really need to know.
We’ve arrived. The shrink’s waiting room is painted a pale peach-yellow,
and it has white patterns on the walls. There’s a diploma hanging opposite me. It’s
a bachelor's degree in psychology at the University of Toronto, for someone named
Gottfried Lee. It’s beside a closed yellow door and a fake ficus. My knee is
bouncing, restless. There are two other families in the waiting room, flicking
mindlessly through old sports magazines. There’s a small kid, no older than six or
seven, and who I assume is her grandma. She’s shifting restlessly and keeps
fidgeting. It bothers me and I don't know why.
The other family consists of two dads and a kid around my age. He is staring
blankly at the wall, not seeming to register anything. One dad is nervously
wringing his hands, and his other dad just looks annoyed.
We’re first in line. I think we’re too early, and I try to tell Dad that, but he
won’t listen. “We’re as punctual as we need to be,” he says, and I don't think he
totally understands what he's saying.
I try to focus on a dumb sports magazine from 2011, but I’ve never really
cared about sports, and I can't focus on anything. What if this Gottfried Lee doesn't
believe me either? Will he think I’m crazy and make me take some weird
medications? What if Gottfried is crazy? I mean, with a name like Gottfried, you
have to wonder what kind of psycho parents named him, and those are the same
people who raised him...
Will I be sent to a psych ward? Oh, gosh, I really don't want to go to a psych
ward.
Some kid and his mom suddenly walk out of the yellow door. The kid is
crying, and the mom is gripping his hand so tightly it must hurt. The mom says
something mean-sounding in German at the kid and a voice echoes from behind
the yellow door, “Theriault Desjardins?” He pronounces my name like, There-ee-
awlt. I don't really care. I'm used to it.
Dad and I get up and we walk—or, in my case, trudge reluctantly—into the
room. It’s painted the same color as the waiting room, but instead of a diamond
pattern on the walls, there's just plain stripes. I need to have a talk with whoever
chose the wallpaper.
In the center of the room, there’s a desk and chair with two other chairs
facing it. A balding European man resides behind the desk. He has Harry Potter
glasses and a three-piece suit and he’s holding a notebook. On the desk, I see a pen
and an inkpad and several stacks of paper on the desk. The man is totally
engrossed in flicking through his notebook. There’s a bookshelf behind him. I can't
see all the books from this angle, but they seem to be all about psychiatry or
psychology or (interestingly) rabbits.
The man looks up at us. “Why, hello!” he says. He’s too friendly. I don't
trust him. “Come, take a seat. You must be Theriault?” He pronounces my name
wrong again.
“Theriault,” corrects my dad as we sit down.
“Just Terry,” I say.
“Good, good,” replies the man. “I'm Gottfried Lee. You're welcome to call
me Jeff if you'd like.”
No way in a million years am I ever going to call him Jeff. "Okay,” I say.
“Now, what seems to be the issue?” asks Gottfried. “What brings you to my
humble abode?”
I thought Dad would rattle off a long list of Everything Wrong with Terry,
but he seems uncomfortable talking about it to a stranger.
“Terry’s behavior has been... odd,” he says. Gottfried nods along. “Last
night, he snuck out and... broke into his school. He seems to believe in... this odd
delusion.”
“It’s not a delusion!” I blurt. “It really happened; I swear!”
Gottfried raises an eyebrow, but his expression stays neutral. “Thank you,
Mr. Desjardins.” He pronounces my last name wrong, too. “If you could just step
outside so Terry and I can have a private discussion.” Dad nods and gets up to go.
My stomach lurches. I don't want to be alone with this guy. As Dad shuts the door
behind him, Gottfried plasters a fake smile onto his face.
“So, Terry,” he says, picking up the pen and clicking the top to make the
point part come out. He pushes his glasses and hovers the pen above the notebook
he’s holding. “What do you believe happened?”
“Well...” I say. “Two years ago, I woke up and everyone was gone! I had to
survive all by myself with Tao—my cat—and then just this morning, I woke up
and everyone is back, but they think nothing happened! They think it’s been just a
day, but it’s been seven hundred and thirty days!” The words tumble out of me like
water in a raging river.
“Oh?” says Gottfried, scribbling down notes. “Tell me more about what
happened.”
 As I talk, relieved to have somebody finally listen, Gottfried scratches notes
into his book. It irritates me. I tell Gottfried everything, every little detail from day
1 to day 730.
When I finish, Gottfried is looking at me like I'm some kind of zoo animal,
muttering, “fascinating. Just fascinating.”
“What's fascinating?” I ask him.
Instead of answering my question, he asks, “Is everything okay at home,
Terry?”
“Yeah, fine,” I lie. What's happened at home has nothing to do with the
Vanishing! “What does that matter? You have to help convince my dad I’m not
crazy! It really did happen, it did.” I look at Gottfried’s face and realize he doesn't
believe me after all. What if I am crazy? I don't think I’m crazy.
“Let’s try some relaxation exercises,” says Gottfried.
“No, you don't get it,” I say, my voice rising in frustration. “It's not a... a
hallucination! It happened! I don’t need any relaxation!”
“Terry,” Gottfried says, like he’s trying to placate me.
“Screw you,” I tell him, standing up to go. “This has been a glorious waste
of time.” He doesn’t try to stop me.
“Tell your dad to come and talk to me, will you?” Gottfried says, smiling his
fake smile.
“You’re a useless shrink,” I respond, not looking at him as I exit the room. I
think of the German mom and her kid and suddenly I’m wondering what she said.
Dad is sitting in the waiting room, on one of the fake-leather brown couches.
“The shrink wants to see you,” I say, refusing to meet his gaze as I plop
down onto the couch.
“The therapist,” he corrects as he regards me for a long moment.
“So, are you gonna go, or what?” I snap.
“In a moment,” he replies. “How was your talk?”
“Stupid and useless, as expected,” I say, grabbing a magazine. “We only
took, like, fifteen minutes, though.”
“Theriault, it’s been an hour,” Dad says incredulously. An hour? How did
that happen? It only felt like a couple of minutes.
“Same thing,” I reply. “Can you go talk to the goddamn shrink already? I
want to go home, old man.” Dad scowls at me but he rises from his seat and heads
towards the door. I want to call out one last snarky comment, but nothing comes to
mind, and the fidgety little girl is staring at me.
 “What are you looking at, kid?” I ask her, trying to sound as mean as
possible. Normally I’d not be such a jerk, but I’m very frustrated now.
She squeaks softly and hides behind her grandma, who glares at me. I ignore
her and stare at the outdated magazine I’m holding. It’s from 2006. Something
about the British Royal Family or whatever. I’m not focusing on it very hard. I’ve
got my eyes on the door to Gottfried’s office, waiting.
After 5 minutes, I’m nearly as jumpy as the little six-year-old. The blank kid
with the two dads is looking at a magazine, but he’s been staring at the same page
for ages. His dads are watching him, concerned. I’d be concerned too, if my kid
was like that, but it’s just adding tension to the atmosphere in the room, and I’m
already stressed out enough.
One of the blank kid’s dads begins whispering something in his ear. The kid
barely notices. I wonder what happened to him to make him like this, or maybe
he’s just always been so... empty. He doesn’t look human. He looks like a bombed-
out shell of flesh and bone.
His dads are now quietly conversing in Korean. At least, I think it’s Korean.
I don’t know. I don’t even really care. I idly wonder what would happen if I left
right now and never came back.
I don’t get the time to act on my wonderings, though, because Dad storms
out of Gottfried’s office. “Come now, Terry,” he says, not sparing me a glance as
he whisks through the room towards the exit. I quickly sit up and follow him, still
holding the magazine. Gottfried won’t miss it, he has giant stacks of them lying
about the room.
“What’d he say?” I ask as we get into the car. Dad waits for me to shut my
door before replying.
“He says you have... you are making it up,” Dad says, “because you are
unhappy about something. You are trying to send a message with this strange...
story.”
“It happened,” I say pointlessly. “Really. I don’t care about secret messages
or whatever.”
“You will see Dr. Lee next week, after school on Friday and Tuesday, which
you will continue to do for at least eight weeks until he will... reassess,” Dad
informs me, staring straight ahead. Coward.
“Fine,” I say, sensing it would be fruitless to argue. “Fine, whatever. I’m not
lying, but whatever. Who cares.” Doubt is creeping up on me, though, as Dad starts
the car. What if they’re right? What if I am going crazy?
 I ponder it as I stare out the car window at the growing puddles on the road
as if they hold the answer to my questions. The rhythmic thump-thump of
raindrops on the car roof make me feel so, so tired. When did I last sleep for more
than forty-five minutes at a time? I don’t know. During the Vanishing, it was stay
awake or die. At least, that’s what I felt like at the time. I don’t even know if that
was a time.
Have I lost my mind, or has the rest of the world?

Two weeks since the Reappearance. Two weeks since the appointment with
Gottfried. Two weeks, and I knew I was crazy. That’s right, I was insane.
Downright manic.
I made it all up. I didn’t believe it at first, but I guess I just realized. I didn’t
want to believe that I was insane, because, well, do you know what it feels like?
Knowing you’re some deranged lunatic with strange, grand delusions? Yeah, it
kinda crushed me.
But I’d be alright. That’s what Gottfried said. I just had to focus on what was
real. That was what he said. I just had to
I might have kept that mindset for the rest of my life if I had never met
Julian.
Julian came to our school during the same week I believed I was crazy. He
was a quiet coder kid from Montana. He took the same bus as me and he was in the
same grade as me. On his first day of school, Ms. Gandhi asked me to show him
around the class.
“Hi,” I said lamely.
“Hi,” Julian replied shyly. “I’m Julian.”
“I know,” I said. “Ms. Gandhi already told me. Here, this is our table, where
you’ll be sitting.” As I showed him around the classroom, he didn’t say much. He
didn’t really talk at all at any other times, either, until lunch break. I sat on the
steps at the school’s front door, staring into space, when Julian came and sat down
next to me.
“Terry, can I tell you something weird?” Julian said.
“Why, hello to you, too,” I replied snarkily.
Julian didn’t seem bothered by my sarcasm. Weird kid. Most kids left if I
was hostile enough. I didn’t want to talk to him. “Sorry, hi, Terry,” he said. “So,
um, can I?”
“Shoot,” I said absentmindedly.
 “You have to promise you won’t think I’m crazy,” Julian said, his dark eyes
wide and sincere.
It made me laugh. “Oh, Jules. Trust me, I won’t. Crazy is more of my thing.”
Julian looked tentative, but he bravely asked anyway.
“Do you, uh... do you think...”
“Spit it out, Jules,” I said, tapping my foot impatiently. “Before I turn
eighty.”
Julian lowered his voice and leaned in closer to me. He was weirdly close,
and I scooted a little bit away. “I saw... something,” he said. “It was two years ago.
Everyone—every person ever—was just... gone, and now they’re back, and they
don’t remember anything, and they all think I’m, like, supposed to be in a psych
ward.”
“What?” I sat up, instantly more alert. “You were alone? For two years?”
“E-exactly,” said Julian. “I woke up one morning and—and poof!” He
looked nervous. “Everyone says I’m insane. My mom called a therapist who says
I’m also crazy. My dad and sisters think I'm making it up f-for attention, but I need
a... a second opinion... or, like, a seventeenth...”
“You’re not joking?” I asked, shell-shocked. “Did somebody put you up to
this?”
“No, I promise I’m not lying,” Julian said, and his wide eyes were so honest-
looking I couldn’t help but believe him.
“Well, damn,” I said. “You’re not insane, Jules, and apparently neither am
I.”
“What?” Julian stared at me like I’d just grown two heads.
“Jules, that happened to me, too.”

I brought Julian to the House. We just left school together, right then and
there. Now we were telling each other everything, our words tumbling so fast over
one another’s.
“—chickens in my living room—”
“— it rained lemonade—”
“—my cat kept chasing—”
“—I put out buckets—”
“—finally got them all out—”
“—never ran out—”
“—Darth Vader trampoline—”
“—Mom thought I stole—”
 Kind of like that, but way more confusing.
“So, like, I had to survive by breaking into supermarkets and stuff,” I was
saying, “and I had to smash the doors with rocks. All the fruit was rotting though
so it smelled gross.”
“Yeah, I had to do that as well, but I felt so... so guilty about it,” Julian said,
waving his hands in the air. In one hand he was holding a can of root beer. The
other hand was empty. “I owned up to it when everyone came back, and the owner
of the local supermarket chain, Leonard—” Julian took a huge swig of root beer.
“Leonard got so mad that we had to move. My sisters Becca and Monica were so
annoyed, you have no idea...”
“Jules, why did you own up to it?” I laughed, shaking my head. “You
should’ve just kept quiet... I broke into the school, and I made the mistake of
telling Ms. Gandhi and, well... I had to see this dumb shrink... Gottfried, his name
is Gottfried! And he convinced me... I really thought I was crazy until today,
Julian. I really thought it.”
“So did I, almost,” Julian admitted. “So... what now?”
“I don’t know, Jules,” I said. “We don’t know anything about it, do we?
What if we are both just insane?”
“We’re not,” Julian says. He sounds so certain I almost believe him—but
I’m not totally sure.
“Well... how do you know that?” Julian sighs. “Look, Terry, this can’t be a
coincidence. I didn’t--we had exactly the same experience! We have to tell
somebody!”
“It won’t work,” I say glumly. “Believe me, I tried—I tried so hard, you
have no idea. Nobody believed me.”
“You’re right, nobody believed me either,” says Julian. We both fall silent,
the excitement of meeting each other gone in an instant.
Finally, I say the thing that has been living rent-free in my head ever since I
realized the Vanishing was real. I know Julian is thinking it too. “Jules.... Julian,
what if it happens again?”
“I... don’t know,” Julian admits. “What was it, anyway? We don’t even
know, do we?”
“No, we don’t,” I say. “No, we do not,” I repeat as if saying it again would
make it any less true.
“And we just skipped school,” Julian says, suddenly realizing.
 “No duh,” I yawn, leaning back on the couch. “You just noticed?” School
wasn’t important, not when we were facing the disappearance of almost all of
humanity.
“I never skip school!” Julian cries jumping to his feet. “Oh my gosh, my
mom’s gonna kill me.” So would my dad, but he is the least of my worries, so I
don’t say that. “We have to go back.”
“Sure,” I say. I'm not really paying attention. “Hey, okay, Jules, this
afternoon, brainstorm what you think happened, and we can talk tomorrow, okay?”
Julian shrugs, looking more panicked about skipping school.
“Jules,” I say, looking him in the eye. “Look, I get it, you don’t want to get
in trouble with your mom after she already thinks you’re crazy, or you’re in need
of deep psychiatric help, okay? I get it, because that’s exactly where I am, too. But,
Jules, this is bigger than that. This is bigger than all of us. What if... what if it
happens again, and we disappear? What if nobody is left? We have to know, at
least... we have to know. We at least have to find out or die trying.”
“Okay,” Julian says, calming down slightly. “Okay... yeah, okay. That’s
okay, but we should go back to school.”
I glance at my watch. “You go ahead, Jules—it’s 2:50 and it takes 15
minutes to get there by bus.”
“My mom picks me up at the school,” Julian mutters. “I have to go.” He
snatches up his backpack and practically sprints up the ladder to the outside world.
I dimly wonder if he’ll remember the way home, but then I realize it doesn’t really
matter. He’ll be in deep, deeeeeeeep doo-doo either way, and so will I. I just have
to wait for 3:15 so I can walk home and pretend I took the bus.

5: Conspiracy Theories, Cults and Coding

The sky is blue, and the grass is green, and for the second time in my entire life I
am excited to go to school. Not really like the first day of the Reappearance’s
crazed “oh-my-god there are people” episode. I’m over that. I just want to see one
person in particular—Julian. Like I suspected, Dad thoroughly chewed me up for
skipping school and I don’t doubt Julian’s parents did the same. But I don’t care at
all, because last night I brainstormed some theories. Not all of them were...
plausible, but I tried. My two most likely ideas were:
 Aliens
 Weird hallucinogenic disease
 I’m not entirely sure about the hallucinogenic disease, but aliens seem
stupid, like my life is some kind of badly written children’s novel or video game.
Maybe Julian will have a better idea.
I’m on the bus. Somehow, I ended up next to Nathaniel again. I don’t bother
trying to talk to him. He’s a lost cause. I have the window seat, so I stare outside
and watch the scenery roll by. It’s strange. I’ve passed through this area five
million times before, but I never really paid any attention to all the nature
surrounding me.
The trees are bare. The grass isn’t actually so much green as yellowy brown,
which is an ugly mucky color. The sky is pale with a few wisps of clouds. The
moon is out, even though it’s daytime. I idly wonder why.