The Not

by Ashleigh Ann Gardner

1st Draft - September 3, 2021

2nd Draft - April 20, 2022
3rd Draft - January 12, 2023
4th Draft - January 21, 2023

© Ashleigh Ann Gardner

712 Morocco Ave.
Orlando, FL 32807
407.765.3278
ashleighagardner@gmail.com
 CHARACTERS

SASHA - 30s. Any gender. Quiet, submissive, good natured. Resilient to a point. Seeking
answers but afraid of whatever the truth might be. Hasn’t slept in days. Hasn’t eaten either.
Recovering alcoholic, 5 years sober.

This role is written so that it may be performed by any actor of any gender, ethnicity, or physical
ability including performers who communicate with ASL. Revisions to the script may be made to
sections containing blocking or references to movement to align blocking or references of
movement with the actor’s physical abilities. All written edits, substitutions, and revisions must
be approved by the playwright. Please reach out.

In the case of a deaf performer playing the role of SASHA, it is at the discretion of the director
and performer to have a translator for hearing audiences.

TIME

November

1994

PLACE

a sparsely furnished kitchen

rural Missouri

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 It is dark. We hear the sound of a button on a tape recorder click.

Beat. Beat. Beat.

Lights up on SASHA, agitated, tense.

They are standing a few feet away from a dining room table. There are two
chairs, one is pushed in. The other is pulled out. A tape recorder, a glass
of water, a full bottle of whiskey, and a shot glass sit on the table. There is
nothing else.

Prior to lights up, SASHA has been trying to record a personal statement.
They have failed thus far.

The room is silent except for breathing.

They stare at the tape.

It is recording.
I saw something.
Presses STOP on recorder.
Presses REWIND.
Presses PLAY.
Reacts to the weirdness.
Presses STOP.
Presses REWIND.
Presses STOP.
Walks away, frustrated. Tries not to look at tape. Paces, turns, looks at
tape. Approaches. Stands at the edge of the table and stares.
Presses RECORD.
Opens mouth to say something. Three beats. Nothing comes. Guttural
scream-sigh-cry. Gathers self.
Presses STOP.
Presses REWIND.
Presses STOP.
Stands with hands on hips, glaring.
Presses RECORD.
Cannot get it out.
JESUS FUCK.
Embarrassed, frustrated.
Rushes to press STOP.
Pause.
Pulls chair over. Sits back. Stares at tape. Takes a sip of water. Stares at
tape. Leans forward.
Fuck it.
Gathers self. Straightens up.

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 Presses RECORD.
Stops. Takes a breath.
Sorry.
Laughs.
God.
Pause. Settles.
Come on.
Pause.
Alright. Okay.
Breathes.
(to tape, still recording)
I keep seeing —
Is struck with a panic and becomes agitated. Regroups.
I don’t know how to—
How do you describe something when it’s not — ?
Pause.
I don’t know. I just don’t — Godammit.
Pause. Takes a breath. Looks directly at the recorder.
Lemme try — I’m just gonna try to explain — so you don’t think I’m — I’m not —
I’m not fucking crazy, okay? I know that makes me sound like I am. Crazy people say they’re
sane and sane people think they’re crazy and it’s — I mean, I thought I was crazy. I did. For a
long time —
Pause.
And I know anybody who hears this, they’re gonna think I’m nuts. But please. Please, for the
love of God, believe me. Please believe me. I need to — I need somebody to know before I —
Beat.
The least you could do is talk back. You know, ask me questions.
Stares at tape.
(to self)
Right.
Beat. Glances at the bottle. Decides.
Not like it’s gonna matter anymore anyway.
Pours a shot into the glass. Does not drink. Sets the glass aside.
(to tape)
Okay, so— How do I — ?
Beat.
In the fourth grade, me and Buddy — my cousin — we were hanging out in the woods a lot. Just
fucking around, you know? Making tents and forts outta dead branches and stuff. This one
summer we’re sitting in this, like, makeshift duck blind we’d made outta my uncle’s tarp, and
we’re talking about, I dunno, his dad’s gun collection or something.
And then Buddy gets all quiet.
And out of the corner of my eye, I see this thing. And I turn and look.
It’s a deer. But it’s — it’s got something wrong with it. It’s just…thin. Patches of fur are missing,
there’s sores on its hind parts, and it’s walking kinda funny, like it’s drunk or something, shaking,
wobbly like. And when I look at its eyes, there’s…nothing there. It looks lost. Totally just —

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gone. So I turn and look at Buddy and — his face is white. Like a sheet. The kid is near
catatonic. And he’s staring at this thing and he starts —
Pause.
He starts to cry. Silent. His mouth just...open.
And when I turn back around, it’s come closer and it puts its nose in the blind and sniffs. And
then it makes this noise, almost like a scream or a cry and its head twists to the side — and it
falls. Dead. Right there in the blind.
Beat.
Buddy never went in the woods again. And, you know, we didn’t talk about it. I mean, he told his
dad about it and all the kids at school, but nobody believed him. Everybody said he was lying or
he was crazy.
And I never said anything, you know? Try and tell people he wasn’t lying? And I felt bad, I
really did. I mean, he’s my cousin. Practically my brother. But I didn’t wanna get mixed in with
those people telling me I was crazy too. Cuz I’d seen weirder shit. And when I’d talked about it,
nobody believed me either. And I didn’t wanna go through that again.
Pause.
There’s just stuff you don’t talk about. I mean, sometimes it’s cuz you don’t wanna think about it
and sometimes it’s cuz, you know, nobody’s gonna believe you. This thing I saw — it’s both.
And I’m not talking about that deer. This is something else.
Beat.
I wanted to tell somebody, you know, after I was a kid and I got older. But I didn’t know what to
say. I mean, there’s random weird stuff that happens to people all the time, supernatural shit.
Like...you lose your keys and they turn up in a place you’d never put them, or you need to get
gas, but the Shell down the street from you is too expensive, so you go to the 7-11, and then you
hear on the news that the Shell got robbed the same exact time you were getting gas at the 7-11.
If you tell somebody about that kinda stuff, they’re just like, “Oh that’s fucking weird,” and they
don’t really think you’re crazy or whatever. If you tell somebody you found your keys in the
microwave, they’re just gonna think you got real drunk at Jeremiah’s and had a weird night. Not
that there’s something in your house moving shit around.
Beat.
But there’s other stuff.
Pause. A breath. Steadies.
Beat.
I’ve been seeing it around.
More than usual. And it’s never actually...hurt me, touched me, but —
I guess I should — (“explain what I mean.”)
It shows up outta nowhere sometimes. Other times — most times — it comes when something
bad happens — before, after — doesn’t really seem to have a schedule.
Beat.
Last Friday I’m driving to the store. I’m not paying attention. There’s something on the radio
about a kid missing. We got a bunch of grain elevators outside of town and they’re searching
inside with some kind of ground radar thing or other to see if his body’s there. His friends said
something about a dare. Anyway, I’m driving and I miss the turn, so I make a right on this dirt
road that’s down a ways, and I think all I gotta do is turn around at a driveway or something and
just make a left, go back the way I came.
Beat.

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But when I turn, it’s — this thing is in front of me. And it’s broad daylight. I mean, the trees
make it kinda shady like on this road, but it’s bright. Middle of the day. And it’s hanging there. I
mean, not hanging. Hovering. Up near the canopy. And I knew it. I knew I was gonna see it, I
just didn’t know when it’d show up. Ten times this month. This was eleven. And I’ve had it. I’ve
fucking had it up to here with this bullshit, so I stop the car and I roll down the window and I
scream at this thing, Leave me the fuck alone. And it doesn’t move. Just stays put. So I turn
around and I book it back to the main road, and I see it in my rear view, getting smaller and
smaller as I drive away. And when I get to the store, I’m just sitting in the lot, shaking. And I
was finally like, This is too much. It’s too much anymore. I’m losing my mind. I gotta see
somebody.
Beat.
Growing up, everybody here talked bad about people who saw psych doctors. My Aunt had one
for her issues, and the rest of the family always talked about her behind her back, said she almost
killed Buddy when he was a baby and that’s why she had to see this doctor. So, for a long time,
my whole life, I wouldn’t go to one. I mean, I’ve seen this thing since I was a kid, but for some
reason, it was just easier to deal with it myself than for everybody to talk about me like they
think they know my business. But I just couldn’t do it anymore. So I make an appointment with
this woman. She fits me in, last minute and everything.
Shot beat.
I go in, and I’m sitting in the waiting room, waiting for her to come and get me, and I’m trying to
figure out if I should just, you know, describe it vaguely, like a dream. Or if I should, you know,
tell her. The whole thing. Straight out. And then I realize that this isn’t one of those keys in the
microwave stories. This is worse. Miles worse. If I tell her point blank —that I’m seeing this
thing and I’ve seen it my whole life —she’s gonna think I’m— well, that I’m insane.
But at the same time, if I don’t tell somebody— anybody— I really am gonna go crazy. Cuz
nobody’s gonna know but me, and that’s a hard fucking truth to bear.
Beat.
And it’s like, how do you make that decision? How do you choose which pain to live with, you
know? Judgment or isolation? It’s a lose-lose. But I figure one’s definitely worse than the other.
Pause.
But before I tell her, you know, what it is, we do the whole getting-to-know-you deal, and she
asks me a bunch of questions and we finally get to the point where she asks me, What made you
come in? And I just, I couldn’t do it right away. I opened my mouth to tell her but it just
wouldn’t —
Beat.
So I tell her that I saw something. That’s all I say. I say, I saw something weird. And she asks
me, Was it an assault? A murder?
And I tell her no, but she keeps asking me, like, Was someone hurt? Was it a robbery?
And I keep saying no, and she says, Well if you can’t tell me what it is you saw, I can’t help you.
And it’s like, I know. I know that. You don’t have to tell me that. You think I don’t know? But
I’m sitting there thinking, I can’t just — I can’t just say it out loud. And the pressure of her
asking me what it is and me not being able to say it is making my brain feel like it’s on fire.
Pause. Sighs.
And I’m also thinking, if I saw something and then I tell her I saw something but then I don’t
follow through with more information? She’s gonna think I’m saying it for attention. Lying about
it. You know? And I’m not — I’m not that kind of person. I don’t like attention. Never have.

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But I need to get it out of me. It’s like — it’s making my chest cave in. I’m sitting there and I’m
just gritting my teeth and, like, holding my breath. And I start to get dizzy.
And she asks me again, What did you see?
Pause.
So I tell her.
And she looks at me like I’m nuts.
Pause. This hurts.
Of course. Of-fucking-course. I shouldn't’ve said anything. Kept my mouth shut.
Pause.
But I had to. Get it out. And I just kept telling myself, Judgement is better than isolation.
Defeated sigh.
So she looks at me. And then she kind of...squints her eyes. At me. Like she’s trying to solve a
math problem. Like I’m the math problem.
And then she asks me what I thought I saw. “Thought.” Like I’m not — like I’m mistaken. Like
maybe I was high. Like it was something else than what it —
I know what I saw. I mean, I KNOW. But —
I don’t know what it is —
Pause. Is disturbed by the thought.
Jesus fucking Christ. You think I would’ve gotten over it by now.
Pause. Looks at the shot.
Takes a drink of water.
My whole life I’ve seen this thing. Probably hundreds of times. I stopped counting about fifteen
years ago. And it’s never regular. Day, night, afternoon — you can never tell. Sometimes it
comes when everything is fine, like when you’re at the movies or you’re out with friends or you
stop to pet a stray. And other times it comes, you know, when you think it might, like when
you’re at a funeral or you just got decked by a bunch of guys at school or when it’s storming real
bad. I don’t know why it’s never consistent. Maybe it just wants to remind you it’s there. And it
looks different. Nearly every time. It kinda...shifts and there’s really no rhyme or reason to it. It
just changes, like it ages or something.
Pause.
This thing happened when I was in high school.
I’d seen it a bunch of times before. School field trips. Fixing something in the shed. When my
dog died. But this time was different. It showed up right after, but this time, you know, this time
it was just — (“different.”)
Pause.
Right.
Takes a drink. Readies self.
So, sophomore year, I get an afterschool job at the Food Giant off 55. It’s like, if you took all the
small, shitty grocery stores and put them together and they had a small, shitty grocery store baby,
that’s this Food Giant. And we live in the middle of fucking nowhere, so it’s not like there’s a lot
of options. And not all of them are like this one. Most of ‘em are clean, but the area we lived in,
it’s just not that nice. So it’s dirty, kinda run down. Expired milk half the time, open boxes of
crackers, roaches in the office. It’s like you mop the floor for hours, but it’s still dirty. And the
back cooler with the extra meat is, it’s like...nothing is ever cold enough. There’s always water
on the ground. And it’s sticky. Like something melted and it —
Anyway.

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 Pause.
The manager’s son works there. Always the night shift with me, about 3 to 9. He’s a senior, and
this guy, Jared, is like, the weirdest fucking asshole you ever met. Real clean looking, but
something’s off about him. He smells...sweet? But dusty? Like mildew? And it doesn’t make
sense to me because he looks clean, but he — it’s just fucking weird. Like, he wears these stiff
jeans with, like, a bleached white dress shirt. Every day. Always the same.
Pause.
About a week after I start working, he’s walking by and he winks at me. And I look around
thinking he’s looking at somebody else, but we’re the only people in the store. It’s fucking
empty. So I turn back to look at him, and he laughs. And I feel weird, like I don’t understand
something. Like I’m not part of a joke.
Pause.
So about six months go by. And he’s still winking at me. Every fucking day for the past six
months. And I think about quitting, but I wanna buy a car. I’m not gonna quit on account of some
creepy asshole. So I stick it out.
Pause.
Around January, I start having these episodes. Like I can’t breathe and I get dizzy. And I’m not
keen on people seeing me like that, so when they happen and nobody’s in the store, I go to the
back aisle. The store has security cameras, and there’s monitors in the office, but the back aisle
doesn’t have a camera, so I know Jared can’t see me when I go back there.
So it’s like, 8:30. Almost time to close up. And I’m just trying to keep my shit together, you
know? And there’s a loaf of bread that’s got a little bit of mold on it. And I figure no one’s gonna
miss this shit, so I’m squeezing it, trying to calm myself down.
When look up Jared’s standing at the end of the aisle, and he’s got the keys in his hand, and he’s
tucking them into the front pocket of his jeans. And I look at my watch, and it’s only 8:36, so
we’re not supposed to be closed yet. He sees me check the time.
And he says he closed up, slow night.
And then he winks at me.
But he doesn’t laugh.
Pause.
And, you know, there’s something in my gut that’s telling me to move, but I don’t. I can’t move
my feet.
And he starts walking. Real slow. Past the peanut butter and jelly. Then the ketchup. Then the
mustard. And then he runs his hand along the shelves and he knocks down a bottle of relish. And
he knocks down another one. And another one. It’s not like he does it accidentally. He knows
what he’s doing. And the whole time, his face is just...blank. Like he’s not there. But he’s looking
right at me. And he gets so close I can smell him, but he smells...I dunno...different. He doesn’t
just smell bad, like usual. He smells like he tried to cover it up with cologne. And he gets so
close that the other end of the loaf of bread is touching his stomach.
And I’m looking right at him. I can’t look away. It’s like there’s a magnet in my eyeballs.
And I feel this tug on my belt.
Pause.
I don’t...
I’d never — I thought maybe my uniform was messed up — I thought he was — I guess I tried
to convince myself he was trying to fix it for me.
Pause.

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I wake up and I’m on the floor. It’s dark. And I’m trying to figure out, maybe I tripped on the
relish. And my shirt is, like, untucked. And my belt’s and my pants are — you know. And I’m
looking around to see if he’s still there, but he’s gone.
Beat.
And I’m trying to figure out — what’d I do wrong? If I’d just stuck it out for a little longer, if I
hadn’t gone back there, if I’d waited til we locked up and walked out I woulda been fine. This
wouldn’t have happened. I knew there wasn’t cameras back there. I just...made myself the easiest
fucking target, you know? But also I’m thinking why didn’t I punch him or something? Why did
I just stand there? I could’ve run. I could’ve thrown a jar of pickles at him. Or olives. I dunno.
Beat.
But it’s fucking late, so I get up. I go out the back. And I start walking home.
Pause.
There’s hardly any street lights on this road. Maybe one every half a mile. So it’s dark, and it’s
freezing, like 15, 20 degrees. I only got a sweatshirt and a jacket, and I got holes in my gloves so
it’s like, I’m bookin’ it down the street, you know? I look at my watch. It’s 10:53, and I’m like,
was I really out for two hours? And then I reach up to fix my hair.
Reaches up to touch head.
And I feel this wet, slimy stuff. Like syrup, and when I pull my hand away, it’s red. And I just
kinda slow down and stop under a light.
I’m replaying the whole thing in my head, trying to figure out what happened after the bread and
the belt, but there’s this...wall. Like, my memory just stops.
But then I remember that I’m gonna freeze to death if I don’t keep moving, so I’m walking real
fast, trying to get to the next street light up the road.
And then I feel the air change, like, I dunno, like the pressure changes or something.
I turn around and it’s back up the road, at the light I was just under.
Pause.
Like I said, I’d seen it before. Random times. Like when I was ten at the library. When I was
fourteen next to the creek in the woods. A bunch of others. But I’d developed a kind of ‘fuck
you’ attitude toward it over the years. Sometimes it’d disappear on me, sometimes I’d just get up
and walk away. I think I gave it the finger once.
Pause.
But this time, it’s different. It moves different. When I was a kid, it just — hovered there. In
place. Not really moving, but kind of — I dunno, breathing?
But now, this time it’s shivering, jerking around in place. Like it’s vibrating almost. Like
somebody’s rewinding a videotape and playing it back, rewinding, playing it back, over and over
again. And it’s bigger, like it’s evolved or something.
And as soon as I realize it looks different, it starts to raise up. Toward the bulb of the street light.
And its shadow on the ground gets bigger and bigger and it reaches the top.
And the light goes out.
So I start running. Fast. I mean, I could be on the track team with how fast I’m running. I run
past the Super Gas and the feed store and the shoe outlet. I’m fucking booking it.
Then I hear this rumbling sound, like...I don’t know...it’s so hard to — like somebody’s playing a
bass drum real loud but right up in my ears. And I’m looking around trying to figure out where
it’s coming from, but it’s not storming or anything and it doesn’t sound like any farm equipment
I’ve heard before. And I realize it’s my heart. My heart’s beating so fast it’s in my ears. And I get
so distracted that I don’t see the piece of broken sidewalk and I eat pavement. Real bad. Then I

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realize that feeling in the air is gone. I look around and it’s...nowhere. I can’t see it. I mean, it’s
dark and I can’t see much, but...I don’t feel it either. I mean, I’m fine. I mean, I’m not fine. I
have a broken nose, big scrape on my forehead. Scratches on my hands. Tore my jeans straight
through. And I’m, you know, I’m crying. It’s been a hard fucking day, you know?
Pause.
So. That’s it. It shows up, scares the shit out of me, and leaves. And it’s like, it doesn’t even stick
around long enough for me to figure out with the hell it is. Like, Bigfoot, okay. Fine. The
Mothman, Jersey devil, a wendigo, all those I fucking get. But this one —
Beat.
So when she asks me, when the doctor asks me, What did you think you saw?
I’m like, no. You don’t get it. This isn’t some optical illusion or a trick of the light or something.
It — it was present. If I wanted to, I could have touched it.
And then she goes, Have you been drinking?
Pause.
I get mad, at first. Because it’s like, really? You’re gonna jump to that? I know it says I have a
history, but come on. And then, you know, I realize that’s a fair fucking question.
So I say, No.
Because it’s true. I haven’t. Sober five years. Nothing. No pot. No alcohol.
No sex.
That’s not officially part of the program.
Ever since high school, when Jared — you know. I haven’t really had — any interest —
In relationships either.
Anyway.
And I know where I get it from. The drinking. My father was an alcoholic. And I dealt with it,
with him. And I picked it up. I mean, you gotta deal with whatever gets thrown at you any way
you can. I mean figuratively. I’ll give him that. He never hit me. He wasn’t really around enough
to hit me. Which is fine. I guess.
But there was one day when I wish he was. Around.
Beat.
The very first time I see it it’s summer, and I’m six. Laying outside in the field next to the yard,
and the wind’s picking up cuz it’s gonna rain and the grass is just going nuts, and it’s loud ‘cause
all around is just miles of flat land, like paper. Tons of grass ‘cause it’s the middle of nowhere.
And you could smell the rain, you know, that green smell? And I got my eyes closed and I’m
thinking about the cream soda I had on Friday and how I really want a dog and then the wind
picks up and I open my eyes and I see this flash of lightning that just scares the everloving shit
outta me. And the thunder comes almost at the exact same time, it was like —
Snaps fingers.
So I get up real quick to run inside, and I turn around and —
Pause.
It’s standing across the field. Just...looking at me. I dunno if ‘looking’ — or even ‘standing’ is
the right word, or —
It’s not right. Something about it isn’t right. And, you know, my mawmaw told me about ghosts
and things, but this — this thing is not a ghost. I don’t know what it is, but it gives me this
feeling like I wanna throw up.
Pause.

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At this point, my father — he works weird hours. He has this handyman business and makes
house calls at random times. Sometimes he’s home. Sometimes he’s out. Like, you catch him
there, you’re lucky. I don’t think I ever saw him more than three times a week. Especially after
Mom left.
Anyway.
I run inside, and I’m scared shitless, you know? I gotta tell him, and I think maybe on some off
chance, he’ll be home.
So I run in the kitchen door on the side of the house and I’m calling for him, but he’s not there. I
run all over the house — bedrooms, bathroom — nobody. It’s empty. It’s just me, and I’m
shaking.
And I gotta know if it’s, you know, if it’s still out there. So I go back to the kitchen door, and it’s
got this small window about yea tall, yea wide —
Indicates a space approximately 2 feet wide by 2 and a half feet tall.
— with these sheer plaid curtains. And I’m standing there, right up close to them, and I can kind
of see through them, you know, but not real clear. And I'm weighing whether or not I should
actually open them and look instead of hiding behind the fabric, but something’s telling me not
to. Like, there is this feeling inside me that is just...screaming, Don’t open them. Don’t look.
Don’t do it.
Pause.
But I do. And it’s closer. At the edge of the yard. And it’s — hovering in place. The grass
underneath is brown. Like somebody dumped a gallon of weed killer in the spot.
And I start sweating, like — there is cold water dripping down the back of my neck and I’m
shaking and my arms get weak, and I want to run but I can’t move. And I’m still holding open
the curtain, and it’s still looking at me. And then I —
Pause.
I pee my pants.
Breath.
I never did that. Ever. I mean, I was a kid then, but I never, ever wet the bed, I never —
Pause.
So.
I’m looking at this thing, and all of a sudden I hear this noise, like a weird hollow sound, like
someone scraping metal against a drum. And it gets louder and louder and the scraping gets
faster and there’s another sound like thunder but not. And I’m so focused out the window that it
doesn’t register that it’s my father’s truck. And he comes into the kitchen and he’s saying my
name, and I hear him, but I can’t —
And I feel these hands on my shoulders, and he whips me around fast and I just...I feel like
somebody woke me up. Like I’ve been dreaming. Just —
Snaps fingers.
He goes, What’s wrong? and it’s like there’s something in my throat and my tongue feels
swollen, so I try to say, There was something in the field.
And he goes, What?
And I can’t — I can’t get anything out. And he’s standing there, fucking gigantic, and he smells
like grease and sawdust and cigarettes and he looks mad. And I’m looking at him, like, I don’t
know how to articulate this. I don’t know how to tell him what I just saw.
Pause.

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Then he looks down and sees my shorts. And the look on his face is — it’s like he just smelled
rotten meat. And he turns away from me and throws a towel in my face and tells me to clean up
and go to bed. And he walks to the fridge, pulls out a six pack, walks out to the truck, and drives
away.
Laughs.
And, you know, this kind of thing isn’t new to me. I’ve been dealing with his brand of shit for
two years at this point. So I know what to expect. It’s like, I know exactly what he’s gonna say
when he walks in the door. I’m kinda proud of it. It’s like I’ve got this uncanny power for
reading the room or whatever bullshit they call it. Clairvoyance or something.
Pause.
So I pick the towel up and I change my clothes. And I end up washing off in the kitchen sink
because the bathroom faucet’s fucking broken and he won’t fix it. And I’m so busy cleaning up I
realize I never told him. About the — the thing I saw. And then I remember and run and look out
the window.
And it’s gone. Disappeared. Which makes me even more worried, because then it’s like...where
the fuck is it if it’s not where it was when I last saw it?
So I try to keep it together. I lock all the doors and windows, I close all the curtains, I turn on
every light in the house. And I make sure the porch light’s on so the old man doesn’t have a fit
when he gets home.
I don’t eat dinner. I don’t know why.
The rain starts.
And I fall asleep on the couch.
Pause.
I told him about it later. When I saw it in a cotton field on my tenth birthday. He didn’t believe
me. And he didn’t believe me when I told him about it again. That time it was at the end of the
hallway after school and I had to stay late for some tutoring. He said I was just trying to get
attention.
Beat.
He died a couple years ago.
And it showed up. Right before the funeral.
And I just — I hated him sometimes. He didn’t come to my high school graduation and he never
helped me with my homework and he never tucked me in and he never told me he loved—
But he did other stuff. He got me a dog. He taught me how to change a tire. He used to buy me
candy bars at the corner store.
He was my father, but he wasn’t a good dad.
But he tried, you know? I think he did. So when I’m standing there next to his coffin and the
funeral director is talking at me about payment and I see that thing at the back of the church, I
nearly lose it. Like, can I just fucking mourn him in peace without this thing lurking in the corner
like goddamn—fucking—Batman?
Beat.
I didn’t even get to have a drink ‘cause by that point, I’d been sober three years.
Beat.
And I didn’t tell her — the doctor — about my father. I didn’t think that information was
pertinent or whatever.

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But, you know, she asks me if I’ve been drinking, and I say no, and then she asks me if I’ve
smoked, and I say no, and she asks if I’ve shot up or snorted anything, and I say no. And I’m
starting to kind of feel like I’m on trial. Like, why the hell am I being interrogated?
So I ask her, Why do you think I’ve been using?
And she goes, I just want to rule out the possibility.
And I’m about to lose it. I’m spilling my guts to this woman, and she’s implying the thing I saw
— that I lived — is a drug-induced fucking fever dream.
Beat.
So I take a deep breath, and I’m like, trying to keep it together, and I say, I haven’t had a drink or
smoked in five years.
And I throw in a Scout’s honor! just to, you know, lighten the mood.
And she looks at me, dead in the eye, and goes, Are you sure?
Like, fucking yes I’m sure! This is not a hallucination. This is real. I’ve seen it. I saw it my
whole life. I wasn’t drinking when I was a kid, I wasn’t smoking pot when I was in elementary or
middle school or high school, I’ve never done hard drugs. I don’t touch that shit.
Pause.
I mean, I’ve been to parties and bars where there’s a bunch of people in the bathroom snorting
cocaine and taking ecstasy, but I’ve never done any of that. And even if I had accidentally, that
still doesn’t explain Chris.
Chris was —
Pause. Takes a drink of water.
Chris.
Beat.
It was my birthday, I turned 21, and me and some friends were going out. I’d just gotten a job at
Kelly’s, and we’re celebrating, you know, both things, and I know it doesn’t sound like much,
like, oh big fucking deal a hardware store. But it wasn’t the Food Giant.
Beat.
So to apply, I have to get a drug test. And I’m like, what the hell? Nobody in this godforsaken
town makes you take a drug test, but I’m like, fine, whatever, I’ll do it. And I’m clean. So I get
the job. So that’s one thing — I’m clean. No drugs. That’s ruled out.
Pause.
So my best friend Jess, she plans this night out. For me and her and Matt and Chris. And I don’t
see these guys very often. Jess moved away to the next town to live with her mom, and Matt
works late nights at the power plant, and Chris is just, I dunno. He’s not a loner, but he’s got
social problems and he doesn’t get out much. He’s scared of loud noises and crowds and stuff. So
it’s like a fucking miracle that we all could be in the same place at the same time.
So Jess pulls up in this ugly white Dodge Shadow, this thing is a mess and it’s almost a miracle
that it runs, but it does. I get in, we swing around to Matt’s place and pick him up, and then we
go over to Chris’s house and grab him. And Chris is kinda freaked about going to a bar, but
we’re like it’ll be fine, you know? We’ll all stick together. So we finally get him out of the house
and head down to Jackie’s.
Pause.
And Jackie’s, if you never been there, is this kinda backwoods, shit pit in the country. And to get
there, you gotta drive down the side of a field. And the road’s made of nothing but dirt and rocks.
And on a good day when it’s light out, you put your car into 4th gear, and you’re fine.

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But by the time we come to the side road, it’s pitch black. I mean, you stick your hand out, it
might disappear. And there’s no street lights out here cuz it’s farm country, and the closest house
is like a mile away.
Pause.
So Jess is driving and I’m in the front seat next to her, and the guys are in the back, and we come
up to the spot and make the turn. She puts the car into 4th, and we start heading up the road. I
roll my window down, and this blast of cool air just hits my face, and it smells like freshly tilled
dirt, but occasionally I’ll catch a whiff of something like rust and it’ll get in my mouth. And it
tastes metallic, like a penny. You know? Like when you nick yourself?
We get about a third of the way down, and Jess and Matt are talking about some David Bowie
music video or something, and, you know, Chris is pretty quiet.
And I’m looking over at Jess, cuz, I mean, I kinda liked her at the time. And I didn’t see her
much. Just trying to commit her to memory. She's laughing, and it’s like this big belly laugh that
shakes the whole car. And Matt is doing this, like, spot on Bowie voice, like
Sings.
“and if you say run, I’ll run with you...”
They laugh.
and I’m just — I’m so happy.
But I’m getting dizzy from looking back at Matt, so I turn around to sit right.
And I see it. Up ahead in the road. And I don’t understand how I can see it, because it’s a ways
off and it’s so fucking dark out here, but it’s there. It’s like, darker than black. But I don’t know
how something can be darker than that. And my hands grip the seat and I go real quiet, and Jess
stops laughing.
She goes, What’s wrong?
I say, Nothing.
Matt asks me if I’m okay.
I go, Yeah.
And I’m trying to stay calm. Just wait it out like usual. Like, maybe it’ll go away if we just keep
driving. So I breathe through it and close my eyes.
And then Chris starts freaking out. Like, yelling and pushing into the back of my seat, and I turn
around to look at him, but he’s looking past me. Out the windshield.
He goes, It’s here.
To tape.
It’s here.
Beat.
He can see it. He fucking sees it. It’s not just me anymore.
Beat.
Jess and Matt are both trying to figure out what the hell is going on, and they’re asking Chris,
like, who? Who’s here? Who the fuck are you talking about?
But Chris keeps yelling that he can see it and he’s screaming at Jess to turn the car around, but
she has no idea what he’s talking about so she keeps driving. And Matt is getting worried cuz
Chris has seizures, and he’s like, wondering if this is, like, the start of one. And Matt’s telling
him to calm down, he’s like, calm down dude, just calm the fuck down!
And I’m looking out the front. It’s getting closer cuz Jess isn’t stopping, she’s going like 40
miles an hour. And as we’re coming up on this thing, I realize it’s on the side of the road, not in
the middle, so I figure if we pass it, it’ll be gone. We just gotta pass it.

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And we do.
But then Jess hits something in the road and she screams, and the car swerves and we crash into a
fence.
Beat.
When I come to, the horn is blaring.
Beat.
The headlights are still on, and they’re shining into the field next to the road. And it’s about ten
yards away. And it’s changed again. I didn’t notice it before cuz we were driving so fast past it,
but now I can see it. It’s a little thinner, almost like it’s wasting away, and there’s like, liquid
dripping out from underneath it. Not blood. Not water. Like, a thin ooze, brown, like rust water.
And then it makes a sound. And it’s this long, high pitched shriek.
I go to tell Jess that we need to get outta here, but when I look, her head’s on the wheel and
there’s blood all down her face and on her lap, and when I turn to get Matt, his head is smashed
into the window.
And Chris is gone.
Beat.
I get out of the car, and I’m like, walking backwards away from this thing, trying to keep my eye
on it, and I stumble over something. It’s a deer. Lying on its side. And it’s crying. Screaming.
Like the deer in the woods when I was little.
And I want to help it, but I know I can’t. It’s too far gone. And I don’t have the strength to do it a
favor and kill it myself.
All of a sudden I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m dying. Like I’m having a heart attack. I double
over and throw up on my shoes. The thing in the field is still screaming.
And I start screaming too.
Then I see lights.
Beat.
When the police come, so does the ambulance. They take Matt away in a hurry. But they have to
put Jess in a bag. And when they ask me where Chris went, I have to tell them I don’t know.
Beat.
And when I look back in the field, the thing is gone.
Beat.
The paramedics didn’t let me ride with Jess when they left the scene. They wouldn’t let me just
sit with her. Like I was dangerous. Like it was my fault or something.
The police asked me if any of us were drunk. I said we didn’t even get the chance. So they
wrapped things up and gave me a ride back to my house. But the whole time, the cop couldn’t
stop talking about how mangled Jess’s face was. And I had to sit there and listen to it. Like it was
a punishment or something.
Beat.
And they never found Chris.
Pause.
Sometimes I tell myself that if I’d just said something when he was freaking out that Jess would
have turned around. If I’d told her I could see it, too, we’d all still be here. And Chris wouldn’t
have run, or...I don’t know. Been taken?
Pause.
I always thought he’d just run off. Trying to get away from it. But maybe — maybe it got him.
Like, did he see it when he was a kid? When did it show up for him? How many times?

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I’ll try to remember if he’d said something it about it, about seeing it, but I can never
remember—
And if it did take him, why didn’t it take me, too?
Pause.
Nobody ever looked for Chris ‘cept me and Matt. His parents were too high to care that their son
was missing, and we spent weeks just...walking through the woods. Trying to find him. Cops
didn’t even give a shit. How the fuck is a whole town just gonna forget about a kid? Like he
never even existed.
Beat.
There’s still posters up at the drug store with his face on them. It’s been…years. I try not to look.
Beat.
So.
That’s how I know she’s wrong — the doctor. But I don’t tell her about Chris cuz I’m just…so
tired. And so she starts to say something about medication and paranoid schizophrenia and
bipolar disorder.
And I start to feel— my body feels like it’s being held down, like the ceiling is too short. The air
is too hot. I gotta get outta there, so I stand up and start to walk out. And she tries to get me to
stay. But I’m like, forget it. I’m done. I’m done with this shit.
And I say, Fuck you, and I walk out.
Beat.
I hate my life. I hate this town. I have no friends. No family anymore. I work a gas station job.
And it hits me: I’m never going to get out of here. And whatever this is, it’s gonna keep
following me. Wherever I go, it’s gonna be there.
And I’m thinking, you know? Maybe if I’d told someone sooner it’d be different. Maybe if I’d
kept telling my father or told Jess or Matt just once that this thing was following me around, that
it kept showing up, I could’ve stopped it. Like, if more people knew, maybe it would stay away.
But then I realize, nobody would have believed me.
Pause.
The cold is just fucking biting. November just — sucks here. The wind feels like a knife slitting
open your eyeballs.
And I’m just...
I reach the sidewalk. There’s a semi coming down the road. It’s got a red cab, and I figure when
it hits me, my guts won’t really do much damage to the paint job. The driver is leaning down to
grab something, so chances are he won’t try to stop and he’ll hit me and I’ll be dead and it’ll be
done. I won’t have to worry about this anymore. It’ll be over. Finally.
Beat.
So I step out.
He looks up.
And he swerves.
And the truck rolls on its side like a dying animal. Makes the same sound as the deer did. A long,
hollow scream.
Pause.
I don’t know if anyone else saw me.
I don’t know if the driver remembers what I look like.
I get home, but I don’t remember how.
Beat.

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That was an hour ago.
Beat.
So. Here I am.
Pause.
They’re gonna come looking for me. Arrest me probably. Ask me about stuff. I’m not gonna be
able to tell them a lie. I can’t. I’m tired of pretending like this thing doesn’t exist. I’m tired. I’m
so fucking tired.
There is a long pause in which SASHA takes time to come to terms with
their options. They may stand and pace or sit in place and consider. They
are not having an easy time.
They are no longer able to hold it together.
That truck was an accident. It should have hit me. I should be dead.
But I’m gonna do it right this time.
And this tape — I need people to know that I didn’t do this for nothing. That I tried. I really
fucking tried. I told people, I tried to tell them. But nobody listened. Nobody fucking cared. The
people I told who were supposed to help me the most made me feel like I was crazy. Like I was
insane or lying or asking for attention. So I tried. And no one listened. And this is all I got left.
There is only silence.
In this moment, SASHA takes stock of how far they’ve come, how hard
they’ve tried, why no one listened, and tries to grasp it all.
I don’t understand what I did to deserve this.
Did I talk back too many times when I was a kid? Was I too lazy when I worked at the Food
Giant? Should I have just...stayed home on my birthday? What did I do?
I mean, I was a good kid. I was a good student. I never bullied anybody. When it showed up after
school on the playground or when I was dicking around in the woods, I hadn’t done anything
wrong. They were just…normal days.
For years, I have been trying to figure this out, why it keeps coming. For what? Because it can?
Because it wants to? Because I’m an easy target?
My entire life I’ve just — tried to get by. Keep my head down, stay quiet. Yes, I drank, but I
never got into trouble. I’m a nice person, I’m a good person. I hold open doors for people and I
make sure I’m nice to the cashier at McDonald’s and when I trap mice in the house I let them go
after. I smile at babies and I pick up trash and I feed the strays. I mean, I do my fucking best to
leave things less shitty than they were, but I still gotta deal with this?
Beat. Realization.
It’s bullshit. It’s fucking bullshit.
Beat.
And if I see that thing one more time —
A shift. There is electricity in this decision.
You know what—
Beat. Flat.
I’m done. I don’t deserve this.
Puts on jacket.
I don’t deserve to be looked at like I’m telling a silly fucking ghost story. I didn’t deserve a
half-assed counseling session with some judgemental bitch who asks me if I really saw what I
fucking saw, and then won’t believe me when I tell her it’s the truth.

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I never deserved a life without my best friends. I didn’t deserve to have a shitty father. I didn’t
deserve to work in that shit hole grocery store with that psychotic asshole. I didn’t fucking
deserve to be harassed and stalked and raped. I wasn’t asking for it. I wasn’t looking for it. I
didn’t want it. I didn’t deserve to be ignored when I told people about it.
I deserve better than this.
Beat.
I’ll say this.
I know it’s hard to believe this — this thing. It’s fucking weird, alright?
But all that other stuff. Kids going missing and murders and rapes and abuse. That’s real. It
happens all the fucking time. And nobody pays attention. You think they do, but people like me
— nobody listens.
But it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s real. It happened. I don’t care if you believe me.
Beat.
So, whoever finds this, laugh at me all you want, but stop ignoring everybody else.
Nobody deserves that. Nobody.
Beat.
And I am not gonna tolerate being followed around by something that wasn’t invited.
Beat.
During the next moment, SASHA grabs their keys and wallet and places
them in appropriate pockets, puts on fingerless gloves from the jacket
pocket.
This time, there isn’t gonna be a football field between us. There’s not gonna be a standoff. I’m
gonna kill it. I’m gonna beat the shit out of it. I’m gonna set it on fire. I’m gonna do whatever the
fuck I gotta do to make sure it doesn’t come back.
Finishes dressing/prepping.
‘Cause it’s not coming back.
Finishes off water.
Presses STOP on recorder.
Picks up shot glass to take the shot.
Stops.
Pours it on the floor.
Walks out.
Lights out.
End of play.

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