Any Minute Now

Molly started the coffee and opened the kitchen curtains to let in some of the morning light. It was bright out, as was often the case here, where she lived near the desert canyon with Jack.

Or at least she still liked to think she lived here with Jack. She wasn’t always so sure anymore these days, even though her mind didn’t dare linger on the thought.

A couple of months ago, Jack had saddled up his horse and gone north to find some work the way he had so many times before. But he’d been gone a long time now, compared to his usual standard. He’d been gone a long time, and there’d been no word the way there normally would have been.

She tried to remind herself that this wasn’t the first time he’d been gone longer than usual and been in a situation where he hadn’t been able to write to her, but she couldn’t help it. Some alarm bell deep inside of Molly told her that something was different about this time. Still, she refused to let the thought grow roots, and she certainly didn’t dare claim it by putting it into words, not even in her journal.

So Molly gazed out the kitchen window toward the north, pretending she was merely admiring the view the way she might do on any other day. Then she drank her coffee, made some toast, and continued with her day.

*

Another week went by. And then another, and another, until an additional month and a half had been and gone. Still, Jack had not returned. Still no letters in the post.

But nor had there been any visits from well-meaning coworkers or friends of Jack’s – people coming by to inform her that something had happened and return his things to her. And as long as there was no bad news, Molly felt she was justified in continuing to hope for good news.

But the little house at the edge of the desert was a difficult place to be when Molly was all by herself. She and Jack had never had any children, and the nearest neighbors were some way off.

That was the way they both liked it.

When they were first seeing each other and still lived in town, they’d dreamed constantly of moving way out to the middle of nowhere, where there’d be no neighbors and no noise. This was their dream house, right down to the fact that it had a bright yellow door, the way Molly had always wanted when she was a little girl.

Being here was just like being in their own little world, a world that was the perfect size for two, but much too spacious for just one.

So one morning, Molly decided for the first time in a while to set out for town. She didn’t need anything specific so much as she just really wanted to see another human face. She was starting to wonder if maybe she was the only person left in the world, and it was getting to her.

She tried to remember when she’d last been to town as she started down the dusty old road that led there.

It had been a while, but just having a mission and being on her way somewhere was lifting her spirits. She took note of all her favorite landmarks – the big rock she’d always thought looked like a fat pig made of stone, the tall dead tree that looked like the hand of a witch reaching up out of the ground.

The sun was bright as ever, but it wasn’t yet as hot out as it could sometimes get around these parts. A pleasant breeze picked up, causing the blue ruffle around the front of Molly’s bonnet to flutter cheerfully. Somewhere overhead, a hawk uttered a piercing cry that echoed through the nearby canyon. Molly closed her eyes with pleasure, letting the normalcy of the walk soothe her anxious soul.

But when she opened them again, the path was no longer there in front of her.

The breeze, the rocks, the sparse vegetation, and even the sun weren’t there anymore, either. Molly’s feet were still walking at a leisurely pace just as they had been before, and they were still on the familiar dirt path to town. Only now, they were headed back toward the little house at the edge of the desert. The recently repainted yellow door seemed almost inappropriately cheerful, considering the fact that she hadn’t been headed there.

Am I losing my mind, Molly asked herself as she looked around, utterly confused as to what was going on. Then, out of not really knowing what else to do more than anything else, she turned back around where she was and started walking back toward town, determined this time, instead of relaxed and leisurely.

She walked until she saw the stone pig, and the witch’s hand, and the painted rocks of the canyon where the hawks liked to circle in search of prey. And she kept her eyes open this time, having no more interest in savoring the breeze at this moment.

But it happened again anyway.

The scene changed suddenly and without warning before Molly’s very eyes, as if an invisible hand had spun her around and purposefully pointed her toward her little home again. Except there had been no sensation of turning. No sensation of anything except for normal walking. Yet here she was just the same, walking with purpose toward the yellow door as if she were the one coming home after a long time away.

*

After Molly’s strange, unsuccessful attempt to walk to town, it was pretty much impossible to go on thinking nothing was wrong. And that realization seemed to open a floodgate of similar realizations that only added to the situation.

Molly realized that part of the reason she’d felt as alone as she did since Jack had left was that she really was alone here. None of the animals were here – not the brown and white cow they’d kept out back, and not the chickens that used to fill the air with their cheerful clucking, fussing, and cackling.

She’d just assumed they’d been there.

But when she really asked herself when the last time she’d milked the cow or gone out in the morning to collect the eggs from the chickens was, she couldn’t remember. She only knew that it had been long enough ago for Jack to be present, because she remembered him singing to himself the way he always did.

But Molly’s days continued, because she had no other choice, despite looking high and low for one.

She tried walking away from the house in other directions to no avail. And after the loneliness and desperation had gotten to be too much for her, she’d even tried ending her own life in a variety of different ways. Each attempt simply brought her right back to where she was, safely situated on her little plot of land at the edge of the desert.

She figured this must be what purgatory was like, although she wasn’t at all sure that was where she was. She didn’t remember dying, but then she didn’t remember a lot of things.

But she continued to lead her patchwork life the same way, in fits and starts, as if she might be dreaming. She’d wake up in the morning. She’d make herself meals and keep herself busy puttering around the house. She’d forget herself often and catch herself staring out the window down the road to the north, looking for signs that Jack might be coming up the road at some point.

Maybe just maybe, she thought, I’ll find out one day that he’s here, too. This would almost be bearable if he were here, too.

*

Jack hadn’t been gone long that time – perhaps only a month. After all, he never knew how far he’d have to travel to find work that paid decently enough to keep food on the table for months to come. But he’d lucked out this time and stumbled across a nearby ranch in search of an extra set of hands almost right away.

He’d loved the work there, not to mention the beautiful setting, and he couldn’t wait to get home to the little house at the edge of the desert to tell Molly all about it.

But when he’d reached the little yellow door, it was not only disturbingly ajar but marred by long, deep scratches left by some creature or another. And when he’d gone inside, his worst suspicions had been confirmed. There lay Molly on the kitchen floor in a pool of her own blood, mauled to death by the creature. She’d been dead a while – weeks – so this had to have happened not long after he’d left.

Life was never quite the same for Jack after that. The little house at the edge of the desert wasn’t the same without Molly, but he continued on regardless. Until the day he just couldn’t anymore.

But Jack would forget that day soon enough, the day he went out back with his rifle and took his own life. All he knew now was that the days bled eerily into one another in a way they hadn’t before. For instance, when he’d try to leave the property, he’d mysteriously wind up walking back toward it again without any memory of having turned around.

And… Molly. Where was Molly?

Surely she’d just gone to town to buy a few things from the market and he’d forgotten. So Jack opened the kitchen curtains and gazed out down the road. She’ll be here any minute for sure, he thought to himself as he poured himself another cup of coffee.

Any minute now.