THE SUBSTACK ZONE: A Six-Part Death by William Pauley III

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Nov 24, 2024

The Twilight Zone redefined storytelling, drawing audiences into the unimaginable. Now, 66 years later, top writers, artists, and musicians are stepping into its eerie glow with a fresh twist. Ready to see where they’ll take you?
Liz Zimmers | Edith Bow | Sean Archer | Bryan Pirolli | Andy Futuro | CB Mason | John Ward | NJ | Hanna Delaney | William Pauley III | Jason Thompson | Nolan Green | Shaina Read | J. Curtis | Honeygloom | Stephen Duffy | K.C. Knouse | Michele Bardsley | Bob Graham | Annie Hendrix | Clancy Steadwell | Jon T | Sean Thomas McDonnell | Miguel S. | A.P Murphy | Lisa Kuznak | Bridget Riley | EJ Trask | Shane Bzdok | Adam Rockwell | Will Boucher

Perspective.

Oftentimes, it’s just as important as the information itself. It is the lens through which we view the world. Though every eye sees the same, every living brain filters and interprets that information differently. What one individual may deem wholesome and good, another may deem inherently bad. There is no stark white line dividing all that is good and evil. Even murder, a subject most anyone would consider an evil, heinous deed, can sometimes be interpreted as just and good—and in some rare cases, even heroic.

In Anthony Fetterman’s unique perspective, murder was always considered to be the most evil of all sins. However, one peculiar morning, he opened his eyes to a new perspective, one that could only ever be seen by a man standing in the shadows of The Substack Zone.

A SIX-PART DEATH
by william pauley III

PART SIX

Tony Fetterman stood outside the large wooden door of The Crow Bar, staring at the door knob, formulating a plan for how he was going to get inside. The door was not locked, and at that particular hour, anyone was welcome to walk in off the street, so long as they had intentions of purchasing food or a drink. Tony had every intention to buy a drink, perhaps several, but the door remained a problem for him, an object of which he found it impossible to move through.

This was a new problem for him. In the past, like everyone else, he’d always used his hands to open doors. Unfortunately, he no longer had that luxury. He looked down at what was once his hands, but now more resembled… well, nothing. He wasn’t sure what they were anymore.

Thankfully, some kind patron exiting the bar was cordial enough to hold the door open for him, though once they caught a glimpse of the ends of his arms—each one dripping a healthy stream of melting flesh down onto the sidewalk—they gasped and, in an instant, sped down the street, attempting to get as far away from the horror as they could possibly muster.

Luckily for that kind patron, Tony was getting tired. After a long, hard day of killing, he was finally ready to sit down and have a drink. His first in twenty years.

“Bartender!’ he called out, but he’d already gotten her attention long before ever saying a word. She immediately ran over to him, examined his injuries, then asked what anyone would’ve asked him in that moment: “Jesus! Do you need me to call for an ambulance?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward, pushing his torso over the bar, then looked into the bartender’s eyes, hardly an inch between their faces.

“Sir, what are you doing?” she asked, backing away. “Look, if you need help, I’ll do what I can, but if you don’t respect my personal space, I’m going to walk away now. Understand?”

Tony leaned back and sat down on one of the bar stools. He responded with a smile and a nod.

“Sure. You got it,” he said, then looked over her shoulder at the collection of half-empty bottles lined up by the wall. “Heaven’s Door, please. The 10-year bottle.”

The bartender furrowed her brow. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Joke?” he asked, as if he had no idea what she was referring to.

She let out a short, awkward laugh. “Well, yeah… I don’t have to explain it to you, do I? I mean, it’s just weird… you creep in from off the street, your skin literally dripping all over the place, and you just sit down, like all the other patrons here, and order a drink? Come on, guy… don’t you think you should see a doctor about this condition of yours?”

“A doctor can’t help me. Bourbon can. By the way, no need for a glass. I’ll be taking the entire bottle. Thank you.”

“The whole bottle, huh? Okay, sure. I’ll play along.” She looked down once again at the puddle of flesh collecting on the bar top. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but… how are you even going to drink it? I hope you aren’t expecting me to feed it to you, because that sure ain’t happening.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by that,” he said, confused. “Why would I expect you to hold the bottle for me?”

The barkeep’s eyes lit up. “You’re making me feel like an asshole! Do I really have to say it? Surely you’ve noticed, but in case you’re unaware… your hands, sir, they appear to be melting. Your fingers have all fused together. I can’t even see the lines between ‘em or anything. It’s like you’ve dipped your arms in acid or something.” She made a conscious effort not to look directly at his wounds as she was conversing with the man, but every now and then she just couldn’t help it. “Oh, come on! You even have bone exposed! Are you kidding me? You can’t see that? You can’t feel that?”

“That isn’t bone,” he said, calmly. “It’s the end of a cattle prod, and I’m holding it just like I’ll hold that bottle. Speaking of which…”

“A cattle prod? For real?” She leaned down to get a closer look. “Okay. Yeah, I see the little prongs now. Weird. I thought cattle prods were longer, like the size of a baseball bat.”

“You’re absolutely right. They certainly are,” he said, nodding toward the bottle. “Miss, please. The drink.”

She ignored his request once again. “So, if cattle prods are long, then what’s this here? It’s short. More like a taser.”

Tony leaned in, looked the bartender straight in the eyes, all while keeping a respectable distance, then sternly asked once more for his drink. This time, she obliged. Tony pinned the bottle between his dripping fists and drank a fourth of it in a single chug.

As he stopped to take a breath, he tried placing the bottle down, but it immediately tipped over. The bartender quickly snatched it up and set it upright.

“I got you, honey,” she said, tossing a towel over the mess of bourbon and liquefied skin on the bar top. She wiped it clean, then placed another rag under his oozing fists to collect all that fell after.

“You know, I used to have a drinking problem,” Tony said, reaching for the bottle once again.

“Used to, huh?”

Tony laughed. “This is my first drink in over twenty years. My wife made me give it up. I asked her to marry me, but she only agreed on one condition: that I divorce the bottle first. So, that’s exactly what I did. And up until this morning, I didn’t regret my decision at all.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What happened this morning?”

Tony took another hard swallow from the bottle. He was already feeling the warmth of the bourbon spreading throughout his torso. “This morning? Well… this morning… I killed my wife.”

The bartender laughed out loud.

Tony smiled. “I guess it is sort of funny now, looking back on it, but it sure wasn’t funny to me this morning.”

The bartender’s smile quickly faded. “Wait… you’re not serious, are you? Am I on some kind of prank show right now? Where did you hide the cameras?”

She looked around the room, but saw nothing that hadn’t been there every day since her first day on the job.

Tony winced as he leaned over, trying his best to pull the sleeve back on his right arm—a feat near impossible for someone without functioning fingers—exposing yet another section of the cattle prod, melded to his skin. “You see, I hid this cattle prod under my clothes, hoping not to raise suspicion. It worked. She didn’t suspect a thing. However, it seems I went a little too far with it and surprised even myself. I certainly wasn’t expecting this.” He held up his arm, inviting her in for a closer look, but she just stood there, frozen with fright. She wasn’t sure what to do next.

“Are you telling me you electrocuted… your wife… to death?” she asked, every word more panicked than the last. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Oh, come on now… don’t act so surprised!” he shouted, now attracting the attention of the other patrons. Every last one sat there in silence and allowed the bizarre event to unfold without interruption. “Surely you all saw this coming…”

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, but the question was never answered.

“I’m hurt, Edna. I’m hurt real bad,” he said. She looked down at her shirt and covered her name badge with her hand. She didn’t like hearing her name roll off his tongue. It sounded hollow, empty—no life in it at all. “I’m not long for this world, Edna… I’m sure you’ve noticed as much. With these injuries, I’m not sure I’ll even make it through the night. But that’s okay. I’ve done my part, or at least all I can do. My last wish is simple. I just want to sit here and finish this bottle… then maybe go sleep.”

He laughed.

“You know, it’s kind of funny,” he continued. “If I had never met my wife, I never would’ve stopped drinking. It’s very possible that I would still be sitting here, in this very bar—on this very stool!—drinking my last drink tonight, only dying for another reason. Death would’ve found me here, no matter the choices I made in life. At least that’s what I’ll tell myself…. you know, to make all of this a little easier to process. Acceptance. What stage of death is that? It’s got to be close to the end, right?”

Edna said nothing, but she knew she’d have to do something soon. She wasn’t programmed to deal with such behavior. Neither were the other patrons of the bar. They quite literally didn’t know how they were supposed to react to these absurdities, so… they didn’t. They all just stood and sat in place, watching the melting man’s meltdown as if he was a bright digital screen in an otherwise dark, empty room.

“My first drink in over twenty years,” Tony repeated, “and it’s the most sober I’ve ever been. I see so clearly now. This isn’t how I wanted it to end, but I am happy that I know. That things finally make sense.”

He paused for a moment, seemingly lost in deep thought.

Edna had no idea what the man was talking about.

“Have a drink with me, Edna,” he said, finally. “Pour us each a shot. Come on. It’s the last wish of a dying man.”

She could think of nothing that would get her out of the situation safely. She shook her head.

“I can’t do that, sir. I’m working. I’ll get fired, for sure.” Her words fell out of her mouth like shiny river rocks, each one falling flat, entirely absent of emotion.

Tony just laughed.

“Of course,” he said, then laughed again. “Of course.”

Tony lifted the bottle and emptied its entire contents down his gullet. Most of it ended up on his face and torso, but what little did end up in his mouth, he swallowed in a single gulp. He then let the bottle fall free and it hit the floor with a hard thunk, but didn’t shatter.

Seeing the empty bottle spinning there on the floor caused Edna to snap out of her little trance. Immediately, she leaned over to pick it up, and when she did, Tony forced the end of the cattle prod into the small of her back and lit her up. Hot, sharp electricity moved through both of them, but only Tony howled.

Seconds later, they both lay lifeless, smoke rolling off each of their backs, filling every empty space within the bar with the stench of burning flesh. Tony’s skin continued to drip from his body until, finally, every last bit slid off his bones and collected in a puddle on the floor directly below.

Not a single patron moved throughout any of this. Even now, several hours later, they all continue to sit in place, smoke still thick in the air—stone cold silent, and all with a certain peculiar glint in their eyes.

PART TWO

Tony returned the pamphlet to the exact spot he’d found it, under a stack of dusty old magazines, careful to not leave behind any evidence suggesting the area had been tampered with. He then spent the next twenty minutes pacing along the path he’d spent all morning carving into the garage.

A flurry of thoughts buzzed inside his head, but only one returned again and again, as if demanding an answer: Can this really be true?

Surely not, he thought. It’s preposterous! Ludicrous! The kind of stuff you read about in old Ray Bradbury stories! But then the thought occurred to him that back when those stories were written, many in the 40s and 50s, those kinds of thoughts were only make-believe, simply a product of the author’s wild and vivid imagination. The year is now 2027, he thought. We are now living inside the worlds of those old, fantastic stories. The future is here, so what is our future now?

If the pamphlet was any indication of what was in store for the future of all mankind, then Tony wanted absolutely no part of it. He’d always considered himself to be fairly progressive, always one to push forward on certain political issues and never one for treading backwards, but this was where he drew the line. This is absurd. This is too much.

His initial reaction was to pack his things and run as far away from the house as possible, but at this stage in life, he had way too much to lose. Things had become much more complicated than they were when he was a young man. He now had responsibilities and people within the community who depended on him. He had checking and savings accounts, a mortgage, car payments, a job… and a child.

A child? But how could that be? he asked himself. How did we manage to give birth to our little girl? With all he knew now, the idea of conceiving a child with his wife was even more ludicrous than any of the information he’d found inside that pamphlet.

Tony thought about it all morning, trying to find a logical explanation for her existence, coming at it from every possible angle. She isn’t real, is all he could come up with. She must be one of them. There was simply no other explanation.

Thankfully, there was a way to not only test his hypothesis, but to prove it as absolute truth. In the pamphlet, under the chapter heading of ‘public safety’ there were a few sentences that revealed how one could tell if a person was truly a person, or if they were one of them.

The eyes. The truth is in the eyes.

He looked down at his phone to catch the time. 12:37pm. The school bus would be dropping his daughter off in front of their house in approximately 38 minutes. When it does, Tony would be standing there, anxiously awaiting her arrival.

PART FOUR

“Care for refill, hun?” the waitress asked, holding a steaming pot of coffee over the sheriff’s cup, ready to pour.

“No, thank you, Diane,” he said, hovering his open hand over the top of the cup. “I’ve had three already. I really should be going.”

The sheriff looked back over his shoulder, as if he sensed someone approaching, but there was no one.

“You’ve been staring at that door all morning, Chuck,” Diane said. “Everything okay? I shouldn’t be concerned, should I?”

Chuck laughed. “Oh, no… it’s nothing like that. I was just supposed to meet Tony Fetterman here for lunch, but I guess maybe it slipped his mind. He was interested in a piece of property and I gathered as much information on the place as I possibly could. Anyway, you know him. Busy, busy, busy. Probably just forgot to mark our little lunch down on his calendar. No big deal.”

Diane shook her head. “Well, Tony certainly is a busy man, that’s for sure. The other day, he came in for a coffee and a piece of toast, and he was chatting on that cell phone for so long that by the time he left, he’d only taken a single bite of toast! I mean, why even order it at all?”

Chuck smiled, then finished the last of his coffee.

“Don’t tell anyone now, but as soon as he left, I took his plate to the back and gobbled down the rest of that toast in two seconds flat. No sense in it just going to waste!”

He belted out a hearty chuckle. “Diane, you’re too much!” He then stood up, dug into his wallet and handed her a ten dollar bill.

“Come on now, Chuck,” she said, waving off his cash. “You know an officer’s cash ain’t no good here at the Fantoccini Cafe!”

“No, no. You take this ten dollar bill and you get yourself a proper meal with it, you hear? No more eating off of customer’s plates!” They both laughed as she took the cash.

“Well, thank you, sheriff. Mighty kind of you, sir.” Diane smiled. Chuck nodded and walked away.

Just before exiting the diner, he turned around and said, “If you see that Tony Fetterman walk in here, you go on and tell him to put down that cell phone of his and enjoy life for a bit. Sheriff’s orders.”

Diane laughed. “Oh, yes, sir. You know I will!”

The second he settled down into the driver’s seat of his squad car, dispatch was already barking orders at him.

“Chuck, when you get a chance, can you please go down to Ms. Juanita’s and help her out? She’s called here six times in the last hour sayin’ someone’s tampering with her water lines. She’s drivin’ me insane.”

He shook his head, laughed, then grabbed hold of the receiver and said, “Next time she calls, you tell her to call a plumber.”

“Sheriff, please,” the voice begged. “You know she won’t stop calling until you pay her a visit.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” he said. “Okay, fine. I’ll head over there shortly. But first, I’m going to make a quick stop over at the Fetterman residence. Tony stood me up at lunch. I just want to check in and make sure everything’s okay.”

“Thank you, Chuck,” dispatch said. “I owe you one.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure,” he said. “You know… one day, I’m gonna cash in on all these favors. Just you wait.”

Just before turning down the long driveway that led to the Fetterman home, Chuck caught a glimpse of movement out in the distance.

There was a man walking toward the barn. He was dragging something behind him, along the dirt. It was only a quick glimpse, but he was almost certain the man wasn’t Tony Fetterman. He’d never seen Tony so disheveled in as long as he’d known him. Tony was always clean cut and dressed sharply, the type of guy to pay someone to do his dirty work, never one to do the dirty work himself. The man he just saw walking towards the barn was just the opposite. He was wearing torn, sweat-soaked clothing and his hair was uncombed, wet, and sticking to his face.

Something was off. Maybe it was nothing, but in his particular line of work, it was always best not to ignore gut feelings.

The sheriff kept driving, long past the Fetterman place, then pulled over about a half mile down the road. He stepped out of the car, opened his trunk and dug into the bag of equipment there, removing only a pair of binoculars. He stood along the fence and pushed the binoculars to his eyes for a closer look.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the sheriff muttered to himself.

He was shocked to see the disheveled man was indeed Tony Fetterman, but even more puzzling was trying to figure out just what it was he was doing. The sheriff was also having trouble identifying the object he was dragging along the ground. Whatever it was, it seemed heavy, and at some point it must’ve injured his right arm, as it appeared as if he was unable to bend or even use it at all.

Chuck watched for nearly half an hour as Tony walked back and forth between the house and the barn, and each time he left the house, he was dragging behind him a different object than the one that came before it. Then, before long, Tony walked into the house and never came back out.

It’d be a gamble, but the sheriff knew if he made a move at that very moment, he was likely to get an answer to his many questions.

So, he made his move.

It took him a full ten minutes to walk to the barn, and in all that time, he never once took his eyes off the house. As far as he could tell, Tony was not aware that he had visitor on his property that day.

Once inside the barn, the sheriff recognized the foreign objects he’d seen Tony dragging along the dirt in an instant. They were the dismembered corpses of both his wife and daughter. He could see their faces clearly, as they were at the very top of the pile of collected body parts, otherwise carelessly tossed in place, right there in the center of the barn.

“Goddamn it,” the sheriff muttered, then yanked the radio receiver from off his shoulder. “Dispatch, do you copy?” He only waited a full second before asking once again. “Damn it, Sarah! Do you have a copy?”

“Yes, sheriff. I’m sorry,” Sarah replied. “Go for dispatch.”

“Fetterman knows,” was all the sheriff said. “Anthony Fetterman knows.”

As soon as the words escaped his lips, he felt a soft kick at his backside.

“Turn around,” a familiar voice commanded, and upon doing so, the sheriff saw that the voice belonged to Tony Fetterman. He also noticed the man was armed with cattle prod, of all things. Bits of wet skin and dripping blood slid off the end of its prongs as he pushed it near the sheriff’s throat.

Tony leaned in close to get a good look at his eyes.

He sighed.

“Oh, Chuck… not you, too.”

PART THREE

Tony typed the words, ‘Turing test questions,’ into the web browser of his cell phone, then scrolled through the long list that populated only seconds later. Every question was simple and short, easy to remember and easy to answer. He wasn’t sure how they would assist in proving or disproving that his wife was human, but he was a blind believer in science. He might not have understood it, but he had full faith that the scientists behind its studies knew far more on the subject than he had.

He put his phone away and thought for a moment about what might happen next. He went over every possible scenario inside his head. Although unlikely, he couldn’t ignore the fact that asking these questions may be enough to trigger a negative reaction. She may realize, mid-conversation, that he knew something he wasn’t supposed to know. She may even attack him. There was a small, but very possible, chance that she would try to inflict physical harm upon him.

He would have to arm himself.

Finding a weapon on their little farm was hardly a task. There were weapons everywhere: guns, knives, axes, baseball bats, crowbars, you name it. However, in that moment, he was reminded of something he’d read in that odd pamphlet he found in the garage: If threatened in any way, she was programmed to do anything she could to eliminate that threat. It didn’t specify whether or not she would interpret her own husband holding a weapon as a threat. Humans had the ability to factor in emotions. Most people, real people, could see their spouses holding a knife or a gun and not immediately interpret the act as a threat. There was a difference between holding a weapon and brandishing a weapon, but were those things able to tell the difference?

He wasn’t sure, so he decided to play it safe and use a weapon so inconspicuous that she wouldn’t possibly consider it a threat. And to be even more cautious, he would hide this weapon under his clothing and only reveal it if he felt the need to actually use it.

He chose the cattle prod.

Tony went looking for his wife, and not surprisingly, she was exactly where he expected her to be—in the kitchen, preparing lunch. A part of him felt foolish realizing only in that moment that many of her obsessive qualities were, in actuality, mere programming. How could he know so much about her, yet still know so little?

The thought depressed him deeply, so he did his best to shrug it off.

“Mary,” he called to her, her name barely escaping his lips. She lifted her eyes and upon seeing his face, she immediately perked up.

“Hi, darling,” she said, in a sweet, inviting tone. After studying his face for several seconds, she tilted her head and asked, “Is everything okay?”

He was lost in her beauty. Every small part of her biological makeup was perfect. The color of her eyes, the curl in her lips. Everything. He found her irresistible. But was that all she was to him? Just a beautiful woman and nothing more? As he pondered the questions he was about to ask, he couldn’t help but wonder if he truly was that shallow. Not once had he ever asked her those things—those simple, everyday questions. It really had him wondering how much he knew about her at all.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” she said, and he wondered if he’d ever asked her to do the same in the twenty-three years they’d been married.

“I was just wondering…” He paused. A lump formed in his throat. He could hardly speak. “Could you describe a dream for me? One you’ve had recently. Any dream will do.”

He expected her to laugh, but she took the question seriously and answered straight away.

“Last night, I dreamt I was I standing in the middle of a gentle stream in a large, dense forest. The trees above me seemed to stretch on forever. A cool, autumnal breeze nipped at my exposed skin, but it wasn’t intolerable, as the sun was still warm enough to keep me comfortable. Being out in the woods was a nice alternative to the stresses of daily life.”

This isn’t how people talk. Something’s not right here, he thought.

Not once, throughout the description of her dream did she look away from him, or even blink.

“And your favorite food?” he asked, without responding to her dream at all.

At this, she turned her head slightly, but only looked away for a moment. “Well, I’m not sure that I have a favorite food, but if I was forced to choose one, I would have to say sushi.”

Tony laughed out loud as soon as she said it. “Sushi! That’s just absurd! Not once, Mary… not once, in all the years I’ve known you, have you eaten sushi! You haven’t even mentioned it! What about chicken fettuccine alfredo? Or steak and potatoes? Or beef stroganoff? We have those dishes at least once a week!”

“That’s because those are your favorite meals, dear,” she said, laughing. “Now, do you have any more of these silly questions? Because lunch is almost ready.”

As if it wasn’t bad enough realizing he was cold and shallow, he now was being told that he was an egocentric, self-obsessed asshole. Had he truly been denying her her favorite foods all those years, just so he could have his favorite dishes every day of the week? Was this why he was so happy—because he had everything he could ever want, all while everyone around him was suffering in silence? What other things had she given up to be with him?

He could feel himself sliding down a long, dark spiral of misery. He took a breath and asked his final question.

“One more, if you don’t mind… Mary.” He found it especially difficult to utter her name. Saying it, just then, felt more like a birth than speaking. “Could you please explain to me… the concept of… love?”

“Of course,” she said, still playing along with his odd little game. “Love is a complex human emotion encompassing deep affection, care, intimacy, and a desire for another person's well-being, often accompanied by feelings of happiness, joy, and a strong emotional connection.”

It may have been true, but no part of it described their relationship in the slightest. That broke his heart just as much as realizing she wasn’t human.

“Alright, enough of this,” Mary said, walking away to set the table. “Lunch is ready. Do me a favor, and call for Annie. She’s out playing in the barn.”

The barn. How could she possibly know Annie was there? He was certain he was careful. She hadn’t seen a thing. Did she have some kind of GPS tracker built into her programming? How else could she have possibly known?

It was at that moment that Tony made the very difficult decision to kill his wife.

PART FIVE

After listening to the sounds of his own fevered breath for several seconds, Tony once again opened his eyes, hoping the horrors revealed to him in the last few hours were merely dreams—nightmares—but it was only wishful thinking.

The sheriff was dead. His wife and six-year old child, too. And all by his own trembling, electric fists.

Was anything real anymore? Was it ever? Was everyone he’d ever known one of those… things?

His mind raced, flickering a barrage of questions so quick he couldn’t keep up, let alone come up with answers. All he knew was that he had to do something. He couldn’t just sit there, waiting for them find him. There would have to be a plan, and he’d have to come up with it pretty quick.

So, he sat there on the long dirt road of his driveway, thinking, while some ten feet away, the sheriff’s cold, steel corpse twitched and sparked.

If every one of the three people he encountered that day were all imposters, then he realized the chances were pretty good that he’d encounter a few more before coming across someone real, someone human. But he wasn’t sure how long he could fight them off. Every encounter required a tremendous amount of energy, and his energy was quickly depleting. His body was irrevocably damaged. He felt weaker by the minute.

Pain throbbed in his arm, disrupting his thoughts, so he was forced to take a moment to examine the severity of his wounds. “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, realizing only then that the cattle prod had fused to his arm. He recognized he was injured immediately after the first kill, but he had no idea the damage was that severe. Every time he’d pushed the prongs of the weapon up against one of their metal shells, an abnormal amount of electricity would blaze through it, sending waves of hot white heat throughout not only their bodies, but his as well.

They would short circuit.

He would slowly melt away.

He knew he couldn’t keep it up forever. By that point his arms and torso had become so torched, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to do it even once more. As much as he would’ve enjoyed running through town, electrocuting every intruder in sight, he knew it was just a fantasy. In order to win this fight, he’d have to find others like him and build an army.

But there simply wasn’t time for any of that.

He was a rat in a cage. There was nowhere to hide. They were everywhere. If the next person he encountered wasn’t human, then his life was over. Simple as that.

His breath suddenly quickened to fuel his wildly beating heart and he found himself craving a drink more than wishing to save the world.

After all, there may not have been anything left worth saving anymore. Whatever those things were and wherever they came from, they’ll keep on coming. That much was certain. They’ll eventually take over the Earth, if they hadn’t already done so already.

I was never the hero type, he thought. I can’t be the one expected to save humanity. I’m simply not built for it. I’m just a drunk. A drunk who hasn’t had a stitch to drink in over twenty years…

He’d battle his conscience for another hour before finally settling on having that last drink.

PART ONE

“Honey, I found it!” Tony shouted from the back bedroom. He was sitting on the middle of the bed, cloaked in early morning darkness, the only light visible was blazing from the electric tablet resting on his lap. “I found it! I finally found it!”

He hopped out of bed and went racing through the hallway. When he finally found his wife, he nearly walked straight into her.

“Tony! What on earth has gotten into you?” his wife said, pushing him away.

“I found it, Mary! I found it!” He held the tablet up in front of her face and scrolled through a series of digital photos.

“Yes, I can see that,” Mary said, laughing. “But what is this?”

“Our home. Our real home, I mean. Our dream home,” he said, smiling. “It’s ten acres, has a pool, and a walk-through garden that’ll take your breath away. It’s also located in the Serling District, so our little ones will grow up with the best education available in these parts.”

“Our little ones? Plural?” Mary asked, confused. “But we only have Annie.”

Tony smiled. “It’s five bedrooms. Plenty of room for our little family to grow. All the work I’ve put in these last few years is finally starting to pay off!”

“Oh, Tony! That’s just wonderful!” She threw her arms over him and they kissed deeply.

“It’s ours, Mary,” he said, tears forming in his eyes. “Well, not quite, but I’ve got Chuck looking into it for me. He’s going to meet me for lunch, so we can talk more about it then. Do you know where we put our deed? We’re going to have to put this place up on the market soon, or else risk paying two mortgages.”

“This is all happening so fast! It hardly feels real!” Mary said, then realized she never answered his question. “Oh, I think the deed is in the garage somewhere, hon. You may have to dig for it.”

One hour and forty-seven minutes later, Tony was standing in the middle of his messy garage, holding not the deed to his house, but instead an odd pamphlet he’d found pinned beneath a stack of old car magazines. The pamphlet was an owner’s manual of some sort, and for an object he was not aware he owned. The object was a humanoid robot, TO-BOT Model 4.2. When he pulled back the cover to read its contents, he was shocked to see, staring back at him, a photo of Mary.

It seemed he stumbled upon the instruction manual to his wife. His wife of twenty-three years. And he was not aware, in all that time, she wasn’t human.

He felt sick, but it didn’t stop him from reading the manual cover to cover.

Afterwards, he folded the pamphlet, then just sat there staring as it trembled in his hands. He felt his heart thrum inside his rib cage, as he contemplated what he must do next.

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