Offerings

By Chris Rathburn

            The goddamn dog had another toy. It was one of those hollow ring plastic discs. Snatching it from Ruby’s lips, Jobe turned it over in his hands, scowling, before giving it an experimental throw. He watched it sail across the yard, level and graceful.

            It was a nice one, the dog’s teeth having scarcely marked it for all that she was a worrier. Ruby missed her chance to catch it out of the air, scrabbling and biting at the disc where it lodged against the grass. Persistence won out and she got a tooth under the rim. Snapping it up in her jaws, she pelted back to her master, stubby, muscular legs churning.

            Jobe yanked it away again. She didn’t hold hard, but Ruby didn’t like to let toys drop either. As long as he was assertive, she didn’t give him any attitude. He gave it an overhand toss, watching the plastic ring turn in a slow barrel roll that it didn’t complete before coming down to stutter and skip through the grass.

            He slipped inside while the dog was away. The act made him feel a touch of guilt, but he didn’t have the inclination to run her out just then. Erica stood at the sink, rinsing out a coffee mug, watching the dog out the window.

            “Another one?” she asked.

            “Another one,” Jobe confirmed, “That’s six.”

            “Jeez, did you ask the neighbor about it?”

            “Sean?” he asked.

            “No,” she said, “I thought it was Dan doing it.”

            Jobe shrugged, “No idea. Whenever they’re tossing shit in the yard, they’re doing it when I’m not looking.”

            “It’s not shit,” Erica set her mug on the drying rack, “All of it’s been nice stuff. You said so yourself.”

            “It’s still weird,” said Jobe, “Who gives all these presents to someone else’s dog? What are they doing? Trying to get her to trust them so they can take her?”

            Erica plopped down at the kitchen table, tucked her ash blonde hair behind her ear, and reached for her smartphone, “She’s a mutt, J. I doubt they are going to dognap her and skip town.”

            Jobe retrieved his own mug from the counter and went to pour his third cup of coffee. Then, he remembered his doggy hands and stopped to wash. Glancing out the window over the sink, he froze.

            For a second, he thought he’d seen one of those yard gnomes, but there was only the longish grass he’d decided to put off mowing until Sunday. He shook his head, bemused. He’d always thought those little statues were creepy. Erica agreed. Why anyone would want to decorate their lawn with those nasty things was beyond him.

            Pouring the milk into his steaming java, he retorted, “So what then?! They get her to be cool with them so they can walk across the yard and break in when we’re not here?”

            Thumbing at her phone, her green eyes met his and she answered, “Ruby stays inside when we’re not home. I guess Dan and that lady -are they married? What’s her name? Stacy?- anyway, they might be buttering her up so she won’t make a stink when they run over to murder us, but if that’s the plan they don’t seem to mind losing the element of surprise.”

            Jobe burned his mouth around a swallow of coffee and looked icily at his wife, “Are you making fun of me?”

            Erica winked, “A little bit. You mad, bro?”

            He was, but she was too much of a catch to say something that might wreck his chances. Closer to thirty than twenty, she still had the body that friends and neighbors snuck glances at. He didn’t mind it, he liked to look, too, and felt proud of her figure, as if he was the one who hit the gym after work.

            Unconsciously, he adjusted the waist of his shorts around a burgeoning paunch and said, “You can’t sit there and tell me it’s not weird, right?”

            “I’m not,” she agreed, “So go talk to the neighbors. There’s only four lots adjoining ours. It has to be one of them, right?”

            Jobe felt reluctant, the way he had the last two times they’d gone around on this, “You think I should? I don’t want to bother anybody.”

            Erica set aside her phone as she got back to her feet. She stepped to face him as he finished his mug and put it aside. She put her hands on his hips and smiled up at him. Just shy of six feet himself, there wasn’t more than a couple inches difference between them.

            “It’s bothering you,” she said, then added, “us. It has been for a while now. If you don’t want people tossing things in our yard, it’s perfectly reasonable to tell people so they know to stop doing it.”

            Jobe frowned, “So awkward, though…”

            “I know, sweetie,” she said, “Tell you what, let’s go fuck and then you go get it done while I take a shower.”

            His sudden tumescence deflating his resolve, he asked his wife, “Don’t we have to get going?”

            She rolled her eyes, “Now you’re just stalling. It’s only the grocery store and we’ve got all Saturday. I think it’ll be okay.”

            With that, she turned and stepped into him so that her yoga pants clad bottom bumped up against the crotch of his gym shorts, “Let’s hurry up though, before it gets hot out.”

            Jobe grimaced and looked out the window as she put his hands on her breasts and slid his cock up and down between her buttocks, “I know! It’s been so humid.”

* * *

            She still wore a towel turban as she put on her makeup. Jobe had been gone awhile, so that meant Erica had been thorough; shaved. The thought left him swollen again at the possibility of a second round later that evening.

            Erica pretended she didn’t notice as she ran a pencil over her waterline with a surgeon-steady hand, “So?”

            Jobe went to the fridge and grabbed a can of green tinted, bubbly chemicals laced with enough stimulants to get him comfortably twitchy. It was important to caffeinate on the weekends, lest he get a headache from withdrawal. He cracked it open, took a swig, and dumped himself resignedly into a kitchen chair.

            “Nobody did it,” he said, “I checked Dan and he said no. Her name’s Stacy, by the way, and I guess they’ve been engaged for like two years.”

            “Bruce and Carol?” she asked, inclining her head toward the retirees one house adjacent. They used to have dogs and were thus prime suspects.

            Jobe shook his head, “Nope. They gave me a bag of rawhides.”

            Erica winced, “Yuck! Their dogs have been dead for forever! They have to be at least five years old!”

            “I tossed them when I got home,” he agreed, then went on, “I checked over at Mary-Anne’s, but they’re cat people.”

            She grinned at the moniker. The lesbian boomers were the best of neighbors. Annabelle and Marilyn had been married a few years now and neither had taken the other’s last name. Both of their ancestors came from parts of the world where surnames were stubbornly unpronounceable, so for simplicity’s sake the nominal portmanteau they’d assigned them had stuck.

            “That just leaves the guy that smokes pot out in his garage every night,” she said.

            “Sean,” Jobe nodded, “He’s okay. A little weird, but he’s harmless.”

            “Weird?”

            Jobe took another swallow of his beverage, wiping the top of the can off as an afterthought. Someone at work had said there was rat piss on them from the factory. It was gross to think of, but not enough for him to get back up for a glass. Smoothing his shirt back into place, he answered, “He’s a veteran or something. Jittery. I think he said he was on disability with that PSDT.”

            “PTSD,” she corrected, then made a pouty face, “Poor guy. We should, I don’t know, bring him cookies or something.”

            Jobe nodded, pulling out his phone, “I’ll stick it on the grocery list.”

            Then, looking her over, he asked, “Time for a quick shower?”

            “If you want,” she said, giving herself a last lookover in her compact, “but I’m about ready.”

            He plucked at his shirt, “I’m all moist.”

            Erica wrinkled her nose, “Ick! Stop being gross!”

            Then, she gave him a coy look and batted her eyelashes. She was an artist with cosmetics, her green eyes framed so that they became bottomless pools, “Besides, I like it when you’re a little musky. Just go change and we’ll get going.”

            Jobe wasn’t the smartest man and never claimed to be, but he had fair instincts when it came to getting laid, so off to the bedroom he went for a fresh set of his entirely interchangeable selection of casual clothing; dark t-shirts, gym shorts, boxer briefs. When he returned to put on his sandals, he saw she had put on the red heels that matched her twirly, knee length dress. Ducking into the bathroom to check his already thinning hair and pat his sucked in belly, he grinned at his swarthy, vaguely Latino face and thought, Best thing to ever happen to a potato!

* * *

            Casually taking a pregnancy test from one of their reusable shopping bags and setting it on the counter by a fresh tube of toothpaste, Erica eyed her husband of the past eighteen months dubiously. Jobe hadn’t helped put anything away, but was diligently looking through the instructions for one of the two identical security cameras he’d purchased. She shrugged and moved onto the next bag; there was no rush and technically, no reason to get excited yet.

            She looked at the clock on the microwave, thinking of how many hours it would be until morning. The internet had said it was best to use her first pee of the day to get the best results from the home tests. She wondered if she’d show it to Jobe, or if she’d get confirmation at the doctor first, then decided she was getting ahead of herself and put a can of pineapple and a loaf of bread in the pantry.

            “Check this out, honey!” Jobe called excitedly, “They connect up with your Wi-Fi! You just download the app and you can check them out from wherever!”

            “Do they record?” she asked, “Or do they just stream?”

            Looking over the instructions, he turned them about and said, “They have their own flash memory, but you can switch up settings so that it gets saved to a computer on the same network. You just have to have it on so they can access the hard drive. I guess you can set them so they automatically delete old footage after a certain point. Neat!”

            Erica wasn’t thrilled about the expense, but she was happy to see him happy again, and the toys that kept showing up were weird. Looking out the windows over the sink, she asked, “Where were you thinking of setting them up?”

            Jobe frowned thoughtfully, moving to stand beside her. After a time, he nodded toward the two corners of the house, out of view beyond the window frame, “I’d figure there and there, under the gutters so they don’t get rained on. I’d like to put them farther out for a better angle, but I’d need to figure out how to get them plugged in.”

            She looked into their backyard, eyeing the black walnut tree. Its canopy shaded the entire space with branches to spare to heap leaves in their gutters. Without knowing a thing about trees, she could see plainly that it was old. There were other good-sized trees in the neighborhood, planted back in the seventies when the suburb first sprouted from the side of its city. None of them were like the black walnut. She suspected it had been old when they were seeds and it would be older still when they were rotted stumps.

            “You’d have to hang them from the shed or something,” she said, jerking her chin toward the structure beyond the gnarled hulk, “I don’t know where else you’d put them.”

            It was true. Their back yard was fenced in and spare. Apart from the black walnut, there were a few flowering bushes along the house and the side of the garage, as well as the prefab shed just starting to sag in the corner. Save for the tree, all of it had been put there by previous owners. Erica and Jobe weren’t lawn people, performing minimally adequate maintenance out of a sense of reluctant propriety. A lush weed garden peeked out from behind the limp shed where they kept their mower and rakes and shovels and the like.

            “Too bad there’s no power out there,” said Jobe, “It’s a lot closer.”

            With that, he got to his feet and made for the door. Erica frowned, her plans for a lazy afternoon of Netflix and chill evaporating as the sultry air invaded the kitchen, “You’re putting them out now?”

            Jobe nodded, looking guilty but unrepentant, “Sorry! It’s just driving me nuts, you know?”

            She nodded, but made sure to show off her legs as she set about making a fresh pot of coffee, “I’d do it Sunday morning, when it’s nice out.”

            Her husband gave her a longing look from top to bottom, then put one foot out the door to keep his resolve, “Sorry, but it’s killing me not knowing what’s happening out there. It’s right under our noses for Christ’s sake!”

            “Suit yourself,” she said, digging the creamer out of the refrigerator, “but honestly, if it’s not hurting anything, it might not be worth the trouble. Maybe it’s better to just let things be.”

            He didn’t answer. She looked up; he was already gone.

* * *

            “Honey!” cried Jobe, shaking her by the shoulders, “Honey!”

            Erica thrashed in startled panic, kicking off the blankets and sending her husband into the wall with a heel to the gut before she realized who it was. Her hand darted for the lamp on the nightstand, nearly knocking it to the floor before she caught it by the little knob and brought it to life with a twist. Jobe was on his ass with his knees against his chest, getting his wind back, looking up at her with wild eyes.

            “Jobe?” she said, automatically scooping up her phone to check the time, “Jesus, it’s like three in the morning.”

            “I know!” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “I know! I’m sorry, but you have to come check this out!”

            She sniffed the air, “Are you drunk?”

            “No!” he exclaimed, indignant, then faltered when she arched her brow.

            “A little bit,” he admitted, “I got bored watching.”

            Erica frowned, “My vodka?”

            He nodded, “Beer doesn’t go in coffee. Get up!”

            On his feet now, one hand on his gut, the other reached for her wrist. Catching her up, he hauled Erica to her feet roughly enough to sting. Wincing, she twisted loose with a move she’d picked up at the women’s self-defense course he’d urged her to take. She’d thought it was silly at the time, but reminded herself to thank Jobe later, when she wasn’t absolutely pissed, standing there in her panties in the dead of night.

            “Ow! What the fuck, J?!”

            Her husband didn’t answer, hurrying out of the room, gray bathrobe trailing over dark boxer briefs and the day’s second black t-shirt. She followed after, rubbing her wrist and glowering, but increasingly curious. The man was beside himself, which was way out of character.

            That was enough to make her uneasy. Jobe was always so chill. She’d been enamored with that quality since their first date three years ago. It was one of his best features. If she’d wanted drama, she would have stayed with her ex.

            She found him in the spare bedroom, converted into an office. Automatically, Erica considered the best places to put a crib and rocking chair. Then, she was at his side by the desk where they kept their computer. He had two windows open on the monitor. They framed grainy, black and white images of their backyard. Erica registered them as live when she saw the branches of the black walnut tree swaying in a night breeze.

            Jobe hunched over the keyboard with his customary terrible posture, irritably clicking at the icons lining the windows. She leaned forward to get a better view, letting a breast smoosh against his shoulder blade. They looked together, but there was nothing to see. There was only the tree and the shed and the weeds, but she could tell her husband was going nuts that there wasn’t more.

            “It was right here!” he growled, jabbing his finger at the screen.

            Erica cocked her head, still seeing nothing, “Were they recording?”

            Jobe stiffened and she could feel him grow warmer as he flushed and brought up a menu on the cameras’ program. He clicked around a bit, searching, until he found what he was looking for. The interface looked straightforward to Erica and she leaned in so that they were cheek to cheek as he brought up a saved file.

            It was more of the same. The only difference was the date-time marker in the corner. She looked accusingly at the all but depleted bottle of vodka beside the empty coffee cup

            “Have you been sitting here all night?”

            “What the fuck?!” Jobe muttered, ignoring her, then started adjusting the slider at the bottom of the footage, zooming back and forth through recorded time, looking frantically for something. She heard Ruby stir on the couch in the living room. Erica frowned, guessing the little lady would be scratching at the patio door to go potty soon.

            “What is it?” she asked him, “Did you see something, J?”

            She felt it as her husband froze against her, heard it as he lied, “Yeah. I…uh…I thought I saw a guy coming over the fence, but I guess it must have just been the light.”

            Erica cocked her head, “You’re sure?”

            Ruby was scratching to be let out. She turned automatically to oblige their beloved beast, then reached back to tug the collar of her husband’s robe. Jobe was still scrolling back and forth through the footage, shaking his head.

            “Gimme!” she said, tugging harder, “I’m in my undies and Ruby needs to pee. Jobe!”

            He lifted his bottom from the chair and raised his arms so she could yank the garment free. Draping it over her shoulders, she paused as he spun around in the office chair to look up at her. Unmistakable fear was written across his face.

            “Uhm,” she said, uncertain, “unless you think maybe it’s not safe?”

            He didn’t answer, but only stood to part the blinds of the window by the desk to squint into the dark expanse of back yard. Belting the robe closed, she asked, “Jobe? Should I call the police?”

            At that, the man came back to himself. He looked at her again, and this time the fear had subsided. It wasn’t gone, but now her husband mostly looked drunk and tired.

            “Nah!” he said, grinning with slurred charm, “I guess I’m just jumping at shadows. Staring at these stupid cameras long enough I got paranoid, you know?”

            “Sure, J,” said Erica, “Come to bed, okay?”

            “Okay, hon.”

            “And brush your teeth,” she added, wrinkling her cute little nose, “Coffee breath.”

            He nodded, “I will. Just give me a minute to shut down, okay?”

            Erica gave him a loose thumbs up and swept out of the room. Alone, Jobe looked back at the two windows on the monitor, his brow furrowed in concentration. He knew what he’d seen. The little person had been as plain as day, playing and dancing in the grass like a child, but there was nothing in the footage to show they’d ever been.

            Resignedly, he clicked the toggle that returned to the feeds in the here and now. Jobe sat bolt upright, his eyes fixed at the shadowy base of the black walnut tree. A tiny man, full grown but no bigger than an infant, stood alone.

            The man was staring straight at the camera, seeming to look him directly in the eye. Jobe flicked his gaze to the other feed. He saw the little man’s head in profile, his strange, long nose distinct in the low light, then he turned with oily smoothness to face the second camera.

            “Holy shit…” Jobe breathed, transfixed. He had no idea what to do. Then, the porchlight came on, startling him.

            The little man didn’t move a muscle, his body like a statue in the incandescent light, dappled by the shifting filter of the black walnut’s leaves. Jobe thought crazily of lawn gnomes, for that’s what the diminutive fellow best resembled. He had little boots and a long tunic worn over trousers. He even had a floppy hat that hung jauntily over one pointed ear. His yellow cat’s eyes didn’t blink, not once.

            “Go on, girl!” he heard Erica call from the kitchen, her voice muffled from leaning her head out the glass panes of the sliding patio door, “Go make a pee, sweetie! Go potty!”

            Jobe reached for his mug as the Pug-Pitbull mix scampered right up to the fairy. He was sure that’s what it was. What else could it be?

            It occurred to the man then that he should do something. The sense of danger tingled through every nerve, insisting he should fight or take flight, but he was frozen. The only thing he could think to do was make a dry, reflexive swallow with his lips against the cool rim of his empty mug.

            He was sure that Ruby was dead, that he was going to watch her die right in front of him. Then, without ever taking his yellow eyes with their slit pupils from the camera, the little man reached up and scratched the mutt behind the ear until she dropped onto her haunches so she could ecstatically kick at her collar with a hind leg.

            Erica saw nothing at all, the shadow of their dog falling across the fairy. With his other hand, the creature reached behind his back. Jobe waited for him to come back with something terrible, maybe a knife, but all he held was a fresh, fluorescent yellow tennis ball.

            “Come on, girl!” called Erica, “Hurry up! Make a pee! Make a poop!”

            Still looking at the camera, the fairy gave Ruby a kiss on her cold, wet nose and threw the ball for her. He threw it away from the patio, farther out into the shadows where his wife couldn’t see. Ruby took off like someone was chasing her with an axe, determined to wrap her lips around her wonderful new treasure before it could make it to the fence.

            He heard it squeak-squeak-squeaking in her jaws as she squatted to piss and then ran back up to the patio. Erica cooed as their fur baby returned, then went quiet. He heard the dog growling, then scrabbling and jumping, the way she did when someone took something out of her mouth that she wanted.

            The patio door slid shut with a swish and a click and Erica called from the kitchen, “Honey? Come here!”

            Jobe didn’t move a muscle. His coffee mug still hovered at his lips. His eyes slipped to the other window on the desktop. The fairy was already looking back at him, as though he had anticipated the man turning before he’d thought to do it himself. Jobe was certain now the little man could see him.

            Erica shouted again, “Jobe! Come check this out! We’re up to seven now!”

            He heard her squeaking the tennis ball for the dog, thinking absently how they only did that when manufactured expressly as toys for house pets. Erica was cooing to their Ruby, tossing the ball into the living room so she could scamper after it with a clicking of claws, then laughing as the pooch slipped and fell on her ass when she tried to stop on the smooth, wooden floor.

            Never blinking, never looking away, the fairy raised a finger to his mouth and held it there. The little man puckered his lips and Jobe was sure he could hear it as it blew a sibilant, shushing sound. Shh…

            He startled when the porchlight went out, the fairy disappearing into the night shadows of the black walnut. He whirled in his chair at the sound of his wife in the doorway. She was smiling; he was bathed in cold sweat. She tossed the tennis ball into his lap and he felt a few drops of piss escape into his boxer briefs when the dog came tearing into the office after it.

            A second later, he was hunching forward with a crotch full of snuffling dog muzzle. Pushing Ruby back by the throat with a forearm so that she wheezed in frustration, he got the ball free. Erica sidestepped as he tossed it out into the hallway, the dog’s haunches slamming up against the doorframe as she went after her prize like her life depended on it.

            “Can you believe it?” said Erica, smiling and shaking her head, “Ruby has a secret admirer! Bet you a million bucks that Sean guy is lying! Jobe?”

            Her husband wasn’t laughing. That was uncharacteristic. He’d had an easy smile since she’d known him. The more she thought about it, the more she was sure this was the first time she’d seen the man rattled about anything.

            “Jobe?” she tried again, and this time he startled back into alertness. He’d been staring after the dog, waiting for her to come back with a look of dread, listening to her squeak-squeak-squeak the ball as though it was an emergency broadcast. Erica stepped in front of her husband, blocking his line of sight with a peek at her flat stomach.

            He blinked, looked up as if seeing her for the first time, then shook his head wearily, “Sorry, I just thought I saw something out there, you know?”

            “I didn’t see anything,” said Erica, then cocked her head, “Jobe, you’re shaking! Should we call the police?”

            Jobe almost said yes, but then thought of how it would play out. He could tell the truth and get laughed at. Otherwise, he could lie and say he saw someone come into the yard, so the police could come to the house and find nothing. He didn’t know why, but he was sure that’s all they’d ever find no matter where they looked.

            At last, he shook his head, “Nah. I don’t need anybody to come look in my closet for monsters.”

            “What about under the bed?” she asked.

            Jobe grinned, “There either.”

            Erica let his robe slip from her shoulders and tossed it into his lap, “Better come look with me. Just to be sure.”

            With that, she disappeared into their darkened house with a flash of leg and pert bottom. Resisting the urge to look again, Jobe switched off the monitor. Shrugging into his robe as he stood, he made his way past the bedroom to the kitchen. As softly as he could, he slid open the patio door and stepped into the night.

            Slowly, his eyes adjusted to starlight and the ambient light pollution of the city. There, deep in the shadows of the black walnut tree, he saw a pair of yellow eyes staring back at him. Riding on the cool, night breeze, he heard the little man again, the single sound soft and harsh at the same time. Shh…

* * *

            While Erica sat on the toilet watching the second line appear on the pregnancy test, Jobe held the mangled pieces of a camera. The remnants of the other one still lay on the ground at the other corner of the house. Ruby chased her new ball around the back yard, tossing it into the air so she could scamper after it.

            Taking deep breaths, she finished getting dressed. She was too excited to have an appetite, but diligently wolfed down a banana anyway. She didn’t like eating when she wasn’t hungry, but told herself that it wasn’t about her anymore. Erica was eating for two now.

            Jobe gathered the broken bits into a garbage bag, never turning his back to the tree. He couldn’t see the little man, but he knew the fairy was there somewhere. Tossing the bag into the trash bin, he went inside, dusting off his hands.

            Erica stood inside the kitchen, absolutely beaming. She held her hands behind her back, eyes twinkling like pieces of jade. Jobe walked past her, his mind a million miles away, to grab his hat and a light jacket off the hooks by the front door they never used. The side door was the main entrance; the front was for salespeople, missionaries, and deliveries.

            She stepped into his path and he looked at her for the first time that Sunday morning, “Hey! Earth to Jobe!”

            “What is it?” he asked, looking at her, trying to keep his eyes off the door.

            “I’ve got a surprise!” she singsonged.

            “What is it?” he repeated.

            “Three guesses!”

            Jobe looked his wife in the eye, “Honey, I’m sorry, but do we have to do this right now?”

            Erica pouted, the bounce dropping out of her demeanor, “Uhm, yeah, we kind of do. Come on! Please?”

            Jobe frowned, then nodded and plastered a smile over his foreboding. He looked around the kitchen, then looked her over, “I don’t know…movie tickets or something?”

            “Better!” she exclaimed, then fell silent, waiting expectantly.

            “Hmm,” he said, noting her hands hidden behind her back, “those fertility supplements you were looking at?”

            He frowned, looking toward the front door, “Weird. I didn’t see any packages.”

            “Warmer!” she said, unconsciously putting a hand on her stomach.

            Jobe’s eyes went wide, “You’re pregnant?!”

            Erica nodded her head excitedly, too emotional to speak, and they fell into each other’s arms, laughing and kissing and feeling new. When she had a hold of herself, she told him, “I made an appointment with the doctor to make it official. We’ve got to get going!”

            “Akulah works weekends?” Jobe replied, surprised.

            “His PA,” she said, shaking her head, “Julia. I’ve seen her before when he was on vacation or out golfing or whatever. Dr. Julia’s good.”

            Jobe had never been so happy and scared at the same time. He took her by the hand and started for the door, then hesitated. The fear won out, the wonderment of fatherhood fading into the background. In his mind’s eye, the black walnut towered up against a red sky, yellow cat’s eyes at its base, a little shadow hidden among the roots.

            Sighing, he let her go. His hand on the doorknob, he turned to look at her, “I’m really sorry, babe, but I’ve got to run some errands.”

            Erica’s mouth dropped open, dumbfounded. Hurriedly, he said, “It’s really important! Look, I’ll meet up after and I’ll take you out for lunch. Anywhere you want, okay?”

            “Are you fucking serious?” she asked him, her voice flat and cold.

            Jobe realized then that he was screwed, but there was no going back, “I’m super sorry, honey!”

            He added weakly, “It’s important.”

            Erica exploded, throwing the pregnancy test on the floor at his feet, “Important?! What’s more important than this?! I’m having your goddamn baby, Jobe! What the fuck?!”

            Jobe put his foot over the plastic stick and fended Ruby away irritably when she came scooting in to investigate, “Ruby! Get outside!”

            He grabbed her by the collar and unceremoniously dragged her to the patio door before sliding it open and pushing her through, slamming it shut again before she could whip around and dart back inside. Erica had her hands on her hips, her face flushed. She exhaled heavily through her nostrils, her breath hot on her upper lip as she fought for control.

            Looking between her husband, the glass sliding door, and the dog with her nose pressed up against it, understanding dawned, “This is about the damned toys, isn’t it?!”

            Jobe opened his mouth to deny it, but he had no idea what else he could tell her but the truth. The silence grew between them for a beat, and then another, before she threw up her hands in exasperation, “Augh! I knew it!”

            “Honey,” he pled, “I swear! I just need to do a few things and I’ll be right back! Okay?”

            Erica turned on her heel, snatched her jacket from its hook, and shouldered past him to the door, “Move!”

            Jobe reached for her bicep, but she jerked her arm out of his grasp, “Erica! Please, I’m sorry!”

            He grabbed at her again and she snatched his hand and wrist, leveraging his arm around painfully until he doubled over with a surprised gasp, “Get your hands off me, Jobe! I need to get going, or I’m going to be late to see the fucking OB/GYN!”

            With that, she was gone. By the time he was up again, she’d slammed the side door of their home behind her. She’d started her yellow bug by the time he got out onto the stoop. She was out the driveway and gone before he could set foot on the driveway.

            Jobe watched her go until she got to the stop sign at the end of the block. Tires squealed as she turned, and then she was out of view. Standing there in his black gym shorts and tank top, he stomped his sandaled foot against the blacktop and shouted, “Fuck!”

            Then, remembering himself, he sheepishly looked at his neighbor’s houses before turning and heading back inside. Ruby was creating an impressive mural of nose prints against the patio door’s glass, giving him her best doggy smile, her long, pink tongue lolling out the side of her panting mouth. Then, he looked past the dog to the black walnut tree and his guilt and upset were pushed aside by the force of his obsession.

            He promised himself that he’d tell her, but only after he had something to show. Without proof, she’d think he’d gone crazy. He wasn’t sure he hadn’t, and there was only one way to know for sure. Scooping up his keys off the counter, he swept out the door.

            Abandoned in the back yard, Ruby ducked her head to peer beneath the wooden gate of the yard’s fencing. She watched her master pull out of the driveway in his black sedan, whined awhile, then turned and looked at the black walnut tree with her ears perked. Then, her tongue lolling happily, she sprinted to the base of the trunk and snatched something up in her jaws. Whirling around joyously, she squeaked a new stuffed leopard, complete with a multicolored, braided rope with a knot at the end for a tail.

* * *

            Jobe reread the text again. Erica had gone to her mother’s. She loved him, but she needed space; she’d call him when she was ready to talk.

            He thumbed in his reply. Erica, I’m sorry. Come home and let’s talk. I love you. A message box popped up. He’d been blocked.

            The concept that phones were expensive was all that kept him from sending his into the wall behind their kitchen table. Setting it down roughly instead, he curled his hands into fists at his sides and tried to figure out what to do.

            His first impulse was to get in the car and drive to his in-law’s home. He doubted he’d be welcome right now, but he knew there was love for him there, despite the fighting. If he could get a foot in the door, he knew he could smooth things over. Once they were talking about the baby, things would be okay again.

            Jobe nodded and muttered to himself, “Better than okay.”

            He looked at his dog through the patio door and grinned like a loon, “I’m going to be a dad, girl!”

            Then, he saw the stuffed toy in her jaws and his face fell. He didn’t have to get a closer look to know it was brand new. Torn, he looked between his phone and the dog. Then, he turned his attention to the shopping bags he’d left on the floor by the kitchen table.

            Jobe knew he had to see this through. No way he was bringing a baby into the house with that thing outside. He had to get his proof to get his wife to understand, and they’d work it out from there.

            He told himself it would be settled by tomorrow. Things would be good again. Erica would see what he had seen and there would be no denying it. He had no idea what they’d need to do after that, but whatever had to be done to make their house a home for their child, they’d face it together.

* * *

            Crouched in the weed garden by his shed in the middle of the night, Jobe pondered what it was possible to buy with zero questions asked. Comfortable in his long underwear and balaclava beneath his ghillie suit, he bet there had to be at least one serial killer somewhere who shopped at a sporting goods store. Jobe would have laughed at the idle thought if he wasn’t so scared.

            Beside him, he had two sturdy duffel bags. One had zip ties, duct tape, a stun gun, and pepper spray. He’d even bought a machete, feeling like a complete idiot as he’d strapped it to his belt. The other bag was empty, yawning open among the tall, flowering weeds.

            “It’s better this way,” he told himself, hardly realizing he’d spoken aloud, “I wouldn’t want her around in case anything happens anyway.”

            The words sent a chill through him and it felt like his stomach had dropped into his hips. Nervously, he pulled out his phone, dialed 9-1-1 but did not send the call. He just wanted it ready in case.

            Slipping the slab of plastic back into a hidden pocket amongst his ridiculous, albeit effective, shaggy costume, Jobe looked at Ruby again. He’d left her in the yard all day as he prepared. When he’d first made his camp, fairly sure there weren’t any neighbors to see him creeping out into his own back yard like a budget ninja, she wouldn’t stop running up to him to play or be pet. He’d stolidly ignored her until ultimately, she filed him away as a part of the background and turned her attention to snapping at bugs as they flew past.

            Now, the dog was laying on the patio, silhouetted in the porchlight. He thought she was asleep, but then Ruby’s head darted up, her ears cocked at some noise beyond his human register. Then, she was running for the black walnut tree. The fairy waited for her there, his arms held wide in greeting.

            Jobe startled, certain the little man hadn’t been there a moment ago. The weeds rustled and he knocked up faintly against the shed wall. He froze, certain he’d been heard, but the fairy only scratched at Ruby’s ears until she couldn’t help but kick at her neck with her rear leg in pleasure.

            Then, the little man made a clicking noise and the dog sat immediately, only the wagging tip of her tail betraying her excitement as he reached behind his back. Jobe was impressed she stayed seated when the fairy pulled out a treat. He couldn’t make out what it was, but she ate it from his hand with all the manners one could hope for from a dog.

            Now was the time. With the creature preoccupied, Jobe crept from the tangled weed garden. He had the pepper spray in one hand, the empty duffel in the other. Shaking, he took a step, and then another toward the fairy.

            When the little man produced another tennis ball, Ruby leapt to her feet and hopped high into the air. When he threw it, she took off after it the way dogs do, like there was nothing else that mattered in the entire world. When Jobe lunged, he put everything behind it, not expecting a second chance.

            He slammed the duffel bag down, realizing an instant later it was empty. He’d come down on the cool grass and that was all there was, no fairy at all. Feeling disappointed and crazy, he let out a long sigh and sat back against the black walnut tree. He closed his eyes thinking about Erica, wondering what she was doing right now, how much of a mistake it had been not to go after her.

            It wasn’t something he heard, but Jobe had a feeling something moved nearby. His eyes whipped open, his heart suddenly pounding. The fairy was right in front of him, smiling broadly beneath those luminous, feline eyes, holding a machete in one hand with ease despite it being like a giant’s sword to him.

            Jobe startled, slapping a hand down on the empty sheath at his belt. He froze that way, unsure whether to try to speak to the creature or grab him. The fairy lunged, driving the end of the machete toward his chest. The man threw his hands up to defend himself, but the little man only twisted the blade to pass between his forearms.

            The steel was ice cold but burned like fire where he felt it pierce through his skin to slide between his ribs into his body. He screamed, but there was no sound. Shocked still by the pain, he wondered what that meant, then understanding dawned. He couldn’t call out because the machete was in his lung.

            The fairy wrenched the blade loose. Jobe convulsed, horrified and disgusted at the distinct feeling of the metal pulling at his skin as it came free. The sound of it was just like trimming steaks before he grilled them.

            Hoping even then to somehow save himself, Jobe tried to sit forward, to get on his hands and knees so he could crawl back to the house. Ruby was beside him, licking his face, lapping curiously at the blood dribbling from his lips. She wagged her tail and whined, confused and worried and excited for someone to throw the ball for her again.

            The strength left his arms and Jobe slumped over sideways into the grass at the base of the tree. The roots dug into his love handle, into his ribs, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. All he could do was look up at the fairy as it raised the bloody machete to its pursed lips. Shh…

* * *

            Monday morning, Erica came home to find her husband was gone. The car was in the garage. All his things were where they should be. Everything was in its right place but him.

            Weeping so hard her stomach cramped, she sat at the kitchen table and called her mother. They talked through her tears about how men could be. In the end, she knew that if nothing else, her parents would support her.

            After she hung up and got a cup of coffee, she looked down at her wedding ring. On impulse, she seized it with her right hand and pulled. She nearly got it over the knuckle when she saw the tan line where it rested. The sudden conviction faded as quickly as it came. She let the ring go. It could stay there awhile longer.

            She knew if she let herself sit down again that’s where she would stay, so Erica opened up the patio door and went outside. Ruby nearly bowled her over in her excitement to get out there with her, scampering off to find something for Erica to throw. She felt numb as she took the ball from the dog and gave it a limp, underhanded toss.

            When Ruby came back to lay the slobbery tennis ball at her feet, the dog found her master sitting with her head in her hands on the patio. The mutt sniffed at Erica’s coffee, ears cocked, then skipped away in revulsion. Then, she caught a much more enticing scent and bounded off.

            “I can’t believe it,” Erica muttered, the tears falling freely now, “No, I should have known. That piece of shit! I’m so stupid!”

            Erica understood her husband wasn’t coming back. She doubted she’d ever know what happened to him. She let herself cry until she was ready to go and lay down. Suddenly, spending the day on the couch sounded just fine.

            As she got up, she looked to see where Ruby had gone. She sighted the dog at the base of the black walnut tree. The mutt was happily gnawing a juicy, fresh bone.

            “Where the hell are you getting this shit?” she muttered. Pushing herself to her feet, she started to head inside, then froze. Looking back around, she peered at the weeds by the shed.

            For a second, she thought she saw one of those yard gnomes, but there was only grass in need of mowing. She shook her head, bemused. Jobe had always thought those things were creepy and she didn’t disagree. Why anyone would want to decorate their lawn with the little grotesqueries was beyond her.

            The thought steered her mind back to her lost husband and their unborn baby. For the first time, she wondered if she was going to keep it. As bad as it made her feel, she didn’t know if she had the strength to do it all alone.

            Vowing she’d talk with her mother again before she decided anything, that she’d give Jobe some time to get his shit together, or at least time enough prove he was gone for good, Erica shuffled inside her empty home. Sliding the patio door closed, she never saw the little man watching her from the base of the black walnut tree, Ruby at his side, wagging her tail in delight as the fairy fed her a piece of meat.