I work as an animal control officer in the North Texas area. It wasn’t the job I had in mind when I graduated from Bio, but again, I’m not entirely sure what I had in mind. The pay is better than any entry level lab tech job in the area and has kept me working with animals. This is important considering I want to enroll in vet school. Experience can be the deciding factor separating you from a horde of highly skilled and highly intelligent applicants who would do anything for a spot in the next freshman class. Still, I admit that I feel overqualified for my job and that makes me feel like I have something to prove to the world. Sometimes I want to shout, “I have a diploma! I worked hard, I got good grades! These moments seem to coincide most of the time with the most degrading aspects of my job. Like when I’m about to peel the fleshy, smeared remains of an opossum on the road. With some effort, I swallow my pride, hold my breath, and manage to deny a poor buzzard a decent meal.
The key to keeping my sanity was daydreaming. Since a large part of my job revolves around service calls for the public, I spend a large part of my day behind the wheel. This has provided me with an excellent environment for daydreaming. When the morning rush of inquiries subsides just enough for me to rest for a good half hour, I make my way to one of the many nature reserves scattered throughout the city. The process is always the same. I gently push the truck over a curb, centering my wheels on the random path that leads into the forest, and steer my truck and all of the residents I’ve picked up that morning to my favorite spot (which happens to be next to an old forgotten cemetery lies). ). A few of my colleagues had shown me the place first. It’s one of our release points where we take the raccoons, possums and squirrels that are desperate enough to play with a box trap and lose. I can only imagine what the ecosystem is like in this little remnant of wilderness nestled between the parking garages and multi-story buildings of civilization. It’s constantly fed by a town of residents foolish enough to think they might one day collectively capture every single member of the town’s wildlife. Animals that, simply put, evolved to co-exist with humans and make use of the abundance of wasted food that can be found in the average trash can. This is what my older colleagues call “job security”.
The cemetery had nothing to do with making this place my daydream sanctuary. In Texas, you’ll find places like this everywhere, with their own historical marker. On the contrary, the cemetery was a spot in an otherwise perfect oasis accessible to trucks. That day, I had just got out of the taxi and headed for the cages of the truck. The day was nothing special, clammy and stale. When I started reaching out to unlock the cages, I heard the whispers.
There was a chuckle between whispers. The chuckles contrasted sharply with the soft, almost angry intonation of the whisper, but it was clear they both came from the same source. Looking around, I tried to discern the origin of the sounds. Unable to identify my voyeur from my current vantage point, I started circling the back of the truck. On the other side was the cemetery, momentarily obscured by the size of the truck. It seemed almost too easy, too cliche. Haunted whispers from a graveyard. I turned back. There was the small cemetery, intact and a little less imposing than ever. Those remaining gravestones protruded from the ground like neglected teeth, and the wire mesh that surrounded them remained motionless in the sweltering summer air.
I strained my ears to hear the whisper better. I couldn’t locate where it came from, but I knew it must be nearby. I couldn’t understand the words and it sounded like the speaker was trying to talk to me through a wall.
Almost like hearing a radio blaring through the closed windows of a car. Instinctively, I glanced at the cab of the truck. Now, after circling the passenger side of the cabin for a clear view of the cemetery, I turned my gaze to the passenger window. From my current vantage point in the back of the truck, all I could see was a bare arm resting on the sill behind the tinted cab glass. My pulse quickened and I felt my nerves begin to strain as a series of rapid pulsations clouded my brain.
Shout. Walk.
Look elsewhere.
Don’t look away.
Call for help.
I reached slowly for my belt, groping for the smooth plastic of the walkie-talkie that connected me to the shelter and, by proxy, to the police. There were rumors that homeless people used the area to congregate, sleep, do drugs and whatever homeless people did, and I didn’t feel very social. I brought the walkie to my mouth and started pressing the talk button on the side. Before I could, a loud bang to my left propelled the walkie into the air, breaking my previously unyielding gaze at the cab. It was one of the truck’s cages, and I watched as the sturdy plastic door that concealed the cage began to rattle from the inside with each successive blow. A quick mental checklist of my morning roundup yielded two opossums and a squirrel, and what was behind that cage door had to be one of them. The blows from the cage gave way to a terrible screech. Indescribable in her pain, she was beyond the animal. At once pathetic and terrifying, it was as if no animal inside could be tortured to death. I staggered out of the cab and absentmindedly kicked the walkie-talkie into the grass behind me.
Looking back at the passenger window, I saw his face. Even behind the tinted glass, I couldn’t help but notice how pale she was. Practically leaning into the window now, her hands pressed against the clear barrier. She had an almost translucent nature to her skin. Red shoulder-length hair framed her pale face. Her mouth was twisted upwards into a ridiculous grin. It wasn’t a human smile, the proportions weren’t right. It was like watching a living caricature. And as I felt my heart beating faster, it seemed to me that my smile widened. Swallowed his face and ate in the area where his cheeks should be. Bigger and bigger until there were only teeth and black, and the narrower and narrower lids of his eyes as his cheekbones grew higher and higher to accommodate a smile that will never leave my subconscious. When I jolted awake, it had been a full hour since I’d initially made my way up the sidewalk to my hideout for the afternoon. I sat behind the wheel of the truck and pulled myself up. My sweaty back peeled away from the leather of the chair and for a few wonderful seconds I remembered nothing. Then, without warning, a barrage of memories flooded my mind. Visions of rattling cages, screaming animals and a smile to end all smiles. I shivered, grateful it was just a nightmare. I slid out of the cabin and started opening the cage doors. The cool air escaping from the air-conditioned cages licked my face. With a little prodding, I saw two opossums and a very impatient squirrel running towards the nearest row of trees. Everywhere they went I’m sure was better than the dark, rickety innards of an animal service truck. When I locked the cages I started walking towards the driver’s door when I heard it.
The whisper.
I felt my lungs grab their contents, preventing me from breathing. My voice jumped and I heard myself whimper. The horrific images of my nightmare roared back, and my body became as still as the jagged little gravestones that covered the adjacent cemetery. The whisper came again. Unlike the whispers of my dream, this came in spurts. Gathering every ounce of courage in my body, I slowly turned to the source of the sound.
There, in a weed bed just a few yards from me, was my walkie.