It all started when Janet lost her eyes. One day she was the same Janet as usual, blue-eyed and pretty, easy-going and affable. As easy to talk to as she was to admire.
The next day she was still the same Janet with the exception of her missing eyes.
I was already at my station in the dental clinic that morning, working to digitize our files, when I heard her approach.
Good morning Eddy.
Her voice was its usual warm, amber tone. I didn’t look up from my task but muttered a greeting, and heard Janet’s retreating steps as she made her way to the front desk of our reception. It wasn’t until about 20 minutes later, when I rose for the first of my many coffee breaks of the day, that I noticed Janet’s eyes. Or the lack thereof.
I froze the moment I saw her face. Where her eyes had once been were now two raw and gaping red holes. I felt an urge to scream, or to run to Janet and ask what the hell had happened, but as I watched I noticed something unnerving.
Janet was still typing away at her keyboard. She was still jotting down notes by hand. Somehow, while completely eyeless, it seemed like Janet could still see. I knew it was possible for a blind person to become acclimated to their surroundings. That they could learn to write and type in darkness as Janet seemed to do, but I couldn’t imagine she’d developed that aptitude in the space of a single day. Not to mention the holes where her eyes had been looked like fresh wounds, red and jagged, as if someone, or perhaps herself, had gouged them out viciously. She should’ve been in agonizing pain, not calmly at work, business as usual.
As I watched, still frozen, Janet turned to one of the other receptionists and told what must’ve been a joke. They giggled and laughed together before Janet rose to speak into the intercom, calling the next patient up. I realized that nobody, not the other staff, not the patients waiting in the lobby, not even Janet, was acting like anything was amiss.
Unsure of what to make of what I was seeing, along with everyone’s lack of reaction to it, I did the only thing I could think to do. I went and got my coffee. I was pouring creamer in a daze when David came into the break room. He started complaining about some rude patient or another, but I cut him off before he could speak any further.
David, man, have you noticed anything… weird today?
Weird like what?
Weird like Janet. She doesn’t have eyes.
He gave me a quizzical look and raised his eyebrows.
Dude I saw Janet this morning. Both eyes still there, same girl as usual.
I shook my head and frowned. I was sure of what I had seen.
David laughed.
What you been getting in the nitrous a little too heavy or something? Janet’s Janet, same as always. Get some rest man.
Feeling like I was losing my mind I decided to take David’s advice. I went and told Dr. Kim that I was feeling unwell, and would need to go home for the rest of the day. She told me to take care, and so I headed back to my apartment with a profound sense of unease. As I left the clinic Janet called out to say goodbye, and that she hoped I felt better soon. When I turned back I saw her eyes were still missing, and while a look of concern was plastered across her face, I couldn’t help but see the edges of her mouth were tugging upwards, as if holding back a smile.
I spent that night pacing my room, at a loss for what I had seen. After reflecting, having a little more coffee with a cig, and calming down some I realized I must’ve been seeing things. Maybe David was right, and I had gotten a little too deep into our dentistry’s nitrous oxide supply. Maybe it was lack of sleep, or a trick of the light, or any other number of other perfeclty reasonable explanations.
Really, when I thought about it, it was so much more likely that there was some normal, sane reason, I had imagined what I’d seen. The idea that Janet was missing her eyes, and only I could see the holes, was honestly pretty ridiculous when I stopped to think about it. I even started to feel sheepish and embarrassed that I’d taken the day off over something that was clearly just my imagination playing tricks on me. I resolved to head back to the clinic tomorrow, and make up for lost time.
But the next day David was missing his nose.
It was the same as Janet’s eyes. Where his nose had once been was now just an empty cavity, red and raw, as if someone had sheared it right off of him.
He was in the break room pouring himself a coffee like normal. I was stuck in place in the door’s threshold, just staring at his nose-less face and the hole where it should’ve been. When he saw me he grinned, like he always did, and held up the coffee pot to offer me some.
Wordlessly, I shook my head and backed out the door. He called after me, asking what was wrong, his voice dripping with concern, but I only quickened my pace and hurried to the nearest bathroom locking the door behind me. I stood there, staring at myself in the mirror, breathing raggedly and trying to make sense of everything I’d seen in the last two days.
That’s where I am now, writing and posting this from my phone. David’s grin, normally so affable and friendly, had seemed too toothy, too hungry in a way. Honestly, it frightened me. Without the nose above his mouth, it felt all wrong, and his friendliness had somehow seemed hollow and unnatural, as if he was only trying to put me at ease. It wasn’t just the missing nose, I don’t know how to explain it but there was something else profoundly off about him and Janet.
I can still hear them outside the bathroom door now. They’re knocking and asking if I’m alright, their voices full of worry and concern. I can’t find the courage to answer them, or to open the door and see those gaping holes and terrible smiles again. I can imagine them, grins fixed firmly beneath their impossible wounds, just waiting for me to emerge. I don’t know if I’m losing my mind or if something terrible is happening around me. The only thing I can say for sure is that this all began when Janet lost her eyes…