Griffin Covey

Griffin Covey is back from wherever he was and wants to write more for the mag, and I thought we'd start him back here.

This is a story he sent me that he said was confessed to him over a couple of Bartles and James on a bar that was at the end of a pier. He transcribed from a tape recording and "filled-in lightly" upon the words of an acquaintance who wished to remain anonymous. "Buzz" is my title.

Buzz.

It wasn't buzzing before I came in. I know because I would've heard it from outside the apartment. I opened the door, closed it, locked it. I know I locked it. Then the buzzer went off.

Some kind of joke. But how could somebody of turned that buzzer. It’s timed; a plastic thing shaped like a cheap souvenir with snow but with a knob you turn and it ticks down. Ticks down so you turn over the steaks or eggs on time.

But there shouldn’t be anybody here. This shit was locked and only I got the key. It’s a one-bedroom; a small apartment. I throw my coat on the dark bed down the hall and that’s the whole place. Bathroom door’s open; Hell, I can see in the shower. Ain’t nobody in here.

Including my man Brian. I know because we said our sweet goodbyes when I left the bar. I got work and he got his late night drinkin to do. We said goodbye and Sherie gave me a ride here. I just waved her off.

But that turn-timer goin off, buzzin like a alarm clock with a horn...and it’s freakin me out!

I'm watching it the kitchen now, starin down at it, at zero. Rattlin off the table like its on fire or bein’ electrified and I’m thinking: How is is this thing goin off? I didn’t turn it. Brian's at the bar. My other old guy is in Seattle . How the fuck did this thing get turned?

Leroy the cat went through my legs and I thought, “Goddam Leroy, you didn’t turn this thing.”

I cut the buzzin out by twisting the thing. And the silence was rough.

It sat in.

Like, I knew there was no explanation for this. The explanation was as silent as the clean dishes in the rack and the silver pot on the oven, and Leroy meowed a spook into me that made me wonder if I did check the coat closet and the shower and what sick FUCK! was playin a joke on me. Too many thoughts.

I’m smart. Who’s there. I hear you. How’d you get in this place. I’ve got a gun. I keep it here in the kitchen. I’ve got this mean motherfuckin dog too. Where you at?

Shit. Cell phone in the living room. Not a long walk. I got this bad-ass Leroy (meow-he say), and this kitchen knife. If they gonna laugh at me with some fake big birthday surprise, I might just stab em. They can’t joke me like this. My friends hiding. How they’d get in my place? I'm gonna kill that motherfucker.

Back in the bright living room, grab the cell-phone. Alright, they ain’t in here. What the fuck?

That buzzer was set. Somebody did it. I didn’t do it.

Alright Jerelle, jokes over. Come on out now. You already got me and Leroy all spooked.

911 on the cellphone was too serious after I dialed 9. Whatever if it Jerelle and the girls playin a joke. I don’t want no po-lice comin on in here no way. Where you at, it’s not funny no more.

Leroy jumped on down and I didn’t know what to do. It was quiet as can be, and I could hear the memory of that buzzer ringin still in my ears. It wasn’t my imagination. It was man or spirit that set that, and looking down that dark hall past the bathroom towards that bedroom and I was afraid.

I remembered: I put my coat down there when I came in.

It’s ok.

I looked. I didn’t like not being able to see.

-But you didn’t look in the bedroom closet, stop thinking that you did
-But you didn’t, stop thinking. How old are you? Do they come out of the closet?
Answered in my head by: But they do come out of the closet. I’m in here. I do. It happens. Are you ready?

Now you’re just freaking yourself out.

I hold the knife as I walk. Leroy’s backm between my legs acting nervous. My ears are ringing. This is because of that goddamned buzzer. I’m actin the fool in my own joint. And that doesn’t help when I walk into the dark room.

My hands are shakin as I don't look and see no one there. I fall into bed and pulled the blanket over. If I don't look it can't get me. I clutched that knife inside the blankets with me and all my clothes on.

I didn’t sleep easy. And I made that knife ready for a cold shadow that may have come across that light when I did look into the dark bedroom. It’s hard to fall asleep when you don’t know who the fuck turned that buzzer.

And I never met the man or thing that did. But I know that buzzer is a timed thing that doesn’t go off on its own piece. Somebody turned that motherfucker, and it wasn’t Jerelle (I talked to her the next day), Brian (at the bar, witnesses), Devon (Seattle) any of my friends, or Leroy. Somebody turned that thing, and it was timed for me.

Griffin Covey also published "The Last Ride" in Issue #2.