The Heat Wants Me Dead

By 9:14 a.m., I had accepted three undeniable truths.

One: my air conditioner had died.

Two: Hell had expanded into my neighborhood.

Three: something was breathing in the walls.

I tried to remain positive.

"It's probably a raccoon," I said.

The breathing answered with what sounded suspiciously like laughter.

The weather app claimed it was 109 degrees.

Liar.

My front porch had become a cast-iron skillet. I accidentally dropped my keys outside and watched them fry an ant.

The mailman arrived wearing sunglasses, a cooling vest, and the thousand-yard stare of a man who had delivered his last electric bill.

"Hot enough for you?" he asked.

"No," I said. "I'd actually like to experience the surface of the sun."

He nodded.

"Understandable."

Then he walked away without delivering any mail.

Probably because the envelopes had burst into flames.

I owned exactly four fans.

None of them were helping.

One just pushed hot air around like an angry hair dryer.

One squeaked every rotation, making a noise that sounded exactly like someone whispering

"Leave..."

The third had somehow started blowing backwards.

The fourth...

The fourth stared at me.

Fans aren't supposed to have eyes.

I unplugged it.

The eyes stayed open.

I called an HVAC company.

"We can be there next Thursday."

"I'll be dead by Thursday."

A pause.

"...Would Friday work better?"

By noon, I had entered what scientists call Heat Delirium.

Or maybe it was Actual Demonic Possession.

Hard to tell.

I began making increasingly terrible decisions.

I wrapped myself in frozen peas.

Not the bag.

Individual peas.

They rolled everywhere.

I slipped.

The fan with eyes applauded.

My cat, Biscuit, had abandoned all dignity.

He was lying inside the freezer.

Not near it.

Inside it.

Every time I opened the door to grab ice, he hissed until I apologized.

"You don't even pay rent," I complained.

He blinked.

Fair point.

Then the whispers started again.

"It's cooler... downstairs..."

I don't have a basement.

That was concerning.

Mostly because the voice was right.

There was, in fact, a staircase where no staircase had existed that morning.

Cold air drifted upward.

Beautiful...

Refreshing...

Possibly haunted.

I stood at the top.

"Nope."

The staircase sighed.

My neighbor Greg knocked on the door.

Or maybe melted into it.

Hard to tell.

His hair was standing straight up from static electricity.

"You got ice?"

"No."

"You got hope?"

"Less than the ice."

He nodded solemnly.

"We're grilling hot dogs on my driveway."

"...Your driveway?"

"The asphalt's doing most of the work."

I followed him.

Sure enough...

The hot dogs were sizzling.

No grill.

Just pavement.

One of them screamed.

Greg ignored it.

"We don't ask questions anymore."

By late afternoon, the neighborhood had completely lost its collective mind.

Mrs. Henderson was watering the sun.

A man was arguing with his own shadow because it wasn't providing enough shade.

Someone had installed windshield wipers on their forehead.

Honestly?

Brilliant.

Then the ice cream truck arrived.

Children cheered.

Adults cried.

The driver climbed out wearing a black suit despite the temperature.

Odd choice.

He rang the little bell.

"Ding... ding..."

Nobody noticed the music had changed.

Instead of cheerful nursery rhymes...

It sounded like chanting.

The menu was... unusual.

Vanilla.

Chocolate.

Cookies and Cream.

Eternal Relief.

"What's Eternal Relief?" I asked.

He smiled.

Too many teeth.

"Our most popular flavor."

"Does it have sprinkles?"

"It has peace."

Tempting.

Very tempting.

I almost bought one.

Then Biscuit launched himself through the screen door and slapped the cone out of my hand.

The ice cream hit the pavement.

The pavement screamed.

The truck vanished.

No tire tracks.

No music.

Nothing.

Greg looked at me.

"...You saw that too?"

"I was really hoping I hadn't."

The whispers returned.

"You could always become one of us..."

"Who is us?"

Every fan in my house turned on at once.

Without electricity.

The one with eyes smiled.

Outside...

The sun blinked.

No.

Absolutely not.

The sun is not supposed to blink.

By sunset, the power finally returned.

The air conditioner groaned...

Coughed...

Then blessed my home with the first breath of cold air I'd felt in twelve hours.

I nearly cried.

The walls stopped breathing.

The staircase disappeared.

The fans became normal.

Mostly.

One still winked at me.

The next morning, the weather report smiled cheerfully.

"Today's forecast will be even hotter."

From somewhere inside the vent, a familiar whisper floated through the house.

"See you soon."

I moved to Alaska before breakfast.

Last I heard...

They're having a heat wave.

I don't answer unknown whispers anymore.