The Absent Body

The cold wind cut savagely through my soft grey thermal. Digging my chin to my chest, I ran the last few strides to my apartment building. The stairs leading to the door were puddled, along with the sidewalk and the street. It was September in New York.

Worn and filthy, the carpet mostly muffled my steps. The elevator was no less musty than the lobby, or the fourth floor hallway. My tarnished key jiggled in the lock that always seemed to jam.

Closing the heavy door behind me, I called to my roommate.

“Erik?”

There was no answer. I glanced at the silent clock. 7:27 p.m. He must be working tonight. Erik was a lighting technician for concerts and plays at the Orpheum Theatre.

I swung my purse onto the counter as I passed through the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. I noticed a scrap of paper taped to my closed door as I walked down the hallway.

It was a note from Erik. “I hope you read this before you open your door. I got you a little something.” I smiled. He was so thoughtful.

Excitement tingled in my chest as I opened my door. I took a deep breath before I flicked the light on.

Three men were standing together, staring at me. Screaming, I bolted down the hall into the kitchen. Scrambling for a knife, I couldn’t hear anything above the clatter of utensils and my own heart beat. I ripped the phone from its dock on the wall, but I paused before I dialed 911. There was silence.

Human curiosity possessed me. Shouldn't they be attacking me? Shouldn't they be trying to escape? I crept to the doorway, and peaked down the hallway to my room.

Two things became clear at once: they were still there, and it was a poster.

Laughing now, I set the knife and the phone down. It was a cardboard cutout of Green Day. I felt my cheeks go a bit pink, even though I knew I was alone. Looking at the poster though, I felt like they were laughing at me.

It was a picture from Rolling Stone magazine. Billie was wearing suspenders and a skinny red tie. Mike had the collar of his sleeveless shirt popped, and Tre had a black and white striped tie loosened over his short sleeve shirt. It was one of my favorites.

I picked the boys up and moved them to the corner by my closet. Stepping back, I stood to admire them for a bit before I took a shower. It was an attractive poster, to be sure, but it gave off a weird vibe. It was almost like it had too much personality, too much life in the eyes.

Sighing through my nose, I turned to the bathroom. I was just being paranoid from the scare earlier.

“I wonder where Erik got that thing,” I said to myself. I didn’t broadcast my love for the band, but I suppose I didnt hide it either. I wouldn't put it past him to have “liberated” it from the theatre for me. Our flat was full of posters and little props that he swiped from shows that I said I liked.

After my shower, I walked out of the steamy bathroom drying my hair with the towel. If staying calm meant forcing myself to ignore the poster, then so be it. I slipped on a pair of boxers and an old shirt and left my room to turn on the television.

The remote wasn't on the coffee table. It wasn't under it either. I shoved my hands between the cushions of our gritty old couch and still couldn’t find it. Flopping down onto the sofa I just violated, I saw it resting on top of the old box TV. Erik never puts it there. I stepped over the table and picked it up.

Before I turned the news on, I heard a quiet sort of scraping sound, almost like a window opening. Quick as it started, it stopped.

I was making a big deal over nothing. I just received a life-size poster of my favorite band! I shouldn't be watching the news and ignoring it like a child that hides under the covers over a shadow on the wall.

Marching myself back down the hallway, I yanked open my door. With my hand on the light switch, I paused. I didn’t shut my door. Or turn off my light. I must have done it subconsciously, I reasoned. I was still a bit scared.

Flicking the light on petulantly, my head snapped to the poster.

It was blank.

The poster was fucking blank. It was still the same shape, but now it was just brown cardboard. Silence began to scream in my ears. I could feel my brain tingle with unconsciousness. My lungs felt like stone.

“Shit.”

Someone behind the door I was holding open just swore.

I threw the door open as hard as I could, hoping to stall the person long enough to get to the kitchen. I heard wood connect with flesh as I flew down the hall. I my haste, I flung the knife and the phone off the counter, in opposite directions.
Hearing footsteps, I screamed and dived for the phone first. I grabbed it as they entered the kitchen.

“Wait! Just hold on a minute!” that voice was so familiar. My eyes traveled along the floor to a polished black shoe.

I heard more stomping in the hall. “She hit me with the door!” a voice came from the bedroom.

“Who the fuck hides behind doors anyway?” another said from the hallway.

The polished black shoe belonged to Billie Joe Armstrong. “We’re not going to do anything, kay? Just don’t call the police. Set the phone down,” he said, bending over slightly, his hands raised.

I clutched the phone to my chest. “Tell me what the fuck is going on.” I couldn’t believe I made a sound. I didnt even think I could breathe.

Mike peered into the kitchen, where Billie was now crouching and I was still splayed out on the floor.

“We probably know less than you do at this point,” he said.

“You,” I stuttered. “You came out of the poster.”

Billie and Mike looked at each other, then looked at me.

“Um, surprise?” Billie laughed.

The humor was lost on me. I felt like I was going to faint and scream at the same time.

“Look, we don’t know how it happened,” he continued. “We were signing autographs then we are all on the floor in the bedroom. You were in the shower.”

“This actually happens to me all the time,” Tre called from behind Mike, who moved to let him into the kitchen. “Ya know, meeting fans, ending up in bedrooms.”

Billie shook his head. “Could you tell us the date?”

I wasn’t sure if I could. “Uh, September 24th?” I sat up, still clutching the phone.

Tre cocked his head. “We went back in time? Sweet!”

All the color drained from Mike’s face. “What year is it?”

Billie looked at him. “You don’t think...” He trailed off when he looked at me.

“It’s 2009.”