The Intangible is a limited literary spherical
lyrical audio anthology that denies defiling
the deep where denizens dwell, which circles
cirrus clouds like spinning circus clowns, while
aiming errant arrows at the Quo of the Quay.
Is this some kind of joke? Come, let us explore
that meaty membrane which we must all one day
pierce. We are happy to have you here, and even
happier to keep you. Old farmhands. I've seen
a lot of things in my life, even a ghost once
or twice, but the only time I ever saw true magic,
it was probably the least magical reason you
could think. Warts. This wasn't just some dumb
old trick either. It was farmer magic and it
was real. When I was a kid, I had warts on my
knees. First one knee, then the other. By the
time this happened, I was 14. and both knees
were lumpy with them. My mom took me to see Chucky
and Jason that day. They lived down Orkin Road
in Virginia, where I grew up. In the northern
neck, I mean. They lived with their grandparents
down Orkin Road. I did not. It was a small, chalk
-white house with green shutters and tall pines
all around, growing up from sandy soil. Out back
they had a pier so small you could barely lay
down on it without getting wet and you could
spit across the creek if the wind blew just right.
That's where Jim and Norma Maxfield lived and
where their mama had dropped them off one day
until she got sorted out and found a new place
to live. When we got there they were gone. I
guess their mama picked them both up and went
back to Maryland. When we pulled in Mr. Maxfield
was out front and said he heard our truck coming
up the road. It ran like a tank, though, even
without a muffler. It was an old white Ford with
a hole rusted through the floorboard and a sheet
of plywood in the back, so old it grew sprigs
of grass. I was bored and there was nothing to
do down at the creek, just a small pier, but
it was rickety and the bottom was stink -mud.
I'm sure they could tell, but they just kept
talking. After a while Jim stopped talking, mid
-sentence. Those warts Here's the first day worn
shorts that year and I was suddenly embarrassed
about my knees. I know I turned peak in the cheeks
Yes, sir How many you got him anywhere else?
No, sir I'm gonna do some magic that all right
with you. I Only nodded because I was supposed
to I like magic, of course, but this sounded
like doctor stuff Will it hurt? He gave a deep
chuckle, only if you kick too hard. He winked
and started rubbing his hands together, blowing
into his palms like he had just come in from
the cold. Gotta get him warmed up. It was June
and I was wearing shorts, so it confused me.
It must have worked though, because his hands
were scalding hot when he grabbed my leg and
put one on my knee. He held it there for just
a few seconds while he mumbled real low. Then
he switched hands. He pressed on the words pretty
hard, too. Not enough to hurt, but enough to
press them into my knee. He repeated the thing
with his hands and the mumbling until both my
knees were done. Jim seemed different that day,
and it made me nervous. Standing there, it felt
like reaching the bottom stair, but it's not.
So your heart leaps when your foot doesn't touch
it, except a long, slow version of that. He reached
up for help standing as I gave him a forearm
like I had been taught to do for old folks. He
took it, but he didn't let go once he was up.
Instead he grabbed my arm with his other hand,
too, holding it pretty tight and got real close.
His face was so close to mine I thought our noses
would touch, but they didn't. Real quiet, he
said. This is some old magic my grandpa taught
me. Works every time. you go home and wash that
knee with soap and water, both of them, and make
sure you suds them up good." He looked at my
mom and said, remind him. Then he said, after
that, just forget him for about six weeks. Don't
think about him at all. And by the time you remember,
they'll be gone, won't never come back. When
he finally let go of my arm, I told him, sir,
I don't know if I can, especially now that you
said not to." Oh, he winked again. You'd be surprised
what you can do when you don't try. He excused
himself saying he needed a nap. We said goodbye
and he went back on inside. We climbed in the
old Ford pickup and drove home. Chuckie and Jason's
mama never brought him back from Maryland. I
never saw him again. Mr. Maxwell either. We took
Norma a pie after he died, and well, that was
the last time I saw her too. When we got home,
Mom reminded me to do what Mr. Maxfield told
me. I argued it first, but she said, when was
the last time you washed your knees? I couldn't
remember, so I did as I was told. With my habit
of picking at my knees, I knew I was never gonna
forget about the warts for that long, but somehow,
I did anyway. When I remembered them, seven or
eight weeks later, I was farting around in the
barn and climbing hay bales when suddenly it
popped into my head. I checked my knees and ran
to the house as fast as I could. Mom, come look!
Judging by her expression, she was more surprised
than me. All she said was, well, I'll be danged.
I guess it was farmer magic. I'm an old man now
and never had a single wart since. Isn't that
a superpower we all wish we had? Although, I
suppose it does have a specific appeal in some
circles. Nonetheless, gross. Perhaps a bit of
old fashioned southern hospitality might make
my jeebies stop heebieing. Oh god, this writer.
Please, kick back, make yourself at home, and
enjoy our next fun -filled story. An early spring
grave. So we ended up calling it Didn't happen
all at once Not for everybody But I reckon at
least half of everybody dropped dead that first
day It happened faster than a cowboy clown could
tie a rodeo knot Not everything ended that day
Sure as shit came to a screeching halt Bus drivers,
train conductors, airline pilots Dead Baseball
players, newscasters, preachers, dead Teachers,
kindergarten classrooms, hermit crabs, all dead
Cyclists fell over, dead Photographers dropped
their cameras, dead People doing the autopsy,
dead fell right over face first, one dead guy
stacked on top of the next it went on like that
for the better part of three months gradually
tapering off before it finally stopped but of
course by then, few of us who remained had gotten
used to seeing it could be drinking a beer with
a buddy laughing about some dumb joke you told
him He'd forgotten all about the last day. Next
thing you knew, look over at him. There's a beer
spilling out on the ground around his feet. Spits
his pants. His chin is on his chest. Link eyes
staring at nothing. Dead. I'm not superstitious,
but I get the chills when I think about figuring
up the days. I dug that way hole six feet deep
in Nakadocha's mud on March 1st. Exactly six
years and 66 days after the last day. Guess it's
hard to tell if that means anything or not. My
grave would remain empty for 41 days after I
dug it. I didn't see any significance with that
number. So maybe it's all just mumbo jumbo and
we see what we want to see. Two years in and
I was convinced that because all the many times
God had heard the slogan He really did bless,
Texas Far as anyone knew Nacogdoches was the
last place on earth with anybody left alive Had
to be someplace I guess If God was doing the
choosing made sense to spare the place with the
people saying your praise is the loudest Four
years in and I changed my mind about it being
a blessing. I'll tell you that much Most certainly
was not a blessing Food was scarce and all the
animals that died just the same as us bugs and
trees, too Just the lack of mosquitoes might
have been a silver lining And I do recall a time
how to thought it was a blessing It wasn't Some
people claimed it was aliens others claimed it
was the devil Let me tell you didn't matter who
claimed what? Because they dropped dead right
there on the television anyway The hunger didn't
bother me much What bothered me was the goddamn
stink? There's a rotten stench of death everywhere
you go Can't get rid of it When it first happened
there were so many bodies which dug giant trenches
with the excavating equipment and bulldozed the
bodies into the holes to hide them. There was
too many to worry about putting them in a body
bag or something. It was weeks and weeks of long
days using that heavy machinery to get the job
done and that was with us all doing it in the
fastest, sloppiest way possible. It was common
to scrape down on folks arms or legs, just pinch
them off clean. We got used to it. That reeking
odor though, can't get used to that. Even if
my stomach wasn't sick the way it is, I doubted
that much of an appetite anyway. Cause no matter
what you tried to eat, you were gonna taste rotten
flesh. There was no one left to eat with anyway,
and I never enjoyed eating alone So it's just
as well I suppose The only problem I had besides
the smell was the boredom No television no electricity
Nobody left to chew the fat with Feels like all
I've done since the last day is dig holes grave
after grave after grave and now I don't even
have that. Mine was the very last one. The final
grave. I couldn't tell you why I even bothered.
I've been burying people the whole time out of
respect. For them, and for the smell. Since there
was no one left but me, it didn't amount to a
hilla beans if I laid there getting all putrefied
and stinking up a patch of dirt. It wasn't any
more animals to worry about eating my corpse.
Once it got swallowed up and turned all grey
and green, then hell, getting ate up by feral
dogs would have been the most excitement I've
had in more than ten months now. You might think
it sounds funny, but when I took my shovel with
me the first few times, I wasn't visiting my
spot to start digging yet. Was doing it so my
two best friends could get acquainted As it turned
out didn't get along so well which in hindsight
I suppose makes sense with one of them be in
the dirt the other one be in a shovel and all
But I didn't think about it that way out here.
Why would I? It rained the day I dug the hole
which pissed me off something fierce. I knew
something like this would happen. I know how
much it rains in East Texas in springtime, so
I should have guessed it anyways. That hole had
a solid foot of water down bottom of it, and
I really wasn't sure what I could have done about
it. I figured it wasn't gonna slow down raining
anyway, but still. I wasn't sure I could bring
myself to lay down in the hole in the first goddamn
place. Now that it was just a wet hole full of
knockin' doches mud, I really doubted I would
like it much. It rained on day two. Also, and
knowing I had 40 more days of this bullshit got
under my skin like a seed tick on a dog's asshole.
Oh well. At least I wouldn't be digging in the
heat and humidity with the seed ticks now that
I thought about it. Those last few days I took
my shovel out to my grave, sat on the edge. Them
two were getting along better now. Seemed to
have made peace with their circumstances. And
I just sat there with my feet dangling over the
edge. Not doing much more than waiting for the
time to pass. I couldn't recall any of the hymns
we used to sing at church besides Amazing Grace.
That one gets old and didn't feel appropriate,
the three of us sitting there like that. So I
just sang a tune my mama taught me back when
I was still pissing yellow. I can almost remember
the words to that one. I checked that muddy water
every day to see how high or low it was. Didn't
change too much. Didn't bother bailing it out,
neither. Sitting there staring at it, thinking
about the rest of the world already being dead
made me wonder why I even bothered. There was
anybody else left. If somebody might have seen
me, I reckon I'd rather be covered over with
dirt. There wasn't nobody here. to even feel
it on the top. It was bad enough I was planning
to lay myself down in the hole instead of somebody
doing it for me. But I wasn't gonna shovel myself
in. A man would have to be crazy to do a thing
like that. Maybe one day the wind will blow enough
saying my way to feel it right up. Sure it will.
Cause all the plants are already wilted down
in brown piles. It's only a matter of time before
the roots give out. And there won't be anything
to hold the earth together no more. Guess it's
not even soil. There ain't no worms or nothing.
Well, I've enjoyed shooting the breeze with y
'all. Today's my birthday. I got some important
plans now with a couple friends of mine. Y 'all
take care of yourselves. Don't listen to nobody.
They tell you God bless Texas. It's bullshit.
This ain't nothing but a curse through and through.
Bye now. What's one thing you wish you could
say to someone, but you can't because they're
gone? Could be a question. Apology. And I love
you. Anything at all, as long as it's for somebody
you knew in life who's gone now. Hey. It's been
a while. Hope you're doing okay. I, uh... I really
miss you. I really do. I know that it's been
a short while and like things weren't really
easy. I needed to make a choice and that choice
was saying goodbye to you. It wasn't easy for
me and I'm sorry if it brought you pain. I really
didn't want to let go, but I had to make a choice.
It was so easy talking to you. It felt like you
were just a reflection of my soul. Things were
just easy, and like, anything that we would talk
about just seemed so natural. It felt so... it
felt so new it felt so real and happiness you
know I really wish that wherever you are right
now you're doing great and like you've achieved
all the dreams that you've always wanted to do
I'm not gonna lie I do wish that maybe Someday
somehow we're gonna meet again down the road,
but you know life is life is life is strange
and Maybe those short moments we had Those times
we spent together was the only memory we have
And I do hope that I brought you happiness despite
that short time. I do want to like somehow talk
to you again, reach out to you, but I know it's
not gonna be better. I know that I'm just gonna
end up hurting you and myself again. And it's
not fair. It's not fair for me and you. But damn.
I really miss you. I really wish that I could
spend one more time with you, just forgetting
about all the things that happened and just living
in that moment with you. But we need to move
on. I need to move on. But it's so hard because
I can't stop thinking about you. Everything just
seems so natural. I really miss you and I hope
that you found the love that you deserve I miss
you so much I really do but this is better I
think maybe maybe the timing was off maybe If
things were different, you know, maybe things
would have worked out well. I really wish I could
spend more time with you. But I can't. And it's
so unfair for you and me. Cause I know we're
just gonna end up hurting each other again. And
I can't do that to you. I can't. I'm sorry. I'm
sorry for missing you and not moving on because
I know that I've been so toxic to you right now.
But this is something I live with. Because you
have been a gift to me. You've brought me happiness.
You've brought me joy. And that genuine connection
was something else. You were like a kindred spirit
to me. I miss you. I really do. But... I think...
I don't know. It's hard to not forget about you.
It's hard to, like, not think about you. I miss
you. Nathan somersaulted backwards, twisting
his body to his left as he went. He knew the
ninja was going to advance. In fact, it was part
of his ploy. He came up in a crouch and parried
high as the enemy's katana arched down towards
his head. Sparks erupted and Nathan responded
with a sweeping kick at the ninja's black boots.
The black clad assassin leapt back and avoided
the kick, but the defensive maneuver allowed
enough time for the hero to regain his footing.
The exchange was going exactly how Nathan wanted.
Now, a cartwheel to the side. The ninja would
thrust, Nathan would parry and twist, then a
final upward swing to finish the opponent. He
figured he could eliminate this enemy and get
Fair Lady and himself to safety before the rest
of the horde arrived. The two gladiators locked
eyes. There was a mutual respect between the
two. But both knew this battle was mortal. Nathan
tensed his muscles, preparing to launch into
his next flurry of movement when he heard Fair
Lady call out. Nathan Alexander, knock it off
with the roughhousing. But Mom, I just wanted
to save you from all the ninjas. Have you picked
up your toys, like I asked? They they they were
gonna hurt you and no one hurts my mom You've
been listening to the intangible an audio literature
program of weird fiction Can you imagine an imaginary
menagerie manager imagining managing an imaginary
menagerie? This was not a fever dream. Thing
is, it keeps getting worse to one day you die.
Does it get worse after that? I don't know, kid.
I sure hope so.