I was on my porch watching the cars pass by, waving as my neighbours parked their cars coming home from work. I'd been out of work for three months now and it was beginning to get unnerving. Not only because I needed a job, but because it forced me to stay home.
See, about a month into my unemployment I started seeing a man outside my bedroom window. My bedroom was on the second floor of the house, so he must have been standing on the overhang of the porch. He wore a black T-shirt and had pale skin. Heavy set as well. He looked to be about 300 lb. His face was still and emotionless as he watched me in my bed.
At first I thought it was just a dream. I only saw him when I would wake up in the middle of the night. I kept waking up more and more often though, and started noticing him earlier and earlier. I started to notice how each time I saw him he became thinner and thinner as well.
The day eventually came where I saw him approach the window as I was getting ready for bed. He was now a very thin old man, barely more than a skeleton. I could only recognize him by the empty gaze that I had never seen from any human being. I knew I was wide awake and no longer could ignore his existence.
I tried to ignore him as I always had. He knocked on my window. Startled my head twisted around so that I was staring right into his eyes. He had never done anything like that before. He had never moved. I stared at him for what felt an eternity lost in his eyes. His eyes demanded my attention.
He knocked again, this time a bit harder. I walked towards the window and opened it. A horrid smell rushed in with the cold air outside. I had never smelt something so putrid, but if anything it was like human feces that had been left in a warm dark place for weeks. He smiled at me. There were no teeth in his mouth. A brown tar like substance drooled from the opening though, and I instinctively knew I wanted nothing to do with it. I wanted nothing to do with this man, yet I continued to answer to him.
He raised his hand, holding out a collar to me. It had the texture of sandpaper but was much more durable. Without protest I found myself wrapping the collar around my neck, pressing the two ends together behind my neck. They seemed to fuse together, forming an unbreakable seal.
The man, seemingly pleased, walked away from the window. I poked my head out to see where he had gone, how he had even gotten to the second floor in his condition, but he had seemingly vanished. Considering the circumstances this was really no surprise.
My hand upon my new collar I wondered what it could mean. I had a general idea, there were only so many things a collar could represent, but the true purpose eluded me. The night seemingly over I returned to my bed. It was an unsettling situation, but I still managed to eventually drift into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning I was surprised to still find the collar around my neck. Though it had felt very real, I still couldn't believe the previous night to be anything more than a nightmare. After getting dressed I walked downstairs to get some breakfast. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs. I seemed to have walked into a wall of the same putrid stench as the man. Looking into my living room I found him sitting in a chair I had gotten from my father after he passed away three years ago. He defiled it with his presence.
“What do you want from me?!” I screamed. His brow drew down in disapproval. His fingers crossed, his arms now resting on what I now realized were his bare legs. They were shriveled to nothing. They were dead. “What does this all mean?” I asked more politely, defeated by his gaze.
“I want you” he whispered in reply. “I'm hungry”.
I understood immediately. I was not a pet to him. I was livestock.
So I sit on my porch, the only place I can get away from his stench. He lives on my couch, waiting. Watching as I grow fatter. He has allowed me to “graze” until I'm a more suitable weight. To feed myself I am allowed to leave to get food, but I dare not run. I can not run. As my collar always reminds me, he will not allow it.