/yesod

Author: T.M. Camp

  • flake

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    Packing up for the day, getting ready to head for home… I reach for my cell phone and watch in amazement as a bright flake of light, a translucent chip of yellow-white light about the size of my fingernail, floats up from the screen towards my face. I blink, shake my head. It is gone.

  • stench

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    Over the holidays, there were a number of points when I noted a pungent smell in the little hallway at the back of our kitchen — a cloying stench, like rotting fish. (I do not care for this little hallway. It feels off to me, somehow. There is a mirror of it upstairs and the…

  • the short

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    We’re in the back bedroom, my wife and I. Fucking. It’s hard sometimes to find the time, the moment. Children, work, day-to-day life — these things conspire and distract and exhaust. But we find the time, when we can. We find the moments, synchronized, together. And it is good. Perhaps it is too brief, too…

  • a tornado, two corpses, and a leather sofa

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    Inside the house, people are starting to panic. The sky outside is dark and green, the wind bending the trees to almost impossible angles. We can hear the sirens and, in a house this old, there is no safe place . . . every room has windows, the elderly frame flexes and creaks in the…

  • dark ride

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    T.M. Camp
    in

    I am surprised to see a Ferris wheel looming over the downtown district, pale against the darkening sky. As evening descends, we make our way towards the carnival. It is dark everywhere. There are no flickering lights, no music — just the mechanical clack and clank of the rides, the muted murmur of the crowds.…

  • the shadow project

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    Over fifteen years ago I wanted to try a build a site that could collect dreams — the natural extension of my mild obsession to record my own for the past twenty years or so. Alas, my technical capabilities weren’t up to the challenge. But it’s very cool to see all these later that something…

  • kitchen door

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    For some reason, I am holding a bottle of olive oil in my hand while my daughter and I take a walk around the block. (We are not at home, this is not the neighborhood where we live in the waking world. This is someplace else. I do not recognize it from either my dreams…

  • little girls

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    T.M. Camp
    in

    Reported by my wife: A few days ago she and our daughter were in the back stairwell, getting ready to go for a walk. Once she got our daughter into her shoes, my wife sat down to put her own on. While she was doing this, our daughter went down the three steps to the…

  • a moment of moore

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    On my way through the park, I see a familiar figure heading in the opposite direction. He shambles, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun. His hair and beard are wild and ragged as the hem of his overcoat. I change my course somewhat to interest his. He looks up as…

  • ragged

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    T.M. Camp
    in ,

    Sitting on the toilet in the back bathroom, I hear a sound at the door — as through someone pressed against it from the outside, maybe one of the cats? But the door has nearly an inch gap at the bottom. I can see nothing outside. A few minutes later I am jolted into a…

  • whisper

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    T.M. Camp
    in ,

    As I come into the front room of our house, I hear man’s voice whisper something — a single phrase, very distinct but unintelligible. Cleaning up in the back bathroom, I hear voices pitched in an argument — just a few lines back and forth — again, distinctly audible but no words can be made…

  • neighborhood watch

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    T.M. Camp
    in

    …and when the neighbors show up at our front door, they demand entrance and will not leave. Too small to be a mob, but there are enough of them to force their way in. In the entryway, they shout that we are heathens and devil worshippers — they begin opening doors and ransacking the rooms.…

  • footsteps again, of course

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    Standing in the kitchen, I hear the sound of someone coming down the back stairs — slow, cautious . . . almost stealthy. But when I go to check, of course, no one is there. It takes a few minutes for the hair on my arms to lay back down again. My skin is electric,…

  • gentleman caller

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    T.M. Camp
    in

    …and while my daughter plays in the tub, there’s a sudden wave of men’s cologne — acrid and sour — that passes over me. My throat closes, I am overcome with a coughing fit. Inexplicable. My wife does not wear perfume. I do not wear cologne. It lingers for a number of minutes there in…

  • gitchy

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    T.M. Camp
    in

    A strange atmosphere hanging over The Last House tonight. The sky outside is heavy with rain, but it doesn’t look like any will fall. The heat is heavy, like a hand on your chest. Inside . . . everything feels pressurized, oppressive. There are shadows moving through the rooms, vague shapes darting here and there…

  • early morning

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    T.M. Camp
    in ,

    Woken by my daughter early this morning, unable to get back to sleep so I head downstairs to sit in the predawn dark, looking up from my book from time to time as little beads of shadow stream across the floor like dark mercury. An hour or so later, I hear footfalls overhead. They move…

  • peeking

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    T.M. Camp
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    Later… Sitting in the living room, talking with my wife while our daughter plays . . . I see someone peek around the corner of the entry leading into the dining room, a brief flash like someone pokes their head out for a quick look and then ducked back behind the wall when I looked…

  • mossy

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    T.M. Camp
    in

    Sitting with my youngest daughter this evening, something lingers in the corner of my eye. I have a vague impression of something olive green, mossy, no more than three feet tall. A spindly figure standing in the little hallway leading to my office. Then it’s gone.

  • comedy and tragedy

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    T.M. Camp
    in

    …when the comedian pulls up in the Winnebago, I hop in. We chat and get acquainted while his two cats prowl around in back. A few hours on the road and I realize we’re not going to get back home in time for me to help out with the baby’s bedtime. I’m embarrassed to say…

  • laundry room

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    T.M. Camp
    in ,

    As I came into the laundry room this morning, a shadow moved in the dim light from right to left — coming from the hallway and passing through the closed and locked door at the top of the back stairs. The shadow was large, as wide as a refrigerator though not as tall. It has…

  • lavender dress

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    T.M. Camp
    in

    My wife went to the market one afternoon this past weekend. The weather was warm and she was wearing a long lavender dress, very lovely. The dress has bare arms and drapes in a style reminiscent of a statue of a Greek goddess. While she was out, a flash of color caught my eye in…

  • the visit

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    T.M. Camp
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    Halfway through my day I stop and reach desperately for a scrap of dream from the night before, a vague memory that my character Jee came to see me. She had something important to tell me. But the dream is gone, nothing left but a sense of something forgotten.

  • in the shower

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    T.M. Camp
    in

    …as I’m washing my backside, someone peeks in between a seam in the shower curtain — old and wizened, though I cannot tell whether it is a man or a woman. They roll their eyes up at me, almost comical, and purse their mouth in a silent “Oooo…” …and then I wake with a start,…

  • the right to bear arms

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    T.M. Camp
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    …I’m stunned to see the President of the United States at the door. He bustles in before I can get my head around his sudden appearance. He is alone and clearly in peril. He slams the door and locks it behind him, thanking me for letting him in. It is strange to see him scared,…

  • precision

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    T.M. Camp
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    …with slow, precise snips of the nail clippers, I remove most of my right toenail, somewhat proud to have done it in a single, broad piece. The skin beneath is tender, painful. I hope my wife will not notice.