Fenton's ginger head bobbed this way and that has he switched between computer screen. After sharing a cubical with Fenton for about two years, his distracting red hair remained his only fault, and that was only because I could be distracted by any notable moving object in close proximity.
Our cubical partnership was flaky at best. Fenton fended off software code issues and I fended off public relations issues. His screen remained black with archaic characters, where my remained in word processors and graphic editing programs. The reason for the company placing us together remained a mystery. Still, we put up with each others quirks, helped each other out if we could, and occasionally got some lunch together. I liked Fenton as a co-worker. That's where my relationship ended with Fenton. Never saw him before 8 AM or after 5 PM. Everything I knew of him existed in this moderate sized cubical space.
I clicked my pen, leaned back in my chair and watched Fenton work. When I thought about Fenton, I realized how little I knew about him. Not that I couldn't have a conversation with him. Just afterward, I discovered what while I had said many things about myself, he had rarely said anything about himself. He kept cheerful, he asked questions, he always met me with a bright "Good morning" in the beginning, and a "Have a good evening" at the close of the day. I remained curious about Fenton. Part of me held that if you don't know about someone, sometimes it is best not to know. Not like I'd even heard any gossip on him (and sad to say, I had stalked around the water cooler before and tried to). I'd brought him up with Ruth, the front secretary one time, who seemed to have a scoop on everyone.
"Fenton is a good worker," Ruth said.
I waited for more. She didn't go further. "That's it?" I whispered.
She shrugged. "I can honestly say I have never heard or come across anything either way on him. He's normal. He's boring. He's also cute...but...well...I suppose there is one thing."
"What?" I said, leaning in over her desk.
"Oh please. This is nothing you don't know. You know very well he doesn't hang out with anyone outside of work. That usually would mean he's a workaholic or something. But here's the weird part. Haven't you noticed he has never taken overtime?"
"Really?"
"I see some memos go through here. He's been called in about it. It's a little strange. And that's it. Do you want to know about Cindy?" Ruth said, leaning in, as if wanting to bite me with gossip fangs. I declined.
Come to think of it, that was strange. Thinking back, I did notice the strangeness of this seemingly innocent act. When we first were cubical partners, I remembered manager after manager poking their head over the side, asking Fenton if he would be able to finish an extra project that came up, or pop in on Saturday to help with some diagnostics or other technical tasks. Fenton briefly flipped open his pocket calender, chewed on a pen briefly, looked up at the manager and said, "Sorry, no" each time in a different variation "How about I see if I can finish it before five?"
The managers came back before five. Fenton always said he was done. The managers never returned to complain. Eventually the requests to do overtime stopped. They just turned into "could you do this before five?" visits. Fenton knew what he was doing. Still, every once in a while, there came a request that needed to be done on the weekend. Fenton never said yes to one of these engagements. After being asked to his manager's office a few times, and then the boss's office once, these requests stopped. I never asked for specifics and Fenton didn't present them. I became more curious.
"Fenton?" I said.
Fenton turned around, attentive and ready.
"Would you like to hang out at the bar tonight? Some friends invited me and said I could bring a friend..."
Fenton rubbed his red scruff of a goatee. "Sorry, I don't drink. Thanks for the offer."
"I don't drink much either," I said, truthfully (I usually quaffed root beer), "Just like the company."
He looked me up and down, not saying anything.
I felt I needed to fill in the silence. "I mean, we've been working with...or at least near each other for a while now. You're a cool guy. I just want to..."
"Sorry, I'm...busy."
"Tomorrow maybe?"
Fenton shook his head. "Trent, I know you mean well. I'm just not made out for being social outside of work. I hope you understand."
"Yeah, I do," I sighed. "Still, if you ever change your mind, let me know."
"Will do," Fenton said, turning back to his work.
I turned back to mine. Fenton was just a private person. I needed to respect his privacy and let him be. I couldn't force him to be social. He was fine. He was allowed to have his secrets.
I almost got myself to believe this by the end of the day.
Tuesday, I almost asked him again and stopped myself.
Wednesday, I almost asked Ruth for his address. I changed the topic midway into the question.
Thursday, I debated digging through his desk for answers when he went to a meeting.
On Friday, I decided to tail him home in my car.
I will be the first to admit that this is not the most sane action for me to take. But I had got myself invested in this mystery, and once that happened, my imagination started to conjure up all these reasons and ideas and explanations until I couldn't sleep at night. The logical side of me kept insisting there was nothing that I needed to know. Fenton was a normal person with a normal personality, and, presumably, a normal life. Just because he never discussed hobbies or family or friends or vacations did not mean anything. Lots of people in the world didn't talk about that stuff. I couldn't think of any though. My mind got corrupted by this question until I snapped early Friday morn and decided to take action.
I picked up a pie from the bakers. My plan was to follow Fenton after work, see where he lived, go away for an hour, come back with a pie, saying some line of "oh, I saw your car when I was passing through the neighborhood and since I had this pie..."
A horrible idea through and through. No one in their right mind wouldn't buy the facade and would, most likely, slam the door and call the police. However, as I half paid attention to my work through the day, I somehow convinced myself of the genius of this hare-brained plan.
Five o'clock came around, Fenton gave a cheery good evening, and left. I quickly shutdown my computer and followed in his wake. I sprinted down the stairs, scooted down halls, looking like an idiot until I made it into my car and focused in on his dark green car pull out of his space. I felt sick to my stomach when he stopped at the grocery store and came out with milk and break. I was shivering when he stopped by the garden store and came out with fertilizer. I yelled to myself when he stopped at the pet food store and came out with some cat toys. None of this in itself was odd. Just normal chores of a person who ate, tended a garden, and had a cat. The only thing I noticed was he appeared to check his wristwatch every minute. I wanted to flee give up this horrible idea and eat the blasted pie to comfort myself.
I kept going. I at least wanted to see where he lived at this point. Then I would be done. I wouldn't even do the stupid pie thing.
By the time I saw him pull into his drive, from down the block, so low in my seat I could only peek over the dashboard, my confidence had returned. I would go have coffee, return, and give Fenton some pie. I wrote down the address as I passed by. The length of drinking the coffee brought me up to hysteria then down again to illogical calm. I returned to the house to find it dark. Not even the porch light on. Had he left. His car still sat in the driveway. Perhaps someone picked him up. I sighed and slumped in my seat. All this and nothing. I decided I could still leave the pie and maybe a note.
I got out of the car and walked to the door. I set the pie on the doorstep. I stared at the doorbell button. I shrugged and pushed the button. It dinged. I looked up and down the street. I turned the door handle. Unlocked. The door swung open, silent. I looked at the shadows beyond. I looked at the street again. My car waited. I needed to leave. Now.
I picked up the pie. Since the door was open, may as well leave the pie in the kitchen. I walked into the house, down the hall, took a left, and found the kitchen. I looked at the counter. Perhaps I should put the pie in the fridge. I opened the fridge. Rodents, lizards, and eggs in plastic bags. I closed the fridge. I then noticed the fogged glass window door. It wasn't to the outside, no, that door was on the opposite side of the room. Based on placement, it could very well be the living room. I noticed the vents leading out above the door and the soft whirr of an air system. I exited the kitchen and came around another way, another fogged glass door, and a few sheets of fogged glass. Odd. Actually, as I walked, I noticed that the rest of the house was separated from the kitchen and dining room. Walls of the fogged glass blocked all entrance from the rest of that house. Unless I opened a door.
I feared what lay behind the door. I had come so far, my unhealthy curiosity had dragged me into this situation, and now that the normal of Fenton had fallen on the wayside, the unknown of the strange lay behind those glass walls. I reentered the kitchen and opened the glass door.
I walked into a forest. An artificial forest of large potted trees in a living room, but a forest nonetheless. I wandered through the foliage and found couch and a TV sat in the middle of the room, a cartoon show played in mute, the remote sat on the couch covered by tarp. I walked further in, ducking under branches, walking on wet sod. I looked up and saw a skylight that took up the entire ceiling, the moonlight added to the strange aura. I exited the living room and entered the hall. This was not as well lit. The trees were pressed closer together. I shimmed between trunks. My shoe sank into mud. I squelched onward. This was absurd. Fenton was growing an entire forest in his house. Why would anyone do that? Yes, I could understand this in someone's backyard, but why would someone do this in their house? I couldn't really get past this thought. Or his accomplishment. Despite the crazy, this really was amazing. Then I remembered the cat toy.
Wait...what if he built this for someone rather than himself. I froze. Here I stood, in a closed in forested hallway, no means of escape, and there, very possibly, could be an unknown animal, perhaps carnivore, very close. Then some leaves very near to my face rustled. I heard a growl.
Panic set in. I flailed, pushing against the trees, trying to get away, I ran into a door, wood, I found the handle, I opened, I ran forward. Right into a wooden board at face level.
I lay on the floor. Or ground. I felt carpet in any case. I bed nearby. Bedroom. Wooden slates across the room covered in vines. A cat toy next to my head, a puffball on the end of a spring. I rubbed my forehead where I'd ran into the board.
"Trent? What...why...what in the world?"
Fenton. At the doorway. Finally. Some sense. I turned to try and fail at explaining. The babbling never came. I stared at the creature sitting there that was obviously not Fenton. Until it spoke. "Oh. I..." His own words faded off. We stared.
Fenton, or the creature that had Fenton's voice, sighed. "I guess this couldn't last forever. Do you want a drink?"
"What do you have?" I squeaked.
"Water and...water."
"That would be good."
We sat at the kitchen table. To be more specific, I sat on a chair and Fenton sat on the table. I drank the water. Fenton dunked his paw into the glass, then licked the water off his paw.
"First things first: why exactly did you break into my house?"
"To be fair, the door was unlocked."
"How did you even find my house?"
I sank into the seat. "I...followed you."
Fenton looked displeased. This made him look more cute. "What's keeping me from just calling the cops on you?"
"Ur...you being a...what are you?"
"Red panda."
"You being a red panda?"
He paced the table, making a twittering noise.
"You /are/ Fenton, right?"
"Yes, I'm Fenton." He gave a deep huff. "I guess only thing I can do is explain to you why I'm like..." he sat up and motioned his paws to his body, "...this."
I sat back up in my chair. "That would be a good start."
"I've been hiding this for a long time," he said, shaking his head, "Too long. I don't know how I kept this a secret so long. I may as well start at the beginning...do you want to move to the couch?"
"May as well."
As I settled onto the tarp-covered couch, Fenton draped himself onto a nearby branch at eye level.
Fenton cleared his throat. "As with most stories like this, it started with a girl. Or who I thought was a girl. She ended up to be much more than that. I loved her. But things went sour at one point or another, as relationships sometimes do.
"She wanted more from me than I was willing to give. She wanted to be around me all the time. She wanted to talk with me all the time. She wanted to be there for me, and wanted me to be always there for her..."
"So I tried to break up with her."
Fenton rubbed his paws on his temples. "She did not take that well.
"Turned out that she had plans for me. She was a kitsune. She was an all powerful multitailed fox trickster spirit who had chosen me to be her mate for life...and to have me reject her...yeah... That was an extremely awkward dinner, I can tell you.:
"She thought I was being selfish and shallow and maybe I was. It all depends upon the point of view. I said I need some time to think. She thought if I wanted some time to myself, I would have it. So she cursed me to be this, five days a week. So I would have plenty of time to myself."
"Wait, that doesn't make sense," I said, "I've seen you at work, five days a week, every week."
Fenton sat up and held up his paws, shaking his head. "No, no, no. I found out soon after this curse was placed on me, that the curse was deemed by hours rather than days. It translates five days as 120 hours. I can keep myself from becoming a red panda...if I have the time. I have 48 hours to be human each week. So forty hours for work, eight hours for driving home and back, chores, shopping, other events."
"Have you tried just...not being a red panda?"
Fenton sighed. "Yeah, if I try right from Sunday to keep from turning, by the time it turns Tuesday, I'm a red panda the rest of the week with no human interludes possible."
"So this is why all of..." I tapered off, pointing at the surrounding foliage.
"Yeah, I figured if I spent most of my time home as a red panda, I may as well build the habitat for it. I tried the park a few nights. Bad idea. Too many stray dogs, no bamboo, and raccoon temperaments may vary. I just feel more comfortable in a forested area."
"Haven't you tried to..."
"Break the curse? Yeah, I beg and pleaded with her...the kitsune. I tried to find other mythical creatures and magical persons. I tried remedies from online. All dead ends. I still see her from time to time. She leaves notes. She's still mad. She told me she lives thousands of years. She might stay mad for a while..."
"How do you...keep sane?"
Fenton swung his long ringed tail. "By not fighting it. I think I got a bit of red panda instinct with the body. I just let the red panda in me take control. It really is relaxing, with no predators, poachers, and plenty of food, works out not half bad."
I rubbed my forehead, still sore from hitting that wood. "What was it I hit?"
"I'm building an agility course in the bedroom, to keep me occupied and give me more climbing practice."
"Ah." I leaned forward and looked at my feet. "I'm sorry I broke in. I...don't know. I just got so...curious and I...had to know."
"I think I just have that aura. I know you meant well, Trent. Anyone would do what you did."
"You think so?"
"No really," Fenton said, giving what looked to be a grin.
I stood up. "Thanks for explaining. Sorry for intruding."
"Don't worry. As long as you don't spread it around the office."
"If I did, the rumor would just be, 'Did you hear Trent's insane now?'"
Fenton chuckled at this, "Yeah, that's the office for you."
I walked to the glass door.
"Trent?"
I stopped.
"You don't...have to leave."
I looked back. Fenton had leaped off the branch and now sat at my feet.
"There's...I mean, you don't have to stay. if you don't want to. Since you're here...it's a Friday night. I have a limited collection of DVDs. Mostly badly narrated red panda documentaries. Still, great to make fun of."
I couldn't say no to that face.
I woke up the following morning, a red panda curled up on my chest. I rubbed him between the ears. Fenton chirred and twitched his long tail.
May be unconventional, but I thought this might be the start of an interesting friendship.
I noticed the fox, five tails swirling behind, laying on the head of the couch. . A moment later, the name came to mind: kitsune. I wanted to scramble for cover, but I didn't want to wake Fenton, so I lay there, forcing a smile up. "Morning," I whispered.
"What are you doing in this house?" the kitsune said, calm, uncomfortably calm. She rose onto all four paws and trotted closer to my face.
"Just visiting," I whispered.
She looked to Fenton, then snapped her attention back to me. "You do not seem surprised by my appearance." She leaned in, nose almost touching my own, her golden eyes shimmered, almost glowed. I felt small and scared.
The kitsune backed away, walked back down the head of the couch, and then stepped down onto my stomach.I felt her claws through my shirt. She was light. She sat down and watched Fenton's sleeping form. Her five tails lashed, she bared her teeth, though didn't growl. "What did he tell you?" She did not look up from Fenton.
I fumbled with regaining my "Just...some things. Not much really."
"You didn't run away."
"I...tried. I hurt myself." I rubbed my forehead, where a bump had formed.
"You know too much."
She said this. The words got in deep and reverberated on my chords of fear.
"I can leave," I whispered. I knew if Fenton woke up, it really wouldn't matter at this point.
"And never come back?"
I stared. She finally looked up.
"I...I...can't do that."
"Why?"
"He's...my friend."
She smiled and shook her head. "You don't know him like I do. He's not worth it."
"Why not?"
"Do you know what he did for me?"
"Would you rather he lie about loving you?"
"If it would keep me happy. Yes."
"That's not how love works."
She stepped past Fenton, brought her face back close, she spoke, low and evenly, showing her teeth as she spoke. "You are on a very narrow ledge here. This is none of your business and I'm giving you the chance to step away right now. You're Trent, right? His co-worker. He's talked about you. He thinks you're nice. You can keep being nice. At work. Act like nothing happened and you don't know.
"Fenton will understand. He will keep living his life. And you will keep living yours. Free of any complications. Fenton does not need you as a friend. He only needs me. And as long as keeps denying that, he will remain just as he is. You do not want to make the same mistakes he has made. Make your choice wisely, human. I do not make idle threats."
I made a choice.
O O O
Fenton woke up refreshed. He chewed on the bamboo placed in front of him cheerfully, relishing the flavor. Yes, the fact that Trent had come by was strange, but after last night, Fenton appreciated Trent. Trent had accepted the situation, he hadn't run away (at least after the explanation), he didn't panic, and his commentary during the documentaries had been somewhat entertaining. By the end, the smell of nervousness had diminished greatly.
He caught the scent of kitsune.
Jennifer.
He jumped off the couch, sniffing the air for Trent. Perhaps he'd left before she came around. Perhaps nothing had happened. He wished he wasn't such a deep sleeper. Nothing out of place, no sign of a struggle, nothing on fire. But he couldn't smell anything of Trent besides where he had been on the couch. He got on his hind legs to look around.
Then he smelled the popcorn.
Popcorn?
Fenton took another snuff. Yes, fresh popcorn. That was weird. He followed the smell. Past the glass door, it was not in the kitchen, down the hallway, to his bedroom door. It was cracked open. He peeked in. He saw a black figure hunched over his computer. Fenton entered, holding his body close to the ground, trying not to make a sound. The figure was an animal, that was for certain, black fur with silver, long curved tail that curled and uncurled. It gave off the smell of popcorn.
Fenton's stomach rumbled, the figure turned around. Black furred face, golden eyes, grizzled fur, large triangle ears.
"I hope you don't mind I'm using your computer," the creature said, in a familiar bashful voice."I was just doing some research...do you know how hard it is to type with paws?"
Fenton gaped. "Trent?"
"...yeah," Trent said, ears drooping.
"What...what...?"
"I met your ex-girlfriend. I'm sorry. I don't know."
"Trent. I'm sor-"
"No, no, don't apologize. It's all my fault. I found out she's a wee bit crazy."
"Trent, I..."
"No, really I'm fine, despite being a..." Trent looked at the computer screen. "A binturong. Also known as a bearcat. At least I'm somewhat adorable." He rubbed his snout, embarrassed. "I just...wanted to be your friend. I'm sorry to impose on your life. You don't need any more complications."
Fenton trotted up to Trent, pacing back and forth, taking in the details of the new binturong. He sat down in front of Trent. "Trent, you're not a complication. I'm sorry I wasn't more...forthcoming."
"You don't need to say anything. I would have thought you were crazy if you did. Then we...wouldn't be here." The binturong gave a chuckling type sound.
Fenton gave a twittering laugh back. "I suppose not. I suppose, considering circumstances, you can stay over this weekend. I'll show you the ropes, so to speak," he said, gesturing at the ropes and board constructed climbing course above.
"Ooo, can you? I read I have a prehensile tail that I want to try out. And do you think I can try some of those rats you have in the fridge? I'm a dash famished after the change."
"Sure. Just keep your jaws off the bamboo."
"Done."
