Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #13 April 2015 | Page 50

I answered an ad I saw in the local job finder for an
easy two week position to help provide care for a Mr
Wilton Bixby. I was in-between jobs so this temporary position would be fine till my new job started.
I talked with Mr Bixby’s primary care provid er, Ms
Julia Davenport who gave me directions to Bixby’s
home on the other side of town. The agreement I had
to make with Ms Davenport was that I would stay in
the home for the two weeks, meals and a bed would
be provided as well as other expenses. The house that
belonged to Bixby showed its age, cracked & chipped
paint and aged wood was all that could be seen on
the outside of the Victorian style home but the inside,
to my surprise, was well kept. Inside the house was
all hardwood stained in different colours, it made
me feel warm and welcomed contrary to the outside
appearance and the presence of Ms Davenport. After
I introduced myself to her, Ms Davenport just pressed
her lips together and looked at me sideways. When I
first spoke with her on the phone she seemed cold then
but now meeting her in person the feeling of emotionless is worse.
“You’ll find everything you need for a meal in the
kitchen. Your room is behind the stairs over there.”
The old caregiver pointed down the small hallway by
the stairs. “You’re to make Mr Bixby’s meals and take
them up to his room.”
At first the instructions seemed normal and average
but then they became peculiar.
“As you approach his room, make sure you walk with
heavy footsteps so you don’t alarm him. Call to him
through the door before knocking and wait for him to
let you in. When you’re inside there will be a tray on
a cart, just leave the meal there and leave the room.

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If he needs saline, there are saline bags in the fridge
in the room next to his, it’s the same thing with his
meals, leave them on the cart and leave.”
After a few more minutes of instructions and being
told not to go near Mr Bixby, Ms Davenport left me
standing alone in the foyer with just my gym bag
as she picked up her suitcases and left for her ailing
Father’s. I was alone now, not including Bixby but the
only person in this house to help the man. From what
I was told was that he had a condition where, even
though he was able to care for himself, he couldn’t
move around too much. At first I assumed that the
man was in a wheelchair but then I rememberd the
instructions about saline bags. As my thoughts turned
to them, the intercom cracked to life.
“Ms Davenport?” a healthy sounding voice came from
the little black box in the wall.
“I’m sorry sir, she just left.” I answered.
“Oh! Well that’s too bad, I assume you’re the one who
answered the ad?” Bixby’s asked.
“I am.” After I introduced myself Bixby asked if I
was told where the saline bags were, and asked me to
retrieve a couple for him.
As I walked up the stairs I made sure my feet hit the
carpeted steps, my muffled thumps echoing in the
house. In the hallway on the second floor I noticed
a door with a sign taped on it informing me that the
room belonged to Mr Bixby and the door next to that
one had a sign saying “Supplies”, both signs were
made with the same paper and written in the same
handwriting, presumably Ms Davenport’s. I opened