(Editor’s Note: If you’d like to see the inspiration for this piece, please follow this link. For more information search The Mysteries of Harris Burdick.)
After two weeks, it happened again. I had just finished my run and entered the kitchen when I saw the bump.
Two weeks ago, I noticed a bump underneath the rug in our living room. It was as if someone had rolled a Matchbox car about 1/3 of the way under the right side of the rug. I had figured our dog had pushed something under there, so I went to retrieve it. Shouldn’t that be the other way around?
Needless to say, I was surprised when I pulled the rug back. There was no car, no dog toy, no nothing, but a small bump pushing up through the hardwood floor. My first thought was water damage. I had just replaced some leaky plumbing in the bathroom, so that had to be it. But as I flipped open my cell phone to call the plumber, the bump quivered. Yes, I know it sounds ridiculous, but it quivered and moved slightly to the left.
I called for my wife, but she was finished up her shower. So I sat down on the couch and stared at the bump, willing it to move again. Of course it didn’t and I was soon accompanied by our dog. She walked by the spot, jumped on the couch, and crawled into my lap. She stared in the same direction I did, but the bump did not concern her, so she was asleep in seconds.
After 10 minutes of staring at the unmoving bump, I had convinced myself it had been a long day and I had just imagined it. My wife walked in about that time and I called her over to point out the bump, but there was nothing there. Just the smooth hardwood floor, albeit a bit dusty, and the pulled back rug. We both wrote if off as some sort of optical illusion or something about heat exhaustion due to my run. The bump didn’t return until two weeks later.
Thankfully, maybe I should not be thankful for any of this, but thankfully, my wife found the bump underneath the rug, but on the opposite side of the trunk we used as a makeshift coffee table. If someone had held a gun to my head, I would have blabbered to no end that the bump was slightly larger. It looked somehow fuller to me, like a blister of sorts. The wood was stretched to its extreme and small stress cracks were beginning to form.
With a bit more courage than last time, I reached out and touched the hardwood. At first, I thought the bump was throbbing, but then common sense slipped to the forefront of my mind. There was no throbbing from the floor, but there was a definite throbbing from me. I was feeling my own pulse as my heart thundered within my chest. Looking back, I have no idea why my heart was beating so quickly. Maybe I had some sort of sixth sense or intuition that I should have recognized. My pounding heart was thumping out a warning in Morse code that I wish I had heeded.
I palmed the bump, running my hand across the curvature. The shape was eerily familiar. The length was double to triple the width or vice versa. I have no idea what was the length of the width, but the ratio was close enough for anyone to understand its dimensions.
Since the bump did not quiver or move or budge under the weight of my hand, I quickly stood up and slammed my right heel into the bump. To no one’s surprise, the bump did not move. After the fourth heel to the bump, my heel was aching. I’m sure our downstairs’ neighbor loved the reproduction of Stomp, so I kicked it one last time for good measure.
The pain was instant. It felt as if a needle had been shoved into the heel of my foot. Tearing away my loafer, I noticed my blue sock had already turned almost black around the heel. Stripping the wet sock off, I saw the tiny hole producing the steady stream of blood. I looked back towards the bump as my wife ran to grab a towel and some bandages.
I had fallen directly beside the bump, but in the time it took for my wife to return and for us to keep my heel from completely ruining the rug, the small bump had grown several times larger and had moved several feet away. Instead of being completely covered by the rug, the bump was on some metaphorical fence. Half of it lay outside the rug and half of it inside. It looked all tucked-in and ready for a nice winter’s sleep.