The Shambling Mound

 I moved to Green Hills to watch my sister’s place. It was a little condo, one-bedroom but bright and roomy. I needed somewhere to go after everything with Ron imploded and she needed someone to watch the place while she travelled. win-win. I just had to cover utilities and keep an eye on her houseplants. 

By “keep an eye,” it was very clear that that was all I should ever do without consulting her. Leda was a botanist and in her spare time she was trying to create new strains and hybrids of lithops. She knew every bump on her plants and once over drinks she told me she bought her place specifically because it had a large south-facing bay window for the plants to get natural light. (I brought it up later, when we were sober; she asked me never to tell anyone. “Everyone already thinks I’m weird… just bring up the original flooring if Mom or Dad asks.”)

I didn’t see the appeal of her plants. They were small lumps, evolved to look like stones in extreme desert environments. Each had two fleshy leaves that joined to look like a goat’s hoof and the biggest was maybe an inch tall. All of them were dust grey or sallow yellow. Leda liked that I didn’t like the plants. She said it meant I wouldn’t try to take too much care of them or overwater. We had a weekly video chat during which I took her on a tour of her set-up, adjusted the full-spectrum light timers, and used an eyedropper to simulate rain on whichever plant she decided needed it. If you overwatered, the plant cells would explode since they had no natural ability to limit water intake (this only made me want to water them more). They were all identical to me, little pebbles that were apparently alive. 

It was nice, though. Even though she was in the field, we were closer than we had been since we shared a room as girls. Her contract got extended, which she said was a huge deal for her career, and would I mind staying another 3 months? Of course not. 

I noticed it around Month 4. Something about the light in that south-facing room was off. It was subtle, but I had become so attuned to the light since caring for the plants. It was darker a few minutes earlier than it should have been for the time of year. I looked outside. The clouds were gunmetal, grey and about to explode. That must be it. Still, though–hadn’t she had a better view of the river? 

I started taking pictures of the bay window daily, sending them to Leda. She thought it was sweet that I kept her updated. She rubbed it in a bit, saying she knew they’d grow on me.

By Month 5, it was clear something was changing. The light was off and I could hardly see the Cotton Creek Bridge. I pulled up the photo album (yes, I had an album; no, I didn’t have a red-string board) and stared. 

The hill in her yard was in a different place. 

That was impossible. It was a hill. Hills are notorious for not moving. 

I pulled up my move-in photos, zooming in with trembling fingers. 

April 4, move-in day. There’s the couch, there’s the elaborate plant stands and grow lights, there’s the clear view of the river and the bridge. The hill wasn’t visible in the window frame. 

I slowly put down the phone and sat down, light headed and shaking. There were only two possibilities: the hill was moving or it wasn’t. I put my head between my legs for a few minutes and breathed slowly, fighting against the adrenaline. This wasn’t an immediate threat. This probably wasn’t even a threat. If the hill was moving–well, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the angles were different. That must be it! I pulled up that April 4 photo again and wandered the room, triangulating, finding the exact spot. Here, just left of the doorway. I moved the phone and my sightline up.

Hill. Hill in the window.

My brain couldn’t even form a full sentence, instead barking like a mad dog. Hill! 

I stayed in that spot, blinking, willing the hill to not be there. 

The hill, stubbornly, stayed.

I didn’t leave the room, except to use the bathroom and I did that with the door open. Was I more worried that the hill would be there or would not be there if I left? I had moved into a post-panic state, tired and still trembling. I felt like I could form sentences by this point, so I did the only thing I could think of. 

I called a mental health hotline, then hung up when it started to ring. 

Then I called Leda. She didn’t answer, so I called two more times. She picked up on the third, irritated.

“Flora, do you know what time it is here? Three in the morning. That’s what time it is. You know I can really only talk when we’re scheduled.” I could hear her rub her temples and sigh. “Is it Dad?”

“No! No, it’s not Dad. He’s fine.” I paused. “Or at least he was when I talked to Mom yesterday. Um, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said, annoyed. “Did you call just to ask me that?”

“This is going to sound insane, and if you tell me to go see a doctor I will because I think I really might be losing it, but I’ve been checking the photos and monitoring because it’s not how the world works, but…” My voice trailed. The sun was going down outside and there was a blue haze across the river. Small boats glided and the quick bats swooped, eddies in the water and the sky. The rest of the world was silent, a breath held. 

“Flory? What’s going on?”

It was surprisingly hard, saying it. Tears brewed and my throat started to catch. I tried to push down the lump in my throat, failed, and pushed out the words.

“The hill in your backyard has moved. It’s heading west, I think. I can see it blocking the bridge now and I didn’t used to be able to. I checked the photos I’ve been sending you and it moved in them, too.” I felt wild, saying it out loud, and began giggling. “Leda, am I insane? Hills don’t move.”

There was silence on the line.

“Leda, say something. Please.”

“So that’s why you were sending me those photos. I should have seen it! Shit!” she said. “And I should have known you hadn’t started to like the lithops.” 

“Leda. Sissy. What are you saying?”

I could hear her get up and start to pace, footsteps shaking through the phone.

“It shouldn’t have happened this soon. This wasn’t due for another 2 months, when I would be back. Sweetie, you’re not insane and I’m sorry you have to deal with this. I’m going to call some people. They’ll come by the apartment and get the Lithops aceriia, so have that one pulled out. I’m not sure who it’ll be, but just give them the plant and don’t ask any questions. They should be there within the hour. Again, I’m so sorry. You’re not crazy. Just let me know first thing if you ever see it move again.”

It felt like the floor fell out from under my feet. What was I feeling? I couldn’t identify any emotions, just physical sensations. 

I wasn’t crazy. 

“Leda, what the… Hills don’t move. Except for this one, I guess? You knew about this! What in the everlasting hell is going on? And why didn’t you tell me!”

She was still pacing. “Look, I’m going to get off the line so I can make some calls. You did a good job. Love you. Wait, did you call anyone else or tell them about this?”

“No,” I said, “just you. But what is going on? Is this… like magic or aliens or the government?”

I was speaking to no-one. Leda had ended the call as soon as I said No.

In the end, life continued. A nondescript pair came and got the plant; the hill was in its normal place the next morning. As much as I tried, I couldn’t remember what they looked like or said their names were. Leda’s trips got longer and longer, until I wouldn’t see her for years. I stayed in the condo; she added my name to the deed on the condition we did the lithops walkthrough every week. I changed her name to Dana Scully in my phone and let her know when the hill started wandering again. 

It really was a nice condo.