All By Myself

"Number Eight doesn't know when to quit. But his body is telling him time's up."

Dec 22, 2024

This is a chapter from I Hear You Watching, my novel based on my experience with hearing voices and paranoia.

But you can jump in here! The “previously on” will get you up to speed.

Previously on I Hear You Watching…
Alex was having a private, intimate moment alone in his apartment, when he heard a voice out his window say, “The stranger,” and he believed it was someone making fun of him. He was sure no one could see him through the closed blinds, but the thought still nags at him.

A black-on-white line drawing of Alex Porter, the protagonist of "I Hear You Watching." He’s a white guy in his late twenties, short messy parted hair, glasses, and headphones. He stares straight at you, unsmiling. Behind him is a collage of reality TV screenshots of people screaming, complete with timecode and bits of captions visible.

A few hours after hearing the stranger outside my window, it’s midnight and I’m at work. The office is modern, with brick walls and exposed I beams painted dark gray. The main room has twenty workstations with just seven of us spread among them on the night shift. The only lights on are in this room and the kitchen down the hall. The only sound is the clatter of our keyboards like a constant hailstorm. Everything else is dark and quiet.

Tonight I’m captioning an episode of a reality game show called All By Myself. On my computer screen is a view from the ceiling of a small, closed room. The walls are bright orange. Near one wall is a table with jigsaw puzzle pieces on it. In the center of the room is a pudgy man in a purple jumpsuit with a number 8 on the back, spinning in a swivel chair and counting out loud.

I type his counting into onscreen captions, Forty-eight… Forty-nine… Fifty.

He stands, takes a step toward the puzzle table, sways like a sapling in the wind, vomits on himself and sits back in the chair.

He’s struggling to get back up when a computerized voice speaks, and I type, Number Eight, you have not assembled your puzzle, and your body has given up. This is your second strike.

The man screams, and I type, I don’t give up! I’m still in!

A splashy neon frame appears around the image with the words “coming up…”

The man paces, shouts, I’m not [bleep] disqualified!

The computerized narrator says, Number Eight doesn’t know when to quit. But his body is telling him time’s up.

A shot of the man leaning against the wall magnifies to the point of pixilation. He punches the wall and vomits again.

Can Number Eight’s mind and body work together to win my $50,000? Analysis pending on All By Myself.

The image wipes to black and the timecode flickers by.

I look at the nighttime window near my desk, and my reflection stares back. The quiet in my headphones makes my coworkers’ keyboards louder.

I forget what Number Eight said his name was in the first episode. Ron, or something. At this point he’s been in his “chamber” for a week. No windows. His meals are served through a slot in the wall. His every action is recorded, edited, and when I’m finished with the closed-captioning, broadcast for millions to see.

I think of the stranger who laughed at me earlier tonight and wonder, does Number Eight think about being watched, or does his awareness end at the walls of his chamber?

I’ve noticed he tends to rub his nose when he thinks. Does he make sure to face a camera when he does, so viewers can’t accuse him of picking his nose? Is the editor tempted to choose another angle to make it look like he’s picking his nose? Is Number Eight embarrassed or proud of his depiction on the show, or does he even care? Does he think of himself as being a smart person? a strong person? a good person?

According to the episode’s intro, Number Eight has been in this room for three weeks. When he lies on his retractable cot to sleep, does he stare at the close orange walls and think about everyone else? Does he miss anyone?

Does he have anyone to miss?

A siren goes off in my ears and neon smears across the screen.

The narrator says, Number Eight’s body has just earned him a second strike. Let’s see if—

I stop the video, rewind, create a new caption, timestamp it at the start of the segment, and type: [siren wails]

At 4 a.m. I’m halfway through the episode but can’t keep my eyes open.

I remove my headphones to let the ringing in my ears fade, and go to the front of the office where it’s dark and empty. I sit on the couch in the lobby and stare out the window at the Department of Water and Power across the street. I lose myself in plumes of steam lit purple-orange by the streetlights and bulging into the sky like great, wrinkling worms.

Later, my eyes open to the silhouette of my supervisor standing in the dark hallway, calling my name. “Alex… Alex…”

I stop by the kitchen and pour a cup from a pot of burnt coffee.

Back at my desk I check my email. Gavin sent Eli and me a map of the trail to Sulphur Springs, our campsite for the weekend. I met Gavin and Eli in college, and we go camping together once a month. These trips are my only escape from the city.

I think I might tell them about the coincidence with the stranger. Maybe they’ve had similar experiences. Maybe we’ll laugh about it.