Phil Parisi

When Tess didn't appear on Zoom for the weekly artist's chat, it wasn't the most surprising thing in the world.

We all had intermittent obligations and couldn't always make it.

But one of the people there mentioned she was confused by the appearance of a couple of old junky chairs on her porch a few days before.

They'd been accompanied by a note from Tess that simply said, I don't need these.

This was someone Tess had only been acquainted with through the Zoom group for about three months.

Maybe, this woman theorized, she'd been picked for this job.

odd gift because she'd once said she appreciated restoration projects.

I heard myself apologizing for Tess, telling everyone on the call that I'd text her and see what was up, which I did as soon as I disconnected that night.

There was no response.

I immediately decided to drive over to her house, no waiting till morning.

It was getting on nine o'clock when I pulled into the driveway beside her car.

I knocked on the door, but there was no answer, though a light was on in an upstairs window.

I kept up with knocking, but finally I turned the knob to find it unlocked.

I poked my head in and called out for her and heard nothing in response.

At the risk of titanically embarrassing myself and giving Tess an unpleasant shock, I went inside because I was somehow convinced something was very wrong.

I took a few steps, called out her name, took a few more.

The living room was empty, even of all those chairs, which made me feel just a little better.

I was about to go up a half-light of stairs and call out one more time when I thought I heard something shift or squeak from far away.

I went into the dark kitchen and the sound came again.

The basement, that was it.