The Bump

by Drew Merryman

I woke up one morning to find a bump in my yard.

I saw it when I stepped out the front door, but I ignored it. Coffee in my hand, car door open. I was finally ready to work, but as I lowered myself into the driver’s seat, I could ignore it no more. A bump. There’s really no other word for it. The ground was piled up just two feet beyond the edge of the driveway.

It wasn’t a mound. It wasn’t a hump. It was perfectly misshapen. My lawn had a pimple.

“You’ve got a bump in your yard,” my neighbor said.

I don’t like him. He introduced himself when I moved in, but I don’t remember his name. I looked up the house in the public records and there’s a name but it’s not his. I would remember it if I saw it.

“You’ve got a bump in your yard,” my neighbor repeated. Like I didn’t hear him the first time. Like I wasn’t already staring at the thing before he had stepped out of his front door.

I nodded.

The trashmen came next. I don’t like them, either. Before this goes too far, it’s not like I’m one of those Holden Caulfield types. My neighbor is a weirdo and the trashmen are dicks. They’ve knocked over my mailbox. Twice.

“What’s that?” the trashman said as he picked up my garbage and emptied it into the compactor.

I opened my mouth to answer, but my neighbor beat me to it.

“He’s got a bump in his yard,” he said.

The trashman slapped the side of his truck and the driver stuck his head out. “A bump in your yard?” he called.

I didn’t like the way everyone was ogling my bump, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. I wanted to go to work. The trashmen were blocking me in, though, and now they were talking to my neighbor. I was an awkward distance away and didn’t want to rudely interrupt them. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the letters B-U-M-P went from my neighbor’s mouth and landed on my side of the property line.

The medley from the hum of my car and the thrum of the truck was joined by the crunching of leaves.

“Hallo, Henry!” Mrs. Jay waved with her free hand. A wrinkly little woman with a vacant, staring Shih Tzu. Part of their walk took them through the grass strip next to my house. “Sorry to hear about the bump,” she said. She watched me watch her dog pee on it. “My nephew had a bump in his yard once.”

“How did that turn out?”

Like most of Mrs. Jay’s stories, it just kept going. I crouched down to look the dog in the face. Two cloudy, warped Henrys stared back at me. We’d missed a spot shaving.

“That’s nice,” I said.

“It’s awful! Today would have been his forty-third birthday!” Mrs. Jay cried.

The dog picked up a new scent and dragged her along. Whenever something happened to somebody, sure enough, Mrs. Jay had a niece or nephew or cousin or grandson who had gone through the same thing. Funny how I’d never seen any of them visit.

I stood and my knee cracked and I wondered if this was how Shannon would be. When her hair was gray and I was gone, would people smile and nod at her?

Behind me, the rest of the neighbors were gathering in the street.

“…a buildup of geothermal gases…” I heard two of the guys speculating.

My coffee was cold. “Get!” I waved my arms in the air. “Go on, get!”

The crowd didn’t fully disperse, but there was enough of a parting now for me to back my car out, so I did.

#

I had a good day at work. We produce all kinds of holes at the hole-making factory. Big holes, little holes, assholes: we make them all. That last one was a joke, obviously. That’s a different factory.

Even though it was dark when I pulled into the driveway, I noticed two things right away. First, the bump was cordoned off. My headlights caught the reflection of the tape. Second, the bump was bigger. If before it was a bump, now it was a Bump, you know?

Keys in lock, light switch on, creaky third step, keys on table, belt undone, toothbrush, toothpaste, swish, spit, light switch off.

“Have you seen the Bump?” Shannon asked as I joined her under the covers.

“What Bump?”

“The Bump in our yard?”

“No, didn’t notice it.” I put an arm around her and pulled her in.

“Don’t gaslight me.” I felt her shake her head as she settled on my chest. I normally fall asleep first, but that night I didn’t. Her breathing slowed and it began to rain. My mind drew the Bump from shadows on the ceiling. It continued growing until it was impossibly large, then continued to grow.

“Must be something living under there,” I whispered. With nothing but the rain and Shannon’s little breaths in return, I soon fell asleep.

I stepped outside the next morning, not particularly looking forward to work. Coffee in my hand, car door open. I lowered myself into the driver’s seat and paused. The Bump was gone. I did not like how that made me feel. I got out of the car and wanted to run inside and tell Shannon, but I didn’t. The coffee had kicked in and now I saw.

“You’ve got a bump in your yard.” I pointed at a spot in my neighbor’s yard.

My neighbor nodded without speaking. He stepped to the side, and I saw that now even my neighbor’s neighbor had a bump in his yard. Up and down the street now everyone had bumps, save for me.

BIO

Drew Merryman is a programmer living in Maryland with his girlfriend. In his free time, he goes rock climbing, plays tiddlywinks, and reads to their cat, Catsby.