The New Man on the Block

 

XX Years Ago

The sound of cheering grew even louder as the entire football team stormed into the locker room carrying their MVP. Luke, their captain, their QB, had scored the winning touchdown by doing a trick play and blitzing the other team. The guys were still in shock. If not for the scoreboard they would’ve still been out on the field, wondering what happened.

“This is a call for a celebration.”

“OOO let’s go to PF Changs.”

“No, Waffle house.”

Luke could only laugh as his teammates sat him down and argued back and forth. He was on cloud nine himself. His last game at McDermont High, next fall he’d be a college freshman. What a banger to go out on. Everyone began to undress, still prattling on about where to celebrate Luke got down to his pants before realizing he had to make a phone call. He pulled his cell phone from his locker dialing.

The team started migrating toward the shower room, whipping their towels at each other. The boys in Luke’s row slapped their captain’s ass on the way by. Luke took it all in, the last time he might ever feel this good. College was a different beast entirely. Luke may have been a special kid in a small town, but there was no guarantee he could make it out there.  Water started to run in the shower room, as steam poured into the locker room. A voicemail greeting played right before the beep. 

“Hi mom, You’re not going to believe it, I scored the winning touchdown. I wish you could have seen me tonight.”  The team was being obnoxiously loud with their jokes and laughter, Luke paused his message to shout, “GUYS, QUIET I’M ON THE PHONE!”

“You heard the captain, hush.”  

Luke could still hear snickering, but they did tone it down, “Anyway mom, let’s celebrate in the morning.” Luke hung up and placed his phone back in his locker. He sat back on the bench. The locker room now had a misty haze clinging to it. 

Luke closed his eyes and tried to block the hushed tones of his teammates. He wasn’t upset. Rather he *wanted* to not be upset. His mom was a nurse and she HAD to be at the hospital tonight. Logically, he understood that. So why did it feel so bad that she hadn’t come to his last game? It made Luke feel spoiled wanting his mom there when people were literally dying at her job. She had worked so hard to make it to his first game of the season. A fact he knew well. So why didn’t any of his reasoning make him feel better?

His thought spiral could have gone on and on, but one thing stopped it. He didn’t hear his teammates’ voices. The guys, his guys, could never be fully quiet even during practice, one person would find a way to run their mouth. Luke’s eyes shot open. He couldn’t see the locker room, only steam, except it was way denser than it should have been. 

“Guys?” Luke shouted. No response.  

“Dudes turn off the showers, it’s too much!” Luke stood up, waiting to hear a response. Still nothing. Not like his team at all. He was getting some weird vibes. Immediately Luke reached for his locker, where his locker should have been to retrieve his phone, only to have his hand go through nothing. Using both hands Luke felt out in front of him; a confirmation nothing was there. Luke turned around, the steam had swallowed up the bench. Bending over he tried to feel around for it. He only moved a few feet before realizing the bench was gone too.

Luke tried to get out of the locker room, shirtless, and still in the bottom half of his football gear and cleats. He walked to where he assured the door was only to be met with more endless clouds. He pressed on, there had to be a way out. Eventually his vision started to clear as the steam pulled away and Luke found himself on a street. 

He was standing in the center of a wide road, looking out at parked cars. No steam remained, only fog that became a fine mist the longer Luke stood dumbfounded. He turned behind him; there were more houses, but no cars parked out front. A house even sat at the end of the road, perfectly centered and aligned with Luke.  That made 4 houses in front of him, three houses behind him. 

“A dead-end street,” Luke muttered to himself only a split second before spotting a sign that confirmed it. Then his eyes found the street name. “Brimwood Ave?” Luke tried to run all the dead-end streets he knew in town. A town as small as his, he knew every road and back alley but Brimwood Ave? Didn’t ring a bell. He needed to find a phone and get home. 

That’s when a light came on, someone was moving around in the house behind him to his left. It was one of the houses without a car, but Luke was already moving his feet. The closer he got the more he could make out a masculine figure on the other side of the window. 

—

Today

“I was just saying this before you arrived, how nice it’ll be to have a new family on the block, Isn’t that right ladies?” Heads nodded around the room. Mrs. Beauchamp sat down her teacup with a tiny *clank* as it met the small plate on the coffee table. None of the women could deny that Mr. Cruz’s living room was immaculate. The couch, the carpeted flooring, the black framed pictures hanging on the wall. The man had an eye for interior design. Truthfully, he had a knack for analyzing things beyond that, but house decor was a good translation of his skills.

“Well, honestly thank you so much for the welcome committee.”  The least I could do is offer you all tea to go with the cake you made for me.” Mr. Cruz poured the two other women in his house a cup from his electric kettle. “Though my son is going to be upset, he missed out on the first slice of free cake.” Mr. Cruz’s eyes briefly went to the stairs leading to the upper floor. “But he basically passed out once we got here.”

Selena, another welcoming wife, said, “Oh your son has nothing to worry about, I can always bake you both another cake. If anything, it’s the other wives who are going to be upset. For months we have been driving ourselves crazy as to who bought this place. This house has been sitting here empty since even before Margret moved here, right?” 

Mr. Cruz had purchased a house in the center of a dead-end street. There were three houses aligned on either side leading up to his. The closest one on the right, coming up the street, was also vacant. However, the real estate agent assured him, his current house was by far cheaper. Not many people wanted to be at the epicenter of a road that led nowhere. 

Mrs. Beauchamp nodded, then held her hands up, “I swear not a soul has ever stopped by this place in all my years being here. My jaw was detached when I first saw the ‘For Sale’ sign. And my husband, well he practically froze.” 

“Then it was the talk of the neighborhood.” The last house guest, Zuzanna exclaimed. “All we girls could do was drive each other crazy over who our new neighbors could be. Of course, we tried to get our husband in on it too, but they wouldn’t hear it.”

“Wait, so everyone on the block is married?”  Mr. Cruz cut himself a slice of the small chocolate cake he had been gifted.”

“Well almost everyone, I don’t see a ring on your finger.” Zuzanna said light heatedly.

Mr. Cruz nodded. “My husband, Malik…he passed away a few years back. Just me and my son now. I keep my ring in a box.” He had explained how he had been a P.I. and even an officer once upon a time, yet had willfully skipped the part about how, after his husband passed he chose to move into a different field. Interior Design was a much more relaxing and fun path to take to beat the depression and grief.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Zuzanna’s face fell and earned her a glare and eye roll from her companions. 

Mr. Cruz did his best not to laugh, watching the silent interaction take place. He was tempted to study their faces further to get a glimpse at who was truly disgusted and who was feigning it for appearances. Sometimes, his P.I. brain would beg to be used. Though Mr. Cruz managed to ignore the call, he took one more sip from his own cup. There was no need to examine his neighbors. “It’s alright. It was a long time ago. My son and I are way past that. Therapy does wonders.”  he added to take some heat off Zuzanna. “Besides, now you guys have something to tell the other wives,” he winked. 

“Okay, you caught us,” Mrs. Beauchamp admitted. “We’re still being nosey, even now. We saw countless items carried into your house by movers last week. And no one had even gotten a hint of seeing you.” 

Selena continued, “Then we were talking today, and realizing we three ladies were the only ones home. We had to take the opportunity.”

Mr. Cruz smiled and it didn’t go unappreciated. “So, when do I get to meet the other wives and your husbands?”

“Oh, it’s just Deborah left and I’m sure she’ll want to meet you.  We’ve speculated so much and waited too long for this.’ Zuzanna said.  “Our husbands however, good luck on that front. They’re at their ‘boys’ club doing who knows what.”

“Boys’ club?”

“Don’t get me started, they’re probably yacking on about sports with a beer in hand.” Mrs. Beauchamp waved her hand dismissively.

“I’m not opposed to either of those things.” Mr. Cruz put down his empty plate.

Mrs. Beauchamp sighed, “I’m sure our husbands will sink their claws into you eventually, but for now, if it’s okay with you, you belong to the girls. We must simply know more about you before you join their legion and disappear.” 

The group shared a laugh then talked on. The sky was dark outside by the time the ladies left, and Mr. Cruz escorted them out.  As they were talking, a car drove into the neighborhood. The slick black Mercedes-Benz kept coming up the block, until it stopped in front of Mr. Cruz’s house. As the car stopped, out stepped a man with silver hair and a matching thick mustache. He wore a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled back to his elbow, making his forearms and biceps look even bigger than they already were. His black dress pants certainly put his ass on display, even if unintentionally it stuck out like a dump truck.

 The man began making his way up Mr. Cruz’s house with a smile. “Honey, please don’t tell me you’ve yaked our new neighbors’ ears off already.

“Oh, hush you,” Mrs. Beaucamp tried not to laugh as the handsome fox grabbed her from behind and kissed her face. He stuck out his hand “Hi, I’m Mr. Beaucamp.”

Now it was Mr. Cruz’s time to be floored, Mr. Beaucamp was a handsome devil. Had the universe grabbed a model off a Men’s Health Magazine? Mr. Cruz was used to having women, especially older women, fawn over him, but he hadn’t fawned over a guy in years, but Mr. Beaucamp was certainly making him feel things. Finally realizing the older gentleman’s hand was still out, Mr. Cruz shook it. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Mr. Cruz said perhaps more eagerly than he should have. However, the man didn’t seem to notice, as his attention returned quickly to his wife. The other wives playfully rolled their eyes and acted like the couple were making them sick. As Mr. Cruz watched the scene play out and he couldn’t help but smile, these neighbors truly were friends. 

The wives began to walk back to their houses, leaving. At that moment, Mr. Cruz watched as three other cars pulled into the neighborhood, one right after the other and each parked at a respective house. The cars’ doors opened in sync, as the respective driver of each car stepped out and looked towards Mr. Cruz and the Beaucamps. Mr. Cruz had to temper himself. He was looking at 3 men who looked to be just as massive as Mr. Beaucamp was. Unfortunately, they were too far away to get a good read of their faces. 

The men waved then walked towards their homes. Mr. & Mrs. Beaucamp waltzed towards their car; gazes fixed on each other. Just in time because the two were getting too frisky on Mr. Cruz’s front lawn. 

Mr. Cruz returned to the inside of his house chuckling at how in love the older couple was. It was always reaffirming to see it in movies, but knowing real love could last so long warmed Mr. Cruz’s heart. Just as he closed the door, his son Alex came walking down the stairs, rubbing the sleep out of his right eye. The boy’s dark brown curly hair was a mess, and his pajamas weren’t much better. Alex had substituted a random white T-shirt for a top, while his thin plaid bottoms were a part of a fancy set Mr. Cruz bought him last Christmas. 

The teen had a toned physique, with warm brown skin and a tan that reflected his desire for drawing outside. His height, while not towering at 5’8, gave him a youthful and nimble appearance. His warm brown eyes, heavy with sleep, blinked against the brightness, trying to adjust to the lighting. He shuffled across the soft carpeted floor, his bare feet silently meeting the plush fibers.

“Hey sleepy head, I didn’t think the drive would take that much out of you.” Mr. Cruz called out

Alex plopped on the couch like a zombie mumbling something. Mr. Cruz lovingly rolled his eyes. Teenagers were so ridiculous sometimes, but this dad had an ace up his sleeve. “Well, if you’re still tired, I guess we can’t order pizza.” 

Immediately Alex’s body jerked up, “Pizza?”

“Oh yeah.” Mr. Cruz winked. 

Alex fist pumped into the air, as his body fell back onto the couch.

An hour later, the father and son were munching down on classic pepperoni pizza in the living room. Eating in the living room wasn’t Mr. Cruz typical style, but with big life changes, like a move, he and son could be afforded some small graces. Mr. Cruz spent the time talking about their new neighbors and Alex talked about some of the drawings he did before dozing off. As the two were chatting they heard a car door slam, then multiple car doors slamming. They questioningly looked at each other before turning their gaze out their window.  The vertical blinds were open and easy enough to see through as the Cruz’s walked over. 

Looking out at the road the two saw clusters of young people running towards their respective houses. Judging by their attire it was easy to see they were all returning from various sports practice. Mr. Cruz noted that it seemed all the houses had sons invested in sports.

“It’s like clockwork.”

“What?” Alex asked.

Mr. Cruz tapped his pointer finger on the window, “Earlier their dads got home at the same time too.” He paused for a moment. “I hope this isn’t one of those communities where the parents keep their kids on a tight schedule. Parents like that can be TOO invested in their child’s lives.”  The two went back to their pizza and ended their first night and day in their new house wonderfully.

—

After 3 weeks, Alex was officially bored of his new home. He tried not to openly despise it in front of his father, but his dad had a sixth sense for him. Mr. Cruz was trying everything to help Alex adjust easier, but it wasn’t working. It all boiled down to one simple fact: ALEX HAD NOTHING TO DO. It was summer so he appreciated the emptiness to some extent, it gave him time to draw. But he could only draw landscapes of the neighborhood so often. 

Then there were the people. The Drucmans were constantly going on family jogs. Well rather, the dad was always going with his 3 sons, the triplets. Mr. Drucman often had well-groomed light brown hair, tousled just enough to be charming yet meticulously styled, to catch the sunlight whenever he moved about. When he wasn’t exercising, Mr. Drucman was often dressed in crisp, tailored attire that favored pastel-colored polo shirts and designer chinos that accentuated his runner’s physique. His broad shoulders and toned limbs were a testament to hours spent jogging through tree-lined parks and hitting the gym, while his posture reflected a man who carried himself with both grace and assurance. Whenever he and his boys spotted Alex on jogs they’d wave or invite him to join. But Alex was always interested in sketching out their attire. Their outfits were matching dark gray gym tank tops and shorts, with the only difference being each member having a respective color running down the sides. Just like their father all three boys had the same light brown hair, and blue eyes, with matching smiles. Then, there was one day it rained and they had matching raincoats, with the same-colored stripes. It all smelt like money to Alex. 

Perhaps the whole block had money. After all, Mr. Hartman and his 2 sons were working on a car they kept in their garage. They’d open the door in the afternoon and began toiling with it for everyone to see. Alex didn’t know much about cars, but he knew it was an old one the family was determined to rebuild and sell off. The family asked him often to join, but he was content that they’d let him draw while they worked. Fun, getting to finally have new subjects and use different shades of red and orange to color their hair in his book. Mr. Hartman’ ever the mechanic, laid his entire 6’4 self onto the ground and under the car. His muscular body rippled beneath a fitted, grease-stained white tank top, that clung to his broad shoulders and pecs. When he’d come up for air, the vibrant auburn of his hair caught the light, and created a fiery halo that framed his chiseled jawline and piercing green eyes. A smattering of freckles danced across his sun-kissed skin, adding a youthful touch to his otherwise rugged appearance. If it wasn’t for his body and that sharp jawline, he could pass for one of his boys. Though that’d probably be true in a few more years. Mrs. Hartman would come out with lemonade and serve it to everyone, even Alex. While the Hartan men became engrossed in their work, Mrs. Hartman complimented Alex’s art.  Though that didn’t last long before she disappeared off with all the other wives. 

Alex would soon learn where, when he visited the Gravelli household to return mail his father had found in their pile. The 2 Gravelli boys were in the same grade as Alex, but as brutish looking as their father. Mr. Gravelli was not the tallest among the fathers, but he was the widest. His arms alone were the size of his boys’ heads.  He had a heavy brow that made it seem he was permanently deep into contemplation. His chiseled jawline was also shadowed by a light dusting of course, ebony stubble. The black-haired Italian man had hair poking out of whatever clothes he was wearing, a trait that passed down to his sons. Their “thing” was hiking in the woods constantly, without fail. Luckily, they had already left on this day; Alex didn’t need to reject an invitation. When Mrs. Gravelli came out the door, Alex peered inside seeing the other wives sitting in the living room. No acknowledgement of his presence from any of them. Mrs. Gravelli shared any vacant house was the wives’ cue for alone time. 

Lastly there were the Beaucamps, Alex and his dad had been invited over for dinner at their house.  The entire inner workings of the Beaucamp living quarters were like a gym. Weights and dumbbells next to cream and tan colored walls, pull up bars attached to multiple door frames, two treadmills by the window. Every single step in the house was an encouragement to get up and exercise. Almost like a promise that anyone who did could look just like the golden-haired blue-eyed men in the Beauchamp family. Even with his silver hair Mr. Beaucamp was still the proud pack leader and his sons were certainly too large to be considered mere cubs. Chad, and of course that was his name, was the quarterback of the local high school and his little brothers were in wrestling and baseball, respectively. It was Impossible not to notice Mr. Beaucamp’s former bodybuilding trophies and pictures along the walls. These days, the man dressed impeccably, in tailored dress clothes, a crisp white shirt hugging his broad shoulders, to accentuate the impressive contours of his muscular physique. It stood out, especially fitted so snugly around his pecs. Even when he’d reach for a glass of wine, the muscles in his forearms showcased flexing. The fabric of his trousers stretched gracefully over powerful thighs and seat of his pants but never threatened to give way. The silver-haired man was the perfect embodiment of strength and sophistication from an era that produced a timeless appeal that transcended age.

Within the 3-week time frame, Alex had an opportunity to draw all his neighbors, with their permission, but was surprised he had been able to meet all of them. Rather he didn’t know how they came into contact so quickly. Where Alex lived before, he and his dad could go months without interacting with another neighbor, but here it was like the families were… breathing down their necks? Alex pondered if he and his dad had gotten too used to not interacting with neighbors, maybe he and his dad were the weird ones.

—

On Saturday morning, Mr. Cruz was leaning against his kitchen counter, as Alex came down the stairs. Next to Mr. Cruz, on the ground was Mr. Drucman lying out on his back, upper body in the cabinet under the sink. Mr. Cruz pulled his son in for a quick morning hug. “The sink stopped working. Mrs. Drucman kindly asked her husband to help us fix it.”

“Anything for a neighbor!” Mr. Drucman shouted.

“I know it’s just the sink, but Mr. Drucman said you could join his family for breakfast,” Mr. Cruz smiled. 

“You’re not coming?” Alex raised an eyebrow.

“Ugh, I wish I could, but this sink has the weirdest parts. I should probably watch so I can fix it next time.” Alex stepped away, while Mr. Cruz looked down at Mr. Drucman, or rather his body. When the man didn’t have his kids out jogging in the morning his preferred attire was a small polo shirt covered by a sweater vest and with the tightest khaki pants ever. At least that’s how Mr. Cruz felt whenever he saw the man. There was something about all the men on this block. They were all well fit and developed. Mr. Cruz never considered himself overly horny, but it was hard not to stare sometimes at the walking eye candy.

Even now Mr. Cruz’s eyes were wandering down to the bit of skin Mr. Drucman was unintentionally showing. The man’s polo shirt had risen, leaving his tanned skin and abs on display. Mr. Cruz forced his eyes to go back up, and they immediately landed on Mr. Drucman’s bicep flexing as the man maneuvered the wrench in his hand. There was a twitch in Mr. Cruz’s pants and he turned away. He needed to get laid soon. It almost felt like the husbands in the neighborhood were always in some state of undress.  No shirt mowing the lawn, no pants getting the morning newspaper, or sweating through workouts, peeling off layers. 

Mr. Cruz had considered calling attention to it, but they were men just showing off their bodies. However, in the back of his mind he couldn’t help but feel they were showing off specifically for him. That’s not saying they were gay or attracted to him. Clearly with the number of young men on the block the husbands were all strict practicing heterosexuals. Still though Mr. Cruz couldn’t shake the feeling, they made sure to do it if they knew Mr. Cruz was watching them. It wasn’t a vibe of, ‘let’s make fun of this gay dude lusting after us’ rather, ‘this dude finds me hot, let’s show him more.” And whenever Mr. Cruz had to engage in conversation, it was like their bodies attempted to be a distraction to whatever they were talking about. 

“Hey man, I know you said you got work today. If you gotta leave Alex here by himself he might get bored, you know? You should try having him join a gym to take up his time.” Mr. Drucman stated

And there it was.

Along with the husbands’ love of little clothing, they all were invested in Alex’s use of time. Whenever their clothes came off for Mr. Cruz precluded asking when Alex was going to join a gym, take up a sport, or participate in any of the many pastime exercises the men here loved. Mr. Cruz had brought up the invitation to his son once, but Alex was an artist at heart and didn’t seem interested, therefore Mr. Cruz didn’t plan to continually pester his son about it. Enough was enough.

Mr. Cruz lightly nudged Mr. Drucman’s foot, causing the man to look out from beneath the sink.

“Luther, be honest, what’s the interest everyone has in my son’s workout habits? You guys got some sort of bet going on. Who can make him do it the fastest?”  

Luther Drucman slowly sat out from the cabinet, rubbing the back of his neck. The two men were the closest in age among the husbands. Sure Mr. Cruz hadn’t been here long, but he sensed a connection that he could really talk to Luther and cut the BS. Luther rubbed his eyes as if tired before speaking, “Okay, look I think a lot of the dads here think Alex could use… a regime.”

Mr. Cruz was taken aback and scoffed a bit, “Are…are you trying to say Alex is fat? Look he may not be as strict as the kids here, but he does work—

“No, we’re not saying that it’s just, Alex doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s obvious. And this place— When you live on Brimwood you either adapt or change in some way.” Luther’s eyes went down to the floor as his voice trailed off.

“Yeah, but that’s life, right?” Mr. Cruz joked and Luther gave him a ‘are you stupid?’ look.

—

By evening Alex was still at Drucman’s house, hanging out in the triplets’ room. Stepping into the room of triplets, immediately engulfed one in an atmosphere charged with youthful energy and camaraderie. The walls, painted a vibrant shade of blue, were adorned with posters of their favorite athletes, showcasing sports icons frozen in dynamic action. Alex couldn’t name a single one. A large, well-worn basketball hoop hung over the door, evidence of countless games played in the privacy of their sanctuary. The room was a mosaic of sports gear; jerseys hanging from hooks, sneakers tossed haphazardly in a corner, and a soccer ball resting beside a skateboard. A shared wardrobe stood tall, its doors perpetually ajar, revealing a kaleidoscope of colors and styles—their unique personalities woven together in one room. 

The room was divided into three distinct zones, each reflecting the personality of its occupant. To the left, a neatly made bed, covered with a green and black patterned comforter, flanked by a nightstand cluttered with sports magazines and a half-empty water bottle. A well-loved baseball glove sat proudly on top. In the center, a messy bed was accompanied by a small desk strewn with textbooks and homework assignments, but also recorded stats, strategies, for upcoming games. Above the desk, a whiteboard was filled with scribbled notes, reminders, and inspirational quotes from famous athletes, serving as a daily motivator for the trio. To the right, the third zone featured a barely made bed and small workout area, complete with dumbbells and a yoga mat. 

 A small stereo system sat in a corner pumping out their favorite workout tracks, drowned out by the laughter and playful banter that was filling the space. Alex sat on Bryce’s bed, the clean one, while the brothers were on the floor in front of him. Each only had on gym shorts, sitting cross legged and were shitless, except for Bryce, who’s pink tank top shoulder straps were so stringy, he may as well have been topless too with that much side showing.  Smash Brother’s was on the TV screen and Alex’s winning Kirby was doing his celebratory gesture for the fifth time in a row. The brothers were happily stunned, asking Alex to play more.

“You gotta be on my team,” Houston shouted.

“No, you should play with me!” Frankie argued. 

“You both suck, why would he change to winning single player or lose with you too?” Bryce smirked.

“Not like you won either,” Houston shot back.

“I came in second!” Bryce cried out

Frankie turned to Alex, “All the other guys on the block kind of suck at video games so Bryce can’t handle having his ego deflated. Too used to placing first.”

Alex laughed watching the brothers playfully take shots at each other, quip for quip. They knew each other so well, they had the right gripe to get under their brothers’ skin, stocked and loaded. Eventually Alex said, “Okay, okay I’ll play with everyone but Bryce.” Bryce turned to him to pout, “Just to make it fair.” Alex shared. They would clearly thrash Houston and Frankie if on the same team.

The boys began playing again, allowing Frankie and Houston sometime in the spotlight, with Alex’s winnings.  But Alex was fine with letting them gloat over their brothers, the scene made him miss his friends back home. Though the triplets certainly would make his friend group look extremely diminutive by comparison. These boys had been training their muscles since the moment they could and it showed. Alex wondered what must the dads, moms, and kids been eating on this block for every age group to be so in shape? 

“Hey, can we see your sketchbook,” Houston asked after his latest team up win with Alex.

“Dude don’t be nosey; A Sketchbook is like a diary for some people.” Bryce said, with his recent losses, clearly miffed about more than the question.

“Yeah, but he did draw us.” Frankie stated. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Alex pulled out his sketchbook from his bag. The brothers descended on it, with Bryce snatching it up first to be the one flipping through. The Triplets were first and foremost concerned with finding themselves. They were pleased to find themselves, taking up three pages. Their father was the one who actually had top billing with the largest drawing on the first page and a few above the waist drawings, only accompanied by an image of all four of them jogging. The following pages still had their dad but now the triples also had solo medium sketches. 

“Look, Bryce he got your pout! Frankie pointed to an image, that the color lining of the workout uniform helped in denoting the correct triplet. 

“Whatever,” Bryce went on to look at the other families. A similar structure, the dad’s had their own dedicated pages with the boys’ and family sketches proceeding after. The Hartman’s sketches were a little too experimental. Alex had so much fun with the assortment of red, orange, and yellow, colored pencils he went back and wrapped their bodies in flames matching their hair. The triplets thought it looked sick. Then the Gravellis had a much more hyper realistic style that accentuated their harsher features like their brows and facial stubble. Alex had been going for more of a Noir-type thing. Lastly, there were the Beaucamps. Dinner at their house was an amazing chance to catch a family in their natural habitat. Now looking over it with the triplets, Alex hadn’t noticed how 50’s-retro he made it. The way he drew the hair, faces, and had their clothing draped over their bodies, definitely gave off Leave it to Beaver vibes.

The triplets rolled their eyes when they came across Chad’s drawings. “Can he try not being perfect, even as a drawing?” Houston said as his brother nodded. Alex had to bite his tongue to not laugh. Chad being beloved wasn’t exactly a secret, but people thinking he needed to tone it down was hilarious. Alex took a glance out the window, while the brothers carried on. The sky was dark and streetlights were on outside. Turning to the boys’ digital clock, Alex saw it was only approaching 7pm. Their clock had to be off because there was no way it’d be that dark outside, during the summer. He was just about to ask for clarification, when Houston asked, “Who’s this?”

There was one sketch page not connected to the other’s, with 4 more drawings on it. Every image was of man, shirtless in sweats. A man Alex had certainly never seen before. “I don’t know. I–I didn’t draw that.”  He stammered. Bryce handed the book back as Alex brushed his hand over it. The images had just appeared. There were no real details as the drawings were playing with lighting and negative space.

Frankie let out a yawn, “Oh man, didn’t realize I was so tired.” He was promptly proceeded by his brothers. 

Alex hadn’t thought about it, but he was extremely tired too. The desire to sleep had just invaded his body and refused to leave. Alex stood up, his eyelid heavier than lead. That’s when he noticed the triplets had fallen asleep on top of each other. His body gave out, sending him crashing on top of them before he was lulled into a deep sleep.

—

Mr. Cruz would think of the look Mr. Drucman gave him all day even as he was driving home from his new agency’s office. He couldn’t believe he had been called in on a Saturday especially when his position hadn’t officially started, however that just emphasized how badly he was requested. And just like that an entire weekend day was gone. Mr. Cruz was finding the drive back home serene, but also unpleasant. It now felt like his office was too far away. Fog slowly rolled in and only got heavier the closer he got to his neighborhood. Mr. Cruz had to go at a slow pace for the next 12 minutes peering out to make sure he was turning onto the right street.

Brimwood Ave.

Mr. Cruz turned, ready to spend the night maybe playing a board game with his son, then crashing into his bed. Less than 20 seconds after his turn, his car came to a screeching halt.  A teenage boy had just run out in front of his car, trapped in the car’s headlights. “Dios Mio!” Mr. Cruz took a moment to catch his breath. For a moment he thought it had been one of the boys on the block, but Mr. Cruz didn’t recognize the face.

Most of the stranger’s figure was partially concealed by a dark hoodie that hung loosely from his slender frame. The fabric, worn and slightly frayed at the edges, was a deep shade of charcoal, contrasting sharply with the vibrant white of his shoes. His hood was down, revealing his wide, darting eyes—a striking shade of hazel that flickered with urgency and confusion. His light brown hair was tousled and unkempt as though he had run his hands through it countless times in frustration. He stood fidgeting, one hand nervously tugging at the hem of his hoodie, The boy’s white sneakers scuffed against the asphalt, as he glanced around, his breath quickening and creating smaller clouds of mist in the cool air. 

“Hey kid, you alright?” Mr. Cruz stepped out of his car. His body shivered, there was a true chill in the air. The fog was dissipating, leaving only the dark of night and streetlights going. Everything was more like a night in late fall than mid-summer. Mr. Cruz wondered if it should have even been that dark outside?

“Where am I?” the teenager frantically turned around looking at the neighborhood. 

“You’re on Brimwood Ave.” Mr. Cruz answered, holding his hands out showing he meant no harm. In fact, he was hoping one of his other neighbors would hear the commotion and come out. Though it didn’t seem any of their lights were on, though all their cars were parked outside. Were they normally asleep at this hour?

“Brimwood Ave. Where’s that in Washington?” The kid asked

“Washington? Like DC, you mean?” 

“State.” The kid said flatly.

“I don’t know how to say this, but you do know that’s on the other side of the country, right? What are you doing—”

“I DON’T KNOW!”  the teen looked around, running his hands through his hair.

“Okay, okay.” Mr. Cruz made no attempt to approach but also made a mental note that he couldn’t leave this boy in a frantic state. He couldn’t have been much older than Alex. “Just start at the beginning, what’s your name? How’d you get here?”

“I’m Jermaine.” The young man seemed to relax at my Cruz’s calm behavior, “I was walking home from my friend’s birthday party, and I was staring at the ground. This weird fog started to roll over my feet. I didn’t think fog was on the daily forecast, so I went for my phone and realized I’d left it at the venue. But when I went to turn back all I could see was fog. I wandered a few minutes until I saw your headlights.”

Mr. Cruz wasn’t sure what to think at the moment, but judging the kid wasn’t going to improve the situation. He pulled out his cell phone, “Here let me dial your parents for you.” As he held down the power button Mr. Cruz noticed his phone wasn’t turning on. “That’s odd.” His phone was at 96% when he left work, no way it was out of juice.

“Sorry about that,” Mr. Cruz said as he stared at his phone.

“Why don’t we ask that guy?” Jermaine pointed to a house where a light had just come on. There was a person moving around inside. The house had a giant living room window just like all the others on the block, yet no shades or curtains to block the intruder from sight. Jermaine began to walk towards it, but Mr. Cruz grabbed his left wrist. 

“Wait, that house is vacant, no one should be inside of it.” 

“But there is…” Jermaine said and his voice was getting listless. The teen turned back to the house, “And I think… I think I need to go there.” He began walking towards the house again. Mr. Cruz stood motionless looking at the stranger. He hadn’t even noticed how effortlessly Jermaine slipped out of his grasp. 

“Kid, what are you doing?” Mr. Cruz said fast walking up behind the kid. As they got closer to the house, he dashed in front of Jermaine and put a hand on his chest. “Hold it. You can’t go walking up to a stranger.” 

“His phone might work, then I can call my folks to come get me.” Jermaine said. His voice was full of hope, but it was his delivery that disturbed Mr. Cruz. Jermaine’s pupils were dilated and he didn’t seem to be in reality at that moment. He may have been talking to Mr. Cruz, but it didn’t seem that’s where his attention was.  Mr. Cruz turned toward the house behind them. The figure in the window was standing there watching them. The invader made no attempts to hide or leave the house once it was undeniable he was seen. Though ‘seen’ was up to interpretation the light coming from the window was so strong the man was more like a shadow. 

Mr. Cruz stepped closer hoping to get a defining feature, not good enough, he took another. Just like that Mr. Cruz found himself being unwillingly pulled closer to the window. A few things cleared up, he could tell the man was shirtless, quite built, wearing sweatpants and holding a mug in his hand. Getting closer only revealed that much, it seemed the light was too strong to present much of anything than an outline.

There was the sound of a door opening.

“Shit!” Mr. Cruz snapped back to himself.  He had left Jermaine and the teen had gone straight for the house.  The man rushed towards the front door as he saw Jermaine step inside. There was no time to just yank him out, Mr. Cruz ran in. The door to the house slammed shut without a single hand on it.

“Wait, where’d the guy go?” Jermaine asked, as he stepped into the living room looking around and sounding back to normal. Yet there was a more pressing concern on Mr. Cruz’s mind. They were standing in a completely dark house. The only light they had came in from the streetlamps. He had been so focused on retrieving Jermaine he hadn’t noted how odd it was to step into a completely dark house when the light had been on. The front door was right by the living room, and it was the opposing view they had from outside the window. They weren’t mistaken.

Worse than that was the state of the inside of the house; completely decrepit, rotting wood, torn wallpaper, a giant hole in the steps leading up to the second floor. Furniture existed, but there was a layer of dust all over it. Wallpaper peeling off, a vintage couch covered in mold, a wardrobe with a door hanging off, there was no way anything with intelligence other than vermin had walked in these walls.

“We need to get out of here.” Everything that was happening, the fog, the house, the cold chilly air was culminating in an uneasiness that refused to leave Mr. Cruz’s stomach. He held his hand out for Jermaine to grab. Before the teen could accept he hunched over and collapsed onto the ground.

“Hnnngh!” Jermaine grabbed at his stomach. Mr. Cruz dropped to his knees trying to find where the source of pain came from, but there certainly wasn’t an open wound anywhere. As he scanned over Jermaine’s body the house began to shake.

“An earthquake?” Mr. Cruz could barely hear himself speak over the rumble.  He cussed under his breath, was he really going to die in an abandoned house away from his son?  And how was Alex fairing?  Mr. Cruz prayed they wouldn’t be his last thoughts. 

Instead of the house continuing to collapse further into decay with the constant shaking, things changed with a loud:

CRACK

CRACK

Mr. Cruz blinked twice, Jermaine’s back had just lengthened, but it was like it broke. The kid was still groaning, bent at an awkward angle. Hadn’t there been two cracks though? Mr. Cruz turned his head to see a wood floorboard, mend itself back together.

“What the…”

CRACK

POP

CRACK

Jermaine’s left leg shot out, then his foot doubled–tripled in size. More floorboards repaired themselves, while the wallpaper rolled back down. There were more sounds as Jermaine’s entire body stretched in every direction that needed it. And the house was ready to compete with it. 

“Time for us to go.” Mr. Cruz went to scoop up Jermaine before the kid’s shirt exploded off him. Jermaine’s upper torso had swelled with muscle and was continuing to grow. It didn’t stop there either; it flew into the rest of his limbs. Jermaine’s entire body was undergoing some sort of metamorphosis, and it was infecting the house… or was it the other way around? Mr. Cruz tried to stabilize his feet as the floor under them warped like liquid, creating strange waves like the ocean. All it took was a misstep and Mr. Cruz fell back. Then he was out like a light.

—

Alex was the first to wake up in the triplet’s room. He was in a sleeping bag with his sketchbook beside him. He sat up stretching and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. As he scratched his left shoulder, he looked at the brothers, tucked away in their beds snoozing peacefully. The TV still had the Smash Bros. character select screen. That’s when Alex remembered they stopped playing to look at his sketchbook. He picked it up and flipped through it. Nothing was wrong, all five families on the block were there. Why had they questioned it last night?

Mrs. Drucman knocked, opening the door in a pink morning robe, “Good morning, Alex, I’m glad you stayed over last night. Nothing like an early night’s sleep to put some pep in your step for the morning! Would you mind waking the boys and telling them to come to help with breakfast? Lord knows, they’ll just ignore me.” She smiled and waved goodbye.

—

The sound of birds chirping played in Mr. Cruz’s ears. As he opened his eyes, the sunlight caused him to sit up and change position. He was on a couch in a living room with white and pastel yellow wallpaper. This certainly wasn’t his house. His head throbbed lightly as his eyes adjusted. The intense light had been hiding someone else in the room. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” A shirtless man stood by the window, one hand in his pajama bottom’s pockets, the other around the handle of a coffee mug. He smiled at Mr. Cruz before taking a sip. The man had a buzz cut, opposing his full dark brown beard. He had a chest like a bodybuilder. His pecs looked like each could be solid as a slab of beef at a meat locker. Then his abs were their own full course meal of eye candy. All topped off by the fact the man had a light dusting of hair covering him.

Mr. Cruz didn’t get a chance to ask who the man was as his memories of the night before were coming back to him. Jermaine, the house, and all that had transpired after entering. “Thanks for saving me,” He struggled to get out as his voice sounded hoarse. “What happened to that teen and the abandoned house? Did we get stuck in a sudden earthquake?”

 “Teen? What teen? You passed out last night at my house.” The man walked over and placed a beefy hand on Mr. Cruz’s forehead. “Maybe you got a fever?”

The first instinct in Mr. Cruz’s head was to smack the hand away; he didn’t want a stranger touching him. However, the closer the man got the more Mr. Cruz could smell him and the guy smelled like the world’s most expensive cologne.  Mr. Cruz wanted to lean right into his chest and inhale the smell off his pecs. God he was so close he could just open his mouth and start slurping on the guy’s nipples.

“It really is a beautiful morning.”

Mr. Cruz opened his eyes, and the stranger was back at the window.  Surprisingly, a man as built as him hadn’t even made a sound when he stepped away.  The stranger seemed particularly fixated on something outside the window, so much so that it piqued Mr. Cruz’s interest. He stood up off the couch and walked over to the window. The moment he looked outside he froze. 

Standing in the street, looking at the house, were all the dads of Brimwood Ave. Mr. Cruz had to register that he was still on Brimwood and the view from the window. It was the same house as last night. 

“Okay, what is going on here ?!”

“I think…they’re waiting on me.”

“For what, Who are you?!”

“Ah don’t be like that; Are you mad at me or something?” the man cocked his head to the side.

“Hey Jer, How long are you gonna stay in there?”

“Yeah Jerry, we’re all waiting.”

The other dads’ voices started coming in through the window. Mr. Cruz couldn’t figure out for the life of him why all the guys were being so overfamiliar with strangers. More importantly, Why were they just there? No wives, no kids, just the men, the dads. Well fuck it, He didn’t really have an option to think about it.  He rushed out of the house towards the guys.

“Luther, I need your help.” Mr. Cruz gripped his friend by the arms. 

“Mr. Cruz, what were you doing in there?” Luther said, surprised.

“Last night, there was this teen and he went into the abandoned house.” He pointed to the house behind him before pausing. There was nothing about the house that revealed it to be in a dilapidated state, in fact the outside was just as refurbished as the inside. In the open doorway, Mr. Cruz had just appeared from, stood…Jerry.

Luther’s left arm kindly wrapped around Mr. Cruz neck, “Come on now you’re not scared of ol’ Jer, are you?”

“Wha… you know this man?”

Mr. Beauchamp came walking up on the opposite side of Mr. Cruz, “You feeling okay, Mr. Cruz. Jerry and his wife welcomed you in when you moved.”

“NO, he did not. This house was empty, NOW look at it!” Mr. Cruz pointed back. It was hard to pull his attention away from Mr. Beauchamp’s unbuttoned collar, unable to close due his large chest and forearms out of the shirt sleeves once again.

“Guys, since the wife and kids are away, Mr. Cruz and I partied a little too hard last night and this morning is just taking it out on him.”

At this moment Mr. Cruz noticed something, rather he noticed a few things. Jerry, this Ol’ Jer was quite the looker. Mr. Cruz had been too panicked before to take note of the hulking body that laid before him, but now that his chest was out in the sun it was soaking up attention. The second thing was, Mr. Cruz managed to scan the other men’s faces, all their eyes were on Jerry. Even when Luther and Mr. Beauchamp checked in with him; they only kept eye contact for a brief second. The longer Mr. Cruz stood among his neighbors the more unsettled he felt. In this moment it was becoming painfully obvious he was physically very unlike the rest of these men. Sure, he was fit. But how in the hell were ALL the other suburban dads titans? Sure, their bodies ranged in shape and musculature but take the shirts off and they may as well have been a packaged set. 

The other men’s transfixion with Jerry didn’t waver. Their smiles grew wider. Mr. Cruz watched them all. It was like they were having a wordless conversation. Mr. Cruz left and no one cared.

He got inside his house, shut the door and leaned back on it. How could he process what was going on?  He walked over to his window staring out at the men. They were finally talking surrounding Jerry. The new guy made a muscle with his bicep, and he had the other dads feeling him up. 10 minutes later they were all getting inside their cars. Mr. Cruz watched them all drive out of the neighborhood.

“Alex, Alex!” Mr. Cruz went rushing up his stairs. Whatever nonsense had just happened outside. Mr. Cruz couldn’t forget there had been an earthquake last night and he had unintentionally left his son alone.  He breathed a mental sigh of relief that nothing in the house was knocked over or on the ground, meaning Alex was probably okay too. He knocked on his son’s door before flinging it open. 

The room was empty. 

There was a buzz from Mr. Cruz’s pocket.  He reached down, pulling out his phone. It turned on at 96% as a slew of text messages came in.

“U back from work?”

“Can I head home, yet?”

“The Drucman’s said I can stay for dinner.”

“Mrs. Drucman said I can spend the night.”

Mr. Cruz slammed his back against his son’s bedroom wall, sliding down, crying. His son was safe. What a fucking relief. 

An hour later, Mr. Cruz was sitting in his living room with his own coffee mug in hand. He tapped his foot on the ground staring out at the houses leading up to him. He put his right hand over his chin. What the hell happened last night? Wasn’t there an earthquake? Also, an entire rotting house doesn’t just disappear overnight. Then there were the details about Jermaine’s whereabouts, though in the back of his mind he had a sneaking suspicion there was only one answer to all the questions.

Alex walked in through the front door, one strap of his art sack pack on his shoulder, “Hey I saw your car in the driveway and thought–

His comment was cut off by Mr. Cruz wrapping his son in a hug. “It’s good to see you’re safe. That earthquake was so sudden I… I’m just glad you’re safe.” He suppressed back his tears.

“What earthquake?” Alex asked.

“Are you serious, Alex?” Mr. Cruz pulled away slightly from his son. “It was intense, everything was coming down around me.”

Alex’s eyes scanned the room, giving a look that nothing seemed out of place. Mr. Cruz followed his gaze immediately, realizing the train of thought. “Looks fine to me.” Alex replied. Then he asked, “Wait, is our house even built for earthquakes?”

Mr. Cruz paused at the question. It was a reasonable one. An earthquake on the east coast of the continental United States was strange within itself, but not impossible. Logically though, would a house foundation be that good?

“Where’d you go last night? Out for a little fun,” Alex joked with his dad. “Had too good a time.” He mimicked taking shots.

“Very funny.” Mr. Cruz said flatly.

“I’m only half kidding dad. You know, you do deserve to have a life too.” Alex admitted. “I don’t care if you need time to yourself. Just answer your phone.” He smirked.

“Yeah, sorry about that, the fog that came in messed it up. Maybe it was the humidity or something?”

“Fog?” Alex walked into the kitchen.

“Don’t tell me, you didn’t see the fog either last night?” Mr. Cruz rolled his eyes.

“Now that I can’t say. I fell asleep early last night.” Alex walked back into the living room with a glass of water.

“Well, did any of the other boys mention it?”

Alex chuckled, “Nah they conked out before me. We were playing Smash Bros.— Which I was winning— and were out like lights.”

“Nope, Nope not doing this,” Mr. Cruz stood up waving his hand and shaking his head. “I’m grabbing your grandmother’s sage.” He walked into the kitchen and started pulling at the drawers. “Alex, find that cross necklace from your abuela.” 

“You think our house is haunted now? What does that have to do with the weather?” Alex asked as he ignored his dad’s request and sat down on the living room couch pulling out his sketchbook.

Mr. Cruz came into the living room lighting the sage, “Is this the right way to hold it? Couldn’t Malik’s mom have included instructions?” He turned to his son, in disbelief, “Are you really not going to help?”

“Sorry dad, but I have to sketch you like this, you look ridiculous,” Alex pulled out his sketchbook, scribbling.

“Well, I am not staying in one place for you, ONE of us will get to the bottom of this.” Mr. Cruz went on waving the sage around.

—-

Mr. Cruz hadn’t been a P.I. in years. Even then he didn’t stay in that position for long. It’d be inappropriate to still consider himself a detective. Infiltrating was certainly not one of his strong points, but he still had the skills, and house told a lot about a person. As an interior designer or a P.I., reading people’s lives through their homes was as easy as opening a book. That’s why he found himself attending Mrs. Beaucamp’s brunch with the other housewives in the neighborhood. 

The Beaucamp living room featured tasteful furnishings, with a plush, muted-color sofa and antique side chairs arranged around a quaint coffee table, adorned with a well-curated selection of art books and a delicate vase of fresh flowers. Soft, ambient sunlight filtered through sheer drapes framing tall windows, casting a warm glow on the hardwood floors.

The walls were lined with carefully chosen artwork and family photos in simple, elegant frames, reflecting a rich tapestry of memories and experiences. A small but well-appointed kitchen, with polished countertops and high-end appliances, invited a sense of intimacy, where Mrs. Beaucamp prepared meals with classic recipes passed down through generations. The fragrance of her garden spilled from the back windows filling the household air.  Her garden sat perfectly in view of the windows, offering a private retreat, lush with greenery and blooming flowers.

 A sense of sophistication was intertwined with the comfort of a lived-in space, creating an atmosphere that welcomed visitors with open arms, while maintaining an air of quiet dignity.

As a design professional, Mr. Cruz couldn’t help but be impressed. The house was exactly what so many high-end customers wanted and Mrs. Beaucamp obtained it with ease. As a former private investigator, Mr. Cruz couldn’t shake the feeling something was off. The house was stunning, the company of the ladies was wonderful, but the air was…sterile. That was it! The air wasn’t stiff. There was life in this house, certainly with all the boys running around when home, yet it presented a false appearance of perfection. Mr. Cruz worked hard to give people this, always knowing some form of imperfection, his taste, the client’s taste, their lifestyle, and profession would influence the end. In his eyes that imperfection of a person would make a beautiful house transcend into a real home.

“So, no one recalls an earthquake, or strange fog from last night?” Mr. Cruz asked the group. They all looked around shaking their heads. He didn’t bother to mention almost hitting someone with his car or the house’s strangeness, he didn’t expect anyone to believe that. As he sat listening to the wives swap stories about the latest bake sale, or washing their sons’ clothes, he had come close to dropping the subject. The atmosphere encouraged it. That is to say, it was actively hard for Mr. Cruz to focus on last night. There were a few mental images here and there, but it all felt so muted among the ladies’ banter. But then his mind would flash with a snap, and pop of a bone, then the young man screaming among a reforming house. The scene was so visceral it continuously snapped Mr. Cruz’s mind back. The former investigator realized that if he hadn’t witnessed that scene how easily he could have forgotten everything. 

 Mrs. Beaucamp spoke first, “Mr. Cruz, are you sure you didn’t take a wrong turn into a different part of town? People do say the suburbs all look the same.” The other ladies laughed but Mr. Cruz was sure that the question was a bit pointed.

 “That may be true,” He said, faking a small laugh and smile, “but I don’t think I was lost. Do people get lost out here often?”

 Zuzanna Gravelli, spoke up “You know, Whenever the boys are at my house with friends, I always hear them gossiping just like us, playing those games. They’ll say kids at school swear the neighborhood is haunted or that people go missing. I told them they had to stop telling stories like that or people will start to believe they’re true.”

Rolling her eyes at the other woman, Selena Drucman spoke up, “To actually answer your question then, No, people don’t get lost. Please don’t let Zuzanna scare you with urban legends.”

“To be fair,” Mrs. Beaucamp, “That old story has been around since I was a little girl. Grew up here my whole life and people always love to talk about this place. I mean back then all the houses were unlivable, so it was not somewhere people wanted to go. These days, once that house across from Jer’s and his wife’s gets fixed up, we’ll be a full neighborhood.”

Mr. Cruz’s ears perked up, were the houses fixing themselves? An insane thought, but there really was no other explanation of what had happened. If that was the case then this was not just a one off, it had happened again and again. But he couldn’t just jump to conclusions. The moment teatime ended, Mr. Cruz was researching the town and the families. Surprisingly he found a lot about all of them, The Drucmans, the Hartmans, the Gravellis, and especially the Beaucamps. He didn’t even attempt to learn Jer’s last name. As for the rest, the information came too easily. If two families were in a newspaper article about rebuilding the neighborhood, another was in a magazine about running a marathon, or another was on the local news being interviewed about mundane topics. The men were all born in the county and had pictures easily searchable by yearbooks across high school districts. Everything was too easy, as if there was an answer to every question Mr. Cruz had. No matter how good Mr. Cruz thought he was, he knew this wasn’t his skill. Was it truly possible that every family member had a social media presence, not even a lapse in posting schedules, or a person foregoing an account?

—

Back at home, Mr. Cruz was able to relax a bit by cooking a late lunch. Alex came in to show him the sketches he had with the sage.  Mr. Cruz couldn’t help but laugh, Alex has drawn it like he was either a crazy person or in a horror comic. Big wide eyes and an open mouth, raving about ghosts in one, secretly praying with the sage in another. The last one, his face with Casper behind him.  “Alright, smart ALEC.” He flipped to the front. Since they moved, he hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to Alex about his art. He knew he had been drawing their neighbors, but this was a bit more than loose sketching. “You should sell these.” He said impressed.

“Okay dad.” Alex rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious, these are good.” Mr. Cruz encouraged his son. He flipped through the Drucman’s Hartmans, Gravellis, and Beaucamps only to land on the last family, the Kincaids. The man Jerry was there in a pose similar to what Mr. Cruz saw that morning. “When did you draw this?” The father’s eyes did not leave the page, transfixed. Every image alluded that Jerry was a much younger father with a pregnant wife and younger kids.

“Oh well you know they asked me to babysit, since all the other neighborhood boys are usually at practice. I asked them if I could at least draw something in their house, and they said yes so, I went for the pictures on the mantle.” Alex stated.

Mr. Cruz said, “Watch the pasta,” as he stepped into his living transfixed on the image. His head came up staring out of his window, slowly the fathers of the neighborhood made their way to their respective cars and began to pull out of the neighborhood. “Fuck this,” Mr. Cruz muttered under his breath. “Alex, I have to step out, don’t let anything burn.” 

“Got it dad!”

Marching out, sketchbook still in hand. Mr. Cruz got into his car, carefully trailing behind the other men. The streets they took were new to him. As they drove along the winding suburban roads, the late afternoon sun casted a warm golden hue over the landscape. Lush, manicured lawns flanked both sides of the unfamiliar streets, dotted with vibrant flower beds that swayed gently in the breeze. The smell of freshly cut grass mingled with the faint aroma of blooming lilacs, creating a fragrant welcome that wafted through the open windows of the car. 

Charming houses with their white picket fences and inviting porches lined the route.  There were sporadic instances of children and teens playing in front yards, laughing and chasing each other, their joyful shouts punctuating the peaceful ambiance. The occasional sound of a lawnmower or a dog barking added to the symphony of suburban life. All as if someone had taken Mr. Cruz’s new neighborhood and turned the saccharine americana up a notch.

Tall oak trees lined the entrance to their destination, leaves rustling gently overhead. A humongous black metal gate opened, allowing all cars to slip inside. By now Mr. Cruz was sure he’d been spotted but he wasn’t going to stop. He drove his car past the gates noting the ornate ‘B’ at the center.  The expansive driveway, flanked by blooming shrubs, led to the grand entrance of a country club, its white columns standing proudly against a backdrop of rolling green hills. At the entrance, the road morphed into a roundabout, with a fountain of an unknown Greek adonis in the center, before continuing. The steps up to the large front doors were saddled with two lions sitting on each side. Valets were waiting as each of the dads got out of their cars and headed inside. Not even one turned to look as Mr. Cruz drove up.

Pulling up his own car, Mr. Cruz took in even more as he stepped out. A gentle pond shimmered off to the right, with swans gliding serenely across its surface, while the distant sound of golf clubs striking balls echoed through the air. He could even smell food wafting from the restaurant on the premises. Before taking another step, There was a young blond man at his car door, smiling with a perfect row of teeth. He was dressed in valet attire: a white dress shirt and a navy-blue vest and pants, with a black belt and shoes. 

“Oh I’m…”

“Mr. Cruz,” The young man said cheerily, “Our most esteemed members always speak highly of you. We were wondering when you and your son would join.” The young man then scooted Mr. Cruz, away from the car before plopping himself behind the driver seat and taking off. With no turning back, He marched forward and assured answers would be inside.

The building held a wide-open lounge with a receptionist desk in the far back. There was lion imagery everywhere accompanied by a cream, yellow and gold color scheme, accompanied often with a dark blue backdrop. The interior of the country club was a vision of elegance and tranquility, bathed in soft, warm light that spilled in from the sunlight. Rich mahogany paneling lined the walls, its deep hues contrasting beautifully with the cream-colored wainscoting. Plush, tufted armchairs and sofas, upholstered in muted tones of sage and ivory, were strategically placed around the room, inviting members to sink in and engage in leisurely conversation. The scent of freshly polished wood mingled with the subtle fragrance of newly shined shoes. A grand fireplace, its mantle adorned with intricate lion carving, provided a cozy focal point. There were people who had money, and then there was this. 

And the whole entire area was filled with men. It wasn’t crowded or over booked, but everywhere Mr. Cruz’s eyes landed there was a man taking up space, joking with his buddies, or walking about. Strangest of all, every single man was in some form of ‘in shape.” No matter how tall, short, lean, or thick they were, their clothes were well fitted to show off their bodies in the country clubs branded clothing. Polos, dress shirts, shorts, and pants of various colors with a Lion and B intertwined to form the familiar logo.

“Do you need help Mr. Cruz?” An older gentleman said from behind the reception desk. He wore a blazer that clung tightly to his well-developed torso. His face, though mature, didn’t do much to portray his true age. Just by his cadence and manner or carrying himself, Mr. Cruz could identify the man was older and most likely in charge of the staff around here.

“Yes, please tell me where this is?” Mr. Cruz continued to scan around, hearing clinking glasses off in the distance. 

“Where?” The man asked, shocked. “Why you’re in the Beaucamp’s Male Country Club.”

“What, Mr. Beaucamp owns a country club? I never saw anything about that?” Mr. Cruz ran over all the articles in his mind, not one mentioned it.

“Oh, he is quite private about it. He doesn’t like to advertise having money.”

“I’ll say.” Mr. Cruz stated.

“I believe he’s still in the changing rooms. Would you like me to walk you?”

“No thanks!” Mr. Cruz started walking in the direction the receptionist had motioned towards. “I’ll find it myself.” He didn’t mean to be rude, but his gut was telling him he had to get to the mystery of what was going on himself.

As Mr. Cruz stepped into the country club’s changing room, the soft hum of air conditioning mingled with the faint rustle of luxurious towels, creating a soothing backdrop. The walls were painted with a muted cream, adorned with tasteful artwork depicting lions relaxing in serene landscapes that added a touch of elegance to the space. Rows of handcrafted wooden lockers lined one side of the room, each one polished to a warm sheen and bearing brass nameplates that glimmered under the soft, ambient lighting. 

On the opposite wall, plush, cushioned benches invited members to sit and unwind, their upholstery a deep navy that contrasted beautifully against the lighter hues around them. In the corner, a well-stocked refreshment bar offered an array of chilled beverages, from sparkling waters to herbal teas, while a fragrant scent of cedar wafted through the air, courtesy of the strategically placed diffusers. 

He walked among the rows of various lockers, until he got to the last one.  By far the largest row, with seating and of course, every father from Mr. Cruz’s block in various states of undress laughing it up with each other. Here the lockers were wider and had a golden nameplate across the top. It wasn’t just the men’s names either, he recognized the name of their sons having spots among them.  The most shocking of all was seeing his name engraved on a nameplate as Mr. Cruz besides Alex Cruz overtop an empty locker. He waited for the men to notice him, but they seemed to be lost in their own little world until he finally said, “What the hell is this?”

Mr. Beaucamp was the first to speak, shirtless, “Oh my god who told you, was it Deborah?” He ran his left hand over his face, “Well, it was supposed to be a surprise, but yeah all the dad’s wanted you and Alex to join the country club.”

Join? Mr. Cruz did not like that word, especially since Jerry was sitting on a bench in his underwear in front of his own locker. How exactly had he joined? And if that was called into Question how did any of the men from the neighborhood join? Mr. Cruz noticed a weird glint coming from Alex’s name plate. Walking in between the other dads’ Mr. Cruz picked at a piece of the nameplate, watching as the first letter disappeared like a scratch off. It wasn’t engraved like the others, it was paper. The other dads began to argue about which wife spilled the secret. There was something underneath Alex’s name. Mr. Cruz continued to scratch away, bits of the nameplate and fading into dust. The true name plate shined in the locker room once Alex Cruz was scrubbed away. Mr. Cruz stood, trembling, staring at a name he didn’t recognize next to his own.

“I have to get home!” He raced out of the country club to find the valet pulling up with his car. No time to question how the young man even knew he’d be coming back out. Mr. Cruz floored it back home. The drive back felt longer as he raced against the setting sun, which only seemed to go lower faster as if to spite him. Fog rolled in on the road as Mr. Cruz began to curse.

—

Alex woke up to pitch black in his house. He had put away the pasta and sauce and fell asleep on the living room couch listening to music. Upon sitting up, he stared outside only to be greeted with the night and endless fog. Slowly he walked towards the window. If his dad hadn’t taken off with his sketch book he’d be drawing the scene. The longer he stared the more he saw someone in the fog. A man was standing out there looking at him. He was about to draw the curtain, when he realized his dad’s form running through the fog pantomiming, or perhaps he was shouting, but Alex truly couldn’t hear it.  Alex opened the door as his father ran up the steps. Suddenly the sound came back.

“Oh god, It’s happening again!” Mr. Cruz hugged Alex, “We have to leave now!”

“What why?!” Alex asked as he was dragged out. “My stuff!” He managed to snag his key on the way out.

“We’ll have movers come get it I promise you!” Mr. Cruz booked it for his car. He made sure to stop just in case his son had been plopped out on the street. 

His son got into the car picking up his sketchbook while his dad started the car. Mr. Cruz backed up into the fog, before turning out. He breathed a sigh of relief as Alex flipped through his sketchbook. “Dad, what happened to my pictures?” He held up the drawings from earlier that evening, where his face imitating his father should have been. Instead, there were watercolors of a random man on it. “Is this a prank? This book isn’t even built for watercolors.” 

The fog pulled back as Mr. Cruz’s car came onto Brimwood Ave.

“Uh dad?” Alex stated.

“No, no, no.” Mr. Cruz turned the car back around heading into the fog once again. Only this time it was a shorter drive to end up back on Brimwood Ave. This time the fog didn’t let up as much. “Alright, head to the house. I’m going to stay out here until the other dads get home.”  

Alex got out of the car as the fog got heavier around him. He walked up the steps that creaked more than usual tonight. He placed his key in the door and turned. The door swung open to pitch black. Alex stepped inside. That was the moment he heard his father’s car horn blasting. Alex turned to see his father lean out the window, “Alex, that’s the wrong house!”. Alex turned his head to notice that the streetlights now illuminated a bit of the forgotten furniture. This was not the house his father had spent time putting together. In the fog his sense of direction had gotten twisted enough to deliver him to the last abandoned house on the block. 

Mr. Cruz had only seen the end. His son stepped out of the car headed the right way, but then a distant light shone in the heavy fog with a man’s silhouette at a window.  He thought his son would be safe, unable to see it, but the fog dissipated in time to watch Alex step inside. Mr. Cruz launched himself out of the car, sprinting towards that house. He made it up the old steps, reaching out his arm just as the door slammed in his face. He pounded on the door, kicking and screaming into the night.

Pulling at the knob, Alex couldn’t open the door. His father’s voice disappeared the moment the door locked itself shut. Alex pleaded with the door to open to no avail. He leaned his head against it as a chill ran along his spine. His head was traveling up the length of the door, as his spine was stretching longer, “Hnnng!” Alex clenched his teeth.

Night air brushed across the revealed skin below his shirt. The entire house cracked down the middle as its foundation began to change. His bones snapped and cracked as his muscles turned to jelly. It started with his feet as he blinked once and his shoes were gone, reduced to tatters around wiggling toes of size 12. Holes in the floor that peered right into the basement sealed up. His muscles reattached to his bones, stronger and enriched, as the house’s internal structure began to improve.  Every muscle had accumulated size for his new frame but was continuing to expand beyond that. The lean teen figure from before was lost to an overwhelming thickness of a new man. In response the house shook, gaining new side additions. Alex rested his hands on the door sticking his ass out as it ripped his shorts apart with its new muscularity. The sounds of a back patio coming into existence rocked the house. Finally, his shirt began to pull apart as his pecs developed at an alarming rate. Alex could feel the changes rising into his neck and crawling under his skin. Once in his skull, his face broke for a split second before reforming, stretching his skin with higher cheekbones and a sharp jawline.

On the outside, Mr. Cruz watched as the house crumbled and reformed.  The fog was now a light mist. He couldn’t hear his son inside. He didn’t know how long he had, but he tore across the front yard to get to the neighbors only to have it expand, as if taunting him. He knocked on everyone’s doors, quickly trying to cause a ruckus to no response. It was time for drastic measures. Mr. Cruz got in his car and took a deep breath. He slammed his foot on the gas and drove his car straight into the house.  If Alex was by the window he’d see this coming, if not, then he was somewhere safer. 

Alex heard the crash, while he was watching his hands morph three times their size. He stumbled to the living room. His abs bubbled to the surface of his skin, while his pecs grew larger with muscle weight. The shirt he had no chance, forced further apart by his shoulders’ distance increasing in the back, and his chest turning into man jugs in the front. A hole formed over his sternum as strands of shirt fabric hung limply in the hair, until the twin tits finally spilled out and popped the shirt open.

Mr. Cruz managed to open his car door but froze when his eyes met his changing son. However, there was no time to process it, act, or lose.  Over the initial shock, he got out of the car and put it around his son’s back and supported his body, helping him to the car. As he was helping his son into the car, Alex’s height grew again, causing him to hit his head going in. Luckily Mr. Cruz was able to strap him in, successfully. Getting into the driver’s side, Mr. Cruz watched as the sketchbook on Alex’s lap, now covering his crotch, lost its color and the material became a whole different brand entirely. Mr. Cruz threw the car into reverse and pressed his foot down onto the car.  The car shot out cleanly from the house, But as they made their way over the perfect lawn it was like moving on a treadmill. The car wasn’t going anywhere, all the while Alex’s groans continued. Mr. Cruz honked and screamed hoping, praying that anyone would hear him.  Suddenly, the car shot forward as if someone had released a rubber band. Once again, the Car was thrust back into the house, Alex was safe having been strapped by his father, but in his rush, Mr. Cruz had not buckled himself and went flying through the windshield of his car. 

As his body soared in the air, he could still see bits of the house improving itself. Its final form would certainly be one to rival the others. He hoped to god it wouldn’t be his last thought as he slammed onto the ground, unmoving.

—-

The smell of an open flame, jolted Mr. Cruz awake. His heart was thumping in his chest as he flailed his arms wildly, from within the confines of his blue fold out chair. “Wha… what.” He felt over his chest, neck, and then face; He was fine. He tried to remember why he was doing that to no avail. 

“Woah, Woah you okay there?” Luther Drucman said, walking up to him with a beer in hand.

“Where am I?” Mr. Cruz said aloud though it was really for himself. His eyes scanned the tables in the grass with condiments and plates on top, the children running around and wives conversing in a corner. 

“Uh the neighborhood cookout where else would you be? “Luther smirked, shoving the beer into Mr. Cruz’s hand.

Cookout? That made sense. Mr. Beaucamp was standing by a grill with an apron on, that made his ass look especially fatter with its straps tied right above it. Mr. Cruz shook his head; he didn’t want to be thinking that. It felt like there was something important he was forgetting. He turned and there was Mr. Gravelli, lugging patties and hotdogs from inside closer to the grill. No, not that. His eyes went over to Mr. Hartman playing hack sack with the older kids. His eyes lingered on Chad and Luther’s triplets. His mouth moved first, “Someone’s missing.”

“I know for sure it isn’t me this time.” A hand came over Mr. Cruz’s neck as Jerry clinked beer cans with Luther.  “Let Alejandro take the heat this time.”

There was no chance to ask who, as two teen boys came running into the backyard. Behind them was a mountain of a man carrying a canvas. Mr. Cruz hated to admit it, but the man looked like a suaver version of himself. The stranger’s hair was combed back into a quiff and was dressed in a loosely buttoned dress shirt and khaki pants. Even with his height the strange man didn’t lumber but elegantly strode over to Mr. Cruz and his compatriots. 

“Not like you to be late, Ale” Jerry joked, taking his arm off Mr. Cruz. “Too many laps in the pool, you are not training for the Olympics anymore, right?”

“Sorry forgive me, It wasn’t swimming, I was just finishing up my gift for your Welcome Party.” Alejandro presented the canvas he had tucked under his arm. Right on the center was a charcoal drawing of Mr. Cruz. 

There was a sea of “oh wow” responses as Mr. Cruz accepted the gift. 

“It’s sort of a tradition for me to draw, sketch, or paint families of the block.” Alejandro shrugged. 

“Look at that, you got one all to yourself!” Mr. Beaucamp smiled for the grill. “My boys practically stole the spotlight from me and my wife.”

“That’s because Chad over here is almost as big as your house.” Mr. Hartman yelled back as Chad flexed, in response showing off his biceps. The Drucman triplets rolled their eyes groaning. A larger conversation between the boys and fathers came up, but Mr. Cruz was fixed on his image. He had moved to this block, and yet was the only guy without a family on it. His mind must have still been stalling in slumberland because he couldn’t recall seeing any of the other family’s art pieces and yet the notion did feel familiar. It wasn’t just that either, hadn’t there been something about Jerry he wanted to bring up? Whatever it had been it seemed antithetical to the camaraderie brewing. 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Alejandro asked Mr. Cruz as they moved from the commotion. Once away from the rambunctious fathers, devolving into boys themselves as they argued over their sons, The two men could talk uninterrupted. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everyone here is amazing. Maybe too amazing, I mean look at this!” He showed off his new piece of art once again. “Guess it’s just odd to be the only one in the neighborhood without a kid.

“Phhhfff, No one cares about that. Everybody likes you. You think Charles Beaucamp would give free membership to his club to just anyone?” Alejandro laughed. “Us dads here, we’re kind of bonded for life, but you came and we all just like you.” 

“Is that so?” Mr. Cruz gave a smirk, “Because I do think Luther’s been looking at me strangely, now that you mention it.”

“Now hang on,” Alejandro said laughing, “We’re all married, don’t twist my words. My wife’s at yoga but she would beat me over the head if she even thought my eyes were wandering.

“Oh, good so, I’ll keep that in my back pocket.” The two men shared another laugh having walked to the front of the house, still hearing the dads going. Mr. Cruz’s eyes scanned the neighborhood, “Hey, what’s with that ‘for sale’ sign next to your house?”.

“Oh, it’s not at my house just so you know. It’s the plot next to me. That big patch of land between my house and yours, also Jer’s on this side. Neither of us own it so, I think there are talks of another two houses coming up. So, who knows, maybe you won’t be the new guy for long.”

The men stared out at the empty plots, imagining what exactly the neighborhood would look like with two new families.