“Someone wrote in to say there was a monster at the bottom of that lake,” Sani continues. “It doesn’t matter to Yuki if it’s there or not. What matters is she walked through the same woods they did, and sat on the same dock they did. The same sand under her feet. The same seaweed creeping up from under the water, you know?” He grabs one of her hands with rare, genuine solemnity on his face. “Are You There? isn’t about monsters. It never has been, don’t you get it? It’s about people. Every episode is about people.”

Later, days later, episodes later, Yuki talks about Champ, the monster of Lake Champlain.

Yuki
11:34 p.m.
listen to the show tonight
blue says hi
Grace reads the text at the apartment as she and Fletcher watch a marathon of Love It or List It. She turns the radio show on and puts the volume up, and Yuki’s voice filters through the apartment, fills up all the space between the walls.

“Hello, lonely creatures,” she says into the mic. “Are you there?”

Grace, warm from wine and the open windows and Fletcher squished next to her, thinks, Yes.

“Tonight, I want to talk about what causes us to believe in monsters. I’ve been thinking a lot about it. I’ve been thinking about if we have to believe, or if maybe just wanting to, is enough. Someone made me think about this recently, and made me question why it is that this lonely creature created this show, and why lonely creatures listen to it when they could be sleeping.”

Grace listens.

“I think believing in monsters is not what this show is about. It’s not what I think about when I come here to talk to you all. What I think about is, what makes me any different from this terrible thing? What makes me the same? At the end of the night, I do not find myself asking if I truly believe in the sea monster that lies waiting in the body of a lake. At the end of the night, when I pack up and shut off the lights I think, is that me? Am I that monster? In what ways am I the terrible, frightening thing?”

She pauses for a moment, and the dead air only adds to the tension of her question. “Lonely creatures, what makes us so different from the stories we tell in the dark?”

Fletcher sighs, handing the wine bottle back to Grace. “Deep,” he says. They pass a joint back and forth and cuddle underneath a heavy blanket. “That’s some deep shit, bro. Yuki is so deep.”

Grace takes out her phone and thinks about a girl that smells like sea salt and herbs and lingering incense. Her phone illuminates the room like something otherworldly.

Grace
12:20 a.m.
i’m listening
She pauses, and then her fingers type out another message.

Grace
12:21 a.m.
idk if i believe in all the stories
but i believe in you
hi blue

Thirteen

Grace is trying to come to terms with her loneliness. It is not as clear-cut as being alone. She is not alone. But she finds herself missing the familiarity of Portland. She finds herself missing the rigidity of her academic schedule, the coziness of the White Pearl Tea Room. She misses the people that do not know Grace Porter taking a break and figuring things out, but Grace Porter in control, always in motion.

But she is taking a break, and she finds herself in NYC surrounded by people that do not judge her for it, no matter how much blame she aims at herself.

They’re in Sani’s bedroom. He’s icing bruised knuckles and trying to psych himself up to swallow down three ibuprofens.

“You just throw ’em back,” Yuki says. “We go through this every time!”

“And every time it’s traumatic!” he shouts back. “You’d think the billion-dollar pharmaceutical industry could make smaller pills. Some of us have delicate throats.”

Yuki makes a face at Grace, who’s trying not to laugh over her late-night onigiri. “Bet that makes you a hit in bed,” Yuki mutters.

Sani glares. “More than you,” he says, voice silky-smooth and dangerous. “Who exactly are you fingering with those ridiculous claws?”

Grace chokes. Yuki lets out an inhuman screech and launches herself across the room. She lands on top of Sani and they go crashing to the floor, while Grace watches from the bed.

“Is everybody okay?” Grace asks. “That sounded painful.”

Yuki sits up and lets out a long, anguished groan. “He started it.”

“Well,” Sani says huffily, not even bothering to get up, “you knocked over my pills and my water. Now I have to start that process all over again. It’s a very psychological experience for me.”

“I have no sympathy for you,” Yuki says, sending him a nasty glance. She checks over her newly painted pink nails. “I’m a femme who likes long nails, and I am very valid, thank you.”

“Hey, Yuki?” Fletcher calls suddenly. “There’s a guy at the door.”

“Does he live here?” Yuki calls back. “A lot of guys live here, maybe it’s one of them.”

There is just Fletcher’s pointed silence.

“No,” he says. “He does not live here.”

“Does he want to live here?” Sani yells. “Is he at least cute?”

“Can you assholes just—” Fletcher cuts himself off, murmuring low to whomever it is. “He says he’s here for Porter.”

Yuki and Sani look at her, and Grace looks back with wide eyes.