Now You See Him, Now You Don’t

Summary

Selected Shorts – "Now You See Him, Now You Don’t"

Date: November 27, 2025
Host: Meg Wolitzer
Main Theme: Disappearances—playful, absurd, and deeply mysterious stories about people vanishing, exploring the emotional aftermath and the lingering mysteries for those left behind.

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Episode Overview

This episode of Selected Shorts is dedicated to the phenomenon of disappearance—not as sheer tragedy, but as a force of chaos, comedy, or surreal transformation in fiction. Host Meg Wolitzer guides us through three very different stories: a kidnapped teenager whose abductors quickly regret their choice, the angst of being Waldo’s overlooked child, and the haunting presence of a lodger who simply will not (and perhaps cannot) leave. Each tale explores not just physical absence, but the emotional and psychological reverberations disappearances leave behind.

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Key Discussions and Stories

1. Humorous Kidnapping Gone Wrong

Story: We Have Your Son by Ben Cronengold and Rebecca Shaw
Performed by: Jill Eikenberry and Michael Tucker
Timestamps: [04:07]-[15:12]

Synopsis & Discussion Points:

• The story unfolds through a series of deadpan ransom emails between a pair of hapless kidnappers and the unbothered mother of their teenage captive, Harrison.
• What starts as a threatening ransom demand quickly devolves into an exasperated co-parenting arrangement as the mother proves more than ready to let Harrison stay with his abductors.
• The escalating tone of the kidnappers’ desperation, matched by the mother’s indifference and practical parenting tips, lampoons both the genre of ransom drama and the modern challenges of raising a teen.

Memorable Quotes:

• Kidnapper E-mail:
  “If the ransom is not paid in 24 hours, we will begin to cut off Harrison's fingers, starting with the ones he says he needs for piano lessons. There is no other way.” — Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender [07:45]
• Mother’s Deadpan Reply:
  “Tell him he plateaued in piano years ago. Also, there is no other way. THEIR PSATs. Worried for you guys.” — Alison Thatcher Hargrave [08:03]
• Kidnapper’s Breaking Point:
  “Your child is broken. Please write back soon with plans to take him back. Half a mil would suffice.” — Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender [11:41]
• Mother’s Final Word:
  “We love our son, but honestly, we don't half a mil love him, if that makes sense.” — Alison Thatcher Hargrave [12:25]

Notable Moments:

• The biting, hilarious back-and-forth ultimately results in the kidnappers bonding with Harrison and even considering paying the parents to take him back.
• The story ends with the “kidnappers” and Harrison having become friends:
  “We do vibe checks once a week now... Today was a grumpy day, but that's okay because we're giving each other space to decompress.” — Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender [13:20]

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2. Life as Waldo’s Kid

Story: Where’s Dad? by Claire Friedkin
Performed by: Emily Skeggs
Timestamps: [16:39]-[24:53]

Synopsis & Discussion Points:

• Narrated by Waldo’s child (“Nepo baby”), this piece is a tongue-in-cheek exploration of absentee parents wrapped in the trappings of the “Where’s Waldo?” cultural phenomenon.
• The narrator grapples with the inheritance of fame, the volatile nature of their father’s presence, and the peculiarity of growing up with a family figure constantly vanishing into crowds.
• The story is suffused with melancholy and absurdity, twining earnest feelings about parental absence with the winking meta-joke of literally never being able to find your dad.

Memorable Quotes:

• On Resemblance:
  “Worst of all, I had his eyes, those black, beady eyes that seemed to scream ‘Find me,’ even when I was trying to hide.” — Narrator [16:39]
• On Parental Absence:
  “If only they knew that finding him was the easy part. Keeping him around was the real challenge.” — Narrator [17:18]
• On Waldo’s Tragic End:
  “He had a heart attack at Coachella. It would have been easy enough to treat, but the paramedics couldn't locate him in time.” — Narrator [22:37]

Notable Moments:

• The gentle, hilarious reframing of Waldo’s perpetual absence as typical “dad out for cigarettes” drama, but with stripes and global notoriety.
• Wolitzer’s trivia postscript:
  “Did you know that in the UK, Ireland and Australia, Waldo is called Wally?... Even the name of this character is slippery as he traverses the globe.” — Meg Wolitzer [24:53]

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3. The Unbudging Lodger and Spooky Absence

Story: A Minor Disturbance by Anita Felicelli
Performed by: Jill Eikenberry
Timestamps: [28:23]-[56:17]

Synopsis & Discussion Points:

• Jacy, alone in her mountain home with her children, discovers a mysterious lodger has moved into the spare room—no event marked his arrival, and he leaves only unsettling traces.
• Attempts to confront, evict, or even meet him are met with silence; meanwhile, the house undergoes slow transformation until it’s wholly unfamiliar.
• The parallel disappearance of Jacy’s husband (lost on an expedition) sharpens the story’s focus on the anguish and lack of control accompanying absences that defy explanation or closure.

Memorable Quotes:

• On the Mysterious Presence:
  “He could be anybody. He could be someone off the street. Somehow, in the mystery that surrounded him, he'd acquired an odd power over her, over the house.” — Story Narrator [31:00]
• On Powerlessness:
  "She couldn't help her tone, pugilistic, forbidding. 'You there?' ... The doorknob was cold to the touch." [38:53]
• On the Uncanny Stall:
  “All the pictures were different. Yet again he'd taken away the silk flowers altogether. He replaced the utensils. He replaced her mother's china. Time rolled on, and soon none of the original furnishings remained in the house.” — Story Narrator [53:30]
• On Ultimate Futility:
  “...she lit a match in the kitchen... The grease fire spread... She was determined to see the lodger once and for all, now that he destroyed everything she could remember of her home. But as the last wall came down, the lodger never emerged.” — Story Narrator [56:05]

Notable Moments:

• The sense of claustrophobia and surreal dread as Jacy fails, over years, to reclaim her home from the unseen lodger.
• The parallel between the physical invasion of the lodger and the emotional void left by her husband’s loss—neither disappearance nor presence is ever resolved.

Host’s Takeaway:

• Wolitzer reflects on how the story refuses straightforward resolution, drawing listeners into a state of “shifting, unsettling, and muted reality.”
  “Silence and stillness in works of art and life often feel eerie, in part because the absence of sound, of response denies us the confirmation that all humans desire, denies us the answers to the questions we seek. Am I alone? Is someone there?” — Meg Wolitzer [56:17]

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Additional Insights & Tone

• Wolitzer’s opening remarks set the tone for playful mystery and a touch of melancholy:
  “When someone vanishes ... there's a quality of mystery ... We might find ourselves asking all kinds of questions: Where did this person go? When did they go? Are they coming back?” [01:08]
• Across all stories, the act of vanishing is a catalyst for humor, tension, and the wrestling with the unknowable—reminding us that fiction is most satisfying not when it answers questions, but when it compels us to live with them.

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Key Timestamps for Story Segments

| Segment | Start | End | |-----------------------------------------------------------|------------|------------| | Wolitzer’s Introduction & Theme | 01:08 | 04:07 | | Story 1: "We Have Your Son" (Kidnapping Satire) | 04:07 | 15:12 | | Wolitzer’s Reflection on Epistolary Form | 15:12 | 16:39 | | Story 2: "Where’s Dad?" (Waldo Parody) | 16:39 | 24:53 | | Wolitzer’s Trivia and Transition | 24:53 | 26:59 | | Story 3: "A Minor Disturbance" (Unsettling Lodger) | 28:23 | 56:17 | | Wolitzer’s Final Reflection | 56:17 | 58:48 |

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Notable Quotes Highlight Reel

• “Tell him he plateaued in piano years ago.” — Alison Thatcher Hargrave [08:03]
• “If only they knew that finding him was the easy part. Keeping him around was the real challenge.” — Waldo’s Child [17:18]
• “You can't just live here rent free, you know.” — Jacy [39:00]
• “It irritated her to think of him believing he’d pulled a fast one on her, that because she was alone, a widow, she made herself think she wouldn’t have the gumption to get rid of him.” — Story Narrator [54:10]

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Conclusion: Episode Resonance

"Now You See Him, Now You Don’t" is a showcase of clever, surprising, and poignant spins on the theme of disappearance. With humor, emotional acuity, and a touch of the supernatural, the episode examines what it means to lose—or fail to hold—what we assume to be ours: children, parents, homes, and the certainty of presence itself. Through pitch-perfect performances and masterful storytelling, the episode is an invitation not just to witness others' vanishing acts, but to reflect on the unfinished mysteries in our own lives.

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For more episodes: Selected Shorts Podcast

Transcript

[Narrator/Announcer]

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[Meg Wolitzer]

I'm Meg Wolitzer. I am a writer and not a magician, but I swear in the next hour you will witness three very, very different disappearing acts. That's right, do not adjust your headphones or speakers. Get ready for Selected Shorts as some very fictional human beings vanish into thin air. I'd say you won't believe your eyes, but in truth, you won't really need them. Stay right where you you're listening to Selected Shorts where our greatest actors transport us through the magic of fiction, one short story at a time. When someone vanishes, it can be a shock. Whether it's sudden and unexpected, or it feels like someone slowly tiptoed out of their former life. It can be hard for those of us who are left behind, you know, wondering why their stool remains unoccupied at the dive bar we assumed would always be a mutual favorite. I mean, Deb the bartender stocked fresh mint year round because you two drank juleps even in winter. But there's also a quality of mystery to this kind of disappearing act. We might find ourselves asking all kinds of questions. Where did this person go? When did they go? Are they coming back? Underlying the simple queries, there are deeper ones about why they felt they had to go, what we may have done wrong if there will always be aspects of our friends and loved ones that remain hidden from us. And, of course, will this person buy the first round of juleps when they reappear? These head scratchers and others are part of the reason that disappearances make great fodder for fiction. So this week on Selected Shorts, stories about people who vanish. But we want to stress as Scary as disappearances in the real world can be, these stories are more playful and a bit stranger. In one piece, a kidnapping goes kerflooey. In a second, a lodger haunts his new hosts. And in a third, the child of Waldo from Where's Waldo speaks out first, a darkly funny piece that will, for some of you, recall a famous O. Henry story. Its authors, Ben Cronengold and Rebecca Shaw, have written for the Tonight show with Jimmy Fallon and they co authored a volume volume of short pieces titled Naked in the Rideshare. They're also the creators of the FX series Adults. The story is a kind of dialogue, so we ask two actors to perform, Jill Eikenberry and Michael Tucker. Tucker has been to Broadway multiple times and appeared in films such as Radio Days. Ikenberry appeared in movies such as Young Adult and in recent series like Elspeth. And both performers are known as principals in the long running series L A Law. Now Tucker and Eikenberry perform we have youe Son by Ben Cronengold and Rebecca Shaw.

[Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender]

We have your son. Subject. We have your son. From sender blocked To Alison Thatcher Hargrave. Tell no one you have received this message. Do not forward or share. We have your son. He is unharmed for now. But if you ever want to see Harrison again, you must follow our instructions exactly. Tomorrow you will withdraw $5 million in twenty dollar bills from your nearest bank. The bills must be unmarked or we will know. Once this is completed, you will receive a call on your house phone between 10 and 11am with instructions for the exchange. Know this. We are but one arm of a global cabal with eyes around the world. Our reach is wide and our influence immeasurable. If you call the police or in any way attempt to interfere with us, you will lose your precious Harrison forever. Act fast.

[Narrator/Announcer]

Anonymous subject. Ray. We have your son. From Alison Thatcher Hargrave to sender blocked. Keep him best Alice and Thatcher Hargrave.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Ray.

[Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender]

Ray. We have your son. From sender blocked To Alison Thatcher Hargrave. Let us be clear. Unless you comply with our instructions, you will never see your son again. There is no organization on earth that can find him. We will not release Harrison until we have the $5 million in hand. Respond immediately to confirm that you understand. These demands do not test our patience.

[Narrator/Announcer]

Anonymous subject. Ray. Ray. Ray. We have your son. From Alison Thatcher Hargrave to sender blocked. Totally understand. He's all yours. Thanks. Alison Thatcher.

[Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender]

Subject. Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray. We have your son. From Cinderblock to Alison Thatcher Hartgrave. Do you Think this is a joke? Do not make us angry. Consider this your final warning to comply. Anonymous P.S. harrison is proving disruptive as a captive. He refuses to cooperate without phone access. We can't give him his phone for obvious reasons, but we let him watch. Bad Bunny's instastory from afar. Worked for a while. Advise immediately.

[Narrator/Announcer]

From Alison Thatcher Hargreave. Sorry for the delay. We went out to dinner last night. First time in forever. Lol. Ray Harrison, teens, Right. Not good with downtime. Aim for six to eight. Scheduled activities daily. Twitch doesn't count, but is a good outlet for his violent tendencies. Also, PSATs are in three months, but assume you guys are taking point now. Thanks so much. All the best.

[Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender]

Alison Thatcher from Cinderblock. We are growing weary of this. If the ransom is not paid in 24 hours, we will begin to cut off Harrison's fingers, starting with the ones he says he needs for piano lessons. There is no other way.

[Narrator/Announcer]

From Alison Thatcher Hargrave. Tell him he plateaued in piano years ago. Also, there is no other way. T H E I R P S A TS Worried for you guys.

[Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender]

Alison Thatcher from Sender Blocked. We are lowering the ransom to 4 million. Really? Anywhere in the 3? 4 million dollar, that'd be fine. Now listen closely. What's the deal with his food restrictions? Are these real or is he fucking with us? I mean, I have never heard of an oil intolerance. Can't find anything about it online. Thanks. Anonymous.

[Narrator/Announcer]

From Alison Thatcher Hargrave. Oil intolerance is unfortunately real. If he's telling you he's vegan though, he just decided that on Wednesday. So don't stress too much. We just lie and tell him we're serving impossible meat. Lol. By the way, he's on this kick about growing out his hair lately. Just let him do it. College interviews aren't until the fall, at which point, cut it without question. He says it's an aesthetic identity. Just tune out, Maybe tie him up. Assume you have ropes, zip ties, et cetera.

[Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender]

From Senator Blocked. Harrison won't take his Accutane. Instead he's trying some skin care routine he saw in 4chan and now he has a rash and his shit smells terrible. Still have not heard from you about the ransom. Two mils sound okay? Please respond soon. Thanks.

[Narrator/Announcer]

From automatic response. Alison Thatcher Hargrave. Aloha. If you're receiving this message, the Hargraves are away from their computers. We're spending the next week on a long overdue lanai vacation. With limited access to email, please direct all urgent Messages to our Household Manager, Danielle hargraveassistantmail.com Hope you're having a peaceful summer. Xx Alison Thatcher.

[Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender]

To hargraveasstmail.com from sender blocked hey Danielle, it's us. We kidnapped Harrison. Not sure if the Hargraves have mentioned. Hope you're doing well. We're just following up on the below messages to the Hargraves. Could you please ask them to contact us as soon as they can? Also, Harrison said we need to pick up his prescription. What is Zoloftelax? Nice To E Meat Anonymous to send her blocks.

[Narrator/Announcer]

From hargraveassistanmail.com hi guys. So sorry. The Hargreaves Hargraves say they'll get in touch when they get back.

[Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender]

To hargraveasstmail.com from sender block Any word? It's been 10 days. To hargraveasstMail.com from sender blocked hello.

[Narrator/Announcer]

From Allison Thatcher Hargrave. Sorry, team just touched down a couple days ago and this was stuck in the email backlog. Feels like we need another vacation already. Ha. Politely passing on 2 million. For that amount, you should have kidnapped our daughter Lily. 7 years old. She's an angel. How's Harrison?

[Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender]

A and T from josephkinsingtonmail.com not great. He's been writing song parodies about the political climate and trying them out on us. When we didn't clap like we meant it, he said art is dead and threatened to cut off his own fingers. Then he laughed and said, it's a vibe we cannot emphasize enough. Your child is broken. Please write back soon with plans to take him back. Half a mil would suffice. From a cinder blocked Last email sent from Wrong address.

[Narrator/Announcer]

From Alison Thatcher Hargrave. No worries, we're not looking into it. Bummer about Harrison. Sounds like a phase. We love our son, but honestly, we don't half a mil love him, if that makes sense.

[Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender]

From Cinder blocked. 250k.

[Narrator/Announcer]

From Alison Thatcher Hargrave. No deal. From Cinder blocked 90k from Alison Thatcher Hargrave. Respectfully decline. Thanks.

[Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender]

From cinder blocked we will pay you.

[Narrator/Announcer]

From Alison Thatcher Hargrave. Is it bad if we say no?

[Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender]

From sender blocked yes, it's bad.

[Narrator/Announcer]

From Alison Thatcher Hargrave. Give us a little time to chew it over. Thanks so much.

[Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender]

From Cinderblock. Dear Alison Thatcher, we hope you had a nice summer. Danielle says you're in Morocco now. Sounds fun. We're reaching out because things are looking up here. Your son turns out to be a pretty cool kid, especially once we gave him his phone back. He explained he wouldn't call the cops. Thinks they shouldn't exist. He's been showing us some pretty hilarious videos on TikTok and we showed him Seinfeld, which he says isn't as shit boring as he thought. It's been, I don't know, nice watching a kid who generally feels his feelings. Hell, he even helped us understand ours too. We do vibe checks once a week now. Today was a grumpy day, but that's okay because we're giving each other space to decompress. Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks. See attached photo of us across state lines. Sorry about the pierced ear, but at least it's still attached to his head. You know all the best, Joe and Ralph. Oh a PS Going forward a clip to his new voting rights song parody. Harrison says it still needs mastering, but honestly, we are pretty proud. From harrison.hargravemail.com to Alison Thatcher Hargrave mom and dad, what's my cloud sound password? Respond immediately. Do not test my patience. Joe and Ralph taught me that. Thank you.

[Meg Wolitzer]

That was we have youe Son by Rebecca Shaw and Ben Cronengold, performed by Jill Eikenberry and Michael Tucker. The epistolary form that is a story told in letters serves that story well. We know just as much about Harrison as we need to know, and we can easily imagine Harrison making his kidnapper's day to day life unbearable. And I must say, as the mother of two former teenagers, Any mention of preparation for the PSATs is extremely triggering to me. I never again want to HEAR the word PSATs, if it's even a word, and not just a bunch of letters signifying a highly stressful experience for college bound teenagers and their parents. Next, something from writer Claire Friedkin. She's a Harvard graduate who oversaw Satire 5, the university's satirical news publication, and the producers at Selected Shorts commissioned this piece from her. It all seems like a pretty straightforward quest, implied by the story's title, until you figure out who that parent is. Reading this story is Emily Skeggs. She was a Tony nominee for Fun Home, and she starred in the indie film Dinner in America and has appeared in series such as When We Rise and Now Emily Skaggs Reads Where's Dad? By Claire Friedkin.

[Story Narrator/Character]

It's not easy being a Nepo baby growing up in the shadow of a celebrity dad means that his fame always came first. Whenever he left on trips for work, people would ask me where he was this time. Rome. Cairo. The Wild West. But I didn't know Either. I was looking for him like everyone else. The one place I found him with any regularity was the mirror. We were nearly identical, our resemblance almost cartoonish, the same lanky frame, the same swoop of wavy brown hair. Worst of all, I had his eyes, those black, beady eyes that seemed to scream Find me. Even when I was trying to hide. I tried swapping out my chunky black frames for a pair of gold wire rim glasses, but my father's eyes still stared back at me. Turns out you can't escape genetics just by slapping on a pair of Warby Parkers. People on the street would confirm the resemblance. Oh my God, you're his spitting image. They'd gush. I'd brace myself for what I knew was coming. I have to say, I've always wanted to find Waldo. I'd nod politely, thinking, you and me both, buddy. If only they knew that finding him was the easy part. Keeping him around was the real challenge. When he was away, my father sent postcards, each one a lesson in absurd scenarios and the geography of impossible landscapes. One week he'd be navigating through a sea of pirates and sea monsters, his striped shirt barely visible among the tentacles and eye patches. The next he'd be dodging mammoths in a prehistoric tableau, leaving footprints in the snow alongside dinosaur tracks. And then, without warning, he'd be back, armed with knickknacks from whatever far flung location he had just visited. Our house was filled with souvenirs from Dad's travels. The coat rack was a repurposed ship master. Our coffee table was an ancient Aztec sacrificial altar. Mom converted a knight's helmet into a flower vase. His returns were always unexpected. One moment I'd be staring at the front door, and then he'd materialize as though he'd been there the whole time, holding his red and white striped duffel, a weary smile on his face. My mother would rush to him, her palpable relief mixed with simmering anger. Welcome, she'd say, her voice shaky. He'd hug her, and for a moment everything would seem normal. To his credit, he did try to play with me, but the games weren't exactly fun. I wouldn't recommend trying to win a staring contest against my dad. The one game he refused to play was hide and seek. Sudden he'd say, don't ask me to bring my work home with me. At home, his closet was full of iterations of the same outfit he wore on set. Red and white striped sweaters, blue jeans, and that iconic bobble hat I once asked why he never varied his wardrobe. He just chuckled and said, I don't wear the stripes they wear me. The paparazzi loved trying to find him on his off days. They were always after candid shots where Waldo looked like he'd let himself go a little bit. One paper devoted a weekly column to it. Here's Waldo. Here's Waldo at the Pay by the Ounce frozen yogurt place. Here's Waldo with his arms full of Dunkin Donuts, cigarette dangling from his lips. We had a dog named Woof, a gift from dad when he'd missed my birthday again. Woof was loyal, always waiting by the door for dad to return, tail wagging with endless optimism. For a while, Woof was just like us. But then dad started bringing Wolf along on his trips, leaving me more alone than ever. Mom and dad fought endlessly about his absences. You think I want to travel so much? You think it's glamorous standing next to a circus tent all day? He'd retort, exasperated. Mom had married a global celebrity, had gotten the luxurious lifestyle she'd always wanted. But at what cost? A missing husband, an absent father, and a drinking problem. Exasperated by the incessant rumors about Dad's secret life, the years passed and the pattern remained. With each trip, the space between us grew wider, the time away longer. Soon his returns brought less relief than dread. About his next departure, my mother grew paranoid and jealous, consumed by the thought that he was consorting with more worldly women. What happens at the Mighty Fruit Fight stays at the Mighty Fruit Fight, he whispered to me once with a wink.

[Narrator/Announcer]

I was 10.

[Story Narrator/Character]

One night, my mother couldn't take it anymore. She flung a tabloid at him, screaming, where's Waldo's wedding ring? Again and again. He left that night, didn't come back for years after he left, I scoured the pages like everyone else. Often I thought I'd found my father, only to realize I was looking at a barber's pole. Most people don't know the story behind his death. He had a heart attack at Coachella. It would have been easy enough to treat, but the paramedics couldn't locate him in time. We'll never understand why he decided to stand next to that red and white striped beach umbrella. These days, my mother leaves candy canes on his headstone in the local cemetery. It's a quiet place, peaceful, a stark contrast to the tumult of his professional life. Sometimes on the street, I see a striped shirt, and I can't help but wonder if his death was a trick. One last attempt to hide from the world. The strange thing is, I've caught myself adopting his habits more and more, I'm the one people can't seem to find in a crowded room. Despite my best efforts. Last week, my friend asked why I'd missed his wedding, even though I was sitting in the front row. The world feels both clearer and emptier without my father in it. I've taken to wearing his clothes. It feels strangely right, like it's meant to be. I've never felt more lost.

[Meg Wolitzer]

That was Where's Dad? By Claire Friedkin Performed by Emily Skeggs I'm Meg Wolitzer. And listen, if you didn't get the reference there, it means you somehow hid from a ubiquitous cultural phenomenon for more than 30 years. And in that case, you really and truly pulled a Waldo. Did you know that in the uk, Ireland and Australia, Waldo is called Wally? In France, he's Charlie. In Germany, he's Walter. In Denmark, he's Holger. In Norway, he's Willy. And on and on. Fittingly, even the name of this character is slippery as he traverses the globe. But this version of the man in Stripes Breathed Life into by Claire Friedkin in her ingenious story stands out in any crowd when we return. What's worse? The roommate who never, ever leaves the couch or his exact opposite. I'm Meg Wolitzer. You're listening to selected shorts recorded live in performance at Symphony Space in New York City and at other venues nationwide. Save over $200 when you book weekly.

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[Meg Wolitzer]

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[Meg Wolitzer]

Welcome back. This is selected shorts where our greatest actors transport us through the magic of fiction one short story at a time. I'm Meg Wolitzer. Our fiction in this episode deals with disappearances, when people go where they go and what happens when you can't see them anymore. Rest easy. We're not disappearing. And to help ensure that we remain where we are to subscribe to the podcast, why don't you? You can do just [e-mail] or your favorite podcasting platform. Not only will you get notified of our weekly episodes, you'll get bonus interviews and episodes of our Spin off podcast, Too Hot for Radio, which is exactly what it sounds like. Our last story of this hour is by writer Anita Felicelli. Her titles include the novel Chimerica and the short story collection How We Know Our Time Travelers. She's also written criticism and essays for the New York Times and others. The story, about varying kinds of absence and clinging rather than finding is both a little absurd and a little spooky. Performing the story is Jill Eikenberry. She read something at the top of the show with her husband, Michael Tucker. Now she returns to read A Minor Disturbance by Anita Felicelli.

[Narrator/Announcer]

A minor disturbance Jacy hadn't met the lodger. She'd never placed an advertisement in the newspaper nor arranged for his arrival. But there was a spacious, furnished spare room with a large window that faced west, and he settled in without much fuss, a mere shadow whose presence changed the house's energy only minutely. Perhaps if he'd come with more fanfare, JC Would have been disturbed and promptly kicked him out. But he arrived over the weekend. Or at least that's when they first heard the sound of his luggage lightly bumping and rolling behind his thudding footsteps from the dining table. They heard the creak of the door and looked at each other, puzzled, uncertain about what to do. Should we say hello? Jaycee's oldest daughter, Angelina, asked as she stirred her rice and vegetables. JC Frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. She crossed her arms, unsure. I suppose we should. Or maybe we should wait until your father comes home. He probably arranged it before the expedition and forgot to tell me. After doing the dishes, the four of them tiptoed down the long, dark hall. The house made a huge cracking sound and then settled on its foundation with a near sigh. JC Held the toddler by the hand, noticing how sweaty with dread he was at the end. A thin line of faint light shone under the door of the spare room, but when Angelina knocked, nobody answered. She knocked again, rapping three times. J.C. shrugged at her. They assumed they would see the lodger the next day at breakfast or dinner later in the week. They looked around the kitchen, curious about what he ate, as if food might serve as a clue about who he was. But he hadn't brought any food. Nevertheless, there were traces of him. He had rearranged the cereal boxes. He left out a clean dish, as if he planned to eat but changed his mind and forgot to put it back in the cabinet above the counter. While Jaycee took her youngest to a preschool music class and Antolina and Noel went to a friend's house to hang out and do God knows what, he must have come out when the family approached the front door. Upon their return, they heard the TV running. They expected to find him sprawled out in the living room, but he was nowhere to be seen. As far as they could tell, he'd been watching some terrible afternoon talk show while eating chips. Tiny potato colored crumbs flecked the black leather couch like dandruff. In the evenings, hoping to catch a glimpse of the lodger, the girls hovered by his door, sniffing. The scents shifted slightly. Shoe polish, leather, yeast, lilacs, rain. It wasn't a perfectly masculine odor, not like the way Noel's room gave off a teenage smell, but something more muddled. Perhaps the lodger wasn't even a man, despite the heavy footfalls on the first night. Sometimes they heard him pace around the room, but it was mostly silent, like he knew they were listening. He showered in the bathroom across from his room when they weren't home. They hadn't used the bathroom in years, but once, when Angelina listened at his door, she noticed water droplets leading from the bathroom door to to his door. Jaycee had gone down to investigate the bathroom. Sure enough, the air was humid, forgotten, and opaque, and sudsy water pooled at the bottom of the tub. Several damp guest towels were strewn over the tile floor. Does he expect us to do his laundry? She grumbled loudly as she picked up the towels, half hoping he would hear her. She opened the medicine cabinet, but there was nothing inside other than what a long ago lodger who'd vacated the room when Angelina was still a baby had left behind. Nearly a week rolled by with no sign of the lodger. Beyond the traces he left behind, Jacy grew uneasy. She was alone in a house in the mountains with three children. He could be anybody. He could be someone off the street. Somehow, in the mystery that surrounded him, he'd acquired an odd power over her, over the house. She resolved to ask her husband to whom he'd rented the room during their upcoming weekly call. She avoided thinking about the inevitable confrontation with her husband. He should have told her he'd rented out the room before he'd left on the expedition. But she began worrying that he had told her and she was the one who hadn't been paying attention. She didn't want to confront him. She had to confront him. Worry welled up inside of her, hot and perplexing, until the moment she heard her husband's voice on the landline. It sounded scratchy and far away. She thought of him, cold and shivering among the polar ice caps, snow surrounding him, snow on this line. He was in such an expansive and empty place that their confusion would seem minor in comparison. She had told him to find someone to move in, hadn't she? She should be more generous about his forgetfulness. So who was this person you rented the room to? What? I'm sorry about that. I never did find a lodger. He was playing a prank on her. He'd done that a lot earlier in their marriage. He'd pretend to fall off a boulder when he was simply jumping to a lower flat rock. He'd had a cactus delivered in place of a Christmas tree one year. Now, when he was away and they were apart, they were sometimes more like they'd been in those early times. Stop joking, she said. Did you check his references? Seriously, I couldn't find anyone. We'll need to post another ad when I get back. Then who is this person living in the room down the hall? Are you turning the tables on me? This isn't funny. I'm nearly 9000 miles away. Atoms of electric dread shifted inside Jacy's body. I'm dead serious. He's down the hall now, but I've never met him. How did he get in the house seemed like something she should know. I'm not sure, but he seems harmless. The most he does is rearrange the furniture. Well, ask for rent. At least we're not running a charity. Asking the lodger to pay rent was a reasonable request. The safest way was to go down the hall one afternoon while the children were at school. The next day, though, it was overcast outside the house, dark. There was no light under the door, but she could hear shuffling inside the room. She knocked. Knocked again. Are you there? We never arranged the rent. More shuffling sounds and then a creak, as if someone had sat down on the chair in front of the window. She tried the door handle. It was locked. Her frustration came to the surface. I need to talk to you. Another creak. You can't just live here rent free, you know. My husband will be home and he'll wonder why you've stayed. The following week, two days before JC's husband was supposed to return from the expedition, he called and said he'd need to take an extra week away. Her heart sank. You'll be back when? Next Friday. I'm sorry. How are you doing there? Do you and the kids need me home? No. I know if they're asking you to do it. JC Glanced around the room, her ear cocked, as it always was now, to hear whether the lodger had left his room. I'll be back soon, he said. Perhaps the lodger had been somewhere down the hall listening to her side of the conversation, because as the days passed, he grew bolder. Unseen. He alphabetized the bookshelves in the living room. He moved the radio on the coffee table out of reach to a higher shelf. He replaced pictures. The sedate painting of bay stallions on the dining room wall was exchanged for a surreal collage featuring a narwhal. The silk roses on the dining table were replaced with velvet pansies. One day, when Jacy was picking the children up from school, the huge wooden cross with golden tips was carried away from the foyer. She stared at the discolored wall where the cross had been, its image branded upon the wood. When the children scattered to their respective rooms to do their homework, she paused at the entry of the living room. It hardly seemed her own living room. Bit by bit, Jacy's life, so orderly, so scheduled, so meticulously planned, was turned over. On a daily basis she thought of confronting the lodger, but weeks passed and she couldn't figure out how to confront him properly. Her husband's job had extended his stay. They had discovered ancient hills and rivers strangely well preserved beneath an ice sheet, and during each weekly call he'd asked for if she'd managed to kick the lodger out yet. I'm waiting for you to come home. You can do it. I don't like to think of you alone in that house with a stranger, her husband said. Well, then, come home, she said. The children were used to their father's long absences, and the house ticked on with its familiar clockwork. Yet the lodger's unseen presence seemed to change the very air that they breathed in inside their own house. It was not their own anymore. All the molecules were rearranged. Sometimes, when they returned home after being away for a few hours, the house no longer smelled like their own familiar spices, but like something colder and more piquant. Her children never ask any questions, but Jaycee felt they must notice the strangeness, that their house was transforming before them. She went down the hall, the light under the door visible, and knocked silence, as she'd expected, dreaded. She turned on the hallway light. Two of the three incandescent bulbs had blown out, and the hall remained dim, a permanent twilight. Shuffling and rustling sounds arose from inside the room. She couldn't help her tone, pugilistic, forbidding.

[Story Narrator/Character]

You there?

[Narrator/Announcer]

The doorknob was cold to the touch. Slowly she turned it, willing it to be locked so that she wouldn't see anything she didn't want to see. The door was locked. An irrational panic gripped her. She tried to turn the knob again, as if she'd get a different result. Her heart sunk with the enormity of what was happening. He couldn't just live in the house, uncommunicative, without paying rent, without respecting the furnishings and the pictures. Propelled by pure, icy anger, she turned the doorknob again and again, senselessly. Open the door. She shouted, her breath ragged. Open the damn door. It's our door, not yours. Tears of frustration formed in her eyes. Mommy, are you okay? Aaron was standing in his yellow pajamas with owl feet in the dim hallway, blinking his nubby baby blanket he dragged with him strewn on the floor behind. She sucked in her breath and wiped her eyes. I'm sorry. I'm okay, Cuddy. Let's go back to your room. He clutched her clammy hand with his tiny, hot, sweaty fingers. They traveled the long hallway to the other end of the house, and she sent him to the bathroom to pee again while she turned down the covers on his bed. When he returned and crawled into his bed, she sat on the edge and held his hand, keeping an ear cocked for sounds elsewhere in the house. I'm scared. Can you sleep with me? Aaron asked. Just for a few minutes, she whispered. She was still listening for sounds, wondering if the lodger would come charging. Through the shadows in the hall, she could hear the quiet sounds of her other children in their rooms nearby, Aunt Helena on the phone, Noel playing video games. She flung an arm around Aaron, and as she held him close, his breathing changed, quickened the feel of him breathing as if they were the same person until she strained to hear her other children beyond the immediate sounds of his shallow breaths. She woke the next morning before anyone was up and unwrapped herself from Aaron, quietly padding down the hall and past the sliding glass doors of the living room, glimpsing a dreamy pink light percolating through the yuzu tree and feeling uncertain about whether she was ready to shake things up with the lodger and spring spoil the peace of those early hours. She moved across the room to the hall and then stood for a moment at the lodger's door and tried not to let herself breathe as quickly as she and Aaron had the night before. Damp air was drifting out of the bathroom across from his door. She pushed the bathroom door open gently and felt the warm droplets of water on the air so he'd had a shower. She returned to stand by his door again. I know you're in there, she announced loudly, with more confidence than she felt. You can't stay in here forever, and eventually you'll have to come out. Later that day, after she'd made breakfast for the older children and sent them to a friend's house to play, she received a call from her husband's phone unexpectedly. A fizz of anxiety arose in her, and when she heard the voice on the other end, a baritone she'd heard many times at her husband's office party, she knew immediately the news would be upsetting. She muted the TV and perched on the edge of the couch. She willed the news to be somehow okay. I'm so sorry, Jelsey. Ma', am. Your husband has disappeared. When? Her grip tightened on the phone. A week ago he went out with a few others across the sea ice to Peterman Island. It was supposed to be a one day trip to collect samples to compare to the ones from the eastern ice sheet, but a storm blew in and disrupted the ice and they weren't able to return. He paused as if to let this much of the news sink in. When the ice was in place. We went out there, he said. Yesterday and again today. We searched but couldn't find them. You'll go out again, won't you? We will go out one more time, he said carefully. But we've made a thorough sweep. JC Hung up with a deep shudder. She thought of her husband. Buried in the snow was the last conversation they'd had about the lodger. She wished she could go back and have the conversation again and talk about the children, reminisce about the day they'd met, the day they'd married. Why did their last conversation have to center on that fucking lodger? There had always been risks to his work, they'd always known, but somehow the possibility of stones, the possibility of a crevasse, had never felt real. He'd never had a colleague die. Now he was the colleague who died. Her whole body felt icy, as if she were alone in a snowstorm. Naked, unguarded, she couldn't stop shivering. She went through the motions of making dinner and talking to the children about what they'd done at school. None of them suspected anything was amiss. When she tucked Aaron in, he flopped over without asking her to stay, as he had done the night before. His cheeks had less baby fat. It felt like her heart was vibrating, like maybe her body could sense, even from all this distance, her husband's body lost somewhere on the ice floes, his spirit abandoning his body. One day he would be like those rivers and hills preserved under the ice, and she too would go disappearing under her ceaseless anxiety, the long, steady bleed of it for the rest of her life. In the living room, the TV played on while she thought only of him before she got to her feet, shut it off, and all of it, out of habit, retired to her room. The following morning, when JC Returned to the house after dropping the kids off at school, she opened the front door and saw that the house had been put asunder. The couch was overturned, cushions yanked out, the chairs stood on end like animals on their backs. Pictures had been torn from the walls, leaving patches where they'd hung. Silk flowers were shredded and strewn on the living room carpet and at the edge of the adjacent dining room, with the white breakfast bowls still sitting on the dining table from when the children had eaten pancakes there. The dahlias she bought every week at the market cascaded across the soaked tablecloth and spilled onto the floor in pink ecstasy. She didn't even bother to close the front door but raced into the dining room with a cry. Like a mad woman. She ran among the capsized furniture and pictures and flowers, kicking and flailing with so much abandon anyone might have thought she was dancing. Her head was empty, but for revenge. She wanted revenge for the house, for the way in which this lodger had taken it over as if it were his own. Tracey charged down the hall and pounded on the door until her fists were sore. Let me in. Let me in. You can't ruin my home like this. She crumpled to the floor and stared at the door for hours, willing it to open. She could hear the faintest rustling. The lodger did not take her seriously. JC Thought about her husband, but how they'd chosen this house together. Just before Antolina was born. They were scheduled to have a call at the end of the week, after he'd finished collecting samples out on the ice. She took out her cell phone and scrolled through her contacts. She thought about fetching a neighbor, but thought of revealing that she'd simply allowed this lodger to take over the house. She didn't know how she could explain the weeks that had passed. She considered calling the police, but ever since a run in with two diligent rent A cops. In her teenage years, she'd feared and mistrusted them. It seemed so violent to involve the police, like she was spoiling for a fight. It would escalate matters, take the quarrel with the lodger into unknown territory. And the police might blame her, too. What would she say about the lodger, how he got into the house? Perhaps they would think she'd invited the lodger. Or else why would he show up so brazen? She rose and went back to the living room, unsure of where to start cleaning up after hours. Confronted with such disorder, she swallowed her pride and called the police. The woman who took her information sounded like she'd just been woken up, her questions stretched out, seemingly interminable. JC Clutched the phone to her ear as she answered them. The dispatcher sent an officer who arrived 20 minutes later. He looked soft from suburban life, his gut hanging comfortably over his pants. He walked in and looked around. She'd managed to clean up the dahlias and mop up the spilled water. She picked up the silk petals and she handed them to him. This is what he did. The room was still visibly disturbed. Your lodger did all this? The officer asked. His eyebrows were raised in skepticism. Did you see him doing it? Well, no. I mean, I came home and it was like this. I can't assume it was him. Are there any signs of forced entry? No, I don't think so. She shrugged helplessly. He went from door to door and checked the windows. Look, he said. Your sliding glass door is unlatched. One of the children probably just forgot to close it, JC Said. He took out some equipment and began padding at the sides of the door. Dusting for fingerprints, he explained. Don't you want to check down the hall? That's where he is. Just a minute. He put something into a baggie. I'm sure nobody broke in, Officer. You never can be too careful. If I were you, I'd check all the entrances of the house that they're locked before going out. She led him down the hall to the lodger's room. He knocked. It's the police, sir. You see, he won't let you in. He's unreasonable. The officer turned the doorknob and tried to push the door open. If he doesn't want to be disturbed, that's that, he said. You can't be serious. There's nothing you can do. The officer shrugged. You could evict him, I guess. Anyway, you catch him messing things around again, you give us a call. When the officer left, there were still a few hours before she would need to pick up the kids from school. She searched for a lawyer using her phone and called a solo practitioner who specialized in landlord tenant issues. His secretary patched her through to the lawyer. He sounded like an elegant gentleman in his voice she heard tobacco and scotch and a whisper of silk. She explained about the lodger, how he'd appeared one day and gradually changed the entire house. And now she needed to get rid of him as quickly as possible. You never signed a rental agreement. That does put you in a bind, the lawyer said. Now there was judgment in his voice, as if she'd done something wrong in not meeting the lodger. I never met him. He just showed up and took over that room without a word. He never comes out except when we're gone. He ruined the living room. The police thought I might evict him. But you haven't seen him. Do you know if he ever comes out of that bedroom? He must. He takes showers in a bathroom across the hall. I can draw up the paperwork, but you need to serve them. After they hung up, JC Felt a weight had been lifted from her chest, leaving a comfortable hollow, a refreshing coolness around her heart. She would simply camp out in front of the lodger's door and thrust the papers upon him. She cleaned up the living room slowly, one ear trained to the hallway, wondering if he would come out and claim the squalor he had foisted the upon them. Jaycee went to pick up the children with trepidation, worried that he'd wrecked everything again. But after she fetched them and they returned chattering and bright eyed to the house, she saw that everything was much as she'd left it that night. She told the children about their father's disappearance and as she'd expected, the grief was more than she could bear. They asked the question she'd asked her husband's boss and she had no satisfactory answer. While they cried, she sailed away on her thoughts. It struck her that she had not cried. She couldn't quite make sense of her husband being missing. The problems with the lodger filled her mind. It was far easier to rage at the lodger than to feel her sorrow. The lawyer faxed the paperwork to her the following day while the children were at school. Each sheet of paper was still hot as she compiled and stapled them together. She she signed her name and went to wait in front of the lodger's door. She knocked and when, as usual, he didn't answer, she sat cross legged in the hall. He'd have to use the bathroom. Eventually. Hours ticked by until it was time to pick up the children. She squirmed, looking at the watch. Just one more minute. One more. She gave up and drove to get the children. When they entered the house, she heard the sound of a flushing toilet and ran down the hall. He had already vanished into his room. Of course he had. JC Sat down cross legged again to wait. She asked Aunt Helena to make sandwiches for her siblings for dinner. She sat there after the children had gone to bed. Eventually, sometime after midnight, her eyes closed and when she woke was 8 in the morning, the eviction notice was still in her hands. There were drops of water on the carpet beside her, and sure enough, the bathroom was full of humid air, the kind of air so thick it seems seemed to hold memories. I know you're there. Why are you doing this to us? This is torture, you know. Torture. She slipped the eviction notice under the door. When she told her attorney, he said that this service might be insufficient, but she tried not to think about that. On the day of the hearing, the judge dismissed the case when the lodger failed to show up, and she had to admit she hadn't personally served him, that she'd never seen him at all. I told you as much, the lawyer said. She no longer detected the silk in his voice. Now that her case had proven to be a dud, he was using a rougher voice, Brusque burlap. She paid him with a personal check and returned home weary and exhausted. More pictures had been changed and a new couch sat in the living room. Ugly, modern, not at all to her. Chaste. Her husband's boss phoned again. Another search had been conducted on Peterman island, but none of the missing people had been found. Rotely. She turned on the tv. Perhaps it didn't matter that the lodger was there rent free. He hadn't done anything to them. But it irritated her to think of him believing he'd pulled a fast one on her, that because she was alone, a widow, she made herself think she wouldn't have the gumption to get rid of him the following night, or maybe another night after, since there no longer seemed to be markers, dark or light, she could rely upon. After she cooked dinner, she realized with a start that the lodger had changed all the dining room furniture. He had replaced all the chairs. Every day there was something new. He painted the living room orange. He brought in hideous furniture that collapsed or died on cinder blocks, like a car about to be worked on in the the driveway. All the paintings were different. Yet again he'd taken away the silk flowers altogether. He replaced the utensils. He replaced her mother's china. Time rolled on, and soon none of the original furnishings remained in the house. One day she came home and the little yellow house was painted blue. Angelina left for college and then Noel and then Aaron. The lodger filed an application with the city to change the number of her house and asked for a zoning variance for the room. The city called to ask her questions and told her that he wanted to build a second story. But he can't do this, can he? She asked the lawyer. His voice was full of silk again. It's been a decade, he said. What does that mean? He's squatted in there so long he can claim it under the laws of adverse position possession. She wrote the lawyer a personal check, again unsure for what, but he seemed to expect it. J.C. realized she was on her own. She had to remove the lodger by force. It was the only way. He would never leave on his own. She packed a bag and put it in the car, and then she lit a match in the kitchen. She dropped it on the floor and poured vegetable oil, and for a moment she had doubts. She should grab the baking soda from the refrigerator and put it out. The grease fire spread. It would claim all of the lodger's things, the furniture, the pictures on the front lawn. She waited for him to be smoked out. The house glowed with flames. The house spit flames toward the sky, dancing orange and gold, blue hearted the walls blackened and crumbled to the ground. The neighbors called the fire department. She stood waiting, not allowing anyone to drag her away. She was determined to see the lodger once and for all, now that he destroyed everything she could remember of her home. But as the last wall came down, the lodger never emerged.

[Meg Wolitzer]

That was Jill Eikenberry performing a minor disturbance. By Anita Felicelli I'm Meg Wolitzer. The maddening silence of the lodger in that story makes us want to fill it in, to be present and loud and physical ourselves. It also makes us want to be a smart reader and solve the story. But Felicelli is onto us and moves the story past our simple understanding of plot, instead taking it further into a shifting, unsettling, and muted reality. Silence and stillness in works of art and life often feel eerie, in part because the absence of sound, of response denies us the confirmation that all humans desire, denies us the answers to the questions we seek. Am I alone? Is someone there? While the Felicelli story has its unsettling qualities, I hope you noted that sense of mystery underlying all of today's fiction. When something unexpected like a disappearance happens, it can eat at us, especially if it remains unresolved. And writers are nothing if not attentive to all of those things which burrow under the skin. But something that vanishes might be absurd or playful or point towards some new way forward. Case in point, it's time for my very own disappearing act. All I need to do is say the magic words. I'm Meg Wolitzer. Thanks for joining me for Selected Shorts. And then poof. Selected Shorts is produced by Jennifer Brennan and and Sarah Montague. Our team includes Matthew Love, Drew Richardson, Mary Shimkin, Vivienne Woodward and Magdalene Robleski. The readings are recorded by Myles B. Smith. Our programs, presented at the Getty center in Los Angeles, are recorded by Phil Richards. Our theme music is David Peterson's that's the Deal, performed by the Dierdorf Petersen Group. Selected Shorts is supported by the Dungannon Foundation. This program is also made possible with public funds from the New York State Council on the Arts, with the support of Governor Kathy Hochul and the New York State Legislature. Selected Shorts is produced and distributed by Symphony Space.

[Story Narrator/Character]

Sam.

[Narrator/Announcer]

Limu Emu and Doug. Here we have the Limu Emu in.

[Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender]

Its natural habitat, helping people customize their car insurance and save hundreds with Liberty Mutual. Fascinating. It's accompanied by his natural ally, Doug. Uh, Limu is that guy with the binoculars watching us?

[Commercial Voice]

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[Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender]

They see us.

[Narrator/Announcer]

Only pay for what you [e-mail] Liberty Liberty Liberty.

[Kidnapper/Anonymous Sender]

Liberty Savings Fairy Unwritten by Liberty Mu.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Mutual Insurance Company Affiliates Excludes Massachusetts.

[Narrator/Announcer]

Welcome to Walgreens.

[Story Narrator/Character]

Looking for a holiday gift?

[Commercial Voice]

Sort of.

[Meg Wolitzer]

My cousin Freddy showed up to surprise us.

[Story Narrator/Character]

Oh, sounds like a real nice surprise.

[Narrator/Announcer]

Exactly. So now I have to get him a gift, but I haven't gotten my bonus yet.

[Meg Wolitzer]

So if we can make it something really nice but also not break the.

[Narrator/Announcer]

Bank, that'd be perfect.

[Story Narrator/Character]

How about a keurig for 50% off.

[Commercial Voice]

Bingo savings all season. The holiday road is long. We're with you all the way. Walgreens offer valid November 26 through December 27. Exclusions apply.