By Gurney Poe

I was pretty sure someone was watching us. Nobody believed me.

“Poe, you’re paranoid,” they said. “Poe, you’re imagining things,” they said. “Poe, maybe lay off the interdimensional espresso,” they said.

Well, guess what? I was RIGHT.

Let me back up.

For the past year (and when I say “year,” I’m being all third-dimensional about it, compressing time into your quaint linear framework. You’re welcome) I kept noticing this lumpy old dude. Notepad. Fedora that looked suspiciously familiar. Lurking.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. The multiverse attracts weirdos like a Renaissance Faire attracts guys named Dirk. And anyone paying attention to Z is obviously missing the important stuff — namely, me.

But then it kept happening.

Derry, New Hampshire, 1935. There he was, scribbling in the corner while Z butchered a job interview.

The Jabberwock, 1967. Same guy. Same notepad. Different decade.

Rocky’s Lab. TessieCo. Elijah’s Diner. And believe me, nobody goes to Elijah’s Diner.

Now, I understand how Z and I do the time-hopping tango. Fifth-dimensional navigation, perspective as reality, the whole backwards-through-doors routine. It’s literally my job.

But how the hell does THIS guy do it?

So I did some digging. Turns out, Mr. Lumpy Notepad is an “author.” A “novelist.” And apparently, this joker regards me and Z as FICTIONAL.

Let that sink in.

He’s been documenting our twelve-century cleanup job like we’re characters in some story he’s making up. Except he’s not making it up, is he? Because he was THERE. I SAW him. Multiple times. Across multiple timelines.

The guy’s either:

1. Extradimensional (unlikely, based on his walk)
2. Time-traveling (possible, but logistically unlikely)
3. Something else entirely (this is the one that keeps me up at night, and I don’t sleep)

And here’s the kicker: he looks a lot like Z. Not exactly, but enough to make me nervous. Same rumpled energy. Same “I just wandered in here by accident” vibe. Same inexplicable ability to turn up exactly where unlikely stuff is happening.

I started tracking him. Call it recon. Call it surveillance. Call it turnabout-is-fair-play because frankly, watching someone get watched is unsettling. (The irony is not lost on me. We do this to Z constantly.)

Then, suddenly, poof. Mr. Lumpy Notepad vanished.

For months, nothing. I figured maybe he’d gotten bored, moved on to some other cosmic catastrophe to document. Maybe Admin had dealt with him. Maybe he’d walked through the wrong door and ended up in 14th-century Lithuania. It happens.

Then yesterday, I’m checking something on — well, just never mind what I was checking, it’s none of your business — and I see it.

Turn Left: The Unintentional Adventures of Z Kooper
By Angus Stump

On Amazon. With a cover and everything.

The lumpy notepad guy WROTE A BOOK. About US. About ME.

I haven’t read it yet. I’m not sure I will. I haven’t decided if I’m more angry or impressed. Maybe both. Definitely indignant. Possibly flattered? No. Angry. Definitely angry.

Because here’s the thing: I don’t know what he knows. I don’t know what he saw.

And I really, REALLY don’t know how he was there to document it without me figuring out until now. Sneaky scuttling lurker.

So anyway, I was right. Someone WAS watching us. Someone WAS taking notes. And that someone just published our entire interdimensional saga for any third-dimensional yayhoo with an Amazon account to read.

I’m seeking my pound of flesh. Also, possibly royalties.