1. But I’m a Fish That Does Not Swim
What do you do when the dog sitter decides you’re next?

Fish’s Mother: Do you know how she is going to kill you, Fish? She is going to use the three dogs against you.
She has two Bichons? She will turn your dog and the other two into Devils and hurt you. You want to know what she is going to do…?

She is going to make the three Devils running in circles at the outside of your house, and there is barking everywhere. You get so scared you start to close the door of every room in the house but you still hear the dogs barking and she is approaching. You will have nowhere to go, and you think to hide in the smallest room of the house, the little bathroom—that’s the safest place. You go into the bathroom and close the door. Suddenly, she breaks the glass windows, the dogs jump in, and she also jumps in, forcing you into the bathtub and filling it with hot water. You will drown.
Text from: “But I’m a Fish That Does Not Swim,” Jane Hsu, 2007

2. Three Months Later, Another Predator

Who do you call when they abuse you in the night?

She introduced Señora H eidi Hernandez into my life as a tenant for an efficiency I’ve had for rent on my property. I could have said no, but before I had a chance to assert myself, the Señora knocked on my door…

If you should find a note when I’m not around, please place it in my “E for enemies” file that I keep in the studio. When the sun goes down, I observe Heidi through her curtainless windows as she paces the length of the house like a mechanical shooter duck at a carnival. In one hand, she holds a soda cracker with a smear of bright yellow margarine as anonymous Latin radio and flickering lights from the ceiling fan keep her company. The light reminds me of the disturbing dream I had last night of Heidi Hernandez huffing on my couch, trying to give birth in a dark room lit only by a television on mute.

Text from: “Three Months Later, Another Predator,” Jane Hsu, 2008

3. Yes, Senor Pablo
The curious case of my dog’s kidnapping in the tropics

The voice of either a young man or a raspy lady said, “How much do you think your dog is worth?”
In shock, I said, “Are you kidding? He’s an old dog, he has allergies—wait, are you feeding him vegetarian food?
He eats vegetarian food, OK?”
“He looks pretty healthy to me,” he said, and added,
“He’s very happy here. I’m going to call you back in a few days.”
The phone call ended with my pleas of, “Wait, wait, wait,” and silence.

Just as the door closed, the phone started to play the same tune. I answered, trying to sound bored, and the caller said, “It’s got to be really quick, really quick.” He hung up. He was losing control.

Text from: “Yes, Senor Pablo,” Jane Hsu, 2008