Trespasser (Part VII)

Posted on October 17, 2014 by R. Richardsson

Several days passed without further incident. Though put off by the anti-social behavior of their new neighbor, they weren’t yet willing to give up on him. Many discussions were held over the phone by the wives. The men stood in their garages, visiting over a beer and an open hood, contemplating the implications of what had transpired that day. All agreed that maybe it was just nerves. Maybe he was unused to his new surroundings and needed some time to adjust.

This seemed to prove true when, less than a week later they got their first good look at him.

He was short and somewhat on the thin side, some might even say scrawny, at what looked to be only five and a half feet with his weight barely into the triple digits. When he first appeared on his front porch, it was without flair, and had there not been at least one of the wives gossiping about him that morning, he would have gone unnoticed.

He stooped slightly as he walked and from a distance he might have been mistaken for a much more advanced age than he actually possessed. His steps were deliberate, one might even say methodical, and he seemed to be weighing the pale faces that watched him from their homes below. He could have been anybody’s teenage son, for his boyish features betrayed the appearance that distance had told.

His features were unremarkable. While he wasn’t pleasant to look upon, nor was he the opposite to behold as well. If it wasn’t for the newness of his presence, or for the fact that he was filling some pretty big shoes by moving into this particular house, they might have quickly forgotten all about him.

He stood with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his black slacks, occasionally rocking from heel to toe where he stood, seemingly enjoying the fresh cool breeze coming in from the north. Hanging from the upper body of his gangling frame, untucked and blowing lightly in the wind, was a white, and very wrinkled, dress shirt.

His hair hung limply over his face, obscuring most of his features but for a slice of the right side, and what did show was smiling ever so slightly. He knew they were watching. He had seen the moon-shaped face of the woman who had approached him with her husband. Even now, she attempted to hide behind the curtains of her kitchen window, her mouth excitedly jabbering into the receiver of her phone. There were two others as well, one watching from where she knelt as she picked weeds from her around her flower bed, and the other from where she sat on her front porch swing.

His teeth appeared from behind his lips and the latter curved upward, revealing a toothy grin that could easily put a wolf to shame, which in of itself wasn’t very far from the truth at all. Making no effort to hide himself, he formed an ‘O’ with his lips and tonelessly pushed out the notes to ‘Pop Goes The Weasel’ as he tucked his shirt into his slacks.

One by one, the faces turned away from their windows, back toward the flowers they should have been focused upon, or into a magazine that just happened to be sitting close by, all suddenly uncomfortable as they realized they were the ones being watched. When he came to the part of the verse that required a pop, instead of acknowledging the sound, he tightened his lips together and sucked in noisily as he blew a lewd kiss in their direction. It was all he could do but contain his laughter as those remaining in his line of sight squirmed uncomfortably, and it took every ounce of control to finish the last few notes as he turned to walk back into his new home.

Trespasser (Part VI)

Posted on September 20, 2014 by R. Richardsson

“How peculiar,” Marsha said to her husband. “Did you just see that?”

“Mm-hmm,” he answered.

She and John had volunteered to invite their new neighbor down, while the others finished getting the food ready. They stood on the sidewalk, looking up the three dozen stairs to the door with trepidation, both knowing that he was looking back down at them.

“I don’t know John,” she suddenly blurted. “You don’t think we rushed into this, do you?”

He looked into his wife’s eyes lovingly and smiled. “No dear,” he laughed, “it’s the right thing to do.” He took her left hand into his right, squeezed it gently and then looked thoughtfully toward the bench that he and his friends had commissioned for Sam.

“Remember when we first moved here,” he reminisced.

“We didn’t know anyone,” she whispered.

“…and being used to big city life, we were afraid.”

She looked into his eyes, fully aware that another set of eyes continued to watch them from behind the lowered blinds above.

“It’s what ‘he’ would do, isn’t it,” she asked in the direction of the bench, and then, “I miss him.”

John nodded as he drew her close for a one-armed hug. They stood there for a few moments, relishing in each other’s comfort, as well as the memory of their friend, before finally climbing the steps before them.

“I…I don’t know,” she breathed fearfully.

“Shh,” he countered. “They’re all waiting on us.”

The front of the house looked as it always had, with Sam’s favorite rocking chair sitting off to the side. They could almost feel his presence there, as if he were waiting to greet them. Just off to the right, and on the small Lazy Susan-styled bench, were a small knife and the various instruments used during the woodcarving process.

“It’s like he never left.”

No sooner had John spoke, than had they heard the first spoken words of the man inside. His voice slithered around the cracks of the doors so gently that if they hadn’t been listening, they might have missed them altogether.

“You can turn on around now, the both of you. You’re not welcome here.”

Marsha looked to her husband for support, brow furrowed in worry, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. There was the hint of worry in his eyes, but he only nodded reassuringly for her to continue.

“We…we would like to interest you in joining us for some good food,” she stammered, “that we have the chance to get to know one another?”

“I have no interest in such things,” he answered coldly. “Nor do I want to get to know you or any of your nosy friends. Now you can turn yourselves around and go back the way you came…”

He didn’t need to finish his thoughts, they both picked up on the subtle threat glaring at them from between the lines. He spoke softly, and the cold apathy that carried his words drove a stake into their hearts.

“Won’t you reconsider?”

John spoke for his wife, who had retreated to the edge of the porch.

“You’re trespassing on my property,” the man fired in return.

“Well, if you ever do,” John answered cautiously, “we’re good people.”

“Get off my PORCH,” the voice screeched. It was so sudden, so shrill, that both jumped as if bitten by a snake. Marsha yelped, and fled back to the safety of their small gathering, while John made a much slower retreat.

Halfway down the stairs, he paused to throw one final glance at the house behind him.

Trespasser (Part V)

Posted on August 6, 2014 by R. Richardsson

He came like a thief in the night, stealing away the property that had once belonged to a very different man than himself. There were no moving trucks, nor were there any friends with his things loaded onto the back of their vehicles. He simply arrived in his nineteen eighty-seven Cadillac Coupe Deville, unloaded an overstuffed suitcase, and went inside.

All along Bryer street, curious eyes watched for any sign of their new neighbor. The women were the first to witness his arrival and within seconds, plans were being made to make him feel welcome. Marsha Rowen called Keesha Robinson, who in turned called Dottie Hammond, and soon the three were chattering away. Before any of their husbands ever knew of their neighbor’s arrival, a small barbecue had been thought out down to the very last detail.

While their children were still at school, they rushed to the local supermarket and procured the ingredients that they would need for their feast. They’d chosen nothing too complicated; some hamburger and hotdogs, eggs to be deviled, some cabbage to make a slaw from and an apple pie from the bakery. Normally this would be baked fresh, but they were quickly running out of time!

Marsha agreed to pick up the children from school while the others returned to begin preparations for the party and calling their husbands to inform them of the evening’s festivities. Though the latter were tired from their day’s labors, they readily agreed to their wives’ plans. Anything that gave them an excuse to fire up their grills and drink a cold one was okay with them!

The women had thought of everything. Davie rolled out his custom made smoker, and the meat was soon cooking beneath a blanket of hickory smoke. John Rowen and Bob Hammond kept the children busy until one of them could be relieved to go invite their new neighbor over. It was going to be a perfect barbecue.

Or, at least it would have been.

From behind closed blinds, a narrowed pair of eyes watched the people of the neighborhood as they went about their business. He saw the curious glances that were cast his direction and watched the men who stood around the smoker, drinking beer, talking and occasionally gesturing at his new house.

The women had thought of everything, that is, except for the fact that maybe, just maybe, their new neighbor had no interest in the adults in his new community at all.