Trespasser (Part XIX)

Posted on June 26, 2015 by R. Richardsson

It was probably a mistake that he had come to be here. He wasn’t the man that he had been twenty years ago; full of youth and free from pain. If the home’s new owner were to come home earlier than he had expected, there would be no explaining why, or how, he came to be inside.

The floor creaked beneath his feet, and even though he had been inside this house many times in the past, it had changed into something completely foreign to him. Where there had been memorabilia from the war was now empty space. Dust collected on the wall where pictures had once been, rectangular reminders that someone had once cared enough to hang something there.

His breathing was slow and uneven. Fear crept into his bones as he stood in this place where he no longer had any business being. It was his home now, if you could call it that. There was nothing here to suggest that anyone even lived in it at all. Only two rooms showed any indication that someone had recently been in them.

The living room, where an old war veteran once proudly shelved his many achievements, where he often shared a beer with his friends, and where he was known to host the occasional football party, was now void of all items save two; an old Victorian chair, and an equally decrepit end table. The latter rocked on wobbly legs.

Both were positioned before the large picture window that faced toward the community. From here, one could see every house down the street.

“Of course you can,” Davie mused silently. His eyes had fallen on the binoculars that rested on the small table. He had seen many pairs of such devices before, but nothing quite like the ones before him. They were black, compact, and could be worn around the head by use of an adjustable band. There were switches on the side, and when he held the lens before his eyes, he discovered that one activated a night vision feature, while the other illuminated everything in red.

Carefully, he returned them to where they originally lay before moving on.

The only other room that appeared to have been used was the wash room. Several rolls of toilet paper were stacked inside the linen closet, toiletries were carelessly tossed upon the counter, and a single towel hung over the shower door. Aside from the fact that this person invested more in toilet paper, than he did in food, he might almost be normal.

Davie was turning to leave with something caught his eye.

At the end of the counter, on the floor, and between it and the toilet, was a small wicker basket. At first, he might have mistaken it for a fancy trash can, if not for the pictures that were laying inside. He couldn’t quite make out who the subject was in the top picture, but it appeared to have been professionally taken.

“Of course it was,” he growled as he remembered the other morning, watching as he snapped pictures of Vanessa, unaware that someone was watching his every move as well. He stepped into the small room and leaned forward to get a better look.

He sucked in his breath with a hiss as he realized that the picture was, indeed, taken of his neighbor’s daughter. His heart began to pound in anger, causing his blood pressure to rise, and his vision narrowed on the image before him. As he lifted it with shaky hands, the thought occurred to him that he was going to kill this little pervert.

The thought never had a chance to finish; at that exact moment, something heavy came down on the back of his skull, and everything went black.

Trespasser (Part XVIII)

Posted on June 23, 2015 by R. Richardsson

His house never seemed so far away as it did from Andy’s front porch. His hands were on his lower back, pushing inward as he stretched out the kinks. A few years ago, he might not have felt the effects of such a short trip so acutely, but his age had given him an incurable ache in his bones.

Of course, he had gone to all of the doctors. Visits began with Dr. Callehan, whom he had seen for most of his adult life. After many attempts to diagnose the problem, and after he had tried countless medicines and remedies, he had finally been sent to see the specialists. Not that this had done any good, for these so-called “specialists” had no more answers than those before them!

He had tried to work through the pain for the better part of a year, but it wasn’t long before he’d found his limit. He retired early, with full benefits, and has since worked hard to make the best of his golden years.

He could never claim to be even half the man Sammy D. had been, but there was a part of him that demanded he carry on his memory any way he could. Mostly, he just watched. He was responsible for the remnants of the neighborhood patrol. It had been his idea to form a small weekly group, to get together and discuss the goings on in their community after Sammy had passed. Their meetings, however, consisted of talk about the latest game, of the news, or of their jobs.

Davie sighed, disappointed at how much change had come over the years. Things just weren’t the same. There was a time when he feared for his life, for the lives of his family, from the ignorance and hate of those who hid behind masks. In those days, they wore their masks for everyone to see. They were tougher times, but at least you knew your enemy by the colors they wore.

He ran his fingers idly over the small figurine in his pocket and smiled.

“So much easier in my day,” he said to no one in particular.

He gave one final glance over the houses down the street before turning his attention to the front door. It’s not that he was worried about anyone seeing him on their neighbor’s property, but more of a nostalgic trip down memory lane. So many houses looked the same as they had thirty years ago, untouched by the ravages of time.

All but one.

He turned and regarded the door once more. It was the same door that he had helped the previous owner install a few years ago. How long it had been eluded him, for the door had stood agelessly, barring him from the answers he had come to find.

It was a door meant to keep people out. Built by the finest craftsmen, reinforced with lag bolts, and equipped with the best locks the bank could buy. There weren’t very many people who had the skills or knowledge to bypass the kind of security that had been installed into this door, but then, none of that mattered to the one who held the key.

Davie reached up above the door frame, slowly running his fingers across the smooth wood until they bumped into something cold and metallic, just as he had known they would.

Trespasser (Part XVII)

Posted on June 9, 2015 by R. Richardsson

Time passes quickly, down on Bryer Street. This is especially true for the men who lived in the neighborhood. Most of them, like John, worked hard to make a living. They were gone at the crack of dawn, and often times they stumbled wearily to bed long after the sun had set.

The women, for most of them didn’t work outside of their home, were always busy keeping their houses up. So it wasn’t unusual if they didn’t notice some of the details around them. Most didn’t think twice about something being out-of-place. More than likely, another member of their family moved it while going about their daily affairs.

There was a time when the neighborhood had a way of taking care of any problems that might arise, but those days were long since gone. Bryer Street, in the absence of its longtime protector, had slowly grown into something ordinary. And, even though the residents often gathered together from time to time, each secretly felt that they were growing further apart.

For one, this feeling hurt more than any of the others realized.

It was later in the morning, on the same day that Vanessa would awaken to thoughts of her father’s late night visit, that another of the street’s residents would be entertaining thoughts of his own. Unlike the little girl next door, he knew exactly what had been stolen from him.

On this particular morning, he sat in the rocking chair on his front porch, slowly rocking in the comfort of the morning shadows, and looking at a small object he had placed on the railing before him. It was the only thing left from a day when he could sit in this very spot and happily idle the hours away.

“You’d be turning in yer damn grave,” he mumbled in its direction, as if to speak to the person who’d carved it for him. He groaned in pain as various parts of his body reminded him of his age, not that he needed reminding. “Best to not daydream my day away,” he continued, this time to himself. “I”ve got important things that need a-doin’.”

Davie leaned forward and took hold of the railing with both hands, using it to stop his movements just as much as he was using it to pull himself up, and he paused only to look at the house at the end of the street. The lights were off, not that he could have been able to tell through the morning glare, and the owner’s car was gone.

“Keesha,” he hollered over his shoulder. “I think I’m a-goin’ for a little walk.”

She didn’t answer, nor did he expect her to. She was still feeling a little under the weather and would likely sleep until lunch time. That suited him just fine, because if she knew what he was up to, she’d probably brain him with a rolling-pin.

He chuckled as he took one last look at the figurine on the railing, then nodded his head slowly, as if to confirm that he was doing the right thing.

“It’s what you would have done, my old friend,” he whispered.

A few minutes later, he was slowly making his way toward the end of the street.