Chapter Text
With shaky fingers, I reached out and widened the gap in the blinds. The man strode across the withering, dead lawn to open his mailbox, thumbing through the bulky envelopes.
Why does he get so much mail? I thought.
He looked up from his hands and straight at me, like he knew I was watching through the window the entire time. I knew it was too late, but I darted away from the window, pressing myself up against the fridge. He came out because he knew he would catch me staring! Oh God, what if he knocks on the door and asks what I was doing? Oh God!
I moved even further away from the window, pressing myself into the corner of the dimly lit kitchen, wallpaper crumbling and withering away against my back.
One minute. Two minutes. Ten. I moved back to the window, expecting to see his face pressed up on the other side of the glass, his dead, blue eyes wide and staring at me. Or maybe he was back at the sidewalk, waiting for me to look back out of the same window…
But I was wrong. He had disappeared completely.
As I let go of the blinds, I took a step back, tears of relief prickling in my eyes.
-
After the encounter, I had fallen asleep on the couch. But an hour or so later, the man’s Toyota Tacoma grumbled and came to life in his driveway, waking me up.
I sat up on the couch, rubbing my eyes, thankful to be a light sleeper. The slightest movement or noise could wake me up- which would help tremendously if he ever decided to pick the locks on my door, or break a window to get inside my house. I knew it would happen, but something was seriously wrong with that guy. It was a matter of when he would try to get me , not how.
I darted upstairs to watch him pull out of the driveway and disappear down the street somewhere. Right on time for work!- if he even had a job. But I made sure to keep track of those things. Every morning, Monday through Friday, he left at 8:20, though he came home at different times, which made my life a little bit more difficult…
When he was gone for sure (the man had come back home once to get his wallet two weeks ago), I got ready and grabbed my keys from the hook. I locked the door behind me, looked both ways before I passed his yard, all of the typical precautions, making my way to Mrs. Schuchart’s house.
I knocked. She answered and let me in, told me where to sit down, and immediately burst into conversation about the man. “I bet he’s got an ex-wife that he went and murdered! That would explain why he’s so standoffish towards us and doesn’t have any lady friends!” she exclaimed, setting her cup of coffee down, her lips pressed together tightly. “I’m almost scared to send Cathy to his house. His lawn is a disaster, and she wants him to fix it- he signed to join the HOA when he bought the house, you know! It’s like he didn’t read the contract or something- so I told her I’d stop by his house one afternoon.. gosh, Tweek, I’m not sure what to tell her.”
I swallowed my spit. “I saw what’s inside his g-garage once,” I confessed, rubbing my thumb against the cup of tea she gave me. Mrs. Schuchart refused to give me coffee- she noticed the way my hands shook, and said that I was too young to be ‘wrecking my body,’ as if I were using meth instead of caffeine. She doesn’t believe in decaf, either, something about foriegn chemicals…
She perked up. “What would that be?”
“A wood saw,” I explained. “And some… I-... I’m not sure what it’s called, but I think it-”
Her jaw dropped, and her graying hair came to life as she threw her head back. “I knew it! I don’t know what that man is working on all the time, but it must be a cover-up.”
“Well-”
“I don’t want you risking your life by walking down to my house ever again. You’re much too frail to face him if he ever comes out of his little cave,” Mrs. Schuchart spoke, adjusting her cardigan. “I’ll come to yours.”
What is this woman thinking? “No, miss, that’s okay, he goes to work- I think- during the day…” I trailed off. “I waited for his car to leave before I came over here. But I saw other things in there too, like wood, and chemicals. He h-ha-... he had a lot in there.”
The woman pursed her lips together and shook her head slowly. “If the circumstances were any different, I’d have no choice but to call the police.”
“You ca-n’t prove anything…” I murmured, gripping the mug. “Wait until he does something, please? If he sees a cop car here, he might make it worse.”
I wasn’t sure what I meant by that, but it seemed to work, because Mrs. Schuchart left her chair and dropped her coffee cup into the sink. She ran a rag under the faucet and began wiping the kitchen counters down. “Rupert’s just so messy when I let him make dinner,” she sighed to herself. “And I told you, I’m not. I’m just glad no children live nearby. Did you see anything else?”
My gaze shifted to the open window next to the dining room table. “Nothing… if he was building something, h-he finished it, got rid of it, and started on something new, because the… he has this table in the middle, and it was wiped clean… he came out of his house just then, I think to close the garage, but if he hadn’t, I would’ve been able to see more,” I said. A squirrel twitched around outside, lifting an acorn to its mouth and setting it back down as other squirrels approached. Fresh rain seeped into the grass and dripped from the side of the gutter. Must’ve been raining when I took a nap, I thought.
“How long is he gone for work?”
“It depends on the day… Thursday he comes home early.”
With a nod, Mrs. Schuchart set the rag down and washed her hands. “You give me a call if he does anything else. I want to be the first to know. And if I see him lurking around the neighborhood, ever, don’t be afraid. I’ll send Rupert outside to set him straight.”
Yeah, right! We’ll see how that goes, lady. “Okay,” I spoke, standing up. “I’m gonna go back home.”
Her face softened. “What? I thought you were going to watch the baking show with me!” she complained. “Don’t you want to see if James wins?”
Oh, yes. The baking show, AKA Great British Bake Off, and James, the contestant that Mrs. Schuchart loved to fawn over, despite him being over three decades younger than her… I hated the show, but sitting in the living room with Mrs. Schuchart was the only human interaction I got during the day, so I learned to tolerate it. “Sorry, we can tomorrow, okay?” I spoke quickly. “I need to go home.”
Apologetically, she nodded, rushing forward to hug me. “You’re right, young man. I’m sorry! I wouldn’t want him to catch you off-guard while walking home, would I? Well, you have a good day, you. If you find anything else about him, tell me,” she reminded me.
“I will.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mrs. Schuchart smiled. “And you look sickly. Eat a burger.”
“Okay..”
-
I knew it was a stupid idea, but I couldn’t help it.
I didn’t know what his backyard looked like.
Well, sure, I knew the basics- he had a back porch, and a pool, and a large pepper tree that the previous owners hung a tire swing from. But I wanted to see the backyard again, see what he did to it, if he had built anything back there. Those wooden structures had to go somewhere, didn’t they?
As I made my way back home, I froze in front of his house, my eyes on the garage. My head told me to go, check if the garage is unlocked or go back home or go go just walk somewhere before he gets out of work and pulls back into the driveway to see you standing in front of his house hurry go go go. But I couldn’t move. I wanted to see his backyard, not the garage.
His backyard was gated, which didn’t matter, because I wasn’t going back there anyway. I was too small and unathletic to jump the fence, and there were no woods for me to hide in if he did happen to come home… if I weren’t so scared of the woods.
I unlocked the front door and started to put my keys on the hook when hair prickled on the back of my neck; suddenly, the sub-audible sounds that I learned to ignore over the past few months were louder than ever. The low purr of the refrigerator, the birds tweeting outside, the muffled dialogue of a TV show I’d left on before I went to Mrs. Schuchart’s house. They all came to surface as my ears tuned in for that one sound, that one footstep, or swish of jeans rubbing together to tell me the man next door was in my house, even if his truck was nowhere near my driveway..
I waited ten minutes, and heard nothing. Not even breathing.
I scampered to the kitchen, slid a kitchen knife out of the wooden block, and held it up threateningly as I entered every room, thrusting open every door and checking each corner twice.
Nothing.
The knife fell from my hand and bounced on the carpet as I plopped onto the couch. He was still at work. Probably. There was no way to tell for sure.
After some deep thought, I figured I was as safe now as I’d ever be, and rested my head on the arm of the couch.
-
I didn’t fall asleep, but the man’s truck jerked me out of semi-consciousness as the engine’s rhythmic growling grew closer, then came to a stop. The driver’s side door slammed shut as I rubbed my eyes and kicked the blanket to the other side of the couch. I approached the window, but drew the curtains to shield any possibility of him seeing me.
The man trudged to his front door, punching a button on his fob, unlocking the front door, looking around suspiciously, and shoving the keyring into his jacket pocket.
He’s about to do something illegal. That’s why he looked around. He knows I’m onto him, I thought, dropping the curtain and rushing to my back door. I unlocked it, but decided to double back and grab a kitchen chair. If I was lucky, I’d be able to see right through his windows!
I set the chair down in front of the rotting wooden fence and stepped onto it, though I didn’t look over just yet; I didn’t want him to see me. Instead, I waited, glancing left and right to make sure no peeping Toms were watching. Waving Wheat Court was chock-full of old people with their eyes and ears peeled, ready to gossip over anything and everything. I didn’t want to be their latest subject.
Just as I started to peek over the fence, a low moan traveled through the air. I ducked back down and checked my peripherals again- nothing.
It had to be him. What was he doing? Jerking off to kiddie porn, or trying to freak me out?
After shifting my chair a few inches to the right, I was able to get a spectacular view of his living room- in which he was sitting on his couch, staring lifelessly at the TV. So where did the sound come from, if it wasn’t from him? I looked around anxiously- maybe an animal made the noise..
Okay, he knows I’m watching, so he’s doing normal people shit! This is just great, I must’ve given it away sometime- he saw me when he was checking the mail that one time. I bet that’s it. He’s on his guard now, and maybe he even knows I’m here.
My lips parted in realization and pure terror as I ducked back down.
He put cameras in my house!
Maybe it wasn’t true, but the more I thought about it, the more I figured I was right. After all, I wasn’t able to catch him doing anything. Here I was, crouching on top of a dining room chair and peeking over a crusty wooden fence, looking through his window like an idiot.
He’s outsmarted me. I have to do something now. I need to find those cameras.
I shifted my leg to get down from the chair, but the man moved from his couch, presumably to the kitchen. I took this opportunity to try to see what he was watching. At a closer glance, it was one of those reality TV shows, where everyone is tanned and rich and in love… but the picture changed, and I realized it was only a commercial. He was actually watching the news.
Boring. I moved the chair, hoping to get a better view of the kitchen, but it was too dark to see, so I figured I’d check the backyard. I did consider looking earlier, after all, and the sun was just starting to set, so I could still see everything if I wanted to.
I found a secluded spot in my backyard and set the chair back down, hopping on it and staring at the other side. Not much had changed, really… but he took the tire swing down, and fresh leaves floated atop the murky, olive green pool water… if you could even call it water.
Why would he take the tire swing down? It wasn’t hurting anybody. Was this a message of some kind? A message to the neighborhood? A message to me?
What could it mean?
Discouraged and conflicted, I hopped off of my chair and carried it back inside, scooting it back into place as the legs left little trails of dirt on the tile.
Later that night, I noticed that there were no sawing, buzzing, or loud clanging sounds, as there usually was. Which meant he was busy. But what, so late in the night, could he be busy doing? His car was in the driveway, as usual, and he hadn’t left his house.
I came to the conclusion that he had to be watching me . So I let down the blinds, drew the curtains, and turned on all of the lights, getting straight to work on finding those cameras. He was not going to get the one-up on me.
-
In my search for the cameras, I grew tired, and wound up asleep on the couch again. Before I went to sleep, I came to the conclusion that the man had to have some high-tech cameras, maybe ones issued from the government that were so small it would take a microscope to see them. Of course, odds were he wasn’t involved with the government, and cameras like that didn’t exist- so I figured he was keeping track of me some other way. Quite possibly, there were cameras outside of his own house, or on the streetlights, ones that caught me lurking around the house and peering out of the windows.
My own house wasn’t safe from him anymore. I would have to be more careful with the blinds, or invent a new way to watch over him.
I peeled myself off of the couch and used the bathroom, avoiding the mirror like the plague. For a moment, I entertained the idea of going back to Mrs. Schuchart’s house, but decided against it. I had things to do today.
As I waited for his car to start in the driveway, I sat on the couch, mapping out my plan. I had to see what his house looked like, from the inside. If I found nothing incriminating, I’d retreat- make a new plan, take a different approach, whatever- but if I did find something incriminating? Well, I’d tell Mrs. Schuchart. She knew police officers, very powerful ones, she said, and they’d investigate his house and find it. And he’d go to jail, for good.
That was my plan. Maybe it wasn’t a very good one, but when he left at 8:20 AM, I put it into motion.
Leaving my house was hard, and walking onto his lawn was harder. I convinced myself by repeating that the longer I lingered around, the less time I had to get into his house and start searching, and the more time I gave the neighbors to catch me breaking in.
I didn’t try his front door. Instead, I tried lifting the garage door.
Didn’t work.
Discouraged, I made my way to his backyard, preparing myself for further disappointment.
Opening the gate was easy- I unlocked the gate from the inside- and as I stepped onto the deck, the reality of what I was doing hit me. I was trying to bust into some strangers’ house, assuming I’d find children tied up in his basement or a hostage chained to a pole upstairs. But those thoughts only made me more neurotic, and I figured, if anything like that were true, I had to get inside as quickly as possible.
Luckily for me, the back door was unlocked.
Before I walked inside, I took a moment to think. Why did he leave his backdoor open? It couldn’t have been an accident- he did see me watching him, after all- so there was a chance he left it open on purpose.
Stan and Kyle would’ve walked in, and they would’ve saved everyone in this pervert’s basement. So you better get in there and do what they would do. Stan and Kyle were two of my friends from high school. Well, not friends. They thought I was lame until high school, where they tolerated me… but anyway, I had to get inside, so I pushed the door open and walked in.
Through his back door was a laundry room. A broom and a mop sat near the door, and various other cleaning supplies lined the shelves, which fueled my need to get to the basement (or attic) even further. Both the washer and dryer were turned off, so I took that as a good sign that nobody was home and kept going.
From the kitchen, I could see into the living room- the counters served as a half-wall, separating the two areas. Immediately I was struck by the emptiness of the house. The walls were completely bare and devoid of any art or wallpaper. There were no pictures or picture frames, either. It looked like my house.
Unnerved, I opened a door in the kitchen, looking down the stairs and into the basement.
Do it. Kyle would. He would suck up his doubts and just go down there.
I inched my way down the stairs, letting the toe of my sneakers touch the wood first so I wouldn’t make noise. It took a while, and the railings on the side squeaked more than I’d liked them to, but I made my way to the bottom, only to realize that it was too fucking dark to see anything! I hadn’t brought a flashlight, I didn’t believe in those iPhones that have a flash (convenient) but also track your location at all times and know everything about you (inconvenient). So there I was, stuck at the bottom of the stairs with what little light came down the stairs to guide me. My only option was to turn the light on… wherever that was!
I stared into the dark abyss that was the strangers basement, expecting to see the small, soft faces of children staring back at me, hopeful that I’d call the police and come to their rescue… or maybe dead bodies, male and female corpses strewn about. But one quick sniff of the air told me that, no, if there were any dead bodies around, they were in a freezer somewhere, because the basement smelled fine. Perfectly fine, in fact. If it smelled like bleach or vinegar, that would’ve been a warning sign as well, but neither chemical was present.
On high alert, I stumbled around the walls of the basement, feeling for a light switch or a chain. I couldn’t help but make noise- I was running into stacks of what I assumed was boxes, and once I ran into something hard and sturdy, what seemed like a wall, shelf, or furniture of some kind. I searched for nearly thirty minutes before anything happened.
The lights flickered on- without me touching a single thing! My gaze snapped to the bottom of the stairs, and in my horror, I saw an old man staring at me, his face deep and haunting. Who the hell was he?! Was I imagining things?
He reached for his pocket- no, his belt- and withdrew a gun. My hands shot to the sides of my head, trembling so hard it almost made me sick. “Who the fuck are you? Get out of my fucking house, you junkie!” he shouted, pointing the pistol straight at me.
I started to leave, like he asked me to, but he changed his mind. “Don’t move,” he warned. So I stood still, watching as he withdrew a smartphone from his pocket. He tapped the screen a few times and held it up to his ear.
Fuck fuck he’s calling the police!! This is gonna be on my record forever, I’m gonna fucking die! My parents are gonna kill me, I’ll go to jail and they’ll sell my house and I’ll be homeless and probably get AIDS from the bacteria in the alleyways and then I’ll fucking die!
It came to my attention that the elderly man was not calling the police.
“You expecting one of your buddies to come over, pick something up?” the man asked, eyes locked on me as he spoke. I assumed the man he called was the one who owned the house- or maybe it was the other way around? The one at work lived here, but the elderly man bought the house…?
“No. Little blond fella wandering around in your basement like a stray dog.”
Some chatter.
“He looks harmless.”
More chatter over the phone. Okay. This could’ve been worse, it could’ve been the police, I reassured myself, still halfway convinced that the man I watched before was going to come home from work and kill me. But there was nothing I could do. If I made a run for it, tried to dash past the man holding the gun and run up the stairs, he’d shoot me or topple me over and hold me on the ground. He was old, for sure, but still stronger than me.
“What do I do then?”
More chatter.
“Fine.” The man hung up and kept his eye on me. “You’re gonna wait here for a little bit. Did you know I was a Marine?”
I said nothing. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t physically get the words out. I figured he was lying, but I was scared shitless either way.
“Thought so, little fucker,” he snapped. We stood in the same position until the stranger got home.
-
The stranger, up close, was a lot scarier than I thought he was before. He scrutinized me closely, cold blue eyes raking over my body and sending chills down my spine. “What do you want?” the man asked, his voice stiff yet bored. The old man still held a gun pointed in my direction.
I hadn’t thought of a cover story in the time it took him to leave work. One, because I was too scared to even breathe the wrong way, and two, I knew I wouldn’t be able to come up with anything. If he broke into my house instead, I wouldn’t accept any excuse he came up with; why would he accept mine?
I said nothing.
“You watch me from your windows. Tell me why.”
“You s-... You scare me,” I admitted.
He stepped closer, gesturing for the man behind him to put the gun down. The man did, and stuffed the gun back inside its holster, trudging back up the stairs. “What did you say? I can’t hear.”
“You scare me,” I repeated, louder.
His eyebrows raised. “I scare you? You’re the one who looks like you’ve been on a six month meth adventure. And you’re the one who watches me from my windows. And you’re the one in my basement right now with no explanation,” he threatened, moving closer to me and pushing his finger up against my chest. “So you need to explain.”
I made eye contact. Oddly enough, he didn’t sound angry. “...”
“What? Tell me. Come on.”
I couldn’t speak. Instead, I shrugged and looked away, afraid of what would come next.
“You on drugs or something? Got schizophrenia?”
“No…” I whispered.
“Do I need to call your parents?”
I looked up at him again. “My parents? Wh- why would you need to call my..?”
“How old are you?” he asked, adjusting his stance.
Offended, I backed away from him. “I’m 24.”
“You don’t look like it.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, and I recognized this as my only chance to make it out of the basement alive. I sprinted up the stairs, but I couldn’t reach the top, because he had me up against a wall and restrained before I knew what was happening.
He narrowed his eyes. “I could call the police, you know.”
“I know,” I said, my voice wavering. My hands and arms shook like crazy.
“Tell me why you watch me through the windows,” he said, reaching behind him and closing the basement door. There was no lock from the inside, but he didn’t need one, because I was practically cemented against the drywall anyway.
I tried to reach up to chew on my nails, but he grabbed my wrist before I could. “Because you scare me,” I repeated.
“How?”
“You-...” I started, thinking of all the ways he scared me. They were going to sound stupid, to him, I knew that, but explaining was the best I could do.. so I started. “You… you… well, I thought you… lived alone.. and you didn’t have any k-kids or, a, uh, a dog, and y-you… you, uh.. you’re m…”
“Lots of people live alone without kids or a dog.”
I nodded quickly. “But you stay up all night making shit in your garage, and I- thought, um-...” The man opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, I burst into tears.
“Woah woah woah,” he said, letting go of me. “Chill.”
I couldn’t chill. I lifted my hands to my face and bawled into my palms, tension spreading through my skull in small, painful strands. “I’m sorry,” I sobbed.
The man backed away, unsure of what to do with me. “...Hey… are you okay…?”
“No!”
“...”
I looked around, hot tears spilling down my face, realizing that I could leave now. If I was fast enough, and if the two mysterious men would let me. If I ran again, and he tackled me, what would happen…?
I decided to ask instead. “What do you want..” I sniffled, making eye contact with him and scrubbing my face dry with my sleeve. “Do you want me to leave?...”
He frowned. “I want to know why you’re in my house.”
“Because I was scared!”
“But when you’re scared, you don’t… ugh,” he grumbled, opening the basement door. “Fine. Get out. If I catch you in my house again, I’m calling the police. Stop watching me through your fucking windows. Get a hobby.”
I sniffled again, leaving the basement stairway. Now in the kitchen, I looked around again. He’s letting me go? Just like that?
“Get out,” he repeated.
I turned around. “But why don’t you h-have a wife or kids? Everyone thinks you’re…” I trailed off.
“What? They think I’m gay? Plenty of people don’t have a wife. God. Why don’t you? You’re 24.”
“No, not gay… they think you’re… they think you killed her, or…” I explained, swallowing my spit.
He continued eyeing me. “That doesn’t make any sense. And I hate kids, they’re too loud. Tell them that if you want. Why are you still here?” The man moved to the front door. “I need to get back to work, so you need to leave.”
“Yeah.” I frowned, the headache spreading to the back of my skull, though I was also relieved. I left through the back door and made my way back home, astonished that I was still alive.
-
Summer approached. I kept watch of the man next door, though now that things were put in perspective for me- maybe he wasn’t the sociopathic wife-murdering pedophile I thought he was- the things he did turned less and less suspicious in my mind.
He didn’t put the tire swing back up. But, as I observed while looking over his fence, he did drain and refill the pool with fresh, gleaming water. Maybe I judged him too soon.
Mrs. Schuchart, on the other hand, wasn’t apt to believe him. “He’s tricking you, I know he is. That man is good for nothing. You didn’t look in his upstairs bedrooms, or his attic.” She looked up from her mug. “He’s got to be a Republican. You said the old man who lived with him owned a gun? This neighborhood… there’s no need for a gun, not unless he’s protecting against himself!”
“You… you know how old men are… stubborn,” I defended. Maybe the younger one was rational, and was taking care of someone.. his dad? Grandpa?
“Rupert is nothing like that. There is no excuse for that filthy man to own a gun and pull it on you. Just look at you! Skinny and frail, not threatening whatsoever!”
I chewed my lip and looked away. “...Yeah.”
“You don’t know their names? Either one of ‘em?”
“No.. I don’t..”
Mrs. Schuchart sat up straight and busied herself with her hair, straightening it and pulling it up into a ponytail. “They’re hiding something. Maybe they’re registered sex offenders in another state. We have to find out their names... maybe I’ll stop by one day and talk to him about the HOA. He’ll have to give me his name then, even if it is a fake one,” she smiled devilishly. “Okay. It’s settled. Next week sometime, I’ll stop by there.”
And that was that. The end of the conversation. We moved to the living room and watched a new episode of the Great British Bake Off.
-
I awoke one morning and routinely moved to the west window in my kitchen, pulling back the curtain and peeking through it.
It was a Wednesday, but the man’s Toyota was still in the parking lot. Strange. Nobody was in his front lawn, so I moved from the window and picked up the same kitchen chair I’d used a few weeks ago to peek over our shared fence. I moved it to the back door and lugged it outside, propping it in the same place I had last time- right in front of his pool. I was just starting to step up when I heard something… laughter? Water, rippling and splashing from the other side of the fence.
People were in the man’s pool. It didn’t sound like him, though, and I doubted that he’d be giggling to himself. I flattened the hair on my head down- since I’d slept until 2 PM or so and hadn’t done anything to my hair, it was a tousled, spiky mess, as usual. I showered regularly, of course, I didn’t want to be gross or contract some weird fungal infection, but I couldn’t stand looking at myself in the mirror long enough to fix it. I brushed my teeth with my back to the mirror, so that solved.. that problem.
I peeked over the fence, hoping I was far away enough and angled the right way so whoever was in the pool wouldn’t see me.
Two girls were in the pool. The one facing me, though who hadn’t quite seen me yet, had hair the color of raw chicken. I figured her dye job had gone wrong or something. The other one had brown hair. They were splashing each other in the water, and once they got bored of that, they climbed back up on the deck, grabbing pool floats and throwing them into the pool, inflated plastic plopping down onto the crystal clear water. Both got back in the pool and wrestled with the floats until they were lounging comfortably on them.
I got down from my chair, bored. The girls looked to be teenagers, and it was slightly creepy that he had two teenagers over (what did I know, though? They could’ve been in their mid-twenties), but I felt even creepier watching them, so I stopped.
“Craig?” one of them yelled suddenly. Something splashed in the water. “Craig! Dad!”
Dad.
Craig.
Was Craig the man’s name? It had to be. And if the older man was their dad, that would make the two girls Craig’s.. sisters?
That made sense. I picked the chair back up and headed back inside, satisfied with my new knowledge.
-
Two days later, I was walking outside, layers of sunscreen lotion caked on my face as I set out for Mrs. Schuchart’s house. When I arrived, I knocked, and nobody answered.
I knocked a few more times and turned back around. Mrs. Schuchart was probably at Walmart, or maybe gardening out back. But as I headed back home, I considered the other possibilities, too, like what if she had died in her sleep and Rupert had set off to work without realizing it? Or, what if Rupert had died in his sleep, and Mrs. Schuchart was 500 miles across the country, talking to his family and bawling her eyes out?
I gnawed at my fingernails as I walked, the bitter taste of sunscreen chemicals flooding my mouth as I chewed. I’ll call her cell phone when I get home, I decided. I still had a landline, after all, and her number memorized. Also written down five different times, in case I forgot and lost the other papers.
So I walked home, but I heard voices as I approached my house. A woman’s voice emerged as the stranger’s (Craig’s?) house came into view. I spotted Mrs. Schuchart on his doorstep, smiling and nodding as he spoke. He spotted me and blinked, which caught her attention. She turned around, saw me, and smiled even wider. “Oh, what are you doing out here? I haven’t seen you in forever!” she said, spreading her arms wide and approaching me. Mrs. Schuchart made sure to give me the most suffocating hug I’ve had in my entire life.
“I went to your house…” I explained, my voice small compared to hers. “What are you doing?”
“I was just talking to our new neighbor here! His name is Craig… have you two met yet? Here, I’ll introduce you! Actually, I’m the last one here, and he was just about to let me in… I convinced him to hold an HOA meeting at his house! I even got him to make dinner, isn’t that just great?”
Every word, every intonation that came out of her mouth- absolutely fake, not to mention annoying, like nails on a chalkboard. She brought me to his doorstep with her hands on my arms. “I’m sure you two know each other, but this is Tweek Tweak!” Mrs. Schuchart announced, grinning as wide as ever. “I know it’s a strange name, but he is just a little sweetheart, isn’t he? Look at him, he’s so small, like a mouse…”
The man stared down at me, unamused. He faked a smile and stepped back. “Hi, Mr. Tweak. I’m Craig. You two can come on in.”
With panicked eyes, I looked at Mrs. Schuchart as she ushered me inside. She seriously wanted me to go… back… inside his house? Wasn’t she afraid of him?
But as I entered, and passed the entranceway, I knew why she was so brave coming inside. Elderly men and women roamed the living room, kitchen, and dining room, talking amongst themselves. Craig put up a few paintings here and there, but aside from that, his living area didn’t look much different than before. The TV was on, blaring some sports lingo that I didn’t understand as men ran back and forth across a basketball court.
Mrs. Schuchart filed into the house behind me. I stood awkwardly in the corner, waiting for something to happen… but then I got an idea. I’d never been upstairs in Craig’s house before. I knew what his basement was like- packed with boxes and equipment he used that wouldn’t fit into his garage- but I didn’t know what the upstairs looked like… and I thought of a way to find out.
I left my spot in the corner and hunted Craig down. He was in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove and managing the pots and pans sitting in front of him. I didn’t know what he was cooking and I didn’t care. “Hey…” I said softly, grabbing his attention. “Where’s your bathroom?”
My plan went like this: I would ask to go to the bathroom, pretend that the one downstairs was being used, and use that as an excuse to go upstairs. Then I could search the bedrooms. If Craig (or someone else) caught me somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be, I’d say I was looking for the bathroom.
Craig looked up from the stovetop and locked eyes with me. My throat dropped into my stomach- there was something about his gaze that threw me off. It wasn’t threatening, even if he, physically, was threatening.. but something else. It scared me. “Down the hall.” He pointed across the living room to a small hallway past the laundry room. The hallway had two doors.
“Which door..?”
“The left.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, turning around and heading to the bathroom before he could say anything else. Standing in front of the door, I stared at the crack underneath it. The light was on.
I waited a few seconds and slipped through the crowd in the living room, making sure nobody saw me as I ascended the stairs. I knew Craig’s dad was probably home, and if he had a room, I wanted to avoid it at all costs.
The upstairs consisted of two hallways. One short hallway greeted me as I made it up the stairs, and when I crept down it, a longer hallway appeared. I had two options, go to the left or to the right. I chose the left, and stared up at the ceiling in my search for an attic.
I found the panel, but there was no chain to pull it down, which meant that there was no staircase or ladder to aid me upstairs. There was no way in hell I was getting up there, not unless I hauled a ladder into his house without him noticing.. so I kept going.
I stood in front of a closed door, considering it. After pressing my ear up against the door and hearing nothing, I decided to open it, though I cracked it open as slowly and inconspicuously as possible.
It was the upstairs bathroom. A few extra rolls of toilet paper above the tank, a toothbrush in a glass cup on the sink, and not much else inside.
Well, great.
I pursued the next door I spotted, keeping the same routine of pressing up against it to hear what was going on inside. The next one was a bedroom. Like the rest of the house, bare bones. A TV, an unmade bed, empty beer cans on the nightstand, dirty pyjama pants splayed around the floor, and afternoon light streaming through the windows. I dug in the nightstand drawer and found nothing of interest, besides a few grams of.. weed? Well, I wasn’t here to search for drugs.
As I left, I realized that, if I wasn’t going into the attic, and if there were no hostages in the basement.. I couldn’t be searching for much else. Nothing big.
The next room I entered was pitch black when I stepped inside. I couldn’t see the window, but I assumed the curtains and blinds were drawn tightly. With no flashlight, I cracked the door further, using the light from the hallway to guide me and make sure it was safe before I moved inside.
I didn’t see anyone, but the longer I stood there, I could’ve swore I heard something. Something moving. Something small, for sure, but…
And then a squeak.
A mouse? I jumped, turning around and practically scrambling outside of the room. The thought of Craig having mice made me want to strip my skin off with a potato peeler. But I listened closer, and I heard something moving around... I opened the door further and looked inside.
Nothing!
Since I didn’t see anybody in the room, I decided to flick the light switch on. But the light switch didn’t work.
Weird.
I stepped inside, spotting two chains hanging down from the fan in the center of the room. I tugged one of them, and the light came on, illuminating the entire room. Everything made sense as I studied my surroundings. The window and curtains were covered with a blanket, LED lights surrounded the ceiling- probably the reason why Craig didn’t have his lights on to begin with- and a large four story cage sat against the south wall in the room. That’s why I couldn’t see it, and why I could hear something squeaking and moving so well.
I moved closer to the hamster, a smile spreading across my lips as it sniffed and pushed its small, pink nose through a hole in the cage. So he does have a pet, I thought, wondering why there was no hamster wheel in the cage.
After wedging my fingers through the holes in the cage to pet it (and turning up unsuccessful), I resorted to looking around the rest of the bedroom, through dresser drawers and bookshelves. He had a lot of books. And a box of condoms. I wasn’t sure if that was relevant, but it was the most incriminating thing I could find. No pills, no drugs, no syringes.. not even a gram of weed, like the other room had. Just books. And a hamster.
I gave up my search and sat back in front of the hamster cage, hypnotized by the way it moved. It drank from a mechanism with a metal tube sticking out of it, slurping down the water, only to stop and give me weird looks.
It was adorable.