I worked up my courage to come closer to the chain-link fence and the brick barbecue which sat in the furthest depths of the yard. I was ready to dash off in case they came back, but then I heard something unexpected; a giggle. It sounded like another little girl. I was ready to make friends but the yard behind ours lay silent and empty. Was she in the alley? Who was dauntless enough to go there?
“Scared you didn’t they?”
I almost jumped clear out of my sneakers. A tall, skinny man stood in the yard next to ours. He smiled. My heart thumped hard against my ribcage and stole my voice. Despite his grin, I suspected he enjoyed the fright he gave me.
“My name is Dave, what’s yours?”
Before then I saw him either mowing the grass or doing work around the house. He would disappear for a few days, and then his boxy, white car would reappear in Mary’s driveway. His short-sleeved shirt buttoned to the top reinforced the severe look complimented by his dark hair that slid back from his forehead. There were no creases anywhere on his clothes. His smile revealed small teeth for an adult. His skin had a queer, sallow tint to it.
I stood there staring at him. As if reading my mind, he continued, “Thought they might just carry you off, right?”
I nodded.
“They’re just some garbage men picking up trash.” He must have seen me eye the area beyond the fence line as if it was the precipice off the side of a mountain. “It’s just an alleyway, nothing more than tall grass. Is a big girl like you scared of weeds?”
I shook my head in denial.
Again he read my thoughts. “If you come out and walk around, you’ll find there’s nothing to be afraid of. Stomp around a bit, scare some grasshoppers, and I’ll bet you’ll want to play in the alley all the time.”
My grandmother would be furious, but in that moment I wanted to show this teasing man that I wasn’t scared. I went to the gate and opened the latch. There was no lock on it. I looked either way, scraggly bushes flanked a narrow trail snaking through the center. I stepped out, and unbelievably the ground didn’t open up and swallow me.
“See, nothing’s happened. What did I tell you? Now just walk over here and you’ll see it’s the same over on this end. Anyway I’m here to look out for you.”
With a little more confidence I walked down the alley, when a voice boomed out further down, with a deep Southern drawl, “You! What yeah doin’ there? I’m gonna speak to your momma.”
I ran back into my haven not waiting to hear the rest, certain that punishment was inescapable. Once on the other side of the fence I turned back, thinking my accuser was hot on my heels. I peered through the trees standing between our yards and there was only an old, balding man raking leaves under a mango tree. The place where Dave stood moments before was empty.
The door to Mr. Nash's old home opened, and I closed the one to my memories. Detectives stepped out with whom I assumed were the present owners. Then two other men came around the side of the house carrying a black plastic bag between them. They opened the rear door of the van and slid it inside.
Even though I guessed that the situation was serious if the police department was there, I noticed no urgency in their actions. The owners weren’t crying, they just had a puzzled expression on their faces as the two detectives kept speaking to them.
Unbidden, my eyes drifted back to the front yard of my former home. Strange vehicles claimed an area where my family once gathered in the twilight hours after eating dinner. It was customary for us to sit there enjoying the scent of night jasmine from two bushes planted outside the front door.
One evening, soon after I braved the perils of the alley my grandmother told of a strange incident that occurred that very day. Walking home from a nearby market, a canal which lined the street burgeoned with police vehicles. Scattered throughout the city these deep pools of water served as drainage.
She came abreast of a woman that stood at her gate and watched the activity. In whispered tones, she described where the body of a little girl anchored by a piece of cement was found in the green depths. She had been missing since the day before. Someone saw one of her sneakers floating at the top of the water.
My mother turned to look at me, something I now realize all parents do when they hear stories like this one, but she also noticed my presence and they changed the subject. My grandfather’s figure stiffened, and he puffed vigorously on a Cuban cigar he clenched in his teeth.
A few weeks later, deep into hurricane season, one churned out in the Atlantic, wrecking small island cities in its path and heading straight towards the southeastern coast of Florida.
Being a child the preparations felt like a festival and excited me. I overlooked the fact they postponed my birthday party. My mother and grandfather stayed home from work and spent the day preparing the house. My grandfather lowered the awnings over the windows, and I as his faithful helper held his tools for him.
Two yards over I saw Dave hunched over as he shoveled out dirt from a hole like a desperate scavenger inside Mr. Nash’s property. The balding old man stood next to him, holding another shovel and giving him instructions. Even as a child I thought Mr. Nash was crazy to be building a barbecue instead of getting his house ready, and Dave was crazier still as he worked with undisguised fervor.
Later that afternoon my grandmother asked me to pull some wash from the line. Outside, clouds the color of charred ashes swirled low to the ground, and branches from the towering avocado trees thrashed about in the powerful gusts of wind. The birds that usually flitted among them sought shelter in a safer place, and only a solitary pigeon perched on an electrical wire witnessed my silent awe.
On tip toe I pulled the first piece of clothing from the line. Muffled shouts sounded from next door. I stopped and stood still among the clothes that whipped around me. The back door of Mary’s house burst open, the narrow jalousie windows rattling in their frame.
Dave stood there and shouted, “You’re getting me sick and tired of all your questions. Isn’t all I do around here enough to make you happy? You always have to poke and pry, maybe I’ll just stop coming around here; let you fix your yard and take care of this old house. Yeah, an old house with an old lady... and I’ve had enough!”
Mary’s voice from inside the house, low and unintelligible answered him. He grabbed the edge of the door and slammed it shut cutting her off in mid sentence. Since our windows were covered, my family heard nothing.
The man was unrecognizable. His unbuttoned shirt hung outside of his pants, and his white undershirt clung damply to his thin chest. No longer slicked back his hair hung in his eyes. He turned as if sensing my gaze. The bedclothes fluttered around me as my eyes met his. Oh God his eyes! Even from that distance between us they glittered like pieces of dark glass, stark against the pale and stretched skin of his face. He ambled over to where I stood, with only the chain link fence separating us. My eyes followed his hand, mesmerized as he pulled something from his pant pocket. Even now so many years later I don’t understand what spell held me in place, something more powerful than simple fear. He wanted me to see him this way, undisguised and free from all pretense,
Something white flowered in his hand, and a few seconds later I realized it was one of my underwear. His eyes like ebony sequins burrowed into mine, and he brought it to his face, rubbing it against his cheek then plunging his nose into it. He could have plucked it from our clothesline without being seen. So easy yet forbidden, and even with my tender years I knew that I stood before a deep well of malevolence. His teeth which once appeared childlike seemed to elongate like wolf-fangs, and an air of savagery draped itself like a cloak of sadism around him.
Then with a start, comprehension unwanted but inescapable, filled my small body with fear and revulsion. I trembled from head to toe, and my mouth grew dry with the certainty that invaded my being. Dave captured the little girl that lived here before, and also the one found at the bottom of the canal. This was a terrible realization for a child.
“Yo
u’re a smart little thing aren’t you? And so pretty.” he hissed. “Come over here and I’ll tell you a secret... the kind little girls like you love to know. Come closer and I’ll whisper it in your ear.”
For all our humanness there runs a deep streak of an instinct in us that evolution has never done away with, it’s what keeps us alive when logic and comprehension have fled. In those tense, endless moments Dave didn’t realize his mask slipped. He still thought he held the power to sweet talk a child and I dare not let him know I saw beyond his disguise.
Suddenly from across the distance, a deep, voice shouted, “Dave... Dave, come on ova’ heah.”
His eyes became glazed and his smile torpid before he turned with a quick and practiced motion and put my underwear back in his pocket. With the other hand he swept his hair back. The old man leaned against the fence in his yard, a shovel in one hand while he beckoned Dave over with the other. The wind drowned out their conversation. Across the distance, Mr. Nash flicked his eyes at me, and I realized he had purposefully lured Dave away. He knew. The fear broke over my like a wave and my feet grew wings as I ran inside the house.
Later that night the electrical power went out. The wind whistled around the corners of the house and the rain drummed outside. I lay on the sofa, my head on my mother’s lap. My family sat around a small battery operated radio listening to the weather report. Too preoccupied, my quiet demeanor went unnoticed. A hurricane lamp stood on the coffee table, casting shadows that danced across the walls.
Earlier the only solution I came up with was never to leave my house again. That and not to tell my family anything about it. Somehow I feared that they would blame me, that I was contaminated by what I saw, and my family would not love me the same way; a child’s fear, but a powerful one.
The next day the clouds had turned white and raced across a sunlit sky. The smell of coffee filled the kitchen. My grandmother fried bacon and bread dipped in egg batter on the gas stove. The doors stood open to allow daylight to enter since electricity had yet to be restored. I ventured out, leaning close to my mother’s side as we picked up branches and litter that lay strewn about. Against my will my eyes stole a glance into the adjacent property, and I quivered in relief to see it was empty.
During the next few days every time a knock came to the door I tensed, fearing it would be Dave offering to help, but he never came, and I never saw him again.
One night soon after I dozed next to my mother, as she and my grandmother sat at the sofa making small talk about the day’s events. They spoke about Dave disappearance after the storm. My grandmother said Mary confessed that they were having troubles, and another neighbor overheard them arguing, and that he threatened to leave. His nondescript car had disappeared from Mary’s driveway,
Now I realized these memories lay curled inside me like a reptile rendered inactive by cold weather. My family never knew of those strange happenings and the sinister man who lived so close. I did what so many humans do under stress, deny it ever happened.
I decided to confirm my suspicion, and I approached a policeman, batting my eyelashes while I curved my lips into my flirty, ‘I love men in uniform’ smile. It worked.
“What happened officer?”
“It’s not as serious as it looks, it‘s just some bones found in these people’s back yard.”
“Bones?”
“Yeah, they’re putting in a swimming pool, and the crew knocked over a brick barbecue in the back, which was in the way. They found bones underneath it. However it looks like this happened a long time ago, even before these people moved in.”
His radio crackled, and he stepped away to answer it.
I felt a cold sweat break over my body, and my face flushed. My body reacted to memories thrust into the deepest recesses of my mind which crested like a submarine barreling to the surface. They were not the result of an overactive imagination.
In those weeks after the hurricane, I saw Mr. Nash and Mary talking in whispers over the shared fence between their properties. They were oblivious to the little girl who stared at them from behind a tree trunk. These were two persons who seldom spoke before even though they were neighbors.
Mr. Nash took over Dave’s old chores, and Mary brought him a tall glass of refreshment for his troubles. More than just my family wondered if romance blossomed between them. However, I suspected this liaison was not borne of love.
Now as an adult I could fill in the gaps I never witnessed, and a deep conviction assured me I was right.
It would have been so easy for Mr. Nash or Mary to dispose of Dave’s car. His own maliciousness and outburst guaranteed that others knew he planned to leave and not return. Perhaps Mary was a secret he shared with no one and she used that anonymity to shield herself.
I remembered peeking through the jalousie door after running inside the day of the hurricane and saw as Dave crossed over into the other property through a side gate. Mr. Nash slung his arm around the thin man’s shoulders, and they walked towards the back. Then I lost them from view.
A few weeks after the hurricane Mr. Nash surprised the neighborhood when he extended an invitation for a small celebration at his home, disproving the belief he was a cranky old man. The taciturn old man’s face cracked in a rare smile, and he promised they would enjoy the best southern cooking. He told stories as he tended the sizzling meat in the brick barbecue he completed a few days before. Everyone wondered if he was romancing Mary using the cover of the party now that Dave had gone. He winked at me when he brought out a birthday cake Mary had baked to make up for the celebration the bad weather had ruined.
Someone made a comment about too bad that Dave missed the get together, but he shrugged his shoulders and commented, “Maybe there’s some place he had to be at.” When he made that statement he looked at me, and even then the mention of that name stole the smile from my lips and I shivered in the summer heat.
Now I realized that somewhere along the line Mr. Nash guessed what Dave’s proclivities were, and to what use he would put those pits he made when he was constructing the barbecues.
The day of the hurricane everyone cowered inside, consumed with tracking its progress. How easy could it have been to hit Dave with a shovel and kill him? Day turned into a night full of rain and fury. No living soul stepped outside, and windows were firmly shuttered.
If Mary had not been his accomplice, then I’m sure she became one soon after, because no person ever came looking for Dave, including the police. They took a gamble, and it played out in their favor.
Mr. Nash and Mary each did it for their own reasons I guess. The old man held no proof against Dave to bring to the police. He came from a time when justice was meted out with no hesitation, especially for those who hurt children. Was I the catalyst which drove Mr. Nash to take the law into his own hands if he suspected I would be the next victim?
I wondered if a year before our arrival he watched Dave complete a back yard project for a family who were consumed in finding their lost child, oblivious to a man who toiled silently in the depth of their property.
Perhaps Mary started to suspect Dave as well, and she feared that he would do away with her in case she went to the police.
I realized then that it was this memory which thrummed with pain inside me. Not my grandmother’s death, but the remembrance of another birthday when I was a heartbeat away from being murdered.
“Miss, are you okay?”
I stared at the questioning face of the officer. How crazy would it sound if I told them those bones belonged to a killer of children, who imprisoned his victims’ bodies under cover of being a good neighbor?
Cold cases would be dredged up and remains could be linked to disappearances never solved. Most of those that wept for them would probably be dead now. But there was one I would grieve for, even though I never met her. I believe she sometimes watched over me. Was she the silent companion that I sensed as I played by myself with my dolls and tea sets in my shadowy tree house; the reason I never
felt lonely?
Maybe today was the moment to release her from her damp tomb under the shade of the avocado trees. Peace filled me, and in my mind’s eye I saw my grandmother’s silhouette standing in the violet gloom under the branches and her arm rested protectively around the slim shoulders of a child standing next to her.
I turned to the policeman and asked to speak to the detectives, explaining that I might have information that might interest them. He spoke into his radio, and both immediately headed in our direction.
The rain stopped and a soft evening breeze lifted my hair. I closed my umbrella and stared at the house so full of memories. Beyond it the sun was setting, streaking the horizon with shots of lavender and vermilion against a dense blue sky. I turned to the men and started at the beginning.
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I've Come for My Girl and Two Other Dark Tales Page 5