Table of Contents
Title Page
The Witness
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Copyright © 2017 by Sharon Harclerode
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of brief quotations in a book. Requests for permission should be addressed to the publisher.
The Witness is a work of fiction. Names, organizations, places, and incidents portrayed in this novella are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual, events, locales, or persons is purely coincidental.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Published by:
Sharon Harclerode
Edited by:
Crystal Watanabe (www.pikkoshouse.com)
Cover Design by:
Adam Hall (www.aroundthepages.com)
Ebook and Print Formatting by:
Crystal Watanabe (www.pikkoshouse.com)
First edition, 2017
The Witness
By: Sharon Harclerode
For my family.
Thank you for nurturing my vivid imagination.
Chapter 1
A hard thud and a deafening crash snapped me out of a dead sleep. I rubbed my eyes and looked around in an effort to find the source of the noise, which was unmistakably broken glass. The sound of a sliding door slamming open made me turn toward Ethan Meyer’s house next door.
“Bitch, where you think you’re going?” The sandpaper tone of his voice was punctuated with a low growl. I stood up and immediately ducked back down, not wanting to be seen through the six-foot-tall worn wooden fence that separated our houses. The faint glow from the flameless candles sitting on the table next to me was the only light source in my yard. I was half tempted to turn them off so I could be fully consumed by the blanket of night but thought better of it in case I needed to make my own escape. I heard panting immediately followed by sobbing. The only other people who lived next door besides Ethan were his parents, Bill and Lori. It had to be them.
In an effort to confirm my suspicions, I tiptoed toward the fence line, hoping that my bare feet wouldn’t disturb anything on the ground that would call attention to my presence. The motion-activated patio light in their yard was on, and as I inched closer I could start to make out human forms through the gaps in the fence. A hole in the fence the size of a nickel was close to my vantage point. It wasn’t quite at eye level, so I had to bend my knees to get a good view.
Lori was cowering in the corner of the yard with her hands covering her head. A small red stream trickled down her arm. Bill was about six feet away and closing the gap fast. Both of his fists were clenched, veins popping out of his arms and neck.
“I hear everything. I see everything. I know your next move before you do. Woman. Don’t. Test. Me. You know what happens when you do. Do you think you can escape?” A heavy silence broke the line of questioning. His arms and hands became very animated as he spoke. “Remember what happened the last time I found you? Remember how much I made you pay for that stupid decision? No one can protect you. I will always find you, and next time I promise it will be much worse than before. You will wish that you were dead.”
The words echoed in my ears as if I were sitting in a cave surrounded by empty space. What was I witnessing? This was Bill, a local doctor in the emergency room and the father of one of my friends; the Meyers had lived next door since we were in grade school. It looked like him but didn’t sound like him. His voice lacked the warmth and friendliness that I knew. In its place was a cold, condescending voice full of ire.
I remembered when they moved in. I was so excited to have someone to play with since I was an only child and there weren’t many kids my age that lived on our street. Ethan was quiet at first, but then he started to open up more and became one of my good friends. His parents were strict and only let him play outside on the weekends. We made up for lost time by staying outside all day on the weekends, creating our own world.
But now that I thought back, I remembered him always being so sad when it was time to go inside for the night. He would always give me a long, extended hug, all the way up until we became young adults. I had only been to Ethan’s house a handful of times. His dad, Bill, didn’t like to have too many people inside the house. I guess he was some kind of a clean freak and thought the less traffic the better, so I never gave it a second thought. Ethan’s house was always impeccable, and I remember being jealous of how his mom stayed home while mine worked. I never felt neglected by my parents, but as a kid you always want your mom around.
When high school graduation rolled around, it seemed like every kid in our class was having some type of graduation party—except for Ethan. I invited him over to mine, but he only stayed for an hour, which was weird. What kid doesn’t want to stay out past nine p.m., especially for a graduation party? I guess I should’ve known something was up, but I just thought his folks were keeping him on a tight leash.
Ethan ended up going to community college to stay close to home, while I opted for a school three hours away. It afforded me the opportunity to be within driving distance from my parents but far enough away to do what I wanted. I tried to convince him to apply to the same school so we could be roommates, but he never did. He just kept saying that he wanted to stay close to home for his mom since his dad worked a lot.
I’d just finished up my second year, so I was home for the summer. It felt good to be back home, but part of me longed for the freedom I had come to appreciate while living in the dorms. I’d decided to take the summer off from my usual part-time job at the shoe store. I just wanted to have a summer off from everything and relax.
The sound of his voice snapped me back to the present. “You will do what I tell you to do. The only job you have is to take care of this house. I work all damn day and expect to come home to a clean house and a nice home-cooked meal.” Each word came out choppy and sharp. His voice was climbing, escalating. “And today I come home and what do I find?”
For a few brief moments, silence filled the air, and then came a faint female voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that the food had cooled down a bit. Next time I will make sure that it’s piping hot, just like you like it.” Her words came out broken and defeated. Both of her shaking hands were now in front of her, silently pleading for him to back off.
“Next time? Next time? Tell me how you’re going to fix it now!” He raised his arm with his hand fully extended. In a sweeping motion, his hand came down on her head, raging like a tidal wave, over and over again. I leapt forward, my eyes bulging out of my head. Without thinking, I gasped loud enough for anyone within earshot to hear.
Bill turned toward my direction, and his eyes became slits. It felt like he was focusing right on me, as if I was as visible as a neon sign. I fought the urge to move, to run away. I closed my eyes, hoping like a little kid that if I couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see me. I raised my right hand and covered my mouth and nose. I had to be as still and as quiet as possible.
Blend into the fence, blend into the fence.
This momentary distraction gave Lori the courage to run back into the house, and I heard footsteps rapidly moving away from the yard before disa
ppearing indoors.
I waited a few seconds, hoping to hear Bill’s footsteps following Lori into the house. Silence. I waited a few more seconds and heard something that made every hair on my body stand on end. Breathing, obnoxious and disturbing. The subtle whistle of his breath dancing around his teeth, close to the fence. It was as if I could feel each breath on my face, heavy and repugnant. The smell of alcohol drifted through the pickets. The rage emanating from his body stuck to the air and began to suffocate me. I felt my knees buckling, but I forced them to stay locked in place. A searing pain began to shoot up both of my legs, begging me to move, but I refused. Beads of sweat began to collect on my brow and eventually spilled past my eyebrows down my face. I did not move.
After what felt like forever, he began to move away from the fence, back toward the house. I opened my eyes as his footsteps got farther and farther away. He was still facing the fence, walking backward. His 5'9" frame was hunched over like a bull ready to charge. Once he reached the threshold of the door, he took one last look toward me, then grunted and stepped inside. The door slowly closed, and I heard a click.
Finally, I exhaled, and relief washed over me. I bent down and gave my knees the release they were begging for. I decided it was better to wait until the light went off before making my way back to the safety of my house. One minute went by, then another. Finally, the light went off, and it was safe to move. The rest of the house was cloaked in darkness with the exception of Ethan’s room, which glowed a dull orange. Preoccupied by watching his window while walking, I clumsily tripped over a large rock and bumped into the grill. Bang! The stainless steel reverberated under my lanky frame. I didn’t wait to see if anyone noticed me. My legs had a mind of their own and carried me straight inside the house.
Fumbling up the stairs, I found the sanctuary of my room. I shut the door and locked it. Struggling to breathe, my chest moved up and down rapidly, my lungs working hard to regain air. I briefly thought of my parents, who were heavy sleepers—once they hit the sack they were down for the count. Our little poodle, Huxley, was hard of hearing, so I knew that all of the commotion wouldn’t have alerted him.
I walked over to my window and looked out toward Ethan’s house. I began scanning the house, and my eyes stopped at Ethan’s window. The silhouette of a person was dimly outlined on one side of the window. I slowly backed away from my position and turned off the light. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to calm myself down and stop my heart from hammering in my chest. After a few deep breaths, I summoned the courage to once again peek out the window, trying my best to not be detected.
The silhouette was gone. I let out my breath sharply, flooded with relief, but it was only short-lived. Movement in the front yard caught my eye, and I noticed a figure standing between my house and Ethan’s house. I tried to focus my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Dressed in a black hoodie and dark pants, their face hidden beneath the shadows, someone was standing there watching my house . . . my window . . . me. It had to be Bill.
His right hand rested close to the pocket of his pants, and he was flicking his thumb against his pointer finger, over and over and over again. The repetitive movement, although slight, rattled me. I couldn’t move. My legs were trapped in quicksand, and the walls were closing in on me.
What am I going to do?
The dark figure only lingered for a few minutes and then disappeared down the street. I stayed up for hours, tense with anticipation of the figure coming back, until my body felt like it was going to give out. Tossing and turning, my bed felt like a pile of rocks. Nightmares plagued what little sleep I had, and Bill had the starring role of the boogeyman.
I kept hearing his voice and smelling his foul breath. His words haunted me. I kept hearing one phrase repeatedly in my head.
“I promise it will be much worse than before.”
The intensity of his anger flashed in my mind, sending chills down my spine.
Chapter 2
It was around eight a.m. when I finally rolled out of bed in search of coffee. My parents were at their weekly tennis match with the Smiths, who lived down the road. They wouldn’t be back for another few hours at least. Huxley greeted me in the hallway. He was old in human years, which meant ancient in dog years. He slept a lot and rarely traveled up the stairs to greet me, but today he must’ve known that I needed some comfort. I patted his head and back and picked him up then carried him down the stairs in an effort to thank him for the gesture.
My parents must’ve just left since our kitchen was bright and buzzing with life. The coffee pot gurgled as it was finishing up its brew, waiting for me to take a cup, and the oven contained a plate of breakfast that Mom fixed, warm and toasty. She knew how much I loved her home fries with bacon bits. The dishwasher was on the rinse cycle and seemed to be in tune with the coffee pot. It was just a normal day at the Howell household. Hot plate in hand coupled with a cup practically overflowing with black coffee, I made my way to the table, anxious to devour my breakfast.
Part of me hoped it could temporarily transport me back in time to when I was ignorant of whatever was going on in Ethan’s house, perpetrated by Bill. Could this be an isolated incident? Was I jumping to conclusions? The more I thought about it the more I lost my appetite. I threw the remaining three-fourths of my food into a container and tucked it away in the fridge. Maybe I would be able to enjoy it later. I lifted the coffee cup to my lips and relished the warm sensation right before taking a drink. After I took my first delicious sip, I heard a noise coming from the front yard.
I got up and glanced out the window, curious to see who or what was making the noise. At first I didn’t see anything, but then I noticed a glint of metal. It was the sound of shears clicking rapidly with the snap of branches. Bill was outside trimming the hedge that wrapped around the front porch of their house.
At first his back was to me, so I decided to linger longer than I should have and continued to stare out the window. A sound from the dishwasher temporarily averted my attention, and when I looked back, Bill was staring right at me. He hadn’t stopped trimming the hedges but seemed to be doing it blindly now, his eyes focused squarely on me. We made eye contact. I tried to hold his gaze, but it was too intense. I stepped away from the window with the eerie feeling that he was tormenting me, playing games with me.
What did he think that I knew? At that point I knew he had to at least be suspicious. Ethan. I would try to talk to Ethan. Then a scary thought came to mind. What if Ethan already knew about the abuse? What if he was also being abused? I needed to talk to him, but I had to think through my approach. If Bill was like this with Lori, who knew how much of a hold he had on his son.
My mind began to sprint a mile a minute, matched only by the beat of my heart. I sat on the staircase and held my head in my hands. Regardless of what happened to me, I had to do the right thing and report it. But would the police believe me? What evidence did I have? Surely Lori would show them her bruises.
She must have bruises, right? Why didn’t I call the police last night? Argh! My head began to hurt, and I just wanted it all to go away. I plucked my cell phone out of my pocket and started to dial 911, but I couldn’t bring myself to dial the last number. My emotions were being pulled in too many directions, and internally I was conflicted. I needed to go back and try to sleep. Maybe then I could think more clearly about what to do. I dragged myself back to bed and buried my head in the blanket. I lay there for what seemed like forever, but when I checked the clock, it had been only thirty minutes. I was so tired, but my mind refused to let my body fall asleep.
I decided to quit torturing myself and took a prescription sleeping pill. I knew that I needed sleep, and if I couldn’t do it naturally, I would help it along. I only took them when I had bouts of insomnia, something that I suffered from frequently in high school but rarely made an appearance now. I didn’t like it because the pills always made me groggy, and it was often hard to wake up.
As I began to drift deeper and dee
per toward sleep, I heard Huxley barking and then heard the front door opening and closing. I tried to snap out of it so I could hear what was going on, but the drug was taking effect and rendering me more helpless by the minute. I struggled to keep my eyes open as footsteps started to ascend the stairs. Who could it be? My parents wouldn’t have come home early from their tennis match, and Huxley didn’t typically bark at them.
My eyes refused to focus. Someone appeared in the doorway of my room. I could hear them breathing. My arms, legs, and head felt paralyzed, and when I tried to lift them it was like trying to lift dead weight. My eyelids fluttered, balancing between consciousness and unconsciousness. An invisible force sat on my chest, pinning me to the bed. Someone was now standing over me. As the seconds ticked by, the pace of their breathing picked up.
I was now at the mercy of whoever this was. I tried to wake myself up, but my body wasn’t responding. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain on the left side of my head, and then everything faded to black.
Chapter 3
I woke up and glanced at the clock by my bed, groaning as my head spun from the sudden movement. My vision was slightly blurry, but I was able to make out that it was 2:05 p.m. Wow! I had been seriously knocked out. I rubbed my eyes in an effort to wake up. There was a dull pain on the left side of my head by my temple, as if I had been hit with something.
Damn sleeping pills. I slowly shuffled out of bed and wandered to the bathroom. The coolness of the water on my face was refreshing and made me feel slightly better. At least I was able to focus more, and my vision improved. As I stepped back into my room, sounds from the television downstairs told me that I was not alone. My parents were home. I started to walk toward the bedroom door, which was now oddly closed. Funny. I didn’t remember closing the door. In fact, the last thing I remembered was someone standing over me and a sharp pain on my head. I was immediately on high alert, and I started to survey the scene and pat down my body, checking for injuries.
The Witness Page 1