Perfect Little Monsters and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  Suddenly a little girl stepped out from behind the SUV and looked toward the window. Patricia quickly crouched down, with her legs spread wide and the large bone in her right hand. She waited, her mind racing as she tried to work out whether the little girl had looked at her directly, but after a moment she realized that the child had probably just been struck by the beauty of the neighborhood. After all, Waffingham Heights was one of the most prestigious streets in the whole town. Still, she didn't dare look out the window again, not yet, not until she finally heard the Goldmans' front door swinging shut, at which point she took another bite on the bone and then gingerly got to her feet, and looked out at the empty driveway, while chewing slowly.

  Weird. The Goldmans were definitely weird.

  Two

  Holding her breath in the hallway, Patricia listened to the silence of the house. Ever since Harry had died some years earlier, she'd prided herself on maintaining order and strictitude. That word 'strictitude' was one of her own invention, and she supposed it to refer to a combination of rigor and strength. The idea, in her mind, was that a well-run house was a positive influence on the soul, and she'd begun to write a little book about the concept, so that perhaps she could share it with others.

  Patricia had a lot of advice for the world.

  Most of that advice stayed in her head, but one day...

  One day they'd listen.

  Even now, standing completely still, she took great comfort in the fact that the entire house was so neat and tidy. Harry had re-papered every room shortly before he died, and his work still looked immaculate. The house hadn't changed much since those days, and she'd preferred to keep most things the same, so that it would be easier to remember dear Harry.

  The drapes he'd hung.

  The carpet he'd laid.

  The steps he'd sanded.

  Harry's handiwork was all around.

  He'd been such a strong man, and the way he'd lugged heavy tins of paint up the stairs had been quite incredible. The sight of those big, firm muscles moving beneath the ironed creases of his shirt...

  Tears welled in her eyes again as she took another bite from the leg of lamb. A moment later, she felt a tickling sensation on her right foot. She looked down, still chewing thoughtfully on the meat, but there was no sign of anything touching her foot, even though she could still feel something tickling the flesh, like little legs crawling over the surface...

  Suddenly she froze as she heard the knocking sound again. Someone wanted her to open the front door, but she absolutely refused to do so. She was almost certain that the visitor must be the Goldman woman, Alexandra, probably 'popping over' to introduce herself, but Patricia had no desire whatsoever to get to know her neighbors, not if they were such frightfully modern people. She preferred to merely observe them from afar. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to stay calm, and she focused on the beautiful flowery patterns of the wallpaper.

  She was crouching under the table next to the stairs, and she had no intention of coming out while someone was at the door.

  Finally she heard footsteps heading back across the driveway, and she realized the danger had passed. Still, she also knew there was a chance the infernal woman might try again. At some point, there would have to be a confrontation.

  Three

  Crouching down with her legs wide apart, Patricia opened the oven door and immediately breathed deep as she smelled dinner's gorgeous aroma. It was the smell of well-cooked meat, more than anything, that always reminded her of happier times with Harry.

  “You know how to cook a joint of beef, sweetheart,” she remembered him saying, and for a moment she almost felt that he was sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for dinner.

  It would be so easy to drift.

  To let her memories appear in front of her.

  To believe Harry was still around.

  Closing her eyes, she savored the meaty smell for a moment longer. Beautiful, succulent beef, unencumbered by foul herbs or spices. Just the meat, a nice boiled steak resting in its own juices, although after a moment she began to detect another aroma, almost as if Harry's aftershave was in the room.

  “A man needs his meat,” she heard Harry's voice saying. “Give a man good meat, and he'll do anything for you.”

  “I know,” she whispered, “it's the secret of a happy marriage.” She paused, before opening her eyes and turning to look at the kitchen table. “Oh Harry, the new neighbors are so -”

  She stopped as soon as she saw the two empty chairs. Feeling a shiver of disappointment, she reminded herself that of course Harry was long gone.

  It was just her now.

  She paused for a moment, before holding her right hand up and tipping flakes of meat into her mouth.

  “Harry,” she whispered. “Oh Harry...”

  After sliding the glass dish from the oven, she set it down to cool and then fetched some cutlery from the drawer. She always took her time setting the table, since she believed it was good for the digestive tracts to build up slowly in anticipation of a meal. The smell of the meat was already in her system, and now her stomach would be getting ready to receive the food. She'd been experiencing a few pains down there for a while now, so she took extra time to set out the cutlery and to prepare a glass of water to go with her meal, and then finally she put the boiled steak on a plate and carried it to the table.

  Yellow juices, tinged with blood, were already slopping around the sides of the plate.

  The freezer! Suddenly it occurred to her that she should go into the pantry and check the freezer, although... After a moment, she realized she'd already done that, although she couldn't quite remember what she'd found.

  She sat down, but still she didn't eat, not yet. Instead she waited, allowing the anticipation to build some more. A shudder passed through her chest at the thought of tucking in to that delicious meat, and she even felt a faint dribble of saliva running from one corner of her mouth. She wiped that away immediately, of course, but now her eyes were fixed firmly on the steak and she felt she could hold back no longer. Yet she did hold back, even after taking the knife and fork in her hands, and for a few seconds she imagined Harry tucking in at the seat opposite, and she heard all his compliments running through her mind.

  “Oh Harry,” she whispered, with tears in her eyes. “Why did you have to...”

  Her voice trailed off, and she quickly told herself to quash such sentimental thoughts. Harry would want her to enjoy her meal, she knew that, but still she waited, forcing herself to remain disciplined until, finally, it happened again.

  She let out an involuntary whine.

  Now began to cut a slice from the side of the steak. As soon as she saw the tender pinkness at its center, she felt a slow, fulfilling shudder passing through the top of her arms and up into her neck, and it took several seconds before she realized she was drooling again. She wiped the corner of her mouth on a cotton napkin, and then slowly she began to raise the forkful of meat to her mouth. Already, she was imagining how it would feel on her lips, and on her tongue, and slipping down the back of her throat and -

  Suddenly she heard a bumping sound outside, accompanied by the rattle of her tea-cups.

  With the fork just inches from her mouth, Patricia turned and looked over at the far wall. Her tea-cups were hanging from little hooks that Harry had arranged years ago. A moment later there was another bump, and every single one of the cups rattled again, as if the wall was under some form of attack from outside. Patricia hesitated, before setting her fork down and getting to her feet. As the wall shuddered again, she reached the kitchen window and peered out, only for her eyes to widen in horror as she saw that the Goldman's loathsome, slightly pudgy, pudding-bowl-haired son was playing with a basketball out in the driveway. Sure enough, a moment later the boy tossed the ball hard at the wall, causing Patricia to shudder and her tea-cups to rattle.

  Her mouth opened a little, as if she was poised to call out, but she remained silent. She watched as the bo
y pounded the basketball against the opposite wall, and then he turned and began to dribble it once more across the driveway, before finally sending it slamming into the side of Patricia's house with extra force. The tea-cups rattled more than ever, and for a moment she actually feared that they might fall. Turning and looking over at the hooks, she felt utterly at a loss, as if -

  Suddenly she heard a scream from outside. She turned and saw that the Goldman boy was staring straight at her, his eyes filled with shock, and a moment later he abandoned his basketball and ran across the driveway, racing to his front door.

  Patricia stepped back, horrified that she'd been seen. She could still hear the boy shouting in the distance, even though he was in his own home by now, so she hurried through to the hallway and made extra-sure that all the locks on the front door were in place. Taking a deep breath, she hesitated for a moment, still able to hear the boy yelling. Why did people have to be so loud all the time? Then again, she supposed that if the boy was truly upset, he might actually take the encounter to heart and cease his awful routine with the basketball. Rushing back through to the kitchen, Patricia went to check the tea-cups, and she felt a flash of relief as she saw that they were undamaged.

  Harry's hooks had held.

  Finally, she drew the curtains across the kitchen window and then she retook her seat at the table. Rather than immediately starting to eat, she spent several minutes regathering her composure and trying to find a little more calm. Then, slowly, she raised the slice of steak to her lips and slipped it into her mouth.

  Cold. It was too cold now to properly enjoy. The neighbors were to blame for that. Such weird and aggravating people. Something would have to be done about them if they didn't settle down soon.

  Four

  “You're quite right, you know,” Harry's voice whispered as Patricia lay in bed, staring at the window. “These new neighbors are obviously rather vulgar. It's a shame, but that's what people are like in the modern world.”

  “I just want them to leave me alone,” she replied, as another tear rolled down her cheek. “They can do what they like, I don't care, but I want them to stop bothering me!”

  “They will,” he continued. “The boy seemed to get the message earlier.”

  “Maybe,” she muttered, before rolling onto her back.

  Next to her, Harry's side of the bed was empty. When she pulled the duvet aside, however, she saw the faint dent in the mattress that he'd left all those years ago, and which she'd carefully not disturbed. Most days, she was perfectly able to get along with only a few stray moments like this, but whenever something upset her she always started imagining Harry's voice. She knew this was rather strange behavior, and that she'd be looked upon as something of a kook if she was overheard nattering away to herself, but she couldn't really stop. After all, talking to Harry was the only thing that made her feel better, and the house was so empty otherwise.

  “They'll learn,” he said after a moment. “The previous neighbors left you alone, remember?”

  “Eventually.”

  “These people are just new,” he continued. “They don't know what it's like around here. They've never met you, so they just assume...”

  His voice trailed off.

  “Assume what?” she asked.

  “I don't know, that you're...”

  “Normal?”

  She imagined him sighing.

  “I know I'm not normal,” she continued, staring up at the ceiling. “I know I'm old-fashioned, and a little reserved, and I don't fit into the outside world very well. I remember the last time I went outside. That was several months ago now, and it was frightful. Oh Harry...” Another tear rolled down her cheek. “I felt as if everyone was looking at me, and muttering behind my back. I felt as if I was some kind of freak, merely because I prefer to keep to myself. I can't do it again, not ever.”

  “You can't retreat from the world, Patty.”

  “Why not? Why can't I?”

  She waited, but she heard no answer. After a moment, she reached over and took a meaty bone from the plate next to the bed. As she began to nibble, she felt the panic draining from her chest, although she knew it'd return soon enough.

  “You're doing very well, Patty,” Harry said suddenly. “Left alone like this, fending for yourself... I just wish I was still here, my darling. I'd go out there and box that little boy's ears, and he'd damn well never toss another basketball at the side of the house again.”

  “I wish you could do that,” she sobbed, as more and more tears rolled down her cheeks. Forcing herself to stay strong, she gnawed at the bone. She'd developed a technique of licking the meat to make it moist, and then grinding the scraps away with her teeth, and she'd even grown to accept the resultant slurping, scraping sound. “I wish you were still here, Harry,” she continued, between gulps. “Everything would be so much better. Life was perfect when you were around. Why did things have to change?”

  “I know, old bird,” he replied. “It certainly was a rum time, wasn't it?”

  She continued to chew at the bone for a few more minutes, before turning and looking across the room. The urn was still on the table near the bed, with Harry's ashes resting inside. Sometimes she wished he hadn't been cremated, that his big, strong body was still around in some form.

  Once she'd finished the first bone, she dropped it onto the plate and picked up another. The meat made her feel so much better. She kept chewing for a couple of hours, before finally falling asleep with the bone still clenched between her teeth.

  Five

  Singing to herself as she dusted the top of the door-frame the following morning, Patricia didn't notice at first that there was a faint scratching sound coming from the pantry. Instead, she was utterly focused on the task of wiping dusty specks from the wood, and she was holding a meat-covered bone between her teeth as she worked.

  And then, slowly, she began to realize that the house wasn't entirely quiet.

  Pausing, she listened to the distant scratching sound. After a moment, filled with panic, she stepped down from the stool and took a couple of steps over to the doorway, where she hesitated for a moment as she listened to the distinct sound of movement coming from the pantry next to the kitchen. With a sense of panic, she realized that after tipping a bowl of dirty water out into the yard, she'd neglected to bolt the door again, which meant...

  Voices!

  She could hear voices!

  Tip-toeing across the kitchen while sucking on the bone's marrow, she stopped at the next doorway.

  “Don't be a chicken!” she heard a boy whispering. “What are you so scared of?”

  “I'm not scared!” a girl's voice replied indignantly. “Why don't you go first?”

  “I'm the one who dared you, remember?”

  “But you said she looked -”

  “If you don't go in, Emma, I'll tell everyone that you're a chicken!”

  Standing completely still, Patricia realized with a growing sense of horror that the two Goldman children were in her pantry. Not just at the window or at the door, where she'd sometimes caught the children of her previous neighbors, but actually in the pantry. No-one had been inside her house for years, not since the paramedics had come to take Harry away after his heart attack, but now these rotten, snotty-nosed little brats were actually in the pantry.

  “All you have to do,” she heard the little boy whispering, “is go through the house and out the front door. That way, I'll know you've actually been inside and I won't have to tell everyone that you're a chicken.”

  “What if she sees me?”

  “She won't, not if you're quick.”

  “But what if she does?”

  “She won't! She'll be doing old lady things. Come on, Emma, everyone knows old people sleep all day anyway. She'll be up in bed right now. She probably only gets up to go poop.”

  Patricia flinched. Such awful language.

  “Harry, what should I do?” she whispered under her breath.

  “Did y
ou hear something?” the little girl asked, sounding terrified.

  “No,” the boy replied sourly, “and neither did you! Now I'm going round the front, and I'd better see you coming out in a few minutes, 'cause I really don't wanna have to tell everyone about how you're a chicken. So don't make me!”

  Patricia heard a shuffling sound, followed by footsteps rushing around the side of the house. She waited, hoping against hope that the little girl had gone with her brother, but a moment later she heard a very faint sniffing sound from the pantry and she realized the girl was definitely still in there.

  She waited.

  Silence.

  Then a creak, and then a single footstep.

  The girl was coming closer, toward the doorway.

  Patricia took a step back, while desperately trying to work out what to do next. She imagined Harry shouting and yelling at the kid, scaring her away, but then she realized that wasn't what he'd have done at all. Harry always loved kids and enjoyed meeting them, so he'd probably have invited the little girl inside and given her milk and cookies. Patricia had always struggled with social interaction, but she'd managed to fumble along while she had Harry to lead the way. Once he'd gone away, however, she'd been left all alone and slowly she'd shrunk back from the world. Now she edged out of the kitchen and into the hallway, and a moment later she heard the invader emerging from the pantry.