The Hoard

by Alan Ryker

  “I didn’t figure. I’m going to run some blood tests. The only cause I can think of is hormonal. I don’t want to alarm you, but something could be over-stimulating your pituitary gland. Why it would come on now, just after your accident, I couldn’t say. I also can’t believe it would have such a dramatic effect, but I’m grasping at straws here. Either that or it’s a miracle.”

  “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  “Still, I’m going to take some blood. I want you to make an appointment for a week from today.”

  Anna wasn’t going to make an appointment for a week from that day or any other. Just as she’d always thought, doctors charged a lot to give opinions that were barely better than guesses. Dr. Blake meant well, and he was handsome, but not handsome enough to get her into that office more than was absolutely necessary.

  * * *

  Anna watched the countryside roll past the truck window. Horses stood beneath shade trees by their watering holes. Cattle stuck their heads between the strands of barbed wire fences, convinced that the best grass was just beyond their reach. Hawks sat atop telephone poles, looking like little tyrants surveying their kingdoms rather than birds watching for vermin.

  She’d thought herself content with life in her house and the view from her front porch, but maybe she’d start letting Peter take her around, like he always offered. She didn’t get up to anything too wicked—she couldn’t, considering she never left her own house—but her soul could probably use a trip to church. The new, religious fervor from her dream still tingled in her veins. She’d always believed in God and Heaven. She hadn’t needed proof, but had gotten it when Victor started visiting her. But this was different. She could feel God at work on her.

  “You sure you want to go home? We’ve enjoyed having you at the house,” Peter said. His hands fidgeted over the steering wheel.

  From habit, Anna’s mouth opened to refuse, but then she considered it. She did love spending time with Junior and Teddy, and even Katherine was being civil.

  But chasing right after those pleasant thoughts flared a blaze of panic. Though the sky already filled her vision from horizon to horizon, it somehow grew larger, deeper. It grew heavy, a solid slab of blue incandescence pinning her to the scorched earth. And through it, something huge glared down at her with the burning, golden eye of a hawk awaiting her slightest movement. She was a rodent desperate for the close walls of a burrow.

  It was only the sun, but it was truly horrible.

  Anna curled up in the truck seat, wrapping her arms over her head.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “Get me home.” She needed her things. She needed to bury herself in them, to dive in headfirst and escape the vicious gaze of the sun. She needed to hide.

  “At least have supper with—”

  “Home!” she shrieked.

  Peter jumped and jerked the wheel, and they almost went into the oncoming lane. “Okay, calm down, Mom. Everything’s fine. I’ll get you home.”

  From beneath her arm Anna peeked out at the landscape, scorched and dead.

  The air above the road danced, almost as though aflame.

  CHAPTER 6

  Rebecca Shoemaker stepped out of the air-conditioned comfort of her car and into the hot, humid summer air. She looked over Anna Grish’s house. It didn’t look that bad. From the outside. That was a good sign. Usually, when there were problems on the inside, it showed in the condition of the surrounding yard. Though it wouldn’t have grown much recently without any rain, the lawn had been mowed at some point and was at a proper height.

  Junk didn’t fill the yard. Out in the rural areas, it was common for even well-kept homes to have a considerable amount of clutter in the yard. Ms. Grish’s yard was—for the most part—clear. Even the porch was tidy.

  So hopefully this was a case of an overly-concerned doctor. A doctor who cared too much was certainly preferable to one who cared too little. Social work wasn’t the most lucrative career, and Rebecca could always use the contracts from Adult Protective Services, but she wasn’t happy that her function was a necessity.

  According to the report, Anna’s son had agreed to take her into his home while she recuperated, so that would have been the place to go to see Anna. But Rebecca preferred to see the property first. At least as far as she was legally allowed.

  She walked up the stone path to the porch.

  The front door had been left open.

  Rebecca knocked on the screen door. Things moved inside. From the smell wafting through the screen, they were cats. No, the smell didn’t waft. It reached through the screen and sucker punched Rebecca directly in the sinuses.

  “Hello? Adult Protective Services here.”

  No response.

  Turning her head aside, Rebecca drew in a huge breath then put her face to the screen. As her eyes adjusted, she knew for certain that the doctor had made the correct decision to contact APS. The house was packed brim-full of junk. And from the smell, it was also packed full of cats and probably cat waste.

  They always had cats. And always so many. Never just one or two. And if they didn’t have cats, they had mice. Rebecca didn’t know which was worse.

  Cats certainly smelled worse. That much she was certain of.

  Rebecca stepped away from the door, drew in a huge gasp of air then headed back for her car, feeling dirty just from the smell. Peter Grish lived down the road. Hopefully he was prepared to take his mother in for longer than he’d originally been told.

  Just as Rebecca tossed her briefcase into the passenger seat, she heard the distant sound of an engine and the pop of gravel beneath tires.

  Rebecca knew it would be Anna Grish. Somehow, a hoarder always knew when her hoard was being threatened. Rebecca drew in a deep breath and calmed her nerves. Anna had likely lived a very independent existence. She had likely done for herself for decades. Rebecca hoped for a kindly old woman, but she’d been warned that Anna was tough.

  As the truck pulled into the drive, Rebecca thought she’d been mistaken. There seemed to be only one person in the car, a large man wearing a ball cap, who slowed and examined her car as he pulled in, then looked at her. His eyebrows knotted, though it looked as if in confusion rather than anger.

  But when the truck came to a stop, a small woman who’d been ducked lower than the window burst from the passenger-side door. She scurried past Rebecca without hesitation, so that Rebecca aimed her “Hello” at Anna’s back as the woman disappeared behind a slapping screen door. The solid front door banged shut a moment later. Rebecca thought it appropriate that it slammed hard enough to jar the happy little welcome sign from its nail.

  “Hi,” the large man said. “I’m Peter.”

  Rebecca jumped, as she had been focused on Anna and hadn’t heard the man leave the truck and approach.

  “Peter Grish? Anna’s son?”

  “That’s right.” He held out his hand.

  “I’m Rebecca Shoemaker with Adult Protective Services. I’m here to check on the living conditions of Ms. Anna Grish.” She gave his big, rough hand an authoritative squeeze, but he held on gingerly. She knew that his thick, nearly jointless fingers could have literally crushed her bones.

  Peter had the mobile, emotive eyebrows of a big, dopey dog, and they pressed upward, bunching his forehead into rows. “Adult Protective Services?”

  “APS received a report from the Lockton City Hospital. There were some warning signs that they felt needed to be investigated. Your mother lives here alone?”

  “Yes. Since my father died six years ago.”

  “Will she consent to allow me into the house?”

  “No,” he said without hesitation. “She doesn’t allow me into the house. Hasn’t for years.”

  While Rebecca had learned that appearances couldn’t always be trusted, she’d also learned that her gut almost always could. And from the moment she saw Peter Grish, her gut had told her that he was unable to abuse anyone. Anna’s condition was entirely her own
doing—a case of self-neglect—which called her mental health into question.

  “The issue is that I have reason to believe that your mother may be in imminent danger, which obligates me to contact law enforcement if she won’t provide consent for me to examine the home.”

  “Imminent danger? Come on.”

  “The report I received said that you found her unconscious, buried under a pile of items. Besides pretty severe injuries, she was admitted to the hospital dehydrated, dirty and bug-bitten. And I saw inside the house. The front door was open—”

  “Oh no,” Peter said, taking off his ball cap and ruffling his own hair. “When I carried her out I couldn’t shut the door behind me.”

  Rebecca saw fear in the man’s eyes. “That’s not what’s important now. What’s important is that I assess the living situation, and I’d rather do it without getting law enforcement involved.”

  “The law? She’s not hurting anyone.”

  “But with what recently happened, and with what I just saw, I would be negligent if I allowed her to live in conditions that put her in legitimate danger. I have to tell you, Peter, from what I just saw, I don’t think her house is currently habitable. I want her to go home with you. We always prefer to work these things through family, and I believe that you have her best interest at heart. She’s going to get more agitated if we call the sheriff. I think the best way to keep her out of a state facility is to handle this quietly.”

  “I know the situation is bad, but you can’t take her away. It’d kill her. That’s half the problem right there.”

  “Convince her to let me inside. I’ll determine if the environment is safe. I have to tell you now, I don’t think it is. But we can arrange for her to stay with you while we determine the best course of action.”

  Peter looked at her for a long moment. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “Fine. I’ll try. I don’t see what choice I have.”

  Rebecca knew what he meant, but she couldn’t let that go. “You have a choice, Peter. It’s important that you understand that I’m not attempting to coerce you or your mother. If you think it best that law enforcement become involved, I’ll call them.”

  “No, no. Just give me a minute.”

  The big man lumbered to the door with the air of a guilty child. That alone told Rebecca that Anna Grish would be trouble.

  It took a long time just for Peter to get his mother to the door. After that, from where she stood, Rebecca couldn’t hear their conversation. The sun poured heat down on the top of her head, and sweat rolled down her face even before the front door opened. And after that, Anna still stood behind her screen door like the gatekeeper of a medieval fortress with multiple layers of defenses.

  As Ms. Grish spoke to her son, she glared at Rebecca, letting her know that she was considered a besieging enemy. Rebecca was used to that sort of reception, though that didn’t mean she enjoyed it. She’d always found it sadly ironic that while people in her line of work faced daily hostility far beyond what an average person did, they also tended to be empathetic and sensitive to a degree that brought on anxiety and depression. If psychologists studied others to discover what was at work in the depths of their own minds, social workers worked in the hopes that if they ever fell, someone like themselves would be there to catch them.

  So Rebecca ignored Anna’s angry expression, instead wondering at how someone so small and fierce could produce someone so large and gentle. Peter never raised his voice. In fact, though his intervention was the only reason the woman was still alive, his wide round shoulders rounded even farther in apparent shame.

  Eventually, just as Rebecca thought she was going to have to sit in her car and run the AC, Anna went inside, and Peter waved Rebecca over.

  “She says you can come in, but she’s not talking to you.”

  “That’s perfectly fine. Thanks, Peter.”

  He nodded and held the screen door open for her.

  “You know what? I’d better not do this in front of her.” With that, Rebecca opened her briefcase on the porch rail. She withdrew two plastic booties with elastic cuffs and slipped them over her shoes. Then she put on latex gloves. “Okay.”

  Stepping into the living room, she reconsidered the facemasks in her briefcase. She hadn’t wanted to agitate Ms. Grish any more than necessary, but she knew she couldn’t stay in that house long without a mask. The air was palpable. Dust, mold and cat dander coated her sinuses and throat. She could literally taste the filth.

  How was this little old woman still alive?

  She sat in a chair surrounded by magazines, yarn and knitting projects, glaring at Rebecca through slit eyes not unlike those of the cats Rebecca had seen through the screen door perched on the mounds of junk. Cats which had since disappeared.

  “Thank you for letting me into your home, Ms. Grish.”

  “Not like I had a choice. You’d have come storming in with the SWAT team otherwise. And I’m not about to chitchat with you. Do what you’re gonna do.”

  Rebecca nodded. “Alright then.”

  With just one glance at the front room, Rebecca knew that Anna couldn’t stay there. But she needed see how bad it really was. Challenging an adult’s competence was a serious thing, and if it came to that, she needed to be able to fully justify her decision.

  Rebecca walked carefully along the narrow path. She wasn’t claustrophobic, but the fact that Peter’s wide frame blocked her way back had her nearly panicked. Anna had piled the junk so carefully that it was far more dangerous than if it had been allowed to settle on its own. Instead, towers of it teetered precariously at the slightest jostle. Worse still, the tunnel had been built by Anna to her own personal needs, and she was at most five feet tall, a foot wide at the shoulders and weighed less than a hundred pounds.

  The cats had urinated and shat throughout the pile. But worse, unfixed male cats had sprayed their particularly pungent markings. Rebecca could hear creatures moving within the pile, and knew that the filth went deep. She’d need to contact Animal Control. The cats would have to go with the junk. Rebecca had seen the situation many times. Though there were no pet limits outside of cities, the cats couldn’t be in good health. Confined this way, most would have infections from living in their own filth. Most would have injuries from fighting. It would be considered animal cruelty and all the cats—even the few healthy ones—would be taken.

  And they would be taken at her recommendation, because Ms. Grish was obviously unable to care for her pets properly.

  The trail ended abruptly at a point where the inevitable had occurred: gravity had won and the piles of garbage had toppled.

  “This is where you found her?”

  “Yes,” Peter said. His voice was thick.

  “Do you need a mask?” Rebecca asked.

  “No. I’ll be alright.”

  Carefully, testing each footstep before committing, Rebecca worked her way over the pile.

  “Careful!” Anna shouted from her chair. “Most of that is irreplaceable.”

  Of course Rebecca would never say it, but she thought that most of it could be replaced by a trip to the dump, though why someone would want to take trash instead of depositing it was something it had taken her some time to understand.

  Hoarders didn’t usually enjoy their hoards. In fact, they usually made them miserable. But it was a dull misery, a tolerable one. The thought of losing even a single item, though, caused a sharp wave of anxiety, sometimes such that the hoarder confused the symptoms with a heart attack. Being parted from their belongings could cause a hoarder actual physical pain.

  And so, even when they asked for help, at the final moment they often pretended there was no problem. Because compared to the sharp pain of separation, the dull misery of a hoarding life was tolerable.

  A lot of life seemed to come down to choices like that.

  “Be very careful,” Rebecca whispered, but Peter moved behind her with silent, rock-solid steadiness.

  Rebecca decided to che
ck the kitchen first, before branching off down the hallway. The worst of the smells came from the kitchen, and if her first experience of the house’s aroma was a punch in the sinuses, this was a punch in the gut. She’d have to leave very soon.

  She didn’t need to spend much time in the kitchen anyway. She just verified what she already knew: it was mostly non-functioning and almost unbelievably hostile to human life.

  The cats had done their worst there, defecating everywhere, turning the entire room into a litter box. Maggots squirmed in filth on the floor so thick that the linoleum wasn’t visible even in the narrow path not stacked with trash. The refrigerator worked, but was packed solid with rotten food. Surprisingly, the sink was clear, free of dishes and seemed to be regularly used. Rebecca hadn’t seen the bathroom yet, but she’d wager that Anna bathed at the kitchen sink.

  Junk had been piled on the countertops until most of the cupboards couldn’t be opened, with one exception. Inside that cupboard, Rebecca found a container of Crystal Light, jars of peanut butter and jam, a loaf of bread, and several bags of cat food.

  Rebecca turned to go back, but couldn’t pass Peter. He had to backtrack into the living room until she was able to enter the hallway.

  She saw two doors, one to the right and one to the left, and then a solid wall of junk that rose almost to the ceiling, totally blocking off the rest of the house. Obviously, at the end, Anna had actually thrown items up there.

  “How many rooms are back there?”

  Peter’s answer was unintelligible.

  “I’m sorry?” she said.

  He cleared his throat. “Two. There are two more bedrooms back there. Well, one was a sewing room.”

  Rebecca realized then that it wasn’t the smell, but emotion, that had Pete choked up. He’d said that his mother hadn’t allowed him into her house, so this was still fresh for him. He seemed like a very loving son. It must be terrible. But there was little time for tact. Rebecca needed to get out of that house quickly.

  “Which is the bedroom?”