He noticed that his neighbors' car was not there, but made his way toward their front porch just the same. Aware that the doorbell was not working, he knocked on the solid, wooden door.
"Mister or Mrs. Straptopulus. This is Bobby from next door." He called as closely to the door as possible.
There was deafening silence, then seconds later, a loud crash that sounded like heavy, tin pans had landed on a hard surface.
"Hello!" He cried out again. "Are you all right in there?"
Silence.
Bobby knocked on the door again and waited.
Then more crashing sounds — this time so loudly that he jerked backwards. Convinced that whomever was home could not hear him, he descended the porch and proceeded to the side of the house, calling out to the owners as he walked. He arrived at their back yard and stood for a moment looking around. It was so quiet, so tranquil, so…
There was that loud crash again, but this time, he was sure that something had slammed the wall.
What on earth is going on in there? He wondered.
"Mister or Mrs. Straptopulus!" Bobby yelled even louder than before, but there was still no answer.
He went over to a window and placed his hands at both sides of his face, his nose touching the glass. His view inside the room was blocked by dark curtains. Not a speck of light escaped them.
Bobby tried another window. Same thing, then another, and another. All of the curtains were drawn, including the one in the kitchen. The noise was intermittent and Bobby was beginning to wonder if he should contact law enforcement. He could not imagine what was going on inside his neighbor's house. Was someone just having a dreadful day and venting alone? It seemed like a logical answer. Maybe they didn't want anyone interfering in their tantrum. Bobby was sure this was a possibility. Then again, the Straptopuluses, unbeknownst to them, could have had an intruder or two — probably some punk kids who could not find anything constructive to do with their time. Either way, Bobby knew he had to get to the bottom of it and then he remembered: He had both Mister and Mrs. Straptopulus' work numbers scribbled down in a notebook. They were nice enough to exchange work contacts just in case of any emergencies after he had moved in.
Bobby quickly ran to his house, darted up the narrow, crinkly stairs and yanked open the drawer of his nightstand. The notepad was sitting on top of a mountain of old receipts. Quickly skimming through the pages, he found their telephone numbers. He picked up the phone and sat down, eager to hear a voice on the other end of the line.
"H & M Furniture," a woman answered after the third ring.
"I'd like to speak with Mister Straptopulus please. It's urgent," Bobby said anxiously.
"One moment please."
The woman's prim voice was replaced by what Bobby considered elevator music. In the meanwhile, he heard yet another loud crash next door. He tapped his feet impatiently.
"Straptopulus. Can I help you?"
"Mister Straptopulus. I'm Bobby Henfield, your next door neighbor."
"Oh, hello, Bobby! Is there something wrong?"
Bobby thought it was a strange question to start off with, but then again, what other reason did they exchange work contacts for?
"Yeah. I believe so, sir. I've been hearing loud crashes in your house — all kinds of weird sounds. It's been going on for several minutes since I came home for lunch."
"O…kay…"
Bobby was baffled by the man's response.
"Is your wife at home?"
"No. She's here at the store," Straptopulus replied casually.
"Would you like for me to call the police then? Maybe a couple of kids broke in and are up to no good."
"No, calling the cops isn't necessary," Straptopulus quickly asserted. "I'll come home and check things out myself."
"I've been around the house calling out to whoever's inside, but got no answer," Bobby said.
"You went around the house?"
"Yes, I did."
There was a brief pause.
"Um, so, I have to get back to work soon, but would you like for me to wait until you get here and we can check inside together - although I do think you should get the police here."
"No. No police and you don't have to wait. It's okay. I'll be there in a little while. Thanks for calling."
Click. The phone hung up.
Bobby removed the handset from his ear and just looked at it for a moment. Straptopulus' behavior unnerved him. Listening closely, he realized the crashing sounds had ceased, at least for now. He got up and looked out of the window at the house and as things seemed to have settled down, he could not shake the feeling since speaking with his neighbor that something was definitely amiss.
* * *
Rosie raised her hand to the teacher. "May I be excused please?"
"It's five minutes 'til break-time. Could you wait?" Mrs. Hall asked her.
"No ma'am," Rosie replied earnestly.
"Okay. Go on then."
Rosie got up and hurried off down the hall to the girl's restroom. When she walked in, the long, narrow space was completely empty and the door of each cubicle was left ajar. Rosie went and quickly did her business. Upon opening the door of the cubicle a couple of minutes later, she found Cara standing there on the other side.
"What are you doing here, Cara?" she asked curiously. "Is this your school too?"
Cara shook her head.
"So why are you here?"
"For you."
"For me?" Rosie was surprised. "You came all the way here for me? But I'm coming by you tomorrow evening. My mom is helping Bobby decorate his house."
Cara only stood there.
"Your parents brought you here?"
No answer.
Rosie could not understand the reason for Cara's selective responses. "I have to go back to class. We're not allowed to stay in the bathroom for too long."
Just then, the bell rang for Break. "You don’t have to go right now." Cara seemed pleased.
Several kids streamed into the restroom.
"You're right," Rosie said to Cara. "Are your parents waiting outside for you?"
Cara shook her head again. The children passing were looking at Rosie with weird grimaces.
"You want to hang out with me on the playground for a while?" Rosie offered.
"Yes," Cara replied softly.
As Rosie and Cara left the restroom, curious gazes from the other girls were glued in their direction.
In a section of the field not far from a rear exit of the building, Rosie and Cara played hopscotch.
Principal Joan Myers, a veteran educator, passed by watching as Rosie giggled and played.
"Hello, little girl," she said.
Rosie paused for a moment. "Hi."
"Having fun?" Myers asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
"That's nice."
The woman moved along, observing other kids on the playground before heading inside the building.
"I'll be starting here tomorrow," Cara revealed the instant the school bell rang marking the end of the Break.
"That's neat!" Rosie exclaimed. "Now, we can play together all the time!"
Cara cracked a smile.
"I have to go to class now. I'll see you later, okay?"
Rosie skipped back to class, thrilled that she would now have a best friend at school — just like her mother said she would.
5
_________________
"Get outside there, boy, and mow that lawn!" The man kicked Paul off the dingy couch. He landed to the carpeted floor with a thump.
"I'm tired!" Paul complained, wiping the drizzle from the corner of his mouth which escaped during a short snooze.
"You heard what I said!" His father roared. "Get it going! All you wanna do around here is eat, eat, eat! They don't make you run around for P.E. nearly as much as they should. Now, go and do what I told you to do before I teach you a lesson you ain't bound to forget." His voice lowered as he emphasized the last five words.
; "Okay! Okay!" Paul slipped on a pair of soiled, white tennis he kept near the front door and headed outside to the lawnmower waiting for him. It was one of those riding ones his father Skeete had managed to purchase at a yard sale a couple of months earlier.
"And don't clean that yard the way you do your room, you lousy bum!" Paul heard Skeete yell from inside the house.
"I wish he'd choke on something one of these days," Paul murmured. "Then he'll keep his mouth shut for a while."
Paul came from a dysfunctional family. His father always resented the fact that his drug addict mother took off with another man when Paul was just a toddler, leaving him with the boy to raise alone. Paul had to grow up quickly in those eleven years and develop tough skin if he were to survive Skeete's abusive tongue and occasional violent behavior.
Paul climbed onto the mower and cranked the motor. The grass was at least eight inches tall and Skeete had finally had enough of the boy's excuses about cutting it. After all, he himself was a good two hundred and eighty pound force to be reckoned with that had other things to do like sit on the couch and watch tv with his favorite snacks in hand.
The boy rode down toward the eastern perimeter of the yard that was sectioned off by a chain-link fence. As he approached the fence, he could see Johnny Horton and a couple of his buddies on the front porch having a few beers. Johnny could not stand the boy nor Skeete, for that matter, and did not keep it a secret in the neighborhood. "The boy's a knucklehead and so is his good-for-nothing dad!" Johnny had been telling everyone. He never forgave Paul for egging his house with two whole cartons that Halloween night three years ago. And Skeete wouldn't make the boy clean it up after Johnny complained.
"Yeah. Get it done right, you little pipsqueak!" Johnny yelled as Paul bobbed near the fence in the mower.
"Ah, leave the boy alone!" One of his buddies told him.
Paul managed to give the old guy the middle finger on the turn.
Furious, Johnny sprung to his feet and hollered, "One day, you're gonna learn friggin' respect, you pudgy son of a…!" Another buddy jerked his arm, gesturing him to sit down.
"Shut up, Johnny!" the man said. "He's just a kid, for cryin' out loud."
"A spoiled, bratty one at that!" Johnny added.
As Paul maneuvered the machine east to west and rode closer to the roadway, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Glancing over, he spotted a little girl in a white dress standing quietly at the edge of the property. She had brown hair and her skin was as white as snow.
"Get off of our property, you skirt!" he yelled at her. Paul was heading toward the eastern side of the lot in Johnny's direction again when suddenly, he found himself making a sharp right turn before he reached the end where he normally turned. It was like the lawnmower changed direction on its own. He struggled to shift it back, but it made a complete turn to the right and quickly headed for the road. The girl, still standing at the edge of the grass stared at Paul with eyes that had turned blacker than asphalt. Her body which, at first, appeared normal thinned out to where Paul could see straight through her to the other side of the road. He blinked his eyes rapidly, sure that they were fooling him. However, she was standing right there with a sinister gaze.
"This is for Rosie," the girl uttered through an inhumane growl.
Realizing that he had completely lost control of the lawnmower and now fearing the absolute worst, Paul screamed. With heightened panic, his cries persisted as the mower crossed over the property line with a bump into the street and straight into the pathway of an oncoming car.
Johnny and the guys all stood to their feet watching in horror as Paul was knocked off the machine several feet into the air and crashed onto the pavement further down the road. They darted off the porch and ran to see if he was still alive. Skeete heard the crash too and hurried outside only to find his son lying in the middle of the road.
"Oh, no!" He cried. "Oh, my God, no!" He was holding his head and running toward the boy whose body was twitching intermittently. Someone called 911 and a crowd gathered around, stunned by little Paul's misfortune. No one, however, seemed to notice the girl in the white dress and brown hair walking past them with a smile on her face and a pep in her step.
* * *
At 5:35pm, Hugh and Myrtle Straptopulus pulled onto their driveway. They looked at each other from across the hood after stepping out of the vehicle.
Without a word, Hugh locked the car via the remote key and headed toward their front door. Myrtle tarried several feet behind him. After slipping the key into the doorknob and twisting the handle, Hugh braced himself for what they were about to see. By then, Myrtle was at his heel and they both stepped inside and stood at the door. Hugh was shaking his head and Myrtle stood there staring at the way her precious house was turned upside down. Things were literally turned upside down. The living room chairs were lying on their sides, the center table had been overturned, but not before hitting a surface hard enough to break three of its wooden legs. Framed photographs across the walls were tilted and most appeared to be on the verge of falling. Shard glass of multiple figurines had littered the floor after having made heavy impact with the concrete walls. The old, box television that used to sit on the marble stand had suffered a blow to the middle, leaving a huge hole in the center of the screen.
Hugh closed the door behind Myrtle and they quietly proceeded further inside toward the kitchen. When they arrived at the dining room, Myrtle gasped when they saw eight chairs stacked upside down on top of the oval-shaped dining room table. What was unnerving about it was that the top edge of each chair was resting on the table without any visible support to hold them there. Hugh went over and removed them one by one, resting them on the floor. He shook his head again.
"This has got to stop," he said. "I don’t know how much more of this I can take."
Myrtle entered the kitchen where she found most of their dinnerware, pots and pans strewn across the floor. Shards and splinters of glass were everywhere. Hugh looked on.
"There's nothing we can do," Myrtle told him. "She's angry and we can't do anything about it."
"We have to think of something. This is…"
The door bell sounded. Myrtle looked at Hugh wide-eyed. "Who could that be?" she whispered.
"I have no idea. Stay here," Hugh said.
He went to the door and squinted his eyes as he peered through the peephole. His heart fell. He took a deep breath in, demanding self-composure, and straightened his tie as if it had been ruffled by what had mercilessly terrorized their house.
Hugh opened the door just wide enough to squeeze himself through.
"Hi," he said to Bobby.
"I just got off and came by to see if everything is all right. Did you meet anyone here when you got home earlier today?" Bobby had no idea that his neighbors had only just arrived after he had made the call.
"No, not a soul." Hugh sighed. "Everything was fine when we got here — nothing out of the ordinary, whatsoever."
"That's strange." Bobby frowned. "I tell ya, Mister Straptopulus, if you had heard what I heard with my own two ears, you would have thought people were in there trashing your place big time. It was no little ruckus, sir. It was heavy, believe me."
"I believe you," Hugh arched a brow, "but I don't know what to say. Nothing at all is out of order. Maybe you thought you heard those noises."
"No way," Bobby shook his head. "One thing I'm not is crazy. I know what I heard."
"But you didn't see anything, right, or anyone?"
"No, I didn't."
"Well then, maybe you were having a rough day and for the first time, your mind was playing tricks on you." He giggled nervously.
Bobby looked at him suspiciously. "I guess."
"Well, thanks for being such a good neighbor and calling me, even though there was nothing to be concerned about. Don't hesitate to call again if you think you heard anything. We can never be too careful, can we?" Hugh said.
Bobby resolved that this guy decked in
his fancy suit and tie was probably a bit shady. "Yeah, you're right." He lightly bit his bottom lip.
"So, you're all settled in over there?" Hugh glanced over at Bobby's place.
"Yeah. Just about," Bobby replied.
"Good! Well, let me not keep you. Thanks for coming by and checking on us. Myrtle and I really appreciate it."
"Okay. See ya."
"See ya."
Hugh waited until Bobby was out of sight before going inside. He and Myrtle immediately went to work afterwards cleaning the house.
6
_________________
As students filed into the classroom the next morning, Rosie's face lit up when she saw one of them approaching her. It was Cara. She slid right in at Paul Smith's desk.
"You're in my class too?" Rosie asked, excitedly.
Cara nodded.
"This is that jerk Paul's desk. Mrs. Hall, our teacher, will tell you where you can sit."
"I'll stay here for now," Cara responded evenly.
"Okay!" Rosie shifted in her seat, feeling great and somewhat empowered to have her friend sharing a class with her.
Mrs. Hall entered the room just as the last set of students were taking their seats. Rosie noticed that the teacher had a worried expression on her face.
"Children, I need you to settle down now." She stood in front of the class. "I'm afraid I have some very bad news to report this morning."
The class was completely quiet. The look of anxiety covered the children's faces. It was obvious to Rosie that their teacher did not quite know how to say what she intended to say.
"Paul Smith has been a victim of a terrible accident last evening. He is in critical condition at the hospital."
The Cornelius Saga Series (All 15 Books): The Ultimate Adventure-packed Supernatural Thriller Collection Page 19