Neighborhood Watch Read online

  Clump!

  Derek whirled, lighter at the ready. The sound definitely came from within the basement. Something hitting the glass. From the inside. A stray bird?

  Hustling up the stairs, Derek reentered the house. He saw the knife he’d slaughtered onions with earlier on the counter, contemplated grabbing it, and then abandoned the idea. He didn’t want to kill a bird or animal. Maybe he could open the door and shoo it outside. Either way he had to know.

  He pulled open the basement door and stared down into the darkness. He flipped the light switch. The bulb at the bottom of the stairs spluttered and hissed but finally took on life. Why there wasn’t a bulb at the top of the stairs had been a mystery to Derek since he’d moved in. Apparently one that hadn’t merited a quick resolution.

  Derek hunched over before descending, as though it would aid his hearing. He lit the lighter and took a step. He’d hated these kinds of stairs since he was a kid. Ones without risers. An awkward child, he’d always feared falling through his grandmother’s similar cellar stairwell.

  A flashlight sat on the second step. He traded it for his lighter, felt the comfortable heft in his hand. Turning the beam on, he took another step down. By the time he reached the fourth step, he could bend and peer under the first floor into the basement. He swept the flashlight across the crowded area. Boxes piled upon boxes, two lives’ worth of unnecessary junk accumulated in one dank holding tank. But no signs of animated life.

  Something tickled his ankles. He jolted and sprang back a step. Swinging the light over his feet, he saw nothing but the spotlight wavering on the steps. With both hands, he steadied the flashlight. And waited.

  Four thin white snakes darted out from underneath the step then slithered back. Not snakes. Something else. Fingers?

  Derek clamped his eyes shut, fat lot of good that would do him. But his mind decided to play tricks on him. The horrible sorta’ tricks Dr. Farraday would love to treat. Working himself into a panic, he breathed in deeply, exhaled, repeated. Nothing behind the stairs except for the furnace. And cobwebs. No fingers white as underground albino worms.

  He opened his eyes and pointed the beam at the step again. Nothing there. Drawing his arm across his forehead to mop up the sweat, he turned around, prepared to put off his night hunt until the calm of morning.

  From the corner of the basement came a solitary thump.

  Derek’s hands jerked up. The flashlight slipped from his grasp, bouncing onto the step below him. Derek grasped for it, his clumsy reflex tapping it into the darkness behind the steps. When it hit the cement, it cracked like a brittle bone breaking. Miraculously, the beam still worked, pinpointing the bottom of a pyramid of boxes to his right.

  A thump! Again by the door window. A hand slapping the windowpane?

  Derek ran up the stairs and grabbed the knife. Before he could talk himself out of it, he descended the steps again. He kept his eyes on the door in the far corner while he maneuvered to pick up the flashlight.

  He dropped to his knees so as not to bump his head underneath the steps. The basement bulb flickered and died, plunging him into overwhelming, threatening darkness. Derek fumbled with his free hand around the floor, following the flashlight’s hopeful ray of light. He grabbed the barrel of the flashlight and swung the light toward the door.

  The furnace pilot light kicked on with a fwoomph, a sudden mechanical gasp. A small shriek hiccupped in his chest, rose to his frozen vocal chords, stayed there with the exit barred. His chest fell once he finally expelled his held breath.

  He crawled out from under the steps, the flashlight’s beam leading the way. He stood still. And listened again.

  Various groans and creaks, the sounds old houses make. The furnace’s pilot light hummed, hoping to build up stamina to birth heat. From somewhere, drops plopped, an agonizingly long trip down to the cement floor.

  Something shuffled by the door. Derek passed the light’s arc over the pile of boxes barricading the door. The top box slid an inch. Then another. It fell to the floor with a clatter, a tin cup rolling out. Another box fell.

  “Come out.” He hardly recognized the dry wheeze as his voice.

  Something flipped up and slapped on top of the boxes.

  Splat…

  A shadow rose, backlit by the moonlight filtering in through the window. Dark and formless. A bundle of moving rags. No, not rags. A dress, paisley-patterned, moving, swaying, filled with nothing but air. And Derek’s fevered imagination. But something else held the dress together.

  The figure moved around the boxes. Coming closer. Thin long arms stretched out from the rotting material of the dress. Derek’s vision focused, blurs becoming sharper. An old woman lurched toward him. Strands of hair dotted her scalp. Her eyes were gray, dull orbs, glassed over. She opened her mouth. Nothing came out but gaping darkness.

  Derek waved his knife. “Stop!” He whirled and ran for the stairs, the beam bouncing erratically in front of him with every movement.

  He leapt for the steps and banged his head against the overhang. Falling back, he cursed and raced up the steps again, not slowing until he reached the top. He didn’t want to do it, but he had to. He had to know. He shot the flashlight’s ray behind him. Dancing shadows filled the circle of light.

  He shut the door to the basement, leaned against it, and held his breath. He’d seen nothing.

  There’s nothing down there. Oh, please, God, let there be nothing down there! Nothing at all. Just worked up, getting worked up, beyond fucking worked up!

  No! He needed to prove to himself he’s not insane. He wheeled. Knife ready, he yanked open the door and shot the flashlight’s beam down the steps.

  The old woman lay at the bottom step. Blood seeped from her head and ran onto her dress. What little hair she had left matted completely to her face, blood’s thick syrup the gel. In response to the light, she raised her head, eyes blind. She looked at Derek. And smiled. A toothless dark cavern of a smile. She twisted unnaturally as she sat up. Her body below the waist remained immovable, inhumanly positioned in a way no living gymnast could master. She dragged her arms to the first step and slowly, painstakingly, pulled up. She clawed her way to the second step, bony fingers grinding into the wood. And the third. One hand reached out to Derek. Her fingers stretched, shook, and closed into a fist.

  Derek slammed the door and heard a muffled thump as she pulled herself up another step. Then another, and another, until he heard her reach the top. Fingernails—no, bones—scratched into the door at Derek’s back. The scrapes echoed in Derek’s head until he wanted to scream.

  Then the sounds stopped. Derek heard a barely perceptible click. He waited. He only heard the freight train roar of blood resounding in his ears. After an eternity of silence, he opened the door. The light at the bottom of the steps lit up. The woman—or whatever she was—had left.

  What’s happening to me? Why is this happening to me? I’m losing my fucking mind! There’s no such thing as ghosts, can’t be. It doesn’t make sense! I’m going beyond my dark place to some place darker than black. Insanity.

  Derek faced two horrific scenarios, both of them worse than the other. He was either crazy, or he’d just seen the ghost of Wilma Spencer.

  Chapter Nine

  “Heard you up late last night,” called out Toni from the bathroom. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  No, never again, he thought as he stumbled out of bed and stood in the bathroom door. “Not really. Guess my insomnia’s back.”

  “And have you done anything about it? Go to the doctor.” Teasing her short hair with volumizer, she stared at him in the mirror. When he saw his image, he had to look twice. He appeared whiter than the ghost he saw last night. Or thought he saw.

  “If it keeps up, I’ll go.” But Derek knew many more sleepless nights awaited him. He’d seen Wilma Spencer’s ghost last night. Not a hallucination, not a bad dream, he’d seen a ghost. It had been real. He desperately needed it to be real.

  But, real or not, he co
uldn’t tell Toni about it. At best, she wouldn’t believe him. Worst case scenario, she’d have him committed. If she didn’t see empirical evidence, it didn’t exist in her world. Or any other world.

  He had gone back to bed last night after his ghostly encounter, but sleep never visited. When he’d closed his eyes, he saw Wilma Spencer coming for him. At one point, he had almost gone back to the basement. He needed reassurance she was no longer there. Or that she had never been there. Which would’ve been worse. But he couldn’t do it. If he saw her again, what would he do? And if she wasn’t there? What did it prove? He lay awake, waiting for the pacifying dawn to clarify his thoughts. When dawn finally came, it didn’t help. Instead, it rubbed its false, light-bringing optimism into his night fear wounds, a sadistic bully of nature.

  Only one person could he talk to about it, one person who would believe him. And rather than give her lip service, he definitely believed her now.

  * * * *

  Katherine’s bed lay empty but made up. The way Derek’s soul and mind felt.

  A nurse entered, her smile quickly fleeting once she saw Derek. “Oh. Are you looking for Katherine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you family?”

  “Yes.” A lie. Derek didn’t have patience, nor nearly enough coffee in him, to slash through red tape this morning. “What happened?” But he already knew the answer.

  “Sir, I’m sorry to say Katherine passed away last night.” She quickly added, “She went peacefully in her sleep.”

  Derek sat on the empty bed and wept. The nurse shut the door behind her.

  * * * *

  Without actually thinking about it, Derek bought more cigarettes on his way home. Then he called Dr. Farraday, something he also didn’t give much thought to. But he needed to talk to someone, anyone.

  “Dr. Farraday.” He sank deep into the chair and drew his hand over his face. His cheeks felt hollow and sunken to the touch, close to bone. “Thanks again for seeing me.”

  “Hey, no problem. It’s why I’m here. I had a cancelation and was able to fit you in.” Her sunny disposition clouded over. “You sounded pretty bad over the phone. And I have to say, you don’t look so well, either.”

  “Doctor…a friend of mine passed away last night. A neighbor.” He told her about Katherine, not holding back. He had a lot of story built up within him. It felt good to unleash his tale.

  “Wow. Wow.” Derek thought she must’ve skipped the course on grief counseling at school. She pushed a box of tissues toward him. “Let it out, Derek. I feel your loss.”

  Derek had already let it out at the hospital, no desire to share that again with the good doctor. “Dr. Farraday, it seems like everything’s coming to a head. All at once. I feel the walls closing in on me and—”

  “And?”

  “And I’m scared.”

  “Scared of what? Do you believe Katherine’s story about the neighbors wanting to do her harm?”

  He shrugged and immediately wished he hadn’t. Every little body twitch invited interpretation in Farraday’s lair. “I don’t know. She believed it. And she was convincing.”

  “Derek, let me ask you something. You remember another time you thought people were conspiring against you?”

  He exasperated loudly. “Of course I do. It’s not like that. It’s—”

  “What is it like, Derek? Do you feel the neighbors are out to get you now?”

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know any more. I don’t know what to believe!”

  “Hmm.”

  God, how Derek hated when she used that simple phrase. “I’m not getting paranoid again.”

  “Derek, did you start the medicine I prescribed?”

  He nodded. And lied again, his best defense.

  “Good, good. Now you know it takes weeks for you to feel the full benefit of the medicine, but after a couple weeks, you should start seeing some differences. Positive differences. We’ll reevaluate after that time.”

  “Doctor, I don’t need any more medicine. I just need for someone to believe me.”

  “Believe you about what, Derek? About Katherine and what she told you?”

  “That and what happened to me last night.” The words slipped from his mouth. Never see a therapist when you’re sleep-deprived.

  “Hmm. What happened last night?”

  Dr. Farraday pulled her long sweater down with a struggle (more of a struggle then she usually had). She crossed her legs, her foot jiggling above the carpet as she stared at Derek. The clock on the wall ticked. Derek looked at it, hoping his hour was up. It wasn’t, he had forty minutes to go. They sat in silence, waiting, an old-fashioned showdown.

  “Derek? Let’s charge at this from a different angle. You ask me to believe you. But you’re not telling me what you want me to believe. You also said you don’t know what you believe. Are you seeking validation? We’re friends here. I’m listening.”

  Finally, he said, “Okay. Before I tell you this, I want you to understand. I’m not crazy. I didn’t have a psychotic break. I know what I saw.”

  A corner of her mouth perked up. Almost a look of excited anticipation. “I would never call you crazy, Derek. Go on.”

  Against his better judgment, he told her about what he saw in the basement. When he finished, he listened to the clock’s infernal ticking, a fully detonated time bomb counting down the seconds until explosion.

  “I see.” She scrawled on her notepad. “You saw a ghost last night?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyelids fluttered rapidly before she tilted her head and pulled out her prescription pad, her go-to pal when things go astray. “I’m going to prescribe something else for you, Derek. A mood stabilizer. It’s important you take it. I want to see you again in another week. If you see any more ghosts…” she tapped her pad, “I’m going to insist on another method of treatment. And I would like your wife to come with you next week.”

  Crap. What a mistake this was. He thought he had bought an hour of someone to whom he could burden his strange problems. Instead he’d put a down payment on a one-way ticket to a rubber room. Time to backpedal. Fast. “Dr. Farraday. I know it sounds, well, unlikely. Maybe it was…I don’t know, lack of sleep.”

  “Uh-huh, lack of sleep.” Again, she returned to her ever-present pad. “I’m going to give you something for that, also.”

  “Doctor, I don’t need—” He stopped, realizing the pointlessness of it all. Begrudgingly, he grabbed the prescription. “Okay, thanks, Doc.”

  “My pleasure. Remember what I told you. One week. And if you have any more…visitations, I’d like for you to call me. Promise?”

  “Okay, Dr. Farraday, I will.”

  He stood to leave and watched her labor out of her chair. She gripped the arms, using them for leverage, and detached her body as if glued down. He couldn’t be absolutely certain—she’d always been prone to camouflaging baggy jackets and suits—but he thought he noticed a bulge underneath her sweater. “Dr. Farraday?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I know it’s none of my business, but…are you pregnant?”

  She looked at him, expressionless, before smiling. “Why, yes, I am. First trimester. Oh, dear, don’t tell me I’m showing already?”

  “Not showing, Doc. Glowing. Congratulations.” A memory struck Derek. “But—correct me if I’m wrong—back when I used to see you regularly, didn’t we talk about children once?”

  “Hmmm. Could be.” She tapped her long fingernail over her lip, looking skyward for inspiration. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason. ‘Bye, Doc.” But he remembered their talk only too well. When she’d pressed him years back about having children, he pushed the subject right back at her. She had said it was medically impossible for her to have children.

  * * * *

  As he exited the medical building, he tried to close the door on his ever-increasing paranoia. What Toni called “shadows” were developing everywhere. But he had reason to see them. Dr. Farraday had
either lied to him years back, or she’d been the beneficiary of a medical breakthrough.

  Positioning his sunglasses over his bloodshot eyes, he walked down the steps.

  “Hey, neighhhbor!”

  Immediately, Derek cringed. Only one person in the world pronounced the word “neighbor” in such a derogatory manner.

  Scott leaned up against the railing, the way the bullies used to do in high school, wearing his dopey grin and even dopier long-billed ball cap. “What brings you here today, neighhhbor?”

  “Business. How ‘bout you?”

  “Likewise. Shame about what happened to Katherine.”

  Derek couldn’t read his expression but saw the beginning of a smile; one Scott couldn’t keep in check. “Yeah. It is. She was a great neighbor.”

  “Was she?” He shook his head. “Didn’t know her.”

  “Maybe you should’ve.”

  Scott laughed, jerking his chin with each chortle. “Be seeing you. Neighhhbor.” He entered the building while still dragging out the word.

  Derek gave it a few beats and followed. Didn’t know why either, just seemed like the thing to do. For once, his suspicions paid off. Scott strutted down the hallway Derek had just exited. Peeking round the corner, Derek watched as Scott entered Dr. Farraday’s waiting room.

  * * * *

  Katherine’s funeral. Three days later. Leaves fell about the cemetery that September afternoon, early for the time of year. Derek attributed it to the drought they’d experienced all summer long. It matched his mood perfectly. Everything he took for granted was, likewise, falling around him. He felt dislocated, watching his sense of reality drift away, to be replaced by something new. Something lifeless and barren.

  The mourners’ feet shuffled atop the crackling leaves as they made their way to the gravesite. A cool gust whipped the priest’s robe about like dark, storm-tossed sails. The priest recited some words, either in Latin or unintelligible English. Kevin sat on a folding chair in front of the hole in the ground next to other family members, who took turns crying and comforting one another. A light mist permeated the air, just damp enough to make everyone miserable.