R/Nosleep (Get Spooked)

No One Ever Leaves Blessed (Suburbia Part 5)

By u/firesidechats451

I waited days for Greg to come back. I sat on my porch, endless cups of coffee growing cold in my hands, watching his front door. His yard was empty, of course—the HOA had taken down his body and all the decorations. Still, I didn't like looking at the tree. In the hollows of its bare arms, I could still see the figure swinging.

Every day, I grew more agitated. What was he waiting for? Barbara, Linda—everyone who met their demise here came back the next day.

But Greg never showed.

Eventually, Frances forbade me from keeping vigil. "You're going to catch your death sitting out there," she said, forcing me into a seat at the kitchen table. "When was the last time you ate something?"

"I had a piece of gum yesterday," I said, gripping my coffee mug tightly. It wasn't much, but at least I wouldn't let Frances take that away from me.

"Jesus Christ, Sheila!" Frances opened the fridge. "Well, you've got milk and eggs—and some spinach that isn't completely rotten. Omelets it is!"

I hated her a little for not letting me continue, but Frances didn't let that stop her. For the next few days, she make sure I ate, brushed my teeth, and went to bed at a reasonable time. On day two, she told me I had to shower, or she was going to scrub me herself.

"You say that like it's a threat," I said without thinking. For a moment she froze and I blushed, thinking I'd crossed a line. To my surprise, she burst out laughing.

"God," she said, wiping away tears. "I forget what a mouth you've got on you."

Then she ushered me into the bathroom and wouldn't let me out until floral-scented steam curled under the door.

On day four, Frances enlisted help. I came down for breakfast (well, lunch), to find Barbara sitting at the table while Frances made coffee.

"Oh," I said.

"Good morning to you, too," Frances said as I puttered about. Seeing me reach for a box of cereal, Frances gave me a stare and said pointedly, "Barbara brought over a macaroni casserole. Family recipe."

"A-actually, it's Betty Crocker," Barbara said, offering a timid smile.

"Like I said, family recipe," Frances said. She steered me over to the table. "Sit. Let me warm up some casserole for you."

Knowing it was no use to argue, I let myself be sat. Barbara ducked her head, her hands fidgeting. I wondered if she was always this anxious, or if it was the product of being melted over and over.

"I'm sorry," she said. She looked up to see if I was listening, and when she realized I was, she ducked her head again. "About Greg."

"We all are." I gratefully took the mug of coffee Frances handed me. "He was . . . a nice guy. I liked him."

"He was."

We sat in silence for a while as Frances made up plates of casserole. "Do we know if he did it to himself?" she asked as she ladled as healthy heap of macaroni, cheese, ham, and peas onto a plate.

Barbara and I looked at her in surprise.

"I guess so," I said. It hadn't really occurred to me to think about it. "I don't know who else would've . . . would've done that to him."

"Was there a suicide note?" Beeps as she set the microwave timer. "What did the police say?"

Barbara and I looked at each other. "Police?" I repeated.

"Yeah," she said, pausing to look at us with concern. "The police. There's usually an investigation into suicides, if only to get the paperwork in order."