Little Tales of Horror

The Neighbours Who Argued

Just about every night our neighbours argued. The man, Jerald, he yelled the most. His voice echoed down the street. For hours he rabbled on bout the mess of the house, the disappointment in everybody and then it'd drop silent. My wife and I would listen to the same arguments for years. Until one day, they moved away.

Gossip moved quick around our neighbourhood. From a good friend down the street, the good news swam to my wife. 'They're finally moving away!' she laughed one afternoon. The old woman had a skip in her step and a smile between her cheeks. At last! We could enjoy diner in front of the telly and sleep at peace. I wouldn't have to roll about with a sense of shame.

Later one afternoon I pulled up into the driveway and spotted a truck. Jerald the neighbour across the road helped load the truck with boxes. His wife stood out on the front lawn with her arms crossed. Dear they didn't look too happy. I knew neither of them would notice, so I waved anyway.

I walked inside. My wife leaned over the couch and on her face she held a mischievous grin. She peeked through the frilly white curtains so I warned her, 'Betty, you know they can see you?'

'Our first night in peace. Get excited, Harry!' She said as she ducked away from the window.

After dinner Betty and I watched a bit of television. After an hour of commercials and middling channels, she eventually fell asleep over my shoulder. My brain can't handle that interception of noise between her and the woman selling me Spotify Premium at nine pm. So I switched off the telly and laid Betty on the coach. I then tucked her in and kissed her goodnight.

In the past Betty has complained about being woken up for bed. Fine by me because I get the room to myself!

I locked the front door, switched off the heater and carried out the garbage. The walk to the bin has never been calming. What made tonight different. On my walk across the backyard I swore I heard Betty's voice. A very crisp yet soft tone that tickled my ear, only the word *Ello* sounded like the hoot of an owl.

I looked away from the bin beside the shed and shouted, 'Fu – ar out boy! Nearly killed me.'

A small boy stared at me from the other end of a fence. I repositioned my sore back and ignored the kid. I made a quiet stroll for the bin as I loosened the tension over my tightened chest. The walk felt a little awkward, he stood there and watched me. I checked on him in suspicion and noted that his hands were crossed behind his back and when I looked at him, he smiled. The boy's hair was wet and slicked back with a comb. He wore a damp cardigan tucked into baggy denim jeans. The boy stood tall in Jerald's backyard.

I turned my back and after a few steps to the house I had to ask, 'Didn't you guys move out?'

'Can't remember.' He said, stood there for a bit, 'Sorry Mr. Harry.'

'No,' I chuckled. 'You're alright. Hope the family's doing well!' I waved and walked away.

'Hope not' was the last thing I head before I turned to see the boy absent.

The house was locked and my bedroom held a silence you'd only find in a monk monastery. To stretch my muscles on the spacious bed felt like my bones were loose spaghetti. Cold air from the window eventually put me into a coma. Betty screamed out her lungs three in the morning. She cried my name like a cow in a paddock, only I could somehow hear her voice plead in defence against whatever threat she had encountered.

I knew I couldn't defend myself without a weapon. I carried with me an old baseball bat and moved as fast as I could down the hallway. Did I lock all the doors? The first thought that came to mind was that perhaps Betty woke up in the middle of a burglary. I raced to the lounge room and caught my wife shivering on the floor like a dried out fish. Nobody else was present. I called for paramedics.

My wife was rushed to the hospital. God, I prayed every second of the way. Just the way her hand slipped from my palms. She wouldn't speak. Her eyes either stared wide eyed at the ceiling or she'd clamp them shut along with her lips. Her shirt was somehow damp and she couldn't stop shivering.

Hours after her seizure, I asked what had happened. This is what Betty had to say, '... the dream, I slipped back into water and then something prevented me from resurfacing. I swayed my hands about and grabbed onto a slippery metal bar, or a loose cloth, then the grip became too hard for me. Two small hands slapped and scratched at my arms – it happened so fast. All I remember after is I woke up grasping for air, and my heart threw me forward over the side,'

Betty remained in the hospital for a week. Not a day passed when I wouldn't reflect on that night. At home there wasn't a noise, or a single argument. The house hasn't been silent in over a year.

Every afternoon after a hospital visit, the sun dropped behind the town houses. Those were the hours when I spotted a light left on in Jerald's house. One light peeked through the curtains of their bathroom window. On my walk to the front door couldn't I see other signs that a family lived in the house. It was still for rent, as the sign on the front lawn said.

Day seven Betty returned home. When we pulled into the driveway, we caught police out the front of our house. Except they weren't worried about our property, rather next door's. Jerald's house turned into a crime scene. Men dressed in uniform, people walked around in white outfits and detectives occupied the street. Along our way to the front door, paramedics aided a bed out to a hospital van. Under a white sheet laid the body of a small boy.

So it turns out, the parents, Jerrald and his wife. They must've done the worst imaginable things to the little boy who lived next door. So it turns out, he drowned. However his ghost manages to haunt the neighbourhood. I think we might move away!