Mother Nature is bipolar. Or, like I told my mom when she hung the winter wreath on the door at the very same time my dad was doing yard work in sandals, Mother Nature is most def a chick. You can't be hot one day, snow the next, and then decide you're going to be a little bit of both on the weekend.
We went full pads today, fourth time this week, and I'm pretty certain we're going to be doing sled work every day until I graduate. I don't really mind, I mean quarterbacks don't get hit, but still, I kinda feel bad for everyone else. After the Crestwater game you'd think the coaches were actually punishing us. Whatever. It's not like any of us are good enough for D1 next year. Don't tell my dad, though. He'd have a cranial if I told him I didn't wanna play ball at State.
The phone rings.
"'Sup?"
"You hear about your hot goth neighbor?"
"She show up in your dreams again, dude?" He gets a rager whenever he sees Mrs. Reynolds. "I'm gonna tell your girlfriend," I tease.
"Tara's the one who told me." There's a pause. It takes me a second to notice there's no humor in his voice. He sounds so... serious.
"What's up?" I put my half finished Gatorade down on the porch and switch the phone to my right ear.
Another pause. I can hear him breathing. "Um, Tara heard her dad talkin' and apparently they found her husband Mr. Reynolds – "
"That wasn't his last name," I correct.
"What?"
"Your Wednesday Addams kept her daddy's name, because of the business or something."
"Oh, Cassie never told me that," he mumbles. "That doesn't really matter. Anyway, Tara heard her dad say they found him dead in their garage, leaning up against that shitty black Gremlin. Totally gutted."
"The car or the dude?"
"The dude," he says.
"Whoa."
"I know," he says. "I mean he seemed like a good guy, right? Always waved and stuff."
"Didn't say anything about seeing us over at Mcleritin's place..."
"Right."
"That sucks."
The phone is silent for a full minute.
"Dude?" Chad asks. "Do you think it was –?"
"No!" I interrupt. "And don't even fucking think that."
"Ok, I mean... Tara's dad said there was black ash everywhere and Steven said –"
I think of her and my blood boils. "I don't give a shit what your brother said," I shout. "There's no way –" A small yellow U-haul truck pulls into the driveway across the street. Brakes squeak and hinges protest as it comes to a stop. "Whoa." At the same time the driver door swings open the sun decides to push its way through a soggy pair of grey clouds. The house across the street is cast into a backlit shadow as a man, I think it's a man, hops out of the cab and lets himself through the front door.
Chad is talking into the phone, but I don't pay any attention until I hear him say, "And he's been grounded since the party."
"What?"
"I said Steven's been grounded since the party so..."
"Good. Your brother's a douchebag."
"But the dance," he says. "What we saw..."
"Bigger fish right now, dude," I say and stand. "Someone's moving into the old Vanderson place."
"Is she cute?"
I don't respond. The front door of the house swings open and a figure walks out onto the porch. I turn sideways behind a railing and hold my breath. I don't know why I'm hiding, but now that I am it feels pretty freakin' silly.
"She's cute isn't she?" The phone says from my side. I raise it up to my ear. "You always get the hot neighbors."
"It's a dude," I say.
"Why are you whispering?"
"I don't know." The clouds reassert their position in front of the sun and the Vanderson's house is cast into a monochrome fog. The figure turns and shuts the door behind them, and I use that opportunity to run inside my house and look through the blinds on the front window.
"What's goin' on?"
"He's... he's just standing there," I say.
"Whatcha doin'?" a tiny voice says from behind me.
I jump, my face gets caught in the blinds, and I flail onto the floor. My phone tumbles under a chair. I stand up quickly and try to pass it off like nothing happened. I check the window. Across the street the figure is a shadowed silhouette except for a wide white smile with too many teeth. I feel the skin on my neck rolling and twitching in agitated spasms and then she pulls my hand.
"Who are you looking at? Did Mr. Vanderson come home?"
I turn and look at Becky. One lopsided pigtail sprouts from the right side of her head and falls into her face. She keeps blowing it out of her eyes and it keeps flopping back into them. A fat bulldog struggles in her arms, and then finally gives up and stares at me with wet eyes. A sloppy tongue lolls out of his mouth and occasionally licks her arm. She buries her nose in the scruff his neck and makes a kissing sound.
"I don't think Wrinkles likes that," I say and begin redoing her hair.
"Of course he does. Don't you Wrinkles?" The dog lets out an exasperated pant. "See?!"
I cinch down the hair tie and pat Wrinkles on the head. "Sorry, buddy. She's the boss." He pants harder at me.
"Who's that?" Becky says and points a tiny finger over my shoulder.
I turn to look and nearly jump out of my skin. There's a man standing at my front window. His back is to us and he keeps swaying side to side like he's moving with the wind. He looks normal in a blue shirt and jeans. A familiar strap crosses his back and connects to something that rests under his left arm. There's something off about him; the way he moves is like staring at a funhouse mirror. I put my finger to my lips and motion Becky to leave. She refuses so I grab her arm and begin pulling her out of the room.
Click Click Scraaaaatch
I whip my head back around and the man is still standing there gently rocking in front of the window. His ears are pulled back like he's smiling, but I can't see his face. He's tapping the glass with one of his fingernails.
The dog lets out a low growl. "I don't think Wrinkles likes him," Becky says and kisses the dog's head again.
"Go find dad," I say. "Or mom. Just go."
Becky stomps off towards the kitchen. I watch her go until she disappears around the corner. I try to steady my heart as I turn around, but it stops completely. The man is gone. I run to the window and scan the porch. He's not there. I look out into our driveway and front lawn, but see no sign of him. I look over to the Vanderson's and...
He's standing on their porch, a shapeless black figure melting into the shapeless black darkness, only a twisted Cheshire smile glowing from the shadows.
I can feel my stomach turning, the Gatorade forcing its way back up my throat. I swallow it back down when I hear, "Dude? Yo, Derek, you okay, man?"
I look around the room and see my phone under the chair. Dropping to my hands and knees I reach between the legs until my shoulder nudges the bottom cushion. I feel the rectangular brick, pull it out and press it to my ear. "Camera," I hiss. "He's got her –"
Movement out of the corner of my eye. I drop the phone. Blood gushes from my mouth as I clamp my teeth shut on my tongue to suppress a scream. My eyes water and I feel my bladder let loose.
He's standing at my window, hands cupped around his eyes, and staring through the glass. I can't tell if he sees me sprawled out on the floor, but I can see clearly that he's smiling. His face looks like it's melting upwards, like he's constantly in a wind tunnel. A split tongue darts out between sharpened rows of teeth and wets thin lips. A pointed adam's apple darts up and down a long neck.
I push myself into the floor, wishing myself invisible.
He taps on the glass.
"Derek?" the phone in my hand yells. "Who has a camera?! Derek?!"
I pull the phone to my ear and cup the mic. "Shhh!" I hiss.
"Shhh...," the man at the window repeats.
I squeeze my eyes shut as tears rip from the corners. A scream bludgeons the back of my throat, clawing to get out. I hold my breath for what seems like an eternity.
"Shhh..." I hear him say again.
I open my eyes and he's gone. Moisture from where his hands were pressed evaporates from the window. I push myself to my knees and look out into the front yard. Nothing.
"Derek?" Chad yells from the phone.
I rise on unsteady legs and lean my back to the window. My heart flutters at random rhythms. "He's got her camera," I croak with a voice nearly too scared to come out.
"Who does?" Chad asks. "Whose camera?"
"The neighbor," I say.
"The neighbor," a voice repeats from the other side of the glass.
I spin on a heel and trip over myself. The man is there, a blue eye and a brown eye staring through the glass and throughme. The smile on his face widens until it stretches into a sickening grin.
I scream and fall backwards.
I blink.
He's gone.
I blink again.
Still gone.
I squeeze my eyes shut until red blossoms bloom in my eyelids and then slowly open the lids.
Definitely gone.
I clamor to my feet and stumble to the window. I look left, nothing; look right, nothing; look across the street, and he's there again. He floats on feet that don't move backwards through a door that opens for him.
My arm feels asleep as I raise it to my face. "Get Tara," I say into the phone. "I'm coming over."
"But what about Steven?" Chad says.
"I don't care. I'm coming over!"
I grab my coat and tell my mom I'm going to Chad's for the weekend. As I walk out into the late day's warm sunlight the house across the street sits in a wintery gloom. Mother Nature isn't bipolar, I think. She just knows something I don't.