by Jason Beech
“You the new neighbor?”
“I am,” said Jack. “Hope I didn’t keep you awake last night, moving everything so late.”
“Oh no, we’re used to noise round here – it’s nothing.”
She invited him in to her home. He accepted. He couldn’t help look around. Lots of books. A university pass – she was some kind of professor in psychology.
“You have a lot of DVDs… and Blu-Ray.” He stated the obvious, but it was a point of conversation, and it felt good not to talk with the point of closing a deal. The Blu-Rays surprised him. She had wrinkles on her wrinkles.
“I love movies …”
“Jack.”
“I’m Teresa. My husband – he’s out – is Brendan. We have movie nights with some of the neighbors, sometimes … it's a nice break from my research work ... you’re more than welcome …”
“I’d be honored, sounds fantastic. What you watching next?”
“Titanic.”
Her enthusiasm didn’t latch to him. “Oh,” he stumbled. “Maybe the one after.” He had hoped for something like Rear Window, Die Hard … she had Don’t Look Now … he had never seen that one… It’s A Wonderful Life … classic … Rosemary’s Baby, the Cage un-infested The Wicker Man, and Fast and Furious – he couldn’t see her watching that. Maybe one for her husband.
She laughed. Its warmth tickled his ears and he returned it. “I’d like you to come over for a barbecue we’re having,” he said. “We’re looking to invite more neighbors.”
“Sounds wonderful, Jack. Good luck.”
Her slight frown shifted his optimism. Its subtlety didn’t help shake it off. Made him want to leave.
2.
He soon forgot about Teresa’s Mona Lisa of frowns. Now he had neighbors less than two hundred yards away Jack determined that they should join him in a housewarming barbecue. The recession had downsized him to a townhouse, but after a couple of nights in the new home he had become accustomed to the tighter space, even if his pregnant wife had not. He could now look over his fence and say hello to the neighbors, instead of a hike or drive to the Kitcheners on one side and the Balotellis on the other. Neither family was ever home, anyway. He worked his sales job from the spare room, sat in his office most of the day. He needed warm human contact. Especially now.
He took a break every hour to work his yard for weeds and to catch people for conversation. The heat might have kept them all in, but surely not from opening their doors. Their new home, in an isolated village a trek from civilization, stood in a row of six houses, with three other rows forming a square around a little communal field which contained a few trees and grass - perfect for their future little one to scrabble around in. He had knocked on each door other than Teresa’s and been left standing like a child picked last at football. For two nights.
He was sure he had seen a figure two doors down through their frosted glass. Two further knocks and a ring of the doorbell had not brought her to the door. He let it slide, not interested in being the neighborhood’s Ned Flanders. He returned home and bitched to Kath.
“Some people don’t like talking to their neighbors.” She patted his shoulder to console him.
“Like you.”
“Don’t be like that. I just didn’t like our neighbors at the old place. Doesn’t mean I’m unsociable.”
“I know. But I feel lonely sometimes. Our friends are so far away it’s hard to get together. Having good neighbors means at least you can have a quick beer and watch some football at a moment’s notice.”
“I know, sweetheart.” She handed him corn to chop. “But, people don’t always want to get close to people who live nearby. Any drama then becomes an issue, and living becomes awkward.”
“Where’d you read that?”
“Washington Post.”
He sighed. “Any drama can work itself out. I can’t believe I only have Teresa and Brendan coming. No wonder she said ‘good luck’.”
“Teresa came round earlier for a cup of coffee.”
“To borrow?”
“To share, over a chat. She did wonderful things with my belly.”
“What the hell did she do to it?”
“She only rubbed it, but I got a warm feeling. I’ve rubbed the little one plenty of times without any kind of effect, except increased kicking. Her hands took every worry I had and dissolved them. She said I would have a boy.”
“She has a fifty-fifty chance of being right.”
“Sarcasm is not wit.”
“Tell it to a sarcastic person and leave me out of it.”
She kissed him and admonished his corn-chopping technique.
3.
He pulled weeds and shook his head at neighbors who walked by without a “hello.” Every time he became aware of someone nearby he would stand and look towards them, a smile waiting for their recognition. Nothing.
He changed tactics the next day. Instead of a standalone smile, he allied it with an hello and hoped to force his neighbors’ eyes from the pavement. His first opportunity:
“Hi.” He forced his voice into a strong, welcoming tenor.
The woman walked the sidewalk into submission. Her shoulders were prep-school straight, her pony tail showed Roman-helmet discipline. She glanced in his general direction without eye-contact, focus nailed to her back yard gate - she walked by without a word.
“Wow.” Jack mumbled to himself. She was the neighbor who'd refused to open her door to him. He revoked that barbecue invitation.
He brushed his grill and doubted it would get full use. It was a little too large for their new yard, one of the few major items they salvaged from their old pile in the boonies. He didn’t use it enough even then. He rubbed the side of his head like the pain from the car crash still bothered him. It had not tingled for weeks, but its ghost haunted him every so often.
He pulled weeds he felt sure he pulled out the day before, and hoped for more neighbors to walk by from the parking lot. All walked the long way to their front doors. He reverted to sitting on the front doorstep. Now he suspected they all went round the back.
Kath encouraged him to stop his obsession. “I don’t get it,” he moaned. “I’m not about being their best friend. I don’t want them all to invite me in for a coffee and a donut. Just an hello would do.”
“And a positive on the barbecue invitation.”
“Too right… I… just… don’t get it.”
4.
That evening, somebody knocked on the door. He rushed to it. Elation built and held. Thin air stood in for human presence. Footsteps to the left. He chased. He saw nobody.
Teresa waved to him a few times and often stopped to talk. She looked forward to the barbecue.
“Steaks. Sausages. Ribs. Hot dogs. I have sauces to kill for.”
“My lips are smacking already.”
“They won’t stop for a week after, believe me.”
“It will be nice for the neighborhood to get together again,” she beamed. “It’s been a long time.”
“Ah.” His enthusiasm dipped. “So far it’s just you and Brendan.”
“You haven’t asked anybody else?”
“Teresa, what is it with this neighborhood?” he whispered. “I can’t catch hold of anybody. They all seem too fascinated by their cell phones or the sidewalk to talk to me. Do I stink?”
“Of course not, Jack.”
He lifted his arms. “Can you smell anything?” He indicated his armpits.
“I hope that’s not the technique you used as an invitation?”
“Sorry.” He lowered his arms. “I’m starting to get paranoid.”
“More bad news, I’m afraid.”
“You can’t come either?” He groaned.
“I can, but Brendan won’t be able to make it. Night shift.”
The fact she could make it tempered his disappointment. “They have pills for that now.”
“They don’t.”
“Night shift syndrome. Heard it on the radio.”
She laughed as she left him by the gate.
He had not yet seen or heard her husband, a thought that crept in late that night.
5.
By Thursday Kathy chastised him. He was a self-employed salesman and he had not put his nose to the grindstone in recent weeks.. They had a child to rear in the weeks ahead and money didn’t arrive by looking through blinds at the neighbors.
From the upstairs office he had seen kids play in the square, their parents sat beneath trees deep in discussion. It made his heart expand. They did talk to each other. He darted downstairs and opened the door to nothing. Silence replaced shouts and laughter. The square’s emptiness forced him outside. He checked each doorway and bend in the sidewalk for life. He noticed numerous For Sale signs. Why had he never seen those before? He barely heard his wife call him.
Had the neighborhood shunned him? Only Teresa acknowledged his existence. Did she have anything to do with this? He called on her, but no answer. He knew she roamed around in there – he could see her shadows.
“My God – I can see you, Teresa.”
Two more bells and Kath had to lead him by the arm back to their home, where she put him to bed. Did Kath just call me Jake? he wondered, as his bed sheets soaked in his sweat.
In the middle of the night he put an ear to the wall. He could hear Teresa’s footsteps pad their wooden floor, but not her husband’s. He determined to stay awake until he heard evidence of his existence. His eyelids had other ideas. He fell asleep with a hand on his unborn child.
6.
Teresa let him in the next morning. He had let five sales slip from his grasp, and Kath had left with a friend to go shopping. The financial worry was peripheral; he had to see the only neighbor who would talk. She invited him to take a seat. She defeated his reluctance and he slumped into the chair.
“How are you this morning?” She handed him coffee and a British biscuit called a Digestive. He hadn’t thought much about his current constipation, but she seemed to catch his consternation at the name on the packet..
“Oh, it’s not for that. That’s just a name; it is for dunking and enjoying – nothing medicinal.”
“Okay.”. She had grasped his anger, rolled it between finger and thumb, and shaped it into pleasant docility. Who is this woman? He avoided her soul-sucking gaze, and instead inspected her DVDs. Mary Poppins, Aladdin, The Devil Rides Out.
“You don’t exist, Jack.”
“Excuse me?” Her pale blue eyes locked his attention. He had not noticed them before. She did not respond. He licked his teeth as he waited, scratched the ghost pain on the side of his head, and urged her on after unbearable silence. “What did you say?”
He wondered if she used her eyes to hypnotize. They had not blinked since they sat. “Jack, you heard what I said.”
His wind-pipe barely allowed an answer. “I’m eating this biscuit. I’m talking to you. Who are you, Teresa?”
“I’m a medium. I saw you the first day your wife moved here, but our neighbors, thankfully, for they would leave this place a desert if they could, cannot see you.”
He wanted to leave, or hit her, but could only look into those eyes and play with his clammy hands. The sweat indicated his reality, despite her convincing persuasion.
“I thought you a professor.”
“By day. Jack, you believe you’re real, but you imagine your sweat, you imagine the biscuit and the coffee. You need to; otherwise your soul would crumble. You would haunt blindly and become a nuisance, maybe become malevolent. But now you know, and I want you to remain calm – for the sake of the neighborhood –”
“Teresa, you’re a nut. Look…” He greased his palm with the sweat on the back of his neck and wiped it on her granite counter top. It left an unpleasant streak. The action left him queasy. Poked at his morals. She's the host. A crazy one, but still the host. He had a point to prove, so he didn’t dwell.
“Your wife –”
“- talks to me.” A “ha” almost punctuated his victory.
Teresa stroked her worn hands. Veins lined her skin’s deterioration. Her head shake was light; anything heavier would not have damaged his victory as much. “She calls you Jake.”
His jaw locked. His breath sounded heavy through his nose.
“You are not Jake. Jake is her new husband. Jack, please look at me.”
Her blue eyes pulled.
“You died a year ago, in a car crash on the I-95.”
“No…”
“Yes. The boy is not yours.”
7.
He turned his house upside down and found nothing. The only photographs were of him and Kath. Jake? No evidence. The old bat had told him he’d find none; he would only see what his soul wanted him to see. He shifted from laughing at her to laughing at he-knew-not-what. Internet archives mentioned the crash, and his critical condition. He couldn’t find follow-up stories to see if he died, or lived.
He slapped his cheeks hard. The pain stung real sharp. He stood by his office window and saw a woman from one of the other rows walk by. He scrambled to open it and called “Excuse me.”
The slightest flinch vibrated her frame, but nothing more. He called again. Did her pace pick up? He rested his head against the window frame and picked at his skin until it bled. Blood. I’m real. I’m real. He called again and the woman turned the corner without any acknowledgement he existed.
Kath came home late as the sun lowered and colored the few clouds red. Her eyes drooped narrow with exhaustion. He couldn’t see any Jake. What medication did the old woman take to say such a thing? He held her tight, careful so he didn't squeeze his boy. The woman had got into him.
“I need to go to bed,” she murmured.
He could swear she said that to him.
“Kath, I’m here. Hug me back.”
Her arms dangled and she left him for the bedroom as if the house lied empty.
8.
The night passed without much sleep. He examined his wife’s belly to surmise his shape in the baby’s form. Ridiculous, he knew. He stayed quiet for most of the day. Kathy slept for much of it. The baby took a toll on her energy.
By early evening they worked together in the kitchen.
“I know, sweetheart.” She handed him corn to chop. “But, people don’t always want to be close to people who live nearby. Any drama then becomes an issue, and living becomes awkward.”
His every vein seemed injected by concrete. I am dead, he concluded. This repeated event showed the proof. Teresa is a medium. He ran upstairs. The safe by his desk contained his gun. He took it, weighed the clip in one hand, the handgun in the other. Can a soul kill itself? He pushed the clip in, twirled the gun, examined the muzzle, and planted it in his mouth. Count to ten and pull.
Ten. His finger remained on the trigger.
Okay, twenty.
Twenty. He pressed harder.
Thirty, and off I go … to wherever.
Jack felt so tired he had pinpricks for eyes.
Movement in the square. Quite a few people out there, Teresa included. He removed the gun and licked the metallic taste away. She might flinch at the gun. Let’s see.
His speed downstairs belied his sluggish mind. As usual, he garnered no recognition. Some families lied on blankets, some sheltered from the sun beneath the trees. Teresa and a couple of women stood deep in conversation. Only Teresa acknowledged him as he strode towards her, the gun by his side.
He pointed it at her head. She remained unmoved, except for gray strands in the breeze. The two women became quiet, but it seemed only from Teresa’s abrupt silence. They walked on, urged away by some magical symbol she gave them.
“If I’m dead, then I cannot hold this gun. I can’t kill you. If I pull this trigger, nothing will explode into your head.”
“The gun isn’t real, Jack. Please accept you’re dead.”
“What is your point? Why can only you see me?”
“I’m here to stop you becoming malevolent, Jack. T
o usher you upwards, instead of down.”
He caught her meaning and barely kept his balance.
“Every soul eventually realizes itself. Some accept it and move on. Some break and are left in limbo, eventually dragged down to where they do not want to go.”
He would have lowered his weapon if he hadn’t noted everybody in the square hold their eyes on them. Did they include him in their perceptions, or did they think her loopy for talking to nothing?
“You should pull the trigger.” An old man with shaky hands almost turned away from repercussions.
Jack stared at him. “You see me?”
He nodded. Jack’s courage built. Teresa smiled, serene, like nothing had happened.
“Look at me,” Jack said to the man. “Am I real?”
“You’re real,” said the woman two doors down from him. He spun to look at her.
“Be quiet.” Teresa pierced her with those pale blue eyes.
“No. You have domineered us for years, like some witch.”
The “no” dominoed round the square. Somebody shouted “This experiment ends now.”
Another, a woman who held her toddler tight, said, “There’s nothing wrong with newcomers. We need more of them.”
His neighbors came close to touch and comfort him. One elderly lady, eyes full of regret, wiped his tears with a napkin. “This ends now, Teresa.”
The only neighbor who had ever talked to him was now quiet. Impotent rage substituted silky, persuasive words. “You know what I can do to all of you.”
“You can’t do anything.” The old man poked her with his walking stick. Her twitchy eyebrow exclaimed his triumph.
Jack lowered his gun and ran back into the house. His wife called him. Her labor had started.
9.
Sausages sizzled along with other meaty goods, Jack glad he’d ordered stacks of meat and bread. More neighbors than he anticipated had accepted his invitation. They spilled outside the back yard for lack of room. He balanced his responsibilities between the meat and his son. Ensured his wife remained relaxed.
The last couple of months had been bliss. Money poured in. He felt mentally balanced. His son and wife loved him. The neighbors got rid of the For Sale signs, and they socialized. The square felt like a proper village at last.
