But something strange was going on. Nick frowned, looking in all directions. Ten minutes before, the street had been a beehive. Now it was deserted. Except for him and Buddy, there was not another individual to be seen. Just rows of neat houses in small yards, lined up in perfect formation.
The same thing happened the next evening. And the next.
Nick and Buddy explored every street in Haven Estates, all eight of them, and saw not a single individual. No one out working in his garage with the door up. No kids playing on front lawns. No dogs barking when he and Buddy walked past yard fences.
It was eerie, unnatural. Like walking through a ghost town.
Okay, sure, maybe his timing in getting home was out of sync with everyone else’s, but not every time. In a planned neighborhood of 352 houses with a 90 percent occupancy, the law of averages said that eventually he had to meet at least one other person outdoors, but he didn’t.
Nick was a commercial real-estate insurance adjuster, so the more hours he billed, the more commissions he earned. Normally, he worked on weekends, too, but when Saturday rolled around, he opted to stay home, and opened the front blinds of his house so he could watch his neighbors.
“This is it,” he said to Buddy. “I’m now my grandfather, officially nuts, with nothing better to do than spy on people and make up stories about them.”
Anderson, from next door, walked out to his mailbox.
Nick shot outside with a big, goofy smile. “Hi, neighbor!” he yelled, waving.
Anderson, tall, slightly bald, and middle-aged, hesitated for a long moment before lifting his hand perfunctorily. Without another glance in Nick’s direction, he walked back into his house.
“Friendly type,” Nick said, frowning. He settled down in his chair to stare out the window, but aside from a couple of cars that drove by, nothing happened.
Bored, he wondered what Saturday chores he could do. Cleaning and yard work were provided by the maintenance staff. Sighing, he gave Buddy a bath.
Through the thin walls of his house, he heard the people on his other side talking as they walked out to their driveway, and the muted chatter of children. Tossing the wet towel at Buddy, he hurried outside again.
Just as they slammed their white SUV doors and drove away.
Standing in his front yard, Nick looked up and down his street. At the south end he saw a woman picking up her newspaper like a sleepwalker. At the north end, he heard children shrieking and yelling, although he didn’t see them. A normal Saturday, he thought.
His frown deepened. There was something wrong, though. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about his street was off-kilter.
Exactly eighteen minutes later, the white SUV returned. For the rest of the day, it left every two hours, returning each time exactly eighteen minutes later. Nick was baffled. He’d once clocked the distance to the nearest shopping area, and about all that was possible in eighteen minutes was to buy a newspaper at a corner convenience store and come straight back. But no one would do that multiple times in a single day.
Anderson, he noticed, walked to the end of his driveway and back at equal intervals. The man didn’t look around, wave at anyone, or change expression.
That afternoon, Nick planned to take Buddy out right after lunch. But a phone call from his boss tied him up. He prepared a report, with a ball game playing in the background, and the afternoon flew by. Before he knew it, twilight was darkening the windows and Buddy was lying by the front door with his head morosely on his paws.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Nick said, genuinely penitent. “I lost track of time.”
He grabbed his jacket and Buddy’s leash, and they headed outside. It was nearly dark, darker than Nick preferred. But the breeze was mild and balmy, very damp as though a storm might be brewing. No one was outside at this hour, although when he was a kid Nick and his friends would have been jumping hedges and trying to shine flashlights at possums to make them freeze and hiss. Times had sure changed, Nick thought, and laughed at himself for thinking something his father used to say.
As he and Buddy walked along, they saw yellow lights shining from windows, but all the blinds were drawn and all the garage doors were down. Not like old Mrs. Gregor, who lived on the street where he grew up. Every night, she left the drapes of her dining room window open to show off her highly polished furniture. And Nick’s dad was always phoning the old man across the street, who regularly forgot to close his garage door after smoking there in the evenings.
But here, people didn’t seem to forget anything. Probably because their Clever Homes sounded a low, pleasant chime when they failed to lower the garage door within a certain number of minutes. Nick drew in a deep breath of the pleasant spring air, musing about how he might disconnect that feature. He felt tempted to mess up some of the relentless perfection around here. Let grass grow over a flower bed, leave the curtains open, put a lawn chair on the roof, plant those plastic pink flamingos in the front yard, blast his stereo at three in the morning . . . something to loosen this place up a little.
Down on Crestmont Court, he thought he heard a woman screaming in one of the houses, but the noise faded before he could be sure. By the time he reached the end of the cul-de-sac, he decided he’d imagined it.
The light wind died, leaving air so still and moist that Nick thought it might rain. Even so, he didn’t turn back. Crestmont Court was one of the newest streets at the very edge of the neighborhood, and still had several vacant lots. The streetlights were set far apart, and they were growing dimmer as the fog closed in.
Without warning, Buddy suddenly yelped and jumped sideways about two feet, nearly yanking the leash from Nick’s hand. Nick was strong enough to keep him from running away, but the dog stood cringing with his tail between his hind legs, staring at something Nick couldn’t see.
“Easy, boy. What’s wrong with you?” Nick asked. When he ran his hand over Buddy he felt the tension in the dog’s neck and down his spine. Buddy was trembling, and he edged closer to Nick.
Petting the dog in reassurance, Nick looked around.
Only one house had been built down here at the very end of the cul-de-sac. Empty lots lay on either side of it. The house was dark, whether empty or simply no one at home, Nick couldn’t tell. FOR SALE signs weren’t allowed by the HOA. The place looked innocuous enough: bricked single story with a tidy row of spiky bushes in the basic landscaping package. Nothing, not even the crickets, made a sound.
“I don’t see anything here to scare you, Buddy. Let’s go home.”
Buddy finally took a few frightened steps, dodging a place on the pavement that had nothing visibly wrong with it. The farther they got from the dark house, the more Buddy relaxed, until he was once more trotting along. But his tail stayed down, and now and then he looked back apprehensively.
Partway along the street, a cement drain channel ran between two houses, feeding into Ladybrook, which ran behind Crestmont Court. Buddy abruptly dragged him toward the channel. A sign was posted there: NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL.
“Stop, Buddy,” Nick said firmly, holding him back. “No prowling expeditions tonight. No unauthorized shortcuts. Let’s stick to the sidewalk.”
Buddy dug in, pulling harder, and the reawakening imp in Nick surrendered. He hadn’t thwarted authority this harmlessly since high school, when he’d made it his mission to enter every area marked KEEP OUT. The drainage channel ran maybe three feet lower than ground level. Paved, clean, and dry, it made an efficient shortcut home.
When they emerged on Ladybrook, Buddy planted all four feet and locked his attention on something Nick couldn’t see in the fog. Nick tugged on the leash, but Buddy took only a step or two before turning around again. He whined softly.
Alone on the deserted, fog-shrouded street, Nick wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was approaching. He heard footsteps, and glimpsed a pale figure approaching through the mist. Squinting, he made out a woman in a light-colored raincoat, walking a small, white terrier.
Bud
dy danced with excitement, still whining.
Nick felt excited, too. Suddenly all his recent speculations seemed foolish. “You see?” he said to Buddy. “We’re not in a ghost town after all.”
Buddy strained at the leash again, and this time Nick went along, stopping under the nearest streetlight and waiting politely where the woman and her West Highland terrier could see him clearly. Wagging his tail, Buddy uttered a short, happy woof.
The woman seemed startled, and stopped a safe distance away.
“Hello,” Nick said with casual friendliness. “Sorry to look like I’m lurking. I live on this street, that way.” He pointed, while Buddy strained to sniff noses with the Westie. “My dog’s dying to meet your dog, so we waited here. Your dog’s pretty.”
“Thanks.”
The woman was maybe thirty, with smooth, dark hair cut chin-length. He couldn’t see her well in the gloom, but her voice was pleasant. “I just moved here,” she said, sounding wary. “Cotton and I are trying to learn our way around.”
“Well, great! Welcome to the neighborhood! I’m Nick Penby. And this is Buddy.” He was conscious of his voice sounding too loud and hearty. “When did you move in?”
“Today.” She shortened her dog’s leash, as though ready to go on.
Nick pulled Buddy back. “A pleasure to meet you, uh . . .”
“Erin. Bye.”
She walked on briskly. Nick watched her appreciatively, taking note of the gray brick house that she went into. There was a U-Haul parked in the driveway. He hadn’t noticed a FOR SALE sign in the yard, but then there never were any. People moved in and moved out without fanfare, much the same way he himself had done a few months ago. The corporate life, he thought with sudden dissatisfaction. This rootless, transitory existence was no way to really live. And this so-called perfect community he’d moved into wasn’t a real community at all. At least, not until now. He felt immeasurably cheered by having finally talked to a neighbor. Especially a good-looking one.
“Very nice, Buddy,” Nick said happily. “Good job, boy. I guess this place is improving, huh?”
Buddy panted contentedly.
The next two evenings, Nick and Buddy prowled the neighborhood in hopes of seeing Erin and Cotton again. No luck. They were back to the same old deserted emptiness, and Nick’s uneasy feelings about Haven Estates returned.
Then he saw Erin standing in her front yard one afternoon as he was coming home from work. She was wearing jeans and a bright pink sweatshirt, and she was trying to cut down and flatten a pile of cardboard boxes.
He pulled in along the curb and jumped out. “Hi! Need help?”
She stared at him for a moment, looking unsure.
“I’m Nick. Our dogs met the other night.”
“Oh, the guy with Buddy!” she said, smiling now. She crossed the small yard to him, holding out her slender hand. She shook firmly, and he liked her pretty, dark brown eyes. She wore minimal makeup—very unlike Whitney’s elaborate maquillage—and he liked the faint dusting of freckles on her nose.
She laughed, a bit self-consciously. “Sorry. I guess you think it’s rude, me remembering the dog’s name instead of yours.”
“Getting settled in?” he asked.
She nodded. “Almost. I start my new job on Monday, so I’ve been pretty busy.” She hesitated. “Do—you said you live here on Ladybrook, right?”
“Yes.” He pointed. “Down that way. Number 3501. Red brick, white shutters. Classic fake neo-nonstyle Colonial.”
When she laughed, he felt encouraged. All the while, his gaze was taking in the details . . . the small number of boxes still unpacked in the garage, along with a kitchen table and chairs . . . only one car parked in the driveway. She was single, he hoped.
He decided to take a chance, give her an opening if she wanted it. “If there’s anything you need help with, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Well . . .”
He grinned. “Name it! That table over there?”
“I’m getting rid of it because it won’t go through the doorway. No, I can’t figure out my breaker box. I called maintenance, but they want to schedule a training session on how to customize my Clever Home settings.” As she spoke, she rolled her eyes.
Nick laughed. “Part of the package.”
“Yes, but I want to understand my breakers, in case of an emergency.”
“We don’t have emergencies in Haven Estates,” Nick said, imitating the sales pitch featured on the HOA’s Web site.
She wrinkled her freckled nose at him, looking stubborn. “My dad taught me to always be prepared.”
Grinning, Nick dealt with the breakers, flipping them and listening for her to call out from inside the house. As the breakers were sorted out, he labeled them for her, and realized he was enjoying himself. After months inside his smooth-running Clever Home, he’d almost forgotten how much satisfaction a simple household chore could provide.
“Thanks,” she said, smiling, when they were done. “I could have handled it by myself, but it was going to take forever, running back and forth.”
“Maintenance should have identified everything for you before you moved in.”
She shrugged. “I’m not used to all the service they provide here. I bought this place online. You know, visual tour, new construction, too much in a hurry to look in person.” She hesitated. “Very enticing incentive package.”
He grinned. “The flat panel with all the bells and whistles?”
“Right. And it interfaces with my computer like you wouldn’t believe. Only . . .” She hesitated, frowning.
“Problem?”
“Did you get one of these?” She handed over a letter.
It was from the HOA, listing rules for using the park, pool, and small clubhouse.
“I looked up the full set of association rules online before I purchased the house,” Erin said. “I was okay with it. Then this letter is waiting in my mailbox the day after I move in. Did you read this part?” She pointed at one line.
“No dogs allowed?” A strange feeling blossomed in his chest. “No way.”
“I read the rules,” she insisted, looking near tears. “There was nothing mentioned about not having pets. I mean, I wouldn’t have moved here if I’d known.”
Angrily, Nick was shaking his head. He wasn’t giving up Buddy because of some stupid rule. “I didn’t get one of these letters.” He read it again. “Weird.”
“So I e-mailed the HOA president and was told it’s a new policy.” Scowling, she tossed her dark hair. “We’re owners, not tenants. This isn’t right. Cotton is my baby. We just got here, and I start my new job on Monday, and now—”
“Hey,” Nick said, trying to reassure her. “I don’t think they can enforce this. I think we have to vote on it or something for it to go through.”
Her face still looked stormy as she crammed the letter back into its envelope. “It’s a mean trick. Some kind of bait-and-switch tactic.”
“They can’t make you get rid of your dog. Don’t worry about it. These HOA things move slowly. Maybe a neighbor complained or something—”
Next door, a car door slammed, and they watched a sleek black Nissan with dark-tinted windows pull away.
Erin made a face. “I tried to meet those people, but no luck as yet.”
“Wouldn’t answer when you knocked?” Nick asked in sympathy.
She shot him a puzzled look. “Yeah. In fact, you’re the only person I’ve met all week. In my last place, I barely backed my U-Haul in the driveway and the neighbors were all over me, inviting me to supper and bringing me casseroles and brownies.” The worry returned to her face. “Now I’ve got someone complaining about my dog.”
“I’ll let you know if I get one of those letters, too.”
She tried to smile, but it didn’t quite work.
He stared at her for a moment, with his head cocked to one side. “Want me to see if I can move that table into the house for you? Seems a shame to throw it out if I can get
the top to come off.”
So, once the table was reassembled in her spotless little kitchen, she ordered takeout and offered him supper. Nick dashed home and fed Buddy, then spent a pleasant evening with Erin, cutting down boxes for her while she unpacked. She didn’t have a lot.
“Divorced?” he asked, hoping she wasn’t going to think him too personal.
She nodded, but didn’t say anything else, and he let it drop. Clearly the hurt was fresh, and he wasn’t going to poke at a sore wound.
She didn’t invite him again, and Nick was okay with that. He waved when he saw her walking Cotton or planting flowers in her small front yard, and gave her space. But as the days went by, he saw her less and less. Assuming she was busy with her new job, he shrugged it off. But he was disappointed, too, and he knew from the way Buddy perked up when they passed Erin’s house that the dog was hoping to see Cotton. It was as though Haven Estates had swallowed them up, and Nick and Buddy were back in ghost town. Even the flowers she’d planted disappeared one day, and Nick figured maybe she was so busy she’d let them die.
One of the letters containing the no-dog policy appeared in his mailbox, but Nick didn’t call her about it as he’d promised. He tore up the letter and threw it away. Buddy was a quiet, well-behaved dog that didn’t bark excessively in the backyard. Nick had put a padlock on the yard gate to further secure Buddy, and he told himself these HOA bozos had no say in what he did on his own property.
Then, the first big thunderstorm of spring hit. There was a black, evil sky with storm clouds roiling overhead when Nick got home that evening. Out here on the prairie, where houses were built on flat, open ground and tornadoes sometimes churned everything into splinters, spring storms could get very fierce. Glad to be off the interstate before the pyrotechnics hit, he drove into his garage just as the first fat drops began to pelt down. Thunder rumbled overhead, and a flash of lightning made the power flicker, jamming the garage-door opener.
Grumbling, Nick fiddled with the switch, trying to get the thing to shut. On the other side of the utility door he could hear Buddy scratching and barking. Finally the garage door whirred and started lowering. Relieved, Nick opened the utility door to go in, but Buddy shot past him and streaked through the garage and outside just before the door came down.
Twilight Zone Anthology Page 20
