Appurtenant

Through the fogged window, light pours over half the room casting craggy figures on the closet doors. From the corner of his eye, twinkling condensation dances on the windowpane, tempting him to look again. With strained focus, Jonathan stares straight ahead attempting to ignore the window, refusing to cast a fruitless glance at the bedside clock – he knows it is well past midnight. He keeps his withered gaze fixed on the ceiling, listening to the ambient purr of air conditioning.

The stark streaks of light from outside bleach the floorboards and flash the brown dresser to a molted grey. Plundering his eye sockets, Jonathan rubs the heels of his palms against his eyelids. Blinking his vision anew, he whispers, “How is this happening? It’s goddamn ridiculous.”

Jen does not bother turning over, but mumbles through her pillow ensconced head, “I’ve said it a million times, you need to talk to him.”

“I will. But, I don’t understand. How…” Reason and voice escape him. The harsh exterior light blinks off, chasing away the shadows and enshrouding the room in inky black.

Jen barely cracks her pillow clamshell open, but Jonathan feels the heat of her glare. “Then stop making noise.” Deliberate and exact, she again pulls the pillows tightly against her skull. Her now muffled voice carries a threatening tone. “Try and get to bed before it turns on again. I’m sure there’s a moth out there with a bigger vendetta against you than me.”

After several minutes of debating how best to avoid the burgeoning martial spat, Jonathan quietly eases himself off the bed while considering the numerous blessings of having a memory foam mattress. Standing in front of the bedside window, he grimaces, staring at Jake Nance’s house. Looming in the darkness, the silhouette of the lumbering residence comes into focus. Although separated by two driveways and nearly 50 feet, it feels as though the neighboring house is saddled right next to his own, peering over, encroaching on his privacy.

Flitting his eyes over the shadowy home, Jonathan again appreciates its innate beauty. What could have been a rambling mixture of designs and motifs, the restored 1820s farmhouse had been transformed into an objectively stunning structure. Modern lines and angles gracefully enveloped in antebellum, Virginian splendor. Jonathan’s vision settles on the garage, which is the only portion of the Nance home directly facing his – a modern addition, it is a standard two car garage with an accompanying room on top. “Ah, my nemesis.” Jonathan’s grimace morphs into a sneer as he spots the motion activated flood light affixed right above the garage’s mouth. Two enormous bulbs, a security camera, and a two-way speaker, the light dually embodies sleek technology and penitentiary overwatch.

When they had moved in around mid-November, Jonathan was taken by their new home’s acreage and the hibernating foliage. In particular, spindly oaks and barren hickories tightly encircled the house promising a dazzling spring of verdant green and English garden solitude. A needed respite from years of city dwellings stacked upon each other allowing for raucous interruptions, intruding smells, and snooping eyes.  

It was through those winter months that Jonathan first noticed the security light known derisively in the Levine household as “Warden Jake’s Watch.”  Cascading through bare branches, the light originally had become a humorous fixture of their nighttime routine. “Phew. Safe again. Looks like Jake’s got ‘em.” Jonathan would muse as the light’s flash illuminated the bedroom. “Oh, thank God.” Jen would wax maudlin. “Our innocent suburban community saved again. Thank you, Sheriff Nance.”

But, underlying the humor, the sporadic evening flashes gnawed at Jonathan’s wellbeing often arresting his slumber. As a light sleeper, Jonathan would startle awake. Sleeplessness would settle in, and his frustrations mounded. Over the course of months, Jonathan’s repose gradually shrank from seven hours a night to a disturbed four. New shades, melatonin, NyQuil, sleep masks, pillow coverage, changed sleeping arrangements, even an attempt at prescription drugs – nothing seemed to help. While Jen slept like the dead, Jonathan descended into insomnia. After years of cacophonous city life, Jonathan was perturbed at his new troubles. He had slept through far worse, but it was as though the light, the house, and perhaps Jake Nance himself were working in unison to keep him awake.

In April, Jonathan had gone as far as trying to tamper with the light. Readied with an electric orange yard stick configured with a wire hanger duct taped to one end, Jonathan thought, “I just need to shift the light down. Easy.” Jen had thankfully intervened armed with common sense. “Jon, honey, it’s got a camera. He’s gonna see you, right?” Plans foiled.

But, as Winter eased into Spring and Summer consumed Spring, the once fledging foliage delivered on its promise. Leafy branches and tangled vines cocooned the property and largely suffocated the unwelcomed rays of Warden Nance’s Watch. Peace restored; Jonathan resumed tranquil sleep. He had resolved to wait until the end of Fall to contemplate next steps, but for now he relished the peace.

This was the case until returning home from their annual mid-summer trip to Maine. Full of lobster rolls and IPAs, they fumbled into their bedroom after a protracted drive from Portland to D.C. Yearning to sleep in his own bed, Jonathan’s relaxation was shattered – inexplicably the light was back and again the room glowed fluorescent.

Mid reverie, Jonathan’s yard long stare dries out and his eyes refocus. A summer breeze coaxes branches to shift, motions causing the security light to reignite. Quickly cocking his head, Jonathan raises his hand providing shade from the blinding rays. As his eyes regain comfort in the self-imposed dark, blood drains from Jonathan’s face, a growing chill sprints along his spine. “No, no, no,” he softly intones, unable to process what he is seeing. In the corner of the window, he spies large bare spots on the massive hickory alongside his driveway. Light mocha circles surrounded by aged bark, the tell-tale sign of freshly shorn limbs. Big, shady limbs. Jonathan freezes in place.

Blood pulses in Jonathan’s ears as he stands motionless. He leans closer to the window yearning to better understand the significance of the bare hickory limbs. His confusion slowly transforms into fear. “Someone did this intentionally.”

The security light’s rays extinguish leaving Jonathan temporarily blinded by the moonless dark. Casting his glance at the Nance house, Jonathan jerks back from the window. In the haze of his transitioning vision, Jonathan deciphers the shadowed outline of a person in the window above the Nance garage.

“Jake?” Jonathan croaks aloud, his throat papery and strained.

“What?”

Jonathan jumps with a slight scream. “Jesus, Jen!”

Hair disheveled and face puffed, Jen gives a bewildered scowl. “What are you doing? I was headed to the bathroom and you said ‘Jake.’” She turns muttering, “Just go to bed.”

Jonathan face crumples to a frown unable to give a cognizant response. “This is crazy.” Swiftly turning back, Jonathan peers out over the driveway staring at the once seemingly occupied window. The nearly imperceivable figure gone. Disappeared into the night.

Jonathan shakes his head, a mixture of anger and disbelief, and retreats to the bed to again attempt some semblance of rest.  

Across the drive, anchored in a dark corner, Jake Nance smiles under a pair of binoculars.