Strange Surroundings

STRANGE SURROUNDINGS

“Did you hear that noise last night?” said eighty-three-year-old Florence Sachs as she hobbled on her cane. She spoke to her next-door neighbor Clara Feeley at 11:00 a.m. on a Sunday in a small suburban community.

“I think you had too many shots of whiskey last night. Of course, I heard the noise. It was so loud, got me nervous, I didn’t go back to sleep until 3:00 a.m. this morning,” said eighty-four-year-old Clara. “To top everything off, I kept getting up every couple of hours to use the bathroom. The noise only contributed to my already bad health.”

“Talking against the whiskey now, huh?” said Florence. “You did not have a problem when we were drinking the other night. You kept begging me to pour you more.”

“You got me,” Clara said, winking her eye. “I had a few shots before I went to bed last night.”

“The noise scared me so badly, I almost threw my false teeth out in the sink, thinking it was a cup of ice. I know this sounds crazy, but I thought about calling the police.”

“No, police,” Clara said, shaking her head vehemently, “Remember, we don’t want to involve the police.”

“You don’t have to remind me. I thought aliens were coming to attack us. Then I thought about our history with law enforcement and quickly changed my mind,” said Florence.

"We can blame our in-action on old age and alcohol. What excuse do our pathetic neighbors have?” asked Clara.

“They probably think we are pathetic too.”

“We are not pathetic,” Clara snapped. “If our husbands were alive, they would have taken care of everything. I am so glad you didn’t call the police. They are the last thing we need lurking around here.”

“You’re right. Luckily, the noise abruptly stopped,” said Florence.

“It sounded like someone dropped a boulder from the sky and it hit the ground,” Clara agreed.

“Maybe some aliens landed their spaceship on our property, under the leaves,” Florence joked.

“God forbid, if we were invaded by aliens, that would have frightened me out of my wits. 

But if they were strong aliens maybe they could’ve helped us rake these leaves,” Clara said, pointing over to a pile of leaves that stood a mile high in the backyard.

“You are funny, Clara. Could you imagine a bunch of aliens helping us rake these leaves?”

“Yeah,” Florence laughed. “That would have been a sight to see.”

“Enough about aliens and weird noises in the night, let’s start raking these leaves before fall comes rolling back around again,” said Clara.

Clara handed Florence one of her rakes because every fall Florence would rake leaves like she was out for revenge or something. Her rakes would break because of how harshly she handled the tool. Florence handled Clara’s rake with care because she knew how particular Clara was about her things.

They started raking the leaves in Clara’s backyard first because they started at Florence’s house last year. These women had been doing this chore together after their husbands had died a couple of years apart. Both men died under similar

circumstances; they suffered heart attacks.

After their husbands’ deaths, the women would take turns every year, alternating which house they would rake first. The two women had been friendly since Florence moved next door to Clara forty-five years ago. Florence and her husband moved in shortly after an unwanted family moved out.

In those days, Clara and her husband Darren recruited people in the neighborhood to help them remove the undesirables. As the years rolled by, people’s views began to change. This forced politicians to change housing laws. Their goal was to make things equal among people in America.

Clara and Darren’s views never changed and it became harder to keep the neighborhood safe. They could no longer keep their neighborhood pure. The good Lord must have heard their prayers because they were about to move. Florence and her husband Jonathan moved in a week later. They were an aggressive pair that helped them continue their quest for a safe neighborhood.

At first, Clara was skeptical about Florence because of her appearance. Florence had dark hair, eyes, and olive skin. Clara thought Florence was Hispanic. She was relieved when she found out that she was half-Italian.

***

The two women continued to rake the leaves behind Clara’s house.

“What in the hell?” Florence screamed out, stopping her action.

“What’s wrong, Florence?” asked Clara as she looked up from what she was doing.

“I feel something hard under this rake, and now it’s stuck,” said Florence.

“Pull on the thing, Florence. You are usually tougher than that. That interruption last night must have thrown you off.”

“You know I am still strong as a bull. Come over here and try it for yourself. You’ll see what I am talking about.”  

Clara tried lifting the rake, but it would not budge. Florence moved further away from where Clara stood because she didn’t want to get hit with the rake in case Clara pulled it out. Clara pushed down on the rake, but it didn’t move. Florence was 

right. It was stuck. Clara then started raking the leaves around the unmovable rake to narrow in on the obstruction.

“Ahhhh!” Clara screeched. Her eyes widen. She put her hand over her mouth. She shook her head from side to side in disbelief. 

“Clara, what is it?”

“It looks like a hea…” she choked.

“What?”  

“It looks like a head,” Clara managed to say.

“Are you serious? What type of head is it, does it belong to a bird or dog? You know they do a lot of deer hunting up here,” Florence joked.

“It’s a severed head of an African-American man!” Clara bellowed.

“Stop it! Clara,” Florence yelled. “You’re lying.”

“Come here, and see for yourself, Florence,” she shouted. Florence obliged her and peered over, then she fell back, stumbling to her knees after witnessing the sight.

“This can’t be,” Florence cried aloud. “This must be a hoax. How did his head get here?”

“Who would pull a hoax? We are the only ones who know about this.”

“Shhhh, you don’t want the rest of the neighbors to hear what you just said, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Clara cried. “But what are we going to do?” She asked in a panicky tone.

“We are going to take a deep breath, and then we’re going to think,” said Florence.

“Okay,” Clara sighed. 

“You think this has something to do with that noise last night?” asked Florence.

“Could be,” Clara reflected. “We have to get rid of it.”

“You’re right. I have an idea,” said Florence. “Go in your house and get a garbage bag.”

“I can do that, but I am afraid to leave you alone out here. What if….?”

“What if what? He gets up and comes after me? He’s going to have to locate the rest of his body to do that. Besides, the man has been dead over thirty-something years. He’s no longer a threat to us.”

“But aren’t you afraid to be standing here with that thing next to you?”

“I am going to cover it up. Just go inside quickly and bring the bag out. Then 

I’ll tell you what we are going to do next.”

Clara obeyed, especially when it came to Florence. Everyone knew that Florence was the boss in their relationship. Clara thought if she hadn’t listened to Florence thirty-something years ago, she wouldn’t be in this predicament. Once in the house, she scrambled around searching for a garbage bag. This was unusual because she always kept her things in a specific place. She figured her nerves impaired her ability to locate this item. Finally, after several minutes she found the garbage bag. 

“Florence?” Clara said, running from her house and returning to the scene. Clara scanned her backyard but Florence was not there. “This is no time to be playing games.”

Clara was only gone for a few minutes and couldn’t figure out how Florence had disappeared. Clara dashed over to Florence’s house, but there was no sign of her. However, when she looked down, she noticed some footprints leading toward Florence’s front door entrance.

“Oh, no,” she gasped. The footprints were large, like the size of a man’s foot. She didn’t see any footprints belonging to Florence.

“Florence,” she called out as she timidly opened the door to Florence’s house. “Florence are you alright?” she asked, once she entered the house.

Still, there was no answer, even after she got deeper into the house. Clara kept walking until she reached the staircase that led to Florence’s bedroom. She listened intently to see if she could pick up strange noises from the bedroom. She heard a muffled sound. She needed a weapon in case she had to fight for her and Florence’s life. She remembered that Florence used different canes to help her walk. She remembered where she kept them. Clara lifted one of the canes from a rack near the staircase. She slowly started walking upstairs.

“Ahhhhhhh!” Florence screamed from the top of the staircase.

“Florence?” Clara called out. “Don’t worry I am on my way.”

“Don’t come up here,” Florence begged. “Please, he is trying to kill me. He’s going to kill you.”

“Hang in there, Florence. I am on my way.”

She knew she couldn’t call the police so she had no choice but to do it this way. Clara continued to walk up the stairs while she firmly held the cane in her hand. She was ready to knock this man’s head off if she had to. She already knocked one man’s head off to save Florence’s life before. She wouldn’t have a problem doing it again. 

What frightened Clara was she didn’t know who the man upstairs was. It occurred to her that it could be the ghost of the man she helped murder all those years ago. Or perhaps, it could have been someone else. She would have to figure things out later. Her priority was to save her friend.

After Clara reached the top of the stairs, she walked toward the bedroom. She no longer heard Florence’s screams. It was dead silence. She slowly cracked the bedroom door open. After she entered the room; she spotted a man hunched over on the bed.

“Come in, Clara,” the man said in a monotone voice. Clara obliged but firmly held the 

cane in her hand.

“Who are you?” she yelled. “And where is my friend?”

“Ha, Ha, Ha,” the man started laughing sinisterly. Clara cringed when she saw his long sharp-edged teeth. “You consider her a friend?”

“Where is she?” asked a defiant Clara.

“Come closer,” he said, tilting his already lopsided head. It looked like he had attached it to his body in a rush. “And I will tell you where she is.”

“No,” Clara shouted. “I want to know what you did to my friend.”

“Will you stop calling her a friend,” he roared, now standing up from the bed, revealing his full size.

He was a big man. His clothes were tattered, and his nails were long. His eyes were large and budged out of their sockets. His hair was matted, and suddenly a foul odor hit Clara’s nose.

“She is my friend and I am going to find her. Don’t come near me,” she said, lifting the cane as he started to plow toward her. He stopped in his tracks.

“Oh, Ms. Clara,” he said, laughing uproariously. “You haven’t changed a bit. I have and it’s all because of you,” he shot out angrily.

“What are you talking about, you creep? You don’t know me.”

“You are so wrong, Ms. Clara. I know you, and I knew your so-called friend.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You killed me, Ms. Clara. You killed me that night for no reason,” he snapped.

“You can’t be him,” she cried. “You’re dead.”

“I am, but we are allowed to visit the living from time to time.”

“I had to kill you!” she cried. “You were hurting her.”

“That’s a lie,” he screamed, “and you know it.”

“When I walked in on you two, she was screaming and begging you to get off her.”

“She was screaming and begging because she had gotten caught. I was her lover, you nitwit. She was enjoying every minute of our encounter until you interrupted us.”

“She hates black people. She would have never let you touch her.”

“She was afraid you would tell her husband, so she had to get rid of me. Why do you think she told you to kill me? Why didn’t she do it herself?”

“She was distraught after you had attacked her,” said Clara.

“No, she wasn’t. If you recall, she ran out of the house and came back with the axe. It wasn’t a snapped judgment.”

“And she handed the axe to me,” Clara spoke lethargically, as she recalled the events of that fatal night.”

“Good girl, Clara. You’re finally admitting what happened. Then she demanded you hit me with the axe.”

“You are right, Wilford. That’s exactly what happened.”

“Then you raised the axe and swung it at me. The blade of the axe went straight through my neck.”

“I tried to pull the axe out of your neck, but it was too late. Florence and I both tried but things got worse. We ended up cutting your whole head off. If it is any consolation, I am sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Clara. I am dead now and so is Florence.”

“You did kill her,” she said, somberly.

“Yes, and now it’s your turn to see what it’s like on the other side.”

Wilford glided toward her. Clara knew her fate so she didn’t move. She had no plans to fight. She knew she deserved everything that was going to happen to her. It probably would be horrific. He grabbed her by the neck and twisted it with all his might. He watched as the blood dripped from her neck and down to her clothing. He kept squeezing until the life drained out of her. He gently laid her bloody, limp body across the bed. 

He then opened the closet door. Florence’s dead body hung inside by a rope. Her tongue was hanging out, so he pushed it back into her mouth. Then he laid her body next to Clara’s. He walked out of the bedroom, sauntered down the stairs, and strolled out of the house. He looked up into the sky, what a beautiful day he thought. I always loved the fall weather. Then he stretched out his arms, took a giant leap into the air, and disappear into the clouds.