Annexation

“I’m…sorry? What was that?” The woman, Melissa asked.

“Hard of hearin’ ain’t ya?” A man with a black cowboy hat, Bill Jones, sneered.

Although she didn’t see it now, his presence likely explained the banjo she heard echoing from the woods earlier on this languid Sunday. The one day of the week that the construction crew wasn’t busy building the rest of this new neighborhood.

“This land miss. You stole it.”

“I…don’t understand? I just bought this house recently after it was built. From…whoever owns this property now. I’m sorry if it affected you in anyway, but…whoever owns this land now is who you want to talk to.” Melissa said.

“Guilty by association! Pillagin’ this farmland passed down the Jones family for a many generations. Y’all yuppies should be ashamed of yourselves.” Bill Jones replied.

“And your family likely stole this land from Native Americans, so check mate.” Melissa replied.

He glared at her. His eyes, like dark coals simmering with hatred, made her face burn.  

“It ain’t wise of you to toy with a stranger at your door miss. Specially since none of your yuppie neighbors have moved in yet. And I very well know when that construction crew comes and goes. Not a soul crosses your path on a Sunday mornin’. Them vultures would pick your bones clean before dawn.” Bill Jones said.

Melissa’s eyes retreated from his and she swallowed hard. Bill Jones grinned, with pearly whites that seemed too perfect to be human.

“All out here by your lonesome.”

“You need to leave.” Melissa huffed, taking the door.

He caught it and shoved the door back open, rousing a startled gasp out of her. Bill Jones kept his right hand planted on the door. Business would conclude when he said so. Those eyes fed off her fear and she hated it.

“Wh-wh-what do you want me to do about it?” Melissa stuttered, hating herself.

She hadn’t stuttered in years. It wasn’t until her mid-twenties that she finally conquered her speech impediment. Now, in her early thirties, she feared it could come back under the right circumstances.

“Get yourself a refund miss. Y’all city slickers don’t belong in the country. I highly suggest that before we take more…extraordinary measures." He said.

“I can’t just give up my house!”

“Surrender this house or your sanity miss. We shall see which takes flame first.” Bill Jones said.

“Look,” She began, looking at the ground and swallowing her fear. “I…”

           Like that, he was gone. Without a sound or trace. Melissa quietly shut the door, listening for footsteps. The man glided away like a phantom. She heard no footsteps, no vehicle pulling away, nor could she see him through any of the windows. He must have come on foot through the woods at the end of the newly paved cul-de-sac. Not a comforting thought.

 Melissa had recently won the lottery and moved out here to focus on her painting. She still kept her small studio in downtown for rent, so she could be close to art events. Melissa had the money now after all. However, there was always a catch wasn’t there? That was God’s way of balancing the world, she pictured her father saying. Melissa remembered the revolver he had given her as a present. It was already loaded to save her the trouble. Melissa hated guns and never thought she’d use it. Only now she felt, it would be wise to keep it in closer quarters rather than gathering dust in a box. After searching through her closet, Melissa cursed herself when she realized it was still back in the studio. Well, she had to get groceries, so why not? Melissa got into her Prius and drove back into town.

2

           The neighborhood was pitch black and she regretted not turning the porch light on before she left. Melissa carried the box with her father’s revolver in it to the front door first. Before she could reach the front door, her left foot sunk into what felt like mud. Melissa gasped and took a step back. The sight of it once her flashlight shone made her gag.

“Now, isn’t that a load of horseshit! Ahhaha!” She pictured Dean Lewis from the movie Accepted, cackling.

Melissa wasn’t laughing though, especially when she saw the cherry on top. The political sign she had in her yard was now staked on top of the pile. Go back to California you commie. Was written over the sign. Her trembling hands ripped open the box and took the dusty revolver out. Melissa swallowed hard as she stepped around the pile and unlocked the front door.

She immediately ditched the shoes for another pair and turned on all the lights in her house, carrying the revolver with a trembling hand. There was nothing. Nothing but the beat of her own heart, which seemed to echo off the walls. Melissa quickly pulled her Prius into the garage, then took her groceries inside. She would deal with the mess outside her door tomorrow. Perhaps it would be better if the construction crew saw it for themselves after all.

3

           Melissa crashed in her bed instantly, exhausted from all the stress. A nightmare awoke her around 4:00 AM in the morning, and she found herself unable to move. She saw a faceless shadow standing over her and she whimpered, fighting her paralyzed limbs to wake them up. Melissa closed her eyes and heard what sounded like a loud neigh outside. Then she heard it trot away, and with a loud gasp she finally sat up. Melissa felt sweaty and gross, but was too afraid to leave her bed. She left the city for the quiet, but silence did nothing but torture her now. Every creak the house occasionally made could be potential for danger. Melissa sighed shakily and grabbed the revolver from her drawer, then got out of bed.

           She opened the front door and cautiously stepped outside. The horse pile still stood in mocking defiance, but no extra presents had been left for her. What she heard was just from a nightmare, that’s all. Or so she thought.

The sound of a paper on the floor being kicked up from a draft made her nerves go numb as a corpse. Her mouth twitched and she gulped with reluctance as she picked it up.

           You have three days.

-Bill Jones

the paper read, written in an old English script. 

“Leave me alone!” She cried helplessly to the empty house. 

Fuck it. She was going to spend the night in the studio. Melissa walked to the garage, still in her night gown. All she took was her father’s revolver, cell phone, and car keys with her.

4

           Her heart deflated at the sight of her car, much like the state of the Prius’s front tires.

“Wh-wh-what the fuck?” Melissa stuttered in disbelief.

She sat on the couch in a daze. Her cellphone suddenly rang, and she screamed, accidentally dropping it on the floor. The screen was cracked now, but it still rang. Reluctantly, she picked it up and answered.

“Yes?” Melissa answered with a raspy voice.

“I take it you got the message. Or was that a rabid coon throwin’ a tantrum in there?”

“H-how am I supposed to see my realtor about the house after what you did to my car’s tires??”  Melissa shouted into the phone.

Her reflection in the window made her hate how accurate his depiction was. Those insomniac circles around her eyes certainly made her look like a racoon.

“I ain’t lay a hand on that prissy turd you drive miss.” Bill Jones replied.

“Then why do my tires have nails in them??” 

“Sounds like somethin’ you need to take up with them construction boys in the mornin’. Ain’t my problem they don’t clean up after themselves.” Bill Jones replied.

“If I show you the paperwork tomorrow that I’m selling the house, will you leave me alone?” Melissa asked.

“8:00 P.M tomorrow evenin’.” Bill Jones said.  

“Okay.” She replied.

“And if I find out you’re lyin’, as a man named John Shooter once said; I will burn your life and every person in it like a cane field in a high wind.” Bill Jones said.

The line went dead before she could utter a reply. Melissa choked back a sob, and her knees drew up to her chest. She felt more like she was thirteen at the moment than in her thirties. Enough was enough. She had to get a grip. Her father raised her to be stronger than this. Melissa wiped her face off, then lied down. The construction workers would wake her up in the morning as they always had.

5

           Just as she finally started to fade, the doorbell startled her awake. Melissa quietly grabbed her revolver and tip-toed to the door. She checked through the peephole and breathed a shaky sigh of relief when she saw it was just a construction worker.

“Seems like someone left a real mess on your porch, mam.” He said.

“And nails in my tires. It’s been a wonderful morning.” Melissa said.

“You can say that again. All the batteries in our construction vehicles were ripped out last night.” The construction worker replied.

“What. The. Fuck.” Melissa spoke, then sheepishly crossed her arms over her chest.

           She had forgotten she was still only in her night gown.

“Any idea who might have done this?” The construction worker asked.

“Someone who really doesn’t want us living here.” Melissa said.

“Well, I’ll let you get some rest. It will probably be a little while before the police show up.” The construction worker replied.

“I must really look rough.” Melissa chuckled.

“I never said that mam.” He chuckled.

“You calling me mam says otherwise.” She chuckled.

“I’m just being polite.” He replied.

“Politely calling me old.” She chuckled.

“I’ll be outside if you need anything, or you can call me.” He said with a wink, handing her a business card.

“Cool, um, thanks.” She replied, blushing.

6

           Melissa was able to avoid telling the construction worker what happened, however the police officer that stopped by later made her crack. She confessed and showed the officer the note Bill Jones left for her.

“The last man I recall in the Jones family named Bill passed away in 2013. He was born in the early 1900’s. Hatred kept that old bastard alive for a little over a century.” The officer said.

“You don’t say.” Melissa replied softly, feeling a chill run down her spine. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

“I’ll have to look more into their history to see if there’s another Bill in the family. Or he might be giving you a false name to stay under the radar, but we’ll find him. In the meantime, we’ll have an officer on night watch in the neighborhood.” The officer said, letting himself out.

7

           Melissa had her friend Alice (also the real estate agent that sold her this house) stop by to visit afterward. Alice offered to let Melissa dog sit Butters, her pit bull, for a week, which Melissa gratefully accepted. She could use a buddy to keep her company and be on guard for that matter.

           Later that afternoon, she set her alarm clock for 7:30 P.M. Melissa wanted more rest so she would be ready when he arrived. This part she left out of the interview with the officer. She wanted to deal with this on her own. Better this than endless hours in a trial and spending her lottery earnings on a lawyer.

8

           Melissa sluggishly awoke a few hours later. She felt…wet. There was a slight shade of crimson on the bedsheets. Although, that didn’t make sense. She wasn’t due for her period this month yet. Her brain was still rebooting from REM sleep, temporarily unaware of her current predicament. It wasn’t until she lifted the bedsheet that she was pulled back into the present.

Melissa screamed and fell out of bed. She retched and coughed. It was too horrible to comprehend. Melissa yanked her nightstand drawer open and grabbed her revolver. She slammed her bedroom door shut, trying her best not to panic.

Poor Butters. His decapitated head was underneath the bedsheets, like that haunting scene from The Godfather.

“Put up a good fight, Ol’ Yeller did.” A voice spoke in the corner of the room.

Melissa screamed and pointed the revolver at him. Bill Jones was sitting in a chair, tranquil as can be. She pulled the trigger, but the gun only clicked.

“Wh-wh-what??” Melissa stuttered.

Her eyes grew wide, and she felt a trickle of shame go through her pants as he rose from his seat.

“Here, let me help ya with that miss.”

Melissa’s hands clamped tightly on the revolver as he reached over.

“It’s a single-action ya dummy.” He said, cocking the hammer for her.

Melissa looked from the gun to him in disbelief.

“Well?” Bill Jones said expectantly. “What you waitin’ for, Christmas?”

Melissa gritted her teeth and fired.

9

           Mist dispersed around his chest where the bullet hit. Melissa could see a hole in the wall behind him. A layer of fog had formed around his chest and then he absorbed it, regenerating himself. Melissa’s revolver dropped to the floor and a terrified moan escaped her mouth. She backed into the wall, startling herself.

“Done built myself an immunity miss.” Bill Jones said, pulling up his shirt to reveal his chest.

It was littered with scars from where he’d been shot in what she was beginning to understand, his past life. Her eyes turned back and forth between him and the sliding mirror doors of the closet. The man had no reflection.

“My turn now.” He said, then quickly drew a revolver from his holster.

Melissa barely had a second to react before he thumbed the hammer back on his revolver and fired.

“Fuck!” She cried out as her left foot exploded with pain.

 Melissa collapsed on the floor and desperately tried to crawl away from him.

“Wh-what the fuck are you!?” Melissa cried.

 She started hyperventilating as he picked her up and pinned her against the wall.

“You goin’ find out darlin’.” He sneered.

 Melissa’s eyes rolled to the back of her skull, and she fainted. Fog billowed out of her mouth, and he inhaled as much as his lungs would allow, then let her drop to the floor with a thud.

Bill Jones rushed to the sink and cupped his hands beneath the running water. At last, his thirst was quenched. He could taste and smell again. The mortals had no idea how good they had it. Now he had the strength to move forward with his plan. His spirit had been disturbed when her house was built over his burial site, and this would be his revenge.

“You paved, now ye’ shall pay.” Bill Jones spoke as he stepped outside.

He painted that onto a construction vehicle with Ol’ Yeller’s blood. Then he drew another message onto the police cruiser where an officer lay dead inside. Yuppies not welcome. It said. Then, he drenched the houses under construction with gasoline and set them ablaze.

“Like a cane field in a high wind.” Bill Jones said, taking inspiration from Secret Window's John Shooter.

Then, he made his way through the woods. There was still business to tend to, with the new legal owner of this land.

 Bill Jones heard something whistle, breaking the thick silence in the air. He ducked in time and saw an arrow plunge into the trunk of a thick oak tree. With a quick draw, he fired his revolver at the perpetrator, who ruptured into a cloud of fog when the bullet struck them.

“Who else wants a taste of lead?” Bill Jones shouted.

Then, the sound of drums and flutes echoed around Bill Jones, disorienting him. He shot four more of them down still, before his six-shooter was out of ammo. Before he could reload, an arrow pierced through his skull, and he collapsed on the forest floor. A Native American chief emerged from the shadows of the oak trees. Bill Jones made a mistake transforming himself back into a mortal again. The spirits of the tribe that were lynched by the Jones family in the 1800’s had been seeking vengeance ever since. He would pay for the sins of his grandfather. The farm might have been his, but the forest belonged to them.

10

           Melissa awoke in a hospital bed. The door opened and a bright light blinded her momentarily. This had to be a dream or a hallucination. A Native American chief walked through the door, pushing a rolling cart. He took the top off a plate, revealing the head of Bill Jones. Melissa gagged and swallowed hard.

“Thank you.” She spoke softly.

           The chief nodded and helped her out of bed. He brought her with him into the light.