The Beast of Walpole Avenue

Monday, August 3

He’s out there somewhere. Waiting. Watching, Ready to attack.  

I know he can recognize my outfit.  It’s known around the world.  To most, I’m a hero, the man who will save their day; to others, I can be their worst nightmare.  I know it’s true because that’s what they told me during training.

I trying to be a hero today.  I’ve even been a hero to him at various times, yet still, he hates me. My colleagues tell me it’s my imagination, but I know it’s true.  I’ve seen the fury in his dark eyes. 

He’s got people in that unassuming suburban house on the corner of Walpole Avenue.  Those poor innocents don’t know the black depths of his soul as I do.  He has them mesmerized, bound in a web of trickery and deceit.  They just don’t know.  I’ve tried to warn them; they don’t believe me.  They laugh when I tell them about the monstrosity they hold to the warmth of their bosom.

He almost got me last week.  The memory of that attack is still fresh in my mind: the sound of his steps behind me; the faint odor that always seems to surround him; and, as he almost caught me the sensation of his hot, fetid breath on my flesh.  

I’m going in. I park down the block, grab the tools of my trade,  and walk back to that quiet white house.  It’s early evening, later than I normally visit.  Perhaps that will throw him off.  I pause on the path to the front door.  What’s that noise?  I look to my left, and there he is.  

Oh God, what do I do?  These poor innocents need what I have.  Should I turn away and try another day? 

No! I’m a hero to these people and I’ll do my job, even if it means having my blood spilled and my flesh torn by this monster.

Oh no! He’s noticed me.  I see him bunching his muscles, preparing to sprint toward me.  I can see the rage building in his eyes.  I run up the path towards the door.  When I’m close enough, I lob the package at the door, then quickly turn to race back to my truck.  I make it to the street before he’s halfway down the path.  The cardio I’ve been doing has paid off today.

I turn to look at him.  He stands at the edge of the lawn of the quiet suburban house, quivering with hate.   I’ve escaped today, but I know that soon, I’ll face the fiend again.

Wednesday, August 5

I’m driving down Walpole Avenue, but I don’t have to visit the home of the beast.  I see him.   He’s standing there staring at me.  I drive past slowly and give him the finger. 

Thursday, August 13

I’m back at Walpole Avenue again.  

I didn’t intend to be a hero. It was supposed to be easy - wear the costume, give the people what they need and leave.  It didn’t take long to realize it was more than that.  Yeah, I could walk away.  I could find a new place to be everyone’s hero, a place where I wouldn’t be attacked by such monsters.

But I won’t.  This town is mine and I won’t be chased off.

The innocents on Walpole Avenue need me again, and once again I’m prepared to be their hero and risk my life again to bring them what they need.  

Today, though, I know I won’t escape an attack.  It’s big today, the thing these people need. There won’t be any sneaking today. There won’t be a quick lob to the door.  There won’t be an escape.

I park and load up.  I pause before heading up the path to the front door and assess the area.   I don’t see him, but I know he’s near.  He always is.

I head up the path.  Yes, there he is  - I catch a quick glimpse of him off to my right.  I turn to stare at him for a moment before continuing on.  I think I’ve confused him.  He’s used to my speed and agility, not this steady resoluteness, but I know he won’t stop for long. 

I continue up the path and - there it is, the sound of the grass swishing and the tinkle of his gaudy pendant as he races towards me.

I’m alright.  I know what will happen and I’m alright.  I’m a hero and sometimes things like this happen to heroes.  Some days the heroes don’t win.

But maybe - just maybe - today I will win.  I’m almost to the door when it opens.  It’s the girl. 

I look over to the monster.  He’s stopped and I can see the confusion.  Continue on with his attack or play the innocent that has these poor souls mesmerized?

“It’s here! It’s here!” the girl squeals. She’s a nice child - much better than her younger brother - but she hasn’t quite managed to regulate the tone of her voice.

“Yeah, it sure is.” I say as I slide the huge box marked “Ms. Pinkkitty’s Playhouse” off the loading dolly. “Is your mom or dad at home?  I need a signature for this one.”

She runs back into the house, screaming “Mom! Mom!” and the monster and I are alone again.

He’s being cautious, inching closer to me, but before he can pounce, “Mom!”, or more accurately Mrs. Fischer is at the door.

“Hey, Charlie, good to see you again. I’m so glad this is here.  The kids are so bored.”  I can hear both the girl and the boy screaming with excitement in the background.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Fischer.  I need a signature for this one.”  I hand over the digital signature pad.   I look over to the monster as she’s signing.  She hands the pad back and looks down at the beast.

“Are you still nervous around Peanut?  I keep telling you he’s a sweetie.”

“If you say so.  I don’t think he likes me much.”

“Oh, are you talking about that one time he tried to give you kisses?”

“I don’t think he was trying to kiss me.”

“Pumpkin loves everyone!” She leans down towards him.  He’s sitting there quietly, tricking these innocent people with his docility.  “Isn’t that right, baby?”

She holds her arms out and he jumps into them.  Mrs. Fischer strokes his long, silky fur and straightens the tiny yellow bow holding the hair out of his eyes.  He snuggles into her as she coos mindless nothings into little pointy demon ears. 

“Yorkie” is too cute of a name for this beast. Ogre, fiend, and devil are more apt.

“Well, you know, Mrs. Fischer, I’m more of a cat person.”

She chuckles.  “I know, Charlie.”

“I gotta run to my next delivery.  See you soon.”

“Have a good day, Charlie. Bye.”

Mrs. Fischer closes the screen door, trapping the monster behind it.  I’ve lived to fight another day, lived to be a hero to those who need what I have.   At the end of the path, I turn.

The beast is standing against the closed screen door, only his eyes and little yellow bow visible.   

He’ll wait for me.  One day he may get me.  But not today.  Not today, Pumpkin.