Curiosity killed the cat

James pulled into his driveway and noticed something had changed.

He gazed through the windshield of his two-storey colonial house. White clapboard dull against the heavy grey clouds. The windows looked down on him dark and empty.

It was as he left it.

He climbed out of his car. The day was cool and crisp, flaxen leaves fell from the huge oak tree that bordered his own property with the neighbours.

Then he realised what it was.

The sign was gone.

Previously a ‘for sale’ billboard stood in front of the house that had been empty for almost a decade. The billboard had suffered through a decade’s worth of sun and rain, sleet and snow, and anything written on it had long since faded away leaving behind nothing but a naked, yet loyal, billboard.

But now it was gone, and the decrepit house looked bare without it.

James pulled his phone out and sent a quick text to Rachel; the sign is gone from next door!

The house was a bit of a mystery to James. It was abandoned long before he and Rachel had moved into their house and he was met with silence, shrugs or shakes of the head whenever he asked his neighbours about it.

Further research on the internet turned up a bit more. An incident had occurred, but what it was was never expressly stated, only a body had been removed.

James almost became obsessed with the mystery of it. His curiosity got the better of him and he spent a week trawling through internet sites and the library’s newspaper archive until he found a ‘letter to the editor’ section in a now-defunct local newspaper that said the death was investigated but ultimately ruled a suicide.

It wasn’t much and it didn’t sate James’ desire to know what exactly happened. He continued to look but ultimately turned up multiple dead ends, including threats from police officers that told him in no uncertain terms to ‘drop it’.

The weeks turned into months and the months turned into years and his curiosity faded, but never disappeared. The wonder always coming back, albeit briefly, every time he gazed upon the two-storey house that was falling apart.

His second shock in a matter of minutes came when he saw the paint-flaked front door open and a man with stringy grey hair stepped onto the patio.

The man stepped off the patio on to the large front lawn that was carpeted with leaves of crimson and flaxen that had fallen from the huge oak tree that shared a boundary with James’ place.

In his hand was a rake and the man reached the middle of the lawn, looked around and his shoulders slumped. 

Feeling sorry for the man, James quickly headed to his own garden shed and grabbed his rake. Then he returned to the front and crossed the boundary to the other yard.

“Hi,” he said cheerfully.

The man looked up, blinking at the intrusion. “Hello,” he said. His voice was gruff, tired, like he hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“I thought I’d give you a hand with the leaves. Lord knows they are a pain to rake up every autumn.”

The man regarded him with cool eyes but said nothing.

“I’m James,” he continued. “James Wiseman. I live next door,” he added unhelpfully.

“Malcolm Pedersen,” the man said. “I appreciate the help.”

“Not at all,” James said, relieved. He thought the man was going to tell him to go away.

They started raking into piles, the leaves rustling and the rakes scraping against the dried grass beneath.

“So are you moving in?”

Malcolm nodded, “Yep.”

“Well then, welcome to the neighbourhood. I didn’t know the house had been sold.”

“It wasn’t,” Malcolm said, his head down while the rake continued its steady cadence. “I am the original owner. I took it off the market.”

James froze, his rake hanging in mid-air. The original owner! Wait until I tell Rachel about this!

He continued raking, trying not to ask the question that desperately wanted to escape his lips. Instead he asked, “What brought you back?”

“I was… away for a while. Thought I would try to sell the house but…” he paused, and James thought he was going to leave it at that. “... there were no takers.”

James looked at the front of the lawn where the for-sale sign previously stood. He remembered the faded writing on the billboard advertising the real estate agent who was selling the house, Hurley’s Real Estate. 

James was sure Michael Hurley had closed the business and moved away three years ago. 

Did that mean the house wasn’t even for sale these last three years? James wondered. Why would he leave it like that?

It took them an hour to rake the leaves and then Malcolm produced some green bags. He handed one to James and he noticed a ring on his finger.

“You’re married?” he blurted out.

Malcolm looked at his finger, staring at the simple gold band, and then nodded, “I was. My wife… she died. That’s why I moved away. Too many memories.”

James inwardly cursed himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it.

Malcolm nodded and indicated for James to hold the bag open. Malcolm used a scooper to pick up the leaves and dump them into the bag. As he did, James asked, “How did she die?”

Rachel is really going to let you have it if she finds out.

“Suicide.”

James’ heart skipped a beat. Suicide. So that meant she was the body from the articles, from what happened ten years ago.

Despite the sombre mood, James felt elated. He had finally solved the mystery of the house.

“Something the matter?” Malcolm asked.

James blinked, “Oh… err… no. It’s just…” he trailed off.

“Yeah?” Malcolm asked.

“It’s just this house has been a mystery to me for a long time. There was very little in the news about it and I just wanted to know what happened. Why it was abandoned.”

“They don’t tend to report suicide in the news these days,” Malcolm said softly. “Don’t want to encourage others.”

The elation James felt disappeared as quickly as it came and he realised he was coming off like a downright jerk. A breeze blew past, disrupting the leaf piles. Some escaped, floating and spinning in the air before settling down on the dried grass.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I am being insensitive. My wife says my curiosity is going to get me killed one day.”

“It’s… fine,” Malcolm said. “I’ve come to accept it.”

“Still. I am sorry.”

Malcolm said nothing and they continued working in silence.

They were four full bags in and on the last pile when Malcolm said, “Do you want to know why?”

“Excuse me?” James asked, not sure if he heard him correctly.

“Do you want to know why my wife killed herself?”

He said it so plainly, so coldly that James instantly felt uncomfortable. His desire to know warred with wanting to get this over with and go inside, and it eventually won out.

“I must admit part of me is curious.”

“I found out she was having an affair.”

“Oh…”

He didn’t know how to respond to that.

“When I did find out, I confronted her about it, telling her how I knew and that was it. I left that day, just drove and kept going. Left town. Left the state. Didn’t come back for a month. Told Michael to put the house up for sale. Two days later she wrote a note saying she was sorry and left it on the kitchen table. Grabbed a knife and sliced her wrists open.”

“Jesus…”

Malcolm nodded. He was staring off into the distance, his eyes glassed over as he remembered. “I was distraught. I was staying at a friend's place, just two streets over. Didn’t even get a chance to talk her out of it.” 

“I…” James tried to speak but what feeble words he had were caught in his throat.

He put the final remains of the leaf litter into the bag and took it from James. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’ve made peace with it.” He tied the bag into a knot and tossed it with the others. “I wouldn’t have gotten this done as quickly as we did. Thank you for that,” he said, holding his hand out.

James shook it.

“Maybe I’ll see you around.”

James nodded, realising he was being dismissed. “Sure. If you need anything else, let me know.”

Malcolm nodded and James turned and headed for his own house. His mind full of this new revelation and the desire to ring Rachel and tell her everything.

*          *          *

“I cannot believe you straight out asked him,” Rachel said over the phone.

“I didn’t mean it,” James protested. “It just slipped out.”

He imagined Rachel shaking her head as she said, “Curiosity–”

“-killed the cat, I know.” James interrupted. “You’ve told me a million times.

He looked out the window from the second-floor bedroom. Night had fallen, rain pattered on the tiled roof, and he caught a glimpse of faint light coming from the new neighbour’s house.

“It must be lonely,” he murmured.

“What?” Rachel asked.

“Being in that huge house all by himself. Memories of his time spent there with his wife.”

“Oh my God, are you watching the house now?”

James stepped away from the window, “No,” he said indignantly. 

Rachel scoffed. Then after a moments silence, she said, “Well, she did cheat on him.”

“Yeah… still… he loved her.”

“Would you love me if I cheated on you?”

James smirked, “How do I know you’re not with a man right now?”

“You know I’m not.

“I know.”

“Manuel is getting me some dinner.”

“Manuel, eh? What happened to Sergio?” James joked.

“I had to off him.”

“Knew there was a black widow in there.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

“I do,” Rachel said through a yawn. “I am also going to bed.”

“Aww.”

“I’ll be home tomorrow night.”

“I better make sure the mistress is out by then.”

“Jerk.”

“Good night. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

James disconnected the call and put his phone on the side table. The rain fell harder as he turned off his lamp. The room was cast in the soft glow from the outside lights and James used it as a guide and climbed into bed.

One benefit of Rachel being away was how spacious the bed was and he spread out, listening to the falling rain.

His mind turned from what to cook for Rachel tomorrow to Malcolm and the story about his wife.

James felt a pang of guilt at his behaviour, and he couldn’t help but wonder what made his wife have an affair. What were the circumstances? Was she not in love with him anymore? Was she ever? Did Malcolm no longer give her any attention? Was his own eye wondering?

The house creaked and groaned as it always did. At first James always thought someone was in the house, but now it was almost background noise to help him sleep.

He settled himself in the middle of the bed, eyes closed, and the thoughts of why Malcolm’s wife cheated on him played through his head. He wondered what he would do if he ever found out Rachel was stepping out on him. Not that he believed she ever would. He trusted her completely.

I left that day, just drove and kept going. Left town. Left the state. Malcolm’s voice echoed in his head.

Would he ever come back? Hear her out?

I was staying at a friend's place, just two streets over. Didn’t even get a chance to talk her out of it.

James frowned. “Wait a minute…” he murmured.

Malcolm said he left that day and left the state. Then he said he was staying with a friend…

A sharp pain flared up in his wrist and James winced. He grabbed his wrist, opening his eyes and then jolted in shock.

In the room’s soft glow he saw the silhouette of someone standing over the bed.

James tried to push himself up, but his body was suddenly too weak, and he trembled.

“Who– who… what?” James tried to speak but his mind was foggy. He reached out, trying to grab the silhouette, but he swiped at air and tumbled out of the bed.

He managed to roll on to his back.

The silhouette crouched before him and in the beam of light he caught a glimpse of stringy grey hair.

“I’m sorry,” Malcolm said. “I slipped up.”

He stood up and just as James slipped into unconsciousness, he heard Malcolm say. “It’s a shame really, you and your wife could have been good neighbours.”