New To The Neighborhood

“Belle, you’re about to obsess,” Henri said, staring at me over the newspaper.

“Obsess?” I echoed, gazing at the sphere on our patio table, sparkling in the sunlight. “What do you mean?”

“Someone left that snow globe on our doorstep, and you want to know who and why.”

“Well aren’t you curious, just a little bit?”

“We’re newcomers to the neighborhood. I expect someone left it as a gift and will come by eventually.”

“Don’t people normally bring welcome bean casseroles or baked ziti or fruit pies?”

“These days people are careful with food. Allergies. Vegans. Gluten-haters. The neighbors wouldn’t want to start a feud or cause a medical emergency.”

“What if we didn’t like snow globes…cheap tchotchkes?”

He picked up the globe and shook it, sending a cloud of delicate flakes of gold and white drifting downward. “Belle, take a close look. That is not some touristy novelty. Now garishly painted gnomes or plastic pink flamingos would have been a different story…almost insulting.”

I laughed. “Pink flamingos on our pocket-sized lawn!”

“Our lawn is not pocket-sized,” he said, as he set the globe down. “Not for a standard house in the DC burbs. You’re just missing the ranch, the view of the Rockies from our porch.”

I sighed. “Yes…I know moving here was necessary for the job…but I do miss the sunsets.”

I lifted the globe. Not heavy, but not light enough to be some over-priced last-minute purchase in some airport. I watched the flakes settling over a stylized skyline then brought the globe up to my face for a closer look at the miniatures inside. A clock tower…brightly painted Victorian houses…a red bridge…a pyramid.

“It’s San Francisco, or rather San Francisco landmarks.

“Yes…and finely crafted.”

“You would know,” I said smiling. “You’re ships in bottles are famous. I don’t understand why someone would put San Francisco in a snow globe. It never snows.”

He nodded absently and went back to his paper. He was already studying the crossword.

I carried the globe inside and managed to find room in the corner shelf, next to the Blue Willow teapot and the small bronze horse we inherited from Henri’s mother.

The days flew by. The globe was not out of sight but was definitely out of mind. In a flurry of activity we finished unpacking the last of the boxes and went on several shopping trips to find clothes suitable for East Coast offices. I waved at any neighbors I saw, and they waved back, but none came to the door to speak about the globe.

All the bustling in the hot soupy August weather left me and my cowpoke’s body drained, but by the Thursday evening before Henri’s Monday start date we were done. I was ready to relax in air-conditioned rooms, rehydrating with iced tea and reading a good book.

But my mental peace was shattered Friday morning. A snow globe appeared on our doorstep, and not just one. A boxed collection of six mini-globes, three holding pink flamingos and three holding garishly dressed gnomes. I placed the box on the patio table where Henri lazed, coffee cup to his left, newspaper folded to the crossword.

“So, Henri, what do you make of this new offering.”

Henri reached forward, selected a globe housing a flamingo, held it up to the light then shook it. Tiny pink flecks swirled downward. Saying nothing, he placed the flamingo by his coffee cup and lifted a gnome for a close inspection. The red-capped white-bearded rotund figure was dressed in an unbuttoned red cardigan and untied black boots and leaned slightly askew against an emerald toadstool.

“This gnome’s a drunk,” Henri said, “but a carefully hand-carved drunk, very lifelike.”

We reviewed the security footage. At about three AM a figure in loose blue pants, over-sized blue shirt and elf mask sneaks up to the steps and delivers the box. He waves at the camera before casually sauntering away.

“This is just a prank,” Henri said. “Remember that case of the TV sets? Nothing illegal.”

“Prank, maybe. But spooky, don’t you think?”

“Spooky…are you about to obsess again?”

“Henri, I do not obsess. And it is spooky. Don’t you remember what you said?”

He paused, nodded. “Something about flamingos and gnomes being rude.”

“Insulting was your word. But be that as it may, do you think the giver knew?”

“Knew that we dislike tacky lawn statues? How could they know?”

“I…I don’t know? Eavesdropped?”

“On our patio? I assure you there are no hidden mics, no tiny spy cams.”

“You checked?”

“Just routine. These days, you need to change system settings as well as locks. I was very thorough when I set up the security.”

“Well, I think its spooky.”

“No more spooky than your penchant for horror novels and true crime.”

I sniffed. “Some of the best novels are horror. And just down the road, the first horror master was born, in Richmond.”

He mumbled something like, “Yes dear,” as he started to fill in the crossword.

This time I decided that these unwanted knick-knacks were not staying in my home, so I carried the box out to my car and put it in the trunk. I fetched the globe from the corner cupboard, and San Francisco landmarks joined the flamingos and gnomes.

I sipped my coffee anxiously until it was almost time for the donation center at the local charity thrift to open, then hopped in my car.

As soon as the snow globes were in the volunteer’s hands, I felt a huge surge of relief.

Relief short-lived. Sunday morning the globes were back on the stoop, along with another. The new snow globe was a raven perched on a stack of hard-covered books. The bird seemed so real, I expected to hear “Nevermore” when I shook the globe. The falling flakes were a mix of black and silver.

Henri frowned as he sat down beside me on the stoop. Together we watched the security file. Around three AM, a figure in blue wearing an elf mask places the box and the two larger globes at the top of the steps. But instead of waving he wags his finger as if scolding a naughty child.

Henri stared out at the lawn, at the leafy Japanese maple in the verge, seeing, yet not seeing, mental wheels turning. He squeezed my hand, a loving gesture to anyone observing, but one of our secret signals to be vigilant. I squeezed back, already on alert.

He stood and casually moved the box and globes to one side, out of the path from the door. “Coffee time,” he said. “I need my jolt.”

I nodded, following him inside.

As the coffee maker grunted and hissed and filled his mug, he murmured in my ear. “Belle, this unknown is moving from pranking to stalking. And I think those globes must contain some snooping devices.”

The coffee maker went silent, so I popped in another pod to fill my cup. The noise covered my reply. “So how can you find out without the stalker knowing.”

“I won’t look. I’m just going to put them on display.”

After breakfast, Henri scavenged two rectangular fake-wood rectangular planters from the backyard. They contained dirt but the plants had died long before we moved in. He put these on the edges of the stoop, added some bricks, then placed a large globe and three mini-globes in each so they were visible from the sidewalk.

We went on a quick trip to the garden center and bought some drooping annuals that happened to be on sale. We placed the flowers around the globes, added some potting mix, Satisfied, Henri watered both planters liberally. The wet globes sparkled.

In the evening we inspected the planters. The flowers had definitely perked up. The globes…well they lay clean but inert, bases covered with wet dirt.

Sunday was quiet and so was Monday. Henri texted after lunch that his first day was going well. Orientation…then meetings…meetings.  He arrived home, sweaty from the commute but cheerful. His work, like mine, was classified, so we talked of this and that and watched a special on dark matter before going to bed.

I decided it was time to get back on the saddle, metaphorically speaking, and go for a run. I was shocked when I opened the front door.  The planters had been emptied, flowers and dirt thrown helter-skelter on the top step. The globes were in a row facing the door, like miniature soldiers. And one more globe had been added to the middle of the row. A winged creature with a skull-like face and long pointed sharp teeth.

Of course, I didn’t scream or make a fuss. I just rushed inside and shook Henri awake. We played back the security footage. The figure in blue appears at three AM. He kneels and, in a frenzy, digs out the globes and places them. As he leaves, he stares at the camera and shakes his fist, thumbs down.

“That’s it,” Henri said. “This needs to end, before this fool does something dangerous. No police for obvious reasons.”

I nodded. “Let’s put all the globes back in the planter, nasty angel included.”

He smiled. “This time, we’ll include something special among the flowers.”

Our goal wasn’t to wake the neighborhood or do lasting harm. We only wanted to discourage the stalker, so we buried our low-noise surprise along with the globes. Only the flowers were visible after we were done.

That night, we slept in the front room…or rather dozed. A little after three AM Henri’s phone buzzed and we woke and watched the figure with the elf mask at work on our stoop.

This time no frenzied digging, just careful excavation. Almost as if the stalker knew we had laid a trap. It didn’t matter. As the stalker lifted the last globe, the nasty angel, Henri sent the signal and a dye pack exploded. The stalker turned toward the camera. Bright lemon ink splashed down his shirt and covered the tips of the white beard. I wished I could see his face. I’m sure he was glaring, maybe even purple with rage.

The figure shook his fists again, then ran off into the night.

“I hope that teaches the creep a lesson,” I whispered.

Henri just shook his head. “I hope so too, but this person is arrogant.”

An attempt at retribution came two nights later, when the alarm on the SUV sounded. I jumped up and ran out the front door with Henri close behind.

“Freeze,” I shouted in my best drill sergeant’s voice. The blue clad figure ignored me and went hurtling down the street. I didn’t bother to chase him.

We circled the SUV to check for damage. Found none, but the would-be vandal left behind two cans of canary yellow paint and a glove.

“We raised. He called.” Henri said. “We can expect more hassles.”

“There might be fingerprints on the cans. He had to take off his glove.”

“Not of use unless we bring in the police, which we can’t.”

We went back to bed, not expecting more excitement, but we were wrong. Just at sunrise, we heard and felt a large thumping bang.

Henri cautiously opened the front door. At the end of the driveway, a man in an elf mask sprawled, red blood pooling around him. I could see that his arm was missing. Henri ran to assist while I went to retrieve the first-aid kit.

We were too late. The man was dead, apparently from a bomb. From the shards, I guessed that the bomb was hidden in another snow globe.

We could hear sirens in the distance, so I lifted the mask. A stranger’s face.

Henri quickly rifled the dead man’s pockets and found nothing but a white card. On one side of the card was a photo of Henri and me. The other side said in block letters, “Kill the Witch.”

I breathed heavily and shivered. Who had come for me? Who was coming next?”