An ordinary neighbour

Taylor distrusted her neighbours. 

She lived on a quiet street in a middle-of-nowhere town, where you would be forgiven for thinking that people still popped over to their neighbours' house for a cup of sugar. However behind the vertical blinds and neatly trimmed hedges, simmered a mass of secrets and gossip. In an age where maintaining face was everything, nothing could be taken at face value in this town, not even Taylor herself. 

Taylor lived on a small street which led to a cul-de-sac. Being only 27 years old with short ringleted brown hair, Taylor was the youngest by far of her neighbours. Directly across from her plain, unmemorable grey house, lived Mrs Reynolds. Mrs Reynolds was always out in her garden tending to flowers, pansies, petunias and the like, warmly greeting each passerby with a smile or a wave. Her garden was a vibrant hub of life, but Taylor always wondered why she spent quite so much time in it. Mrs Reynolds had always reminded her of the noisy neighbour from the TV show ‘Bewitched’, Mrs Gladys Kravitz (Taylor watched a lot of old TV during daytime television reruns). Perfectly pleasant at face value but always watching, talking and reporting on her neighbours. Taylor assumed the gardening was just an excuse.

Next to Mrs Reynolds was the Smith family. Tom, Silvia and their two golden-haired children. They reminded Taylor of the family from the ‘American Dream’ ads from the 1950s. All that was missing was literally a white picket fence. On the left of Taylor’s house were Mr and Mrs Ryan, retired school teachers who spent endless hours after school tutoring various children from around the neighbourhood. Taylor sometimes watched the string of visitors come and go with curiosity. The only other neighbour she had actually spoken to was Pete, whose house adjoined hers on the right. He had a large Rottweiler who was constantly barking and driving her mad, which was how they had originally met. Taylor had stormed up to the door and began pounding on it loudly. ‘Hey man, your dog just won’t shut up. I’m trying to sleep and he’s ruining the quiet of our whole neighbourhood. Can you shut him up please!”

“Oh sorry, she’s a jumpy thing. I really didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll bring her inside for a bit, ok?” he had replied calmly.

“Yeah. Ok. Thanks”

“I’m Pete by the way” he had then introduced himself.

“Oh, Taylor” she replied, awkwardly sticking out her hand.

“Why are you trying to sleep at this hour?” he asked.

“Oh, I ah.. work night shifts,” she replied backing down the steps and starting to turn heel. “Sorry, I’ve really gotta go now and get ready for work”.

“Well don’t let me hold you up; it was nice to meet you,” he had said. “Sorry, I’ll deal with Ruby”.

Since then Taylor and Pete had frequently interacted, usually because Ruby had lost her cool and barked as if she had seen a ghost. On each occasion Taylor would have to tramp over and ask him to do something about that damn dog. But try as he may, Pete could never get Taylor to come inside and have a drink with him. 

Startled back into the present by loud barking, Taylor got up off the couch and stuck her head out the window. Yup, it was Ruby from next door, going crazy again. Taylor tried to ignore the noise, for she truly was not in the mood to deal with Pete’s over friendly overtures but after fifteen minutes of ceaseless animal cries, she was forced to get up. Down the steps, along the curb and up onto the porch, she rang the doorbell, rocking back and forth in place. The door opened and she launched into her speech. 

“Pete could you please bring Ruby inside? She has been going off for the last fifteen-” she stopped abruptly as she realised that the person at the door was not actually Pete.

“Who are you?” she asked. “I’m looking for Pete”.

“Well, there is no Pete here” the stranger replied. “Just me, Patrick”.

“Do you know when Pete will be back?” she asked

“I’m sorry, I don’t know any Pete” the man replied. “But I only just bought the house so I am still meeting neighbours. Do you live next door?”

“Oh yes, just there” Taylor replied, pointing vaguely to the left. “When did you buy this house?” she queried.

“I bought it through the family attorney just last month” he said. “Apparently this house has been tied up in legal battles for the last ten years since the previous owner died under tragic circumstances”

“Oh really?” Taylor replied, puzzled.

“Well..” he looked around. “I don’t know for sure but I heard rumours from the attorney that after her husband died, his wife just couldn’t face living here but she couldn’t prove her right to sell the house as everything was in his name.”

“Oh” Taylor was lost for words. 

“Well sorry I couldn’t be of more help Miss…?” 

“Taylor. Well, no thanks for your help.”

“It was nice to meet you”

“You too!” lied Taylor from the footpath, as she returned home. 

* * * 

She was lying in her bed, the soft fabric of her nightgown bunched around her thighs. Content until a cool hand touched her leg. It began reaching up her thigh, pushing up her nightgown, probing gently at the soft flesh beneath. Gently at first then faster, harder trying to reach within her. Terrified and frozen, she looked up to see who her attacker was and she saw it was Pete. The bland but mild mannered neighbour with the wavy slicked back brown locks, staring hungrily at her out of the gloom…

Taylor bolted upright and clambered to turn on her bedside lamp, knocking over a water bottle in her haste. The water pooled on the wood, dripping down the drawers and onto the hardwood floors. Unnoticing, she flopped back onto her pillow and in the calming yellow light, stared at the cheap floral print hanging on the wall opposite her bed. It was a nightmare, she thought. A memory of the moment where life had ripped her forcibly out of childhood and into adulthood. One scary memory mingling with another to torment her sacred hours of oblivion. Even the Retoril she took before bed couldn’t keep this terror away. Her real tormenter had been locked away twenty years ago, along with her hopes of a normal childhood. Too scared to face the past, too anxious to face the future, Taylor felt trapped in an awful limbo of emptiness. She knew they called her a survivor but even in her head she could muster no conviction behind that word. She felt like a zombie, alive and yet soulless, walking without moving.

Sighing Taylor got out of bed to collect her iPad. Curling up under the covers again, she began researching her missing neighbour on the internet. Although she didn’t know Pete’s last name, she tried searching for his first name simultaneously with his address. After several dead ends she found a promising lead, an obituary from 2006. The dates and the age looked right for the neighbour she knew, plus it matched with the information the new neighbour had dumped on her. It read:

‘PETER BORIS MAZOKOV

Passed suddenly, May 9th 2006 aged 28 years. Loving husband of Lucy and father of James. Brother of Tom and Susie. Son of Gill and Burt. Gone but forever in our hearts.

Private family services will be held next week’.

The Peter she knew could be anywhere between the ages of thirty to forty and the timeline seemed to fit. But where was he now, and if she had been living next to him for five years, why was he already dead? I don’t believe in ghosts she reassured herself.

The next afternoon, Taylor went into the public records office on her way to work. For a small fee, she was able to get a copy of the deed to the property next door to hers. It showed that the new neighbour, Patrick did indeed legally own the house, but had only received the deed one month ago. Puzzled, she opened Google Chrome on her phone to see if she could find older property deeds online. After a short search, she gave up, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information to shift through.

Stacking cans of tinned peas on the shelves at Coles gave her lots of time to think. Perhaps older land records were not digitised yet? Or maybe she needed to have a legitimate reason to be digging through the past, after all she really had nothing to do with that house, legally speaking. Perhaps she was just being paranoid, her own experiences clouding her perspective? But still, what was the alternative? Hallucinations brought on by drugs mixed with alcohol? A real, spine tingling ghost?

Laughing mirthlessly, she slammed the tins onto the shelves.

On her arrival home from work in the early hours of the morning, just before the morning chorus of birds welcomed the new dawn, Taylor saw a small, plain envelope tucked under her doormat. Opening the envelope, she saw a crumpled piece of paper inside addressed to her. It read:

Taylor

I’m alive but I’m in danger. So are you. Meet me at Grenwood Park playground, 6pm tonight. Come alone.

P

Taylor looked around in fear but there was no one out on the street. She could see no one in either direction, not even the tell tale pulled back curtain of Mrs Reynolds peeping on her neighbours. Could this note really be from Pete? Or was it a trap?

***

Taylor arrived early. Taking a seat on the abandoned swing set, she began shuffling her feet in the dirt, creating brown dust clouds. After nearly an hour of sitting there like a discarded doll, Taylor decided to give up. What a tasteless prank she thought. Taylor could feel the late October chill seeping under her clothes, making her arm hairs stand on end. Frustrated and disappointed she stood up and searched for her car keys. Turning towards the teeter-totter, she froze. There was a movement in the bushes. Taylor pirouetted around, seeking the origin of the noise within the woods. Hearing no more sounds, Taylor began striding to her car when the flashlight on her phone reflected something in the gloom. Approaching cautiously, she saw the light was bouncing off the reflective panel of a Nike sneaker. Following the sneaker, she saw a trouser pant and a fleece jacket before her eyes continued roaming upwards to the face of the person. A familiar face, distorted by dried blood and dirt. Oh my god... it’s Pete she breathed. Or at least what was left of him. Numb, shocked, Taylor sank to her knees and began searching his body for signs of life. Perhaps this was all a terrible mistake? Or a Halloween prank?

“FREEZE” came a stern voice from behind her. 

“Turn around slowly and put your hands up. Taylor Wilcock, you are under arrest for the murder of Peter Mazokov”

She had been framed.