The Wanderer

I moved again.

Contrary to what my mum might think, I'm not running, again. At least, I think I'm not. I'm searching. What I'm searching for? I have no idea. I believe I'll know, when I see it. 

There are advantages of moving a lot, you get to meet new people, new cultures. There's also a down side- saying goodbye. You'd think I would know by now and not form close relationships; but I do anyways. When I get comfortable, I leave, never getting to say goodbye. 

The E-mailed read, Moved to Alabama.... Love you mum. Only so she doesn't file a missing person report like last time. 

It's been two months since I've moved here. It's a little town; there were more people in my Highschool. Everyone I've met so far welcomed me nicely. Well, except from my neighbours. 

Over the years, I've seen every kind of neighbor there is. The party animal, weird cat lady, old folks, small family, the loud big family. One time I had a neighbor who was a drug dealer, who would have thought Cat lazy Jo is a harderned criminal. It was not easy but they all loved me and they will too. How could they not like me, that's what people do, they like me.

 By choice, I got a house at the outskirts of the town. The only other house nearby is the one across the road. The little bungalow barely standing on it's feet, with it's worn out brown paint. The green molds protuding from the brown surface is suprisingly endurable, as it gives the only sense of life to the structure.

The only visible thing till you arrive at the heart of the town is withered grass. It's fall, and I hoped the grass won't be that way all year long.

The very first day I moved in, I went over to introduce myself to my only neighbours. I continued to bang the door even against the plea of my knuckles but no one came to answer it. There were sounds coming from the house, someone had to be home. How rude! 

I did the only reasonable thing to do. I stalked the house for the rest of the week and memorized the movements of anyone that left the house.

First a man, Phil, who worked at the coal mine. I found this out from the town folks as I haven't gotten the chance to invite him for a drink. He leaves home very early (before I'm up) and comes back home very late( mostimes I'm already in bed).

I saw him for the first and last time, late that very night. I fidgeted with my cashmere sweater as I stalked the house from my bedroom window. Each time the wind beat against the house, the windows shivered and I held my breath as I feared it would cause the building to crumble unto it's kneels.

 The only working headlight dangled by a wire as I watched the red rusty van climb up the driveway . The tall man highlighted from the vehicle. I narrowed my eyes and planted my nose on the window, as the moon was the only illumination. I could only make out his thick beard, because he stood broadside on.

And a woman, Ivory is her name. She leaves for the market at noon every Wednesday and Friday, otherwise she doesn't leave the house.

The next Wednesday I approached her, as she left for the market. I barely got my name in before she walked away. I ran after her but it was no use. For someone who is lanky, she could run. Every other time since then has been to no avail; she avoids me like a plague. 

 On those lucky those days when we bumped into each other, she doesn't reply or make eye contact. Is she a ghost? 

Based on what I'd gathered from the town folks; The Edwards were a happy family but three years ago they began to isolate themselves. They moved to the house at the border of the town.

 Why would you isolate yourself in a backwater town? How much isolation could one need? I did that, but it's different. I needed to get away, I mean peace. Besides I'm only going to be here a while, but they dwell here. That much solitude would drive one crazy. 

 They tell the townfolks everything is fine but their appearance says otherwise; eventually they stopped asking questions. Ivory's cadeverous face, skin loosely hanged on her skeleton. She walked like her skin was too heavy a burden to carry. 

Some said it's because they stopped coming to church. 

Some said it's a case of domestic violence. Phil is purposely isolating them to cover up and Ivory is scarred to speak up. He probably locked up their son in a room or something. This theory seems probable and it might explain why I haven't seen their son. 

Some said Phil killed their son and he moved them away to cover his tracks. 

Three theories so far. Sadly I felt I'll regret knowing the truth, but I was too driven by curiosity to turn back. Curiousity is the drug I thrived on. 

I don't know why you keep searching Claire, when nothing is lost, my mother had once said. Maybe it's because I'll never know what I'll find. 

First goal was to get my neighbors to love me. It's just what the universe wants. 

Second goal was to find out their dark truth or just the truth. For all we know they are good people who cherish their privacy. 

That Tuesday, I came prepared. I knocked on the door with a wooden spoon. Ivory opened the door slightly, her brows arched. 

"Hey. Remember me? Your only neighbour, I live across the road... I've moved here for about three weeks now—"

She sighed and began to close the door. My foot got there in time and wedged the door. 

"I needed a job. I'm helping Cathy deliver the milk," I whimpered.

Actually no. I'm a copywriter, I work from home. I had to beg Cathy before she agreed. She took the gallon of milk and slammed the door on my face. That went well.

I looked forward to every Tuesday. I walked up the front porch with the gallon and a wooden spoon. Everytime she opened the door, I smiled. "Everything will be okay, eventually," I'd always say before leaving.

It went on for weeks, till one day she opened the door and she was smiling. Ivory is beautiful when she smiles; her green eyes comes aglow. She did not hold tightly to the door anymore, I could see little of the house from where I stood. A hallway.

It was time for step two: get into the house.

The next Tuesday I brought a large stock. It took me two turns back and forth to get everything to the front porch. She opened the door, brows arched again. I gave her as much as she could carry and I took the rest in hand.

 "Why don't I help you," I said and walked into the house before she could resist. 

" I didn't order this," she called from behind me. 

" I know. I did. I've been meaning to send them over since I moved in." Or since I hatched this plan. " I'll help you keep them."

I opened the fridge to keep the milk but its stocked. There's enough food. Why is she lean? Is he starving her? I was about to ask her, when we heard the sound of something shattering.

I followed her down the hall to where I believe is the living room. There were bottle green pieces of glass scattered on the floor. A boy stood beside the mess. He had a piece of glass clutched in his hand; blood drailed from the glass to the wooden floor. Ivory hugged him but he stared at her.

You know those people who can tell someone's age by their appearance? I'm not that. I believe it's rude to ask someone for their age, even a child. Besides it would make me a nosey neighbour, and we all know I'm nothing like that. Lala, the Cafe owner, said Jake was born around the same time with her daughter, Mara. Mara is in seventh grade, he should be too.

Ivory ran out of the room and dragged in a huge wooden box that I assumed was the first aid kit. As she wrapped the wound, the boy giggled. His head was tilted to the right, there was nothing there but the wall. 

" What's funny?" Ivory asked.

" Frank says..." The boy looked at me and giggled. "Big forehead."

She looked back to see me. Her eyes grew wide slightly and she quickly turned back to Jake. She might have forgotten I was still in the room. 

She looked at him sternly and held his hand to stop the flapping. "Jake, please stop talking."

" It's okay, Frank is right," I said.

She smiled in response. The smile was fake because her eyes were dull again. She looked at the ground. "I'm sorry." She looked back at Jake and walked out of the room. 

Was the apology for me?

I stepped closer to him but he stepped back. "You shouldn't lie on Frank."

"Not lying! Ask them," he snapped. He ran away before I could pat his head. 

Ivory re-entered the room with a dustpan. I bent down and helped her to pack up the mess.

" Isn't he going to school today?"

"He's...home schooled," she said.

" He's a good kid."

" You think he's crazy?" 

"Of course not. Every child has an imaginary friend. I had one too, Sam." I also know how we tend to blame them, for the things we did. Parents always knew the truth. Sam couldn't possibly had eaten all the cookies in the jar.

" Don't say that outside. They'll claim you're possessed with strange spirits. You'll be drag to church for deliverance."

I bursted out laughing, but I was the only one laughing. I looked over to see her tired, unamused face. I thought she was going to let go of the act and laugh too, but she stuck to it like a bandage to a scab. I said my goodbyes and left.

The next day, Cathy called me. Phil had called her, apparently they're lactose intolerant and won't need milk anymore. 

Immediately, I crossed the road with my wooden spoon. 

I banged till my wrist hurt. "Ivory, please talk to me."

She finally came to the door, but didn't open it. She whispered, "Please go away. Leave here... this town...It's for the best."

I waited till Friday, that is Today. I ate a big meal and charged my phone. Ivory would leave for the market by noon, Phil would be at work and I would sneak into that house. It's a good fifteen minute walk to town and the same back. She'll be away for about thirty minutes.

I'm peeping from my bedroom window. She opens the door. Head out, she looks over to my house. She's probably looking for me or should I say avoiding me. I had switched off all the lights and closed all the windows to make them think I'm not at home.

When she was out of view, I went over to the house and grab the knob. This is it! She couldn't possibly lock up her son in the house and if she did I'm going to find another way in. 

The door opens and I'm happy. It's quiet. My plan is to stake out overnight, then I'll witness the cruelty that is Phil in action. If Ivory won't speak up, I will. I'll take a look around and find where I can hide. 

Jake. What if he sees me? I didn't really think about that, I was just going with the flow. 

Oh Universe! Please help with this Plan.

I prowl over to the first room. From the door I could see pictures of Phil and Ivory. They seem happy, and the younger version of Jake is in a few of them. It makes me sick! Phil, that hypocrite. When I get proof, you'll get a piece of my mind. He starves her, locks her up, shuts her up. Ivory really had to walk tro and fro town all alone. Does she stay in this room with him too?

I open the door of the adjacent room to find Jake fast asleep. That's why everywhere is quiet. I walk further in to the passage and open the third door. All the closets are empty. There's only a bed, but no bedspread. No picture, no furniture, no nothing. Is this room vacant or does Ivory stay here? It's too clean to be abadoned, who cleans a vacant room? I sure don't.

I settle on hiding underneath the bed.

All I have to do now is, wait. And wait I did. Jake wakes up around four and disturbs the peace. He keeps babbling to Ivory about bikini bottom. Get this, Patrick the starfish, took him there. Kids and their imagination. It was torture.

I'm not only being tortured by the non stop chatter but also by the cramped space. I slither out to stretch, which relieves my joints and muscles. Luckily it's an abandoned room and I could do this in intervals.

Everything becomes quiet again around ten, Jake should be asleep. A while later, I hear a man's voice. I wriggle out from underneath the bed and to the door. Motivation is the morphine for the throb in my neck. Everywhere is dark, apart from the kitchen. A shadow moves across the hallway.

"How's Jake?" he says. The sound seems to come from the kitchen.

I don't hear Ivory's reply. Everywhere is silent. I would go closer but there's nowhere to hide in the hallway. It's a long way back to my hideout.

"You think...we should seek help?" Ivory says.

Help for what? I walk down the hall to the kitchen door. The darkness giving me it's comfort by concealing me.

"That's exactly what's going to make him go mad," Phil says. "Did you eat?"

" Yes...little."

He slams his hand on the kitchen counter. "Lies!" 

This is it, Proof. What kind of monster is angry that his wife ate.

"Stop lying."

"I'm sorry."

No don't be sorry. He should be sorry.

My eyes starts watering, he must be chopping onions. The kitchen bulb is dull, Phil's rugged headlights are better. I'm unable to make out what he's cooking. Seafood maybe. Whatever it is, smells amazing.

" I made your favourite, scallops and mashed potatoes. It is your favorite, isn't it?" he says as he passes the plate to the center of the counter.

She nods. He's taunting her.

"Please stop starving yourself Ivory. I hate seeing you like this, it kills me." 

Whatttt? Did he poison it?

She stares at the plate. 

"Only when you finish your plate, will I eat," He says crossing his hands.

With that she grabs the fork and starts eating. 

"It's my fault, I'm not always around—"He passes her a glass of water. "Don't say anything, just eat dear. You don't ever let me take the blame but I should. I should do more. You don't want me to quit my job, but I just have to. You do so much for us both, you need a break.

"You forgot to rub sun block again; I'd offered to get the groceries for you, but you refused that too. You claim you need fresh air but it's an excuse see them again. I understand, there were my friends to. But you know, like I do, that they won't understand. Don't worry, Jake will grow out of this phase. I always listen to you, now I need you to listen to me. Eat more, smile more, sleep more and live more; that's all I ask."

Wait... What? Phil isn't a bad guy?

"BAD... BAD."

I look back to see Jake screaming and pointing at me. Immediately I slip my phone in my jacket.

The hallway bulb switches on and the darkness retreats leaving me vulnerable.

"What are you doing here," Phil says towering over me with his clenched fists.

"I...I..."

"What did you hear?"

I'm against the wall with no way to run. The door my only exit is out of view. I should have brought something to defend myself even if it's only a pepper spray.

"I didn't want to because of Ivory but now I have no choice —"

She steps in front of me. "No! You promised. You promised you won't do it again... that was the last time... Please."

What did he do last time? What is he going to do now. I'm so confused. Isn't Phil the bad guy? He has to be, he's threatening me.He steps back and hits the wall opposite us.

"Ivory. You know what we have to do now," he says bowing his head.

"I do."

I run home and double check that all the doors and windows are still locked. I clutch the sharpest knife I could find with my trembling hands. My butt connects with the kitchen floor, my knees with my big forehead.

I'm going to have to live through the night. I'm out of here by dawn.

I don't know when I slept off, but the sound of someone banging on my door wakes me up. Oh no, he must have changed his mind. He wants to kill me. I can't run, he'll out run me. 

I hide the knife in my jacket and walk to the door. If I die, I die fighting. 

To my surprise, it isn't Phil at the door. It's Luke, the town's butcher. Overcome with relief, I hug him tightlly as tears sipped from my closed eyes. Maybe when I open them, all the bad would be gone. The akward off rythm part at my back brought me back to reality.

Why is Luke here? Immediately I pull out of the hug, I'm struck with the answer. Behind him is half of the Town folks and behind them is the Edward's house in flames.

They put out the fire, a while later. The townfolks had seen the smoke and rushed to the scene. Luckily, all my windows were closed and the smoke couldn't get in.

The Edward's are nowhere to be found, they fled. Phil, Ivory and Jake beat to me it, they left and their secret with them.

This must be how it feels, when people leave without saying goodbye. You're left to wonder.