Stories to Tell
By Monika M. Segally © 2006
Dusk is coming. Harriet sits on the porch swing on the wide veranda. She is tired after another long day of unpacking. The last of the moonflowers peak from the corner of the porch their blooms as wide as dinner plates. A lone cricket chirps in the lawn and the moon, the moon is huge—a harvest moon to celebrate the impending season of crackling leaves and crisp cold evenings. Her breath is barely visible in twilight and she sighs deeply of the thin fall air.
A couple is walking towards the house. They stop and wave. The woman carries a plate wrapped in crinkled foil. “Just thought we would welcome you. Hello?”
Harriet rises to her feet. Damn these old legs she thinks. “Well thank you kindly.” She smiles a wide grin that reveals a perfect set of false teeth. She motions her arms to invite the young couple up onto the porch. “There are plenty of seats to rest in if you have a mind to.”
“We're the Anderson's,” the woman smiles shyly,“I'm Belle and this is my husband Johnny.” Belle sits in the old rocker that had been left by the previous owner and Johnny leans against the rail not quite ready to make himself comfortable.
“You all moved in?”
Harriet sighs again, “That I am, though it is taking so long to unpack.”
“Don't you have any help? Your husband…” Belle lets her words trail off as she blushes. She fears she has asked too much and does not want to seem the nosey neighbor she actually is right off.
“Widowed eighteen years now. There's only me but I get along just fine.” Harriet offers and shrugs. She is familiar with nosey neighbors. She happens to be one. It was curiosity really. All her wondering as she sat on porches or stoops wherever she lived these long years. She loves watching the folks who wander in front of the houses or the apartments she has lived in and making up her own stories about where they are going and where they are coming from. Harriet notices Belle's ears have turned a bright shade of pink with her new neighbor's announcement of a long widowhood. She decides to give the young woman a further tidbit.
“Charlie was murdered in the street in New York City .” Harriet slides her gaze away from Belle, letting her shocking words sink in. Of course, Harriet doesn't disclose that Charlie was with a prostitute when it happened. It never made it hurt less either knowing that all this time.
“Oh My!” Belle cries and brings her hand to her mouth. “How awful. Well this is a quiet little town and I don't think we have ever had a murder here Mrs….”
“Call me Harriet, please. Harriet is a fine name and I don't rightly hear it enough now that I am so old.”
Johnny is looking uncomfortable and signals for his wife to come along. Belle smiles at Harriet and says, “My son Anthony is a strong one. I could send him over tomorrow to help you with the unpacking…”
“Oh I am sure a young boy doesn't want to be bothered with the likes of me…”
Belle sighs, “he's kind of a lone wolf, our Tony. He wouldn't mind really.” The Anderson's go down the walk. Johnny has his arm lightly around Belle's waist as he leads her inside their warmly lit two story home. Harriet sits still in the porch swing, swaying to and fro in time to the noises of the evening.
She sees him approach from down the block. He is walking with a steady gait, a duffle bag slung over a shoulder. The street lights leave streaks of yellow in his hair. He is older—but not as old as she is. Harriet narrows her eyes and studies the figure drawing closer. He stares directly in front of him as he passes Harriet's house. She raises her hand in a timid wave and he ignores her.
She wonders about this man. She wonders what he carries inside the duffle bag that he held so tightly against him. She wonders where he has come from and wonders where he is going to. The story starts right at this point. Maybe it's a human head… she giggles and lifts the latch on the screen door. Wouldn't that be something?
#
Anthony arrives at eight thirty Saturday morning. His black hair is soaked with the rain. His glasses are fogged as he waits patiently on the porch for Harriet to answer the door.
She smiles widely and ushers him in. He stands in the formal entryway, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He pulls off his glasses and squints blindly as he wipes the bottle thick lenses. He lets out a deep breath and grunts, “I don't want to be here you know.”
Harriet is taken aback. Her mouth opens and closes. “Oh dear.” she sighs. “You don't have to be…but I could use the help.”
“Damn well have to be. Her highness has spoken,” he sneers.
Harriet hides a small grin. “That wasn't the story I told.”
Anthony glances sharply at Harriet. “What do you mean by that? What story?”
Harriet moves towards the kitchen with Anthony following behind her. She starts to lift a box labeled “dishes” from the floor to the table and Anthony grabs it from her. He is curious at her odd statement but again he is patient and waits for Harriet to begin.
“Just figured her to be more of a simpering female type. A southern Belle per se.”
Anthony throws back his head and howls loudly. “You sure figured wrong. She's a hard as nails bitch my mother is.”
“Now that isn't nice.”
Anthony scowls, “And neither is she. She's trying to run my life—get me out in the world, per se.”
Harriet unwraps dishes and hands them to Anthony to put on the shelf she points at. They work silently in the gloomy kitchen. Anthony moves boxes from the hallway that are all labeled kitchen.
Anthony is losing patience waiting on Harriet to speak again. “Your kitchen needs painting. It's pretty dingy.”
“I don't know how to paint but I guess I will learn.”
“I can paint. That bugs my mother—what I paint.”
Harriet turns her back to Anthony so he can not see her smiling. You wait quietly and people tell their own stories. “Well…”
“She thinks I'm off. She thinks what I paint is off and makes me turn all the canvases to the wall in the basement.
Says they give her the creeps.” Anthony is stacking glasses quickly; his anger is building in the room. “I feel like…never mind.”
“Like she is calling you a creep? Like she thinks you are creepy?” Harriet's pale blue eyes peer directly into Anthony's dark ones.
“Yeah.” he mumbles.
“That's not the story of you I'm telling myself.”
Anthony looks away, uncomfortable. “Lady you don't know anything about me to be telling stories.”
“That's the point.” Harriet tells him of her past time—making up her own versions of other peoples lives. She tells him the story she had made up in her mind about his family.
Anthony is laughing, “God you are so off. You know you're a bit nutty don't you?”
“The word is eccentric. And so are you. And it beats doing nothing. Keeps the mind young, all the wondering I do.”
On the porch after dinner and hours of hard work, she makes him an offer he can't refuse.
“Anything I want to paint I can paint? You're serious?”
Harriet nods. “Anything.”
Anthony's eyes are wide behind his glasses. Traces of a smile coming are seen at the corners of his mouth. “Okay.” he mumbles shyly.
They sit quietly, tentative comrades in this war of really living a life. The swing is creaking under both of their weights. Harriet sees the man in the distance walking. His head is upright, never moving from side to side, never taking in what is around him. “Now that's an interesting man there.”
“Who?” Anthony squints in the dimming light.
“That man walking towards us. I think he has a secret.”
Anthony waits until the man is closer. “You're probably right about that. That's Jasper. He don't go around no people. He works at the nursery. Only talks to his plants from what I hear. He don't cause nobody any trouble though.”
“What do you think he carries in that duffle bag?”
Anthony laughs, “His garden tools. What else would a gardener carry in his bag?”
Harriet looks sideways out of her eyes at Anthony. “I think it's a human head.”
Anthony crows loudly, “Oh God Harriet, you really are a nut.” He gets up and trips lightly down the stairs.
“The word is eccentric, boy. Eccentric.” she calls after him lightly. “See you tomorrow.” Anthony waves and laughs all the way home.
Harriet sits a moment longer. Her body aches with the day of hard work. She turns her body around in the swing to watch the last traces of the man walking down her street. He stops suddenly and stands very still. He turns slowly and waves. Harriet's heart leaps in fear. He knows the story I've been telling…
#
Anthony is covered in paint and Harriet sits at the kitchen table stirring her tea. “It's…it's just…”
Anthony glares, “It's what?”
“It's magnificent.” Harriet whispers. He has painted a storm on the ceiling, a violent storm in hues of gray and black with stark blazes of white lightening. It makes Harriet feel small somehow, as of she were a minute creature, waiting to be destroyed by the sky.
“What will you do with the other wall? The one opposite the forest?”
Anthony peers into his painting of the forest. “Does it make the room too dark?”
“No…it's enchanted—the fairies dancing through the trees. I just love it, Tony.”
Anthony turns away at the praise. “It's okay. My mom would hate it. She would say it's a painting of evil.”
Harriet snickers, “Your mother would think the Sistine chapel was a sin if she ever saw it.”
“Have you seen it?”
“Once I lived in Rome . I saw it my dear. It was magnificent.”
“Seems to me Harriet you have lived just about everywhere.” Anthony gets back up on the ladder and adds more lightening to the sky. “Why? Why do you move so much?”
Harriet stares into her tea, wondering how she should answer, wondering if she even did have a real answer. “When I can't think of another story, I start fresh. Move on to the next place where new stories are just waiting to be told.”
Harriet always feels the need to keep moving. It prevented the stories people eventually could tell about her.
“I think I am about done for tonight. Got any more of that lemonade?”
“Let's have it on the porch. Or is it too cold?”
On the porch, Anthony teases Harriet, “I'm starting to think you have a crush on old Jasper with how you want to be out here every night to watch him walk by.”
“Nope, just wondering is all.” Harriet grins. When she spots Jasper, Harriet whispers how she's figured out how he hides the bodies. She tells Anthony how he kills them at home and brings them bit by bit in the duffle bag to work to get rid of the evidence. “Wood chippers and mulchers? Why I am sure they were invented by a demented mind to get rid of bodies.”
Anthony is laughing loudly, “You are a raving lunatic old woman! Okay tell me this…whose bodies? There ain't nobody missing.”
Harriet sits unmoving, waiting for the man to pass. She doesn't turn around to see if he waves. She knows he does.
She feels the hair stand up on the back of her neck. “People can be missing without anyone knowing it. Can you be positive there is no one missing? I bet it's shut-ins he gets. Maybe old folks or sick folks who no one checks on.
You're too young to realize how many people are alone in this world. So many folks have no one to even bother to look for them let alone know they need to be found. Just a thought there.”
#
“It reminds me of the sun…” Harriet muses while she examines Anthony's new masterpiece.
“Then I must not be the great one you think I am. It's supposed to be the gates of Hell leading into your basement.”
Anthony is adding touches of deep ambers near the ceiling.
“Now why would you paint Hell in here?”
“You said whatever I want. It's what I feel like today. Are you finding me creepy yet?”
Harriet scoffs at Anthony's statement, “Didn't figure hell to be so bright. It's a new way of looking at it I guess.”
“You didn't answer me. ” he turns to look directly into her inquisitive face.
“Maybe I find creepy interesting. Maybe I like the thought of that.”
Anthony shakes his head. The grin on his face is tight. “Crazy old bag…”he mutters, “You need some plants in the corners here. It will make the forest more real. And when I paint the waterfall above the sink, if you had a few wild violets in the window…”
“Where should we go?”
“You know where.” he laughs. “Maybe I'll introduce you to old Jasper.”
Harriet feels shivers up her spine. Curiosity wins though and she agrees to a trip to the nursery on Saturday morning. She is just burning to see the plants the folks in the small town rave over so much. In fact, folks from three towns over buy flowers from the nursery in Hunter's Glen. Harriet thinks about that a moment while she shuffles towards the front door and onto the porch. Jasper would be walking by soon and Harriet doesn't want to miss it.
“Did you ever wonder why his flowers are better? What do you think, Tony?”
“I think you are a lonely old lady with an over active imagination just itching to find trouble somewhere.”
Harriet sighs, “Well…I'm thinking he's grinding the bones up and pouring the blood into the soil. It might be the best fertilizer around. Maybe it's a sacrifice to the devil. Or some voodoo heebie-jeebie thing.”
Anthony is amused by Harriet's story. “Now why the heck would anyone want to kill people so they could grow pretty flowers? Explain that lady?”
“People kill for all kinds of reasons and sometimes for no reason at all. Sometimes they kill just because they can.” Harriet is searching the street for Jasper and spies him two blocks down walking in his usual stilted manner. She clasps her hands tightly in her lap and watches.
“How do you know so much about killing anyway?” Anthony mutters and keeps watch on the nearing gardener.
“Ever kill anyone?”
Harriet is quiet a moment and then replies, “I've thought about it.”
“Who?”
“Oh plenty of folks…”
“No one specific?”
Harriet is lost a moment in her own world. She is thinking. She is thinking of her dead husband's lady friend—the prostitute. She is remembering how she had spent hours planning her brutal demise. She knew the whore wouldn't be missed. Then fate intervened and Charlie was murdered instead, murdered by herself and it didn't matter anymore. Harriet had felt cheated. There was no grand gruesome death of Charlie, just a stabbing in a fit of rage and another quick move in the middle of the night. “No. No one in particular.”
Jasper is in front of the house and stops. Harriet calls out a weak, “Hello…” her heart is beating erratically in her frail chest. He moves on never looking at the two huddled figures on the porch. “Now that is just odd…” Harriet muses aloud.
“You're odd.” Anthony sighs and gets up to stretch. “See you Saturday morning, old bird.”
#
They wander up and down the aisles of the green house. The scent of exotic orchids is dizzying. Harriet is astounded by the vibrant colors which seem to almost blind her in their intensity. Never has she seen such color in all of the places she has lived or visited. Anthony's eyes are darting from flower to flower. His face has a look of bewilderment.
“Jeez, I don't know anything about flowers but I've never seen anything like this…”
Harriet whispers behind a wrinkled hand, “It's the blood and bones I tell you.”
“Shut up Harriet.” Anthony glares. “How about these here?” he says pointing to giant ferns. “And the rubber plant for the corner…”
“Yes it will be wonderful!” she claps her hands in glee.
“Maybe some orchids instead of violets…”
Harriet stops walking and Anthony bumps into her stiff back. Jasper is at the end of the aisle they are halfway through. He stands with one hand resting on a giant pot of forced crocus. He stares blankly at the odd pair. Harriet's voice wavers. Her lips feel thick as she says, “Everything is so lovely…sir?” Jasper turns on his heel and shuts the door of the gardeners' room with a sharp slam.
The sound of machinery is heard coming from behind the worn wooden door.
Harriet's eyes are wide with alarm. Anthony explodes with laughter, “Think he's chopping people up right now.” His face is alive with mirth.
“Let's go Tony. I don't want anything from here…it gives me the willies.”
Harriet rushes forward and in her haste, knocks over an urn of rhododendron. It crashes to the concrete floor with a deadening thud. Harriet never notices and continues to run until she is on the sidewalk breathing huge gulps of fresh air. Her heart pounds in her ears and she is shaking.
Anthony saunters out the door and sees her ahead wobbling up the block. “Harriet!” he calls after her but she does not hear or chooses not to listen as she makes her way up the street as fast as her trembling legs will carry her.
“Eccentric old broad.” he chuckles under his breath. He turns around and goes back into the nursery. He intends to buy her a gift. He thinks he should feel somewhat guilty for making fun of her when she had truly been frightened out of her mind. He notices the small neatly printed sign near the handle of the door. “Help Wanted” is written in capital letters. He peels the sign from the door and goes back in; the gift for Harriet is forgotten.
#
Belle sits in Harriet's kitchen. She shudders as she glances at the walls. Her eyes dart nervously as she does not want to rest them too long on any particular part of each painting. She feels as if her eyes are bulging, burning right out of her head at the awfulness.
Harriet serves the tea she has been brewing. She is upset at the mother's reaction to her son's marvelous paintings.
“Well now…Anthony has remarkable talent. You should be very proud.”
“How can you stand it?” Belle's voice is tiny with misery. She stares at the wall that the basement door is on. “It's Hell isn't it? How can you possibly stand all of this?” She waves her arms around in exasperation. She brings the back of her hand to her lips and nibbles on one knuckle. Tears are threatening to fall from vivid blue eyes. “He isn't right in his head…” she whispers.
Harriet is losing patience. Her pity for Anthony is growing by the second. She says nothing. She does not know what to say to convince Belle that her son is made of pure genius and not lunacy.
“He has always been strange…”
“Being different does not mean a person is crazy. Being gifted and talented does not make someone insane or evil!”
Harriet speaks with much force. Her eyes are blazing in Anthony's defense. “You have raised a wonderful young man. You should be proud I say!”
Belle's eyes spill tears. “You don't know…you just don't.”
“What I know is you have a son who helped an old woman in her time of need. You have a son who seems to care for a strange old woman and painted her kitchen out of kindness because she couldn't do it herself. You have a son who stops a moment to speak to a lonely widow. And now he has taken on a job on top of it all. And none of it pleases you. Shame on you!” Harriet is livid.
Belle leaves hurriedly. Harriet paces the kitchen marveling at Anthony's creation. It gives her such delight every time she gazes upon his handiwork. She glances at the door to the basement. The door to Hell he painted. Her breath catches in her throat. It disturbs her—this part. Only this part leaves an unsettled feeling within her. She shakes her head.
Harriet picks up Belle's untouched teacup. She is embarrassed she allowed her anger to show to Belle. She shouldn't have spoken that way. She should have kept her opinions to herself. The last thing Belle had said before leaving was,
“I won't bother you again.” Harriet sighs, disgusted with her irritable behavior. #
“I'm sorry I laughed at you the other day.” Anthony whispers while he paints the trim on the window over the sink.
Harriet notes the plant in the corner, a rubber tree plant, delivered by Anthony himself. “It's okay. I'm a foolish old woman.” she shivers. She hates the plant, absolutely loathes the sight of it, but it is a gift from Anthony so she keeps it. What she wants to do is throw the plant in the garbage. She wants no traces of Jasper in her house. She wants nothing he has touched.
Anthony steps off the ladder and glances around the room, “He is a bit strange…haven't found any blood or bones yet.” he chuckles.
Harriet's eyes narrow. Curiosity is bubbling inside. She blows air slowly through her mouth. She clears her throat.
“Strange? How?”
Anthony pours two glasses of lemonade and brings them to the foyer. He sets them down on the ornate table at the front door. Harriet trails behind him. He takes her worn woolen coat from its hook at the door. He shrugs, “I don't know. I mean he watches me so closely. He rarely says a word. He leaves these long notes instead about what he wants me to do.”
Harriet follows Anthony to the porch and sets herself gently on the swing. Her breath fogs in the night air. “He's coming.” she says and points towards the shoulder slumped figure in the distance. “Maybe we should go in…”
“Are you that scared Harriet?”
“I am.”
“But he hasn't done anything. He's just a spooky old man who keeps to himself.”
Harriet has no words to explain her feeling of doom. They sit quietly waiting for Jasper to pass. Jasper holds the duffle bag tightly against his side as he passes. “Hello…” Anthony calls and Jasper keeps walking never acknowledging that a greeting has been spoken.
Harriet sighs pulling her coat tightly around her middle. Her nose is cold and she is trembling. “Someone has to stop him…”
“What?” Anthony cries.
“I know the story I am telling is true. I feel it in these old bones.”
“You are off your rocker!” Anthony shakes his head. “So what do you want to do? Kill him maybe?”
Harriet doesn't answer.
#
The kitchen is finally finished after a long winter of work. They enter the “Gates of Hell” as Anthony deemed it to clean up the last of their mess.
“There is distinct evil in this world, Tony. You are just too young to know when it smacks you in the face. When you have been around and in as many places as I have, you learn that.”
“But you don't know for sure that Old Jasper has done one damn thing.”
“I know. I know it!” Harriet insists and says nothing else.
Anthony breaks the silence, “How do we do it? I mean…God I don't even know if I can.”
“I can.”
Anthony examines the shriveled old woman. She weighs all of ninety pounds. Her arms are bony even through the thick sweater. She is scrubbing the last of the paint trays as he oils his brushes. They are at the laundry tub in the darkest corner of the basement. The bulb above the sink burns out with a soft pop and they are immersed in the inky black.
“What do you say?” Harriet whispers. The water is sloshing against the laundry tub.
Anthony shivers in the darkness. The only light shining is through the dirty glass block window in the far end of the basement. “We could do it here…”
“Yes… here…”her voice is heavy with excitement. She tells Anthony the new story she has been telling herself—the story of killing Jasper and fertilizing her spring roses with his blood and bones. She speaks of how they will hide the body. “I love to can. We can stack the jars here. It will look like tomato sauce. No one will ever know. No one will ever guess…it will be easy. No one ever comes to visit me now that your mother doesn't come around. That means no one to snoop. I've been collecting supplies…”
Harriet wanders through the basement and Anthony hears her rummaging through a box. Suddenly there is light. Harriet is standing beneath the freshly lit bulb. She motions him towards the large trunk in the corner by her canning jars. She tells him to look inside. He finds a variety of hunting knives, razors, duck tape, pruning shears and a brand new bow saw. “No one will even hear anything the walls are so thick…”
“You're nuts, you know.” Anthony's breath is coming quickly.
“Of course I am.” she chuckles.
Goose pimples rise on his arms. They come from excitement.
#
Harriet is watching the darting of Jasper's eyes over the duck tape covering his mouth. “I know your story sir. I know what you have been doing. I want an explanation…”
His hands are tied behind the chair that is sitting on tarps. It will be easier to clean up the blood and such to just roll them up and bring them to the dump. Anthony stands next to him. His face is pale in the dim light of the basement. Harriet motions for Anthony to remove the tape. He rips it off quickly. Jasper gasps and slumps forward.
“Out with it.” Harriet commands. She has wrapped a crocheted shall around her shoulders to ward off the chill in the dampness. She has pinned a plastic flower in her hair for the occasion. Her eyes are blazing when she picks up the knife.
“You are insane…” Jasper chokes.
“So what? So are you. Now tell me if I'm right…” Harriet proceeds to tell the story…the story that began with a duffle bag, the story of hiding bodies, blood and bones, growing beautiful plants and flowers with the wasted life of others. Anthony moves away from Jasper with every word Harriet speaks.
Jasper sits silently. His breathing is heavier and he watches each movement of the knife Harriet waves in front of his face. “Tony? Get the pruning shears; I think his fingers will be a lovely addition to my garden.”
Jasper offers no explanation for his behavior just a simple nod in Anthony's direction. There is no fear in his eyes as Harriet's tirade reaches a heightened crescendo.
“Got the pruning shears Harriet.” Anthony's voice shakes in anticipation.
#
He stares at the front of Harriet's house. Dusk has passed. The stars twinkle merrily in the purple hued sky. His sigh is almost inaudible. He is still, waiting. He is wondering about the old woman.
Anthony slams the front door of Harriet's and walks across the street. He stops next to Jasper and glances back at the well lit window of Harriet's living room. “Beautiful night for some midnight gardening isn't it old man?”
Jasper nods and starts to walk up the street towards the nursery. Anthony falls in step behind him. The air is sweet with the smell of spring. New leaves grace the tree branches barely visible in the moonlight. Harriet's rose are blooming, lovelier than they have ever been.
“Got the last of her right here.” Anthony says as he slings the duffle bag over one broad shoulder. A smile lingers in the corners of his mouth. Harriet had been right. Sometimes people kill for no reason at all.
The End
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