Recent fiction

Dear all,

I'm unsure what this is borne from--but here is the beginning of a tale I've been working on for the last two days. It is unedited. Feedback, as always, is welcome.

I suppose I remember the moment like some people remember where they were when Kennedy died or the second plane hit the World Trade Center.
See? Your brain immediately clicked into that moment as I mentioned them. For me, it was no different that sweltering day. I knew something was amiss as I drove home to change my clothes from work. You see, I had elected to use the alleyway to arrive at my Aunt Gracie’s house instead of the front as I had been doing for several months now. When she had moved into her home before my arrival into this world, it was on the edge of town, quite solitary. She could build her gardens and run her dogs without another neighbor in sight.
The city caught up with her. Down the street a Home Depot and a Walmart had taken up residence and the once quite location was now subject to traffic at the strangest time. Like that Thursday afternoon. The cars were lined up before I had reached them, making the exit to her alleyway not only a time chomping option, but an open invitation to get a move on with my plans for the afternoon.
As I glanced at my watch as it rounded the top of the steering wheel, I realized that I had removed more time than fate hate originally allotted. I could possible indulge in a cup of coffee at my Aunt’s house before hitting the gym. The pick-me-up of caffeine would do me clear me of the traffic and the heat outdoors.
I cranked the air conditioner one last time before stepping out. The blue of the sky did not huddle close—instead choosing to permit the warmth of the sun direct access to the yellow lawn. Green arcs of grass held to the corners of the yard, the result of short sighted sprinklers. But the rest had gone to ruin—and I did not have time, again, today to nurse it to health. Normally, if my partner had still been around, I would have found some creative way to bribe him into action on behalf of the grass.
Alas, he had moved on to his own greener pastures.
And I had to take care of Aunt Grace. Her gardens had weeds taller than the flowers that had still found time to sprout, her walkways were clear of plant life and dirt for some reason.
No wind blew. The heat was palpable and swarmed about my dress shirt, pressing inwards. I looked to the swamp cooler a few yards away and realized it had breathed its last life. The cord was bright red in competition with all around it; it should be doing its job.
Another thing my partner should have handled.
Having come around the back of the house, I could see more of the mixed disrepair. Sure, the windows were clean and shiny, the walkways swept and visible, but, along with the garden, high plants held the ground between the concrete and the base of the home, the yellow patches had outweighted the green. The dog house had cobwebs thrown around where the wind could not touch it, the red of the dog bowls warn out to a dead gray.
The doorknob glinted from the light of the sun and warmed my palm.
I was very aware all of a sudden. I would later describe it as that feeling you have when you lie awake at night—thinking you heard something, but, for some reason, you cannot identify. Your senses become acute; every other noise is bold and clear.
I had forgotten about work; I had forgotten I was on a schedule.
Something was wrong.
I opened the door and looked up. The temperature was different-proof the swamp cooler decided to move on sometime recently. I threw the keys down on the empty counter, knowing full well that there had not been anything on them for some time, only the garbage was full of the silver tins that carried meals from a central kitchen. I made a mental note to clean them out when it struck me.
I have no idea what makes me recall this now. It does not jibe with my memory until this very moment. I knew, I guess, that something was wrong exact at the moment I turned from the kitchen to face the dining room with the living room beyond. But as I recall it now, I had the sensation that one would have, I suspect, before lightning strikes. As a boy, the tales of the ‘tingling’ going down one’s neck before electricity fell from the sky always made me wary—I would be playing outside before a hateful of rain and would feel that sensation—and now that I think about it, it had returned.
I darted to the living room, heading to the stairwell with Aunt Gracie’s room at the top.
I stopped and ran a hand to my chest, under my tie.
A young man was standing in the living room.
I cannot recall driving home from work today; I cannot remember which papers still need to be graded.
I remember him.
“Hey,” he said as if waiting to be discovered in my entrance. He had removed his trucker cap and was wiping his forehead, as if he had completed some very important heavy lifting. His eyes were away from me as he moved his head to the side, but his hair was damp and had a rim from the hat. Moisture glistened on his Adam’s apple and insulted his t-shirt with a dark yellow splotch. The shirt had similar discolors under each armpit, exposed by the motion of wiping his brow.
A farmer tan highlighted his removed sleeves, long tears crossing each shoulder. The white of the shirt clamped to his chest due to wetness and tightness; his shorts, a modern pair of cargos sawed off above the knees, gave off some more evidence of a young man who was hard at work.
My thoughts wound up tight; I suspected something wrong.
A thief stood in my living room.
I had no weapon but my wit. I used the moment to look back at the kitchen. Surely there was a knife in one or two of the drawers.
The thought must have resonated, the youth swung back to view me full-shoulders, as if I had yelled his name.
“Name’s Ulee,” the young man smiled, showing teeth that had the same patch of yellow to the side of his mouth. “Ulee James.”
My nose lowered and my chin aimed for my throat.
“And you are doing what, exactly?”
The youth was nonplussed.
“Work. With your aunt. No worries, Gary, no worries at all,” he picked at the center of his chest and waved his shirt back and forth trying to bring his body temperature down.
I swallowed, fearful of his definition of ‘work.’
“Are you done? With this work?” I looked beyond him to see the front door was still bolted and all the windows closed. The cold air from the recently deceased swamp cooler banished quickly as this encounter endured.
“Yeah, I guess you can say I am? You think she has any lemonade? This summer heat is a killer,” he said and looked to the kitchen.
“I doubt it.” I raised both of my hands parallel to the floor in a calming gesture. “Look kid, I don’t know who you are and why you’re here, but I don’t want any trouble now, do you understand?”
“Trouble?” the word illustrated confusion on his high cheeked face. He was flushed and had the brown markings of a tan that had begun to fade. The outdoor work, whatever it was had caused segments of his lower arms and legs to become freckled with dead skin that gave the illusion of being unclean. His blue eyes matched his blonde streaked hair that had returned residence underneath his cap.
“Trouble. I just need you to step back, if you could please,” I withdrew my cell phone like a gun at high noon.
Ulee contorted his face as if watching a foreign program with great distaste. He looked to the floor and wondered what he was standing on. The humor of his reaction calmed me enough to exhale. I began to wonder if he thought me the intruder.
“No, no, ah, no, there’s no trouble Mr. Joyce, no trouble at all. I was just leaving and…” his conversation stopped as he watched me hold the phone up to my ear.
“Good, then this should be painless,” I dialed emergency.
Ulee’s expression settled and he blinked while he angled his head to the side. “You probably should ask how I know your name at this point. Works in all the horror movies.”
The phone did not connect, instead sending a warning bleep that the call failed. I blinked too. How did he know my name?