Sensing Others Fight Beautifully

A short story.

Mel’s been having a series of night frights.

6:00 am.

The alarm quietly buzzes, just enough to stir Mel from her sleep. She peels off the covers and rolls into a *thud* on the floor. Pulling herself up by the forearms, she rests on the window ledge above her bed.

Mrs. York is going through her routine.

Mel is not sure when she first became obsessed with watching her neighbor’s morning flow that starts in the upstairs right window of the home across the street, before maneuvering to other spaces in front of large open windows.

Blame the ridiculous close proximity and the developers who tried to squeeze in as many homes as possible into one suburban subdivision. Blame the show-offy culture of open blinds instead of drapes.

Or point fingers at Mel’s intrigue into the sheer ballet of it all. The wooden angled loofah brush stroking Mrs. York’s back frame and spine can be seen clearly as could her silhouette behind the sheer shower curtain.

The fluidity is mesmerizing.

The red-haired petite mom would prance on her tip toes, toweled, to the kids’ room to beckon her 7 and 8-year old twin sons awake.

Mel imagined her voice was like a canary.

Eventually, the show crescendo-ed in the dressing room chair in Mr. and Mrs. York’s bedroom as Mrs. York would put on her face, using the most expensive makeup you’d find at the department store counter.

Mr. York, a shorter, stockier version of her dad would take his turn in the shower but he liked the windows and blinds shut.

The dance maneuver meandered downstairs where Mel could see Mrs. York scramble eggs or make Belgian waffles. The kitchen window was perfectly situated off the morning sun room with large bay windows.

On some days, Mel could literally smell the bacon aroma waif through her room from the narrow two lane street.

What a wonderful person to actually rise up early to cook for others and lose out precious time that could have been used getting more zzz’s in.

Maybe Mel was enamored because she relishes on the idea of having these moments in her life, with her own mom.

No one ever really think about the feelings of kids who killed their parents by being born. It was a traumatic hemorrhage and a quick death but at least they got to meet for a short time. Mel was a newborn so she doesn’t remember the experience though in her imagination, she does.

It was splendid!. Her mother was beautiful, round cheeks, clearest green eyes, and smelled of powder.

Death by childbirth is the most tragic way to go. Mel remained consumed in guilt. She was certain a therapist in the future would be in order to help her overcome the trauma.

Her stepmom Stephanie was cool though, but Steph wasn’t about that getting up early to feed the kids and be a perfect working mom life.

She was fit, smart, worked hard and handled her biz. A decent person. She didn’t want to have any kids and said she was lucky to meet her dad when Mel was 3.

Lucky.

A knock on the door and a gentle but firm, “Get ready for school, Mel!” jolted her into action. Well, not really but she got her own day started.

Not quite sure how the day went by. Routines are well, routine. Nothing special. School. Home. Read. Homework. TV. Bed. Sleep. Rinse and Repeat.

Boring routine. Almost nightmarish. Frightful.

Her next happy recollection was waking up to the low buzz of an alarm.

6:00 am.

Mrs. York is getting ready for work. Yes, again.

This day, Mitch, her best friend since 6 grade just burst in the room without knocking. He didn’t say a word, guilt tripping her for not going to the movies with him on Sunday.

Must be giving her the silent treatment. He just sat on the bed looked out the window and realized by Mel’s position behind the window frame that was doing it again.

He probably had contempt for Mel’s obsessive subject of attention. He got up and rolled out.

They had talked about it before. He told her it wasn’t healthy.

“Wait! I’m almost ready,” she called out as he disappeared with the same force as he entered.

She was sure he had a crush on her but the feelings were not mutual so things had gotten awkward lately. It wasn’t the same. He rarely spoke to her the same way.

Anyway, he drove and she didn’t so she needed the ride to school.

6:00 am.

It’s another day.

Mrs. York is already in the shower and it’s fogging up the small modern room with pewter finishes and clean white tiles.

Mel wondered how people could take long showers. She was an in-and-out kinda girl. Handle the business. Scrub the essentials. Rinse and done.

She kept her hair short and let it air dry. So simple.

Mitch told her they style made her look like a lesbian. He told her she should grow it out for once.

Though she was oddly attracted to the woman across the street, she was pretty sure she liked dudes. From a crush on Bernard Lacroix in Kindergarten to her hot middle school gym teacher who she would fantasize about during class while lazily barely doing laps in class.

She flipped on her phone, a news alert came on. She looked at the photo of the news conference and read the headline but didn’t click to read more.

Morbid.

There was a domestic incident on her block a month prior. People died.

Whoa! How did Steph and dad not discuss this crazy news these days? That’s serious stuff!

Talk about not getting out much. She’s not quite sure if she even knew her own neighbors.

It’s been a year since her dad, stepmom and their dogs moved into this sleepy cookie-cutter community. She really should attend the annual block party. Get to know folks, before they get offed.

She shivers at the thought.

Mel wonder if dad knew this family. So frigging tragic!

“Dad!” she called out to him. They needed to talk about this. He didn’t answer. She thinks she hears him using the downstairs shower.

Maybe after.

6:00 am.

The alarm buzzes.

Mrs. York peers out the window and stares straight into Mel’s bedroom. Mel thinks she is caught. She ducks under the windowsill and slowly creeps up to peer over her fingers lined on the sill shelf.

She’s gone. Phew! That was close. She probably would be weirded out for sure if she was aware of Mel’s obsessive stalking.

Got to get a hobby. Join some sport team. Walking the dogs, Tiger and Eddy. Reading and being a loner and being a peeping Tom is not the thing in this day and age for a 14 year old girl.

She just loved being in the comfort of her own home so much. She was the consummate home body. Her room was her sanctuary, decorated like a typical room with concert posters, knick knacks and lots of clutter strewn and tucked away in crevices.

Mel hears footsteps walking toward the front door downstairs, and assumes her dad or step mom would get it. Her room is right above the front door so she can see three figures.

It’s weird for people to come by unannounced. It’s not that kind of community.

Silence. Not even Eddy and Tiger barked at the approaching strangers. Weird.

She leaves her room and peers over the upstairs railing and sees the doors slowly unlock and creak open. What the hell?! Her heart starts to race a little faster. Who can be coming in with the key?

Dad’s getting ready.

She stops panicking and thinks maybe it’s Steph coming back from her daily early morning runs and she brought visitors.

It’s not Stephanie.

A woman with dark hair toting a pretty fancy crocodile handbag on one wrist and a stack of folders cradled in her harms. She’s in two inch thick black heels, a burgundy tailored blazer over a skirt with pink frilly blouse peeking through and a wool overcoat.

The other two look to be a couple: a man and woman, in their twenties it looks, serious faces, she sees. They both in heavy winter coats.

It’s Spring! School is about to be out so why are they dressed so warmly?

Mel can see and feel the sun starting to shine through the back hall window. It’s definitely still Spring.

Why are they wearing heavy outer wear? More importantly, who are these strangers in her home and what the hell are they chatting about?

So many thoughts.

It’s like a scene out of some sci fi movie or thriller something.

Their voices are low. The guy looks up towards the upstairs hallway. Mel tiptoes back in her room and closes the door. This is the oddest scenario ever.

She goes through options in her head. Does she call out to her dad? Call the cops? Text Mitch? Why are the dogs so quiet? Did they get out? Still out with Stephanie, maybe.

So much to process. This is turning out to be the weirdest weeks ever.

“Did the door just close?” the guy loudly asks the two women.

Uh oh! She’s busted!

Mel panics a bit but sits on the carpet against her room door and closes her eyes. And prays these intruders don’t come upstairs but it’s not like they’d hurt her, dressed so nicely and all. Killers don’t dress so nicely.

6:00 am.

The alarm hums lowly. Mel lightly taps the snooze button. Another bad dream.

This morning, Mrs. York is running, no sprinting, out the house. She’s in a towel and her hair is wet. She’s screaming.

“Help! Help me!”

Where are the kids? Her husband? Are they still in the house?

Mel’s heart is beating out of her chest. Two days of weird shit! What the?!!?

She doesn’t see what or who Mrs. York is running away from, just the look of fear she’s never seen before in her life from anyone. Definitely stuff you see in TV or movies!

Oh God! What to do?!

Mel looks around for her phone and yells for her Dad and Stephanie to call the cops.

“Mrs.York needs help!”

“Dad!” “Steph!” “Front door!” Where the heck are they? The dogs are locked in the basement, probably. You still should be able to hear them bark tho!

Mel doesn’t count herself a brave person but maybe this is the time to do something. She doesn't’ really know this woman other than watching her morning routine but strangely enough, that’s enough of a bond to try to help her out, right?

Whoever killed that other family could be preying on the entire community. She’s read about stuff like that online.

Why is no one answering?

Mel pulls on her furry flip flops, the only shoes she sees and scampers down the stirs and flings open the door.

Frantic, Mel starts gesturing towards Mrs. York inviting her to come in the front door.

Mrs. York sees the door open. The other neighbors must be too afraid to help, Mel thinks.

Punks!

Mrs. York sprints towards the gate.

This is insane!

Just as the tiny, but muscular middle aged woman gets to the bottom of the porch steps, Mel hears a loud crack. It was deafening. Time stands still for a second or maybe longer.

Mrs. York falls forward.

Mel looks down and sees crimson liquid explode out the back of her towel as a bullet pierces her back.

“Mrs. York! AAAAAh!!!” Mel screams terrified.

She looks to her left and before she could see, she hears the alarm quietly. buzzing.

The face reads 6:00 am

In bed. Wow!

It must have been another nightmare. Mel pops up quickly. It was a bad dream. A bad dream. A terrible one this time!

She can confirm it if she sees Mrs. York and surely, there she is. making her way to the kids’ room to wake them up. Aaaaah. Validation.

Mel really needs to stop this bizarre behavior and get a life.

Mel turns on the TV to see what’s on the news.

Her fave newscaster looks somber as she reports:

“It’s been a year since terror ripped the peace from a quiet suburban town when a local contractor murdered a Trincity family, Ila, Steve, Cory and Jeremy York and their teen neighbor Melanie Scott who was shot dead as she tried to help Ila York escape the carnage. A community mourns. A memorial event is scheduled to remember the victims on Thursday.”

This short story was inspired by some of my fave movies/books with surprise endings, Sixth Sense, The Others, Fight Club and A Beautiful Mind.

Read the Title again. (smile)