What’s the worst that could happen if you helped out your elderly neighbor? I found out and I can never forget it.
My mom’s means well but she’s a pain in the ass. I know what you’re going to say but just hear me out. I’m in the final year of high school, sending out college applications and everything but then out of the blue she goes: “Help out Mr. Brant next door with his mail and groceries will you?”
“What, like now?”
“No, every day. He’s getting old. He needs help.”
“Why don’t you do it?” I wish I didn’t ask that. Everybody except me knows to not ask your mom that. She gave me this look like she would tear me a new one so the next day I was helping Mr. Brant with his mail and groceries.
I never really got to know Mr. Brant before then. I don’t think anybody really knows their neighbours anymore. But my only impression from him was that he was some cranky old guy that used to stare at me like he was angry at me or something. So I didn’t know what to expect when I brought his mail to the door for the first time.
Half a minute after knocking on the door, the door opens to reveal Mr. Brant, grey hair, wrinkles, bad posture, holding a walking stick, classic old guy stuff, but that intense stare that I remembered was gone, replaced with a gentle smile and genuine excitement in his eyes.
“You must be Carol’s son from next door.” He said with a distinct, raspy voice.
I nodded. Wasn’t being rude or nothing but Mr. Brant teased me about it anyway.
“She didn’t say you were mute as well.”
“No, I mean, yeah, I’m her son.”
“Ahh, just kidding. I kid. But really thank you. I really appreciate it. It’s kind of hard getting around after my fall off the porch. I mentioned it to your mother and she insisted that you would help out.”
Thanks mom.
“It will only be temporary though. Just a few months and then you can go back chasing girls or whatever it is you kids do these days. But I just have to ask, when the groceries arrive, could you bring them upstairs to the fridge?”
I hesitated a little bit but I thought why not? Didn’t seem too unreasonable. He said it was only going to be for a few months so yeah, I agreed.
He gave me a copy of his house key and when his groceries arrived at his front porch, I knocked on his front door and from upstairs he yelled out in his distinct raspy voice, “Let yourself in, I’m up here.”
The door was unlocked, to my surprise, so I did let myself in. I picked up the groceries and headed up the stairs. His house was actually warm and inviting, the mahogany staircase reflected the sunlight shining through the windows and lit up all the photos of a younger Mr. Brant on the walls. He was fishing, diving, driving jeeps, posing in front of airplanes, he had photos with his kids when his younger, with his kids when they were older, with his grandkids now. It was honestly a side I’d never seen of Mr. Brant. I don’t know, I just hadn’t thought about my neighbour you know?
Also partly explained why he still went upstairs even though he’s supposed to be recovering from a fall.
When I reached the staircase he called out again in his distinct raspy voice from the room at the end of the second storey hall.
“In here. Bring them here.”
Mr. Brant was in a study room of sorts. He was sitting behind a large desk reading one of the thickest books I’ve ever seen. On all walls were stacks and stacks of bookcases in mismatched bookcases. Seriously, there was not two of the same bookcase in that room. The sunlight streaming through the window behind the desk gave Mr. Brant a weird soft glow as he looked up at and greeted me.
“Thanks kid.” He said in distinct raspy voice. “Just put ‘em in the fridge next to you.”
I was so fixated on all the books that I didn’t notice the small fridge to my left…with books stacked on top of it. I was half expecting books to be inside the thing as well but there was only a bottle of milk in there.
“Thanks for this, I really appreciate your mom organising this for me.” Mister Brant smiled as he said that. Not at all like the old fogey I thought he was.
“Yeah. No problem.” I said as I unloaded the groceries in his fridge. Curiosity got the best of me so I had to ask. “What’s with all the books?”
The old man chuckled. “When you got as much time as I do. You can read all the books you want. Suppose I’m a book hoarder.”
I actually learned about the old man and it turned out he was kinda cool. Actually joined the navy when he was straight out of high school but ended up hating it so went to work for the city council doing maintenance jobs. He hated that but learned to live with it after he met his wife after the sewer pipe burst in front of her house.
Find a woman who loves you even when you’re covered in crap, he told me.
Started a family with her, settled down, he said he lived a happy and full life. I helped out with his groceries and garbage for over a week to help him recover from his fall. I really liked him, was always friendly, a really cool guy to know.
But this isn’t the story where I tell you what an awesome person my neighbour was. I really wish it was.
As I said, it was over a week I was helping out Mr Brant, when one night I woke up when I thought I heard a scream. I checked my phone to see it was 2:43am and I just sat in bed for a few minutes, I could have sworn I heard someone scream, but it was so short that maybe I only dreamed it.
Didn’t think it was a big deal eventually and it didn’t seem like anybody else woke up so I thought it was either me still dreaming or some random in the street who decided to stretch his vocal cords. I went back to sleep pretty quickly.
The next day I didn’t collect Mr. Brant’s mail until after school. With mail in hand I knocked on the door. No response. No biggie. I remembered Mr. Brant said he sometimes liked to take a nap so I should just knock again to wake him up.
So I did. And I called out in case that didn’t work. But still nothing.
After half a minute or so, I decided that I would come inside and check on the old fella, make sure he’s alright, when somewhere pretty close to the door I heard his distinct raspy voice call out.
“Who is it?” the voice said.
“It’s just me. I’ve got your mail. I’ll just come inside-“
“No! Don’t. There’s no need.” The voice shot back really quickly.
It sounded like Mr. Brant but he sounded down, like he lacked energy or something. Even for seventy-five, Mr. Brant had a lot of energy, despite his fall.
“You sure?” I asked, concerned.
“Yes. Drop the mail and go.”
I shrugged. It wasn’t my mail so why should I care? Well I didn’t drop it, but I did put his mail down before the door on the porch.
But before I went, something got the better of me and I had to ask.
“Did you hear a yell or a scream last night Mr. Brant? I think some noise woke me up.”
There was a pause. I was now actually starting to get worried for Mr. Brant. This was the first time he didn’t want me to bring in his mail. He needed his mail but I think he was also looking forward to have somebody to talk to.
Eventually the voice behind the door responded. “No, no sound.”
I really started to get worried by the second day.
It was grocery day. Milk, eggs, bread, all that. That’s not important. What’s important was when I knocked on the door, I got no response. It’s not like Mr. Brant goes anywhere so naturally I started to freak out. I mean, what if he was dead lying on the floor somewhere? I tried opening the door but it was locked. I didn’t have a key on me either, so, and I’m not recommending any one try this but, I tried opening one of the house’s front windows. None of the front windows budged so I thought going around the back door would be the best option.
Got around the corner and just as I passed the living room window I jumped out of my skin.
“What are you doing?” Said Mr. Brant is his distinct raspy voice behind the curtain. Couldn’t really get a good view of him.
“Your groceries are here and then you didn’t answer so I thought I’d try and check up on-.”
“Really? More like breaking and entering.”
Okay…this was starting to get a bit weird. Mr. Brant was normally friendlier than this, now he’s behaving like some Japanese princess behind a curtain.
“Did you want me to bring the groceries inside Mr. Brant?”
“No.”
He pulled back the curtain and just stared at me. There was something…there was something about his face. Granted, I’d never actually seen him angry before but his face was bloated, drooping, sad. But above all it was just terrifying. That was definitely Mr. Brant I was looking at through the window but at the same time it wasn’t. It was like he changed. Personality, attitude, his face.
I just nodded. I thought I knew but I guess not that well. I mean it’s only been a week right? So I backed off sheepishly.
“Alright. Hope you’re feeling better Mr. Brant.”
No response. He stared for a few moments and closed the curtain. What happened to that old guy? Nice and friendly to weird and creepy in less than two weeks.
I told my mom about it later that night and she just told me that old people are like that sometimes. But I shouldn’t judge. I asked her if I should still be helping out Mr. Brant and she said of course I should.
So the next day, I got Mr. Brant’s mail and knocked on the front door.
No response.
“Mr. Brant?” I yelled out.
He’s dead, maybe. I know it’s horrible to think about but that was the first thing to cross my mind. I couldn’t just, leave him there, could I? No, I couldn’t. So I went around the back to the back door and opened it.
When I opened it, a shiver ran down my spine. It was the same old house I’d been in heaps of times before. But there was stillness in the air. I just knew Mr. Brant was in trouble, if not dead. So I called out again, not that I was expecting him to respond but I hope he did.
He didn’t, though.
I walked to the base of the stairs and was half-expecting his dead body there, an accidental fall or something so you can imagine my relief when there was no Mr. Brant lying there.
That just left upstairs. After some deep breaths, I started going up the stairs, each step creaking underneath my weight. It was like some backwards organ at a funeral. Freaked me out.
Anyway I got to the second storey and that’s when the smell hit me. Legit, never smelled anything like it before. I guess if I had to describe it, it’s like if you ducked your head in a rancid bin the night before it gets collected. But you know it was worse. I don’t know why, but I was smelling was death. I just knew it. My heart dropped when that thought entered my head. Each step towards Mr. Brant’s study was slow, I was just hoping Mr. Brant would hop out of his study and go, “Kidding, I’m alright.” Then I can go back to normal.
Nope. The closer I got, the more I knew this wasn’t going to end well. Each step took me closer to something I didn’t want to see. I wanted to just turn around and let someone else deal with it. But I got his mail and groceries for the past week so I sort of felt responsible, you know? Like I should be the one to find Mr. Brant.
When I reached the doorway, I stopped. Took a deep breath of the air that smelled like death and turned into Mr. Brant’s office.
His face was missing.
Mr. Brant’s body was sitting in the chair behind the desk and his face was missing.
He was still wearing his clothes, he was a corpse, and his face was missing.
I hadn’t even done an anatomy class yet so this turned out to be my first dead thing I ever saw. Mr. Brant’s corpse was staring right at me, his eyeballs in full view, wide open- because he didn’t have eyelids anymore. I wouldn’t describe him as grinning but his teeth were on full display. And the colour, the colour was surreal. It was a deep red, the blood, the flesh, the muscles on his face all this deep red.
I didn’t want to walk towards him. It nearly knocked me out. Just the sight of his bloody corpse caused me to throw up in my mouth, bits of vomit was dribbling from my lips. Started to get light-headed. Who would I even tell first? How did this happen.
CREAK. CREAK.
It took me a few moments to figure out what the noise was. It was the creaking of the stairs. Somebody was coming up the stairs. Somebody was in the house with me. Somebody was going to take my face off like Mr. Brant.
I didn’t want to die and I definitely didn’t want my face taken off. I looked around me and panicked. My breathing was getting heavier and I was sweating. Just sweating. With the creaks, the stench, the bloody face, I couldn’t think straight.
CREAK. CREAK. CREAK. They were starting to get faster and faster. Whoever it was, they were closing in.
I kept panicking and going from one side of the room to the other. I was going to die here, I thought.
Then I looked at the body of Mr. Brant for one last time, sitting at his desk, in front of the window…the window.
You’re probably thinking I’m an idiot for not thinking of it earlier but I was panicking too much to think straight.
I basically ran to the window but I was so terrified it made the window latch seem like a Rubik’s cube.
Then I heard the creaking stop. Whoever it was had reached the hallway and was walking right towards this room.
Through sheer adrenaline I just straight up broke the latch and forced the window open. I would like to say I jumped through the window but I pretty much just crawled through it banging my head, knees, and elbows on the windowsill. The fear pounding my head then made me the most uncoordinated thing on the planet. That only got worse when I tumbled down and landed on the bushes by the side of the house.
I don’t know how but I didn’t feel hurt so I bolted straight back to my house. Locked the doors, shut the windows, grabbed my Mossberg, called the police and sat in the corner of the bathroom, aiming my rifle at the doorway in case any body tried to enter.
Ten minutes later the police arrived. It nearly turned into a crisis situation when I greeted them still holding my Mossberg but they could see I was scared shitless and nothing happened thankfully.
They didn’t find anybody in Mr. Brant’s house apart from Mr. Brant. They said he was murdered. Which was obvious. But they also said he had been dead for three days. When I heard that, I told them that I talked to him and saw him in the past three days. But they reassured me and my mom that the coroner was certain he’d been dead.
I don’t know what to believe. Either the coroner was wrong or I was talking and seeing someone who…whoever you are, you sick fuck, there ain’t no punishment cruel enough for what you’ve done.