I live on a relatively quiet street in the outskirts of the city and there’s not much going on around here. So the ambulance siren or just any loud noise is considered as “something happened, let’s take a look”. There’s a nice park and a lake nearby, some small groceries and other amenities around and people here tend to know each other. You know the place.
And the life would go on and you would never hear from me if it all hadn’t started that morning.
I was having a cup of coffee at my kitchen table, as I always do, when a truck stopped right before my house. It had some branded stickers on sides, claiming that you could book it for moving you in or out, find us at this address & such. Clearly - somebody was moving in, as I’ve later discovered a woman in her forties together with a pair of kids were running back and forth, picking up stuff from the insides of the rented car.
Well, it doesn’t happen that often here, that somebody moves in or out. I guess people find our area “boring”, and probably expensive, as there’s much more cheaper options around the city.
So I’ve sipped my drink and examined the newly arrived neighbors. They looked completely fine - just a regular family of three, with a woman, who looked tired and some siblings, who were exact opposite - full of life, walking around with cardboard boxes and shouting at each other.
The strange things started to occur in the evening. I was munching on my dinner, as a motion in the windows across the street caught my attention: the house with the new folks, formerly known as Old Rosie’s last resort (God bless her soul).
The new family had the dinner too, except there was one interesting detail to it: they all sat around the large oak table, where Rosie used to play Solitaire all the time. The food was served and it all looked like a regular family evening, except for that thing at the head of the table. I had to look twice. There was a human shaped doll placed in the chair, with its arms laying on the desk. It seemed to be made of some crude fabric, like a potato sack, or something similar, with the poorly drawn face and some hair, which was a used mop, I guess. I was not quite sure, due to the distance and my eyes not being as sharp as they used to.
I’m not kidding around: they had a human sized doll at their table and the weirdest part was that it seemed they were talking to it, as their heads turned to the scribbled face as if they were paying attention. Of course, it was none of my business - maybe the family is coping with the loss of their beloved one in such a manner, maybe it’s some sort of therapy, or even - maybe they are a bit weird and have the imaginary friend for some reason. Who am I to judge? I, myself, call my coffee machine Sebastian, and thank him every time he provides me with a fresh brew. People are strange after all.
The next morning they were having breakfast in the same manner - Mom, kids and the doll, whom I believed was the Dad of the family. I had a quick chat with Lester, while picking up the morning paper - he saw it too. We agreed that though it was a bit weird - it’s not quite polite to interfere into other’s life and spread rumors. And then switched to discuss yesterday’s game.
Later that day a knock to my door interrupted me from reading. I went to check out the guests, and who would you expect that to be - the newly moved smiled at me.
“Hi! We are the Browns, my name is Julia. We got here just yesterday. Looking forward to be neighbors with you, so please accept this as a Hello-we-are-new gift. Nice to meet you” - the woman shot the words with a sincere smile, passing me an apple pie.
“Oh wow! Welcome, Julia. What a delight to see new faces around. Thank you very much” - I’ve responded.
“If you don’t mind - we have couple of questions about area around here, so if you’re not too busy - maybe visit us for a dinner sometime?” - she said.
“What’s the harm?”- I thought to myself. Besides, I would settle the mystery with that doll of theirs. Maybe this poor woman needs some support and shoulder to cry on?
“Absolutely. That would be a great pleasure” - I’ve replied.
“Oh, great! I’ll ask my husband to get his grill ready then. See you soon!” - she said, leaving me a bit confused.
Husband? Maybe I’ve missed something? I didn’t see any male in the house across. Wait. What if their Dad is a pilot, or a sailor and that strange sack is indeed their way to “keep him around” while he’s on his trips? Anyways, I was intrigued to hear the explanation.
And so - that evening I’ve put on my suit, grabbed a bottle of wine and knocked on the door of Brown’s family.
“Welcome-welcome!” - Julia greeted me with a smile - “Please come in. George is on terrace, grilling some meat and I’m wrapping up, so I’ll join you soon. ”
The smell of beef touched my nostrils. It was nice. I went trough the hall, the living room (where the table was served already) and straight to the terrace, where the grill was supposed to be.
“Hi, I’m Mitch. Nice to…” - I’ve stopped in the middle of the phrase as I saw him. Or it. I don’t know what suits better.
The sack puppet, wearing an apron leaned to the wall next to a burning grill. Its poorly drawn face was directed towards me, so I saw the crooked smile and the curvy nose. Somebody attached the spatula to one of the arms and placed a can of beer next to it.
“George, huh?” - I think I’ve said it aloud - “well, your meat is about to get burnt, George”.
There was something uncanny in this comical situation. Imagining that this sack is an absent person is one thing, but dressing it up and expecting others to accept it as normal - that’s something else.
“Kids, dinner!” - Julia’s voice from the kitchen returned me to reality.
I went back to the room where the queen of the house was placing the dish of mashed potatoes on the table.
“I’ll wash my hands quickly and join you” - I’ve said.
“Oh, please. Be our guest. Did George mention when he’s ready with the food?” - she asked.
“No, ma’am, he did not” - I’ve replied.
“Oh, I hope you didn’t get the wrong impression. Sorry. He’s just not talkative type, so sometimes people find him rude” - she smiled.
I’ve washed my hands and returned to the room, where the kids already took their chairs and the steaming pile of steaks resided on a serving board. George was there too. Just as I’ve seen him before - sitting in the head of the table, no apron or spatula this time, though the beer can still with him. Another weird thing was the smell. The room smelled of lavender and orange peels, as if the sack was stuffed with it. Not the freshly cut ones, no. Dried.
The dinner officially began and I was bombarded by Julia’s questions: any wild animals around? Which store has the best seasonal discounts? Have I heard of any football activities for children? Any crime reports in the area?
I’ve tried to answer those as good as I could, but there were more incoming.
Soon enough the kids were done with their meals and were excused to leave from the table.
We were sipping the wine I brought and Julia seemed tireless in her attempts to communicate.
When suddenly she asked: “So, what do you think?”
“I beg my pardon” - I’ve got confused.
“I mean, George’s suggestion. What do you think about getting out for some fishing with him? Sounds fun, right?” - she turned to him and back to me.
“Look, lady. I don’t know what’s going on here, but having this human sized doll sitting at the table is already something weird, and I’m not even mentioning that part where you pretend it’s a real human and such” - that’s what I wanted to say, or at least thought at the moment.
Though these modern times are really complicated, you know. Modern people are fragile, they don’t make folks like they used to. It’s so easy to hurt somebody’s feelings by saying obvious things. And I’m not the type who wants the beef with the neighbors. Yes, I’m an old geezer, who lives alone and doesn’t even have a dog, so people expect me to be a harsh old fart who doesn’t care about anything else than his Bingo weekends, but that’s not true.
Anyways, I gave that thought a moment and decided no to hurt her feelings:
“I don’t know folks, this time of the year… My chronic pains are usually my only entertainment and my back is killing me each time the rain about to drop… Let’s say ”maybe“ and see how it goes”.
She didn’t seem moved by my “old man’s problem” card, so just replied:
“Oh.. I hope you feel well. That would be a delight, if you’d manage to. Right, George?” - she turned to him.
“All right, I guess it’s time to wind up and head to my pillow. Thank you very much for invitation, folks. Gorgeous food. I wish I could return the favor, but my skills end with slightly burned fried eggs and TV Dinners” - I laughed.
“Always, you are welcome. Thank you for all the info.” - Julia stood up from the table, intending to walk me out.
I threw a quick glance over my shoulder, checking on George for last time (God, what a weird woman), and for half a second, I swear, I saw that his smile inverted, giving him a somewhat upset and angry look. Or was it just the wine?
I’ve walked home, thinking about my experience in the Brown’s house. This woman seemed to really need some help. The kids looked weird too, talking to George, telling him how their day passed, but they are still kids, you know. The power of imagination and such. What kind of grief was bound to this lady’s heart so she decided to act this way? I had no clues. This was not normal, that’s for sure.
Suddenly I’ve got this nasty feeling, you know, like when your skin goes goosebumps and the hair at the back of your neck itches a bit - as when somebody stares at you, and you’ve just felt it.
So I looked through my kitchen window to the house across the road. There in the dark, hidden behind a curtain. Somebody was there, looking back at me. Or something. I guess Julia, who was standing there realized I see her and in a soft motion the silhouette moved out of the window. Strange.
Next morning I’ve almost spilled my coffee - George was “standing” in front of the window, gazing with those poorly drawn dots of his eyes. Maybe it’s just me, but it felt… terrifying, considering the details I’ve discovered about this family yesterday. But as I’ve returned the cup to the drawer, after washing it - he was gone. Are they messing with me?
In the evening he was by the window again - this time both of his arms on the glass, as if somebody taped them to make his posture. I’ve had enough, so I rolled down the blinder and called it a night. What a bunch of weirdos…
Morning after instantly erased the negativity, as it seemed that Indian summer kicked in - the sun was shining brightly and the bird songs greeted the warmth. I went down for my morning ritual and pulled the blinder string to let some of that sunshine in.
My heart shrank to a tiny frozen lump as my action revealed George leaning on my window, both arms up as if he was trying to look through the glittering glass. I’ve rushed to the door, being sure that those brats decided to pull a prank on me, but as I’ve opened it - there was nobody: neither kids, nor that hellish puppet.
I’ve tried to calm down, picked up a crossword magazine and took my watching position. I had to see it with my own eyes to make a proper blame and come up with argument. If those people are tossing a huge sack doll around - I would definitely see it. But nothing happened. I haven’t seen George or the rest of the Browns family. Were they satisfied now? Almost leading the old man to have a heart stroke? They’d better be.
So I put my magazine aside and went to get some sleep. Things escalated quickly from there.
I woke up at 4:00. Not that I’m complaining, but the older you get - the harder is to keep it, if you know what I mean. Though this time it was different. As my mind came back from slumber I’ve instantly realized that something was wrong. I’ve looked around - everything’s in place, no sudden noises or whatever. What’s wrong then?
And then it hit me - the smell. My room was smelling of dried lavender and orange peels. I’ve jumped from the bed, with all the power my old body had and hit the light switch. Nothing. Just this intense smell all around. And couple of threads and tiny sack patches by my bedroom door. I was outraged, full of boiling fury and anger.
I went straight to their door, knocked and ringed and then ringed and knocked, but nobody opened. I’ve shouted at the door and behaved like a complete madman, I guess. Until finally interrupted by Lester peeking out with a flashlight, wondering what was going on.
As I write this - I have my old hunting gun on my lap and a mug of coffee provided by Sebastian.
Why am I writing this? That’s simple.
If this message won’t get updates - something bad happened. I don’t know what exactly, but I have some theories.
But, yes, if this message won’t get updates - make sure to check out if you’re getting new neighbors knocking on your doors. It might be nothing, or it might be the Browns.