My neighbors and I moved in at the same time. Same month, same week, same street. We lived across from one another in identical, mirrored houses. I didn’t know a lot about them, but I’d seen them move around their property a couple of times. They were already a family, having two kids just about to enter their teens, while June and I was still expecting our first. Their mailbox revealed their name to be the Watersons.
We thought it’d be nice to live in a neighborhood with other families. And, to be honest, we didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. My company transfer had been sudden, and it was either quit or move. Since I couldn’t afford to be out of work those first months of parenthood, June and I decided it’d be best to follow along. Besides, we both had relatives not too far from the area.
The move itself was rather painless, and we got June’s work-from-home office set up in a matter of days. I barely even got a weekend to settle before I had to be in on the following Monday. Being a manager for a small packaging plant might not sound like a lot, but considering the scale of specialized orders we were receiving at that time, I figure it’d take at least three guys to replace me at the helm. All in all – we were busy. All of us.
But at the end of that first month, the Watersons did something strange.
They started shooting fireworks.
At first it was a fun surprise. June’s favorite holiday is Independence Day, so she has this fascination with anything bright and shiny in the sky. So when the Watersons started popping off white sky flowers in cascading shades of cyan, June just dropped her jaw and cheered. Those first few weeks, we got the sense that, one way or another, things were just gonna work out. We had a moment on the (albeit cramped) patio, enjoying the night sky together.
Then life just went on as it should for a while. The orders at work slowed to a normal pace, June kept her appointments with the obstetrician, and life kept grinding forward. Slowly the boxes were unpacked, and little post-its were put up on the fridge. Paintings started to get crooked, and the hallway rug inched ever and ever further towards the front door. Baby stuff littered the hallways, anticipating our bundle of love’s arrival.
After about a month at the new house, I remember having a late dinner with June. I’d had a long day with a bit of unpaid overtime, and she’d been kind enough to keep it all warm for me. As we sat down to eat, there was a flash outside, followed by a thundering boom. We realized that, once again, the Watersons were shooting fireworks.
Apparently, this was a monthly thing.
That might be a problem.
Our baby girl Janine was born on the September 29. June was a goddamn superhero through it all. I was there for it, even though June insisted that she was fine. Hell, she even asked me to put in an extra shift to keep myself busy. Of course I didn’t, but that gives you an idea of just how pragmatic this blessing of a woman really is.
We brought Janine home and got into a new routine. Parents to a newborn are rarely the most cheerful of people, and I can’t pretend it was all sunshine and roses, but we managed pretty well – all things considering. While a shock at first, our new life came creeping up on us in a way we never could’ve prepared for.
But through it all, Janine was the sweetest thing. Probably the least fuzzy baby I’ve ever met – all smiles and kisses. The only thing she didn’t like was loud noises, which we realized one morning when a sleep deprived June dropped a box of cutlery across the kitchen floor. Took us a solid half hour just to calm the girl down.
Then there were the Watersons.
The fucking Watersons.
It’s like they were just waiting for us to need peace and quiet before they showed their true colors.
It started an ordinary Saturday, about 1 am. I woke from the flash before I even heard the bang. This massive rocket popping off right above our house, bathing the entire street in an eerie blue light. It was loud enough to rattle the windows, sending Janine into a panicked cry.
I sat with her most of that night, telling her everything was gonna be okay, while June desperately tried to catch a few hours of half-sleep. Janine was terrified, and she was vocal about letting me know so. I remember sitting by the kitchen window, bottle-feeding her, staring daggers at the Waterfords across the street. I could see the father of the family out on the lawn, looking up, as if considering if he ought to fire another.
Thankfully, he didn’t. Not that night, at least.
Fireworks kept going off in the middle of the night about once every three days after that. I tried going over to talk to them, but none of them seemed to be around during the day – not even the kids. I remember waiting by the door for their car to pull up the driveway, ready to confront them, but I seemed to have chronically bad timing.
Then, one night, they blasted off again. This time, June was handling Janine, and I went straight for the door. I was out in a t-shirt and my tighty-whities, slipping on a pair of sneakers halfway out the door.
That was the first time I got a good look at Irvin Waterson – the head of the family.
The man was in his mid-50’s, was about 6’5, and had a shiny bald head. His eyes were sunken and tired, and he had this kind of slouching face – like an old dog. He had a sort of pallor to his skin, like an old ham. I didn’t care though.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” I yelled. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
He just looked at me like he didn’t understand what the hell kind of language I was speaking. When I pointed at him, he visibly recoiled.
“Don’t you fucking walk away!” I demanded. “Not one more fucking time, or I’m calling the police!”
He gave me this… look. Like a frightened animal. And as I stepped closer, he burst into a sprint -heading straight for the door. Before I even got halfway across the street, I could hear bolts and chains dragged across the inside of his front door.
I got up to it and pounded on it. I screamed at him, demanding an answer. And yet, nothing.
Not a word. Not a sound.
I’d cooled off in the morning, but June hadn’t. She called not only the police, but the HOA. I urged her on, but we soon realized it was an exercise in futility. Not only was there no rule about fireworks in the local bylaws, but it was a point of pride just how open the neighborhood ruleset was. If anything, we suspected that this might’ve been the reason the Watersons moved there in the first place. Hell, even the police gave us the cold shoulder; saying it wouldn’t be worth their time to come knocking when there was nothing to enforce.
It started to make sense how we got that place so cheap. It wasn’t really meant for families, it seemed. We’d just been tricked by seeing what we thought were another normal family across the street.
We tried to confront the Watersons a couple more times. June tried once, only to see their young boys scurry back inside the house. I tried to knock on the door again but didn’t get any kind of response. It’s like they were scared of us, but not like a normal kind of scared – an almost animal-like kind of scared. How these people could drive a car was a mystery.
But the fireworks continued. A few days might pass, but they always came back. Janine did not want to get used to it, and I couldn’t blame her. Not only was it startling, but it felt sinister. Like there was a genuine ill-will behind it; something meant to harm. I always got the sense that there was a reverence to it, from the Watersons. I could see them bending down on one knee, gently placing the rocket; like a Tibetan monk lighting incense. There was a ceremony to it.
I got a better look at the rest of the Watersons too. Aileen Waterson, the mother, didn’t seem a day over 30 – but she looked like she’d never cut her hair once in her life. It was almost dragged across the ground, tapping against her heels as she walked. She had the same kind of sickly pallor as her husband, and the same sunken eyes. I never saw her blink – not even once.
Their kids could’ve been twins, if not for one being slightly taller than the other. Same physique, same sickly pallor, and the same drooping faces as their father. The closest description I can manage is that they were, in a sense, ghoulish.
About a week passed, and the fireworks just seemed to grow more intense. I remember getting Janine her bottle in the kitchen when I noticed June sneaking by the window – looking at something across the street. I checked it out, spotting Aileen out and about in their front garden. June just shook her head, whispering.
“Who the hell starts planting things mid-October?”
“The Watersons, it seems, “I sighed. “Probably getting their kid a new set of drums, too.”
“You shut that cursed mouth. They might hear you.”
But of course, they didn’t. If anything, Aileen wouldn’t have noticed the entire world collapsing around her. If anything, she seemed to be perfectly at peace with her hands deep in the soil – picking out rocks and roots, and planting something deep below.
Then, it stopped. Several days passed, and there were no fireworks. We thought it was finally over.
But apparently, they’d just gotten started.
I remember the turning point. I was up with Janine when I saw the whole Waterson clan sneak out of the front door. They all stopped to look at their little garden, and one by one they started to do this weird howling noise. Sort of a screech; like the mix of a wounded pig and a panting dog. All of them, in unison, cackling.
Janine didn’t even cry. She just looked out the window, just as confused as I was.
I saw Irvin pulling up handfuls of grass from his front yard, throwing it in the air in celebration. The boys were dancing around the car, hand in hand. Aileen was just on her knees – openly weeping. I thought about filming it, but Janine had fallen back asleep, and I didn’t wanna risk waking her.
It was such a bizarre sight – and I couldn’t even see what the fuzz was about.
The next morning, as they scurried back inside, June and I went out to see what they were cheering about. Looking at their front garden, there was no obvious response. All I saw were some kind of sprouting seeds. They had these large oval-shaped leaves, with just a hint of blue to them. June stepped right up on their yard and took a closer look. I didn’t have the time to protest, as I was carrying Janine, who’d decided that my beard was her new favorite plaything.
“Looks like sunflowers,” said June. “My mom grew these once.”
“Sunflowers?”
“Yeah,” June nodded. “Pretty sure.”
There was nothing more to it. A bunch of pale sunflowers, and that was all it took to send this family into a frenzy. It started to dawn on us that there was something deeply wrong here – maybe even dangerous.
June gave the authorities another shot the next day. She tried calling CPS, but she couldn’t make a good enough argument for someone to check in on the boys. They were already registered as home-schooled, and there was nothing inherently wrong with cheering in the front yard or shooting fireworks. June almost cried of frustration, having been bounced between one number to the next for over 40 minutes – only to be told there was nothing to do.
At that point, we had no idea what to do. We were genuinely worried about the Watersons, and it seemed like no one shared that feeling. I talked to a few people at work about it, but none of them had anything to say. And why would they? They’d never even seen the Watersons, let alone lived across the street from them.
But the most telling cue was Janine. She had gone from quiet and cuddly to fearful and anxious seemingly overnight. It got to the point where we had to go to the doctor to make sure it wasn’t something physically wrong, but of course there wasn’t. It was only a matter of regular rest and food, it seemed.
Which wasn’t as simple as it sounded, thanks to the Watersons.
For the next few nights, we were anxious. The Watersons had been eerily quiet, and that couldn’t be a good thing. It was now sort of understood that whoever was up with Janine had a responsibility to check the front yard every now and then to see if there was something we could pin on the Watersons to have them investigated. It was petty, sure, but these people had been a menace. We couldn’t have Janine suffer because those bastards refused to act like people.
It all came down to this one night in early November.
I was sitting up with Janine, watching their front yard from the kitchen window, when I spotted Irvin and the oldest kid stockpiling something in the yard. It looked like dark little boxes, but I couldn’t tell what they contained. They filled a big space in the yard with them, approximately 8 by 8 feet – spacing the boxes out evenly.
They were at it for a long time, until Irvin stepped up to the living room window. He slapped his hand across the surface, slowly rubbing it back and forth. Seconds later, his wife and youngest son joined him outside. It was so uncanny. Like even their knocks were strange.
I brought out my phone and started recording, just in case. They were doing something to the boxes, but I couldn’t tell what.
After a while, they all stepped back. All but Irvin, who held up a lighter.
Only then did I realize they were setting up the biggest batch of fireworks I’d seen.
By the time I got to June, they’d already lit the fuse. Given how loud their display had been earlier nights, this was gonna be on a whole other level. I set Janine down and covered her ears as I yelled at June to do the same. She was barely awake, but did as I asked without question. I tried to hunch my shoulders over my ears, but I couldn’t quite make it. Janine was already crying, sensing the tension in the air.
Moments later, there was this barrage of thumps, as rocket after rocket leapt into the sky – at least two dozen. They sailed up, but nothing happened. For a brief moment I almost thought my prayers’d been answered.
Then the sky exploded.
For a moment, night turned to day. I could see every inch of the bedroom as the light burned into my eyes. Every contour of my wife and child. The pile of used clothes in the corner. The diapers at the changing station.
Then came the sound.
It was so loud that I felt it before I heard it. The windows rattled, and I saw a painting fall. By the time it hit the floor, there was a sound so deafening that I didn’t hear the frame shatter.
It immediately made my head ring. I could see June screaming something, but I couldn’t hear her. I had this screeching noise piercing all the way from my ear to my throat. Janine was okay, albeit a bit upset about the whole thing – but she was fine. I’d covered her in time.
June put two fingers up to her ear and mouth, as if signaling she was gonna call someone, then she picked up Janine. I was dizzy, trying my best just to stand straight. Without that inner ear balance, your head feels like it’s on a swivel. I lost my footing three times just heading towards the hallway.
All I could hear was this incessant screeching coming from the back of my head; like there were two frayed cables in my mind, rubbing against one another, sending sparks down my spine. It was still bright outside, where I could see vague shapes of the Watersons dancing in their front yard. There was a fresh crack in our bedroom window, casting a strange shadow on my face. Trickles of water had started to silently tap against the pavement outside, forming puddles in the potholes.
As I got to the hallway, I could feel myself calling out to June – but I couldn’t hear it. It was just this deep rumble in my chest. I became hyper-aware of my own breathing and pulse; the only noises able to reach my head. It dawned on me that this could, in fact, be permanent.
I was surprised to see June holding up a finger against her lips, as if asking me to be silent. Then she pointed at the door.
There was someone outside. A dark shadow against the sudden backdrop of a downpour.
For a moment, we just stood there. June held Janine tight to her chest, looking back and forth between me and the door. I turned my head towards the kitchen, my eyes landing on the knife block. June was nodding at me – silently asking me to be prepared. There was no telling what these people were capable of, and we wouldn’t want to risk it. I couldn’t hear shit, but June could call for help.
I saw her yelling something as the door shook. A threat, perhaps. I felt the vibrations of sound bounce against the side of my head, unable to reach through the thicket of my ears. I hurried into the kitchen and grabbed a knife as my mind raced.
He might be saying he had a weapon, or that he was going to hurt us.
There was no way to know.
The rain was coming down hard, obfuscating the silhouette outside. But as the door shook, again, I could tell that whatever was happening was violent. I placed myself between June and the front door, urging her to back away. She hurried into the bathroom, holding up her phone to me. I nodded. She stopped at the bathroom door, waving at me to follow. I intended to.
Then the front door came down.
Irvin Waterson pushed his way through the crumbling doorframe, reaching for me – his sickly features lit up in a smile. My first instinct was to look back at June to make sure she’d locked herself in. She did – reluctantly. Then it was just me and the lanky man.
He had no weapons, just these arms that seemed to go on forever. He was so much taller, and had so much longer reach than I’d anticipated. Not only was my hearing throwing me off, but there was just something inherently wrong with him.
His left hand grabbed me by the biceps, pulling me towards him. There was this thick sticky coat of something warm in the palm of his hand, searing my arm like a sort of glue. I tried slicing him, but it was like trying to cut rubber.
He dragged me out into the rain, ecstatic. I could see him convulsing in a laugh. I kept trying to stab at him, but I lost my footing. He didn’t skip a beat; he just kept dragging me backwards into the middle of the street.
I looked around, trying to scream for help. I could feel the air leaving my lungs, but nothing happened. The other Watersons were standing in their driveway, looking up into the rain. Behind them, I could see that the sunflower seeds had already sprouted – turning a sickly shade of blue.
Irvin looked down on me, saying something, and nodded. I shook my head, and he nodded again – more intensely this time. He was telling me something he was going to do. Something that was going to happen. And looking at the way his hand had fused to my skin, I didn’t know what to think. It was just this freezing panic, settling into my spine.
Only then did I realize – it was still bright outside.
The fireworks had long since stopped.
It is hard to explain the sensation. I looked up, and felt this immediate drain. Like going from well rested to sleep deprived in the span of a breath. There was this swirling light, something intensely red. Something that had seen the Watersons and answered their call. Something that wanted to get a better look at us.
Like an eye in the sky.
It was so fast.
The rain turned from a downpour into an opposite up-pour, sucking whatever had been dropped back up.
I could see the other Watersons rise from the ground. Just a few feet at first, then all the way up the side of the house, and into the bright contrast of the mysterious light above. It was this painless, effortless glide – like a feather across a river.
Into the sky.
First, I thought Irving was growing taller, until I realized what was happening. He was going away too, and he was bringing me with him. In a heartbeat, I was three feet into the air, hanging by his hand. He wasn’t letting go. No amount of cutting or stabbing would make him stop.
Soon, my feet dangled in the air. My toes no longer reaching the ground, as I looked up at the ecstatic grin of Irwin Waterson.
Unblinking. Relentless. Overjoyed.
There was only one option left, as I shoved the kitchen knife into my own skin – cutting myself loose.
I collapsed onto the ground, spraining my ankle in the process. The rain, still getting sucked back up, trickled over my body – bringing along swathes of blood that danced its way up my face.
Looking up, caught one final glimpse of Irvin Waterson – his hand outstretched, his face devastated by what can only be described as guilt. He waved his fingers at me, urging me to reach for him. It’s like he didn’t understand why I was fighting him. Like he was doing me a favor – saving me.
But as his face disappeared further and further away, and the ground went dry, I was left on the pavement with a bleeding arm.
Thank God June had already called the police.
That night left me with a nasty case of tinnitus and a hand-shaped scar on my bicep, but considering what could’ve happened, I consider myself lucky. Janine has just started middle school, and no one has seen the Watersons since that night. Their house was bought up by some kind of industrial machining company to use the land. We were bought out to, and moved after just a year of living there. None of us really minded. We’d gotten so paranoid that getting away was a blessing, even though we lost a fair amount of money on the deal.
Sometimes late at night, especially when it rains, I look up at the clouds. I can almost feel that grin looking back at me. That there is something malevolent looking down, waiting for something bright enough to guide its path.
And sometimes, in the distance, I see it.
A red eye in the clouds.
Dreaming across the night sky