Upon Hearing Footsteps

The neighbors said he was crazy.

When I moved into this house, I knew that the previous owner lived out of state, and bought it for his father. He was selling it because the old man had gone into an assisted living facility.  That’s what the realtor said, anyway.  I also knew that he struggled to take care of the house, leaving it grimy and in certain disrepair.

And then I found the pillow.  It was in the basement, in a cement corner, tucked behind the furnace.  At first, I worried about squatters, wondering if my new home was vulnerable to intruders.  Upon closer inspection, I noticed a curtain around the area, and multiple extension cords leading into the tiny space.  It was like a child’s hideout. 

The next weekend, as I raked leaves in the front yard, Jeff from across the street ambled over and asked, “You find any loose dirt in the basement yet?” He told me that Gunnar, the previous resident, had two lodgers … but only one was seen moving out.

“The guy, he didn’t stay long,” Jeff shook his head, “but the lady, she just disappeared.”  He smirked, “When Gunnar said she skipped out on the rent, but left all her stuff behind, we wondered.” I did too, and took a closer look around.

The couple next door told me how relieved they were that I had moved in.  Apparently, the old guy had called the cops because their front light was too bright.  On the other side of the house, they said he complained about their dog barking, even when the old spaniel was inside.

 Each time I talk with the neighbors, any of them, I hear a new story.  Shots fired into the air in the backyard, his crazy attempt to lay a path using firewood, and that he crashed into the fence, stumbling from the car steaming drunk.

The more I heard, the sadder I became.  More than one person had mentioned that he was a vet, and they speculated that he might be in the protective care of the Veteran’s hospital nearby.  I wondered what combat he’d faced, what terror he’d seen.  The strangeness of the house transformed from creepy to heartbreaking.  I imagined him in the basement, behind the curtain, perhaps with a radio, feeling safe.  I imagined him scared in the nighttime, the blinding porch light peeking through closed curtains.