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During the colder months, the Cape was abandoned. Even so, I had noticed that sometimes, a light was on in Mr. Thompson’s shack and there were fumes coming out of the chimney. He must be living on the Cape all year around as well. Compared to us, he was a real anchorite. I’ve never seen him in town, and there are never any signs of him having any visitors. Sometimes, I wondered, whether he was hiding something, too. What if he was one of these creeps who’d chat with young girls all day?
So, one evening, when I was coming home from Sam’s, I noticed a red car in front of Mr. Thompson’s house. Lights on, driver’s door open as well as the door of the house. That was the most action I had ever seen in front of this house. Actually, the house next to the shed looked so dusty that I couldn’t believe that anyone had entered it lately. That’s why I stopped. I thought something must have happened. A burglary didn’t make sense. Any burglars should assume that there was nothing valuable in this house. And they wouldn’t have left the car for everyone to see. Nevertheless, I wanted to make sure everything was okay. Slowly, I approached the entrance. I knocked on the doorframe, but nobody answered.
“Hello?” I called out. There was still no answer, but I now could make out noises. As if someone was wrestling with someone on the floor. This was odd since I could only make out one heartbeat. I grabbed an umbrella that was standing next to the entrance. It could be used as a weapon if worst came to worst. I tiptoed toward the noise trying to reach that room unnoticed. I expected a monster to jump out from behind every shadow. When I turned around the corner, I saw Mr. Thompson in the middle of books strewn all over the room. He was reaching for one on the shelf, quickly glanced at it and then threw it to the floor. The whole time mumbling something. He was completely oblivious to the fact that I was standing in the door. I felt pretty dumb with the umbrella in my hand and placed it on the wall outside of what might have been a living room. The couch was covered with plastic, dust settling on it. I could only see patches of the wood where the books he’d thrown to the floor had landed. This room must have been uninhabited for a long while. While I was pondering what to do, another book flew down. I cleared my throat. For a moment, Mr. Thompson held on to the book that was currently in his hands and turned around. A strong feeling of uneasiness washed over me, now that I saw the scar on his neck up close. It looked like a big patch of dead skin which was spreading from his right ear, over the side of his neck. But afterward, I also noticed the wrinkly face with a few sweat beats rolling out from under the white hair. His watery eyes that were filled with a glimpse of frenzy. He stared at me in reproach, figured that I wasn’t any sort of threat and then started mumbling again.
“She remembered. I have to...” and he turned around again, continuing his tantrum. “No, no, no, no,” another book flew to the ground.
“Can I help you find anything?” I offered.
“Dickens,” he said in a raspy voice.
“Charles Dickens?” Because of all the books, I was thinking of the author.
“Yes, she remembered. Oliver Twist. I have to bring it.” He said without turning around.
“You’re looking for Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens?” I carefully approached the shelves, trying not to step on any of the books. I took his silence as a yes and started to look at the books on the opposite end of the shelf. Mr. Thompson didn’t pay any attention to me. Instead of throwing them to the floor, I read the inscriptions on the backs. Soon, I spotted a blue leather book with old silver writing Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens.
“Here it is.” I took it out and handed it to Mr. Thompson. He examined it for a moment and then grabbed it from me with a resolute movement.
“Thank you.” He said with a shaky voice. His gray-blue eyes looked so wet now that if they filled up anymore, he’d start crying. With that, he marched out of the room. I heard a car door slam, an engine start and then he took off, leaving me standing in his house. I raced to the kitchen window to see whether he was still somewhere to be seen, but no, he had disappeared. I shook my head somewhat perplexed. Suddenly, I found myself alone in the house of someone who seemed to be slightly bonkers. I remembered Melissa’s warning to stay away from him. But it surely wouldn’t hurt anybody if I cleaned up a little and perhaps, I’d find a clue, why he acted so weird. I called Melissa on my new cell phone and told her that I’d be back later. Then, I started putting the books back onto the shelves. Then, I looked for the kitchen to find something to clean the dust. The kitchen was also sparsely equipped but clean compared to the living room. I found a broom and also took the cloth from the sink, which I wet and brought with me. I carried the dirt outside, brought the things back where they belonged and then took a final look at a now more welcoming living room. At that moment, Mr. Thompson returned. When he noticed that I hadn’t left yet, he stared at me, furiously.
“What are you still doing here?” He demanded to know. His glance wandered past me to the living room and his eyes narrowed. “Why did you have to touch everything? Leave an old man in peace.”
“Uh, I just wanted to...” I didn’t know what to respond.
“Get out!” he yelled.
The way he said it he didn’t need to repeat it; I hurried past him and left the house. At home, I didn’t tell Melissa or Luke about my encounter.