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Evelyn Adrian was drawn to the bedroom window by an out of place noise. She watched a man walk across the back yard. It was hard to see his face under mirrored sunglasses and a black Saints ball cap pulled down low enough to make his ears stick out.
She edged closer for a better look.
Tall, muscular, late twenties or early thirties. Jet-black hair.
She held the fireplace poker tighter in her fists, curious about why he’s there. He roamed amongst irregular rows of Joe Pye weed standing a good two feet taller than him. The hardy plant, with its thick stems and fragrant flowers, had run amok across the entire farm. Up until that moment, she had viewed the mass of weeds as a protective barrier between her and the rest of the world.
With a great sigh of relief, she watched him head over to the barn instead of the house.
The hayloft doors were on the right side of the barn, and faced the upstairs windows of the house at an angle. A large elm festooned with Spanish moss, that was as stunning as it was spooky, stood between the main entrance of the barn and its right front corner providing much needed shade in that hot and humid state. The branches of the old tree scraped the edge of the roof in a light breeze and just about hid the semi-dark square of the loft opening.
A cautious step back. If he goes to the loft, he’d be able to see her.
I wish he’d hurry up.
She glimpsed at the setting sun.
It’s going to be dark soon. Too dark.
He came out. Walked up to the elm, put his hands on a branch above his head, and looked directly at her window. She ducked down, even though there’s only darkness beyond the sheers.
She raised her head to the height of the windowsill. Without disturbing the sheers, she surveyed the yard all the way to the horizon. Didn’t see hide nor hair of him, anywhere.
Concerned about being trapped upstairs, she was about to run for her life when she heard the sound of an engine, the quietness of the place making it seem louder than it probably was. She propped the wrought iron poker against the bed where she always kept it. Rushed down to the foyer, opened the door just enough to peer out.
No car, only a trail of dust.
Thank goodness he’s gone.
Evelyn wondered if the boonies might be more dangerous than the city?
Her apartment building had burned to the ground in a raging fire, allegedly set by members of a rival gang of the equally nasty gang residing at the low-income housing property where she had lost almost everything she owned.
Good thing she was at work when it happened. She would’ve lost her life, and most likely her only mode of transportation, which also became a place to live. Currently, her car was safely hidden on the borrowed property she now calls Home.
It took a while for her to get used to the quietness of the farm after living at The Immeuble where drugs were bought and sold daily, heated arguments between couples spilled out of the buildings and onto the grounds, occasional gunfire, loud music, weekly visits from the cops usually late at night, little kids running wild with no adult supervision, and day by day racket across the street where the older side of the apartment complex was being demolished for reconstruction.
She had found the farmhouse by accident.
One night when she got off work from Agate Novelties gift shop on Decatur Street she came home to find she no longer had a home. She drove around the city, in no particular direction, figuring out what to do other than feeling sorry for herself.
Stopping at a truck stop to refuel, she noticed that several cars were parked on the opposite side of the big rigs. Inside the building was a shower, a restaurant, and even a laundromat.
Evelyn didn’t have any friends to lean on. A year ago, her new husband brought her to New Orleans. Deserted her six months later. Leaving her with bills to pay and no money to pay them, staying at her sister’s house back in Maine was her only option. She’d need a lot of money to make the long trip. But she only had a part-time job making minimum wage.
No longer burdened with rent and utilities, she reasoned, she’d live at the truck stop for free and save her money. Spending the night Monday through Friday went unseen by the managers. Spending the weekend did not. She wasn’t just politely asked to leave. She was threatened with a pending phone call to the authorities along with possible charges of vagrancy and loitering, and for soliciting the truck drivers.
Evelyn was shocked over the last accusation, as she had done nothing morally wrong.
At the same time, a severe thunderstorm warning was issued. Trying to get out of the city at night she got lost. The entire time she’d been in New Orleans, she had never ventured any further than the area where she lived and worked. Driving around an unfamiliar part, she was overcome with fear and anxiety. Power lines had come down because of the weather and tree branches, leaving the place in almost total darkness.
I’ve got to get back to the truck stop. There’s nowhere else to go until tomorrow.
In the midst of a downpour while crawling through heavy traffic she made a wrong turn.
Ended up on the road to a farm on the outskirts of New Orleans.
The old dark farmhouse stood alone on the side of a dirt road.
She got a flashlight out of the trunk of her car, and climbed the steps to the wraparound porch. A cool breeze rippled her T-shirt. Bright lightning flashed on the horizon. A far-off crackle of thunder. About to knock and ask directions, the door creaked open. She backed up. A wind gust whipped her long, straight hair in a frenzy.
“Hello?” she called out, cautiously pushing the door open wider with the flashlight.
Waiting in the foyer at the foot of a bare wood staircase, she cast the beam high and low. Saw what she believed was a smudge of blood on the edge of the bottom step. Convinced herself that it made no sense for blood to be there, therefore it was something else.
On her left was the living room. A narrow hallway separated it from the stairs. She poked her head in the doorless entrance long enough to see the room was large and partially furnished. The light fell on the white outline of a lopsided picture that used to hang above the redbrick fireplace. There are no other doors in the living room. She had no interest, whatsoever, to set foot in the uninviting space.
A slow and deliberate inspection of the first floor revealed no one lives there anymore.
Or does it just appear that way?
Being an unwelcome visitor was not to her liking.
She took hold of the wobbly newel post, aimed the flashlight at the top of the staircase. Clear and frightening images flitting in and out of her mind, she tried in vain to hold the light steady as she sneaked up the stairs.
Zigzagging the light along the hallway, Evelyn resisted the urge to look at the gloom closing in behind her. After a rushed search of the second floor, she found four near-empty bedrooms and one moldy bathroom.
She looked at the ceiling. Slowly putting one foot in front of the other, she made herself go toward the third floor stairway. Trembling, she paused near the bottom step to gather up her courage before proceeding. Accidentally swung her hand into the saclike web of a Louisiana jumping spider. She yelped before noticing that the thing didn’t get on her. The best eyesight of all spiders, she just knew it was watching her. Webs infested every corner, crack, and crevice.
She fixed her gaze on the wall where the right side of the staircase was attached.
“Another smudge of blood?”
Do I really need to see the attic?
“Yeah, I probably should.”
The family might’ve sought refuge from rising floodwaters. They might’ve cut a hole in the ceiling and climbed out onto the roof. They might need rescuing.
She recalled the bone-dry foyer.
Okay, they would’ve seen my headlights, if nothing else. And this storm isn’t a hurricane.
A long-drawn-out sigh.
She had to know. Had to know if someone else, like some big scary guy with a machete, had already staked out a claim on the property. And would he go so far as to murder her in her sleep in order to keep it?
If I had any sense I would just get the heck out of here. Go someplace safe, and spend the night in the car.
About to head up to the attic, she became aware of the wailing wind and the banging of loose shutters. The storm’s getting closer. Images of her being jammed in highway traffic, and either the car running low on gas or her needing to pee, disrupted her thoughts. She ought to—
A noise on the first floor.
Is there a cellar?
“A cellar dweller?”
She darted down the stairs, and out of the house. Lightning illuminated her car. Keeping her eyes on the spot where her dark blue 4-door blended with the night she raced across the yard to the road. Wet hands fumbled with the keys.
In too big of a hurry to get away she floored the gas pedal at the same time as she spun the wheel, first one way and then another, attempting to make a U-turn around mud-filled potholes. She slammed on the brake and shoved the gearshift in reverse. Nearly bald tires slid sideways over the slick surface, a rear tire spinning wildly in the mud and grass on the edge of the road. The engine stalled out. She jerked back reflexively over the sudden roar of raindrops and pea-size hail drumming on the roof.
Afraid of causing worse damage to her car, she switched off the lights. Locked the doors. Halfheartedly crawled in behind the driver’s seat.
Evelyn looked at the house through the rear passenger window. Wavering rivulets of rainwater cascading down the car windows put the sinister structure in motion, making it appear to come alive. She covered her eyes with her hand to stave off scary thoughts of monsters.
Stretching her legs across the seat with her head to the window, she apprehensively stared at the darkness beyond the windshield. Conjured up an image of the machete-wielding man jumping up and hollering peek-a-boo just before busting in and slicing off her head.
She surveyed the place at every angle.
The woods behind her back scared her more than the old house did. She’d seen enough horror movies to know not to go anywhere near the woods after dark. Or during a storm.
Sudden thoughts of some thing hiding in there watching her made her scalp tingle.
She scrunched down to the floorboard. Held the never-used black rubber floor mat over her head to hide herself from the creature in the woods.
Waited.
An hour later, when nothing out of the ordinary happened, she talked herself into believing stress and fatigue had caused her mind to play tricks on her.
She put down the floor mat and brought up the unopened pint of liquor hidden under the passenger seat. Unscrewed the cap, took a long drink of bourbon to help calm her nerves and to comfort herself.
Fell asleep shortly thereafter.
Morning arrived clear and blue. Leaves and small limbs dotted the landscape and her car. It never ceased to amaze her how differently everything appeared in the light of day. Inspecting the car for damage, she accidentally brushed up against the bumper and smeared mud on her jeans.
Well, crap.
She exhaled in a huff, angry over being reminded she only had the clothes on her back. The rear tire was in a deep rut. She eyed the area. There were no other houses in sight. No one around for miles to help her.
“As usual.”
Evelyn entered the house.
Really paranoid for the first couple of weeks, jumping out of her skin over every unusual sound, she believed the cops were going to bust down the door (any minute now!) and haul her skinny white ass off in shackles for trespassing on private property, and breaking and entering.
Who’d come to bail her out?
No one. That’s who.
Several months have passed. Her situation hasn’t improved much. Between buying food and gas, and weekends spent in movie theaters to ease the boredom of not having a television much less the electricity to run it, she lacked the necessary funds needed to make the trip to Maine and to find a place to live other than her sister’s house full of kids and cats.
She had grown accustomed to peace and quiet and solitude. Weighed down with sadness, she knew that was about to change. Her only safe haven was on the verge of being taken away from her. The man in the Saints ball cap had such a familiarity with the place she sensed he belonged there.