The New Neighbor

'Hear what?' Dana asked, wrinkling his nose against the cold.

'I thought I heard my mom scream.'

Dana cackled. 'You watched that Nightmare on Elm Street movie on TV last night, didn't you?'

“No, really, I thought I heard my mom scream.'

'Well I didn't hear it.'

Tara shook her head. 'Neither did I. Maybe it was a cat.'

Jen listened hard, screwing her face up and turning an ear toward her house, but heard nothing.

'Better get home, Jen,' Dana said. 'Maybe Freddy got her!' He clawed one hand, stretched his eyes open wide and crossed them in that ugly way he knew frightened her.

'Stop it,' Tara snapped, but Jen had already swept up her books and trotted away, turning and walking backward long enough to shout, 'Sometimes you're a real shit, you know that, Dana?' and then hurried home.

Her mom's car was parked outside the garage and the door was unlocked, so Jen knew she was home. She walked in slowly, closed the door and called for her mom, but got no response.

The living room was empty; so was the kitchen. Her mom's car keys were on the counter where she always put them when she got home from work. As Monroe crept through the kitchen, looking suspiciously from right to left, Jen called out again, but heard only silence.

Troubled she went to her room and dropped her books on the bed.

Something moved. Somewhere.

She listened at her bedroom doorway.

It came from the next room. Robby's room.

He’s never home this early, she thought.

Standing in the hall outside Robby's closed bedroom door, she muttered, 'Mom?'

More faint sounds of movement.

'Mom?' she called, a little louder. Then, in a voice filled with the panic that had clogged her throat, she shouted, 'Muh-therrr?'

An angry voice… the squeak of bedsprings.

Jen pressed her back against the hallway wall and held her breath.

'What?' Robby barked as he opened the door.

She stared at him as she emptied her lungs, relieved, and snapped, 'What're you doing home?'

'I was sick.'

'You look sick.'

He was pale and slump-shouldered and his ribs seemed to stick out a little more than usual.

'Where's Mom?' she asked.

'I don't know. She wasn't here when I got home.'

'Well, I thought I heard her scream.'

'What? You're high.'

'I am not! I heard her! At least… it sounded like her.'

'Well, she's probably down at the Cranes'. Now shut up.' He slammed the door and Jen heard his bedsprings squeak as he went back to bed.

Still not rid of her fear, she went to the telephone in the kitchen and called the Cranes, but her mom was not there. Neither was she at the LaBianco's house.

Jen flicked on the television in the living room and tried to preoccupy herself with it, but she couldn't. Maybe she hadn't heard her mom scream, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, something was different about today.

She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the television and chewed her fingernails until the front door opened. She heard her mom's familiar sigh and dashed out to meet her.

Jen caught up with her in the kitchen and started to ask where she'd been, but only stared at her as she poured a glass of orange juice.

Mom did not look well. Her pretty blond hair was a sad mess and her face looked long and weary, almost as pale as Robby's.

'Mommy?' Jen asked, surprising herself, because she usually didn't call her that. She thought “Mommy” sounded childish.

“What, honey?' She didn't look at Jen, just rinsed her glass in the sink and put the carton of orange juice back in the refrigerator.

'Where you been?'

'Huh? Oh, just… I was visiting with Miss Dupree. Our new neighbor. She invited me over to look at her jewelry. She's an artist.”

Frowning, Jen said, 'I… I thought I… well, when I got off the bus, I thought I heard you scream. Dana laughed at me, but I, uh… I thought I heard you scream.'

Mom’s head snapped around toward Jen and, just for a second, she looked as if she were about to become angry. Then she blinked, smiled falteringly, and said, 'Oh, I'm fine, honey. Really. It was nothing. Maybe a cat.'

'That's what Tara said.'

'Well, that's probably what it was.' She went to Jen and gave her a hug.

Jen felt her mom's hands tremble as they pressed to her back and her breath seemed to be coming faster than usual, rumbling in Jen's ear.

'I'm fine.' Karen said. 'Really.'

'You… look sick.'

Her smile crumbled. 'I do?'

'Uh-huh. Like Robby. He came home from school early.'

'I knew he shouldn't have gone,' she muttered distractedly, touching her face. 'Probably the flu. It's going around. You'd better take some vitamin C, honey. Go watch TV, okay? I'm gonna… take a hot bath.'

Jen watched her mom walk slowly from the kitchen and disappear down the hall, shaking her head as if mumbling to herself. The bathroom door closed and locked and water began running in the bathtub. Back in the living room, Jen plopped in front of the television again, but she paid little attention to

Something’s different, she thought, chewing another fingernail – chewing it all the way into the pink bloody quick. Something's wrong.

Chapter 6

A Stranger

George was exhausted when he drove the car into the garage that evening. The radio station had recently undergone a change of ownership and, although he was immensely relieved to still have his job, he had the unpleasant task of firing some of the talent at the request of his new boss. He'd informed three disc jockeys of their termination that afternoon, as well as the sales manager, and it hadn't been easy. They were the best group he'd ever worked with, not a single rotten apple in the whole barrel, and he hated to see them split up. He felt worn and achy and wanted nothing more than to sit down in front of the television with a beer – maybe a screwdriver, or even a straight scotch – and get a little numb.

He knew something was different the moment he walked into the laundry room and couldn't hear a sound in the house. Even the washer and dryer were silent, and they were usually thumping with a load each evening. Dirty laundry was one of Karen's pet peeves and she washed something almost every day after work. And even if something wasn't in the wash, someone was usually knocking around in the kitchen or talking on the telephone or watching the television with the volume at full blast.

Tonight there was only silence.