The Haunted

in bed next to Claire and, though he expected to remain awake for at least another hour, promptly fell asleep.

In the morning, he woke late, although it was a summer Saturday and so didn’t much matter. Claire was already up, her side of the bed cold, and the aroma of toasted blueberry bagel permeated the house. Julian pushed off the covers, put on his bathrobe and headed out to the kitchen, where he was greeted by empty plates in an empty breakfast nook. Through the windows, he could see Claire, still in her robe and slippers, checking out her herb garden. The kids, he assumed, were in their bedrooms getting dressed or in the family room watching TV.

The package of precut bagels was still open on the counter, and he pulled two apart and popped them into the toaster oven, pouring himself some orange juice from a carton he took out of the refrigerator. As he waited for the bagels, he glanced over at the Nature Conservancy calendar Claire had tacked up on the wall next to the door. Beneath the July photo of a mother and baby coyote was a red X marking the date on which they’d moved into the house. It had been more than three weeks already, and he realized that they had yet to meet a single one of their neighbors. There’d been no welcome wagon when they’d arrived, no one had come over to say hello, and though Claire had made an effort to stop by the houses on both sides that first week, no one had been home. Things had been so hectic ever since, what with the unpacking and settling in, that they’d kind of forgotten about introducing themselves to the neighbors.

Julian thought about the Willet boy and his skate-punk friends in their old neighborhood and decided that they really should try to get off on the right foot here. Today was as good a day as any, since they had no plans and would all be home. The toaster rang; he took out his bagels, buttered them, put them on a plate and walked barefoot into the backyard to discuss his thoughts with Claire. She, too, thought it would be a good idea to meet the neighbors, and they decided to visit the houses to either side of them around ten o’clock. It was a civilized hour, not too early, not too late.

Before taking a shower, Julian told both kids the plan, warning them not to go anywhere, and though they each moaned and complained in their own unique ways, there was no real resistance, and he could tell that they were curious about the neighbors as well. There didn’t seem to be any kids on the street—a good thing, as far as he was concerned—but these days who could tell? The surrounding houses might be filled with boys and girls who spent their days bent over their DSs or playing with their Wiis or Xboxes, never seeing sunlight. In a way, he hoped that was the case. Especially for James’s sake. It would be nice for the boy to have a friend next door.

Shortly after ten, all four of them walked over to the house on the north side of theirs, a single-story structure with an unimaginative but well-maintained lawn and an impressive picture window in the front. There was no vehicle in the driveway, but that didn’t mean the neighbors weren’t home. Maybe they parked their car in the garage. Or maybe the husband or the wife had gone to the store, and the remaining spouse was still at home. Or maybe they had a teenage son or daughter who had borrowed the family car to go somewhere with his or her friends.

Thinking over the possibilities, Julian was struck not just by how little he knew about their neighbors but by how pathetically unobservant he was. They could be living next to a ninety-year-old widow, or a twenty-five-year- old bachelor, or a gay couple or an extended family of Chinese immigrants, and he wouldn’t know—even though he worked at home and was there almost all the time. It was embarrassing, really, and he vowed in the future to be a little more aware and try to pay attention to his surroundings.

He let James ring the doorbell, and as they waited for someone to answer, Julian tried to peek through the picture window. The drapes were open, but it was dark inside the house and hard to see. He could make out a pale couch and a generic-looking lamp atop an unseen table.

“I don’t think anyone’s home,” Claire said.

Megan turned away. “Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute.” Julian knocked on the door—loudly, in case the bell didn’t work and the residents were in the back of the house—then knocked again, but after several moments it became obvious that Claire was right. There was no one home.

“Other neighbors,” Julian announced, and led the way back up the footpath to the sidewalk. The house on the other side of theirs did have a car in the driveway, he saw as they approached. A silver Toyota sedan that told him virtually nothing about the owners. He looked over the house. It was two stories and similar in style to theirs, the only other home on this eclectic block that appeared to have been built by the same contractor.

Claire and the kids followed Julian as he strode up to the front door. Before he could even knock or ring the bell, the door was opened by a smiling bearded man his age or a little younger who was standing slightly in front of a short, chubby woman who was obviously his wife. The two must have seen them coming up the walk.

“Hello,” the man said, extending a hand. “Nice to finally meet you. I’m Bob Ribiero and this is my wife, Elise. I know you moved in next door, and we’ve seen you around, but we didn’t want to bother you, wanted to give you a chance to settle in first.”

Julian was slightly thrown off by the man’s earnestness, but he shook the proffered hand. “I’m Julian Perry. This is my wife, Claire, my daughter, Megan, and my son, James.”

Bob remained where he was, and though he smiled and said hello to each member of the family, repeating their names as he did so, he made no effort to invite them in. His wife moved forward next to him, said hello as well, but it seemed to Julian that she had stepped up not to meet them but to block the doorway. Maybe it was nothing; maybe the house was just messy and they didn’t want visitors to see, but Julian felt awkward, and it was a struggle to keep a conversation going. He told them that he was a Web designer and Claire was a lawyer, found out that Bob ran a nonemergency medical transport service (“Basically, I drive old people to and from the doctor”) and that Elise did not work but volunteered a lot at their church. He also learned that the Ribieros had lived here for the past ten years, ever since they’d moved to Jardine from Alamogordo.

Megan and James were getting fidgety, and Julian used them as an excuse to leave. Everyone said good-bye, promising that they’d get together soon, and Julian and Claire headed back home, the kids running ahead, grateful to be free.

“They seem nice,” Claire said finally.

Julian nodded. They did seem nice.

But …

But blocking the doorway was strange. And there was a reserve about everything Bob and Elise had said. It was almost as if they were hiding something, and he couldn’t help wondering what that something might be.

Julian sat in his office, shades pulled against the setting sun, although orange light continued to seep between the cracks, striping the furniture and the opposite wall of the room with cinematically noirish bars. He was supposed to be working on a new project for an upscale retailer in Santa Fe, but for the past twenty minutes he’d been staring at the screen saver on his computer—twisting, multicolored, geometric designs—and zoning out. He sometimes got good ideas when allowing his mind to wander or go blank, but not today, and as the angle of the sun shifted, causing one of the orange light bars to cut across his field of vision, he thought that he might as well just call it a day. Claire’s parents were coming over tonight, along with her sister’s family, and he should probably head downstairs anyway.

He was dreading the visit. It was a social obligation, one of those things they had to do, although as far as he was concerned, Claire’s parents had already come over and taken a tour of the house, as had Diane and her family, and that was good enough. Claire, however, had insisted on inviting everyone for dinner, and he was going to have to put on his best face and make nice.

That was easier said than done. Her mom was all right, but her dad was an angry, hostile man who never had a good word to say about anyone, especially Julian (although, to his credit, he did seem to genuinely like his grandchildren). And Diane’s husband, Rob, was a redneck jerk. Julian liked Diane, but he had never been able to figure out how she’d ended up with such a loser.

Maybe he should stay up here until they left, pretend that he had a lot of work to do and a rapidly approaching deadline to meet. Moving the mouse, he disrupted his screen saver to display a very sketchy prototype of a Web site.

Moments later, James came in quietly—as usual— entering the office as unobtrusively as possible. Neither Julian nor Claire had ever been the sort of parents to make their children knock before entering a room. Such a thing seemed too formal and distancing. But, on his own, James had developed the habit of coming into the office silently,