Nightmares and Dark Echoes
Ron Lewis
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Nightmares and Dark Echoes
Ron Lewis
© Copyright 2021/22/24 by Ron Lewis
This is a work of fiction and not intended to be historically accurate but merely a representation of the times. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental and unintentional. Historical characters used are strictly for dramatic purposes. This story contains some violence.
Table of Contents
Kill thy Neighbor
A Song, Sweet and Seductive
From the Darkness
Kill thy Neighbor
I watched all day as the movers unloaded the truck. One box, one chair, a bed frame here, a couch there, and so on it goes, moving the new guy in one whatnot at a time. Big burly men moved the new neighbor’s - junk - into his new house. All those little items serve to populate the private domain of a man or woman. The slow gathering of things into our lives. Those things which take up so much space in our homes, our existence.
He had lots of those small things, which give us great pleasure compared to the big belongings that provide us with none. I had many of those small possessions, trinkets from this outing or that. I often sit and look at my collection. Does he have such a collection as well?
I have a knack for smelling out rot. I’d had to meet him before I knew, but I got the impression he had lots of rottenness. No single person has that many boxes of small, seemingly insignificant items that don’t have a dark nastiness rooted inside them.
Late in the afternoon, the new fellow himself arrived—a tall, thin man with a broad smile, who dressed well, too well. Never trust thin people. They’re always hungry, always looking to increase, never satisfied. Never trust a fellow who smiles too much. Broad smiles hide evil intents. And watch out for those that dress in the finest of clothing. They project a front to hide something. I can’t say what they conceal. I find it’s usually a thing that’s dark, wicked, and evil. You see, I know wicked. Evil and I go way back; we’re bosom buddies.
I considered going next door and introducing myself. I wanted to size him up, figure out what he was up to, and what his game was. You know, everyone has a game, an angle. They’re all looking to get one over on you. This fellow would be no different. I’d bide my time with this one, no need to rush over, hand outstretched, welcoming him into the midst of the community.
Watching the neighborhood, I saw the Hills go welcome him. The Landis woman trotted over later, apple pie in hand. She stayed there for a good hour. I wondered if they got to know one another quite well, intimately even. Rumor had it, Carol Landis was a member, in poor standing, of Sex Addicts Anonymous. When she left, Carol had a smile, the one she had every time she went home after spending time here with me. Yeah, she gave him the good old open arms and legs welcome.
John Haskins made his way after Carol left. Trustworthy ole John, the out-of-work actor, hoping our new addition was someone who might help him. He must have been given the bums rush. He wasn’t there ten minutes. He marched back to his place with a fast pace and a long scowl on his face. He was an offensive fellow. His existence offended me like weeds in the yard. But one must be cautious about weeding too much at any one time. For now, I had my eye on the new fellow.
My good neighbor Haskins wasn’t going anywhere. I’d let ole John find his way back to the top. When he’s a tall poppy again, I can hack that flower down. Yeah, that’s the ticket for the thespian.
I wouldn’t bother the new neighbor, not me. See, I’d bide my time. I had better things to do than say, hey, Joe, how you doing? What’s your business? Where are you from? How many times you been married? Are you gay? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I’m not, but maybe you are, just saying.
Yes, I can still remember when I first moved here. All these insipid people, their boring lives, and dull jobs parading through my new home and asking all their dumb questions, prying into my life. What business of theirs is any of it anyway?
Nonetheless, I played their game, I said much without telling them anything. No one trusts a tight-lipped man, but they’ll let a gregarious talker get close to them. They’ll think there is nothing hidden by a feller that talks much about anything and everything.
Oh, then there’s the favor’s that being complementary to the vain can get you. I remember little of anything from that first encounter was Carol. Anything other than her willingness to part her shapely legs as wide as her arms. She comes over often. Looks like I won’t be the only person in the neighborhood she’s visiting from this point forward.
The itch was back, that deep, gnawing yearning. I’d have to plan an outing soon. Wouldn’t mind scratching that itch with Carol. But the neighbor, yeah, the new guy may be getting his itch managed by Carol’s apt, um, hands. He’d be horning in on that action.
I busied myself with my little trinkets, my souvenirs. Late in the afternoon, not long before sunset, a knock came at my door. I turned my attention from my gems to the sound. There it was again, a tad harder, that thud of bare knuckles on wood.
“Yeah, who is it?”
“Jason Farley, your new neighbor,” a disembodied voice said.
“Oh, my new neighbor,” I sprang to my feet and marched to my door. Damn impertinent of him to come here. Tradition demands I welcome him, not the other way around, doesn’t he know that? Pulling the door open, I plastered a fake, affable smile on my face.
“Hello, their Mr. Farley,” I said, holding my hand to him. “I’m John, John White.”
“Just call me Jason,” he said. We shook hands, and I invited him into my house. We walked into the living area, and he looked at my collection on the table. A smile came over his face.
“You’re a collector as well,” he said, admiring the luster of one of the diamonds.