Dream Reads

Rose glanced out the dusty window of Claire’s Antiques and into the fading evening light. She saw a man waiting outside. He was in a light blue station wagon and had his hand outside the driver’s side window, impatiently drumming his fingers. Rose nervously looked around at the shop’s clock. Five minutes past closing. She looked at her watch. Two minutes past. Her one and only remaining customer of the day was lingering by the blue willow plate and lace doily display. Her customer was a small frumpy woman in a yellow windbreaker, flower house-coat and slippers. Her hair was a faded light brown and her eyes were sad. She seemed to be between forty and sixty years of age. Rose couldn't really tell. The woman was touching the blue willow plates and sighing wistfully.

Rose didn't want to appear impatient to her only customer of the day, but she was. Terribly. She shifted from foot to foot behind the massive solid oak counter Ms. Claire used to hold the ancient cash register Rose never used. She used the dime store calculator she kept in her purse for when she needed to ‘ring up’ those infrequent purchases.

Come on lady, she thought. I want to go home! The man outside wants to go home!

Rose concentrated on the lady either making a purchase and leaving or just leaving.

Just leave!

She wanted to close shop and head home before it got too dark. She heard rumors around town that the gang of thugs terrorizing nearby towns was next going to strike her town of Meadowbrooks. The gang, everyone started calling ‘The Pack’ seemed to be headed north, and Meadowbrooks was next in line if the group kept to the trajectory they were headed in. Their motive is unclear, but for the past week they had been vandalizing and scaring neighboring towns. There have also been a few thefts and one murder they may have been involved in.

The murder occurred two days ago in the aptly named tiny town of Smalley. An elderly woman was found bloodied and mutilated out on her front lawn. She had been gutted, and her intestines were left dangling over her neat white picket fence, and some over her azaleas. Her heart was missing. The police would have written it off as a wild animal attack if it weren’t for the carefully placed intestines decorating her fence and flowers. Also, The Pack had been in town that night. A few eyewitnesses said they had spotted a group of ‘tall, pale, dark-haired young men’ throwing rocks at area businesses, revving their motorcycles in the middle of the night down quiet neighborhoods and one eyewitness says she swore she saw one young man go off-road to chase a cat on his motorcycle. She was quoted as saying: ‘I just don’t know what is wrong with our young people these days. And her name given as ‘Concerned citizen.’ The local Gazette Glenwood Times left out the juicier details of the murder, but Rose got all those from her boss, Ms. Claire, who heard it all from her nephew. He heard it all from his lady friend who lived right next door to the Smalley murder victim. The paper simply described the homicide as a ‘grisly murder,’ and that those wanted for questioning were a group of young men between the ages of 18 and 35. These men were described as tall with dark hair and pale skin. The paper didn’t say ‘Caucasian’ men, just ‘pale’ which Rose thought of as kind of strange.

State police were supposed to be arriving tomorrow to investigate.

Rose glanced at her watch again. Three more minutes passed. She cleared her throat loudly. The browsing woman glanced at Rose, and Rose raised an eyebrow and looked at the shop’s clock. Closing time was ten minutes ago. The woman smiled shyly at Rose.

“I’m sorry dear, I’ll hurry. I’m just not in any rush, you know?” and she nodded her head at the window and at the man still strumming his fingers.

“Yeah, I see!” Rose smiled.

“It’s these blue willow plates. I love them so. They remind me of this story I read long ago of two little girls who became the best of friends and learn the legend of the plates design. So beautiful. The sad-looking woman sighed and touched the two doves in the center of the plate.

Doves. Love. Heart. Death. I need to go home! “Listen lady, I can tell you like that plate. Why not buy it?” Rose smiled encouragingly. “I’ll even give you 50% off!” Ms. Claire will kill you! Ms. Claire isn’t here! Rose argued with herself. Rose kept the smile planted on her face and widened her eyes. “Huh? Huh, huh?”

The lady laughed and shook her head. “Oh, I could never buy anything. My husband won’t let me.” Here, she set her mouth in a straight line, and squared her shoulders back. “No, money is too precious to spend on anything extra-unless it’s beer,” she added dryly. The woman looked as if she wanted to spit.

Rose’s throat had gone dry. “Listen,” she said as she walked behind the counter. “I’ll give you the plate. I really can’t bear you not having it. It has a chip; will probably fall apart at any moment. Ms. Claire won’t mind!” She’s going to kill you! “She believes antiques should only go to those who will really love and appreciate them.” Ha! What a joke!

“Really?” the woman looked uncertainly at Rose, then at her husband in the car, who now began honking in short uneven bursts. The woman’s eyes turned worried and she rubbed her cheek. “Okay.” She whispered. She took off her yellow jacket and wrapped the pristine, blue willow plate within the folds. She then darted out the shop door so quickly, the brass bell jangled and clanged against the glass so hard Rose feared the glass would break.

Why did I do that? No matter, let’s get going!

Rose hurriedly put on her pale lavender jacket, turned off all the lights, then set the alarm system. She thought the alarm system was a joke as there was only one constable in town and he could usually be found lake fishing fifteen miles out of their town. Ms. Claire was richer then God, Rose imagined. The old woman didn’t need the shop for money-but only kept it for something to do. and she didn’t do much, but tell Rose everything that Rose did was wrong. She also complained about her sciatica. She even asked Rose to rub Bengay into the bare flesh of her very lower back, which Rose politely declined.

Was Ms. Claire queer?!

Rose began whistling the beginning of Bowie’s ‘China Girl’ as she walked towards her nearly new purple Schwinn’s when she saw the tires had been slashed.. The whistling choked off when she gasped. They were ugly slashes too;Like claws had turned the rubber into spaghetti. “Fug!” Even highly upset, Rose couldn’t bring herself to do more than baby-cuss.

“Fuggin-Hell!” She kicked at one tire. No way was she riding home on those.

Was it that lady’s jerk husband? But he was in front, and she saw him almost the entire time. Rose kept her bike behind the shop. Her thoughts ran quickly. How much time before sunset? An hour? Thirty minutes? It was Autumn now; the days are shorter. She thought of calling Ms. Claire to ask for a ride. Rose didn’t have anyone at home to call but her fat cat Charlotte. The idea of Charlotte driving Rose anywhere made her briefly smile-which soon turned into a frown when she glanced down at her disabled bicycle again. She was pissed.

Call the constable? It’s late. I’ll do that tomorrow. Gotta walk home. It’s not safe! Fug it, I have to.

She sighed loudly and quickly began the descent down the rickety wooden stairs close by. The steps led into a long ditch that turns into a lake during the rainy season. The area had been in a drought for the last three years though, and the dry lake bed was now covered in thin sapling trees, brush, leaves and trash. It wouldn’t be too difficult to navigate through as Rose had explored it often, and it was the quickest route on foot to Rose’s small efficiency apartment. She mapped the route in her mind. She’d walk the ditch about ½ mile, then climb up the embankment up behind Mr.Stan’s Auto Shop, turn right, then left, and be home. Easy peasie Mac and cheesie. It shouldn’t take but 30 or 20 minutes if she huffed it. And she was definitely huffing it.

She thought of the jerk (jerks?) that slashed her tires. She thought of that sad woman’s husband. It was easy to take her anger out on him. He was a pudgy, bald man with a greasy head and sweat stains under his pits. He was in the shop about five minutes asking where the bathroom was. Rose still didn’t know how much damage he left in there. She jogged along hurriedly crunching leaves under foot and wrinkled her nose at the thought.

What if he went number two?! Ugh!

It was getting darker and darker and Rose still wasn’t out of the ditch. She paused briefly contemplating sprinting the rest of the way home, when she heard a dry cough to her near left and the unmistakable sound of a lighter, then a cigarette being lit. A drag, then the whoosh of smoke exhaling. Her senses were on high alert. She was still ready to sprint. Her legs were itching.

Oh great, a bum, she thought. She didn’t know why the thought crossed her mind. Meadowbrooks didn’t have many bums that she knew of. The population count was only 215 last anyone cared to check.

“Hey,” a gruff voice called out to her. A cough, then throat clearing. Then, a softer, more musical “Hey!” A man stepped out from behind some brush. A young man, she noticed. And he was tall, maybe a foot taller than her five-foot four inch frame. He was very pale and thin, and looked like he could just about float away.

Rose lingered, but not sure why. It might have been because his skin glowed like nothing she had ever seen before, and there was something weird about his eyes. She wanted to get closer to see, but she dare not move. In the fading light she could tell he was quite handsome. The way he moved and tilted his head, and flick his cigarette reminded her of that old Hollywood actor James Dean. She thought then-actor. Acting. She was instantly suspicious and guarded. “Yeah?”

He moved a little closer. He didn’t seem to make a sound she realized. “It’s not safe out. Don’t you know?”

“Huh? Yeah, well I’m getting home now.” She edged further away. How is it he doesn’t make a sound when he walks, she wondered.

He looked up at her then, and she saw the greenest, saddest looking eyes she had ever seen. They also seemed to catch all the light around them for they glowed as well. He looked tormented.

“It’s not safe,” He stressed.

It was total nightfall now, and but for a weak, orange half-moon and a few sparse stars-all was darkness. How does he glow? Rose looked at her own hands, and could only see them faintly-but this man, Mr. Green Eyes shone so clear to her, like one of the glowworm toys she had as a kid.

“I know,” She said again. “I’ll be okay. I don’t live that far away.”

Suddenly, the man drew near. He didn’t move, he flowed; like an animal or snake. Like the wind. She breathed out shakily.

“Listen..” he began, but he froze when there was a crack behind him. A stick or leaf crunched behind them. He waved one hand madly behind him, and with the other he grabbed Rose close to him and proceeded to march her down the ditch.

“Hey!” She whispered fiercely behind clenched teeth. She felt the need to be quiet.

He was silent, but he mouthed a silent: "Follow me.”

Since he was taking her where she was going anyway, she decided not to struggle-yet. They seemed to be making record time or maybe it was only the darkness speeding time along, because she soon found herself being led up another set of rickety wooden steps. These behind Stan the Man’s Auto Shop, and before she knew it, she saw her small apartment up ahead. The cozy light from the kitchen window, she kept on for Charlotte was glowing warmly, invitingly. She sighed in relief. Rose could see Charlotte sitting at the windowsill waiting for her to come home, and her heart ached. She turned to Mr. Green Eyes-but he had already moved away from her. He stood in the shadows across the street from her, and strangely enough he wasn’t glowing anymore. She could barely see him now. She also noticed how cold she was. That man had been as warm as a furnace.

She dimly recalled how he had felt next to her. He had felt feverish. She touched her right side and felt the warmth of his touch fade away. Rose looked at Charlotte and could see the cat’s mouth open in silent meows. Rose was not close enough to hear yet. She turned back to the man as she felt the need to thank him-for something, but he was gone.

As she unlocked her door, she heard growling then barking in the distance. What sounded like a fierce dog fight beginning. She shivered and closed the door against the strange night.

The next morning, Rose found herself with a free day and possibly no job in her future as a mangled body was found outside Claire’s Antique Shop. Intestines were draped over her disabled bike and Ms. Claire’s heart was missing.

After Rose had finished talking to Constable Henry, a few local deputies, and the state police who finally arrived, she let herself in the shop to tidy up a bit, and calm her nerves. When Rose went to clean the bathroom, she thanked God Ms. Claire wasn’t alive to see it. Mr. Sweaty Bald Jerk Husband did go number two, and it wasn’t pretty.