Autumn Harvest by Mark Kasniak

Author:Mark Kasniak [Kasniak, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

He’s not going to get away with it!

My neighbor doesn’t know that I spy on him. At least I think he doesn’t know. How could he? He never leaves that building of his located behind my house. It’s more of a dwelling, really. Hell, it’s more of a shack is what it truly is, all dilapidated, walls corrupted with rot, weeds choking the surrounding area. Still, he’s up to something in there.

I first got my suspicions about a year ago when I began hearing noises. The rest of the neighbors on the street said that they hadn’t heard anything when I’d asked them, but they soon came around.

The man I’m talking about, the neighbor that I watch, I’m worried about him. He’s not normal. He isn’t like the rest of us on the street. He just stays in that small, run-down cave of his working on something while the roof and walls of the place decay and fall down around him.

You’d think he’d fix up the place, but no, that’d be too much effort, he can’t even manage to squeeze out a “Hello,” the few times I’d seen him. Not even so much as a head nod. He just keeps his head down as he goes, careful to keep himself cloaked in a hood and wrapped up in that ragged, old overcoat of his.

He’s got tools in there, large ones that are mostly rusted up. I saw them through a filthy window one time when after I had crept over there to check out the place. They hang all over the walls like a dungeon or a sadistic torture chamber.

Papers can also be seen scattered everywhere that I’m sure are probably filled with his crazy ramblings, and old bags of dog food sit abandoned for a pet I had never seen.

That’s probably what he does with those tools he has, the sick bastard. I’d bet he likes to string up cats and dogs and skin them alive. I bet that’s where those strange noises I hear emanating come from.

He better stay away from my dog, Ernie. I’ll cut both of his goddamn hands off if he so much as touches him. And, don’t even get me started on what I’ll do to him if he ever touches my little girl—my princess—Riley or her mother for that matter. I’ll use those tools of his to rip him apart piece by piece.

There are other things I saw in there too, though. Boxes filled with God-knows-what stacked to the ceiling against one of the walls. Some of those boxes beginning to buckle and succumb to the weight of the ones stacked above. All of them covered in an ancient layer of grime and filth accumulated over years of neglect.

There’s even a cot over in the far corner. The damn thing isn’t even fit for a Mexican Jail. Covered in stains of every bodily fluid imaginable, and no doubted infested with bugs, its gnarled corners looking like they’ve been chewed on by rats.

I had called the cops on him once—okay, twice… maybe a few times.

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