The Stradivarius by Rae Knowles

Author:Rae Knowles [Knowles, Rae]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror, Mystery
Amazon: B0BX1YHP5K
Goodreads: 123273354
Published: 2023-05-02T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Ollie’s bike popped and jerked over the rocky trail, rattling their headphones around their ears. It came into view over the top of a hill, and Ollie had to stand and pump the pedals to work the bicycle up the incline. Ahead, a small house tucked into dense overgrowth appeared bit by bit. A rusted-out corvette rotted in the yard atop cement blocks, and a German Shepard pulled at its chain, snarling, spitting foam as it watched Ollie bump into the driveway. They’d heard plenty about Charles Barlow, the old groundskeeper. Rumors circled in town that he was a recluse. Kids dared one another to run up and touch the old corvette in the yard, but rarely was one brave enough to make the sprint.

As Ollie swung their leg over the side of the bike, a grasshopper landed on their calf. Startled, they hopped from one foot to the other, dropping the bike, which bounced off a nearby rock with a clang.

Dammit.

They shook their leg and righted the bike, letting it rest on its kickstand, then hesitated in the driveway.

Just rumors, they assured themself. He’s probably a nice guy.

Cracked ceramic pots littered the porch, some host to yellowed vines. A rocking chair creaked in the wind; its red cushion stained with mold. The air was still as Ollie moved up the weedy drive, as if prepared to bare witness. But to what? They tapped the door with their fist, a tiny rap over the dog’s throaty barking.

The door’s orange paint flaked off in chunks. Ollie noticed the shell of an old doorbell, a stray wire escaping from the top. They raised their hand to press it when the door whipped open. Their body clenched. Charles stood inside a tattered screen, towered over them, wearing faded overalls and a plaid button down. His long, unkempt beard matched his wiry gray hair, his tongue pressed the inside of chapped lips, pulled tightly over his closed mouth.

“Can I help you?”

His heavy accent was like all the older folks’ in town. The ones who watched Ollie from inside shops as they passed the windows, from safe distances as they turned their grandchildren away. Like the Preachers, who never said it outright, but whose Sunday morning glares sent Ollie back home to pray from the relative safety of their loft apartment.

“You’re Charles, right? The old groundskeeper for the Victorian on Alquist?”

Charles scrunched his mouth. His eyes narrowed.

“Not sayin’ you’re old. Just that, you’re not the groundskeeper anymore.” Ollie heard their accent mimicking his and winced. The German Shepard’s barks became hoarse.

“Shad’dup, Lady!” Charles yelled in its direction.

Lady whined, circled, and laid down on a nearby blanket.

“I worked the property, that’s right. And what of it?”

Ollie shifted their weight from foot to foot. “I was hopin’ you remembered the break-in,” they said, embarrassed about the twang and praying he would think they always spoke this way. “The one after—well, after Mr. Pruitt was gone.”

He looked at Ollie from shoes to headphones. His wrinkled nose suggested he was trying to decide what to make of them, and he remained silent.

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