The Neighbor (Short Story) (Kindle Single) by Dean Koontz

Author:Dean Koontz [Koontz, Dean]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Literary, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers, Suspense, Romance, Fantasy, Fiction, Literary Fiction
ISBN: 9780804180672
Amazon: B00KAFX90I
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2014-06-03T05:00:00+00:00

5

That evening, after we washed and dried the dinner dishes, but before the old man could tell me to take it to the garage, I went out there with my saxophone, while Amalia sat at the kitchen table, being smoked at by our mother and made to appreciate the reasons for the dreadful inadequacy of the mashed potatoes that she had served with the roast chicken, even though both our parents had taken second helpings.

I didn’t start playing right away, but listened to some cool big-band stuff. We had a cheap stereo in a corner of the garage and some records, including a number of vinyl platters from the 1930s that we’d found for next to nothing in a used-record store. I was in the mood for the band called Andy Kirk and His Clouds of Joy. Several times during the ’30s and early 1940s, they almost got famous, but never quite. Now, some thirty years later, I was a fan of their tenor saxist, Dick Wilson, and of Ted Donnelly, one of the best swing-band trombonists ever, though it was Mary Lou Williams on piano that fully captivated me. I sat on a crate and let “Froggy Bottom” wash over me twice and then “Walkin’ and Swingin’ ” before Amalia arrived.

We listened to “Roll ’Em,” which Mary Lou Williams had written, as good as big-band boogie-woogie gets, and when it was over, my always-energetic sister wasn’t jumping or finger-popping or in any way stoked by the music. She hadn’t brought her clarinet. We weren’t going to play together.

I said, “What’s wrong?”

She stepped to the single small window, which faced toward our deceased neighbor’s house, and the distilled sunlight of that early June evening gilded her lovely face. “There was this time I was in the backyard, standing at the picnic table, working on an art project for school. I was really into it, and after a while I looked up and saw Clockenwall just the other side of the fence, staring at me. He was very … intense. I said hi, and he didn’t respond, and he had this look, it almost seemed like hatred, but it wasn’t just that. The day was warm, I was wearing shorts and a tank top, and suddenly I felt as if … as if I was naked. He wasn’t anything like he’d always been before. He wasn’t Teacher of the Year, that’s for sure. He licked his lips. I mean, he made this huge production of licking them, staring at me so bold, I can’t even describe how bold, with this need. Maybe there was hatred on his face, hatred and rage, but not entirely that, if you know what I mean.”

I knew what she meant, all right. “What did you do?”

“I picked up my art supplies and took them inside.”

“You didn’t tell anyone?”

“I was too embarrassed to talk about it. Anyway, who was I going to tell? Dad was at work. When he comes home, he doesn’t want anyone to get between him and that first beer.

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