Chapter 4
J ericho
I wake up to a loud shrieking sound. Prying my eyes open, I find the room barely lit from the light outside. I was battling with my crazy neighbor at midnight, and when I came back home, I couldn’t sleep for a long time. Not when the memories I’d rather forget were brought up.
I try going back to sleep for another hour of shut-eye, but the sound continues, stronger than before.
What the fuck?
Padding toward the window, trying to rub my eyes of sleep, I peek outside. No one is there. The sound repeats. I go around the house checking all the windows but find no intruders this time.
The sound keeps coming. The more awake my brain is, the more the sound resembles that of a rooster. A psychotic rooster who forgot how to cock-a-doodle-doo, because whatever sound is coming out of his beak is not it.
When I make another round about the windows on the second floor of my house, I find the source of the disruption.
It is in fact a rooster who’s standing in the middle of my neighbor’s backyard and yelling from his very mighty throat.
What stuns me is that I can see the motherfucker clearly with no peach trees supposedly obstructing the view.
Meaning the moonlight would have hit her just fine if she’d been on her own territory.
Great. I just bought a house next to a looney, and I can’t keep calling the cops if she continues her craziness. Eventually, they’ll be curious about me and run a check. This crazy rooster is the last thing I need when all I’m looking for is peace and quiet.
The bird keeps yelling from the top of his lungs without stopping. I check the time—it’s four forty. Why is it yelling before the sun is even up?
Giving up on the idea of sleep in this condition, I take a shower and head downstairs.
Running on nearly three hours of sleep is not ideal, but not a novelty to me.
Chugging coffee will help, so I make myself an extra strong pot of dark roast, pour it into a big mug I unpacked yesterday, and go through the front door.
The porch swing still might have life left in it, and that’s all I need this morning to barrel through.
Pushing the door open and yawning, I don’t expect to see anyone on my front porch at five in the morning. So I let out “Fucking hell” while stepping back with a cup of scorching hot coffee. Some of it spills on my front, burning the skin.
“Fuck me!” I grab the shirt and pull it away from my body.
“I would. If you asked me twenty years ago,” comes a scratchy giggle.
Shifting my attention from my singed skin to the unexpected visitor, I’m met with crystal blue, watery eyes.
A woman with long, completely white hair falling over her shoulders, wearing a white nightgown and a fuzzy blanket wrapped around her shoulders, is sitting on my porch swing.
She looks almost eternal and so peaceful.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” I remember all the lessons my mother taught me. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”
“Clearly,” she giggles. “Why?”
“What why?”
“Why didn’t you expect me to be here?”
I open my mouth and then close it, not able to find an answer that won’t offend her. Because that one is pretty obvious if you ask me.
“What are you doing here, ma’am?”
She sighs, fixing her skirt around her knees. “Well, that depends on whom you ask, I guess.” Her voice turns dreamy. “Ask a bird, she’s here to fly. Ask a cat, she’s here to cause mischief. Ask?—”
“I’m asking you.” My temples start pounding, and I put some pressure on the painful point with my thumb. “Why are you here, on my porch, in the morning?” I decide to clarify because I have no idea if she has dementia or if she’s just fucking with me.
“Oh, that.” Her eyes dull—it was clearly the wrong question to ask. She probably was looking for some deep conversation, but it’s too early and I’m too fucked up for that. “I’m here almost every morning.”
“Charming.” I glance at the sky, silently asking why this is happening to me. First my backyard is occupied by a witch, now the front is taken by this fluffy ghost-squatter.
“I think so too. Now,” she moves to the side and pats the space next to her. “Come sit here.”
Eyeing the half-rotten swing, I remain by the door.
“Oh, c’mon, don’t be a pussy,” she says with a raspy chuckle. “It won’t fall. And if it does, I’ll fall on top of you. Fun times, yes?”
Still stunned from this sweet old lady saying the word ‘pussy,’ I move toward the swing automatically .
“C’mon, big fella.” She keeps patting the seat. “I’m not getting any younger.”
I go to carefully plant my ass on the other side of the swing, and it lets out a loud squeak, making me nearly jump. When I’m finally down, not able to breathe for fear of breaking the whole construction because it would cause the old lady’s fall, I carefully lean back.
“What’s your name?” I ask because she’s clearly not going anywhere.
Her brows draw together in concentration as her eyes turn sadder. “I—” She swallows. “I think… Something with the moon.”
Shit, so she does have dementia.
“I’ll call you Moon then. It’s a very beautiful name.”
“All right.” Her face brightens. “Moon. And you are?”
“Jericho, ma’am,” I reply with a short nod.
“Jericho.” She tries out the word. “A very interesting name.” Then she smacks her open palms on her thighs with extra force I didn’t expect from such a fragile creature. I get so scared that I nearly grab her arms to check for damage. “So, Steve, how did you end up in this house?”
“I’m no—” Shaking my head, I stop myself in time. “I bought this house. Just yesterday in fact, and toda?—”
“Granny!” comes an already familiar voice, running toward us in a nightgown very similar to the granny’s. “What are you doing there?”
Great. The sweet old lady is the witch’s grandmother. Should have figured that out.
“It was stuffy in the house, and I needed some fresh air.”
“All the windows were open,” the witch says, running up the steps and trying to catch her breath. “And you know that because you opened them yourself yesterday, nearly freezing me to death.” Her voice is accusing, tone harsh.
“You’ll thank me later, dear. Open windows are like a fridge for your youth. ”
“Grandma,” the witch quite literally growls, not appreciating the shared wisdom.
The need to defend a defenseless old lady is strong, so I rise from the swing and stand between Moon and the witch.
“She might not remember that,” I start in a warning tone. “She clearly has some memory issues,” I add quieter, hoping it will calm her down because the last thing the old lady needs is her aggravated, ungrateful granddaughter going ballistic on her for not remembering about open windows.
But my words have the opposite effect. The witch’s eyes narrow while her little nostrils flare, making her look like a bull ready to attack. A small, ginger bull. She pushes her finger into my chest, digging it deep into my flesh.
“Don’t tell me how I need to talk to my grandma,” she hisses warningly.
“You need to learn some respect and boundaries,” I hiss back, leaning forward.
It should scare her, though it isn’t my intention.
I’m much larger than her, plus my past gives me a certain aura that people tend to avoid.
I try not to intimidate people on purpose, but sometimes it comes involuntarily.
Not her though. She rises on her tippytoes to get closer to my face while her finger presses even harder. I wish I could say I barely feel it, but her nail digs pretty deep right at the spot where the hot coffee landed, making the moment memorable for sure for the next few hours.
“I recommend you learn some boundaries too about not involving your unknowing ass into things you don’t know.”
“Language, Nora!” A shaky voice reminds us about her presence.
“Sorry, Granny,” the witch shoots back without taking her eyes off me. “Don’t talk to my grandmother.”
“ She came to me!” I cry out in disbelief. “What was I supposed to do? Kick her out?”
“You didn’t have any problems kicking me out when I wasn’t bothering anyone. ”
“She has deme—” I nearly say something I can’t take back while pointing at Moon. The witch’s narrowed eyes and pursed lips tell me that I might lose an ear if I finish that sentence. “You know what,” I start, throwing my hands in the air in a surrendering gesture. “Never mind. Just go.”
I grab my coffee and nod to the old lady, who gives a jolly “Goodbye, Steve” to me as I head back into the house. I’m being forced to hide in my own house one day after I purchased it. I’m going to kill Jonah.
Picking up my phone, I shoot him a message.
You set me up, Jonah.
His reply is instant.
***
My neighbors are crazy.
The Moons?
I’d forgotten he’d said their last name was Moon. I rub my face with my hand because I’m losing my grip on reality.
Yes, them.
What are you talking about? They are ADORABLE !
Deciding I won’t be getting anything out of this conversation because he’s clearly on their side, and all of this is just a big plot, I drop the phone on the table and go to pour myself another cup of coffee.
I’ve got some things to do before my first guest arrives, so I don’t have time for a psychotic rooster, a witch, and her ghost of a grandmother.