Arthur was a boy when he first saw him.
He walked slowly down the sidewalk of their town dressed in all black despite the heat of the day. His face shaded by the brim of his hat, the pale skin around his mouth the only part visible. He passed by the steps of the apartment Arthur was sitting outside, his gaze sliding to him briefly, time freezing. His eyes were faded like his skin. They reminded him of the pictures of glaciers his teacher had shown them in class. White blue orbs that chilled him despite the sun's glare. His eyes slid forward again and Arthur watched him continue his path down the sidewalk.
He watched as he stopped in front of Mrs. Calderón's place, head tilting back as he took in the old house. People flowed around him, their arms or shoulders grazing the material of his coat but they never jostled. Never bumped or even acknowledged the man in a black three piece suit standing outside an old woman's home. It was almost like he was there but not. An invisible barrier that everyone just knew to walk around. After a long while, he took the steps up to her door, disappearing under the shadow of the porch, taking the chill in the air with him.
He remembered asking his mother once who the man outside of Mrs. Calderón's place was. Her smile morphed into one of confusion before it smooths, a breath of a laugh escaping her lips.
"Oh, that was her son," she had said as she turned back to her work, carefully ironing the creases out of the shirt below her hand.
That was her son? But Arthur thought she didn't have any children or at least none that showed up at her house regularly. He couldn't understand why not, Mrs. Calderón was a kindly old woman with a soft face that reminded him of the dumplings his mother made once. She would always sit outside on her tin covered porch, glass of tea beside her, listening to the radio through her open windows. During Halloween, she gave the best treats to all the children. On Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years- the "Lonely Holidays" his mother called them- Arthur would see men dressed in military uniforms step outside of taxis or old beat up Pontiacs. She would greet each one with jovial laughter as she ushered them into her home. His mother said she used to run a halfway home for veterans of the war.
"World War 2?" he'd asked, remembering the Veterans Day parade with a group of old men sitting atop a makeshift battleship, medals shining brightly in the morning light.
"No, the ones after that."
He didn't think too much about the stranger after that.
"Have a great summer, everyone!"
The school yard was a hive of activity as kids flooded from the open double doors. They bunched in groups or chased others from one corner to the next, energy exploding from them after sitting for so long. Arthur shielded his eyes from the bright outdoor light as he stepped through, eyes taking in the chaos of the yard. One boy woops and empties his bag into the trash can outside, books, papers and candy wrappers spilling out.
"I don't know why Bobby is throwing away his books. Lord knows he needs them on account of being dumber than a bag of rocks."
Arthur chuckles and turns to greet his sole friend. Tilly was the only kid in their class with deep brown skin and curly hair that often sprung free from the confines of her braids she wore around her head. They would quietly sit beside each other during lunch, a book opened in her lap and a sketchbook in his. She didn't talk often but when she did speak, her voice was soft. It reminded him of a sparrow that had made a nest outside his window last spring.
"I shouldn't say that," she amends as they start walking toward the exit, "My mom says that everyone is built differently and has things they are smart or good at."
"She's right in a way," Arthur hums.
"How so?"
He looks around conspiratorially, leaning in to whisper as they walk, "Bobby is really good at being an idiot."
She snorts loudly, covering her mouth to stifle her laughter. They continue on, shoulders pressed together as they walk toward a wooden path to the right of the school gate. Arthur had discovered it when he had first moved here three years ago. It led directly from behind his apartment building to the school, cutting his trek in half by five minutes. Their voices echo through the quiet woods, theleaves shading them from the afternoon sun, though they could never quite escape the heat. As they approach the back of the apartment building, he sees the man. He moved up the stairs to Mrs. Calderón's place with a cat-like grace. He opened her door and walked through, the heavy wood slowly closing behind him. For a moment before the door closed, Arthur thought he saw the man look back.
"Arthur!"
He jolts from his thoughts, looking over to Tilly who smiled.
"I said I will see you later."
Arthur nods, gaze going back to the closed door. He debated on telling her about the man living with Mrs. Calderón's. But what could he say? That he was weird and gave him the creeps? She would think he had stayed up too late again watching horror movies.
Tilly bumped his shoulder drawing his attention back to her.
"You ok?"
They were silent again, the cicadas buzzing in the trees.
"Yeah, just tired."
The first official day of summer was miserable, the air was so thick with humidity that it felt like he had just jumped fully clothed into the pool. Even the morning could not stop the Southern heat for long. Pushing his bike up the sidewalk, he contemplates just staying home instead of meeting Tilly at her house.
Mrs. Calderón was standing in her slippers in the garden.
She was staring at her flowers, categorizing them from leaf to stem. She bends slightly brushing her hand against the soft petals of a rose.
Arthur clears his throat, fingers gripping the handles of his bike.
"Good morning…"
Mrs. Calderón straightens, a smile affixed to her face, even at this early hour.
"Good morning, Arthur! And where are you off to on this fine day?"
"Oh, just, uh, going to visit a friend."
She nods absently, finger trailing along the frond of a large fern, "It's an excellent time to do so."
Arthur shifts in the seat of his bicycle, palms sticking against the rubber covered handles.
"Mrs. Calderón…,"
"Hmm?"
Arthur watches her from the sidewalk, the question of who her mysterious houseguest settled heavy on his tongue like a bitter pill. He takes a breath.
"Who, uh, I heard that you have a… guest?"
Mrs. Calderón fingers slow to a stop, her whole body going rigid. She doesn't turn to look at him when she answers.
"Oh, yes, my son has decided it's time to pay his mother a visit."
Arthur nods, "Is he staying… long?"
She shrugs, finally turning to look at him, "I guess it depends."
"On what?" he whispers.
She rubs the back of her neck, eyes closed against the sunlight, "If I am ready to go with him yet."
Bird song fills the silence left behind. He feels uncomfortable like he's passed the point of safety and has now suddenly found himself drifting off to sea.
"Oh, goodness," she laughs, eyes glancing at the delicate watch on her wrist, "I'm keeping you from your friend! I'll see you later and you can tell me all about your adventures."
She shuffles along the grass, fingers trailing the tips of her garden. She walks up the stairs to the screen door, the shadows of the house swallowing her.
On nights when he couldn't sleep, Arthur liked to sit on the window sill and try to count the stars. Usually he made it to about 200 before his eyes started to cross but today his gaze had moved from watching the sky to watching the street below his window. It was fairly quiet, the occasional car passing through before they trickled to a stop leaving the streets empty. There was something peaceful about this time of night. Like he was the only one awake in the whole world.
Something catches Arthur's eye as he looks out into the night. A figure standing a little ways away from Mrs. Calderón's place. He thinks at first it is her. Their strange conversation plays in his mind as he watches the figure. But it can't be her. This shadow is far too tall for her short stature. He squints his eyes in vain trying to make out at least some clue as to who it was. The glow of the old street lamp casts the figure in a stark contrast of black and orange. Maybe it's someone out for a walk. Maybe they're like him and prefer the quietness of night and cool air over the noise and oppression of the sun's glare. Losing interest after watching the figure for a few minutes he turns away, missing the street lamps flickering, briefly shrouding that section of the sidewalk in darkness. The figure no longer there when the light stabilizes.
The inside of the apartment was a sauna. The air conditioner had surrendered, sputtering to a stop sometime in the middle of the night leaving the occupants of the apartment to wake up in pools of sweat. Arthur had escaped to the front yard to sit under the shade of the overhang hoping the shadows would lessen the heat. The sidewalk and road in front of his apartment glowed under the gaze of the sun, wavy lines of heat coming off it disturbing the air. He cooled himself with a homemade fan, bunched stiff cardboard paper that wilted in the air.
"Do you think your mom will let us buy some ice cream?" Tilly had asked, her own colorful fan lazily passing in front of her face.
She had come over to hang out as her mother had something to do out of town but the heat had them both escaping indoors only to be sent back out again. She had pulled her dark curly hair out of their braids and up into a bun on top of her head revealing the darkened tips of her ears. Her cheeks, a darker shade of brown from the heat. Arthur shook his head in response, his own fan doing nothing to cool his face down. They sat in silence, watching people walk up and down the sidewalk. The faint sound of an ambulance pierces the silence that follows, passing quickly as it had come.
"How do you know someone is dead?"
Tilly's fan stopped before starting again. She pursed her lips in thought, the skin between her eyebrows bunching together.
"I guess if they don't get up again? Like I went with my mom to Mr. Thomas' place last year for something called a Wake. I had to wear all black and everyone was real sad. Mr. Thomas was laying in this big wooden box in the middle of the living room and he looked asleep. I was wondering why they called it a Wake if he's not waking up because of all the noise. So I asked my mom…"
She trails off, fan lazily moving in front of her face as she watches the street.
"What did she say?" he asks, his own fan forgotten as he leaned in.
"Well she said that Mr. Thomas wasn't getting up cause he's in heaven now. Still don't know why they call it a Wake though."
"What if," Arthur licks his suddenly dry lips, "what if they did wake up? And they're walking around?"
"Then I guess…," she pauses, squinting before widening, "I guess they weren't dead to begin with."
They lapse into silence, the sound of birds and cicadas filling the space between. After a moment, Tilly turns to him, her fan wilting in her hand.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you ask?"
Arthur thinks about the conversation he had with Mrs. Calderón and the strange house guest living there.
"I don't know… just wondering I guess."
The weather man had forecasted the day to be another scorcher. Too hot for the elderly and small kids to be outside for long. Thankfully the Super had sent someone to fix the air conditioning but his mother in an attempt to save money insisted that they open the windows and only run it when necessary. Today didn't count as one of those days.
"When I was your age, I didn't have air conditioning. We had to make due with the breeze," she said, nodding sagely, "It'll help you get used to the heat anyway if we didn't run it all the time."
Arthur rolled his eyes, adding another piece of ice to the sandwich bag he was using on the back of his neck to cool down. He shivered against the icy water that trickled down his back, dampening his shirt.
The shrill ring of the phone cut through the thick air of the apartment, his mother picking it up immediately. Like most children his age, he was curious about the conversations between adults. He often wondered if they saw the world as he did or if their version was different. He would catch snatches of voices that rose in disbelief or in jest. One sided conversations as his mother curled the long cord of their phone with her toe.
Did you hear about Grace's son?
Simon's been seen at the bar again-
He was grateful that they seemed to forget his presence. Seen but not heard was the refrain drilled into him by his grandmother. Her bony finger poked his chest with each word. Hooked nose hovering over him, eyes small and narrow from the folds of her wrinkles. She reminded him of a hawk he once saw cornering a rabbit before it swooped and carried it away. He took the saying to heart.
Looking out the window at the hazy air outside, he closed his eyes, sighing into the soft warm breeze that filtered in. His mother's gasp woke him from his partial nap, his eyes turning groggily towards the kitchen. His mother stood by the phone, cord wrapped around her finger as she bunched and then unbunched it nervously.
"Are you sure?" she asked, the cord squeaking as it curled, "I-I just saw him yesterday. In fact I still have some of his things here. He had asked me to mend one of his shirts."
Arthur watched her push her short black bangs away from her forehead, teeth biting into her cheek.
"Ok, yeah I'll bring them by. Gimme like five minutes."
She hangs up the phone, scrubbing her face as she sighed. She turns to Arthur who had been watching her closely, moving from the kitchen opening and partially into the living room.
"That was Allison, Mr. Jacobin's daughter-"
Arthur nodded as if he knew who that was.
"I'm going to go up the street and meet her. He apparently passed away last night."
"Oh, that's sad."
He didn't know Mr. Jacobin well. He lived up the street from them in a house surrounded by trees. He was almost a shut-in, his daughter coming every weekend to buy groceries, her husband doing maintenance to the old home. Sometimes he could be seen feeding the birds from the steps of his house. Even though he was quiet, he always had a kind word to say to them. He also would pay double the fee for his mother's tailoring and cleaning services.
"I'll be gone for probably an hour or so," his mother called from the front entrance, bending down to slip her worn sneakers on, "Dinner is in the fridge."
He can see her cross the street from the front window. She walks the short distance from their apartment to Mr. Jacobin's house, greeting the woman standing outside with a wave. They talk for a short while on the sidewalk, the woman's hands gesturing back and forward. The front door is open, a man leaning against it Arthur could only assume was the woman's husband. He steps outside the frame to speak with them when Arthur sees it. In the background just out of the light of the evening sun was a deep shadow. It wavers slightly, like the heat rising off of the sidewalks, before it moves out of the door.
His mother and the others don't notice their shadows elongating before returning to normal. They also didn't notice a man in black moving down the sidewalk behind them shortly afterwards. The man made Arthur turn his head, watching the shadow pass across from them still wearing the all black three piece suit. His hands were empty, hanging loosely at his sides as he walked. His back was ramrod straight, head held high, eyes looking down his long nose. Once last year during Halloween, Arthur had stayed up late. He sat in front of the TV, the blue light illuminating his face as he hid under the thin blanket from his bed. His wide eyes watched as the zombie shuffled about only to turn and walk with purpose towards the unsuspecting woman. His mother had come in right as it lunged towards the screen but for months after it stayed with him.
It could be a coincidence. Simply a man returning back to his mother's place from wherever he goes during the day. Arthur's brow furrowed as he watched him, a thought starting to push to the surface that there was something strange about this man.
The library was cool and dry, the smell of books a refreshing respite from the smell of methane outside. Arthur waited in line for help at the counter, his mom's old battered laptop tucked under his arm. She had agreed after many explanations, pleadings and one very successful PowerPoint presentation to allow him his very own computer.
With stipulations of course.
Which brought him to the library today. Like many of the things in his life, Arthur was no stranger to hand me downs. After trying and failing to get it connected to the internet at their apartment, Arthur decided to take his newish computer to the library in hopes that the IT technician was there. He liked to talk to him about his work sometimes, finding the job fascinating but not something that he is sure he wants to do.
Finally at the front of the line, Arthur slides his laptop onto the counter, giving the librarian his best pleading smile. She rolls her eyes jokingly and calls for the tech to come to the front. After speaking with him about the issue, the tech tells him it shouldn't take too long if he wants to hang around. Finding he had nothing better to do, Arthur walks through the aisles, fingers tapping the spines of books as he goes.
The library is quiet for a Saturday. Usually there is something happening like an arts and crafts camp for kids or a summer book festival. He remembered that Tilly found it strange that the library was such a busy place. Where she was from, the library was pretty much empty most of the time, except for when it was finals week at the local university.
He stops to read the back of a book on ancient Greece when his fingers brush against the roughened spine of the book next to it. He pulls it from the shelf, the cover creaking as he opens it. The pages are wrinkled around the edges, reminding him of when he had gotten caught in the rain and had to use a blow dryer on his books. Despite the water damage he is able to read that it is a book on ancient myths from around the world. He flips through, skimming the table of contents on various topics like creation myths or animal myths until he reaches the section of death myths.
He flips to it, the image of the mysterious man flashing in his mind as he takes in the drawing on the chapter page: Black clothes, pale complexion, skeletal frame. It matched the man tip to toe as his mother would say.
He takes the book back to the front sitting near the checkout desk engrossed in the words on the page.
Human, animal, spirit, monster; no one knows what it is exactly but it is feared by all.
Later that night, laptop and book open on his bed as his hand draws the image of a shadow. Half a face staring out of the page. His eyes drift towards his window.
The street lamps couldn't quite reach inside, the leaves outside blocking the moon's light. A quiet night like before. The figure is back. Standing in the same place as before. Something in him causes his hand to rise, moving back and forth in a small wave. He watches for a reaction, eyes wide in the darkness of his room.
The man raises his hand and waves slowly back.
Arthur jolts awake, eyes darting around his room. Early morning light filters in, turning the room a soft orangish pink. He scrubs his face with his hands, thoughts still muddled. His eyes turn back to the window, memories of the night before hazy and intangible. He had a vague feeling of something happening, something important but what?
He quickly gets out of bed and runs to the window, staring out at the now busy street below.
Arthur didn't know exactly when the obsession had started. Maybe it was before he had fallen down the rabbit hole, spurred on by the book of myths. Maybe it was after one of his classmates went missing.
He only heard about it in bits and pieces. His mother was careful to shield him from the full story. He knows she only does it because she thinks he is a child but he's almost eleven years old. He wasn't a child anymore. He knows how to cook, knows not to talk to strangers and his mom trusts him with a key to the apartment. He was practically a man as far as he was concerned.
The story goes that Bobby had decided to go looking for frogs one evening. He went out during one of the summer storms where there's more thunder than actual rain. He knows from experience that that's the best time to go. The frogs all seem to be drawn from the water, jumping around the shore in bunches. It wasn't clear if he had told his parents where he was going but he never came back.
It took a few days of watching for him to get the man's pattern down. He would leave everyday at nine in the morning and return at twilight. He knew that he could only follow through with his plan when his mother wasn't home. She would ask too many questions about where he was going, when he was coming back and if Tilly would be coming along.
So he waited for his moment and it finally came at the beginning of July. There was to be a big parade through the middle of town followed by a fair that ran the entire Fourth of July weekend. The man was sure to come out then.
At least he hoped so.
The only thing Arthur hadn't planned for was if Mrs. Calderón would join him. He hadn't seen her after that exchange in the garden weeks ago. Just the man walking in and out of her house. Maybe he should check on her? Ask his mom to cross the street or maybe pick up the phone and call her? Arthur shook his head, he wasn't going to get his mother involved. He wanted to do this on his own. He was going to do this on his own.
The morning before the parade found Arthur rechecking the bag he had packed the night before. He had carefully snuck snacks from the kitchen, hiding them around his room as he prepared for the long day ahead. His mother was going to be busy all day working on stuff for a local church and wouldn't be back anytime soon.
He waited until he saw the man leave the house before he waved goodbye to his mom and dashed out the door. He followed him at a distance, careful to not be seen. The man followed the same path as he had all those days ago, walking stiffly down the block until he reached the main road.
The early morning traffic had just started up. Vendors putting out their wares hoping for a successful work day. Arthur could already feel the sweat bead on the back of his neck as he walked, keeping an eye on the man slowly moving down the steadily filling pavement.
The man stopped in front of the small grocery store, the clerk just setting up the stall outside.
"What are you doing?"
Arthur jumped, hand clutching the front of his shirt as he turned to the voice. Tilly stood beside him, a book tucked under her arm, her backpack slung over her shoulders .
"Tilly! You scared me!"
She adjusted the strap on her shoulder, murmuring an apology.
"Sorry… Seriously, what are you doing?"
Arthur turned his eyes forward, the man still standing at the stall inspecting the items being set out.
"You see that man there?"
He pointed at the man who was slowly turning away from the stall and continuing to walk down the street. Tilly followed his finger and nodded, moving to walk beside Arthur as he trailed after him.
"I think he's Death."
Tilly's brow scrunched in confusion, disbelief shining in her eyes.
"Oh, c'mon, Arthur! You really need to stop watching those horror movies. They're not good for your brain."
"I'm serious!" Arthur yelled before quieting his voice to a whisper, eyes darting around for eavesdroppers.
Tilly rolls her eyes but stays silent as she looks ahead to avoid the stalls and shoppers now crowding the street. The heat had started to settle in, humidity clinging their shirts to the shoulders. Their hair to the sweat on the back of their necks.
"What makes you so sure, he," Tilly points towards the man, now bending to inspect the fireworks cart, "is Death?"
"Tilly!" Arthur pushes her hand down.
"What? It's not like he's looking at us. For all he knows, I could be pointing at literally anything on the street."
Arthur sighs, "So you know how I went to the library a couple of weeks ago?"
Tilly nods as they walk down the street, music beginning to play out of speakers set up around town.
"While I was there I found this book on myths. One of the sections was about," Arthur's voice lowers as they pass by a police officer eating a elote, "death."
"That doesn't explain why you think that man is the grim reaper."
"Well, according to the book Death can disguise itself as anything. But most of the time he looks like a walking corpse: pale, skeletal, wearing dark clothes."
Tilly shakes her head, "But that could describe anyone, especially if they're sick."
"True, but if this guy is truly sick he wouldn't be wandering around town let alone visiting an old lady. Also look at that-"
Arthur points at the man moving through a section of sidewalk that was flush with shoppers. Both children watched as he seemingly passed through it untouched.
"Ok, I'll admit, that was pretty weird."
"Yeah. When he first showed up I had asked my mom who he was and she said that he was Mrs. Calderón's son."
"I didn't know Mrs. Calderón had children."
"I know, me either," Arthur continues, sidestepping a woman carrying several boxes piled high in her arms, "but apparently she had one kid and it's him."
Tilly crosses her arms hugging the book to her chest. She stares off into the distance, lips pursed. Arthur takes a breath.
"I have something to show you."
They walk back to his apartment, Arthur leading her to his room where he pulls out a large poster. He had been working on it almost every day since the library. He was trying to chart the time from when the man had appeared and when the disappearances had started in town. He leans it against his wall, Tilly moving to stare at the poster board, eyes following the thin threads that were anchored around pins. She looks over at Arthur, who was seated on his bed, patiently waiting.
"This is what you've been doing?"
Arthur nods fully aware that what he was doing earlier was borderline stalkerish on many accounts but he had to know.
"So, what's your plan?"
"I'm going to follow him."
"What? Are you crazy?!" she gasped, grabbing Arthur's arm..
"Tilly, it's the only way-"
"Nuh-uh, how bout you not follow strange men around in broad daylight!"
Arthur sighed in frustration.
"Look, I thought it through. I would just follow behind him a little to see where he goes during the day. You know I'm really good at being quiet. I'll just stay in the background and he'll never notice."
Tilly shook her head, "What if he does?"
"Does what?"
"Notice," she whispered, "Like you said, you've never seen him before and as far as we knew Mrs. Calderón never had any kids. We don't know if this guy is like a murderer or kidnapper or something. What are you going to do if he catches you snooping around him?"
He hadn't actually thought that far. What would he do if the man caught him?
"I'll just lie and say that I was walking the same way or running errands for my mom."
Tilly leveled him with a look that was a mix of disappointment and Do you think I'm that stupid? A look that he was sure was ingrained in the very fabric of grandmothers, moms and girls everywhere.
After a small stand off she sighs, "If you're set on doing this then I'm going to help."
The morning of the parade, Tilly meets Arthur on the steps of his apartment. They make their way toward the main street looking out for the man. He wasn't hard to spot, his height making him easy to find as the crowd grew and swelled along the road. They watch him for the rest of the afternoon, their eyes following him as he makes his way down the sidewalk.
It didn't take Arthur long to realize that they were just walking in circles. The man had just walked up one side of the road, crossed the street at the end and walked slowly down the other side.
"This is a waste of time!" Tilly had shouted into his ear as the marching band passed by, trumpets blaring brassy notes into the air as the crowd cheered.
Arthur shook his head, eyes still watching the man walk until he suddenly stopped. He turned his head and was staring at something. Unable to see what it was, Arthur grabs Tilly's arm and begins to drag her behind him to try to get closer. Tilly wrenches her arm away from him and glares, rubbing where he had grabbed but Arthur ignores it. He is too occupied with watching what was happening in front of him.
The man was looking at a baby. Its little arms waved away in its stroller as their parents cheered and clapped, ignorant of the danger looming over.
The man stands still as a statue, watching, until one of his long arms begins to move. It rises up, slowly unfurling its length like a sail. Arthur holds his breath, body growing cold as sweat begins to bead on his brow. The man's hand opens, fingers reaching out to touch.
Arthur wasn't sure what came over him, but one moment he was standing beside Tilly and the next he was standing in front of the stroller, the man looking down at him.
They lock gazes, brown clashing with gray blue. Arthur remembers when he was younger hearing the interview of an old sea captain who had survived a maelstrom. He said that while they were realistically trapped in it for a few short minutes, it felt as if they were trapped there forever with no hope of escape. At the time, Arthur didn't understand what he meant but now… Now as he stares into those eyes he knows.
Slowly the man's arm moves down, the crowd cheers and the baby gives a loud cry that alerts their parents. They turn around, eyes glancing off the man, as they take in Arthur's petrified stance.
"Are you ok?" the woman asks, exchanging a look with her husband as she pulls the stroller closer to her.
Arthur doesn't say anything, too busy watching as the man backs up, a smile slowly growing.
You can see me.
It wasn't a question. It was a fact.
"Honey?"
You can see me-
"Arthur?"
Curious, is it not?
The air around him seems to vibrate as the man's smile spreads across his face. It splits his skin like a jagged bloodless wound.
Alas, it is not yet your time.
His eyes, wide and unblinking, never left Arthur's as he begins to back up melding into the shadow of an awning.
Pity…
"Arthur!"
Tilly's face appears in front of his, her face a tableau of fear and concern. Behind her the woman was holding her now crying baby as the husband pulled out his phone, thumb poised over the screen.
"Do we need to call anyone?"
"No, no! It's ok, he's fine," Tilly waved them off, "He's fine! Really! You're fine right?"
She whispers to him, hands finding his shoulders. The woman bounced the still crying baby as she looked at her husband.
He steps forward, phone still in hand, "I think we should still call someone. He doesn't look well."
Arthur's whole body began to shake. He feels unmoored, the only thing holding him in place is the steadiness of Tilly's hands. His mouth was dry, tongue stuck to the roof of it. He wanted to say he was ok. Nod his head and laugh off the encounter.
But he can't.
Tilly's hands move down his arm to his hand, the action grounding him more as she starts to move. She backs away from the couple, still insisting that they were fine. The woman began to look around, hand flagging down a patrolling policeman. Tilly broke out into a run, pulling Arthur behind her as they weaved through the crowd.
They didn't stop until they had reached the road leading to his apartment building.
"What was that? Arthur, what happened?"
Arthur shakes his head, "I don't know…"
He scrubs his face, rubbing the sweat from his eyes. His palms press into his eyes, spots of color blooming behind his lids. What was that? What had happened? Did he just imagine the man's voice in his head or was he really talking? What was he planning with that baby? These questions and more swirled around in his head. Ones that he didn't have any way of answering.
"I think we should talk to Mrs. Calderón."
Tilly looks at him, a look of disbelief on her face.
"Are you serious?"
But Arthur was already moving. He rushed down the sidewalk, passing houses as he went until he reached Mrs. Calderón's. The garden out front looked different in the light of the afternoon. The plants she had been examining all those weeks ago seemed dry and lifeless. Almost as if she had stopped caring for them. A part of him wants to say it was the heat that kept her inside and was the cause of her plants decline. But he knows that isn't true. He remembers her working on her garden during the early mornings if the day was forecasted to be hot. Afterwards she would set up a sprinkler for the kids of the neighborhood to run through.
Tilly catches up to him slightly out of breath, "Arthur, why are we here?"
"Look at her garden."
Tilly glances at it before turning back to him.
"Arthur, we need to call your mom."
"I should have checked up on her. I should have told my mom about how Mrs. Calderón was acting."
"What are you talking about?"
He tells Tilly of how Mrs. Calderón was standing in her yard in just her slippers. How she seemed off somehow.
"I think something happened to her and it was that guy's fault."
Without waiting for a reply, Arthur moves towards the front door, ringing the doorbell. He waits for a few seconds, listening for any sound to come from the inside. Hearing nothing, he rings the doorbell again before he starts knocking on the door. It cracks open, a strange smell emanating from the inside. He pushes it open, freezing air blowing onto his face from inside. Tilly moves beside him, gripping his hand tightly as they take a step over the threshold.
The smell was stronger now that they were inside. It was a sickly sweet scent. Sort of like ripe bananas mixed with decaying kale. They cover their noses with their shirts and move further in.
"Mrs. Calderón?" Arthur called, his voice muffled by his shirt. The house was cluttered. Mail was piled on the surface of a table by the door. Old newspapers scattered in piles along the floor. The air conditioner was off, the internal temperature reading 84 degrees Fahrenheit. An almost match for the temperature outside. It was oppressive, sitting on their skin like a heavy sweater straight from the dryer. Arthur had been in Mrs. Calderón's place enough to know that this was not normal. The trash can in the kitchen was overflowing; a rotten egg smell mixing with the strange scent permeating the entirety of the house.
The door to the living room was closed but it didn't deter the smell. In fact it seemed stronger now, almost solid. Tilly coughs, choking on it as Arthur reaches to push the door open.
"Arthur-"
His hand touches the surface, pushing on it.
"-don't!"
The scent hit them all at once. Arthur and Tilly recoiled, their eyes watering as it stung their eyes. Arthur blinked his tears away, hesitant to rub them as he took in the living room. Unlike the other parts of the house, it was clear of trash and debris. Sunlight filtered in through the half closed blinds. Its rays partially illuminated a pile of clothes resting on a plush armchair. Arthur made to walk forward but Tilly's hand stayed his movement. Her breath was coming out in short puffs, eyes wide with fear.
"What is it?"
Tilly's hand shook as she pointed at the armrest. On it was a weird fleshy blob, grayish pink in color. It was swollen like a water balloon, ready to pop. Arthur tried to step forward again but Tilly's grip tightened, squeezing his hand with such force that he winced.
"What? What is it? It's just a pile of clothes"
Her eyes never left the chair as she whispered, "It's not a pile of clothes…"
Arthur looks again, eyes following the blob until it meets an article of clothing that looks like a sleeve. He follows it up, leaning forward to get a better look when he sees it. A whip of hair peeking out from the side of the chair. The same grayish pink coloring, bloated and fleshy, sits underneath it, glasses melding into it.
It was Mrs. Calderón.
Gasping, an urgent sense of danger slithers through him. Mirroring Tilly's actions from before, he runs dragging her behind him as they run through the trashed house. They burst outside, running across the street heedless of traffic to his apartment building.
They don't stop until they have slammed the door behind them, the sound echoing into the empty apartment.
Arthur bent over, placing his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. Tilly is in a similar position, her eyes closed, curls moving under the air of the standing fan..
A laugh bubbled up in his chest. It sprang up from somewhere inside him, a nervous habit all children have he is told, pressing against his throat as it loosens up his tongue. He laughs, head bent down to the floor, sweat on his brow, the heat of the sun still lingering on his shirt. He laughs and laughs, tears falling down his face, mixing with the sweat.
Tilly watches him, rising from her bent position. Her expression is far too serious for a child. Arthur wipes his face, still laughing as everything slowly crashes, her hand resting gently on his back. Tears begin to flow down her face, her expression breaking.
There they stand in the living room, clutching onto each other as their cries fill the silence of the apartment.
A phone found its way into his hand, the operator asking him what his emergency was. He woodenly tells them of the body, answering the questions before he hangs up. His mother was next, Tilly speaking to her as Arthur sits on the edge of the couch feeling exhausted. She joins him leaning against his shoulder as they listen to the sound of a police car drift closer.