Stanley Drive

Another silver, summer’s moon had been shedding its hollow light on the world for hours now. It was well past midnight. A warm southern breeze tickled itself through lawn chairs and small maple trees of no natural placement as tacky lawn gnomes stared with empty, frozen eyes from flower gardens that ran the length of most of the houses on the street.

Stanley Drive was a typical street while the sun shone; a street full of children and the scraping sound of bicycle training wheels, but with the setting of the sun, so too did this sugar coating fail to reveal the life that is everywhere that all men see, but few explore; The life that’s left when the smell of freshly cut grass subsides and the burgundy minivan in every driveway, masked by shadow. It is then the silence surfaces.

Dale Gryan sat bare-chested on his porch exploring this life nervously. Hidden from view by the inky shadow of his roof’s overhang, he was revealed only by the occasional, cherry red glow from his cigarette.

Seconds went to minutes, which lead to hours, as Gryan sat and braved the silence that surrounded him. His eyes lazed about his face but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He had far too much to think about. Far too many unwanted thoughts eating at his self. These petty thoughts he hated, but despite himself, entertained every waking hour of his life. Those hours grew longer as time passed and the petty thoughts were his companion. But at least, he thought, at least they were taking his mind off the silence around him.

He crushed the butt of his fifth cigarette and sighed to break the quiet. He listened to the beat of his heart and closed his eyes, drifting through his mind for answers. Any answer at all.

His heartbeat filled his ears and bathed his mind in sound. He enjoyed the break in the silence. Utter silence, he thought was much louder and more piercing than any noise he could conceive. More terrifying. The beating of his heart, that light in his dark tunnel was all there was to break this. But something was wrong. He couldn’t tell what, but something was definitely wrong.

He shifted his thoughts to discover what that something was. He clenched his eyes tighter to ensure total blackness, focusing hard on his heart, and the noise it made. “What is it? What is it?” Thought after Thought.

It could have been a gunshot. It would have affected him no less. He heard a break in his heartbeat and the silence that stabbed at it; a break and a dull scraping noise.

Instinct screamed at him to open his eyes and a surge of emotion took hold of his brain - Confusion, bewilderment, panic - and he could do nothing but obey.

His eyes sprang open as if awakening from his worst nightmare, and with a ripple of gooseflesh over his warm bare chest in the summer’s air he found realization. It wasn’t the beating of his heart he’d been listening too. It was footsteps, and he wasn’t alone.

Frozen but for his wide eyes, red from exhaustion, he sat rigid and frantically searched his field of view for this intrusion. He waited an eternity for his eyes to focus from being held shut for so long and would have screamed at them to hurry had his mouth not gone dryer than his scorched, neglected front lawn.

Shadow after shadow he analyzed for movement. It was a dull clicking he now realized; the sound of expensive shoes on asphalt and it was getting closer. Thanking grace that he had thought to extinguish the glow of his cigarette, the only signal this masked intrusion had to his existence, perched on his raised porch, hidden from the silver light of the moon, he turned his head quickly, searching the street to his left and right. After a few agonizing seconds a figure appeared from around the curve of the street several houses up, walking slowly, nearly a careless stroll.

“Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong.” Gryan mouthed silently, his near frantic gaze transfixed on the intruder. The man drew closer, and passed under a street light some twenty yards away. He was dressed completely in black, wearing a large overcoat that hung just past his knees. “Something’s wrong.” Gryan whispered so quietly. It was too warm for a coat, even this late at night. Gryan’s wide eyes saw the intruder pull something from one of the pockets of his over coat. He pulled it on over his head. It was a ski mask. “Devil … Devil.” he whispered.

The intruder casually strolled by, not 15 feet away and continued up the inclined driveway of the house just across the street. A rented moving trailer was still parked in the driveway. Gryan had noticed the family retrieving boxes and furniture from it for the better part of the day. He had watched them work together to lift the large pieces of their livelihood from the trailer, struggling until they disappeared into the front door of the house. That same door the intruder now stopped in front of.

The man hauled something else from a pocket – Gryan could not make it out this time – and hunched over slightly, working at the door in front of him. Eventually it slid silently open just enough for the man to squeeze inside and pull it nearly closed behind him.

“You’re the devil. Devil.” Gryan whispered as he began to shake quietly in the summer breeze. His mind screamed at him to do something; to warn someone; call someone; Anything his mind screamed. He sat and watched, holding his breath. A minute passed. Two minutes. And he saw a flash in an upstairs window. He thought he heard a muzzled shot. Did he? Another flash…. Yes a shot. He began to violently tremble. His mind froze with his body. He pleaded with his brain to stop showing him this scene. It was fake. It could not be real. The muzzled nose echoed in his ears. He begged for the silence to return.

It could not be real.

Another flash, in another window. He shuddered, thinking about the children in the day light, getting in the way as their parents struggled with heavy chairs and tables. His ragged breath caught in his throat and he began to weep. Another flash, accompanied by the terrible, muffled bang. He jumped, he shook. Another flash. Another. His mind screamed for the silence to surround him. He would never fear it again. It could not be real.

He sat trembling, tears streaking his face, the muffled sound reverberating in his mind as the minutes rolled on. He scarcely noticed the intruder slide out through the front door once more, closing it softly behind him. The sound of expensive shoes on asphalt began once more. And as they began to dim they were accompanied by the distant sound of whistling. A careless, strolling tune.

“The devil.” Gryan whispered, choking back his own tears. He sobbed slowly through the night, listening over and over to the sound of the flash in his ears, pleading to the night for the silence once more. It never came. And some time later, as he sat on his front porch, under his roof’s overhang, holding his knees to his chest crying, the sun slowly began to rise.

He sat, slowly pleading, “Silence…Silence…” until the sun had fully risen, banishing the shadows around him. And when the dew on his scorched, neglected front lawn had finally dried, and the world had come to life once again, he heard the sound of a minivan being started. He heard the wind rustle through the small maple trees around him. He heard the first scrape of a training wheel as it glided across the asphalt before him.

Once more, Gryan softly wept. He stared across Stanley Drive to the door in front of him and wept for those behind it. He hugged his knees harder to his chest and started to plead once more to the world around him.

“Silence…” he begged. “Silence…”