This story is fiction and a departure from my usual style or themes but todays word challenge was intriguing and I thought I would just run with it. I wanted the entire story to have a feel of the unknown.
Thank you Fandango for a great word choice!
He sneaks in every night through the window in the backroom, which is hidden away from the rest of the house that is already too full of seemingly meaningless things.
It could be a hoarder house but it is too neat for that label. Just years and years of the stuff people accumulate and keep for no particular reason.
He doesn’t really have to quietly enter, he could come through the front door but there is an air of mystery as we keep this clandestine affair a secret.
I am renting the rear of the house from an elderly woman, who’s husband just passed away. He was out on the golf course and had a heart attack at the 16th hole. Just as his arms were in mid swing, his heart stopped, and rather than his swing coming back down to hit the ball, he kept rolling back onto the ground. He was gone in an instant.
His wife, the woman I was renting from was a member of the Daughters of the Revolution (DAR). She would hold meetings and if I were home, I would have to stay in my portion of the house. The rear.
Much of what the DAR meetings were about were unknown to us. And while it was very tempting to want to spy, to be honest, we did not. And not so much out of respect but that it just didn’t hold any special intrigue for either one of us. Primarily because she wasn’t much of a mystery herself.
She was a very large short and round woman, who’s kitchen was always full of goods to bake; persimmons, layers and layers of chocolate, pounds of butter, heavy whipping cream, flour, trays, pans and mixers strewn everywhere.
However, we also primarily stayed in the rear of the house because she would wake up in the middle of the night and have horrendous bouts of flatulence that would travel down the hallway, and thankfully the door to my room would keep the odor at bay.
At any rate, he would scuttle to my room, and climb into my bed. This man who was unknown to me, really. It started on the subway when he took notice of me and began a flirtatious conversation. Next was a date, we stayed out late, and while I was ready to say goodbye, it seemed that he wasn’t.
The next night he found where I lived and snuck in, and cuddled right next to me as I was sleeping. This continued for months.
His girlfriend called me once and introduced herself before beginning to read me the riot act. She too was unknown to me and I thought that I might have been to her. But apparently not. Somehow he not only found where I lived but he shared my contact information with his lover.
And then one day, no creak at the window, no slippery steps gliding to my room, no warm cuddle. And a week went by, then two weeks, then three, then the FBI showed up to ask me questions.
I had no idea his father was a supreme court justice, and somehow he was tied to the woman I was living with, and my secret lover was a spy. While I always loved the Catcher in the Rye, this time my playing Holden, just didn’t fly.
The sneaking in through the window, the hoarder house, the DAR meetings, cookies and pies were all just a disguise, hiding something, who knows what. Yet my luck was that I was surrounded by the unknown, everything kept secret from me, until the end.
And at least, I could finally say goodbye.
© Jordis Fasheh