The Becoming
Chapter 5

Someone was knocking on their door. The television was off and slices of evening orange came through window and settled on the carpet. Grandma sat up. Someone knocked again. The sound was far away. From the kitchen, the boy thought.

“Bet that’s Aldren aiming to make things right.” She hacked in her mouth and swallowed. “Get up, boy. Get my smokes and don’t give me any sass, I deserve one after this.”

The knocking again.

“Couldn‘t even muster up the courage to use the front door, coward. Yeah, I’m coming, you can stop banging on the damn door.”

“Edith? Is that you? Are you alone?” the boy heard the stranger say before the voice disappeared below him.”

Grandma’s room was dark even with the hall light on. The switch was near her bed. The large stacks of boxes and papers and the occasional upright item (umbrella, ironing board, vacuum) looked like shadowed spectors. The boy jumped across the room and tried the light. It clicked. The boy’s ears prickled and he turned back to the shadows which were closer, waiting, instead of watching. Voices rose through the floorboards, unintelligible but urgent nonetheless. The boy groped around the smooth wooden surface of the nightstand until he came across the compact box. The light that came from the hall fell darkly on the shadows. It was as if they were absorbing the light.

He was searching to see if the lighter fell to the ground when he saw a small wire trash bin pushed all the way back towards the wall. He’d never seen this bin before. So far as he knew, she never picked up a single thing in her room, let alone threw away anything. He took the basket from under the stand and held it towards the hallway. Inside, a constellation of stars dotted the crumpled mass of red tissue papers. The boy reached for one of the wads. It was sticky to the touch. He smoothed out the ball to reveal a small red mass in the center. The boy dropped the tissue back in the waste basket and slid the bin where it was with a foot. His fingers were tacky and smelled earthy. When he turned back, the shadows had gone back in their corners and had taken on their household forms once more.

“Where are my goddamn smokes?”

The kitchen was a dark, cool sheet that he had to pass through. Silver gleamed from the counter top. The moon hung low in the window above the sink. The clock read an unbelievable hour. Grandma stood in front of the backdoor, blocking the view through the small porthole out to the driveway on the side of the house. “I’m calling the police,” she said.

“C’mon Edith, I only want to talk. What your boy did was wrong and we need to settle this fair and square. Know what I mean, jelly bean?”

“My boy wasn’t anywhere near your windows, Ed. I don’t know What this is but I think we’d all appreciate it if you went home right now. “

The door handle jiggled.

“That was expensive stained glass your boy broke.”

“BOY GET DOWN HERE NOW.”

“Grandma.”

Grandma jumped and whipped her head around. “Jesus, boy. Don’t scare me like that. Give me those.” She, flipped open the white top and produced a handheld lighter and a filterless cigarette. She let it with a shaky hand.

“Edith, let’s make it right. I don’t want to get the po-lease involved.”

“Call the sheriff’s office,” she said to the boy. She looked very serious and tired. Her hair had wilted from when he’d last seen her. “Tell them you’re Edith Jones’s boy.” She inhaled and exhaled a plume of smoke, her eyes closed.

“What window is Mr. Clarkston talking about?”

An orange dot appeared below Grandma’s nose then faded out like a buoy in the distance. “Nevermind that. He’s not right in the head right now, don’t think he ever was to begin with. Nobody could grow up right with a dad like Bob Clarkston.”

The door handle jiggled again. The boy could see Mr. Clarkston. His shoulders Jutted straight from his neck like the flat land beneath a strange tree. His face was not visible but he had some kind or funny backwards hat on, the brim of sorts could been seen behind his head when he turned to press an ear to the doubled paned glass. “Is that your boy?” I hear him. Hey son, listen, you broke my window, an expensive one, a beautiful stained glass window with that ball of yours and we need to make this right of I’ll have to call the dog catchers on your mangy ass. See what I mean, string bean?”

“We’ll call them for you, Ed. ” She pointed towards the phone, “go.”

The phone hung on the right side of the kitchen entrance. It was a military green, clam style that had fat tiles with outrageously large numbers printed on them. The boy dialed 911 and listened to the speaker hum.

What are you two doing in there? I smell something. What’s that smell?” do I smell a fire?” Mr. Clarkston said.

”It’s a cigarette,” Grandma said, “I smoke when I have to deal with people like you, Ed.”

“A...cigarette. Cigar-ette. But I don’t smoke cigarettes.”

Grandma and the boy exchanged one of their coded looks.

“Sheriff’s office, this is Tammy speaking,” the phone said.

“Uh, this is Edith Jones’s boy. We-”

“Tell them we need help,” Grandma said.

“Need help. Our neighbor, Mr.-”

“Ed Clarkston.”

“Ed Clarkston won’t, uh, leave us alone.”

“Tell them he’s acting crazy,” she said loudly.

“I can’t be the crazy one when it’s your boy breaking my windows.”

“He’s acting crazy,” the boy said.

“Mmm, okay. Is Edith there?” the woman asked.

“Yeah, do you want to talk to her?”

“What’re they saying?” Grandma asked.

“Can you put her on the phone?” the woman asked.

“The lady on the phone wants to talk to you,” the boy said.

“Where the hell is Andy,” she took the phone in one hand and held the smoldering cigarette in the other. “Hello?”

“Who are you talking to in there? Is that Henry, let me speak to him, man to man.”

“Henry has been dead for ten years, Ed. Yes, hello. Where’s sheriff Milson at? Put me on with him.”

The boy approached the backdoor, stopping at the small accent rug where a pair of dirty tennis shoes lay like sleeping bunnies. Mr. Clarkston was mostly shadow but he was facing forward again and now the boy could see his eyes that floated like pitted ping-pong balls.

“I don’t care what he‘s doing, put me through to him. And if...yes? Ed Clarkston, that’s who. Haven’t you been listening to a single word. What? Do what?”

It wasn’t a hat Mr. Clarkston was wearing. Perhaps a bandana or a wrap of some sort by the way it hung behind his head-like a long knot or tail. “Is that you, boy?” Mr. Clarkston said.

“No-Who are you?“ Grandma said behind the boy.

“Let me in, boy. If you let me in it won’t be so bad. I can hear how your grandma is breathing. Did you know I’m a doctor, that’s how come I don‘t smoke. She’s in pain,” he said in a low and wondering voice. “You can stop it if you let me in.”

The door rattled. The knob shifted from left to right.

Grandma was breathing hard. Her lungs were screaming out from inside her throat. The boy turned around. She was holding the phone away from her ear as if it had hit her. She looked crazy and saggy and tired and scared. Her mouth was open and her thin lips were trembling.

“What’d they say ,” the boy asked.

She hung up the phone gently. “Get away from that door. Right now.”

“EDITH,” Mr. Clarkston shouted.

“I’ve called Sheriff Millhouse, Ed. He’s on his way. You’d better be gone before he gets here and charges you with harassment or attempted burglary. Ed, ED? Did you hear that.”

The clock ticked off the endless moments of anticipation. Behind the curtains and glass and wood frame, Mr. Clarkston stood completely still. It didn’t even appear that he was breathing. Grandma coughed and muffled it with her fist. “We’ll square this up one way or the other,“ Mr. Clarkston said. He turned, stepped down the porch, and out of view. He could be heard crunching away on their gravel driveway, muttering.

The click of a flint was what broke the ensuing silence first. Then the steady hiss of gas, followed by Grandma exhaling. The acrid scent of her cheap cigarettes filled the air and dried out his nostrils.

“Are the police coming?” the boy asked.

“No. Lock all the windows, even the second story ones. When you’re done with that sit on my bed and wait for me there. Understand?”

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