Free Neighborhood Watch by Evan Bollinger

Mr. Clark
     
    I slammed the brake and kicked the dirt. My final stop.
    “Hi Billy!”
    Miss. Lenner from down the block was walking her dogs, the small one and the really big black one. Well, they were walking her more like. Tugging this way and that, and all the while slobbering a long stream along the sidewalk.
    “Did you—deliver my.. Dansbury—Times ?” Her squeaky, shaky voice was enough to hurt my ears.
    “Of course I did!” I said.
    She was a friendly woman, but strange. Her tight, toned body seemed odd—like it belonged to somebody much younger. Short, small and full of lean muscle, that was Miss. Lenner. When she wasn't running with dumbbells, she was walking her dogs for miles on end. Part of me thought she liked being yanked and jerked along...
    She was always calling my mom about nothing too.
    My mom said she was lonely.
    Watching her disappear around the corner, I turned to the final house along Friday's paper route. My bag was more or less empty except for a small little bundle, no doubt a collection of weird stuff. Rumor had it this guy was some kind of ex-chemical expert—a real smart, silent type. He went by Mr. Clark and he should have been here, right now, in his usual spot with those squinting yellowish eyes.
    But he wasn't—he wasn't anywhere.
    The ride had been good today, a nice tailwind almost the whole way. Unfortunately, my luck was running out. The sky was closing in and I could already see the dark drifts in the West. The wind was really starting to pick up, the air practically crackling.
    If I could get home in 15 minutes, I'd be lucky—but not fast enough.
    I turned back to Mr. Clark's house. It was the older rancher in the neighborhood, with this giant oak door that didn't fit. The front looked like somebody had just slapped on a face, and some of the windows had different shutter colors, and the chimney seemed as if it would topple over at any moment.
    And that's when I noticed the front door. The big oak entrance was open. This was nothing too strange, but then again, it kinda was. I mean, I had never seen the door left ajar like that. Mr. Clark was the kind of man who didn't want the outside world and his inside one coming together. He was like some of the older women along my route. They came out for their mail, and occasionally for sun; otherwise, they were hidden. Stealing glances through the blinds...
    I parked my bike along the curb. This would be quick, I would just knock on the door. If he didn't come out, I would leave the mail right inside on the mat. If he did come I would just give it to him.
    It's not a big deal
    Once at the door I took a look inside. The T.V. was on in the living room. There was one couch and one empty table. The dull white walls had no shelves or markings. If I hadn't known any better I would have said that nobody lived here. In fact, it looked like Mr. Clark had just upped and left...
    “Mr. Clark?” I said to nobody. “Sir, it's Bill, I have your mail sir.” I took a breath. “Mr. Clark?”
    For a second I imagined walking in and finding him dead on the floor. It wouldn't be that crazy, would it? Guys like him should have been with people. Like a retirement home or a relative. If he had a heart attack, he had a heart attack. Who was going to save him?
    Something told me Mr. Clark wouldn't even call 911 to save his own life.
    “Mr. Clark?” I gently stepped into the living room. The T.V. was on but the stations were off. It was just that fizzy white noise stuff. “Mr. Clark, I'm just going to leave your mail at the door, okay?” I leaned my head around to peer into the kitchen. The kitchen was like the living room, bowls of fake fruit were the only thing in there. I didn't see any pots on the stove or plates or cups in the sink. There was no silverware and no place mats.
    The only things I saw were a large framed photo and a tall glass on the table. The glass was about half-full, with a dark black liquid. The photo was of a woman, older,