The Watchman (working title) EXCERPT ONE

1

Everyday, I’d see him. He was tall, especially for a man of nearly sixty. A pair of dirty spectacles rested on his crooked nose. His hair was faint and thinning, but it still had a youth-like luster to its aging white glow. Almost everyday, as if like clockwork, he’d open the door of his small cottage-like house, grab the morning news, water a marvelous bouquet of tulips, and disappear into his house, not to be seen or heard until the next morning. Only a select few people knew anything about him until he died. One man said that he’d been called “Frank.” Others insisted on calling him “Thomas,” while others merely called him “That crazy old guy who lives on Fifth Avenue,” because, well, frankly, no one really knew his name. Not a single soul had any knowledge of this mystery man, until that fateful day in late August turned the city upside down.

***

I moved to the small coastal city of Cold Spring Beach, Rhode Island right after I had gotten my Music Education degree from Brown in the spring of 1958.

It had been my dream to teach music to children since I was a freshman in high school. My band director, Jonathan Whitely, was the most dedicated teacher, or employee period, I’ve ever had the privilege of meeting, so I naturally wanted to turn out just like him and follow in his footsteps. I remember the last day I ever saw him- I looked him in the eyes and said, ‘Mr. Whitely, you will never know how much you’ve truly inspired me because I can’t find the right words to say it.’ He merely nodded, too weak to even make a sound, and later that night, I received word that he had passed.

My house was quite humble, rather old, creaky, and not very easy on the eyes, but the neighbors were a joyful bunch, insisting that it was the nicest neighborhood in the country. I couldn’t argue them, the area was beautiful, and so I agreed to move in at the earliest possible moment. I believe it was a day in mid September that I actually began renting the house. I had problems with it the next day, but I my mind was occupied on a different subject. In the early hours of the morning, a moving truck came and left without so much as a neighbor catching a glance. Nobody had any idea whatsoever as to who moved in and whatnot, which really upset the neighborhood ‘welcome wagon’ as it later affectionately became called. Later that day, around noon-ish, a phone call:

‘Hello?’ I asked.

‘Hey there, Mark, this is Cathleen from next door,’ a timid, elderly, and very feminine voice replied quietly through the receiver.

‘Oh hello, Cathleen, what can I do for you?’ I inquired, as I took a drag of my cigarette.

‘Well, it seems that we had a visitor this morning, and I am just quite shocked that no one was informed!’ Cathleen said a little loudly into the receiver.

‘Well,’ I looked out my window. ‘I don’t see what the big deal is. A new guy moved in, so what? The house was for sale, you know.’

‘Well, Mark, I am appalled that you would say something like that! It is MY sole job in this neighborhood to PERSONALLY welcome everyone into our home!’ Her voice crescendoed in an unkind manner as her inexplicable anger rose.

‘Cathleen,’ she continued to yell, so I had no space to interject. ‘CATHLEEN! Listen, dear, have you taken your meds yet? You really should do that, it’ll help level you out, okay?’

‘Oh dear, I suppose you’re right…I’m very sorry, Mark.’

‘Don’t worry about it, okay. I’ll talk to you later.’ I didn’t. As I hung up the receiver, I had this nagging feeling that maybe there was something a little strange about someone moving in without a trace overnight- or over the course of an hour or two. I placed my cup of coffee on the table, tied my robe, and walked out onto my front porch. The ‘For Sale’ sign had been removed and a light was shining through the bay window, but, strangely, there was no vehicle in the driveway, and since there was no garage, I presumed he had no car. In fact, he left almost no trace of his entry. I decided rather quickly that it wasn’t anything of importance and moved on into my house to finish enjoying my coffee.

***

The loss of signal caused a horrible fuzzy sound that rang through my ears like a thousand bells. It became almost unbearable by the time I actually showed some initiative and got off my back and shut it off. I glanced over- 3:00 A.M. I really need some sleep. I lied down on my bed, my horribly uncomfortable bed, and tried my hardest to slip into a deep sleep, to be visited by Queen Mab, but, three hours later, and it just didn’t happen. The thought of that mysterious man kept filling my mind and my thoughts and I just couldn’t keep him out.

I leapt out of my bed, hoping to look out my window and see something- anything! I don’t know why, but he was driving me crazy! I threw on a robe, tied it, and threw myself outside and to his doorstep. I rang the doorbell, and slowly but surely, I heard the faint sounds of what could possibly be called footsteps. As the door slowly unlocked and the knob turned, my heart pounded in my chest. Anybody could probably easily hear the thumping standing right next to me. The door slowly creaked open. ‘Mark…’I heard faintly, followed by a loud thumping sound. My heart? It continued… ‘Mark…Mark…Mark…’ Thump, thump, thump…I slowly opened my eyes.