Autumn Leaves

Autumn Leaves

         Susan looked out her bedroom window. A beautiful sunny autumn Saturday morning greeted her eyes. Although there were more leaves on the ground than remaining in the Sycamore, Water Oak, and Maple trees, the colorful scene of her garden and lawn was breathtaking. The leaves needed raking, and that's a chore assigned to her. But she enjoyed raking leaves and looked forward to the task every year.

         The weather was unseasonably warm, so she dressed in pink shorts, a sky-blue shell top, and a cute little straw hat. A quick glimpse in the full-length mirror brought a line from a Broadway Show tune to mind, and the words "I Feel Pretty ... oh, so pretty" briefly to her lips.

         In the garage, along with the rake, spade, and other garden tools, there was an electric leaf blower. She hated that thing. It made an awful noise, was difficult to control, and the long electrical cord was continually getting tangled. She preferred the simple leaf rake. Her dad called it old school.

         She hadn't been working long when Jeffrey Pierce rode his bicycle slowly by while staring at her. She didn't like that. Jeffrey is probably harmless, but he's not quite right. He gives me the creeps, she thought.

         Ten minutes later, he rode by again, only this time he stopped, sat astride his bike and stared at her for a long time.

         This is awful. She stopped, dropped her rake, put her hands on her hips and stared back. Go away, you creep.

         Jeffery lowered his head and sped off without looking back.

         It didn't take long for Susan to shake off the creepy feeling; she felt proud of herself.

         I need to get these leaves to the curb. She used to have to bag them. That was not fun. But now the city comes by with this truck with a big vacuum hose and sucks up the leaves from the curb. They will be here in about an hour. If I stay at it, that should be plenty of time.

         A neighbor drove by, rolled down his window, waved, and gave a wolf whistle. An old guy, probably thirty-five or forty. She waved back.

          “I feel pretty ... oh, so pretty."

         Oh, what's that ... Looks like a glove. She poked the strange object and rolled it over with her rake. No!... It's... It's a hand! It's somebody's hand!

***

         The vacuum truck is coming down the street. With the help of her father, the decomposed hand has been bagged and the police detective is coming later this afternoon.

         Susan watched as the workman wrestled the vacuum hose to finally suck up the leaves she had raked to the curb. When he finished, he smiled and raised his arm to wave at her... with his hook.