The Neighbors

By Zimbell House Publishing

Ever wonder what your neighbors are really like? What they may be hiding?
The Neighbors features twenty aspiring writers wishing to entertain you with their short stories inspired by these very questions. From humorous conflicts with the home owners association to a seedier malevolence, suspicious behavior to a welcomed change, there is something for everyone.
The next time your neighbors invite you to dinner, you may wish to think twice!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zimbell House Publishing
• Release date: Apr 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781945967191

Zimbell House Publishing

Zimbell House Publishing is an independent publishing company that wishes to partner with new voices to help them become Quality Authors.Our goal is to partner with our authors to help publish & promote quality work that readers will want to read again and again, and refer to their friends.

Book preview

Josh Penzone

Howard Havenshaw stood at a bedroom window and looked over his cul-de-sac. He wanted to skip the morning run, but the snap hooks knocking against the naked flagpole reminded him of his obligation. Routine—he had read—was the trademark of any disciplined, military man. So, before each dawn, regardless of the weather, he could be seen in a matching gray sweat suit stretching on his front lawn. When his neighbors inquired about his ritual, he’d salute and say, Five at five. Although he had never told anyone what this meant, the collective residents of Vintage Woods Court formed the belief that it was an Army thing. Howard himself wasn’t actually sure of the phrase’s origin, but he had once heard his dad say it, so, he supposed it was an Air Force thing.

Once in uniform, conforming to his morning habit offered less resistance. He prepared his coffee, like he always did, pressing the timer so it would finish brewing the moment he returned from his run. He took a folded American Flag from an otherwise empty closet and set it on a chair on the front porch. He had lived there for eight years, but it still had two rooms without furniture, each of which he’d stand in the center of every morning to calm himself. He moved to Vintage Woods Court after Vera divorced him and relocated to her childhood home of Weiser, Idaho, to be with a guy named Rich, who had been a high school sweetheart. They reacquainted on the Facebook of all things. Howard then sold his Indiana coal company to the first bidder. He probably could’ve gotten more for his life’s work, but Vera hated that coal company and had begged him to sell it while they were married. He chose Ohio because Vera once said it seemed like a nice place to live. Then again, she would’ve preferred anywhere over Washington, Indiana, a place that didn’t seem to understand that other zip codes existed. But that was where Howard was born, and that was where Howard thought he’d die—in the ’Ton. The only time he’d left the ‘Ton was to attend Indiana University, which was where he met Vera.

The snap hooks pinged loudly as Howard reached for his toes. Some days he could still feel a phantom pain in his left leg. He had broken it badly playing football when he was seventeen. Most days it was fine, good as new, but every now and then it felt like the bone was ready to re-crack. The snap hooks continued to knock against the pole. Howard looked up, wishing they would’ve said no. After purchasing his new home, Howard asked the Home Owner’s Association for permission to put a twenty-five-foot flagpole in his front yard. I’m aware that the bylaws of our particular cul-de-sac state our street needs to be congruent and such. No fences. No other landmarks creating aesthetic disagreement, but I do believe a flagpole at the front of the cul-de-sac will make this the most patriotic street in the Estate, reminding outsiders of our virtue and integrity. Then he slapped his heels together, stretched his spine, and saluted, which was the first time he had ever made such a gesture in public. Colleen Kellerman and the Homeowner’s Association agreed to his request and then showered him with gratitude, thanking him for his service and dedication to the country.

And so the lie began.

Howard cursed under his breath as Don Longstreth approached him. He was dressed in a blue running suit with yellow reflective stripes along the legs and sleeves and back and chest. He waved—one of those desperate waves that people make when hoping to be noticed.

Howard! Hey! Glad I caught you.

Howard Havenshaw didn’t move an inch, making the civilian come to him.

Don pointed to the lit porch, where the flag rested on a chair. Why isn’t the flag up yet? Shirking your duties this morning? He laughed. Howard didn’t.

I wait till morning’s first light.

That’s the rule? Huh. I never knew that. He was slightly out of breath from his little scurry across the street. Howard was twenty-three years older than Don Longstreth, and at sixty-four, Howard had less than eight percent body fat. Be in shape. Be ready for anything. Always. This was his mantra since moving to the Court.

I can see you have an agenda, Longstreth, so out with it.

Well, I’ve been doing some soul searching, you know, because, well, I’ve finally forced myself to see that my life is spiraling towards perpetual depression. He smiled, seemingly to counter the weight of his words. He waited for Howard to comment. Howard didn’t. Any-who, I thought, that I needed to shape-up. To be a better me, you know. Try to get my life back. Second chances and all that. He waited again for Howard to make an inquiry. Howard didn’t. He knew talking only revealed weakness. Anyway, I want to enlist, so to speak, in um, whatever it is you do to look that like…you do. Seriously, you look like you were carved out of a redwood. He laughed. Howard didn’t. Think of me as your own cadet. He stood upright and brought his right hand lazily to his forehead. Reporting for duty, sir. His salute had a humorous exaggeration to it. Howard stared at him until he became more rigid and exacting, losing the comedic tinge. After a silence, Don pointed to his gut and pulled at the fat under his chin. He told Howard how he hated what he saw in the mirror and that he felt weak and lethargic and he was tired of feeling so worthless. He started to say something else but mumbled it as he looked back at his house.

Longstreth’s turmoil excited Howard. He thought about Adam Scuro, a kid who had lived two houses down and had enlisted in the Army fours years back. He’d shaped that kid from a budding delinquent who scuffed sidewalks and driveways with his skateboard and had once been caught peeping into Karen Whitings’ window, to a chiseled warrior, now fighting for the nation’s freedom in Afghanistan.

We do this, Longstreth, then we do it my way. The first day you miss, I consider that surrender. I don’t train the weak. I leave weakness for the enemy to define.

He nodded and followed Howard to the mouth of the cul-de-sac. Howard explained that they would run for pacing and conditioning, not for speed. They would run side by side to simulate unity. They would limit conversation and learn to speak only when necessary. At the end of each run, they would disclose the intelligence gathered from studying the Estate of Vintage Woods. As the days continued, they would expound upon the subtle changes of the neighborhood and question if those differences should be deemed a threat. Yes, sir, Longstreth said. And so they began.

Aside from neighborly courtesies, Don Longstreth hadn’t spoken to Howard in years. After the Scuro kid had enlisted and the cul-de-sac saw the impact Howard had on him, Don asked him to speak at the local high school to promote the military as a career option. He said Howard could inspire the students. Don was a guidance counselor and thought it was sad that the expectation for every young adult was to go to college when a lot of kids just weren’t cut out for the world of academia.

Howard wasn’t told that other veterans would be there. He was last to speak and in listening to the younger soldiers talk about Kuwait and Iraq and Sudan, a hollow pit seemed to form in his gut. Decorated with medals purchased from a pawnshop, Howard stood in the high school auditorium before two hundred juniors and seniors and abandoned his usual Hollywoodesque tales—the ones he had perfected telling to the Scuro boy—and created a narrative unfit for teenage consumption. Said he was nineteen when he enlisted and was on Vietnam soil by the time he was twenty. Said he served a second tour to avenge the death of his twin brother who had died right in front of him on his first tour. Told the class it was like seeing himself die. Said he’d killed some gooks. Said he didn’t mind that he did. Said he didn’t give a damn what his orders were or who wanted control of Laos for whatever reason. Said his only duty was to stay alive and if that directive aligned itself with patriotism, then by golly, he was indeed a genuine patriot. There was no true timeline to his speech, nor were there any true landmarks or historically accurate political agendas. Over the years, he had learned the more confusing and tragic he made his story, the less likely people were to ask specifics. To detract from his lack of a purpose, he used profanity. A lot of fucking profanity. He described the conditions as shitty and when a member of Charlie had come at him with a bamboo spike, he didn’t give fuck all and shot the yellow fucker dead. Don Longstreth stood in the front row, but the other soldiers motioned him to sit back. Howard smiled and then said he watched the gook bastard bleed out just to calm himself down. Said the best moments were the Playboys. Said his platoon members would take turns jerking off in the woods while the others guarded camp. Said if he didn’t have his self-pleasure, the silver dollar bugs, and the rain that continued for months at a time would have pushed him to the limit. He didn’t even have an end to his speech, just stood at the podium in silence, as if he was trying to conjure up other things to say but couldn’t create them. The scattered applause of shocked students cued his exit. After the auditorium had emptied, Howard enjoyed the pathos from his fellow soldiers. He didn’t say a word to Longstreth who stared at him dumbly from the front row of the auditorium, probably still mesmerized by the show.

That evening Don confronted Howard. I’ve been on the phone all afternoon with angry parents! He screamed as he charged into his house. He bent over and looked back at Howard and said this was his new position as the fifty parents were lining up to take turns. Howard laughed, but since he was five bourbons deep, it sounded abrupt and primal. He slouched over and mumbled, Chugga-chugga-chugga, before trailing off, thinking of Vera, and the one time they were on a train.

Don looked him over and swore under his breath. How could I have made a veteran relive those tragedies. How selfish! And then finally he asked, Did you drink before the presentation? Howard lied and nodded. Did preparing for the speech make you remember things you wanted to forget?" Howard methodically turned, looked Longstreth in the eyes, and nodded. The two sat in silence for some time until Don left.

There were rumors that Don would lose his job for forcing an unstable veteran with PTSD in front of students, but nothing ever came of it. Sometimes at night, after Howard had stopped thinking about his wife and his brother and his dad, and his mind matched the stillness of the dark, the silence allowed him to think as himself. He thought of Don Longstreth and those rumors and wondered if he would’ve done the right thing to save his neighbor from destruction.

Holy shit. I’m out of shape, Don said, leaning against Howard’s mailbox. The sun was finding its place in the sky. Howard motioned to him and told him to wait at the flagpole and returned with the flag.

Okay, soldier. We are to unfold the flag and attach it to the pole. The flag cannot touch the ground. I’ll pull the string to raise it. The flag is to be raised briskly. You will salute while I raise it. Understood?

He nodded following Howard’s instruction and walked backward while holding the flag. Howard attached the flag and pulled the string aggressively. Longstreth saluted it as it carried towards the sky.

Good first day of training, Howard. Thank you for the pain. I’m gonna go and take a long hot shower so I can cry in private. Man, I hurt. I think my muscles are creating a civil war with my body. The peace treaty I had negotiated with a sedentary lifestyle has officially been broken. Don smiled. Howard cracked a grin. Until tomorrow morning then.

Soldier, you’ll see me at precisely nineteen-hundred hours for the twilight’s last retreat.

The what?

Seeing the Scuro boy twice a day helped build trust. It would do the same for Longstreth.

The flag can only fly in the light, so we need to take it down at dusk. See you then, soldier.

Don nodded. He began to wave goodbye, but caught himself, and changed it to a salute. Howard saluted too and said he was dismissed. As Don limped across the street, Howard had no doubt he’d be back. Don was lost but wanted to be a good man again. Howard could give him that. His wife ran out on him and his daughter five months ago. The daughter was already acting out, dying her hair red, then purple, now blue. Her wardrobe consisted only of skintight, ripped jeans and black tank-tops that pushed up her breasts. She had piercings in each eyebrow, her nose, and another in her bottom lip. Snuck weed while she walked her dog. No doubt Don had a lot of problems, and people with problems rarely saw things through, but Howard would change that. So, as he watched his new cadet walk away, he knew he was destined to save Don Longstreth, just as he had been destined to save Adam Scuro.

****

Today was the thirteenth of a month divisible by two—time to make the call. Howard had created his own unbreakable code for when to call Rich Clemons. The code was a game, but more importantly, it held Howard in check. Any month divisible by two and he would call on the date of the next prime number in the sequence. Precisely at five, he dialed the Idaho area code on his burner phone. After a few rings, a man answered.

Hello? Hello? Is this you? It is you, isn’t it? I know it is. I figured out your code. I served thirty-four years in the Navy, you little shit. Don’t think I wasn’t expecting this call. Gonna say something this time? I didn’t think so.

Howard pinched the phone closed. He thought about calling back, speaking to him directly, telling the man what he had in store for him, to get fear back on his side, the one that used to make the man’s voice tremble, but in all the calls over the years, Howard had never spoken a word.

Howard sat at the kitchen table. He looked at his liquor cabinet but didn’t move. A disciplined man didn’t indulge until the duties of the day were done. He turned from the cabinet and faced his back yard. He needed to rake the leaves. Maybe he’d pay a neighbor kid to do it. No, he needed something to do. He’d get to it eventually.

****

Don stood at the flagpole, facing his house. Howard stood next to him. After another minute of silence, Don said, You got spy equipment? Scopes with infrared night vision? Stuff like that?

Howard didn’t, but he said that he did.

You really can see every house from here, can’t you? Even the Kellerman’s next door is at just the right angle to see inside. Same with the Scuros and the Burnishes. This spot right here is the exact spot to know everything isn’t it?

Howard didn’t respond. He positioned Longstreth under the flag, told him to salute, and began pulling the string. Don caught the flag and backed-up. Howard unhooked the flag and directed Don how to fold it. To Howard’s surprise, the corners were clean and straight and smooth.

Well done, soldier.

Don shrugged and said he was a Boy Scout when he was little. Howard never was, but this didn’t stop him from saying that he was an Eagle Scout.

Good work today, soldier. I’ll see you tomorrow at 0500.

Before Howard took a step, Don asked if he could come inside for a drink. Howard joked that Commanding Officers usually don’t cavort with new cadets, but Don didn’t know it was a joke. He looked pathetic as he began walking back to his home, so much so, that Howard ordered him to come inside for a scotch.

He poured them both a Macallan 18, neat. Don sat at the kitchen table. Howard handed him the drink, then circled back behind the kitchen counter. Don winced at the taste. Smooth. He held the glass as if it were a hot chocolate. He sipped the Macallan and kept silent while Don commented on the house and how clean it was.

Kelly was the clean one. Nikki and I are both slobs. The house currently looks like we are in the middle of either packing or unpacking. Like we can’t figure out which. He laughed and took another sip. This is good. What is it?

Howard told him.

Isn’t that expensive stuff?

Howard said the only things worth money are freedom and good scotch.

I guess that’s why wars are so expensive.

This comment prompted a long silence. Both men continued to sip their scotches. Don looked around the kitchen. Howard stared at the front door. Howard finished his drink and set it down. The thud drew eye contact. Don grinned, then swallowed the rest of his scotch. He coughed and laughed, saying he assumed part of the training would be learning how to drink liquor straight.

Until tomorrow morning.

As Howard guided him to the door, Don continued to look around. Howard could tell he wanted to say something, but he didn’t give him the chance. He opened the door, saluted him, and told him that proper shut-eye was the fuel to an eventful day.

After Don Longstreth left, he switched to drinking bottom-shelf scotch and soda. After a good buzz, he reread some of the letters his twin brother had sent him while in Vietnam. His brother would write twice a week. Everything Howard had said to the students was a creative liberty taken from his brother’s letters. Howard couldn’t serve on account of his busted leg, but he never stopped wondering, if he had been able to serve that maybe somehow Joel’s foot would’ve missed that landmine.

Unable to sleep, he called the Idaho number again—with the same phone. Something he had never done. This time his ex-wife answered. She sounded the same. If he hadn’t known any better, he’d have thought he had called her on his way home from the VFW, where he’d sometimes go and pretend he was Joel.

Hello? she said in a harsh whisper. Hello? Are you the person who keeps calling? Hello? There was a pause. A bed creaked. Footsteps patterned themselves in quick formation across an old hardwood floor. Hello? The voice was softer now. Hello? Howard? Howard is this you? If it is, please talk to me. Say something. Is this really how you want to use the time you have left? Obsessing? You’re always obsessing? Howard? He analyzed her breathing, trying to ascertain concern. After a short pause, she hung up. He walked out to his garage and smashed the phone with a rubber mallet. He dropped it in a metal bin with the other broken phones.

****

Don Longstreth stretched. The sun had yet to peek above the horizon. The morning was windless. The snap hooks were at ease. Don snapped his gum while nodding at his house.

I have no idea what Nikki does all night long. I know it’s a parent’s right to ask, but I just can’t push her any farther away.

Howard straightened his legs and grabbed his toes.

Do you have any kids, Howard?

Howard shook his head. Vera wasn’t able to have kids. Ironically, this led to a fight because Howard was fine with it. Vera couldn’t believe she married a man that didn’t want kids. When Howard told her he was trying to be supportive in a difficult circumstance Vera said she was relieved she couldn’t have kids, because if they did, Howard would find a way to manipulate them to make them something they didn’t want to be. And although they remained married for decades, Howard felt that every fight afterward was actually about his indifference to her infertility.

Don struggled with the morning run, but like the day before, he wouldn’t quit, so Howard was surprised when he suddenly stopped.

Holy shit! Is that a wolf?

It wasn’t a wolf. It was a coyote. But it was a big one. It looked well fed and groomed, almost as if it was domesticated. It trotted from trashcan to trashcan, sniffing. The click of the paws against the pavement grew louder the closer it got. Don moved behind Howard, and that subtle movement was all it took for it to stop and stare at both of them.

What the hell is a coyote doing in our neighborhood? Don said.

It charged towards them. Don yelled, Oh shit. Howard’s muscles tightened. Then, from deep within a place Howard didn’t even know existed, he let out a barbaric yelp and kicked the coyote in the face. It squealed a high pitch cry and backed-up. It snarled. Howard made a violent gesticulation and then screamed as if he was charging into a medieval battle. The coyote scampered away, between two houses, towards the park that met the evergreen woods where the Estate of Tall Pines got its name.

So, that was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me!

Howard wanted to agree with him, but all he found himself saying was, Nothing is scary after you’ve been in the shit.

Howard sipped coffee while Longstreth talked to the police.

I don’t know how big? I don’t run with a measuring tape and a scale on the off chance I can chart suburban wild game! What? Howard? At least sixty pounds, right? What? Sorry officer, I didn’t think about any of this while the fucking thing charged at us. Don shook his head. I didn’t put a beacon on it. How am I supposed to know where it is now? I just know it was here, in the Estate of Tall Pines. There are a lot of little kids in this neighborhood. At the very least put out some sort of amber alert or something to notify people… No, no I am not trying to tell you how to do your job, I’m too busy hanging on the wall of common sense to multitask right now… Thank you.

He hung-up Howard’s landline phone and shook his head. He thought I was lying. He thought it was just a dog. So pleased to know that the man who wasn’t there wants to tell me what we saw. Hell, even if it was a dog, that thing should be caught and put down. Don paused and then began to laugh. He laughed so hard Howard found himself smiling.

Howard, you jacked that thing in the face. Just kicked the shit out of it. Don yelled, mimicking Howard, and kicked the air. Holy shit! I think you saved my life. Rule number one of jogging in the suburbs; always run with a war veteran.

He checked the time and said he needed to get to work, but that he’d see Howard at dusk. Long after Don left, Howard was still smiling.

In the den, Howard pulled back a desk drawer and rummaged through papers. He pulled out a business card: JAMES ELLIOTT PHOTOGRAPHY. He straightened out the bent edges of the card and placed it in the middle of the desk. He set a manila folder next to the card. Inside it was research on Daniel Elliot: army rank, platoon nickname, cause of death, and next of kin—James Elliott.

After lunch, he fell asleep on the couch. Howard didn’t usually take naps, but this day felt different to him, so instead of moving around the house to stay awake, he leaned into his body’s impulses and closed his eyes.

He dreamt about his father who was a bomber in World War II. He got the job because he failed the pilot exam, so if they couldn’t teach him how to fly, they were going to teach him how to be useful. He used to talk about what a great privilege it was to light up the German countryside by pulling a lever. When he’d tell these stories, he’d always stare at Joel, animated, trying to get Joel to cheer for him. He never gave Howard the same enthusiasm. Howard always felt it was because he was the second baby, the surprise. The doctors weren’t expecting him. This led to complications and his mother died. His father never said it, but Howard felt he resented his existence. With all the fictional stories of glory that Howard had spun over the years, the only life he had ever really taken was his mother’s.

In his dream, Howard was visiting his father at the nursing home. He had had this dream many times before. His father had dementia in his final days, and he rarely recognized Howard, always calling him Joely. It was always the same in his dreams. But today’s dream was different. His dad was sitting in a chair by the window, which was the same, but then, with a vice-like grip, he grabbed Howard’s arm and said, Howard, you think you mean something now? You don’t mean anything? You can’t endure. Endurance is living life the best you can, knowing you blew up women and children. I’m a mass murderer, and I endured. I outlived a wife and a son. I endured. What? You do one thing that can be misconstrued as heroic, and this changes things? No Howard. No. It doesn’t. It just doesn’t. Howard didn’t wake up. He stayed there in that dream, standing in the corner of the nursing room, like he was being punished for being recognized, hoping that his father would forget, and think he was Joel.

****

Howard held the audio bug in his hand as he waited for Longstreth. One thing Howard had figured out over the years was the schedule of each and every neighbor. He’d also seen things, suspicious happenings that he kept to himself, just in case he needed to trade secret for secret one day. He knew that Lance Reynolds was having an affair with Colleen Kellerman. He knew that Ginny Scuro would break into the Whitings’ home while they were at work. He knew all sorts of secrets, and as he gripped the audio bug, he wanted to help assist Longstreth with his secret.

But Longstreth was late. Two and a half hours late to be exact. He usually pulled into his driveway at three-thirty, but he was still nowhere to be seen. Adam used to be late for things in the beginning too, but he whipped that kid into shape and now he’s in the dirt half a world away, being a hero. In time, Howard would do the same for Don.

At six-thirty, Don Longstreth pulled into the driveway. Howard stuffed the device in his pocket and headed for the door. Twilight had taken its place in the sky. He looked up at the flag and paused, knowing he’d be back soon with Longstreth to perform the duty.

Don popped opened his trunk. He began gathering up groceries from the back. A bag slipped. He caught it, but it ripped, spilling its contents onto the driveway. He clumsily made a gesture to the air, cursing the sky. Howard bent down and gathered the groceries.

"General Howard!