I sat on my old wooden chair, watching over the drought-stricken country. Farmer Jim pulled his plough through dry, barely arable soil, then wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Today, like every day, was swelteringly hot, and I could feel this even as I sat in the shade, enjoying an ice block. It was cold to the touch, even through the layer of paper separating it from my hand.
“Hey.” muttered cousin Emma, walking from her family-owned convenience store, gripping a box no doubt for deliveries.
“Hey.” I replied, lacking the energy for a proper response.
“They say Lana’s been done in,”
I looked at her blankly.
“You ain’t surprised?” she continued.
“Nah, nah. I’m plenty surprised. Just, she had it coming, is all.”
Thief Lana, the local troublemaker. Always stealing from houses and the sort.
“Whatever you say. Anyways, I heard it was old man Jacob.”
“Nah. I don’t believe it, nah. I’ll have a chat with him later, though.”
“Ok. Be safe?”
“Be safe.”
I tapped Emma on her wide-brimmed hat and stood up, shoving my half-finished ice block into her hand. Walking off towards Jacob’s house, the rural landscape shimmered in the distance like a mirage.
Through dying farmland and dried-up pastures of grass, the path led me to old man Jacob’s house. It was a quaint little residence, with a verandah of old wooden planks that creaked underfoot as I crossed over them, and a little stone garden gnome that watched me with painted-on eyes. A bench sat adjacent to me, clearly well maintained, with not a patch of dust present on its surface. No paint peeled from the house’s many coloured walls, a stack of empty cans being telltale signs of a fresh coat. I reached for the doorknob, but before I could turn it, the door was violently shoved open by old man Jacob, shotgun in hand.
“Who-- oh, you. Come in, come in, kid. God knows what sorts of maniacs are walkin’ round here.”
Old man Jacobs looked quite different. His once carefully groomed hair now lay in a birds’ nest on his head, and wrinkled, worn clothes were wrapped around a slim frame. And the smell. He reeked heavily of alcohol, as if he had just been drinking.
“Sorry ‘bout the mess, kiddo. I’ve been preparing, y’see.”
“For what?” I asked.
“For the quack who offed that girl behind my house!”
Old man Jacobs waved his shotgun, and I flinched.
“hey, watch out for the shottie, Jacobs!”
Old man Jacobs shook his head, but gently rested the gun against a wall.
The interior was messy. Windows were covered by cloth, and the fridge, normally in the kitchen, was now sitting in the living room. Every door was left ajar, and various newspapers, documents, and bills were strewn over the floor. Walking further inside, I saw various items of furniture lying, dilapidated, tipped over, around the room.
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“Coffee?” he asked.
“Ok.”
From the fridge he procured a glass jar, with dark brown liquid sloshing around inside. He poured me a glass, then placed it on the table.
“Take a seat. Use whatever ain’t barricading the windows.”
I pulled up a stool, taking the cup of cold coffee and having a drink. Old man Jacob tittered to himself and plopped onto the floor.
“You ain’t lookin’ that good, Jacobs.”
“Nah, nah. I’m fine. Just a bit rattled, is all.”
“Well, that’s good, then. I gotta ask ya a few questions, ok?”
“What, you a copper?”
“Nah. Just a curious towngoer.” I smiled a few crooked teeth at him, face dirty from toiling in dry farmland all day.
“Ok, ok, whatever you say, champ. Ask away.”
“So-- what happened?”
“Don’tcha listen to the chatter, boy? Lana Williams got lay down!”
“Yeah, yeah, but what really happened?”
Old man Jacob sighed, slumping back into his chair.
“Well, I was just having a nice sit and read, when a great cry comes from behind my house. It was a little girlie, definitely Lana. She was screamin’ and cryin’ for help, so I just had to go out and check. See if she was for real. So I open my door, carryin’ my shottie, and see this man I has never seen before just dragging her by the hair. So, I jump down and point my gun at him. ‘Drop the girl or I shoot’ I say. But he kept dragging her!” old man Jacob cracked up, a single tear rolling down his face.
“So I says again, ‘drop the girl or I shoot’. But he keeps dragging her, like a wild animal. So I shoot. But he keeps dragging her, even faster maybe. So I keep shootin’. But he still keep dragging her. So I run. There’s only one bullet left y’know–” Old man Jacob released a sob, lying back in his chair.
“It’s fine if you don’t wanna continue, Jacob.”
“Nah, nah, I wanna. Jus’ gimme a sec.” Old man Jacob wiped a tear from his eye, giving a hearty sniff and continuing.
“So, I ran into my house and locked the door. Soon I hear screams from through the wall, screams of pain. Methinks it was poor Lana. Soon they stop, and I walk outside with a knife, and-- and--”
“And what, Jacobs?”
“And she’s dead!” old man Jacobs crumpled in the chair, vigorously sobbing.
“Stabbed to death, methinks. I saw blood. Lots of blood.”
“I see. Thanks, Jacobs. I should get going now though--”
Old man Jacobs leaped up, frantically grabbing my sleeves.
“No, no, don’t go. He’s prowling.”
“What?”
“No, no, come pray with me.”
“Ok.”
“Yes, yes, kiddo.”
Old man Jacob led me to a secluded room of the house. It was a candle-lit bathroom, with polished, well-maintained floors and a bible perched on a shelf on the wall.
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name--” as old man Jacob prayed, I shut my eyes and listened. Soon the only sounds were the wind and his voice.
“Your kingdom come, your will be done--” a creaking door broke the near silence.
“On earth as it is in heaven--” tap, tap, tap. Footsteps manifested in the nearby room.
“Give us this day our daily bread--” tap tap tap. They tapped closer, slowly, slowly.
“And forgive us our debts--” tap tap tap - The bathroom door swung open.
“As we also have forgiven our debtors--” taptap tap
“And lead us not into temptation--” taptaptap
“But deliver us from evil.” tap.
I felt a ragged breath hit the back of my neck, and though the prayer was over, I did not dare open my eyes.