Nowhereville

I opened my eyes to daylight filtering through the living room bay window. Without another second thought, I positively jumped off the couch. I felt like I had been born again. What had been plausibly the longest night of my life was now over, and the sun was up.

It’s funny, you know. We’re different people at night than we are during the day. Our brain works differently after the sun goes down. We become squeamish and jumpy, and the fears that you thought you had slain in the years of your youth come back to life. Sunlight gives us a false sense of bravery and a rigid, questionable certainty of what’s right and wrong.
I know that now, but I failed to see it back then. I’m older now, I know more.

But then I simply brushed off whatever anxieties I had experienced the night before like they were nothing. With a new spring in my step, I walked towards the kitchen and smoked while I boiled another pot of water for the coffee. With that, the water I had brought in my thermos was done for. I drank the bad coffee hastily, all the while looking out the window into the street. The houses didn’t look remotely threatening now, in the benign sunlight.

After finishing off the coffee and about three Marlboros, I went into the hallway, where my duffel still lay discarded on the floor, by the foot of the stairs. I opened it and took out a change of clothes, since the ones I was currently wearing were crumpled from my sleeping in them.

There was not much I could do after changing into a fresh t-shirt and jeans, considering the absence of the water in the decrepit house. Therefore, I grabbed my messenger bag and threw an unopened pack of cigarettes in it, along with my lighter. Before heading for the door, I double-checked whether or not my ID and the so-called will were still inside.

The wave of heat caught me by surprise as I opened the front door. California was nothing compared to the desert. I locked the door behind me, but not before scrutinizing the street – and Kari’s house especially – for any signs of movement. There were none.

Once I was out in the street, I took one more fleeting glance at Kari’s house before walking away in the direction opposite to the one I had come from the previous night, towards what I assumed would be the town center. The street revealed houses similar to the ones that I had already seen, but I was starting to observe that they were getting less and less decaying by the moment. The further I walked down the street, the better the houses were starting to look. These ones seemingly preserved a human trace left on them by their previous inhabitants.
I walked on. Minutes later, my eyes encountered a sight that caused me a great relief. One of the most presentable houses so far, a two-storied log building showed the first signs of humanity that I had seen since the bus driver. One of the first-storey windows was wide open, and linens were airing out on the sill. A simple sight such as this filled me with an unexpected hope. I felt as though whoever was airing their goddamn bed sheets and pillows was the best friend I’d had in my life. I wanted to go knock on their door and shake their hand and hug their wife and children. A manic feeling of relief was coursing through me.

I approached the house and did my best to peer through its windows without looking nosy. However, it seemed that this one wasn’t the only inhabited house. From that point on, all houses, the porches, the front yards, they all showed small signs of inhabitation. Here, the windows were gleaming in the sun, as though they had just been polished, there, the porch had been swept and it looked nice and neat.

My steps grew swifter and less hesitant. And then, just as I was crossing to the other side of the street, a person – a real person, that is – came out onto the sidewalk from one of the yards. I quickened my pace, walking straight toward him. Hearing my footsteps approaching, he turned around to face me. At first, his face’s unanimous expression was fear. He even took a few steps back, as if to increase the distance between us. I waved my hand in greeting and smiled tentatively. After a few more hasty steps, I stopped in front of him. His face now showed plain surprise.

He was an elderly man with a merely a few patches of hair left on his otherwise bald head. He had a straggly moustache and rather bushy eyebrows that all but hid his small, watery blue eyes. A couple of his front teeth were missing.

“Hi there,” I said. “My name’s John Morris, how do you do,” I added and extended my hand for him to shake it. The old man seemed in no hurry to grab my hand, so I lowered it. He looked me up and down, with a look of extreme suspicion on his creased face.

“Morris, you say, ah?” he asked in a drawling voice. “Why, but that’s not possible, you can’t be.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re too young, of course!” he replied with an unshakeable certainty. “Faye just died, and she was in her nineties. You can’t be one of hers.”

“She was 87, to be precise,” I said tartly. “And of course I’m not her son, I’m her grandson!” However, instead of being elucidated by the piece of information I had just provided him, the old mad looked even more baffled.

“But they’re all dead! Every last one of them! How can it be?” he asked in an aggravated voice. Despite the peculiarity of his words, I knew right away what he was talking about. He had merely confirmed my suspicions; it was, after all, true that dad and Uncle Merv’s siblings were no longer among the living.

“Not all of them. The twins, they’re still alive,” I said in a cool voice. “Lucas Morris is my father.”
“But how?” the old man asked yet again. However, he seemed to abandon the question as soon as he had demanded it. “And I assume you are here to take care of Faye’s affairs, aren’t you boy?”

“Yes, that’s right,” I answered, relieved that we were finally getting to the point. “Do you think you might be able to help me, sir? You know, point me in the right direction?”
“That depends on what you’re looking for.”

“Well, a good start might be an attorney. I think I’ve found what might be my grandmother’s will, and I need some guidance as to whether it is or not valid. Someone’s gotta do something with that big old house.” And I know just what, burn it to the ground, I thought to myself.

“John – that’s your name, is it not? – you will not find that sort of stuff here. Have you not looked around you? I think that house would better be left alone.” I opened my mouth to argue, although I secretly shared his opinion.

“But my father –”

“Lucas Morris, you said? Impetuous child he was, I remember him well,” the old man said with a contemplative look. “There is a man here, his name is Leonard Horowitz – Jewish, of course – he used to be a lawyer in his day. He’s the only one I can think of, and I’m not sure he’ll be of much help. He lives right down the street, at no. 55.”

“Thank you, sir, your help is much appreciated,” I said and smiled.

“Take care, m’boy, this isn’t a friendly place, especially with strangers,” he added before crossing to the other sidewalk. His words vaguely echoed those of my father.

I watched him as he went into a yard, up the steps of the respective house, and knocked on the door. It was opened almost instantly, but just a slit. A pair of beady eyes looked over the small frame of the old man, straight at me, and I earned another one of those suspicious glances.

The door was snapped shut almost immediately after the old man had crossed the house’s threshold. With that, the street was once again silent and bleak. I could only hint at what the hell was wrong with this town.