Mr Beers. Three months ago I first noticed him standing at his second floor window. His silhouette was clearly visible, framed by the brightly lit room. He stood there and for a reason I didn’t know yet his presence made my toes tingle with cold.
During the day his house looked like any of the others. A white three story house with a white three foot fence and a silver mailbox. Some of the paint had peeled off. One solitary tree stood in the unkempt front yard. He lived alone. There were never visitors.
We didn’t say hello when we moved in. Thinking back I can’t remember a single time when I saw Mr Beers on the street. The only times we talked were with me on the street and him in his front yard. He always stood close to the dark brown trunk of the tree and he always held some sort of tool – a shovel, a rake and sometimes a small saw. But I never saw him use it. He always just stood there with the tool in his hand, as if for a rest. Continue reading