Rain has arrived. Thunder is rumbling and lightning flashing. The lights have been flickering too so I suspect power failure may be a possibility today. If not just internet failure as storms knock that out first. So I am just going to jump in and hope to get things posted before that possibility occrrs so let’s go.
I kind of like this one. Not sure what sort of secret life Malcom had but I bet it was interesting.
Thursday, July 7th: He had a big heart.
He had a big heart. He gave generously to all in his acquaintance in both time and energy. He took the care to listen to the stories people told him and to remember the important parts later on. He never spoke a harsh word in anyone’s hearing.
When he died and the neighborhood learned that his heart was indeed oversized, it seemed only fitting. The strangeness came later when vans with blacked out windows rolled onto the street, parked in front of the building and began carefully removing every item in his apartment. While the landlord was pleased to have someone clear it out, he contacted Malcolm’s son to perform the task and was expecting Evan.
Mr. Watson raced in to call Evan as the men began loading the van. They had the proper paperwork and permissions, but it seemed…unsettling. When he got Evan on the phone the man walked over from his own apartment. He was red eyed and hollowed out with grief, his loss still raw inside him. He also looked resigned and stood with the rest of his father’s friends as silent men paraded the items from apartment to van.
They didn’t speak as they worked. They barely glanced at anyone else as they worked. Their coveralls were a drab olive green with no markings indicating what company they worked for. They all wore medical face masks shielding the lower part of their face from view. The wore white kint caps pulled low and covering any hair any of them possessed. It left a strangely bare strip of skin between and two glittering eyes. Their hands were likewise covered with gloves and their work boots had removable cloth coverings as well. Mr Watson had seen them on people working in museums and Mrs. Evers had seen them on people working in hospitals. No one had seen them on house movers before and questions arose.
At the moment no one voiced the questions, but you could almost hear them whispering at the edge of consciousness. Soon rumors would fly.
The strangeness did not stop with the movers. Their supervisor was a man dressed in a plain black suit. He had presented the paperwork to Mr. Watson upon arrival and then said nothing more. He stood silent sentinel, his eyes watching the parade of goods flow past. When he was informed that the apartment was empty, he went into the apartment, two of the movers going with him while the rest stood guard by the truck on the off chance someone was looking to make off with Malcom’s collection of decorative lighters. Soon sounds arose. Banging and thumping. Looks were exchanged and even though time ticked past, no one moved. Appointments were surreptitiously cancelled or rescheduled by test message, errand were put off until later. Everyone wanted to see how this would end.
Finally the noise stopped. The men emerged from the apartment and the man in the black suit presented Mr. Watson with an envelope before leaving. The envelope read Damages on the front and as the men and the van left, Mr. Watson opened it, finding inside a large stack of crisp hundred dollar bills. He quickly closed the envelope deciding to count them later. He clutched the envelope tightly as he walked forward to the wide open door to the empty apartment.
Most of the buildings residents followed him.
Ten til Midnight 