Spectrophobia

1: The Perfect Start

Small town - Harriet.

Not well known to the population of America. It's a quiet town full of quiet people who wander through their every day lives, quietly. Sounds quite boring.

Walking through the streets, kids play dead centre in the roads. The place is safe - too safe. Kicking rubber balls through ribbons of freshly mown grass; laughing and chattering among the sounds of birds chirping away (they are quite annoying really, continuously screeching nonsense to other neighbours miles away). The women cleaning and polishing the house like the great wives they are as the men take their duties outside - all whilst their kids played like dogs on the streets. Also boring.

The sun hits the land at that perfect angle, exploding into colourful glasses of lights which heated and melted in the warm summer air. The sky, a smiling blue - smiling at this perfect block of land. The trees uttered no sound - dead still. Scared of moving. No breeze to comfort the mute barks of timber. A normal boring day.

But not for Raymond Newman. Late 20's, brown hair, green eyes, not single for a while now, no children - yet. 

You should try and remember this. He is important.

God rest his soul.

His life is like anyone else's. Perfectly ordinary situated in an equally boring ordinary home. Number 33. One of the most perfect houses in Harriet.

Him and his girlfriend had moved in two years ago. Ray and Jane. Two happy couple.

Jane had flown to business in Britain last week. Her job requires a lot of paperwork to be signed - day and night she worked like a lab monkey - doing her best to please the superiors. He admired her hard work. He admired everything about her. Her rich blond hair (she often dyed her hair), her grey eyes that reflected her smiling mouth. Yes, she was perfect.

Raymond now walks to the local market at the opposite end of Redfield Road. Where he would buy the flowers to accompany the glimmering box he now held in his palms. Held with pride. His face brimming with a smile; excitement. He could have skipped right through the gaping doors of the store.

The sweet smells of fresh honey and pollen swept the entire building. Mr Crawler's son was a beekeeper, who often donated a fresh batch of honey to be sold to the local. He was a charming lad, soon to be engaged as people said. Rumours spread like pollen around Harriet. Those words stretched the edges of his already beaming face. The man behind the register looked up and caught up to Ray's jubilant expression.

"So, it's this week is it, Ray?" - he asked, a smile now creeping on his own face.

"Correct. She arrives this weekend. It will be the perfect surprise," - he replied, trying his hardest to prevent his voice from shaking with the excitement that shook his limbs.

In this town, everyone knew everyone. So small, it was hard to miss anyone. You could find easily spot a friend in a crowd of people at a carnival here. 

The man winked at him.

"Now, what can I get for your lovely Jane?" - he asked.

"A bouquet. Not too expressive, just enough to impress her."

The man nodded and walked around the back of the store; always colourful and bright there. Ray stood by the counter, his thoughts dragging him along the future events. What would happen? Will she like it? Will she say yes? Raymond let the thoughts roll through his mind like ocean waves spitting at the sky.

Him and Jane had been together longer than they could count. What started off as late childhood friendship was now close to the end of that cycle.

His childhood...

Ray closed his mind. He did not want to be reminded of that. Not now. He turned his thoughts around to Jane again.

He realised how much he really missed her. Her long hours blocked the time they could spend together. She had promised him many nights that she would provide the time for the two. He knew it was an empty promise, like the previous one. And the previous one to that. But if she said yes to his request, they would have all the time to be together. Together till the end.

"Will these suffice?"

Raymond dragging his consciousness out of the murky depths of his mind. The man had returned, now holding a delightful set of monochromatic roses. Just blooming, shaped like kisses. Perfect.

"You know the best, Mr Crawler," - Raymond replied, reaching into the void of his pockets and fishing for the money he had once brought along with him.

The man shook his head - "Forget it. It's on the house. For your soon-to-be missus," - he handed the roses into his hesitant arms.

"Oh, I can't do that. Surely I could..." - his words were restrained by the ropes of the man's words.

"Not necessary. I may be older than I used to be, but I know how to make a goddamn business."

Raymond chuckled and mumbled his thanks to the man. Stepping out into the warm breath of the sun, he had never felt such a feeling. He was high on cloud nine - he never wanted to leave that blissful feeling.

He walked past the bar where he often spent his lonely evenings. He was a regular there. He was no alcoholic - careful with the drinks. He was a careful man. Unfortunately, not too careful.

The bartender - Richard: who had the most interesting stories told to both sober and high minds - looked up from his work and sent a friendly wave over to Ray.

The man must have sharp senses to know Ray was there.

He returned the gesture and continued along his way down the road to home. Down the yellow brick road. With his mind now elsewhere, he began counting the number of steps he took.

1, 2, 3...

37, 38, 39...

He looked up.

The local playground. It was full of life now. Children running and jumping - wild animals climbing through the jagged metal teeth and sliding down the sharp tongues of these steel beasts. Grotesque bars of metal that swung uncontrollably and rocked like a sinking boat.

Raymond was not a fan of playgrounds. He never liked them. Not even as a child. For all he knew, people got hurt in playgrounds. Too many noises and too many crowds.

He knew he must look strange. Suspicious. A grown man staring over the fence towards the children's madhouse. After another swift glance around, he turned his back on the place once again.

Number 33 sat like a birds nest at the end of the road. It was never too cold nor too hot. The house may look old, bricks peeping out here and there from beneath chipped paint, but it was still home. Raymond had promised Jane he would buy some fresh paint to recoat the house. And that he will do.

At the sight of his home, Raymond felt cheerful once more. His lovely girlfriend was soon to return and everything would be ready for her. The wrapped box and flowers bobbed with every long stride he took as he made his way down the sidewalk. Upon reaching the yellow painted door with a printed 33  in silver, Raymond balanced the items in his one arm whilst the other reaching for his house key.

The key was finally fished from the shallow waters of his pocket - he dug the teeth into the lock and turned. Hidden mechanisms jogging to life and creaking open the door to home.

The familiar scents caressed his face; he stepped inside.

And from here, the story begins.

The story of the quiet and respected house: number 33.