A Stranger in Passing

1646 Beech Street, an address marked only with a mailbox. There was no path leading inland from the road, only a dense wall of dormant Ohio woodlands. A small truck idled on the shoulder of the street.

"Well where the hell is it?" asked Burt over the rumbling engine.

"It's probably in the woods there. Otis never had a car, guess he didn't need a driveway." responded Caroline as she gathered her rucksack.

"I don't know of any U-haul that can make it through scrub like that," Burt pet the dashboard of the small truck in response to its rumbling purrs. "And it is gonna be a pain in the ass to haul furniture through the woods."

"Don't be so dramatic, there's probably a walking trail cut in there somewhere. We'll get a dolly and just do a little every day."

Burt flipped on the caution lights, and the pair went looking for a walking trail.

There was no walking trail.

"Told ya' this was gonna be shitty."

The two pressed into the woods, charging against a decade of unchecked growth. They alternated the lead, pushing through the low-hanging limbs and crunching withered blackberry vines underfoot. It worked well, until Caroline's jacket caught -and flung - a black lotus branch. The spiked bark swung with the spring-force of a barbed whip directly into Burt's nose.

"SON-OF-A-BITCH!" Blood drizzled from Burt's face as a dozen tiny pinpricks swelled and throbbed.

"Oh-my-god-I'm-so-sorry-how-could-I-"

Burt was, by his own description, 'no bitch'. When he felt pain, he grit his teeth. When he felt emotion, he grit his teeth - except when he felt anger. Anger was the only thing he was ever comfortable expressing.

"Shut your fuckin' mouth Carol, I don't wanna hear you say another gat-damn word."

They continued in silence for another few minutes, until the dense woods thinned out and 1646 Beech Street was visible through the bare oak limbs.

The house brooded like a wounded animal in its den. It was painted a pale yellow at one time, though now the exuberant color was only seen in narrow horizontal streaks following creases and knots in the rough wood exterior. A black tarp whipped freely from the roof, a ghost trying to escape its rotting coil, and gave glimpses of a large hole in the slate shingles. Four windows faced the woods, and all were poorly patched with plastic and plywood. There was no door in sight.

"Who knew Otis could afford such a mansion?" Burt grinned beneath the drying red riverbed on his face.

Caroline smiled. She had known Burt long enough to know the rhythms of his anger. He loved his rage, a trait that won him fame as Northeast High's star fullback in 1989, and had kept him from holding any job that paid above minimum wage. He knew Otis from his football years, which was likely the only reason anyone at Otis Redford's Auctions 'N More had ever tolerated Burt's outbursts.

"Jeeze. I figured he would have lived in a nicer place, given what he pays - paid us."

Burt agreed with a grunt, and they cut through the last section of oaks.

The house was in a clearing, and as the pair circled around they made a terrible discovery.

"Are you kidding me?"

Caroline sighed.

A short driveway ran from the house's front door to a small road.

"Well gat-fuckin'-damn. I'll go get the fuckin' truck, shit."

Caroline had perfected the art of speaking with the same intensity as her exasperated sighs. "Okay. I've got his keys, I'll get started."

Burt stormed off into the woods, a string of expletives trailing after him. Caroline unlocked the front door. A wave of unspeakable stench - something like the smell of a drowned animal that had bloated and popped- assailed her at the entry. She gagged and recoiled back through the doorway into the open air.