A Dash Of Red

Six

It was getting to be August. The lush grass was beginning to lose its luster to the summer heat, and the buzzing of insects held the world captive so that there was no choice but to hear their sound. With heat, things became weary, and each day dragged on like the last.

The summer had been haunted by the overwhelming sense of fear and left over disturbance. By June it had become a cloud — one no one spoke about because it just seemed so horrible. So Henry got over it, abandoned it, and surrendered to the sounds of the insects. He spent more and more time in his little place by the brook, although it had become gradually harder for him to lower his body, he still sat on a shiny knot in a tree root, just perfect for him to rest. 

Beth drew a little closer to Henry however, she was a little more protective of him, and had actually agreed to stop turning on the television. It had hung their, from its fixture high on the wall, collecting dust on its surface. Beth grew used to not watching television, just as she grew used to purple carrots. 

The letters had stopped coming. It made sense. The messenger, (perhaps the writer himself) had grown tired of writing letters to a boring old couple who didn't care much or pay attention to them. They had been warned. It made sense to Henry. He had been warned. And if something happened to him, he was alright with it, it was after all, his decision. 

 During the summer, the fog only decreased a little, the sun burned through it just as it began to come up, so hiding was a bit harder, but seeing, a bit easier. The Greenway's home had a little sign hanging from the door, carved in wood. 

Greenway

It said. Perhaps someone had bought it for them while on holiday in Greenway, because that would have cost a lot less than carving their own name. The doormat said welcome and it had little purple flowers on it, even though it was made of straw. The house was alright, but there needed to be more. More signs of the Greenways more smells. The over all aura. The way they had been a long time ago. That was what the person under the cloak wanted. They wanted to feel something that had been lost long ago to the fogs of time. Washed away in a salty sea. 

"Goodness! Henry! I hear him!"

Beth rushed to the door, her clutching her bathrobe across her body, not bothering to tie it. 

"He's gone Henry, look what you've done?"

"I can't see what I've done, I've done nothing, Beth."

The cloaked figure crouched beneath the planter bed listening to them, and tears almost welled up. Hearing their voices. 

Hours later and Henry felt himself giving in. Beth could say whatever she wanted. Anything, but whatever it was, the calm before the storm was over. Beth had told Mrs. Park next store about it. Mrs. Park had told someone else. The buzz of fear now overpowered the buzz of insects.

"I'll be off, then." Henry said. He put on his shoes and walked to the forest. It was his only refuge from the commotion. He'd only hear the insects there. But even there, things seemed alive. As if the forest was full of people he didn't know. People crowding around to take his picture, or to take a picture of himself. A "selfie" or whatever the children called them these days. He wanted to curl up inside that little forest and not hear the people. But people were what he heard. He heard screaming, yelling, talking, gossip. Stamping and searching. The destruction of the sacred. 

Henry couldn't quite put a finger on it, but it seemed to be talking to him. He didn't see anyone. Smell their sweat. Hear their actual voices. But he knew that someone was there. He turned around. A red cloak. Henry didn't scream. He'd seen a few murderers before. It was no problem. They may not be real murderers but, this one didn't seem to scare him. No. He scared the person in the red cloak. He ran. Henry stood up and slowly walked away. Perhaps this was not a place meant for him to be today.