Letters From G.

5

I decided that I should take more interest in the man I was pretending to be. I thought if I gave out personal information to the insipidly named G, that I could entice him into returning the sentiment.However, in order to attain more information on Henry, I needed to get closer than I would normally feel comfortable. I knew the only way to really get the kind of personal details I needed would be to get inside 1114.

I took to jogging down the street past 1114 multiple times a day in an attempt to learn Henry's habits. I would go once early in the morning, around eight, once around noon, once around five in the evening and then once later at night, around nine or ten. I continued this pattern for a little past a week and was surprised to find that not once, in the entirety of my surveillance, did I see a man, or anyone, who could have been Henry R. Felch. No one came out of the house and no one went in. No lights came out, no cars parked in the driveway, no trash can was left at the end of the grass. Nothing happened. The grass had started to become overgrown and his mail had filled to a bulging level. I soon gathered that something more might be wrong with the picture I had in my head of the events that should have taken place inside this house, just down the road from me. It was time to venture into peeping.

I waited until around midnight, when I knew all of my neighbors would be in bed. Dressed in my finest black jogging attire, I quick stepped down the street and ran past the house. Circling back, I glanced around to make sure no one was spying, and slipped into the shadows on the side of the house. I looked in through the windows, blocked by curtains, and found myself peering through small cracks in the fabric cover. Things seemed to be as expected. Clean, tidy, organized, the type of place you would expect to smell like potpourri and be wrapped in plastic liner. My small flashlight gave glimpses of the room but not enough to satisfy my curiosity. I checked window after window,searching for one that had been left unlocked or propped slightly ajar. After going all the way around, finding every window on the first floor locked, I gazed up and considered climbing a drain pipe like in the movies. Though I wouldn't call myself out of shape, I also wouldn't consider myself an ideal specimen of fitness and brawn. I knew my limitations and decided to call it a night, minding to concoct a new plan in the morning.

Rising the next day, the excitement burning, I checked online to find a costume shop near my house. There was one about twenty miles south,and I headed there looking to put my new plan into motion. I woke up with the new plan already formed. The concept was simple. Find an outfit that resembled a city worker or something of the like, and give a reason to enter the home without breaking in through a window.I found an outfit, befitted with hard hat and radio, that I thought would be convincing enough and headed home to write up a speech to memorize and recite when Henry answered the door.

Speech written, recited, memorized, I left my house and went to meet the real Henry. I had decided to walk down instead of drive, thinking it would help complete the costume if I took the time to enter the homes of a few other neighbors, that I was sure wouldn't recognize me,and recite my speech to them before delivering it to the real thing.I knew it would also give me a little personal insight into some of them as well, and cursed myself for not thinking of that idea sooner.

The first two doors I knocked on stood firmly, never opening and leaving me feeling deflated. I had gassed myself up. Taking in rapid-fire breaths, puffing out my chest, and preparing myself for the stage,all in a few seconds, before knocking. I walked, hesitantly, to the next door and tapped on it a few times, shoe gazing as I waited.About to turn away and just walk to Henry's, I heard the door start to rattle as locks gave way, one after another after another, until the door swung open and a man, taller than me by a foot plus, loomed over me.

As I stared into his chest, I heard him grumble something, presumably to me. The words dived towards my ears and attempted entry but were drowned entirely by the sound of my heart beating and blood swelling to my face. A scream was growing louder and louder from somewhere deep, in the dark, inside me. The beast before me grumbled again,louder this time, and the words landed clearly, keeping me silent still. He had asked me, rather profanely, my reason for knocking on his door at such an early hour. I had forgotten, completely, that not all people rise as early as I tend to, though I doubt many of them have as much reason. The beast growled again and I, still not looking at his face, backed away in terror. The door slammed and I staggered backwards down the steps until I reached the sidewalk. I decided I had done enough practicing and walked straight to 1114.

The door stood before me. Pearly white and pristine, just like it was when I checked it out that first time. Everything, in fact, looked exactly the same. The grass still seemed to be at the same height,the trash, still on the side of the house unfilled, the windows,shrouded in curtain and closed to the world. I knocked, three times as I had practiced, with more authority than I had before, and waited. I felt like Henry was surely to be the type to be up early in the morning, even though I had never technically met the man, I was quite sure I could tell what kind of man he was since I had checked through his junk mail so many times. I waited, tapping my foot to the sound of my heartbeat and hoped I wasn't sweating too much.Sweating, as I'm sure you know, is a sure sign of unproffesionalism. Just as much as I'm sure that that's a word.The wind was stronger than usual and I swayed a bit, closing my eyes and visualizing the person who would open the door. He would be short, shorter than me, dwarfish in comparison to the thing I had just disturbed. An older man, eyes wrinkled, skin sagging, hair whitened and fading, teeth replaced by denture, and clothes of calming pastel color. I envisioned a victim, one that was so distraught and overcome, that he found himself ill to agoraphobia after finding his family fated to death. I waited, still, and still there was nothing. No one moved inside the house. No one came to the door and no one heard my speech. No one introduced themselves as Henry R. Felch and certainly no one was distraught. No one, of course, besides me.