Page 29 - Extraterrestrials, Foreign and Domestic

The Hermits

“What is it, Al? Something wrong?”
“I think so.” Al related the encounter with Wilson. As he spoke,
his anxiety increased, driving his voice an octave higher. “You see,
it’s not that kid—he’s got some problem in his head, nobody
would believe any tale he’d tell about us. It’s his sister, Lorraine.
She’s a real bitch. If she starts getting suspicious, we’re in real
trouble, Ricky. You’ve got to stay away from the windows, keep
those shades down.”
Ricky adopted a low soothing tone. “Now, don’t get yourself
upset, Al. You gave him a plausible story. If he ever comes here
again, you can tell him your cousin recovered from his illness and
went back East again. It doesn’t sound like we’re in any great
danger from these neighbors of yours.”
Al sighed. “I hope not. But don’t count on it: that sister of his
is mean and spiteful. Men won’t look at her. She’d like nothing
better than to make trouble for people in this neighborhood.”

* * * * *

The old man was not enjoying his retirement. He had taken to
keeping an eye on the Lafong house—trying, of course, not to do
so in an obvious fashion. Lorraine, he observed, frequently sent
her feeble-minded brother out on errands. Wilson would bound
out of the house with great enthusiasm, reach the sidewalk, and
cast about for direction, like a large dog sniffing out a day-old
scent.
One morning, as Al sat at his observation post, he saw the back
door of his neighbor’s house flop open and Wilson emerge
blinking into the sunlight. The boy headed for the alley but
suddenly stopped and, shading his eyes with both hands, peered
up at the second story of Al’s house. The old man held his breath,
willing himself invisible in the kitchen’s gloom. After a long
moment, Wilson turned and continued on his way, hands jammed
deeply into trouser pockets. Al found his pulse and respiration
abnormally elevated. The back of his hands itched, and his face
felt hot and dry. Now what? he fretted.
When Wilson returned, he found his neighbor poking absently
with a long-handled hoe at petrified dirt-clods in his garden. It did

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