25 Cents nosleep

Growing up, everyone had that friendly, smiling old lady that lived just down the street. Remember? Essentially the neighborhood grandma, she would charge a small fee, usually a dollar or so, for sour pickles, chips, candy, sodas, and cool cups. The lady we had in our neighborhood was Ms. Robin.

Ms. Robin had lived in our neighborhood since before my parents were born. As such, everyone knew her, but no one really knew her. She was a polite, lovable old woman who wore long, weathered old dresses that smelled like peppermints and medicine. She had a very wrinkled face, from years of smiling, spectacled dark brown eyes, and white hair pulled up perpetually in a tight bun. She lived two streets away from me, in a one-story, ancient black and white house.

Like all the neighborhood kids, my friend Chris and I used to take a break from riding our bicycles, or from playing tag or videogames, to walk around the corner to visit Ms. Robin. She was a savior for us; We didn't have to walk all the way to the gas station to buy our snacks, and, to add a cherry on top, Ms. Robin was cheap. She charged us a single quarter for each item we wanted. You could walk away with potato chips, a Coke, and gum to chew on later all for just 75 cents. From 8 to 8, rain or snow, every day of the week, you could find Ms. Robin sitting in a white chair at a table in her yard, an umbrella shading her. I know this sounds cliche, but she was usually knitting, though sometimes she would read, and, every now and then, she would stare into space, a cigarette between her lips, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. One thing was for certain: She loved us, and we loved her.

Aside from us kids, Ms. Robin never seemed to have any visitors. Sometimes the man who delivered her groceries would go into her house for a couple of minutes, or otherwise a man dressed in white who I figured was her physician would come visit her twice a week. But other than that, she seemed to have no family or friends. I asked my mom about her, and she told me that Ms. Robin had been married once; She and her husband had a son, but apparently both had died in a car crash many years ago when my mom was a teenager. I felt sorry for Ms. Robin, and would sit with her in her yard sometimes, chatting with her about the teachers I disliked the most and what my favorite cartoons were. She always gave me the most avid attention, and always remembered the things I told her. She really did love kids and had a heart of gold. I cherished these moments with this grandmotherly figure, but as I grew older, naturally I didn't have as much time for her.

This was true of all the neighborhood kids. Eventually Ms. Robin had no clientele left, so we stopped seeing her sitting outside as much.

"I'm sure the old bat is satisfied now," Chris said one day after school, as we strolled past Ms. Robin's house on our way home. "She leeched all of us for years when we were kids. I'm sure she has enough money for a college tuition in there."

I thought this was a stupid thing for Chris to say, given that Ms. Robin was incredibly generous in her dealings with us, but I didn't call him out. I knew how ignorant my friend could be. But this conversation seemed to have sparked an idea in Chris' head. Less than a week later, as we sat in my room playing videogames, Chris came up with a suggestion.

"Man...how long have we been saving up to buy a car?"

I shook my head as I stared at the TV screen. "Too long, man. It's probably not gonna happen before senior year. You keep spending your portion on shit games like this one."

Chris' eyes seemed to glint in the dark. "Remember what we were talking about the other day? You know, the life savings Ms. Robin is hiding in there?"

I shot Chris a skeptical look. "I know you aren't dumb enough to be saying what I think you're saying."

"Come on, man! We can break into that old ass house with ease. Do you want to impress Kayla with a new car or not?"

I imagined Kayla Morgan riding in the passenger side of a bright yellow Corvette that I was driving, my sunglasses reflecting sunlight. The image was enough for me to look at Chris again, almost imploringly.

"I don't want to rob a little old lady. Besides, she never leaves the house."

Chris rolled his eyes. "She goes to sleep every night at eight, remember? And we don't have to take all of her money. Just enough for the car. I promise."

I know I should've said no. I know I'm a terrible person for agreeing to steal from the old lady who had been so kind to me since I was a little boy. But I was desperate, and desperate people do desperate things. So, in the dead of night, around ten or so, I snuck out of my backdoor and met up with Chris down the street. He was dressed all in black, a ski mask on his head, as though we were about to rob the White House or something.

"Damn, I was starting to think you bitched out on me. Come on, let's get this the hell over with before my dad realizes I'm gone." We made our way to Ms. Robin's street, and, after checking that the lights were out, tried her front door. It was, as I had been secretly hoping, locked. "Oh well. Guess we'll have to try again another night."

"Think again, jackass. How many times have we been here? You know damn well about the hole."

I was hoping Chris had forgotten about the small hole in the fence that led to Ms. Robin's backyard. "What if there's a dog back there? I'm not trying to get bit."

"Do you want the car or not?"

I rolled my eyes and we made our way over to the hole that the old woman had never bothered getting fixed. The backyard was as dark as the night sky; If there really was a dog back there, my ass was grass. On my hands and knees, I forced my way through the hole. As I stood dusting myself off, I looked back and saw Chris, his left arm and shoulder through the hole, but the rest of his body refusing to fit.

"Great. I'm stuck."

"I told you to lay off the McDonald's, man."

"Ha ha ha, Kevin Hart. You go ahead inside and get the money. We'll find out how the hell I'm getting out of this when you come back out."

"Whoa, this was your idea. Why should I have to go in by myself?"

"If you're too scared to be in there alone, come to the front door and let me in. I'll be out of this by the time you get there." I didn't like it, but I knew there was no way Chris was going to fit through the hole. I stumbled blindly along the side of the house, wondering why I had not been smart enough to bring a flashlight. I nearly tripped over a basketball, which had surely been one of ours that had bounced over the fence ages ago, before I found my way to the backdoor. Unfortunately, it was unlocked.

Making my way through a dark kitchen, I admired the smell of Pine Sol. The small, rickety table that Ms. Robin had dinner on was clean, though, in the sink, I could see multiple dishes. On her refrigerator, there was an abundance of colorings and drawings that someone had made for her. Staring at them, I wondered how old they were; very few of the papers had yellowed with age. I made my way to the livingroom, but ran smack dab into some kind of structure in front of the television. I fell to the floor, but somehow kept myself from yelling out.

Looking around, I saw that I had destroyed what had previously been some kind of building or shape made completely out of building blocks. I wondered how much noise I had made falling to the floor, but more than anything else, I wondered why the hell Ms. Robin had building blocks in her house. I sat up, looking around, and, to my amazement, noticed that there were quite a few things strange about this house. There were typical old people things, like plastic on the furniture, or old, melted candles, but there were other things too. Toys. Everywhere.

Blocks, puzzles, action figures, even a baseball bat. If I hadn't known Ms. Robin to be a loner, I would believe she had a grandchild living with her. Almost on cue, I heard a giggle come from another room. I just about lost my shit, but something inside of me had suddenly become morbidly curious. I had to know what the hell was going on. I cared too much about Ms. Robin to not try and find out if she needed more help than she realized.

Making my way to the door of the room I had heard the giggle emit from, I pressed my ear to it. I could hear what sounded like weird, low-muttered gibberish coming from within. I must have been leaning too hard, because suddenly I fell in on the door. I landed on my stomach, my chin smacking the floor. I was surrounded by cheap toys, assorted clothing, and comic books. There was a bed with a mess of sheets and blankets on it before me, and what looked like a person sitting on it.

The man was covered in third-degree burns, with only his reddened, suddenly rage-filled eyes upon me. I screamed at the same time he did and jumped up, spitting out blood as I ran from the room. I tripped on a rubber duck and landed hard on my back. The man was right behind me, his ruined hands reaching out, ready to grab me and pull me back into his room...

"What the hell?"

Chris was there. I looked up in immense relief as I watched my friend tackle the burned man. The man's head connected with the corner of the table on the way down, and he did not move as Chris pushed himself up to a sitting position. That was when we heard the scream. I glanced up, expecting to see another figure out of a horror movie, but instead I saw Ms. Robin. She was staring at us, her hands to her face, screaming like the world was ending.

Chris and I did not need anymore motivation. We dashed out of the back door, squeezed through the hole in the fence, and ran our separate ways. I didn't get any sleep for the rest of that night. I lay awake wondering when the police would come for me, thinking about Ms. Robin's scream, and, worst of all, thinking about the burned man...

Two days later, I was coming home from school, Chris at my side when we saw a huge commotion in the front of Ms. Robin's house. There were police cars, a couple of ambulances, and half the neighborhood. Chris suddenly disappeared, but I stuck around, watching as they brought out two separate bodies on stretchers.

The truth came out and spread around the neighborhood in the days after. Ms. Robin had died; Rumor had it that someone broke into her home and murdered her son, who, apparently, had not died in that car crash decades ago after all. He had never been able to go back to school due to his condition, and was emotionally and mentally stunted. Ms. Robin used the spare money she made off us kids to buy toys for her son that none of us knew about.

As for how she died? A broken heart, my mom says. They found her curled up next to her son's corpse, still in her nightgown. I will never be able to forgive myself.

Submitted May 23, 2017 at 05:03AM by AsDeathBeckons http://ift.tt/2rK9dQd nosleep