No Trespassing
In the swanky Watch Hill neighborhood, where Taylor Swift owns a seventeen million dollar mansion and the property taxes are more than most Americans' annual salaries, even the Halloween decorations are elevated to elegant snobbery. On No Bottom Pond Road, the pumpkins and drugstore-purchased ghouls and goblins of typical New England households are replaced with elaborate displays--expensive, brilliantly colored over- professionally-carved Jack-O-Lanterns and Pottery Barn ceramic black cats.
Sophie Blackwell walked her basset hound, the dog's belly coming as dangerously close to the pavement as his ears, past the impressive houses with their equally impressive holiday exhibits, admiring each tasteful cornstalk-adorned mailbox along the way. She had an earbud in one ear--the other a useless, swinging pendulum--and after a third occurrence of skipping her audiobook back thirty seconds to listen to the missed narration of a Joe Hill novel, she gave in to the wanderings of her mind, pulled the lone earbud out, and shoved the IPhone into the small hiking satchel hanging over her shoulder.
Sophie wasn't thinking about anything in particular--the latest antics of an annoying coworker, what she would have for dinner when she got home. With dusk beginning to descend, she was keen on keeping an eye out for wildlife in the large expanses of empty lots between houses, and in the big field coming up on their right, sprawled behind a shallow creek where deer often socialized.
There were no deer in the field, and after letting Jigsaw sniff at a long, oily turkey feather, Sophie pulled at his leash to resume their trek toward the cul-de-sac they employed to reverse direction and head home. She had misjudged their timing. Sunset came around six o'clock, and it was encroaching on that hour now.
In light of the impending shadows, and what had happened the last time she and Jigsaw had circled the cul- de-sac, Sophie almost turned back. But she looked down at her poor basset, perpetually on a diet, and told herself that if they pressed forward, Jigsaw could have an extra treat before they settled in to watch the latest `American Horror Story' episode later that evening.
She'd tried to put their last trip around the cul-de-sac out of her mind. They had avoided this logical turning point of the walk since the unfortunate incident. It had been an evening much like this one, though with a more substantial slice of sunlight left in the day, when Sophie had stopped to let Jigsaw sniff long enough to have found it necessary to mark a few bushes. They weren't technically on anyone's property, but they were close-- just skirting the massive, impeccably landscaped yard of a three-story monstrosity, the stone fire pit and covered in-ground swimming pool just visible behind the imposing structure.
From across the street, startling Sophie, a shrill voice rang out from a porch.
"Excuse me, but did your dog just go to the bathroom in my neighbor's yard?" The short woman yelling at Sophie looked to be about sixty years old and wore a
tracksuit, as if she herself were about to head out for her evening stroll.
Sophie was torn, knowing the dog had indeed sprayed a bit of urine over the bushes, but also that they hadn't been within the parameters of the neighbor's lot. Her doubt over Jigsaw's culpability in the matter caused her to react with a little more force than she meant to.
"No, he didn't," she retorted, pulling the one earbud out of her ear in preparation for battle.
"Are you sure? I could have sworn I saw...are you sure you don't need a plastic bag?" the woman called.
This was a different story altogether. Jigsaw had definitely not defecated across the street from this woman's house. Sophie felt intoxicating relief at finding her anger justifiable.
"I don't need a plastic bag, because my dog did not go to the bathroom over here!" Sophie yelled.
The woman looked taken aback by the unfriendliness in Sophie's voice. Her next words sounded almost defensive. "Well it's just that...we've had a lot of problems with dogs coming in from outside our neighborhood, and going to the bathroom in our yards. I...well..." she paused, and Sophie thought she might apologize. Then the woman said, "Well, are you sure you don't need a plastic bag?"
Sophie reached into her hunter green, over-the-shoulder bag, and her fingers brushed the roll of biodegradable
baggies she always had well-stocked. Catching ahold of the end of one, she whipped her hand out of the bag with a dramatic flourish, causing the whole roll to unwind and start whipping in the wind.
"First of all," she said, in as hostile a tone as she could muster. "I am not suffering from any shortage of poop bags. And second, my dog did not go to the bathroom in your neighbor's yard! We weren't even in your neighbor's yard!"
The short woman's face paled in anger, or maybe it was fear, and when she turned on her heel to storm into the house, her blonde bob bounced around wildly. Sophie marched Jigsaw forward, determined not to be made to feel like they were trespassing, and they rounded the cul- de-sac without further incident.
That had been a few weeks ago, and though Sophie still talked herself into crossing the road from her apartment to the entrance of the No Bottom Pond Road neighborhood, she hadn't worked up the nerve to venture to the end of the cul-de-sac, opting to turn around when they got to the creek in the field. It was October now, her favorite time of year, and she'd be damned if she was going to let some snooty bitch keep her from enjoying her walk.
The road leading to the dead-end was a long, slow curve. Jigsaw led the way, and Sophie practiced the apathetic attitude she'd present when passing the woman's house. As they neared the end of the road, the cul-de-sac and the three houses situated around it came into view, and Sophie squinted her eyes in confusion.
The woman's home, the woman who had been ready to come to blows over some nonexistent dog poop, was covered in gaudy Halloween decorations. It looked as if Party City had thrown up all over the landscaping she'd previously obsessed over. Bed sheet ghosts hung from every tree, and fake blood decals were splattered on the windows. A ten-foot tall boogeyman with a pumpkin head towered over the handmade birdfeeders that had been the previous focal point of the yard, and countless life-sized zombies and witches stalked around the front lawn like the welcoming display of a haunted house.
As Sophie drew closer, she noticed additional details. There were tombstones with strange names she didn't recognize, not the typical `RIP Michael Myers' one would find in a novelty shop--and there were cauldrons with actual liquid inside, threatening to bubble over the top and onto the pristine grass. That the woman had decorated her home in such a fashion shocked Sophie. She was having trouble believing her eyes.
They were right in front of the house when Jigsaw bellowed and lunged toward what appeared to be a prop for a nearby zombie. Sophie allowed the dog to take a few steps forward, watching him strain to get at the genuine-looking pile of gore. Jigsaw was losing control now, pulling at the leash as if his life depended on it, and Sophie's curiosity got the better of her. She stepped forward, and for a moment, the shock of the realization that the organs and blood piled at the foot of the waxy zombie were real overshadowed the pain she felt as a steel trap clamped around her ankle. She heard Jigsaw howling for a split second longer then fell to the well- manicured grass, and there was only blackness.
Sophie regained consciousness, but it was an unnatural awakening. She tried to blink, and realized the source of her disorientation. Her eyes were frozen open. She heard humming before the extent of her paralysis hit her. She cast her gaze downward and saw a blonde head bobbing around. Then she smelled a strong odor of burning candlewax. Her eyes shot to the stovetop, where a huge vat of something sat, simmering. Toenails clicked on hardwood, and Jigsaw trotted into Sophie's restricted view. She tried to reach for him, but her fingers were immovable, the way they felt before the nail technician removed the paraffin during a manicure. The rich woman's face appeared suddenly. She was eye level with Sophie, and smiling in Sophie's face. "I was going to make the little hound here part of your display, but I've found myself growing to like the little guy! You were going to be a girl transforming into a werewolf, but now I think you'll be part of my Hansel & Gretel display. I needed a trespassing little snoop!"