The Oldest Resident

Tom Garrett was not a happy man. Five minutes after getting to the office, his boss decides to send him right back out again to see some eight-hundred-year-old fossil. It’s that time of year again and Tom’s “it”. Usually this job is given to some new guy who doesn’t know any better. The town’s oldest resident gets his or her own column in the Chronicle every year. This time it’s Theodora Pleasant who’s probably going to die next. The report says she’s one-hundred and two. Tom wondered if maybe he should stop and pick up a feather-duster on the way.

Traffic did nothing to improve Tom’s mood. Even in a small, backwoods town like Hampstead Falls traffic could be a real turd sandwich. Sure, the scenery was beautiful, but the sidewalks were too small and no one else ever seemed to have a bad day. Even without teeth they’d smile big as you please. It seemed Rick Snead only smiled when he was sending Tom out on these “little” errands. Of course, there aren’t many “big” stories out in the land of chewing tobacco and favorite pigs.

Theodora’s house was small, but quaint. It was encircled by the standard white-picket fence and rose bushes. Tom pulled up and parked his ’79 Ford Fairmont right up next to the mail box. As he collected his pad, pens, and hat, he noticed Theodora was sitting on her porch rocking slowly in an old wooden rocker. She didn’t seem to notice him, so he took advantage of the moment to take in the sight. She had hair so black he thought, at first, it was a hat. Looking closer, he noticed the hairline was too distinct. A wig, he thought, doesn’t she own a mirror? Looks like a dead animal perched up there.

Tom stifled a giggle and got out of the car. As he passed through the hinged gate, Tom noticed how pale she was. She was wearing a house dress with big, puffy shoulders to match the big, puffy, toeless house-slippers on her taloned feet. It looked to Tom like the last time she cut her toenails was in preparation for her senior prom. Does she hang from branches? No, she can’t. Her hair would fall off.

As he climbed the steps to the porch, Tom realized the smile from his last personal joke was coming in handy. Immediately, he relaxed and was very glad he had dressed casually today. It was hot and if this interview was going to be outdoors, his choice of khakis and Polo shirt would pay off. He extended one hand to Theodora and removed his hat with the other, revealing a soon-to-be bald spot.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Pleasant”, Tom greeted her.

“Mrs.”, was Theodora’s only response.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were married. There’s no note here…”

“Wouldn’t be, would there?”

Her breath smelled of raw onion, yet Tom held his smile like a trooper. Theodora had not once looked Tom in the eye. He thought maybe she was just shy or hardened by a tough life. That didn’t excuse it by any means. It was still rude.

“Mrs. Pleasant”, Tom began. “I just have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

“Don’t recall anyone askin’ if I minded when they’d told me ‘bout you comin’ over here.”

She isn’t all that “Pleasant” after all. If she happened to fall off the porch they’d never suspect me. Tom knew how to keep himself amused. He had to keep smiling somehow.

“Mrs. Pleasant…”

“How many times you gonna say my name?”

“I’ll just ask the questions and be on my way, if that’s alright.” Tom was ready to go by this time and was close to scrapping the whole article. Snead could come do this himself. He bit his lip and began the questioning.

“How do you spend your days?” he asked.

“Friday night I got bingo. I walk over to the Moose Lodge, ‘bout a mile away”, she replied matter-of-factly.

“You walk a mile once a week?” No wonder you’re not dead yet.

“Yessiree. Got lucky last week.”

“You said, ‘misses’ earlier, in regards to your name. How long were you married?” Tom asked.

“Still ta this day!”

“Well, what year did you marry?”

“Got hitched in 1949.”

“If you don’t mind me asking…” Tom started.

“It’s a bit late fer that!” Theodora was beginning to get irritated. She spilled some tea during that last outburst. Another stain on the slippers would make little difference.

“Did you divorce and keep his name or did he pass away?”

“Billy ain’t dead!”


Tom turned to the sound of scratching coming from inside the house.

“You have pets?”

Theodora looked puzzled for a moment and then stammered a reply.

“Oh, that. I-I’m dog sittin’ for a friend’s gone outta town.”

She got to her feet slowly and opened the screen door. Tom glanced briefly into the house through the screen and went back to his pad. He finished the sentence he was writing and once again looked into the house. He was never invited to sit, so he was able to pivot slightly and see through the parlor and into the kitchen. The scratching sound grew more intense. He watched as Theodora pulled something from the refrigerator and turned to an old-looking, unpainted door at the back of the kitchen. Is that a steak? That’s the biggest steak I’ve ever seen. It can’t be a steak. It just looks like a steak. No, that’s a steak.

It was a steak. Tom watched as Theodora turned the knobs on two deadbolts in the process of unlocking the old door. She reached for a third, but stopped midway. She knocked twice before again reaching for the third lock and Tom heard the latch “pop”. Theodora pulled the door open only slightly; just enough to toss in the steak and slam the door closed again. The quickness with which she threw the bolts back into place belied her old age. Theodora shot a look at Tom, who immediately looked back down at his pad. He then looked around at the porch as if suddenly, the exterior of the house would make an interesting addition to the article. He jotted another note and wandered out of view as if something off to the right had caught his eye.

Theodora returned a moment later with a glass of iced tea. She offered Tom nothing and reclaimed the old rocker. He felt he had seen enough, so Tom explained he had work to do at the office and left the Pleasant home. Driving slower than usual because he was lost in thought, Tom was nearly run off the road by a car full of teenagers. He couldn’t get the image of Theodora tossing a raw steak into a room that supposedly held a dog. What kind of dog eats huge, raw steaks? Maybe, he thought, it wasn’t a dog at all. Maybe it’s some dangerous, wild animal that’s illegal to own in most states.

Tom arrived back at his desk and dutifully began work on his column for the town’s oldest, and strangest, resident. He had to put thoughts of the mysterious room out of his head or he’d never get any work done. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple. In bed that night, Tom found himself unable to sleep. He lay there listening to sound of rain falling against his window. His apartment building was one of the newer structures in town, but with walls of papier-mâché, he was lucky that the rain was the only sound he must contend with. Yet, it wasn’t the rain keeping sleep away. It was her.

The next morning came much too quickly and sitting at his second-hand, metal-lined dining table for four, Tom remembered Theodora mentioning Friday night bingo. He sipped his coffee, took a drag off his cigarette, and decided the old bat was probably senile. Today just happened to be Thursday, and the temptation was much too great. He thought, how difficult could it be to get into that old dump, anyway? I’d bet anything I could get in and out and she’d never even know it. As the smoke curled up from his cigarette, he made his final decision.

Since Tom didn’t know the exact moment Theodora left her home for the long walk to bingo, he played it safe and parked just down the street from her picket fence at around four o’clock, Friday afternoon. He would watch and wait. As the moment neared, Tom became more and more anxious to finally solve the mystery of what was behind the old door in Theodora’s kitchen. Lovely, he thought, as it started to rain. She probably won’t even go now. Damn.

Raindrops fell on the Fairmont’s windshield sporadically at first, then with a more insistent drumming. Tom started the car at around six-thirty, completely convinced he was out of luck. The first bars of Rhiannon came through the car speakers as he reached for the gear shift. The car’s headlights broke through the hazy twilight and rain revealing a yellowish glow from Theodora’s porch. Tom threw on the windshield-wipers as excitement rose in his chest. Yes! That’s one tough broad! Go, baby, go! Theodora was indeed on her way to bingo.

The sky continued to darken as he watched Theodora climb down the porch steps and head off down the lane away from him. She moved slowly, but with purpose. Tom waited until she had disappeared around the far corner before climbing from the car. In his excitement, he forgot to turn off the engine. As Stevie Nicks sang, “All your life you’ve never seen a woman taken by the sky…” Tom walked slowly toward the house glancing back and forth to make sure he was not being watched. Of course, he couldn’t know for sure, but his nerves demanded the attempt.


Tom had not expected the rain, so he was much under-dressed in sneakers and shorts. He did remember his hat, which would come in handy if he was spotted. He moved onto the sidewalk and hugged himself against the chill and rain. Reaching Theodora’s gate, he trotted up the front walk to the porch. The front door was locked. Tom was surprised. She’s not as gone as I thought.

The front window was not locked and the question of senility was back in play. Tom pushed the old wooden window-frame up just high enough to squeeze himself through. His sneakers were wet, but by the time she returned he would be long gone. Theodora had left no lights burning in the house, but Tom was ready. He pulled out his pen light and pressed the clip on one side. A small, but effective beam appeared and guided him through the parlor and into the kitchen. His sneakers squeaked with each footstep as he crossed the linoleum floor. Now Tom stood before the very thing that has had the power to plague him with anxiety and fully consume his thoughts over such a surprisingly short period of time: the door.

Tom stood staring at it. A tickle of nervousness ran up his spine. There was no logical explanation for his obscene curiosity. What difference did it make? Why had this old, ugly door affected him so terribly? Screw it. He turned the first bolt. The pen light almost fell from his hand as a scratching sound began to come through the door. Tom turned the second bolt. The scratching increased. He almost threw the last bolt when he remembered the two knocks Theodora had given before fully unlocking the door. He knocked twice and the scratching ceased. Smart dog. Tom turned the last bolt.

Tom did not immediately open the door. He paused to see if this dog would open it without his help. The door remained closed until Tom himself opened it. Not so smart after all, huh? The pen light revealed a naked bulb hanging over a staircase leading down. Actually, it was a staircase leading down into darkness. Not just the simple darkness you get when you turn out a light in your home, but a black, inky, you’re-going-to-die-a-horrible-death darkness found only in bad horror films.

Tom thanked God there was a light hanging before him. He pulled the chain and was relieved that the bulb was not dead. Unfortunately, his relief only lasted a split second before the bulb exploded, sending shards of glass flying all around him. Tom’s immediate reaction was to leave an even larger mess for Theodora to tend to upon her arrival home. His second was to squeeze his eyes shut tightly to avoid the shattering glass.

The brightness of the explosion had left Tom’s retinas with the image of the bulb burned into them. And something else. He kept his eyes closed for a moment to try and get a better picture of what was there. The bulb was clearly outlined, but to the right of that was something very long and thick. It looked gray and wet. It glistened in the split second before the bulb shattered. What the hell was that? Tom was no longer a believer in the “pet-sitting” story. He began blinking furiously to clear his sight. The pen light helped.

“Hello?” Tom called down, but no answer was given. The small light in his hand refused to cut through the darkness at the base of the stairs. He decided to get a knife from the kitchen behind him before taking another step. It took only a moment to find a large, carving knife.

As Tom approached the top of the staircase once again, an image of a frog shooting out its tongue to catch a fly came to mind. He thought, No, not a frog. Something big enough to have an appendage like that couldn’t be a frog. With the carving knife in one hand and the pen light in the other, Tom slowly crept down the stairs. He hugged the wall, trying desperately to see further into the gloom. Splinters from the wood paneling were digging into his back and yet he felt nothing. The fear of what lay at the end of this narrow, steep descent was all he could think about.

At the bottom, Tom stood motionless looking for all the world like some deranged wax figure in a museum of historical lunatics. A sudden, sharp pain wrenched through his throat as he was slammed back against the wall. His feet were no longer touching the floor and he realized he could no longer draw a breath of air seconds before realizing he was being suspended by his neck. Tom reached up to grasp whatever it was holding him and felt exactly what he thought the strange “appendage” he saw earlier must have felt like to the touch. Slimy, wet, coldness clutched his throat.

The grip loosened only slightly, but it was just enough for Tom to take in a breath. The knife and pen light had fallen from Tom’s grasp at the moment he was attacked, so he could not see what was now blowing hot, rancid air into his face. The air was rhythmic and he knew it was the breath of the cellar occupant. A deep, raspy voice began to speak.

“Who are you?” asked the voice.

“T-Tom G-Garrett. Who are y-you?”

The reply came in a throaty whisper: “Billeeeee.”

Tom remembered that Theodora had said her husband’s name was Billy, but had never answered his query about where Billy was.

“The old witch found that my love was for anotherrr. This is my fate; darkness and despairrr. She has a powerrr. You have entered without invitation. Theodora knows not forgivenesss. If she returns, your fate will be as mine”, it breathed. Whatever this thing was, Tom felt that its words had softened. Abruptly, it released him.

“Go”, it said.

Tom had no intention of staying. He began to “feel” his way back up the steps when another voice came from above.

“I see you’ve met Billy.” Three times, the sound of a bolt being turned echoed in Tom’s ears.



Richard Snead sat behind his large, oak desk. It was getting close to ten o’clock

and he was ready to go home. He hadn’t heard from Tom for two days, but that wasn’t unusual. Tom had a bad habit of disappearing every now and then, but he made up for it with good leads. Richard lifted his toupee and wiped the sweat off his bald spot. He made sure his cigar was out before heaving his two-hundred and sixty-six pounds up onto his feet. He checked for his keys in his left jacket pocket and reached for the string on the desk lamp he had gotten as Christmas gift three years ago. He stopped in mid-reach when his eye caught a large, cardboard box sitting in the far corner of his office. Where did that come from, he thought. He reasoned it had probably come around lunch time and he was never in the office at lunch time.

Richard walked over to the box and found an address label. It was indeed addressed to him, yet no return address was listed. He couldn’t remember ordering anything, but he wasn’t going to look a gift-horse in the mouth. The box was the size of a washing machine so whatever it was, he reasoned, it had to be good. Richard pulled back the top flap closest to him.

Three things will remain etched in Richard’s mind for rest of his life: The smell of rotted meat, the image of gray, slimy flesh, and his desk lamp exploding into a thousand pieces of glass and metal.