We could see the back of the house through the shrubbery and trees that lined the fence. Much of the backyard was obscured by their branches, but we were small enough so that didn’t matter. What we could see was sufficient for our imaginations to run wild.
It was a small two-story house, with grey siding and a chimney. At least, there must have been a chimney. I never looked farther than the window, a small rectangular glimpse into the abyss of the house. The sun was always shining that direction, and yet none of us could ever make out what was inside.
We never got more than a few minutes to stare before the teachers supervising recess would shoo us away from the fence and back to playing. But, I kept glancing back, curiosity always got the better of me.
It’s funny what you remember. The old man who grunted and grumbled as he walked with heavy steps, but not the pile of chopped wood behind him. The glint of the axe in his hand, but not the scent of pine.
The old man would move from one end of his yard to the other, moving ever so slowly. He knew we were there, I don’t think he could’ve ignored the chimes of the school bells, given how close he lived, let alone the sound of eight-year-olds shushing each other. He never looked our way though. His line of sight was always fixated on whatever he was going to grab and we almost never got to see him follow through.
He always wore overalls with a collared shirt and a puffed jacket in the winter. They had seen better days, stained with what must have been dirt and patched up with different fabric over time. The dirt was so red in the afternoon sun.
Hide-and-seek was the most popular game at the school, despite our teachers’ protests. What kids wouldn’t want to play it when they have access to so much greenery? Half the playground was field.
We all put our feet in the circle, but mine had been the last one to be tapped. I was it. I checked the most obvious spaces first, but there were still several classmates I couldn’t find, so I turned to the field. The shrubs that lined the fence would be a great hiding spot if I were to choose.
I looked inside bushes and under branches, until I came to the old man’s house. Surely no one would be stupid enough to hide there, but maybe that was what they wanted me to think. So, I got closer to the wire fence, checking every nook and cranny.
Suddenly, I heard a schwing on the other side of the fence, and I swung my head around. I couldn’t see the old man, but his shadow was clear on the house’s wall: a towering man intent on killing, brandishing his axe high up in the air.
To this day I remember the fear that coursed through me and the blood-curdling scream I let out. No teachers could calm me down. I stayed at that school until eighth grade, but after that year, no one ever brought him up, no one ever saw him again.
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