A neighborhood watch gone wrong
I've always been a light sleeper. Even before I knew what really goes on in this neighborhood. At night. While everyone else is sound asleep, oblivious to the dangers lurking about, I'm keeping watch. After all, someone has to protect this community.
It started about six months ago when I first noticed suspicious activity across the street. New neighbors had just moved in - the Prestwicks. Seemed nice enough during the day. Always waving and smiling. Like they wanna be best friends. But at night? That's when their true colors came out. The real dark side of the dark night.
I set up my observation post by the front window. Had a great view of the street peering through a slit in the curtains. Around 2 AM, like clockwork, their garage door would open. Mr. Prestwick would emerge, looking around furtively, then wheel out large, unmarked boxes. He'd load them into his van and drive off. Only to return hours later empty-handed.
What was in those boxes? Drugs? Weapons? Human organs? Whatever it was, I knew it couldn't be legal. I considered calling the cops but I needed more evidence first. Night after night, I kept watch, documenting Mr. Prestwick’s every shady move. I tried telling my husband Frank about it but he just brushed me off. Too busy watching football. I needed more proof.
Before long I noticed other irregularities in the neighborhood. The teenager with green hair two doors down—who I'd always thought was trouble? Confirmed. I saw him sneak out his window multiple times. No doubt to engage in vandalism or petty theft. Or something worse. And Mrs. MacNee, the lonely widow at the end of the block? She had a steady stream of young male visitors at all hours. I had my suspicions about what kind of "business" she was running.
This was bigger than I thought. I started keeping detailed logs of all the comings and goings. Pages and pages of notes. Times. License plate numbers. Everything. Even what they were wearing. I was building an airtight case to take to the authorities. But I had to be careful - if the wrong people found out what I knew, I could be in danger. I could have used Franks’ help but now it was basketball season. All I got were grunts and the occasional, “Yes, honey.” I’ll ‘honey’ you I thought. More evidence was needed.
Soon the intimidation tactics started. First, it was just small things. My newspaper would go missing from the driveway. Or I'd find my trash cans tipped over—garbage strewn across the lawn. Then it escalated. One morning I woke up to find all four of my car tires slashed. A warning, but from who?
Now I was mad—I wouldn't be deterred. I installed security cameras. Motion-activated lights. Even an electrified fence around my property. Let them try to silence me now. Frank just rolled his eyes.
He didn't understand, of course. He kept insisting I was "overreacting" and needed to "let it go." Easy for him to say - he snored through everything! He couldn't see the web of corruption and crime I'd uncovered.
"Honey, please," he'd beg. "You haven't slept in days. You're not thinking clearly. Those are our friends and neighbors you're accusing!" Friends? Neighbors? Ha! If only he knew the truth. Frank was naïve at best. He thought the sun shone out of everyone’s ass. Except mine.
I tried showing him my evidence, but he refused to look at my logs or watch the surveillance footage. He was in denial. Choosing blissful ignorance over facing reality. What a wuss. He was lazy. It was all on me to clean up the neighborhood. I would go to the cops and the press when I felt I had enough evidence. I just need more proof.
Everything came to a head last week. I was up late reviewing my files when I heard a noise outside. Peeking through the blinds, I saw a dark figure skulking near my car. This was it - I'd caught one of them in the act! The evidence I needed!
I grabbed my putter and burst out the front door, yelling, "Freeze! Don't move!" The figure whirled around, startled. In the dim glow of the porch light I recognized the pasty, acne-covered face of the green-haired delinquent teenager from down the street.
"What are you doing?" I demanded, brandishing the putter. "Planning to slash my tires again? Or plant drugs in my car this time?" I've got you now!
The kid looked terrified. "What? N-no! I was just...I dropped my phone when I was walking by earlier. I came back to find it. That's all, I swear!"
A likely story. This kid was dangerous. I advanced on him, ready to deliver some vigilante justice with my putter. But before I could, several things happened in rapid succession.
Lights flicked on in neighboring houses. Doors opened as people emerged to see what the commotion was about. Everyone’s dog was barking. And suddenly Frank was there, grabbing my arm.
"Sarah! Stop this! What are you doing?" he cried.
I tried to shake him off. "Can't you see? I caught the little buggar red-handed! He's part of the conspiracy! He would have murdered us where we slept."
Frank's face crumpled. "Oh Sarah," he whispered. "There is no conspiracy. Please, you need help. Just put the putter down and come inside."
That's when I noticed the police cruiser pulling up. Had someone managed to call for backup? I brandished my putter, ready to defend myself if the kid went wild. But the officers who stepped out weren't there to help me—they were there to protect the others FROM me. WTF!
"Ma’am, put down the weapon," one ordered, hand on his holster. “You need to come with us quietly.”
"You don't understand," I tried to explain. "I'm not the criminal here! I've uncovered a massive neighborhood crime ring. If you'll just let me show you my evidence…"
But they weren't listening. As the cuffs went on, I saw the neighbors gathered around. The Prestwicks. Mrs. MacNee. They were all there. Watching with expressions of pity and concern. My eyes darted from face to face. How deep did this go? How many of them were in on it?
"It's going to be alright," Frank was saying, tears in his eyes. "We'll get you the help you need."
I wanted to scream. Why couldn't any of them see the truth? As they loaded me into the squad car, I craned my neck for one last look at my house. All those files, all that evidence —I had to protect it somehow. I couldn't let them destroy it while I was gone. I had to clear up this misunderstanding fast.
It’s been six months now. The doctors here keep trying to convince me that it was all in my head. Paranoid delusions, they say. But I know the truth. They are in on it too. I just need to find someone who believes me. The Johnsons and their accomplices may have won this round, but I'm not done yet. I'm still watching. Still gathering intel. I have my ways.
And Frank? I realize now he must have been in on it as well.
Hindsight is 20/20.
When I get out of here, I'll expose them all. I just need more proof .
Images ©2024 Gael MacLean
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