1020 Marigold Drive

Knock Knock!

Alice Riddler knew not to answer. No one ever came to visit Alice. The last visitor was 10 years ago when the coroners picked up her dead husband from their master bedroom. Since then, the property at the end of Marigold Drive was lifeless and desolate. The children in the community believed that the house directly across the street from 1020 spontaneously combusted at the continual sight of Alice Riddler.

Alice looked out of her window to make sure the soul had found its way. Rebecca had just moved in two houses down on the opposite side with her husband, John. Alice knew it was a mistake--it had to be.

Alice Riddler made one appearance per week. On Sunday morning at the same time every time--8: 30 am sharp. She struck a kyphoid figure as she hovered to the mailbox feet away with a carved out useless sugar cane for support. The kids in the neighborhood believed that that very same cane was used to drain the blood from her lifeless victims—the protein made it strong enough to clearly be a walking stick now.

Like a sloth, she appeared contemplating every move, slowly but surely. Mrs. Riddler wore the same thing all the time: a tattered unwashed black overcoat and a wide-brimmed loose straw hat. Alice's face was a pale but jaundiced yellow, which accentuated her deep wisdom lines cratered like parched cracks on a desert floor. She had a long witch's nose that kissed the top of her discolored worn lips. Rebecca missed her by only two minutes this time.

No one knew Alice Riddler's story. People assumed stories but assumptions are the seat of stupidity and wasted mental vigor. The neighbors figured that she had gone completely mad after her husband passed away--others assumed her family abandoned Alice and left her with just the dilapidated house at the end of the block. The children's claims in the neighborhood were much more damming: she ate so many kids that she was packed for a lifetime, or Alice only used their brown and jet black hair to floss—she saves the blonde and reds for sweeping the floor.

"It's funny; we've met every single neighbor on this street but 1020." Rebecca sighed as she plopped on the couch.

"Yeah, it is sort of strange-I saw her last Sunday going to the mailbox.

"So, its a her?"

"Yeah, a very old her," John reported. "I saw her hovering to the mailbox—I've never seen a human move that slow. I waved, but she didn't look up."

"Well, I guess we'll meet her eventually. Timmy refuses to even walk in that direction from the horrible things he's heard," Rebecca said as she stroked his head as Timmy continued drinking his milk.

Timmy cut in, "yeah, daddy, she eats kids and uses their hair for stuff--we should be fine though because she's been full of kids for a while now."

Timmy settled into his seat and shifted his big boy hat. John and Rebecca laughed.

II

Knock Knock!!

Nothing matched Rebecca's determination.

Alice Riddler knew not to answer as she assumed it must be a mistake again. Alice watched Rebecca from her bedroom window trail back home in disappointment. Alice waited for enough time to pass, and she hovered downstairs to the door. She opened the door slightly to see a plate of sugar cookies danced with sprinkles wrapped in plastic. Alice grabbed the plate and slammed the door.

Despite the outside of the home, the inside-unbeknownst to her neighbors was immaculate. It was a turn of the century home, and everything was restored to its original glory—everything shined and appeared polished like new, unlike the exterior, which was barely hanging on, by a nail.

Night and Day. At the entrance of the home was a staircase leading to the upper quarters. On the right of the staircase was the main room with two chairs facing a running television—there was a rug between them, and the space was dimly lit on purpose—Alice preferred it that way. Along the back wall were two packed built-in bookshelves. On the left was the dining room, which housed a long wooden table, and 12 seats fashioned perfectly around it. Alice sat in the same seat every time—the first seat to the right of the head of the table.

A ghostly figure appeared.

Butler Francis was there long before Mr. Riddler died. Alice first noticed Butler after the table was set every night. It didn't scare Alice Riddler at all, and she never told Mr. Riddler. After Mr. Riddler died, he took a more active role in the household. He was summoned to take care of a failing Alice.

Alice shifted the cookies to the center as to show Butler.

"Wow, someone is making friends," Butler reported as he whisked around, continuing to man the dining room as if it were wholly packed with hungry patrons.

"She must have gotten the wrong house. No one ever bothers me."

"Well, cookies aren't so bothersome, are they?" Butler let out as he hovered for an answer.

"No, but we both know that nothing ever is what it seems." Alice let out. Her voice was shaky with age but still sure. Alice continued bite by bite as she looked for an answer.

"It's cookies Madam, cookies. I help you, and I don't want anything in return."

"Do you have many choices, Butler?" Alice cut her eyes again to ask.

"Very much so; I'm here only because I like you, Alice. You are kind and loving. It's easy to take care of you. You would think after Mr. Riddler…."

Alice cut him off, "did what? Died and left me to fend for myself. He was the only person that loved me—the only person that cared."

"But I listen…." Butler let out.

"I know, but it's something about the human connection Butler, I can't explain it. I haven't talked to a human in 10 years."

Butler continued around the kitchen. He never sat and ate with Alice—he only served. After dinner, he would always disappear to man the upstairs. Alice didn't have to lift a finger.

"You still up? It's getting late." Butler said as he hovered into the main room on the right side of the television.

"So you my pappy now too, huh?" She vexingly breathed as she took another sip of her whiskey. She had developed a drinking problem after losing Mr. Riddler. Butler was very concerned about the drinking, but he always served Alice from the oldest barrel--he could only do what she requested.

"If you had known him, I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted you to drink yourself as amber as my prized marigolds—No, he wouldn't like that at all."

"Are those damn marigolds the only reason why you're here?" Alice needed to know.

"Nope, but they definitely make it easier for me to find you. They…

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…. Please introduce us, Butler—when you find him—if you find him." Burp!! "I could die in peace then." She drifted back to the television with her cup resting on her belly.

Butler shifted over to be closer to Alice. "I think if Rebecca comes back over tomorrow, you should meet her."

Butler could only advise but not demand. Butler gave Alice impressions and stark warnings against her current neighbors because, unlike mere mortals, he was able to see people's intentions first—their motives and their hearts. Butler knew the Smiths were good for Alice.

"Hmm, that's a change of tune?" Alice resifted in her lazy boy to be sure she had heard him right. "You never have anything positive to say about anyone—you don't like anyone, Butler. So many years have passed; why now Butler? Why should I open the door?"

"Just open it. The Smiths are good people." Butler sighed.

"So were the Hatfield's and the McCoy's—you wouldn't even let me wave at the Sneed's-- or the Boyce's coming to think of it. So what is it about them, Butler? Why should I open the door?" Alice drifted off.

"Just open it."

III

The third knock never came.

John and Rebecca loved from afar. Every Sunday, they would plan their daily mail run with her weekly appointment. They would stand by and wave. Sometimes to their surprise, she would crane up to their direction and smile. Timmy swore she waved at him once.

Alice Riddler even added a second appointment to her weekly schedule. She would sweep the porch every Friday morning at 8:00 o clock and water Butler's soilless potted marigolds. Timmy's bus woke her up anyway Alice submitted. Alice swept it clean with her trusted straw-haired broom.

The Smiths were there for Alice Riddler. Alice Riddler was there for the Smiths. The extra sun healed her yellowed complexion, along with her developing different drinking habits. Butler continued to show up for Alice, too, just less because she didn't beckon him as much. With the neighborhood children becoming more aquatinted with Alice due to her Friday morning sweeping appointments, they no longer were deathly afraid. The light showed differently towards 1020 Marigold Drive now.

Things were much brighter.