Wednesday, April 20: Tune It Or Die!
THE HILLSIDE BANDIT
by Rob Lopresti
Twenty-five years ago my wife and I, along with our daughter were living in Hillside, New Jersey, a nice little town, only one block from Newark, the state’s largest and arguably scariest city.
Not the safest place in the world to live, perhaps, but we had a nice little neighborhood, and I never felt scared.
Until one night.
What’s the difference between Mystery and Suspense? A Mystery focuses on crime in the past—what happened? Suspense focuses on crime in the future—what will happen?
We were in bed and crash came from the back yard. A garbage can had fallen over. Loudly.
I threw on some clothes and went downstairs. When I reached the back door I made as much noise as possible. Whoever—or whatever—was out there, I wanted to give them the maximum chance to be elsewhere.
I turned on the yard light. No one visible. I walked slowly down the steps. Despite my earlier resolution to be loud I found myself getting very quiet. The yard was still.
I said we lived in a nice neighborhood and we did, mostly. We had one neighbor, whose backyard connected to ours, who we sometimes heard screaming over the phone at someone. Whoever she was arguing with had never shown up, as far as we knew.
Not yet anyway.
Mystery is about trying to figure out what happened, the how and the why. Suspense is about the terror of uncertainty. What will happen next?
Not a sound. I guess my noisy neighbor was asleep. As I should have been. But instead I was wandering in the dark, about to meet God knows what.
The metal garbage can was lying on its side, halfway across the yard. I took two steps toward it and—
One thing Mystery and Suspense have in common is a fondness for Twists, the surprise that makes you go back and look at the story again from a different angle.
Something like a dark basketball shot out of the trash can, scurrying away from the house. I jumped back a foot. It was the biggest, fattest, raccoon I had ever seen.
When my pulse had gotten down to double digits I counted my blessings. As the old saying goes, the little devil had been as scared as I was. With shaking hands I went over and turned the garbage can right side up.
That’s when the second raccoon leapt up from the interior of the can, clinging to the side, and looking straight at me.
Believe me, I jumped a lot higher than the beast did. The bandit leapt overboard and hightailed it after his or her buddy.
The best kind of twist is the double twist.
Your raccoons, Steve’s squirrels, and my ferrets should do lunch.
Nice.
Now I know why city folks are nervous in the country.
Be glad it wasn’t a skunk.
Hey folks, I’m going to throw in something that came in too late to put in my main piece. This is only for people who have 1) a few bucks burning a hole in their pockets, and 2) no friend who needs that money.
If those two statements apply to you maybe you would like to send those bucks to a friend of mine, one who, among his other achievements, reviews mystery fiction. Read about it here http://kevintipplescorner.blogspot.com/
Thanks,
Rob
Mr. Lopresti,
I’ve been enjoying your stories for many years and never knew you once lived in Hillside, NJ. I’m from the area and a good part of my family lived in Hillside on Crann Street at that time. One of them might have been your noisy neighbor. Small world.
Bob D.
Wildlife gangstas, you ask me. In my West L.A. neighborhood, they’re squirrels, who flash signs and exhibit major attitude. They’re a non-native species: Fox squirrels (Sciurus niger) originally from Tennessee, first brought to the Sawtelle Veterans Home (the site, now a Veterans Administration Hospital, is only a few blocks from where I live) after the Spanish-American War as pets. At least they don’t wear colors, but they have taken over most of Los Angeles in their quest for turf.
Janice, I once had a skunk interloper in our apartment complex when my wife and I were both stationed in San Diego (her at the Naval Legal Service Office, me on a fast frigate). At first, Margaret thought it was a cat, and then realization slowly dawned. It must not have felt threatened though, because it didn’t unload, simply waddled off after being detected. As with Rob, we were more frightened than it was.
Bob
I didn’t live in Hillside long enough to remember the street, unfortunately. But my father was the principal of Hurden-Looker Elementary School through the 1960-1970s.
Rob