Nightingale Songs Read Free Page B

you're back, Neil. What's going on?"
    I took a seat across from him, though I had to twist my legs around one of his machines.
    "Nothing really. Just hanging out."
    He moved one of his pawns, and didn't look at me when he said, "You look like you have a tan already. How is it out there?"
    I twisted my foot further around the machine, and then stopped, afraid I might damage it. I stammered.
    "Fine, I guess. Do you remember that house across the street? You should see its lawn now. It looks like a jungle. It's filled with butterflies, too."
    "I remember butterflies," Mitch said, and then nothing else. He just looked at the chessboard. I wondered what my father would say, but came up empty.
    "I think I saw someone inside the house today, though."
    This piqued his interest.
    "But no one's lived there in years ."
    "And my mom says no one has moved in. I probably just imagined it. I thought I saw a girl in the window."
    Mitch forgot about the game, intent on learning more about what I saw. I immediately wished I hadn't said anything, but I suppose he'd grown bored housebound for so long.
    "What did she look like?"
    I shrugged, and then fidgeted with a chess piece.
    "I only saw her for a second. She was about our age."
    "And she just sat there? Watching you?"
    "I don't know. As soon as I saw her she disappeared behind the curtains."
    He pondered what I'd said, holding his finger to where his lips would be under the mask.
    "Neil, I don't like this. Not at all. We need to investigate."
    But only I would be doing the investigating. Mitch pleaded with his mother to let him out of the house, assuring her he felt fine, and that he'd always been fine before the doctors said anything, but I knew it would be no use. He could never leave that place.
    Not that he would have seen much if he had. Despite his paranoia, nothing else happened at the house across the street. Weeks passed with me watching its windows, looking for any nugget I could give Mitch to get him to drop the topic, but I only saw the grass grow longer, and the dark brown butterflies within it grow in number. Whatever weeds were on that lawn had attracted them so specifically that I wasn't sure if I saw any that summer than weren't in front of the neighboring house.
    Part of me, I'll admit, was intrigued -- especially after Mitch's unusual reaction. For a little while, he almost managed to convince me that I had seen something real in that house -- that somehow there was a young girl living within, despite all appearances to the contrary. I soon wanted as much as Mitch did to get a better look in that window, but crossing the street into the yard was something I promised myself I would never do.
    My father had once suggested going there. I was quite young at the time, so I might be misremembering as I misremember many things about my father, but even then the house looked vacant, and he took it upon himself to mow the lawn. It didn't take long for my mother to emerge from our house screaming.
    "But it's an eyesore ," he told my mother later, by way of explanation, after she had calmed. "It’s a forest! God only knows what's running around in there. We have to live on this street too, for Pete's sake. It only makes the neighborhood look rundown."
    "There's something wrong with that place, Jerry. I can feel it. Just stay away from it, okay?"
    He did not look pleased.
    "Would you do it if she asked?" my mother added, underbreath. He looked at her, stunned, then stood and left the house. She started to cry.
    I remember looking out the window, expecting to see him pushing his lawnmower across the street. Instead, I saw his car pulling out of the driveway.
    It was a late Sunday afternoon when I broke my promise. I had already done my duty keeping Mitch company earlier in the day, and was anxious to keep out of my house -- I didn't think I could take looking at those empty rooms much longer. I wanted to pretend, just for a while, that nothing had changed since the year before. I