Rachel thought as she arranged a bushel basket with every variety of gourd showing, damn them for not having a sense of self-preservation. Damn them for their tiny brains, their subservience to nature. Damn their broken bodies strewn about like overripe mulberries. The caterpillars were stupid like a lot of people around here, picking up and leaving without even realizing where they were to start with. Rachel knew exactly where she was, and she planned to stay and occupy George Harlandâs acresâmore land than she could see from any one place on that landâfor as long as she lived and breathed. She didnât know about David, but when she died, she intended to be buried right here in this dark, rich soil.
2
A HALF HOUR BEFORE DAVID ARRIVED AT THE FARM STAND , Elaine Shore sat in the breakfast nook of her custom-made prefabricated house across the street, watching. The black-haired girl had been arranging vegetables in the predawn light, pausing occasionally to cross her arms and glare at the pavement. Elaine watched Mr. Harland drive off in his rattling menace of a truck, and as always Elaine kept an eye on the herd of three animals at the fence, hoping they wouldnât get loose and wander over to use her lawn as a toilet again. Her lawn already seemed treacherous this morning, with the grass outside her nook window crawling with orange-and-black caterpillars that might be able to inch their way into her house through crevices the installation crew hadnât sealed two years ago. When she noticed the black-haired girl staring back at her, Elaine lowered her head and studied the
Weekly World News
center spread, a depiction of aliens descending a spaceship ramp in single file. She found the vision of smooth gray alien bodies withouthair or sexual organs comforting. Elaineâs own short hair needed trimming; she could feel it tingling with growth at her scalp, as well as stretching down onto her face.
From her corner perch, Elaine could also see into the south-facing rooms of the standard-model prefabricated home belonging to the young couple next door. The wife was so petite and pretty that Elaine imagined her sometimes as being a heroine from one of the romances she used to read. So far there was no movement over there, but Elaine kept watch. She looked forward to a time when there would be more than two sets of people to observe. Her lawyer assured her that soon there would be plenty of neighbors, just as soon as George Harland started selling off his farmland.
âThat woman is staring over here again,â Steve Hoekstra said. He got out of bed and yanked closed the bedroom curtains.
The words pulled Nicole Hoekstra from a dream of driving over her husbandâs body on the concrete floor of their two-car garage, of then backing up and running over him a second time. In the last month, sheâd been entertaining ever more violent thoughts of killing Steve, but this was the first time sheâd actually dreamed it. She tried to soothe away the image of his twisted limbs and mashed internal organs by considering the wholesome brilliance of her wedding day, eighteen months ago, a sparkling day to which, surely, no other in her life would ever compare. In the wedding photos, Nicole looked as lovely as a fairy-tale princess, if she had to say so herself. Now she covered her face with blankets and pretended to be asleep, because she didnât like Steve to see her before sheâd fixed herself up a bit.
Steve dressed and went to the kitchen where he started coffee. Through the sliding glass door he watched Rachel across the street arranging her yard-long Brussels sprout stalks. She wore a ragged, oversized barn jacket and rolled-up jeans, but even those clothescouldnât disguise her lush shape. Though he hadnât been able to get anywhere near her in the six months heâd lived in the house, Steve always waved hello, always told himself that eventually sheâd return the
2
A HALF HOUR BEFORE DAVID ARRIVED AT THE FARM STAND , Elaine Shore sat in the breakfast nook of her custom-made prefabricated house across the street, watching. The black-haired girl had been arranging vegetables in the predawn light, pausing occasionally to cross her arms and glare at the pavement. Elaine watched Mr. Harland drive off in his rattling menace of a truck, and as always Elaine kept an eye on the herd of three animals at the fence, hoping they wouldnât get loose and wander over to use her lawn as a toilet again. Her lawn already seemed treacherous this morning, with the grass outside her nook window crawling with orange-and-black caterpillars that might be able to inch their way into her house through crevices the installation crew hadnât sealed two years ago. When she noticed the black-haired girl staring back at her, Elaine lowered her head and studied the
Weekly World News
center spread, a depiction of aliens descending a spaceship ramp in single file. She found the vision of smooth gray alien bodies withouthair or sexual organs comforting. Elaineâs own short hair needed trimming; she could feel it tingling with growth at her scalp, as well as stretching down onto her face.
From her corner perch, Elaine could also see into the south-facing rooms of the standard-model prefabricated home belonging to the young couple next door. The wife was so petite and pretty that Elaine imagined her sometimes as being a heroine from one of the romances she used to read. So far there was no movement over there, but Elaine kept watch. She looked forward to a time when there would be more than two sets of people to observe. Her lawyer assured her that soon there would be plenty of neighbors, just as soon as George Harland started selling off his farmland.
âThat woman is staring over here again,â Steve Hoekstra said. He got out of bed and yanked closed the bedroom curtains.
The words pulled Nicole Hoekstra from a dream of driving over her husbandâs body on the concrete floor of their two-car garage, of then backing up and running over him a second time. In the last month, sheâd been entertaining ever more violent thoughts of killing Steve, but this was the first time sheâd actually dreamed it. She tried to soothe away the image of his twisted limbs and mashed internal organs by considering the wholesome brilliance of her wedding day, eighteen months ago, a sparkling day to which, surely, no other in her life would ever compare. In the wedding photos, Nicole looked as lovely as a fairy-tale princess, if she had to say so herself. Now she covered her face with blankets and pretended to be asleep, because she didnât like Steve to see her before sheâd fixed herself up a bit.
Steve dressed and went to the kitchen where he started coffee. Through the sliding glass door he watched Rachel across the street arranging her yard-long Brussels sprout stalks. She wore a ragged, oversized barn jacket and rolled-up jeans, but even those clothescouldnât disguise her lush shape. Though he hadnât been able to get anywhere near her in the six months heâd lived in the house, Steve always waved hello, always told himself that eventually sheâd return the
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