”Creepy little guy,” Marge said as she and I were sitting down with lattes at the coffee shop near my new house. The man in question was staring at me and smiling slightly. “He looks like he escaped from someone’s Halloween party or maybe the set of a horror movie.” She gave a delicate shudder.
“Yeah, I know. And weird as it seems, I keep seeing him everywhere. I would almost say he was following me, except that…well, I did just move into this neighborhood, and I don’t know everyone’s movement patterns. He could have legitimate business being the same places I am. It’s not like he’s been hanging around my house or anything. I‘ve just seen him in lots of public places. He is sort of hard to miss. Still, I’m glad you saw him too. I’ve tried to point him out to Hank, but he claims he hasn’t spotted him.”
”How could you miss that guy? I mean, four foot six, hair like a huge bunch of grey spider webs standing on end, and a nose you could almost go fishing with? And that greyish skin? Not to mention the funky suit. He looks like he just stepped out of some movie set in Victorian times, or maybe Victorian times themselves because both he and the suit look that old!” Marge never was one to avoid speaking her mind. “If I thought that guy was following me, I’d be filing a complaint with the cops yesterday!” She shook her head.
“I’ll see about it if I keep seeing him, or if he starts coming closer.” I replied, and then I changed the subject, asking about people in the neighborhood I used to live in and Marge still did. That kept her occupied the rest of the morning.
I did notice the little man around a lot in the next few days, but then I started noticing other people more too, and decided his daily routine just happened to coincide with mine.
A few days later, my new next door neighbor, Susie, asked me over for a glass of iced tea after we were done with our yard work.
“So, how do you like the neighborhood?” Susie asked me over tea and cookies. Her kids kept buzzing through to tank up on cookies for a mid morning snack.
“I love it! It’s just beautiful and all the people seem so nice!” I enthused. I wasn’t just saying it, either; I really did like the neighborhood. It was an eclectic mix of people from all back rounds and walks of life. The houses were a mix, too, with restored Victorians like Hank’s and mine rubbing shoulders with little 1930’s bungalows and the occasional 50’s ranch. “I especially like the way the whole neighborhood is build around the park. It gives it a sort of old fashioned flair. I’ve been walking the dog in the park almost every evening, and I just love it!”
One of Susie’s kids was raiding the cookie jar. He turned to me and said, “Are you throwing your penny in the pond when you walk over the bridge at night?” He looked at me. “Don’t forget, ‘cause it’s big trouble if you do!”
Susie looked at me and shrugged. “The kids say that after dark, you have to throw a penny in the pond when you cross the bridge, otherwise the troll will get you. I don’t know. I’ve never tossed in a penny, and the troll hasn’t gotten me yet!” She smiled.
The boy didn’t smile. He looked at her seriously and said, “That’s ‘cause one of us always goes the next day and throws in a dime. If you don’t pay right away, it costs more. He’ll give you ‘til the next day, though, just in case you had to cross the bridge and were broke. Us kids always pay for our parents the next day.” He shrugged.
“Well, it’s your pocket money!” laughed Susie. “Besides, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of the troll getting anyone and there are plenty of people who don’t toss in pennies!”
The boy shook his head. “He’ll let you by if you’re just visiting. If you live in the neighborhood, he figures you ought to know better. And what about Old Man Summers?”
“Excuse me?” said his mother.
“Sorry. Mister Summers. He disappeared, and he wouldn’t ever pay the troll. He was way too stingy!”
Susie turned to me. “Joe Summers disappeared during that cold snap last winter. He was getting a bit senile and we think he just wandered off. But the kids, you know, they have to embroider everything.”
Her son looked at her and shook his head. Then he turned to me, “Well, anyway, if you haven’t been paying, then you should start. And give him something extra, ‘cause he doesn’t like it if people owe him money!” He jammed a cookie in his mouth and bounced out the back door.
“Sorry about that!” Susie said. “Now you know some of our neighborhood folklore. The kids really seem to take it seriously, though!”
Talk drifted away to other topics and I sort of forgot about it. Over the next few weeks, though, I did notice, without really thinking about it, that a lot of people, adults and children alike, tended to toss pennies from the bridge into the pond.
I kept seeing the man here and there, but it wasn’t until the end of the month that he started to get closer. I noticed him one day when I was leaving the grocery store. I was juggling with several bags – I thought I wouldn’t need the cart to take them to the car, and I was wrong – and he came up beside me.
“Here, let me take one of those for you,” he said, in a low voice. Somehow, he managed to sound scary just offering to help. He took a bag I as about to drop it, and I noticed that his fingernails were yellowed and thick, almost like claws. When he handed the bag back to me at the car, he touched the receipt at the top of the bag and said, “All, paid for, right and proper, eh?”
Before I could reply to this cryptic statement, he turned and left.
A few days later I was out raking leaves. I had my dog tied to a tree nearby to keep me company. I turned around and there he was on the sidewalk, looking at me. I stared back at him, and he tipped his hat and smiled at me, showing a lot of broken, brown teeth. “Walking your nice dog later, are you?” he asked. Then he quickly walked by while I was still thinking of an answer. I untied the dog and we spent the afternoon inside.
That night I gave Hank the rundown on what was going on. He shook his head and said, “I can see why you’re creeped out, but I don’t think there’s anything we can do about it at this point. He’s probably just the neighborhood eccentric.”
“I would think Susie would have said something.”
“Maybe they just take him for granted. You can ask her tomorrow.”
“Next week. They took the kids to the mountains for a week.”
“Lucky them!” said Hank, yawning, and he rolled over to go to sleep.
I stayed awake for a little while, thinking. It really was strange.
The next day, I was walking the dog on a little path on the edge of the park. The dog saw a squirrel and lunged, yanking me off my feet and pulling me over onto my front. I skidded and rolled, ending up half under a park bench. As I cussed and tried to wiggle my way out again with the apologetic dog making a nuisance out of himself, I heard someone come up behind me.
“Here, let me give you a hand,” said a familiar low voice. The dog was pulled off of me, and I rolled over onto my back. The little man reached down to take my hand to help me up, and then stopped and leaned in close to me. “Debts that are not paid promptly increase exponentially,” he hissed at me sibilantly. “Interest, you know.” He smiled, once again showing a mouthful of broken brown teeth. His breath wasn’t quite fetid. Not quite. Then he took my hand and lifted me to my feet with a strength that was astonishing. The dog whined and stuck himself to my side like he was glued there. The man handed back the leash, tipped his hat and hurried off in the other direction leaving me standing there with my mouth open. I went straight home and locked the doors.
I didn’t see the man around for a while, and decided that he must have been committed somewhere or something. I began to feel safe again, although I was still giving the park a wide berth. I kept forgetting to ask Susie about him, but it didn’t seem to matter anymore. One evening, when Hank and I had Marge and a few other friends from the old neighborhood over for dinner, everyone decided they would like to take a walk in the park. It was a beautiful autumn evening, and as I though there was safety in numbers, I agreed.
We walked along the paths and chatted. The leaves lay all over the ground and a few last flowers grew in the beds. The air was clean and fresh with just a hint of wood smoke, the perfect evening for a walk. We walked up to the pond, and started over the bridge. One of our guests stopped and reached into his pocket for a coin, and tossed it into the pond.
“Making a wish?” asked Marge.
“I guess. I just know that whenever I’ve been here, people are throwing coins in the pond.” he answered.
I said, “The neighborhood kids say they are paying the troll.” Everyone laughed, and a few others tossed in some coins – just for luck, they said. We kept walking, but I thought I saw something moving near the edge of the pond as we left. When I turned around, there was nothing there.
A few days later, the dog got out of the yard. With me hard on his furry heels, he made a beeline for the park. I finally caught up with him over by the pond. As I slipped the leash on him, I heard someone come up behind me. It was Mr. Creepy again. He smiled that revolting smile and hissed, “I know you wouldn’t want your debts to go into collections. Collections tend to be very unpleasant. And their fees are so high. You might just need to give up some of your most precious possessions to pay them off.”
That did it. I screamed. I screamed loud and long, and ran home as fast as I could. I locked the door and then I called the police.
The police man who came was very polite. He took my report and then said he’d be on the lookout for the man. He thought he might have seen him before but he really wasn’t sure. He hadn’t worked in this neighborhood for very long. That did not make me feel much better – this guy was hard to miss. After the policeman left, I huddled in the living room, thinking.
Later that evening I updated Hank on the day’s events. He shook his head and said, “Yeah, I haven’t heard anything about an eccentric old man, either. The only creepy thing I could find out was that every now and then a kid drowns in that pond. Sad, but not really sinister, especially as old as that pond is. Something bad is bound to happen now and then.”
I wasn’t so sure about that.
That night I started hearing…things… bumping around outside the house. Hank swore he didn’t hear anything, but then he could sleep through a logger’s convention. I checked around outside the next day, but nothing was out of place. Finally, after thinking it over for a while, I took five silver dollars from the stash I kept for that trip to Las Vegas that Hank and I kept talking about taking and walked over to the pond. Taking a deep breath, I walked carefully out on the bridge and closed my eyes and dropped the coins into the water. Nothing happened, and I walked home feeling foolish.
That night the bumping continued, and it sounded like someone was trying the knobs on the doors. Once again, Hank didn’t wake up. I pulled the covers over my head and tried to sleep.
The next morning, when I let the dog back in the house after his morning outing in the back yard, I saw something tucked under his collar. I pulled out a small piece of paper with spidery old fashioned script on it. I blanched when I read it. “Too little too late,” it said.
That day I stayed inside all day, keeping the dog at my side.
That night the bumping outside started early and was loud enough that even Hank noticed it. “Cut it out!” he shouted out the window, “Or I’ll tell you parents!” He turned to me. “Probably just kids playing pranks. It happens.”
About midnight, things changed. A rock flew through the bedroom window, and laughter came from the yard below.
“That does it!” Hank hauled on his jeans and stomped down the stairs.
I followed, saying, “Just call the police and let it go, Hank. I don’t think this is safe.”
“I’m just going to go out on the porch and see if I can see any of the little monsters,” he said. “I won’t do anything stupid. Maybe I can scare them off.”
Hank went out on the porch. I hung back, afraid of what I might see.
I heard Hank say something, and then I heard a loud thump followed by silence. I peered out the window and didn’t see Hank on the porch. Then, in the distance, I heard a yell. It sounded like Hank, and it sounded like it was coming from near the park.
“NO!” I screamed in horror. “NO! YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM!”
I tore up the stairs and dumped the contents of my jewelry box on the bed. I pawed through the pile and grabbed the one good piece of jewelry I had, a diamond and ruby broach that had been my grandmother’s, and bolted over to the park as fast as I could. I could hear a few more shouts that sounded like Hank, and then nothing. “HANK! HANK!” I screamed. I knew where I needed to go. I raced for the pond and the bridge.
When I got there, the normally still water was all churned up, like something had just been thrown into it, and on the bank was a slipper that looked like one of the pair I had given Hank for Christmas last year. It was soaking wet.
I pounded up onto the bridge, flung the broach down into the water, and screamed, “GIVE HIM BACK!”
There was silence. Complete silence. No crickets, no sleepy chirps from birds, no wind in the bare branches overhead. Even the waves on the pond went still. It went on so long that I thought I had been a complete fool and Hank would be at home wondering where I was and why my jewelry was everywhere.
Then a whisper came out of nowhere, “Paid in full.” There was a loud splashing and then Hank was staggering out of the pond, coughing and gasping for breath. I ran to him and threw my arms around him, crying. We clung together there for a few minutes, and then staggered home.
We talked about what had happened that night long enough to decide we were moving – to another town – as soon as possible.
When we moved out, I left a note for the people who bought our lovely home that said to make sure to make a wish and toss a penny in the pond every time they used the bridge after dark. I also left a coffee can full of pennies for them for just that purpose.
The day we left, I found a small package on the front porch. It contained a single ruby and a note in a familiar spidery handwriting. The note read, “Don’t forget your change.”
A few years later we read an article in the paper that said someone else had drowned in the pond and the city had decided to drain it and fill it in because it was just too dangerous. They found it odd, the article said, that they found hardly any coins in the bottom of the pool; people had been throwing them in for so long, there should have been a small fortune there. Hank and I weren’t surprised. And we still toss coins from bridges into ponds and streams when we cross over them, especially at night – just in case.
She Wolf (c) August 2007
