I was sitting in my own car’s passenger seat, holding my phone in my right hand while cradling the remaining half of a drive-thru fast food hamburger that had gone soggy in my left, thinking about the long strange trip this had been. Have I been shadowing him for over eight hours? I thought. I guess he really does work a full shift. Secret sauce dripped onto my leg as the driver’s side door opened and my car settled with a bounce. My friend, neighbor – more of a tenant, really – he reached up towards the steering column and turned my car key to start the engine. I said, “Chet, I have appreciated the ride along, don’t get me wrong here. I asked for this, remember? The stories you have told of the people that you met today, the stories that they have told you in turn, that has all been amazing, if a little exhausting.” I looked out the windshield at the backlit signs above the sidewalk. A light drizzle started to spread dots on the glass. “Are you done soon for the day? Or, maybe, do you have a very short update, to spare me from this particular stop?”
He said nothing as he put the car in drive. With Chet thankfully silent, I watched the rain fall and thought about the letter that had come with the inheritance of an old triple decker, in the woods north of Boston. I also remembered, after I finally had managed to open the drawer in the huge desk my uncle had left in the upstairs bedroom, where that letter had been secured away, not being very surprised at the contents.
As my time grows closer, I wanted to see this place go to someone who would understand. That is you, Abigail. I will caution that the long-time renter of the middle floor has some strange habits and perhaps a few cultural differences with even you and me, but he keeps remarkably decent hours and is a clean and quiet fellow. More importantly, while it may seem like a low amount due to an extended history of rent control in this county, he also pays the rent on time. Very infrequently, he may come to you with requests for small favors. I always did my best to help out, and that kindness was always rewarded.
It will be hard to rent the ground floor, at least for extended periods, but the peace and quiet that comes with life on the top floor, where I have thrived all of these long years, will be worth it.
I had been living there already for over six months before I finally broke that desk’s lock. When my spouse had been taken by the big C, after my children had grown and scattered, our white picket fence suburban life had reached some sort of natural end of its own, too. All of that meant that, when a lawyer I have still never met in person contacted me by certified mail, a new early retirement plan became clear. I didn’t really pay attention when none of my cousins could remember anyone who knew Uncle Daniel. I was convinced that Mom had mentioned that name from time to time, so maybe he was a great uncle? That was an interesting party story for later. As quickly as I could, I sold my current home that had been near the right schools, and retired further into the solitude offered by New England forest. The top floor had a fairly open floor plan, not so surprising given that it had once been an attic, but the southern wall was nearly floor to ceiling glass. What followed was an unexpected burst of creativity. Once the calendar said it was high Summer, I found myself not only painting for the first time in decades, but doing so for upwards of ten hours a day.
Six times in a row that first year, the rent for Apartment B had been placed under my door, always crisp, new, unfolded cash in an unsealed envelope. My tenant had noted the month and year on each payment in a delicate and careful penmanship, each time closing with a example of Thank You in a different foreign language. There was no other sound below or interaction back then, to the point where I suspected he must travel often for business. No one answered my first few ads for the lower apartment, and I quickly forgot it was there.
On the morning of the day that rent was due for the seventh month, there was a knock at my door. When I answered, I initially thought that I must have been accidentally inhaling too many paint thinner fumes, but no, my downstairs neighbor kept standing there. Daniel’s tenant appeared to be wearing a dark hoodie and sweatpants, but the fabric moved like wispy vapor as he raised a pale bony hand towards me, an envelope clutched lightly between two fingers. “Hello. For next month, vielen Dank. Please, call me Chet. May I ask a favor before I go?”
I had to blink a few times before I could say, “Ye– Sure.”
“May I borrow your car? My battery is dead again, and I really could use transport for work today. I don’t mean to impose.”
I looked over my shoulder at dabs of paint drying on an easel. I was itching to return to the day’s early natural light, which might falter or cloud over at any moment, and I had no other plans, so I hastily agreed. I was left to myself again for the better part of that day, until night had fallen and I had a moment to feel hungry. My keys were returned with a knock on the door, atop a piping hot cheese pizza on the floor of an empty stairwell. Afterwards, long blocks of time would pass, rent would be paid on time, and that slightly personal request would be made once again, eventually. I began measuring my own retirement in annual paintings of Fall foliage, and by the changes in cars that I lent out at sporadic intervals.
Not very long after my great-granddaughter had her first grandchild, I edited Daniel’s letter and repaired old furniture. Then, I waited for the next rent check. I sat just outside of my door, reading my favorite books, for almost two days near the end of the month, before the shadows in the stairwell below me lengthened. I put my current book down and said, “Hi, Chet.”
“Hello. May I borrow your car?”
“Yes. May I join you this time? If you do not mind the company, I would like to go where you go, see what you see.”
Chet’s hooded chin nodded twice and he turned without a word. When Chet began descending the steps silently, I followed, and one long day later, here we were. As we pulled away from the 15-minute Passenger Loading And Unloading Zone, where we had been parked for over two hours outside of the children’s hospital, I finished my dinner. “Chet?”
My car accelerated up a highway onramp. “Yes?”
Curiosity finally had won out. “I think I already know the answer, but, who are you? Who are you, really?”
Black smoke whirled in front of my air conditioning vents as Chet reached into somewhere that I assumed was a pocket. He handed me a business card. It was plain and mostly blank, except for four capital letters in a tiny heavily serifed font. My thin friend in the hoodie had a bit of a history of his own to tell, after all. For starters, his real name did begin with C, at least in certain translations. I tried not to choke on the irony. The work component to his punishment did seem a little cruel. I instinctively checked my seatbelt and said, “I thought you were cursed to wander, but I think I get it. There would have been no need to reap before you were here, technically speaking.”
Bare fingertips tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel so familiar that I could already tell it was going to bother me for an eternity. Chet said, “This job takes me to new places, sometimes.” We were accelerating again, at the start of a bridge crossing over the city river.
Seeing that we were headed back north, I asked, “What now? Is that pizza place still open?”
“No.” Chet turned to face me. “Old friend, I am truly sorry, but I have one more job today. Please say hello to Daniel… and tell my brother that I love him.”
I opened my mouth to protest when Chet simply vanished from the driver’s seat. I screamed as I swerved towards a broken section of guardrail. As my car parted lines of yellow plastic tape on its way off the side of the bridge, and as the calm gray river drew closer, I had time to wonder why I never thought to leave the keys on a hook outside my door.
Reddit WritingPrompt [WP] You’re getting sick of death taking your pick up truck. Every time they wanna do their job they ask to borrow your truck. This time, you’re going with them. has really kept that spooky season vibe going just fine in 2023.