I met Billy when I moved into the house next door. He was a young guy, and came around that evening with a beer in hand, grinning and shyly offering the sweaty bottle just as the sun was disappearing over the ozark hills to the west. 

We did the standard introductions, and he asked what I did for work.

“Lawn care,” I said, my face getting hot. “It’s not rocket science or anything. Pays good though.”

He glanced over at his unkempt lawn.

“I suppose you don’t much care for a neighbor like me then,” he laughed.

“Last thing I want to do when I’m done working,” I began. “Is mow my own lawn.”

We laughed, and then I asked what he did for a living.

“I’m a field hand right down the road,” he pointed North, along the small road.

“In the city?” I asked, staring at the nearby cluster of lights. I scratched my head. “I didn’t realize there was a farm down that way.”

“Used to be bigger,” Billy said, looking at his shoes, a worn pair of leather and lace. 

“Are you married?” I asked.

“I am,” he beamed. But the smile faded quickly. “She forgets pretty often though. I doubt she comes back this time.”

I was good at putting my foot in my mouth, and I was at a loss for words, so I sipped my beer and turned to look at my new house. 

“Good house,” Billy said, clearing his throat. “My father’s business partner lived there for years. Kept up with it real nice.”

I eyed the dangling shutters and missing shingles, raising an eyebrow.

“Been gone a while though.” Billy sipped his beer.

“Great to meet you, Billy.” I extended my hand and he shook it enthusiastically. “And thanks for the brew.” 

“Let me know if you ever need a hand,” Billy said, turning to his house and sauntering a few steps.

“You do the same,” I said turning, but was called back by Billy’s question.

“Really?” 

I turned to find Billy with his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his expression that of pure sincerity. 

“Of course, man,” I stuttered, taken aback. I wondered what I could expect from Billy. 

Billy nodded, then continued to his house. I stepped onto my porch as Billy disappeared through his doorway. I sipped the beer in my hand and shook my head slightly, before stepping into my new house to continue unpacking. 

The next morning, Billy was nowhere to be found, and I set to work on a few repairs around the house. The roofers were coming Monday, and I set the shutters straight, tore out the landscaping stones that ran along the house, oiled the door hinges and began a lengthy operation that had the grand goal of ridding the house entirely of black mold.

In the basement, there was a low spot that had collected itself into a small pond, and I ran a hose and set the water pump to run out of the basement window.

After a few hours, I turned the pump off and returned outside to find that all of the water I had removed was now sitting against Billy’s basement foundation, and stood incredibly close to his basement window.

Cursing, I knocked on the front door of Billy’s house. 

He opened the door, smiling when he saw me.

“Yes sir,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“Your new neighbor is an idiot,” I said, rubbing my forehead and explaining the situation to him. 

He laughed, slapping my shoulder.

“No worries. There’s a well down there anyway,” he said, motioning to his basement window. “Probably just flow right in.”

“If you have another hose I can borrow, I’ll attach it to mine and then we could pump it out into the pasture.” I pointed to the grassy fields behind the houses. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, chuckling. “Beer?”

I paused, worrying more about Billy’s house than he seemed to, but then nodded. We drank another beer as the evening fell around us, and a light dew began to form on the lawns.

At the end of the night, I made for my front door, telling Billy to have a goodnight and stomping the mud from my boots as I stepped onto the porch. 

But once again, I was met with a question.

“Can you do me a favor?”

I turned to face Billy.

“Of course.”

“You know Halloween is coming up soon,” he said. “Lots of kids come by, trick-or-treat and all.”

“Way out here?” I asked, looking at the dispersed houses and dirt road.

“Yeah, the farmer’s kids. The type that doesn’t mind walking.”

“Ok, sure. What about them?”

“Keep ‘em from snooping around my place, if you can. I’ll be out of town and they sure like to pry.”

I waited, expecting more of an explanation, but none came. I nodded, agreeing to help Billy and keep the kids off his property. 

“Thanks, neighbor,” he grinned, and walked happily back to his doorway, disappearing.

I watched as he went, then turned and looked at the bright stars, finding Orion and pondering the strange man who lived next door. 

I never saw a car pull out of Billy’s garage, but when the 26th rolled around, I stopped seeing him, and I somewhat missed the nightly beer tradition we had started. Billy had never had an IPA, so when I gave him one, he was shocked at the bitter taste. And every other night, I would give him something new. He never liked the new ones, but was happy to try each one.

But now I sipped the beer alone on my front porch, still not believing Billy in his belief that this was a popular place for kids on Halloween.

So when the 31st finally showed its face, I sat prepared on the front porch, bowl of candy in hand and the porch light glaring out into the dark night. The air was surprisingly cool for eastern Oklahoma in October, and I had to add an extra layer to my half-hearted attempt at a costume. 

Overalls, plaid shirt, and a chainsaw sitting nearby.

When 8 turned to 9, and then 10, I grumbled and stood up, turning off the porch light. Not a kid in sight, and I felt like an idiot. At this point, if a kid did show up, I would be slurring my words anyway, as a small mountain of empty cans stood hidden behind the stack of firewood on the porch. 

I sat the chainsaw behind the house, and turned in for the night, mumbling about Billy’s paranoid fear of corn-fed children.

I got 3 hours of sleep before the kids arrived. 

They weren’t subtle, nor were they trick-or-treating. Rather, they were interested in a little B&E. Breaking and entering.

I heard the shatter of glass and rolled out of bed, tiptoeing to the front porch. I could hear them whispering before I opened the door, which reminded me that a little insulation work might be needed on my new old house.

As I slipped outside, I saw the hair of a teenage girl disappear through the basement window. Quickly, I stepped over Billy’s waste-high lawn and opened his chronically unlocked door.

I had never actually been in Billy’s house, and the moonlight cast a silver gleam across the tremendous amounts of dust that covered every piece of wooden furniture. 

The chandelier swung slowly in the breeze, and I noted the many gaps in the house that welcomed the wind, and who knows what else.

I muttered curses at Billy under my breath, not believing he lived in such squalor. 

I raced past the living room and found the basement door, putting my ear to the splintery wood and listening for the kids.

“Here’s the well!”

“Shhh!”

“Do you have the net?”

“I bet he’s watching us.”

“The neighbor?”

“No, the ghost.”

There were probably 3 of them, and I was ready to throw open the door and run them back out of the broken window. 

“Sandra, come on out!” 

“Dude, stop yelling!”

A hush fell over the group, and the only sound was a slight clinking, presumably the net, fishing through the well.

“It’s too deep!” 

Silence.

“She’s at the bottom of that well, I know it!”

I listened for more, but nothing came, so I swung the door open, slowly.

A series of loud gasps followed, and I could hear the breath of the kids turn shallow and shaky.

“Looking for something?” I asked, hiding behind the frame of the door at the top of the dark staircase.

“The ghost,” someone whispered. “He’s still here.”

I suddenly became very excited, and audibly laughed, slamming the door.

The commotion that followed truly belonged in a Scooby-Doo movie as the kids shoved each other and screamed, climbing out of the basement window as fast as they could. I watched from the front room as they ran past the window, tripping and falling over themselves as they disappeared down the dirt road.

I laughed, somewhat wishing they would come back tomorrow night. I turned and walked down to the basement to inspect the broken window, a sense of dread forming in the pit of my stomach as I thought about telling Billy about my failure.

I stepped around a pile of shattered glass, noting the rotten smell that emanated from the open air well and stagnant water within. 

I eyed the window, and planned to have it replaced before Billy got home. 

One of the kids had dropped their fishing net, and I grabbed it and thought to take it home. 

As I turned to climb the stairs, I noted the decor around the musty basement; the antique chairs, an ancient, homemade recurve bow, and wooden arrows, the straw scarecrow. And the bookshelf, filled with wooden crafts and toys, and one or two books.

I set the net down and grabbed one of the thin books. It was a yearbook, and the school boasted of its ten students. I stared at one of the photos, shocked at the name and familiar face. I closed the book and noted the year. 1922. 

I grabbed the net and returned up the stairs, closing the front door and returning home. 

Billy was back the next morning, and seeing his face in color was, predictably, alarming. 

He sauntered over as I opened a bag of mulch for my renovated garden.

“Any trouble last night?” he asked, sipping a cup of coffee.

I nodded, pointing towards the basement window.

“Took me by surprise, but I ran ‘em off.”

“Ah,” he shrugged. “No worries.” He grinned as he took another sip.

“Have a good trip?” I asked as I spread the mulch. 

“Nah, not really. Still can’t find her.” His eyes took on a dark gloom. He took another sip.

“Your wife?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Those kids mentioned her,” I said, nervously. “Thought she was in that well. Sandra?” I chuckled at the absurdity, but watched his gaze carefully.

“Yeah, they like to snoop. Every year, same old thing.”

I nodded.

“She ain’t coming back. Even I need to accept that.” 

I didn’t know what to say, so again, I nodded, still spreading mulch.

“The well is just a convenient legend, I guess.” He finished his coffee, and I wanted to ask him about his old school picture from a hundred years ago, and as he turned, I stopped myself.

“I’ll replace your window,” I said.

He turned and laughed. “Don’t worry about it, really. Another IPA tonight?”

“Sure thing,” I said, smiling. 

He disappeared into his house, and I opened another bag of mulch.

“Old timer doesn’t look a day over 35.”