‘Well, I thought I’d like to see your wife, Mrs Nesbitt,’ I said.
‘Oh,’ he said.
‘May I?’
‘Well, she’s gone out to the store,’ he said.
‘I’ll wait,’ I said, and slipped in past him.
‘Hey,’ he said.
I sat down in a chair. ‘My, it’s a hot day,’ I said, trying to be calm, thinking about the empty lot and air going out of the box, and the screams getting weaker and weaker.
‘Say, listen, kid,’ said Charlie, coming over to me, ‘I don’t think you better wait.’
‘Oh, sure,’ I said. ‘Why not?’
‘Well, my wife won’t be back,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
‘Not today, that is. She’s gone to the store, like I said, but, but, she’s going on from there to visit her mother. Yeah. She’s going to visit her mother, in Schenectady. She’ll be back, two or three days, maybe a week.’
‘That’s a shame,’ I said.
‘Why?’
‘I wanted to tell her something.’
‘What?’
‘I just wanted to tell her there’s a woman buried over in the empty lot, screaming under tons and tons of dirt.’
Mr Nesbitt dropped his cigarette.
‘You dropped your cigarette, Mr Nesbitt.’ I pointed out, with my shoe.
‘Oh, did I? Sure. So I did,’ he mumbled. ‘Well, I’ll tell Helen when she comes home, your story. She’ll be glad to hear it.’
‘Thanks. It’s a real woman.’
‘How do you know it is?’
‘I heard her.’
‘How, how you know it isn’t, well, a mandrake root?’
‘What’s that?’
‘You know. A mandrake. It’s a kind of a plant, kid. They scream. I know, I read it once. How you know it ain’t a mandrake?’
‘I never thought of that.’
‘You better start thinking,’ he said, lighting another cigarette. He tried to be casual. ‘Say, kid, you, eh, you say anything about this to anyone?’
‘Sure. I told lots of people.’
Mr Nesbitt burned his hand on his match.
‘Anybody doing anything about it?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said. ‘They won’t believe me.’
He smiled. ‘Of course. Naturally. You’re nothing but a kid. Why should they listen to you?’
‘I’m going back now and dig her out with a spade,’ I said.
‘Wait.’
‘I got to go,’ I said.
‘Stick around,’ he insisted.
‘Thanks, but no,’ I said, frantically.
He took my arm. ‘Know how to play cards, kid? Black jack?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He took out a deck of cards from a desk. ‘We’ll have a game.’
‘I got to go dig.’
‘Plenty of time for that,’ he said, quiet. ‘Anyway, maybe my wife’ll be home. Sure. That’s it. You wait for her. Wait awhile.’
‘You think she will be?’
‘Sure, kid. Say, about that voice: is it very strong?’
‘It gets weaker all the time.’
Mr Nesbitt sighed and smiled. ‘You and your kid games. Here now, let’s play that game of black jack, it’s more fun than Screaming Women.’
‘I got to go. It’s late.’
‘Stick around, you got nothing to do.’
I knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to keep me in his house until the screaming died down and was gone. He was trying to keep me from helping her. ‘My wife’ll be home in ten minutes,’ he said. ‘Sure. Ten minutes. You wait. You sit right there.’
We played cards. The clock ticked. The sun went down the sky. It was getting late. The screaming got fainter and fainter in my mind. ‘I got to go.’ I said.
‘Another game,’ said Mr Nesbitt. ‘Wait another hour, kid. My wife’ll come yet. Wait.’
In another hour he looked at his watch. ‘Well, kid, I guess you can go now.’ And I knew what his plan was. He’d sneak down in the middle of the night and dig up his wife, still alive, and take her somewhere else and bury her, good. ‘So long, kid. So long.’ He let me go, because he thought that by now the air must all be gone from the box.
The door shut in my face.
I went back near the empty lot and hid in some bushes. What could I do? Tell my folks? But they hadn’t believed me. Call the police on Mr Charlie Nesbitt? But he said his wife was away visiting. Nobody would believe me!
I watched Mr Kelly’s house. He wasn’t in sight. I ran over to the place where the screaming had been and just stood there.
The screaming had stopped. It was so quiet I thought I would never hear a scream again. It was all over. I was too late, I thought.
I bent down and put my ear against the ground.
And then I heard it, way down, way deep, and so faint I could hardly hear it.
The woman wasn’t screaming any more. She was singing.
Something about, ‘I loved you fair, I loved you well.’
It was sort of a sad song. Very faint. And sort of broken. All of those hours down under the ground in that box must have sort of made her crazy. All she needed was some air and food and she’d be all right. But she just kept singing, not wanting to scream any more, not caring, just singing.
I listened to the song.
And then I turned and walked straight across the lot and up the steps to my house and I opened the front door.
‘Father,’ I said.
‘So there you are!’ he cried.
‘Father,’ I said.
‘You’re going to get a licking,’ he said.
‘She’s not screaming any more.’
‘Don’t talk about her!’
‘She’s singing now,’ I cried.
‘You’re not telling the truth!’
‘Dad,’ I said. ‘She’s out there and she’ll be dead soon if you don’t listen to me. She’s out there, singing, and this is what she’s singing.’ I hummed the tune. I sang a few of the words. ‘I loved you fair, I loved you well…’
Dad’s face grew pale. He came and took my arm.
‘What did you say?’ he said.
I sang it again: ‘I loved you fair, I loved you well.’
‘Where did you hear that song?’ he shouted.
‘Out in the empty lot, just now.’
‘But that’s Helen’s song, the one she wrote, years ago, for me!’ cried Father. ‘You can’t know it. Nobody knew it, except Helen and me. I never sang it to anyone, not you or anyone.’
‘Sure,’ I said.
‘Oh, my God!’ cried Father, and ran out the door to get a shovel. The last I saw of him he was in the empty lot, digging, and lots of other people with him, digging.
I felt so happy I wanted to cry.
I dialed a number on the phone and when Dippy answered I said, ‘Hi, Dippy. Everything’s fine. Everything’s worked out keen. The Screaming Woman isn’t screaming any more.’
‘Swell,’ said Dippy.
‘I’ll meet you in the empty lot with a shovel in two minutes,’ I said.
‘Last one there’s a monkey! So long!’ cried Dippy.
‘So long. Dippy!’ I said, and ran.
The end
