Do-it-yourself Alterations

The last I saw of Pixie, our cat, was a month ago, around the same time Jane and I began making brave attempts to renovate our bungalow, gutting out a couple of rooms and moving a wall or two. You know, one of these conversion exercises where the kids’ university fund becomes a tiled shower, and retirement turns into a walk in wardrobe and en suite. We have been doing it all ourselves, I have become a master of destruction while Jane, in theory is to take care of coordinating things back together. So far it has been mostly destruction. Pixie, our cat, didn’t seem to take kindly to the alterations. Her favourite spot on the mantelpiece was now in a pile on the front yard. I figured she would come back when she got hungry. Also around the same time we commenced the demolition a new neighbour moved in. His name was Rex. He was huge, no, he was massive. He must have weighed at least 120 kilograms. He reminded me of basalt; dark, stony and slow, and he looked like he had spent a good part of his life part timing as a punching bag. His face was giant, completely flat and damn ugly, it was hard to ever imagine a smile gracing it. Right from the start he scared the bejesus out of me and he made me feel very uneasy when he was within a hundred yards.

Some days later he was in his yard rummaging through a stack of moving boxes. I admit it, I was spying on him. I was observing him from my kitchen window, peering out from in between the venetians. His grotesqueness and size fascinated me. I swear I could feel the ground tremor and hear the good china rattle in the cupboards as he ambled around the section. I stared for a minute too long I guess because he caught my gaze, stopped dead in his tracks and his deep and heavy eyes stared back at me. I don’t know why but I dropped down behind the kitchen counter and hid. I found myself scuttling across the lino like a lanky crab, into the lounge, then I peered up over the windowsill. His fiery stare was still fixed on me. I felt kind of stupid sneaking around my own house and peering out my own windows so I jumped up, like a crazed suburban jack-in-the-box, with a smile and a wave, trying to act calm and retain a bit of control. I stood there for a bit, but Rex didn’t move. The seconds ached by and my smile slowly stiffened and my wave wilted. Rex was still and his stare was beginning to burn a hole in my forehead. He finally disengaged his blowtorch eyes, turned and walked inside. I felt more uneasy now than ever. I grabbed a hammer from the floor and resumed my demolition work.

A few more days later I was carting out some of the heavier innards of a wall, out through the french doors and up the side of the house and I noticed the cat’s food bowl was empty. “Puss puss puss” I called out and then listened for the familiar jingle of her bell. I thought I heard Pixie “meow” and turned towards the sound when I noticed him there. I couldn’t see him over the fence, it was six feet high. But I knew he was watching me, I could feel his breath oozing though the fence, warm and sticky. I casually picked up my load of wall remains and resumed dragging it to the front yard. The breathing followed me slowly, metre by metre. His black shadow moved along the fence crushing any sunlight that could squeeze between the gaps in the planks. I stopped and bravely called out over the fence. “Rex?” It came out more of a question. A grunt came back through the boards and then he went quiet. I paused, listening, and then I resumed my dragging. The breathing didn’t follow. What was that freak doing? I was feeling somewhat spooked at this stage. So far all I have heard from him was grunts and he seemed to be taking an unhealthy obsession with me. I wondered if he was all there, you know, up there. I leaned closer to the fence and slowly moved my eye up to a trickle of sunlight sneaking through a gap in the boards to peek through. I could see his yard and his house and… then suddenly a giant brown eye appeared looking back at me through the fence. I dropped my wood where I stood, and without haste bolted back into the house.

That night I couldn’t sleep. I had images of Rex in my mind that would not leave me. His massive hulk and his smouldering stare. I had to get up and of course look out to his yard, and of course there he was. I could see his dark shape like an oil stain on the yard next door and I could see his eyes burning in the darkness. What was he doing out there? I had the lights off so I knew he couldn’t see me now. I was beginning to think he was up to something. It just didn’t seem normal behaviour. I wondered if I should tell Jane, but she would have thought I was mad for sure.

It all came to a conclusion the other day when I was out stacking the rimu bones and plaster skin of what used to be a lounge wall, up against the front of the house . I thought at the time my stacking of all the old wood was a little bit dodgy, but it only had to do the job until later that afternoon when the skip was due to arrive. I was heaving the old mantelpiece onto the stack and that’s when I noticed him sitting behind me on the grass. I remember smiling at him, thinking it was a little odd to see him there. He grunted at me and then I heard a creak, a bang and then whack, there was blackness.

Strange images and sounds appeared in my head. I could hear the far away jingle of Pixie’s bell. Jane’s voice telling me to stop being crazy and come back to bed. Rex was laughing at me. Pixie was telling me she is not returning until I put her mantelpiece back.

I don’t know how long I was out for. When I finally opened my eyes I could see blue sky above with puffy white clouds. Then slowly I could make out the shadow of the mantelpiece, swaying precariously in the air above me. I was on my back with the rest of the lounge wall pinning me to the ground and that dangerous looking lump of wood threatened to come down any second, roughly if I estimated correctly, right about where my head was.

I suddenly remembered Rex and turned my head to where I had seen him, just twenty feet away. He was still there. He grunted, then quickly got up and lumbered towards me without dropping his gaze. My mind began to race; I was trying to figure out what I had done to find myself here. What did I do? What did he have against me?

“Rex, stop!” I tried to call out but all the wind was knocked from my lungs and all that came out was a whisper. I knew I would be no match for his strength and closed my eyes waiting for the brief slide show of my life to flash by, but his breath was already on my neck and I knew then that this was it. Then I felt the lumber start to lift. I opened my eyes to the sight of his humongous hairy face grimacing as his bulky body, pushing on all fours, lifted the stack of wood from my chest. “Woof” he grunted as if to tell me to quickly move. I rolled over and crawled clear. Rex dropped the wood to the ground and the rest of the stack came crashing down beside him. Almost like a cat he nimbly leapt out of the way and then stood there, staring at me, as per usual. The fur on his forehead was stained red. I wanted to say “Thanks” but I groaned and collapsed again instead, trying to catch my breath back. Rex just strolled on past me and out the open front gate. I swear as he passed I could faintly hear Pixie’s bell jingling.

Jane thought the wood must have belted me across the head, and refused to believe that the ugly Bull Mastiff from next door had saved my life. But I knew, even if I too found it hard to believe. Our renovations have all been completed now. I got rid of my topsy lumber stack pretty quick, all of it bar the mantelpiece that is. I couldn’t let go of it for some odd reason I just can’t explain. I have made it into a garden bench, and I put it on the front lawn. It sure makes a comfy seat.

Rex didn’t once venture back into my yard again and I by no means felt the need to gaze over to his, spying. I never did figure out why he was there that day, in my yard. I never saw Pixie again either.