The Wall - Part One

I moved into a rather quiet part of the city, actually, just outside of Raleigh in a sub-division called Oak Place Villa. Relatively knew, as all the houses had been built within the last five years. All look-alikes, including mine.

The neighbors I would call your average fair, mid-twenties to early thirties, the traditional two kids, two car set up, I’m sure you get the idea.

Shopping malls were in easy driving distance and there was a convenience store five blocks away if I might want a snack, or, like most, just stop there for gas when needed.

The Realtor, Sandra Bacon, a pleasant woman in her early fifties, did all she could to make my purchase of this nice two-bedroom home (one room to be my office), as good as possible. A cheeky woman with a cackling laugh that would drive a man to drink I imagine. Nonetheless, friendly, and in some respects, I think a little too friendly. She’s that touchy-feely kind of person, if you catch my drift.

It took about a week to get things settled, what with furniture and appliances being delivered and where to arrange everything, but eventually, I sorted things out and like the looks of things. It feels, homey.

All in all, I’m happy with the place and finally, after years of struggle and hard work, I finally have a home I can call my own. You have to understand, for a good portion of my life I was either at book signings or doing radio and television interviews. When you’re a writer that’s sitting at number one on the Best Seller list like I was for several years, you really don’t have the time to settle down in one place. Now, I can settle in and write with a peace of mind I haven’t felt for a while. I went stagnant almost a year, but I can feel that urge coming back strong, and I intend to make full use of it.

A year.

In some ways it seems longer than that. A whole year since my last book hit the bookstores and Kindle. And like with the other seven books, this one made the Best-Seller list, actually topping sales from my last two books. The “Ride into Darkness’ series, came off better than I would have ever imagined, and my character, Jazzie, was loved by more people than could be imagined. But then call it a quirk, a falling, or whatever, I didn’t know where to go from the last book. I had that dreaded disease: writer’s block, although I call it writer’s cramp. I couldn’t resurrect one idea to keep Jazzie going. It was like she died—or disappeared from my mind.

Now, I’m starting to feel the mood, that tempo I was so used to being in where I can bring Jazzie back for another dark thrill-ride into unknown terrors. I’m feeling it all over again. Take her from the light back into the dark to find more evil-doers, ghosts and goblins, and a slew of other mind-boggling twists and turns. Jazzie is the best bad-ass woman on the planet; well that was what one reader told me once at a book signing.

I think I will make myself some dinner, then settle into my office and begin.

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By the third day heading into nightfall, that was when the noises started. I would cock my head, and slightly shiver thinking an intruder might be in the house. I did leave my office and walked through every room, turning on every light, looking under the bed, in all the closets, checking every nook and cranny—but found nothing, or no one.

The minute I went back to my office though, the noises started again. It was aggravating. Was it just the house itself maybe settling? I had no idea. But maybe it was. The scraping against the walls from inside were driving me crazy. This continued until my grandfather clock struck twelve times to indicate midnight, and then the noises stopped. It was the oddest thing.

I joked about it, thinking maybe this was the ghost of Cinderella and had to be home by the stroke of twelve or she, not her carriage, would turn into a pumpkin.

Looking at where I was on the computer with my new book, I had fifty-seven pages finished and half of fifty-eight. I sat down and finished that page, then got up, went to my bedroom, disrobed and crawled underneath the sheets and closed my eyes. Before sleep seduced me into la-la land, I had a brief thought. If it was Cinderella, she didn’t leave a glass slipper behind.

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Day seven wasn’t any different than the days before. Wake up at seven, shower, shave, make breakfast, go for my morning run, come back, add to a list of things to do for my traditional day I use for running errands, shopping, banking, whatever. Some call it Blue Monday, I call it Magic Monday. Just like magic, poof, after I do all I need to do, it’s gone. The old out of sight, out of mind routine, and it frees up the rest of my week. And of course, today is Monday.

Riding around from one place to the next (am I ever grateful for the GPS), I have been slowly becoming familiar with my whereabouts. Raleigh is such an inventive city.

Constantly building townhouses, high-rises, and boasting some of the best music in the region. More restaurants per capita than one could imagine, but like any other big city, it also has its fair share of drugs and crime. Guess it goes with the territory of good versus evil.

Thinking about that, my mind started spinning like a top as I envisioned my next chapter with Jazzie. It will take me a good three hours to get everything done, then I can settle in and take Jazzie down another road of deep darkness. Man, I love what I do.

At the same time, though I’m not losing sleep over this, the constant nightly noises really have me frustrated. I might have to talk with Sandra about this. Maybe she knows something she hid from me. Maybe the house, after all, isn’t the best constructed one on the block. But when you pay $165,000 for a home, the last thing anyone wants to hear is that the walls and floors will cave in in about a year, so enjoy your stay.