The old woman wanted to stab me with the kitchen knife and scissors! I grabbed for the only thing in reach - my pillow. I could use it to...fend off the knife/scissor attack and then suffocate her with it. If only I had some knitting needles. Shit.

Señora Ramírez shrugged and lifted the items higher. "Maybe the knife will help you for the things that scratch, but maybe not. My friend recommends the scissors. Always keep the scissors near, that's what I say. Here."

She handed them both to me, and I had to tuck the pillow under my arm. We stood there staring at one another, me in my bra and filthy skirt, her with her wide smile.

"I'm going to take that shower now," I said.

Nodding, she toddled back for the living room where the commercials were ending. She sank with a contented sigh into the armchair.

I was headed for the bathroom, when it struck me how stupid I was being. Because Señora Ramirez said things that didn't make sense, I was assuming she didn't know anything. That was the part of me who wanted my life to be normal. But because she was saying things that didn't make sense, I should listen.

"You get problems with scratching noises in your apartment? Like rats?" I called.

"Not rats. Scratchers and crawlers. They say things, but I don't understand them."

My skin crawled at her answer. "You said a friend of yours told you about the scissors?" I asked her. "What else did she tell you? Why scissors, how do they work?"

"Keep the crawlers in the lines and out of my room. He not she. My friend is a writer, he writes for the newspaper. He is very strange. More strange than you."

Stranger than me? "What's his name?" I had to meet him.

The next day was Friday and I convinced Kaylee to skip 6th hour and come pick me up at home. My mother had to go in for a meeting at work, so she wouldn't be there to stop me and Señora Ramirez was napping on the sofa.

Her journalist friend was John Kopf. The German influence in the area was fairly evident in our town. Finding his address had been a piece of cake, but since he lived on the far side of town, I needed a ride. Besides, if my mom caught me sneaking out alone, she would put bars on the windows and doors. It was a prison enough as it was, and I had to get out of there for some air.

Señora Ramírez informed me he was always at home except on Monday and Thursday mornings when he went to the newspaper's office and then grocery shopping. He also visited his sister at the mental institute on Saturdays. I decided simply to go to his house. Calling him ahead of time didn't really feel like an option. 'Hi, I was wondering why my old neighbor lady sleeps with scissors under her mattress to keep the crawlers from scratching up the place and she told me you had some answers. Can we meet and have coffee?'

Right.

"Thanks for coming to get me, Kay-" Kaylee's arms thrown around my neck cut me off.

"I'm not really into pointing out other people's goofs and idiotic moments, but damn, Brooklyn, I told you not to go."

"You told me so," I agreed. "I thought I saw Levi in the woods. He was so, he looked...so cruel. That's the only word."

"It couldn't have been him."

"Why not?" I asked wistfully. "Kidnapped people show up years later all the time. There were those girls in Austria, one was kept in a bunker by her dad for years while forced to have his babies and another behind a safe in the wall. That guy let her out to wash his stupid car. It could be that Levi is choosing to stay hidden." I didn't believe my own wishful thinking, but oh, well.

"The newspaper said you saw a young man who resembles, and I quote, 'the missing person Levi Walters. This man may intervened on your behalf and aided in your escape. Any information concerning this person is appreciated.' Who writes crap like that?" she asked, popping her gum. "So where are we going?"

"To talk to the guy who wrote that crap."

John Kopf had a dingy, one-floor house on the outskirts of town with an overgrown yard and rusty chain-link fence. I rang the doorbell, Kaylee furiously chewing her nails instead of gum next to me.

I wasn't expecting a young man to answer so I asked to see Mr. Kopf.

"I'm not interested," he said and moved to shut the door.

"Wait! I'm not selling anything. My name is Brooklyn Hadder; I'm Señora - Mrs. Ramírez's neighbor." When he didn't shut the door, I forged ahead. "Can I please ask you some questions?"

He chuckled. "You want to interview the newspaper man?"

I nodded. He studied both of us a moment.

"Come in, then."

Kaylee widened her eyes and shook her head, no. I could hear her thoughts: Deranged pervert wants us in the house!

I hooked my arm in hers, whispering for her to keep her phone ready.

"Coffee or tea?" he asked us from his kitchen. His small living room was more than simply crowded. Two love seats, 3 arm chairs, a dozen decorative tables and cabinets and enough china serve tea to half of the town, but every cup and dish was cracked or chipped. There were even shelves in the fireplace for broken, mismatched cups. "Coffee or tea, girls? Make yourselves at home, sorry for the clutter."

"Coffee," we both said.

"Thank you for having us in. I'm very sorry to barge in on you like this, but Mrs. Ramírez mentioned some things you told her and I really would like to know more."

"This isn't about my article on your trip to the farmstead, then?" he asked. He handed us our coffee cups on saucers. "Milk and sugar are here."

There were thin cracks running through my set that had been glued.

"No. Well, partly, but not really. She said you advised her to keep..." I wasn't sure if it would be better to be blunt or warm up to the subject of scissors and crawlers.

"Ms. Hadder, can I ask you something first?" John asked. He was disheveled and unshaven. I wondered if we had disturbed him during a nap. There was an intensity about him that belied my nap theory, though. He had not moved back after giving us our drinks and now he was a little too close for my comfort. I needed space, especially from an unknown man.

"Can we sit down?" I asked. He would have to move away to sit as well.

"Of course. My home is like your home. I want you to be comfortable."

Kaylee claimed the arm chair close to me, one hand in her pocket with her phone.

"Can you tell me exactly what happened in the forest with Todd McIntosh and Levi Walters?" he asked. I figured he was between twenty-five and thirty years old judging by his hair and build, but he had deep creases in his forehead and around his mouth that made him seem older. As a reporter, he already knew more about what happened than most people.

"There's nothing more to add to the police statement. It covered everything from Todd McIntosh's attack on Alicia and me."

He leaned closer over the little rug separating us, his antique chair creaking. "But I want to know everything Brooklyn Hadder didn't tell the police. How did she feel by being rescued by her missing childhood friend? What did he say to her?"

Referring to me in the third person wasn't helping my comfort level. Weirdness alarms were going off in my head, but I reminded myself I came here hoping he would speak openly about strange things. I stirred my coffee nervously before replying.

"Levi told me to get out there and he called me a bitch. I'll let you imagine how I felt."

Kaylee gasped.

"What did you see while you were there? Did you hear anything?" His voice was sharp and precise as though he already knew the answer.

"There were some strange noises. An animal, I think, that sounded like a baby. I thought I saw rats. And of course, Levi - he seemed so hateful and cruel." I had to change the subject. "Mrs. Ramírez said you told her to keep scissors with her to keep the crawlers away. Can I ask what you meant by that?"

"Señora Ramírez told me she hears scratching noises in the walls and floors of her apartment. She confided in me because she knows I write for the newspaper and she wanted a piece on how scandalous the building owners are for not getting rid of the mice. Except they tried to get rid of them. There weren't any to get rid of. She was still upset, though, so I offered her a solution that helps my sister. Stainless steel scissors kept open in the form of a cross. I asked her not so long ago if it helped and she said 'sometimes.' That's about as good as it gets for Jemma, my sister. What about Ms. Hadder? Does she have crawlers scratching in her walls?"

"I sometimes have odd sightings, sort of visions or hear things that shouldn't be there, but only on the anniversary date of when Levi and Sean disappeared." I shifted, making my seat whine and snap.

"Don't you find it odd how Alicia Kincaid escaped when both the boys were taken and after being so badly beaten? That always struck me as nothing short of miraculous."

"She ran away and escaped. Why is that amazing?" I asked. What I didn't say, was that I had always found her survival to be uncanny.

"There are many occurrences that I find disturbing in this town. Why don't I tell you both a few stories?"

*** What kind of stories will he tell the girls? Can Brooklyn believe what he says? Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!!! ***