Don't Miss Me

By Terry Bramlett

Ed had checked. No one lived in the place as evidenced by the week's worth of papers he had thrown each morning as he ran the newspaper route. Sweat dripped off his nose onto the big white dot below him on the street. He pulled the top off the black paint can and bent to obliterate the mark.

"I'm not gonna waste no more of my money throwing this paper," he said to no one. "That old woman died months ago." The spray of the paint rose into the air around him in the spreading daylight. Ed wondered why the old carrier insisted that this house never be missed. The man had to have known the old lady died. He finished covering the mark. Tomorrow morning 635 Hillside drive would be officially stopped. "No dead woman needs a newspaper," Ed said as he snapped the top on the paint. Ed had not thrown the dead woman a newspaper that morning.

A week before he had met John Grinder at a small shopping center. Ed needed extra cash and figured throwing a paper route offered him the best way to get money fast. He had thrown a route as a boy, remembering the early mornings on his bicycle. Of course, things had changed. Paper boys drove cars and most of them were middle aged or older.

Ed arrived when the papers did, three o'clock in the morning. He smelled the ink and relived memories of his youth. I can do this, he thought. A yellow pick-up pulled in beside him. A fortyish woman smiled at him as she got out of the truck. Her hair looked unkempt. Her clothes bore traces of ink staining and grape jam. "You waiting for John?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Ed said. "I'm Ed Nance."

"Nice to meet you, Ed," the woman answered. "Mary Margaret Combs." She stuck a plump hand inside his window. Ed grabbed and received a firm grip and shake. She winked at him and said: "Tell John that he has to point out Old Lady Williams' house. You sure as hell don't want to miss that biddy." Ed heard someone snicker from another car.

John pulled up. Mary said her hellos and good-byes. She seemed to know everyone. Carrying three bundles of forty papers at a time to her car, Mary finished loading in moments. She stopped John as he and Ed were loading the first of their bundles.

"John, I told him to ask you about Old Lady Williams," she said. Ed heard John groan. Mary slapped the last of her bundles into the back of the truck. "I'm serious John. He needs to know."

"I'll tell him, Mary," John said, obviously uncomfortable. "I promise he'll know not to miss her." Mary studied John for a moment, looked at Ed, then turned and got into her truck and left. "Old bitch," John said watching Mary drive away.

"Mary or Mrs. Williams?" Ed asked. John snorted.

"Both," he said. "Come on, Ed. Let's get going." Ed spent the next two hours riding his new route. When they got to Hillside Drive, John pointed to a small two-story house and slowed the car in front of the place. He grabbed a paper and threw it as far into the driveway as he could. He hit the gas and hurried to the next drive.

In the moonlight and streetlight, Ed thought John seemed pale. He heard ragged breathing and saw white knuckles as they gripped the steering wheel. "You okay?" Ed asked. John nodded. He jerked his head behind him.

"That's the Williams house. Whatever you do, do not miss that house. Make sure the paper gets thrown every day by five." John stared straight ahead. Ed turned around to look at the Williams house. A flicker of white in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He glanced at the end of the driveway, but nothing was there. He heard a deep sigh from John. "The papers may pile up for days, even weeks. You may have to go pick them up, but do not miss that paper." Ed tried to question him about the Williams lady. But John would not answer.

After a couple of days training, Ed took over the route. Running it alone for the first time, he threw every house. When he came to Hillside Drive, he threw the Williams house. He thought he saw a light on in the front window with a shadow moving back and forth. After he threw the paper, he looked up. Darkness enveloped the house. The street lights reflected in the dark second story windows. Ed felt the house watched him as he drove to the next driveway. Uneasiness filled his mind. A cold shiver pierced his chest and spine. In the rearview mirror, he saw the flash of white in the Williams' driveway. Ed stopped the truck and turned around. The paper he had thrown lay where he had thrown it. Ed drove on.

After a week's worth of papers accumulated on the lawn, Ed went to the house and knocked on the door. No one answered. He looked through the window. Furniture scattered about the house. Dust was thick on the furniture and the floors. No one's lived here in weeks, maybe years, Ed thought. He decided to talk to a couple of the neighbors. He could feel the eyes of the house staring down on him as he walked to his truck. Mr. Johnson, an older man around seventy-five, told him that Mrs. Williams had died seven months ago.

"Damn fool paper boy keeps throwing the paper every damn day," Mr. Johnson said. "The woman's dead. She don't read no more."

Ed decided that Old Lady Williams would waste no more of his money. He was charged for every paper he threw. How the hell am I gonna collect from a dead person?

Ed threw the route the next morning. At four-fifteen, he passed by the Williams' house. As he threw the next paper, Ed felt a cold chill surrounding him. From far off, he thought he heard a voice, cracked with age say, "Don't miss me." He looked in the rear view mirror and saw a white figure standing in the street just beyond the Williams' driveway. He watched as the image faded from his sight. Ed shook his head. I'm letting them get to me with those stories, he thought. It ain't nothing but my imagination playing tricks on me. He laughed good-naturedly at himself and finished the route.

He awoke at three the next morning. Before he left his apartment, the phone rang. "Hello." Ed could hear the sound of the wind blowing. A cracked high-pitched voice answered him.

"You missed me yesterday, young man," the voice said. "Don't miss me again." Static crackled through the line. Ed took a deep breath.

"Mary, this ain't funny, damn it," he said. The static on the other end became unbearable and suddenly all he heard was the dial tone. Ed looked at the phone and swore it had to be Mary Margaret Combs playing a trick on him. The thought of an old Rod Serling story came to his mind. Ed wondered if the telephone line might have embedded itself into Old Lady Williams grave. He laughed. He glared at the phone. "I'll get you Mary. It ain't funny." Then he laughed, again. Mary had picked up her papers when he got to the drop. I'll get her later, he thought.

He drove slowly past the Williams house at four twenty-three. A full moon enveloped the house in an eerie light. Nothing moved in the yard. Even the windows seemed shut to him this morning. He continued down the street. A light flickered on in the left upstairs window. Ed stopped and stared. The outline of a person hung out of the window and yelled at him.

"Hey," said an old voice. "You forgot me." Ed stopped the truck and turned toward the house. In straight view, the window was dark. No one could have yelled at him. No one was there. He glared at the house.

"What the hell do you want from me?"

"My paper," the voice answered. Ed jumped. The voice had come from inside his truck. He turned toward the passenger side. An old woman sat on top of the papers he had rolled for the route. "Don't miss me," she hissed at him. Ed screamed and threw the truck into gear, flooring the accelerator. In the distance, he heard the shrill scream of the old lady. "Don't miss me!"

The next morning, Ed sat at the drop waiting for the papers to arrive. He glanced at his watch. God I'm going to have to do Hillside Drive first, he thought. He tapped nervously on the dash. A hand grabbed the elbow he had stuck out of the driver's side window. Ed screamed in fear, jerked his arm away, and dove to the floorboard of the truck.

"Ed, settle down," a woman's voice said. "It's just me, Mary Margaret." Ed pulled himself off the floor slowly. Mary's face and upper body filled theng to the window. He let out a ragged sigh. Mary pursed her lips. "You've had a run-in with Old Lady Williams, haven't you?" Ed told her what had happened since he quit throwing the paper. Mary glanced at her watch.

"Ed, it's four thirty," she said. "The convenience store has a few of today's early edition. Go buy one and throw to the biddy."

"But she's dead," Ed protested. "How can she be doing this?"

Mary stuck her tounge between her teeth and smiled. "I'll agree with you she's dead," Mary said. "But as far as her newspaper is concerned, her death don't seem to matter. Throw the paper to her, Ed." Ed nodded his agreement.

He pulled slowly onto Hillside Drive. He could see the Williams' house lying in wait for him on the top of the small hill. The branches of the oak gave the house a malevolent smile. Ed wrapped the paper he had bought around itself and slid a rubber band over the top. He drove by the house and flung the newspaper as far up the driveway as he could. His breath was ragged with fear. Ed's heart raced, pounding his chest hard enough to move him in the seat of the truck. Behind him, in the rear view mirror, he saw a figure of white at the end of the driveway. "Thank you," said the old, cracked voice. "But don't ever miss me, again."

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