The Walker of Eastville (Part 1)
By: J.S. Lender
Tags: Literally Literary, Childrens Stories, Youth, Fiction, Short Story

I MIGHT BE JUST 10 years old, but I know a bad guy when I see one.

I first spotted him charging down the sidewalks of our neighborhood when I was walking home from school on Tuesday. He was tall and skinny and his face looked mean. Not mean in the way that a werewolf looks mean when he slashes his big evil hands at screaming girls in the movies, but mean in the kind of way that parents can get when they are having a really bad day.

His long brown trench coat was covered in patches. You know, those patches you get at the souvenir shop when you go on vacation and you go home and your mom sews them onto your backpack. The patches on his trench coat had pictures of eagles and hammers and skulls and sailboats.

And that hat! Well let me tell you, I’ve seen my share of hats during the past 10 years, but I’ve never seen such a creepy, scary, goofy looking thing before. It was the kind of tall and hollow hat that Abraham Lincoln wore back in the olden days. We have a picture of Abraham Lincoln on the wall in Mrs. Jenkins’s class, that’s how I know. I think it’s called a stovepipe hat, but I’m not sure, because I have no idea what a stovepipe looks like.

And those goggles! He had big leather goggles strapped to the top of his Abraham Lincoln hat. It almost never gets windy in our neighborhood, so I don’t know why he owns a pair of goggles. Anyway, the goggles strapped to the top of the stove pipe hat made him look like some kind of alien from outer space.

And the way he walked! Actually, it looked more like he was slithering than walking. His shoulders were hunched forward and his head drooped down. His arms dangled freely, while his legs slowly lurched forward. He walked like a wet lizard crawling out of the mud under a full moon.

My mom and dad have always told me to steer clear of strangers and to never, ever, ever accept any type of candy, soda, or any other treat from a stranger. I have always been pretty good at following my parents’ instructions. Except one time, there was an old man in our neighborhood who gave me an ice cold can of Pepsi on a hot summer day. I had been riding my bike all over the neighborhood, and I was so hot and thirsty that I took the Pepsi can and drank the whole thing in one gulp. Actually, it took me three gulps, but I drank it real fast. I drank that Pepsi so fast that my throat burned and my chest felt like it was going to explode. It didn’t, though, so I lived.

I could not decide whether I was scared or fascinated by this tall, skinny stranger who kept passing through our neighborhood. But every once in a while, the man would walk by me and turn his head in my direction. His eyes were real small. Those tiny, beady little eyes reminded me of when I play Monopoly with my dad and I roll snake eyes and the dice are super close together on the board.

It could have been my imagination, but I noticed that every time the stranger walked past a tree, all the leaves would turn black and fall to the ground. All of the dead leaves looked like black snow covering the sidewalk. And there was a strong wind, too. The wind seemed to follow him and circle around him and blow everything to bits and pieces wherever he would stroll.

A strong scent of cherries and wood always made its way up into my nostrils whenever I would see him. Once he passed by me real close, and I saw that he had an old-fashioned wooden pipe sticking out of his mouth. He would cradle the pipe in his right hand, while the plastic mouthpiece of the pipe would gently rest between his lips. I was so curious that I ran to the library and looked it up in the encyclopedia. I learned that the man must be smoking cherry tobacco, which is basically the yucky stuff they put in cigarettes, only that it is flavored with cherries so it probably tastes like candy to him.

After a few days of watching him huff and puff himself around our friendly little neighborhood, my curiosity got the better of me. The one thing that I kept wondering about over and over again in my head was where he lived. I had never actually seen him walk into a house or come out of a house, so I wondered if maybe he slithered underground into the sewers at night.

I thought about following him on my skateboard, but decided against it, because that would have made too much noise. Then I thought about following him on my BMX bike, but I knew that would be a bad idea because my bike is too fast and he would obviously see me. Finally, I decided that I would just follow him on foot the next time I spotted him lurching around our neighborhood.

I was in luck because the very next day as I was making my way home from school, I spied him in all his tall, skinny glory, slithering his way down the sidewalk along Brooks Avenue. My heart started beating so fast that I felt like my chest was going to crack right down the middle. My armpits started to sweat and my hands got super greasy, too.

I started after him in hot pursuit. Right away, he heard my feet slapping against the sidewalk. He turned his head all the way around like a bobble head voodoo doll, looking at me right in the eyes. My shoes! He had heard my loud, obnoxious, squeaky shoes. My mom had bought me these bright white shoes on sale at Sammy’s Shoe Superstore. Well, let me tell you, one thing I have learned is that if a pair of shoes are on sale, you can bet there is a reason for it. Those shoes were so loud that every time I took a step it seemed like a clown was standing right behind me honking one of those big circus horns into my ear.

When the man turned around and looked at me, I dove into the bushes, even though I knew that he had already seen me. As soon as the man turned around and started walking again, I ripped off my Sammy’s Shoe Superstore Shoes and tossed them over a neighbor’s fence. Good riddance!