Neighbor

Claire had exactly one neighbor. She didn’t know his name. Although he told her, maybe, she forgot it. He was an older man with a white beard and a beer belly. She really only encountered him when she happened to be leaving for work, he would occasionally arrive home at the same time.

“You gonna be okay?” Was the first thing he said. “Girl like you shouldn’t be out alone at night.”

While this annoyed her, Claire was the type to form charitable opinions of people, and she told herself that there are worse things than a concerned neighbor. If she was honest, she had to admit that part of what she found annoying about the statement was that he was probably right. But at the same time, having a stranger state it matter of factly was not in any way helpful or persuasive.

It became even less persuasive when she learned more about him. She still knew very little, mind you. But she would frequently see random objects outside his door. Anything from old televisions to pots and pans and strips of scrap metal. He seemed protective of his random shit, even though it was garbage. This was annoying, as it obstructed the hallway partly, although she could squeeze through.

At first she thought he must still be moving in, or maybe was rearranging his apartment, and hadn’t put everything in its proper place yet. Then, when he caught her on her way out one day he felt the need to comment on his latest acquisition. To start the conversation he held it up proudly. It was a large handheld tool of uncertain purpose.

“It’s a rivet gun,” he said. She smiled awkwardly. This seemed to be all the invitation he needed and he launched into a further explanation. “I found it inside one of the THESIS factory buildings on the bottom level. There’s all kinds of great stuff down there,” he said. And that’s when she realized that he was a hoarder.

But he wasn’t just any garden variety hoarder. No sir. It wasn’t until he started to discuss the many potential uses for his found objects that she realized he was a doomsday prepper. She had heard of them, but never me them. Though, it made sense, she thought darkly, that if she was going to meet one it would probably be in her apartment complex. It was called The Barrows, and it was a strange place for strange people, like much of Vermilion.