The Boarder

A Short Story

I was only nine when Momma let a devil move in. Not the Devil, but a devil... a demon. Not that there's much difference to a nine year old. Now don't get me wrong, she didn't do it a purpose on account she didn't know he was a devil. But then, she was a grown up and everyone knows grown ups can't tell about these here things.

Children and dogs, on the other hand, can sense a devil or a demon as easy as they can tell when you have a batch of cookies hot from the oven. The only problem being that nobody really understands a dog, regardless of what Lassie ever did. And nobody ever pays no attention to kids, especially when something scares them. You know I'm right, don't you? How many times your own kids tell you there's a monster in the closet or maybe one under the bed and you never once believed.

I guess she really didn't have much of a choice, taking in a boarder that is. We needed the money and a boarder was a pretty easy way of getting it. Daddy went off fighting in that war they was having over there in Vietnam, so money was always real tight. He wrote and said boarders was a good idea, but Momma was supposed to check them out top to bottom and not let no deadbeats or no big city folk move in. And no farm help and no mill workers either; we was supposed to keep shy of them. Shoot, after all those people we couldn't rent to, they wasn't anybody left.

Momma put it off as long as she could, just trying to live off what Daddy could send. He wrote every day and sent every dollar he made but it was never enough. Momma used to walk down to the mailbox and wait for that dust cloud to rise up, letting her know the mailman was on his way down the gravel road that ran in front of our house. He'd come rolling up in that big old Rambler station wagon, sitting on the right side with his left foot stretched way over to work the gas and the brake, and he'd give Momma a smile and hand her the daily letter from Daddy along with a passel of bills. Then off he'd go, raising another cloud of dust we'd just have to sweep off the porch that evening. As always, she would sigh and rub her forehead, knowing the money was never going to cover the bills.

The day the electric company said they was going to shut us down finally got her off the dime. She spent a lot more time than normal sighing and rubbing her forehead.

"I guess it's time we got us some boarders, Bobby," she said with a tired smile. That night, she painted a sign that read 'Rooms to Let' and nailed it to the big live oak in the front yard.

The next morning, I didn't even have breakfast all the way down before there was a knock on the door. It was a man, and a big one at that. He said he wanted a room 'cause he just got him a good job up at the mill and needed a place to stay till he got back on his feet. Momma looked at me, full well knowing he was a mill worker and what Daddy said. I shrugged.

"Can you afford ten dollars a week for the room and another ten for your meals?"

"That sounds right fair, ma'am," he said with a toothy grin. "Name's Bransen, Tom Bransen."

No sooner had he moved his belongings into the spare room, then there came another knock.

Momma opened the door to a tall thin man with deep set eyes and slicked back hair. On his upper lip he wore a pencil thin mustache he was always smoothing back with his knuckle like it was gonna crawl away if he didn't keep it plastered in place.

"Pardon me, I have come to inquire about the available room," he said in a nasal Yankee accent.

"Well, my oh my," said Momma, fanning herself. "Ain't this just our lucky day, uh, Mr..."

"Cyrus. Mr. Cyrus." He was talking to Momma, but he was looking right at me. And it was then I knew he was a devil. He was looking at me 'cause he knew I could tell.